I Run so I Can Eat...

..I eat so I can run.

I used those words earlier today - and I wasn't lying.

The Sidekick tweeted a picture of this bottle - Rouge's Maple Bacon Ale. While some of you may be disgusted at the thought, as a virile Canadian boy, this combination of three essential Canadian staples speaks to me in ways I can't explain - if it was carried by a hot Rink Girl in Hockey skates I'd be powerless in it's clutches.

Just looking at that picture adds calories.

I'm guessing to eat that I'd have to run for at least an hour and a half. (And hydrate - the sodium in the Bacon would really dry me out..) Worth it? I think so.

But the joke would be on them - the after-run Endorphins would be all mine!

It's a win/win, really.

It will be mine - oh yes, it will be mine.








Later.

* Can I use "Tweeted" like that? Seems like I'm breaking some sort of English language rule....

You are Legion.

Are you one of the people in this picture?

I just want to say thanks.

Thanks for stopping by and listening to whatever rambling train of thought I have going on. I'm a stat junkie, so knowing there are 100 people out there who took the time to follow this blog is kinda cool.

(I'm sure a couple of you are spam bots, but whatever, welcome to the party.)

So be you Jobe or Bish from Victoria, The Homeoffice in Ontario, Steve in Portland, TripleT in chilly Chicago, or whomever at The Kroger Co. that keeps coming here (us grocery retail types have to stick together, right?) just know that I'm glad you stopped by and took the time.

For those of you I missed, I'm sorry - there's just so many of you now!

It's hard to see, but I'm smiling like a fool.






Later.

The Force is Strong in This One..

Thank You, Google.

Because of you and whatever math/algorithms/magic gnomes you use to generate your search results, the people I work with believe that I am some sort of mystic Internet Ninja.

Because I can type the gist (actual word, by the way - not just a sound you make when chewing gum.) of what I think they are asking about and click a resulting link (that isn't an ad), they now put me up there with such mythical beings as Gandalf, Dumbledore, and that one guy who got a shopping cart without putting a quarter in.

I've tried to show them how simple it is and explained that it's something they can easily do themselves. I'm not sure where you take them when they type something in, but it must be a scary place, because they seem amazed when I turn up with some piece of information, statistic, or paperwork that they thought would be impossible to find, or didn't exist.

I know I look like a hero every time I'm needed, but it does get tiring after a while.

So while I say thanks, Google, could you do me a favor and just have a link to on your front page that points to this:

It would really help.

Thanks,
Midlife Rambler.







Later.




*Quarter in the bathroom update: Still there.

Quarter for Your Thoughts..

See that quarter up there?

That quarter has been in the bathroom at work for the last three days.

(Yes, that classy signage is in our public bathroom at work.)

Now, forget what it says about the cleanliness of our bathrooms if its been there for three days, or why I'm in the bathroom enough to notice it being there, but there are some serious questions that need to be asked about that quarter:

• Who's is it?

• How did it get there?

• If it was dropped, why was it placed on the picture?

• Why wouldn't you just take it?

• If you're the type of person who picks up a quarter off the bathroom floor, do I really want you handling my produce?

• How long will it stay up there? (Times are tough, ya know...)

• Does the date hold any significance? (2007, in case ya can't see it.)

• Does it bother me to have an elk watch me pee?

• Where in the bathroom was it found? Floor, bowl, sink?

• Why is it off center? If you're going to balance it up there, wouldn't you want to do it right?

Some of these questions may never be answered...
And the biggest question of all is:

Would I really write a whole blog post about something I saw in the bathroom?

Yes.
Yes I would.

Just consider yourself lucky I'm not writing about what I saw when I looked down...







Later.


*In case your wondering, that sign was put up because sometimes the customers who used the bathroom left it smelling ...less than pleasant. The use of the fan is strongly encouraged.
** On a side note, I believe the color of the walls is "swallow" or something silly - don't look at me, I don't name paint.

Electronic Validation.

I ran 7 miles today.

For the longest time, Nike + didn't want me to tell anyone about it.

I came home from my run like I normally do, unsnap the USB-thingee (technical term) from my Nike +Sportband, and plug it into my laptop.

- Let's get this straight - I'm kind of a nerd when it comes to the whole "analysing my run" bit. I like the numbers, I like the visual data, I like being able to scroll back and see where I've improved, and I really like that it sends a tweet to anyone that follows me that basically says "Hey - I just ran.. What the fuck did you do today?"

So it's a real disappointment when it shows:

"Unable to connect to Nikerunning.com"

Unplug it, close down, plug it in again:

"Unable to connect to Nikerunning.com"

So I open up my browser and try to go to Nikerunning.com - no such luck. I tried two or three more times to no avail. (I think Windows was going to ask me if it could look for a solution to my problem, but that's like sending the retarded kid to fix the Large Hadron Collider.)

Fucking. Piss. Me. Off.

Now I'm not sure exactly why I feel I "need" to have my run logged in - I know I did it, my legs know I did it, my Wife and Kids know I did it - shouldn't that be enough? Shouldn't I just be happy that it was a good run, I feel fine, and I'm crazy enough to want to go farther next week?

Nope.

I'll admit - the crazy running person in me wanted to get that run logged. After walking through the door at home during my lunch break, I kissed the Wife, said "Hi" to the kids, and headed to the laptop to try again.

Success.

You'd be amazed at how good I felt seeing that screen pop up.

I know this means I'm nuts, but just don't send the guys in white coats out to get me, ok? As a favor? It would mean a lot to me...

Fuck it - I think I could outrun 'em.










Later.

Odiferous Prostitute.

Today was a clean-and-organize day.

 About as much fun as you'd think.

I'm not going to lie and tell you that my house is now indexed and cataloged like an OCD librarian's lingerie drawer - it's not even close. But I did make an dent in the list of things to be done.

I took care of the bathrooms.


Exciting, eh?

Before I got down to the scrubbiness, I started rearranging my section of the medicine cabinet, and that's when one thing became abundantly clear:

I'm a cologne whore.

To be fair, I like smelling good. Working with the public for as long as I have has taught me that if you are going to be in close proximity to other people throughout any part of your day, it's your obligation to make sure you don't smell like a rancid goat. (If you work with rancid goats, my apologies and please disregard the previous statement.) I've encountered staff and customers who smelled worse than I would if I'd ran a marathon in +45 degree weather (104 Fahrenheit, for my American readers) with a half a cabbage under each armpit. I'm sure that's a recipe for some type of Eastern-European soup or something. (I'm sure my pits would be more effective than some crock pots.)

So let's just say personal odor is important to me.

I guess I just never noticed how much.

Smellin' like a sexy athlete in just two sprays.

Is seventeen bottles excessive? Is that over the acceptable level?

Just for clarity, I don't wear them all at once.

I have some standards scents that I wear more than others, but I do follow a loose rotation so I don't run out of my favorites (I don't have a chart up or anything, I'm not that obsessive). Most days I just grab a bottle, take a wiff, and go with what appeals to me.

It wasn't until I got them all together that it hit me how many there were. It looks like I could go into a department store and sell them stuff.

I think I should try a different one each day and see if anyone really comments.

Customer: "Hey, weren't you working here yesterday?"
Me: "Yes, I was."
Customer: "How come yesterday you smelled like an ocean breeze with a hint of vanilla and citrus, and today you smell like sandalwood and musk?"
Me: "Ummm..."

I'm not sure, though - isn't the point of cologne be that you don't really notice it?

Doesn't matter - all those bottles sure look pretty all lined up in a row.

Remember - if you come across a guy in the Grocery store who smells like perfection and talks like an angel, it's only me.







Later.

The Morning of Good Intentions.

When I rested my head on my pillow last night, I had my morning all planned out:

1. Gym at 5:30, chinups, pushups, some cardio (bike only, it's a day off running).
2. Home by 6:45, enjoy the sweet, peaceful solitude of the morning with my laptop and coffee.
3. Shower, shave, kiss the kids and wife goodbye, and off to work for 8am.

How the morning actually played out:

1. Sometime around 5am, I wake up in a groggy state, shut the alarm off, and fall back to sleep.
2. Like Sleeping Beauty after being kissed by the Prince, I blissfully stretch as I awake, roll over and see that it's 7:15am.
3. After a mad scramble of shower, shave, getting dressed, and gulping down a coffee, I race out the door. (Pretty sure I missed kissing one of the kids and hit the coat rack instead.)
4. I thank God that I only have a 8 minute drive to get to work.

So as you can see, the morning did not go as I intended, nor did it live up to my expectations. I'm already mapping out tomorrow in my head, and I'm probably going to move the alarm clock to the other side of the bed, just to be safe. (We'll see if the Wife likes that, or if I get shot down - she hates the alarm more than I do.)

Wish me luck - I like my mornings.





Later.


P.s. Why is it that during the Winter Holidays, my kids were always up at the crack of dawn, and now that they are back in school, they are two lifeless bricks that have to be pried out of bed? If they aren't' useful as back-up alarm clocks, why did I have kids?

In My Own Image.

I'm training today at work.

The gentleman that I'm training will be doing my job while I'm doing someone else's job when someone else has decided to go to Mexico for 3 weeks. This is how you move yourself up the corporate stepstool ladder in a small business in a small town.

I'd say I'm 50/50 when it comes to training someone.

I'm a great talker, so explaining myself and how things are done is actually fairly easy. All those years managing at the Arches were good for something - I do know how to train people properly so they retain the information I'm giving them and can do the job. Where I lose it in the process is explaining all the little idiosyncrasies pertaining to my section, that are there for the simple reason of That's How I Like To Do Things.

Why do I like having things stacked and organized a certain way?
Because I do.
Why do I like the orders to be written in a certain order and at a certain time?
Because I do.
Why do I demand that my desk be kept in a particular way, even when I'm not around? 
Because if we don't, it's chaos - and that's how the terrorists win, goddamn it!

So you can see how my pleasant demeanor and sunny facade ease the discomfort of my rigid way of doing things  - you can tell that being trained by me is almost as much fun as a trip to Disneyland.


To be fair, the trainee is learning well and hasn't questioned things too much. I think he'll do okay and does seem to have a grasp on what he's doing. (To be fair, what I do isn't rocket science, but there is a learning curve.) I'm sure that when left to his own devices, he'll do just fine.

Of course, I'm going to say it was because of his exceptional trainer.






Later.

I Feel:

That my ability to hold back from punching ignorant, rude, and stinky people is the hallmark of my career in customer service.

That the main reason I don't is because these hands are made for lovin', not fightin'.

That in order to balance out workouts, housework, work, the things I want to read and write, and have an actual sleep schedule, I'm going to need the day to be extended by about 6 hours.

That with starting my Half-Marathon training, I've become reacquainted with my old Nemesis, chafing. Someone start praying for my thighs.

That the weather phenomenon known as a "Pineapple Express" is shittier than the movie of the same name, and lazier than James Franco's eye. Enough with the rain already - can't it just be Spring all the time?

That watching The Lord of The Rings: The Return of The King on television instead of DVD is an exercise in couch sitting of world-record proportions.  I almost made it too, but I couldn't sit and watch the homo-eroticism of Hobbits jumping on a bed at the end. Halfway through that movie, I just wanted Sam and Frodo to get a room already. I'm not one to judge, but I don't want to watch.

 That with the fact that I'm either fiercely hot or freezing cold, I'm starting to wonder if there is such a thing as Male Menopause, or maybe God's just fucking with me.

That if we're being Honest, the only reason anyone would go to the Winter Classic is for the spectacle of it all - because really, those seats would be shitty for watching hockey.

That my deisre to go home and workout is going to have to compete with my desire to go home and sleep. Pillow versus weights: let's see who wins.

That unless I try really hard, I can never make it to 10 on these....

Later.

Questionable Material.

Yesterday, during a break in the Boys movie, the following commercial played:



Now I have a problem with this.

Kids singing The Lazy Song? Really? Isn't that the song that talks about sticking your hands down your pants? And I'm pretty sure there's a lyric that reads "- gunna do some P90X, meet a really nice girl; have some really nice sex".

So it's cool that 12 year olds are singing this?

How about "Club Can't Handle This"? Or "Forget You"? I know they've sanitized the lyrics for radio on that one, but it's isn't much of a stretch to know what Ce-Lo is really saying. So having kids singing this makes it better somehow?

There's two types of people I can see buying this: either the Sanitary Soccer Mom who wants to seem cool while protecting her little darling's ears, or the Creepo in the pedo-van who isn't allowed near school yards or actual kids singing groups.

(If you have this in your CD collection, please don't tell me which group you are a part of - I don't want to know.)

Damn, I'm feeling judgmental today..





Later.

Write Off.

Possibly more energetic than I was today.

Today is a write off.

Sure, I got up at 7am with the Wife when she went to work, and I even did a workout with some of the stuff I got for Christmas. Coffee was involved too.

After that, the day went downhill.

You know those people who spend January 1st taking down all the Christmas Decorations, reorganizing the house, and getting everything straightened away to start the New Year?

Yeah - not me, not today.

The Boys and I played some games that they got for Christmas (I have the steady hand for Operation), but it was pretty much just a do-what-ya-like kinda day. Books were read, hockey was played, and I was even tempted to take a nap while they were watching a movie. (I may or may not have dozed off for a couple of minutes - it's all kinda fuzzy.)

It's not like we were up terribly late for New Years - pretty sure we hit the sack by 1am at the latest - but I'm just bagged today. Seeing people doing inspired work like this makes me feel incredibly lazy, and I have sworn that tomorrow is going to be Accomplishment Day - believe me, shit will get done.

 I'm off to watch a movie now, and then possibly hit the sack.

All this doing nothing has me feeling sleepy.






Later.

Goals.

I don't believe in resolutions, I believe in goals.

I didn't really make any goals last year, and it showed. There was a month that I didn't run once, and a month where I didn't write once. (I almost think they were the same month - which makes me wonder...what the hell I was doing instead?)

In the spirit of setting goals for 2012, here's what I'd like to accomplish:

• Stick with my running program and finish the Comox Valley Half Marathon (March 18th) and the Merville 15K (April 1st). - Not really going to shoot for a time - I'd like to have a respectable finish, but I'm going to be realistic in my expectations.
• Lose 15 pounds by March 1st - I know weight loss goals suck, but with the training program and a small change in eating practices, this should be the easiest of all.
• Be able to do 15 consecutive pullups. - Right now I'm at 2. I could hit 3 if I had the assistance of adrenaline and an updraft.
• Keep writing - I forgot how much I enjoy putting my rambling train of thought out there. I'd like to make sure it's at least 3 times a week. (Although trying to keep a daily writing streak alive would be a challenge...)
• Read more actual books. - I just got This is a Call - The Life & Times of Dave Grohl and Chuck Palahniuk's Damned for Christmas (Thanks, Sidekick!) - as much as I like the Internet, nothing compares to a book.

 I think I've struck the balance between attainable and challenging. Kinda like that girl at the bar that hates you, but has had almost too much to drink.

Half the fun of this will be looking back at the end of the year and either patting myself on the back or kicking myself in the ass - lets hope it's the former.




Later.

Last Post of the Year.

Goodbye, 2011.

- I had thought of doing a year-end recap, but let's face it - I'd probably just venture off on some tangent, forget the point I was trying to make, and just resort to dick jokes. (Did you hear the one about the Dairy Guy?)


 But I would like to say thanks to everyone who stops by here - it always helps to have an audience.

Be Safe in the last moments of 2011, and I'll see you all in 2012.







Later.

Sonny.

Today is my Oldest Brother's Birthday.

He would have been 44.

Sonny (his name was Roy, but everyone called him Sonny) died when he was 27 at St.Paul's Hospital in Vancouver, B.C. of Aids-related pneumonia. The Twin and I were each holding his hand when he left this earth.

He was a huge outdoorsman - hunting, fishing, camping - he did it all - even his work (construction) had him outside for most of the year. Sonny was the picture of the average Canadian Redneck: Rock Music, Work Boots, and kicking ass. He was famous in the small town we lived in for fighting - I still tell a story to this day of he and I fighting at home and he picked me up over his head and threw me down a flight of stairs. He then walked down, picked me up again and threw me down the next flight, too. (You know, I can't recall what the fight was about. Possible brain damage, maybe?) But he was also cool enough to me that I would get into High-School parties when I was in Junior High just because he was my brother. His friends called me "Little Roy" because they said he and I looked more alike than the Twin and I do.

Sonny was also Gay.

His being gay never bothered me. It never came out until after we moved out of the small northern town and to Vancouver Island. Nothing was ever really said, but when your brother moves 5 times in 3 years because of work and every time he moves he has the same roommate, you wonder. And when you and your Twin go to visit his new apartment after one of the moves and there's only one bedroom, you stop wondering. On the way out to the car, the Twin and I discussed it like this:

Me: "Did you notice when he showed us around that there was only one bedroom and it only had one bed?"
Twin: "Yeah."
Me: "Does that bother you?"
Twin: "Nope - does it bother you?"
Me: "Nope."
Twin: "Let's go get something to eat."

And nothing else was ever said. It didn't have to be.

He was also a real family-type guy. Sonny was the first one up on Christmas morning (even when he was 18 -19) and would take time out from his work to take on projects like leveling and repairing my Grandparents foundation ( I helped with that one) and building my Parents storage shed. He loved family events and just having everyone together.

I think that's why I miss him a lot this year. Normally the passing of these occasions don't bother me, but for some reason this year just brought some things to mind:

He never got to see my wedding, or the Twin's.
He never got to visit my first house.
He never got to meet Zack and watch him at Karate, or to see Tristan score his first goal in Hockey.
He never got to see the Boys first days at school. Or birthdays. Or Christmases.
He never got to see Aiden and Hannah (the Twin's kids) and enjoy those moments in their lives.

He would have loved all that.

The picture on the right is of the 9th panel at the Vancouver Aids Memorial - go 11 rows down and right in the middle is his name. I went there six years ago and did a bunch of charcoal rubs and framed them for members of my family to mark the 10th Anniversary of his death. I ran by the memorial when I completed the Vancouver Half Marathon. It comforts me to know that there is a spot out there that his name will be forever etched.

Just like it is in my heart.

I miss ya Sonny.







Later.

Of Rice & Men.

This is what the fuss is about?

I'm not much of a chef (outside of Bar-B-Que season) but I'd like to try making Risotto.

The Wife watches a lot of cooking shows (Top Chef, Iron Chef, Chopped, The Next Food Network something) and if there's one thing I've picked up in my moments of half-watching these shows while on the laptop, it's that risotto is either the most difficult dish ever created or so fucking easy that if you mess it up it shows everyone else in existence that it was foolish to let you play near the stove.

I'm having a hard time figuring it out.

See, On Hell's Kitchen when some poor schmoe brings Gorden Ramsey a risotto that is anything less than perfect he reacts like you kicked him in the balls and called his mother a slut. He berates and belittles the offending chef so much about fucking up the risotto that it's like me getting mad at the Kids for improperly wiping their ass.

Me: "How do you mess up wiping your ass?!? What were you thinking?"
Kid: "I did my best Dad - I really tried!"
Me: "So then why is it all over the wall? Let's get your brother in here and see if he can do better!"

However, when you;re watching some competitive cooking show like Chopped or Top Chef, and some guy attempts to make risotto in under 30 minutes, other contestants who are in the cooking business themselves shake their heads at this maverick genius for even attempting it, and award him(or her) mad props if they pull it off.

So like I said - it's either easy-peasy simple or harder than I could possibly imagine.

So what's it gunna be, Risotto?
You and me, man-o et rice-o, at the flagpole stove after school?

I'll kick your ass.






Later

3000.

The writing's small, but it's there.

Today, with a measly 4 mile run, I broke the 3000 mile barrier on my Nike+. For a technically-obsessed, love-the-numbers-guy like me, it's a big deal.

(For those of you who have a Garmin, the Nike+ is what runners whose wives won't let them spend $400 on a watch wear.)

I'm feeling a mixture of elation and disappointment.

I'm totally thrilled to hit the milestone, but I also realize that if I had been able to keep my mileage the same as the previous two years, I'd have smashed through ages ago. (I started tracking in September 2009.) There was a whole month this summer where I didn't run once.

(For those of you who don't run, some of  us have Runner's Guilt - we feel guilty when we don't run, don't run far enough, don't run fast enough, see other people running when we're not, etc...)

I'm going to focus on the positives: I ran well, it felt good, and I could almost feel the Holiday Bulge starting to work off my gut. 

My one critique of Nike, though: when I crossed the 1000 mile marker and logged in, there was much fanfare - same at 2000 miles. Today? Nothing. Just a reminder that I need to run 105 more miles to reach the next "level". What's the next level, Nike? Nirvana? Enlightenment? Will I be able to juggle while running a 7-minute mile? Throw me a bone, here.

I kind of feel like a hamster on a wheel.

Sure, it's a totally buff hamster with sweet legs, but a hamster nonetheless.








Later.

Snug.

My Underwear - Not My Abs.

Of all the gifts I receive at Christmas, there is one that is perpetually my favorite.

New Underwear.

Every year I get a couple new packs of underwear in my stocking - it's not glamorous, but it's tradition. As soon as the presents are opened and the kids are settled down, I have my shower and slip into a fresh, new pair.

I'd try to describe the sensation of sliding on fresh underwear, but it's actually indescribable - the best I can say is that it's below that "first time having sex" and above "slipping into cool, crisp bedsheets".

I'm a boxer brief fan, and for those of you who don't rock that style - you should. Something about the extra length and tightness of the legs prevents the dreaded Underwear Creep that regular boxers or briefs succumb to, and they're styled to make sure everything stays snug and together. And that's a good thing -  'cause when I'm running on the treadmill, the road, or down an aisle at work, the last thing I need to feel is the awkward sensation of my bits and pieces slapping against my leg.

(Every woman who's ever worn a thong is rolling her eyes at my complaint of Underwear Creep)

Unfortunately, the New Underwear Sensation (Great name for a band, eh?) only lasts for the week after Christmas - after that all the packs are empty and the briefs have entered the regular rotation in the laundry - it's a sad, sad, day.

I think that if I won the lottery my eccentric splurge (You know you'd have one) wouldn't be something crazy like collecting Maseratis or juggling Faberge eggs. No, no - mine would be something much simpler:

Fresh, never-worn boxer briefs every single day.

I know - I need help.






Later.

Boxing Day Timeline.

• 4:00am - Alarm goes off. Didn't even know there was a 4am. I know there's the 4am when I'm drinking, and the Wife assures me this is the same 4am as that one, but I don't believe her - it feels waaaay different. (Having drank a bunch of Gin last night didn't help.)
• 4:30am  - After getting the kids up and making coffee, we hook up with the Sidekick for our pilgrimage to the Future Shop in Courtenay. The Sidekick brings me coffee, so I let him in the car instead of forcing him to run behind.
• 5:15am - We arrive in Courtenay, and the Sidekick and I jump out of the car and get in the ever-growing lineup while the Wife finds a spot to park the car. 
• 5:20am - The Sidekick and I have already charmed everyone within a 15 meter radius with our witty banter and irrepressible charm. I'm not kidding, when we get together, we are a living comedy/one-liner/pop-culture-reference duo. If you doubt my words, just listen for yourself.
• 5:59am - The coffee runs out. This is unacceptable, and I start looking for someone to stab. I hold back for the sake of the kids, and because I might lose my place in line.
• 6:00am - Sensing trouble in the air, Future Shop conveniently opens their doors. Having been smart and pre-ordered the camera package I came for, I safely stroll into the store, knowing that I can browse at my convenience.
• 6:25am - The chaos in the store prevents any real form of shopping - I swear I saw a lady clutching an iPad box like it was her firstborn. (Assuming she had a firstborn and had left/traded them for the iPad.) When I couldn't look at a display because the lineup from the cash registers was too long and no one would move, I decide it's time to go.
• 6:40am - I make my way to the camera department and get my package that's saved for me. When I inform the sales lady I want to pay with a mixture of Cash, Gift Cards, and Debit, she regretfully informs me that she can't take my payment in her department. After seeing my look of disappointment and realizing that I was the incredibly funny guy in the lineup outside, she takes all my purchases to a cashier, makes sure they have them, and tells me I'll only be in this line for 5 minutes.
• 6:46am - I exit the store will all my purchases (Who says being charming doesn't pay off?)
• 6:47am - I meet the Wife and Kids outside the store - they had already got the game The Boy wanted, and we only had to wait for the Sidekick for another couple of minutes. I ridicule his purchase of a tripod, calling it  "incredibly gay" - secretly I'm kinda envious - I just bought a camera, after all, and a tripod would be kinda sweet.
• 7:19am - After drving around Courtenay for 20 minutes, we realize that there's no real breakfast - type restaurants open at this time of the morning. My dreams of Eggs Benedict die as we pull into McDonalds. Of course, the kids are thrilled.
• 7:52am - We leave McDonalds, having experianced the most sub-par coffee in history. (McCafe? Really? It's the same swill from when I worked at the Arches.)
• 8:46am - We make it back home and the Sidekick departs. After spending the drive in the backseat with the Kids, he probably needs the rest.
• 9:00am - After unloading the car, we make a pact that every family memeber will leave every other member alone with their purchases for at least an hour - the kids don't really hear me as the already have their 3Ds's turned on and have escaped into Marioland.
• 10:15am - We decide that since it's the Youngest Boy's birthday, we'll all take a family nap for a couple of hours - the house will be full of family later, so we better get rest.
• 10:25am - As I drift off into sweet comerce-induced slumber, the doorbell rings. My neighbor drops off chocolates for the kids and wants to chat. I groggily mumble pleasantries and stagger back to bed after closing the door.
• 12:30pm - The alarm goes off and I mistakenly think it's the 27th.
• 12:35pm - The family gets up, coffee is made, and showers are had. (Forgoing showers at 4am  for the sake of commercial gain? Yeah, I did that.)
• 1:00pm - After two cups of coffee, I'm feeling human again. The Wife says she's going to start baking the Boy's birthday cake, and I'm banished from being anywhere near the kitchen. I retreat to play NHL12 with the Boy. (For the record - during our game the Blackhawks were thoroughly crushed.)
• 2:00pm - I decide to start writing.
• 2:34pm - The smell of cake permeates the house, and I'm having trouble focusing.

And so far, that's it.

I can't complain at all - it's been a good day, the Kids have been great, and once the madness of the Birthday Party is over and done with, it's smooth sailing until New Years.





Later.

Eve of Christmas.

'Twas the day before Christmas,
And I am at work.
I only have to be here until 6,
So I'll try not to be a jerk.

I don't want to be here right now,
It's too busy to think,
But once it starts to slow down,
We get together and drink.

A beer or two for Christmas cheer,
And to chase the blues away.
The shopping's done, the door is locked,
And we're closed on Christmas Day.

Afterwards I'll go home,
To my Kids and Wife,
If I've had more than two beer,
She'll threaten me with a knife.

No wait, that's not true,
(Just in case she reads this)
I'll go home to a hero's welcome,
And probably a passionate kiss.

But that luxury is miles away,
As I still have 4 hours left
And it's going to be at least 2 more,
Before that first beer is heft.

But my tale is over,
For you who read this blog.
I'll probably take tomorrow off,
Due to overdose of Nogg.

I say it'll be Nogg
But it's a lie and a sin.
The reason that I stated that,
Was nothing rhymes with Gin.

I truly have to go now,
I'd love to stay, but can't.
I appreciate you reading this,
And listening to me rant.

Merry Christmas, people.

Later.

A Million Little Pieces.

I don't remember Lego being such a bitch.

When I was playing with Lego as a child, it wasn't as specialized as it is today. I'm pretty sure all we had were 6 different pieces (9 if you included the door, window, and wheel accessories) to fulfill our imagination. We made things like houses, towers, houses with wheels, towers with doors, bricks with windows - the possibilities were endless, right?

I've just spent most of the morning helping the Oldest Boy assemble one of his Birthday presents - the Lego Transformer pictured to the right. He was having some issues (one of them being that his brother was "helping" him) so I stepped in to see if I could lend a hand.

Now, contrary to what some people think and this blog probably shows, I'm not retarded. I can build with Lego. Sure, Starscream (the Transformer we were assembling) did start to look like a brick at times, and I did ask where the square green piece for the lawn was, but we did eventually get him put together. I didn't even phone the helpline - so there.

The thing is, to construct these intricate toys, you have to have the proper piece in the proper place in the proper order. I don't know if you've ever seen a 9 year old's organizational plan when it comes to Lego, but it pretty much involves just ripping open the bags and dumping the pieces on the floor. (This kills the neat freak in me to no end, but that's another post.) 99% of the assembly time is spent looking for a specific piece, and only finding it once you've moved some furniture and checked each kid's mouth to make sure they haven't swallowed anything.

After the marathon session of robotic construction I would equate the soreness of my back to someone who has spent 2 hours wrapping Christmas gifts (hence my preference for gift bags.) - and now I get to go to work, so that should help things in that department. (Sarcasm detected!)

The Boy was happy with the results, so it's worth the effort.

One problem. He asked if tomorrow we could build this:

See all those pieces? The instructions look like the builders manual to the Space Shuttle.


God help me.






Later.