FML

 

What was to begin an amusing anecdote about fatherhood, kids, discipline and chores, but alas, my efforts were thwarted by a computer having a temper tantrum.

I first noticed that it began moving slower over the past few days, but when I powered it up to venture into the World Wide Web, the laptop that once raced like the hare from that old fairytale, now moved as quickly as Eeyore in the Boston Marathon.  Very lethargic, but I managed to seek out the photos I was going to use, but when I attempted to write a new blog, the system never allowed me to follow through with my intentions.

Turns out that I was signed out of my blog.  I don't understand how or when that would have occurred.  I usually stay logged in.  It saves time and much of my sanity.  The very same sanity that sadly has melted away with tonight's escapades.

Apparently, so I've learned from this endeavour, Google owns blogspot.  I did not know that..., or if I did, it's another memory that was lost in my accident.  So I now had to recall the password for that which, for some reason, even though I'd punched in the correct PW, I had to verify that it was me.  A verification code was sent to my email.  Nope!  Can't get into my f*cking email account, despite the password being correct.  What the f*ck, man?!

I phone a friend, like a confused contestant on a game show, hoping for suggestions or a remedy to fix my compiling problems.  He helps the best he can, bless his heart, but his being on the other side of the city and my being completely computer illiterate, the project fell short.  I take the blame for that.  That and my computer is being a complete dick.

Now I have financial worries of "how the f*ck am I going to afford to replace another computer?"  I have a decent job, but the cost of living keeps rising every other day.  I speculate that my property taxes are going to be raised again, because the current city government is comprised of egotistical maniacs bent on what their legacy is going to be over the betterment of the citizens of our fair city.  Not to mention how many prior financial commitments I have.  My life is a f*cking money pit.

I thank my friend for the help he provided.  He's a good dude.  My "brother-from-another-mother".  We exchanged our parting pleasantries and I hung up the phone.  (We say hang up, even though there's no hanging of anything involved. 🤔 Weird.)  [*Sorry.  My mind wandered there for a second.  Now..., where was I?]

So we said our farewell's and I... set my phone aside, then turned my attention back to this slowpoke of a computer.  Closed all the windows that we had opened, all but one.  When I backed out of the failed Google sign-in attempt, suddenly my f*cking blog account was open.  What the f*ck, indeed!!

I changed the direction of what I was originally going to write.  I don't know if I'll ever complete the original idea.  I'll probably forget it.  I still have some issues with short-term memory.  Then again, maybe I will remember.  Each day is a mystery.

All this computer f*ckery is getting tedious.  I don't understand why I never learned how these f*cking things actually work.  I see other people tapping keys and punching in data and it looks fulfilling.  To just instinctually know what the outcome of your efforts will be, whereas in my shitty little life, I press the power button and then say a little prayer under my breath, to whom, I don't have a clue, but my hope is always that shit will work as it should and I can maneuver the interwebs without any hassle, so when stupid shit like what happened today, my prayers change from hoping that the computer will actually work to hoping a meteor will land on my house and kill me right here and now.  Some days I literally feel like I'm too stupid to live.  (Then I see some really stupid people and I feel better about my shitty life.)  

*Thank you stupid people.  You really do make the world go 'round.*

Home Sweet Home

 

It's nice to get out once in awhile.  Doing so, really makes one appreciate home all the more.  I enjoy being out with friends.  Family not so much, but with friends, I'm always guaranteed a few laughs, but when the night comes to a close and I'm homeward bound, I'm full of anticipation.  Excitement about walking through my front door, tossing my shoes aside and just relaxing and being at ease.  Of course, a familiar furry face greeting me at the front door with hugs and kisses, Monkey (my cat) is another reason I enjoy being home so much.

I have to leave the house, though, to truly appreciate being home.  If I wake up and remain indoors all day, I don't enjoy it as much.  It feels more like... Existing.  The house is merely the package that contains me.  I do not have to venture far, however, nor for very long.  Just shooting down to the mall for a second to grab some milk or something is all it takes.  Even just running to the bank to grab some cash.  I'm probably only gone for about fifteen minutes, but the moment I see my garage door opening for me to park, my heart actually warms itself.  The anticipation of entering the innards of my sanctuary is almost overwhelming.  I'm overjoyed, if I gotta be truthful.

As I said, the venture homeward isn't nearly as enjoyable as the moment I exit my vehicle and slowly stride to the front door.  That's when the joy begins.

I love my house.  I've lived here for over fifteen years, now, and don't see myself ever leaving, unless it's feet first, inside of a pine box.  I've dreamt of owning other houses.  I've even dreamed up a home that I plan to build, if the opportunity ever arises.🤑 Alas, 'tis but a pipe dream, but the house would have everything from an indoor pool, to an actual bar and a home theater, just to name a few features.  When I dream, I dream BIG.

For now, I love my house and I think it loves me.  I'm home and I feel safe.  I think that's the ultimate reason I love being home.  I feel safe.  Nothing can happen to me while I am here.  I love it.  It truly is my Home Sweet Home.

Run For Fun?

Waking up before the sun breaks the seal of a brand new day.  Dressing up in the garb of choice to battle the endeavour of the morning.  Filling a bottle with a concoction of protein powder and water, before lacing up your  running shoes and heading out the front door for a pre-dawn five mile jog before heading into the office for eight more hours of torture.  I can picture it, but I cannot fathom the joy or choice to run for fun.  It's an alien concept.

I've always been surprisingly fast for my size and shape.  I've had people challenge me in the past to race to the car or whatever, then be flabbergasted as my fat ass left them in the dust.  Unfortunately, those were in my younger years, while these days, arthritic knees and ankles in addition to prior spinal injuries pretty much prevents me from running at all.  When I am rushed, what results tends to look more like a wounded animal stumbling out of the brush than anything that resembles running.

I understand that it's fitness oriented, which is another practice that I avoid.  When forced to workout, in the past, whenever I had to rehabilitate an injury, I enjoyed it to a point, but after a couple hours of repeating the same actions, it became more of an annoyance than rehabilitating.  I've often had those "if I win the lottery" moments where I speculated that I would put a gym in my house, but in reality, would it be used or would that just end up being a space left ignored?  If I'm to be honest, I probably would use the facility if it were in the house, but even then, you'd never see my fat ass bouncing left and right as I ran on a treadmill.  Low impact or not, my knees would not hold up.

An early morning jog on the beach looks kind of refreshing, but again, unless you live there, it seems contrived.  Not only does one need to repeat the steps mentioned in the first paragraph, but now you have to add driving to a destination to execute your morning running ritual.  That's like the last walk of a prisoner headed to his own execution.  There has to be an air of resistance to the concept.  A detour into an early morning drive-thru to pick up all the things that your diet prevents you from having, like for instance, joy.  At this point, though, I can only imagine that your brain is operating on the default setting and there isn't much thinking going on.  You're just running on autopilot.

It is of my belief or creed, if you will, that one should reserve the practice of running for only emergencies, like being chased by a dog or wild animal.  Granted, they're more likely able to chase you down, but at least you have the chance to get away, plus the elevated heartrate will aid in emptying your body of blood, while the wild beast devours you.  So there's that advantage to running, I suppose. 🤔

Anytime I've witness people running, I've never once noticed a smile of anyone's face.  They chose, after all, to wake up at that ungodly hour.  They chose to run out in the brisk morning air.  They chose all the torture they inflict on themselves, so yes.  Why smile at that?  If you do cross paths with anyone who is smiling while they're running, chances are they are a deranged lunatic and I hope all this running you've been doing, has prepared you to sprint for your life before Smiley-pants knocks you over the head and drags you into a nearby bush. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is that overjoyed while running.

If you're an athlete, then of course, running is necessary, but only in short bursts.  Running for hours and hours in say, a marathon, is completely mental.  Both in execution of the task and borderline insanity.  I don't know if I've ever been that overjoyed to do anything of the like.  Like I've previously stated, it's an alien concept.  I can't wrap my head around it.  I can't understand the why, even after listening to countless people about the "benefits".  

I'm at a stage in my life where people around me are beginning to enter the twilight of their lives.  Aunts and uncles, friends and colleagues, are being diagnosed with conditions or inflictions or even dying, despite having lead healthy lives filled with exercise and good dietary habits.  Nowadays, when I hear that someone has passed away, the first thought that enters my mind, isn't that of sorrow or despair, but rather I think to myself, "They exercised and ate right and they still died.  I guess that means I don't have to do any of that, because I have the same odds of survival, regardless."  Kind of psychotic, when you think about it, but nevertheless factual.  I haven't ventured into a gym for a couple of years and that little endeavour ended with re-aggravating an old shoulder injury.

The only running I see in my future is the one I make on my deathbed. When I see that bright light open in the sky, that's when I'll make a break for it.  I'm deceivingly fast for a fat guy and I want to sprint through those Pearly Gates before they realize they fucked and I was supposed to head "south".  No take-backsies. 

The only truly accurate depiction of an early morning jogger.

 

The Great Debate

The subject of men standing versus sitting while urinating seems to be a subject that comes up every few years.  Studies and polls sent out to the masses to determine whether men prefer to stand to pee or to sit.  Personally, I cannot believe that science is still debating this subject after, what I can only assume, are ions. What is to become of it?

I am only reminded of the subject as it was discussed, albeit briefly, on the radio the other day.  One half of the on-air duo, who is male, seemed almost embarrassed that he sat down to pee.  Sensing his uneasiness, I texted in to the show that I was not ashamed to admit that I also sit to urinate.  It's something that I've done for decades and although memory of my childhood is foggy, I believe I sat to pee as a kid, too.  That is, until another chap teased me for doing so.

On the radio, they cited the results of one of science's latest studies, which revealed that in America only 23% of men sit to pee, while 31% prefer to stand.  Comparatively, in Canada, 35% choose to be seated while just 21% remain standing.  While looking up these statistics, I was surprised that the statistics for Europe are even higher.  Germany leads the world in sitzpinklers at a whopping 62%, with Sweden coming in at a distant 50% and Denmark coming in third with 44%.  It's mind blowing when you're not in the least expecting those kind of numbers.

Reasons for choosing to sit over standing varies, too, and they aren't related to the same reasons as why I choose to be seated personally.  I'll explain that in a moment.  Reasons most men do it, in Europe anyway, I was surprised to discover that it was medical.  Some choose to be seated due to urinary infections and other medical conditions.  I would surmise that the choice to stand is purely out of convenience.  After all, it is much easier to duck behind a fence, whip it out real quick and piss in the corner.  Hell, when I was mowing grass in the median strips on Circle Drive, I didn't have the convenience of hiding behind a bush or anything.  When desperate enough, I had a method in which I'd open the door of my little tractor and pretend to be leaning in and searching for something when in reality, upon closer inspection, one could see a stream of urine pouring down on the ground.  You don't want to know what I did if I had to poop. 😂

It was that discussion on the radio that sparked a long lost memory of my childhood and perhaps the catalyst to why I began choosing to sit rather than stand.  As I recall, I was visiting my aunt who had a friend over.  The bathroom was just off the kitchen in the small two bedroom apartment.  I went in to pee, standing as young boys do, and upon the stream splashing down, my aunt's friend thought it would be funny to call into the bathroom.  "We can hear you!" she called with a chuckle in her voice.  The experience traumatized me and I was overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment.  I never stood again, after that.  Not if I was indoors, anyway.  The anxiety from that day, propelled me into a state of constant Shy Bladder, which meant I was unable to go to the bathroom in a public setting if their were other people around.  No matter how bad I had to go, if there were eyes about, I was unable to go.  It remained that way until just a year or so, ago.

As an adult, I had many different jobs, some of which required me to clean bathrooms.  Men's rooms, as you can imagine can be quite disgusting.  It's like travelers don't care and willfully piss all over the place.  What was most gross, though, was the toilets.  Specifically, the outside of the bowl, more so than the interior.  The piss can actually cake on the porcelain.  And ladies, if you go to your man's apartment and take a close look at his toilet, chances are, there's going to be dried piss caked on the sides of the bowl.  It comes from the splashing water as the piss hits the surface.  It was this discovery that made it abundantly clear that when I was going to live on my own, sans roommates and family, that I would continue to remain seated when urinating.

Seems that my choice to avoid standing is a major reason to do so in Germany as a landlord, back in 2015, sued a tenant for €1,900 (£1400; $2,200), the cost to repair a marble floor that had been destroyed with urine.  The case was lost, the Duesseldorf judge ruling that men are allowed to urinate from a standing position, adding that standing is still common practice.  The case sparked a national debate, with another judge, Honourable Stefan Hank, agreeing with experts that the uric acid found in urine did do the majority of the damage to the floor, but that occasional splash back is expected.  They never ruled as to why the tenant failed to clean up after himself, though.  I'm empathetic to the landlord because, yes, urine can be quite harmful and clearly the fact that the tenant couldn't be bothered to grab some toilet tissue to wipe up, is unclear.  I've never traveled to Europe, but in this report it's revealed that public washrooms all over Germany, have signs prohibiting men from standing to pee, for just this reason.

 

In my research to write this blog, I noted that Germany was not the only country to post these signs, but I saw examples from Denmark, Sweden and even Japan, where standing is discouraged.  Where I initially thought shame would be brought upon anyone, like myself, who openly admitted to sitting down to take a piss, I'm not feeling so singled out anymore.  Apparently more men, the world over, are choosing the seated method.  Plus, it's more handy to look at your phone from this position, rather than risking dropping your device into a piss filled toilet or urinal.

In the United States, 23% of men sit, 31% stand.  In Canada, 35% choose to be seated, while 21% remain standing.  So that leaves 46% in the US and 44% in Canada left undecided?  The math does not add up.  What do the other percentage of people do?  Get creative?

It's a mystery for the ages, I guess.  

Prank'd

 

In television and movies, the go to prank for the autumn season, venturing closer to Old Hallows Eve, is toilet papering or TPing a house, or more grotesquely, egging someone's house.  Their both terrible pranks, the latter being the worse of the two, and something that I've never partook in.  Frankly, I doubt I possess the dexterity to accurately throw a full roll of toilet paper over a tree or someone's roof.  The opportunity for such delinquency has never arose, nor would I partake in it, given I don't exactly understand the whole point of the prank.

So..., we spend our own money on expensive toilet paper to throw onto someone else's house and/or into their trees?  No thanks.  There's no logic in that.  I failed to see the logic back then, when I was a kid, just witnessing this stupid shit on TV or hearing wild tales from friends.  Very illogical, to quote Mr. Spock, until today.

Today, August 27th, 2923, I drove past a house that already had Christmas decorations set out on their front lawn.  Nothing subtle, either, but rather, giant blown up figures donning scarves, toques and mittens.  Yesterday, I drove by a house that was in the process of filling their front yard with Halloween decorations.  It was both of these times that I realized: These people need to have their houses egged.

A couple of weeks before the holiday is one thing.  A couple of months ahead, is ridiculous.  If a home owner wishes to take advantage of the amazing weather we will be experiencing over the coming couple of weeks, to climb a ladder and hook up their Christmas lights, that's acceptable.  Doing that shit in the winter..., ya may as well sign your own death warrant, but doing that now, is okay.  Just don't keep the lights on past the testing phase or, you too, will be added to the list of those who deserve to get pranked by idiotic kids.

Buy all the holiday decorations that you want now, if the price is right, but wait until the appropriate times, people.  Don't be an asshole.  Nobody likes an asshole.  And if you choose not to abide by these words, don't be calling the authorities when you get your house egged.  Don't call because you deserve the punishment you get.

Cow Bell

This past weekend was the 42nd annual Cruise Weekend, hosted by local radio station, Rock 102FM, which brought in just over a thousand custom cars, trucks, bikes and hot rods, which in turn, attracted approximately 40,000 spectators to the event.  The show stretched over fourteen square blocks of the downtown district, which caused a lot of congestion, both with pedestrians and traffic.  Every type of numb skull you can imagine, were traipsing across the remaining downtown streets.  As a person who, personally, drives for a living, the weekend was quite distressing.  I will try to avoid working this weekend, next year.

In addition to all the festivities that the radio station hosted, all weekend long, the station only played music of the era.  Songs made popular during the eras that these automobiles were created and roaming the streets and bi-ways of this great land.  The music that my parents listened to and danced the night away at their own small town halls and high school gymnasiums.  Though I was only conceived amid this time era, I can appreciate the songs from yesteryear and I loved every moment, even the annoying Beatles tracks. 😉 

Though I was working all weekend long, I had my speaker blasting these rock classics and was singing along to every tune, even the Beatles ones, bobbing my head happily from side-to-side with every yeah-yeah-yeah or nay-nay or whatever the words commanded.  I reveled in the fun of it all, citing to myself that today's music needs more nah-nah-nahs and what not, and more cow bell, too. 

I believe several years ago, when Will Ferrell was still one of the main attractions on NBC's Saturday Night Live, where they did a comedic skit where he played a band member who played the cow bell.  I've never seen the skit, myself.  I'm not a fan of the show, but I agree with the premise.  More cow bell is needed.

I only know of a select hand full of songs that include the incessant monotone clanging sound of the cow bell.  I'm unable to name them all, but the one that stands out the most, in my mind is Motley Crue drummer, Tommy Lee, clanging the cow bell during "Shout At The Devil".  Classic.

More cow bell should make more appearances in music, just as the nah-nah-nahs, should also.  In fact, I surmise that there should be an actual band that calls themselves, Cow Bell.  The intrusive clanging shouldn't necessarily appear in every song.  As a music artist, you don't wish to drive people crazy, unless you're one of those artists like Eiffel 65 or whoever put out that stupid Macarena bullshit, but if the cow bell were to make an appearance in a couple of songs per album, I think that would be a nice treat.

I've always thought it'd be cool to be in a band.  I don't know if there's a teenager alive who hasn't dreamed of strapping on a guitar and crooning to a large audience.  It's a better dream than digging ditches and breaking our backs.  So this is the goal.  Our society needs more cow bell.  It could bring about world peace.  Everyone singing nah-nah-nah and hey-hey-hey in unison, all while banging on a cow bell.  It could be the vision that the Bill and Ted movies had all along. 🤔

"Be good to one another and PARTY ON, DUDES!!"

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Cow-abunga!

Sometimes I Just Wanna Dance

Today presented itself with a situation where I found myself wishing I had a girlfriend.  These occasions happen frequently and often in situations that don't necessarily garner feelings of loneliness or anything like that.  Instead, I often find myself wishing for a sweetheart for reasons other than romance.  It's usually a situation where I find myself at a disadvantage and wish for a significant other to step up and help a guy out.  Today presented a situation very much like that.  I required some assistance, even though, in the end it turned out that I faired alright all on my own.

My sister is a hair stylist.  She used to cut my hair regularly, but in recent years, she's been dialing back how often she works and therefore her time is much more precious and dedicated to her long list of cliental, leaving me with a mop-top, so to speak.  It was during one of those hiatus' where I let my hair grow out, quite lengthy.  I felt alright with the longer lochs, but when my hair began to thin, it looked like I had a skullet (that's a mullet that bald guys grow ~ not sexy at all).  After getting fit in for an "emergency" cut, I had my sister shave my head bald.  Following that impromptu appointment, I purchased my own set of clippers and set to shaving my own cranium every few months.  Today happened to be that day.

I always find it difficult to shave the back of my head.  I duck my head in close to the bathroom mirror, opening the medicine cabinet on the side, as much as I can to view as much of my head as I can.  There are some blind spots where I rely on my sense of touch to feel whether I need to run the area over again with the clippers.  "Man, I wish I had a girlfriend to help me with this." I muttered aloud.

Granted, there are other benefits to having a girlfriend.  There's the bouts of loneliness where another person would be a blessing.  Having the ability to venture out on the town for a nice meal or take in a show or play.  Do a lot of the unique couples experiences that I hear about from my friends.  It'd be nice to make memories with another soul that feels about me the same way I do about them.  That's all fine and good, so then my brain, the way it works, then places these fictitious females in different roles that would benefit me beyond just an emotional crutch.

When I'm hurt or injured, it would be a glorious blessing to have a partner who was a physiotherapist.  Help me heal up some of these nagging injuries in a way where I needn't attend inconvenient appointments.  My last physiotherapist, Elissa, would have filled that vacancy nicely.  She's a free spirit and smart as a whip.  Always laughing at my goofiness, but alas, she's in a relationship.  With a chubby little dude, so my weight would not have been a roadblock. 😄  

A girl with mechanical skills would have been very beneficial, recently, when I was struggling to get my Mustang running and put back on the streets after a nine year absence.  It would have been a true blessing to have my girl push me aside and say, "No worries, baby.  I got this."  To be honest, that's probably why I like Megan Fox.  She probably, in reality, doesn't know dick-all about cars, but that one scene in Transformers, was all the convincing I needed.  Even if she, my fictitious girlfriend, if she had a father or a brother who could do mechanical shit, that would have been really cool, too, although in my mind, the conversation went a lot different.

"Thank you, sir, for helping me out with this.  I wish I knew something about fixing cars, but..."

"Hey. No problem.  You make my little girl very happy, so I don't mind helping you out with this kind of stuff." My faux girlfriend's dad would say to me, "But..., if you ever hurt my little girl, no one will ever find the body."

😨 Gulp.  That fantasy took a sharp turn for the worst. 

I always thought having a girlfriend who was a cop would be really hot, too.  Someone rough and tough on the street, but soft and warm the moment she comes home and slips into a pair of baggy sweats or whatever.  Plus, she'd have handcuffs.  I'll stop there. No need to elaborate on that. 😂

The girlfriend sitch is pretty f*cking bleak.  I have no idea where people meet anymore and even if I did, I lack the self-confidence to approach anyone, anyway.  Even the girlfriends and hook-ups I've had, I don't have a clue how I managed to succeed in those situations.  I know alcohol was a factor in a couple, but I really don't know how I charmed the others. 🤔  Even if I were to recall how to attract a lovely PYT (Pretty Young Thing), I don't have much to offer, anyway.  My body is broken.  My personality, from what I've learned as of late, leaves people hating me.  I know of two friends, right this minute, who's significant others dislike me greatly.  I'm told it's my personality.  That hurts, mostly because I don't act like the real me around anyone, because, if we're being honest, I don't even like me.  I guess that's another red flag.  How can I love someone else, when I hate myself?  No use bringing anyone into this shit situation until I get my own bullshit figured out.

I guess I'm just destined to be alone.  At least until I figure out why I'm such a piece of shit.  I don't want to bring a lovely young miss into my life, only to break her heart and have some angry father or brother come brutalize me then hide the body so no one would ever find it. 😬

I don't know when or why my life got so messed up, but the girlfriend sitch is currently nil and that's how it has to be, I guess, but man...  Sometimes...  Sometimes, I just wanna go out and dance.