Tuesday, 2 February 2010

2010 into 90210

On the last day of the first month for 2010, I decided that  I would dispense with year of the tiger and its watery, firey elementals and establish another system with  many symbols as my guide. Let's face it,  these days that's  no longer a role for the conscience which  is practically non-existent; well  apart from the  minefield  that is my mind - it has a Greek chorus in residence (no Yartz Australia grant required and the space is  delightfully compact, dark and airy ).

 As I walked home on Sunday from another social engagement,  in between wondering whether the Roman Spring of Mrs Stone (like one of the first movies about a Cougar)  would be on You Tube (it is!!), if  i could be bothered cooking dinner and whether i could afford a spell in a soothing sanatorium , two other thoughts popped into my noggin.

Life  as an 'adult' never really moves from your heyday, for me beyond the mid 80's-early 90's (some heyday). All  that has happened is that one incorporates the Brady Bunch Oliver factor into one's life. You know, there is a  core group and in order for things to continue relatively happily without entirely imploding  new recruits featuring  younger, smarter, cuter, funnier  people, i.e. people born the decade after you and offspring , have to be brought in to invigorate and enliven things.

Oh  it was an extraordinarily powerful and original brainstorm.

The second thought was twofold:  I was glad January was almost over, and that each month of the year is like a 90210 character.

January is the goddamn Dylan "I'm mad, bad and dangerous to know" McKay of months.

You know, you R A G E then meltdown.. For me  this consists of seeing lots of people continually, the imbibulation of a fair bit of wine, ineffectually attempting to counter it  with soda water,  talking a lot of balderdash, and actually listening to a fair bit too, thanking  you muchly ; no toot or  trips down to Baja with my girlfriend's best friend or my best friend's sister, perhaps a spell at Mossy Point, but it does involve plenty of wrinkles, croaky voices, cool mincing and quizzical  raising of eyebrow .

Before you know it you've spiralled out of control, and you're paying Nat at the Peach Pit  $250 to blow toot up your ....

Woah, some wake up call.

So you need,  you NEED  time out and a spell of February with her good solid work ethic and honest-to-goodness home spun wisdom, cooking  and stable routine. Yessum.

May I introduce you to Miss/Mrs February.
Mrs Cindy Walsh. While her stability and sobriety is somewhat necessary,  i'm rather glad that there are only 28 days of the poop.

 Poop-poop indeed!


boy moritz said...

new blog up

P.Edant, Coogee-sur-mer said...

I think you mean 'post'.

T.T. said...

tried the grandin yet

Mistress Bel said...

Dear Tippling Tubbs, I only bathe in Grandin;would not insult my palate with such muck, abuse my body, yes..