My Room?

Now comes setting up the baby's room. You know, the baby's room. No? Oh, you're not familiar with this room? Well, perhaps you'll recognize it as what it's currently known as--your music room. It's the extra room that you proclaimed as your own when you moved into your house. It's the room that you use to escape to when your wife was watching some bulls**t movie on the Lifetime network, usually starring Judith Light from TV's "Who's The Boss?" that deals with how horrible men are. Now that room, your sanctuary, is going to be covered top to bottom in fluffy bunnies and baby accessories.

--From "The Guy's Guide To Surviving Pregnancy, Childbirth and the first year of Fatherhood" by Michael Crider.


OK, it ain't that bad. And keep in mind, this book I just quoted--while completely hilarious--has a positive review from Jenny McCarthy slapped on the cover. Anyway, with a newborn coming into a condo, one thing that pops into my mind is space. My space. No, not MySpace, but space that is mine. I call it the office. It's that room filled with collectible toys, graffiti paintings, loads of hip-hop magazines and lord knows how many CDs.

I need to take one for the team, I thought. After surveying my kingdom, eh, the "office," I realized that I had a few too many CDs on the racks. So, I parted with 317 of them on e-bay, sold to a kind gentleman in Michigan. (Don't worry, you wouldn't have wanted any of these.)

Here's a portion of what left the condo:


This might be hard to believe, but I just uncovered about 100 more that should have been sold as well. Look for more goodies on e-bay soon. This probably sounds absurd, but I've been called worse. I consider this my ultimate act of humility and offer profuse apologies to the artists I had to part with including Snoop Doggy Dogg, Ice Cube and even--**sniff, sniff**--Nine Inch Nails. Sorry guys.