Two things. Well … three things. One: I spend a lot of time watching Sheep. Two: I have a story that I’m itching to tell … and I’m not allowed to tell it! *russumfussumsulkandpout* I forgot the third thing, but here’s what I’ll do. I’ll attempt to tell my story without telling it.
Okay, suppose your best pal called you up. The best pal is of the opposite sex, and you’ve had a crush on them forever. So supposing they called you late on a Tuesday night and suggested a booty call.
If you’re a guy, you’ll be over at her house before she hangs up. If you’re a girl, you’ll take half an hour longer. I mean, what on earth will you wear?! No, it doesn’t matter that whatever it is will be off in two seconds. It’s the principle of the thing. You could take a lot longer than half an hour, but you don’t want him to change his mind … or choke his chicken … or call Plan D.
Now suppose you got over to their place all pumped and ready to go and found your pal was with … someone else. Well technically, your pal is not with Someone Else. Technically, the Someone Else opens the door. Nude.
Several things could happen here. The most likely thing is that you’ll freeze completely. Depending on the status and intelligence of the Someone Else, they could wait for you to thaw, ask you to come in, or slam the door in your face. Either way, let’s assume you get past that awkward moment and ask the naked person where your best buddy is.
Long story short, you get to your friend and find them cowering in the bathroom. It turns out you heard them wrong. After all, it was way past midnight on a Tuesday and you were half alseep. You heard the words ‘booty call’ from the crush of your life and didn’t wait to hear the rest.
As it turns out, your pal wasn’t calling you for a booty call. They were calling for a rescue from a booty call. And when you frantically dropped the phone and threw alluring clothes on, your friend was curled up in the bathroom yelling ‘Someone help me please!!’
Now … I don’t why they needed help from the booty call. I mean, judging by the looks of Someone Else, your pal should want to get with them. So maybe this really was an excuse to have you over on a late Tuesday night. Maybe your friend enjoys ménage à trois. Except, this is your best friend. You would know if they liked things kinky. And … their current position, foetal on the bathroom floor spewing gibberish … well, it doesn’t exactly suggest randiness. What would Charlie Sheen do?
Okay, I got a little carried away there. I have no idea where that came from. But here’s the thing. Something happened to me today. It wasn’t nearly as exciting a nude people answering doors, but it was four times more confusing, and I’m trying to make some sense of it all.
If I was a believer, I’d say it was God’s will for me. If I was a New Ager – which I am … well … sort of – I wold say I wanted it to happen all along, and that I just didn’t know it. If I followed Mike Dooley and The Secret – which I do – I would say that this is the closest thing to what I want, so I’m moving in the right direction. Or I would say it’s a result of previous thoughts, and that I need to shift vibration.
Yes, I giggle when I say sh*t like that. I giggle loud and long. Very loud and very long. But you know what really clips my begonias?
Nothing. I just wanted to say that. I do need some Panadols though. Baileys would be nice too. In the meantime, I am amused that a Google Image search on The Ranting Swede gives my avatar as a result. Three times. I wonder when that happened. I should probably get a new hobby.
My brother said something very interesting the other day. I’d just given him some disappointing news, and I was furious on his behalf. He shrugged and went on fiddling with his comp.
“You’re not upset? Kwani you don’t care?”
“I do, but I can choose to be fine with it, so I’m fine with it.”
I swear I thought the boy was speaking Greek. But as I watched my anger totem, I started thinking. This anger totem makes me furious, every single time. Furious as in I-will-slowly-chop-your-nuts-off-with-a-blunt-rusty-slasher. But then I heard my bro’s words.
“I can choose to be fine with it, so I’m fine with it.”
Yeah, still sounds like Greek. But there’s a point in there somewhere. At first I stared at the totem, breathing hard and mumbling.
‘I am not angry. I am not angry. I am not [an] angry [scientist].’
It felt really silly, but I kept doing it. I’m still pretty mad, but the knot is loosening a bit. Now I’m looking at the totem and thinking, yes, you should still be castrated, but maybe we’ll use a pink guillotine instead. Music helps too. Progress, no?
One good thing has come out of today. I no longer believe things are random. Well actually, I’ve never believed things were random. I stopped believing in Virgin Mary, and I hadn’t quite decided who replaces her. I know there’s something out there, but I can’t see how it cares about me. Today I think maybe it does care for me, even though I still don’t know what IT is. And for some reason, I choose to call it George. So whatever you are, thank you Dude Up There. You’re clearly looking out for me. High Five.
It’s about a week later and I just bumped into my anger totem. I walked past like I hadn’t seen him. The raging levels rose for like five minutes, then I was right back to normal. I’m sure there will be consequences to ignoring him, but it feels great that I can go on with my day in peace, not pieces. Yaaaay George!!
♫ Guitar song ♫ Texas ♫