Tag Archives: I’m worth a trillion dollars

ChocMilk: On being 25.

I have been on this Earth for exactly 25 years, 1 month and 13 days. At this point in my life, I would have made a serious impact on those around me, my career and my  environment, right? Right? Wrong.

Fresh out of high school, with my optimistically pink-hued shades and training bra, the future I had envisioned for myself was like something from a prime time show about a successful 25ish female with spidery eyelashes, high heels and a glamorous air that wreaked of romance and mystery. Truth is, I would have been utterly dismayed with that kind of life, and even though my glamorous airs are purchased and smell like Escada, I’d rather have it this way than another. I may not have a prime-time worthy life right now, but , after careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that knowing what I know now might have made me considerably more boring.

Things I would have never predicted to happen when I was 17, but did.

I can’t watch porn.
Let me just get this out there, I have never watched porn with company, I can’t even watch a sex scene without feeling the need to disguise the fact that my cheeks are getting flushed with embarrassment. So, on the listless Sunday that Nick suggested we watch some (boys, I don’t get it) I was hyperventilating under my rapidly warming cool exterior.

Me: (thinking) “What do I do in this situation? Look sexy? Do I even know what that looks like? I need a mirror. ZOMG that guy looks douchebaggy. Do I really have to watch him do that? There’s no way those could be real”

Me to Nick:  “There’s no way those could be real”

Nick: “He seems to like them”

That summarises the whole 5 minutes I spent watching porn. As is fashionable, women of my age are supposed to be ‘sexually liberated’ and I thought I had crossed that line the moment I bought condoms from a garage at 2am. NO. They don’t show that part in Sex and the City. I feel inadequate. I should watch some porn.

After 25 years, I still know jack-shit about relationships.
Post hight school, I got into a hot and heavy tête-à-tête with a to-be-accountant. He was the alpha to my beta, the present value that would result in favourable time value of money outputs, regardless of the inflation constant. I was with him for 5 years and barely escaped impending nuptials with my sanity intact. I needed to grow up before I decided to have 2.5 children and a joint bank account. But, even after all this drama, I will never be prepared for new love affairs and I’ve decided that I prefer it that way.

I’m too old for this shit.
Rather, I’m ecstatic that I don’t have to do this, ever again:

  • Two minute noodles
  • Inflatable mattresses
  • Justin Beiber
  • Loud ‘woooo’ noises
  • Glitter anything
  • Scrapbooking

It’s okay to say no.

I am not my degree
When I decided on my career choice, I was 17. I liked the Backstreet Boys and belly tops. What does that girl decide to do with her life? Study finance! Obviously. Oh, my misguided youth… I don’t regret my career choice at all, I just wish I had a bit more exposure to the choices available. I am not my degree any more than blogging makes me a successful writer. It’s never too late to re-invent, it’s the whittling down on choices that’s the mind-bending part.

On winning the lottery
As opposed to several years ago, I won’t spendit all on one massive shopping spree. Also, actually buying a lottery ticket is imperative to winning it.

I don’t want to take over the world anymore
I’d have to wear lycra and come up with a name, an evil laugh and group classifications for my army of minions. Actually, I do have all of the above, except for the lycra.

lastly,

Writing about my personal life isn’t as tacky as I thought.
In fact, I’m finding this rather therapeutic 🙂

I still feel like I’m a few inches too short to get on the rollercoaster ride, but, at least I wear big-girl bras now!

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Sent from my smart phone.

I know what you’re thinking, not another social media article. Truthfully, I agree, we’ve reached the stage where no-one cares about articles on how to increase the girth of your social media profile. Also, no-one actually uses the word girth in normal conversation. I bet you’re about the google the definition of the word ‘girth’ right now.

Social Media is better than a phone call.
So you went to Vida-e to meet with @missfuzzykittenIloveNickJonas. You don’t know why you went to Vida-e, it may be that the people on twitter are subliminally sending you messages through their ‘I’m off to Vida-e!’ tweets. @missfuzzykittenIloveNickJonas is going through a very difficult stage in her life, which is quite evident through her exaggerated sighs. You are unperturbed by this and continue your story about the Don Packett youtube CV rip-off. You laugh. Alone. Manically. @missfuzzykittenIloveNickJonas does this weird twisty thing with her mouth, not a good sign. She then asks you if you’ve noticed that her Facebook relationship status has changed. Pennies drop everywhere. How could you have missed that? You practically live online. You sip on your Vida-e coffee slowly, at a loss for words.Social Media has made you a bad friend.

Social Media promotes fake laughter.
You’re at work. Your Outlook notifies you that you have a new mail. A combination of intrigue and disappointment flutters. We get it, Outlook sucks. Oh, the mail is from Mr. Joke Sender, it’s a joke you’ve seen on twitter three weeks ago. Your facial expression remains unchanged. Ten minutes later, Mr. Joke Sender comes into your office, grinning with more gusto than Jim Carrey. ‘So… how funny was that mail… hey?’. You like Mr Joke Sender, he’s a bit corny but he’s actually a good person to have around if the printer gives you problems. You can either A – tell the truth and say that you’ve seen the joke, whilst watching him breakdown emotionally, or B- fake laugh. You fake laugh to save Mr. Joke Sender’s ego. You’re going to hell.

If you attend an event that was not mentioned Social Media, chances are, you stayed at home with your cat, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s in you pjs.
Oooh. Is someone getting married today? Are you attending the wedding? Tweet about it. Are you at a braai with other social media folk? Tweet about it. Are you at home with your cat, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s in you pjs? Don’t tweet at all. Put your phone off. Instead, muse about the fact that 5 years ago, you were perfectly happy with the idea of NOT telling the world about every little thing you’re doing.

Social Media promotes emotional outbursts.
OBAMA WON THE NOBEL PRIZE! OMG THEY’RE BOMBING THE MOON! FUCK AMERICA! LET’S BOMB THEM AND SEE HOW THEY FEEL! ALSO, KANYE’S AN IDIOT! I just can’t take this anymore, I can’t believe he didn’t call. OMG YOU GUYS! NICK JONAS IS SO HAWT. I JUST LOVE HIM. I don’t know who to turn to, my life is over. I’m serious this time guys. Get your teeth whitened! Ask me how. Lady, no-one cares. Average person’s reaction to emotional outbursts: ‘Awh, that’s too bad/awesome/hardcore, I hope this phase passes…. OOOH 10 OF THE MOST AMAZING WORDPRESS THEMES ALL IN ONE POST!’ *click* End.

Social Media endorses contradictions. No they don’t! Yes, yes they do…
You’re facebook chatting, posterous’ing and tweeting at the same time. If you were any more awesome, you’d be Guy Kawasaki. You resent that I said that, you hate that I compared you to Guy Kawasaki. You’re shit hot right now, you’ve manufactured your personal brand, have a water tight alias and a very own domain, but something is missing. You live online but crave a simpler existence, hence your constant need to use the ‘lighter’ version of any social media platform. You like the clutter free look but still crave the meatier version. You want a young Sofia Louren but you’re getting Paris Hilton and as much as Paris tries, she’ll never do that hip sway like Sofia. This saddens you. Please refrain from having an emotional outburst.

Social Media turns you into an elitist.
You’re having a pretty decent conversation with a budding entrepeneur. You wonder why you haven’t heard of this cat before. Light bulbs flash – he’s not on the interwebs. You suggest he get on it ASAP in order to increase his brand awareness. You do not pay attention to local internet user statistics. Turns out, ‘this cat’ has an ad airing on SABC 1, a station you vowed not to watch after their recent financial crisis. This does not concern you, the internet dweller. If it is not on social media it does not exist, right? WRONG.

Social Media makes you a bad person.
You’ve seen it, you’ve laughed at it, people have suffered. http://www.latfh.com http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com http://dontjudgemyhair.com http://www.peopleofwalmart.com Didn’t your mother ever teach you to NOT make fun of other people. Save it for family dinner punk.

As much as you want to, you’ll never give up Social Media. Ever.
You laughed at every point I made yet silently agreed at the same time. Addict. You’ll be off to Vida-e to drown your sorrows in a bottomless cup of coffee. You’re hardcore like that.

I have no words. Rather, I do, I’m trying to condense it in 140 characters or less.

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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.

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A picture is worth 1000 words. This blog is worth 1325 words. Pending advertisements.

Sometimes my brother is very clever and does nice things like this:

Ignore the Land Rover. He did this using a wicked ‘leaving the shutter open for 40 seconds’ trick, two sparkles, and a helper. A helper I shall not name because he’s actually a (somewhat) famous person that makes nice doof doof songs and he’s family and I don’t want people to think I’m being ‘indian’ by endorsing him. That doesn’t make any financial sense.

On wednesday, out of the blue, the brother mentions that he came up with a totally brilliant and original idea that could change the world or something momentous like that. He made it seem so blase, like it was one of those things that happen to him daily. I stared at him in awe, nodding my head at the moments when it seemed appropriate. To be honest, I don’t think I understood most of what he said, programming jargon only made sense to me when I was 17 and thought that I’d take on a life as a hacker like Mr Anderson from The Matrix before he died and became Neo. See, he’s sometimes clever this brother of mine. Clever in ways which I am not.

In short: I’m jealous. I don’t have it in me to come up with visually/artistically/conceptually brilliant ideas. I’m only good with adding numbers and looking like a vaguely attractive person and talking about nonsense and phrasing sentences with the flair of a bull fighter finesse of an orchestrator… GAH!

Well not jealous per say… maybe a ‘pinch of salt’ jealous, unless he gets famous and stuff, then it could be ‘a pinch of salt in an old wound’ jealous. Unless he buys me a car of my choosing then I’ll love him forever 😀

Not that I won’t love him forever, just saying.

P.S: Damian, you owe me one trillion dollars for advertising your shit on my blog. Thanks.

Either way, I’m still getting a car of my choosing 😀

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