Relationship advice

I fell asleep on the sofa… supine with my MacBook precariously balanced on my burgeoning midsection and my coffee fast approaching room temperature. I wish I could claim that I was doing something profound with the one hour of free time allotted me per day… that magical interval that spans wrangling your progeny into the bath (and then into bed) and your own personal REM sleep experience. But I wasn’t.

I woke up discombobulated and closing my laptop rampaged off to bed with the stealth like poise of a baby rhinoceros, navigating by iPhone light (so I wouldn’t fall over an errant German Shepherd sprawled out in the passage like some sort of Dinner For One-esque booby trap). After that I tried (unsuccessfully) to unfurl the blanket that my wife had (with advanced mathematics) somehow established herself in. (you know, so I could get just a tiny corner of warmth) After thirty seconds of furtive probing I gave up and the did married couples version of when someone tries to pull the tablecloth out from underneath all the crockery.

As you might imagine… that didn’t work out so well for me.

After a slew of cuss words that would make a submariner or death-row inmate blush and the hi-jinks of having to navigate the domestic version of Ninja warrior back into the living room… I wasn’t sleepy anymore. And so here I am, back where I started, not only more awake, but also wiser…

89x97x3zyte21.png

I feel uniquely disposed now to offer (unsolicited) relationship advice. You know, having survived a situation where the outcome was not entirely clear cut.

Also you’re welcome.

Introspection

‘Unstuck, unfucked and unleashed’ – The obstacle is the way, Ryan Holiday

I’ve decided to take my blogging a little bit more seriously (again). Almost like a grownup. Although there’s got to be something said for taking the blog of someone who just sprayed himself in the eye with screen cleaner seriously. In my defence it’s was quite difficult to see (now impossible) which way the nozzle was facing. Gently formulated to burn like matches. Who needs coffee when you can self medicate with a shot of Isopropyl* directly into your cornea every morning. Goddamn…

* noun. 1. of or denoting the alkyl radical —CH(CH3)2, derived from propane by removal of a hydrogen atom from the middle carbon atom.

I have no idea how to segue that opening into a coherent follow up paragraph. Until recently segue wasn’t even part of my vocabulary. Embarrassingly I used to think segue was spelled Segway and that it was a proper noun that became a verb. Like when you Xerox something. Do you keep the capital in situations like this? I sense someone rolling his or her eyes at me right now and getting all judgmental (and potentially getting ready to pen a sardonic comment). Still… I feel confident that I can recover and salvage a long meandering tirade from all of this… maybe.

Coffee and Steg.jpg

Stegosaurus used for scale.

I’m drinking white pomegranate tea. It’s supposed to be (super) healthy for you. But mostly it’s a hot drink substitute for coffee. I’m trying to cut down on my stimulant intake. I have this ideal concept of self where I exist in this perfect mindful state, free of extraneous influences. Its good to have goals… even if they are unlikely to be totally achieved or fully realized. Back when I was fighting regularly I’d start my day with two crushed up Ibuprofen chased with a Red Bull and a double espresso. And that was just to get myself out of bed and into the office. Usually by 10am or so I could feel the rotation of the planet and the gentle hum of the universe expanding at sixty nine kilometers per second.

I’ve come a long way since then, but recently I’ve found myself slipping and needing that caffeine crutch again. The problem is I really like coffee. I’m not a connoisseur by ANY stretch of the imagination… for the most part I like my coffee in a disposable cardboard cup with a plastic lid. I know, I’m espousing heresy on such a massive scale I should expect the inquisition banging at my door at any moment. ‘Hello, hello, hello… what’s all this then?’ (in my mind the inquisition is, and always will be, British)

I’m trying (and mostly failing) to drink one three coffee type drink(s) per day. (Trying being the operative word) For a while I made it bulletproof coffee. Instead of butter I’d use coconut oil. It’s supposed to do something cognitively for you. Then again I often imagine my mind like a hamster wheel. Only the hamster is dead. Fortunately the wheel hasn’t stopped turning just yet, so I can still dress and feed myself without missing my mouth. (Some might debate the latter) Coconut oil isn’t going to do anything for him anymore. The hamster I mean. Except maybe make him smell a little more tropical.

In any event if you’re going to continue reading this blog I need to warn you, that, broadly speaking the the quality of the writing here resembles the microbial bacteria that lives in the water, that collects in the little plastic container that holds your toilet brush, co-inhabiting this space with tiny bits of fecal matter. It will likely do nothing for you but nurture your misanthropy and potentially give you gastroenteritis of biblical proportions, the likes of which the sensitive skin around you rectum will never forget or forgive you for.

If you’ve made it this far I can only suggest to you that TODAY might be the day! Grab the emergency crucifix and load up that revolver with the silver bullets. You know just in case. Good luck out there. Take very few prisoners. And don’t touch the hand railing on the escalator. You may get hepatitis.

Cannibalism

Blogging to the melodic sound of the Basset licking his butthole on the bean bag. The soundtrack of my life (I wanted the Ode to Joy, but apparently its was taken). My wife and I diverge (like a road through a yellow wood) on parenting techniques for the hound dog. I’m happy to let him lick his derriere. Clearly his rusty sheriffs badge is in need of maintenance, who am I to stick a spanner into the works? My wife however finds the concept of him rim-jobbing himself unsettling. First will come stern words. Then even sterner words with sinister undertones. (personally I would surrender at this point) And then some form of thrown object. And then… depending on the wayward trajectory of said object… possibly getting up and engaging the basset hound in some form physical confrontation. Sometimes this works. But mostly he’ll just glare at us, and then move off to some other location to continue his tongue to ass action.

I point out that this likely qualifies as an act of futility, before pouring half a bag of Skittles into my mouth. We (my wife and I) briefly discussed the ethics of eating the progenies party pack. Turns out we are both okay with it. Basically we are honorless Ronin who burn villages, prey on the defenceless and spurn seppuku. We’re saving her from a lifetime of sugar addiction and hardship…. this is how we justify our actions.

Besides I could do with the energy, I woke up before dawn to take the dogs for a walk…

Photo Apr 29, 08 22 20.jpg

It was quiet and misty out. There was no one around. Except for someone donned in camouflage setting up their fishing gear and little row-boat. I worry about those people. And not only because of their woodland attire.  Well… why you would need to ‘Vietnam level’ concealment to cast a line for catfish concerns me. Clearly a caste of beings whose mindset I don’t necessarily understand. I write it off as too much Rambo – First Blood when they were young and impressionable. I’m inclined however to believe that once you’re plumbing the depths of a suburban water source (for an inedible fish) dressed in Tiger stripe I think you’ve reached some sort of mental event horizon where I can no longer see you. Pun may or may not be intended.

In any event it got me thinking, as he pushed off from shore.

You know that lifeboat morality trolley problem? And everyone has agreed that cannibalism is the only way to survive. And now everyone is debating how best one should go about deciding who gets eaten? The egalitarian/libertarians are arguing about drawing straws.

While all this is going on… you should probably nonchalantly pick up an oar. And then viciously… but surprisingly… smack the fattest person on head as hard as you possibly can. Even if you don’t kill them… you can argue their… eh… disability now marks them as the weakest link in your lifeboat. Sure people might be angry with you for bypassing the process. But really, since they are still alive… they will (likely) be relieved. Also you have an oar… and have demonstrated that you’re not afraid to use it.

Also, doesn’t it make sense to eat the fattest person first?

Obviously this is more of a long term survival thing. Smashing people in the head with oars when Captain Sully has just splashed you down in the Hudson is a less desirable course of action…. and may be frowned upon.