MAYBE IT’S SWINE FLU

So I’m having a pretty weird day. Started out brilliant, got even better and now I’m stuck in bed with a thermometer rammed down my trap by a supposedly caring flat-mate. I think he’s trying to get me back for something. Don’t know what but my abused mouth sure feels like I’m being punished.

Then again it could be God’s way of making me pay attention for dissing him at lunch today. If the dude wasn’t all omnipotent, omnipresent and all that other omni shit he wouldn’t have heard me blaspheme. How else do you explain a perfectly healthy, chirpy woman in good health and humour feeling the way I do. One minute I’m prancing around all bright eyed and bushy tailed and the next I'm calling for the sick bucket.

My head hurts, my bones ache, my eyes can barely stay open and I’m so cold and tired. And no it’s not the onset of old age. My appetite’s gone and I’m a few seconds away from upchucking my Italian lunch. I feel awful.

So here’s the diss. I get into this whole crime and punishment argument with a friend and me and my big mouth start spouting the merits of capital punishment. I figure that you know we can’t really depend on the Almighty to bring about swift judgment. That whole judgement day thing doesn’t work fast enough to suit me and as much as Karma is a bitch she tends to take her time too hence the need to have the state step in and take over the retribution end of things. Only I’m not just thinking this; I’m saying it out loud. I’m actually accusing the big Kahuna of tardiness in dispensing his responsibilities. No way I was gonna get away with that.

Next thing I know, my flat mate’s leaning over me wielding a thermometer like a machete -well maybe not a machete (forgot to mention that I was feeling a little delirious too) – making all these sympathetic noises, but I can see through him. He’s probably praying that I don’t have swine flu and ruin his weekend away with his boys.

Yep. I Probably deserve to feel like shit.

On a different note, going ‘80s disco roller skating tomorrow at the 02. I’m probably gonna spend half the time on my ass and the other half on my face. I expect I shall come out of it bloodied, covered in cuts and bruises and will most probably fracture a limb or two and knowing my luck possibly break my tail bone. But you know what? I’ll have the time of my life.

Got neon pink legwarmers and tights for it. Still contemplating a pink polka dot head band and pink wrist bands. Left it a little too late to get a tutu though. Can’t wait.

P.S. Am I the only person who bursts into laughter every time Rasheed Young walks into the scene in Run’s House and his title appears right below his name: President: Run Athletics. Man, talk about incongruous.

Gets me every bloody time.

Gotta go.

I Love Reality TV

I’ve just watched a dude try to sell a stick on American Inventor. Yeah, you heard me, a stick. The dude bounced into the room looking all excited and shit, armed with this whittled crooked-ass stick, looked like he’d just picked it up from his back yard or off the street and proceeded to spin some spiel about a walking buddy. A walking buddy! Get this, this walking buddy is supposed to be real handy in warding off bears. Yep, bears. So I’m sitting here thinking, ok maybe it’s me but you know that seems just a little redundant in NYC. You know seeing as …. oh, I don’t know, there aren’t any random bears wandering the streets of Manhattan; are there?

So the judges are sitting there gaping at the unmitigated cheek of it all, and the dude gets this flash bulb moment so bright you can literally see the lights go on behind his beady eyes. Looking at Mary Lou Quinlan, the only female judge on the panel, he launches into a long-winded sales pitch of how his stick (at this point the judges have for their own amusement and that of the viewers back at home changed the product name from the rather unedifying 'stick' to 'wand') would be useful to millions of women in America and around the world. You know in keeping rapists, muggers, pickpockets and all sorts of ne’er-do-wells out of our faces. Forget the pepper spray, the karate classes; let’s just haul ourselves back into the pre-historic ages.

Twit!

So here’s my beef with this brilliant idea, have you seen the size of the handbags I have to haul around everyday already? Have you seen the shit I have to pack into my bag every morning? I know I’m not trying to pack a stick in there with my lip gloss, hair brush and all my other shit. There’s simply no room.

Dude was actually pissed off that the judges weren’t taking him seriously. I say he’s lucky he got past the front doors. Left muttering something about bears in Alaska under his breath and I'm sitting there thinking, "come off it even in Alaska, especially in Alaska, the bears expect you to put up a half-decent fight." No simple waving of sticks in their faces for any self-respecting bonafide grizzly. If the movies are to be believed you need a pan to go with the stick.

Tsk! crack baby, that’s for sure.

You think that’s nuts, dude before him comes in with this idea of a portable toilet. No, not the kind that’s delivered when you have a shindig and the thought of people trooping all over your newly polished wooden floors to get to the toilets makes you sick. Ah ah, not that one. It’s never that straightforward when you’re dealing with loonies. His is some kind of black polythene-bag looking suit bag (looks like a bin liner) you unleash on unsuspecting by-standers when you want to take a wee and there’re no toilets around.

So check this out: you’re supposed to unfurl this big paper bag - sorry toilet bag, slip it over your head, smooth it down and proceed to relieve your bladder into a built in pocket. I suppose you would need to work out the front from the back first. All that fumbling around looking for the kapocket might have people staring; if the whole ‘man slipping into a bag’ thing doesn’t get their attention first. After you’re done (remember to shake), step out of the bag – gingerly, I would imagine- taking care to zip or cork the pocket first, roll it up again and walk around with it until you get to a toilet and empty it.

I know they say that when a dude has to go he has to go but c’mon this is taking it to another level altogether; a rather disturbingly self-indulgent level.

Oblivious to the grimaces around him, he even tried to demonstrate the female version of it complete with a detachable pocket for ease of use. The judges baulked at this and he was promptly shown the door but not before he’d given us all a sneak preview. I feel violated by the little I saw.

So there you go; my first blog back. Jai Ho!

PS: What is it about Tears for Fear’s version of Mad World? Beautiful.