I just got back from the doctor with Michele. We’re having a boy!

I can’t describe how cool that is to me. Everyone should tell me how awesome it is and how the first step of global domination is, naturally, to clone myself.

Let me go ahead and acknowledge the fact that The Irish Curse is not an issue with this little dude. YAY WEINERS!

What a good day!

The Barbarian Group had a company meeting a couple of months ago during which our gregarious and stodgy COO, Rick Webb, took a few moments to chew out the staff for not taking enough vacation time.

It’s true. At TBG, we work constantly, if not consistently. Even when we’re at breakfast, at a bar, in the shower, or engaging in all sorts of illicit activities, we’re thinking of our work. We’re consummate consumers, eating our own dog food at every turn. Sure, we play a lot of Wii, we work on personal projects, we “work from home” all too often, and we enjoy the slow periods as though they might disappear forever.

What we don’t do often enough, as per Rick’s scolding, is step away.

Perhaps those of us who lived through the late nineties are frightened the company won’t be around upon our return (not likely). Maybe we’re scared our peers will surpass us in our absence (highly likely). Maybe we’re just plain addicted (definitely).

Well, I’m not gonna get in trouble this year. I’m shooting for a week off per quarter. Only… I’m blowing the first quarter already. I digress.

Michele, my lovely wife, is “with child.” This wonderful fact precludes her from enjoying our mainstay indulgences: good food, good wine, assloads of cocaine. Given that she’s unable to consume unpasteurized dairy, cured meats, rarer poultry, and nearly all fish, we’ve decided that the best destination for my first-quarter vacation and our last pre-child excursion is a supremely high-end restaurant and inn near our second-favorite city in the universe.

We’re going to The Inn at Little Washington.

I’ll wait for the foodies/chowhounds to curse us for a few moments.

Sure, Michele can’t eat or drink anything. She can’t have the sommelier pair every bite with a different wine. She can’t have a spicy port with her dessert.

So what’s in it for her? On what will her ravenous body feast? What will satiate her burning appetite?

I dunno, but I’ll be soaking in a hot bath, full of spirit and food, listening to crickets, only peripherally aware of my surroundings and unable to defend myself.

All according to plan…

If all goes well tomorrow, Michele and I will know the sex of our baby.

The last time we were at the doc the kid refused to uncross its legs, modestly protecting its goods. I’m hoping for at least a brief moment of exhibitionism tomorrow.

Michele (and everyone else) has asked me repeatedly whether I’d prefer a boy, girl, or some interesting mix of the two, and I always give the answer they least desire.

The truth is that I really don’t care. I can see pros and cons to both. Boys are retarded assholes and girls are moody, manipulative psychopaths.

Either way, I’m sure the kid will be a blast.

I’m excited to see a the sonar image of the little thing tomorrow. I had my first feel of a kick (or punch) last night. Michele had a bit too much sugar and the kid tried to punch his/her way out. Luckily, my hand was there to stop it.

Lately, I’ve been flooding Craigslist, posting many of my toys for sale. In my manic desire to scrape up half of one percent of the trillion dollars required for a down payment in the greater NYC area, I’ve decided that sacrificing gadgets and gizmos is just and noble.

Thus far, I’ve sold off a beautiful Nikon 17-55/2.8 DX lens.

Also on the chopping block are:

• My restored 1979 Vespa P200E
• My Nikon D200

Unposted items are:

• My insanely amazing custom Tim Scruggs pool cue
• My Dual 867 G4 and 17” Cinema Display
• Quite possibly, my Liberty LO100 biscuit-cone resonator (think Dobro)
• Very possibly, my Konica Minolta DiMAGE 5400 II 35mm film/slide scanner

Who knows what else I’ll dig out.

The point of this post is not only to take inventory (and to get a bit more attention on these items), but to point out that, should each item sell for its asking price, I’ll have added only $7200 towards the cause. That’s 1/10th the price of a down payment for a decent house in Jersey.

One tenth.

Ten percent.

Ten percent of twenty percent of a house.

Some folks say you are a ‘real’ New Yorker the day you start talking endlessly about getting out of the city.

I’m the mayor of this motherfucker. I’m the Statue of Liberty.

ADDED I decided against selling the scanner. The cue, I’m sending off to Tim Scruggs for a refinish and rewrap. I sold the G4.

Hi. My name is Toby Joe Boudreaux. I’m gonna be a pappy.

My wife, Michele, being unfathomably old already and seeing the label “Crazy Cat Lady” screeching towards her, asked if I would consider politely knocking her ass up.

I am, above all else, a generous gent, obsessed with satiating the needs of all women nearby, and therefore could hardly refuse such a request.

Hence, progeny.

Seeds sown. Metaphors uttered.

I’m quite excited to have a kid, I must say.

I’d hate to disparage the place, and I prefer to adhere to the “Dance with that who brung ya” rule, but my time in Georgia taught me very little about fatherhood – or fathers, for that matter.

I learned that at least one addiction is requisite, and that a firm one-to-three vice-to-arrest correlation must be maintained at all times. I learned that jobs aren’t really that important, and careers are for yankees. I learned that it’s imperative to leave town before your offspring can pick you out of a lineup.

Luckily, I refuse to learn from others. As Michele’s own father taught me to ask, “What good can come of that?”

I imagine our child will crap a lot, and throw up, and cry. It’ll have a pasty white belly and tiny genitals. The costs will be significant, but so will the joy. And so on and so forth.

Lately, friends have been breeding. It’s not unlike 1999, when everyone I knew was starting a company.

I missed out on that boat – probably because it required knowledge more complex than General Weiner Usage.

This time, I’m on board.

Daddy on board.