#11: Don’t –

July 25, 2009

Knock it till you’ve tried it.

A good friend of mine, whom I used to work with, took up drinking Regular Soy Flat Whites just before he stopped working where I work, which I thought was kinda gay, but he’s not around anymore and I was thinking about him today… not in a gay way … no I was thinking how he used to drink Regular Soy Flat White coffees … and how that was gay … and then I thought, well that’s a little unfair… maybe I should try one, just to, you know… see what it’s like, and stuff.
So I whispered my order to the cute check out coffee girl.
She yelled out my order when it was ready and SHAME, everyone turned and looked and it felt like I’d been outted or something and I scuttled away with my baseball cap pulled down low over my head.

How was it?

Not entirely unpleasant.
Bits of it reminded me of musky old billy goat, though. Not in an animal-molestation way. No. I mean, the taste of drinking bits of it in part reminded me of how horny old wild woolly mountain goats smell. I don’t know why. Perhaps it has something to do with the way they milk the Soy goats, or cows, or whatever the fuck Soy actually is.

But anyway, my point is, I’ve tried it, and now I’m knocking it.

Yeah.


#8: Do –

July 16, 2009

Pay attention.

I spied an opened packet of crisps in the pantry tonight and thought Sweet, I Could Really Go An Old Skool Chip Sandwhich Right Now, so I got the bread out of the freezer and went to put it in the microwave to defrost it, but I actually ended up putting it in the toaster and by time I realized I had put it in the toaster and not the microwave, well, I had toast. And you don’t put crisps on toast. So I had to have toast and jam instead. Which wasn’t what I wanted at all. And by time I had finished the toast, I was full. A full fool.

Also, do you ever find yourself saying to yourself “Seriously– why The Fuck did I just put a teasoon of coffee in the jam jar?!”?

Or words to that effect…


#10: Don’t –

July 15, 2009

Need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

Yeah. That dick made a liar of my wife. Last night she said Look, It’s Going To Be Fine Tomorrow, but when I looked up at the TV, it was showing the forecast for Hamilton, and I said Are You Sure, Because Hamilton Looks Pretty Pants, and she said, That’s Hamilton, You Missed the Forecast For Auckland, It’s Going To Be Fine, It’s Gonna Be Fine, Baby, and I said Really, Because Earlier In The Week They Said It Was Going To Rain For The Rest Of The Week, and she said Yeah, But Now They’re Saying It’s Gonna Be Fine-As, and I said Sweeeeet.

But you know what? I cycled to work today in the motherfucking rain. She said it was going to be sunny, because they said it was going to be sunny, but I really should have just looked out the window before getting all ready and leaving the house this morning, because it wasn’t sunny, no it wasn’t sunny at all.

Which was a… disappointment.

Not as disappointing, mind you, as that time we got married during that heat wave and the weatherman said it wasn’t going to rain for aaages, and, of course it didn’t, except for the day of our wedding, and I’m still not sure what’s ironic about that, but I’m sure I’ll work it out someday.

Fuck you, Alanis.


#9: Don’t –

July 8, 2009

Go around claiming that you’re bigger than Jesus and stuff.

Ever.

 

I mean, technically speaking, I am bigger than Jesus.

Tallest guesstimates put him at 6 feet, which means I got him beat by four inches.

At least.

 

But when I’ve finally managed to learn to sing and play guitar properly, and I’ve Sold Out by writing radio-friendly songs that aren’t about fucking and fucking up and saying the word fuck a lot… and I can actually get up the nerve to get up and sing and strum in public … and I’m famous … and I’m talking, like, not just Dargaville-famous here, but… yeah, Whangarei-famous!… maybe… well, I certainly won’t be making John Lennon’s Jesus mistake.

I mean, so what if I do in fact possess the divine power of turning water into home brew beer? I don’t necessarily think that means people should go out and write a book about me. Necessarily.

 

So yeah. Don’t do it.

 

You’ll piss people off.

They’ll burn your albums.
They’ll draw nasty pictures of you.

 

And that’s just mean.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

(Incidentally, I can also turn beer back into water, but that’s a much less miraculous act, and I shouldn’t have even mentioned it, really, now I think about it.)


#6: Do –

July 5, 2009

Be respectable.

Every now and then. When it matters.

Cos then you don’t have to send your pregnant wife out to the chemist to buy supplies for you when you’re sick.

Cos, like, when I go, wearing my best scruffy thug face and beanie hat and wraparound shades, those dicks won’t sell me shit, like I’m sort of drug manufacturer or something, and OK, fair enough, nine times out of ten that stuff would be going straight to the P-lab afterwards, but come on guys, there is always going to be that time when I am actually going to be genuinely dying from manflu, so hook a ninja up.

Hook.

A ninja.

Up.

Yeah.


The sustain, listen to it.

July 4, 2009

A new work friend brought to work a new guitar that she just bought with the money she made from working.

Well, technically she brought it to the work carpark, seeing as she was too scared to take it out of the boot, so I had to go out to the carpark at afternoon break in order to see it.

Apparently, her expensive new purchase sounds great.

I wouldn’t know though, because I wasn’t allowed to touch it.

It felt like a Spinal Tap moment:

LTA: “I haven’t even played it since I picked it up from the shop. I’m too scared.”

DM: “You haven’t played it? My God, Look… [points finger]  it still has the tag on.”

LTA: “Don’t touch it!”

DM: “Well, I wasn’t going to touch it,  I was just pointing at it.”

LTA: “Well… don’t point! It can’t be played. It can never be played. Don’t even look at it!”

DM: “Well… Ok…”

LTA: “It has nice sustain though.”

DM: “I don’t hear anything.”

LTA: “Well, you would, if it were playing. Hey -You’re looking again! Don’t look at it!”

Or something.

I think she was also worried that had she let me touch it, I would have bust out some quasi punkrock nastiness on it. Which, OK, fair call, I probably would have. But still.

Part of me wishes I had the money to splurge out on a guitar that I was too worried about scuffing up to play.

But I’m actually real happy to just have something cheap and nasty that likes to be treated cheap and nasty, even if it is missing its volume control because of that stupid-stupid incident with the cordless drill, which I’d really rather not discuss.

God I’m a dumbass.