February 09, 2007

You're Sorely Mistaken

So another birthday has been and gone. I’m not sure how this has all come about. I could never understand people who began to freak out a little when they hit thirty, but I understand it now. It isn’t that I mind getting older, I don’t - and at twenty four I’m still in my prime for goodness’ sake; it’s just that I cannot believe where the time has gone to! Twenty four! I am married! I am grown-up! I have a responsible job! But I am sixteen on the inside! This is dangerous for society!

Anyway it’s not all bad. I was given a disgusting amount of presents, of which at least 50% were toiletries. It’s Christmas all over again. I still haven’t sorted through my trough full of gels, mousses, soaps and lotions from December. The biggest perpetrators are always the people you know least well – colleagues and so on. Belying this theory however my mother also gave me a giant spa set, I can only presume because she sees me as a giant spa. Let’s hope the cosmetics aren’t lethal when combined and applied, a la the marvellous original Batman movie, which I saw for the first time recently. That movie changed my life. Isn’t it time for a change for you too?

All things filmy: I went out last night with the intention of seeing Rocky Balboa with my handsome husband (WATCH! ME! PUNCH! THE! AIR!) but while enjoying a pre-movie coffee we decided to ditch the movie because conversation is so much better. He’s clever, is my husband, and says things I like, even if we are in a feud at the moment about the “book” The Little Prince, which I find interminably pretentious and meaningless, and which he finds “deep” “thoughtful” and “quite good”. Outrageous! I have married some class of a moron! A Grade A Moron, in fact, akin to the kind of person who would ever question eating meat. Anyway, I do hope we manage to get to see it some evening, perhaps on a night when we are drugged and thus our conversation less sparkling. Don’t you love those victory movies – those underdog achieving his dream even if it causes brain damage movies? I do! I can’t sit still during the Rocky soundtrack. I’ve just got to punch the air (and my husband). Otherwise it feels like I’m wasting an opportunity!

We went home and I made some popcorn in a pot with a see-through lid (thrill) and then we ate it and watched Hellboy on TV (which incidentally was interrupted by the “news” about snow and some model finally snuffing it – I think she died by ingesting the ashes of a thousand dollars) and it is a great movie! Really great! And would you believe, of all movies, it is laced quite heavily with the Christian narrative. The number of movies which relay the gospel is really quite astounding. Hellboy himself is a being whose natural purpose is destined for evil and he makes the conscious choice to honour his father (sound familiar?). Plus he’s big and red and fireproof! And witty! And his girlfriend explodes! It’s a gem of a movie.

Back to birthday: my husbandry unit used my birthday as an excuse to spoil me rotten. I am the kind of woman that other women hate, because my husband doesn’t fail to remember special occasions and invariably has some thoughtful event planned. I on the other hand use his birthday as an excuse to beat the living daylights out of him. “Get BORN will you!”

He took me out for both breakfast and dinner. (At exactly the same time, I had a fry followed by a steak in quick succession. I spent most of the evening vomiting.) I was presented with three gifts: one in the morning, one in the afternoon and one in the evening. The first was a girl’s treat – a fluffy dressing gown. The second was a man’s treat – a slow cooker which cooks soups, stews and curries over a whole day. The third was a brain’s treat – the classic novel Steppenwolf, which I read in under a minute, thanks to my genius and genetic relation to Johnny 5 (alive).

So with the dawning of my twenty fourth year I have done some narcissistic reflecting. Nothing new there then. I am “taking stock” (of my toiletries). I decided it is time to do new things. This includes a master’s degree (at last) and a stand-up comedy workshop, which week by week grows in me a ball of terror so great I fear it will eventually digest me and I will be nothing more than a lump of rancid meat dissolved by digestive juices. That would make for an impressive stand-up comedy act, if rather unfunny. But hey. Is it spectacular or amusing you’re after, because you can’t have both? Unless of course you have a clown covered in diamonds and crying his eyes out. Now that’s comedy my friends. So the gig is in a few weeks. I have never been less ready for anything (other than every exam I’ve ever taken…oh and all those kids I unexpectedly gave birth to one day…boy was my face red).

So I’ve organised a big night out in work – drinks and huge servings of tapas at a trendy city bar. Yes, I’m the chirpy new girl who’s come along into the office with her head full of naive ideas about how we’re all going to start getting along. Anyway, everyone has signed up, and with no coercion, except for Dr. Obendorff, who’s been receiving death threats, but that’s not directly related to the night out. I am not one of those people who believes that one ought to socialise with one’s work peers – I didn’t go the Christmas party in my building for fear of being asked to dance on the table and being pronounced a “dry shite” upon my refusal. I did attend my department swish dinner out though, where I discovered that my co-workers are human beings and this at least we have in common. So I’d quite like to repeat the experience, but in a cheaper environment, as I have to fork out this time. That’s right. I’m chirpy and stingy; a formidable combo. Speaking of cheap and cheerful, I am having a little fantasy about a slice of pizza at the moment…loaded with mozzarella and ham and crispy vegetables. I wonder what the office etiquette on ordering takeaway pizza at 9.35am might be. Hrm. I think it might be time to set some new trends. How do they feel about JD and Coke at lunch? Just to get the weekend off to a decent kickstart.

To while away the hours in work I have been availing of www.pandora.com for free music. I stick on my headphones and type away at my unthought-out opinions on internet message forums and it looks to unsuspecting passers-by as though I am in fact hectically typing out my dictaphone letters. Which, I would be doing, if I had any to do. The trouble with this clever little Pandora invention however is that it has just played fifteen crap songs in a row that are utterly unfamiliar. If it wasn’t a virtual contraption floating down wires I’d chuck it out the office window. Damn free stuff! What a rip off.

neuro-praxis – her cat’s name is Mittens

Posted by neuro-praxis on February 9, 2007 10:24 AM, in the category Mouldy Curtains