To start your morning right, everyone loves a good hockey fight. Its even better when goalies get involved, but what if you're the son of a NHL net-minding legend? You end up on ESPN Sportscenter.
And one more radio ad with the “Canadian” sounding guy telling me how crisp and refreshing Kokanee beer is, will get cross check to the face with my massive Nordic forearm. Yes, Canadians say “hoser” and “eh” WE GET IT ALREADY. Do marketing people seriously find humor in what isn’t funny? Double dip-shit points for those who pay these people to infect my ear drums on a daily basis with these purid, flannel wrapped sound bites. Your executive dollars would be better spend chasing high priced call-girls around penthouse suites while having them call you He-Man to her She-Ra or flip the switch if you’re the women exec.
Betty’s post yesterday inspired me to take a look at my relationship. No, I won’t be hopping into bubble-filled hot tubs soon (despite owning one) and posting erotic stories as a married man of eight years who lives like middle-income suburban white trash, my sexual excitement comes from a free weekend of Cinemax. I'm trying to see the reason why me and my wife don’t connect at times. I am the child of the relationship. I want to be a Toys R’ Us kid. I want to be Peter Pan. I want the crust cut off my PB&J. And I don’t understand why she doesn’t want the same, and my pushing sometimes drives a wedge between us. Party in Malvern, PA? Book me a flight!! Stay up all night playing cards? Who’s holding the two bowers with the ace again (that's euchre for those who haven't had the pleasure of playing down at the VFW for quarters)!! Dial-a-shots? Handle sitting right next to me!!
People at work also wonder why I have a smile on my face most of the time at all hours of the day. My cat didn’t die, my car runs on all cylinders, and I have two legs that work pretty well despite some old hockey injuries that make it a little painful at times. The child in me of course goes into hiding when having to teach Wyatt that it’s not ok to break toys and hauling him up to Target with his Thomas the Tank Engine bank in hand to replace his sister’s toy.
Are my expectations too high that I want to have fun instead of worrying about how you’re going to feel Monday morning? I see someone fun inside of her, yet only get to see a glimpse of what used to be at times. Parenting is not easy, parenting wears down on a person with every thrown bit of pork chop/veggie/potatoes and argument about who had it first, but should it alter you so much that you lose your identity?
I ask myself constantly, am I the one who needs to grow up and fly away from Neverland to grow old, or is it too much to expect her to grow young again?
Just want to thank Bodog for dropping Josh Arieh and $100 into our series even if it was just for a brief while (I think I made the points last night after a brilliant play late with trash got me knocked out before the money). Mookie tonight for those Battle of the Blogger tournaments sadist who haven’t had enough of a beat down yet.