The Mouth Runneth Over

We just recently got HRH  back from a ten day absence while she traveled to P.E.I. with her father to, I dunno, eat lobster and shop I guess.  Whatever, she had a very nice time.  Now you’d think here that I might have initially been somewhat ecstatic to be released for a 10 day child free sabbatical from “Dad Duty”, and I was,  let’s make no bones about it. Christmas definitely came early this year.

The first few days were pretty nice I won’t lie.   Life was footloose and fancy free again.  The sun shone warmer; the stars twinkled brighter; I slept better; worked out  better; shit, even the food tasted a little better, you get the jist.  Actually, now that I think about it, the last days after those first few days without her were pretty nice too.  What was I talking about again?  Oh yeah, anyway, when she finally  got home it was nice to have her back.  That means, of course, that for the past 3 days or so we’ve literally been making up for lost time conversation-wise because, you know, 10 days is a lot of lost jibber-jabber time.  Seriously, I think this child’s mouth runs off a generator.  Here are just a few of my favorite conversational highlights from the past 48 hours:

HRH“What do stickers do?

Me: (after a long blank stare) “They stick to stuff.”


HRH “What do you think this sub tastes like?”

Me: “A bun with stuff on it.”


HRH“Why does it say here that this guy plays a fish?” (while looking at one of the CD bootlegs in my car)

Me:  “That’s b-a-s-s.  It’s an instrument.  Not a fish.”


Heavy, heavy stuff.  I know.  And it never stops.  She’s a machine gun of questions and it’s often exhausting.  Believe me.

So in an attempt to keep her focused on a single discussion point, I’ve been asking her about what it is that she wants to be when she grows up.  She has all the same dreams and aspirations as any other nine-year-old girl, I’m sure, but then there emerges this whole ‘why‘  thing.  I’ve since learned that it’s more the knowing  where her over-driving rationalities come from that intrigues me.  I wanted to be a fireman or a train engineer.  Other people want to be Hollywood reality stars or a celebrity veterinarian, or something.  Point is, it’s the actual why   a person wants to be any particular occupation that really sheds serious insight into that person as a real person.  Dig?  And, well, let’s just say I learned a little something about her today.

Here are the top five so far:

1.  A Princess.  Well, duh.  Who wouldn’t?

2.  A dental hygienist“Because handing things to the dentist wouldn’t be hard.  That’s easy!”  What else needs to be said?  It does sound easy enough.

3.  A pilot “Because they just sit there and don’t do a lot”.   I’m definitely beginning to catch a theme here.

4. The spinning advertisement board guy on the corner“Because dancing for eight hours would be fun!  Do you think I could listen to my own music?”  Why, yes, yes you can.  “If somebody tried to rob me would I be allowed to stab him with my sign?”   Oh I’m sure.  Totally.  “That’s awesome!” 

5.  The tax man.  Why you ask?  Because George Harrison makes it sound so damn cool, that’s why!  Or perhaps I might have made it sound a little too overly appealing by telling her that it was a guy ‘who gets his money from other people’.   “Cool!  I wanna do that!

Oh perfect.

God help me.

Letting ‘em Rip

I’m said it once before:  farts are funny.

Especially when your nine years old, farts are one of the two things (poop being the other) that the known universe practically revolves around.  But now, thanks to science, there is another suggested benefit that goes far beyond their obvious humorous implications.

Ready?  Here it is:  farts might actually help stave off cancer.  Didn’t see that coming did you?  Other physical health ailments that researchers are also suggesting might be prevented from the whiffing of a good ‘ol rotten egg fart include strokes, heart disease, arthritis, dementia and even aging.  Shit, at the rate this kid lets ‘em rip I might just live forever.

Yes, a new study at the University of Exeter recently published in the ‘Medicinal Chemistry Communications’  journal suggests that exposure to hydrogen sulfide (a.k.a. what your body produces as bacteria breaks down food in your gut, causing gas) could prevent mitochondria damage. The implication being exactly what you’re thinking: smelling someone’s toxic air eclairs could prevent disease by preventing (and even reverse) mitochondrial damage in cells.  Now, given the average person farts approximately 14 times a day (more I’m sure in our house), if this ‘farts are good for you’ thing is truly the case then we just might be the healthiest family on the planet.

Furthermore, researchers have also developed a compound called ‘AP39′ designed to deliver just the right dose of the stinky stuff directly to affected cells. Studies on actual humans come next, but in the meantime, it might pay to thank that guy in the elevator for saving your life.  At the very least, I figure this now gives me free reign to layeth down with the sphincter biscuits going forward.  So it’s time to load up on the beans and sausage…hey, what’s best for the family after all, right?

I’m just doing my part.

God help me.


Peachbud 1k 2014

Nearly two weeks ago, the kid and I took to the mean streets (and sidewalks) of Grimsby for the annual kid’s 1k event.   I have to be truthful, I didn’t like our chances.  We haven’t trained the way we had in previous years but, she seemed eager to go and cruisin’ for a bruisin’ which, in fact, we did.  She killed it, shaving almost 2 minutes off her previous years effort with a finishing time of 7:34.2  (not that any of this matters, like, at all).  Most importantly, she embraced the whole good natured happy runner philosophy we talked about just prior to the start.  So what was this profound philosophy you ask?  Well, besides the obvious ‘if you don’t win don’t come home’  thing, she opted to go with something a bit more, well, unconventional: “Eat Hot Death”.


“From the mouths of babes…”  they say.  Anyway, it’s a long story.  ‘Eat Hot Death’ it was.

Afterwards, I attempted to run out 10k worth of pent-up anxiety and frustration during the 10k event and ended up totally shitting the bed, err, not doing so well.  But that’s also a long story.  So without further adieu, I present you this latest video diary from this years epic Peachbud 1k Fun Run.



Big thanks to my buddy at ‘Waving Cat Media':

Checking In

It’s been a while since I’ve updated this blog with, well, anything.  I could offer you any number of excuses here but let’s just leave it at life becoming “busy” for lack of a better word. To point, I lost my mother to leukemia just a few short months ago (and now my father has begun his own backward slide down this mortal coil), crashed my truck into a ditch (with the girls in it) during a freak ice storm in March, and made a transition from working at home to working at an office; not to mention all the personal challenges these incidents have brought to an otherwise active and time consuming personal schedule.  Oh, and did I mention that Kelly has also started a new job at the hospital further shaking up our routine?  So, yeah…”busy” is definitely a good word.  ‘Busy’ is good I guess, or so I have been led to believe anyway, but it’s not without its own unique challenges.

The good news is that the family continues to be well and good – apart from being a bit shaken up after ending up in a country ditch during the middle of March’s ‘Ice-aggeddon’ that is.  HRH is her usual rambunctious and inquisitive self and Kelly is loving the new job (Me? Not so much).  On the surface, it all seems to be status quo.

However, I sometimes feel that I’m just coping. I won’t deny that I have been experiencing this sense of foreboding and stress for a while. Stress over new car payments; stress over new work expectations; stress over my fathers’ health; stress over not living up to my own expectations. More than these, I’m stressed that I’m letting my family down.  There is a tightness in my chest that I can’t seem to shake some days and so I simply put on the ‘brave face’ for the family’s sake and carry on carrying on; some days are definitely more challenging than others.  I guess I figure that’s the manly, or ‘fatherly’ thing to do as I believe maintaining a stoic sense of ‘normalcy’ in the home is important and so I do my best to maintain that precious status quo but, often, my heart just isn’t into it. But I still do my best.  What else can I do?

Throughout it all I am still trying to keep up with my personal training regimen of developing my over all mental toughness through a series of planned events and challenges this year so at the very least I have a somewhat regular outlet to burn off the mounting stress through swimming, biking or running should it ever begin to mount to critical mass which, luckily, it hasn’t.  Plus, I want to continue setting a good example for HRH  to persevere through her own challenges in the future when life finally decides to toss her her own lemons and to continue putting that symbolic foot forward.  Maybe that’s the lesson in all this for me as well.  Anyway, I’m confident I’ll get back to being my normal sarcastic, bitchy and good humored self soon enough and when I do, I’m equally confident the posts on this site will begin again in earnest. Until then, there is really nothing more that I’m trying to convey through this blog post other than the fact that I am still alive and – all things considered – well.

God help me.

April Fool’s Day

So, it’s April Fool’s Day again and the pressure is on to come up with something clever to confuse and confound the kid when she wakes up today.  Last year, I completely filled her dresser drawers with toilet paper rolls, so this year I have to top that.  But I only remembered what today was at 11:30pm last night, so whatever it was it was going to be had to be quick and easy to organize.  Fortunately, I found a clever prank on line.

First of all, it’s my opinion that every good prank worth doing has to encompass poo in some fashion.  Why?  Because I’m a guy and she’s nine-years-old and poo is rightfully considered as considered as funny and, therefore, totally prank worthy.  You may not share the same sentiment but, hey, we have a healthy respect for poo in this house.  What can I say?

So the premise of the gag is to create a fake poo and leave it somewhere where she is sure to stumble across it.  Now, you can create fake poo pretty easily out of a wide variety of materials laying around the house, but this one is pretty simple and easily crafted out of an empty toilet paper rolls which, fortunately, we have a lot of.  You can never have too many empty toilet paper rolls laying around in my opinion.

Anyway, here’s the gag:

1.  Soak a toilet paper roll in water until it’s good an moist.


2.  Shred the wet toilet paper roll into little pieces.


3.  Bunch up the shredding pieces into your hand and squeeze tightly to drain of excess water.


4.  The compressed shreds should resemble a piece of poo.  Well, to the unsuspecting eye anyway.


5.  Leave the fake poo laying around somewhere to be discovered.  In this case, I left it on her toilet seat knowing she would inevitably be up for an early morning bathroom stop.


6.  Hilarity hopefully ensues, or at least a little shrieking anyway.

Of course, the cats had the last laugh this morning when they left their own April Fools prank outside the laundry room in the way of the grossest fur ball I’ve ever laid eyes on, the little buggers.  So, yeah, I was upstaged by a feline.

God Help Me!

Time Turns Elastic

For Christmas this year, HRH received what’s known as a ‘Rainbow Loom’. Basically, it’s a plastic loom upon which you can make elastic bracelets, anklets, etc., from billions of tiny multi-colored elastics.  Oh joy.  It was the “In” toy this year so, of course, she just had to have it.  Thankfully, it was quickly lost in the ebb and flow of crap that spills out onto her bedroom floor and under her bed like another Exxon oil spill, and all was well with the world again.

Unfortunately, it was rediscovered during a recent deep exploration into the darkest recesses of her room.  Crap.  So what this means now is hours, well, minutes maybe, of endless rainbow fun for her and, me?  Well I get to look like an 80’s prostitute.

Don’t get me wrong, I love that she thinks enough of me to make me kazillions of colorful pictures and drawings and I typically keep them all.  At my work desk alone, I have about a half dozen of drawings of me as a bunny, a princess, and what have you.  Real manly stuff, right? But it makes her happy and keeping her happy makes me happy so I do the right thing and suck it up and pin them up for display.  Others, I keep stashed away in a folder for posterity.  Almost never does anything get simply thrown away, no matter how random, uninspired, or lame.  Except, lately, with the reemergence of this stupid Rainbow Loom, these drawings have now turned into neon elastic bracelets.  Oh goodie.

I still love getting these little gifts – don’t get me wrong – and I love that she’s thinking of me n’ all, but what am I supposed to do with these freakin’ things?

I mean, seriously, look at these things:


How cool would I be wearing these?

First off, despite their elasticity, none of them actually fit me.  They’re so tight I’d probably loose fingers if I ever tried to wear them.  Thank God too as I’d look like a reject from some 80’s sitcom.  Secondly, since you can’t hang them per se, they’re now everywhere.  On my desk, on the gear shift in the car, dandling from my key chain and, yet, they just keep coming.  Similarly, our floor is now absolutely littered with the damnable things.  Each morning, I practically have to peel them off the soles of my feet.  If these elastics were currency, I’d be Bill-fn’-Gates!

So what do I do?  Do I hang on to these bracelets too or what?  Am I likely to one day pull them out from my ‘Man Trunk’ and reminisce over them fondly as I might do with her pictures at some point?  I’m thinking not.  The worst case, is that someone’s going to find these gaudy things while going through my stuff after I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil and think that I was a closet transvestite.

God help me.

The Toothpaste Conundrum

I found myself in a bit of a predicament the other night when I happened to run out of toothpaste in my downstairs Man’s Bathroom.  Innocent enough, right?  Kelly had already gone to bed so I didn’t relish sneaking into our Master Bedroom and risk waking her up, so I decided to steal some from HRH’s bathroom instead which is just at the top of the stairs.  Little to my dismay, she only had a tube of – *sigh* – special Hannah Montana toothpaste; strawberry-flavored to be exact.  FML.

Do I or don't I?

Do I or don’t I?

But, hey, toothpaste is toothpaste after all, right?  So what if I was about to fight plague with something endorsed by and proudly depicting Miley Cyrus.  I hesitated at first, but soon figured that it was doubtful I would ever catch something so I tried it and it was…amazing.  Strawberry!  I could’ve brushed for a week.  And you will all be happy to note that it has not yet brought on a random desire to suddenly begin twerking, or caused my tongue to inexplicably attempt to touch my left ear lobe.  No, it was just pure strawberry deliciousness.

So this got me to thinking, why don’t adults have better tasting toothpaste anyway?  At the very least, why don’t we have better flavors to choose from?  Don’t adults like the taste of strawberries, or other kinds of fruits for that matter?  Shit, why not a chocolate and salted caramel flavored toothpaste?  Tell me that shit wouldn’t sell.  So why then are adults typically only offered such standard and uninspired flavors such as spearmint, peppermint or, hell, baking soda?  Seriously, baking soda?  Whoever looks at a box of baking soda and thinks to themselves, “Mmm, I bet that sodium bicarbonate shit is tasty!”  Umm, no one!  That’s who.

So, while it may not be the manliest thing I’ve ever done, I sure do love me some Miley Cyrus toothpaste.  I wonder what the reaction will be at the checkout this weekend at the local supermarket when I wheel through an entire shopping cart of the stuff.

God help me.

Blades of Glory

I have been skating exactly twice in my life.  Once the other day as fulfillment of a promise I made with HRH   (more to come on that) and the other exactly 35 years ago.  I know, not very Canadian of me, eh?  Well, allow me to explain a bit.

Here’s a shot of me during my very first outdoor ice-skating experience in 1979 along the Welland Canal by the old GM Plant 1 facility.  I was all of 6 years old at the time.


Seriously, how cute am I?  What this picture doesn’t illustrate is what happened shortly afterwards when I fell through the ice.  Yeah, total bummer, right?  I don’t recall much detail of it actually happening other then one second I was skating and the next…’splash’.  I’m underwater water and everything is dark.  Mostly, I remember it being extremely cold and scary as all bejesus.  Needless to say, I haven’t felt the need to don skates, like, ever again.  No sir, it’s one of those ‘once bitten, twice shy’  kind of dealies.  Now, I realize that you can’t exactly fall through the ice at a skating rink but, still, just thought of being on ice-skates brings back that terrifying feeling of suddenly being immersed and fighting for air.  Not cool.

Anyway, fast forward 35 years to this past Monday and I’m skating with the child at the ‘Rink on the Brink’ in Niagara Falls, just at the top of the falls themselves…well, not ‘on’ the falls, per se, as that would be pretty damn stupid, but off to the side at the top of the escarpment.  You see, earlier this year I had made a deal with HRH  that if she managed to complete her first triathlon, which she successfully completed this past July, then I would learn to ice-skate.  God help me.

So, anyway, I’d be lying that I haven’t been doing my best to put this off as long as possible until Kelly mentioned that the ‘Rink on the Brink’ was hosting a free skate on Monday’s, so there was no better time than the present.  A deal is a deal after all and I’m a man of my word, so I cinched up the ‘ol apple sack, rented myself a pair of skates and apprehensively made my way onto the ice.  Oh Lord.

How did I do?  Well, see for yourself:


Yes, I’m sure this might resemble a baby deer taking it’s first delicate steps to most Canadians, but I’m pretty stoked.  The best part is that I’m still alive to tell the story.  In fact, I might just give up on this whole Ironman dream and pursue a career in figure skating instead given my natural talents.  Oh, and for the record…I didn’t fall, like, once.  How awesome am I?

Merry Duckmas!

Its three days before Christmas and I should be over-inundated with the usual traditional Christmas holiday crap but, I’m not.  No.  Instead, you know what my Facebook feed and subsequent Internet browsers have been subjecting me to ad nauseum?  Duck-freakin-Dynasty!  That’s what.   It’s bad enough that you can’t walk into a store – ANY STORE – without bumping face first into a Duck Dynasty POS display hawking ball caps, sweat shirts, and what have you, but what’s wrong with our society when what some camouflaged idiot with a beard may (or may not) have said about gays overrules the spirit of the Christmas Season?  Seriously, who gives a shit?

It’s Christmas!  It’s about the ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’, not ‘Ho! Ho! Homosexuals!

Now, I’m not passing judgment on the whole A&E controversy as, truthfully, I couldn’t give a festive rats ass.  Hell, I’ve never even seen the show, like, once.  In fact, A&E totally jumped the shark for me years ago when they first started airing ‘Storage Wars’  marathons, like, every day.  But, hey, I do hate to buck popular holiday convention (especially with a child around the house) so maybe I should just learn to ‘go with the flow’.

So screw Christmas, we’re celebrating the spirit of ‘Duckmas’ this year by reveling in all things Duck Dynasty.  Yeah, Christmas is so passee anyway!

As such, we’re decorating the tree with duck calls, wrapping the presents in camouflage, and hanging beards instead of mistle toe:  “Oh honey, you’re standing under the Duckmas beard, you know what that means…pucker up!”  And forget about hanging Christmas stockings, we’re going to use rubber boots.  Oh, and instead of a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer, Santa now drives a 49.8 horsepower ATV so we’re leaving a barrel of gasoline out instead of cookies and milk.  And, hey, instead of your usual turkey dinner Christmas Eve, we’re having roasted duck and honeyed frog legs and we’ve even replaced our ‘Elf on the Shelf‘ with a bobble head of Phil Robertson.

Yup.  This is going to be the best Duckmas ever!

God help me.

Introducing Walter

I am still new to this whole parenting thing and, as such, I am very out of touch with many of the popular kid’s trends and customs that other parents have no doubt already been exposed to ad nauseum.  In my previous bachelor life, my only responsibility was to make sure my cat was fed and the cactus was watered, well, every so often; neither of them expected much else.  Life was easy.  But now, holy shit!  With a child around there’s so much more to be aware and on top of.  One such custom is this whole ‘Elf on a Shelf’ phenomenon.

For those of you who have either been living under a rock, or perhaps don’t have kids in the house, let me enlighten you.  Here’s the skinny directly from the website:

The Elf on the Shelf is a special scout elf sent from the North Pole to help Santa Claus manage his naughty and nice lists. When a family adopts an elf and gives it a name, the elf receives its Christmas magic and can fly to the North Pole each night to tell Santa Claus about all of the day’s adventures. Each morning, the elf returns to its family and perches in a different place to watch the fun. Children love to wake up and race around the house looking for their elf each morning.

There are two simple rules that every child knows when it comes to having an elf. First, an elf cannot be touched; Christmas magic is very fragile and if an elf is touched it may lose that magic and be unable to fly back to the North Pole. Second, an elf cannot speak or move while anyone in the house is awake! An elf’s job is to watch and listen.

Walter, the Extortionately Priced Elf

Walter, the Extortionately Priced Elf


Just what this house needs…another creepy doll.  And, hey, for a whopping $35 a pop, never mind encouraging good behavior, this damn thing had also better make me breakfast in the morning and file my taxes.

So, anyway, HRH  has decided that she wants an elf of her own since the rest of the free world seems to have one.  More correctly, Kelly decided that HRH  actually needed one in an effort to get her to better cooperate in cleaning her room, tidying her desk, and keeping the downstairs play area clutter free.  I can definitely support that I guess as a peaceful, non-argument free household is happy household.  So a plan was put in action.

The first order of business was to send HRH  an official email from Santa via “Santa Mail” from the North Pole indicated his concern regarding her recent stubbornness and poor behavior and suggesting that an elf might in fact be needed.  Yeah, you can thank yours truly for that little nugget (okay, it was really Kelly’s idea but I crafted out the email and perpetrated the whole Santa fraud).  But what I (we) got back in return the next morning I (we) couldn’t have ever prepared myself for in a thousand years.

Email Reply #1“Santa i need to know can an elf kill me”

The fuck?

Email Reply #2“Santa clause I’m scared of an elf on a shelf because i read online that if u have a ouji bord the elf can turn evil and kill u in your sleep.”

Thank you, Internet.

I guess my responding now with Walter’s (our particular elf’s name) past dabbling in the Black Arts, or maybe his affiliation with the KKK would be a bad idea, huh?  As would his being on the recent Black Sabbath tour or being able to recite all the lyrics to Hotel California backwards.  Shit, I could definitely have some fun with this…but I won’t.  Or will I?  Maybe I can take some candid “never before/behind the scenes” shots when the child is safely asleep.  Stay tuned, readers, this is going to get interesting.

God help me.


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