So… many… unanswered …comments… odd numbers… every where… must even…go…crazy… AARGGAgagaggGGHRRHHH!
*three hours and many comment replies later*
Yes I am back early. Only cause people kept commenting on my posts and the unevenness of it all was eating away at me like unrequited love eats away at the soul of our being. Or how a fat man can eat through 5kgs (that’s ten pounds to you) of bacon… hmmm bacon… nom nom nom. But really, it’s cause I ran out of money 😛
Wow, a whole bunch of new people reading this too… *shifty eyes at new people* I’m watching you… yes you. Especially YOU. You know who you are. *waggles eyebrows* How YOU doin’? (ala Joey from Friends. Please tell me you’re all old enough to remember Friends…)
Now, this means that a few people have been breaking the first two rules of sweatpants. The first rule. You do not talk about sweatpants. The second rule. You do NOT talk about sweatpants! And yes there’s my obligatory and gratuitous Fight Club reference, as all male bloggers have to do, its in our by-laws.
So catch up time.
No, there will be no pictures of shenanigans from my little trip. I’m trying to keep this blog PG-13. Photos on my camera, will not help that cause. Photo’s on my phone should only be viewed while under a cold shower, while wearing lead-coated underwear and at the same time picturing what your parents were doing 9 months before your birthday.
I may regale you with stories of my misadventures, but only after enough time has passed that I cease to cringe in self-loathing every time I get reminded of them. So in about 50 years.
While still alive and breathing, it has taken a few too many slaps to the face and a powerfully swift kick to the groin (or if you’re a woman a punch on the boobs. I include that cause I know women don’t actually know exactly how painful getting kicked in the crotch is for men, just like we men will never know how painful squeezing something the size of a melon out of an opening the size of a lemon will be. So please don’t kick us in the nuts, and one day we’ll figure out how to have your babies. Deal?). But it’s still alive and trying to manfully crawl away from my spending spree with its tattered dignity trailing it like the dreaded piece of toilet paper stuck on your shoe as you come out of the rest room. While my credit cards ready the spit roast which they will use to feed on its carcass. They’re currently unaware that my old budget has launched an escape, and is only moments away from fre- …
*the sound of screams of outrage*
*the sound of a frightened scream*
*the sound of snapping of bones*
*the sound of the last gurgle of life escaping from throat*
*the sound of munching of crispy budget meat*
*the sound of credit cards dancing around the dead corpse of my budget while grovelling at the foot of their new god, an 101cm LED HD TV*
Ummm… okay… it’s dead.
The job (old & new)
The last few days at the old place was hectic. I basically had to design/create an entire training course for my role, manuals included. And they still have my number in case they get stuck. First phone call received at 8:38am this morning, 8 minutes after I would’ve started work.
I haven’t started the new job yet but, I’ve already bought a couple of suits and shirts and ties. (one of the many reasons my budget is lying in a six-foot hole somewhere out in the woods. One of the many, many reasons. Hmmm I need more of an incentive to save methinks… oohhh another post idea! Yay!)
And I think we’re caught up…
So…What’s been going on with you kids?