Courage

Luckily, Kali - and ES's mom - has exacted her revenge on me by securing at least 30 minutes of Bombai Belly. It wasn't pleasant. Not remotely. But I'm sure some of you out there are thinking to yourself: white men... Can't jump (it's true, gravity and I have become inseperable over the years), nor can they eat curry (also true, in my case). It wasn't as bad as the time ES didn't mix her sauce right and I thought I was going to spontaneously combust if I didn't suck the milk out of at least three Fresian cows, but it was bad enough.

Funny thing is, though - I can't stop eating the damn stuff. Maybe I'm a masochist. Or just really, really courageous. I've heard somewhere that courage is actually a middle-class substitute for brains. Jim Davis wrote that, in a Garfield comic.

Today's been eventful to say the least (oh, and by the way, hope you've noticed I finally managed to post a pic where I wanted it: surrounded by text. Yet again, it was accomplished by sheer accident!).

I've almost fired a client. That's right, the big boys from Lesotho. Told 'em they need to sort out their homework, pay me, and either get the hell out or agree to pay another whopping invoice. Oh, and - did I mention - PAY ME!

Give some people a finger, and they consume the whole arm.

I'm waiting for a meeting with some gentleman who wants to go into partnership with me. Only problem is, I haven't been able to say yay or nay, because I can't make head nor tail of his freaking proposal. He thinks he's coming here for an answer: I'm hoping he'll be able to answer a few questions from me, so I can begin considering an answer. But he sounds like a nice enough guy, and I'm not in the mood to cause kak.

Hopefully I can help him out a bit. At the moment, the show he's got in mind is like the chassis of a BMW: really sparkly, nicely shaped... But useless without the engine.

And I don't think he's thought about that. Poor fellow.

Guess we all start somewhere, though. In my defence - he's a lawyer. So he should have a bit more savvy than that.

Oh, and it turns out I managed to slay the dragon! That slithery beast we throw our money at once a month, only to have it really bite our butts once a year: the tax man.

I think the only thing in life that's a given is tax. Death is just a natural part of being taxed to death. Get rid of SARS, we'd probably all live for ever.

Anyway, after paying my dearest friend a hefty amount of money (2 days after, as a matter of fact), said dearest friend finally looked at my Notice of Objection, and has decided to pay me back just about double what I paid him. I only hope the transfer doesn't take forever - because at least then ES and I could be looking forward to at least one of those amazing little Belgian Chocolate Bunnies this coming Easter Weekend.

On the note of that: a bunny's a rhodent. They don't lay eggs. And I ain't never seen any animal pass chocolate. So, why is it an "Easter Bunny" and why does it have "eggs". Does it have access to some kind of secret chicken laboratory? Is it out to genetically modify our youth?

Mmmm... Perhaps we should stirfry him on charges of forcing us to perpetuate bullshit amongst our youth? I know Finny's folks once fed him a rabbit for easter. Clever way of getting yourself off the hook for not buying at least one of those amazing little Belgian Chocolate Bunnies. And getting your kids over the capitalistic myths created to further the goals of rampant consumerism and capitalism.

Ten out of ten for that one, Ma'am.

And don't worry, Finny, that pork roast you enjoyed so much that Christmas... Maybe, just maybe, that was the other OTHER white meat. Know what I mean?

So, W - I hear you had withdrawal symptoms yesterday because I didn't post. Hope the above is enough of a fix for you.

My next appointment's on the way, so I better duck out of here. I'll be back...

Later!