The truth is that we had a tough night with lots to do. There were children being children making lots of noise and demanding attention. There were things to get done to prepare for a weekend camping trip. I was looking for some old stock paperwork for a class action lawsuit settlement with a looming deadline. We tried to have some discussions about other things that were going on in our lives. The recent murder was shocking because, although we live in a big city, we live in a nice neighborhood where people walk their dogs at night. The murder took place in a nearby neighborhood that is more expensive and "better" than ours, so it does make everyone feel a little less secure.

Everything was important, but the reality is that our time is limited and we have to get things done. We both got testy and short with each other. We were both frustrated. It was not the end of the world; it was merely one of the many bumps in the road of our marriage. I know that, and in his heart Jay does too.

In recent months, he has improved a lot as a husband, father and mate. Most of the time he does everything he can to fulfill all of those roles. I recognize and appreciate his efforts. While I give him credit for his efforts in the present, I do still carry a lot of frustration for his many years of laziness and less dedication. Sometimes that does come out, and I know that is hard for him. But it's not like we got to start with a clean slate when he finally decided to change his ways.

We live in an old house that requires a lot of maintenance. It's beautiful and has the potential to be even more so, but it's also full of neglected and half-finished projects. When I trip over one of them for the tenth time in a day, sometimes I do lash out in frustration. Same goes for the laundry basket of papers to be filed and the filing cabinets that have not been cleaned out since our daughter was born four years ago. The list goes on and on. We are both working on creating order from the chaos, but with small children in the house it will take years to catch up. Frustration is inevitable.

We will be OK. We are strong, and we're committed to each other and our family. These things are simply the things that happen as we make our lives day by day.

Little Old Me

A*SS*HO*LE

Everybody!

That's right, I'm an asshole. I think.

I know I come across as one here on this blog, I've always known that. Do I try to change it? Of course not, it's my blog. And I might be an asshole.

Apparently my friends know I'm not, although they see how I come across as one. It seems that knowing me makes all the difference. I assumed I just was an asshole. They say that's not the case. I know with certain people I'm not an asshole. And with certain people I am. I know my sense of humour is a little off, that I'm rather bitter and sarcastic and plain old mean sometimes. I also know the way I write makes me seem rather assholish (asshole-ish?).

So I figure with all this stuff I know, I'm not going to change a thing. My friends say they know I'm not, that's what counts. If you think I am and I don't even know you, and likely never will, then I really don't give a hoot.

Besides, for some reason the thought of being an asshole elicits a little pride deep within me.

So bugger to y'all.

Oh, and for the record...I'm amused by all this, if it isn't coming across that way :)

Another theory - maybe I'm just too upfront about things and myself. Possible. Probably a part of it.

Aw shucks,

I'm an asshole, and I'm proud of it.

Dennis Leary is my hero tonight. :)

I've got irritable bowel syndrome

Every poo is funny. I get poo-paste, poo-mucus, poo-pellets. Poo Poo Poo.

In fact I just got back from the hospital, where a lovely receptionist lady told me she liked my t-shirt (Maroon Furtive). I have just spent 40 minutes telling my doctor about my poo. In the most horrendous detail. I've had all kinds of fingers up my bum.

I once had to have a camera up my bum. They call it a flexible sigmoidoscopy. A foot and a half of cable laid in my bum. Then I had to travel for 9 hours on a coach. I could still feel it there for days afterwards.

And yet in all of this, I have never shat meself or squirted poo across the room or slipped in poo and banged my head really hard. I feel a little bit cheated by that really.

SOOooo many stories of poo

Starting with most recent...
In halls at Uni we had a Phantom Shitter who terrorised our fair building for about a week. Each day he'd poo somewhere new. It started with the showers and went on to the flower pots outside, the canteen floor and finally, his crowning achievment, pooing on the "brown spot" of the snooker table. He was never caught.

As a young scamp in primary school, my friends and i were slightly intrigued by poo. One day my friend decided to bring a crap into school wrapped in toilet paper. It was very funny. Then the next day my other friend, who was more odd than most, said he had done the same. He then produced a poo from his pocket that wasnt wrapped in anything. We ran away.

Another time at rugby (we were forced) i decided to take a shit on the changing room bench - it was a sort of ploppy dropping type. Some older boys then came into the room and proceeded to laugh about how "some cat has cacked on the fucking bench".

Thats all for now. Oh except that the odd boy who brought the unwrapped poo used to put a rubber pig up his arse and throw it at the girls in our class. Ugh. I wonder where he is today?

Frogger

The horror, the horror.

I went to a grammar school, and we had a lad placed in our year by the local council, in the hope that we would have a positive impact upon his behaviour (last I heard, he'd just been sent down for credit card fraud to fund his heroin habit, so that obviously worked).

Three of us were out one Sunday afternoon, when we 12, hanging around on this old railway bridge over a quiet backroad, when we found a frog. So this lad invented a game: let's drop the frog over the bridge (about 20 foot to the road below), and then take turns having a crap over the edge of the bridge to see who can get closest to the frog.

Well, there were no Playstation 2s back then, we had to make our own entertainment...




PS: I was a non-starter, Bad Lad hit the frog square on the head, which makes me think he'd been practising.