You’re so buff, I bet you think this post is about you

When I was young buff didn’t mean muscly, or steroid abuse, it meant hot. Scores of girls would pore over various boys and declare them to be ‘so buff’. To us that was the real meaning of the word. I’m sure some of the novel around that time aimed at giggling preteens will include buff. How dated it will seem now. These days I can barely keep up with the vernacular. 

It doesn’t help that for non-Americans, we have to keep up with our own words as well as whatever’s popular in the US. Although, Americans were late on the ‘sick’ being something good train. 

Luckily for me, whoever runs Urban Dictionary has kept it up all these years. It’s made me appear far more savvy than I actually am. 

Response to the Daily Prompt of – Buff

should have studied law {flash fiction}

Look, I’ll be honest, I’m not a good superhero. And I’m not just saying that because I had to call the NYPD to rescue me after a rather dangerous mission. 
“Excuse me, I was a superhero for ten whole minutes,” I protest weakly when they all but drag me into interrogation. 

The old burly detective sneers at me. 

“And in that time you called us, and we had to come and rescue you.”

He’s right. 

My moment of greatness lasted for ten minutes. I swung across town, jumped across a building and…I got stuck. My cape got caught on a loose roof tile.

See, Superhero College was a lot like actual college. Theoretical situation after theoretical situation. Everything was like a Marvel movie. We used VR to practise our combat and wrote essays on how badass Batman is. At no point was I really prepared for what it would be like to actually launch myself off a rooftop. 

All I want to do is help people. That’s it. I want to save old ladies from purse snatchers. I want to swoop in and be the dashing hero to the damsel in distress. I want Peter Parker to snap a picture of me doing Superman’s ballerina pose. 

I want everything that I’ve seen the movies. 

Instead, I was tasked with rescuing my own car from my own damn roof. See, Fluffy (what, I never said I was imaginative) is a super cat. She can parkour better than Green Arrow himself. However, she’s scared of heights so one rooftop is her limit. I know I wasn’t supposed to be on rooftop duty yet, but she was mewling. I had to save her.

The cops laugh and say I could have called the fire department.

I tell that them that it can’t be considered a good use of the budget expenses, and they laugh even more.

Eventually, they let me go, but only after taking multiple pictures of me so that they can add me to their ‘Dumbass Not-So-Super Superheroes’ book. When I point out that it’s an unnecessarily long title, they throw me out on my ear.

I sigh to myself, because being a superhero isn’t really worth the ridicule.

Hell, I only got into this because I wanted to help people.

Fuck it, I should have studied law.

Sweet in an incredibly cheesy way

Is anybody there? It’s been quiet over the past few days to a hand related health issue and also life. Anyway, I’m back! I’ve missed blogging. Journalling is fun but I’m far more reasonable when I’m putting pen on paper. That’s no fun!

So, you know how I was like, ‘So long, Bob!’ in this post? 

Well, he Freddy Kruegered me in my dreams.


I’m pretty sure it was peach related. Bob has ruined peaches for me. I would give you the back story but I don’t want him to invade my daydreaming. I ain’t ready to sleep yet. Nor do I want to disturb you. I’m probably doing that already. 


It was an odd dream. I told my friend about it but she wisely ignored me, so I’m going to tell you guys about it instead. 

Before I do that, I would like to report that I’m Instagram free. I know, I never thought that this moment would come. I’m sure I’ll be back, but there’s no misguided obligation to see what mundane shit Bob is up to. 

F**k Bob. 

Well, okay, not really because he didn’t do anything and he seems sweet, just in an incredibly cheesy kind of way, but anyway, onto the dream. 

It took place near where I live. That’s red flag number one. Dreams that are close to home are always messed up. Always.

Here’s my write up (edited for clarity and because there’s some things y’all don’t need to know about me, LOL).

So, I guess I was walking on a street near where I live and somehow I bumped into Bob. I think he was with someone but that person didn’t say anything.  We got talking or he asked me something and we were talking for a bit. He was basically one of those people that never shuts up, lol. I remember talking about nonsense until two of my old friends showed up (I haven’t seen them in years) and joined the conversation. Next,  a door opened and this guy from work appeared and I was asking him about fixing a wall. My wall? Someone’s wall? I have no idea. 

He said he’d help and went to get tools. While he was gone, I’m talking about the wall with someone else and Bob cuts in and he said ‘what’s this about a wall?’ and something else about a hole and I was like, ‘No, it’s a broken wall outside’. I think he got talking about broken walls with his friend.

All. He. Did. Was. Talk. 


A short distance away, I was saying something to my friend about who he was and he interrupted and said, ‘You think I’m hot?’ 

…and I said, ‘No! I just know who you are’ but I don’t think I was convincing. Anyway the guy from work re-emerged and he left with Bob and his friend to go fix this wall. 

Later, I was telling my friend about my Bob fixation or whatever, and I jokingly said, ‘I’ve basically been stalking him for like a week’ (obviously I haven’t, but dream world lol). Out of nowhere, MY DAD CHIMES IN WITH, ‘Oh, you’ve been stalking this guy, eh?’ 

I was just wondering where the fuck he came from. He just seemed very amused. In the end I scuttled away because he kept listening to the conversation and it was disturbing. 

Now I have to look up what dreams about walls mean. Forget Bob, why was there a wall at all. A broken wall that I couldn’t fix myself. 

To dream about a hole in a wall indicates that you are breaking through obstacles and overcoming your limitations.

I am? Lol, well, hopefully this kicks in soon. As for Bob, he’s still in my metaphorical web-based naughty corner. I am still convinced that I dreamt of him because of peaches. I have to stay away from any mentions of peaches. 

What is life?

Forward is forward

Your speed doesn’t matter, forward is forward

I like this saying. I think it’s natural to want to catapult your way to success or whatever achievement you’re after, but mine times out of ten, it takes time. So much time. And sometimes progress is so fleeting that it feels like you’re going backwards. 

I have a habit of standing still because it’s better than dealing with the disappointment but… I’m going to try and shake myself out of that rut. 

This is a response to: CatapultDaily Prompt

One Liner Wednesday – an overwhelming urge to run away

This is my entry for One Liner Wednesday.

Someone posted a video of their pedicure (is this a thing that people do now? Why?) and their rampant need for attention aside, I DO NOT LIKE FEET. AT ALL. I don’t like open shoes. I don’t like sandals. I don’t even like peep toe shoes. Anything that shows any part of the foot (specifically the toes and heel) is off limits. I hate the sound of feet slapping in shoes. I just hate feet. So you can imagine what happened when I unknowingly clicked onto this video. I was not happy. I literally almost unfollowed them because I hate feet that much. I’m glad they’re getting their feet together because messed up gnarly feet are the worst but they need to do it far away from where I can see.

Random Thoughts #15

I made #14 private because I was not thinking straight last week and everything I posted was a little too personal. I will leave the others up just in case they’re ever helpful to anybody but that one. Nope. I read through the previous Random Thoughts posts and I think they’re a nice chronological account and archive of my ongoing weirdness, lol! 
Anyway, today’s thought:

Genuine amusement! There’s a first time for everything.

My Instagram obsession (well, I don’t consider it an obsession but whatever, we’ll just go with that. Or what else can I call them? Bob? Let’s got with Bob) posted something to day that made me laugh IRL. 

Occasionally I check Bob’s posts. It was just whenever I had time but then his dog died and seriously his dog was the best part of everything. I was genuinely sad for him so now I watch his stories more? I don’t know how that works. I think I’m just bored now that I don’t have TV shows to watch. 

Unfortunately, he’s still a frequent provider of secondhand embarrassment but I find it interesting really. He’s more or less the most active person on my Instagram. I still follow less than 40 people, lol. 

My poor friend is always telling me that Bob isn’t that interesting and I’m just like… but he’s pretty? I’m that shallow. And I’m so bored that anything will do right now. I need to follow more blogs on here. I’m gonna go find a bunch of writing blogs right now. And work on honing my craft and not mocking Bob with my long suffering friend. 

By work I mean I’m probably going to keep watching them. 

I need an intervention. 

ETA: I think I just got one. Bob has irritated me immensely. It was so bad that I’m now flicking through ‘instagram is for attention seekers’ posts to kick-start the cool down period. 

We had a good run, Bob, but you’re not that pretty.