Dear Diary - Mansick

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Diary,

 

Fluffy Bear is mansick.  Yes, that's what I said... mansick.  

 

Not sick.  

 

Mansick.

 

See, it's different for men. 

 

OK, maybe that's too much of a generalization.  It's different for MY man.

 

I may have a fever, I may feel nauseous, I may have to plug wads of toilet paper up my nose to stem the flow of mucus and I may be coughing up globules worthy of horror movie special effects BUT... I am not, and will never be, as sick as he is.

 

Because, you see, Dear Diary, unlike me, he has Death at his side.  His time has come.

Yep, Death.  Black robe, skeleton face, shiny silver scythe.  

 

That Death.

 

And Death - being the mean, horrible and nasty being that he is - is toying with the idea of taking Fluffy Bear -- taking him any second now.  

 

Isn't that SCARY?

 

I can't see Death, because he's not here for me.  But Fluffy Bear can.  What else would explain the haunted facial expression, the soft moans of despair and the occasional writhing of the body?

 

As Fluffy Bear lies on the couch, in snuggly PJs, covered in a warm comforter, a hot pack nestling around his neck, all I can see (if I look really, really carefully) is the hairs on the top of his head moving just a little, as if they are being kissed by a light breeze.  

 

But it's cold outside, so all the windows are closed and the chimney flue is too.  So why, why would the hairs on the head of a poor, sick man move?

 

There can only be one explanation.

 

Death.

 

Death - laughing an evil, soul-wrenching laugh - is swinging his scythe back and forth, millimeters above Fluffy Bear's head.  

 

Why?  Because he can.  He's DEATH.

 

He's deciding, Death is.  

 

Now? [Swish!]

 

Or later? [Swish!]

 

Now? [Swish!]

 

Or later? [Swish!]

 

Poor, poor Fluffy Bear.  

 

But, wait!  It doesn't end there.

 

Sitting on the back of the sofa, leaning nonchalantly against the living room wall, sits, Azrael, the Archangel of Death.  A beautiful, beautiful man - stunningly awesome in that impossible way that only an angel can be.  It's almost painful, I imagine, to look at his shiny hair, his glowing skin, his square shoulders, his rock hard six pack, his petrifyingly huge... wings.

 

Even if Fluffy Bear tries to talk to Azrael, to ask him "Why?", to ask him "Why now?", he gets no reply.

 

Azrael sits, with a golden emery board, softly filing his perfectly manicured nails.

 

Occasionally, the slightest hint of annoyance flits across his face. If you weren't watching carefully, you'd miss it completely.  But the choir doesn't.

 

What choir, you ask, dear Diary?

 

The choir.  The Chorus of Angels!

 

No, no, this has nothing to do with Azrael.  These guys are in a totally different Heaven department.  They have a different manager, different Annual Performance Reviews and a different mission statement.  

 

They are far, far lower on the heavenly corporate ladder than Azrael is.  That's why, if they break into a requiem he doesn't happen to like, they switch to another one right quick.

 

And they're a shitload of the white robed, haloed buggers.  How they fit in our living room I'll never know.  Well, I guess that's the magic of heavenly creatures.  

 

They must sound (I can't hear them) really amazing.  Like those little boys, perhaps, with disturbingly high voices who sing at St Paul's cathedral whenever a member of the Royal Family gets hitched.  Or maybe they're more like one of those gospel choirs, big boned (I'm phrasing that kindly), covered in large, purple robes, with their hands raised high in the air.  Or maybe it's a more formal affair.  Thirty to sixty-something white folks, the kinds you'd find in German cathedral, hymn books in hand, serious faces, with one guy at the back with a voice like a bassoon.

 

With all of this, can you imagine how awful poor Fluffy Bear feels?

 

Poor, poor Fluffy Bear.

 

Poor, poor, poor Fluffy Bear.

 

He can barely see or hear the TV to figure out why Danno ought to book the perp in Hawaii Five-O. 

 

And so, naturally, it's up to me to comfort him.  I must stroke his head, and squeeze his hand, and pour his apple juice and get ice and fast forward the DVR through the ads and make a little dry toast and heat up the hotpack in the microwave and keep the dogs from licking his face and get some Immodium and put the fan on in the bathroom and spray the air freshener and warm the hot pack again and get fresh ice.

 

Because it's the least I can do.... right?

 

 

 

To read more of the Dear Diary series, click the Tag below or the Category link on the left.

   

   

Hell is Other People - Networking

 

Yes, it’s time for me to rant again.  Today, it’s about networking.

Do you know why there are so many courses, books and training opportunities around networking?

BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE STUPID AND DON’T KNOW HOW TO DO IT!

And when I say stupid, I don’t mean that these are dumb people.  No, these are highly skilled people, who have worked in a trade, have business acumen or a major artistic talent.  These are qualified people, who have excellent knowledge and are experts in their field.  These are high achieving people, who manage teams, command high fees and have climbed the ladder of success.

These are people who should know better.

And yet they have no idea how to treat other people well, have no idea that networking is mutually beneficial, and have no fucking manners.

Let’s start with treating people well. 

If you are introduced to someone through a connection, the first question to ask yourself is:  Do I trust and respect the person who made this introduction?  If the answer is yes, you are supposed to work on the assumption that the person making the introduction is doing so with positive intent, and would never introduce you to someone who was a loser or who would be a drain on your precious time. 

If you are making an introduction, the first question to ask yourself is: Do these people I am introducing both represent a good reflection of me?  This is because both of them will be thinking of you when they meet/talk, and be judging you by whether they think the introduction is worth their time.

I choose to treat people well. 

I choose to network strategically. 

If I make an introduction it is only because I trust both parties involved. 

What pisses me off is when I find out someone doesn't reciprocate.

You don’t trust me, and so you don’t trust the person I’m trying to connect you with.  And so you delay, or outright reject, the introduction.  That tells me that our relationship is not as strong as I thought it was.  And you know what else it tells me? 

It tells me I CAN’T TRUST YOU!

You are hereby officially demoted on my list of networking contacts.  You’ll never know that, and you may not care, but you can suck it, anyway.

Next, networking is mutually beneficial.

I can’t tell you the number of times I have made an introduction and one party thinks they are doing a huge favor to the other. 

Are you kidding me?  Who do you think you are? 

If an 80 year old can learn from a 2 year old (and, trust me, they can), you can friggin’ get something out of the meeting that I set you up on, otherwise I wouldn’t have set it up in the first place. 

And it’s up to YOU to make sure you get something out of it, even if it’s just the chance to express your opinions and advice, and therefore have the opportunity to think through what you hear yourself saying.

You may have read this post, about the smack down I got when I made an introduction recently.  The person punching me in the gut works for a well-respected national company.  She’s in a relatively senior position within one department.  She’s close to one executive, and this is the only really senior person she’s worked for.

The person I was introducing her to works for a global company that is a powerhouse in its field.  In a previous career, she worked for a politician.  She has since worked for 2 senior executives in this global, massive, powerhouse company that has penetration in every home in the Western world.

Yet person one rejected the opportunity to talk to person two, and person one absolutely believed that she was the Alpha in this meeting.

Are you out of your friggin MIND?  

You work for a smaller company.  You work for a smaller executive.  Your work is mostly internal.

She works for a massive company.  She works for an executive who manages millions and millions of dollars.  Her work is seen by vendors and partners from all over the world.

So who the FUCK died and made you Queen?  

 Unbelievable.

Last, but certainly not least, have some manners. 

I don’t care if you can shoot off an email these days rather than hand-write a thank you note.  I don't care if you can look at your phone screen, see who's calling and choose not to answer.  I don’t care if you can tolerate issuing evites and allowing people to forward them to their friends, who you have never met, and yet have to entertain, with no notice, in your home. 

Manners are fundamental to an effectively functioning society, and should not die.

If you tell me about something you need, and I then take the time to think through my contacts, choose someone for you and then make the connection, have the common decency to goddamn well follow up. 

When I see the person I’ve connected you with, and I thank him or her for responding to my request, and agreeing to meet with you, the one thing I do NOT want to hear is:

“Oh, he hasn’t got back to me yet.”

Are you completely unaware of how to behave within a working context? 

Are you really this unprofessional?

I will NEVER help you, EVER again.

Hell is other people. 

To read more in the Hell is Other People series, click the Tag link below or the Category link on the left.

Puppy Talk - Potty Time

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

Puppy Girl:  YAY!  Mama's opening the door!  Potty time!  I reeeeeeally need to pee!

 

Puppy Dog:  What the hell is this?

 

Puppy Girl:  I heard Mama and Dada talking.  It's a fence.

 

Puppy Dog:  What?

 

Puppy Girl:  Oooooh, that feels good... What?

 

Puppy Dog:  I said: 'What?'

 

Puppy Girl:  No, I said What.

 

Puppy Dog:  Oh, for God's sake!  What's the fence for?

 

Puppy Girl:  They said it's for the grass.

 

Puppy Dog:  That's ridiculous.  It's not on the grass.  It's on the path.

 

Puppy Girl:  I dunno.  You better hurry up and go potty.  Mama's calling us.

 

Puppy Dog:  I can't go potty.  My potty place is over there.

 

Puppy Girl:  Too bad.  You can't get there.  You'll just have to potty here on the bark like I do.

 

Puppy Dog:  This is ridiculous!  I refuse to go potty there.  That is your potty place.  My potty place is on the grass.  The nice, soft, damp grass.  Wait.  Maybe I can get under the fence over here--- No.  Maybe over there?  No.  Maybe around the end here...

 

Puppy Girl:  It's not gonna werrrrr-herrrrrk! 

 

Puppy Dog:  Screw this.  Unlike you, I'm a big boy.  I can hold it.  I'm not going potty.  I'm going to bed.

 

Puppy Girl:  Too bad for you, then.

 

Puppy Dog:  Dammit!

 

Puppy Girl:  HAHA!  Mama sent you outside again, didn't she?  You'll have to go potty now!

 

Puppy Dog:  Shut up.  You're so annoying.

 

Puppy Girl:  You're so annoying!  

 

Puppy Dog:  How come your potty place doesn't have a fence around it?  So unfair!  I hate you!

 

Puppy Girl:  I hate YOU!

 

Puppy Dog:  Oh, shut up.

 

Puppy Girl [gasping in horror] : Are you going potty against the fence?

 

Puppy Dog:  Yes.  It's as close to my potty spot as I can get.

 

Puppy Girl:  You're going to get into truh-hubble!

 

Puppy Dog:  Shut up.  Mama wasn't looking.

 

Puppy Girl:  I'm gonna tell!  Mama!  MAMA!

 

Puppy Dog:  I can't tell you how much I hate you.

 

Puppy Girl:  Mama's busy.  She's going potty.

 

Puppy Dog:  HAH!  So there!

 

Puppy Girl:  You're so naughty!

 

Puppy Dog:  Just shut up!

 

Puppy Girl:  No, YOU shut up!

 

Puppy Dog:  No, YOU-- wait, forget this.  I'm going to bed.

  

  

To read more in the Puppy Talk series, click the Tag link below, or the category link on the left.

    

  

Flavors of America - Vroom Vroom

He Said She Said - Pillow Talk

  

"I'm so tired," he said, getting into bed.

"Me too," she said, "and my feet are cold."

"AAAARGH!" he yelled.

"What?  You're supposed to warm my feet.  It's a husband's duty."

"Not when your feet are ICE BLOCKS!"

"Aw, Honey, come on..."

"No!" he said, wrapping himself up in the covers, creating a comforter wall between them.

"You know what?" she said, poking him.  "This is why the bed is in such a mess in the morning and the fitted sheet has come loose!  When you are away on business and I wake up in the morning, the bed is perfect.  There's just the triangle where I've folded back the stuff to get out of bed.  I swear, next time you travel I'm going to send you a picture to prove it to you."

"Actually when I was at that conference two years ago and R--- and B--- and I were sharing a room, they shared a bed and left me alone.  B--- said I'm the messiest sleeper he's ever seen."

"Ah-HAH!  So now the truth comes out.  Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"It - uh - slipped my mind."

"HAH!  Did B--- also say you snore?"

"Oh, hang on a second!  Last night you and Puppy Dog and Puppy Girl were giving me a snore-symphony!"

"Uh, no, if there's anyone who takes part in the snorephony, it's you.  And by the way, when you fall asleep and dream, you twitch, just like the dogs do."

"I do?"

"Yep," she giggled. "I can hear their nails scritching on their beds, and you rock our mattress in tandem.  I know they're dreaming about chasing balls, but what are you dreaming about?"

"Chasing boobies!"

"Wow.  I'm so shocked I don't think I can sleep now," she said, yawning.

"Good night, darling," he said, kissing her.

"Night night," she sighed.

To read more in the He Said She Said series, click the Tag below or the category link on the left.

Puppy Talk - Close call

 

Puppy Girl:  This is such fun!  I love going on walks.  Don't you think it's fun?

Puppy Dog:  [Sniffsniffsniff]  Hmm... Cockapoo.  About half an hour ago.  

Puppy Girl:  I love the grass, and the flowers, and the trees, and the people who walk past and the sun...

Puppy Dog:  [Sniffsniffsniff]  Cat, one day ago.

Puppy Girl:  Why do you keep zigzagging about?  You're tangling the leashes!  That means I can't move!  What are you doing?

Puppy Dog:  [Sniffsniffsniff]  Boxer, ten minutes ago.  Ooh!  Pup-bearing potential!  [Sniffsniffsniff]  Yes, definitely potential...

Puppy Girl:  STOP IGNORING ME!  

Puppy Dog:  [Sniffsniff--]  SQUIRREL!!!

Puppy Girl:  SQUIRREL!!!

Puppy Dog and Puppy Girl:  SQUIRREL!!! SQUIRREL!!!  SQUIRREL!!!

Puppy Girl:  Ooh, look!  Mama let go of the leash!  I'm free!  

Puppy Dog:  SQUIRREL!!! SQUIRREL!!!  SQUIRREL!!!

Puppy Girl:  I'm free!  What fun!  I can go here.  And I can go here.  And I can go here.

Puppy Dog:  Aw, Mama why did you make me come back to you?  Can't you see the furry-tailed Evil?  It's RIGHT THERE!  I can get it!  I can!  Oh, OK!  OK!  So unfair!

Puppy Girl:  Free!  Free!  I'm free! Weeee-heee!  Oops!  That moving den nearly hit me!  Mama!  Mama!  That moving den nearly hit me!  That wasn't fun!  Hey, why is Mama mad at me!

Puppy Dog:  You went into the road, Stupid.

Puppy Girl:  So what?  I was FREEEEEE!

Puppy Dog:  We're not allowed into the road, Stupid.

Puppy Girl:  Why's Mama so upset?

Puppy Dog:  Because.  You.  Could.  Have.  Been.  Squished.  You.  Stupid.  Stupid.  STUPID!

Puppy Girl:  Stop calling me names!  You're the one who went after the Evil Squirrel first!  You freed us!  I just celebrated that freedom.

Puppy Dog:  You are not.  Allowed.  In the road.

Puppy Girl:  Well, this is no fun.  I hate Heel.

Puppy Dog:  It's your fault we're on heel.

Puppy Girl:  Pffft!  You went after the squirrel!

Puppy Dog:  So did you.

Puppy Girl:  You did it first.

Puppy Dog:  You went into the road!

Puppy Girl:  It's your fault!

Puppy Dog:  IT'S YOUR FAULT!

Puppy Girl:  I HATE YOU!

Puppy Dog:  I HATE YOU!

Puppy Girl:  [mumbling]  You weren't even fast enough to get the squirrel, so there!

Puppy Dog:  WHAT?

Puppy Girl:  Nothing.  I hate you.

Puppy Dog:  I hate you.

Puppy Girl:  Look!  We're home already!

Puppy Dog:  Shut up.

Puppy Girl:  I still hate you.

Puppy Dog:  Shut up, I'm going to nap.

Puppy Girl:  I'm going to ask Mama to throw the ball for me!  Yippeee!

Puppy Dog:  Yeah, g'luck with that.

To see more in the Puppy Talk series, click the Tag below category link on the left.

Quote Unquote - Weinerbashing

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

Democratic Representative of New York, Anthony Weiner, on the floor of the Congress, on the Republicans trying to repeal the Obamacare Healthcare bill:

  

"First they start by making stuff up. You kinda have to wonder if any of them actually read the bill.  

  

'130,000 new agencies' - NOT TRUE! 

  

'New IRS agents' - NOT TRUE!

  

'Death panels' - NOT TRUE!

 

'Members aren't covered' - NOT TRUE!

 

No Tort Reform in it - not true.

 

You know, I wanna just advise people watching at home playing that now popular drinking game of you take a shot whenever a Republican says something that's not true... Please!  Assign a designated driver  - this is gonna be a long afternoon!"

   

No matter which side you're on, that's f-ing funny.

 

Watch the rant here.

 

  

For more in the Quote Unquote series, click the Tag below or the category link on the left.

  

  

9 to 5 - Weather

 

Baristo: "Your usual?"

Me:  "Yep."

Baristo:  "So how are you today?"  

Me:  "Oh... OK, I guess.  So sick of this gray, gray, gray weather though."

Baristo:  "I know, right?"

Me:  "And the rain isn't even real rain.  I wish it would just pour down and then stop.  But instead this drip, drip, drizzle, drizzle... Urgh!  It's the same every day!"

Baristo:  "I don't mind it that much.  I just put on a hat to walk to work."

Me:  "Me too, but you don't wear glasses.  I end up seeing the whole world in soft focus, as if I'm watching a Doris Day movie!"

Baristo:  "[Laughing]  Well, you know that they say about our weather.  If you don't like it, wait fifteen minutes...[He paused] Then kill yourself."

Me:  [Laughing] "Awesome!  Although I heard something a bit different."

Baristo:  "What's that?"

Me:  "Living here is like being married to a beautiful woman.  Except she's sick for half the year."

Baristo:  "Good one!  Here we go.  Tall, skinny cap.  Enjoy!"

Me:  "Thanks!  Have a great day!  See you tomorrow!"

To see more in the 9 to 5 series, click the Tag below or the category link on the left.

He Said She Said - Colonoscopy

 

They were watching Men of a Certain Age.  The 3 male leads were heading to Palm Springs to go to a recommended doctor to have colonoscopies.

They were discussing who was going to have anaesthetic and who wasn't.

"Wait a minute," she said.  "You can have anaesthetic for a colonoscopy?"

"Of course," he said.

"That's ridiculous!" she snapped.  "I don't get anaesthetic when I get a speculum shoved right up my woowah!  They don't even warm the fucking thing up!"

"But you need anaesthetic!" he said.

"No you don't!  They just said on the TV that the doctor told them it's optional!"

"Honey," he sighed, "it's not like it just goes a little way up."

"Neither does a speculum!  You saw that dildo-camera they put up me when I had to have an ultrasound!  That thing was huge!  It was brave-gay-man size!  You think that only went up a few inches?"

"Honey.  Honey.  When you have a colonoscopy the thingy goes up your boomboom ALL THE WAY TO YOUR NOSTRILS!"

"Stop trying to win this by making me laugh," she giggled.

"When I turn 50 and have a colonoscopy, I'm having anaesthetic," he said.

"And the next time I go for a pap smear I am going to ask for anaesthetic and watch my ObGyn roll on the floor with laughter."

For more in the He Said She Said series, click the Tag below or the category link on the left.

The Incredible Journey - 11 April, 1994

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

 These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

11 April 1994

Bordeaux

Letter

   

Dear Mom and Dad and family,

    

I must try and think when it was that I last wrote so I can tell you what's happened since then.  I think it was from the Laverie [laudromat] at Chatelallion La Plage.  That was on the 7th.

 

After leaving the village we headed towards Bordeaux.  It was getting late so we stopped before the actual town and had supper at an Auberge in Pugnac.  I don't think the food was traditional.  Basque fare as such, but we really enjoyed it nevertheless.  FF50 for potage, plat de charcuterie, turkey leg and pasta, cheese and dessert.  Then cafe and - of course! - baguette and WONDERFUL house wine.  We asked the owners if we could park in their backyard and they were very kind [this means we spent the night in their parking lot].

  

 

8 April

 

Decided not to go to Bordeaux but find a chateau in the area at which to taste wine.  Not much open on a Saturday, but found a sweet little farmer at "Graves d'Ardonneau" [see the link - they seem to have come a long way since then].  He was bottling so the cave was cleared of the bar and usual reception facilities, but he let us taste a wine anyway [He was clearly charmed by the prettiness of Carrie and Varla.  His wife wasn't and came into the shed and was clearly hoping we would leave].  We bought a bottle for FF21.50.

  

Bypassed Bordeux and went to the Dune de Pyla.  45m high and 3km long.  Amazing.  Climbing up it was hell.

  

[There were guys sand surfing down the back of the dune into the forrest below.  It was bizarre.]

  

   

   

   

   

Down to Behobie - no-one at the border post.  Tried to get info and all I got was: "There is no more border post!"  So we paid for Spanish and Portuguese visas for nothing [for more on this, see the Post Script in this post].  Then Shengen thing is in effect.

  

Anyway we carried on down to San Sebastian Donisto.  Lovely tourist town.  Perfect bay with island in the middle - it's called La Concha [the shell] ]because of its shape - the island being the pearl.  Camped at a site called Igueldo - 10 layers of parking carved into the moutainside overlooking the bay.  Really nice facilities. 

  

  

9 April

 

Had a look at the little funfair on Monte Igueldo, then went down into town.  By this time tensions were building because we all wanted to do different things.  Carrie and Varla want to go to the beach all the time and I don't see the point.  Why fly all the way to Europe to go to the beach when you can pay much less and go [from South Africa] to Mauritius? 

  

Anyway, we headed towards Santander and, as it was getting late, camped in a town about 10km before Santander.  Awful campsite - left early.

  

  

10 April

   

Drove to Santander, sat a little shop on the beach and sorted out our differences over tortilla, rabas [fried calamari rings\ and "hamburguesas" with cafe con leche (served in a glass - lovely).  Went into town to try and find out how to convert our visas into a Shengen visa.  We are travelling on our French one, which is only for a month because we spaced our visas out according to the dates we'd be in each country.  Oh no, sorry, I'm wrong.  Our French visas are till end Aug, but we need to find out if they are valid for Germany and Benelux or if we have to have a Shengen visa.

 

Anyway, no luck on that score, so we found a campsite just out of town.  Nice facilities but not in full swing because it is not high season yet.  It has a bar, restaurant, pool.

 

 

11 April - today

  

One of our decisions made was that we must slow down and stop driving every day, so we stayed here today and went to the little beach nearby.  

 

It was completely enclosed by cliffs so sheltered from the wind.  Very dirty though - lots of litter.  Topless tanning all around us, of course.  The Spanish have a different attitude to nudity.  

 

I spent a few hours there and then had had enough, so I came back to the camper [van] and ended up talking to 4 Spanish guys camping on the "parsella" (campsite) next to ours.  Communication difficult.

 

And that's about it.  We are now cooking supper - our gas stove and fridge work like a charm - and we leave for Madrid tomorrow.  

 

I will be sending a cuddly toy I bought on the Champs Elysees (Disney Shop) for [my nephew ].  It is "Flounder" - the fish in The Little Mermaid.  If you think it's too childish for him, give it to [my niece].

 

My love to all.  Missing you and looking forward to having a letter waiting for me at [my Aunt's house].

 

Buenos Dias!  Or Ciao (?) 

 

   

   

 

Post Script

My key memory from this time was us going to a bar and Carrie asking the barman for "Tapas".  He didn't speak much English, but pointed to a menu on the wall behind him that listed various small dishes.

 

We read it and there were things like patatas bravas, but nothing called "tapas". 

 

Carrie was confused.

 

"No," she said, "we want Tapas!"

 

I began to get the picture, and tried to explain to her that "tapas" was an umbrella term, but it took a little while for it to sink in.

 

This is the thing when you are a foreigner.  You grow up hearing vaguely about something and you think it is a particular thing.  Like Silicon Valley.  You won't be able to drive along the 101 highway and find an exit marked Silicon Valley.  It's just a slang term for a general area.

 

But, when you live in another country, and you hear a term, you form a picture in your mind, and it's there for years until, sometime in adulthood, it's challenged.

 

On the surface, you could look like a total moron, but it's a clash between an assumption you've held for ages and the evidence in front of you.

 

Still, I got to take the piss out of Carrie and it was bloody funny!

  

  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

  

   

Dear Diary - From a dizzy, dizzy height

 

Dear Diary

Fuck the calorie counter, and fuck propriety.  I am drinking a very large glass of white wine and eating peanuts.  Yes, I need a savory snack with my whine.

Yes, whine.

That is not a spelling mistake.  

Watch out!  Here it comes...

Today was my day to be shat on.  From a dizzy, dizzy height.

Three.

Fucking.

Times!

The first was from a colleague.  

She was shitting on me because I had sent her an introduction to a ex-colleague of mine from a previous job.  My ex-colleague wants to network with people who do a role similar to hers, because she has worked for the same company for a very long time and she is interested in how the job is done in other companies.

I made a mistake, I admit it.  

I should have talked to my current colleague first, and asked her if I could send an email introduction.  I screwed up.  I know I screwed up.  When she first contacted me, I immediately knew it.  I went away and thought about it and I figured out HOW I screwed up.  I tried to mitigate the screw up.  I tried to learn from the screw up.

When we met, I apologized immediately.  I explained what I had done to reset my ex-colleague's expectations, so that my current colleague does not have to follow up if she didn't want to.

But, here's the thing.  When someone wants to shit on you, it's unpleasant for them.  So they seem to want to spend ages justifying to you WHY they are shitting on you.  

So I had to sit for twenty minutes to hear, again and again, the same reasons why what I had done was not the best way to go about things. 

If I had $5 for every time I had to nod, agree, or say "I understand" I'd be able to buy that pair of boots I've had my eye on, which would have been a much more enjoyable and far better use of my time than wiping poop out of my eyes and spitting it out of my mouth as it rained down on me.

Shitfest No. 2 occurred in what I thought was an information gathering meeting with one of the stakeholder groups for my project.  

Why is it that the sword of Damocles drops on the back of your neck at the END of a meeting?  If people come with an agenda, why aren't they just up front about it?

Why can't they sit down at the start of the meeting and say: "Look, we need to address the elephant in the room here..." and just lay it out for us to solve together?

Instead, 5 minutes from the end of the hour, I'm sideswiped with the fact that my project which, until today, I thought was an internal thing, for my team primarily, with a few secondary stakeholders, seems to be, according to this team, THEIR project.  It exists, they think to satisfy THEIR business goals.

So, apparently, I need to get their boss to "have a conversation" with my boss so we can sort this out.

I took this job with the understanding that I had to implement an internal project.  Now it turns out someone thinks they are my "business user" with requirements?

ARE.

YOU. 

FUCKING.

KIDDING ME?

This is a political shit storm.  It wasn't raining shit.  It was snowing the damn stuff, and it was building up in poop snowdrifts all around me.  

I managed to get out of the room, explaining that I had to go to the dentist.  

I was ready for that.  It was my annual teeth cleaning and I knew I was going to get flak about not flossing.  Happens every year... grin and bear it.

But, nooooooo.

Seems I have a small cavity, which sparked a detailed analysis, by the dental hygienist, of my current diet and it's sugar content.

Do I drink sugary drinks?  No.

Do I have sugar in my tea or coffee?  No.

Do I eat candy?  No.

Do I chew sugary gum?  No.

And on and on and on.

And all of this while a small metal pick is scraping away at my teeth, poking my gums and making me bleed.  

Then it hits me:  Christmas!

"Werw, okorz, ova Kizmiz ah ade a lodda stuv..." I said, trying not to get my tongue under the metal instrument of torture.

So that's it.  One week a year I let go and indulge in cookies, Christmas pudding, mince pies, chocolate truffles and cake and what do I get for Christmas?

A FUCKING CAVITY!

So the "You Gotta Floss" shit machine, strengthened by the "You Sugar Eating Loser" ammunition, rained down on me much harder than ever before.  I would go so far as to say they were hailstones of poop.  

And so, the wine, and the peanuts, and the strong likelihood that, seeing as Fluffy Bear is away at a conference, this is all I am going to have for dinner.  Apart from a complete bar of chocolate, of course.

Fuck you, shit storm.

For more in the Dear Diary series, click the Tag below or the category link on the left

The Incredible Journey - 7 April, 1994

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.  

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.   

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

7 April 1994

Chatelaillon La Plage

Letter

Dear Family,

I am sitting in a laundromat in Chatelaillon La Plage.

As we were in the car leaving the B's [friends of my parents that we stayed with in Paris], Mrs B told us that the North coast is lovely and we should go there.  So we changed plans at the last minute (they thought we were mad) and decided to head towards Brest instead of Bordeaux.  

We went up to St Malo and camped just outside it at St Servan.  If you look France you see a headland on the Northwest which juts out.  That's where we were.  Anyway, the campsite was on a hill overlooking the sea and was beautiful.  We cooked on our little stove.  Next day we braved the showers (YUK).  Camping the night cost us 62 French Francs.

We drove to Dinan and walked around the medieval bits of the city.  Had a hamburger for lunch.  We needed to taste familiar food again.  We then drove to St Brieuc and took the subsidiary road which winds along the coast.  We got lost and were driving around in the dark [this was before GPS, Children].  We kept seeing signs saying "Camping", following them and not finding anything.  Eventually we found ourselves on a road in front of which was a tiny patch of grass next to a river.  There were boats parked and houses behind us.  So we stopped and slept.  I will never know where were were that night.

In the morning we drove to Camaret and saw a circle of menhirs.

Seems they don't really shape them as well as Obelix does.  

We drove to Point de Penhir which is a point that juts out [into the sea].  We parked at the flat parking which is about half the size of a soccer field and encircled by rocks put down as markers.  There were rock faces down to the sea all around us and it was very misty.  We could only see about 50m out to sea.  It was a very weird scene.

We drove to Quimper, bypassed it an went on to Nantes.  Argument as to whether to carry on to Bordeaux or not.  By heading West from Paris we had completely messed up our planned budget and it irritated me that we only saw 1/10 of Paris and now suddenly we were slowing down and seeing every damn coastal hamlet.  It is still cold here and I think it's pretty pointless to seek out the seaside when we'll be on the Costa Brava and South coast of France when it's really hot.

Also, I don't want to end up bypassing Bordeaux.  I don't care where we go in other countries but, in France, I have certain demands.  Carrie and Varla are interested in totally different things to me.  For instance, I don't see the point of spending an entire morning at a marche [outdoor market] no different to the Bruma Lake Flea Market.  

So, anyway, Carrie suggested the compromise of stopping half way to Bordeaux, so we ended up here.  The beach is boring, empty and cold.  You can imagine how charmed I am.  I am beginning to think I really should take advantage of the face that our visa is still end of August and come backpack by myself.  The way visas are going we will only do France, Spain, Portugal, Switzerland and Austria, anyway [HAH!  We ran out of money way before that].

Well, we will hopefully be in Bordeaux by tonight and, if they'd rather go to a beach than on a wine route tomorrow, I swear I will pack my backpack, buy myself a Eurorail pass and do this thing PROPERLY.

Missing you (and the sun)!

Love to all

Post Script

 In Varla's defense, she was much younger than us (about 18) and had lived inland all her life, so I guess seeing the sea was important to her.  She had come on this trip to be with Carrie - they were each other's first true loves - and I had come to absorb as much European culture as I could.  These two goals clashed, as did our girlfriend vs. old friend claims on Carrie, who was constantly torn between the two of us.

In truth, there was no way I would have had the courage to go backpacking on my own.  I needed them, and I could probably have been nicer.  If I had to do it again, I'd have left them alone for a day or two and then met up somewhere pre-agreed.  But this was before cellphones and email and IM and Facebook and so, if you weren't where you were supposed to be, when you were supposed to be there, you missed each other.  A real deterrent for striking out alone.

I was, of course, a total gooseberry, because they wanted to spend time together.   They ended up buying a tent and letting me sleep alone in the camper van.  Score for me!

There is also a story to tell about the visas.

This was before the official unification of Europe so currency and visas were a real pain.  But that's not what caused the real problem.  That came from a total bitch who I hope rots in hell, experiencing constant pain and degradation.

She ran a visa agency and, instead of telling us at, on the 5th of April (four days after we left), the Shengen visa came into effect, which meant we only needed one visa for Belgium, France, Germany, Luxemburg, Portugal and Spain.  Instead, she charged us for a visa for each country.  So she made three young women, who were using a currency that was very weak against the pound, by 4 visas they did not need.  That's 4 X 3 X £10, plus each embassy's fee.  She made over £200 out of us, unethically.  That was enough for us to travel an extra week.

Fucking bitch.

When we were in Spain trying to get a visa for some country or other that we didn't even get to, a nice young man explained to us that we didn't need it.  We had been worrying about visas for later countries and spending whole days at embassies.

I don't do voodoo or juju but, if I did, I'd have cursed that woman the day I found out.

My only solace was the knowledge that her piss-ant visa agency was probably going to go bust, because holiday travelers to Europe wouldn't need her, and business travelers that went further afield would probably not use a small company like hers.

BITCH.

Yes, I'm STILL bitter.

BITCH!

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey: 19 - 20 February, 1994

  

  

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

20 February 1994

Surey, South of London

Fax

Mom,

Stupid mistake.  Forgot to bring photocopies of proof of my degree and diploma [for the recruitment agency].  In the boxes (I think in the one in the top left cupboard in my room) is a flipfile with old CV plus all documentation.  Could you please get copies of degree results and diploma results.    

Look for them now and I'll get you a fax No. to send them to.    

If you can't find that, a photocopy of my actual certificate from varsity is next choice.  Still in cardboard tube.  I think it's in the box above the mirror, or did I give it to you?   

Please try to get this stuff out for me.  Will contact you soon.  Letter already on it's way.   

Love you lots.

PS Settled in with Carrie.  Nice place.  

20 February 1994

Surrey, South of London

Letter

Hello!

Carrie [a teacher] on holiday (schools closed), so ran around today on errands.  All over the tube and trains plus took 1st ride in a London Taxi.  In such good condition.  By the way, city streets very clean.  

Insured camper van (law here) at "Down Under Insurance" who specialise in insurance for touring Kiwis, Aussies and us.  They gave us a sticker with a cartoon Springbok behind a steering wheel which says "South Africans On Tour."  Great!  We are going to stick it over the Aussie sticker which is on the van at the moment.  [I don't remember where we bought the camper van.  But is was a Ford, well used, and green.]  

Went shopping when we got back at Tesco's.  I absolutely COULD NOT BELIEVE the prices.  Some examples: 1 litre lemonade... 26p.  Huge bag of 6 packets of chips different flavours... £1.23.  The most amazing range of tinned and dessicated products - we are stocking the camper now.  

Carrie wants to go touring on 1 April, which came as a bit of a shock to me.  I suppose it would be best to go before peak summer season.  I don't know.  She has worked it all out... route, visas, etc.  Should cost £1,300.00.  I am undecided.  What work can I do for 1 month?  Should I go visiting and see England, tour, and then come back and work?  On the other hand, if I don't go with her then I have all the transport costs and the loneliness of doing it by myself.  I will sit down tonight and work the money out.

It's not easy being a smoker in this country.  It isn't a case of finding a no-smoking zone... it's the other way around!  I have become distinctly irritated.   

Public TV is marginally better than SABC.  There are 4 channels though so imagine 4 TV1s - you can generally find something entertaining.  There seem to be a lot of game shows.  Blind date, etc.  Carrie told me about a programme called Gladiators - a team of beefy men and women who are challenged by civilians - usually salespersons - and compete in silly things like knocking each other off a greased pole with pillows.  Unfortunately this house doesn't have Sky TV - no pay channels.  

The house set up is OK.  It's £30/week each for everything, and we can do our washing downstairs, which gets hung all over the radiators to dry.  The family downstairs consists of the mother and 2 daughters.  Boyfriend lives 3 roads away and has 2 small kids.  He used to be a concert pianist.  They are VERY untidy.  Like PIGS actually.  The flat only has one hob, so if buy oven stuff we cook it downstairs.  They seem not to mind our being here at all.  Brits must be used to close quarters.

 British transport service is amazing.

My ear is getting better but that medicine really knocks me for 6.  Felt very dazed all day.  BRIT AWARDS taking place as I write this.  Madonna here for them.  Big deal of course.  Wish she was doing a concert.

That's all for now.  Write soon as we will probably leave 1 April.  This house up for sale so prospects of accommodation uncertain.  Another reason to move on I suppose.

Miss you!

 

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey: 4 April, 1994

   

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

4 April 1994

Paris

Letter

Dear Family,

Dad - thanx so much for your letter!  It was a lovely surprise and I got it just as we were leaving.  We extended our trip by a day so it was real luck that I was there to receive it.  

The B's [friends of my parents, who let us stay with them in Paris] have been extremely kind and generous.  Unfortunately, we arrived very late - +/- 11pm.  We underestimated the distance from Calais, forgot about the time change (1 hr forward) and got lost 4 times.  We couldn't phone because every phone booth we fond was for phonecards only.  Anyway, we ate and went to bed.

On Saturday Mr B lent us his phonecard, guide of Paris, bought us train tickets, gave use more tickets, and walked us to the station.  Mrs B made us a picnic lunch, and we were dispatched to Paris.  We saw Tour Eiffel (mindblowing), then Place d'Etoiles to Louvre by foot.  Lunch in the Tuilleries, walked to Notre Dame, then home by RER [Paris trains].  

On Sunday we went cycling around the park of the Chateau [Versailles] and saw the Hameau, etc.  In the afternoon we went back and saw the 1st floor section.  Unfortunately the grounds and 2nd floor section were closed by the time we got out.

TONS OF TOURISTS!  (Les Japponais!)

On Monday we went to La Defense which was amazing.  Then Sacre Coeur, Cemetiere de Pere Lachaise and Beaubourg.  

At the cemetary we saw a large group of Italians searching for Jim Morrison's grave.  They walked into a central part, saw some young people and shouted "Ou est Jim?"  It seems that's what everyone goes there for.  I'm proud to say we also took the time to see Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Marcel Proust and Chopin.  The B's have never been there!

Beaubourg is a fascinating area but Centre Georges Pompidou is yukky.  

I bought sunglasses the same shape as my glasses (but bigger) which fit quite well over them so I can drive without getting headaches.

Today we gave a speech at Mrs B's English class about South Africa.  Only Carrie and I went - Varla packed the camper.

Just as we were about to head off for Bordeaux, Mrs B said the coast near Rennes is beautiful, so we are on our way there instead.  They think we are mad changing our minds at the last minute.  They are FAR too uptight.

Mrs B's daughter is studying for exams.  3000 take the exam for 600 places!  She has 4 months to prepare.  Much pressure.

We are approaching Rennes now, so I must navigate.  Excuse writing - bumpy road.

Oh yes, camper cost £702.50 plus £90.00 for spares [My father probably asked me the price in his letter.  Prices of things always fascinated him].  Next time, I CHOOSE the car to buy.

Love you

Post Script

I have to add more detail to this letter.

First, my adult impressions of Paris are here.

Second, I'd like to tell you more about our trip to Pere Lachaise.  It was an amazing experience for me.

We came out of the tube and found ourselves at some minor side entrance.  There was no gate or staff or anything.  So we started to walk around the perimeter to find the main entrance.  Instead we stumbled on a small store which sold maps of the famous graves and assured it was OK to use the side entrance.

It's strange to be in a place that is a tourist attraction and yet also is a cemetery and should be respected as such.  I was therefore shocked and irritated by the Italian students running through the place, laughing, and yelling "Where's Jim?" in French to anyone they saw.

Some of the graves were very grand, and others quite modest.  A few were recent, but many were hundreds of years old and in awful, depressing disrepair.

I don't believe in cemeteries and this is part of the reason why.  If something is old enough, give money to keep it in good nick.  Otherwise, sell the lot again and bury someone on top.  Land is precious.  No new cemeteries should be built, anywhere.  When I die, get rid of me as environmentally consciously as possible.  My body is probably too full of chemicals to let me degrade into the earth, so just burn me.  No casket, no urn,  no bullshit.  Spend the money on getting drunk and telling stories about me.  No physical memorials.  My time is done.  Continuing to take up space is unethical and pure vanity.

But I digress.  Back to Pere Lachaise.

Jim Morrison's grave was very weird.  Firstly, I was annoyed that idiots had sprayed graffiti on graves around his and some of them had been broken.  There was a girl standing there crying, and some other fuckwit sitting on a neighboring gravestone smoking weed.  It was a very strange atmosphere and I couldn't help but feel that, if Jim could manifest, he'd tell them all to fuck off.

Jim Morrison's grave

Oscar Wilde's grave was a totally different experience.  It's a huge mausoleum/statue thing.  But that's not what was interesting about it.  

When we got there, there was a young man at the grave site, who was with a female friend.  He was asking her to take photos of him at the grave.  He looked really, really sick.  He was holding up a sign that said: "You can keep your Keats and Yeats... SUGAR!"

Being the year it was, I couldn't help but wonder if he had AIDS.  

He was crying, and it felt like we were intruding, so we took a quick picture of the grave and hurried on our way.  

Oscar Wilde's grave

Chopin's grave was unique, too.  Singularly beautiful, and obviously well looked after, it was surrounded by a small group of people who can only be described as cultured.  The visitors seemed to be wealthy, and were quietly paying their respects, whispering to each other.

I felt like his music should have been piped from the gravestone.  But maybe the cultured people would think that was tacky.

Chopin's grave

Because Carrie and Varla weren't particularly interested, I went by myself to find Piaf's and Proust's graves.

Again, each experience was unique.

At Piaf's gravesite were two sets of quite elderly people, who stood before it in utter reverence.  Piaf is an icon of French culture, one of those celebrities that an entire country claims as their own.  I felt a real respect and sorrow from the people there.

Proust's grave is hard to find because it is in a row of completely nondescript gravestones.  There was another man picking through the rows and we looked up at each other and smiled, knowing we were looking for the same thing.  

When I finally found the grave I wasn't sure if I felt respect or wanted to tell him that he put me through hell studying his books at University.  Still, you can't take anything away from the man who gave us an understanding of associative memory through a sweet biscuit (la Madeleine).

I felt strongly that the experience I had at each grave at Pere Lachaise said a lot about the celebrity in question:

• Jim's fans were a drug-fueled, disrespectful rabble who showed disproportionate displays of emotion (the girl who stood there crying was too damn young to have been born when the Doors were a hit)
• Chopin's fans were upper class, well dressed and well behaved
• Oscar Wilde inspired a gay man who was ill, and yet still had an amazing sense of humor
• Piaf still commanded a deep devotion, the amazing but tragic little bird who inspired and altered her country
• Proust's humble grave and scant visitors showed that he is, after all, an acquired taste.

Pere Lachaise cemetery was one of those amazing experiences that you sometimes have when you travel.  You go somewhere, thinking you'll just be there a little while, and that it won't be a big deal.  But in fact you end up being utterly drawn in and entertained while your perspective shifts and, in spite of yourself, you learn something.

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

The Incredible Journey: 16 - 18 February, 1994

  

  

  

    

  

  

   

In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage.  I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend.  I was in my early 20's.

  

These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home.  They are all real.  I couldn't make this shit up.  

  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.

   

  

  

16 February, 1994

London

Fax

  

   

Hello!

 

Arrived safe and sound!  Cold and wet but not too bad (+/- 6 degrees centigrade).  Have already made friends.  It's fun here.  

   

We are right in the center of everything and, believe me, its true money goes like water.  Have already spent the equivalent of over R500.00 - Camera, cigs, biltong for Carrie, lunch.  Scary!!!  My problem is I keep converting prices to Rands in my head, so I scare myself into not spending.

  

Thank you Thank you Thankyou for giving me this opportunity.  Will never forget it or regret it.  

 

Love you all.  Miss you already.

 

Fax me on XXXX-XXX-XXX XXXX.  I'll be here until Sat.

  

Lots of Love

   

 

     

17 February, 1994

London

Fax

  

   

Mom, 

 

Will post you stuff.  Please keep all in a box for me as souvenirs.  Thanx.

  

Hello from London!

  

Please fax this to BFF.  She is at fax XXX-XXX XXX.  Thank you.

  

We have done the following:  

  

Last night spent in London Explorer's Club Pub.  Pub food: Yuk!  Early night.  All exhausted.  Communal showers disgusting.

   
Today, went on our free sightseeing tour of London on the open deck bus.  Can hop off and on at stops 'cause buses every 15 min.  Time too short to take all in.

   

(By the way, carton of cigs stolen from my room - my first lesson.  5 of us sharing.  All my stuff locked now.)

  

We stopped at the National Gallery.  WOW!  Far too much to see.  Saw Van Gogh, Gaugin.  Took photo of the dome and got reprimanded by official.  Then St Paul's.  Also very beautiful.  Victoria Station absolutely confusing.  Trafalgar Square, Picadilly.  

 

I now know why low class Poms emigrate.  The educated ones appreciate the wonder and history and can't leave.  

  

Tonight, went to Planet Hollywood for dinner.  Played 2 virtual reality games.  This place is WONDERFUL.

  

Phoned Carrie.  Will go to her Sunday.  She says I can work too.  Will try Select agency.  GBP80/day.

   

Tomorrow Harrods.  

   

Love you all.  Ciao.

  

  

  

18 February 1994

Surrey, South of London

Letter

  

Hello Family!

  

I am now at Carrie's flat in Surrey.  I decided to come early because I got sick of the London Explorer's Club.  Once we did our London tour during the day and the Planet Hollywood visit, they were suddenly at a loss.  There were 12 of us, just come out of Planet Hollywood in the middle of London (Picadilly Circus), and we're all standing around in the street going "What do we do now?"  And whenever anyone suggested anything there was this vague silence.  Then we decided to go to Soho so we're all following this guy who knows the way, and they all lag behind and decide to go up a different street.  "Oh, we'll meet you around the corner" they say.  But this is LONDON.  This is Picadilly Circus.  This is Friday night.  This is thousands of people bustling around.  Needless to say the stupid little fools didn't manage to find us around any corner and - even worse - even though it was only 2 streets up, they didn't manage to find Soho either.

  

Then I wanted to go to a club and they were saying "But it's 5 to 11 and the tubes stop running soon!"  To try to explain that we have hit civilisation now which means a) clubs only open at 11 and b) welcome to the concept of the taxi, was futile.  By this stage I was completely irritated and, returning to cramped 5 in a room accommodation with plumbing from hell clinched it: I had had enough.

  

So I phoned Carrie this morning and said "I want out of here.  It's time to do my own thing."  So she came to London and met R and I (he's a guy in our group who I suppose I got on with the best.  It's probably 'cause we're older that the others.  He's 26 and been to London and Europe before).  

  

We went to Harrods first.  Ho hum.  Been there, done that.  Just a glorified Woolworths.  Selection and size impressive, otherwise no great shakes.  If you can afford to shop there... [rest of letter is lost]

  

  

  

 

Harrods

  

  

The trip started in January 1994.  To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post. 

Dear Diary - GOOD RIDDANCE!

 

Dear Diary,

No, I don't mean good riddance to YOU!  Don't be silly!  What would I do without you?

What I mean is: Good riddance to the bad rubbish of 2010!

Good riddance to:

1. Being the fat girl
2. Back pain
3. Ineffectual anti-depressants
4. Not knowing how to play politics at work
5. "Friends" who drain me
6. Debt
7. Having to cut back, cut down, cut out because we have no money
8. Unnecessary drama
9. Bad hair
10. Lack of motivation to exercise
11. Seeing the glass as half empty
12. Speaking before thinking
13. Not being paid what I'm worth
14. Letting other people take credit (and win awards) for my work
15. Playing Office Agony Aunt
16. Hayfever
17. Asthma
18. Feeling disconnected from far away family
19. Dressing like a slob
20. Comfort eating.

Like the New Yorkers and their Good Riddance Day, I am going to print this list and SHRED IT.

GOOD RIDDANCE TO BAD RUBBISH!

OUT WITH THE OLD AND IN WITH THE NEW!

Woooooooooooooooo hooooooooooooo!

He Said She Said - Ruining Christmas Carols

 

It was New Year's Day.  They had spent the night before in their PJ's, on the couch, watching DVDs and eating pizza and ice cream.  

It was 11:30 when she brushed her teeth and joined him in the living room.

"Do you think the little drummer boy was offering to masturbate for the baby Jesus?" she said.

"WHAT?" he said.

"The little drummer boy.  You know..." She began to sing.  

"Shall I play for you, parapa-pum-pum.... Oh-ohn my drummmmmmm.

"You are sick" he said.

"All right all right, let's get into the real spirit of the season."  She took a deep breath and started to sing again, close to the right key, but not quite there.

"Good king Wenceslas looked down.... On the feast of Stephen.... Then they brought the pizza round.... Deep pan, crisp and even..."

"But the cheese was kinda lean..." he joined in, "Which was quite annoying..."

"Oh, I definitely want to see you find a way to rhyme 'annoying'!" she said.

"I-hi wanted much more cheese, even though it'd be cloyyyyy-iiiiing!"

"Very good!" she laughed, clapping.

"Happy New Year," he grinned.

"Happy New Year, my love," she smiled back, and kissed him.

"So, what's for breakfast?" she asked.

"Well, there is a bagel left," he replied.

"Yes, but we have no cream cheese or peanut butter left."

"Well, you can use the roule," he suggested, as she walked to the kitchen

"Ah, yes, one of three," she said, opening the fridge.  

As she opened the box, which had two creamy cheeses independently packaged, she asked:  "Why did you buy three of these?  I don't get it.  There are only two of us.  Did we need three?"

"It was the same price as buying one at the supermarket.  That's how Costco does it, you know that."

"Yes, but did we NEED three?"

"It was the same price as buying ONE at the supermarket!"

She pressed the toaster button and came back through to the living room, hands on hips, and said:  "OK, Honey, maybe I get this.  It's sort of like when I see a pair of boots for 60% off and, even though I don't need boots right at that moment, I buy them because they are on sale."

"It's not the same at ALL!" he said.  "You don't NEED the boots, and you SHOULDN'T buy the boots.  We both get to eat the cheese."

"OK, number one:  You get to see me in nice boots, so we both benefit.  Number two:  The boots last WAAAAY longer than the cheese!"

"It's not the same at all!"

"Yes it is.  We didn't need three of the same cheese."

"You don't need more pairs of boots!"

"See? It's the same."

"Boots cost way more than cheese!" he said, trying a different tack.

"Boots LAST way more time than cheese.  AND they don't make you fat!"

"Yes, but if you get fat they won't fit you."

"Your shoe size doesn't change!" she snapped.  "Everyone is skinny when it comes to shoes!"

"Well, every one of the three roules will be tasty."

"I think you need to spend time thinking about whether the Little Drummer Boy is pornographic!" she said, turning to head back to the kitchen.  "I'm going to make my bagel!"

"No!" he yelled after her.  "Not fair!  You can't win this by distracting me by ruining a Christmas Carol!"

"Too late!" she yelled back, taking the hot bagel out of the toaster.  She leaned sideways to stick her head around the corner of the kitchen door.

"PARAPA-PUM-PUM!" she yelled.

To read more in the He Said She Said series, click the category link on the left.