Bachelor City. Day 7. Stripper-gram

You know my wife cringes every time she see these posts, right?

Anyway, we are 7 days into the 21 day “wife on the east coast with the kids” trip.

But, I just wanted to thank the anonymous Fun Time fan for sending over the Sexy Cop Stripper-gram. But, I suspect there was some kind of miscommunication. Probably my fault.

So, I sent him over to my neighbor a couple houses away. I heard he was fabulous.

Bachelor City. Day 6. Lesbian Shoe Shopping.

As most of you know, I am in the middle of a parental hiatus as my wonderful wife has stolen my kids to visit their grandparents on the East coast.

So, you might ask, how’s that going for you, Darren?

Funny. I find my browser is pointed to “Gorgeous Lesbians Go Shoe Shopping.”

I’m torn, Gorgeous Lesbians. What’s not to love? But I hate shopping. Especially for shoes. But, Lesbians…

I could blame Apple. Microsoft. Samsung. Probably Quicken. Maybe WordPerfect.

But, yeah, me. My fault.

You click a link. Then another link. Then Lesbians. Shopping for shoes.

I know that everyone needs shoes. And, I approve. Love me some lesbians.

But, why is this in my house?

Because I brought it.

Suzanne Krull

I know, I always try to be witty and funny here at the Fun Time.

But a friend of a friend died yesterday.

I never met her. Name doesn’t ring a bell.

Suzanne Krull. (You should know her name.)

But, I was born a about month before her. And she has (had) a 4 year old daughter.


The daddy/daughter fun time thing on this blog grows weary for me sometimes. But, never tragic. Not like this.

So, to my never-met friend Suzanne’s daughter (I don’t even know your name), this is tragic.

But, I am thinking of you.

UPDATE: The daughter’s name is Harper Joy. For real. Which makes this even more sad.

Bachelor City. Day Four.

So, after a number of conversations, some people were off-put by my recent “skinny dipping” post. To them, I say: Too bad. I will float with a noodle as long as I can. (That didn’t come out like I intended.)

Day four of bachelorhood, while the wife is visiting the grandparents with the girls (Today’s treat was a Birthday Party! Yay! … Not so much. Sorry, Honey.)

Not that I am going stir crazy, but I totally just yelled at the fake ficus tree in the Family Room to keep it down and to stop bothering your sister.

Meanwhile, skinny dipping awaits. My pool. My rules.


Bachelor City. Day 1. Night 1. Subway.

Not that you are keeping track, but I managed to survive Day 1 of being without my wife and children on their three week trek to grandmas’ houses back East.

Me: Subway, eat fresh. Or sort of. House Hunters (buy Number Three!) Miller: Lite. (Or Light. Not sure. Grammatically.)

I will post more, because, this is my only outlet. (Yeah, it’s gonna be a long three weeks.) Don’t hate me. (Or worse, Un-friend me…)

Bachelor City. Day 1. Night 1. Skinny Dippin’.

I know this is Too Much Information for some of my readers. But, if you have a pool at 92 degrees at night, and you had no kids to ask “Daddy, what are you wearing?? You’re naked? Ewww.”

I bet every one of you would say: I’m Skinny Dipping!

Three weeks without kids. Man, I know how to throw a party. For one.

(More skinny dipping to follow. I’ll send a memo.)

Bachelor City. Day 1.

The Fun Time is going to be a bit rudderless for the next three weeks. Our in-house Mommy (i.e. Lynn) has taken the girls for an extended East Coast visit of both sets of grandparents. I’ll be kicking it bachelor-style. How much trouble can I possibly get into. (Just in case, does anyone know a good bail bondsman?)

My first act of bachelordom: I left the toilet seat up. Because I can, that’s why!

(Yeah, it’s gonna be a looong three weeks.)


Isabella (she’s 6): Daddy, help me undo the buttons of my dress.

Me: Ok… Uno. Trece. Ochenta.

Iz: Those aren’t real numbers.

Me: Yes, they are. But, not in a row.

Iz: But, I don’t hablo español.

Me: Yeah… You do.

She is rightly puzzled.

Iz spends the next five minutes floating through the Spanish versions of 1 through 20. She thinks she is bi-lingual. “Uuuuno. Doooooos, Treeeees.”

Iz: Yo quiero want some ice cream.

She still has some work to do.

Me: Fudgesicle… ¿Sí o no?

Iz: ¿El Fudge? Si!


A drive-by insult after I put on my bathing suit to splash in the pool with the girls. Mere minutes ago.

Isabella (6): Yay! Daddy’s coming in! He put his suit on!… You look like a boxer!

Me: I do? Because I’m so strong, right?

Iz: No. Because you’re so fat. Hahaha!

Julianna (now 9): I don’t get it. But, it’s still funny, Hahaha!

Thinking Pink

Isabella (she’s 6) and I have separated ourselves from the herd at the shopping mall on Julianna’s birthday (now 9!) so we can get her some cool, sisterly birthday presents.

Iz: Oooo! Can we go there?! That looks like a girl’s store.

Isabella is pointing towards the Victoria’s Secret/Pink store.

Me: Um. Yes, that is most definitely a girl’s store. But, no. We’re not going there.

Iz (pouting): Why not? I saw Victoria’s Secret Angel Wings. Is it because you’re a boy?

Me: No. Because she is nine…

Me (continuing): When a teen-age boy sees a younger girl with “PINK” emblazoned across her ass, he is not thinking about the charitable contributions being made toward breast cancer research (a most Noble cause, by the way.)

I assure you. From personal experience. Pink means something else.

(Not an actual conversation, mind you. I’m not sure where my in-my-head and my out-loud voices end. But, you get the picture.)


Isabella: Ok, there’s the Hello Kitty store.

Me: Oh. Good…. Perfect.