Tag Archives: I’m sorry Daryll-its not your fault you’re such a perfect specimen of man

I am a weapon of mass destruction.

I like to dream about cataclysmic events. I wonder where I’d be when people realise that we’re all going to die. Would I get trapped in a sadistically impenetrable traffic jam? Would I be at home with my family? Feeding my cat the pink salmon I intended on having all by myself?

I enjoy thinking these morose thoughts, mostly in the mornings, forcing myself to realise that  no matter how completely crap my day will be, it could get worse. Also because I’m slightly sadistic.

I call this motivation method ‘brain bargaining’. It is the belief that given sufficient time and resources, you can dispel any preconceived notion that you are less than awesome. I’m going to expand on this, bear with me, it’s about to get Newtonian.

Common beliefs that mess with your awesome-juju:

  • I am not the centre of the universe.
    Think of the universe as a ball. Somewhere in this ball is you. Lets imagine that one day you decided to make a bet with that annoying spreadsheet lady in accounting, for some reason she demanded that you provide all the receipts from every transaction you’ve ever made in the past 5 or so years that you’ve worked at the company as a glorified high flying corporate monkey, your response was ‘I might have to go to the edges of the universe to aquiest your request’ which is totally not something you would say in real life but I’ve decided that you need a bit of spunk. Got it? Okay, you get into a spaceship and try to do so, only you’ll never get there. If (assuming that the universe stopped expanding) you travelled to the ‘edge’ for years and years,  you’d eventually end up exactly where you started. This is because the universe ‘bends’. Any spot in the universe could be considered to be at the centre. That means that you, yes you, in your polka-dot tie or tweed skirt, are at the centre of the universe. And tell annoying spreadsheet lady to stuff it, just not in her mouth because she definitely needs to lose some weight.
  •  People tend to gravitate around others more awesome than me.
    There once lived a dude named Newton, he got hit in the head with an apple and turned into a genius. After much thinking, he came up with the Law of Universal Gravitation which states that ALL objects attract each other with a force of gravitational attraction. Mr Awesome does not have some secret power, he’s just as awesome as you, he just possesses more of that characteristic that supersedes gravitational law – confidence.
  • I must be a vacuum because I suck.
    A natural vacuum is created when a very large star dies. Basically, in order for there to have been a vacuum, there must have been a star. In essence, you’re admitting that you were once something of greatness and now you’ve lost it because you’re de-motivated after you made that bet with annoying spreadsheet lady from accounting. Stop that. No cookies for emo bitches.
  • My actions are not important
    This is an atomic bomb. An atomic bomb is created through the nagasaki_nuclear_bomb1process of fission. To conduct the process of fission one would need a fissionable material such as uranium.  On average, approximately 90 micrograms of uranium exists in the human body from normal intakes of air, food and water. If harnessed, you have the potential to become a weapon of mass destruction. You ARE a weapon of mass destruction. People should listen to you, you’re shit hot right now.

I did not use ‘The Secret’ as a reference in this blog. I have read it and subsequently filed it under ‘new age hippie bullshit’. Yes, lady in the loose fitting cotton dress, I’m talking to you! Stop reading this blog with that worried look on your face (I know this is your worried face because it’s the face all hippies get when they’ve discovered that they’ve run out of soy milk) and actually do something. The only person that could make the universe more awesome is you.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to stare at myself in the mirror and think great thoughts.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , ,

Fronti nulla fides [Part II]

I love books like this one. Not books about propaganda or mayhem, but ones that make you think about certain aspects of your life for hours on end. In fact, there are hidden messages in almost every form of written text, if you choose to read between the lines, I skill I fear many are losing.

I recently had the pleasure of reading a few fairy tales to my little cousins. On the surface, I was doing quite a reasonable interpretation of a pantomime drama queen, internally, I was beginning to wonder about the message behind the insane drivel I chose to read to them and how much of it would be to their benefit.

Cinderella: A damsel in distress, harassed by two wicked sisters and a ghastly step-mom for most of her life, her story is one filled with woe. After an interlude with a wand-yielding old lady, she gets lucky with a prince and lives happily ever after. They all live happily ever after these fairy-tale people.

Where is the moral of the story?

I thought about this for a while… and was surprised at how very intelligent I am. Not really, this is a lie. I was surprised at how easily I sifted through all the pixie dust and found something quite viable.

See, this Cinderella chick, she was a nice person. She did all the chores in the house and slept in the fireplace. [Maybe she thought that if she stared at the coal long enough, it would turn into diamonds or something, I don’t know, those middle-age people were a bit nutty]. Conclusion: you should be nice to others even though they treat you like shit because its the morally acceptable thing to do. Also: people love the underdog.

But then *dum dum dummmm* in comes a fairy god-mother. Her spell makes Cinderella pretty BUT it only lasts for a few hours. I think the message behind this is that occasionally in your life you get people/situations that gives you a helping hand but you can’t depend on it because it too will fade and after that its up to you to make yourself happy.

So Cinderella meets the Prince and he’s smitten, insane with lust, mouth agape at the sheer awesomeness of her newly magic-ified glory, blah blah. I think this prince is a superficial prick to be honest but I won’t go on to insult him because he’s not part of the story (he’s a Daryll). It took me a while to figure this one out, and I was mighty proud of myself when I did: We are all diamonds in the rough, all it takes is a bit of elbow grease and we could shine like a million suns or be used in telescopes or be used to shine other diamonds (these people are calles ‘life coaches’ or mothers or Oprah)

What about the ugly family members? Well, there is nothing to say about them. They treated Cinderella like shit and deserve to be left in the house, washing their own socks. The whiney bitches. That is karma my darlings, I’ve been on the arse-end of it many times to recognise it when I see it.

See Mr Anderson: 4 hidden messages! I’m over thinking things as usual I know. I can’t help it, its the book, its making me re-assess my perceptions of life and such.

*sigh* I love these types of books.

Tagged , ,

The theory of the toasted cheese sandwich.

This is a blog about love. I don’t usually write blogs about emotional-touchy-feely things because I don’t like to read these type of ramblings, but I’m not having an eventful day and I figure that maybe I’d take a swing at revolutionising the way we view love.

So here goes:

There’s this guy see, his name is Daryll*. He’s hawt, like seriously hawt, super intelligent, he patiently smiles at you while you try on the 7th pair of shoes,  he cooks, he’s sensitive (but not in the Mommy’s boy way), he’s every girls wet dream, the kind of guy girls want to marry.

Now I want you to visualise this Daryll…

Meet Gary*: He’s a nice guy. He’s not like Daryll*. Fact of the matter is, Daryll* is not what you would call a ‘real’ person. Forget about Daryll*. He’s a figment of your imagination.

So Gary* meets Ali*.  They hate each other. He thinks she’s an elitist. She doesn’t like the way he tears up paper napkins and makes little balls, flinging them in her general direction. Two tequilas later, they’re exchanging numbers.

They go on dates. They watch movies together. They have sex, and its always good. ALWAYS. They call each other 6 times a day. They giggle, together. They make people sick. Their friends all hate them.
They fight. Its terrible. She thinks its over, he does too. They have more sex. Its nice. They fight more.
One day Ali gets sick. She looks terrible. A hot-wet-mucus-covered mess. Gary* takes care of her, its his job as caring boyfriend. They have more sex. Gary* gets sick.

Some time passes, they get more comfortable in each others space. They’re not so sickening anymore. Everyone is happy, their friends decide to let them back into the sanctity of the friendship-hood. Ali shops alone. Ali is fine with it because she finally realises that you don’t HAVE to do absolutely everything together.

Sometimes she thinks about Daryll*

Light bulbs flash. Gary* will never be Daryll*. Everyone is happy.

Gary* comes home from work. Its been a dismal day. All he wants to do is lie on the couch in the fetal position and watch CSI in the dark. No such luck. Ali* is home, the stench of her nail polish hits him like a blow to the head. She enquires about his day, he grunts a response. She smiles…

…and says: ‘Since you’re up… Can I have a toasted cheese sandwich please?’

Gary* removes his tie in a rapid wrist movement akin to that of a seasoned sword fighter…

He turns around…

and makes the toasted sandwich.

 

^ THAT is love.

And they all lived happily ever after. The end.

 

Theory of the toasted cheese sandwich: Love is when someone makes a toasted cheese sandwich for you even though they’ve had a crap day and really don’t want to.

Tagged , , , ,