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.