Surprise!

Since my lovely companion has already mentioned it in her blog I am jumping at the chance to announce it as well, my lovely companion is carrying life within her! At this moment she is producing a human being which will form and grow and eventually start using her bowels as kickboxing punching bags. Now, I am well aware that pregnancy does strange things to women. Obviously there is morning sickness, which I find hilarious because my lovely companion never ever gets sick. Finding out what she can and can't eat is quite the adventure, because she usually only starts feeling queasy after she's eaten whatever it is her body has suddenly developed a problem with. Needless to say that my lovely companion is not very impressed with my amusement at her affliction. Then there is the one thing that man fear more than the question "Does this make me look fat?" and that is pregnancy cravings. Thankfully my lovely companion is craving red meat, and lots of it. We live a short distance from at least 3 steak houses, so obtaining that particular craving is not an issue. I am more worried that the cravings will start to morph into something more sinister, and I'd have to scour the city in the middle of the night looking for pizza topped with fish fingers, strawberries, cheddar cheese, kiwi fruit and soya mince. Then, there is also a very surprising side-effect of pregnancy that no-one ever tells you about. We all know about the hormonal changes and the effect they have (the previously mentioned cravings, morning sickness and the fact that her boobs now make Pamela Anderson blush) but no-one warned us about the Tourettes. Yes, indeed. She now swears like a sailor without quite knowing why. I have dubbed the condition Pregnancy Tourettes. We'd be having a conversation (non-violent, I promise) and suddenly an F-Bomb would enter the equation for no apparent reason. And she can't explain her outbursts, they just happen. I have learned to live with it though. I mean, all men like it when their wives talk dirty to them, right? I have also learned to keep my mouth shut. Pregnant women are like little (See what I did there?) atomic bombs, just waiting for you to push the wrong button. Thankfully the books that I am reading are full of helpful hints like "Don't say that." or "Rather just keep it to yourself." One book mentions a (probably deceased) guy who saw his heavily pregnant wife walk out of the bathroom wearing just a thong and thought to himself "Hmmm, she looks just like a sumo wrestler." Unfortunately for this poor soul he actually said it aloud and then had a furious half naked woman punching him in the face. So while the idea of a half naked spouse appeals to me (who knows, she may become fully naked) the idea of facing her wrath does not, so I have learned to keep my opinions wisely to myself. As the saying goes, hell hath no fury (and so on), and you better believe it!

It's a New Year!

A new year has arrived, and this usually means only one thing; New Year's Resolutions. For some it is to quit smoking, for others to stop drinking, and for me (and probably quite a few others as well) it is to get back into shape again. The odd thing about a new year is how it encourages us to make promises to ourselves (which we tend not to keep anyway). It's almost like we feel magically renewed and ready for whatever lies ahead. And don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with promising to better ourselves. It's the follow-through that is a bit of an issue. For example, I started out doing cardio exercises in December. It took only a short time for me to realise that I was not pushing myself. That falling off of your exercise machine after a paltry 5 minutes (with breaks in between) was not going to get the job done. So I decided to push myself and see what I am capable of. And lo and behold, I was actually capable of an hour on the machine, during which time I was sweating like I was in a sauna, and pulling a wide variety of faces that would surely scare even the dead. (Not to mention my lovely companion). I have now dedicated myself to a routine that sees me spending an hour on the exercise machine every morning, sweating excessively and scaring the dogs with my facial expressions. There is just one problem.....it is extremely boring! Sure, I have the music going and I am peddling like I'm in a marathon, but the view doesn't change and the wind in my hair is courtesy of a fan situated on a desk. And it's not like you can read a book or something, not if you have a machine like mine.

It is called an Orbitrek, and don't let the happily smiling fitness model fool you, there is nothing to smile about once you get going. Your legs are begging you to stop about 3-5 minutes in, which you then have to push through. After a while it does get easier, as your body just gives up yelling at you and decides to drench you in very unflattering sweat instead while planning diabolical muscle stiffness for later on. But what a workout! It even gives you a little indicator which tells you your speed, distance traveled and how many calories you have burned (which is annoyingly little after an hour). So, my New Year's Resolution should actually not be to get in shape, but rather just be to spend an hour every day without getting bored out of my mind. Maybe I should think up games while I'm peddling. Maybe I should pull more innovative faces and see if I can get the dogs to actually run out of the room yelping. Or maybe I should just shut up and keep peddling.....

Oh Be Quiet!

Ah Christmas time! That time of the year where no-one can do anything wrong, and there is good will and joy all round. But I have a slight problem with Christmas. My problem starts somewhere towards the middle of October, when most shops dust off their Christmas ornaments and start having Christmas specials. It's not even November yet, and you have some jolly fat guy grinning at you from every store front. In most places, if you ask parents, "would you let some old, fat guy give your kids candy and let them sit on his lap?" they would freak out and chase you around while wielding any nearby heavy object. How could I even think such a thing?! And yet it happens every year. Somehow we trust this miscellaneous old guy dressed all in red, who seems excessively happy most of the time, and has a fetish for having little kiddies clamber all over him, telling him all their desires. Am I the only one who sees this as slightly creepy?

But I digress. In November, just when you think the stores have now displayed all the Christmas items that they possess, they somehow suddenly have all their staff dressing in red and wearing Santa hats. And the specials get bigger and better! While I don't object to this blatant attempt at consumerism (hey, we have to waste our money somewhere), I do object to having it rammed down my throat every time I enter a store.

And then, the dreaded December! You know it's getting close to Christmas when you walk into a store, ready to give the aforementioned crimson-clad, jolly fat guy a right hook, and you hear Boney M's Christmas songs. Now I've never been a big Boney M fan. But for some reason when you hear their Christmas music you feel that Christmas has now finally arrived. Suddenly the jolly fat guy doesn't annoy you that much, and you feel much more inclined to get along with your fellow man. I firmly believe that Boney M's Christmas songs have some subliminal message, urging us to love one another, and more importantly, to spread the love as far as possible. Were we to view the in-store security cameras at the end of a normal December work day, we would possibly see all the employees (who have been exposed to "A Boney M Christmas" the entire day) spontaneously burst out in song and have random group hugs throughout the afternoon.

One last thing......the aforementioned jolly fat guy? Remember him? The one who just loves little kiddies on his lap? Why do we tell our kids that he will enter our homes via the chimney and leave gifts under the Christmas tree? And once again we don't mind this! Breaking and entering is usually a felony!!! You know what, I'm done with Christmas! And when we have kids one day, they shall be carefully trained to place a very strategic boot in Santa's "north pole" when he invites them onto his lap....

Man of Many Talents

Talents. Some have lots, some have but a few. Thankfully I have a multitude of talents; making a killer cup of tea, solving most computer ailments just by thinking about it and other miscellaneous talents that only my lovely companion will ever know about, but chief of these, the talent I use the most is simply this: I am always in the way. I decide to stand in the kitchen while my lovely companion is preparing a sumptuous meal, and no matter where I decide to plant my 6 foot frame, I manage to be where she needs to be 2 minutes later. I can't accurately describe this uncanny ability to be a physical (and rather pudgy, time to hit the gym again) barrier. It just happens. I don't think about it, I don't even try to be in the way, it just happens. And I have tested this theory. We would visit friends and I would pick a place to stand. It would look harmless enough, but without fail, about 2 minutes later someone would want something and I would have to move. You could describe it as my super power. Which would suck if super powers actually existed. Can you imagine the conversation at a superhero convention:

Me: So, what is your superpower?

Random Superhero: I can move objects just by thinking about it. I also have superhuman strength and the ability to sing soprano without sounding gay. What is your superpower?

Me: I block kitchen cupboards with my massive frame.

Random Superhero: Ha ha ha ha! That's a good one! But seriously, what's your superpower?

Me: I was serious.

(Awkward silence ensues)

So now I pull up a chair and sit quietly in a corner whenever I am in the kitchen, after making sure that the chair that I am occupying is not located in front of any condiment-containing cupboard which would need to be accessed just as I am getting comfortable. Things could be worse in the grander scheme of things I suppose. My super power could have been blocking toilets every time I flush, or causing cats to spontaneously develop hairballs along with the irresistible urge to yark it up on our bed. Or causing global warming. So the next time someone thinks about complaining that I am in the way they should just remain quiet and let me make them a cup of tea.....

Vampires Suck!

I was recently invited to accompany my lovely companion to the very last (thank the Lord!) Twilight movie. An invitation that I respectfully declined. The reason is that I now have a big problem with vampires. Gone are the days of the dark, dangerous and mysterious creatures of the night. You used to have Vlad the Impaler, more commonly known as Dracula. A man so evil that even death couldn't stop him. He would rise nightly to terrorise virgins everywhere, spawning the vampire legend. Then you had Lestat; cold, vicious and annoyingly good looking. And from the legendary Count Dracula and Lestat, we went to.......Edward. Now I'm sorry, but I refuse to be afraid or in awe of an Edward. Especially when he lights up like a diamond encrusted Christmas tree every time he steps into sunlight. In the good old days vampires would burst into flame when exposed to sunlight, a good situation for the savvy vampire hunter who remembered to pack his marshmallows. So instead of having dark and dangerous, you now have a teenage vampire who's constantly brooding; skulking around with a look of extreme angst and mild constipation on his face. (Hey, an undead digestive system will do that to you.) Then you have Bella, portrayed on the big screen by an actress who has heard of the concept of facial expressions and emotions but couldn't be bothered to apply them. With that in mind, I think a pivotal moment of the first movie should have gone like this:

Bella: I know what you are.

Edward: Say it....

Bella: Gay!

Edward: Ye....wait, what?

Bella: I said you're gay.

Edward: Why the hell would you say that???

Bella: Well, you light up like a fairy princess every time you step into the sun.

Edward: That's it! I've heard enough! I'm off to go brood some more! And don't you dare tell Jacob about this! You'll make him take his shirt off again!

Let's face it, vampires have lost their mysticism. Even Underworld was pushing it slightly. The only reason that it succeeded was because they decided to put Kate Beckinsale in a skin-tight leather outfit and give her guns. I am probably right in saying that most men on this planet don't remember a single line of dialogue, they were just looking at Kate's leather-clad posterior through most of the movie.

And don't even get me started on Buffy the Vampire Slayer! That was like The Young and the Restless with fangs! Sigh.....maybe one day vampires will once again regain their dignity. Until then, I'm swearing off of vampire movies completely! Let's face it, vampires suck!

Eight Legged Freak!

The other day I was thinking back to the early days of my courtship with my lovely companion when a certain memory resurfaced. After a period spent breathing deeply, consuming some alcohol and thinking happy thoughts I decided to share my experience here.

We had been dating for about 2 years at that point when I received a call from my lovely companion at about 22:30 one evening. There was a major emergency and she impressed upon me that speed was required. My first clue that something was amiss was that she did not want to explain the nature of said emergency. When I arrived at her humble abode, she handed me the keys to the house through her bedroom window. That was my next clue. Upon entering the house, I rounded a corner and came eyeball to eyeball with the largest member of the arachnid family that I have ever seen. Unfortunately I do not possess a picture of this freak of nature because I was too focused on whimpering and trying not to soil myself. It was sitting on the door (which was closed, hence my lovely companion handing me the keys through the window) which leads to the bedrooms. My lovely companion was on the other side of the door, trying to get me to describe what was going on instead of crying softly. She then (from the other side of the freaking door, and thus safe) told me not to kill it, but to catch it and release it instead. Keep in mind that this was a GINORMOUS spider, probably the result of some twisted and mad scientist's genetic experiments into creating some super arachnid species, or it was a mutated monster created by the effects of global warming, radioactive waste and no-name brand margarine. I decided that it was not allowed to live, for it would take over the world if it did. I armed myself with a rolled-up newspaper, but quickly discarded the idea for fear that the spider would take it from me and attempt to beat ME to death with it. I grabbed the next best thing; the telephone directory. With a massive war-cry, worthy of any Klingon, I swung my chosen weapon with a righteous fury. It connected solidly, smashing my foe to bits (it was so large that its legs stuck out on either side of the telephone directory) and fracturing my thumb in the process. So wounds were sustained on both fronts, but at least I emerged victorious, reveling in the knowledge that there is one less monster spider in the world.....

What a man!

So this weekend my lovely companion and I visited some friends. Unfortunately those friends live quite a distance away, and we had never visited them before, so needless to say we got lost within 10 minutes of leaving our house. After much debating and frantic phone calls to our friends, we managed to head in roughly the right direction. Unfortunately, the rough storms that we've been having of late turned the roads into a lunar landscape and we were forced to proceed at a crawl. So a 45 minute journey took about 2 hours. It also didn't help that, when we quickly stopped at a gas station for a bathroom break and some cold drinks, that I took the wrong road after we set off again. At that point we were close enough that one of our friends took pity on us and drove out to fetch us. After arriving, my lovely companion immediately started going through our lady friend's toy collection, which left me to walk with the husband into the Room of Wonders. He is a bit of a gun fanatic, and has quite a collection. Just walking into that room I could feel my testosterone levels increasing! He showed me gun after gun, with me almost drooling onto most of them. It was then announced that lunch was ready, so I reluctantly tore myself away to go eat. After lunch all us guys set off to the shooting range. We had a modest collection of weaponry with us:

An AK-47 (civilian version, so it is semi-automatic only)
A Colt .45
A .22 with a 177 round magazine (it's a circular mag, a la Tommy gun)
A Star 9MM

They started me off gently, on the Star 9MM before upgrading me to the Colt .45. At this point I was practically vibrating, because I knew the AK-47 was next. As he unzipped the carry bag, a shaft of light broke through the clouds, I could hear an angel choir somewhere, time seemed to stand still. After he handed it over I stared lovingly at it. I was going to fire an AK-47! (I may have even mumbled "My Preciousssssss" at some point). I lined up with the target, my finger on the trigger. The birds fell silent, the wind stopped blowing, the universe itself stopped moving. I pulled the trigger and, as the target was being torn to pieces, felt like Schwarzenegger. I had to resist the urge to yell "Get to da choppa!" in my best Austrian accent. What a feeling! I was rather sad when the gun fell silent, the magazine empty and pieces of the target floating broken to the ground. I had to return to the real world. But even so I have promised myself (and my friend, who was probably lamenting the loss of an entire magazine of ammunition when he only told me to fire off a few rounds) that "I'll be back!"