Get wiggy wit it!

Why is it always the bald kid who wants to throw wig parties? Whatever. Johnny Mac can certainly confirm that there are stranger things to do on your 40th, but the rest of us with hair indulged Kojak's birthday wish.

Angie and I are a lot like Superman and Clark Kent. Angie would of course be the geeky, shy one with glasses and a candy bar name, but the point is - we are never seen in the same pub at the same time. At least not since we started procreating like Mormon bunnies, but what the hell would they be doing in an Irish pub anyway? Doesn't matter - for Damo's 40th, we cashed in our AWESOME Christmas gift that we got from Ute - a voucher for a free night of sitting on our babies. Did you say free? Well, hell - sign me up twice.

When Angie and I walked into O'Reilly's, I had to spend fifteen minutes explaining to the lads that I wasn't cheating on my wife with some tart.

'You idiots, that tart is my wife!'

Angie shot me her patented 'you're an idiot' glare. What?

To avoid answering rhetorical questions, I mozied over to the birthday boy and started warming up for the dart championship.

You would think that playing darts at someone's 40th might label you as anti-social, but that would also label you a woman. The super-man in me thought it was freakin' awesome! Damo had organized an entire 'boys night out' motif. Wii games, darts, pool, porn - man, you're the coolest old-timer ever! I'm still not sure how the wigs fit in, but then again, I have hair.

Middle-aged men can apparently throw some mean darts even when they're happy. Damo won the dart tournament and was quite happy with himself. Sinead showed up with a kick-ass buffet to feed the winner, which led to yet another shit-eating grin.

You know what - if you're so freakin' happy, why don't you just print it on a t-shirt and announce it to the world? Oh, I see - never mind.

Mr. Happy wanted to make the ladies happy as well. I normally buy flowers, but birthday boy apparently goes for the second date straight away.

Yes, Angie is grinning like the village pervert over a framed picture of Damo in his birthday suite. Note to self: no more flowers for the tart. Note to Damo: get a bigger leaf.

I'm secure enough in my masculinity to admit that Damo's self-portraits were hot, but after years of cohabitating with Angie, I've been conditioned to associate 'hot' with stupid people setting things on fire. Luckily, it was only a birthday cake and Angie was busy ogling Damo's centerfold.

After the frosted fire cake, we made Mr. Happy grin again by giving him an ostridge egg.

I never said it was difficult to make the guy happy. If I had been given the dead seed of a large flightless bird, my birthday shirt probably would've read 'Mr. You Suck'. Whatever - after having my ass handed to me in darts by Mr. Happy, I was not exactly Mr. Sensitive.

Being Mr. Ass actually paid off big-time in the pool tournament.

That's right. Now I was Mr. Winner - how do you like them apples? I searched the cheering crowd for my groupie, only to find Angie doing things to cardboard cut-outs of Johnny Chung that I've only seen on the Internet.

'Why you little tart! How could you possibly choose cardboad Johnny over Superman in a wig? Didn't I mention my trophy?'
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played with Davey Play-Doh.
David: When I makin' Play-Doh.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I have the hiccups.
David: When I played not more with the Play-Doh.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To get rid of my hiccups and go to kindergarten 'cause I want to play there with my friend Frieda.
David: To play with Peter animals.

Destructo Dave self-destructs

Yes, I always knew it was only a matter of time before David would break a leg. No, I never thought it would be his own. Yes, Dave turned his destructive powers on his foot while jumping in the pool of plastic balls at the indoor playground. No, he did not cry. Yes, he kept insisting that it was fine and began crawling around the playground. No, his foot was not fine; it looked like his ankle had swallowed a donut. Yes, we took him to the emergency room. No, it was not the first time. Yes, I can only hope it will not be the last.

David was actually having a ball at the clinic. As soon as the doctor came in, David began asking about his lollipop. Next he demanded a red cast, okay? The doctor wisely chose my preferred way of dealing with David's demands and just ignored him.

After the doctor set the cast, he left the nurses to deal with David's wishes. They caved in like amateurs, though, and David raked in a lollipop, two bags of Gummi bears, and some sugarless gum. One of the nurses even picked up David and gave him a sugarfull hug. She had what I would call 'healthy' eyes. David looked at her, though, and started shouting 'bye-bye, frog-eyes!' Just when you thought those ovacles couldn't get any bigger, her eyes bulged and she looked like she was going to break his remaining healthy leg. Whoa, calm down, froggy. We grabbed the fearless gimp before he started laughing at the nice bug-eyed lady and split.

This all happened on a Friday - just in time for the weekend. Why can't shit like this just happen on a Monday like it's supposed to? Being wise beyond my years, I immediately knew that we were in deep trouble. We normally tend to plan the weekend full of things that make our kids run, jump, swim, wrestle - whatever burns the most energy. With David being one leg short of a good energy burn, we were up shit creek without a speedboat. A what?

Roger that, sailor. Speedboats don't have gas pedals; they have gas handles, which were at full throttle for the entire time. I was pretty sure the boys were having a good time, but I asked Peter just to be sure.

As you can see, he hated it. So did David, who was stuck in the back with me waiting for his turn. As he waited, I explained to my first mate, Eisi, that my camera was full. I told him that it was strange, since I had only taken 15 or 20 pictures and that it might have something to do with the format I had chosen.

'Format? I can fix that.'

'Okay, cool. Here you go.'

After a few minutes, Eisi handed back the camera and proudly informed me that it worked. I took a picture and sure enough, it had enough memory. Thanks, man. After a few more snapshots, I wanted to see how they turned out and realised that all of my previous pictures were gone.

'Uh...Eisi...how exactly did you fix the problem?'

'You said it was a problem with the formatting, so I formatted it.'

'You realize that formatting means you delete everything, right?'

'Oh, that explains the pop-up warning that all files would be deleted. It worked, though, didn't it?'

I went on to explain to Eisi how he had deleted my precious memories from the previous week, including the actual pictures of David at his first visit to the doctor's office. The snapshot above was actually taken the next week, when Destructo Dave had completely destroyed his first cast by picking at it and had to have a new one put on. It's a good thing I am always so far behind on my blogging.

So anyway, back to David waiting for his turn. He was rubbing his hands together, which told me he was plotting an evil plan.

Curiosity got the better of me so I swapped Peter for David just to witness the actualization of his evil thoughts. With David at the helm, I quickly understood his diabolical laughter.

To avoid a swan-harassment lawsuit, Papa came to the rescue with a sharp 180 and the bright idea to go ashore for ice-cream instead.

Port call was great, but no self-respecting sailor goes ashore without getting a tattoo or having a beer. I was too lazy to get a tat, so I opted for the brew. As luck would have it, we ran into an overly self-respecting bartender and a guy who was peacefully born lazy.

I love the picture to the left of me, because Johnny Mac, Peter and David are all completely focused on the beers. Never too young for a Guinness. I love the picture to the right of me because Damo was showing the boys the inside of his two fingers and not the outside. Peace, brother.

For those non-European American types that don't know, the outside finger display is the Irish equivalent of giving the bird. In case you need a visual:

We took Johnny's hand-advice and walked off. Somehow, we ended up back down by the river. At least we weren't in a van.


Clooney was great in the water. Excellent jumping, great posture, really big splash, and superb strokes, even if the paddle was his only doggie style. He had everything going for him until he went for the dismount. As much as he tried, he just couldn't make the last hurdle; at least his trainer yanked him out of trouble, though.

The doggie Olympics didn't stop there, though. Peter joined in with his Olympic stickus throwing that made the crowds go wild.


Okay, the crowd was only one and David was only watching because the poor guy could not move.

I'm always a sucker for the immobile, so I scooped up the poor kid and casted our bond with a photograph.

Yes, the view was that beautiful, even without the kid I was holding. No, I didn't Photoshop my biceps - they really are that huge and hairy. Yes, I love this picture. No, I don't want my destructive David to ever grow up. Yes, I loved holding him in my arms. No, it wasn't the first time. Yes, I can only hope that it will not be the last.
--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When we go to motorboats.
David: When we go by Sarah and make that kuchen.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When we couldn't play football on the Neckar.
David: When I that on home and Peter make me off.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play dinosaurs.
David: To play with Tom, but only when he cry not.