So tomorrow I take the massive leap from one side of the abyss to the other.... and I am fucking petrified. Mmmm, ok so maybe that is a slight exaggeration, after all how can giving up smoking be petrifying I ask myself? Well, quite fucking easily actually. Smoking for me is my crutch - it is to me what chocolate is for most tarts. It's my coping mechanism...
Apparently as a little boozy tart in the making, I used to have a coping mechanism that was pink. More specifically, it was pink and white with a big sheep in the middle of it. Yip, my blankey went everywhere with me. I was one of those kids who used to sit in front of the washing machine and howl like dog, all the time watching my beloved blankey being swooshed around in this big mixing bowl of water and soap. It was rather traumatising...
I wonder if this experience has made me fearful when having to give up my crutches / coping mechanisms?! Of course, I know the health benefits of giving up smoking, every ignoramus knows them, but I am truly nervous. How will I get through a stressful day at work? More importantly, how is my left hand going to feel when I go out boozing and she is just left... hanging there really - nothing to hold, nothing to occupy her with. I mean they say idle hands are the devil's playground so does that mean that my left hand has the potential to become evil? It's all very thought provoking...
Then of course there is the smoke I have on the way to work. This little Charlie Johnson is a major part of starting my day - clears my head and helps me focus. What am I to do from tomorrow morning whilst I drive to work? Sing? Enjoy the sights and sounds? My Talented Brother has suggested that I drive with my middle finger extended as that way my hand will have somthing to do and the car trip to work will be so interesting that I won't care / notice that I ain't huff puffing away. Mmmm, I think this might be a solution but could aggravate my road rage further - prolly not a good idea then...
I didn't smoke for three years. Three fucking years. How the fuck I managed this I have fuck all clue but I find myself racking my brains for the solution... and nothing, not a damned fucking thing comes to mind as to how exactly I went about doing this. Most people would answer willpower... well you know what - fuck willpower, I want an easy solution dammit!
Tomorrow I will technically be a non-smoker. From tomorrow I will sit with the non-smokers when going out to eat. Tomorrow... is going to be a fucking bitch! BUGGER!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Swedish Penis Adventures
So The Pilot and I are going to start a business.
Personally, I think it could be highly lucrative. I am technically going to have more responsibility than The Pilot and hence I have proposed that we split the profits 60 / 40. The 60% being for me of course. After all, I will be the one in charge of the marketing, branding and general PR. His role is kinda a more hands-on one and therefore you could say that he is the labourer... Or as I like to call him, my bitch. He did, however, prefer the term bread winner...
This little business idea was the result of a tart who I shall don Issues. Now Issues, deny as much as she has, has the hots for my boy. The Pilot and I saw Issues on Thursday night when a whole crew of us went to jam it up to Prime Circle. Issues has the most annoying habit of forever asking me where the fuck The Pilot is - last time she wanted to rub herself against him. Mmmmm, yes cause like that's so gonna happen! But I digress.... the point is that Issues has now become a personal joke between The Pilot and I. Hell, she even sparked our business idea!
Basically, The Pilot and I figured that since he already had one fan (and it would seem some more at my office and Crystal Girl on Sat) that we were sitting on a untapped resource of monumental proportion, our very own gold mine so to say...
The idea? I'd pimp my boyfriend out, for an astronomical fee, to women who clearly can't keep their eyes off of him.
I, of course, would earn oodles of commission and he would be a busy boy. A very busy boy. We'd both be happy and rich. So am excited.... Keep your eyes open, Swedish Penis Adventures could be making an appearance at your party soon! ;)
Personally, I think it could be highly lucrative. I am technically going to have more responsibility than The Pilot and hence I have proposed that we split the profits 60 / 40. The 60% being for me of course. After all, I will be the one in charge of the marketing, branding and general PR. His role is kinda a more hands-on one and therefore you could say that he is the labourer... Or as I like to call him, my bitch. He did, however, prefer the term bread winner...
This little business idea was the result of a tart who I shall don Issues. Now Issues, deny as much as she has, has the hots for my boy. The Pilot and I saw Issues on Thursday night when a whole crew of us went to jam it up to Prime Circle. Issues has the most annoying habit of forever asking me where the fuck The Pilot is - last time she wanted to rub herself against him. Mmmmm, yes cause like that's so gonna happen! But I digress.... the point is that Issues has now become a personal joke between The Pilot and I. Hell, she even sparked our business idea!
Basically, The Pilot and I figured that since he already had one fan (and it would seem some more at my office and Crystal Girl on Sat) that we were sitting on a untapped resource of monumental proportion, our very own gold mine so to say...
The idea? I'd pimp my boyfriend out, for an astronomical fee, to women who clearly can't keep their eyes off of him.
I, of course, would earn oodles of commission and he would be a busy boy. A very busy boy. We'd both be happy and rich. So am excited.... Keep your eyes open, Swedish Penis Adventures could be making an appearance at your party soon! ;)
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Cuts like a Knife
Fuck. Me
I can't believe it.
I am still in shock and am fighting the urge to pinch myself and yell: wake up, it's just a bad dream. But it isn't a bad dream - it's real. As real as me having to listen to the Parental Unit known as "Dad" cry on the phone...
The fragility of life amazes me and its times like these when I find myself wondering why it takes someone close to you to pass away for you to realise how precious life truly is. It makes you realise that each day is a blessing.
I still keep looking at my phone, willing it to ring, willing it to be my Mom on other end telling me it was all a bad joke. I know this won't happen but right now I'm not sure how to deal with the news my ears heard literally 20 minutes ago...
So strange to think that I won't ever hear his voice again or that my Dad won't be able to go out on the piss with him. In case you're wondering, my Dad's best mate died last night. He was like a second godfather to me (in a non-Mafioso kinda way)! The most gut wrenching thing about the news is how my Dad has been affected. It just breaks my heart, actually it shatters it!
My Dad's mate will leave a massive gap in many peoples lives. So wrong and unfair... And I can feel the dread building up inside me knowing that his funeral will be sometime next week. Funerals freak me out. Don't know why, they just do. The whole ashes to ashes and dust to dust thing makes me nervous...
So this blog post is dedicated to MM (Dad's mate) who lived his life to the fullest, who taught me so many things (particularly how to drink whisky) and who most of all, will be missed every day!
I can't believe it.
I am still in shock and am fighting the urge to pinch myself and yell: wake up, it's just a bad dream. But it isn't a bad dream - it's real. As real as me having to listen to the Parental Unit known as "Dad" cry on the phone...
The fragility of life amazes me and its times like these when I find myself wondering why it takes someone close to you to pass away for you to realise how precious life truly is. It makes you realise that each day is a blessing.
I still keep looking at my phone, willing it to ring, willing it to be my Mom on other end telling me it was all a bad joke. I know this won't happen but right now I'm not sure how to deal with the news my ears heard literally 20 minutes ago...
So strange to think that I won't ever hear his voice again or that my Dad won't be able to go out on the piss with him. In case you're wondering, my Dad's best mate died last night. He was like a second godfather to me (in a non-Mafioso kinda way)! The most gut wrenching thing about the news is how my Dad has been affected. It just breaks my heart, actually it shatters it!
My Dad's mate will leave a massive gap in many peoples lives. So wrong and unfair... And I can feel the dread building up inside me knowing that his funeral will be sometime next week. Funerals freak me out. Don't know why, they just do. The whole ashes to ashes and dust to dust thing makes me nervous...
So this blog post is dedicated to MM (Dad's mate) who lived his life to the fullest, who taught me so many things (particularly how to drink whisky) and who most of all, will be missed every day!
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Dikhololo
Ever have one of those weekends where excessive boozing is pretty much all you do? And by excessive boozing I mean downing voddies at 10 in the morning, drinking while taking yourself on your own very private game drive, boozing and shooting some Jose's before climbing on 250cc quads.... Ever done that?!
I have.
In fact, it's all I did this weekend past. Went away with The Pilot and some of his shacked up mates, although we had a very unique and original individual with us who is currently flying solo. Fifty was legendary! Keep on eye on Facebook for Fifty's video...
The weekend was fucking amazing and just what I needed. I even got to meet The Pilot's alter ego... Ranger Pilot. He's actually very knowledgeable. Very impressive. I actually learnt some things in my drunken haze!
Now you might be asking yourself just how much boozing was done on this Dikhololo weekend... And the answer is as follows:
6 x bottles red wine;
1 x bottle voddies;
1 x bottle Jaggie;
1 x bottle Sherry (gag);
1 x bottle Amarula;
1 x bottle Rum;
1 x bottle Jammies;
1 x bottle J&B;
2 x bottles White Wine;
.... And this was between 7 of us mind you. Plus there were the beers, the Hunters, the Spins and the Jose's...
All in all I think a legend has been born and the history books of our livers were most certainly re-written! :)
I have.
In fact, it's all I did this weekend past. Went away with The Pilot and some of his shacked up mates, although we had a very unique and original individual with us who is currently flying solo. Fifty was legendary! Keep on eye on Facebook for Fifty's video...
The weekend was fucking amazing and just what I needed. I even got to meet The Pilot's alter ego... Ranger Pilot. He's actually very knowledgeable. Very impressive. I actually learnt some things in my drunken haze!
Now you might be asking yourself just how much boozing was done on this Dikhololo weekend... And the answer is as follows:
6 x bottles red wine;
1 x bottle voddies;
1 x bottle Jaggie;
1 x bottle Sherry (gag);
1 x bottle Amarula;
1 x bottle Rum;
1 x bottle Jammies;
1 x bottle J&B;
2 x bottles White Wine;
.... And this was between 7 of us mind you. Plus there were the beers, the Hunters, the Spins and the Jose's...
All in all I think a legend has been born and the history books of our livers were most certainly re-written! :)
Friday, July 20, 2007
Cooking with Gas but NOT in the Kitchen!
Today is one of those days when you sit and ponder how the fuck you are going to get through all your work before hitting that looming deadline of 2pm!
So far the stress of this is causing me to consume massive amounts of siggies... which basically translates into me smelling like a walking and talking ashtray. Yipee. The one comforting thought is that I originally had 13 things on my "to do" list and am now only left with 3 which I suppose isn't that bad but still...
Friday's are reserved for chilling. Taking a slight breather from work. It's the day you give 5% and bust your balls the remaining 4 days of the week so you can do whatever your little alcohol filled heart wants. Today, this is so not the case. Bugger!
The only thing keeping me going is that I am off to the bush this weekend with The Pilot and some mates who are all couples. Mmmm, this begs me to ponder whether I am turning into a coupley kinda person... Who know the type of person who only does weekends away with other couples. No, can't be. I just fucking refuse. After all, I am only now starting to get used to the idea that I have that proverbial someone special in my life. It's a totally weird yet oddly enjoyable feeling...
So far the stress of this is causing me to consume massive amounts of siggies... which basically translates into me smelling like a walking and talking ashtray. Yipee. The one comforting thought is that I originally had 13 things on my "to do" list and am now only left with 3 which I suppose isn't that bad but still...
Friday's are reserved for chilling. Taking a slight breather from work. It's the day you give 5% and bust your balls the remaining 4 days of the week so you can do whatever your little alcohol filled heart wants. Today, this is so not the case. Bugger!
The only thing keeping me going is that I am off to the bush this weekend with The Pilot and some mates who are all couples. Mmmm, this begs me to ponder whether I am turning into a coupley kinda person... Who know the type of person who only does weekends away with other couples. No, can't be. I just fucking refuse. After all, I am only now starting to get used to the idea that I have that proverbial someone special in my life. It's a totally weird yet oddly enjoyable feeling...
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Five times from Sunday... and then some!
Apparently my mate, Schmo, hasn't had a shag in 8 months!
Fuck. Me.
(this is where he would probably drop to his knees, begging and pleading whilst yelling: yes phuleez)
I find this concept of being shagless very hard to grasp. Especially when the said unshagged individual is a guy! Don't get me wrong, I understand that everyone goes through what I like to term "dry patches". Patches of fruitlessness. Patches that have actually lead to a mate getting blue balls - although I am pretty sure that his no fucking period was way longer than 8 months.
But besides the whole dry patch thang, how on God's green earth do you go that long? Do you forget what a good roggering feels like? Maybe... What I can't seem to quite understand is how in today's modern society where, let's face it, Tequila and fuck loads of Jaggie Bombs practically guarantee even the most unfortunate looking peoples a night of romping, do you not manage to come right???
I understand that you won't be tapping that every night but seriously. All one would have to do is fork out a little cash - in the case of Schmo - schmooze some tart at like The Mandog or gawd forbid Casa and fucks your uncle, you're getting laid. Would only have to be done like twice to relieve the feeling of being a sexual reject, right? Plus if you take all the right precautions nothing serious would happen either, except that you might start becoming confuzzed as to what exactly her name is...
... although, thanks to post-its, that shouldn't be a problem either!
Fuck. Me.
(this is where he would probably drop to his knees, begging and pleading whilst yelling: yes phuleez)
I find this concept of being shagless very hard to grasp. Especially when the said unshagged individual is a guy! Don't get me wrong, I understand that everyone goes through what I like to term "dry patches". Patches of fruitlessness. Patches that have actually lead to a mate getting blue balls - although I am pretty sure that his no fucking period was way longer than 8 months.
But besides the whole dry patch thang, how on God's green earth do you go that long? Do you forget what a good roggering feels like? Maybe... What I can't seem to quite understand is how in today's modern society where, let's face it, Tequila and fuck loads of Jaggie Bombs practically guarantee even the most unfortunate looking peoples a night of romping, do you not manage to come right???
I understand that you won't be tapping that every night but seriously. All one would have to do is fork out a little cash - in the case of Schmo - schmooze some tart at like The Mandog or gawd forbid Casa and fucks your uncle, you're getting laid. Would only have to be done like twice to relieve the feeling of being a sexual reject, right? Plus if you take all the right precautions nothing serious would happen either, except that you might start becoming confuzzed as to what exactly her name is...
... although, thanks to post-its, that shouldn't be a problem either!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Mos like Jean Pant 'n Takkies
I find it completely fucking fascinating how dress codes vary amongst companies. I mean do the big chiefs sit down one day with a list of clothing in front of them and decide which items to effectively knock-off the list?!
The Ex Company was anal retentive when it came to dress codes. Seriously. They were overly anal. My poor wardrobe and my fucking bank account suffered oodles amounts of trauma when I first started there. The funniest thing is that as time went on the list of forbodden clothes grew. Casual days become an oxymoron and rather pointless all together.
The New Company, however, is the exact opposite. I fucking love it. Wear whatever the fuck your little heart desires. Be you, even if that means rocking up in a pink skirt, orange top, blue takkies and purple hair. After all, we're part of the creative industry and thus everyone is expected to be totally insane...
Must say that I don't think I will ever let the casualness of my work attire sink to that extent but I find it so comforting to know that if I wanted to come to work in my jean pant and takkies it would be totally acceptable!
The Ex Company was anal retentive when it came to dress codes. Seriously. They were overly anal. My poor wardrobe and my fucking bank account suffered oodles amounts of trauma when I first started there. The funniest thing is that as time went on the list of forbodden clothes grew. Casual days become an oxymoron and rather pointless all together.
The New Company, however, is the exact opposite. I fucking love it. Wear whatever the fuck your little heart desires. Be you, even if that means rocking up in a pink skirt, orange top, blue takkies and purple hair. After all, we're part of the creative industry and thus everyone is expected to be totally insane...
Must say that I don't think I will ever let the casualness of my work attire sink to that extent but I find it so comforting to know that if I wanted to come to work in my jean pant and takkies it would be totally acceptable!
Monday, July 16, 2007
First Day on the Job
It's like having to start your first day at school all over again...
My nerves kicked in at around 8pm last night and, of course, as expected I hardly slept. Having to start your new job and facing the first day that you anticipate so much for 4 weeks brings with it a fair amount of angst!
The drive to my new place of growth and development was probably the worst. By this stage the nerves had taken over and I felt like a Learner Driver being unleashed on Jozi's roads for the first time.
The most amazing part is that I work with such fantastic people. Had a massive bunch of flowers waiting for me on my desk. My entire office is made up of tarts. Something which worried me a little as generally tarts (who are not my direct awesome mates) don't get on with me so well. Never had a problem with the opposite sex though. But the tarts here are nothing short of tastic! The dirty talk has already started and they all seem like my kinda peeps.
With half of my first day almost completely gone, I am ecstatic. I have this little theory that all you have to do is get through the first day, the first week and then your first month before it's all smooth sailing and you have 100% of a clue as to what needs to get done.
So I am excited and can't wait for this little career journey to start. Fire up the engines on all cylinders!
My nerves kicked in at around 8pm last night and, of course, as expected I hardly slept. Having to start your new job and facing the first day that you anticipate so much for 4 weeks brings with it a fair amount of angst!
The drive to my new place of growth and development was probably the worst. By this stage the nerves had taken over and I felt like a Learner Driver being unleashed on Jozi's roads for the first time.
The most amazing part is that I work with such fantastic people. Had a massive bunch of flowers waiting for me on my desk. My entire office is made up of tarts. Something which worried me a little as generally tarts (who are not my direct awesome mates) don't get on with me so well. Never had a problem with the opposite sex though. But the tarts here are nothing short of tastic! The dirty talk has already started and they all seem like my kinda peeps.
With half of my first day almost completely gone, I am ecstatic. I have this little theory that all you have to do is get through the first day, the first week and then your first month before it's all smooth sailing and you have 100% of a clue as to what needs to get done.
So I am excited and can't wait for this little career journey to start. Fire up the engines on all cylinders!
Friday, July 13, 2007
My very own Cheschire Cat!
I are grinning like a major phat cat today! Actually, I'm fucking purrrrrrrrrrring...
Yesterday I felt a teeny tiny bit sad about leaving The Company. Today, this couldn't be further from the truth. I am walking on sunshine with a grin that would match Bon Jovi's recently whitened smile. Loving it!
Am ready, eager and just generally fucking elated that my little cup of ambition will soon be over flowing. I can't wait to get my hands dirty, to get back into an industry that I not only love but am blind-sidedly passionate about.
Can't. Fucking. Wait.
For now, I have to sit here like a useless clown and look "busy". This in itself is extremely hard to do when you are working out your last hours at The Bacon Making Factory. Actually, it's rather painful...
But as any boozed up tart would do in my situation, I stepped out. Yip, stepped out of the office that shall no longer be the baine of my existence! I stepped out and had be a delicious glass of Merlot and a siggie. Fan-fucking-tastic! Now I get to ponder the remaining three hours away slightly pissed and overly content!
Yesterday I felt a teeny tiny bit sad about leaving The Company. Today, this couldn't be further from the truth. I am walking on sunshine with a grin that would match Bon Jovi's recently whitened smile. Loving it!
Am ready, eager and just generally fucking elated that my little cup of ambition will soon be over flowing. I can't wait to get my hands dirty, to get back into an industry that I not only love but am blind-sidedly passionate about.
Can't. Fucking. Wait.
For now, I have to sit here like a useless clown and look "busy". This in itself is extremely hard to do when you are working out your last hours at The Bacon Making Factory. Actually, it's rather painful...
But as any boozed up tart would do in my situation, I stepped out. Yip, stepped out of the office that shall no longer be the baine of my existence! I stepped out and had be a delicious glass of Merlot and a siggie. Fan-fucking-tastic! Now I get to ponder the remaining three hours away slightly pissed and overly content!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Slowly Turning off the Power..
This is my second last day at The Company.
Weird. Happy, but totally weird...
Always thought that the day I walked out of these walls I would feel like a free tart. A tart whose life sentence of slavery had been lifted. Yes, I thought I would feel pardoned...
But now as I sit here T minusing one day before I gleefully walk out these doors and onto bigger, brighter things (aka the drinking hole down the road) I feel something completely different. I almost feel sad. Not sad because I'm leaving (that I am fucking ecstatic about) but sad because... ah well, fuck I dunno really. Just have this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Know what I'm talking about?
Maybe it's because the end of an era is upon me? Most would argue that this era has generally been a highly frustrating one that has turned me into a bitch with a huge mother fucking cause. This may very well be true but still...
You spend majority of your time at work, you pore your heart and soul into it and then it's over. You just walk away. Leave everything and every project you worked on hanging in the breeze as you sail on.
In fact the more I examine this feeling of weirdness the more I am starting to realise that I might be suffering from separation anxiety. Or maybe it's just anxiety. I know I definitely feel anxious looking at the piles of paper I will be shredding for the rest of day!
Weird. Happy, but totally weird...
Always thought that the day I walked out of these walls I would feel like a free tart. A tart whose life sentence of slavery had been lifted. Yes, I thought I would feel pardoned...
But now as I sit here T minusing one day before I gleefully walk out these doors and onto bigger, brighter things (aka the drinking hole down the road) I feel something completely different. I almost feel sad. Not sad because I'm leaving (that I am fucking ecstatic about) but sad because... ah well, fuck I dunno really. Just have this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Know what I'm talking about?
Maybe it's because the end of an era is upon me? Most would argue that this era has generally been a highly frustrating one that has turned me into a bitch with a huge mother fucking cause. This may very well be true but still...
You spend majority of your time at work, you pore your heart and soul into it and then it's over. You just walk away. Leave everything and every project you worked on hanging in the breeze as you sail on.
In fact the more I examine this feeling of weirdness the more I am starting to realise that I might be suffering from separation anxiety. Or maybe it's just anxiety. I know I definitely feel anxious looking at the piles of paper I will be shredding for the rest of day!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
A Proverbial Dilemma of Monumenal Proportions
So things with The Pilot are going tastically. In fact, there going so tastically that he asked me to go away with him next weekend to Mabalingwe - never been but apparently it is gorgeous. Awesome, I love gorgeous things!
Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity - he might even take me flying while we're there. YAY! (Note to self: Do not press any funny / pretty looking buttons whilst pondering what exactly it does!)
Of course once my ecstatic euphoria had slowed down to a more normal pace, I had that little niggling feeling that I was forgetting something important... Ever had that? What I realised later was that I am suppose to be doing a 21km next Sunday, watching The Parental Unit known as "Dad" host his first live jazz and blues jam session and something else on Friday (I still can't remember what this is though).
Now I am proverbially stuck in a rock and a hard place... Beautiful weekend away with The Pilot or running which translates into copious amounts of sweating and supporting the man who helped make me the boozy tart I am today! Mmmm...
Past experience has taught this tart that such a situation is not a welcome one. They generally end very badly with me feeling like I am being fought over like that last piece of doubly delicious triple decker chocolate cake!
This time, however, things are different.
This time I know exactly what I wanna do.
This time The Parentals like The Pilot so much that the Dad's answer to my proverbial dilemma was... Fuck the run! And don't worry bout us or me on Saturday. Just means I'll have more Jamies for the rest of my customers!
This time I realise what truly awesome Parentals I have and just how much I love them.
This time... my bags are packed and I'm ready to go!
Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity - he might even take me flying while we're there. YAY! (Note to self: Do not press any funny / pretty looking buttons whilst pondering what exactly it does!)
Of course once my ecstatic euphoria had slowed down to a more normal pace, I had that little niggling feeling that I was forgetting something important... Ever had that? What I realised later was that I am suppose to be doing a 21km next Sunday, watching The Parental Unit known as "Dad" host his first live jazz and blues jam session and something else on Friday (I still can't remember what this is though).
Now I am proverbially stuck in a rock and a hard place... Beautiful weekend away with The Pilot or running which translates into copious amounts of sweating and supporting the man who helped make me the boozy tart I am today! Mmmm...
Past experience has taught this tart that such a situation is not a welcome one. They generally end very badly with me feeling like I am being fought over like that last piece of doubly delicious triple decker chocolate cake!
This time, however, things are different.
This time I know exactly what I wanna do.
This time The Parentals like The Pilot so much that the Dad's answer to my proverbial dilemma was... Fuck the run! And don't worry bout us or me on Saturday. Just means I'll have more Jamies for the rest of my customers!
This time I realise what truly awesome Parentals I have and just how much I love them.
This time... my bags are packed and I'm ready to go!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Friday, July 06, 2007
The wheel is turning, but the Hamster, eish she is dead!
It would seem ladies and gents that I have officially run out of steam.
The little light that lights up when you switch the kettle on just doesn't wanna come out and play anymore. Nah-huh!
I am finding this very strange and am pondering if this might be the eighth wonder of the world. I have no idea why I feel this way. I just have no little electrons running around my body. I'm flat. As flat as everyone once thought the Earth was... The really weird thing is that the past 2 days have been the best and made me smile from the inside out! So technically I should be walking on sunshine, skipping to my Lu, running down the streets of Phillie but right now, Living la Vida Loca just isn't working for my fragile liver (this is a medical fact - I have a fragile liver - I know, wicked hey?!)
Maybe I am being over-worked? Or underpaid? Or am just in a pity-party mood... Mmmm, yes I think that's it. Now if I could only find my hip flask all would be right with this boozed up tart's world!
The little light that lights up when you switch the kettle on just doesn't wanna come out and play anymore. Nah-huh!
I am finding this very strange and am pondering if this might be the eighth wonder of the world. I have no idea why I feel this way. I just have no little electrons running around my body. I'm flat. As flat as everyone once thought the Earth was... The really weird thing is that the past 2 days have been the best and made me smile from the inside out! So technically I should be walking on sunshine, skipping to my Lu, running down the streets of Phillie but right now, Living la Vida Loca just isn't working for my fragile liver (this is a medical fact - I have a fragile liver - I know, wicked hey?!)
Maybe I am being over-worked? Or underpaid? Or am just in a pity-party mood... Mmmm, yes I think that's it. Now if I could only find my hip flask all would be right with this boozed up tart's world!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Meet the Rentals...
Oh. Jesus. Christ...
Tonight I am officially meeting The Pilot's parents.
Normally, meeting the parents isn't such a big thing for me... Actually, the idea of meeting the parents doesn't really seem like too much of a big deal. Couldn't comprehend why all my tarts would stress about being put in an intimate environment (aka dinner) with your new squeeze next to you and his rentals on the other side of the table staring at you with those scrupulous eyes, judging you... *gulp*
I used to laugh this idea off like it was a relatively decent joke. Today though I am not fucking laughing. Today I will be running the gauntlet and what I envision is worse than any hell some bible punting tosser could dream of.
I have a very vivid imagination and so at this particular point in time it seems to be running away with me. Running away at such a pace that I think Nike might need to invent some new trainers to cope! Firstly, I have visions of having my life (and most likely me) being open to complete scrutiny. Interrogated like a war criminal - fucking awesome!
So in my mild state of panic (this includes the melodramatic panic of what the fuck I am going to wear and can I really wear those shoes?) I googled meeting the parents in hope that some genius out there on the worldwide web would have some calming and insightful tips...
Things to Remember on a first visit:
Be polite and show respect - Mmm, not very helpful but I suppose useful to remember
Don't have a hangover from the night before - Tick :)
Don't ever refer to sex and your partner - Yes because I would so love his parents to know all about our little shenanigans
Don't ask if you can sleep together at their house - Hahahaha, you must be fucking kidding me? Um, excuse me Mr The Pilot's Dad, do you mind if I shag your son shitless in your guest bedroom? Ja, somehow I think that one was a no-brainer... So tick :)
Take small gift with you that has been researched - Do chocolates count as research?
Refer to the parents formally unless invited otherwise - Tick :)
Do not drink alcohol unless invited - Fuck that sucks. What a bullshit tip... Next!
Never attempt to smoke, even in the garden or yard - Awesome!
Never refuse food and drink. Accept graciously - I would never dream of rejecting drink. I love drink! Bring on the drink...
Do show humor and character but not too much - Mmm, so what their really saying is show restraint right?! Restraint - I can be restrained ;) *giggle*
Do think through some basic questions they may ask - NEXT!
Do not be evasive about your work or career - This will definitely not be a problem, I love my career! Tick :)
Dress well and look presentable - Five fucking ticks :) :) :) :) :)
Avoid any form of bad language - Does fuck count as bad language? I kinda think of it as descriptive language... Fuck, no more saying fuck from 7pm onwards. Fuck - this is a tuffie!
Think of the entire situation as a small interview - Oh great, awesome, totally fucking kiff!
... I am officially fucked!
Tonight I am officially meeting The Pilot's parents.
Normally, meeting the parents isn't such a big thing for me... Actually, the idea of meeting the parents doesn't really seem like too much of a big deal. Couldn't comprehend why all my tarts would stress about being put in an intimate environment (aka dinner) with your new squeeze next to you and his rentals on the other side of the table staring at you with those scrupulous eyes, judging you... *gulp*
I used to laugh this idea off like it was a relatively decent joke. Today though I am not fucking laughing. Today I will be running the gauntlet and what I envision is worse than any hell some bible punting tosser could dream of.
I have a very vivid imagination and so at this particular point in time it seems to be running away with me. Running away at such a pace that I think Nike might need to invent some new trainers to cope! Firstly, I have visions of having my life (and most likely me) being open to complete scrutiny. Interrogated like a war criminal - fucking awesome!
So in my mild state of panic (this includes the melodramatic panic of what the fuck I am going to wear and can I really wear those shoes?) I googled meeting the parents in hope that some genius out there on the worldwide web would have some calming and insightful tips...
Things to Remember on a first visit:
Be polite and show respect - Mmm, not very helpful but I suppose useful to remember
Don't have a hangover from the night before - Tick :)
Don't ever refer to sex and your partner - Yes because I would so love his parents to know all about our little shenanigans
Don't ask if you can sleep together at their house - Hahahaha, you must be fucking kidding me? Um, excuse me Mr The Pilot's Dad, do you mind if I shag your son shitless in your guest bedroom? Ja, somehow I think that one was a no-brainer... So tick :)
Take small gift with you that has been researched - Do chocolates count as research?
Refer to the parents formally unless invited otherwise - Tick :)
Do not drink alcohol unless invited - Fuck that sucks. What a bullshit tip... Next!
Never attempt to smoke, even in the garden or yard - Awesome!
Never refuse food and drink. Accept graciously - I would never dream of rejecting drink. I love drink! Bring on the drink...
Do show humor and character but not too much - Mmm, so what their really saying is show restraint right?! Restraint - I can be restrained ;) *giggle*
Do think through some basic questions they may ask - NEXT!
Do not be evasive about your work or career - This will definitely not be a problem, I love my career! Tick :)
Dress well and look presentable - Five fucking ticks :) :) :) :) :)
Avoid any form of bad language - Does fuck count as bad language? I kinda think of it as descriptive language... Fuck, no more saying fuck from 7pm onwards. Fuck - this is a tuffie!
Think of the entire situation as a small interview - Oh great, awesome, totally fucking kiff!
... I am officially fucked!
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