The One Where John Finnemore Won't Lick My Autograph

Sorry for the break in posting, the blobfish ate my brain.

So guys, my awesome friend Ali - whose blog is kinda superior to mine seeing as she has adventures and posts pictures and says clever things, whereas I just watch tv and then BLOG ABOUT MY FEELINGS  - just happened to inspire my incredible envy last weekend* by going to a recording of John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme.

Just in case you're not quite sure who John Finnemore is, LET ME TELL YOU. He is a comedian, writer and actor, who is hilarious and charming and intelligent and silly and sarcastic and wonderful. 

• Go read his adorable blog.
• Go get obsessed with Cabin Pressure, the best radio sitcom ever, which he writes and acts in.
• Go learn the first season of John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme off by heart, which is a sketch show he writes and performs.

For the record, I introduced Ali to John Finnemore, which is the only way I could repay her for introducing me to Benedict Cumberbatch. Well, obviously not LITERALLY introduced. But you know, in that weird we-live-in-the-future way that makes you feel like you know celebrities by being constantly exposed to their work, so that you get so familiar with the concept of that person that you find yourself casually typing "Where EXACTLY does Benedict Cumberbatch live?" into google and not even feeling bad about it**. 

I'd wanted to ask Ali to get me an autograph since I heard she'd got tickets to the show, but obviously I have all this awkwardness and self-loathing so I didn't say anything because I didn't want to inconvenience her or be disappointed or be a person who exists or whatever. PAIN IS REAL. Luckily alcohol came to the rescue, and after a Long Island ice tea roughly the size of my arm, Ali updated facebook saying she was off to the show, and I promptly commented: 

I'm thankful to Ali for not only coming through, but actually risking a restraining order to get me a one-of-a-kind autograph! Starting what I hope will be a long and noble tradition of making celebrities uncomfortable, Ali promptly got a normal autograph for herself and a GLORIOUSLY INAPPROPRIATE ONE FOR ME: 

To Dasia

All the best

No, of course I won't lick it!

But still, all the best.

John Finnemore

JOHN FINNEMORE.

WROTE MY NAME.

AND SPELT IT RIGHT.

AND REFUSED TO LICK IT. 

THEY DON'T MAKE CAPS BIG ENOUGH TO EXPRESS THE ALLCAPINESS OF MY FEELINGS.

Doesn't he have lovely handwriting? He's the complete package.I've never been an autograph person but I really see the appeal of it now. Maybe I'll start collecting written  refusals to silly / inappropriate requests and could eventually build a gallery out of it: "The Hall Of Celebrity No, Of Course I Won'ts!" or something similarly cheesy and awesome.

Anyway, I really love that this actually happened because I'd gone out the night I found out about all this, and woke up on Sunday morning thoroughly believing that the autograph was just an awesome booze dream. So yay for good things that aren't booze dreams! Ali's posting me the original, and I'm more nervous about this autograph being in the post than any certificate or degree I've ever gotten. 

Which is normal and healthy, right?*** 

*It was actually the weekend before last  - it took me a surprisingly long time to finish this post.

**I felt a little bad about it.

*** They don't make rehab for fangirls, apparently.

I'M NOT A HOBO anymore.

Hey guys! I'm back :)

Quite a bit has happened during my hiatus, the biggest of which is that I got a job. Like, a real job that I have to brush my hair for. I'm a web copywriter for a company that owns a bunch of online casinos. So I'm spending my days writing gambling ebooks, updating news blogs, and sneaking lame puns into twitter updates.

It's funny, because I haven't gambled since I was thirteen and lost R50 in that bullshit totally-rigged coin-pushy game in the arcade.

I bite my thumb at you, coin pusher of lies.

And the more I research it, the dumber I think gambling is. Luckily, my retail experience has taught me to sound cheerful about things that make me want to do some recreational stabbing. At least when it comes to gambling I'm still sort of meh about its lameness, as opposed to the fiery rage that paintings, posters and framing now inspire in me.

People keep telling me that I'm a grown-up now that I've got a job. I can't totally agree with that, since I've already worn pyjamas under my work clothes for want of warm leggings (not that I'm a never-nude, though there are dozens of them! Dozens!) and my mommy still drives me everywhere because I'm too scared shitless highly evolved to learn how to drive. Though I'm technically more productive and less couch-potatoey than before, I don't feel any more adult-like now.

Besides, I'm just into this whole capitalism thing for book- and tequila-money anyway.

I can't get too specific about my job because a) THERE ARE CAMERAS EVERYWHERE, b) perhaps unwisely, I put a link to my blog into my CV just to prove that I've actually done something vaguely resembling writing over the past year and a half, and c) it's, uh, not very interesting. Suffice to say that the dress code is casual and the people are nice (quite nice. VERY NICE. So nice I'm worried they put Prozac in the water cooler,) so I'm happy I found it.

Hopefully my future posts will be a bit more entertaining than this one. I just wanted to say that I'm back and will be updating once a week, and that I've missed blogging like crazy. I have so many things I want to squee and snark and muse over, so hold onto your fancy hats!

And finally, I'd just like to say a huge thank-you to everyone who's followed this blog and stuck with me during my silence :) as ever, you guys rock!

On Hiatus (and some Recommended Reading)

So I'm taking a break from this blog for a while.

I could tell you it's because I'm so busy with real life stuff, or that I have to focus more on my fiction writing, but that would be both dishonest and predictable of me.

Truth is I'm a damaged and broken human being who's started to genuinely dread the 'pressure' of posting*, and that's not fun for anyone. I'd rather take a break and get my inspiration back than keep forcing myself to post lifeless, mediocre stuff, you know?

I just need to be quiet for a while. Maybe a month. Or less. Or more. We'll see.

In the meantime, here are some amazing blogs to keep you occupied during my silence:

 The Adventures Of Calamity Jane

A life in juxtaposition

Anonymous Legacy

Cake Wrecks 

The Daily Dose

Dead White Guys 

Deeper Inside Of Me

Defiantly Literate 

Forget What Did

The Geeky Shopaholic
Hyperbole and a Half 

Jazzabelle's Diary 

Laird Sapir

Let Them Eat Vinyl 

Lillie McFerrin Writes

Linguisticali Speaking

Little Swallow : China Doll 

Mental Skillness

100 Reasons NOT to Go to Graduate School 
Saracasm 

Sleep Talkin' Man

Surly Muse

ToughxCookies 

Write Me Happy

Yearning For Wonderland

^Wow. Those are just the blogs I really like and keep up with. There's almost thirty of them - no wonder I don't get through many books! I was going to write descriptions of each one, but then I didn't. Suffice to say they range from personal blogs to writing blogs, some comedy, some fashion, some feminism, some by people I know well, some by people I would totally stalk if they lived near me**. If this list doesn't keep your brain occupied while I'm away, I don't know what will.

But anyway, thanks for reading. I have the best, smartest, funniest, kindest, wisest, sweetest, sexiest readers in the world. True story.

* #whitegirlproblems
** I'm a lazy stalker.

Tiny Hibernation Post

No review today because I didn't finish a book this week. I think I've forgotten how to read.

But for your merry amusement (and to prove that I'm not dead) have a snoring dormouse:





I love the way his little hands move up and down, like he's knitting a dream-sweater!

(Regularly scheduled tomfoolery and skullduggery will resume on Monday.)

On Feeling Funny

So I haven't updated in a while because whenever I think of this neglected little blog I think to myself, "But I just don't feel funny today."
Which is dumb, because

• I'm not even that funny on days that I do feel funny.
• this blog started out being about everything, not just desperately trying to amuse the vast, uncaring gaze (gays!) of the internet.
• nobody reads this except a few kind friends and my sister, so what does it even matter what I write about?

What I was aiming for in the beginning was some semi-professional, semi-regular writing practice devoid of angst and unchecked squee. So when somebody from the real world asked if I had much writing experience, I could casually say "Well, I have a blog," and give them my business card ( haha! ...Sorry, I really must learn to say that with a straight face) and not be embarrassed by the idea that they might actually go to my blog and read it.

Should I get business cards? I feel like people who spend most days at home in their Hello Kitty pyjamas don't deserve business cards.

Maybe I should get business cards. It's been quite difficult to see myself as a professional writer, probably because apart from my three weeks at the Copywriting Job From Hell, I've never been paid to write anything. Even though I've made R68.86 from people clicking ads on this blog since January 2010! So that's almost R3 a month. *smugface*

Maybe I should just kill this blog? All my favourite bloggers are the ones who can't wait to post, and are usually accomplished illustrators or photographers with, you know, actual stuff to talk about. I have to force myself to post once a season.

But if I do kill it, what would I put on my Hello Kitty business cards?

*contemplative face*

ETA: After an impulsive (and slightly attention-whorey) facebook poll about what I should do with my blog, I've decided to carry on with it. Even people I didn't think cared at all have said they enjoy it, so I may as well try for a revival! Excuse me while I commission Hello Kitty business cards from my incredibly talented graphic designer sister.

Thanks to everyone for your support.  :)

Have you met Lexi?

Darling reader, I could give you a long explanation of how my life is far too busy and orgasmically* wonderful for me to blog, but that would be a lie. I’ve been less busy and possibly less orgasmic than your average senior citizen, and this blog has once again come to the edge of death because I suck at life.

But! I have made a new resolution! Call it a Nearly End Of Winter resolution or a Post-Bronchitis resolution, but I’ve made one and here it is: just because I suck at life doesn’t mean I have to suck at blogging. Most people whose blogs I enjoy suck at life anyway (except for you, because if you do blog I’m sure you’re amazing and I marvel at your ability to keep your orgasmically busy life at bay long enough to document it.)

So what do the pro-active, successful bloggers of the world blog about? I don’t know, but I have a cat** so… here’s a picture of my cat! 

Her name is Lexi and she's adorable. And whenever I run out of ideas I’m going to post pictures of her*** so this blog will never almost-die again! Look at me, with my flawless plan. It’s almost as if I don’t suck at life.

What are you doing in that shoebox, Lexi? You’re not a shoe, you’re a cat!

Of course, I’ll talk about other stuff too. Because there’s thin YET INCREDIBLY DISTINCT line between me and this girl:



And that line is that she’s trolling, and my devotion to cats (at least, my cat) is disturbingly genuine.

*Spellcheck assures me that I mean ‘orgasmic ally’ here. I think I’ve just found the name of my superhero sidekick. Climax would be the main superhero of course. And aren’t sidekicks supposed to have more cumbersome and less impressive names which tie in thematically to the main hero? There you go.

**a common symptom of sucking at life

***because she’s fluffy