Lucy

So Lucy is our dog. A ten year old Golden Retriever. She's been a great dog, wonderful with the kids, never a problem. Until lately.

Lately,perhaps because my wife is back at work full time, she has been acting up when we aren't around. She digs into garbage cans in the bathrooms and pulls out all the used (yuck!) kleenex and spits them out on the floor.

She has also been getting into food lately.

By that I mean swiping stuff off of plates, out of cupboards and so on.

By these methods she has consumed in the past month:

A number of brass BBQ brush bristles, the x-ray of which showed them in a nice ball being slowly transported through her system. We think they have passed, but did not find any evidence of them for sure. I don't want to go squishing through her poops to find out either. Can you imagine what it would feel like to poop out a bunch of brass brush bristles?? I mean - can you? Sheesh - I'm shakin all over just thinking about it...

She has also eaten 4 hamburger buns (with butter) which were on a plate on the counter, ready for me to finish cooking the burgers.

Tonight she ate the better part of 2 Ivory soap bars. The big ones from Costco too. Hmmm - this should make for an interesting barf later tonight I figure. Or an equally interesting poo tomorrow. I'll let you know. Maybe I'll take pictures!!

Stay tuned.

Couple Therapy

Our kids were both out of the house on sleepovers, so my wife and I did what any other healthy, normal couple would do under such circumstances. We went for a nice dinner, a beautiful stroll along the beach, and then we went home and enjoyed some wild, unprotected swearing.

You can only go so long without a little profanity. It was great. We cursed and yelled with complete abandon.

It was invigorating and wonderful in all respects.

Having kids around all the time makes it easy to lose touch with your bad words. It’s hard to make time in your day for just you and your spouse, and your salty vocabulary. It’s important you reserve some good fulmination time for each other.

We couldn’t help ourselves and got started swearing right there in the van after our walk because we never get to in front of the kids. When we got home we carried on like teenagers, doing ‘it’ on the stairs, in the kitchen, the living room, and of course, our bedroom. Bathroom too.

We used some of the verbs and nouns and adjectives we learned before we were married. We even referred to some books and the Scrabble game to, you know, spice things up a little.

Logging into the internet, we watched a few of ‘those’ types of videos. Yeah - George Carlin. Chris Rock. It was wild.

We held nothing back from each other.

We became as one.

Our pleasure was all the more invigorating in that we did ‘it’ really loudly. With no kids to disturb we went a little crazy. I remember yelling up the stairs “HONEY DID YOU LET THE *$%#@!% DOG OUT?” It felt so…free.

We even had a few drinks to sort of lubricate things.

No need to ‘do it’ behind closed doors or in hushed whispers. No hints or semi-spelled out words like we usually do in front of the kids. This was pure, wild foul-mouthing of the best sort.

We deliberately stubbed our toes and jumped around, cursing. No words barred. We cussed and yelled until we were spent. Then we lay back, exhausted, smiles on our faces, sated.

I’m sure a psychologist would say that a good swear session does wonders for one’s health. What couples need is some good, down to earth ear-burning, awe-inspiring, incredible-word-combination cussing to clear out the cobwebs. Avoiding the curse words you would LIKE to use about neighbours, co-workers and bosses is too stressful.

Oh sure, the occasional road rage episode is helpful, as is muttering imprecations at the drive-through when they mess up your order, but these are ultimately hollow and unfulfilling.

So unlock your inner self and unleash your most colourful cusses! Be free! Get rid of the kids and let fly. It works! It feels good! It’s probably good for the economy!

If cursing doesn’t work, have some cookie-dough ice cream. That’s another good stress reliever.

Growing Pains

I’ve been meaning to log some of the old growth weeds out in the side yard, and being male I welcome any excuse to fire up the chain saw.

I also haven’t seen the kids for a few days, and their machetes are missing, so I figure I better go have a look.

Which brings me to the actual topic of today’s column – “Failure to Thrive,” or “Gardening” as some people call it.

All weed evidence to the contrary, I find myself growing rather fond of the pastime. I’m also rather fond of my kidneys and the intriguing mole between my toes too mind you, but this is different somehow. I can actually see a long term relationship growing here (ha!) and I have some control over it, so I enjoy it. I have not yet been able to grow another kidney.

I’m also not at the stage where I know the Latin names for everything (well, anything) yet. The people who can do that (Obnoxium insufferabilia) have also been known to snort pure, uncut Miracle-Gro up their noses, so you have to be careful about who you garden with.

I just think its fun planting stuff and tending it, and by “tending” I mean “squirting water onto its general region.”

For some reason, my wife believes watering constitutes ‘Yard Work’ so I am not about to disabuse her of this notion any time soon. Watering is what I do. Gentlemen take note.

Watering is also good in that I get to practice my aerial gunnery on flying moths and other insects, who rarely know what hits them as I dive out of the sun, water guns blazing, engine shrieking as my Battle of Britain Squirtfire claims yet another victory!

Yes. Well…

There have been other moments of joy scattered amongst my many hours of bewilderment out there.

For example, the other day I was once again staring down at the Alien Infestation thing (Buttuglia thinkitsaweeden) and noticed for the first time that it was actually kind of pretty.

The Alien Infestation is an odd looking plant with tentacles and scales and it is really quite hideous. It looks like what might burst out of your chest after you’ve been impregnated by something obviously not of this world.

Every time I approach it with malice aforethought, my wife intercepts me and assures me that it is, in fact, a plant and not some disgusting Weed From Beyond.

She then replaces my hat (removed for a good Scratch and Ponder), steers me gently towards the overgrown side yard, and watches me mutter my way towards the day’s weed harvest.

Then there were some seeds the kids and I planted. We bought little envelopes (Packetphotoshoppia notactualsizeums yourresultsmayvaryens), actually read the instructions on the side, and did as we were told for a change.

The little pots were watered daily for many, many, many weeks.

We finally decided growthing or spurting or whatever was not going to happen, so we tilled the little cups of soil and seeds into the dirt beside one of the pathways in the yard. Where of course a single plant emerged, looking rather feisty, branches on hips, as if to say “Why didn’t you plant me here in the first place, Bozo?”

Lately though, despite all of my attention to this plant, it is thriving. Which I find quite annoying since I haven’t a clue what I am doing to produce such a result.

Now that I think about it, this perpetual state of cluelessness is reminding me too much of my real job. I may have to change occupations.

New Look, Feel, Post

So I've switched things around a little! I hope you like the new/different layout - everything is down the left side now.

Here's the problem: I am completely colour blind. I haven't a clue what colours I've chosen - only that I need contrast in order to see anything. I've also farted about with some of the fonts - I think. I was just goofing around with the settings so it may be all loused up. I guess you couldn't see the links in posts either - someone mentioned that to me the other day. Sorry about that.

Please let me know if these colours are quite horrid or make you barf or anything. I only put in what I can see from a contrast perspective - not colour. So help me if you wish but I'm afraid I can only try to improve - unless you are standing over my shoulder I haven't a clue what I'm doing.

Cheers and thanks for visiting! Tell your friends too please!

Phone Heaven

Your call is important to us. Please remain on the line and your call will be answered sooner than if you redial.

To make your time on hold more enjoyable, press 1 to hear a customer service representative get jolted with electricity.

Press 2 to hear the call center manager have bamboo shoots shoved under her fingernails.

Press 3 if you would like to water board a senior executive of this company.

Press 4 if you would like us to send a male or female escort to your current billing address for whatever you like. This offer can also be exchanged for a service technician of your choice – cable, telephone, electrician or plumber. It is no problem, and they will be there within the hour.

Press 5 if we somehow made a mistake on your last bill. A 6 month credit will be applied to your account immediately.

Press 6 if you would like the very next appointment you have been waiting for. Say tomorrow about 1 o’clock?

Press 7 if you would like to star in a major motion along with Angelina Jolie and/or Brad Pitt.

Press 8 if you don’t have enough money to pay your bills. Using the keypad, enter the amount of money you would like to receive monthly for the next year so that this never happens again.

Press 9 if you would like to wake up from the dream you are having. Our customer service personnel are currently entering your home to wake you from this dream and collect the money you currently owe us.

Please stand by.

Your call is important to us. We would very much like to hear the sound of clanky coins bouncing into the collection plate our service personnel are holding under your head as we bounce you up and down by your ankles.

This call may be recorded for quality assurance purposes, and evidence.

Please do not adjust your set. We will be finished with you shortly. Thank you!

It's all About Focus

With a new pool complex nearby, I've been taking the kids swimming quite a bit lately.

Now the problem with being a middle-aged guy (BIKINI) is that if you have eyes (BIKINI) in your head (HOTTIE) it becomes difficult to focus from time to time.

This can be problematic in that (NICE TATTOO) it is distracting as hell and hey I'm only human (BIKINI) and I've got to (focus focus FOCUS!!) on what (OOPS LARGE BOYFRIEND) I'm supposed to be doing here.

Anyway what I'm trying to say is that I'm there with my kids and I'm (SLEEPING ON COUCH TONIGHT) happily married and I don't mean to look but I have eyes don't I? Am I not a (CRETIN) human being?

It's not like I'm being an ogling pervert or anything. (LOOK AT THOSE! OH SORRY BUDDY).

It makes me uncomfortable (IS SHE TOPLESS? NO IT’S A BIKINI WHEW) that's all.

Anyway, there I was with the kids when I had to go to the bathroom so I got out of the pool.

For a change.

I can't quite remember what I was talking about just now (OUCH MY CHEST HAIRS HONEY). I'm so distracted these days (HOTTIE) what with work and all.

And here’s the other thing. Spouses have eyes too and you can’t tell me they don’t admire (PIERCING PLACEMENT) another guy’s abs any more than I happen to notice (BIKINI) in passing another woman’s shallow unimportant physical attributes.

It is hypocritical to think that it is only men who can admire from afar someone whose (THOSE REAL?) body shape is perhaps more tuned than one’s own (DISGUSTING FLAB) physical presence.

I think of it as admiring a work of art, really (DON’T STARE! DON’T STARE!)

You know my latest column was going to be really funny but now I've lost my (IS THAT A BUTTERFLY ON THERE?) train of thought. (FACE LIKE AN OLD BOOT BUT WHAT A BIKINI)

I was also going to talk about how distracting it is to drive past the local beaches (BIKINIS OH MY GOD BIKINIS AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE! FOCUS! FOCUS! DRIVE THE CAR!!)

It is really (BIKINI) annoying to have to do this, but since I have to go to the office and back 6 or 7 times per day and I have to drive past the beach each time even though it’s 28 blocks out of my way (HOTTIE) I think it is really worth it (FOR THE ENVIRONMENT).

I wish I could remember what I was going to write about today. Huh.

Man my neck hurts.

Medicine

I was in the drug store, trying to predict which ailment my kids would come down with next.

I started off by choosing Tylenol Cold, Tylenol Dry Cough and Runny Nose, Tylenol Cough, Cold, Sore Throat, and Runny Nose, and Tylenol Mostly Phlegm medications.

Then I got some Tylenol Zits, Tylenol Smelly Pee after Eating Asparagus, and Tylenol Sweat, Boils and Explosive Diarrhea.

Then I had to choose a flavour. There was Cherry, Bubble Gum, Grape, Peach, Pine, New Car Smell,

Diesel, Napalm, and Grilled Cheese.

I could administer the medication via liquid, tablets, liquid filled tablets, capsules, regular round pills, coated pills to avoid upset stomach, caplets, montagues, gel caplets, nose drops, eye drops, suppositories, skin patches, needle injections, caulking guns, postal delivery, express taxi, Morse code or Federal Express.

I think. I kind of blurred out for a while there.

Given the age and susceptibility of my children to viruses and other plague infestations, we’ve chosen to go the bulk route. We now have the Regular Tylenol Pumper Truck come by every Thursday to top off the tanks – so we’re good, and saving at least ten cents per dosage, not to mention getting airline points.

I contrast this variety of medicinal products to what I grew up with in the 60’s – Aspirin, Phenergan and a thick liquid we were told was Penicillin.

I have no idea what Phenergan was but we got it all the time. It may have just been rum in a medical bottle for all we knew. Same with the ‘Penicillin’ now that I think of it.

Here is how medical care in our house worked:

Kid has fever so high Mom is cooking fried eggs on kid’s tummy? Aspirin.

Kid wakes up with blotches everywhere and proceeds to urp all over the kitchen? Phenergan.

Kid comes home covered in scabs from ‘riding’ bike all day? Nothing. “Go wash your hands, it’s time for supper,” Mom would say. “And stop oozing all over the floor, I just waxed it…”

I have no idea when we got the Penicillin goop but I recall it having to be pretty serious when you did.

Medicine was simpler back then. Of course, everyone died by age 40 but hey – advancement comes at a price, right?

The nice thing is the human body is very resilient. You can do almost anything to it and still recover.

For example, my sister and her evil companion once squirted lemon juice into my eyes during a rousing game of “Let’s Torture the Little Brother.” In a testament to my intellect at the time, I let them.

The torture had little effect, other than the bloody nose I administered blindly to my sister via a well-timed right cross.

Medical authorities today claim my poor eyesight is a result of astigma-something and not ‘Shrivelling of the Eyeballs as Caused by Lemon Juice Infusion at Age 5’ or whatever.

The fact my eyeglasses today are as thick as a glass coffee table bears no relation whatsoever to this small act of sibling playfulness I am sure.

I forget what I was talking about.

Oh yeah. Medicine.

Here is a parting gift for parents:

In instances where a Spiderman Band-Aid does not stop the flow of spurting arterial blood from a child’s appendage, remember what the guys from the TV show “Emergency!” used to do and start an IV of Ringers Lactate.

I have no idea what that is but it usually worked, and the handsome Doctor at the hospital always called for it.

If that doesn’t work, then I suggest a dose of Phenergan and transport immediately.

Happy Fathers Day indeed!

I just learned that I placed 3rd in the HumorPress.com writing contest with my column about the Aerodynamic Qualities of Stuffed Toys! Cool!

I sent in a couple of columns, one came in 3rd, the other (Tool Drool) placed as a finalist - just out of the money.

Here's the winning column: HumorPress.com 3rd place

I'd like to thank the Academy...

Actually I'd really like to thank the members of the writers group at Humor and Life, In Particular, who help me with every column.

Margie and the gang - you're the best!! Thanks for all your help and guidance.

Logging

I was going to lube up the chainsaw and cut down some of the old-growth weeds out in the yard today, but seeing as its Fathers Day, maybe I'll just relax and watch golf.

Same with mowing the lawn.

My motivation for doing yard work was inspired yesterday by a faint cry for help from the overgrown side yard. Not sure what made the sound - bird, animal, kid - whatever.

I'll try to cut a road through the brush tomorrow maybe. We've got a Canadian in contention at the U.S. Open so it may all have to wait.

Might rain too.

Matinee's Idol

I took the kids to an afternoon movie the other day, and as I was quietly eating my Goobers, trying hard to stay awake and not drool or snore too much, I drifted back in time…

'Riotous' would be a good description of the Saturday matinees we enjoyed growing up.

It was the Nova Theater for entertainment in our town (Mr. Tom Fowler, proprietor), and it was awesome fun.

We would gather outside the front door to commit minor acts of vandalism or robbery, until such time as we could enter and continue these activities inside.

We would purchase tickets and several pounds of candy and popcorn from the hotties behind the counter, upon whom we usually had life-threatening crushes, and we would proceed past the 'Cry Room' and into the theater proper.

The Cry Room was the place where, normally, mothers went if they had noisy, out-of-control infants. During Saturday matinees, however, it was where we went when our eardrums burst from the racket during the movie itself, as made by all us noisy, out-of-control adolescents.

In order to get to a seat we'd have to wade into a fray that was like a Wild West saloon in the middle of a good brawl. The air would be filled with flying candy, popcorn boxes, shoes, marbles, and occasionally, small children. Party!!

When the lights dimmed the background noise became a deafening roar as hundreds of kids yelled "Yay!!" at the top of their lungs.

With the lights fully out the fun would really start. If you've ever been to a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show (and you should), you’ll have some understanding of the atmosphere.

Hurling flattened popcorn boxes into the light of the projector beam was a favourite activity, long flights being rewarded handsomely with applause, catcalls and showers of hard candy. Extreme praise was bestowed upon those who sailed their whirling projectile into the head of some anonymous victim in the front row, since only weird kids sat up there.

Rivulets of soda pop swirled and eddied around one’s ankles as occasionally we’d hear, during very rare quiet moments, the sound of marbles or 'boulders' being rolled in waves from the back of the theater. These could be heard smacking into feet and seat anchors as they accelerated their way down the inclined floor to the very front. This would elicit massive cheers for the ‘winner’ of each heat.

After the cartoons, the din would settle down slightly as we began to enjoy some dreadful “B” movie, usually something with cowboys or soldiers who could shoot five bad guys dead with only one shot. Who were we to question how six-shooters could carry 39 rounds of ammunition?

During the movie we were getting shot ourselves, with Hot Tamales and other confections. We could also observe the bald head of Tom Fowler (proprietor), walking up and down the aisles, inadvertently getting into the spirit of things by being beaned repeatedly with Hot Tamales and other confections.

He would be trying in vain to stop dozens of juvenile delinquents from putting their feet on the back of the seat in front of them (a criminal offense), by the expedient means of shining a flashlight at them.

This was effective for at least two milliseconds, until such time as the beam of light moved on to the next offender. The previous slouching miscreant immediately returned his feet to the seat while simultaneously feeling up his slouching, miscreant girlfriend.

Just as Mr. Fowler was leaving the theater, ears ringing and dinged head throbbing, some wag would, of course, hurl a popcorn box up into the nose of John Wayne, to the cheers of everyone, and the consternation of the always-suffering theater owner.

I'm sure the man must have had several nervous breakdowns. I can only imagine his nightmares, thinking of his children growing up amongst the rotten kids who patronized his business.

I hope he made a fortune.