I meant to write this post last month, but… life got in the way.

So, one year ago (and a few weeks) our family made the move back to Ohio from Los Angeles. It’s been a whole year? Damn. Time truly does fly. At supersonic speeds these days.

Did we make the right decision? The verdict: we’re happy and we’re sad… Bittersweet is the term, I believe.

We really miss L.A. We talk about it at least once a week. We miss friends, activities, restaurants, and the whole vibe of the place. It’s everyone’s favorite past time to deride L.A. as a culture-less, soulless wasteland but, well… it’s not.

And, we also like living here. Back with family and old friends. We’ve got a big house with great schools nearby. We’re still doing fun activities but we’re eating waaaay too much Midwestern food. Oy.

I will say that the move helped make 2008 a very bad year. For me, and L.A. Mommy. The kids seemed to handle it all in stride. But then, they didn’t have to move a washing machine all by themselves. It was physically tough to spend weeks and weeks packing up, moving across the country, unpacking into an apartment, packing back up, and moving into a house. All within 6 months. And it was mentally tough to tear myself away from that life of the past 15 years - more than a third of my whole life and a good chunk of my adult life…

Days, weeks, and months are simply missing from my memory. I’m sure the beer didn’t help matters any. Well, it did…

It seems like my four day trip across 9 states was years ago. And I remember it like it was yesterday. I can “feel” that trip in my bones. It was very hard to do. And it was cathartic.
But I’m glad I did it. L.A. Mommy took the girls on a plane ride and five hours later, they landed in Ohio. My journey was several days in a car, driving away from my city I had called home. And L.A. was my home. I remember how homesick I would get when we would leave to visit family for the holidays.

I was also driving on the same highways I had used to move to Los Angeles all those years ago. I had decided I wanted to move to Hollywood when I was in my 20’s and L.A. Mommy decided to go with me. I had never even visited and had never been West of Indiana before we packed up and moved to sunny California. And what seemed like a lifetime later… I was putting miles between me and my adopted home. For good.

One of the things I wanted to share was the medicine I had to take to make it through this tough journey. Back when I was still packing, I had asked people for music recommendations. I needed driving music to be my soundtrack for the long haul across the country.

Not that anyone really cares, I’m sure, but that music did help, and I wanted to put a few selections on this blog. In case anyone else ever has to make that trip. It was not an easy time and I haven’t been able to even think about listening to those songs again. But now that I work from home, and I listen to my desktop iTunes, I keep hearing a lot those songs every once in a while. And I wanted to share a small part of that soundtrack.

Most of these tunes were suggestions from a wise musical afficianado and they make for some meditative driving music. Brian Braiker, a real mister nice guy, emailed me a ton of great suggestions. I was scouring iTunes and furiously buying up quite a few of the songs he listed.

What came together was a total of about 10 burned CDs that I probably listened to at least 3 whole times as I was driving through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and about 42 other states to get to Ohio. But my most special mix was one I had called “Driving Away from L.A.”

It was the first disc I put in, once we were clear of the afternoon traffic, and it went a little something like this:

• “Goin’ Back to Cali” - L.L. Cool James

• “Hollywood Squares” - Bootsy Collins

• “California” - Joni Mitchell

• “California Dreamin’” - Eddie Hazel

• “L.A. Woman” - The Doors

• “Ventura Highway (Deepsky’s Blizzard in L.A. Remix)” - America

• “California Soul” - Marlena Shaw

• “Say Goodbye to Hollywood” - Billy Joel

• “California Stars” - Billy Bragg & Wilco

• “Things’ So Bad in California” - L.C. Good Rockin’ Robinson

• “California Girl” - Tristan Prettyman

• “West Coast Blues” - Wes Montgomery

• “California” - Rufus Wainwright

• “Join Me in L.A.” - Warren Zevon

• “Free Fallin’” - Tom Petty

• “California” - Sarah Slean

• “Screenwriter’s Blues” - Soul Coughing

• “Hollywood (Africa)” - Red Hot Chili Peppers

• “L.A. Song” - Deconstruction

• “I Love L.A. ” - Randy Newman

Thanks again to Slarkpope and everyone else who sent out wonderful suggestions to get me through a very tough time in my life.

We lost another member of the family today. He was a senior citizen and his health deteriorated fast. Our little Californian cat, named Little Guy, passed away.

We rescued him from the streets near our first apartment, just a few months after we moved to L.A. He was a bit of a runt and had been abandoned to die. He had been taken from his mother too early and kneaded every blanket, carpet, couch and expensive item we had.

Our big guilt that we always laugh about was that he was covered in grease and dirt, from head to toe, when we brought him into our family. L.A. Mommy decided she had to give him a bath right away. He was a little orange and white whirling dervish and she just kept scrubbing and scrubbing his poor little gray tail. Until she realized it wasn’t going to come off… She felt so bad.

We tried to come up with names for him and couldn’t settle on anything. At the time, we also had a huge tabby cat, called Koko, who weight about 22 pounds. So, until we came up with a name, we kept calling him Little Guy. Compared to Koko, he was very little.

I’ll always have this great memory and mental image from that first year with our new cat. My wife came home from work, on Thanksgiving Day, and I was preparing the turkey in the kitchen. I had gone to the bathroom and was coming back out as she arrived. We both looked into the kitchen to see Koko licking the side of the turkey like it was a big popsicle.

And there, with both paws on either side of the turkey, and his head and most of his upper body shoved down into the ass-end, was Little Guy chomping away at the juicy turkey pieces-parts.

That was a little over 14 years ago, so he was about 72. Quite a long, healthy and safe life for the runt of the litter that was thrown out like yesterday’s trash.

Thank you, Little Guy. For the laughs, for the comfort, for the memories, and for being part of our family. We’ll away miss you and love you.

Again, I haven’t blogged in a while. Not because nothing is happening, but because too much is happening.

We’ve been busy. Very busy.

I’m overwhelmed with the fact that the older I get, the faster the years go. And everyone tells you that. I’m surprised by the fact that, as I get older, I seem to get busier. More and more things are piling up and we haven’t even gotten to the girls going to soccer, gymnatistics, or tuba lessons. Or whatever they’ll be in to.

Well, my latest affliction - of which there have been many - has slowed me down a bit. For a change. Sure, things are piling up, but… I’ve had to get off my feet for a while.

Seems I was bitten by a nasty little spider at some point in the last week. Don’t know where. Don’t know when.

At first, I thought it was a mosquito bite. I ignored it. Then it started getting bigger, but… like an idiot, I ignored it. When my ankle swelled up to size of a softball, I couldn’t really ignore it anymore. It wasn’t too painful, unless you poked it with a stick. Which I don’t recommend. Anymore.

By Saturday morning, we (by which, I mean my wife) finally called the Blue Cross help line to get advice from a registered nurse on phone duty. She basically said if she could smack me upside the head in person… she would have. Told me to get to urgent care that day.

Then the fun began. I love going to the doctor. Pain is good. Pain makes me feel alive. And he didn’t disappoint. My swollen, bloody bug bite needed to be drained. I knew that. The docter who looked at it for about 3 seconds knew that.

Actually, it wasn’t all that bad pain-wise. He gave me a local anesthetic. But have you ever noticed that it seems like the shot you get to kill the pain probably hurts worse than what they were going to do? I noticed. He stuck a needle in my leg that had to have been four feet long. And apparently, you can’t just stick it in and squirt in the numbing juice. You need to work it around a little. And by a little, I mean a lot. Imagine this little five foot two doctor jamming me with a four foot long needle and then standing on the table and jerking it back and forth with all his weight and all his might.
That’s what happened.

I nearly hit him. But after the local did its work, I couldn’t really feel what he was doing to drain out all the blood and guts. Which was good. And I certainly didn’t want to watch. Oy. But then he told me to hold a jar of sterile gauze. He pulled out an 18 inch string of it and cut it off. Then he told me he was going to put it inside me.

Inside?! WTF?! I thought doctors got in trouble for leaving gauze pads, instruments, and gold watches inside their patients, for chrissakes!  But, nope, he packed it into the new hole in my leg. Supposedly to keep it from filling back up with blood and guts. But I think it was to inflict more pain. I think he was mad that he was five foot two and I’m six foot three. These little guys have complexes, ya know. They do…

I’m still recovering. Spent the weekend on my butt. The highlight was that L.A. Mommy had to mow the overgrown lawn. For the very first time. And not just the first time at our house. The first time ever! She had never had to mow her own lawn growing up. I wish I could have gotten up to grab my camera to take a picture. But it hurt too much.

I still have my Vicodin, though. It’s my friend. It’s makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Goodnight…

My girls are the best. You wouldn’t know it from this post, but they are.

L.A. Mommy has been working late a lot. Which means I’ve been picking up the girls after work. And usually I’ll be brave and adventurous and take them on errands with me. Like I did last night.

We went to a store to look for patio furniture for our back deck. Now that winter is over and it’s warm outside, we want to sit outside and admire our backyard. Which still needs weeding…

The girls were fine at the store. But I could tell they were getting hungry. It was time to go. And we weren’t going to make it all the way home. We were going to have to eat out at a restaurant.

Which is not unusual. Me and my two girls have eaten solo before. And everything always went well. But not this time. I don’t know if it was the fact that we didn’t eat first or that someone slipped both of them some angel dust and a speedball cocktail.

I drove around trying to find some thing to eat that the girls would eat but avoiding the fast food burger joints. L.A. Girl kept shouting she wanted egg soup, which meant I should probably find a Chinese restaurant that served egg drop soup. Luckily enogh, I did find one of those cheesy ones in a nearby strip mall. It had the koi pond, the red vinyl booths, and little Buddha statues every where.

L.A. Baby has been getting bigger so I make the mistake of using a booster seat instead of the high chair. L.A. Girl had decided she could no longer find the volume control on her voice and was talking loudly all the way through the room. Her younger sister saw a room full of people in their fifties and sixties and shouted out “Paw-paw!” to each one we passed - - she thought each old man was her grandfather.

We get to our table and they put us right in the middle of all these other people eating their dinners. Normally, when they see two kids, they stick us in a back corner where we can do no harm. Not that night. No siree. We had to be on center stage!

Well, L.A. Baby go on her booster seat which, no matter how close I scooted her up, was still three feet from the table. She proceeded to yank on the paper table cloth/cover thingy. L.A. Girl was talking about the goldfish in the koi pond like she was giving a presentation in an auditorium and was trying to make sure the people in back could hear her. While holding onto an 18 month old who is now rocking back and forth on her booster seat, I’m scanning the menu only to realize this is the one Chinese restaurant in the state of Ohio that has 14 soups on the menu - - but doesn’t have egg drop soup…

At this point, I’m starting to worry.

The waiter comes to take our drink order. “Three beers and a vodka straight up. And some lemonade for the girls…”

The waterworks started when the waiter told us they only had pink lemonade. Apparently, to a child, there’s a difference. I didn’t know that. Weeping, wailing, and nashing of teeth. I got looks from all the grandfathers in the room.

L.A. Baby tried to slip out of her booster seat. She had her arms outstretched to go hug the nearest Paw-paw. When I stopped her, we had even more tears. She was adamant that she got to see grandpa. He was right there, for chrissakes! You’d think I had just slapped her and her mother when I wouldn’t let her go over and bother the nice old man next to us.

I continued to search the menu for egg drop soup and was starting to really panic. I was “this close” to packing it all in and leaving at that point. But I like punishment. So I stayed to take it.

When the waiter came back, I asked for a high chair to replace the booster seat. I got an eye-roll out of that and the tip just went from 20% down to 15%. When I put my daughter in it, there were out-and-out screams coming from this tiny girl. You’d think she was an opera star the way her wails filled that room. My face was beet-red at this point. I was beginning to sweat.

As I placed the order, I quietly asked if they had an egg drop soup. He said, loudly, “Oh, no, we no have egg drop soup. Only what’s on menu!” 10%.

I ordered something similar - a chicken soup, with egg in it, and hoped for the best. But L.A. Girl was sitting across from me, staring at me, with her chin in her hands. I had failed. Sweating was profuse at this point. L.A. Baby managed to pull the entire table cloth toward her and it spilled one of my beers. Her sister decided to crawl under the table and join me… sitting on the booster seat that was still on the bench next to me. While I pulled the tablecloth from her sister’s iron-fisted grip, L.A. Girl was rocking back and forth on the booster seat, which - of course - made her fall over on her side and hit her head on the wall of the booth.

Bang! Crying. Laughter from her little sister. Every head in Johnny Chung’s restaurant turned to look at my utter failure to be a father in any way, shape or form.

Panic. Anxiety. Sweat. Down the vodka and the beer. Deep breath. Run for the door, Tim! Run!

But finally the food came. My little darlings could get some much needed sustenance. Food to set them right and make them behave. Natuarally, L.A. Girl didn’t like the soup she was served. L.A. Baby thought it would be fun to throw her white rice at the lady next to us. It was utter chaos at this point.

I wasn’t just sitting there, with my mouth hanging open, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was verbally scolding, pulling at little hands and little arms, and threatening them with everything. I stop one and settle her down and the other one would go off.

But my two little Tasmanian devils did manage to put some of their food in their mouthes. And those calories, carbs, and proteins did their work. They calmed down a bit. From a roar to a scream, but calm down they did. I actually managed to eat most of my food. We even stopped to look at the fish in the pond again.

As I was driving them home I was whipped. Exhausted. I felt like I went a few rounds in a heavyweight battle. And lost. Technical knock out…

Next time we go out to eat, I’m bringing back-up. I’ll need L.A. Mommy there with her chair and whip to go along with mine. We’ll beat those wild animals back into their cages!

I need a nap.

Two very smart, very ornery and very beautiful little girls. Both with huge personalities. I love them to death.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.

I was at a birthday party for the kid of my wife’s co-worker. It wasn’t quite my crowd. People who make a lot of money, live in expensive houses, and drive Porsches. I hate Porsches. Mostly because I can’t afford one…

But I got one comment from a dad that really made my blood boil. He asked which kids were mine while they jumped on the big trampoline. I told him I had two girls. He looked at me and said, “Oh…” You can’t hear it just from reading it, but that “Oh” had a silent ending to it. “Oh, too bad.” He didn’t actually say it but I heard it anyway. He had four boys screaming, jumping, and pushing everyone else down on the trampoline. And he was proud of it.

He went on to ask, “You having any more?” I looked at him and said, “Nope, I’m done.” He said, “Oh.” Which was really, “Oh, too bad.” It was as if he was saying that I wasn’t done. My mission wasn’t complete because I didn’t have a son. A little version of me running around. I guess I really wasn’t all that mad at him. He was a shallow turd. Even named a son with his name and tacked a junior on the end.

Many years ago, I probably would have wanted a son. And do that whole father & son thing. But they say that having kids changes everything. It changes you. It certainly has changed me. I’m not that same person anymore. As I head into my forties, I know - unless there’s a big accident (knock on wood) - that I’m done having kids.

Done. No more. That’s it.

I’m even thinking about getting…. gasp! Snipped. Neutered? Spayed? Sliced apart?

So, I have two daughters. I can’t picture anything else. I can’t even imagine it at this point. I love everything they do, how they say things, the big hugs they give, the routines we have, and reading stories with them. L.A. Girl has this cool habit of talking softly to herself whenever she’s doing something. L.A. Baby puts her hand to her mouth every night and blows me a kiss before she goes to bed. It actually seems to go past the point that they are girls. Those big personalities of theirs just pull me in and I’m part of their world, seeing things through their eyes, giggling with them when we play and crying with them when they get hurt.

They are my family. They are me and my wife and their own little attitudes all rolled up in one.
My work here is done.

Had fun this weekend. One of our friends gave her husband Cleveland Indians tickets for this birthday. We were invited along. So, we dropped the kids off at grandpa’s place - luckily enough, on the way up - and went to the game.

This was my first sporting event after moving back from L.A. And it was my first trip to the new stadium up in Cleveland. I had been to Indians games before we moved. But they built Jacobs Field after we left and we never made made it until now.

Typical for an April game, it was pretty cold up North near the lake. Luckily, it was Indians Scarf Day, so we all wrapped the big blue scarves around our necks to keep warm. A bunch of cold beers didn’t help either…

But we survived. Unfortunately, the Indians didn’t. They were pretty lackluster the whole game. So, we packed it in in the 8th inning. Of course, they had a ninth inning rally as we were walking around the stadium. And we sweet-talked our way back in to watch them score a few more runs… only to lose by 1 run.

On the way back, we stayed the night with L.A. Mommy’s dad and had an Easter celebration with the girls the next day.

We were beat by Sunday night. It was one of those great weekends where you need a vacation afterward.

How was your weekend?

My sweet baby girl - you turned five years old today.

Five.

Five years doesn’t seem like that long of a time, but it has been a lifetime… for you. And for me, too. You’ve gone from a helpless little burrito that practically fit in the palm of my hand to a snarky young girl who is almost too big to pick up.

Happy fifth birthday to you, honey.

You’re smart, funny, gorgeous and a bit geeky… which is cool in my book. You are me and your mother smooshed into one great person.

Today, we went to dinner with grandma, your mother and me, and your little sister.

Before that, your mother and I went to your future elementary school to register you for kindergarten. Yep, school will officially begin for you in September. We met your teacher, your principal, and a few others who will help your educational career begin. We sat in your library, on tiny chairs, and listened to all they have planned for you.

It’s going to be a fun adventure.

I’m very proud of you and I love you very much.

Happy birthday!

Okay, I’ve been very busy. No excuses, but I’ve been blogging a lot for work and it leaves me very little energy for L.A. Daddy. I remember the glory days of blogging when I could go and visit all my favorite sites and leave comments.  But I’ve got a lot on my plate with work and my own personal obsession…

My house.

When I lived in L.A., I was obsessed with making movies. I was writing scripts, shooting films, and talking about movies every chance I had. Even with two kids, I still managed to find time for movie making.

I knew when we moved back to Ohio that I would be obsessed with my new home. It would become my mistress. The siren that would lure me away from my family. And it’s happened. It’s sucking up my few remaining hours and all my extra money.

And I’m lovin’ it.

This house - well, not this particular house, but the thought of a house - was one of my main motivators for moving back to Ohio. It certainly wasn’t the snow, ice and freezing cold temperatures. Like a woman wants a “bad boy”, I wanted a house I could fix and make my own. Put my stamp on it. I wanted to remodel, repair, and maintain.

For some people, changing their own oil or fixing the backyard fence is a chore. Something you pay others to do. For me, it’s fun. It’s intoxicating. If I don’t sweat and bleed all over this house, it’s not mine. Of course… it’s no fun to clean up all that sweat and blood, but… I digress.

So, that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve insulated and repaired all our ductwork, painted the living room, pressure washed our decks, repaired and replaced the gutters, and installed all new lighting. And that was just Saturday…

Oh, and I bought a lawnmower through Craigslist. And this past Sunday, I cut my grass. For the first time. It’s been 21 years since I cut grass. 21 years! We rented our house in L.A. for ten years and we were in apartments before that. And it was just like riding a bike - - I zigzagged all across the yard and ran into the fence.

Exactly how I ride my bike…

I’ve been so incredibly busy lately. Busy with the house. Really busy at work. Too busy to visit all my friends’ blogs. Too busy to even write much at my own.

To top it off, I had a bit of a scare last week. On my last doctor visit, I was told that I have a hernia. I felt no pain anywhere, so I was really kinda shocked. A hernia? Me? I mean I did move - twice - last year. And I still go to the gym - only once a week, if I’m lucky - and push around a whole lot of weight. But… a hernia?

Sure enough, the day after my exam… I had pain. Real pain. In a hernia-type area. At one point, the pain was bad enough that I was nauseous and almost fell over. I was like I got the hernia AFTER the diagnosis.

And the diagnosis was bad enough. I had Doogie Howser down there twisting my family jewels all over the place. But the prospect of - gasp - surgery really had me worried.

Surgery. Cutting in to me to fix something. I did not like that, not one little bit. I’ve never had surgery. Ever. I mean, unless you count the removal of my tonsils when I was 3 years old. “Count backwards from ten. Can you do that?” “Yes, 10–” Zzzzzz.

So, I made an appointment to go see the surgeon that my doctor referred. There was pain and I it hurt to pick up my babies. I needed to get it taken care of asap. My appointment was last week. I went in and explained the situation to the surgeon. I was hoping they could do it soon so I could get the healing over and done with. Then I had to drop my drawers and get felt up by another guy. Two guys tweaking my boys in less than a month.

I was violated.

Of course, this was not your average turn the head and cough. This was pushing, pulling, twisting, poking and prodding. All over my groinal area. Not fun.

The surgeon says, “The good news?”

And I say, “You’re going to pay me instead of me paying you for this violation?”

He didn’t laugh. “No. The good news is you don’t have a hernia.”

I don’t think he liked the fact that I kissed him. But, if you’re going to give me good news like that… and you’ve already roughed up my nutsack, it’s the least he could do.

I was so excited. No surgery. No pain. No recovery. I asked him why it hurt so much. He said I probably had a pre-existing minor injury, like a groin pull, and the previous exam had aggravated everything. The pain had been slowly subsiding each day after the exam so… I bought it.

I pulled my pants up and marched out of the surgeon’s office with a smile on my face. Despite the fact that I had been violated.

Top of the mornin’, to ya! Erin go Bragh (which means Ireland Forever, in case you were wonderin’…)

So, I’m Irish. Which makes this a pretty big day for us. For me, any way…

Since I live in Dublin, Ohio, there’s a lot of things going on. Which means I can really get my Irish on!

Our festivities started on Saturday. Dublin had a St. Patty’s Day parade in the morning. We went over to have a look.

It was a great time.

I was expecting a handful of cars and maybe a high school marching band.

But it was quite a long parade.

Lots of floats, giant balloons, horses, several bands, and about 10 dancing schools with their girls doing the traditional steps.

Today started with me reading to L.A. Girl’s preschool class. For most of the month, parents have been coming in to read to them. I picked today to read so that I could do a book about St. Patty’s Day.I put on my green Guinness shirt and took my daughter’s book Jakers! The Adventures of Piggly Wiggly - The Lost Shamrock and brought the girls to their school. I dropped off L.A. Baby and came back to read to the class. It turned out great. I used my Irish accent and told the story about Piggly, Dannan, and Ferny finding their missing lucky shamrock. The kids loved it. I even showed them a coat of arms for our family’s name. They ooh’d and ahh’d in the all the right spots.

Next came a hearty breakfast and now I’m off to have lunch at Fado’s Irish pub with my lovely wife. Leaving very early because I’m sure it’ll be hard to get in and get a table.

Have a great (and safe) St. Patrick’s Day!

“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May god hold you in the hollow of his hand.”