Goin' away

I’m going away for a couple weeks. First week I will be up in the Adelaide Hills, sitting around campfires and discussing Asian philosophy and other stuff.

The second week I’m booked in for knee surgery. Yippie.

I cannot wait to wake up and feel like I’m going to hurl at any given moment.

But it’s fairly simple stuff. They make a couple small incisions in my knee, poke around a bit and remove the offending piece of me that causes trouble.

No… not my mouth. That’s not in my knee.

I’ll be walking again the same day, although I have been advised to be escorted home with a mature adult. And to not operate heavy machinery.

Well… I did have something to write about… such as local radio personality Lehmo complaining in the newspaper today about how crap Adelaide drivers are.

Thanks Lehmo. Like you’re going to fix the place with one single article. I think there have been many articles in the past about how crap on the roads us Adelaideans are. But no one is going to think your whinging is specifically targeted at them.

In fact, even if there was a driver who intentionally cut you off, sideswiped you car, flipped you off, and yelled “Get off the road, Lehmo, you smarmy git”, he still wouldn’t think you were talking about him in your tirade in today’s article.

I think I’ll stop there.

Take care. I’ll see you after my dosage.

Actual email I sent today

Hello

Thanks for your email. Sometimes it is good to hear about people you never see much of anymore. Sometimes

I hope you are going well, too. Well, I hope you are going well insofar that I don’t wish a bad life on anyone. I’m not that embittered.

However, we weren’t really friends all those years ago. In fact, when you weren’t fake smiling at me in a way reminiscent of how someone might look if they were trying to suppress gag-reflex, you were off bad-mouthing me to the more popular people in a vain campaign for inclusion.

I sincerely cannot be fucked with the idea that we should “catch up”. I think that pretending otherwise would be dishonest, and would serve no other purpose than to waste a few awkward hours – hours probably better spent doing something productive. Like scratching my arse, for instance.

That sounds like a far more invigorating use of my time than listening to you spout out your achievements over the past decade, just to convince yourself how much of a loser you haven’t become. I’m sure my life is of very little interest to you too.

So, I think I’ll spare you the effort you would need to muster to bullshit your way through reminiscing our “good ol’ days”. Chances are it’d only last two minutes before we’d awkwardly stare at each other and start talking about the weather.

Yes, I agree that it has been a long time. I think both of us would agree that it’s probably getting better as the time gets longer.

Take care

Andy

No reply yet

If you’re looking for the post on sexual politics that Steph was talking about… it’s the next door down. Next post down, sorry.

Anyway, onto things inane.

You can always tell when I’m in a conversation. It usually goes something like this:

Person A raises topic

Person B mentions they’ve heard of it.

Person C cites an article they’ve read recently on the topic

Person D claims topic is just another way for High Australia to further divide the haves and have-nots, is one of the real reasons the country is going up shit creek without a canoe, and that if people learned to take some responsibility for their own actions we wouldn’t be a bunch of coddled babies.

Pause

Person A changes subject with a quick addendum that Person D can be a “real cunt sometimes”.

Guess which one is me.

As was mentioned on The Reverend’s blog, I am somewhat cynical. It’s a personality trait I’ve relied upon greatly to filter out the fuckheads who might come into my life. Its success has been… well… questionable, but I think I’ll stick with it.

But now I’m “Adorably Cynical”. Not quite what I was shooting for, but interesting nonetheless. For me, it conjures up images like this:


Go fuck yourself…

Yep… “Adorably Cynical” is like “being told to ‘go fuck yourself’ by the Yellow M&M.”

Or maybe it’s like getting flipped off by Bambi. I dunno. If anyone has Photoshop skills, maybe they could email me a picture…

But I guess it’s a badge that I should wear with pride. If I am able to have people want to pat me on the head and offer me a carrot whenever I write about being fucked off with something, then that’s something to be proud of… I guess.

If not… then fuck you.

I'm a Snob

I seem to have a reputation in my office as being a bit of a snob.

Well, among my female co-workers at least. The guys around here couldn’t give the slightest of shits.

We have a hot receptionist, it has to be said. Quite the looker. All the guys in the office here always seem to find something to do that requires them to go past reception.

And then they stay there, chatting about their pets, their house and their weekends. Before long, they’ve invited her out for a night with their mates (if she’s not busy).

Invariably, she is always busy. But I can’t begrudge the guys here for at least giving it a whirl.

And the guys here all flirt with the women, and the women giggle and laugh. And then they scorn the not-so-attractive guy who tries to flirt with them.

And then they scorn the guy who they perceive is a sleazy womanizer, who spends his whole conversation regaling their breasts of his weekend exploits.

But I’m a snob, apparently.

Because I don’t spend half an hour chatting with the receptionist. Because I don’t invite them out for drinks after work. And because I don’t feel compelled to flirt with them.

Hmph. I never thought I’d be labeled poorly as a result of me treating the women in this office as the professionals they are… or at least WANT to be…

Then again, maybe I am doing this all wrong. Maybe I should leer lecherously at their second-eyes. Perhaps I should invite em out for some fun. Perhaps I should go around slapping them on the arse, and saying, “Lookin’ good today, toots”, before “shooting” them with both my pointer fingers.

After all the times they’ll refuse or resist my “charms”, I’ll suddenly stop one day. I’ll be polite. I’ll be a good boy.

Maybe THEN I’ll get thanked for not staring at their boobs, for not trying to chat them up and for not whacking them on the arse.

Because NOT doing that gets me labeled as a snob.