GOOD CHOOEY, BAD CHOOEY

Good Chooey says, "Thou shalt not bitch."

Bad Chooey says, "Good Chooey doesn't know what she's saying. Bitching is healthy. BITCH!"

And so I sit in front of my computer going through what I call the goldfish syndrome. I open my mouth then I close my mouth. Like as if this girl here needs any more mouth-stretching exercising. This girl, a.k.a. me, is endowed with the natural gift of the gab.

I'm just blaming on the lack of golf for my current scratchiness. Maybe IF I actually make it down to the driving range later and have my 3 rounds of golf this weekend, I'll feel alot better. But then again, I've only touched the golf clubs once since my visit back to Bloem so I doubt I'll be playing good this weekend. I think by the end of the 3rd game, I'll be hanging up my cap, paying the crematorium to burn and bury my golf clubs, disintegrate on my couch and feel sorry for my talentless self.

In case is thinking I have self-esteem issue from my self-deprecation of being talentless, good grief! Don't you guys (general address of gender; includes male, female and the shims) know me by now? I am having my drama queen moment. That's why we blog. We bitch and talk about general crap in life. If I'm really all "calm and contemplative", overanalysing world issues and going all boo-f***in'-hoo about my personal problems, then sorry, Chooey won't be blogging.

Like would I really publish my personal grievances known to the world?
I think not.
There's a fine line personal and PERSONAL.

Funny enough in human nature, people (again, generalisation) tend to take things in the weirdest context. It is like... Hello people?? Get a life? Stop taking everything so seriously. I am only joking. It takes a while for acquaintances to get a grip of my warp sense of humour. I actually have to make an attempt to clarify myself, "I hope you are not taking my words offensively. Don't take me too seriously. I'm nonsensical. You will get used to my humour after some time."

In a bid to show a tad bit of intelligence, "No, no. I don't think so. I think that you are funny."

Oh whatever! Humans are far from capable in hiding their expressions. And I love watching their "OMG! This girl is so out of line!" look - ESPECIALLY the conservative brick wall type people. And in my most indiscreet fashion, I will be rolling my eyes with my neon sign flashing, "There we go again".

Then again, maybe I am NOT funny.
Maybe I'm just caustic, evil and bitchy all-in-one.

So one of my most faithful blog-reader said to me, "I don't want to read ESPN. I want you to bitch." Then it left me wondering (only for 5 minutes whilst I was showering), "SOOOoooo... am I supposedly funny only because I'm bitchy? Is this all I am known for? B-I-T-C-H-Y." Amusing but true. I did realise that a long time ago that all that I am really known for is, "if it ain't bitchy, it ain't Chooey."

Someone else asked me once when I MIA-ed from blogging, "Why? Ran out of things to bitch about?"

Actually not. I don't really think anyone can run out of things to bitch about. Bitching is a talent that everyone is borned with. Don't deny it. We humans have this natural ability to be negative about every damn thing in life and criticise till we find our own graves. No one really wants to read or hear saccharine things of life. People want to be able to relate to things. Like if they feel that their live are sordid reasons for living, they are incapable of feeling happy for someone else who might be having a good life.

Just as the words on my ex-lecturer's tee said, "Barbie Barbie Barbie.... These bitches have everything."

The fact that I'm blabbing so much on a Wednesday only goes to prove one thing - I'M IN ESCAPIST MODE... AGAIN! Mama and them are arriving in exactly one week's time. My home is still looking like a hybrid war zone of papers and denim. Now I think I understand the concept behind the creators of "Paper Denim" jeans. How apt of a name they have created. Ingenious! Respect!

I had proudly announced just a few days back that I had diligently wasted my Saturday clearing my war of the papers. I was determined to get all that junk out of the way before the visitors arrive. And that brings me to the point of 'House Proud'. I swear that House Proud is a woman's thing. I bet that men wouldn't give 2 shit how immaculately clean and presentable their house is before receiving visitors. But women, nooooo. Everything has to be in place. The curtains, the floors, the sheets.... EVERYTHING HAVE TO BE CLEANED, perhaps to a point where one can either eat off the floor or see one's own reflection.

Or is that another case of OCD?

Distracted again. OK... so I was talking about paper and denim war. Yes. I think I am lost somewhere between all my paperwork and a whole lot of denim jeans. The factory sent me this huge carton that contained only 29 jeans inside and if only you guys saw the expression on the poor courier guy's face when he delivered it to me yesterday. That priceless look of "You bloody bitch! Did your company just send you a dead body or something?" was something worthy chuckling about. Yes dude. Blame it on me just like everyone else that I work with does. Sorry that the customer wanted 21 samples by yesterday. Sorry that the factory had to remake 8 other samples and merged them with this package. So yes, me again. All my fault.

Seriously, the courier guy did have a disgruntled look as he lugged that heavy carton of jeans over this shoulder. Just FYI, 30 jeans weigh round about 25 kgs. And how do I know? If you had to travel alone and purchase approximately 30 jeans on each travel, you will know how much it weighs too. 30 jeans take up all the luggage allowance one is allowed in one leg of flight so yeah, I pretty much travel with almost minimal clothes of my own and have to suffer the sarcastic sneers of being drabby.

You see, it is MY fault again for not dressing well. Who cares that we are only given pathetic luggage weight allowance of 25 kgs and all 25 kgs are taken up by denims that do not even belong to me? Yeah yeah, that's MY problem.

And yes, it is also my fault for being a practical traveller. Unlike most girls, I am incapable of using cosmetic products to perk that dull face up alittle more. A dash of rouge will make me resemble more like the ass of a baboon, no doubt. So yeah, maybe I should consider that... hmm... walking into those snotty departmental stores of NY or LA looking like the baboon's ass. Hey! I'm liking the idea alot more already.

Is there any other nation as superficially vain as THEM?
Still searching.

Escapist mode off now.
Time to play errand girl.

Must go driving range... must go driving range....