Posts Tagged ‘musings’

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…

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I knew it was going to be bad even before I opened it. You might think that someone in my position may have hesitated, perhaps had second thoughts, or considered the implications of their actions. But alas, no. Rather I acted like a man possessed. I laughed in the face of danger and happily skipped past the line drawn in the sand. My devil may care attitude however would be short lived.

Suffice it to say after perusing Freshly Pressed I now know more about book spines than I ever wished to. Not that it was something I often wished about mind you. That being said it was still somewhat of a revelatory experience. Food for thought, if you will. Out there somewhere in this vast oval shaped expanse we call earth, was a person, and judging by the comments section persons, who were naturally inquisitive about book spines. It begs the question, were they born this way or was it an affliction they suffered later on in life?

At this juncture, I should disclose that I too have glanced at book spines from time to time. Generally in the presence of lady company. Women like bookshelves apparently. Perhaps it’s a disguise and the only reason they buy bookshelves is so they have somewhere else to stack their collection of Cosmo magazines. I’ve often stared at these overflowing bookshelves in wonderment. Where do they find the time? How many books on relationships can one person possibly own? And why wouldn’t you Supersize a meal, it just doesn’t make any sense!  

Despite my protestations to the contrary I am a voracious reader. Maybe even too much so. Is it a result of some kind of undiagnosed ADD? Whatever the reason, I don’t tend to linger long once I’ve finished a book. No time for the moral of the story to percolate in my mind. I’ve already started plotting how I can possibly get my hands on the latest Taylor Swift autobiography- ‘Taylor Swift: The Early Years’. A short excerpt:

“My uncle Randall sure loved to play the banjo. Even now I remember sitting at his feet as he strummed away, thinking to myself, ‘Why hasn’t anyone ever told him how terrible he is?’ It was then that I vowed that I would only ever play the ukulele. Unfortunately they don’t have much need for ukuleles in Pennsylvania and so I had to make do with a guitar. But guitars and ukuleles are pretty much the same thing when you think about it. If you play from the heart it doesn’t really matter what instrument you have in your hands. Unless that instrument is a banjo because those things are ghastly! Wait I may have mentioned that already. My bad.”

Now that I have mulled it over perhaps it takes a certain wisdom to appreciate book spines. A wisdom that says there’s joy to be found in the finer details. A wisdom that says take the time to value the little things because it’s the little things that count. Or it could just be that some people are OCD.

Thankfully I’m not OCD so frankly I couldn’t care less if I’ve mentioned Taylor Swift’s name exactly 3 times in this post or not.

You just counted, didn’t you? Busted!

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.