I think I need to start a category for random-ness-ness-ness. It’s way easier than trying to remember what the title was for my last random post.

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It’s christmas, yay! Excuse to get out my little wire-and-plastic tree and make it all shiny. I’ve been planning to do it since November 29th. I hope to get it done before the New Year.

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There was a flood on my way to work. I had to fold my trousers up to the knee, hold my shoes in my hand, and wade through the water. Fun! Slipping on the mud … not-so-fun. But a nice lady showed me where the sand was. It had sharpish stones, but it was far less messy. So, still, fun!

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I went christmas shopping yesterday. Fun! I bought princess a teeny red electric guitar, got a  funky  radio [with CD] for the nanny, and for me, a bakery measuring set and a bathroom scale. I am so easily amused.

They pounced on me and opened their gifts before I could wrap them. Meh.

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The pretty boy that I adore officially adores me back. Woohooo! Happiness is this. **doing Indian fist jig**

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I’ve been gliding on fairy wings for the last two days, now that everything I was worried about is sorted. Bliss bliss bliss! I planned on milking the feeling as long as I could. Until an annoying mail spoilt it for me. Note to self: stop reading spam.

Interestingly, I was indifferent to the mailer. Woop woop! Progress! No more bile, no more anger, just a blank feeling of wha’ever, and mild annoyance at the mindframe [and persistence] of the sender.

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Walschism declares there are only two human emotions: love and fear. Everything else stems from this. And the way to beat fear is to turn it to love.

Now granted, some people are beyond love. Srsly. But you can still work around the fear. For instance, I realise that my hatred for the other half of my precious baby’s DNA is only harming me. So instead, I focus on the pain, and am filled with gratefulness [and gratitude also] that the pain I faced with him has prepared me to better appreciate the unending love of my sailor boy, this one who sees me as I am and loves me anyway. And he cooks too!

They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Right now, I am over, under, [mutually enamoured] and totally surrounding a very special sailor boy, so you, yes you, go away already. Shoo. I am perfectly happy, so please let me be.

Now that there is no more rage and no more fear, I can listen, smile and walk away, free at last. I have wanted to say this for a very very very long time, and today, finally, I can honestly say…

I feel nothing. Yay!

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I like INTJs. They’re fun. Scary cold, but mostly, fun. Smart too.

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Armed with my Walschism, I looked at the five people that irk me, they who sit on my chest and smoke my oxygen. I realise the Sponsoring Thought is fear. I don’t know what it is about them that makes me uneasy, but I admit I am afraid of them and of this invisible power they wield. They’re like little tiny Smeagol rings. In their presence, there is no overt malevolence. But hissing out of the unseen silence that engulfs them, I hear ‘myyyyy preciousssssss’. It makes it hard for me to breathe.

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to find them. I’m going to study them keenly, put them on my little CB-scope, and find the source of the fear. Then I’m going to turn that fear to love.

I already know that with one person, my fear is based on perception. I am afraid of what this person is. They appear to be one thing, but I fear that deep down, they are something else. To turn the fear into love, I will not suddenly pull a Tiny Tim, hug the person and say ‘God bless us, everyone’. Coz that would be creepy … and also, I might get slapped.

Instead,  I concede that the appearance is a good thing, and it’s cool that the appearance is so popular. I mean think about it. Alicia Keyes and Beyonce have pretty hair – nobody cares that it’s not real. So I will simply compliment the pretty fake hair and sing along to my favourite song. I will acknowledge the rose, admit that it smells nice, and smile, even though flowers aren’t really my thing.

Except the single, long-stemmed peach kind, those are awesome.

Voila, no more scaredy cat. Yay! **cheeky grin**

One down, four to go.

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Did anyone figure out how to get rid of those annoying Robert Alai emails? I’ve been forcefully subscribed to a similar one called Young Professionals Kenya. It won’t let me unsubscribe and it’s filling my inbox with 80 emails a day.  Spamming and filters don’t work. Help?!

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I had NO idea today was Friday. Woop woop! And I forgot to wear jeans! Crud. Oh well. Happy Friday all!!

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So if you know the words, then try to sing along

And when you get the beat grab your hammer bang a gong

Coz you don’t gotta fight, or make yourself belong

to be a revolution.

♫ Jars of Clay ♫ Revolution ♫

For more information on 3CB, click here.

So, I am being nice to people that I don’t particularly like. Fcuk. Also, I am swearing a lot. **contents of sewer** Does this mean I am growing up? Aw crud. I reeeaaaally liked being Petra pan. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.

Also, as asked on twitter. If your partner is ninii-ing you while his or her mind is on someone else, can you tell? And if you could tell … would you want to know? Then, if you knew, would it matter?

I’m not necessarily talking about the ex-girlfriend here. I’m talking about, for example, he just went to a stag party and saw some nubile young thing lap dancing the groom while several other ones made like the snake in Jungle Book.

Eh, yes, that one.

Your man may even have gotten a little dancing action himself. Enough to get his senses alert and soil something.

Aw come on now, you don’t expect him to throw off a working girl who’s just earning her keep. Especially when she’s clearly very good at her job.

But being the good and faithful man that he is, he did not buy the premium service, he brought it home to you. And he found you, half asleep, stocking on head, facemask fully applied [hey, he said he’d be out late, and after a stag night you knew he’d be too drunk to notice…]

Well ok, let’s be fair here. He comes home, fresh from the ultimate visual and sensual stimulation, and finds you, the woman he loves/married/who bore him beautiful children, looking just as you always do, in your regular pyjamas or night gown.

You look good, sure, or you look as you always do. But let’s face it, you don’t nearly come close to a woman who gets paid to stimulate men. Come on, she’s a professional. It’s like comparing Jack Bauer to a kid with a water pistol.

So, being the good guy he is, your man does what he does. But he really can’t help it if his mind strays to that girl with the pole … and he’s not cheating, he did bring it home to you, right?

Do you really have a right to get mad that while you are the one who enjoys the consummation, you are clearly not the fuel or even the ignition? Coz even if he does keep his mind strictly on you, fact remains it wasn’t you that turned him on to begin with. So, is that bad?

In a less drastic example. Also as asked on twitter, you two are watching Transformers [Hellooo Megan Fox!] or some flick with Angelina Jolie’s body parts, or some swimsuit pageant, or some oily ragga music video, or even just the Mexican soap you tied him to the chair to see. A steamy scene comes on, elements rise to the occasion, and suddenly you find yourself … compromised.

In this situation, is either of you really thinking of the other? Chances are you’re thinking of Alejandro’s ripped abs while he is thinking of Carmelita’s long flowing hair, teeny weeny frame, endless suntanned legs and that … thing she’s wearing that would look just terrible on you…

Now you may just argue that since you two are one flesh you should be the only source of stimulation, and that you should have no desire to see anyone else naked and blah blah blah but really now, on occasion that your menses make your hungry, or his jeans accidentally cause, you know, friction, you don’t get mad at the moon or the Levi’s right?

So why should you hate on poor pretty Megan or Salvador?

I mean as long as your partner keeps his or her mental images mental, and does not go yelling the wrong name or saying how luscious that Latina is, then really now, shouldn’t we just enjoy the moment and be glad we’re getting any nookie at all?

Let’s get even more practical. He’s been watching his crazy she-dog boss all day, with her red hot power suit and her prada heels, wielding her whip pointer thingie as she speaks and shows just enough leg to get the job done faster. Or she’s been subconsciously giggling all day at the hot new intern who can wield these cougars like a pro. Clearly, tensions are high.

So when he or she gets home, can you be absolutely one hundred percent sure that the sterling performance was meant for you? And even if it wasn’t, do you really care?

I say live and let live. As long as the gonads don’t stray, and as long as you respect one another, think what you want to think. After all, there’s a reason Charles Xavier only exists in fiction. You can love a person all you want, but you can’t control their mind. So when he’s super hot or she’s super frisky, do not ask ‘What’s gotten into you today?’ coz you just might get an answer that you don’t want to hear.

That said, it’s perfectly fine for me, the girl, to tell you Megan Fox is hot. Less okay for you, my man, to enthusiatically agree and suggest I buy a leather vest, learn to hotwire a car, or somehow fit this teeny weeny white dress plus a bunch of flowers into a leather jacket and jeans without creasing it. [How the hell did she do that?] A curt nod and incomprehensible grunt is fine, followed by promptly changing the subject. A good suggestion would be ‘So what’s for dinner?’