Dad or Alive

I manage the chaos for 3 year-old Ava and 18 month-old Charlie. SAHD blogger, Huffington Post blogger, former VP for Adam Sandler & Chelsea Handler, 1st book for NAL/Penguin Publishing comes out May 7th. Read about my journey at...

Adrian is a winner of Top 25 Daddy Blogs

What inspired you to start blogging?

After almost ten years as an executive for Adam Sandler's Happy Madison Productions and Chelsea Handler's Borderline Amazing Productions, I found myself without a contract and a job in the midst of a giant recession. I became a full-time stay-at-home dad and started Dad Or Alive as my creative outlet. If I've learned anything, aside from the fact that no one at the unemployment office answers the phone during business hours, it's that being a parent is the most important job there is. Sure it has its ups and downs, and I'm here to share mine with you. Hopefully I can grab a laugh or two along the way.

What makes your blog stand out?

As an expectant father, I scoured the shelves at the bookstore for something that would give me the down and dirty on pregnancy and parenting. The women had Jenny McCarthy and Vicki Iovine, but I couldn't find anything written by a man, for a man, that told it to me like a best friend would. Experiential, raw and funny.

What are three adjectives that describe your blog?

1. Comedic
2. Edgy
3. Unfiltered

What are you doing when you're not blogging?

Enjoying every moment with my wife and daughter. Running a household, hitting the trash can with dirty diaper 3-pointers and bleaching milk stains out of my t-shirts. Hiding in the bathroom before my wife leaves for work, and expecting a baby boy in July.

How would you recommend moms talk to their sons about puberty?

Dad or Alive

The day he turned 13 (or 9 with today’s teens), I would race up next to his school bus with a tinted-out minivan. I'd run the bus off the road, force an entry with a BB gun, pistol whip whoever he was sitting with, cover his head in a stinky pillowcase, pull him off the bus and toss him in the third row (reason we bought the car!) of the burb cruiser. I'd blare speed metal, poke him with dull pencils and drive recklessly in circles. I’d back up to the garage and dump him out on the pavement. I’d yank the pillowcase off, revealing a sea of folding chairs occupied by his grandmothers, aunts and great aunts. The room would be filled with antiquated books, a drop-down screen for early 50’s health ed films shot on 8mm. A separate table would hold bananas & condoms, training bras and tampons. The audio of Peter Brady losing his voice would be on loop and there would be illustrations of urethras and vas deferens. JUST. KIDDING. If dad was around, let him handle it. Take him camping or fishing, explain armpit hair, baritone voices and boners while catching the limit. If dad isn’t around, let the most qualified uncle take a stab. If not, a guidance counselor, the cable guy or a stranger.
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