And if you don't get the reference then I think you should get off the internet and watch more tv.
I'm serious.....GO!
click here
Thursday, July 28, 2011
And Daphne Makes Three
After waiting over 10 years, I can finally hang this on my wall at work:
And if you don't get the reference then I think you should get off the internet and watch more tv.
I'm serious.....GO!
click here
And if you don't get the reference then I think you should get off the internet and watch more tv.
I'm serious.....GO!
click here
Monday, July 11, 2011
plusbaby: 7-11-2011
For Carrie and I,in terms of time, the past 9 months equaled 2.2% of our lives.
In terms of our lives, the product of those 9 months now equals everything
Thanks for reading the blog.
Its been fun.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Guest Post: Married with Children
Two posts in two days? Dang, Dan, you're on fire. Well, not really. Today we have guest writer Maria Precissi on danpluscarrieplusbaby.blogspot.com . Maria is twenty something, carefree, and single so I am forced to hate her. She's funny as heck though, so I asked her to jot down her observations during Carrie and my "couples" baby shower. Thank you to Maria in advance for the large influx of internet traffic due to guys Googleing the search term "racy photos of Maria Precessi" and finding our blog. Also thank you to Kristen-D, Alexis-T, and KC-B for the party.
Married With Children
(an "outsiders" perspective)
Over the weekend I attended a baby-shower bbq for parents-to-be Dan and Carrie. I have attended many a shower for my friends over the past few years. Whether it be wedding or baby, I am no stranger to the party circuit deemed "shower." The couples shower version is always an interesting event, with parents (mothers) chasing young children around, trying to keep them off chairs, tables, out of bushes, and generally out of danger. All while the fathers hang around drinking beer much like in their high school, college, and post college days. It is an interesting thing to watch as an almost 30-something year old woman who is not married and doesn't have said children to run around and chase. So I will outline for you some of the hilarious events that I witnessed on the night of June 18, 2011.
As the party began it was a laid back family atmosphere in the back yard of Mr. and Mrs. Dyke. (And yes, that is their real name. As a matter of fact, when the Mrs. bakes her delicious cupcakes we affectionately call them “Dyke Muffins”). The party was your typical Dockers Commercial: Children excited to see their friends and run around and play, adults equally excited to see friends, have a few cocktails and celebrate the upcoming birth of little miss Natividad.
As dinner was served parents began a strategy of "man-to-man" coverage with their children. Each parent taking a child to sit them down to eat. Only a few had success and most just gave up and let their kids play figuring they'd eat when they're hungry. After dinner the women gathered around the gift table to watch Carrie open all of the adorable goodies she and Dan received. The men retreated to the garage to play typical baby shower games like beer-pong and modified scooter riding. As 8 o'clock drew near the wheels began to slowly loosen for many of the kids. The mom's made their way towards the garage and front yard, their sandals and heels tapping in a couples-only Morse code a message to the dad's: "hey, it's time to go home!". You could actually see the wives struggling to telepathically send messages to their husbands. But alas, Message not received!
Host G-Dyke to the other party goers: "hey, we need a pregnant woman to go on a beer run for us.” As if the only people sober enough to drive were pregnant women. He’d then ask each husband, “are you in for the long haul?” (I think right now is a good time to mention that G-Dyke does not have children.) A few of the brave gathered their children and made that slow and steady walk through the garage and down the driveway. The men, sensing that “last call” was approaching, huddled like football players in a Super Bowl game ready to score with 0:05 seconds left on the clock; desperate to use any points that had accrued to stay just a little bit longer! While the definition of “score” 10 years ago for these guys meant actually leaving a party with a beautiful woman, tonight “score” meant prolonging going home with them. As for the well designed plan that the husbands came up with, I can only compare it to children begging their parents to "stay just a little bit longer pppaaaallllleeeaaasseee!!!" So throughout the night Husbands could be heard whining to their wives:
“But can I just play one more game of beer pong with my friends? I promise I’ll be quick”
All that was missing from the husbands’ part was heavy breathing and grass stains on their clothes. Some men were granted a reprieve, others dragged home, and a select few just continued their partying while disgruntled wives/mothers watched their very tired children wrestle on the grass. One man was even bold enough to walk his wife and child home and then use the excuse of "babe, we forgot her FAVORITE purple sippy cup, I have to go back!" Creative, I must admit.
But the fun didn’t stop there.
One lucky boy was granted permission for the husband equivalent of a sleep over: another couple would drive him home later.
In the classic moment of the night, as his wife and daughters were driving away, and as he waved “good-night”, his wife slowed the car down in front of the house in the same way a south central LA gang member slows down for a drive-by. She rolled down the back window, and the cruelest of all weapons was unleashed. All you could hear was the tiniest, cutest girl voice saying “where’s Daddy? Where’s Daddy? I want Daddy to come home”.
A drive-by to the heart.
I looked at Daddy’s face and it silently screamed, “I’ll be home in an hour, baby. Daddy loves you”.
As the night drew to a close I found myself sitting on the floor of a garage playing caps with 5 grown men and a 4 year old. Caps, a game I never really understood the point of, seemed like a last ditch effort to keep the party going. It didn't last long. I was surprised however, that so many actually did stay for “the long haul”; or what some might call the wee hour of 9:30PM.
My observations, while entertaining, have taught me several things...most of all, parenting is hard! And if/when I am invited to a party similar when I am a parent myself, I am getting a baby-sitter!
Married With Children
(an "outsiders" perspective)
Over the weekend I attended a baby-shower bbq for parents-to-be Dan and Carrie. I have attended many a shower for my friends over the past few years. Whether it be wedding or baby, I am no stranger to the party circuit deemed "shower." The couples shower version is always an interesting event, with parents (mothers) chasing young children around, trying to keep them off chairs, tables, out of bushes, and generally out of danger. All while the fathers hang around drinking beer much like in their high school, college, and post college days. It is an interesting thing to watch as an almost 30-something year old woman who is not married and doesn't have said children to run around and chase. So I will outline for you some of the hilarious events that I witnessed on the night of June 18, 2011.
As the party began it was a laid back family atmosphere in the back yard of Mr. and Mrs. Dyke. (And yes, that is their real name. As a matter of fact, when the Mrs. bakes her delicious cupcakes we affectionately call them “Dyke Muffins”). The party was your typical Dockers Commercial: Children excited to see their friends and run around and play, adults equally excited to see friends, have a few cocktails and celebrate the upcoming birth of little miss Natividad.
As dinner was served parents began a strategy of "man-to-man" coverage with their children. Each parent taking a child to sit them down to eat. Only a few had success and most just gave up and let their kids play figuring they'd eat when they're hungry. After dinner the women gathered around the gift table to watch Carrie open all of the adorable goodies she and Dan received. The men retreated to the garage to play typical baby shower games like beer-pong and modified scooter riding. As 8 o'clock drew near the wheels began to slowly loosen for many of the kids. The mom's made their way towards the garage and front yard, their sandals and heels tapping in a couples-only Morse code a message to the dad's: "hey, it's time to go home!". You could actually see the wives struggling to telepathically send messages to their husbands. But alas, Message not received!
Host G-Dyke to the other party goers: "hey, we need a pregnant woman to go on a beer run for us.” As if the only people sober enough to drive were pregnant women. He’d then ask each husband, “are you in for the long haul?” (I think right now is a good time to mention that G-Dyke does not have children.) A few of the brave gathered their children and made that slow and steady walk through the garage and down the driveway. The men, sensing that “last call” was approaching, huddled like football players in a Super Bowl game ready to score with 0:05 seconds left on the clock; desperate to use any points that had accrued to stay just a little bit longer! While the definition of “score” 10 years ago for these guys meant actually leaving a party with a beautiful woman, tonight “score” meant prolonging going home with them. As for the well designed plan that the husbands came up with, I can only compare it to children begging their parents to "stay just a little bit longer pppaaaallllleeeaaasseee!!!" So throughout the night Husbands could be heard whining to their wives:
“But can I just play one more game of beer pong with my friends? I promise I’ll be quick”
All that was missing from the husbands’ part was heavy breathing and grass stains on their clothes. Some men were granted a reprieve, others dragged home, and a select few just continued their partying while disgruntled wives/mothers watched their very tired children wrestle on the grass. One man was even bold enough to walk his wife and child home and then use the excuse of "babe, we forgot her FAVORITE purple sippy cup, I have to go back!" Creative, I must admit.
But the fun didn’t stop there.
One lucky boy was granted permission for the husband equivalent of a sleep over: another couple would drive him home later.
In the classic moment of the night, as his wife and daughters were driving away, and as he waved “good-night”, his wife slowed the car down in front of the house in the same way a south central LA gang member slows down for a drive-by. She rolled down the back window, and the cruelest of all weapons was unleashed. All you could hear was the tiniest, cutest girl voice saying “where’s Daddy? Where’s Daddy? I want Daddy to come home”.
A drive-by to the heart.
I looked at Daddy’s face and it silently screamed, “I’ll be home in an hour, baby. Daddy loves you”.
As the night drew to a close I found myself sitting on the floor of a garage playing caps with 5 grown men and a 4 year old. Caps, a game I never really understood the point of, seemed like a last ditch effort to keep the party going. It didn't last long. I was surprised however, that so many actually did stay for “the long haul”; or what some might call the wee hour of 9:30PM.
My observations, while entertaining, have taught me several things...most of all, parenting is hard! And if/when I am invited to a party similar when I am a parent myself, I am getting a baby-sitter!
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Dan's Belly
We just got back from our babymoon to Kauai. It was a lot of fun. The sun was out, the water was warm, but more importantly, I was drinking for two.
We never had a chance to go on a trip after our wedding, so Kauai doubled as our honeymoon and babymoon. As such, all our travel paperwork said “reason for vacation: honeymoon and babymoon”. I might as well have written “shotgun wedding”. So it was kinda awkward when the front desk hands the “newlywed” Carrie a complementary bottle of champagne and she rests it on her belly. Every time we checked-in to pre-booked activities, you could see the questions swimming around in the heads of our Kauai hosts: “should I acknowledge the wedding AND the pregnancy?”, “should I just ignore the fact that this newlywed is 26 weeks preggers”, “should I ask if her father’s shot gun matched the wedding colors?”.
The only unfortunate (although super funny) development was that Carrie’s grand prego-upgrade schemes were constantly getting denied. She got the idea when we went to Cabo and some lady got bumped to 1st class cause her tank top said “lucky bride”. All throughout the trip Carrie’d try to wear clothes that extenuated her pregnant belly in order to get free stuff and upgrades. Like, when we checked at the airline ticket counter, she pointed to her belly with her eyes as the ticket agent checked her ID. Thank goodness maternity stores don’t have a newlywed section otherwise I would have been sitting on the plane next to a “lucky bride” tank top wearing preggo periodically commenting on how she didn’t know alcohol was free in first class.
What ultimately thwarted my bride’s prego-upgrade scheme was that Kauai is full of prego travelers, or what I like to call Kauai’s official floppy hat wearing designated driver.
I’d say about one third of all couples in Kauai are expecting. Because of this we saw all kinds of bellies.
And then I noticed that Carrie was just as fascinated at checking out the different pregnant bumps as I was. Which I initially thought was awesome because it gave me free rein to gawk at women (which of course I did not do).
And with anything that is awesome while you are married, there was a soul draining downside: Carrie would constantly complain that everyone had a bigger bump than she had. She had bump envy. And she wanted me to suffer though the pain with her.
I’m totally fine with the size of her bump. And as an Asian male, I know that size isn’t everything. So to reassure her, I would point to huge bumps and say, “that one’s waay to big, that one would definitely hurt”. I would also tell Carrie that her bump was “just the perfect size for me. Not too big, not too small”.
Needless to say she wasn’t buying it.
I knew I was getting desperate when I suggested that we should start shopping for an expensive sports car.
And then one morning we were in front of the bathroom mirror getting ready to go to the beach. As I put my hand on Carrie’s stomach, I was reminded that in that small little belly, a little girl who I have never met before is waiting to come out into this huge, big world; and that Carrie and I would have a responsibility to ensure that this tiny girl in Carrie’s little belly would grow up to be a strong, successful, beautiful woman.
A little girl that we would care for, love, and cherish with all our hearts for the rest of our lives.
I then realized that there's nothing small about Carrie’s little belly.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The waiting game 2
I'm going to be honest. I can't wait for it to come out. With its wrinkly little body and soft skin. Skin that has never seen the light of day. So pure, so delicate, so innocent.
I'm of course talking about Carrie's belly button.
I have this unhealthy facination with Carrie's belly. I've heard so much about how a woman's body changes during pregnancy but the only thing that truly mesmerizes me is the fact that her belly button will go from an innie to an outtie.
It is so ready to pop out....and I want to witness it.
I'll sit there for 30 minutes trying to gently pop it out like a zit.
I'm of course talking about Carrie's belly button.
I have this unhealthy facination with Carrie's belly. I've heard so much about how a woman's body changes during pregnancy but the only thing that truly mesmerizes me is the fact that her belly button will go from an innie to an outtie.
It is so ready to pop out....and I want to witness it.
I'll sit there for 30 minutes trying to gently pop it out like a zit.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Under her skin
Carrie's boobs are super itchy.
Because of this she's constantly applying moisturizer to them. What's funny is her application technique. I giggle cause it looks exactly how 6th grade Me would describe the best way to pleasure a woman.
Which, for those of you who are imagination-deficient, would focus solely on the boobs and involve rough, un-sexy wax-on/wax-off hand motions.
When Carrie asked me why I was giggling, I told her 11 year old Danny Natividad would totally be turned on right now. After I further explained myself, the conversation morphs into how she thinks I don't find her attractive anymore. After an hour of trying to explain that XX year old Carrie Natividad is the most beautiful women in the world, I come to the realization that either 1) my wife thinks I should be turned on by her wax-on/wax-off boob massaging or 2) mood swings do come back in the 3rd trimester.
Either way, I'm in trouble.
Because of this she's constantly applying moisturizer to them. What's funny is her application technique. I giggle cause it looks exactly how 6th grade Me would describe the best way to pleasure a woman.
Which, for those of you who are imagination-deficient, would focus solely on the boobs and involve rough, un-sexy wax-on/wax-off hand motions.
When Carrie asked me why I was giggling, I told her 11 year old Danny Natividad would totally be turned on right now. After I further explained myself, the conversation morphs into how she thinks I don't find her attractive anymore. After an hour of trying to explain that XX year old Carrie Natividad is the most beautiful women in the world, I come to the realization that either 1) my wife thinks I should be turned on by her wax-on/wax-off boob massaging or 2) mood swings do come back in the 3rd trimester.
Either way, I'm in trouble.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Danny Issues
Ask me anything.
That's what AMA stands for. A few weeks ago Ken Jennings (that guy who won $3 million on Jeopardy) did an AMA on Reddit. He answered questions about Jeopardy, his religion (Mormon), his car (1998 Corolla), and the TV show Perfect Strangers, amongst other random things.
A day later I couldn't deny my throbbing man crush on the 74-time Jeopardy winner. I couldn't get him out of my mind. If there was a Ken Jennings equivalent of Tiger Beat, I would have bought it. I caught myself thinking, "I want to have Ken Jennings baby". No wait....what I meant was:
"I hope my kid grows up to be like that guy".
And with those words still hanging in my brain, I realized my barometer of cool had changed. I might as well start shopping for Bermuda shorts, black socks and Birkenstocks.
If I had been introduced to smart and sassy Ken 6 months ago, instead of thinking "WE MUST BUILD A FILIPINO GIRL VERSION OF KEN JENNINGS", I would have thought, "I'd like to have a beer with that guy" (and yes i realize that he doesn't drink alcohol). Everyone has their internal cool barometer. Carrie's version is what I call "best friends". For example, least year she said, "If Penelope Cruz lived in Stockton, we would totally be best friends".
When I was a kid my barometer of cool was "I wanna grow up to be like him"; from 18 to 30 it was the beer thing; and now when I meet a cool person for the first time, or I'm stalking old friends on facebook, my barometer of cool is undeniably, "I hope my kid grows up to be like that guy/gal".
I guess it just points to my eagerness to meet my daughter and figure out what the little chick is all about. The anticipation is definitely changing the way I view the world. When I hear a feel good story on the news about a teenager I think, "way to go parents!". Six months ago I would have thought, "so when does she turn 18?". Even when I gawk at women, my outlook has changed. Instead of starting at their huge books and senses of humor, I now think things like "whoa, I hope my kid has her complexion". It's like playing this huge game of "Mystery Date" but instead of appropriate outfits to pick out for a possible "Smart" date, "Jock" date, or "the Dud" date; I'm trying to pick out human traits and parenting techniques for my "Mystery" daughter.
I'm constantly trying to figure out what she'll look like and what type of person she'll be. I've combed Wikipedia's list of famous Half Filipinos for images of what she'll look like. I frequently think things like: Will she have Carrie's nose? Will she have my winning personality? Will she have Ken Jennings's wit and trivia knowledge? Carrie has even gotten in on the act. The other day she forced my to shop with her at the Asian supermarket to hunt for mixed raced babies in the hopes of finding one that looks like our future daughter.
But you know what? That's the fun part.
The hard part is trying to find out how to raise a kid. There are so many different opinions. Have you ever considered a co-sleeper? How long you gonna breast feed? Disposable diapers or cloth? Are you gonna eat the placenta? People say it will come naturally, but I'm scared as heck about messing up on the parenting thing. Cause lets face it, the father is the root cause of all women's problems. It sure as shit ain't called "Mommy Issues". I'm just afraid that one well intentioned but misinformed decision will adversely affect her for the rest of her life. "Just keep her off the pole", Chris Rock says. That joke was a whole lot funnier before my wife got knocked up.
One decision that will affect her for the rest of her life, that we need to make soon, is what to name her. With girls it's hard. Do you want something cute and spunky? Or do you want something dignified and strong. Originally I was pulling for the latter. When Carrie suggests a name, i automatically put the word "President" in front. If it sounds intuitive, it makes it to the next round. Think about it, what sounds more natural: "Please rise for President Vanilla Natividad" or "Hey guys get your dollars out cause coming next on the stage, put your hands together for Vanilla Natividad"? Needless to say, "Vanilla" is not on our list of baby names.
When Carrie suggested "Daphne" I decided to google "President Daphne".
With such a good google record, I decided to take my chance on Daphne and roll the dice. I then proceeded to google "Stripper Daphne". I closed my eyes and pressed "Search".
Google said "do you mean president Daphne"
My eyes widened.
+100 points
Congratulations the name "Daphne", you've moved on to the next round.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Traits I hope Carrie passes on to the baby #1
Her awesome power of observation.
"All this time I thought the lead character was named 'Neal'.
That changes the whole movie for me."
That changes the whole movie for me."
- Carrie's actual words after I spend an hour explaining why I like the movie "the Matrix".
Monday, February 28, 2011
Baby's first restraining order
Wanna see what has been giving me nightmares the past three nights?
My bachelor buddy, Mr. Harrison Parker gave our yet to be born little girl this present. I'm using "mister" because it'll just look more official when I go to the courthouse and apply for an "in utero" restraining order.
He's constantly drinking, he doesn't even have a job, and he still lives with his parents. There's no way he's dating my daughter.
As a public service, I'm releasing his picture to make sure your children stay as far away as possible from "the dude who gives bikinis to infants".
Beware of this smiling asshole:
He's constantly drinking, he doesn't even have a job, and he still lives with his parents. There's no way he's dating my daughter.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
"awesome.....just what I wanted"
Sonogram says.....
HAMBURGER
(During the "potty shot" instead of a "turtle head" they found a "hamburger")
In other words, we're having a girl!
So it's settled: Carrie will be the disciplinarian and I'll be the push over. Although I'm preparing myself to resist our little girl's charms and lay down the law. I periodically whisper "you're grounded" into Carrie's belly. So far she's listening.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Upper Deck or Topps
My brother tried to convince me to wait until after the kid was born to find out the gender. He said It would be the "greatest surprise of my life". And he's right. It would have been. But to be honest, I need to find out as soon as possible whether our kid's turkey timer pops up or stays in forever.
You see I have a horrible poker face.
And I'll let you in on a little secret: 9 times out to 10 if you tell me something and in response I raise my eyebrows and softly yell "awesome", whatever you're talking about is in fact "not awesome". You'll know cause I'll have the same look on my face as a 4 year when told to smile for the camera.
I'm generally a nice guy, but if I'm the slightest bit disappointed, you'll know it. I can't hide it. When I was eleven I begged my Mom for a 1989 "Upper Deck" Complete Baseball Card Set. Anyways, a few days before Christmas, I noticed a present underneath the tree that looked eerily like a baseball card set and my excitement grew. So you can imagine my disappointment when I tear open the wrapping paper and f-ing Jose Canseco is staring straight into my face. And he's mocking me from the box of a 1989 "Topps" Baseball Card Set. Muther F-ing TOPPS? Not Donruss. Not Fleer. Certainly not Upper Deck. But Muther F-ing Topps? For a split second I thought there were only two logical explanations for this: 1) my Mom has no idea who the f-ck she gave birth to in 1977; or 2) my Mom knowingly wanted to break my little heart, she in fact knows me better than I know myself, so she hatches a plan using the ol' Upper Deck Trojan Horse and releases the Topps soldiers in order to break my spirits forever. Which is funny cause my Mom's super nice. Anyways, eventually I realize that my Mom made an honest mistake out of love, and that my spoiled ass should be happy regardless (at least she got "baseball card complete set" right), so I tried to play down my displeasure. I raised my eyebrows and fake yelled, "awesome.....baseball cards.....just what I wanted". Unfortunately, my poker face said "Dad's my favorite parent now, lady". What's worse is I could actually see the air deflate from my Mom's face. At the time, that was the worst I had ever felt in my whole life.
But there's a silver lining: after a few months of saving and doing extra chores, I was able to purchase the magical 1989 Upper Deck set. Hoorraayyy!
Its funny cause when Carrie and I first started dating in college, I was so broke but I wanted to impress her by taking her out to a fancy weekend getaway. I saved up some money from my job but I needed a little extra to make sure I could cover the cost of the "jacket required" restaurant that I booked. Looking for some fast cash I went to a baseball card convention and sold the magical 1989 Upper Deck set as well as the rest of my childhood baseball cards and sets I brought that day.
So why am I telling you about my inability to hide my 1989 Christmas disappointment from my Mom?
Because I know (if I don't know the sex of our kid going in) when the baby pops out and the Doc asks me to announce the gender, I'm going to raise my eyebrows and I'm going to fake yell, "awesome.....a girl.....just what I wanted", while the rest of my poker face shows absolute terror. And everyone will know at that moment that my wife gave birth to a bubbly, bouncing 1989 Topps Baseball Card Set.
I know I'm a horrible person for thinking that. But it's true.
While I'm scared shitless about having a baby, I'm more scared shitless about the possibility of raising a girl. Now don't get me wrong, whatever gender our kid turns out to be I'll be happy. It's just yelling "it's a boy" feels more natural to me then yelling "it's a girl".
First of all, if we have a girl, that little chick is going to have me wrapped around her chubby little fingers.
Carrie already jokes that she's going to have to be the disciplinarian if she pops out a chick. Cause let's face it, if we have a girl, she's going to be pretty darn cute. I can say "no" to a little boy. I don't know if I have the willpower to say "no" to a cute little girl.
If we have a girl, I know that I'll be a walking ATM for the next 30 years. Her ATM code will be a voice activated "I love you Dad". What's horrible is that I know it's going to happen, but there is nothing I can do to stop it. I already see it with my friends who have little girls. Those little rugrats are so manipulative. They'll purposely walk around their mothers to get a hug from their fathers. They'll say shit like "daddy....will you marry me?" How can you resist that?
And it's not because I think boys are better or some sexist BS. Its just that for my whole life when I imagined playing with my kid, it always involved doing dude stuff. Not just playing catch and lighting shit on fire, but things like prepping the kid for their first dance or helping the kid get over their first real heartbreak. Cause let's face it, for girls, that's Mommy Territory. If we have a girl, Carrie will be the one who shops with her for her prom dress. Carrie will be the one who helps her plan her wedding. I guess I'd be jealous that our kid and Carrie will have this natural secret society that I can't (and probably shouldn't) be a part of.
Like the first time our kid "reboots her ovarian operating system", Carrie will be the one who takes her to Gunne Sax in San Francisco on a school day to talk about cute boys, traveling pants, and monthly visits from Aunt Flo. I'll be the dude eating top ramen in front of my laptop as my two girls bond over the wonders of woman hood while sharing an ice cream. Let's face it, shit would get real awkward when "Dad" butts in to a conversation about panty shields and tampons with the phrase, "so I hear its game time for the Crimson Tide".
So long story short, I want to learn the gender of our kid early so I can process everything in my own time, boy or girl. This whole post might be about girls but believe me, I could write a whole post dedicated to being scared shitless about having a boy. Cause I do like having nice things. And boys are definitely nature's wrecking ball for nice things. Regardless of gender, at least I know what I'm giving the kid for their eleventh birthday: my most cherished childhood possession, my 1989 Topps Baseball Card Set.
Disclaimer: I started writing this post before we went in for Carrie's ultrasound. I finished this post knowing the gender of out kid. Wanna know what we're having? What type or "scared shitless" am I right now? Stay tuned.
You see I have a horrible poker face.
And I'll let you in on a little secret: 9 times out to 10 if you tell me something and in response I raise my eyebrows and softly yell "awesome", whatever you're talking about is in fact "not awesome". You'll know cause I'll have the same look on my face as a 4 year when told to smile for the camera.
I'm generally a nice guy, but if I'm the slightest bit disappointed, you'll know it. I can't hide it. When I was eleven I begged my Mom for a 1989 "Upper Deck" Complete Baseball Card Set. Anyways, a few days before Christmas, I noticed a present underneath the tree that looked eerily like a baseball card set and my excitement grew. So you can imagine my disappointment when I tear open the wrapping paper and f-ing Jose Canseco is staring straight into my face. And he's mocking me from the box of a 1989 "Topps" Baseball Card Set. Muther F-ing TOPPS? Not Donruss. Not Fleer. Certainly not Upper Deck. But Muther F-ing Topps? For a split second I thought there were only two logical explanations for this: 1) my Mom has no idea who the f-ck she gave birth to in 1977; or 2) my Mom knowingly wanted to break my little heart, she in fact knows me better than I know myself, so she hatches a plan using the ol' Upper Deck Trojan Horse and releases the Topps soldiers in order to break my spirits forever. Which is funny cause my Mom's super nice. Anyways, eventually I realize that my Mom made an honest mistake out of love, and that my spoiled ass should be happy regardless (at least she got "baseball card complete set" right), so I tried to play down my displeasure. I raised my eyebrows and fake yelled, "awesome.....baseball cards.....just what I wanted". Unfortunately, my poker face said "Dad's my favorite parent now, lady". What's worse is I could actually see the air deflate from my Mom's face. At the time, that was the worst I had ever felt in my whole life.
But there's a silver lining: after a few months of saving and doing extra chores, I was able to purchase the magical 1989 Upper Deck set. Hoorraayyy!
Its funny cause when Carrie and I first started dating in college, I was so broke but I wanted to impress her by taking her out to a fancy weekend getaway. I saved up some money from my job but I needed a little extra to make sure I could cover the cost of the "jacket required" restaurant that I booked. Looking for some fast cash I went to a baseball card convention and sold the magical 1989 Upper Deck set as well as the rest of my childhood baseball cards and sets I brought that day.
So why am I telling you about my inability to hide my 1989 Christmas disappointment from my Mom?
Because I know (if I don't know the sex of our kid going in) when the baby pops out and the Doc asks me to announce the gender, I'm going to raise my eyebrows and I'm going to fake yell, "awesome.....a girl.....just what I wanted", while the rest of my poker face shows absolute terror. And everyone will know at that moment that my wife gave birth to a bubbly, bouncing 1989 Topps Baseball Card Set.
I know I'm a horrible person for thinking that. But it's true.
While I'm scared shitless about having a baby, I'm more scared shitless about the possibility of raising a girl. Now don't get me wrong, whatever gender our kid turns out to be I'll be happy. It's just yelling "it's a boy" feels more natural to me then yelling "it's a girl".
First of all, if we have a girl, that little chick is going to have me wrapped around her chubby little fingers.
Carrie already jokes that she's going to have to be the disciplinarian if she pops out a chick. Cause let's face it, if we have a girl, she's going to be pretty darn cute. I can say "no" to a little boy. I don't know if I have the willpower to say "no" to a cute little girl.
If we have a girl, I know that I'll be a walking ATM for the next 30 years. Her ATM code will be a voice activated "I love you Dad". What's horrible is that I know it's going to happen, but there is nothing I can do to stop it. I already see it with my friends who have little girls. Those little rugrats are so manipulative. They'll purposely walk around their mothers to get a hug from their fathers. They'll say shit like "daddy....will you marry me?" How can you resist that?
And it's not because I think boys are better or some sexist BS. Its just that for my whole life when I imagined playing with my kid, it always involved doing dude stuff. Not just playing catch and lighting shit on fire, but things like prepping the kid for their first dance or helping the kid get over their first real heartbreak. Cause let's face it, for girls, that's Mommy Territory. If we have a girl, Carrie will be the one who shops with her for her prom dress. Carrie will be the one who helps her plan her wedding. I guess I'd be jealous that our kid and Carrie will have this natural secret society that I can't (and probably shouldn't) be a part of.
Like the first time our kid "reboots her ovarian operating system", Carrie will be the one who takes her to Gunne Sax in San Francisco on a school day to talk about cute boys, traveling pants, and monthly visits from Aunt Flo. I'll be the dude eating top ramen in front of my laptop as my two girls bond over the wonders of woman hood while sharing an ice cream. Let's face it, shit would get real awkward when "Dad" butts in to a conversation about panty shields and tampons with the phrase, "so I hear its game time for the Crimson Tide".
So long story short, I want to learn the gender of our kid early so I can process everything in my own time, boy or girl. This whole post might be about girls but believe me, I could write a whole post dedicated to being scared shitless about having a boy. Cause I do like having nice things. And boys are definitely nature's wrecking ball for nice things. Regardless of gender, at least I know what I'm giving the kid for their eleventh birthday: my most cherished childhood possession, my 1989 Topps Baseball Card Set.
Disclaimer: I started writing this post before we went in for Carrie's ultrasound. I finished this post knowing the gender of out kid. Wanna know what we're having? What type or "scared shitless" am I right now? Stay tuned.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Swings
The other night I slept on the couch. Carrie and I got into a fight and she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me.
I really don’t blame her. You see, I did the most messed up thing a husband can do.
I kissed another woman.
In Las Vegas.
At Richie’s Bachelor Party.
Which is interesting because the bachelor party is three months in the future.
If you’re doing the math that means I slept on the sofa the other night for something she IMAGINED might happen in three months. And for the record I actually traveled to the future to make sure Future Dan didn’t make a mistake and to warn him of the consequences that his actions will have on his past (I know, it didn’t make sense to him either). Anyways, he just spent the whole weekend playing blackjack and drunkenly repeating, “Roads, Marty? Where we’re going we don’t need roads”.
So I’m slowly learning that to a pregnant woman on the downslope of a mood swing, the “guy who gave her morning sickness” should be held accountable for shit he does in her imagination, for shit he does in her dreams, and for shit that his friends do both real and imagined. And frankly, after what I’ve been through, I’m in no position to disagree.
Now, I’ve been through the swings before. We’ve been together for 10 years and I’ve never slept on the sofa. So this was no premenstrual swing. This was a different breed. It was wearing a cape, had a trusty side kick, and when it wasn’t kicking my ass, it had a secret identity.
But you know, they call them mood swings for a reason.
On the good side of the swings Carrie is like super gay for me.
She’s way clingy and it’s kinda scary. I’ll be on the laptop and get startled cause I suddenly notice that she’s one foot away just staring at me. And she’s smiling. Or I’ll be taking a shower and notice she’s waving “hi” to me from the other side of the glass door.
She’ll constantly call me on the phone to ask how I’m doing or when I’m coming home. And it’s not the, “I want to keep track of your whereabouts” type of call, but rather it’s the, “I genuinely miss you” type of call. That’s pretty scary. If we’re driving in the car she’ll randomly say stuff like “I love you so much”. What’s funny is it sounds like she REALLY means it. Again, scary. She’s a love struck thirteen year old without the self-conscious filter that comes with being thirteen.
But at the end of the day I know not to take anything too personally. Commander Carrie’s forced me to read enough prenatal books for me to realize that. I have to admit that being borderline stalked by your wife is pretty nice. As such, I’ve learned to keep my Clingy Carrie memories in my Swing-bank for retrieval in case she gets upset at me for “sweeping the floor wrong”. However I have to be careful. Having a smile on my face while she’s yelling at me will most likely piss her off.
I really don’t blame her. You see, I did the most messed up thing a husband can do.
I kissed another woman.
In Las Vegas.
At Richie’s Bachelor Party.
Which is interesting because the bachelor party is three months in the future.
If you’re doing the math that means I slept on the sofa the other night for something she IMAGINED might happen in three months. And for the record I actually traveled to the future to make sure Future Dan didn’t make a mistake and to warn him of the consequences that his actions will have on his past (I know, it didn’t make sense to him either). Anyways, he just spent the whole weekend playing blackjack and drunkenly repeating, “Roads, Marty? Where we’re going we don’t need roads”.
So I’m slowly learning that to a pregnant woman on the downslope of a mood swing, the “guy who gave her morning sickness” should be held accountable for shit he does in her imagination, for shit he does in her dreams, and for shit that his friends do both real and imagined. And frankly, after what I’ve been through, I’m in no position to disagree.
Now, I’ve been through the swings before. We’ve been together for 10 years and I’ve never slept on the sofa. So this was no premenstrual swing. This was a different breed. It was wearing a cape, had a trusty side kick, and when it wasn’t kicking my ass, it had a secret identity.
But you know, they call them mood swings for a reason.
On the good side of the swings Carrie is like super gay for me.
She’s way clingy and it’s kinda scary. I’ll be on the laptop and get startled cause I suddenly notice that she’s one foot away just staring at me. And she’s smiling. Or I’ll be taking a shower and notice she’s waving “hi” to me from the other side of the glass door.
She’ll constantly call me on the phone to ask how I’m doing or when I’m coming home. And it’s not the, “I want to keep track of your whereabouts” type of call, but rather it’s the, “I genuinely miss you” type of call. That’s pretty scary. If we’re driving in the car she’ll randomly say stuff like “I love you so much”. What’s funny is it sounds like she REALLY means it. Again, scary. She’s a love struck thirteen year old without the self-conscious filter that comes with being thirteen.
But at the end of the day I know not to take anything too personally. Commander Carrie’s forced me to read enough prenatal books for me to realize that. I have to admit that being borderline stalked by your wife is pretty nice. As such, I’ve learned to keep my Clingy Carrie memories in my Swing-bank for retrieval in case she gets upset at me for “sweeping the floor wrong”. However I have to be careful. Having a smile on my face while she’s yelling at me will most likely piss her off.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Bang, Zoom.....Straight to the Moon
“This is probably our last chance for romance”
These were the words Carrie used when she tried to convince me to have a “babymoon”. I use the quotation marks on “babymoon” to emphasize how lame it is. For the uninformed, a “babymoon” is an excuse for pregnant ladies to bother their husbands to spend money on a vacation before popping out the miracle. Basically you’re saying “this little bundle of joy is going be more expensive on a per pound basis then Jay-Z. Let’s spend some of our precious savings on a trip to the Maldives”. Some say that the “babymoon” is when the soft spot is formed.
Originally I thought this was just the travel industry’s way to exploit the guilt of fathers to be. I’m surprised there aren’t advertisements at the doc’s office with somber headlines that read “this chick’s demolishing her lady parts for you. The least you can do is buy a plane ticket and a few non-alcoholic mai tais. It’s uterUS not uterYOU, jackass”. Maybe it’s just the name that makes me think it’s all a marketing gimmick. You can’t just add the word “moon” to something and make it a legit excuse to take a vacation. Although “Opening Round of the NCAA Tournament….Moon” has a nice ring to it.
But then I really started thinking about it. Maybe she’s right. She’s not gonna wanna have “romance” after the baby’s born. We can’t go out for dinner and a movie just the two of us until the kid’s at least twelve. I know for a fact that the baby bjorn isn’t part of the dress code at The AVE on the Mile. Can you take an infant to rock concerts?
Holy shit! This COULD be our last chance for (not only romance but) “EVERYTHING-mance”?
I mean, the closest I’ve ever been to raising a kid is creating a player named Haywood Jablowme on Madden 2010 and that took up a shit-ton of time. I’m assuming raising a kid is at least twice as hard as guiding the Stockton Seaman to the Madden Bowl. But a kid, man? You can’t pause the game on his or her development to play in a beer pong tourney.
But to be honest, I did kinda tear up watching little Haywood lift up the Madden Bowl trophy for the first time. And you know, I did turn down a few opportunities to represent my Beer Pong team, “2 Guys, 1 Cup”, in order to take part in Haywood’s ups and downs. After the little dude’s fourth NFL MVP I caught myself thinking, “They grow up so fast”. I even remember beaming with pride when reciting his stats.
I guess having a kid won’t be that bad. I’ll just have different Bowls to win, other MVP awards to gather, new warp zones to explore, and different achievements to unlock. The adventures Carrie and I had before the kid will just be replaced with new and uncharted adventures. Only this time I won’t be the one vomiting and talking incoherently. And even though I wouldn’t be able to step foot in a movie theater for the next three years, I’ll finally have a subject worthy enough to make home movies about.
So I guess in a roundabout way I’m saying I’m warming up to the whole babymoon idea, but not because it’s going to be “our last chance for romance”. I’m willing to admit that our definition of “romance” will change (shoot, our definition of “life” will change). But I’m hoping the actual presence of romance won’t. Going off on a week-long romantic vacation most likely will not be in our vernacular for the next two years. However, that doesn’t mean that we can’t have a little bit of “romance” while the baby’s napping. And instead of wine glasses we’ll just be drinking out of juice boxes.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The price of unconditional love
I talked to friends and family about the cost of daycare, feedings, clothes, etc. After extensive research I have come to the conclusion that, pound for pound, the most expensive human beings are new born babies and hip hop moguls. Below is a summary of my findings so far. I used the assumption that the average weight of a newborn is 7lbs while the weight of your average hip hop mogul is 185lbs. 
So far its close. However with my luck, I'll probably raise a kid who wants to "make it rain" in Disneyland.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
New Name for the Blog
We're still keeping danpluscarrie.blogspot.com
but we have a new address because of a new addition:
danpluscarrieplusbaby.blogspot.com
but we have a new address because of a new addition:
danpluscarrieplusbaby.blogspot.com
Friday, December 31, 2010
Danger Natividad
If we have a boy, I'm seriously thinking of naming him "Danger". We'd call him "Dan" for short or "Danny Boy" when he's little. It started out as a joke between Carrie and I, but its starting to grow on me. Danger Natividad. Think about it.
Monday, December 20, 2010
It's a girl!
Or a boy! We don't know. Carrie and I are actually debating whether or not we should find out during our next ultrasound.
After the first ultrasound, I could have cared less about the gender of the baby. I just want a healthy, happy child. Although, that was the thought until Richie called to congratulate. He says, "Awesome, now Ashton will have a hot filipino/chinese/white girlfriend in high school".
A cold sweat came over my body.
My kid isn't even born yet. We don't even know the gender, but the thought of my baby daughter dating anyone scared the shit out of me. Cause lets face it, when you have a boy, you worry about one penis. With a girl, you worry about all the penises in the world. I didn't sleep that night.I checked and double checked the online Chinese baby gender predictor charts. I tried to remember what position we were in when we conceived. I woke Carrie up in the middle of the night and asked her "are you craving salty or sweet foods?"
My only consolation is the ultrasound is several months before the due date. That should give me enough time to apply for a gun license.
After the first ultrasound, I could have cared less about the gender of the baby. I just want a healthy, happy child. Although, that was the thought until Richie called to congratulate. He says, "Awesome, now Ashton will have a hot filipino/chinese/white girlfriend in high school".
A cold sweat came over my body.
My kid isn't even born yet. We don't even know the gender, but the thought of my baby daughter dating anyone scared the shit out of me. Cause lets face it, when you have a boy, you worry about one penis. With a girl, you worry about all the penises in the world. I didn't sleep that night.I checked and double checked the online Chinese baby gender predictor charts. I tried to remember what position we were in when we conceived. I woke Carrie up in the middle of the night and asked her "are you craving salty or sweet foods?"
My only consolation is the ultrasound is several months before the due date. That should give me enough time to apply for a gun license.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Baby's first OB appointment
The day before our prenatal appointment Carrie says "you know they stick this thing in my thing, right?".
Unfortunately, not much can prepare a man for his first Ob/Gyn appointment.
I was expecting to have my arm around my wife's shoulder, being the supportive husband as the doc scans her belly. Both of us nodding attentively as the doc explains how this cute little gray speck on the screen is our kids fingers and how this cute little speck is his little button nose. Both of us in awe of and inspired by the wonders of baby making. In truth there isn't much inspiring about the Ob office. I guess I'm expecting everyone to be just as psyched as we are: giving us huge smiles, knowing nods and high fives. What we got was a bunch of people in pajamas waiting for their lunch break.
You have to admit that the husband is definitely the forgotten party at the OB/Gyn office. When you're in the waiting room and they call your wife's name, they're just calling for your wife, not you. That's right, fake stretch as you sit back down buddy. The whole appointment is like this. When instructions were given by the doc or nurse, they looked at Carrie and never me. The fact that I'm half the reason why we were there is treated with the same sterility as a lab test. For our next kid i'm charging Carrie a co-pay for successful implantation.
At least the reading material was interesting. Brochure after brochure of why you shouldn't smoke crack when you're pregnant, or shoot heroin when you're pregnant, or do some other drug when you're pregnant. The marketer in me began to think "what demographic am I in?" and who at the brochure shop visualized a mom-to-be saying "I know I can't have lunch meat, sushi, hot dogs, and.....wait a minute....I can't smoke crack? Good thing I ran into this brochure at my prenatal visit". I think the medical community's biggest crutch is the tri-fold brochure. Have 5 health problems? Walk out with 5 brochures. But I digress. When you finally get to the exam room, the only place to sit is on your wife's neatly folded clothes next to the metal ducks. Then you think, "she doesn't fold clothes this neatly at home".
The exam rooms are roughly the size of an office cubicle. Add in a doc, nurse, mother to be, sperm donor and a stack of nicely folded clothes, and the new guy is left to struggle to find an appropriate viewing spot let alone try to be all supportive and shit by holding hands with the wife.
After the breast exam (awkward), the doc puts a "thing" on the "thing" that they're going to stick in Carrie's "thing".
Then the doc makes it disappear.
Almost immediately you hear a sound I can only describe as a window shutter slowly hitting an underwater house repeatedly. And all that shit you had to get through to hear it doesn't matter anymore. Even though you're sitting on the other side of the room on your wife's nicely folded clothes, there is nothing more clear or astonishing then the first time you hear your kid's heartbeat. It hits you that you and your wife are in for a wonderful adventure together. And you hope the doctor has a brochure for this.
update:I have to clarify that since the first appointment, our doc and the nurses have been nothing short of spectacular. Eye contact with the husband, warming of the hands (you know what I'm talking about), and overall being attentive, assertive, flexible, humorous and awesome.
Unfortunately, not much can prepare a man for his first Ob/Gyn appointment.
I was expecting to have my arm around my wife's shoulder, being the supportive husband as the doc scans her belly. Both of us nodding attentively as the doc explains how this cute little gray speck on the screen is our kids fingers and how this cute little speck is his little button nose. Both of us in awe of and inspired by the wonders of baby making. In truth there isn't much inspiring about the Ob office. I guess I'm expecting everyone to be just as psyched as we are: giving us huge smiles, knowing nods and high fives. What we got was a bunch of people in pajamas waiting for their lunch break.
You have to admit that the husband is definitely the forgotten party at the OB/Gyn office. When you're in the waiting room and they call your wife's name, they're just calling for your wife, not you. That's right, fake stretch as you sit back down buddy. The whole appointment is like this. When instructions were given by the doc or nurse, they looked at Carrie and never me. The fact that I'm half the reason why we were there is treated with the same sterility as a lab test. For our next kid i'm charging Carrie a co-pay for successful implantation.
At least the reading material was interesting. Brochure after brochure of why you shouldn't smoke crack when you're pregnant, or shoot heroin when you're pregnant, or do some other drug when you're pregnant. The marketer in me began to think "what demographic am I in?" and who at the brochure shop visualized a mom-to-be saying "I know I can't have lunch meat, sushi, hot dogs, and.....wait a minute....I can't smoke crack? Good thing I ran into this brochure at my prenatal visit". I think the medical community's biggest crutch is the tri-fold brochure. Have 5 health problems? Walk out with 5 brochures. But I digress. When you finally get to the exam room, the only place to sit is on your wife's neatly folded clothes next to the metal ducks. Then you think, "she doesn't fold clothes this neatly at home".
The exam rooms are roughly the size of an office cubicle. Add in a doc, nurse, mother to be, sperm donor and a stack of nicely folded clothes, and the new guy is left to struggle to find an appropriate viewing spot let alone try to be all supportive and shit by holding hands with the wife.
After the breast exam (awkward), the doc puts a "thing" on the "thing" that they're going to stick in Carrie's "thing".
Then the doc makes it disappear.
Almost immediately you hear a sound I can only describe as a window shutter slowly hitting an underwater house repeatedly. And all that shit you had to get through to hear it doesn't matter anymore. Even though you're sitting on the other side of the room on your wife's nicely folded clothes, there is nothing more clear or astonishing then the first time you hear your kid's heartbeat. It hits you that you and your wife are in for a wonderful adventure together. And you hope the doctor has a brochure for this.
update:I have to clarify that since the first appointment, our doc and the nurses have been nothing short of spectacular. Eye contact with the husband, warming of the hands (you know what I'm talking about), and overall being attentive, assertive, flexible, humorous and awesome.
The waiting game
I downloaded an app to chart my wife's ovulation.
Its on my work phone so the IT dept knows when my wife's last period was. They also know when she's most fertile.
Scary thought.
Its on my work phone so the IT dept knows when my wife's last period was. They also know when she's most fertile.
Scary thought.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Clue #4
The traditional gift have you guessed
But my gift is not like the rest
It’s a modern take
On the paper keepsake
To you I'll give at your request
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Thursday, October 1, 2009
In case you were wondering where Joan and Justin were during the Wedding..
She's super late but here's our fifth flower girl: 
Ellie is Joan and Justin's second child. If she's anything like her mom I feel sorry for her big brother Tyler. (BTW: Joan's my little sister who couldn't make the wedding cause she had "better things to do")
Sidenote: Of the peeps we invited to the wedding, (off the top of my head) 8 babies were born within a few weeks of the wedding. In other words, my friends don't ski or snowboard much in November, December, or January.
Ellie Rey Natividad Arthur!
Born 9/27/09
Almost 9 pounds!!!
Ellie is Joan and Justin's second child. If she's anything like her mom I feel sorry for her big brother Tyler. (BTW: Joan's my little sister who couldn't make the wedding cause she had "better things to do")
Sidenote: Of the peeps we invited to the wedding, (off the top of my head) 8 babies were born within a few weeks of the wedding. In other words, my friends don't ski or snowboard much in November, December, or January.
Friday, September 11, 2009
FAQs for YOUs
Where do I stay? Click here
How do I request Karaoke song? Click here
Do you have a Gift registry? Click here
Where do I Park and what is a RECEPTION QUEST? Click here
How do I get to the wedding?
Directions:
Getting to Morris Chapel from I-5 heading North (from Bay Area) : Click here
How do I request Karaoke song? Click here
Do you have a Gift registry? Click here
Where do I Park and what is a RECEPTION QUEST? Click here
How do I get to the wedding?
Directions:
Getting to Morris Chapel from I-5 heading North (from Bay Area) : Click here
North on i-5
Exit Pershing Ave
Right on Harding Way
Left as Pacific Ave
Left on Knoles Way
Right at deadend
Getting to Morris Chapel from I-5 heading South (from Sacramento) : Click here
South on I-5
Take exit 476 for March Lane
Left at W. March Lane
Right at Pacific Ave
Right at Knoles Way
Take Right at deadend
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Where to Park and the RECEPTION QUEST!
Info on Parking:
Once you get on campus you will see directional signs for "Morris Chapel Parking". We highly encourage you to follow these signs. The signs will lead you to a parking lot in between the Chapel and the reception site. When you get to Morris Chapel, you will notice that there's a parking lot smack dab right next to the chapel. Resist the urge to park in these spots. Keep your eyes on the signs. We strongly urge you to not park next to the Chapel for a few reasons.
Once you get on campus you will see directional signs for "Morris Chapel Parking". We highly encourage you to follow these signs. The signs will lead you to a parking lot in between the Chapel and the reception site. When you get to Morris Chapel, you will notice that there's a parking lot smack dab right next to the chapel. Resist the urge to park in these spots. Keep your eyes on the signs. We strongly urge you to not park next to the Chapel for a few reasons.
- Distance-wise the reception site (DeRosa University Center) is 2 blocks from the Chapel but you have to walk through campus. During the day its a beautiful walk from the Center to the Chapel and vice versa. At night (after the reception) the walk is similar to the maze at the end of "The Shining". Unless you have "the shine" I wouldn't risk it. Plus you'll be drinking. For this reason it makes more sense to park in the lot between the chapel and the reception site. This lot is much easier to find after a night of Bud Lights and complaining about Franks ability to receive telepathic messages from Scatman Crothers.
- For those who require assistance from the Chapel to the reception site, we're providing a golf cart.
- You do not want to miss out on the "reception quest", do you?
Oh, what's that? I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome our "reception quest" is going to be. You'll have to speak louder.
Wait....you don't know what a "reception quest" is? Well OK, we'll explain it to you.
A reception quest is a series of clues and puzzles aimed to test your intelligence and endurance while guiding you to the reception site. During a reception quest only the pure of heart will survive. Its a quest designed to maximize action, adventure, and camaraderie on your way to the reception. Its....well the quest is basically a scavenger hunt designed to stall Justin and Brian on their b-line to the open bar.
Seriously though, the "real purpose" of the quest is to share Pacific's beautiful campus and to give our guest something fun to do on the walk to the reception. Carrie has put in so much work in the quest and we want everyone to enjoy it. Originally we were going to make it a surprise (a mini-DaVinci Code in our wedding program). But since I hang out with guys like Gabe and Richie, we realized that everyone might not get to the first clue. So we decided to include the map with the program and give our guest a heads up beforehand. The quest should only take about 10 minutes (30 mins for Gabe and Richie). The map will look something like this:
We would like as many of our guest to take part in the "Reception Quest" so please spread the word before, during and immediately after the wedding about the large amounts of fun you will be having on your way to the reception.
This isn't my first rodeo
With blogs that is.
My nephew and ring bearer, Tyler, left his Lightnening McQueen Car at our house a few months ago. This was the result. Clink on the link if you dare: The Save McQueen Blog
I highly suggest reading the note at the beginning and then read the rest backwards (bottom post first) since the posts go in reverse chronological order. And yes, I made this as a joke for his parents and not for Tyler to read himself.
My nephew and ring bearer, Tyler, left his Lightnening McQueen Car at our house a few months ago. This was the result. Clink on the link if you dare: The Save McQueen Blog
I highly suggest reading the note at the beginning and then read the rest backwards (bottom post first) since the posts go in reverse chronological order. And yes, I made this as a joke for his parents and not for Tyler to read himself.
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