Phffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff...

What…a…day.

So this was supposed to be a weekend spent with my kids, right? Right. It was also supposed to be the triumphant first day of Octoberfe$t. Right? Right. So both of these took place this weekend, right Ken? WRONG.

One word and one word only describes this entire weekend…and that word is “blowout.”

The Merriam-Webster OnLine Dictionary defines the word “blowout” with the following five definitions:

1 : a festive social affair
2 : a bursting of a container (as a tire) by pressure of the contents on a weak spot
3 : an uncontrolled eruption of an oil or gas well
4 : an easy or one-sided victory
5 : a valley or depression created by the wind in areas of shifting sand or of light cultivated soil

Number one doesn’t work. Number two is dead on. Number three didn’t happen, unless you wanna count a few trips to the restroom here and there. Number four was dead on, but on the wrong side of the equation. And number five may have occurred someplace but I don’t really care either way.

I picked up my son Alex later than normal on Saturday evening due to him returning from a mini-vacation. Apparently he’d had little to no sleep and passed out a couple of hours after we arrived at my place. So much for Saturday with my son. We got up Sunday morning to head to watch Gwen’s soccer game when I noticed that my right front tire was pretty low. We stopped off at a local gas station, gave it some air, and headed way out to Olathe to watch Gwen and team defeat their opponents 2-1. This was to be the last hightlight of the day.

I had planned a nice lil’ day for the three of us: we were going to go have a nice lunch and then catch “Open Season” at an AMC for some laughs. Gwen always gets cold in the theatre and crawls up on my chest for warmth, which is always cute in itself. So, looking forward to my afternoon with my kids we hit the road.

Less than fifteen minutes later I find myself stranded at the side of 435-West with a blown front tire. Hooray. My spare was already in use on my front driver’s side wheel due to a blowout a little bit back. That’s what I get for putting off buying a replacement tire. Grrr.

I called Alex’s mom to come rescue the kids but then decided that I might as well tag along back to her house and give Scoot a call to save the day.

Scoot came out, I bid Alex adieu, and then we drove out to drop Gwen off at her house. After what was one of the shortest weekends with my children, Scoot and I headed out to my car to snag the deceased tire. With it in (dirty) hand, we headed out to get the replacement.

An hour and a half later we’re back at the scene of the crime, I put on the replacement, thank Scoot profusely, and then head out to the casino for the start of my month-long gambling challenge. How did it end? In a damn blowout as well.

I think it’s safe to say that my October is off to a bad start. If I were a man who enjoys bad puns — and I am — I’d say that this month…blows