The Baby Mama and Drama, Drama, Drama

Office gossip. Watercooler time wasting. Coffee machine chat time. These are things that make working in rabbit warren bearable. Not only can you learn much about human nature, but for people like me it is a chance to live vicariously through others.

My day was filled with drama. 

Baby Mama drama. 

Bootie-call drama. 

You name it, we had it.

Baby Daddy paid a rare visit to Baby Mama. 

Baby Daddy left his mobile behind. 

Baby grabbed mobile and sent a garbled SMS to one of his contacts, who turned out to be one of three current girlfriends. 

She returned the call, got Baby Mama hence the drama. 

 

How a working man living with his mother manages to balance work, three girlfriends, a Baby Mama and his own Mama is a juggling act of note. He should write a self-help book.

Lesson learned: Don’t leave your mobile behind with one woman when you are juggling three others. Chances are they will gang up on you become BFFs and leave you standing at a singles bar with egg all over your nice Armani suit.

On to part two. 

Boyfriend dumps girlfriend, a classic tale. 

The end of the relationship was six months ago. Definitely time to move on. 

Girl meets boy. Girl likes boy. Boy ask girl out. 

Date is rated at a 7.65. Not bad. Everything is looking up. 

Boy meets girl and says, “We need to talk”. 

What is this, an unanticipated pothole on the road to true love?

Boy explains that the relationship, albeit in its infancy, cannot continue. 

Girl is confused.

Turns out the ex-boyfriend falls into the category “I don’t want her, but no-one else can have her either”. In the throes of testosterone the ex-boyfriend saw fit to hold a knife to the new guy and threaten him with his life if he so much as breathed the same air as his once-upon-a-time girlfriend. 

Overreaction? Girl confronts ex-boyfriend who proceeds to kiss her senseless. Good, bad or reminiscent of a dog peeing on trees to mark its territory?

Ex-boyfriend proceeds to outline the boundaries of their new relationship. They are not exactly boyfriend and girlfriend. He is free to sow his wild oats with all and sundry. She must remain at home in self-imposed chastity. Her phone must remain on 24/7 in case of a bootie-call emergency. Girl is uncertain of how to proceed. Is this enough? Should she be grateful for whatever crumbs of affection he throws her way?

Lesson learned: do not date guys in the same circle of friends, it will blow up in your face. Testosterone is a bitch.

Speaking of that errant hormone, my husband drove me to work today. It was though we were driving on a highway of sperm. Hundreds of over-active male hormones in overdrive competing to be first in gridlocked traffic. 

I feared for my life. In fact, by the time I alighted from the car I was a gibbering wreck. Taking the train has broken years of highway conditioning down and rendered me terrified of German luxury vehicles. I kept my eyes closed for the drive home. 

In the course of this nail biting journey, I learnt something. How much of it is true is debatable. Here is today's kernel of useless information: The sperm of an 18 year-old man can live for 3 to 4 hours. The sperm of a 45 year-old man can live for 3 to 4 days. I don't know what the lesson is, you can draw your own conclusion.

As we prepare for Small boy aged 6’s 7^th birthday on the morrow I was surprised how hard it is to purchase a min-hifi/stereo these days. Everything is IPods. Eventually we tracked one down and it comes with... joy of joys... a tape deck! How extremely retro. Mother and father of Small boy are very excited to play our old mix tapes again. 

He’s in for a good haul: Hi-fi, Dinosaur book, Transformers soundtrack, Hot Wheels track and a Bakugan dragon thing. Sadly, I was unable to purchase the Evil Emperor Zurg. He must have been defeated by the LGMs.

My children have picked up some strange vocabulary from the programmes they watch. It frequently makes me laugh or shake my head in bewilderment.

Small Boy aged 6 to Small girl aged 5: “Stop ordering me around like a minion!”

Minion. Who says that? 

Regardless, what a lovely word. 

I shall have to use it more often.  

Of llamas and lamas

Llama

Lama


The ambiguity of the English language is what lends it its wealth. It’s why irony and sarcasm have such power. It’s the foundation of wit and wisdom. It’s why I laughed until tears ran in rivers down my face, streaking my carefully applied mascara until I resembled a demented panda.

Driving along the road something clunked onto the top of the car.
Man startled: “What was that?”
Small boy aged 9: “Maybe it was an alpaca?”
Me disbelievingly: “An alpaca?”
Small boy aged 6 curiously: “What’s an alpaca?”
Man knowledgeably: “It’s like a llama only it’s from South America.”
Small boy aged 9: “Where are llama’s from?”
Man with certainty: “Tibet”
Me: “Um, actually I think they’re both from South America.”
Man beginning to have doubts, “But they do have llamas in Tibet?”
Me: “Yes, they do, only they’re Tibetan lamas not llamas.”
Man: “I knew that.”
Of course baby. Of course.

All in all I have enjoyed some strange conversations with my family over the last few days. Each day I struggle to eke out from my offspring what they achieved at school. Yesterday Small boy aged 6 amused me with this story.

Small boy aged 6: “Today Daniel and I played together.”
Me: “Really, what did you play?”
Small boy aged 6: “Well, I had gloves with spiders on them, so I could shoot spider venom and he had gloves with lightning bolts so he could shoot red lasers.”
Me: “Uh huh, and then what?”
Small boy aged 6: “Well we were on a spaceship and we crashed onto this planet filled with alien women.”
Me getting interested, “And how did you deal with that?”
Small boy aged 6: “It was terrifying! They surrounded us and held us prisoner. So we had to escape and they ran after us. Then we shot them in the butt with laser beams and spider venom until we made it back to the ship and escaped.”

Wow. He’s six and already fantasizing about being held captive by hundreds of nubile young ladies. God help me when he’s thirteen.

This is his portrait of Nelson Mandela.

It seems he is one of the minority in his class who know that Mandela is no longer our State President. None of them to know whom Jacob Zuma or Thabo Mbeki are. Funny, I also find them infinitely forgettable. I only hope our economy will too.

Footnote: There has been a bizarre amount of traffic on this post. Is there a sudden interest in Llamas or Lamas? Very strange. Comments welcomed in order to satisfy my curiosity. I've posted some more tidbits about llamas, not Tibetan monks with some more pictures from around and about.