I was thinking of doing something based on all the days of the week, and once again borrowing shamelessly from TNR, however, that won’t do, because, firstly, I hate plagiarism, secondly, I might get sued, and thirdly, it’s all about me, damn it! So then I thought I’d steal a little from The Cure and play with my posts by way of their lovely song “Friday I’m in love”. Gimme a break, I woke up late, it’s a bleak day, I’m cranky and uninspired. Way to go as a first ever post, don’t you think? Remember I said I hate plagiarism? Well, I guess I lied. Sort of. I tend to do that a lot. 
Sort of.
So without further ado, I give you, Blue Mondays
And here’s a good one to kick off with:
Fears
One of the stand up comics that I greatly enjoy is a French “humoriste et acteur”, Tomer Sisley. In his 2006 show, “Stand Up!”, he had a bit about couples and how more often than not, though both partners are talking about one thing, and call it by the same name, it may not always be the same one thing. So when the guy asks the girl what her fears are over a couple of drinks, she answers with: “Well, I’m afraid you’ll stop loving me and leave me, and break my heart. What are you afraid of?” To which he replies: “Umm, sharks?!?”
I hope you’ve realised by now that this isn’t going to be about those deep set emotional fears of growing old and bitter all alone, or not taking the world by storm and achieving fame and fortune, though I’m not exactly sure that fame-whoring and selling out qualify as emotional turmoil, but, hey, whatever makes you tick. And I mean “you” as in “no one here, really, we’re just lovable dorks, not soul-sucking-empty-eyed-brain-dead train wrecks”. Yeah, I’m big on hyphenates. 
If you’re still with me, let’s talk a bit about equally deep set fears that one births as a child and cannot bring themselves to abandon on the nearest church steps even as an adult. Like spiders. Or clowns. Or really long words. Hmmm, I guess you call them phobias, huh? Though, if you do, it means that you kinda sorta have an actual problem. Who, me? Nuh-uh, I don’t have such issues, no siree bob, not me, hey, is that a bug, with, HOLYFREAKINGCOW, that thing has a gazillion legs, what if it’s a centipede, and poisonous, and it’ll bite me and they’ll only discover my body after the smell has made them break down the door, get it off me, eek, eek, eek, help, help, HEEEEEEELP!!!! Erm, right. Yeah, bugs. They scare the shit out of me. I once got a friend up a 3 AM and made him come over from the other side of town to kill a bug that was minding its little buggy business, only it just happened to be doing so on my ceiling, in my room, in a spot that was placed with sniper precision directly above my pillow. The nerve of that little creep! I’m saving that story for another time, but in case you’re wondering, that friend and I are finally talking again.
Other things that go bump in the night? Or not necessarily only by the night? Zombies. Not so high heights. How do the latter go bump? Well, they don’t, but when I climb a chair and start feeling queasy, my head just might, on acquainting itself with the floor or nearest windowsill. Because of course if I do fall off a chair I happen to climb on, not sit on, there’s gonna be a windowsill nearby for my head to smack against. And then, what do you know, instant retrograde amnesia. Hey, that might be kinda … after all … I’ll be right back!
What was I saying? And who are you? And who am I, for that matter? You go ahead and slap me a comment if you will, while I go learn how to tie my shoes again and try not to drool on the keyboard quite so much. I’ll tag you back, if I remember that I have a blog that is. Tootles!
