Date night is not what it used to be.

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This image was borrowed from yellowscene.com because I googled “date night” and then searched for images and found this really cool pic because I love superheroes and shit and now I have to give credit to the site because I don’t want to get arrested for copyright infringement.

Princess was on a boat cruise over the weekend as part of a school tour for the top academic achievers of each grade.  She obviously takes after me… Seeing that it was our twenty-first wedding anniversary last Thursday, I knew this weekend had serious potential for a date night.  I just needed to get rid of Dude.  Which is extremely easy to do.  One only needs to move the PlayStation console and plug it into a different monitor at the venue you want him to move to.  Like a friend’s house. Continue reading

To my soulmate, on her birthday

The lucky ones among us get to meet people on this journey through life that leaves a lasting impression.  Like a great tattoo.  They inspire and change you.  People who walk in and accepts you for who you are, with all your flaws, warts, shenanigans, bad habits and everything else that makes you human.  The kind of person who makes you want to be better at being you.

And if you’re really, really, really fortunate, you get to marry that person.

My love, it’s been 23 years since we’ve met and look how far we’ve come on this journey of forever together.  Your birthday is just another simple reminder of how blessed we are for having you in our lives. Continue reading

How a fidget spinner saved my life.

I’m a self-diagnosed sufferer of ADHD and it is Google verified and everything.  I started believing my condition after the eighth site confirmed it to be true.  And I’m not mocking the condition because this is serious shit.

I am the “hey, look there’s a squirrel” guy.  A man who loses interest in any conversation at the drop of a hat.  And this is in a literal sense.  If you drop your hat whilst speaking to me, I might not be there when you stand up again.  And this is in a figurative sense.  My parents didn’t raise a buffoon.  My body will still be standing in front of you but my mind will probably be hovering over the plot of the new Deadpool movie.

*Cue the fidget spinner Continue reading

Twenty.

A long, long time ago in an era where poking friends implied a sexual activity and not something you do with fake friends on a social platform.  Or when twitter was the sound made by a sick bird and not something I could waste several hours on, there was a skinny squire with mousy hair and a stunning personality.  He was invited to a ball and at some point during the festivities he saw her sitting in the kitchen, watching a magical talking bird.  He politely asked if he could join her because his parents didn’t raise an ape.  She blushed and agreed, so he sat down eagerly and over the course of an hour, she stole his heart.  And has never bothered to return it to him.

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a flower for an angel

Everybody in the land was joyous and happy when they announced their plans to exchange vows two years later.  He looked semi-dashing in a green blazer and she looked fucking amazing in an exquisite white wedding dress, as she waltzed down the isle.  He was (and still is) flabbergasted. Continue reading

She’s Forty.

Life is taking over my ability to blog.  Maybe I shouldn’t just blame life.  Things like work, travel and a damn MBA also gets in the way of writing.  Lots of shit is happening, leaving me with scraps of time to do important things, like blogging.

My time for blogging is merely breadcrumbs left behind after the rest of my life had their picnic.  And how am I’m supposed to survive on breadcrumbs alone?  I’m starving over here.  Neglecting my writing, reading and commenting obligations.

There comes a time when every man has to grow a pair, then take time by the short and curlies and throw it out the door.  A moment where you have to take back the control and find a moment to do the things you really love.  Like writing.

Anyhow, enough about me. Continue reading

The newly weds.

I got a window seat because I love to fold my legs behind my ears in order to sit comfortably on a plane.  All the isle seats were taken and like every other flight I’ve taken in Australia, this one was packed too.  The couple took both seats next to mine.  Fortunately she chose the middle seat and being small and petite, I knew there wasn’t going to be a lot of in-flight wrestling about the arm rest.  That thing was mine, bitch!

They were attractive in an Abercrombie and Fitch kind of way.  All smug and groomed and pretty.  She wasn’t ugly either.  I have to admit, I wasn’t paying that much attention to them, as I was already halfway through Episode 5 of Stranger Things which, for those of you who is still living under a rock, is frigging awesome!  (You need to binge watch it today.  It will blow your mind and I want to adopt those kids.  Especially the chubby one.)  Geeks have never been so cool.  Well, present company excluded, off course. Continue reading

My wife is a Princess too

It’s common knowledge that I refer to my daughter as Princess over here in the blogosphere.  Mainly because she is one.  My Princess.   (I’m hoping infidels are taking notes.)  If you were blissfully unaware of this Princess-reality, then I have only one thing to say to you:

Where the f*ck have you been for the last three years? Or rather…

Welcome to my blog, you wonderful person, you. I sincerely appreciate the time you are spending reading this thought provoking blog, where the troubles and struggles of parenting teens, being the best husband and coping with daily life are all hidden between gems of joy and laughter, sprinkled with attempts at humour.  Now if only you can press that little follow button in the panel on the right that would be super-dooper-sweet-sugar-coating-with-a-cherry-on-top-special!

Here’s the story of how I ended up with two Princesses in my house. Continue reading

Mother knows best

I took up jogging because I didn’t think waking up at the crack of dawn was sad enough. I felt inadequate being just one of a selected few, who voluntarily go to the gym every weekday before the birds start chirping.  I simply wanted more.  Running in the afternoon completed the look I was going for: Desperate and pathetic.

The truth is, I entered a race.  This implied training was necessary.  No, I didn’t lose a bet. And no, it wasn’t a dare. Why then? Because I am a raving lunatic.  Who else would choose to run for 10 km non-stop in the middle of nowhere?

One thing you must know about me is that I never do anything half-arsed.  I will endevour to finish everything I start with so much energy and vigor, that my sweat and determination would be considered a prohibited substance at the Olympic Games. (I don’t bottle my determination but my sweat is for sale on Bid or Buy.)

Since I’ve taken up running, I’ve become aware of a whole new brand of aches and pains. It happens when you start using muscles you never knew existed.  Especially the small ones supporting your joints.  Normal people would take notice the moment when their bodies start screaming agony! as a warning that they’re hurting.  I’m not normal. I’m committed to the point of being obsessive.   It makes me a very understanding person.  Just ask my kids.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I win anything, I’m not great.  I just like to commit 158% to everything I do.  It used to be 200% but I’m starting to subtract my age from my expectation.  During said race I injured my ankle.  I still managed to finish though.  Some people call it mind-over-matter, I call it old-age-and-stubbornness.  The slight injury turned into “it’s a little sensitive” a day after I completed the race.

The following week I was preparing for the next race.  I think there must be some indirect relationship between fitness and common sense. During one of these sessions, where I became even more stupid, the “it’s a little sensitive” turned into mild discomfort.  I still didn’t quit.  I’m a man.  And by now, a big idiot.  When the mild discomfort turned into me not being able to walk, I thought it a good idea to take a break.

I actually enjoy running.  I was sulking for having to sit out for three weeks.  I finally decided I’ve had enough.  F*ck the ankle.  The Wife suggested I take another week off, just to be sure as she self-diagnosed me with a sprained ligament.  I ignored her advise and had a great time on the road. I ran like the wind.  Or at least, a very strong fart.

All went well, until I stopped.  My little discomfort was back.  With a vengeance.

An hour later it felt like someone was stabbing my foot with a flaming, hot rod.  Two hours passed and I found myself alone in the bathroom.  I think I cried. Pain makes one very delirious.  I was trying to hide the fact that I destroyed something beneath my knee.  Seven hours later I still couldn’t get down the flight of stairs and the Wife was starting to look for me. I knew my game was up.  It was time for confession.

The doctor and x-ray guy diagnosed the source of my agonizing pain as a serious inflamed tendon, causing extreme pressure on the nerve, causing me to consider amputation as a wonderful solution.  And the cure?  An injection with a needle that would make a horse shit his pants and no running for another two weeks.  As per Wife’s suggestion.

Wife never uttered the dreaded words: “I told you so.”  But with females words are unnecessary.  It’s all captured in a look. And the look on her face said: “Mother knows best.”

PS – I haven’t taken up jogging again.  It’s been two months.  And now Winter is coming at a speed The Flash would never reach.  I still manage to drag my body out of bed every morning and that makes me miserable enough for the time being.  

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It’s easier to be me

Disclaimer: This post is totally random and NOT the consequence of the writer missing an important date like an anniversary or a birthday.

Love is a powerful force.  Probably the strongest force in the Universe, if you ignore the “Hulk-Smash!”.  Many people have been fortunate enough to stumble upon another person who unlocked this force in their life.  Finding a soulmate through the maze of daily existence and a desolate graveyard of failed relationships. People who, by some sacred intervention, acted on that discovery.  People like me.  One lucky bastard.

We live in a world where we are taught by society that having an opinion doesn’t necessarily mean you should dish it out like badges at a Democratic party convention.  This skill implies that some things are better left unsaid.  As the wounds caused by words tend to heal very slow, and never completely.  The scars remain forever. Continue reading

And the most amazing person on the planet is…

Humanity has a knack for celebrating greatness. We love heroes.  We like to honour men and women who are able to transcend their existence on this spinning blue ball and achieve a persona of some semi-celestial beings. Like angels and saints and saviors.

We glorify them with awards, honorary degrees and street names.  In some countries they bow before the queen and after she hits them with a sword on the shoulder, they’re called “sir”.  In other countries where democracy has been adopted for a century or two, a medal is pinned to their lapel after they’ve shaken hands with the president.  We simply adore people who inspire us, people who make us believe in the potential of the human race.  People who provide us with a glimmer of hope in the darkest of days.  Those few who rise to the occasion when the occasion warrants us to rise. Continue reading