10 Years

Today marks 10 years for ET and myself as a couple.

This just about sums it up, I make stupid faces, and she doesn't leave me.

Thanks pet.

'Fess Up

Which of you was it?

Which of you stumbled across this blog after Googling:

"Allergic reaction to oxygen"
or
"Padding kids on the bum for pain"
or
"Klompen Carrots and Hay"
or my personal favourite....
"What do you do when you see a spaceman"

and I thought I had problems....

Ho Ho Ho No

Well the fat git has been to visit and brought along a very unwanted guest in tow.

So we are officially not on speaking terms, me and old Santa. Well I have to blame someone, if just for my own sanity.

I hope you slip off a roof and break your neck, you prick.

Seven Days, Seven Nights

Well folks, it's upon us.

Saturday morning ET & I head back to Ireland for a week of Christmas same oldishnessivity.

So Saturday is the start of SEVEN, (count them,) SEVEN days and nights with my out-laws... thats more days & nights than the number of toes I have (Damn you frostbite fetish club!).

From my out-laws, as Christmas gifts, I will receive a CD, and a DVD, they will both be Irish, and they will both be the top sellers this Christmas, and they will both be crap.
Also, I will receive the timeless gift of, 'irritation'. If I'm REALLY lucky, I'll get the box set which includes 'annoyance' and 'impatience'.
I will have to pet a dog to which I am allergic and have conversations to which I'm more allergicererer.

These will include me justifying why I don't have children, why I don't move back to Ireland, why I'm not richer, why I'm not taller, why I don't want a fourth kilogram of roast ham thank you very much, and why I haven't put a stop to global warming yet.

I will drink wine at the Christmas dinner table that has a higher ph level than the combined IQs of it's drinkers, and I will wear a paper crown, pulled from a paper cracker, just before I slam my paper face into the mashed potatoes in the hope of being the first ever victim of spudfixiation.

While all this fun is going on I shall be watching my wife for signs of pregnancy, after all, it IS the time of year for immaculate conceptions. (the 26th, send good vibes, or at least some cash money)

Casting aside the very fact that I probably will end up jailed before the end of my Christmas holiday, I want you to forget my misery and impending doom, and I want to wish you all a happy holiday.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want you all to have a Coca-Cola Christmas, with matching red and green outfits and rosey faced children, I want some rows, the occasional quarrel, and maybe even the odd drunken slump in your doorway.
But I DO wish you a Christmas, where you take a moment to look at what you have in front of you, be that one, two, or fourteen children, or even just the beginnings of a bump, give the wife, the hubby, the sperm doner, the turkey baster holder, or even just the randy milkman a squeeze and a peck on the cheek and be happy with your lot.

So you miserable bunch of peasants, just for one f&$#ing day, is that too much to ask?

Until next weekend,
Happy Christmas or just a Happy Holiday,
From Xbox4NappyRash & his split personalities.

A REAL pain in the bum

I've no idea how I managed it.....but I've managed to pull a muscle in my gluteus maximus.
Fore the commoners amongst us, that's arse, or ass, or bum, or butt, or fanny(for US readers, definitely NOT fanny for European readers), or hole.

It's not a constant strain, but a darting pinch every time I lean forward. I now remember that it's there and take appropriate due diligence, but for the last 2 days I've been bending over and hopping back up with an 'Ooooooooh' reminiscent of a rather camp proctologist with a pinching fetish.

It was a source of amusement at first, but now it bloody smarts so it does!
Luckily the 'gettin jiggy' phase has now passed and I can rest my weary bone(s) for a few days , that is until we get good or bad news again which should be somewhere about the 26th.

Santa, I'm f&^%ing warning you buddy....

Chillin'

By all accounts my boys need to be kept nice and cool to operate at their optimal best.

Well, if that is the case, these guys must be moving like Ian Thorpe after colonic irrigation using red bull.

It is absolutely nut shatteringly freezing here in Holland at the moment. Tipping -4 (25F or so) on occasion between now and the end of the week. But you know what? I LOVE the cold.

A jaunty scarf and off I go. There's something lovely and clean about frosty weather, invigorating!

Although admittedly, I think my love of the freezing weather stems from seeing Dutch people fall on their arses more frequently than normal.

Other than that I have zero news, my pale backside has been up and down all weekend like a fiddler's elbow in our be-babyfying quest, ET has lost the use of her legs due to adverse blood flow from having her bum elevated for so long afterwards.

Gravity sucks, apparently.

Blog world is awash with tales of impending doom and in-law visits so I'll hold off on my own personal misery story for a day or two. A week with the in-laws lies ahead, with D-day slap bang in the middle of it. I'm anticipating something as follows....

In-Law - "Isn't it about time you two started giving us grandchildren?"
Me (mentally) - "Do you f%$*ing think so?, well now why didn't I think of that"
Me (literally) - "Ah well, there's plenty of time for that, we're really busy with work and the new house and everything"
Me (mentally) - "Meh... and a merry f*&%ing Christmas to you too"

I Know You, You Know Me

I've taken better, but of all those that I have, this is my favourite.

ET's eyes. Not big, not wide, just reassuringly 'knowing'.

Straw - Check, Clutched Fist - Check.

One for sorrow,

Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret
Never to be told.

This is what I saw on my way to work today....


Sigh....

Idiot.

Seventeen

Having been tagged and sent into a murderous rage by DooDaddy with 7 random facts, and previously by Tiff for 10 random facts, coupled with the fact I'm anal about outstanding "To-Dos" I'm gonna chuck them all in together and give you 17 of the blighters.

1. I still have milk teeth.
2. I hate milk.
3. I'm jealous of almost all of you that I read nowadays.
4. I'm terrified that I won't be able to be a Dad.
5. I have an obscenely large Adam's apple.
6. I once changed the way I used to spell my name for over a year when I was 12 because of the way one of my idol football players spelled his.
7. I get my sense of humour from the one grandparent that was alive when I was born. Until the day she passed last year at almost 97 years of age she had everyone wetting themselves at her very black humour. Sleep well Nan.
8. I sing really loud when I'm alone in the car on the motorway.
9. I don't say the things I always should to ET, I always regret not doing so afterwards, yet continue to make the same mistake over and over.
10. I'm still using a health insurance scheme I have since my previous employer and I don't know if I should be allowed....but it's a great deal so I'm keeping my gob shut.
11. I don't think I'm really an adult.
12. If I lived 500 years ago I would be Irish royalty, my 'family' were one of the most powerful clans in Irish history.
13. I never really did for the last 19 years but in the last few months I find I really miss my mother, or at least 'a' mother, I'm not sure which.
14. I have a tattoo.
15. The smell of brandy makes me vomit.
16. My favourite movie is a tie between 'snatch' & 'lock, stock, & two smoking barrels'.
17. I feel quite lonely lately.
18. One extra - for Foreigner By Default - I owe you a meme but I will probably never do it. I don't really understand it.... I'm sorry my stupidity will deny you but I'll try make it up somehow.
    

Well now, that should suitably depress you just in time for the weekend!

I now open the floor for any questions you may have, yes you, spotty, glasses at the back...

I'm off to try and find the same 4 addresses that I can never find at Christmas when I need to send cards. I may then just hurl myself down the stairs in an effort to snap - myself out of it, or my neck, which would be ok cuz I got me a super cheap and illegal health insurance scheme.

Roll on the weekend.

My boys and me

Inspired by this very 'enlightening' comment from Tiff on a recent entry, I started thinking about the following....

"Did you know that the ovum (eggy) actually spins and turns when the little guys find her. We women are always making choices and changing our minds, even at the most basic level!
When she (I'm talking about the egg now) detects the tadpole with the strongest concentration of enzyme she slows and stops. Then all the taddy's friends help him along,by breaking down the protective layer of the egg for him, giving him a heads up, so to speak."

It's good to hear that Ms Egg does her best to pick out the most suitable partner for her endeavours, in a way, just like ET herself has done in choosing (multi award winning) me as hers. Lets face it, I'm a catch, I have all my own (milk) teeth, I know to use the cutlery from the outside-in at a fancy dinner, and I've never once relieved myself against my mother-in-law's kitchen wall unlike other relatives I could mention.

This makes me think that her reproductive bits and pieces are taking after her, in principle this is great...BUT....This leads me to the soul destroying notion the Boys could take after ME!

Are they all gathered round Ms Egg scratching their little heads like a bunch of confused Casper the friendly ghosts, trying to figure out what the hell they're supposed to do? After all, give me an IKEA anything to assemble and I would probably have an aneurysm before figuring it out. Instruction MUST be stupidly clear for me, and I don't think Ms Egg provides any. (Or does she - Tiff?)

Are they just like me at the height of my romantic prowess, all circled around this foxy lookin' egg, making pathetically lame jokes, or blushing and looking at their shoes when she speaks to them, or trying so hard to look cool and disinterested to the point where they don't notice that she's buggered off somewhere else?

Are they sharing my predominant trait? Laziness. Did they get half way up a fallopian and say "Ah feck it, I'm going back to veg out on the tip of the cervix and watch 'Deal Or No Deal' with a beer"?

Are they sharing my next most predominant trait, lack of will power, and have all caved in to the lazy guys suggestion and headed back with him for that beer?

Do they share my sense of direction? or more precisely, my SD (sober/drunk) selective sense of direction. Basically, with a clear head on their shoulders are they incapable of finding ANY single destination in ANY time frame that would be useful, and with 14 Belgian beers down their necks they find their destination in record time but pass out semi dressed at the foot of a frustrated Ms Egg's bed?

Just like me, do they tease and irritate an originally eager Ms Egg to the point where she just can't be bothered anymore and goes spinning off mumbling bad things about their parentage?

Oh my God! Bloody hell - Like me, can they not even SWIM? Are they, just like me, stuck in a place where you are expected to already know how to and that doesn't provide lessons?

Tiff mentions that when the target is established, all the buddies help the best candidate to succeed...er...not if they've got my spiteful and competitive tendencies they won't. If they've taken after me, Mr Right was just about to march victorious through the gates of 'Chez-Egg', when one of the other shorter fatter guys whacked him from behind.

So what do I need to do?
Should I give them a pep talk, like the under 12 hockey team would get before facing a local rival? At what point during their preparation should I do this?

Do I need to tell them where to go or do they implicitly know this? Just how compact DO they make sat nav systems these days?

Should I be following up with encouragement after they've been sent on their way? With some rolled up cardboard or just my cupped hands for acoustic aid?

Should I google local swimming lessons for 'loin fruit'? or at least try to fashion some kind of miniature flotation devices and hope they figure out the rest as they go along?

Should I see just how small our local printers can make up pictures of my wife's reproductive organs, a map ALWAYS helps?

On the flip side, ET has put up with my shortcomings for 10 years almost, (granted, in a way that makes me wonder if she's a little touched,) we've come an awful long way and are on the cusp of something wonderful and life changing, so I may just pray that her bits have inherited her patience, her perseverance, her loyalty, and strength of spirit to see get us through, just like she always has.

Morning Glory Becomes Evening Smugness

Following on from my nice surprise from Veronica this morning, her fellow Australian, Tiff at 3 Ring Circus has popped up with a beaut.

As busy as she is with what I think is about 2 dozen, insanely beautiful children, and with such a heartbreaking story behind her, she has taken the time to offer me this:


When I say heartbreaking I mean that as close to literally as I can, reading her story is the one and only time I've blubbed like a big old gin soaked tart in blog world.

Tiff, for someone as brave, strong, and family focussed as you to think of me, I can only ashamedly say, thank you sincerely.

Incidentally, you've also inspired a post that I must write up soon, to quote you "I'm SO blogging that".

So folks, on a scale of 1 to 10, just how bloody brilliant am I? eh? eh? Come on, it's gotta be a 9 at least...

Morning Glory

Yes, yes my mind is still in the gutter this morning, but so are yours, admit it, you thought the same thing.

Anyway, this is just a super quickie to proclaim to the world that I am a winner!

Ole! Ole! I hear the peasants cry.

Now if you could see me sitting here in my tattered underwear, unkempt hair (doing a remarkably good impression of Amy Winehouse), morning breath, and with a little man hammering at my brain with a mini pick-ax thanks to the obscenely cheap bucket of wine I drank last night, you may find MANY words to describe me.

I'm in no doubt that 'Nice' would not be one of them.

Veronica, on the other hand, who is obviously feeling the side effect of questionable judgement from too many sleepless nights, has decided to bestow the following on me.


While I wonder if she's confused this award with the 'Occasionally not a total prick' award, I gratefully accept this and will have it tattooed on my left buttock.

If you take a trip over to her new shiny re-hosted blog at sleepless nights you'll see from her entries and comments that she is infinitely more deserving of such an award than this semi dressed, semi hungover dirty old man.

Now I hear music and a pair of 7 foot blondes in ball gowns are dragging me from the stage so I bid you all adieu....


P.S. maybe 'Nice' on the left and 'Matters' on the right buttock?

Wet and wild

That's the story for tonight...

Of course I'm not referring to volume 7 of my favourite adult entertainment series, but rather, the weather forecast.

The wind is howling, the rain is thundering, and a fine cold breeze whipping up.

So ET is doing some fine smelling cooking, I'm about to light some candles, turn the lights down low, select some serious tunes, open up a bottle of some dodgy vino, and sink into the sofa with heavy hazy eyes and fuzzy minds in front of some non-descript movie of some sort, before (**cough** **cough** ) retiring for the evening....

In my youth when I'd had a few too many, I always managed to find my way home, here's hoping my 'boys' have inherited my tipsy homing skills.

Just so you know, eh ?

May I see your PHD?

Just a quickie (Ooooh matron!)

but I found this just too funny, it seems you need some serious education to 'get me'....

Apparently knobs, cervices, knee tremblers and aching gonads are what post graduate education is all about these days.

Goodnight, Xbox4NappyRash PHD.

EDIT....

Sorry I just couldn't NOT update this.... moving up in the world eh?

Pinky: Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight?

Brain: The same thing we do every night, Pinky - try to take over the world!

Sinterklaas

It's Christmas !

It really really really is, well, here in the Netherlands at least.

Tomorrow is the 5th December, 'kerst'.
This the day that 'Sinterklaas' (who bears a striking resembalence to Santa Claus, just having drunk less of that holiday cola cola) arrives with his sleigh with gifts for all the boys and girls.

Now, the jolly old fat git that you may be more familiar with may have magic, and reindeer, and elves no less, but the Dutch variety is far more practical.
1 - Flying reindeer? - that's just silly, Sinterklaas uses a knackered old work horse to drag his gear and scrawny ass all around the Benelux region. The Dutch animal protection society can be contacted here.

2 - Naughty or nice? The morbidly obese Santa that we know and love will check out what kids have been good or bad during the previous calender year, and the misfortunate ones who may have been involved in over extravagant childish silliness such as armed robbery or grevious bodily harm, will find that they get a lump of coal in their stocking.
NOT with Dutch Sinterklaas they don't! An infant who didn't finish all his cabbage last May or the girl who misplaced a hairclip in February can look forward to something a bit more severe... - Kidnapping.
Yes indeed, Dutch legend goes that a naughty child shall be stolen from their home by this creepy old man on a haggard horse and taken away from their family forever. Extreme perhaps, but effective. The Dutch branch of defence for Children International can be found here.

3 - Elves, just like our generous coronary strained friend uses...Who needs them when you can go one step better and enlist the services of.... Slaves !
Yes ladies & gents, in this fine liberal land that I call home, Sinterklaas uses a slave called 'Zwarte Piet' to carry out his (occasionally) gift giving and (often) child stealing duties.
'Zwarte Piet' - translated as 'Black Pete', is probably some kid he picked up centuries ago, and complete with soot blackened face (from being up chimneys or down mines) he carries out all Sinterklaas' dirty work, starving and beating the horse, shoving kids into sacks and generally keeping the festive season in the 14th Century. Links to the Dutch slavery organisations and monuments can be found here.

4 - Santa's Grotto ! A wonderous place where we all love to go to sit on Santa's knee and put some more pressure on his overweight frame in the weeks running up to Christmas.
Mmmmm not quite the same scenario here.....

Sinterklaas, kind of like John Travolta, makes various public appearances in the run up to his big day. These appearances, in reality, lack most of the hollywood influence that Santa himself brings.
On weekend mornings you can forget about your lie in, as you'll be awoken by the sound of what you'ld be forgiven for thinking was a church organ being dropped from a great height, but which is in fact, some bizzare form of wurlitzer/organ type thing that belts out 'music' to signify that the pale underfed guy with the garbage bag (who you thought was homeless,) is indeed, Sinterklaas.

Now the 'Sint' as he's known to a few, has many appearances to make on any given day, and of course he can't be expected to travel around on the back of that disheveled old nag, instead you're more likey to see him climb into the passenger seat of a '92 toyota corolla.

To make matter worse, Sinterklaas turns up at your workplace... he jollies it up for the employees of industrial estates and industry parks, throwing cheap sweets around the office which the cleaners later have to un-stick from the carpets, and generally being a nuisance.

One prime example was during my first 'Kerst' here, Sinterklaas turned up at my office. Laughing and joking, he danced and sang his way around the office, blinding 4 people with his indiscriminate hurtling of hard boiled sweets, before (literally) physically dancing one employee out of a meeting and out the front door of the office. Under normal circumstances this may have been tolerated, but the employee was in the process of being fired by his (very bemused and unimpressed American) manager at the time.

Oh the Joys.

So, when you moan about Christmas coming too soon next year, spare a thought for this wee Irishman for whom it actually does come too soon, and in the form of a drug induced nightmare.



p.s. Disclaimer - before I get beaten up by angry Dutch folk, this is written in jest. The Sint is a lovely man I'm sure, he just needs a proper meal. Ik wens jullie allemaal een gezelig Pakjesavond met de hele familie.

Careful Where You Sit

I'm going to take a leaf out of CraigD's book and tell a tale relating to a job interview.

I live in a part of the Netherlands referred to as the randstad, a heavily populated, heavily industrialised region encompassing Amsterdam, Den Haag (the Hague), Rotterdam, Leiden, and Utrecht.
Public transport between these cities is excellent by any standards, and so it is very common to live in one city and work in another.

In February 2006, I accepted an invitation to speak with my current employer on the outskirts of Utrecht.

So I hopped on my bike and off I went, to the central train station in my city and caught the half hour train ride to Utrecht, where I then caught a bus from the train station to the office.
All went reasonably well, and soon enough the time came for me to make the return journey home.

By now it was late in the afternoon, and the bus stop for the trip back to Utrecht station was crowded with students from the local school and workers from the dozens of businesses in the surrounding area.

I climbed aboard, and made my way to the one remaining free seat almost at the back of the bus.
Weary from an intensive interview in a foreign language, I flopped into the seat with the full force of all my weight.

I had not paid attention to the (airplane like, retractable) arm rests in the seat....

...RIIIIIIIIIIIP...

With a sinking heart I instantly realised, but yet could not believe, what I had just done.
I had caught the armrest of the seat in the pocket of my trousers as I dropped into the seat, tearing my trousers clean open along the seam of my right leg, from my waist right down to my knee.
It instantly occured to me how mocking laughter and sniggering knows no language boundaries....

I then had to endure the following: a 25 minute bus ride, 30 minute train ride (in first class with the hugo boss brigade, no less), followed by a 15 minute cycle home, with my underwear and (rapidly beginning to bruise) right leg on full display hanging out of my tattered pants.

To this day can not visualise what I must have looked like to the other commuters and passers by, a chubby little Irishman, up on a bike, fully suited and booted in his interview finery, except for the right trouser leg which was flapping in the breeze as he peddaled furiously home with a face blood red from a cocktail of anger and embarrassment.

ET's (my wife) face when I walked through the door, vomiting expletives in every direction, was a sight to behold.

So, careful where you sit, eh?

P.S. Writing this has just flooded my memory with more (,literally dozens of) incidents where I've made a total pillock of myself in front of others. I may just scribble more down sometime.

Dad's Straw Poll

I want some info from you guys, and gals on behalf of your respective guys, if you are interested, I'd be as happy as a pig in... er ... a vegetarian colony.

• When did YOU decide you were ready to be a Dad, not necessarily when you both decided to go ahead and have kids, but when did you say 'Ok, I'm ready for this' ?

• Did you decide that you would just stop using (whatever form of) birth control and see how it goes, or did you actively try to conceive?

• How long did it take? (bear in mind your answer may result in my face exploding)
  

• How would you sum up your mindset (mental state for want of a better word) during your period of trying to conceive/throwing caution to the wind ?
  

I'm really curious, one, to get an idea of the norm for guys, and two, to try and gauge how how far off the obsession richter scale I've leaped.

...and to make it worth your while, the first person to suss out the connection with this entry and the picture here, wins... er... a... free potshot question at me. (hey I'm really cheap ok, get over it)

iVirginity

Well now that my little hissy fit is over, I can pack my aching gonads away for a few days and get on with dull Dutch living.

You may be (or actually probably not) interested and surprised to know that this week, in my thirties, I have taken possession of my first iPod. I had always avoided apple products because that's a rule of life, you must love them or hate them regardless of reasoning.
But anyway, with my iCherry well and truely popped, I'm now busy getting everything up and running smoothly with my 12222 track strong music collection and 4100ish photo collection. So far, to quote Borat, "I like", but iTunes kind of makes my tits itch for some reason I can't put my finger on.

This morning I had my 4th (seriously folks, what's the point) discussion with another consultancy who I believe will make me an offer, but I have my doubts as to whether it will attractive enough to move. We shall see. For the first time ever, I couldn't care less either way, I'm more interested in my iPod.

Most of you who turn up here will already be readers of this I guess but if not, get along to Raising Eli where Dad Bernard gives it to you, snot and all. His self control in not suggesting his wife use toilet paper in lieu of expensive feminine hygiene products is worth anyones respect.

Hhhmmm what else, Oh the weirdest thing... I have a gigantic craving for a cigarette. Oh and I love Canada. Oh and I couldn't find (not that I looked very bloody hard) any pictures to help illustrate this entry, Mp3 players with condoms or some such. So the dodgy teddies being wired up will just have to do you.

Chance

Am I losing the run of myself with this whole 'child' thing?

This afternoon we discovered that this month, yet again, it's not to be.

I'm not a religious person by any means, but over the past months I've found myself clinging to the notion that "someone somewhere" is deciding when the right time would be.

I play this off against my rational side, saying that we have to prepare physically before we'll succeed. Which we have done.

Now, I find myself face to face with the fact that neither channel for my thinking has brought about our desired result, and now, I just don't know which way to turn. I'm lost.

People say that any fool can become a parent, and that it's being a good one that's difficult. I'm under no illusions as to how hard and taxing it would be.
I am literally, ready, willing and able, yet falling at the first hurdle, again, and again, and again.

I just want the chance, thats all.

Just How Long...

...was I out of it for?

I arrived home this evening to find our first Christmas card in our postbox....

November 26th.For the first time in over 30 years, I'm speechless.

What do you do if you see a spaceman?

Dudes and Dudettes, I'm totally out of it.
'Why so dear chap?' I hear you and dozens of little forest creatures cry in unison. Well, sit right down and I'll tell you why...

One drawback to all the lovely free bed testing you get to enjoy when trying to get your little lady knocked up, is having to persevere with the intimacy even while she is coughing her lungs up, and spluttering the contents of her brain out due to the hideous headcold that is doing the rounds in these parts, which, incidentally, I'm certain is a strain of birdflu.

As a result the very worst has happened, I've gotten the headcold.

Now as all you ladies will know, a male headcold is infinitely more life threatening than a female headcold, due to our inability to suffer in silence. So in an attempt to fight off the possibilty that I may never be able to walk again, I've been pumped full with dodgy over the counter Dutch cold medicine.
Considering that you can buy cannabis as easily, cheaply, and legally as you can buy say, a snickers bar in this country, you may understand my distrust of something you may need to get a prescription for.

So as I type, I'm hallucinating profusely, having drunk forty-two liters of the dreadfully named 'Hot Coldrex', which I believe was served to me by John Lennon, who, for some inexplicable reason had Bob Hope in his pocket peeling a tangerine.

Reflecting on this situation as a whole, I can't help but wonder (a) Am I the grossest man on the planet married to the grossest woman on the planet because we encourage copulation when one of us is oozing? (b) will her, and now me, having this pigsucking headcold mean that our chances of conceiving are lessened this month now, even after I shelled out silly money to the worst airline on the planet for flights to Ireland for 'quality relaxing time' last weekend? and (c) am I the shallowest man alive for unnecessarily bringing the price of the airfare into the discussion when I'm sure I had your sympathy anyway?

Miraculously, as I peel my face off the keyboard and try to stick the G key back in, I notice that we are almost at the end of the month again, my month that is, the little cycles we've been living in for 7 months now. Within a few days I'll either be writing tales of woe and desperation (I may just copy/paste 1 of the last half dozen I've already posted) or the world I live in could start spinning in the opposite direction forever.

As it happens I am very positive and very confident this time. Man this stuff is goooood....

I'm off to play mixed doubles badminton with Ronald Regan, Yvonne Goolagong, and Eva Peron.

P.S. the answer...'Park the car man !'

Thanksgiving (aka "The 4.5kg Hairball" in Europe)

It has obviously come to my attention that today is Thanksgiving.

You may scoff, snort and/or snigger, but it would normally be a real possibility that it would escape my attention.

So as a way of making up for all the previous and future times that I have and will forget the occasion, here's my take on the 3 things that I'm really thankful for...

1 - That I'm a man.

No offence to all you chicketees in the house but in the last 7 months or more I've learned a hell of a lot about what happens to you lot in the name of procreation. We get to play porno king
games and in the worst case scenario all we have to do is knock one out into a piece of tupperware.

On the other hand, those 45 seconds of ecstacy are just the beginning for you ladies. 9 months of physical distortion and hormonal pinball leading to a climax of having your innards vacuumed out of you, all just in time for the depression, sleep depravation and big ears to kick in. I made up the big ears bit, scared some of you didn't I....

So yes, I'm thankful that I'm a man, armed with external reproductive organs and an outstanding ability to do nothing.

2 - That there are women.

On the flip side, I'm not just thankful that I'm a man, but I'm more thankful that there are people out there willing to be women.
Brave, strong, compassionate, and loving in ways, and to lengths I can never fathom. My own mother for example, having had 7 kids ripped out of her, and well into her forties she still managed to look at me in the same way she did with her first child, even when I was at my worst.
Incidentally, 5 of those 8 kids were born at home, and not in the 'ooh I fancy a birthing pool, a decaf late, and a video up on youtube within the hour' way, more in the 'oh shit, the child is coming and I haven't finished milking the cows or even started on that thatched roof way'. Respect.

Then there's my wife, who is braver than she realises, prettier than she realises, more compassionate than I ever imagined and last but by no means least, she lets me do it.

3- That I'm not this person.

Or, to be precise, the person whom this was removed from.

A 4.5kg HAIRBALL. An 18 year old had been eating their own hair for 5 years. It was removed, they were sent to a shrink, and 1 year on no longer eat their own hair but weighs 9kg more.

I think thats reason enough for us all to be thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving to all folk over there.

Home Sweet Home

If you've come sniffing around for wit, humour or even some of that blubbing I've been doing of late, you're all out of luck. This is (I'd guess) a blogger's version of something akin to a party political broadcast, or a public service announcement.
So feel free to move on and come back when I've self inflicted damage on a gonad or ripped my trousers hip to knee in public (I must tell you that one sometime, believe it or not it goes into the 'job interview' category).

In our battle to be-babyfy ourselves we decided on a change of scenery, back to the motherland, good old Ireland.

Truth be told we went for the wedding of two of our good friends, but hey, potato/potato (guess that phrase doesn't work in the written form).

Anyway, it was great to see so many of our friends in the one place at the same time, all there to celebrate. We went with some people who had never before been to Ireland and it was delightful to see them enjoy it, and be welcomed in a way that I thought had long died out.



So much did we enjoy our few days back home, we've both started to think about how good it would be to be back there, full time. Friendly, & familiar people around us, family even at a stretch.

So after a return journey in silence, we sat down and almost simultaneously blurted out that we both felt ready to go home.

We have commitments here that will keep us here for a couple of years to come, and depending on how the next few weeks and months pan out, it could be even longer, but its reassuring to know that there is something to look forward to.

So watch out Ireland circa 2010, here we come.

P.S. on that wee baby adventure, we're hoping that the good clean fresh Irish air will have had a good influence on our mis-adventuring bodies...again, only time will tell.

Mr. Soft

I’ve gone a bit wobbly.

That is to say, since we started this madness of trying to start a family, I’ve been somewhat more emotional than normal. THAT is to say I’ve apparently developed some.

A lot in fact.

I’ve found myself googling my symptoms only to discover I’m suffering from things called ‘happiness’, ‘excitement’, ‘expectation’, ‘disappointment’ and other such forms of mental instability, but does it stop there? Oh No.

All this unsettling of my natural state away from a condition of purely sustaining my intake levels of alcohol & spicy food, sporting enjoyment, sexual gratification, and generally lazing about the place has seriously unbalanced me.

I find myself asking about the welfare of others, using the word ‘cute’ while not in the presence of a string bikini, or it’s owner, needing sharp intakes of breath when I see our neighbour’s children stub their toes on the footpath and stumble towards the hedge head first (ok, I still chuckle at that one) and roger me senseless, I’ve even leaked, right out of my eye sockets. Like a big old…er…yeah…woman. I originally put it down to some insane allergic reaction to oxygen or something but, no, apparently not.

What is this madness?
Now I’m not completely adverse to a bit of softening of my edges, but there have been points when I’ve had to stop & compose myself before I said or did something ever increasingly sappy that would, I presume, eventually lead to the unavoidable outcome where my genitals drop off.

Is it normal?

Is it age?

Is it a side effect of this quest to reproduce or, bloody hell, worse still, is it vice versa?

Am I spiraling increasingly rapidly into an abyss of nothing other than tissues and hormones and trembling lips and queasy stomachs and pink shit?

I've said before that I think all that goes on during this trying to conceive period, the ups and down, disappointments and mini highs, are perhaps nature's way of preparing us for the future with children, in other words a lesson in not always being in control of everything, going with the flow a little, giving up some pride, and generally being ready to handle anything life chucks at you.

If this is so, nature is one crafty prick.

Rehab For Testicles

What a great idea that would be...

Well howdy doody folks...my boys are aching from this bloody carry on, up and down like a fiddler's elbow. (again, not me in the pic...) So I've placed them in a plastic bag with some ice and should they not fall off due to frostbite beforehand, I imagine they will be ready to go again in an hour or so...

All jesting aside, this never ending humpy marathon is going to be the death of me, how people can do this AND work, AND walk upright is beyond me.

Actually, you wanna know what WILL be the death of me... these feckin' tags and memes. I'm now on the receiving end of two that I will someday, somewhere, somehow get around to doing. I'm sure the day will come when I have bored even myself enough to go for it and complete them. So Tiff, and foreigner by default, I'm eternally grateful for the tags and I will eventually complete them.

So aside from my seed being drained from my carcas on what seems like an hourly basis what is going in this demented little existence of mine?

-I've realised that my job, or my 'career' to be more exact, bores me. Bores me silly. Now, I'm reasonably good at it, in some demand even, but it is so dull it makes me want to chew my own short and curlies. Almost.

-Said 'career' is under some scrutiny, as I've had a talk with another consultancy who seemed eager to take things further, so I hope my disinterest oozing from each and every orifice didn't put them off. We shall see in good time I guess.

-Two friends of mine are getting hitched, in a big hooplah (I like the h at the end, gives it more jazz) this weekend. So for the first time in my 6 1/2 years in Holland, all our friends will be descending on Ireland at the same time for the mother of all parties. Now THIS I am looking forward to. I don't expect us all to survive the weekend.

So, with that useless information, aside from having let you all know that we are still rabbiting to the best of our failing abilities, I'm going to leave you with this phrase which I saw wonderfully displayed in an Irish Bar in Amsterdam....


....Have a think about it....

How Good Am I?

Its Saturday.

It's just after 7:30 am.

The weather is outrageous due to North Sea surges between the UK and the Netherlands. (incidentally, the UK, drama queens anyone?)

I am up, awake, and waiting for my (crappy poorly run, rarely open when you need it, Dutch) gym to open.

I may just be the smuggest person on the planet today.

Heidi and the 'Ho

I haven't got a bull's notion what that title means.

Anyway, the doom and gloom has lifted and we're back on planet Disney for the next three weeks. Although these cycles of 'Woo Hoo' and then 'Boo Hoo' are becoming as monotonous and as ugly as glimpses of Britney's snatch, we are filled with the joys again.

So whats new? Well, my little jetsetter wife is 'doing a Heidi'. That's not as much of a fantasy scenario as you may imagine but rather she's heading to Switzerland for two days to teach them... er... stuff. I'm presuming it's neither skiiing nor yodeling, but it could be how to form opinions. So I'll have a couple of days on my tod to prime myself in manly ways for her return, before unleashing my beast like prowess upon her.

I'm beating my chest as you read.

In other news, I've won the internet's equivalent to, ooooh, I dunno, say, 'best dog at show' or something similar over at DorkyDad, who now has the best tagline north of Copenhagen. A six multi pack of lubricant and 3 new flannels are winging their way to my mailbox, closely followed by a pair of federal agents I suspect.

Oh and before I forget, Mrs Xbox = Heidi and Britney = The 'Ho, see? Easy.

Break

Well, Halloween visited us with all it's fury, bringing an unwelcome visitor along for good measure.

The Prick.

Thats 6 months now and a real milestone. 70% are normally successful in this time, I can't help it but a bad feeling is starting to creep in.

We both need a break from all this so I'm going away for a few days. Ireland.
Fresh air and some old familiar faces might help with a bit of perspective.

We'll see.

Yelling

Or do I mean shouting?

Not sure, and couldn't care less anyway.

In a quest to fool my brain into not thinking about the next 48 hours, I'm giving a wee shout out to some new(to me) blogs that I've started reading regularly.

First up is house dad chronicals, spelling mistake et al, amusing, & well written. And the guy must have some serious taste because I've seen him knocking about here at times.....

Secondly we have Hilary over at the trying game, a seriously personal account of what she's going through, that puts me to dirty rotten whinging shame.

And thirdly, not for the feint hearted, an opinionated wench writing about pretty much whatever bites her on the hole over at fatmammycat. Not for the ..er... sensitive among us. Seriously, if you're easily offended then, have a yoghurt or something instead, don't say you've not been warned.

So have a looksee folks, go be informed, heartened and disgusted, I'll leave you lot suss out which is which....

47 hours, 56 mins, 34 seconds....
...47 hours, 56 mins, 30 seconds....
......47 hours, 56 mins, 26 seconds....

In The Zone

Much to my surprise I woke up today and discovered that it was Friday. How'd that happen then?

It's Amazing what keeping busy can do for you.

Anyway, we find ourselves back in the 'end zone' of the month, 5/6 days or so away from a bag of emotions like a stiletto up the backside or, well, I dunno what the opposite would be like, but I presume it'll be good....It better f$%*ing be !

Also good and surprising to note is that the insane panic and anxiety hasn't quite kicked in yet, and long may it remain at bay ! (cue mental breakdown over the weekend)

I've impressed myself to see that I'm down 7 kilos in as many weeks, which means that this baby making diet, exercise and 'how's your father' sessions are having some benefits. Of course there is the downside, I haven't got the stength to make a bloody fist most of the time I'm so shattered. But heh, I won't complain, cuz I'm a gettin' plenty !

So, the fact my human coil is racing towards emaciation from attempting to make a new one(cup of irony anyone?), what else is new? - Nothing, absolutely squat, and that's the way I like it.

Continental Colonic Irrigation

I'm past it.
Sad, but true, and frankly, I couldn't give a fiddlers fart.

I've just endured a weekend in the company of 8 other guys all of whom are older than me.

As I stood in the 4km long check in line I scanned my range of companions for the weekend...
The crew included a semi-crippled groom to be, 2 new dads who both saw the weekend as a chance to catch up on some sleep, a guy on the verge of marital breakdown, an 8 foot tall Dutchman, and 1/3 of the microbiology section of a very very very well known alcoholic beverage brewing company.
....I prayed for an easy way out, I considered lunging for the nearest security guard's semi-automatic, but instead I decided suffering in silence was the way to go, the fallout of an Irish Christian brother's education I expect.

In truth, the 48 hours that follwed were neither as dull and tedious as I expected, nor as wet and wild as others did. I did manage to consume 17 pints of (admittedly shockingly bad) beer on Saturday and live to tell the tale. A somewhat prostrate sleeping position and a sense of bewilderment for 2 days did follow though.
What came closer to being my downfall was the eyeball chewing boredom that was a 0-0 draw at the game which I paid £22 (Eur 33, $45) to watch.

On the upside I did get to see England lose the rugby world cup final and have the chance to be irritatingly smug about it.

In need of somewhere warm to sit and have some hot chocolate on Sunday we ventured into 'Hooters', which believe me is a poor relation to it's American cousin establishment. The outfits look like hand-me-downs, and don't do the saggy bottoms or weightliftern thighs on the staff any favours. On the plus side of 'Hooters' there was a wee kid sound asleep on a bench in there as his folks drank him into an early orphanage, cute all the same. Reminded me of BusyDad here, minus the intelligent girls and responsible parenting.

But the definite highlight of the entire weekend was Sunday morning at our hotel, where at reception stood a make-up worn woman wearing nothing but a man's shirt and stilettos.
She had little or no recollection of how she'd gotten there or why (er..take a guess sweetheart, the clue is in the outfit), and was pleading with recption to get her home, to whereever that may have been.

At least she must have had a good night.

I still maintain, much to the disgust of my English friends and colleagues, that in summation, if Europe were to get colonic irrigation, England is where they would shove the hose.

So all in all, I survived, I drank and swore far too much, but I was marvelously behaved right up until I landed in the arms of my loving, albeit somewhat suspicious, wife.

She was a bit miffed though, apparantly I'm missing a shirt......

The Ghost Of Billy Crystal

Have you ever woken up with your tongue welded to the roof of your mouth, your guts rumbling like you've had someone attempt to extract information you don't posess by pumping concentrated grapefruit juice into you, and your head rattling constantly like when you can't get the last tic tac out of the box?

No? - Well you've never been on a weekend long stag party in England then. But more on that later.

I awoke (or regained consciousness, same difference I expect) this morning (and I use the term 'morning' somewhat liberally) to find that dorky dad has awarded me, with something.

I don't understand what it is, I don't understand what I should do, but I do know that I've been so overcome by emotion at this selfless act of generosity that I sobbed myself back to sleep.

So I would like to thank my over-sexed and under-educated-in-family -planning parents for being drunk enough, often enough to have me and bring me to this moment. But mostly I must thank Dorky Dad, who is witty, funny, handsome, and has the balls to let his wife contribute to his blog. Go read, now. Well, not now exactly, but when I'm finished.

I promise to figure out what it all means just as soon as I have enough functioning brain cells to spare, they are currently all being utilised to keep my feeble carcas functioning. I do know that it means I made him smile, and I hope not in a 'I really need to get to a bathroom soon' or 'if you don't shut up quite soon I'm going to bite one of your fat little fingers' kind of way.

Have a look, ain't it Purdy ?

If I haven't slept-driven myself into a canal on the way home I may just share the gory details of the weekend that's passed...

NOW, you can go read Dorky Dad.

Parties and Powerhoses

As the non-colourblind and those with above comatose level observation skills among us will have noticed, I've had a play around with the blog, added a banner and powerhosed the rest.

I'm feeling a great sense achievement that I've done it, but of course like any good mentally unstable blogger should, I feel empty and desperate for feeling that sense of achivement.

Well smack my ass and call me Nancy, I just don't care.

Anyway, what's new... well a couple of things are....

One, I've been tapped up! 'what are you on about now you genetic freak of an Irishman? ' I hear you ask... well, thanks to some serious efforts on a project between July '06 and '07, I've been courted by another consultancy for some time now. After 4 informal approaches I've decided to speak to them and we are trying to fix a date even as my fat little fingers type this.

Well smack your asses and call you all Nancy, I know you don't care. Good, I'd seriously begin to worry if you actually did, but anyway, I diverse... Long story short, for the first time in my 10 year career I may get the oppertunity to take a job having not been made redundant, forcibly relocated, worked to the bone, or felt up by the boss in my previous position.

Two, as we approach the end of this week of fake grunting noises, too many showers and underwear changes, I'm getting a break! I'm departing this flattest of flat lands to visit the home of chavs, weak beer, asbos, and bad dental work (England, btw) for a 'bachelor party' with hordes of like-minded man-men.

So from Friday evening onwards, I get to sink many cold (luke warm at best) ones, watch top (league one, the old 3rd division) class football (saaaaawker), and sink some more 'cold' ones for two nights.

Sunday I shall return to provide my wife with the wonderous gift of usless alcohol damaged sperm.

Aruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugah!.... or chug!, chug!, chug! as my American party fiend buddies say.

Slap Bang & Stock Photos

Well you bunch of pervs, we are slap bang in the middle of the big week of, well, slap & bang.

My house now stinks of massage oil, I'm pretty sure I'm scarred for life from the spilled wax of a scented candle and I can't get Enya out of my head but at least we are still going strong in this quest to conceive. (I've added a mini quest of breaking our 4 month old bed for my own entertainment, not doing so well on that score, but the upside is I may very soon get to replace my office desk)

It's good to see that the BBC have gone and thrown a spanner in the works of couples everywhere who are trying to conceive by announcing that they should not be having sex every second day like millions of sources claim, but rather every single day. So basically the point they're trying to get across is that absolutely no one has a clue either way.

And a tip for BBC, get some new stock photos. I found 9 articles on the BBC site today related to male fertility and 8 of them used THIS photo.

In the name of all that's bloody holy people, I personally produce millions of these things a day, surely you can get another shot of a few.

Maybe one where a bunch of the guys are paddling around drinking cocktails (geddit?) and wearing 'my other fallopian is a porsche' t-shirts...

I feel dizzy....

F5

Time for a refresh, added and removed some blog links, changed some wording as it ain't all about dads anymore, and considering the fact I ain't one anyway (Damn you mother nature, why oh why ? ! ?). Reality Check.

Then, just to prove to you how dull this blog is when I can't moan about being seedless, this is what I'm a'gonna do this grey Saturday morning in North Western Europe...

-Get a coffee - damn, can't - caffeine
-Get an overpriced haircut at the chatty English speaking barber's
-Go to the gym and sweat myself stooopider than I already am. No sauna, the best part by the way, 'cause that's out too.
-Come home and scratch. No self touching though, as that's also banned.

To add to my disillusionment this week I made contact with the local pool, 4 minute walk, about swimming lessons for adults. The 9 year old Olympic champion swimmer receptionist scoffed at me and informed me that they stopped giving them years ago... due to lack of need.

I may just add -Cause pain to a cloggy (Dutch person) to my list, probably after scratching.

EDIT: Continuing the scratching theme, Scratch what I said about a grey day, it is a stunningly beautiful 'late Summer's' day.

Fancy A Laugh?

It's done the rounds before but it's too funny not have here.



I dare you morbid feckers not to get a belly wobble at the very least from this...

My Wife

We've had a lousy couple of days, another disappointment leading to both of us getting in a right stinker of a mood at one stage or another. But, as has been the case every time up to now, after a few days the bad moods pass and the levels of optimism start to rise again, slower each time, but rise none the less.

It takes something special to cheer us up during this time but my overworked heart has just jumped a beat when I saw my wife do something she used to do a lot but I hadn't seen (or perhaps noticed) in quite a while.

...I caught her smiling at the TV....

Innocuous I know, a bit creepy even perhaps, but it really is a joy to behold when you see someone so special derive a goofy bit of happiness from something so trivial, almost childlike, which is so uplifting to see in these mediocre days full of commitments, deadlines, and schedules.

You'll never read this I expect, but I do love ya, you daft cow.
Thanks for everything.

F*** !

F***, F***, F***, F***, F***.

Not so articulate, but very accurate.

My PMT

Pre 'Maybe' Tension.

I suffer from it, it starts on the Monday every 4 weeks, and lasts until Thursday or Friday when my wife informs me that this ain't the month.

The longer this goes on, the earlier it starts.

Oddly, this is the most anticipated few days AND the most dreaded. A peculiar bubble of silence covers our house for these few days, for the rest of the month we happily chat about our plans, but for these few days we seem to slide back into our individual shells, keeping our thoughts to ourselves, probably in fear of letting our doubts show to one another.

My wife has been a bit grumpy the last few days, maybe it's my version of PMT, maybe it's my PMT rubbing off on her and causing it. Maybe it's real PMT, I hope not. Who knows anymore, I surely don't.

We've done all we could this time around, and done it 'well'.

I'm not particularly religious, but I do think that nature knows best, and I hope whatever force that has determined our current situation feels it's the right time and thinks we are ready.

I certainly do.

P.S. - This really needs some lightening up a bit, eh? I'm gonna get me some knock knock jokes for next time round.

The List: Happy Birthday To Me

Yep, yesterday another year passed, I am no longer a twenty-something, but a thirty-nothing.

I'm quite glad that it's finally come and gone, I think I fit myself better at 30 than 29.

Suits you sir !

That cheeky minx of a wife of mine has presented me with a hot air balloon ride which I'm looking forward to doing as soon as we get a chance.

The List, everyone has one, 'things I want to do by the time I'm 30', mine ain't looking in great shape....

Learn to actually play the guitar that I've now owned for years.
0 for 1
What can I say, I have no talent.

Parachute jump
0 for 2
Not entirely my fault this one, I started my current job around the time this was first planned and it was decided breaking my two legs 4 days before starting was not a great idea.
The 2nd planning has been postponed as a friend who wants to join me in this is getting married, and the crutches would clash with the bridesmaid dresses.
So this is still on sometime in the spring.

Hot Air Balloon Ride
1 for 3
I'm going to give myself this one, as I was in possesion of the ticket on September 30th, my birthday.

Learn to swim
1 for 4
Irony is a wonderful thing. Born and raised on an Island and now living in a country that is in danger of turning into Atlantis everytime it rains, and I can't swim. Idiotic.
But I WILL follow this one up if we get lucky with kids.

Be my own boss
1 for 5
I'm tempted to give myself this one also, not because I am, but because I don't want to be at the moment. There have been plenty of oppertunities in the last year but our priorities have been else where. I'm pretty sure this will resolve itself, but it's a bit further in the planning now.

I'm going to leave the list at this, as it's the most recent and realistic list, the one where I captain Ireland to world cup glory, win wimbledon, win an oscar, and marry Gillian Anderson is probably touching on the side of unlikely, and was most likely influenced by teenage hormones racing through my iron deficient veins.

So I'm giving myself a 20% reality score, and a 60% morality score, not bad, but no so hot either.

What are your 'thing to do before I'm...' and how close are you to realising them?

Too Late, You've Already Looked

...So you might just as well read on.

I've been tagged by DooDaddy, so I've gotta do stuff. This time I will also perform an amazing trick of tagging others, unlike my last attempt when I was a blogging virgin and tagged no-one.

1. What were you doing ten years ago?

• 10 years ago I was 3 months shy of (re)meeting my girlfriend, now my wife. I was single(most of the time), and enjoying it.
  
• I was just back from a great summer spent in the United States where upon hearing I was from Ireland, one extremely wealthy lady asked me if I had ever seen a real cow.
• I was contemplating whether to continue into my 3rd year at college or not, stupidly, I did.
• I was still a teenager...for 2 further days.
  

2. What were you doing one year ago?

• I was busting my ass on a project that required too much time away from home, which continued until the end of July this year.
  
• I was not even entertaining the idea of starting a family.
• I had not even entertained the idea of moving, buying and selling homes.

3. What are five snacks you enjoy?

• Pineapple, love it, love it, love it. In fact, any or all fruit.
  
• Crisps, (potato chips) pretty much any kind, anywhere, this is a serious addiction, I have to actively ensure they do not get into our house.

These are THE BEST: I can't be bothered giving anyone a plug, but in my search for this image I've discovered that you can buy these online now... HERE ! That spells trouble for me, but I encourage you all to try one.

• Bitterballen ! a Dutch speciality, usually provided during a 'borrel' (after work drinks). Mashed potato, perhaps with mashed vegetable and some 'meat' (I wanna say beef here but...), in a ball covered in breadcrumbs and deepfried. Served with a mustard and/or sweet chilli dip. Hugely unhealthy but what the hell, it's Friday...

• That's it... I try not to 'snack', I stick to fruit and juices in a feeble attempt to get the vitamins I need and stave off the onslaught middle aged chubbiness that's hurtling towards me.

4. What are five songs you know the lyrics to?

Just FIVE? Bugger. I've estimated based on my collection, frequency of listening, factoring in old age and forgetfullness, that I probably could give you 95% of the lyrics to anywhere between 6-8 thousand songs. So you can sample 5 of my current (mood, season, breakfast all helping define 'current') favourites. I encourage you to listen. Not for the chronically depressed...

• Jolene by Ray Lamontagne. Tremendous voice from a wonderfully soft spoken man.
• "I still don't know what love means"

• The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice. In truth I could have picked almost any track from his albumn 'O'.
• "And so it is, just like you said it would be, life goes easy on me, most of the time"

• Girl in the war by Josh Ritter. Quickly becoming the closest thing I've seen to Bob Dylan.
• "I got a girl in the war boy the only thing I know to do, is turn up the music and pray that she makes it through"

• Tamacun by Rodrigo y Gabriella. So much talent and so much fun, I'm looking forward to their show in Amsterdam in December. (easy know the lyrics when there are none eh?)
• "Doo Di Di Diddle Di Doo Doo"

• Goodbye by Steve Earle and/or the Emmylou Harris version, so you get one where they duet. Send shivers up and down my spine.
• "Was I off somewhere, or maybe just too high, but I can't remember, if we said goodbye"
  

5. Five Things You Would Do If You Were A Millionaire

• Work on getting a 2nd million, I've already done the math, 2 million euro is what we would need to not have a care in the world for as long as we live.
• No big houses for mama, but I would clear my siblings debts.
• Set aside 52K so I could randomly hand out a grand to strangers that I think could do with some good news once a week for a year.
• Pay some magic man to get us f%^$ing pregnant !
• Then I'd do that 9 times over again, It's a shame that financial constraits restrict the family that one can have.
  

6. Five Bad Habits

• Not knowing when to shut up.
• Offering advice even after I've said I'll stop.
• I bite my nails.
• Not always speaking up when I should.
• Justifying my inaction.
  

7. Five Things You Like To Do

• Seriously, what did you think was going to go here? Horizontal Jogging, one can get quite accustomed to frequent squelchy sessions.
• See some live music, paradiso Amsterdam being simply the ultimate venue.
• Visiting places steeped in History, Istanbul, Egypt, Paris, London, New York, Memphis, New Orleans.... Facinating.
• In true Irish tradition, socialise, I feel quite empty should I not get together with a group of friends for dinner or drinks, or preferably both on a weekly basis.
• Read, 2 areas, city histories and life accounts during certain periods, and parenting stories, i.e you lot.
  

8. Five Things You Would Never Wear

• Leather Trousers
• String Vest
• Thong
• A ponytail
• A frown ! - awwwww cute eh?

9. Five Favorite Toys

This is gonna be tough, I like my gadgets but I've never been a real toy guy

• My Canon EOS 350D, if only I had the skill to capture the shots that I have in my minds eye.
  
• My Sony Vaio, I was originally sceptical, but having one forced upon me by work has melted my heart. I love it.
• The tiny hand made teddy bear that is sitting in a store in a beach side town here nearby, I hope to have a reason to bring it home soon.
  

10. Five Things You Hate To Do

As I don't have 5 toys you can have a couple extra of these...

• Sulk & see others sulk
• Wallow in self pity & see others do the same
• Attempt to sleep at night when it's bright outside
• Answer the phone late at night or early morning, it's always bad news
• See people cry, it kills me.
• Overpay when I KNOW I could get it cheaper if I just waited.
• Struggle with my Dutch, even more embarassing when it's while talking to a kid.

On refelction, the 5 songs took me longer than all the rest combined, I'm really in a music mood now again. I'm looking forward to reading the input of the 'tag-ees', especially their music choices. Drum roll please, and the nominees are DorkyDad, DadThing, 99% Mom..., Expectant Father (should he ever get the time), aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand.... Monique at 40 weeks.

Go forth and multiply.

Dank Jullie Wel

Well, the little minx has returned and therefore also has the tourturous treatment of my privates.
Having said that, after a two day hiatus I was surprised at how eager we both were to get back into things.
It's quite reassuring actually that it's still bloody good fun.

Anywho... (don't you just hate people who say that?) I was just reflecting (yeup, not very busy at work today) at how much help reading these dad(& mom/mum/mammy) blogs has been.

At moments when I've been a bit down about this seemingly unending process, to be able to have a peek into the 'trivial' details of your day to day experiences as dads has been calming, reassuring and soothing for this idiot's mind.

I hope I don't have to rely on this peculiar sort of voyeurism to quench my parenting thirst for too much longer, but I'm certainly glad that it's there.

So, dudes... Dank Jullie Wel !
(thank you, plural, in Dutch, I think. Well, it's either that or I've insulted yo' mama. Oh well, it's the thought that counts.)

Wedded Bliss

Peace & Quiet...

Great isn't it? my dearest wife has scarpered off back to the emerald isle for a couple of days and left me all on my tod.

We think it may be bad timing but who the hell knows anymore, certainly not me. Anyway, it's just two days so in the long run it probably will do us good, a bit of space and a chance for my crown jewels to attend the testicular equivalent of Betty Ford's.

So, what lies ahead for these two days then ?
-A half assed botched paint job on the porch.
-An unrepaired bicycle as I neglected to get the correct measurements before heading off to buy the parts.
-Freshly packing a not-to-be-used gym bag.
-Football, football, football (Saaawker, Saaawker, Saaawker for anyone further west than Galway).
-Far too much time on PC maintenance.

Bliss.

Well, that's it frankly... it's surprising how little I have to say when I can't talk about doing the squelchy....

What Is The Catalyst

During these 'in-between' days we have a lot of spare time to think about the goings on and reflect upon them.
Something struck me today, I don't know what it is that has made me want to start a family.

Almost without exception I can justify any decision I make in life, rightly or wrongly, but there is always a reason behind it.

But this has me flumuxed.

Most guys, I would imagine, have the news thrust upon them, without having had too much to do in the decision making proces, and upon reflection, I wish I were one of them. I'd love if my wife could 'surprise' me with the news, but that will never happen as I am unfortunate enough to know every minor detail of her physical state as well as she does at this stage.

Other guys, I'm guessing, decide that they've reached a certain age, or status in life and it's the logical thing to do. This guy I'm glad I'm not, nor could ever be. I can't quantify why, but personally that decision just feels somewhat empty and void of motivation.

And then there's me, regular professional, with no substantial thought ever given to the subject and I get absolutely bowled over by the power of this emotion/longing/need/urgency.
I don't want a 'baby', I want a family. I do know that my wife and I have so much to share that it would be criminal not to do so.

All in all I don't know if it's from a selfish source in me, or even the complete opposite, but it's there, and it's growing by the day, so much so that there is a great probability that by the time any child may materialise, I may very well have exploded....

In You End - Oh !

While I've been catching up on some blog reading (check out DadThing added to my blogroll btw) I discovered something facinating..... Apparently, this blog is suitable for general audiences !

The rating is based on the use of only one term of note "Missionary". I'd be seriously buggered if I were blogging about doing the Lord's work in deepest Africa now wouldn't I....

Although now I've mentioned it again, along with 'Buggered' (damn, again..) I'm probably going to be struck off.

I feel quite chuffed with myself that terms such as horizontal jogging, innapropriate self touching, knee trembler, pale buttocks, willie in a sling, and arse & tit(!) have all been approved for old fogies and kiddies alike to enjoy.

Not only utterly bizzare in my mind but a good excuse for a bit of self promotion.

Any US TV networks needing some help beating the fascists? Feel free pay me huge sums and I'll help you guys out.