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...