The stuck-in-the-80's man

I met a man. Nothing spectacular about that. I don't have much choice, I either meet men or women, there are no in-betweens. But this man is reminding me once again, the joys of blogging. Thanks to him I could have got arrested, because he makes me want to hit him till he is unconscious. And I am not a violent person, I do not have one violent vein in me. But this man gets under my skin, so yes I could slap him silly, smash his face into glass and kick his torso so hard as to break his ribcage. His torso... one thing he thinks is amazing. I know all about torsos and the turn ons they can provide. But this torso is as silly as its owner, it's so short, shorter than mine, and it's not sexy. This man is also stuck in the 80's somehow, with long unruly hair which smells as if he urinated on it, which I am fully aware is not possible. So maybe someone else does the urinating, then it's some kind of water sports or something. The hair probably needs a dozen washes to be able to qualify as human hair. That's not all. This long irritating, foul-smelling excuse for hair is also turning grey. And yet this man somehow does a pirouette sort of thing by flicking it as if to say, Oh man, ain't I cool?! No he's not cool. And I don't usually go by appearance, but this one's speaks volumes about him. The attitude. It sucks. He knows it all. He knows everything. He meddles into every sphere. Because he is professional, or so he thinks. He's not. But he walks in jeans which are sweeping everywhere clean (because he's short haha), and thinks he's so cool. But again, he's not. And for some reason, I'd like to kick his ass.. his physical ass. I have been kicking his ass metaphorically, because this girl is not left in awe by these short men who puff up their chest and walk with a swagger. Sorry Mister, if I tower above you, that is a sign you should stay away. Because he has tried to meddle. And I have kicked back. No such wanker interferes with me and my work. Because I might have loads of shortcomings, but can safely say that I do a swell job. And since I do not interfere, then nobody will interfere with me. Period. Yes, I can be quite heavy (pun not intended) and I can throw my weight around (another pun not intended) beautifully if someone so much as tries to step on my tiny (there *is* something tiny in me) toe on purpose. And yes I am professional, it is even written on my income tax return... professional musician. So there. And I have found myself swearing under my breath until I remembered I could pour it all out in my dear blog...

Excited

I am excited and I'm trying to hide it. I am trying to behave in the way that a lot of my colleagues behave, i.e.,composed, without a hair not in place, authoritative, and cool. But I'm not sure I will manage it. Because little people bring a lot of contagious things with them. And while we keep grumbling about colds and re-colds and re-gastric influenzas and what not, I will not grumble about excitement. That too is contagious, at least for me. And while I look and actually x-ray my colleagues to see if there is a shred of that excitement, which in reality means my trying to fit in somewhere, I see very little of it. That means they are either very grown up or that I'm a classic text-book imbecile. Or, perhaps I haven't grown up very much... on the inside I mean. There could also be another thing lurking my subconsciousness. When I was a little person myself I remember feeling so sad about school projects involving the stage. I was made to sit down and watch. And no I had done nothing bad. So there was I left out while my twin always had the main role. When I asked why, I was told that I had dark hair and that it was a problem. In reality, my dear twin had learnt a very good art, the art of licking arse. I, on the other hand, was a quiet little girl who had books as her companion. I wished someone would let me take part, but it was never to be. And I have carried that to this very day. And so, this day, I try and make sure that everybody is happy, dark-haired, blond, redhead, whatever colour of the spectrum. Because everybody had feelings. They start from the moment of conception... probably till the day we die. And if I can help it, I want every little person to remember schooldays as the best days of one's life. I want them to look back and remember the excitement. At least I try.