Hello! If you are looking for actual entertainment today, I suggest you set a new course to the more reliable waters of the Non Working Monkey, Cakewrecks, or Lovely listings. Better still check this out (thanks Zoe!). Here be nothing but shark infested self-absorption. (This maritime metaphor is brought to you courtesy of 'Talk like a pirate day' AND the office sailing trip which I am not attending, despite the admittedly seductive promise of "medicines on the coach". ) Not even the closest members of my family have managed to feign an interest in this topic, but I am not allowing this to put me off.
Ok. It goes like this. I think I am living my life backwards.
Ten years ago, I:
- Started every day with green tea, berries and porridge;
- Worried if I ate less than ten portions of fruit and vegetables a day, and regularly had twenty;
- Did not drink alcohol at all, ever. In fact, drank nothing but water and tea;
- Moisturised, body brushed and got massaged religiously;
- Never touched chips or red meat;
- Exercised - properly in one of those 'gym' places - a minimum of three times a week, did yoga and roller bladed.
- Breakfast is a coffee and a pain au raisin;
- Lunch is often made up of several varieties of Celebrations. I try to ensure I include Snickers for protein though;
- Sometimes I have to eat chicory at 10 o clock at night to get anywhere near my 5 a day. Sometimes I can't even be arsed with late night chicory;
- I rarely get around to washing my face - I mean, why? It hasn't got dirty, seeing as I can't get it together to put any make up on. The CFO uses my body brush to brush his hair. Lashes gives me the odd 'massage' when he is short of money. It hurts. I really should cut his nails.;
- I have a new enthusiasm for vodka and Diet Coke (though not together, that would be really wrong) and drink horrible coffee from the machine at work all day, even though it tastes like crap;
- Chips - yum;
- "Exercise" is twenty minutes ridiculous wobbling twice a week to the hits of the early sixties, with ladies who lunch in leotards (they don't lunch in the leotards, obviously. They wobble).
I mean, isn't it supposed to be the other way round? I raised this with the CFO recently, to his dismay. Stifling a yawn, he told me that this was probably ok, since I had already fulfilled my biological destiny. He didn't use those actual words, but that was definitely the gist.
"So basically, you're saying that now that I have reproduced, the next step is death? It doesn't matter what I do any more since noone is living in or off my body?? Jesus! Thanks man"
He ran away at this point.
I blame Belgium. I mean, what chance did I have in a country that considers beer and waffles an appropriate breakfast? Where chips are a national symbol? Where proper serious gents in Homburg hats and Loden overcoats queue up on their own for large ice cream sundaes in the middle of the working day? This country is decadent, I tell you, decadent.
On the upside, I am also less of a miserable anxious joyless bastard than I was 10 years ago. Here's hoping this will counteract my new Belgian (or 'stupid') lifestyle.
Now go and generate your own Sarah Palin baby name. Ha! My name is Tangle Jig Palin. Thanks Peevish/Krinkle.