Daddyblogger Threatens Mommyblogger’s Credibility

Posted on 06/01/2009 by Jane Devin

According to her blog, Heather Morgan is a busy homemaking mother of three girls under the age of six, a prolific shutterbug, and self-confessed foodie who enjoys working out, uninhibited weekend sex, and scrapbooking. And up until ten blog posts ago, she was also the long-suffering and dedicated wife of a husband her readers knew only as Dumbass.

Dumbass has recently been on a posting spree of his own. “I admit I started dumbassdaddy.com partially as revenge, but since then I’ve come to rely on the overwhelming support of the Daddy community. They understand better than anyone what I’ve gone through.” At this, Dumbass, also known as Mike Sharpinsky, tears up.

“I thought I was the only husband in the world going through this, but now I know that’s not true. Other men, and a handful of women, have flocked to my site to tell their stories, commiserate, and offer support. I only wish I’d done this a long time ago. Maybe things with Darlene wouldn’t have gone as far as they did.”

Darlene Sharpinsky, her husband says, is Heather Morgan’s real name. “She wanted something that sounded more modern, more popular, so she gave herself, and our kids, blogging names. At first she said it was to protect the family from internet creeps, but it didn’t take long for those names to take over in real life. Now my daughters are convinced that their names really are Coco, Elsa, and Carolina – that they were named after fashion designers and not our own relatives.”

Mike says he became “Dumbass” because, according to his wife, all the most popular Mommybloggers affectionately disparaged their husbands, and “Candyass” was already taken.

It wasn’t just the name changes that Mike found disconcerting. He says her blogging became an obsession that lasted from early in the morning until late at night. Although the two had an agreement that she was going to be a homemaker while he went out and worked, it wasn’t long before she convinced Mike that their three girls needed to be in daycare five days a week to work on their social skills.

“So the girls were gone all day, but I’d come home and the house was a wreck, the laundry was undone, and when she wasn’t ordering takeout from Rusty’s Pizza, we were lucky to get Kraft macaroni and hot dogs.

“Not only that, but the only time she’d want to go out is when she thought she could get a good photo for her blog. So on the weekends, we’d take the kids to the California Living Museum or to the park, but as soon as she got the pictures she wanted, she’d want to turn around and go home so she could get them uploaded.”

Mike says that while he and Darlene once enjoyed an intimate relationship, he and Heather did not. “She talked a good game online, but when it came down to brass tacks, my blogger wife was more interested in eating Mallomars in front of the computer than in anything remotely sexual. I remember on our anniversary, she wrote this really sexy and romantic post, and all her readers were like, ‘awwwww isn’t that sweet, we could really learn some lessons from you’. The truth is that on that day, I got home from work, took the girls out to dinner, came home and gave them a bath, read them a story, and went to bed alone because my wife was too busy answering emails from women looking for advice on how to spice up their marriages.”

Things got so bad between the two, Mike says, that he began communicating with his wife by leaving comments on her blog. “She put her board on moderation then, claiming she was getting hit by spam, but it was me – reminding her that she should try getting off of her ass and actually doing any of the hundred things she claimed to be doing in her blog, like making dinner, waxing her legs, or getting ready for a date night.”

Initially, Mike filed for divorce hoping to get his wife’s attention. “I was hoping that if did that, she’d take me seriously,” he says. “I thought maybe she’d wake up from this internet dream life she’s been living, and get back to reality.” Instead, Mike says, Darlene once again turned to her internet fan base for support, accusing Mike of being jealous of her rising “career”. In a recent blog post entitled “Dumbass Tries to Shatter My Dreams”, Heather/Darlene wrote:

“As soon as my blog reached the top quarter million in Technorati ratings – just as it was in a position to be monetized by BlogHer ads, and noticed by companies looking to pay stay-at-home mothers for their reviews of toys and household products – Dumbass decided to pull this divorce stunt and start his own vengeful blog. He never could accept that I was a talented writer with a growing base of fans and a life that didn’t begin and end in the laundry room.”

Mike denies that his blog was started as revenge. He says that he was tired of feeling alone and keeping all of his feelings inside and blogging proved to be the solution. “I’m going to grow this thing with the help of my readers,” he says passionately. “Daddybloggers, as a market, are largely untapped and our importance as consumers has been under-rated. Within a couple of years, I think we’ll be the new Mommybloggers.”

To fulfill this mission, Mike recently quit his job and moved back in with his parents. He and Heather/Darlene are sharing custody of the kids, which Mike now calls, for their own protection, Betsy, Boo, and Bitsy. “It has taken some investment – I had to buy a new Mac Powerbook, a Sony DSLR A-300K with zoom lenses, and an HDR-CX12 hi-def camcorder to get started – but in the long run these things will pay off. I’m already getting a couple of thousands of hits a day, and dumbassdaddy.com hasn’t been in existence that long. I’ve just really managed to connect with a lot of men through my personal, insightful, humorous, and occasionally heart-wrenching stories. I see nothing but a bright future ahead.”

Does that future include Heather/Darlene? “I don’t know,” Mike says with a shrug. “There have been blogs posted that just can’t be taken back, and right now that’s just not something either of our audiences are rooting for. We’d probably both lose readers and our respective position in the markets if we went that route, and I don’t think either of us want to risk that at this point.

“And all I have to say to her at this point is: bring it on. We’ll see who ends up with the most hits and opportunities for product placement, and I’m betting it won’t be the lying, negligent, fat-bottomed Mommyblogger with the craptastic five year-old Dell and Canon PowerShot A470.”

Contacted for this story, Heather/Darlene refused comment, referring inquiries to her new attorney, Gloria Allred.

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Organic Porn Company Seeks To Make Sex Natural Again

Posted on 05/31/2009 by Jane Devin

After over a decade of bending to the whims of porn fashions that worked their way into the mainstream, such as Brazilian waxes, nipple rings, and backdoor sex, Clovis Butterfield had enough.

Marc Jacobs: Smooth as Plastic

“The final straw was when it started to get serious with this guy I was dating. We were getting intimate one night, and I was shocked to discover that he had shaved everything — his entire body. He was as smooth as a plastic GI Joe doll, and about as manly as a nine year old boy. It was a total turn-off for me, and that’s when I really started questioning porn‘s cultural effect. Why was I going in to have a stranger wax and rip hair off my sensitive areas? I wasn’t doing it for me — I was doing it because the bald pubes of porn stars became fashionable in the mainstream. I owned a colorful collection of butt plugs for pretty much the same reason, which was ridiculous because — I can freely say this now — anal anything is just not a turn on for me.”

Butterfield began talking with other women and soon discovered that while they were loathe to admit it, many of them missed the days when they were merely expected to groom their natural bushes and not have them torn off in salons at $60 a session. Many women had also gotten nipples and nether regions pierced in order to appease their porn-reading, porn-watching boyfriends, and more than 3/4 felt guilty or prudish because, in fact, they found anal sex painful, messy, and not nearly as exciting and orgasm-rendering as the porn stars made it look.

Using money she received from putting a second mortgage on her house, Butterfield launched The Organic Porn Company with her current partner, soybean and corn farmer Jim Montana. Their first feature film, When Hairy Met Sally, was shot in Montana’s barn after months of scouring Northern California for talent. “It wasn’t easy to find actors and actresses that were natural, or who were willing to be shown that way on film. Finally, we found our couple in Modesto. They were desperate, we had money, so it was just a perfect situation. Now we just have to find a distributor.”

Butterfield is hopeful that her film company will make history, or at least bring what was history back into bedrooms across America. “We hope to bring hair back into fashion, as well as vaginal sex and the missionary position. I think America is ready for this.”

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WTF Friday: I Started A Joke Which Started The Whole World Crying

Posted on 02/27/2009 by Jane Devin

Other Person: You know, you should lighten it up sometimes. Your blog can be depressing.

Me: I know. I’m just not all that funny, though.

OP: You’re not totally unfunny.

Me: Really? I once cried during a Damon Wayan’s comedy sketch. Do you want to know why?

OP: No! Write another piece about your vagina. That was funny.

Me: To you and maybe two other people. And my vagina wasn’t the least bit amused. I had to eat a half a box of chocolates to make her happy again.

OP: You’re blaming that on your vagina?

Me: She rules the roost.

OP: Um, you know that it’s not really a separate entity, don’t you?

Me: Right. Like I’d give myself mood swings and hot flashes.

OP: Back to what I was saying. Do you think you could write something that doesn’t call up images of slums and exploitation or, as Doris put it, exceed anyone’s quota of Sturm und Drang?

Me: Ha! Doris has a death counter on her site. She’s not as sunshine-y as those twinkling blue eyes would have us believe. Besides, my new blog boyfriend Ryan liked the piece on George, and so did my artistic BFF, (and the mother of boys so cute they make my eyes hurt), Kris. Annie, Anne, Ann, Julia, SusanS, Mary, and Melissa, even if it was a little close to home for her. . .

OP: OK, now you’re just shamelessly throwing out link love. Why don’t you write about something funny that happened to you this week, instead?

Me: Well, I did watch two women declare their undying love to each other on Facebook after a very brief, long-distance courtship. I thought that was funny, but only in lesbian-land. They’ll be together for three or six or eight years now.

OP: Three or six or eight?

Me: Yes, don’t ask why. Those are the magic numbers that follow instant, undying love. Although if it’s six or eight, the last three to five years will be hell. By the way, did I tell you I have a blind date this Saturday?

OP: I thought you swore off of blind dates since the Pillsbury incident?

Me: It was Play-Doh, and it was therapy for her. I just didn’t expect that she’d tell me her life story through clay finger puppets on our first date. Her mother was neon pink by the way, and the rest of the family was blue. Do you think there’s any significance to that?

OP: No, Freud. Sometimes a blob is just a blob. So are the same friends setting you up this time?

Me: Rorschach had the blobs, not Freud. They always looked like uteruses or butterflies to me. Sometimes the uteruses had ghosts or scary sex images in them. Like this one:

rorschach

OP: Okay, wow, I really didn’t need to see that. Why are you going on this blind date again?

Me: Well, I could stay home and write my thoughts about the blogger who told me about keeping a pig’s head in a bucket in her garage, and all the nightmares I’ve had since.

OP: Good god - please no!

Me: Okay then, blind date it is. And who knows? Maybe she’ll be as amusing as that one who told me that wearing a bra was capitulating to the patriarchy.

OP: That wasn’t funny.

Me: You had to be there. It’s always the ones who are like a 52F that think bras are a conspiracy against women.

OP: Can you blame them? By the way, I’m pretty sure that even if I was a lesbian, we’d never date.

Me: Is this where I’m supposed to ask why?

OP: God only knows what you’d write about me.

Me: I’d totally write about your addiction to the Rabbit.

OP: I’m weaning myself. It just doesn’t do much for me anymore.

Me: I think the next step up is a jackhammer, sister.

OP: Yeah, anyway, so glad we don’t date. Can we get back to you?

Me: Sure, just let me finish this post I’m working on first.

***

So what do YOU see in the Rorschach? Any WTF dating experiences you’d like to share? You know, just between us?

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George Rindahl Saved By Positive Thinking

Posted on 02/26/2009 by Jane Devin

Last November, a churning stomach ache and bowel problems sent George Rindahl to the doctor’s office, where he was diagnosed with an acute parasitic infection, which can cause diarrhea, burning sensations, remarkable fluid loss, extreme itching, abdominal bloating and distention, as well as exhaustion and pain.

After picking up generic, horse-sized antiparasitic drugs from the pharmacy, Rindahl returned to work at The World’s Happiest Place where, after two years of unemployment, he had recently found a job as a ticket-taker.

Rindahl, who holds dual Masters degrees in physics and engineering, found it difficult to cope after being laid-off from the engineering job he held for twenty years, but after sending out several hundred resumes and exhausting his network of personal connections, he realized that any hopes of returning to his former glory days were futile. It began to dawn on the 58 year-old that there was always someone younger, less expensive, more eager, and more educationally up-to-date to take his place.

Being the pragmatic sort, Rindahl realized he could not continue to support his middle-class lifestyle with a savings account that had nearly been wiped out by the latest downturn of Wall Street. Rindahl sold his home, boat, and most of his furnishings at a loss, splitting what little remained with his then-wife, Marjorie. Tired of her husband’s excessive hand-wringing and bouts of uncontrollable sobbing, the fashionable Mrs. Rindahl filed for divorce and went to live in Sedona, AZ where she is presently running a retreat for ex-partners of the formerly wealthy.

Alone, nearly-penniless, and living in a studio apartment furnished with a 1970′s sleeper sofa and a hot-plate, Rindahl took the advice of his sliding-fee county therapist, and took the first job offered to him. The pay cut, from $160K a year to $8.50 per hour was a painful transition for Rindahl, whose self-esteem tended to be attached to his ability to provide for himself and make a decent living. It was this attitude, according to 26 year-old M.S.W. counselor and certified chakra healer Tiffani Young, that was keeping Rindahl from experiencing true happiness.

“What George needed to do was re-frame his experiences and see them not as setbacks, but as opportunities for growth. Instead of thinking ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me’, George needed to be thinking ‘this is all happening for a reason‘ and to trust that the reason would ultimately reveal itself to be good and enlightening,” says Young.

Rindahl wasn’t too sure. “Let go and let the Universe is a hard concept,” he explains. “It assumes that there is a wise, rational authority that’s really invested in each of our lives on a microscopic level. That didn’t make sense to me given the level of needless suffering in the world, but then Tiffani’s words began to ring back at me…who am I to say what’s needless? Who am I to judge the necessity of plagues, starvation, violence, or even my own situation? That was the first step in my recovery — to realize that the Universe, in Her infinite wisdom, always provides what’s needed even if our less evolved human minds can’t always grasp the reasons.”

Rindahl’s tentative recovery was tested when his supervisor at The World’s Happiest Place informed Rindahl that he had not worked there long enough to accrue any sick days and would not be paid for any time he took off. Rindahl was also warned that he was still on his 90 day probation, and that things like being absent or tardy wouldn’t bode well for his future career.

“I’ll admit it,” says Rindahl. “I was angry. I stood out there in the chilly wind, with my stomach on fire and my bowels cramping and tried to do my job, but it wasn’t easy. I had to run to the bathroom every few minutes with explosive diarrhea, and there was always a line. On my third or fourth trip, my supervisor caught me and told me I couldn’t take anymore unauthorized breaks. I tried to listen, but I just couldn’t hold it anymore. I ran to the bathroom, pushed my way to the front of the line, and took the first open stall. When I got out, my supervisor informed me that he was writing me up for inattentiveness and a bad attitude.

“I felt like punching him, but then I remembered Tiffani’s words. Let go and let the Universe. So I did. I thanked the young man for being so diligent about his work and returned to my station without complaint. And yes, I had an accident in my pants, but then…there really are no accidents, are there? And sure, I got fired, but only because the Universe had something better for me in mind.”

On Tuesday, Rindahl, who is presently a guest at the Bakersfield Homeless Mission, explained his new found peace of mind to a small crowd of huddled others waiting for the Mission’s doors to open. “It’s not what happens that determines your happiness,” he emphatically explained to the men, “it’s how you choose to feel about what happens. Like when I got mugged and lost my last twenty dollars and two front teeth? I could have seen that as a bad thing — I could have mourned the loss of my previously alright appearance and the last of my bus money — but instead I asked myself: What lesson am I meant to learn from this? What is the Universe trying to teach me? The answer, dear gentlemen, was humility. Once I really processed that, I began to see how my arrogance had been holding me back from achieving the kind of bliss the Universe bestows when we are open to Her possibilities.”

Rindahl’s lesson was cut short by the ringing of the 5:00 dinner bell and the rush to get inside the warmth of the building, where industrial-sized vats of soup and loaves of day-old bread were waiting. The premature departure of his unwitting students didn’t bother Rindahl. “It is what it is,” he said. “There is no failure, you know, only opportunities to learn — and tomorrow is another day full of glorious opportunities.”

Rindahl still sees Young on occasion, not so much for therapy anymore, but for continuing moral encouragement. “I am just so proud of George,” Young says. “He has really turned his life around by thinking positive, and by making the choice not to let his self-esteem be ruled by circumstance. He has turned sour lemons into sweet lemonade. We could all learn a lesson from George.”

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