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Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Tig Tag Toe

So far I've been pretty succesful at dodging incoming memes, but a couple of days ago an Americo-Norwegian offensive finally hit the mark. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to:

  1. Link to the person who tagged you.
  2. Mention 'Da Rules'.
  3. Tell six unspectacular quirks of yours.
  4. Tag six bloggers by linking.
  5. Leave a comment for each blogger.

Telling six unspectacular things about me is of course very difficult, since I am such an interesting person – I'm sure you'll all agree, so further discussion is not necessary thank you. After several days of brainstorming, I came up with the following un-noteworthy facts:

  1. I categorically refused to wear any Jeans until I was about 15. Now you'll rarely see me wearing anything else.
  2. I don't like deserts, or sweet things in general. I hardly ever eat candy or chocolate. When I went to my freshmen year at university, my loving mum gave me a bag of mini candy bars. A year later, when they came to clean out my dorm room, my brother discovered to his absolute horror the untouched bag in my closet.
  3. Despite the previous fact, I drink Coca Cola by the bucket. Don't try to sell me any other brand, and none of that vile light stuff either!
  4. If I go somewhere for the first time, I'll prefer to walk the whole end instead of taking a bus or a tram, even if it's a really long way and I could be there by public transport in 10 minutes. I don't mind walking for an hour or so.
  5. Although I seriously wanted to become a fighter pilot (did the exam, flunked), I never flew in an airplane before I was 19. That was just a couple of weeks before I did the exam.
  6. I worked in a hamburger restaurant for eight years during the summer holidays and the last couple of years also during weekends. I still dream about making hamburgers from time to time. Despite the psychological side-effects, I'm still very fond about burgers.

Voilà, I think that went well for a first time. Now to find six poor innocent victims – come to think of it, don't know if I really know any innocent people. Let's see...

  • Blandwagon, although he's probably too sophisticated to play along with silly games like these. But then he lives on the other side of the planet, so the chances of him taking physical revenge are remote.
  • Maureen, for the same reason as above: danger = 1/distance.
  • Lady Daphne is precisely the person to handle such a delicate social conondrum.
  • Sim, because she needs to update her blog more often.
  • Alcyon – no need to let the english speaking bloggers suffer alone.
  • Mrs.T who went away and came back and went away and came back again while she shouldn't move that much and be careful with that back/pelvis/spine/leg/other leg/neck of hers.

So the rest of you can breathe easy again.

Posted by Bart at 9:09 PM
Categories: Miscellaneous

Friday, August 22, 2008

I’m So Excited

In ten days, on the first of September, it’s Mrs.B’s birthday. And I’ve prepared a BIG surprise, because it’s not just any old birthday. In a bit more than one week, my lovely lust-object will celebrate her thirtieth year on this merry blob of dirt in space. Imagine that: three whole decades. Naturally, this calls for sarcastic remarks about ageing and wrinkles and going downhill and grey hair and so on, all in good fun of course.

But back to that BIG surprise. It’s not just a big surprise, anyone can claim to have a big surprise these days. It’s an enormous surprise, even a humongous surprise. I don’t think I’ve surprised her this much ever since I asked her to marry me (which was in fact not a surprise at all because she ordered me to do so, it was only the exact moment that she didn’t know about).

The last couple of days, I’ve done nothing but being all mysterious about the BIG surprise, just bragging about how truly fantastic it will, without giving too many clues about it. You see, I want to get her to be so curious she’ll almost burst at the seams. It could be anything she’s been dreaming (secretly) about, like:

  • A weekend in a naturist camp (better hope the weather improves then)
  • A day-trip to Paris
  • A night in a swingers club
  • A weekend in that nice hotel in Spa, like the one she gave me for my birthday a couple of years ago (she’d been bragging about her BIG surprise for weeks then, but you know me: I’m too big a man to show any desire for revenge)
  • A day at a nudist beach (see remark about the weather above)
  • A helicopter flight from Bruges (were she was born) to Antwerp (where she lives thirty years later)
  • A nice long walk around town (given the current state of our budget)
  • Or nothing of the above (would I be so careless to mention it on my blog, knowing that she reads if from time to time?)

Oooooh, it will be such a BIG, BIG, BIIIIIIG surprise.

And as a bonus I got you all worked up now

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Two Weddings And My Funeral

Our last two weekends have been busy as ever, with two weddings to attend to. First we had to get rid off Wolf, and luckily some passing strangers were willing to take him out of our hands for a while.

The first marriage was very posh, with a 514-course meal. Everything was beautifully decorated, to the point that the tables were pack with candles, menu cards, napkins, flower arrangements and the like. Mrs.B’s table neighbour, an elderly Ukrainian gentleman, inadvertently knocked over his menu card, right onto a candle. The smell of burning paper and plastic decoration quickly warned us that something was wrong. Ever the hero, I saved the day by calmly picking up the burning card and taking it outside. And I didn’t even singe my hands, hair or costume!

The food was nice, and copious amounts of excellent wine were consumed by all – well, by me at least. This resulted in embarrassing scenes on the dance floor later that evening, up to the point that people gave me compliments about my dancing skills. That’s how drunk I was. The next morning (well, afternoon) brought sudden flashbacks of what exactly I’d done, followed by hot flashes of shame and attempts to bury myself under my pillow.

I must say we weren’t very fit at the beginning of the second marriage. After all, we’re not 21 anymore. And in between marriages, I’d been very busy tearing apart walls and floors to install the new central heating. But it was a very nice party, with excellent company, excellent food and excellent drinks. Need I say more? Fast forward to the next morning, with similar sequences of flashbacks and embarrassment.

All that partying has left us truly exhausted. My legs and back ache, and I feel like an old fart. Actually it takes effort to stay awake most of the day. Luckily we have no social engagements next weekend, or I’d snuff it.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Modes Of Transportation

For a long time, Wolf didn’t make haste to start crawling. Instead he kept extending his action radius by bending his body further and further to grab things, up to the point where he would be seated with his legs stretched forward and his nose touching the ground.

His first attempt to move was the ‘bum hop’. It didn’t get him far, it was just enough to bridge those final few millimetres between his finger tips and the toy/forbidden item he wanted to grab.

Then he discovered the ‘bum shuffle’, moving around seated while making swimming motions with one leg at a time to get forward. He perfected his technique at the day-care, because the wall-to-wall carpet in our living room provided too much friction. But then he mastered even that, and there was no stopping him any more. Soon he reconnoitred through the dining room and into the forbidden territory of the kitchen. His wanderings had a bonus to it, because he cleaned the floors at the same time. Although it did get a specific part of his clothes very dirty. Together with his irresistible urge to steal the other kids’ toys and pacifiers at the day-care centre, he earned the nickname ‘Blackbum The Pirate’.

For a long time, he was quite happy with this somewhat inefficient way of moving about. He did lift his bum from time to time when he set off, and tantalizingly stretched his one leg back as if he was going to crawl, but then he would revert to the bum shuffle. When we would set him on hands and knees, he immediately let himself fall on his belly. But then finally, he took to crawling in a matter of days.

Now there’s no holding back to him. He races from one end of the house to the other, and beyond if you don’t watch him. One minute his opening the cupboard doors (‘No Wolf!’), the next he’s tampering with the stereo installation (‘Wolf bad!’) or trying to crawl through the cat flap (‘Get away from there, you’ll get your fingers stuck!’).

The cats don’t know what’s happening to them. No more naps in the sunlight while the baby’s babbling just a couple of feet away. Terror can strike at any time now. He means well (Aaaaaye puh! Aaaaye puh!) but the difference between caressing and whacking a cat are subtle and cat tails are just irresistible. Macka, our tiger-striped cat, takes better to this harassment than Snijeg, the white one. He often allows Wolf to caress/molest him and even comes over by himself to get a pat/whack. Snijeg on the other hand has started his own one-cat underground movement and keeps the largest distance possible between himself and the Crawling Monster of Drool. We have to grab him by the neck and force him on the ground when Wolf insists on stroking/plucking him.

And neither parents nor cats will get any rest in the future, because our little boy has already learned to stand up on his own while holding on to a table or chair. We’ll have to stack our valuables one shelve up again.

Posted by Bart at 9:35 PM
Edited on: Tuesday, August 19, 2008 8:55 PM
Categories: Next Generation

Monday, August 04, 2008

MIA (Missing In Action)

Honey, I’m home !

What’s for supper ?

What do you mean, ‘where have I been’

No, I didn’t go around boozing with the lads!

Has it really been three weeks?

The internet was pretty much dead in July, so I thought I should get a well-earned break from the continuous stress of keeping you lot entertained. I did a lot of sleeping, at least when Mrs.B would let me – know what I mean, wink wink, nudge nudge. And we went to the Ardennes for a week with the in-laws. After three days of seriously getting on each other’s nerves, the sun finally broke through and we were able to get out and have nice walks in the fields around Bastogne.

And then of course there was the hard labour. Granddad and I smeared 500 pounds of cement on the walls of the new study in an effort to get the walls smooth. I somehow managed to hang a 100 pound boiler on a fixing point seven feet up all on my own. We insulated the ceiling and tore the floor apart to lay the new water and heating pipes. In the process, I made a giant mess of the wife’s current office and of the hall way, so pretty much the whole house is covered in dust and the wind’s howling through the scores of two-inch holes I drilled through various walls. One wall in particular, between Mrs.B’s old and new office, looks like it has been strafed by a squadron of A-10 Thunderbolt attack aircraft.

This morning, I escaped in the wee little hours off to work, and left the mess for Mrs.B to clean up. After all, she’s got a whole week off before she has to start to work again. What else is she going to do with all that free time?

Posted by Bart at 9:26 PM
Categories: Miscellaneous


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