Number Two

There is a Nelly song (Nelly? That dude with an elastoplast on his face,
somewhere under an eye I think), that goes like "I...am...number one, two is
not a winner and three nobody remembers". That song has basically nothing to
do with this post. I am still not fully awake so, I'm just going with the
flow.

Number 2.

Two year olds.
You want to murder the kids, but they are just so cute. And they act cute.
They go into places you tell them severally not to. But do they listen? No!
They are only two years old, so they are not listening. I mean, these little
devils can already walk. So you had better be keeping an eye on them
constantly, or use the ping method. Call out their name every 5 minutes so
that you can tell where they are. Once it goes silent, you know there is
some sh1t going down. You find them in a hurry. Something about two year
olds. I think once they get to 3 years, they figure they've messed with your
mind enough to last them another six years or so, when they get to standard
two...


Standard Twos.
You are not a standard one any more. You rule the damn school. You really
don't give a hoot what the teacher is saying. In standard one you were some
whimpering tot, scared of anyone who is not your mom or dad. By standard
two, you have gotten used to it all. Formed everlasting bonds with three
other of satan's spawn. You never walk, you run. You are a WRC car, with the
sound bites to go with it. You define tantrum to a T. You treat women (okay
teeny weenie girls) like they are supposed to be treated - punch and box
them, trip them up and stuff. You do everything. Climb trees, swim in mud,
check into the house after dark like your old man. Get spanked silly and
just do it again the next day. Soccer is already your life. You play any
chance you get. Standard two is one great ride. A turning point in your
life. You are master of the universe! Okay, a small universe. Until you get
to...


Form Two!
After a year of being harassed, fetching darkness in a bucket and storing it
for morning, swimming on grass (front crawl and backstroke). Living the
definition of boot camp - you hear anything like get down and give me ten,
in a heartbeat, you snap off ten push ups, so quick the dude has to ask for
more, and more, and more...You couldn't wait to run home every chance you
got. But that was last year. Not in form two. Once again you are master of
the universe. A much larger universe. This is when everything falls into
place. You start drinking and smoking. You lose your virginity. You become a
master of disguise - the best place to hide is out in the open. If you are
going to sneak out of school, you don't need clothes from home. Your school
stuff will do. If you guys wear blue shirts on weekdays, white on Sunday,
then wear a white shirt on Saturday and simply walk out of the school. Okay,
not that simply, you need to know where and when. Subterfuge. An art you
learn in form two. How to lie to your parents for more pocket money. Which
pubs to go to, where you will not be busted by your games master (who will
run your ass down and catch you if he spots you). The art of seduction -
albeit a still on the rough side, but you get so many chances to refine it
during any and all school functions. You don't get harassed no more, you
have grown a set of balls, and anyone thinking they can just mess with you
is going to have bad things done to him. Anything goes, from outright
ambushes in the cover of darkness and kicking a guys ass, to pouring buckets
of water on a guys bed, hiding his mattress, dirtying his bed sheets (again,
anything goes on this one - you know, mud...whatever). You can look older
people in the eye and dare them to do something. Dammit! You's a grown man
now. Form two. You are coming into your own. You are taller, bigger,
tougher. Life is good. But no better than...


Second Year!
At this point, sh1t really hits the fan. Forget master of the universe. The
universe revolves around you. You don't stay with your folks (until the
weekend when you go and beg for money). You drink willy nilly. Screw
likewise. Don't give a damn about reading (some of us I think). Only read
just before CATs and exams. You don't have to go to class (I think this is
only for public universities). You can wake up, just so that you go back to
sleep again. Now its not about getting laid, its about how many times, and
with how many women. You can show up to class in your underwear for all you
care. If you want to show up. You are surprised you've made it through the
first year of campus, thats until you realise its all a farce. Freefall.
Things change. You really don't give a crap, and you mean it this time. You
make a point of letting your lecturers know by not showing up for any
classes.


I don't know about the second year at work. Never been anywhere that long.
Why? See above.