So anyhoo …
The Death of Memes still has twenty four things to come up with before I can put this one in the ground and make the Facebook people go away.
And to make things really bloody difficult I am not allowed to re-hash stuff from old memes, which is a total bummer as I've already written every single fact about my stupid life a dozen times over so the prospect of finding new stuff is a bit like that of finding a brain cell in a "celebrity" … extremely fucking unlikely.
Well, I managed to think of one yesterday, so here goes nothing:
2) I am all alone on a Sunday morning typing embarrassing personal crap into a computer.
Why, why, why, for fuck's sake?
Why don't I get a life instead of sitting here on my fat arse churning out this shit to a world that doesn't care and that I don't care about?
Because I am addicted to it, that's why.
I blog, therefore I am.
"Hello, my name is Dive and I am a blogoholic."
Shameful, but true.
3) I hate getting my fingers greasy.
REALLY hate it!
If I eat crisps (potato chips for the Colonials) or roasted nuts or stuff like that I always use chopsticks so my fingers don't get caked in that disgusting crumby grease.
Plus it's good chopstick practice.
For the same reason I avoid messy crap like ribs and chicken legs and barbecued food and general junk snacks.
Eww!
And pizza should be eaten with a knife and fork, not fingers.
That's too gross to contemplate.
Greasy fingers are so icky!
Just so you know.
3) (Thanks to Lulu for pointing out that this is the second number 3 in this meme. Hey ho). Shit, this is difficult! Every time I think of something I realise I've already written about it somewhere in the archives.
I just spent forty minutes soaking in the bath and trying to think of things to write and came up with nothing. Of course, I was listening to Blonde On Blonde while I was in there which didn't help but other than Dylan lyrics my mind is still blank.
Hokay … factoid number three: Most of my best posts were written while soaking in the bath.
That obviously does not include this pile of crapola.
4) I don't name inanimate objects.
My car is "the car", my guitars are "the Strat"(it's a Strat), "The PRS" (it's a PRS), "The Brown Fender" (it's a Fender and yes, it's brown), "The Martin" (you guessed it), my penis is "my penis".
The only exceptions are "Old Les" my vintage Gibson Les Paul guitar (named by Michael) and my occasional co-writers, Stouffer and Nimh (named by Harry Hill and a small child respectively).
I had a girlfriend once who had a pet name for her vagina. That creeped me out.
5) And speaking of old girlfriends (you already know about the one who chewed food with her mouth open … GACK!), one of them - naming no names - always had teeny-tiny little black gritty bits in her belly-button. The rest of her body was spotless but somehow she never learned to clean in there.
It grossed me out.
How can you tell a girl that?
Especially one so totally hot in all other respects.
Sigh …
6) I am a furtive tree planter.
I grow saplings from seeds and cuttings and then stage "guerilla beautification raids", planting them out beside roads and on field boundaries along routes that I take, and then I watch them grow. I've been doing that for around thirty years and the results really are a joy to behold.
I recommend it.
If there's a crappy piece of open space or a horrid gap in a field hedge near you that you think deserves a tree, go plant one.
Hint: A sapling a foot high and a sapling six feet high will reach approximately the same height after ten years as the little one will establish more quickly, so plant 'em out at about a foot or so high between October and February (for those in the Northern Hemisphere).
Guerilla beautification is really easy and it makes the world a slightly less sucky place.
7) I am right-handed but left-footed.
Which may or may not explain a lot.
8) When I was a kid … ah, fuck this! I've spent all morning trying to think of crap I've not written about before and I'm not going to waste any more time on it, so some of you may already know some of what follows.
When I was a kid we appeared on TV as part of a nuclear war evacuation rehearsal that was the stupidest thing ever devised (outside of nuclear war itself).
If you've not already read how plain dumb a government can be,
read it here.
9) I do not possess any kind of food processor, a mobile phone or a credit card.
My quality of life is enriched immeasurably by their absence.
10) I have never eaten and will never eat anything from Mc.Donalds, KFC, Pizza Hut or any other crappy junk food pusher.
11) I can do
this with my thumbs.
Neat, huh?
12) When I was about eleven I had a serious run-in with unrequited love and boy, howdy; it beat the crap out of me.
She was called Kathleen and had long dark hair and glasses. That's probably where the "sexy librarian" thing comes from. Girls with long hair and glasses really do it for me.
Now all I need to do is find one named Kathleen who won't press charges if I go near her …
Yeah, right; like
that's gonna happen.
13) I like the number thirteen.
My birthday's on the thirteenth which used to be a reason to go "Yay!" when I was little and got presents but now it's more a reason to go home and slam all the doors because I am another fucking year older.
I still like the number, though.
14) I used to like memes but this one's proving to be a royal pain in the ass.
15) Probably the biggest disappointment of my life was when I found out the awful truth about Buffy.
You know that bit in the credits (third series onward) where she twirls the stake in her hand in that totally cool way?
Yeah, well, I like to do that with pens at work but no WAY could I get that kind of speed and accuracy.
Then I - how fucking sad is this - got out my Big Box Of Buffy complete DVD set and slowed down the credits …
My life was ruined.
Turns out she was faking it all along!
She has a big fat rubber band wrapped around her middle finger and the stake has been wound round and round so many times that she just opens her hand and lets the thing go! Check it out for yourself. What a fucking swizz!
I'll never trust blondes again.
16) I know how to get cattle to follow me anywhere.
S'true! Give me a herd of cows and I can make the fuckers follow me for miles.
As superpowers go it's slightly less useful than my other superpower (the astonishing ability never to lose a sock in the wash … fifty years and still counting) but you never know when such a thing might come in handy.
17) I once stole a pile of traffic cones and shut off a busy street for an entire Saturday before anyone realised it wasn't a real road closure and came and removed them.
Yay, me!
18) At one point in my life things had got so desperate that I wore Hawai'ian shirts.
Brr … That still makes me shudder.
19) When I am nervous or bored I play drum patterns with my hands on any available surface.
I know how utterly infuriating this can be so you'd better not make me nervous or bored.
20) I last went on holiday in 1994. Whoop de-fucking doo!
21) The only musical instrument I've never been able to play is the oboe.
I can't raise a squeak out of one of those little fuckers, not even with big, puffy Dizzy Gillespie cheeks.
I don't think anyone can actually play the oboe; they're just faking it. They sit there and mime while somebody under their chair squeezes farts out of a rat.
22) I have the world's largest collection of regrets.
Not a day passes without me adding a whole load of new ones. One of them is wishing I collected something that was actually worth money.
Regrets are worth fuck-all on e-Bay.
23) Things that are not welcome in my house include:
- Children;
- Dogs;
- Smokers;
- Anybody who wants to know my "star sign";
- Anybody with a mobile phone;
- Clowns;
- People who talk about "Lost";
- Junk food.
24) I love the word "Pobble".
Anyone who can tell me where it comes from (without recourse to the internet) gets a shiny gold star.
25) I will not join a "social networking site" because I am anti-social.
Bollocks to Facebook, Bebo et al.
Right! That's all twenty-five points. I'm off.
Let us whisk ourselves back in time to last Friday and stand around the watercooler in the departmental kitchen while Amanda struggles to open a jar of peanut butter and Old Dive chivalrously mocks her transatlantic comestibles while expertly whipping the lid off for her.
