I am tired of getting 'Knocked Up'

It is Monday. I wish I was not at work. I wish I was at home, sleeping. I have not felt this tired since, well, at least last Monday…

I am knackered, dog-tired, bone-tired, I’m beat, burned out, dead on my feet, drained, drooping, droopy, drowsy, flagging, haggard, pooped, spent, plum tuckered out. I’m worn out. It is surprising that people who are apparently so tired have the energy to create so many euphemisms and synonyms to indicate just how tired they are.

But let me tell you about my favourite ‘feeling tired’ euphemism which amused me as a teenager. My step-grandfather, whenever my Grandmother was worn out, would say that she was ‘knocked up’. Considering that getting ‘knocked up’ is a euphemism for falling pregnant my sisters and I found quiet comical. If my grandmother was enduring a particularly taxing outing my step-grandfather would say that he better get her home before “she gets knocked-up” which would provoke my sisters and me to arch eyebrows, smirk and sometimes squeal with laughter.


Another source of amusement in those days came from the fact that my grandmother slept with my Uncle. Don’t be too aghast! Let me explain… When my grandmother began ‘stepping out’ with the man who was to become my step-grandfather I was encouraged to call him ‘Uncle’, seemingly because it was not ‘proper’ for a child to address an adult by their first name. However, by the time that they married the name had stuck which led to some strange and worried looks on the faces of my friends’ mothers when I would blithely announce that my grandmother and my uncle were married to each other and slept in the same bed… .

Frogging the memory

From my office window I watch people trying to cross the four lanes of traffic travelling in both directions on the road below. It is a bit like watching someone else play a game of Frogger.

Not being at the controls of the arcade game is nerve-wracking because some people seem to dawdle across the road oblivious to the on-coming traffic. Other people, usually teenagers, duck and weave through the traffic like Frogger maestros. I just hope that I am not looking out the window one day when it is GAME OVER for one of the players on the street below.


Thinking about playing Frogger as a child reminds me that much of my childhood was associated with frogs. My favourite chocolate was a frog-shaped chocolate, the Cadbury Freddo Frog,

my favourite computer game was Frogger, my favourite character on the Muppets was Kermit the Frog

and my favourite book was Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows where the main character was Toad

(yes, I know, not truly a frog but close enough surely especially considering he was so often represented as being more froggy than toady).

I am at a loss to explain why 1980’s children grew up in a world disproportionately filled with green tailless amphibians. But why explain it when you can simply embrace it?

I still love eating Freddo frogs. I considered it, and still do consider it, the greatest indulgence to eat a Freddo. When I was young the Freddo was a parentally approved special treat; apparently its small size would not ruin my appetite or my physique. Every year I purchased the Freddo show bag at the Royal Show and I would cherish the Freddo toy that came with it. Sure it was all crap – but it was Freddo crap and that made it special.

Whenever we dined at the Red Apple Restaurant (sigh! How I miss thee!) I would order Frog in the Pond for dessert, that is, a Freddo frog standing proudly in a pond of green jelly. Heaven in a bowl for a five year old. As a child I ordered a Semifreddo dessert at another restaurant and spent the rest of the meal trying to not let my parents see the disappointed look on my face as I searched in vain amongst the custardy cream mixture to locate the half of a chocolate frog I had ordered – and been promised!

Those Nazi muscle groups

Old conversation with a friend about the pain his body is experiencing due to his exercise regimen.

Josh: I've been working out 6 days a week, doing opposite work loads on alternate days

David: Ok.

Josh: I didn't have a problem last week. So I am unsure why it is hurting now

David: maybe your muscle groups have formed an Axis-style coalition against you

Josh: hahaha

David: ve protest in zee strongest possible manner against ure phzeeical regeeme

Josh: lol

David: ve vill not stand for zhis - hell ve can barely even seeet

Do you remember where you were the day that thing didn’t happen?

I received a generic mass email at work today informing me that the new Minister of our department would be visiting our floor within the hour. The email said the Chief Executive will guide the Minister around the floor and introduce him to important people. The email also contained this request “Can we please ensure that our working areas are tidy for this visit” which managed to be patronising, maternal and unnecessary all at once.

My colleagues greeted the news of this walk-and-talk with the sort of excitement and enthusiasm one would expect from a monarchist housewife who had just been told the Queen was about to visit for afternoon tea and was it alright if she brought along that lovely cravat wearing host from Masterchef as well. Desks were tidied, nerves were jangled, rarely sighted ‘intelligent and industrious’ poses were rehearsed and lipstick was reapplied.

As the Minister’s arrival time drew near, my colleagues pretended to look busy, whilst intently listening for the ’ping’ noise of the elevator which heralds the arrival of someone to the floor, today the Minister, but usually a bicycle courier.

Five minutes after his arrival time had passed rumours spread around the office, “The Minister is NOT coming” followed by, “Something urgent has come up” and then finally, “Well if he is going to come, I wish he’d hurry up!” (That ‘intelligent and industrious’ pose is exhausting to maintain afterall…)

And then an email arrived in our Inboxes informing us that the Minister would not be coming. No explanation was provided, that common courtesy deemed not to be required. As the email was read, sighs of relief and disappointment echoed throughout the office. Within a minute office life returned to normal… It was as though it had never happened. Which is true, I guess, because in the end it didn’t.

05 July 2010: Deja vu. Last week I received an email saying the Minister was visiting. Today I received another email cancelling the visit.

12 July 2010: Deja vu vu. Today I received another email announcing a visit by the Minister followed by an email cancelling that visit. Unbelievable!

Gopher-uck Yourself

Twenty minutes ago I was happily walking home enlivened by the afternoon sun. Now I am at home applying antiseptic and dressing wounds. Considering that I do not live in downtown Basra, or Kabul and the fact that I hardly ever travel in a convoy with Hamas operatives I believe this to be a suitably blogable event.

I was strolling along an abnormally wide and unpopulated city footpath through one of our lush green squares when I was suddenly rear ended by a middle aged man-thing tearing up the footpath (and my legs) in an electronic wheel chair that looked somewhat like this… Now, if you or I ran into someone we would probably considering applying the brakes in an attempt to limit the damage that we have, in this scenario, just inflicted upon my ankle. But not so for this stellar citizen – he just kept on going, in fact I think he must have accelerated because he then managed to collide with my other leg. So for a brief period I was riding the handlebars of this contraption all the while yelling at the top of my lungs the obvious question of, “What the fuck is your problem?”.

His response, clearly and lucidly presented to me, was “ I wish I knew mate.” You and me both Cocko. Like most young men I was raised to believe you should never hit a woman and I must admit at this moment my mind was racing through the back-catalogue of my memory to check if there were similar rules/morals etc regarding the thumping of those in wheelchairs or the like. I refrained.

Did he apologise? No. Was he retarded? Well not in the medical sense of the word. Was he drunk? Not sure – but would it matter? Do the Police breath-test anyone riding those killer-peds? Maybe he was acting out in jealousy in response to my obvious able-bodied status…

Once I gathered myself up and began walking down the still wide and still very, very vacant footpath I noticed he was following me slowly (somewhat like the truck in the film Duel). I stopped, looked at him said, “You know what mate, I reckon I should follow you.” In my head I added “You Fuck-tard.”


On a side note…How is that I, an able-bodied and relatively sane person am not legally permitted to ride a bike on a footpath yet any retard with the spatial awareness and agility of a blind, quadriplegic three-toed sloth can operate a motorized wheelchair on footpaths and in shops etc.

Now that is retarded.

Oh what a feelin' ...

Alec: So you know how I went home with Dragonfly the other night…
Eton: You went upstairs for coffee huh?
Alec: Yeah something like that. Well anyway when I got back to my car I had a flat tyre.
Eton: aww bummer
Alec: Bummer indeed. Cost me $150 and I had to change a tyre!
Eton: So have you seen this Bumblee..
Alec: It’s Dragonfly, The nickname is Dragonfly.
Eton: OK so have you seen Dragonthingy again?
Alec: Well, this is the thing - I met up with Dragonfly again and after I dropped him off I got a speeding fine within 2 blocks of his place.
Eton: Nasty - how much was it?
Alec: 200 bucks
Eton: So what you are telling me is that you are down over 350 dollars for two sessions with this guy.
Alec: Yep
Eton: Was it worth it?
Alec: Well now I am not so sure…
Eton: You going to see him again?
Alec: I am not sure I can afford to…

************************

Alec: So anyway I think this must be some higher being's way of telling me to stop sleeping with Dragonfly
Eton: God? You think God cares about who you are tapping?
Alec: Well I dunno…
Eton: (thinking) Maybe it has nothing to do with Dragonfly… maybe God just wants you to stop driving your car so much…
Alec: Maybe… I once got a parking fine when I stayed the night at some random’s place…
Eton: See. There you go.
Alec: And once I had my aerial broken…
Eton: (smiling) God wants you to cut your emissions…
Alec: Funny.
Eton: Carbon neutral carnality perhaps…Environmentally Friendly Fornication…
Alec: OK enough already!
Eton: So what you going to do?
Alec: I don’t know… ride a bike…
Eton: It will probably get stolen, or you’ll get a flat…ha ha
Alec: So what can I do?
Eton: Walk. I think that’s your only way to beat this thing…
Alec: So no more Dragonfly?
Eton: I think it’s jinxed…
Alec: Hmmm. Well I sure hope there are some good looking guys within walking distance….
Eton: That’s the spirit.