Posts Tagged ‘life’

It’s amazing how time flies when you’re having fun. Okay that’s a lie. It’s amazing how time flies when you’re busy. I’ve got to say it makes me feel all adult like, like I am a valuable member of society, paying my dues and getting shit done. Needless to say I sincerely hope it’s just a phase I’m going through.

In a perfect world I would have met my soul-mate by now and by soul-mate I mean sugar mommy. In fact I could quite happily be a stay at home dad minus the kids of course. Don’t get me wrong I don’t mind work. It’s just that I prefer it in small doses, and preferably when someone else does the majority of the legwork and I get all the credit. I’m considerate like that.

Sadly I have a love-hate relationship with money, as in I love to spend money but hate having to earn it. So now that I think about it, it’s a minor miracle I haven’t resorted to crime yet. To be fair I’d have a drop dead gorgeous mug shot but unfortunately I’ve spent way too many hours at church (thanks mom) to ever risk my entry visa into heaven. Hopefully though I don’t have to collect my boarding pass anytime soon.

It’s a vicious circle. I’m not one for half-measures. I’m all in, or I’m apathetic. So now that I’ve established that in order to look pretty I need to earn money, I work like a crazed worker bee. A worker bee that has aspirations of canoodling (best word ever) with the queen bee and driving an Aston Martin. I fear my analogy may have driven slightly off course there. Perhaps I have an addictive personality. I wouldn’t characterise myself as a workaholic. I mean I enjoy what I do, I’m luckier than most, but I don’t love to work. Yet there’s this strange character residing at the back of my head who says you can do better and who judges people who only clock in on time and leave as soon as the bell sounds. I guess it goes to show that you can even get addicted to something you don’t love. Wow how’s that for a philosophical thought the day before Valentine’s Day…

As I have been scarce in these parts of late, think of me as a salamander if you will, I thought a re-introduction might be in order. I suppose if I was so inclined I could just edit the About Section and be done with it. But after reading my original About Section, I realised it was a work of art and should remain just as God intended, and by God of course I mean me.

That being the case, this is a good opportunity for us to get reacquainted. Basically I’m going to wax lyrical, and you’re going to listen. Admittedly, you could go ‘to hell with this’, and click the little x at the top right hand corner of your screen. But if you do this somewhere in the world a fairy will die and you don’t want that on your conscience do you?

Right, now that we’ve got the unpleasantries out of the way, let me paint you a picture of my personality.

Firstly contrary to what the rumour mill might suggest, I am not the real Slim Shady. While I concede I am not rotund in nature, I prefer to think of myself as athletic rather than slim. I don’t mean to suggest that I have a habit of running 100 meters, unless of course I urgently need the toilet in which case all bets are off.

Secondly I do not own a single Taylor Swift album. Shameful I know but in my defence I have ears. The more astute among you might be suspicious given that this is the 3rd time I have mentioned her in as many posts. BUT she did a hair flip at the Grammys, so how bad can she be?

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(Picture courtesy USA Today)

Thirdly I have an accent. Apparently. An English one if you must know. Now if you’re picturing a multitude of characters from Snatch or Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, you’re barking up the wrong tree. It’s more Sherlock-esque, for those of you lucky enough to have witnessed the BBC series. However at this point it is imperative that I make it quite clear that my hair is far superior to Bernard Cumberbatch. A fine actor he might be but one might be forgiven for thinking that a beaver was nesting at the top of his head.

Lastly I am an accomplished cook. Many people find the settings on the side of a toaster to be confusing. I don’t. I like my toast black, that’s all.

So the power tripped, as it is prone to do in the technological super hub that is South Africa. Fear not though, it returned shortly thereafter, no doubt expedited by the fact that I was having malevolent  thoughts about how I would mete out justice should it not do so.

Currently I am staring at my radio alarm clock, as it flashes at me, imploring me to adjust it to the correct time. For some reason I suspect it’s not much of a non-conformist. Time waits for no man. Well it does now. Plus I am lazy and there are so many buttons on this faux chrome gismo I fear that if I fiddle with it I’ll somehow inadvertently reset all the clocks in the Southern Hemisphere. Which actually I’m okay with as long as it means that I get to sleep in for an extra 20 minutes.

I confess I really had to motivate myself to brush my teeth today. I’m not looking for an award; I just want to make clear that it took some effort. This minty breath is courtesy of some elbow grease and some guilt inspired coercion. The internal monologue went something like this –

Me: I wonder if I should just hold this in and that way I can use the toilet paper at work instead.

Me (Again. Obviously.):  I don’t know hey. These sounds are getting pretty ominous.

Me (Again. Really are we actually going to have to do this each time?): I tell you what, I’ll rock, paper, scissors you for it.

Me (Again. Good you’re catching on.): Um, that makes no sense.

Me: Damn your logic. In other news I don’t feel like brushing my teeth.

Me: But what if a promiscuous blonde decides to randomly kiss you?

Me: Why I would be scandalised. I don’t advocate kissing before marriage. Wanton groping sure. But I draw the line at saliva swapping.

Me: You’re not fooling me other random voice in my head. Let’s just say your recent track record is as chequered as a chess board.

Me: I take it this is the last time you’ll ever mention chess in my presence? I don’t have anything against chess per se but it has been scientifically proven to promote premature ejaculation in men.

Me: You just made that up.

Me: Be that as it may, as of today I am Superman and toothpaste is my kryptonite.

Me: Do you think your parents would be proud to discover that they raised a fluoride abhorring specimen?

Me: Well I wouldn’t say proud necessarily, but expectant certainly.

Me: I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this BUT if you don’t brush your teeth as stipulated in your human user manual circa 1980, I may have no option but to put a medley on in your head of Taylor Swift’s most infamous hits.

Me: You’re bluffing!

Me: Am I?

Needless to say I love this minty fresh feeling in my mouth.

Now I know what you’re thinking. Hey aren’t you supposed to be dead? I admit that is a logical conclusion to draw considering my scarcity in these parts. But if I was dead I would no doubt be harassing the hell out of you. So just be thankful that I am as healthy as an ox, and full of vim and vigour. I’ve actually always wanted to know what vim is and now thanks to the wonder that is Google, I know that vim is ‘lively or energetic spirit’. As an aside it’s also apparently a text editor of some sort, although at that point my eyes glazed over so can’t really tell you much more than that.

Anyway if you think my absence has been due to some life changing mind altering event, you would be wrong. I still don’t have any children that I’m aware of. High fives himself. Hey don’t judge me. Kids are expensive and I like money. Plus I like playing with matches so what kind of example would that set.

I haven’t moved or relocated. Although that’s probably because I hate packing with a passion that borders on religious fervour. I suppose part of the reason I don’t like packing is because it reminds me how much junk I’ve accumulated. Then I start feeling all guilty and stuff and have irrational thoughts like, ‘perhaps I should throw out that card I got for my 12th birthday’, or, ‘yes Kris Kross will make you jump, jump, but do I really still need to be hanging onto their official t-shirt?’ Needless to say I don’t want to go down that road again. After all that Kris Kross t-shirt is practically an antique and if I’m not mistaken antique is code for expensive. I’ve carefully studied old people so I know stuff like this. Of course by carefully studied I mean I’ve hung out with my grandparents a couple of times.

I haven’t changed jobs recently either. Still in the same one. I even celebrated my work anniversary there last month. Okay I’m not sure I’m using the word ‘celebrated’ in the right context here. They didn’t buy me cake or even get me a balloon. It made me sad but then I realised they pay me actual money, not like the pretend Monopoly kind, and then I was happy again. Money buys bacon and bacon makes the world go round. And by round, I really mean round, because, well bacon is fattening. But bacon makes me happy.

Anyway my point is this, not much has changed. I’m still alive, still half man half awesome, and still slippery when wet. That is all. Further updates as events warrant.