Saturday, 21 November 2015

Christmas, your Latino uncle and I'm writing a book

There's been a lot of avacadoes in my house recently and I'm not sure if it qualifies as an obsession yet but at some point the shopkeepers are going to start wondering why every 4 days or so we keep purchasing avocados. Also, I'm pretty sure there's a rogue elf somewhere in the household because my socks are missing and the forks keep vanishing. We're left with the pity forks now and they're all dull and oddly shaped, which is absolutely no way for a child to live.  The yams are gone too and potatoes just aren't the same. They just don't fry like yams do.

It's also a little bit over a month till Christmas and I'm just trying to mentally prepare myself for the hell that is teenage materialism. Just like many holidays Christmas has become one of those commercial jackpots businesses use to make profits. And with that comes sales and offers and marketing schemes and babies wearing adorably large reindeer antlers...and..and adolescent cacti. I'm not even going to try justify that last one, just go with it.  Christmas marketing to me is like drowning in a pool of guava juice. It's not the nicest way to go but it's not the worst and it smells good. Plus it's probably comforting in a weird and sickly sweet kind of way so I'm cool with it. However I always seem to find myself  bombarded with gift talk every year. It's like everywhere I turn someone's always on about what they're getting and how brilliant/terrible it must be to have my birthday after Christmas.  I have no problem with someone casually expressing their excitement for a gift but if I hear "you must get a lot of gifts" or "it must be horrible having you're birthday after Christmas" one more time I'm  going to hit someone with a ripe and moderately sized mango.( Come on guys, I'm not an animal. I have morals!! ) Firstly I don't get that many gifts and secondly it's actually quite amazing, Jesus and I are practically birth buddies.

But Christmas aside, I'm genuinely planning on migrating to Mexico. I think people assume I'm lying. It's like that time I tried telling my maths teacher my uncle was Pythagoras. Or the time I told my friend that Cara Delevingne was my mum and the time I stole that cat from the neighbor and ran off with it to school. I lie. I don't run. (Once again I'm not even going to try and justify that, I'm like a parrot on opiates so please just work with me here.) I plan on changing my name to Pepito, running some sort of trade in the black market and just like in my last post, I would appreciate it so much if you would refer to me as your Latino uncle.

I've also started writing a book which is weird. It's a book within a blog. Every blog post is another chapter to the book and I'll even be including a few of my posts from here on it. I'm not sure exactly where I'm going with it but so far it's been a lot of fun. You can check it out here.

Tat's pretty much it.

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