Friday, April 17, 2009

Hair plugs

So I get off the train for Easter, and get a big hug from my mom and another from my dad. Then within about 2 minutes, before we've even gotten to the car in the parking lot...

Mom: "So, that blog entry was pretty depressing."

Me: "What?"

Mom: "Wellll... you know it doesn't matter if you have a receding hairline and don't have a girlfriend, we still love you."

Me: "Are you kidding? The blog entry was a joke, I laughed the whole time I wrote it."

Mom: "Well, ohhhkay..."

Me: "No, really mom, I'm fine."

Dad: "I had an abrupt wakeup this morning when your mother punched me in the face, waking me up telling me you've written just a horribly depressing blog entry, and she just doesn't know what to do. Like you're pre-suicidal or something."

Pre-suicidal?! hahaha, what does that even MEAN! He and I are both laughing at this point. Mom, hesitantly, joins in. Mothers and apple pie.

----

So then mom spends some time doing the taxes over the weekend, and at dinner time the second night, sits down with a smile so big it almost explodes off her face.

Mom: "Hey Jonathan, great news!"

Me: "Oh ya, what's that?"

Mom: "Hair plugs are tax deductable!"

Then we all laughed ourselves into a stooper.

Classic.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

29.

Well, it's that time again. Birthday time. Reflection time.

So, I'm turning 29. Great. Let's evaluate. There's a very simple checklist for success in our society, which determines our social class, lifestyle, ability to climb to the upper echelons of society, make a name for ourselves, and inevitably determines our happiness. I think I'll just go through it briefly, I could really use a pick me up (along with some hair plugs).

1) Has employment which provides income.

DAMN.*

2) Has a wife, or a long-term girlfriend** which will lead to marriage. At the very least, has a girlfriend.

SWING AND A MISS. SHITBALLS.

3) Has a non-receding hairline.***

GAH.

4) Isn't writing his blog entry from his parents house.

MAN. I should just stop now.



Okay, so I'm feeling light as a feather after that little activity.

No no, getting older has all sorts of benefits. Take for example, having bad knees. Is this the cat's ass or what! I love this shit. At least the physiotherapist is young and cute, and is paid to make conversation with you. What, you've got 2 kids? Oh that's nice.

Or let's take a second to talk about metabolism. Why, when I turned 28, did nobody tell me I was going to get fat? Please people. I'm still single, that's just cruel. I know, it's God's way of being like "shoulda gotten married son." A little less subtlty next time.

No no, I've got it. Let's talk about normal social circumstances. You go out to a party. Everybody is your age, SCORE. People start rolling in, two by two, maybe four by four, arm in arm with their significant others. Okay, no problem. So Barney and Sally are happy. I'm happy for them.

"Ding dong!"

Great, more people, fantastic. Oh, it's Sheila and Ted, how nice, they look really happy. Oh, you're pregnant? Fantastic, that means we'll have lots to talk about.

"Ding dong!" Yes, finally... oh, it's Bill and Michelle, how nice. Oh you're buying a house? Great let's talk about home renovations and how the tongue and groove is so 80s, but making a fashionable comeback. Puhlease.

No problem, I'll just drink myself into a stooper, and pretend like I give a shit.

"Oh, really! You're considering refinancing? (*gulp, gulp*). What a fantastic idea! Good idea while interest rates are low, I hear." *glub glub glub*

"SSShhhure, I'd love to see baby photos." *glub glub* "Ya, he's going to grow up to be a fireman, what a looker." "... what's that? ya, 'she', that's what I meant." *glub glub glub*

"Well ya don't say! Tongue and groove! The only thing I know about tongue and groove..." *head swager, one eyebrow up, smirking* *glub glub* "... what? What do you mean that joke is so 90s? Next thing you know, knowing the lyrics to Billie Jean isn't going to be cool." "Billie who?" *glub glub glub*

Finally the night ends. At 11 o'clock. I'm shitfaced. Everybody else drives home. I walk, cause clearly I don't have a car.

Now a special part of being almost 29 is the way your body metabolizes alcohol. I get home, knees aching, and drink 6 litres of water, swallow 2 aspirins. Great, the old faithful anti-hangover trick, it's never failed me. And still, the next morning, I wake up to find that even amongst the tough economic times, my brain has decided to do construction and the brain jackhammer is givin'r 90 on my cerebellum. At least I don't have to go to the office. And thankfully this'll be gone by the afternoon. Oh wait, I'm 29, and the other little surprise, is that hangovers last for TWO DAYS.

Next time, I'll just go to the bar.

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* Not to give the impression that I'm not working. For all the hunnies, I'm workin' it. Oh believe me, I'm working it. I just don't get paid. Not getting paid is the new getting paid. Everybody's doing it. It's so avant garde it hurts.

** "partner" I'm sure is the the PC term, but who are we kidding, hopefully we're almost over the notion that restricting language doesn't stop people from making judgements or tackle the underlying problem.

*** I would just like to remind all those lovely ladies that are probably lining up after this post, that Jesus too had a receding hairline (see last year's birthday post). Dude could turn water to wine. Don't forget that.