Busy Busy

Sorry,
Not much of a blogger eh? I ahve been really short of time lately working to complete a new computer program for my organization. It requires a lot of time and I am still driving tow truck, last night was really un-eventful, but I now can say I can break into a police cruiser.

Things will be more quiet after the weekend, depending on how crazy "TwoTow" drives me. (That's the name Eeyore gave our newest drinkin/work buddy). Actually it should be good after carying the weight of my usual partner. Joking.

So back to work now, the weather is actually nice enough that the golf clubs have made their first appearance in my backyard, and so have the mysterious appearance of dirt patches in my lawn. That and the usual landmines that Jackal and Spud leave for me all winter long. Maybe Wife will get out there and pick some poop! Ya! And maybe I will start drinking less beer!

Wasn't that a party?

Ok, so i may have had too much to drink!

This may be the most entertaining post yet. I'm loaded. Mom called me 12 hours ao, as I sipped on my first W. It was good, so I had more. Now it's bed time and I imagine how JR did in the big tourney. I have been screened through to the next phase of a selection process, my snowblower does not fit in my shed and my dogs are both assholes. I love my job, I love my job, Yadda Yadda yadda.

PS I will revisit and revise tommorrow. EEEEsh

 

Congratulations

First off, I want to congratulate my cousin and her husband on the arrival of their twin boy and girl. They’re gorgeous.

A conversation with brother Pokey brought up a few points that I would like to insert here.

On top of the fact that they were recently married and these are the first attempt at child bearing, you have to consider a few things, or as Pokey so aptly put it: “First you pretty much get your bottom lip pulled over your head… Twice! But to add to the pressure of having two new mouths to feed and only two breasts (which have never been used in this fashion), you have the added pressure of every one you know visiting (even if just to help out), while trying to adjust with likely zero sleep.”

I feel for them, and am very happy that they are all healthy and happy. Can’t wait to see them.

Speaking of child birth, it’s my little brother Junior’s birthday. I can remember that day though it’s a little fuzzy, I recall eating canned chili (dad was looking after us at home), next thing I remember is going to see the baby. I remember he was lying on the bed when I first entered the hospital room. I headed straight for him and layed on the bed beside him. I was weary like a child is near a new animal, approaching cautiously so as not to upset this new phenomenon, and fall victim to whatever he was capable of. In hindsight I realize he is only capable of the same sort of things now, like an occasional burp, fart or poop attack.

From this moment I sort of attached myself to the kid and stayed pretty involved in his upbringing. Good and bad. The best moments ware sending him off for a Saturday night behind the wheel of my Brand new Dodge Pickup truck or new Chevy Camaro to cruise around town in. He was 16. Imagine being 16 and getting to tour your buddies around in style like that!

Junior was always on the guest list at my parties and often became the hit of the night. He was usually way to well behaved, and I never had to worry about him getting in trouble or trashing my car. I also never needed to worry about him being upset when I showed up on his doorstep on a Thursday night (actually early Friday, like 5:30) after we decided to leave Whiskey Jack’s in Saskatoon and make a road trip to Moose Jaw and skip classes the next day. He even sat up with us and fed us beer before he went off to school (responsible young lad).

So Junior, on your birthday I will drink two beer at a time in your honor,
and toast you with every glass.
“Here’s to Junior, he’s a horse’s arse!”

Bar-B-Q anyone?

Had some friends over for some moose steaks on Saturday.

Wife and I prepared all day; we cleaned, she cooked, and cooked, and I got things ready from their winter slumber.

I wheeled the Bar-B-Q to the patio and attached the propane tank. It was a rainy day and it was about 4 p.m. Once all the accessories were attached I opened the lid only to find that my charcoal bricks were now powder gathered around the element. We bought this barbeque in our previous home when we first moved in together. It cost 90$ and needed some assembly.

It would appear that the charcoal was in better shape than the rest of the unit. I cleaned out the ashes in the bottom the best I could and proceeded to light the element. Poof. A bright yellow flame shot out one side of the element, which was more of a torch flame than one to cook on. I turned off the gas and started to evaluate my problem.

"Need a new element and some more coal".

So I cleaned up the rest of the powder at the bottom and looked at a way to remove the element. By this time our guests would be arriving in an hour and I had no barbeque (did I mention that we were having moose steaks?). There was so much rust and blackened metal that I couldn't see how to remove the element, so I took the flipper and gave the bottom of the pit a whack. A portion of my barbeque fell to the ground. Not just a small portion, but half the bottom.

"Need a new menu and a beer".

After evaluating the situation with the wife, we concluded that Kraft dinner and wieners would not be sufficient and that we needed a barbeque. Off to Home Depot I went.

I looked through the selection and found my dream barbeque. A stainless steel 78" grill with a warmer door, two gas elements and inflatable wheels. Once I woke up again I checked the "thrift" section and found a couple of good ones (far better than my 90$ special). I took a pre-assembled unit and headed out. The assembly fee was waived because there was a scratch on the lid. Bonus!

I attached the tanks and sparked up the new grill. Beautiful. It was 5:45 and people were going to be here any second. I figured I had better burn of some of that "new-ness" before making the moose. I tidied up the yard and got things set up. I was coming out of the "dog house (my converted garage)", and threw a quick chance at my new grill. It wasn't so much the newness of it that needed to be burnt off as much as the dials, handles, stickers and tubes.

At least that's what my grill decided. I ran over to my fireball surrounded barbeque and killed the gas feed. The flames subsided and I was left to investigate the damage.

The base had a large dent in it since the steel had gotten so hot that it sagged down about an inch. The lighting button was wrecked (as if those ever work). I also found the culprit. A connection where the gas line meets a tube that leads to the element was mismatched, so eventually the flame followed its way down to the source and was burning pure propane. I guess that's why my grill was on fire.

I fixed the tube connection and cleaned the black off the outside. My lighting button is finished, but, I will get that replaced. Once I re-lit it, it ran with no glitches.

The food was great! The Chocolate pudding shooters were plentiful (***patent pending, Thanks SOL!) and the men totally dominated at "Taboo". From what I remember anyway.

Welcome to my home, "HellGrill", you are now part of the family.

Party Foul

Last night I went out with some friends, and my wife (who is also my friend). Due to certain circumstances (Hahaha) I was the driver (not Hahaha) so I got to get a rare view of the party world through sober eyes.

Notes.

1- The waitress is not getting nicer to you. She is eyeballing your change on the table for when you leave.

2- Green beer coloring should only ever be used mixed with larger quantities of liquid, not used as an alcohol free shooter. Although a double dare is sufficient reason to chug it.

3- Bar food is better with a beer.

4- It's only acceptable to ogle the waitress when the wife is either too slow to catch you, or too drunk to care.

5- If a woman buys the table a round of shooters, there should be no outs. Only pansies refuse a free shot. Especially when Wife takes it upon herself to clean up the left overs.

6- Fear of Policemen is reduced exponentially per beer not drank, before taking the rest of the gang home.

7- Staying more sober than your wife is a depressing afterthought.

8- Trying to catch up after getting home is more depressing.

9- Getting up in the morning to the sound of snoring and choking dry mouth is not pleasant.

10- I am glad I can handle being called "Taxi Bitch", when sober.

***Additional note***Discussing a friend's (from now on known as "Wheels") diffusing of his "weapon" (you know the medical procedure) is just as funny and uncomfortable whether drunk or sober.

I dedicate this post to my buddy Wheels. It was the best choice, but I will always feel for you bro.! Now come to hockey tonight you wimp! Haw haw haw!

Happy St. Patty's Day

Jim's favorite movie moment.

Here's the setting, Stewart (an old Scottish man played by Mike Myers) is sat in his chair in a dumpy little house in San Fransisco. Stewart is surrounded my old "Weekly World News" newpapers and empty Red Label Export beer bottles. He's entertaining guests who are made up of his son Charlie (also Mike Myers) and Charlie's best friend Tony. His Child (nicknamed Head) is sporting an afro and has an irregularly large head, and his wife May has dyed (many shades) hair and has an addiction to the "Weekly World News" a Enquirer like periodical that she refers to as "The Paper".

In the other room, Stewart is entertaining Tony while Charlie visits with his mother.

Stuart Mackenzie (Charlie's father) ... "William! Move your head! Look at the size of that boy's head!"
Tony ... "Shhhh!"
Stewart ... "I'm not kidding, that's like an orange on a toothpick!"
Tony ... "Shh! You're going to give the kid a complex."
Stewart ... "Well, that's a huge noggin! That's a virtual planetoid! Has its own weather system! Head! Move!"

After some giggles from Tony and a few glares from Stewart, Mae (Charlie's Mother) requests the Paper from Stewart, to which he says:

Stewart: "Head! Paper! Now! Move that melon of yours and get the paper if you can! Haulin' that gargantuan cranium about! I'm not kidding, that boy's head's like Sputnik! Spherical, but quite pointy in parts. "

He turns to Tony speaking a little more quetly..." Well, that was offside, wasn't it? He'll be crying himself to sleep tonight on his huge pillow!"

The rest of the evening is filled with conspiracy theories about something Stewart calls thePentaburate, which makes up the largest power in the world.

Stewart: "The queen. The vatican. The Getty's. The Rothschilds. AND Colonel Sanders before he went tits up!Oh, I hated the Colonel with his wee BEADY eyes! and that smug look on his face, 'Oh! You're gonna buy my chicken, OHHH!"

Charlie: "Dad, how can you hate...the Colonel?"

Charlie's Father: "Because he puts an addictive chemical in his chicken that makes you crave for it nightly, smart ass!"

Taken form the movie So I Married an Axe Murderer.

Mike Myers is possibly the funniest Scottish impersonator in existance. I love studying his movies (Axe Murderer, Austin Powers, Shrek etc...) and regurgitating it in party settings, especially with my "Uncle Angus McHallett".

Aye he's a bonny scotsman, the likes of which have oonly been seen in the deepest parrts of the ol' sod. Aye! Herre's to me uncle Angus on St. Patty's day! He's a horse's arse!

So Lazy

Sorry, I haven't got time to write anything big today, but check back tommorow when I do a tribute to St. Patrick's day.

I want to try another open forum. Please leave a comment and tell me the best and most humorous way to avoid doing jobs you hate. Either at home or at work.

And to get the ball rolling,

Wife is an expert at this. She hates doing dishes. So after a meal she retires to the living room with the phone and calls anyone who will chat for 15 minutes while Jim cleans up. It is really quite seamless and un-noticeable, but she has put some variations on it since I hid the phone one day. These include but are not limited to:
Bathroom visits, shower, dog walking, food preparation (yes she will actually cook after we are done eating. But she still has a weapon at her disposal. Guilt, she hasn't resorted to that yet, but something tells me I'll be soaping the dinnerware for a long time to come.

Clever and beautiful, my kryptonite.

Word up

It's only funny when it happens to them.

The other day I was cruising along the street in my Tow truck. Mine is a large 2 ton truck with dual rear wheels, so I cover a lot of road. we had just had a fresh snow and around this place, within the first 4 hours of daylight it's usually slush. I was doing my best to stay in my tracks but there were spots that made it impossible to avoid sending streams of sluch 30 feet from me in all directions.

Picture a 18 year old strutting down the sidewalk (Dude). Now picture his "Hip Hop" outfit, you know the white jogging pants, the baby blue hat with no peek curve, worn slightly sideways, and a huge poofy jacket open in the front so you can see the ridiculous amount of Bling bling (or massive amounts of shiny necklaces and pendants). And I mean this guy is strutting, bouncing on every step and swinging one arm.

Now picture a two ton tow truck barreling down the road through dirty salty slush. With the sole occupant (the driver) wearing a bright orange pair of coveralls and a hat that he let go of a long time ago, because it's too dirty (if you know mw, I never let go of a good hat).

Now, would you play slop chicken with this character? Dude sees me coming, but instead of moving away from the sidewalk to preserve his "fresh threads" he stands there as if to say "I dare you". Well since I was in traffic and I could barely slow or manoeuvre, I kept my path.

As I got closer he spread his arms to his side like "what you ganna do boi?".

And as I made my way down the next block I smiled a little as Dude was swinging his arms violently obviously unimpressed with his muck-over.

I am a bastard.

The Honeymoon in Quebec spa debacle. Final Part

Hanz's Hands

Wife and I were led down a long hallway towards out room. Along the way I noticed happy smiling women being massaged by young grad students. I thought to myself: "you old bags". I was a little concerned and uncomfortable, but luckily my boys were no longer flapping in the wind.

We arrived in our room where in the center of the room were two massage tables about five feet apart in a bright room, with large windows overlooking the Rideau Canal. It was pretty nice. This would have been a pretty romantic thing. Or maybe it still would be.

Hanz instructed us to remove our robes and lie on the tables face down into these little holes in the table. and to cover ourselves up with the towels that were there.

***Silly Jim Thought #1: "Whew, I thought they were gonna massage the skin! Oh well this might be ok".

Hanz left and wife and I got started. She looked at me
Wife - "You OK?
Jim - This is not good.
W - Do you want me to go and ask for a woman for you?
J - No, this is fine. (Trying to smile)
W - Don't worry it's just a back massage.
J - I know.
W - Sorry!
J - Hm.

Once we were rested the pair walked back in, turned on some wave sound effects and started oiling their hands up. Jim was tense.

I was face down and uneasy. The blanket was pulled down from my neck, and I got ready. This was not an over the towel back rub. And to make things a little more tense, Hanz tucked the blanket into my gotch strap. I was not impressed. I grasped the handles with white knuckles and held my breath. Hanz oiled my back.

***Jim thought #2: " I hate lotion on me, I really don't like the greasy feeling... this is far, far worse."

The baby oil was slathered all over my back and Hanz started to rub. He must have said "just relax" about five times and though I tried, I could not. If you have ever had a massage, you know that tense muscles make particularly uncomfortable massages. When you have a 200 pound ape, twanging your muscles, it is much, much worse.

***Jim thought #3: "Holy shit, I'm gonna punch this bugger."

After 15 minutes he let off, I prayed it was over. He placed the blanket over my back and for a moment I felt relief. Then, up came the blanket covering my legs. He tucked once again, but this time it was slightly more intimate as I was sporting somewhat of a wedgie. And away we went with the leg massage. It wasn't as painful as the back massage, but it was still sore.

Finally he was done. I felt relief and was ready to shower.
"Turn over please."

WTF?!

It was a full massage, and despite my best estimation the hour was far from over. A quick tuck and lube up, and we were on the legs, now I could see my wife, and I mouthed the words: "get me outa here.” Wife of course (a seasoned veteran of massage and the like) could barely open her eyes as she was having a much better time than I was. I firmly placed my hands over my midsection and reassumed my position of cat like readiness. Tense as a tennis racquet. Ouch, the rub felt more like a constant Charlie horse.

After this portion, Hanz made his way over my face and greased my neck up. He massaged my arms and neck that was all. Thank god there was no nipple contact, or I might have been inclined to leave. Finally when it was over they quietly left the room, and said let yourselves out when you're ready. The door closed and I was already in my robe and slippers glaring at my wife who looked pleased.

Wife “so?"
Jim (in a Cartman like voice, but with less pep) "I have just been violated."
Wife” I thought you were gonna freak out, you handled that really well."
Jim "pfff"
Wife (laughing now) "seriously if you turned any more red, and if your knuckles were any more white, you would have torn out of your skin."

Apparently my attempts to "grin and bear it" were feeble at best. The wife from her stoop in glorious massage bliss could see the red glow from my altar of shame. Suddenly I felt bad for Hanz who probably enjoyed touching me as much as I enjoyed being "handled".

So I left (wife still had some other stuff to get done) and went to the gym and steam room where I worked out my embarrassment and tension. Let me tell ya, nothing relieves the tension of a massage like a good workout.

So that is the story of Hans, I pray that for future "special occasions, my wife gives me a gift certificate at Hooters or Montana's. Who am I kidding, with my luck I would get the waitress referred to by the other waitresses as Beulla.

The Honeymoon in Quebec spa debacle. Part Two

So we left home for a 6 hour trip to Hull, where the spa was located. We were booked in for the following day and we decided to spend the day visiting some of our old haunts. We went and found a Vietnamese restaurant (it seems the more unassuming they are, the better the food) in a small neighborhood just 8 blocks or so from parliament hill. The weather was nice and we enjoyed a romantic evening.

The following morning came way too fast and before I knew it it was time to get ready for the rest of the drive, and of course my date with the cute massage girl. We ordered some room service and got our stuff together. We ate and checked out.

*** Naïve Jim Thought #1: “This might be pretty cool, a little back rub, then we’ll hit the road, relaxed and ready for the drive.”

We arrived at the Hilton where the spa was located. Talk about swanky! I felt slightly out of place with my shorts and flip flops, there were well dressed women everywhere, all with Gucci hand bags and luggage, and gold everywhere. I was starting to think maybe I was out of my element. Wife was well dressed as usual, and made me look like maybe she had picked me up in the parking lot and was working on an act of humanitarian kindness.

We found our way down to the spa, and lined up with the other 8 people there for treatments. Not a man to be seen. There were mostly middle aged women with their mothers or daughters, going for a day of relaxation. We “checked in, and they handed us slippers and bathrobes and asked us to change into them, and proceed to the waiting room. We went into our own little change rooms to get ready.

***Naïve Jim Thought #2: “Now, when they say get undressed, do they mean all of it? I guess it’s like the doctors or something, ah well!”

So I put my robe on and realized that I had best watch the lower placement of my robe, it was a little short and showed a lot of thigh. I locked my things away and walked into the waiting room. The room was filled with day beds and there were about 10 women waiting, sipping coffee and eating fruit. I was directed to a daybed when I realized I had best re-think my choice of non-derwear.

***Naïve Jim thought #3: “Shit, I had better put the mouse back in the house or these ladies are gonna get more than a face wash”

I hurried down the hall and got my boxers back out of my locker, and headed back to the Waiting room.

Right on the hour a door opened and the first masseus called her “patient” and they headed down the hall. Then the second cute little lady grabbed her patient. My anticipation was building because these ladies are getting cuter and cuter. The next ones left one after another, there were 4 of us left when a guy showed up at the door. He was a little fella with scrawny arms and a swagger that suggested he was a little light in the loafers.

***Naïve Jim Thought #4: “Hmm that’s odd, I don’t suppose there are a lot of gay male massage therapists, he must be a rarity!”

He walked out with his lady, relief! The next girl came to claim her patient and finally another. Wife and I were alone in the waiting room, and I had a little bit of an uneasy feeling.

The door opens and in peered a 210 pound, hairy, mouth breathing gorilla, smiling ear to ear. Misssster and Misssses Jim?

***Shattered Jim Thought #1: “He had better be here for her.”

With just the slightest bit of optimism left I wondered if there was a 100 pound girl behind him waiting for us.

Behind the gorilla was the other massager.

I have named him “Hanz”. Hanz was a 200 pound 5’8” biker looking fella, who was lighter in the loafers than any of the girls that had come through here previously. Wife later informed me that while I was clenching my teeth and turning into my 50th shade of purple, she saw them exchange a look that could only mean they were “special friends”.

Now I’m not really homophobic, I mean I have known guys who putted from the rough, and it was fine by me, as long as they kept their hands to themselves (the same as I would with anyone but my wife :-)). Well that was out the window, I was about to be touched.

***Shattered Jim thought #2: “Thank christ I put my underwear back on, I think I'm going to shit myself”.

Tommorow’s post “Hanz’s Hands – The Honeymoon Spa Day debacle - Part Three.

The Honeymoon in Quebec, spa debacle. Part One

I’ve been saving this story for a while, waiting for the perfect time to unleash it on my loyal readers. I promise you will not be disappointed.

I was married in the summer of 2003 to my beautiful Wife in her home province of Newfoundland. The weather was nice, the food was great and… she said yes, so I guess it was a great wedding.

Our rehearsal dinner consisted of a pile of family and friends gorging on the finest food prepared by a family of amazing cooks. The menu was Scallops, Turbot cheeks, Crab legs (shhhh), shrimp, mussels, salmon, coocoos (snails) and some other bakes fish dishes. We did it the only way our families were comfortable, standing over the trough, talking loud and eating. There were no formal speeches or sitting, just come as you are. It was fantastic. Of course my flatlander family never really left the table covered in Crab legs, it was quite the sight to see.

The wedding came and passed without incident, and barely took up any time at all. It was over so fast I felt like it should have been longer, just so it could sink in more. We partied and danced and it was a great time.

The next day came the gift opening. This would be the day that, unbeknownst to me, would change my life forever.

The gifts were great and we received way too much of everything. But the envelope that read “to Vicki from VBR” would prove to be less of a gift and more of a basis for a story.
Inside the envelope was a gift certificate to a day spa, apparently one of the better chain spa’s in Quebec.

***(Silly JIM thought #1 – “Hey great! Vicki can spend an entire day being pampered and I can go to Boston Pizza and watch a game and have a beer!”)

We left Newfoundland the following day to return home to our new life together.

The winter came and went and we had not yet used this gift and we decided it was time to make a decision. So, we made a plan; We’ll go to Hull Quebec and spend a few days there, and continue on to the beautiful city of Quebec, and visit my brother and his wife. Sounded great, I was ready for a few beers and a nice walk through the old city.

***(Silly JIM thought #2 – “Man, this is gonna be sweet, I love Ottawa, I can skip down to the Gluepot Pub for a few and meet Vicki at the hotel when she’s done with her spa thing!”

Then came the question: “So what things would you like to do?”
JIM: “Huh?”
Wife: “What treatments would you like?”
JIM: “Oh, no, you go ahead, get some face cleaning and toe massaging, I’ll just hang out.” – trying to be a nice guy
Wife: “No way, this was a gift for both of us, I think you would really enjoy it!” – trying to be loving wife
JIM: “No really, I’m fine, enjoy yourself!”
Wife: “But I’d like to do this TOGETHER.”

My fight was over. I declined the face wash and the toe nail clipping, and decided on a 1 hour massage where I would be in the same room as my wife. Romantic, yes?

No.

***Silly JIM thought #3 – “Ah well this won’t be too bad, I’ll get to have a 1 hour massage by some cute little grad student and my wife will be happy too!”

If JIM could go back he would have planned a trip to a cracker factory. Jim would have enjoyed a trip to a cracker factory.

The plans were set and despite my many appeals to let Wife have all the fun alone, I was on my way to Hull QC, for a day at the spa. And to what would quickly become a recurrent nightmare I would have for the months to come.

In order to not spoil a great story, I’m going to leave this one hanging. Please check back tomorrow for “The Honeymoon in Quebec spa debacle. Part Two”

I AM happy

This was forwarded to me by a friend (I added some comments of course), and you know what? It's damn good to be me!

Why Men Are Just Happier People:

Your last name stays put. (That’s your choice)

The garage is all yours. (Want it? trade you for the living room... second only to the “throne room”)

Wedding plans take care of themselves. (yeah, like you want our help)

Chocolate is just another snack. (because we have a different substitute for sex)

You can be president. (the president shouldn’t be the president)

You can never be pregnant. (and you won't be at this rate! I'm sure I speak for all men)

You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park. (that’s your hang up, not mine)

You can wear NO T-shirt to a water park. (go ahead! We won’t complain, honest)

Car mechanics tell you the truth. (yeah, at least that’s what WE tell you)

The world is your urinal. (the world is your talk show)

You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky. (we also never have to drive 2 hours to look through the same stores as there are at home)

You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt. (right brain left brain)

Same work, more pay. (that’s not fair, especially if you knew how little we accomplish in a day)

Wrinkles add character. (so do dents scars and body hair)

Wedding dress -- $5000. Tux rental -- $100. (who are you trying to convince?)

People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them. (people never look at your crotch when you’re excited)

The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected. (women never fart, until they know they’ve got you)

New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet. (no, but stubbing my toe on your froo froo end tables does)

One mood -- all the time. (this is not accurate there are three kinds of indifference)

Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat. (how long does it take to say “ hey man, beer after work?”)

You know stuff about tanks. (not as much as you think, unless you are referring to pisstanks, in which case I have access to unique resources)

A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase. (and only a backpack if I’m headed to the waterpark!)

You can open all your own jars. (It's easy, thumbs towards Nipples)

You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness. (and pay forever if we forget one?)

If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend. (yeah, there’s a real shocker)

Your underwear is $8.95 for three-pack. (it’s sole pupose is to keep “it” from poking into people in public, and for catching the last few drops, and lest we forget, provides a barrier from the frosty/jagged zipper)

Three pairs of shoes are more than enough. (Runners, flip flops, and the ones you keep wanting me to wear)

You almost never have strap problems in public. (that is not accurate, it used to take me hours to get a bra undone under a woman's shirt)

You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes. (yes we do, one large crease that appears at the most inopportune times)

Everything on your face stays its original color. (yeah, nature made me that way, not L'Oreal)

The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades. (and so shall it be until the end)

You only have to shave your face and neck. (you can always wax instead)

You can play with toys all your life. (yeah, if I’m allowed)

Your belly usually hides your big hips. (true)

One wallet and one pair of shoes one color for all seasons. (yeah, wish I could have 10 that never get used anyway)

You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look. (how bad are a set of legs that they need to be hidden away?)

You can "do" your nails with a pocketknife. (Only if it has a minimum attachment of a spork and a toothpick)

You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache. (trust me so do plenty of women)

You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24 in 25 minutes. (less time since I discovered shopper's drug mart is open til midnight)

You forgot the best one:
To us, menopause will be nothing more than an excuse to "get out" more often.

Fun and Games third installment

Game #3: Chugging with Oprah

Category: Indoor all season fun

Required: TV with cable connection or VCR with tape of the OPRAH show.
Large bib.
Women's underwear.
High heels.
Skirt.
2 Men and their wives (wives may not participate for reasons of OPRAH enlightenment.

Goal: To be able to sit through one entire episode without getting up to go to the bathroom. And to keep yourself from screaming while spending "quality time" with the wife on the couch (remember there is NO hockey).

Rules: A drink of alcohol must be taken each time OPRAH says the following:
1. OPRAH
2. Touching
3. Remarkable
4. Makes referral to her personal triumphs (this may require more than one sip depending on her ramblings.)
5. Camera shots of crying (for joy or sadness) middle aged women (crying middle aged men are a mandatory full drink)

The player(s) must not leave their seats to go to the bathroom. Chosen alcohol should be placed in a cooler near the couch, failing that, a wet sack will provide a cool temperature for your "poison" of choice.

Spillage will automatically require that the player wear the bib until someone else spills, upon which time the bib can be passed on.

Failing to complete a sip or full drink (when a man cries) will require that the player wear the women's underwear. A second offence requires that the man wear the heels, finally a third offence will get you the skirt. These must be worn until someone else offends. One thing at a time until a full transfer is done.

The winner is declared by the women after the show. The deciding factors are the amount of props the men are wearing (the most clothing loses). Prizes may be awarded depending on the venue.

Discovery

I have finally had a chance to get out there and see some other Blogs. I ran across a few Tucker Max bashers (yawn) and some very political sites, along with a few other mildly interesting ones. However I have found a place I will go to often.
I recommend a visit to Salt in the Wound, recommended reading: "86 rules of drinking". Very good stuff.

As she puts it: "Here we go again"

I figured I had better make with some proof of Eeyore and SOL’s existence somewhere along the line. I have permission to post the following e-mail from SOL:

“Can you believe it – another friggin appliance broke. Our microwave shoots flames. I called Sears because it is only 4 years old and it was like $500. The guy said microwaves only have a 1 yr warranty. I told him this seems like a design flaw for such a new microwave. He said well microwaves are microwaves, they haven’t changed much in the last 30 years. I said apparently they have because I have owned several microwaves and this is the first one to shoot flames! I do not like this added feature. Grrr!!!
Again, my charm failed to get me anywhere….”

Now, this funk they’re in might disappear sometime in the next few decades, but the way they are going, I would keep my money on black and let it ride!

But I can’t help but worry about Ellie-May (their daughter) who seems to have inherited some of the bad luck. The poor thing is always crashing into something! But she takes it with a smile and a chuckle. Glad she inherited that too!

My Doggy has a first name

It's S-A-T-A-N...

I am not funny today.

I woke up at 7:30 and the sun was shining throught my window. My new puppy Jackal had apparently decided to leave the bedroom last night, because all I found when I got up was his swath of destruction, but no Jackal.

I am not funny today.

I found a puddle of pee near the door to the backyard. I looked around from there and saw a pile of chewed cardboard and some miscelaneous junk I had left lying around in my haste to leave for hockey last night. I also found my trapper (goalie glove) with laces missing, corners rounded, and slobber covered.

I am so not funny today.

I began the search for Jackal. I looked under the bed, under the usual spots, no Jackal. I made my way upsatirs and found a pile of poop. No Jackal. I found chewed towels, socks underwear and toys, goalie equipment, shoes and garbage. No Jackal.

I am very unfunny today.

Then I heard a faint cry from behind the bathroom door (he must have heard me swearing), I opened it and the pathetic little shit slunk out from the bathroom that he had closed himself into. And gave me that look the "hey fugger, it's not MY fault you didn't pick up your shit!" I felt bad for the poor little bugger, he had spent all day and most of the evening cooped up all alone, so he must have had enough sleep.

So I guess it's back to confined sleep for him again. I guess this is where the master should be trained a little more cautiously.

Related note to Honey,
I have a list of a few items I would like for my birthday.

What's your man worth?

I know of at least five women who are going to laugh until they cry when they see this picture, because someone finally said exactly what they've been thinking for a long time, except they might use things of lesser value, in place of the cat.