Heading For A Midlife Crisis

November 1, 2008

This Year I Hit the big four-OH. And I’m getting worried!

In the wee small hours, I have spotted the age fairy skulking in the shadows preparing to sneakily chisel on more wrinkles and staple on grey hair when I am not looking! During the day I have to keep going out to avoid the middle-age-spread delivery. My body has decided to start packing up and plays silly beggars. I may still have my hair, but the addition of long curly locks sprouting out of my ears and from my nose aren’t welcome! Neither is having to get up 3 times a night to empty a bladder containing no more than a teaspoon full of liquid! Shop assistants have started politely asking “Can I help you SIR” instead of pointing me out to security.

My first thought was to take it gracefully and slip happily into pre-senile dementia..

The idea of waving my stick at young whippersnappers, meaning anyone younger than me (be it 40 years or 4 minutes!) and muttering how “we never behaved like that in my day” have appealed to me for a long time and I’m seriously looking forward to the day when I can do it. Although I don’t currently find cardigans appealing, and nobody’s bothered to tell me where you buy those special old man trousers (the ones that do up just bellow the nipples) and the councils refusal to issue me with a free bus pass! Seems to suggest it’s not time for this yet. Additional thoughts like smelling of wee, being mildly confused all the time and getting lost in cupboards, have their merits, but currently serve to convince me I am not ready… yet!

All this makes me want to fight back beat the age fairy into a bloody pulp and knee the next polite shop assistant in the nuts just before I steal the security guards wallet. Wearing a hoodie and muttering incoherently, like all good teenagers, calling everyone ‘doood’ appeal. My new hair growth can be hidden in a ponytail and henceforth wrinkles will be referred to as laughter lines.

So I’ve decided to have a Mid-life crisis

but now I have another problem.. What shall I do for my midlife crisis?

Having always had bikes, I can’t just go out and buy one, as surely it wouldn’t qualify as part of the midlife crisis.
An 18-year-old girlfriend is appealing but a severe beating, missing body parts, and a long stay in hospital was the result of suggesting to my current GF I trade her in for newer model and have convinced me otherwise!
A Ferrari would be nice, but I’m not ready to drive that slowly, besides. I can’t afford one.
Growing my hair, having a tattoo and dressing like an aged rock star are ALL out of the question because it’s more like a description of the past 25 years.

Oh well..

ANOTHER BIKE IT IS! But, what Bike?!?


I Hate… Mornings

October 30, 2008

Having had the first decent nights sleep in weeks, undisturbed by the incessant wailing of car alarms triggered by the heavy thud of a falling leaf. A sleep punctuated only by pleasant dreams, about killing evil scar-faced men with foreign accents, then servicing beautiful women, whose scanty clothes fall off at the merest hint of a corny one-liner. Dreams probably brought on by a late night of viewing Bond.

I woke into that bemused semi-conscious state that only hung-over students can really enjoy, happy in the knowledge that a hard days studenting lay ahead and would start at the crack of midday with a well earned skive at their local pub.
It’s going to be a good day!
As I lay there, I blinked the sleep from my eyes and let the world resolve into focus. As it did I was startled to find a knobbly swirl of peanut butter lazing on the pillow next to me?!? Rigidly I lay staring into its nutty eyes and puzzled over this conundrum??? Maybe the Other Half had put it there in case she woke with a ravenous hunger I pondered. Then realising her nut allergy made this highly unlikely, I continued to hold its squidgy stare as it sat quietly smoking.
It’s a dream I decided. One of those bizarre ones brought on by late night consumption of cheese?! Any minute now it would wave and tell me something ominous. “You are going to die a horrible painful death when a stack of Sun-Pats finest collapses on you later” it totally failed to say.
Now puzzled by my newfound creamy companions lack of conversation, a surreal twist in a surreal dream, I prepared to poke it in the time-honoured tradition of the curious.
Index finger, licked, poised millimetres from the steaming sandwich filling. The ‘I am awake’ neurons of my brain fired and in turn woke other sleeping groups of grey matter. For as my finger edged forward, their warning cries could be heard.
“Why would it not be on a plate?”
“What idiot would put it on a pillow!”
“Since when did peanut butter steam?”
And just as my finger pierced the surface, the final warning
“IT’S A RICHARD YOU FOOL! “
And like an anvil falling onto a cartoon coyote the penny dropped as the steamy warmth enveloped my pinky
F**K!N’ CAT!! ….SH!T!!! literally
The day went down hill from there….. BU**ER!
So..
The cat now has a cork, still in its bottle, nailed up its @rse & her fate is dependent on the outcome of talks with the local Chinese restaurant!
The pillow and case have been sterilized using fire
My finger still smells even after scrubbing with bleach.
The whereabouts of the turd is unknown. You have been warned!