Oh Be Quiet!

Ah Christmas time! That time of the year where no-one can do anything wrong, and there is good will and joy all round. But I have a slight problem with Christmas. My problem starts somewhere towards the middle of October, when most shops dust off their Christmas ornaments and start having Christmas specials. It's not even November yet, and you have some jolly fat guy grinning at you from every store front. In most places, if you ask parents, "would you let some old, fat guy give your kids candy and let them sit on his lap?" they would freak out and chase you around while wielding any nearby heavy object. How could I even think such a thing?! And yet it happens every year. Somehow we trust this miscellaneous old guy dressed all in red, who seems excessively happy most of the time, and has a fetish for having little kiddies clamber all over him, telling him all their desires. Am I the only one who sees this as slightly creepy?

But I digress. In November, just when you think the stores have now displayed all the Christmas items that they possess, they somehow suddenly have all their staff dressing in red and wearing Santa hats. And the specials get bigger and better! While I don't object to this blatant attempt at consumerism (hey, we have to waste our money somewhere), I do object to having it rammed down my throat every time I enter a store.

And then, the dreaded December! You know it's getting close to Christmas when you walk into a store, ready to give the aforementioned crimson-clad, jolly fat guy a right hook, and you hear Boney M's Christmas songs. Now I've never been a big Boney M fan. But for some reason when you hear their Christmas music you feel that Christmas has now finally arrived. Suddenly the jolly fat guy doesn't annoy you that much, and you feel much more inclined to get along with your fellow man. I firmly believe that Boney M's Christmas songs have some subliminal message, urging us to love one another, and more importantly, to spread the love as far as possible. Were we to view the in-store security cameras at the end of a normal December work day, we would possibly see all the employees (who have been exposed to "A Boney M Christmas" the entire day) spontaneously burst out in song and have random group hugs throughout the afternoon.

One last thing......the aforementioned jolly fat guy? Remember him? The one who just loves little kiddies on his lap? Why do we tell our kids that he will enter our homes via the chimney and leave gifts under the Christmas tree? And once again we don't mind this! Breaking and entering is usually a felony!!! You know what, I'm done with Christmas! And when we have kids one day, they shall be carefully trained to place a very strategic boot in Santa's "north pole" when he invites them onto his lap....

Man of Many Talents

Talents. Some have lots, some have but a few. Thankfully I have a multitude of talents; making a killer cup of tea, solving most computer ailments just by thinking about it and other miscellaneous talents that only my lovely companion will ever know about, but chief of these, the talent I use the most is simply this: I am always in the way. I decide to stand in the kitchen while my lovely companion is preparing a sumptuous meal, and no matter where I decide to plant my 6 foot frame, I manage to be where she needs to be 2 minutes later. I can't accurately describe this uncanny ability to be a physical (and rather pudgy, time to hit the gym again) barrier. It just happens. I don't think about it, I don't even try to be in the way, it just happens. And I have tested this theory. We would visit friends and I would pick a place to stand. It would look harmless enough, but without fail, about 2 minutes later someone would want something and I would have to move. You could describe it as my super power. Which would suck if super powers actually existed. Can you imagine the conversation at a superhero convention:

Me: So, what is your superpower?

Random Superhero: I can move objects just by thinking about it. I also have superhuman strength and the ability to sing soprano without sounding gay. What is your superpower?

Me: I block kitchen cupboards with my massive frame.

Random Superhero: Ha ha ha ha! That's a good one! But seriously, what's your superpower?

Me: I was serious.

(Awkward silence ensues)

So now I pull up a chair and sit quietly in a corner whenever I am in the kitchen, after making sure that the chair that I am occupying is not located in front of any condiment-containing cupboard which would need to be accessed just as I am getting comfortable. Things could be worse in the grander scheme of things I suppose. My super power could have been blocking toilets every time I flush, or causing cats to spontaneously develop hairballs along with the irresistible urge to yark it up on our bed. Or causing global warming. So the next time someone thinks about complaining that I am in the way they should just remain quiet and let me make them a cup of tea.....

Vampires Suck!

I was recently invited to accompany my lovely companion to the very last (thank the Lord!) Twilight movie. An invitation that I respectfully declined. The reason is that I now have a big problem with vampires. Gone are the days of the dark, dangerous and mysterious creatures of the night. You used to have Vlad the Impaler, more commonly known as Dracula. A man so evil that even death couldn't stop him. He would rise nightly to terrorise virgins everywhere, spawning the vampire legend. Then you had Lestat; cold, vicious and annoyingly good looking. And from the legendary Count Dracula and Lestat, we went to.......Edward. Now I'm sorry, but I refuse to be afraid or in awe of an Edward. Especially when he lights up like a diamond encrusted Christmas tree every time he steps into sunlight. In the good old days vampires would burst into flame when exposed to sunlight, a good situation for the savvy vampire hunter who remembered to pack his marshmallows. So instead of having dark and dangerous, you now have a teenage vampire who's constantly brooding; skulking around with a look of extreme angst and mild constipation on his face. (Hey, an undead digestive system will do that to you.) Then you have Bella, portrayed on the big screen by an actress who has heard of the concept of facial expressions and emotions but couldn't be bothered to apply them. With that in mind, I think a pivotal moment of the first movie should have gone like this:

Bella: I know what you are.

Edward: Say it....

Bella: Gay!

Edward: Ye....wait, what?

Bella: I said you're gay.

Edward: Why the hell would you say that???

Bella: Well, you light up like a fairy princess every time you step into the sun.

Edward: That's it! I've heard enough! I'm off to go brood some more! And don't you dare tell Jacob about this! You'll make him take his shirt off again!

Let's face it, vampires have lost their mysticism. Even Underworld was pushing it slightly. The only reason that it succeeded was because they decided to put Kate Beckinsale in a skin-tight leather outfit and give her guns. I am probably right in saying that most men on this planet don't remember a single line of dialogue, they were just looking at Kate's leather-clad posterior through most of the movie.

And don't even get me started on Buffy the Vampire Slayer! That was like The Young and the Restless with fangs! Sigh.....maybe one day vampires will once again regain their dignity. Until then, I'm swearing off of vampire movies completely! Let's face it, vampires suck!

Eight Legged Freak!

The other day I was thinking back to the early days of my courtship with my lovely companion when a certain memory resurfaced. After a period spent breathing deeply, consuming some alcohol and thinking happy thoughts I decided to share my experience here.

We had been dating for about 2 years at that point when I received a call from my lovely companion at about 22:30 one evening. There was a major emergency and she impressed upon me that speed was required. My first clue that something was amiss was that she did not want to explain the nature of said emergency. When I arrived at her humble abode, she handed me the keys to the house through her bedroom window. That was my next clue. Upon entering the house, I rounded a corner and came eyeball to eyeball with the largest member of the arachnid family that I have ever seen. Unfortunately I do not possess a picture of this freak of nature because I was too focused on whimpering and trying not to soil myself. It was sitting on the door (which was closed, hence my lovely companion handing me the keys through the window) which leads to the bedrooms. My lovely companion was on the other side of the door, trying to get me to describe what was going on instead of crying softly. She then (from the other side of the freaking door, and thus safe) told me not to kill it, but to catch it and release it instead. Keep in mind that this was a GINORMOUS spider, probably the result of some twisted and mad scientist's genetic experiments into creating some super arachnid species, or it was a mutated monster created by the effects of global warming, radioactive waste and no-name brand margarine. I decided that it was not allowed to live, for it would take over the world if it did. I armed myself with a rolled-up newspaper, but quickly discarded the idea for fear that the spider would take it from me and attempt to beat ME to death with it. I grabbed the next best thing; the telephone directory. With a massive war-cry, worthy of any Klingon, I swung my chosen weapon with a righteous fury. It connected solidly, smashing my foe to bits (it was so large that its legs stuck out on either side of the telephone directory) and fracturing my thumb in the process. So wounds were sustained on both fronts, but at least I emerged victorious, reveling in the knowledge that there is one less monster spider in the world.....

What a man!

So this weekend my lovely companion and I visited some friends. Unfortunately those friends live quite a distance away, and we had never visited them before, so needless to say we got lost within 10 minutes of leaving our house. After much debating and frantic phone calls to our friends, we managed to head in roughly the right direction. Unfortunately, the rough storms that we've been having of late turned the roads into a lunar landscape and we were forced to proceed at a crawl. So a 45 minute journey took about 2 hours. It also didn't help that, when we quickly stopped at a gas station for a bathroom break and some cold drinks, that I took the wrong road after we set off again. At that point we were close enough that one of our friends took pity on us and drove out to fetch us. After arriving, my lovely companion immediately started going through our lady friend's toy collection, which left me to walk with the husband into the Room of Wonders. He is a bit of a gun fanatic, and has quite a collection. Just walking into that room I could feel my testosterone levels increasing! He showed me gun after gun, with me almost drooling onto most of them. It was then announced that lunch was ready, so I reluctantly tore myself away to go eat. After lunch all us guys set off to the shooting range. We had a modest collection of weaponry with us:

An AK-47 (civilian version, so it is semi-automatic only)
A Colt .45
A .22 with a 177 round magazine (it's a circular mag, a la Tommy gun)
A Star 9MM

They started me off gently, on the Star 9MM before upgrading me to the Colt .45. At this point I was practically vibrating, because I knew the AK-47 was next. As he unzipped the carry bag, a shaft of light broke through the clouds, I could hear an angel choir somewhere, time seemed to stand still. After he handed it over I stared lovingly at it. I was going to fire an AK-47! (I may have even mumbled "My Preciousssssss" at some point). I lined up with the target, my finger on the trigger. The birds fell silent, the wind stopped blowing, the universe itself stopped moving. I pulled the trigger and, as the target was being torn to pieces, felt like Schwarzenegger. I had to resist the urge to yell "Get to da choppa!" in my best Austrian accent. What a feeling! I was rather sad when the gun fell silent, the magazine empty and pieces of the target floating broken to the ground. I had to return to the real world. But even so I have promised myself (and my friend, who was probably lamenting the loss of an entire magazine of ammunition when he only told me to fire off a few rounds) that "I'll be back!"

Say what???

My lovely companion felt the need to visit the gynecologist (hope I spelled that right) the other day. As the man of the house (well, I'd like to think so, even if my wife differs) the medical aid is under my name. So I was given the most daunting task a man can face (apart from facing ginormous spiders, that is); calling the medical aid call center. (Queue the dramatic music!) After sifting through the numerous and utterly nonsensical phone menu options, I finally managed to get through to a "friendly and helpful consultant" as their telephone voice person calls them. By the way, why do they always get a posh English woman who sounds slightly condescending and extremely bored (or suspiciously happy) to record the menu items? Couldn't they get someone who has this husky, sexy bedroom voice and at least make the menu items fun to listen to? Although, as a man, I'd get completely distracted and forget what I was calling for, so scrap that idea. As I was saying, I finally get through to a consultant, and the following conversation takes place:

Consultant: Welcome to *bleep* Health, how may I assist you?

Me: Hi, my name is *bleep* and I'd like to query some of the benefits of my hospital plan.


Consultant: Certainly Sir, can I have your member number?


Me: Sure thing, it's (insert random digits here, just to avoid another *bleep*)


Consultant: Okay Sir, I have found you on the system. What can I assist you with?

Me: Well, I just want to know if my hospital plan covers gynecologist visits?


Consultant: Only if your wife is pregnant Sir.

Me: But isn't the point of going to a gynecologist to see if she IS pregnant?

Consultant: Did you do a test Sir?

Me: No, my wife did. Isn't she the one who has to pee on it?

Consultant: (sigh) Yes Sir. And what did the test show?

Me: It was negative. Should I have peed on it? You know, just to make sure?

Consultant: (sounding rather annoyed) No Sir, that's not how the test works.

Me: Ah, so you don't cover gynecologist visits when she's not pregnant?

Consultant: No Sir.

Me: So what are my other options?

Consultant: Get her pregnant first.

At this point I'm going to end the conversation, just because I was afraid that she would try and explain to me how to get my wife pregnant. And I am definitely not prepared to have some bored medical consultant tell me how the procedure works. I mean, after figuring out that you don't stick it in her belly button, it got a lot easier! And then my lovely companion lets me know that the gynecologist wants R900 for the consultation! I don't get the logic behind this! I mean, isn't she there spreadeagled on the table giving him a nice view? Why on earth does she have to pay for it?! The mind boggles......

The Horror!

So, it's late at night, and my wife has gone off to bed. I decide to watch TV for a while longer (I know what you're thinking, that's not what I watched) before going to bed as well. Now, I usually check all the doors and gates before heading to dreamland, and I notice something slithering into the bathroom. I peek into the bathroom and there, on the floor, being harassed by our tabby cat, is a snake. At this point the snake, which had been kidnapped, dragged inside the house and then harassed by the cat, was understandably less than pleased. I don't personally really care what kind of snake it was, all I knew was that it was a snake. Now, I'll be the first to admit that when faced with snakes and ginormous spiders, I turn into a 5 year old girl. It doesn't matter that I am 6 feet tall and weigh 112Kg, I saw the snake and immediately had to resist the urge to have a spontaneous bowel movement. So I did what any self-respecting husband would do: I woke up my wife. I should note that this is a VERY dangerous course of action! You don't just wake up a sleeping woman. Not unless you offer chocolate or romantic intentions in return. The news of a snake in the bathroom did not really impress her. After listening to her for a while, during which time she shared many words of wisdom, most of which can not be repeated here, I was told to go deal with it myself. Armed with her sage counsel I then headed back into the bathroom, after first stopping by the kitchen for a deep breath and the dustpan. After much hissing and whimpering (the snake doing the hissing and me doing the whimpering) I managed to maneuver the snake into the bathtub. At this point I would have been more than happy to leave the snake there to think about what it had done. (I didn't care that the snake wasn't there by choice, the point was that it was in my house, and thus had to go to the naughty corner). Unfortunately I am burdened with a conscience which silently informed me that to leave the snake in the bathtub and then go to sleep would not be the right thing to do. Besides, the cat might jump into the bath, annoy the snake some more and then release it back onto the bathroom floor, a prospect that I found unnerving. So I grabbed an (empty and washed) ice cream container and after much swearing from me and angry hisses from the snake managed to get it into the container. I decided to go set it free, and was promptly followed by all three our cats, who were very interested in this softly hissing container that I was carrying. I decided then to do what any kind, caring and generous person would do, and dropped the snake into my neighbor's yard. (He had recently spent thousands on landscaping, so instead of Death by Cat, the snake would be in a virtual paradise!) After having triumphantly disposed of my slithering nemesis, I locked up everything and went to bed, feeling quite pleased with myself. That feeling only lasted until the next morning, when my wife and I had a long, and rather one-sided conversation about waking up a sleeping woman in the middle of the night for something so trivial. Oh well, can't win 'em all.

Let me explain.....

Perhaps I should explain why I picked the name I did. We all know that any good marriage has boundaries. That is just the way of things. But for some reason bed space is a bit of a grey area. Let me give you an example; you and your wife share a double bed. You know that one half of the bed is yours, and one half of the bed is hers. But for some reason our lovely companions seem to forget this the moment they fall asleep. Many a time we will drift off together, each where we are supposed to be, happy in the knowledge that we are on our way to a blissful outing in dreamland. But somewhere in the middle of the night, after sleeping soundly for a short time, we get an elbow in the face, or in the ribs, or in my case, sometimes a knee lower down. My lovely companion has assumed the starfish position, and thus the space on the bed suddenly becomes very limited. It can be broken down as follows:

While Awake:
Him: half of the bed space
Her: half of the bed space

Asleep:
Him: teetering on the edge of the mattress
Her: three quarters of the bed

This appears to be the natural state of things, as I have done some intense study into this phenomenon. But, fear not, for I have developed my own personal repellant to this invasion: ear-splitting snoring. I'm sure that when I really get into a good rhythm even the neighbors can't sleep. This has forced my lovely companion to invest in industrial grade earplugs, which tend to last only about 5 days before the need arises to replace them. Many times I have woken up to a well-placed kick to the shin from my wife, desperate for a bit of sleep. And so we both engage in our nightly bedroom warfare, her conquering the space available, and me retaliating with an audio onslaught. I am not sure if there will ever be a peaceful outcome to this terrible war, but I will keep you posted!