Deck the Halls.....and so on!

Finally, Christmas has come, and Christmas has gone. A time of family, of love, of peace and, of course, loads of presents and overeating! But, in this time of happiness and sharing, something struck me as odd. Something that I expect every year, but it still baffles me. The Christmas Rush. Large amounts of people who sit around thinking to themselves "I know I'm forgetting something....."

Then they suddenly remember, it is the 23rd of December, Christmas is almost upon us and they haven't bought a single gift yet! Which then results in a stampede to the malls. Usually I'm not part of this stampede as I believe in doing my Christmas shopping early. Usually around February, or thereabouts. But suddenly a trip to the local hypermarket to buy a bottle of milk turns into an hour long struggle filled with frustration, bumped ankles, multiple obscenities in all 11 official South African languages (and some in Klingon or Romanian) and very frayed nerves.

I have come to realise that this last minute Christmas Rush causes a larger panic in the general population than being told that Justin Bieber has (unfortunately) decided to release yet another unnecessary album. Or a new lady's perfume. (Which I am convinced he wears himself) It is the only time that the normally hypnotic strains of Boney M's Christmas songs, which turn us all into people hugging Christmas zombies, are defeated by the sheer panic of last minute gift shopping!

So maybe I can make a difference! Maybe I can inspire people! Maybe I can convince the masses to be prepared! To save up and do their shopping early. To be proactive and get it done so that they too can sit back, relax and enjoy the Christmas spirit! Or I would, if they could hear me over the sound of the stampede......

I Thank Thee!

Friends, Romans, Countrymen! Lend me your ears! Or your eyes, in this case. I want to thank everyone who cast their vote for my blog from the bottom of my heart. And the middle. And possibly the top! Your votes mean a lot. The chance for voting draws to a close today, and I am simply overwhelmed by the response I received! Thank you all!

Look Who's Talking

Our little angel is developing so quickly! I am amazed at how much she has grown in four months. I regularly ask my lovely companion if she's adding Miracle Grow to the kid's formula. The latest is her conversations. She would have massively long conversations with us, or with a stuffed animal, or one of our pets, or a pretty lampshade. Or pretty much whatever object enters her field of vision. But most of the time her conversations go something like this.....

We have no idea what she's saying! She could be commenting on the weather, or the state of her nappy. She could be sharing mind-boggling truths about the universe and the meaning of life, or just airing her opinion on baby products. And she has now started doing this pretty much whenever her eyes are open. The other night we had a rather severe thunderstorm. Which doesn't phase her much, by the way. To her it is probably a pretty light show, with some very life-like sound effects! Needless to say the thunderstorm woke her up. She then spent the next half an hour telling us all about it. Loudly. In the middle of the night. While we were desperately trying to get some sleep.

She has also managed to figure out quite quickly what cellphones do. Every time my mother-in-law calls my lovely companion, our little angel will start looking at the phone and then start asking for her turn to speak to grandma. One of these days she's going to probably want a phone of her own....

But, you know what? I love our little angel to bits! And I love watching her develop, even if it is apparently happening in fast forward. At this point she has us firmly wrapped around her adorable little finger.......

And So It Begins!

Today is the day! The voting for the 2013 SA Blog Awards is officially open! If elected, I promise to provide free entertainment, a weekly dose of perspective (which may be slightly weird, because it's my perspective), and other unusual, miscellaneous and amusing services. Unlike the political parties in South Africa, I do not promise free housing, free washing machines, free BMWs, free education and free grilled cheese sandwiches. I just promise to keep sharing my unique opinion every week, for as long as you'll have me! Viva!

Days like This

Have you ever had one of those days? A day where your alarm clock doesn't go off and the shower is stuck on either lava flow or liquid nitrogen. Where your shoelace snaps while you're tying it and your toast catches fire. Where your car grinds to a halt on the way to the office and you are catastrophically late for a very important meeting. In other words, a day where everything that can go wrong, does. And usually in spectacular fashion.

We've all had days like that! Everyone is out to get you and your boss is secretly planning your assassination. Death by paperclip. Or keyboard. It's enough to make one go absolutely batty!

People have various ways of dealing with days like this. Some smoke, standing outside puffing cigarette after cigarette in hopes of calming down. Or killing their boss with secondhand smoke inhalation. Others drink. Usually in large amounts. And usually something strong enough to make you explode if you sneeze. I don't use either of these methods. I calmly walk to my car. Close the door. Start the engine. And then crank the radio all the way up to 11! And not with Mozart or the soundtrack to the Sound of Music or Mary Poppins. No. With ROCK. And the harder, the better! I want electric guitars and smashing drums! I want my passangers' ears to bleed, and the people in the cars around me to change lanes to get away from the audio onslaught! Don't get me wrong, classical music is awesome, but nothing gets rid of frustration as quickly as doing your best KISS impersonation while barrelling down the highway.

If you've never tried this, I urge you to get yourself something hard and heavy. Something like Seether, Prime Circle or The Narrow. Get in your car, take a deep breath, turn on the radio and ROCK ON!

For those of you who have been living in a basement somewhere, or possibly in Yugoslavia, here is an example of local South African brilliance:

Vote for Change! Or not!

To all my readers, whether you loyally follow me or just happened to stumble onto my humble blog while searching Google for "Yak butter muffins" or whether you are just crawling the web looking for the person first responsible for twerking (so you can locate them and punch them in the face), my blog has been entered into the 2013 SA Blog Awards. (insert dramatic music here) By clicking the button below you will not donate any money, sign away a kidney or feed starving panda bears, you will simply bring me one step closer to the Blog Awards. And unlike all of the South African political parties desperately fighting for votes and promising everyone free housing, food and Lamborghinis, I just promise to be really, really grateful!

Merry Chri.......hey, wait a second!

I love Christmas time! It's like the world is a nicer place for a short while. Everyone is happy, you see family members that you haven't seen all year and you consume more food in one day than most people consume in a week. Then there are the presents. Colourfully wrapped, carefully picked, lovingly given. A time of family, fun and giving. In December. Not now.

I walked into a local supermarket yesterday and heard Christmas carols....

Now, while there is nothing wrong with Christmas carols, I have a bit of an issue with the fact that I was hearing them while nowhere near Christmas. For a while I was just standing in the canned food aisle trying to figure out if I had mysteriously skipped four weeks into the future. But no, it is still November. And the cashiers and store assistants were all walking around in Santa hats, looking like weird little supermarket elves. I had this sudden urge to find the store manager and have a long chat about timing, and possibly provide him with the number of a good psychiatrist.

I have long been baffled about the need to market Christmas goods when it is nowhere near Christmas, like in October. In fact, this has baffled me so that last year I had a similar post (Last year's post). I'd like to just find the person who started this madness and do the following:

But, seeing as it's the season to be jolly (supposedly) I guess I'll grin and bear it. I can't promise I won't kick the first Santa Clause that I see in November squarely in the fork though......

It's Party Time!

Well, not just yet. My lovely companion's got a big birthday coming up and we've been researching party ideas. Some are quite clever, others make you cringe. I thought back to all the themed parties that I ever attended, which turned out to be very few, for possible inspiration. We've done a Mad Hatter party, a Halloween dress-up, a Saints and Sinners party and a party where the theme was the letter S. All were quite fun, but while delving through the internet for further inspiration, I came across a few that had me questioning the sanity of the people who thought it up. Things like Pimps and Prostitutes. Now why on earth would any woman want to dress up like a lady of questionable virtue and parade around a room with people that she would have to face again afterwards? Then there is the even scarier 50 Shades of Grey party. I didn't even want to contemplate what could happen at a party like that! For those of you who are in the dark, a simple Google search should enlighten you, before freaking you out completely!

Other party ideas include Black and White (how original), James Bond, the 80's (where a group of people would use so much hairspray that the Ozone Layer would vanish overnight!), Monopoly (I call dibs on the silver boot!) and many more. My lovely companion also mentioned that she found a Barbarians and Librarians party theme. That boggled my mind! I would never have thought of combining the two! Can you imagine if such a conversation were ever to take place in reality:

Steve the Conqueror: "You! Puny book person!"

Librarian: "ARGH! I mean, yes Sir?"

Steve the Conqueror: "I'm looking for a book!"

Librarian: "You are? I mean, certainly Sir, which book are you looking for?"

Steve the Conqueror: "Embroidery for Dummies! And find it quickly, I've got villages to pillage!"

But I digress. It would seem that there are a multitude of themes to choose from, some fun, some weird, others just plain scary. Should we go for an old classic, the Masquerade (ballroom not included) or a more Mardi Gras themed one? Which could get out of hand, so scratch that!

Thankfully I have a bit of time, so the search continues. But when it happens, it will be unforgettable!

As the saying goes: "It's party time! P...A...R...T...Y? Because I gotta!"

The Young and the Clueless

When you think of IT technicians, you usually think of one of two types:

There is the smart ass "know it all" type above, or the type below:

The "I'm not really interested in helping you" type.

The truth is, there is a lot more to IT than meets the eye! A lot of people don't actually know how much work it takes to get everything running smoothly. The hours, the blood, the sweat and the tears. Many a time I've had to let my lovely companion know that I will not be joining her for dinner because there is a big, lightly smoking crater where a server used to be. But to get back to my opening statement, there are actually four types of IT people, and I thought I'd enlighten the general public as to their functions:

The System Administrator:
This guy's only concern in life is system uptime. He would fearlessly walk through broken glass and raging infernos, killing anyone who stands in his way, as long as he can keep his network up and his infrastructure purring. He probably has little or no sense of humour.

The Software Engineer:
Also known as a programmer, this guy lives in his own little world of ones and zeroes. Everything happens in code. Even a simple conversation about the weather can have you wondering if he's speaking english or some obscure Romulan dialect. He is usually amused by technical jokes that no-one else understands.

The IT Technician:
This is the guy who will fix your hardware and software issues. He is the most misunderstood of the bunch. His standoff-ish behavior isn't due to the fact that he doesn't like you, it's due to the fact that you have yelled at him because your PC isn't working, only for him to find that you never plugged it in. (That happens more than you realise!) This man usually thinks that "sense of humour" is something you can eat.....

The IT Manager:
The head of the IT department is usually completely oblivious to everything happening in the department. His only goal is to procure funds for new hardware and to look good at department meetings. Has a terrific sense of humour, too bad no-one usually finds him funny. People in the IT Department laugh at his jokes because he pays their salary.

So there you have it. I hope this handy little segment has shed some light on the mysterious folk in your local IT Department. Drop by and say hi, give them a smile, and possibly a muffin. Who knows when you will have to call on them again!

Toxic Dilemma

As a new father, I'm still coming to grips with many aspects of parenthood. There are so many new and exciting things to get used to. And when your little angel smiles up at you with pure delight, nothing is wrong with the world. But there is one aspect of parenthood that men universally dread........(insert dramatic music here)......The Dirty Nappy!

Now, I'm not talking a standard wet nappy, those I can handle with ease. I'm talking about the kind where there is the subtle aroma of week old broccoli, a scent that strikes terror into the hearts of men. Especially when you lay your little angel down on the changing table and, with a shaking hand, undo the diaper....

You can not believe that something so vile can come out of something so sweet and innocent! Needless to say that my lovely companion handles this with minimal effort, while I am almost too afraid to touch it lest I contract some rare tropical disease. So I have now come up with a cunning plan, as the following picture demonstrates.....

Although I realise that this plan is not exactly fool-proof, and will only work once or twice, it is the preferred option!

But alas, I know that I cannot run away from this duty forever. At some point, I'm going to have to take a deep breath (preferably in another room), man up and do what is expected of me. I mean, come on, millions of people do this daily! How bad can it be......

Masterchef

I like food. I enjoy making it, and I enjoy eating it. But after recently watching a few episodes of MasterChef, and then taking a cooking class because of it, I have come to realise that my knowledge of cooking is rather limited. Even my lovely companion has expressed interest in expanding her knowledge, and so far I have yet to find anyone that can rival her culinary abilities. At the cooking class that we attended, we were to prepare a romantic 3-course meal. We started off with a salad that consisted of baby spinach leaves, some nuts (no idea what kind), oven baked beetroot slices, oven baked pear slices, danish feta and then a rather complicated dressing. Now, my idea of a salad has always been something like a greek salad; lettuce, tomatoes, olives and feta. The idea of replacing the lettuce with baby spinach and then adding beetroot and pears would never have occurred to me! For our main course we made a succulent piece of beef fillet and mash. Now this I can do! Or so I thought. It had to get a peppercorn and chilli crust, with a garlic and Gorgonzola cream sauce. The end result was extremely tasty, but I still would never have thought of doing that. Give me a piece of steak with a BBQ or a standard cheese sauce any day, and I am happy! I just don't understand this more advanced cooking. Most of the time while watching MasterChef I look very similar to this....

To me it looks like Fear Factor with food. The ingredients just make absolutely no sense! Most of the time it consists of things I would never think of adding together, or things I've never even heard of! Where would they even get these ingredients?! Are they shopping at a local store or the Sci-Fi Channel?! I swear they sometimes make up ingredients, just to mess with the contestants. It wouldn't surprise me if, on one episode, the judges gave them the following challenge:

Judge: "Okay chefs, tonight I want you to make a 3 course meal. For the starter you must make grilled scorpion with a cranberry and Tabasco reduction. Your main course must be diced lion with a side of buffalo testes, lightly seasoned with ground up glass. Your side dish will be grass with a lemon and grape vinaigrette. For dessert, chocolate mouse with jelly tots and honey-dipped ants. You have one hour. Don't lose your ants!"

That would make about as much sense as most of the challenges anyway! I have come to realise that I do not have a complicated palate. I can very easily eat a meal consisting of baked beans and bacon. But my lovely companion enjoys fusion cooking, and I very much enjoy the end result, so I think for now I will shut up and stay out of her kitchen......

The Stuff of Nightmares

The other day we were having a discussion about exotic pets, seeing as though my sister has a wide variety of weird and wonderful creatures in her possession. Eventually, inevitably, the conversation turned to owning spiders. Now, when it comes to spiders, I have this outlook on life:

I'm not the world's biggest fan of arachnids. In fact, you could say that, when it comes to spiders, I instantly turn into a little girl. And the bigger the spider, the younger the age of the little girl! But I am willing to give thousands of spider-owners around the world the benefit of the doubt. So after much preparation (which included large amounts of alcohol and some deep breathing) I gave the matter some thought. But even after some careful thought, which may have involved some involuntary whimpering, I still came to this conclusion:

It boggles my mind that people can keep spiders as pets, for a variety of reasons. First, there is the cost involved. Most pet spiders fall into the tarantula category, which makes them quite expensive. Secondly there is the fact that most of the time they just sit in their tank just staring at you, because the tank can't be too big otherwise you will never see them. Thirdly, they rarely move when it's not feeding time, and you can only stare at a stationary spider for so long. Fourth, most tarantulas have very fine hairs on their bodies that they can shed at will, causing severe skin irritation, and can give you quite a nasty bite, so handling them is best left to the truly fearless.

I have accepted the fact that I will never like spiders. To me they will always be creepy. But I've grown to tolerate them. Upon discovering a spider in my home, I now let it go with a warning, instead of immediately dealing out the death penalty as in the past. So some progress is being made. Who knows, one day I may even like them. But owning one? It'll be a cold day in hell......

Sweet Dreams are Made of This....

Dreams. What can I say, some are pleasant, some are not, some are just downright weird. I had a dream the other night that left me looking like this:

It was sort of a Neverending Story meets Alice in Wonderland, complete with giant car-eating snails and a guy called the Soup King, who rules this weird kingdom while sitting in a giant bowl of soup. I woke up wondering if my Lovely Companion had slipped something into my coffee the previous evening. Or if I had smoked an old gym sock stuffed with dishwashing liquid, mouldy cheese and possibly some bacon. Because that dream was just plain weird. At some point in the dream, I engage in a pillow fight to the death......with myself. Which makes about as much sense as anything else in the dream.

Why do we have dreams that seem to just come out of nowhere, which make as much sense as licking a cactus? (Or the latest Miley Cirus music video) What causes these midnight hallucinations? Is this where all makers of cartoons get their ideas? At least I know for a fact that when I go to sleep, I will never ever be bored!

Then you get the dreams which are so realistic that you wake up struggling to separate fact from fiction. Like when your Lovely Companion is mad at you because of something that you did in her dream....

Me: "Good morning."

LC: "Hmph!"

Me: "What's wrong?"

LC: " You slept with my 9th grade math teacher, you *****!"

Me: "Hang on, I did what???"

Then there are the dreams that make you wake up in the middle of the night with your Lovely Companion looking at you strangely. It is only then that you realise that you have been having an entire confusing conversation in your sleep, mostly about green grass, sunflowers and purple elephants. Or video game characters.

I guess I'll never understand dreams. Not their meanings or their origins. So I have decided not to try and understand. Sweet dreams are made of this, who am I to disagree.......

Sing it!

I'm a big fan of Disney movies. The innocence of the plot lines, the fact that, in a violent world, there are still movies without the sex, strong language and violence. They are also usually brilliantly animated, and just make you feel so much better after watching them. There is just one thing that baffles me: why must everyone always sing about everything? And no-one bats an eye while it's happening! If I were to try that in the real world (well, apart from the fact that I sing about as well as a bullfrog) people would lock me up for being out of my mind! Can you imagine the situation? In an office environment, walking over to the printer to collect a document that I've just attempted to print, only to realise that the printer is out of ink. What to do? I know! I'll burst into song for no apparent reason!

A movie that sums this weirdness up perfectly, is Enchanted. It is ironically a Disney movie, but where they make fun of the fact that people randomly burst into song at inappropriate moments. My favourite scene in the entire film is where Prince Charming finds his princess, starts singing about how glad he is and then gets run over by a whole group of cyclists. THAT's the way it's supposed to go! My favourite movie line of all time also originates in this movie. It is where Prince Charming finally gets to belt out his love for the princess, and the male lead character mumbles to himself "Oh good, he sings too." I have shamelessly adopted that line, and mumble it at least once while watching any Disney movie, much to my Lovely Companion's chagrin.

I guess I'll never understand Disney's logic, and maybe I'm not supposed to. Maybe I'm just supposed to sit back, relax, grab the popcorn and enjoy the show....

When All Else Fails....

Men's bathrooms. In my honest opinion only nuclear waste dump sites are more disgusting! What is it about being in a bathroom that you don't own that makes men stop aiming, and more importantly, stop flushing? It's like a neanderthal part of the male brain kicks in and goes "Duuur, I are not at home, I must mark my territory.....hur hur hur." For those of us with a more advanced grasp of personal hygiene, this is absolutely baffling! In fact, I've come to the conclusion that men's bathrooms must now be indicated as follows:

This would prevent the more intelligent modern man from going into a potentially deadly environment and catching Ebola, syphilis, measles or a combination of all three. A recent event prompted my little rant, and I feel I should explain. I went into the men's bathroom at our office complex to blow my nose. Walking into one of the stalls I was greeted a ghastly sight. It appeared that someone had eaten mexican, indian and/or thai food, developed intense diarrhea and had then proceeded to explode all over the stall. Because (and I'm assuming this, nothing else would make sense) of the low blood sugar and low blood pressure caused by expelling most of your internal organs, this unfortunate soul then didn't flush. Now, because this is a frequent occurance at the office complex where I am employed, the building management put up a sign behind the stall door which says the following:

Please remember to flush the toilet after you are done!

•At the back of the toilet you will find a handle, please hold this down until everything is flushed away.

•Please clean the toilet seat after you are done.

•Please leave the stall clean and tidy.

This was clearly not working, as this particular sign has been ignored time and again. I felt inspired to make my own sign. One that would clearly convey the frustration of more hygienic men when faced with the hazards of a public bathroom. One that would demonstrate how tired we are of having to repeat the same message over and over again. The end result was a masterpiece:

After replacing management's sign with mine, we have had a 100% increase in flushing. No more dirty toilets, no more spills on the seats. In fact, the sign worked so well that building management left it in place. I firmly believe that this is because you cannot help but flush if you have Samuel L Jackson staring at you, instructing you to flush as only he can. Now every time I enter into the bathroom, I am greeted by the sight of a clean and sparkling toilet stall. This made me think that I may have missed my calling. If ever I find myself unemployed, I can create striking, effective yet pithy signs for a living....

What Went Wrong?

I couldn't help but notice (seeing as it was on pretty much every webpage I opened lately) Miley Cyrus romping around on stage while wearing very little and doing something called "twerking", whatever the hell that is. My lovely companion and I then speculated about what went wrong. Miley went from sweet and wholesome Hannah Montana to something very akin to a singing stripper with a mild concussion. Then, a few years ago, you had Britney. She also started off quite sweet and innocent, and then turned into a hillbilly as soon as the money started rolling in. What is it about fame that turns regular people into trailer trash?

This brings me to my second point. I am absolutely astounded by the success of Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga. Why on earth would a teenage boy who sounds very much like a teenage girl when he sings be so popular? And why would all teenage girls (and some 40 year old women as well) fall so madly in love with him? Then you have Lady Gaga. This is someone who started off quite okay actually, and then got so weird that using the word weird doesn't even do her justice. Bizarre, maybe? These days, every time I turn on the radio and I listen to what is on offer, I get this expression:

What happened to music?! Gone are the days of Led Zeppelin, Dire Straits and Queen. Now every band sounds the same, and if the band or singer isn't completely weird in the process, no-one listens to them.

I firmly believe that none of the bands today can ever be as epic as Queen. We are talking about a band whose music is still being used in movies and television. And this 12 years after the death of its lead singer. A man whose vocal ability and charisma few can match. So, to all bands out there I say this, be quiet, pop in a Queen CD, get out your notepads and pencils, get ready to take some notes, stomp your feet and repeat after me: "We will, we will ROCK YOU!"

Too Hot to Handle

I thought I would follow up my previous post with another recent experience. A friend and I had to go down to Durban in South Africa for a business trip. Now, for those of you who are unfamiliar with Durban, it can be summed up as a place where they regularly eat lava, just for fun. It is generally considered to be an Indian community, so if the food isn't so hot that your tongue melts upon tasting it, it is not considered food. For those of you who have read my previous post, you will have noticed that I am not a fan of fire eating, so this trip had me seriously nervous. Especially because my friend's family lives in Durban (well, close to it anyway). To them, a curry which doesn't immediately have your sinuses begging for mercy is just a stew. So imagine my trepidation upon being invited for lunch one day. Images of spontaneous combustion filled my head, along with a deep sense of dread! I could just see myself taking one bite and instantly turning into the Human Torch! (Just without the muscles and cool superpowers) We arrived at noon, and I was already sweating in anticipation. We made some small talk, during which time I swear I could hear some snickering coming from the direction of the kitchen. Finally we were called to the table, and a big bowl of chicken curry was placed on the table. My hand was shaking as I ladled some into my bowl. Was this going to be a delicious culinary experience, or was I in for a lesson in pain management? I took the first bite, and winced as it went into my mouth, just in case. I chewed slowly, savouring the spicy flavour, but also waiting for the inevitable explosion. But after a few seconds nothing happened. So I took another bite, and another after that. It was glorious! An authentic Indian curry that didn't leave me curled up on the ground in a fetal position desperately trying to think happy thoughts! My friend informed me later that he had arranged with his mother before hand to turn the heat down a bit, just to stop me from developing curry Tourettes. In fact, while this meal had a mild sting to it, and I had to have a few glasses of liquid refreshment in order to keep it manageable, to them it was actually almost bland! It is said that you can learn a lot about a culture by indulging in their food. Well, if the Indian culture is anything to go by, we can be glad that they are not developing weapons of mass destruction. Because the explosions would be epic!

Some Like It Hot!

I am not referring to Marilyn in a cleavage bearing dress. No, I am talking about spicy food. I am partial to a bit of a sting every once in a while, and I used to think that I could handle spicy food. Apparently I was sorely mistaken! Sitting at a local restaurant that specialises in various chicken dishes, I made the mistake of ordering hot chicken livers. My lovely companion ordered the mild variety, took a bite and then declared that they may have switched our dishes, because it was really hot! I tasted hers and realised that yes, it was quite hot. So just to check, I tasted mine, with the following results:

My taste buds shut down out of pure survival instinct, my eyes were watering so much that it probably looked like I just came through some devastating personal loss and was sobbing my heart out, my face was red and I was gasping for breath! This wasn't food, this was pain on a plate! I ordered water, milk, cold drink....anything just to try and douse the intense burning in my mouth. I would've even gone for week old dishwater if I thought that would help. Later, after the burning had (finally) subsided and I was able to speak coherently again, I noticed that they even advertised an Extra Hot option. I assume that if you order the extra hot, they bring you a disclaimer form first stating that you will not sue them for eating something that might just kill you. Then they would probably bring it to you while wearing a fireproof suit, taking care not to jostle the plate too much lest it explode and take out a city block. In my personal opinion, their menu should state the following:

• Mild
• Hot
• Cruel and Unusual

 Never again will I make that mistake! Even now the thought of eating that again makes me break out in a sweat and causes me to whimper involuntarily. I even have friends who do food so hot that it could melt steel quite regularly, who refuse to eat the extra hot option. Once they bring it to your table, I am convinced it would look something like this:

Now when people ask me if I eat spicy food I wet myself and run away screaming, just to be on the safe side. The old adage of "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" is completely incorrect. I have found an even more furious hell at a local chicken place.....

The Time has Arrived!

Finally, after months of waiting, our little one has made her debut! With a full head of dark hair and the cutest face, she's already a heartbreaker! I opted to get a private room in the hospital with my lovely companion, so that I could be by her side and share the experience with her during her stay. I was just rather confused about how the hospital operates. Apparently sleeping is not allowed, or they practice some form of Chinese Sleep Deprivation Torture there. Almost hourly someone would bustle into our room to clean up, provide medication, take my lovely companion's blood pressure or offer us a refreshing beverage. While I realise that most of this is necessary, I don't quite grasp the concept of being woken up at 4 in the morning for tea. It is still dark, my lovely companion and I are sleeping, more importantly, the little one is FINALLY sleeping, and suddenly the lights are turned on, someone is tapping you on the shoulder and offering you tea. We tolerated a day or two of this before my lovely companion's patience ran out, and she told the tea lady what would happen if we were EVER woken up for tea at 4 in the morning again! The tea lady had this reaction....

....and we never saw her again. When we wanted tea or coffee I had to go and ask one of the nurses or go purchase it from the kiosk.

But apart from the funnies with the hospital staff we thoroughly enjoyed experiencing our little one for the first time. And the enjoyment still continues! There are times where some frustration sets in, especially if the little one has an ache or pain somewhere but can't tell you about it. It's amazing how, even though we've only known her for a short time, we'd already walk through broken glass for her. Now I must just get used to one thing..........The Dirty Nappy!

But Why???

As my lovely companion's pregnancy progresses and our little one makes its presence felt more and more, we have noticed a previously unknown problem arising; Random Belly Touching. People would just walk up to her in random locations and touch her belly. Why? Why the hell?!

I mean, would you like it if I randomly walked up to you and touched your stomach? Yet people think that being pregnant automatically gives them permission to enter your personal bubble and touch you. And it seems it happens everywhere, with family, friends, acquaintances and complete strangers! What is it about a pregnant woman that makes people go "Ooh! Pregnant belly! Must invade personal space immediately!"

Think about this from my perspective, you are entering my wife's personal space, touching her and at the same time touching our unborn child. If I were to walk up to your wife and do that, I'd end up with a black eye and/or with some random object protruding from my posterior. Thus, I make this kind plea to the general public, please stop randomly touching my wife. Or I may have to resort to hiring a pregnancy bouncer!

This kind gentleman would politely ask you to refrain from entering my wife's personal space. If, for some reason, you decide to ignore a man with a serious glint in his eye and more muscles than He-Man, he may have to resort to picking you up in a polite manner and escorting you from our immediate vicinity. Politely, of course.

Some research has shown that we are not the only ones to feel like this. Many of our recently impregnated female friends share this discomfort. So I am asking the public, please refrain from running up to pregnant ladies and touching them. This may result in bodily harm and having some nearby object shoved up dark and mysterious places......

Space.....the Final Frontier!

When you think of space, you generally think of this...

Wide open, empty, silent. Some would even say peaceful. You could imagine that nothing much goes on there. Although if science fiction is to be believed, space is littered with a variety of ships and races all trying to shoot the holy hell out of one another for a variety of reasons; whether it be planetary disputes, racial issues or just someone who blew up a random comet that some other culture happened to be worshipping.

But I have discovered that space is actually very limited. In fact, at the moment, I firmly believe that space looks something like this...

Now, if you are confused, allow me to explain. We have recently moved house. The reason being the imminent arrival of our little one. And suddenly furniture and items that fitted so perfectly in one house has doubled in size and quantity. I'm fairly convinced there was some mating activity amongst our belongings, and the result of that is that now nothing fits into our new home. We've spent the last 3 weeks unpacking, and so far we are no closer to reaching our goal of a nice, clean and box free home. And we have discovered that we have a huge amount of random things! Things that probably seemed like a good idea at the time that it was purchased, but in retrospect makes me wonder if we were smoking something illegal and possibly filled with old socks and mouldy cheese. People say that certain drugs give you hallucinations, sometimes of dragons in the kitchen or ninjas on the front lawn. Whatever the hell we were on gave us hallucinations of discount prices and possible future uses for objects that, when closely studied now, seem to have no purpose other than to sit there and take up space. Exclamations from "Hey, I was looking for this!" to "What in the purple holy hell is that?!" are quite frequent in our house at the moment. I long for the day that I can once again think of space as open and star-filled. But until that time I will be modifying the legendary opening of Star Trek a bit:

"Space, the Final Frontier. These are the voyages of a husband and wife. Their continuing mission, to unpack boxes and crates. To discover old items and new species of interesting spiders and various miscellaneous insects. To boldly unpack things that few people have seen before, and even fewer people understand....."

The Fast and the Furious

Cars, let's face it, they fascinate men. And the bigger, badder and faster, the better! Yesterday I had to go sort out an IT issue at a client of mine, and he had a picture of the Lamborghini Aventador as his desktop wallpaper. After we stared at it longingly for about 10 minutes, during which time I am convinced that I drooled on his keyboard, I asked him if his employers knew that he had porn on his computer. Because that is all that car is; pure, unadulterated car pornography! For those who don't know what I'm talking about, let me enlighten you:

Right, now that you have had a chance to look at motoring perfection, pick your jaw up off the floor, and wipe the drool from your keyboard. The statistics for this car is almost as mindblowing as the price. I won't bore you with it, but it begs the question, why would you buy something like this? Is it for the pure thrill of owning a supercar? Or just the fact that you can pull up to a traffic light and look all smug? A car like this makes sense as a poster against a wall, or as the new Batmobile. (I mean, just imagine that thing in black!) But as a tool for every day commuting? Probably not. I live in South Africa, where the rules of the road are more like suggestions than actual rules. Most of the time you are not driving, you are playing bumper cars or go-karts. So if you drive a car like this, you will arrive at your destination sweating profusely and shaking endlessly. Your morning commute would have been more exciting than poking the school bully in the eye. So while I love the Aventador, in fact, while I love all supercars, I would not want to own one. I want to be able to enjoy my commute (well, as much as is possible in SA) without having to worry that a minibus taxi is going to remove my extremely expensive supercar's front bumper.

The Hangover

No, not the movie. The aftermath of drinking copious amounts of alcohol! I was recently invited to a friend's bachelors party and needless to say that the beverages consisted solely of alcohol. Now, up until that time I thought I could handle my booze quite well. I was sorely mistaken! I was but an amateur among professionals. I started off with some beer, but was later told that this is in fact a celebration, so my beverage got upgraded to vodka. And for some reason I had a bottomless glass. Every time it hit bottom it was magically refilled when I wasn't looking. And while you feel fine while all of this is happening, I'm thoroughly convinced that you actually look like this:

It is slightly embarrassing! Especially around the time where you start slurring your words and think it's a good idea to belt out Celine Dion at the top of your lungs! (No, I did not in fact do this, I'm more of a Sinatra fan) Why we drink ourselves into oblivion remains a mystery to me. Especially when you consider the fact that it makes you do stupid things, and do them amusingly. Add to that the fact that you don't remember doing those amusingly stupid things the next day, and your only way of remembering is the video of you snogging the bouncer that someone put on YouTube, then drinking lots of alcohol makes even less sense! I think the following picture sums this up nicely:

Then there is the morning after. Your head feels like your brain is trying to escape through your nasal passages, your mouth is dry (after drinking all night, which makes no sense), you can't even stomach the thought of food and your sense of balance is about the same as that of a cat in a tumbledryer. Think about it this way, if you went to the doctor and told him that you have a splitting headache, nausea, a serious case of dry mouth and you can't stand upright without listing slightly to the left, he'd book you into hospital. So why do we do this to ourselves? I think from now on I'm going to leave the serious drinking to the professionals! "Barman, a glass of water please!"

Who needs Wimbledon!

Okay, before all the tennis lovers descend upon me, let me explain. I think tennis is a great sport, one that requires dedication, training, and if you're female, an unpronounceable last name. It is a great way to stay fit, and can be quite fun when played with friends. Although, probably not when played with me. The only time I can actually hit the ball is when I'm serving. That's it! The rest of the time I just run around looking impressive, but I don't actually get near the ball again for that round. Now though, I have found a way to make it even more fun! Behold, the Jolt Racket!

This fun device is battery operated (batteries included), and sends a stream of electricity through the wires in the centre. It is not for frying tennis balls though, it is for bug zapping. So now the game of tennis has been improved by the fact that your target is actively trying to avoid your racket. I bought mine a few years back, and it was quite inexpensive, and also one of the best investments I've ever made. I'm still using the same set of batteries that came with it! My highest ever score is:
Me: 28
Mosquitoes: 0
We have quite a few of the annoying little bloodsuckers where we live and that high score was done in the space of about 30 minutes. After that they decided they were getting slaughtered and left us alone for the evening. My lovely companion also states that this is pretty much the only sport that she'd watch. Watching me run around the room swinging my racket furiously, adding some tennis player-like grunts as I swing. Husbands of the world, take note! With a simple purchase you can go from watching sports on TV to having sports in the comfort of your own home! So now I have gone from this....

....to this:

Who said staying fit had to be boring!

The Neverending Story

So, for those of you who have actually seen the movies, you now have the awesome theme song stuck in your head. Although probably just the chorus. Most people just remember it as "the Neverending Storyyyyyyyyyyyy, la la la la la" or something along those lines. But the actual reason for this post is not to revive interest in the epic 80's fantasy, it is to talk about another neverending story. One which every married couple has to face almost daily:

Yes, laundry! It seems that no matter how often we do our laundry, it magically doubles during the night. Before going to bed we drop the clothes we wore during the day into the laundry basket, and the next morning it will seem like it is suddenly overflowing. Even our washing machine must be wondering "What the hell are these people doing? How many outfits can they possibly wear?!" Last night, while looking at our laundry basket, which was doing a pretty good Leaning Tower of Pisa impersonation due to the fact that its structural integrity is failing somewhat at the bottom, I thought to myself "Now I know why people become nudists." It's not being one with nature, or returning to the days of the Garden of Eden. Nope, I am firmly convinced that nudists are people who got fed up with doing laundry. And they are actually very smart in this regard, to them doing laundry is simply taking a shower, and voila! Now I'm not saying that I'll actually turn to the nudist lifestyle, but I do think they are on to something.

Maybe one day someone will invent a laundry basket that actually washes your clothes when you put it in. Imagine that! Dirty clothes go in, washed, ironed clothes, smelling faintly of Sta-Soft come out. But until that day, I will walk around with a very catchy 80's film theme song stuck in my head every time I approach our laundry basket......

FEVER!!!

It has officially hit my lovely companion and me. Baby fever! We are just buying everything cute in sight! If it has even the remotest possibility of being cute and cuddly, chances are we are suckers for it. We have so many baby blankets, baby clothing, soft toys, books and other miscellaneous baby accessories we don't know where to store it all! But then, when the baby is actually born, I can almost guarantee you it will be like this:

No-one will be able to resist our baby, or even be allowed to try to resist! Yes, yes, I realise that I will probably be stalking people with our baby, telling them to look at it. This is the point where people usually tell me to calm down, but I have new daddy fever, and will probably continue to have it, up until the point where I haven't slept in 3 months, then it might cool down slightly. But for now I am enjoying the experience. The day my lovely companion gives birth, I will be doing the following:

The theatre doors will open, and I will be walking out holding our baby high for the world to see while "The Circle of Life" plays majestically in the background. World, be warned, it is almost time!

Madness? THIS IS SPARTA!!!!

Well, okay, maybe not Sparta. But the madness is just as real! Not too long ago my lovely companion and I went grocery shopping. This is an activity that baffles me every time I accompany her. Not because I don't know how everything works, but the way our fellow shoppers go about their business. They will minutely inspect each item they buy, often conferring with a fellow shopper for long periods of time and blocking your access to that section of the aisle. On this particular trip, two ladies were having a deep conversation about a jar of gherkins. Now I'm sorry, I can understand a lengthy discussion about purchasing a new car, or a house, or a puppy, but not a jar of gherkins! You don't have to phone a friend, ask the audience or go 50/50, it's a jar of gherkins! Then you get the two shoppers who appear to know one another and haven't seen each other for "years and years" and then catch up on all the lost time in the middle of the pasta aisle. At times like this I honestly feel like shouting "AHOOH!" three times and just rushing forward and ramming them out of the way. (For those who have no idea what I'm on about, watch 300. For those who have watched 300 and still have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm deeply disappointed!) So I'd probably end up looking something like this:

(I realise this isn't the best Photoshop effort ever, but I was trying to make a point, not win any Photoshop prizes!) Then, the worst kind of shopper.......(queue dramatic music).....The Ankle Basher! These shoppers are oblivious to their surroundings, and to the damage that their little wheeled basket of death can do. Many a time I'd be perusing the wares when there is a bump and a searing pain through my ankle. At those times the conversation goes something like this:

Gets bumped by trolley.....
Me: Ack! Ow (insert expletive here)!
Shopper: Oh, I am so sorry! I didn't see you!
What I think: I'm 6 feet tall and have shoulders the size of a cement truck! How the hell could you not see me!
What I say: Oh, that's alright! Hee hee! I almost didn't feel it!
Shopper: Okay, great! Well sorry again!
Me: Not a problem!

Limps away thinking "Ow, ow, ow, sonofabitch, ow ow!"

I think I can definitely say that women are the superior sex when it comes to shopping. Men have no clue! And let's face it, most men are not built for shopping. Women are small and agile, like arrows flying through the air. Men were always intended as battering rams, so we don't work well in small confined spaces. Score another one for the girls!

CATS!

No, not the musical. I'm referring to those little furry creatures who creep into our hearts. And cupboards. And closets. And pantries. And whatever other door we forget to close. Let's face it, few creatures on the planet can fascinate us like cats. Tiny little balls of fur, but also ruthless killers. Well, most of them. We have three cats. When I say three, I actually mean two cats and one thing that resembles a cat but has never proven its validity. We've seen it being chased by birds, and even the occasional fly. And it is also the only male cat we have. So much for males being the dominant sex! Then we have our tabby cat. Mighty huntress, expert killer, and also cuddly as anything! And last but not least, we have our Maine Coon. A cat that defines the term "serial killer". She catches birds, lizards, snakes, insects, spiders....hell, if it moves, she'll catch it. If it doesn't move, she'll wait for it to move, and then catch it. And not just to eat. I'm convinced she does it just for fun! We found a recently deceased bird in our bathroom the one morning. It was clear that it was a case of murder most foul. Or fowl, as the case might be. And seeing as the bird was bigger than our tabby cat, that left just one suspect: our Maine Coon. And she didn't eat it. She simply murdered it and dragged it into our bathroom to show off her superiority.

The other thing that I find extremely strange is the fact that she would go outside when it is pouring with rain. And not a little bit of rain. I'm talking Noah's Ark type of rain! And she would romp around in it before finally coming inside, soaking wet, and jumping on our bed with the sole purpose of informing us, quite loudly, that it is in fact raining outside. Before then proceeding to rub herself dry against any exposed body part. Which is quite a shock in the middle of the night! Occasionally we'd also wake up to the sound of her chasing some hapless creature around the room. We'd hear her claws on the carpet, the sound of scrabbling or flapping from her victim, and also her soft chattering. Which I am convinced is her telling her victim what she intends to do with it! After a while silence would fall, and we'd be about to fall blissfully into dreamland again when the crunching starts. I should point out at this stage that she eats the entire victim, leaving only feathers behind if the deceased was of the feathery persuasion. It is quite hard to sleep with something crunching bone and munching internal organs under your bed!

I think that Andrew Lloyd Webber got it wrong. The musical Cats should have been 9 hours of the audience watching the cast members sleep. Occasionally one of the cast members would then get up and run around the audience for no reason before curling up on the stage again. And every now and then a female cast member would walk up to a male audience member, rub lovingly up against him before hacking up a hairball on his shoes and walking back to the stage. And yet, despite all the weirdness and unexplained behaviour, we love cats. (not the musical, the animals). In fact, my lovely companion recently shared an online comic she found about the weird and wonderful world of cats: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/cats_actually_kill. Quite apt, I think......

Dance, Baby! Dance!

I thought that I should clarify yesterday's post. I have nothing against dancing. In fact, watching people who can dance, who love it, who have trained and honed their skills and bodies to absolute perfection, is breathtaking. The grace, the poise, it's beautiful! So I have nothing against it, it's just that I can't do it. I'm not built like an athlete, nor do I possess any measurable amount of grace. I'm built like a wrestler (and at times when I get lazy and don't exercise, I'm built like a sumo wrestler). Plus, I'd have no idea what to do when I actually get on the dance floor. People tell me to feel the beat, to let it become part of you, to let it dictate what your body does. If that's the case, I'd probably wind up doing things like this:

I'd get looks of incredulity, of disbelieve or downright confusion. People would assume that I'm trying to attack them, or that I've gone mad, or that I'm having some sort of seizure. The point is that at some point I'm going to be asked to leave, and to never ever do that again. Pretty please.

I really was not joking when I said that people have mentioned to me that the classic Genesis song applies to me:

"I can't dance,
I can't talk,
The only thing about me is the way that I walk."

So I think that I will watch people who can dance. I will appreciate them. I will even envy them, but I shall not unleash myself onto a dance floor and freak them out. Let's face it, I may be the sole reason why they say most white guys shouldn't dance!

Oppa Gangnam Style!

Right, now that you have a ridiculously catchy and very annoying song stuck in your head, I can continue. I attended a friend's 21st birthday party over the weekend. Now, while that is not unusual, as at some point most people pass the 21 year mark, I found myself quite confused by the latest styles in dancing. This friend of mine is quite the dancer, and is very proficient in ballroom and latin american dancing. And I can understand why. Watching someone who knows what they are doing when it comes to ballroom dancing is like watching an eagle glide on an air current, or a swan swimming on a lake. It is breathtaking. Watching someone who can't do it though (someone very much like me) is like watching someone who just sat on a tazer. It's a very unpleasant sight! At some point during the evening, (with it being a 21st birthday party and all) inevitably the DJ decided to unpack this very popular and intensely annoying song, hence the title of my post. It is the latest offering from Korea, and has taken the world by storm. But upon hearing it for the first time, most people have this facial expression:

You are not sure if you like it, or if you have just been musically insulted. Add to that the fact that 90% of the song is in Korean, and you can only sing along with the chorus, it makes it quite confusing for most people. Then there is the dance that goes with it. Described as "invisible horse riding" it makes just as little sense as the song itself. And yet most people know how to do it. My mind boggles at this! Granted, I suppose it is quite fun to do after you've had some alcoholic liquid refreshment, but you have to live with the knowledge that you actually did it in public when you once again have a moment of sobriety. Maybe I'm getting old and stuffy, or maybe the world is just moving at a faster pace than I am used to, or maybe it's just the fact that I can't dance, but I just don't get it. But then, someone once told me that the classic Genesis song "I Can't Dance" applies to me, so maybe I should just quit complaining and sit back and enjoy the show...

FUS ROH.....um.....DARN IT!!!

I thought I'd share an activity that my lovely companion and I use to unwind. Now before you think "this is going to get x-rated, better cover my monitor!" I can say that no, that's not it. And shame on you! In February of 2012, we purchased a new game, something that we had heard lots of rave reviews about. And, like countless others across the globe, we immediately got addicted to the wonder that is........(insert drum roll here)........Skyrim!

For the more ignorant among us, let me give a bit of background. Skyrim is the 5th game in the Elder Scroll series. (I know I sound all knowledgeable, but to be honest, before Skyrim I didn't even know the Elder Scroll series existed!) The story is set in a land very akin to Lord of the Rings, with dragons, trolls, elves, dwarves, orcs and humans. Even your weaponry consists of swords, axes, maces (not the spraying kind, think metal clubbing implement), warhammers, bows and arrows and of course, magic. And of course there's armour to think about as well. And it comes in the latest fashions (if you are into medieval armour that makes you look like you robbed a forge) and different shapes and sizes. It even has what my lovely companion and I have dubbed "fur bikinis". Example below:

While it barely covers anything, properly upgraded it has quite a high armour rating, while at the same time making you look like something out of Baywatch: The Dark Ages. At a low character level, going up against the Forsworn (as these fur-clad baddies are known) can be quite daunting. Most encounters with them basically consist of landing about two blows before running away screaming "Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!" like a 5 year old girl. Scary thing is, they are but one example of the multitudes of enemies that an aspiring adventurer like yourself can face. Other examples include frostbite spiders (spiders so large they make the movie Arachnophobia look like a fairy tale!), trolls, wolves, sabre tooth tigers, bears, skeevers (rat-like creatures the size of a basset hound, and just as annoying!) and various other magical creatures that just really don't like you. And that's just the animal part of it. You still have bandits, thieves, assassins, mages and a variety of other human baddies as well. Then, of course, there are the dragons. Big ones! And multitudes of them! At low levels dragon encounters basically consist of running away and hiding. It is possible to kill them though. When one sprays you with fire, simply stop, drop, and be Chuck Norris! Although I'd only recommend this brave action at a higher level.

If this post has not yet convinced you to try this awesome game, herewith, for your viewing pleasure, an awesome video to help you make up your mind:

Skyrim Trailer

Kudos to the amazing artist Malukah for the cover of the in-game song "Dragonborn" used in the video!

Hold still you little......!

After a long (and rather awkward) silence, I am proud to announce that my lovely companion has now passed the halfway mark in her pregnancy. She has gotten more shapely, the cravings have died down and we can now feel our little bundle of joy moving about. Well, when I say moving, I mean playing Karate Kid. I am fairly certain that we have the next Chuck Norris gestating inside my lovely companion's womb. Sonar scans to try and determine the sex of our little busy body fail miserably, because he/she does not want to hold still! All I can say for sure at the moment is that it's a baby. At this rate we'll probably only know once the kid pops out and the doctor goes "It's a boy/girl!". Probably right before he gets roundhouse kicked in the face by our little karate star. My lovely companion mentions quite frequently that she can feel him/her kicking, usually right before going crosseyed and having to run to the bathroom because she's getting the flip kicked out of her bladder.

At this point our kid will probably look something like this:

Feeding time will probably just be 30 minutes of the kid latched onto one boob while using the other one as a punching bag! We've created a monster! (But a cute and cuddly one!)

Surprise!

Since my lovely companion has already mentioned it in her blog I am jumping at the chance to announce it as well, my lovely companion is carrying life within her! At this moment she is producing a human being which will form and grow and eventually start using her bowels as kickboxing punching bags. Now, I am well aware that pregnancy does strange things to women. Obviously there is morning sickness, which I find hilarious because my lovely companion never ever gets sick. Finding out what she can and can't eat is quite the adventure, because she usually only starts feeling queasy after she's eaten whatever it is her body has suddenly developed a problem with. Needless to say that my lovely companion is not very impressed with my amusement at her affliction. Then there is the one thing that man fear more than the question "Does this make me look fat?" and that is pregnancy cravings. Thankfully my lovely companion is craving red meat, and lots of it. We live a short distance from at least 3 steak houses, so obtaining that particular craving is not an issue. I am more worried that the cravings will start to morph into something more sinister, and I'd have to scour the city in the middle of the night looking for pizza topped with fish fingers, strawberries, cheddar cheese, kiwi fruit and soya mince. Then, there is also a very surprising side-effect of pregnancy that no-one ever tells you about. We all know about the hormonal changes and the effect they have (the previously mentioned cravings, morning sickness and the fact that her boobs now make Pamela Anderson blush) but no-one warned us about the Tourettes. Yes, indeed. She now swears like a sailor without quite knowing why. I have dubbed the condition Pregnancy Tourettes. We'd be having a conversation (non-violent, I promise) and suddenly an F-Bomb would enter the equation for no apparent reason. And she can't explain her outbursts, they just happen. I have learned to live with it though. I mean, all men like it when their wives talk dirty to them, right? I have also learned to keep my mouth shut. Pregnant women are like little (See what I did there?) atomic bombs, just waiting for you to push the wrong button. Thankfully the books that I am reading are full of helpful hints like "Don't say that." or "Rather just keep it to yourself." One book mentions a (probably deceased) guy who saw his heavily pregnant wife walk out of the bathroom wearing just a thong and thought to himself "Hmmm, she looks just like a sumo wrestler." Unfortunately for this poor soul he actually said it aloud and then had a furious half naked woman punching him in the face. So while the idea of a half naked spouse appeals to me (who knows, she may become fully naked) the idea of facing her wrath does not, so I have learned to keep my opinions wisely to myself. As the saying goes, hell hath no fury (and so on), and you better believe it!

It's a New Year!

A new year has arrived, and this usually means only one thing; New Year's Resolutions. For some it is to quit smoking, for others to stop drinking, and for me (and probably quite a few others as well) it is to get back into shape again. The odd thing about a new year is how it encourages us to make promises to ourselves (which we tend not to keep anyway). It's almost like we feel magically renewed and ready for whatever lies ahead. And don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with promising to better ourselves. It's the follow-through that is a bit of an issue. For example, I started out doing cardio exercises in December. It took only a short time for me to realise that I was not pushing myself. That falling off of your exercise machine after a paltry 5 minutes (with breaks in between) was not going to get the job done. So I decided to push myself and see what I am capable of. And lo and behold, I was actually capable of an hour on the machine, during which time I was sweating like I was in a sauna, and pulling a wide variety of faces that would surely scare even the dead. (Not to mention my lovely companion). I have now dedicated myself to a routine that sees me spending an hour on the exercise machine every morning, sweating excessively and scaring the dogs with my facial expressions. There is just one problem.....it is extremely boring! Sure, I have the music going and I am peddling like I'm in a marathon, but the view doesn't change and the wind in my hair is courtesy of a fan situated on a desk. And it's not like you can read a book or something, not if you have a machine like mine.

It is called an Orbitrek, and don't let the happily smiling fitness model fool you, there is nothing to smile about once you get going. Your legs are begging you to stop about 3-5 minutes in, which you then have to push through. After a while it does get easier, as your body just gives up yelling at you and decides to drench you in very unflattering sweat instead while planning diabolical muscle stiffness for later on. But what a workout! It even gives you a little indicator which tells you your speed, distance traveled and how many calories you have burned (which is annoyingly little after an hour). So, my New Year's Resolution should actually not be to get in shape, but rather just be to spend an hour every day without getting bored out of my mind. Maybe I should think up games while I'm peddling. Maybe I should pull more innovative faces and see if I can get the dogs to actually run out of the room yelping. Or maybe I should just shut up and keep peddling.....