The Boat Race

Oh. Sweet. Jebus.

I am, in Lyman's terms, f.u.c.k.e.d. Properly actually...

And this is the reason why...
In an effort to determine the quickest throats in the agency, we will conduct a departmental Boat Race to determine the fastest consumers in the agency @ agency drinks this afternoon.
Each dept has a team of 5 representatives to participate in the challenge.

• Teams must be comprised of a 60/40 gender split.
• 5 vs 5 in a beer drinking relay.
• Each drinker has to complete his/her beer and place empty beer can upside down on their heads to indicate completion – once this is done, the next drinker may proceed.
• The first team to complete all 5 legs will be awarded the title of Boat Race champions.
• Along with this prestigious title, the winning team will be richly rewarded with a worthwhile prize.
• Judges will be present.

Naturally, my work colleagues have heard the ghastly (and very untrue) rumours concerning my drinking habits and ability. In fact, these rumours have led them to believe that not only can I drink beer *gag* but I can down it in like super-fast-quick-quick-lightening speed. They think I am the champion of shebeen drinking - the thirsty leper that sits and dops all day long. Fucking awesome!

Now you might say, well so what's the big deal? The big deal, my dear readers, is that I am not only part of the boat race but I am our team leader. The big deal is that everyone is counting on me to show them how us uncultured tarts drink. The big deal is that I am fucked or will be at exactly 5:01pm today ;) Thank fuck for all the funneling done in first year...

... If you'll excuse me, I have to go mentally prepare for the drinking challenge ahead. Wish me luck!

It's Getting Serious!

Can anybody tell me why on God's green earth reaching 3 months in a relationship constitute said relationship as being serious?! Anyone?...

I personally just don't get this. Don't get me wrong reaching 3 months is a great and tastic milestone (if you're with the most fantastic man like I am) but in my mind it in no way can mean that the relationship is serious, can it? I mean, whatever happened to the days where the "serious" word got dropped into conversations with your tarts once you had hit like a year... I just don't think that 3 months can be classified as serious, and on that note I seem to be the only thing that thinks this.

Everytime a new tart hears about my 3 monther (which was yesterday) the first thing out of their mouths is "oh so it's getting serious" What in zi fuck are they on about? I dunno, maybe things have changed since I got together with my last boyfriend... then again, maybe everyone has just plain lost their minds!

What, no more adrenalin?

I think my adrenal glands are empty... No seriously, I think they have packed their bags and taken a holiday!

I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised after all the amount of overtime they have been putting in. You see, I've had one of those weeks. One of those weeks where you just don't have time to eat, let alone spare 20 minutes in the morning to blow-dry your hair (the result of which has lead me to the conclusion that non blow-dried hair really isn't a very tit look for me). My week has been manic and has left me feeling a bit flat - ever had that?

I find it all very odd...

The worst part is that I had to cancel drinks, lunches etc with so many tarts that I fear next week might see my adrenal glands being kicked into overtime again, but on the social front. Which is great for me, but not so fantastic for my bank account and my liver!

The Aftershock of a Phone Call

Ever have one of those phone calls that when you hear your cell ring and see who's calling you, your eyes grow with complete surprise (and maybe a bit of horror) and for a split second you ponder whether or not you should answer that call?

Well I just have. About 15 minutes ago.

My Ex phoned. Now this ex, we'll call him Trainer Man, and I were together for 2.5 years - I ended it after realising that I just didn't love him anymore. We stayed in contact, on a very sporadic basis, and from time to time he drops me a text or a call to see how I am or as he so oddly says: "I like to know what is going on in your life"

But I digress...

The point is Trainer Man called me 15 minutes ago. He ran into The Parental Unit known as "Mom" and he thought of me. So he called. I can't quite explain how I felt chatting to him - I think weird is the best description, with a bit of freak mixed in there as well...

Apparently he is moving in with the New Girl (who I oddly enough went to Varsity with - such a small big world we live in) and the plans are slowly but steadily progressing towards Marriage Lane. This, I find extremely fucking hilarious but fair is fair. Anyhoo, I was nearing the end of the convo, quite chuffed with the way the whole thing had gone, and then *BAM* he asked to see me. For a casual drink or cup of coffee. This really took me by surprise. Now normally I would brush him off and make up some excuse, but for some reason I didn't this time... Well that's not enriely ture, I just didn't brush him off immediately. Maybe it's because I have The Pilot in my life (who is absolutely deevine). Maybe it's cause I felt like he doesn't have another motive, then again... who knows?!

So strange, one day you're at the office and the next you're being asked to see an ex to have coffee or a glass of vino with him on Sunday!

...Behind a Glass Wall of Emotion

Love. It's the stuff that great songs are written about...

... What I find so odd is that we so happily and merrily sing along to these songs of love but yet it is probably the hardest thing to have to tell someone. Ok, so maybe not the hardest but certainly the scariest. Think it has something to do with our (read: my) fear of rejection. The fear the the other person won't love you back. Fuck, I sound like a writer for Mills & Boon being briefed on the next book.

Generally I have a policy that I like to stick to when it comes to "I love you's"... it's always worked for me in the past and has meant that I have never had to plunge head first into the pool. Basically, my policy is that I won't tell a guy that I love him until he has said it to me first. The feminist in me believes this is a load of bullshit as women today should be able to express themselves where and when they feel like it. The girl in me still wants to protect herself.

Some of my fellow tarts think this policy of mine is mental - after all us tarts are liberated etc. The thing, as much as I view myself as an equal when it comes to men, I'm not entirely sure I want to stand up and be counted as one. I think being feminine is a beautiful thing and is something very powerful...

Reason for this post is that I think I am getting to that stage with The Pilot. I'm not entirely sure if I love him yet but I know that I am definitely past falling in love with him. He makes me smile from the inside out... and that is a beautiful thing!

Celebrating time well spent...

So today is The Pilot and my 2 month anniversary- I know, it sounds absolutely pathetic that one would "celebrate" a 2 monther but in my books this is a very fucking hard (and wonderful) thing to have achieved. Normally I don't make it past the 6 week mark or should I say they don't make it past the 6 week mark. I get annoyed or pissed off or start feeling claustrophobic and Bob's your uncle I gracefully show them the front door.

But not this time.

This time, 8 weeks later, I'm happy. Fucking giddy is more like it and the thought of having an anniversary to celebrate is giving me that warm fuzzy feeling - kinda like the feeling you get after having a glass or three of Gluwine. Tastic.

I think it's really cool that today we will be celebrating the last 8 weeks. Feels like being rewarded for achieving something great. Think this anni is also an important one as we never celebrated the first one and the next two we shall be celebrating apart as The Pilot will be on contract in Africa for 2 months...

So although I feel a bit trivial in telling everyone what a fantastic day the 6th August is, I can't help but want to hold on to that warm fuzzy feeling for as long as possible!

Thank you for NOT Smoking

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!