I’ve been bad this week…. but my blog silence is attributable to a completely mental week, where I’ve been running back and forth between the office and a gazillion work functions. It is also attributable to an interesting weekend, which I’m still trying to decide whether or not to blog about. BUT luckily, I’ve been tagged by Cuteness, which is a brilliant diversion from trying to put my weekend into words.
Rules: Each player starts off with 10 weird things / little known facts about themselves, and this rule MUST be stated in blog. Thereafter, 6 other people must be tagged, here goes:
1. When I was a kid I used to be exceedingly superstitious – which became particularly obvious during my bedtime ritual. I used to have to make it from my door to the bed in three steps, then had to check under my bed for monsters and if I didn’t tell my parents that I would see them in the morning, I was convinced I wouldn’t.
2. My dream job would be performing on stage in musicals. Not the cheesy ‘Sounds of Music’ type – more like the cheesy ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’ and ‘We Will Rock You’ type. My complete lack of vocal abilities made sure that this was not a path I would ever follow.
3. I can’t eat or touch peaches. Food is not supposed to have fur.
4. I can’t click my fingers or whistle.
5. I also have a serious problem working out which way is left and which is right. This isn’t really a little-known fact as my friends have all gotten used to pointing instead of issuing verbal commands when directing me.
6. I often get the temptation to (but never have the courage to) fill my tank with petrol, hop in my car and just bugger off for a week or two with no set destination in mind.
7. I can’t keep a secret (unless there is a reeeallly realllly good reason to).
8. My biggest fears are losing someone close to me, or ending up alone.
9. If a person dies in a movie, I’m completely fine with it. If a dog dies in a movie, I won’t recover for a week.
10. I cry everytime I watch Extreme Makeover – Home Edition.
I can’t tag six – so I’m just tagging two – Phlips and Wiggles.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Crash!
Big excitement in the office today…
One of the ladies at work ordered herself a new bakkie (I know… kinda weird, but that’s beside the point…). She organised for it to be delivered to her at work this morning. So she eagerly awaited its arrival in the parking lot today. The guy who delivered it must have taken one look at the excited expression on her face as he bounded out of the bakkie to hand over the keys – forgetting to pull up the handbrake in the process....
The brand new bakkie then rolled into the shiny black Renault Modus in front of it…. which in turn then rolled into the silver Corsa lite parked next to it.
My office managed to have a three car pile up without one car even being turned on! Incredible huh?!
I’m sure I’d be finding this all a lot less amazing if my darling Troy (my car) had been involved – but he just sat parked in the distance enjoying the show.
I couldn’t help but feel absolutely terrible for the poor delivery guy, as he stood by watching helplessly while the drama unfolded in front of him.
And I kinda know how he feels… having inflicted damage on someone else’s car myself.
It was quite a while back… The Ron was coming to stay with me for a couple of weeks while he was in between homes. He had quite a lot of stuff to move across, so he illegally parked while we unloaded all the boxes. The people in my complex can get quite sticky about illegal parkers, so I suggested that I move his car into one of my parking spaces while he carried stuff up.
Now The Ron’s car was his baby. It’s one of those fancy new silver Opel Astras – and it was his pride and joy. After my suggestion he stood there looking at me and asked:
The Ron: “Mozi… are you sure you can do this??”
MsMozi: “Oh come on – I’m driving it a couple of metres down into the parking basement, what the hell could I possibly do wrong?!?”
The Ron: “Hmmm…. (thoughtful pause) Ok, I guess it’s fine.”
So I grabbed the keys, started the engine and gave a cheeky wave as I drove down to the parking basement.
Upon reaching the parking spot – I realised this may be a little bit more complicated that I initially anticipated for two reasons:
a) The parking spot is next to a pillar – and there’s something about pillars that magnetically draws me, and the car I’m driving, into them.
b) At that stage I was used to driving a Corsa – significantly smaller than the Astra
So I made a couple of attempts to get the car into the parking space, concentrating on not making contact with the car on the one side, and the pillar on the other. Eventually, after about 5 minutes of trying, I decided to get out the car, swallow my pride and go and ask The Ron for help. As I climbed out – I thought to myself “Come on Mozi! Don’t be stupid! You can TOTALLY do this!”
Turns out I couldn’t.
As I turned into the parking spot, I heard the heart-stopping, cringe-worthy, sob-inducing sound of metal buckling as the car made contact with the pillar.
Now I faced another predicament. As the car had now become one with the pillar – do I reverse, or continue forward??? Which would result in the least damage??? I decided at this point, the only solution was to go call The Ron.
I ran up to my apartment and informed The Ron that I had decided to attach his car to a concrete pillar. I think my tears (not put on, I swear!) said it all and he was his fabulous, understanding, incredible self and didn’t freak out. He somehow managed to unattach his car from the pillar without inflicting any further damage, and spent the rest of the evening consoling me.
The Ron – you’re a total rock star.
One of the ladies at work ordered herself a new bakkie (I know… kinda weird, but that’s beside the point…). She organised for it to be delivered to her at work this morning. So she eagerly awaited its arrival in the parking lot today. The guy who delivered it must have taken one look at the excited expression on her face as he bounded out of the bakkie to hand over the keys – forgetting to pull up the handbrake in the process....
The brand new bakkie then rolled into the shiny black Renault Modus in front of it…. which in turn then rolled into the silver Corsa lite parked next to it.
My office managed to have a three car pile up without one car even being turned on! Incredible huh?!
I’m sure I’d be finding this all a lot less amazing if my darling Troy (my car) had been involved – but he just sat parked in the distance enjoying the show.
I couldn’t help but feel absolutely terrible for the poor delivery guy, as he stood by watching helplessly while the drama unfolded in front of him.
And I kinda know how he feels… having inflicted damage on someone else’s car myself.
It was quite a while back… The Ron was coming to stay with me for a couple of weeks while he was in between homes. He had quite a lot of stuff to move across, so he illegally parked while we unloaded all the boxes. The people in my complex can get quite sticky about illegal parkers, so I suggested that I move his car into one of my parking spaces while he carried stuff up.
Now The Ron’s car was his baby. It’s one of those fancy new silver Opel Astras – and it was his pride and joy. After my suggestion he stood there looking at me and asked:
The Ron: “Mozi… are you sure you can do this??”
MsMozi: “Oh come on – I’m driving it a couple of metres down into the parking basement, what the hell could I possibly do wrong?!?”
The Ron: “Hmmm…. (thoughtful pause) Ok, I guess it’s fine.”
So I grabbed the keys, started the engine and gave a cheeky wave as I drove down to the parking basement.
Upon reaching the parking spot – I realised this may be a little bit more complicated that I initially anticipated for two reasons:
a) The parking spot is next to a pillar – and there’s something about pillars that magnetically draws me, and the car I’m driving, into them.
b) At that stage I was used to driving a Corsa – significantly smaller than the Astra
So I made a couple of attempts to get the car into the parking space, concentrating on not making contact with the car on the one side, and the pillar on the other. Eventually, after about 5 minutes of trying, I decided to get out the car, swallow my pride and go and ask The Ron for help. As I climbed out – I thought to myself “Come on Mozi! Don’t be stupid! You can TOTALLY do this!”
Turns out I couldn’t.
As I turned into the parking spot, I heard the heart-stopping, cringe-worthy, sob-inducing sound of metal buckling as the car made contact with the pillar.
Now I faced another predicament. As the car had now become one with the pillar – do I reverse, or continue forward??? Which would result in the least damage??? I decided at this point, the only solution was to go call The Ron.
I ran up to my apartment and informed The Ron that I had decided to attach his car to a concrete pillar. I think my tears (not put on, I swear!) said it all and he was his fabulous, understanding, incredible self and didn’t freak out. He somehow managed to unattach his car from the pillar without inflicting any further damage, and spent the rest of the evening consoling me.
The Ron – you’re a total rock star.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Culture shock
I’ve got a real thing for ancient civilisations and cultures. Although my initial interest may have been prompted by Eric Bana in Troy and Orlando Bloom in Kingdom of Heaven – the fact remains – ancient history rocks.
There’s something fascinating about the daily life of civilisations thousands of years ago – were they motivated by the same things as us? Our fundamental drives are innate – so it seems logical to assume that however repressed or decadent their lifestyles may have been, they had similar concerns to all of us.
What really hooks me in is the way in which their lives were so completely immersed in mythology and spirituality. Whether it be the Ancient Greeks, Romans, Aztecs or Mayans – their entire world centred around complete devotion to the spiritual realm.
Which is why my most recent task at work, a feature on cultural tourism in Limpopo, has been an absolute joy to write. Despite a fair amount of travelling around South Africa, and even Limpopo, I had no idea such a rich culture, still clinging onto its mythological beliefs from so long ago, still existed just a few hours from Jozi.
So my dear readers – it is time for you to get a brief class in VhaVenda Culture 101…
Mphephu village is a sacred burial ground for VhaVenda chiefs. An interesting burial ritual is practiced here. Many years ago, a VhaVenda chief noticed that crocodiles swallowed rocks – and he decided that this was the reason for its strength. So he decided to swallow a small white rock himself. As part of the Mphephu burial ceremony, the chief is put on top of a wooden stack, until the body has completely decomposed. Eventually, the white rock fell out of the deceased chief’s decomposed stomach – and it became tradition for his successor to swallow the same white rock to inherit his strength. This tradition still continues.
Also in Limpopo, you will find the Thathe Vondo sacred forest. No one walks in the sacred forest for fear of disturbing its two resident guards and the ancestral spirits, one of which is a white lion, a spirit of the deceased Chief Nethathe. The second is the lightning bird, known as Ndadzi, which flies on wings of thunders, its eyes flash lighting and in its beak it bears the rain. If it lays an egg at the foot of a tree, it instantly bursts into flames.
Other sacred spots include Lwamondo hill – where a troop of sacred baboons keep watch for the local community. Their task is to warn the local people of intruders, and the baboons have been protected by the VhaVenda for many years.
Lastly, Lake Fundudzi, the sacred lake. It is believed that once a leper came to the local village to beg for food. When he was refused, he put a curse on the village, and the floods engulfed the entire settlement. The VhaVenda believe that the dead live on at the bottom of its sacred water. It is also believed that it is home to the God of Fertility, the python – who must be offered plenty of beer and virgins in order to be kept content. The VhaVenda people will not look on the lake directly, but instead will only view it by looking through their legs. They also will not touch its waters, as they believe they will break out in sores.
Cool huh?
There’s something fascinating about the daily life of civilisations thousands of years ago – were they motivated by the same things as us? Our fundamental drives are innate – so it seems logical to assume that however repressed or decadent their lifestyles may have been, they had similar concerns to all of us.
What really hooks me in is the way in which their lives were so completely immersed in mythology and spirituality. Whether it be the Ancient Greeks, Romans, Aztecs or Mayans – their entire world centred around complete devotion to the spiritual realm.
Which is why my most recent task at work, a feature on cultural tourism in Limpopo, has been an absolute joy to write. Despite a fair amount of travelling around South Africa, and even Limpopo, I had no idea such a rich culture, still clinging onto its mythological beliefs from so long ago, still existed just a few hours from Jozi.
So my dear readers – it is time for you to get a brief class in VhaVenda Culture 101…
Mphephu village is a sacred burial ground for VhaVenda chiefs. An interesting burial ritual is practiced here. Many years ago, a VhaVenda chief noticed that crocodiles swallowed rocks – and he decided that this was the reason for its strength. So he decided to swallow a small white rock himself. As part of the Mphephu burial ceremony, the chief is put on top of a wooden stack, until the body has completely decomposed. Eventually, the white rock fell out of the deceased chief’s decomposed stomach – and it became tradition for his successor to swallow the same white rock to inherit his strength. This tradition still continues.
Also in Limpopo, you will find the Thathe Vondo sacred forest. No one walks in the sacred forest for fear of disturbing its two resident guards and the ancestral spirits, one of which is a white lion, a spirit of the deceased Chief Nethathe. The second is the lightning bird, known as Ndadzi, which flies on wings of thunders, its eyes flash lighting and in its beak it bears the rain. If it lays an egg at the foot of a tree, it instantly bursts into flames.
Other sacred spots include Lwamondo hill – where a troop of sacred baboons keep watch for the local community. Their task is to warn the local people of intruders, and the baboons have been protected by the VhaVenda for many years.
Lastly, Lake Fundudzi, the sacred lake. It is believed that once a leper came to the local village to beg for food. When he was refused, he put a curse on the village, and the floods engulfed the entire settlement. The VhaVenda believe that the dead live on at the bottom of its sacred water. It is also believed that it is home to the God of Fertility, the python – who must be offered plenty of beer and virgins in order to be kept content. The VhaVenda people will not look on the lake directly, but instead will only view it by looking through their legs. They also will not touch its waters, as they believe they will break out in sores.
Cool huh?
Monday, February 19, 2007
Your choice, your life…
Prompted by a couple of things I’ve read over the last while, from blogs to newspaper articles – I’ve decided to blog about accountability.
Accountability is a difficult concept for a lot of people to comprehend. With whatever misfortune may come your way, it’s oh-so easy to find a gazillion possible external forces that may have brought it about. People are phenomenally gifted at lying to themselves – but it’s only when they take responsibility for the consequences of their own behaviours that they can really move forward.
There are examples of this where ever we look – and at all levels. Governments use scapegoats to explain away all their bad decisions – the excuses range from terrorist plots, the media, conspiracies by the powers that be, or “whinging” ex-pats.
But a person doesn’t need to look that far for examples of this – it happens in all of our everyday lives. We blame supermodels for bad body images, we blame affirmative action for not having our dream jobs… Fat kids even blamed McDonalds for not having health warnings on its food!
Wake up world! You always had a choice! If you’re not living the life you think you’re worthy of, you only have yourself to blame.
The only person you will EVER be able to change in this world, is yourself. Trying to change the world while overlooking your own crippling inadequacies will help no-one.
In the process, you may have to confront some aspects of yourself that you really don’t like – but once you’re past that you’ll never look back. You will realise that you are making conscious decisions with every step you take. You will be grasping your own destiny firmly in both hands and there’s nothing more empowering than that.
Of course there are always extreme examples – and living in SA with rampant poverty and disease, sadly many people don’t have a lot of choice – but my bet is that none of these people are reading this blog right now.
I think Pearl Jam says it best:
“I know that I’ll live and I know that I’ll die… but the in between is mine. I am mine!”
Accountability is a difficult concept for a lot of people to comprehend. With whatever misfortune may come your way, it’s oh-so easy to find a gazillion possible external forces that may have brought it about. People are phenomenally gifted at lying to themselves – but it’s only when they take responsibility for the consequences of their own behaviours that they can really move forward.
There are examples of this where ever we look – and at all levels. Governments use scapegoats to explain away all their bad decisions – the excuses range from terrorist plots, the media, conspiracies by the powers that be, or “whinging” ex-pats.
But a person doesn’t need to look that far for examples of this – it happens in all of our everyday lives. We blame supermodels for bad body images, we blame affirmative action for not having our dream jobs… Fat kids even blamed McDonalds for not having health warnings on its food!
Wake up world! You always had a choice! If you’re not living the life you think you’re worthy of, you only have yourself to blame.
The only person you will EVER be able to change in this world, is yourself. Trying to change the world while overlooking your own crippling inadequacies will help no-one.
In the process, you may have to confront some aspects of yourself that you really don’t like – but once you’re past that you’ll never look back. You will realise that you are making conscious decisions with every step you take. You will be grasping your own destiny firmly in both hands and there’s nothing more empowering than that.
Of course there are always extreme examples – and living in SA with rampant poverty and disease, sadly many people don’t have a lot of choice – but my bet is that none of these people are reading this blog right now.
I think Pearl Jam says it best:
“I know that I’ll live and I know that I’ll die… but the in between is mine. I am mine!”
My Mojo, Borat and Free Booze
The weekend kicked off with reality TV and drinks at Aye and Kay’s place. We got sucked in by the inexplicable appeal of ‘For Love or Money’ and ended up only leaving the house after 10. By then it was clear that our plans for a quiet drink at Giles was out of the question as they were already starting to think about locking up. Instead, we headed off to Melville – starting off at Trance Sky. We immediately got accosted by a Borat lookalike. We were seriously all looking around for the cameras – thinking that this guy couldn’t possibly be for real. Turns out he was.
Borat was Jewish, and ran an Italian restaurant with a Spanish name. Interesting. He asked Aye if we would like to come and join him and his friend for a chat. Aye answered with a very clear and resounding “No”. This did not put Borat off in the least. He’s witty repartee after this included, my personal favourite: “I know I seem really happy, but I can also be very dark and depressed” – That one must be a real winner with ladies.
Eventually we realised that in order to rid ourselves of Borat, we were going to have to move to another establishment. We headed over to Ratz, where Siz joined us for a couple of drinks.
The great thing about Friday was that for the first time in a long while I finally felt like I had my mojo back (This had nothing to do with Borat). Bumped into an old acquaintance in Melville, who kept giving me eyes the entire evening at Ratz – and was also informed by Kay, that Aye’s boyfriend’s friend likes me. I was particularly happy about the latter – as I met him about three weeks ago and had felt a bit of a connection.
Saturday was spent back in the Wild Wild West Rand – love that place. D and I hit Clearwater Mall again – but it turns out that Sunday is Hot Man Day in Roodepoort, not Saturday. Regardless, we had a good time, went on a bit of a spree.
That evening, Siz had decided that the gang should have sundowners at The Saxon hotel. Ended up having a brilliant time – sundowners only ended after 10pm – after vast amounts of wine. We acted like total rock stars – oversized sunglasses on at night, glass of Haute Cabriére in one hand, cigarette in the other. For some bizarre reason, The Saxon only charged us for two bottles of wine, when at least five were consumed. Of course, when drunken, this was taken as a sign from god, a reward for all our fabulousness, so we decided not to point out the error. Feeling really bad about it now though! Especially since I have two work functions at The Saxon over the next two weeks – hopefully I won’t be recognised and arrested on sight.
Anyways, all round a fabulous weekend – hope you all had a sensational one too!
Rock on rock stars!
Friday, February 16, 2007
Rocking it
Despite being plagued by the flu epidemic spreading across Jozi – I decided, like the trooper I am, to head out with C to the Blues Room last night to watch Wonderboom in action. What a rocking night.
The first opening band was completely kak as usual – some girly band called Scarlet Box where the lead singer thought she was Dolores O'Riordan from the Cranberries, except about 10 times angrier (if that’s possible). She also kept unknowingly flashing the whole of Blues Room the entire set – go girl, way to leave a lasting impression!
The second band, Blood Money were a lot better – sexy lead singer with an even sexier voice. Fatal mistake of wearing leather pants though… almost unforgivable.
Before Wonderboom started, The Ron’s happy clappy/bandwhore ex girlfriend came bounding over to say hi. This girl really just rubs me up the wrong way. She thinks that South African quasi-celebrities are just the bomb and likes to name drop as though this, by default, catapults her to the same level of quasi-celebritydom. She’s now dating a member of Rock God’s band. Almost makes me lose respect for Rock God, on the basis that he could be friends with someone who finds her attractive. But then I remembered that I’m friends with The Ron and he used to find her attractive, so it really just bonds Rock God and I even closer together.
Anyways – after that Wonderboom started – My god this band rocks. Fortunately I’ve discovered a kindred live music lover in C, so we got to jump around like mad creatures. Cito, the frontman of Wonderboom (who for the record, is not Rock God) is truly a masterpiece. This guy knows how to work it like no one else. You can tell he’s spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting his blue-eyed gaze out from under his eyebrows – and as much as every girl wants to not be turned on by it because of his complete arrogance – none of us can resist swooning away. He also knows the exact moment to take off his shirt and reveal his tattooed bod and….ermm…..um…. where was I?
P.S. Note to all male readers out there – do not try and hit on women while they are watching a live rock band – unless you are the frontman in the band, it’s not going to work out for you. It’s like a girl trying to hit on a guy in a strip club…… wait a minute… no, that would probably work.
The first opening band was completely kak as usual – some girly band called Scarlet Box where the lead singer thought she was Dolores O'Riordan from the Cranberries, except about 10 times angrier (if that’s possible). She also kept unknowingly flashing the whole of Blues Room the entire set – go girl, way to leave a lasting impression!
The second band, Blood Money were a lot better – sexy lead singer with an even sexier voice. Fatal mistake of wearing leather pants though… almost unforgivable.
Before Wonderboom started, The Ron’s happy clappy/bandwhore ex girlfriend came bounding over to say hi. This girl really just rubs me up the wrong way. She thinks that South African quasi-celebrities are just the bomb and likes to name drop as though this, by default, catapults her to the same level of quasi-celebritydom. She’s now dating a member of Rock God’s band. Almost makes me lose respect for Rock God, on the basis that he could be friends with someone who finds her attractive. But then I remembered that I’m friends with The Ron and he used to find her attractive, so it really just bonds Rock God and I even closer together.
Anyways – after that Wonderboom started – My god this band rocks. Fortunately I’ve discovered a kindred live music lover in C, so we got to jump around like mad creatures. Cito, the frontman of Wonderboom (who for the record, is not Rock God) is truly a masterpiece. This guy knows how to work it like no one else. You can tell he’s spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting his blue-eyed gaze out from under his eyebrows – and as much as every girl wants to not be turned on by it because of his complete arrogance – none of us can resist swooning away. He also knows the exact moment to take off his shirt and reveal his tattooed bod and….ermm…..um…. where was I?
P.S. Note to all male readers out there – do not try and hit on women while they are watching a live rock band – unless you are the frontman in the band, it’s not going to work out for you. It’s like a girl trying to hit on a guy in a strip club…… wait a minute… no, that would probably work.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
The perfect man…
So with Valentine’s over for another year (thank god!) I decided that perhaps this year I should consider getting a head start in the man department.
As I’ve gotten older, with several relationships now under my belt – I now have a pretty good idea about what I’m after. Or perhaps I have more of an idea about what I’m NOT after.
My first serious relationship, and also my longest, was with a dairy farmer who lived in the Garden Route. In retrospect, maybe some warning bells should have started ringing at this point for the future of my romantic pursuits. Of course, at the time I was completely oblivious to the strangeness of my taste in men, and fell head over heels for Dairy Farmer.
Every school holiday in my matric year I would hop on a plane and head across to the farm. He’d be up at the crack of dawn for work, and as I awoke around 9am, he would come in all tanned, glistening and flexed up from the physical labour. (Actually, I’m getting a bit worked up just typing all of that out – maybe I haven’t learnt much).
After heading off to London together for a gap year, I learnt that you can’t take the farm out of the farmer, and it was over. Since then, Dairy Farmer has had an illegitimate child with a woman approaching 40 – so it’s probably best that I got away from that one.
The second serious boyfriend had a teeny tiny substance abuse problem (I later discovered that he polished off a bottle of vodka every night). Scary, that in the society we live in, I could have dated a raging alcoholic for almost a year and not picked up on it. His favourite party trick was crushing a raw egg in his mouth, followed by a shot of tequila, swallowing the contents of his mouth and spitting the shell out into the tot glass. I thought it was brilliant.
I only discovered that his habits were beyond recreational ages after the relationship ended, when he asked to meet for coffee, as part of his rehabilitation process involved apologising to the people he had hurt along the way. Crazy.
The third serious boyfriend was most notable for his highly questionable sexual orientation. Although the poor boy probably is straight, his raging metrosexual behaviour led most to believe the contrary. He used to order cosmopolitans when we went out for drinks, he called his mother ‘Mumsy’ and drove a distinctly pink-ish Renault Clio. He used to peroxide his hair and thought that Erasure was the heat. My god… what was I thinking?!?
The fourth serious boyfriend, I can’t really fault. There was nothing glaringly wrong with him. He was a boys boy, with a gentle heart, awesome family and fantastic enthusiasm and outlook on life. After a year and a half I decided I was bored and broke his heart.
Now… number five, my most recent, Italian ex boyfriend. This one was truly a mystery. I honestly have absolutely no idea what I saw in this one. When we eventually broke up my mom literally brought out the champagne. I think this relationship was karma’s way of getting back at me for the way I treated Boyfriend No. 4 – by making me somehow attracted to a boy who was fundamentally offensive in every possible way.
So what have I learnt from it all…
Alcoholic, metrosexual dairy farmers are definitely not for me!
As I’ve gotten older, with several relationships now under my belt – I now have a pretty good idea about what I’m after. Or perhaps I have more of an idea about what I’m NOT after.
My first serious relationship, and also my longest, was with a dairy farmer who lived in the Garden Route. In retrospect, maybe some warning bells should have started ringing at this point for the future of my romantic pursuits. Of course, at the time I was completely oblivious to the strangeness of my taste in men, and fell head over heels for Dairy Farmer.
Every school holiday in my matric year I would hop on a plane and head across to the farm. He’d be up at the crack of dawn for work, and as I awoke around 9am, he would come in all tanned, glistening and flexed up from the physical labour. (Actually, I’m getting a bit worked up just typing all of that out – maybe I haven’t learnt much).
After heading off to London together for a gap year, I learnt that you can’t take the farm out of the farmer, and it was over. Since then, Dairy Farmer has had an illegitimate child with a woman approaching 40 – so it’s probably best that I got away from that one.
The second serious boyfriend had a teeny tiny substance abuse problem (I later discovered that he polished off a bottle of vodka every night). Scary, that in the society we live in, I could have dated a raging alcoholic for almost a year and not picked up on it. His favourite party trick was crushing a raw egg in his mouth, followed by a shot of tequila, swallowing the contents of his mouth and spitting the shell out into the tot glass. I thought it was brilliant.
I only discovered that his habits were beyond recreational ages after the relationship ended, when he asked to meet for coffee, as part of his rehabilitation process involved apologising to the people he had hurt along the way. Crazy.
The third serious boyfriend was most notable for his highly questionable sexual orientation. Although the poor boy probably is straight, his raging metrosexual behaviour led most to believe the contrary. He used to order cosmopolitans when we went out for drinks, he called his mother ‘Mumsy’ and drove a distinctly pink-ish Renault Clio. He used to peroxide his hair and thought that Erasure was the heat. My god… what was I thinking?!?
The fourth serious boyfriend, I can’t really fault. There was nothing glaringly wrong with him. He was a boys boy, with a gentle heart, awesome family and fantastic enthusiasm and outlook on life. After a year and a half I decided I was bored and broke his heart.
Now… number five, my most recent, Italian ex boyfriend. This one was truly a mystery. I honestly have absolutely no idea what I saw in this one. When we eventually broke up my mom literally brought out the champagne. I think this relationship was karma’s way of getting back at me for the way I treated Boyfriend No. 4 – by making me somehow attracted to a boy who was fundamentally offensive in every possible way.
So what have I learnt from it all…
Alcoholic, metrosexual dairy farmers are definitely not for me!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
All you need is love…
So it's Valentine's Day. And yes… I'm single. Am I feeling a little sorry for myself? You bet. But things could be a hell of a lot worse – so I'm not going to dwell on the negative…
Instead today, I'm going to take a little trip down memory lane – in remembrance of Valentine's past…
My first Valentine's memory was at the age of 11 and I had a crush on one of the boys at my school. At that age, liking a boy was something you kept very quiet about. Despite this, I decided to make the object of my affections a little anonymous Valentine's card. I brought it to school, and decided to confide in my best friend at the time. She found this hysterical and managed to find the card and proceeded to run around the school waving it around like a mad creature. I eventually managed to pry it away from grip and threw it away. She and I don't speak anymore.
My next Valentine's memory was at the age of 13. My best friend's brother made a card for me and left it in my post box. I wasn't expecting anything, so I never checked, until a week later when he came to visit and saw the card still sitting there, rained on and muddy. The poor kid felt quite rejected.
One of my old boyfriends bought me one of those giant human-sized teddy bears as a Valentine's Day gift. En route to my house, in peak hour traffic, his car broke down on Jan Smuts Avenue. He ended up sitting on the side of the road, with hordes of cars passing by, waiting for the AA… with the giant teddy bear plonked right next to him.
On a Valentine's Day, not so long ago, an old boyfriend organised for my mom to let him in at the crack of dawn before I woke up to head off to varsity. He tied a gazillion red balloons to every possible part of my car and left a bouquet of red roses on the front seat. Unfortunately, I was running late for varsity, so by the time I discovered his surprise I didn't have time to untie them and had to drive all the way there with red balloons trailing behind me in wind.
So here's to the day of luuuurve – I hope you all have a sensational one and a million more to follow!
Instead today, I'm going to take a little trip down memory lane – in remembrance of Valentine's past…
My first Valentine's memory was at the age of 11 and I had a crush on one of the boys at my school. At that age, liking a boy was something you kept very quiet about. Despite this, I decided to make the object of my affections a little anonymous Valentine's card. I brought it to school, and decided to confide in my best friend at the time. She found this hysterical and managed to find the card and proceeded to run around the school waving it around like a mad creature. I eventually managed to pry it away from grip and threw it away. She and I don't speak anymore.
My next Valentine's memory was at the age of 13. My best friend's brother made a card for me and left it in my post box. I wasn't expecting anything, so I never checked, until a week later when he came to visit and saw the card still sitting there, rained on and muddy. The poor kid felt quite rejected.
One of my old boyfriends bought me one of those giant human-sized teddy bears as a Valentine's Day gift. En route to my house, in peak hour traffic, his car broke down on Jan Smuts Avenue. He ended up sitting on the side of the road, with hordes of cars passing by, waiting for the AA… with the giant teddy bear plonked right next to him.
On a Valentine's Day, not so long ago, an old boyfriend organised for my mom to let him in at the crack of dawn before I woke up to head off to varsity. He tied a gazillion red balloons to every possible part of my car and left a bouquet of red roses on the front seat. Unfortunately, I was running late for varsity, so by the time I discovered his surprise I didn't have time to untie them and had to drive all the way there with red balloons trailing behind me in wind.
So here's to the day of luuuurve – I hope you all have a sensational one and a million more to follow!
Monday, February 12, 2007
The games people play…
Some time ago, I embarked on a little research experiment. I took a couple of my guy friends aside and quizzed them individually on the strange little games and rules that come into play when a group of boys are out on a bender. After much persuasion and plying of alcohol, I managed to discover some interesting little facts about what the opposite sex gets up to… little secrets that they never intended for female ears.
1) The triple crown
This game was played by one specific group of boys, and I’m not sure that it extends beyond this circle. To the best of my knowledge – the triple crown has only been obtained by one of these boys… but I won’t name and shame. The triple crown is awarded to the player who scores three girls in one night – one being white, one black and one Indian or coloured.
2) Hunt the grunt
The most infamous and most widely-known about game – Hunt the Grunt involves a contest to see which one of the boys can find the dodgiest of the dodgy – apparently a particularly popular past time at Rhodes.
3) The 20km rule
Now I can’t quite remember if 20km was the actual distance – but it was roughly thereabouts… The rule was that if the boy’s girlfriend was 20km away or further at any given time, it meant that he was free to do whatever and whomever he pleased.
4) ½ age plus 7
This one is pretty straight forward – it is the male’s method of working out if the girl he plans on scoring is of an acceptable age – so if the boy is 26 – he would half this and add 7, meaning any girl from the age of 20 or over gets the green light.
5) Taking one for the team
This is the reason why boys hunt in packs. If the one spies the girl of his dreams, but then notices standing next to her is her fugly best mate – it is the duty of the boy’s best friend to step in and distract the mate by taking one for the team – leaving his friend the gap to make his move.
6) The game of cricket
This game is quite complicated – it has an intricate scoring system in place. Apparently it works best in crowded places, so I can just imagine how many women have unwittingly fallen victim at spots like Manhattan. If a boy manages to graze against a women’s breast with his arm he gets 1 run. An entire hand on a girl’s boob gets four runs, and both in both hands gets them six. If they get slapped, they’re out.
Ladies… you have been warned – stay tuned for The Games People Play Part II!
1) The triple crown
This game was played by one specific group of boys, and I’m not sure that it extends beyond this circle. To the best of my knowledge – the triple crown has only been obtained by one of these boys… but I won’t name and shame. The triple crown is awarded to the player who scores three girls in one night – one being white, one black and one Indian or coloured.
2) Hunt the grunt
The most infamous and most widely-known about game – Hunt the Grunt involves a contest to see which one of the boys can find the dodgiest of the dodgy – apparently a particularly popular past time at Rhodes.
3) The 20km rule
Now I can’t quite remember if 20km was the actual distance – but it was roughly thereabouts… The rule was that if the boy’s girlfriend was 20km away or further at any given time, it meant that he was free to do whatever and whomever he pleased.
4) ½ age plus 7
This one is pretty straight forward – it is the male’s method of working out if the girl he plans on scoring is of an acceptable age – so if the boy is 26 – he would half this and add 7, meaning any girl from the age of 20 or over gets the green light.
5) Taking one for the team
This is the reason why boys hunt in packs. If the one spies the girl of his dreams, but then notices standing next to her is her fugly best mate – it is the duty of the boy’s best friend to step in and distract the mate by taking one for the team – leaving his friend the gap to make his move.
6) The game of cricket
This game is quite complicated – it has an intricate scoring system in place. Apparently it works best in crowded places, so I can just imagine how many women have unwittingly fallen victim at spots like Manhattan. If a boy manages to graze against a women’s breast with his arm he gets 1 run. An entire hand on a girl’s boob gets four runs, and both in both hands gets them six. If they get slapped, they’re out.
Ladies… you have been warned – stay tuned for The Games People Play Part II!
Sunday, February 11, 2007
MsMozi in Mozi…
So I’m back in Jozi after my weekend in Mozi…
The adventure started at 2:30am on Friday morning – as ungodly as that hour may sound, it really just added to the excitement of the weekend away. D fetched me in the pitch black darkness and torrential downpour and we headed off to the rendezvous point – the big boss’s (Big D) house. By 3am, all of us had arrived, loaded our gear and we were on our way to Mozi.
Even the drive there was fun – someone had the brilliant idea of bringing along walkie talkies and one was handed to each vehicle in our Mozi convey. We quickly established military-style code names for each of the vehicles – We were ‘White Rabbit’ and following us were the ‘Blue Techies’ and the ‘Silver Tortoise’. I don’t recall the walkie talkies ever being used for something practical – like directions – but they were used to transmit highly entertaining wildlife noises between the vehicles, including Big D’s much requested hippo impersonation.
By 10am all 15 of us had arrived in Ponto, just in time to get ready for our first dive… and my first ever dive in the ocean. In retrospect, I probably should have taken my 2 hours of sleep the previous night, empty stomach and non-existent sea legs into consideration before happily bounding onto the boat and into open water. I already began feeling distinctly dodge before executing my backwards boat entry into Mozi’s waters.
Enjoyed the dive tremendously at a reef called ‘creche’ – very shallow and full of small and colourful fish. Me and my dive buddy surfaced after about 30 mins. We were bobbing up and down on the open water waiting to get back onto the boat and I began to realise that I probably wasn’t going to get through this experience without feeding the fish. I was hauled up onto the boat and we sat…. and waited for the others to surface… and waited… and waited… and with that I was over the edge of the boat doing my bit to ensure the aquatic life of Mozi wouldn’t go hungry that day.
After finally reaching dry land, I recovered quickly and we all headed off for a frollic in the waves and a couple of cocktails, taking in the sights and sounds of gorgeous Ponto. This was followed by many prawns and many 2Ms before hitting the sack.
The next day dawned, and so did Dive No. 2. We headed out to a reef called Doodles – at about 17m. Now I know 17m doesn’t sound that deep – but when you hit the water and the bottom is absolutely no where in sight after about 3 solid minutes of descending, you begin to realise that it’s pretty darn deep. I eventually got to the reef, and started to let my mind wander. I began thinking about the intricacies of scuba equipment. Why did I have such blind faith that this invention would continue to fill my lungs with breathable air?? So much so that I would allow myself to be 17m underwater in the middle of the ocean?!
As these thoughts swirled around my brain I saw the other divers all pointing at something under a coral cliff. As I swam closer, I saw the outline of the most enormous fish I have EVER seen in my life. I thought to myself – holy crap – it’s got to be a shark, and now I have to pretend that this is something I actually wanted to encounter underwater, as opposed to the starfish, parrot fish and occasional clown fish that I had really hoped to spot.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a potato bass. Not exactly ferocious and fearsome, but still flippin’ huge!! A couple of blue spotted rays, eels and enormous schools of fish later I managed to begin enjoying myself. So much so that I decided not to entertain my colleagues by displaying the contents of my stomach after this dive – so all round an awesome experience.
The rest of the weekend flew past in a haze of excellent Portuguese food, even better company, 2Ms, Manikas, midnight swimming and endless laughter.
What a fantastic weekend – anyone keen to head back tomorrow?????
The adventure started at 2:30am on Friday morning – as ungodly as that hour may sound, it really just added to the excitement of the weekend away. D fetched me in the pitch black darkness and torrential downpour and we headed off to the rendezvous point – the big boss’s (Big D) house. By 3am, all of us had arrived, loaded our gear and we were on our way to Mozi.
Even the drive there was fun – someone had the brilliant idea of bringing along walkie talkies and one was handed to each vehicle in our Mozi convey. We quickly established military-style code names for each of the vehicles – We were ‘White Rabbit’ and following us were the ‘Blue Techies’ and the ‘Silver Tortoise’. I don’t recall the walkie talkies ever being used for something practical – like directions – but they were used to transmit highly entertaining wildlife noises between the vehicles, including Big D’s much requested hippo impersonation.
By 10am all 15 of us had arrived in Ponto, just in time to get ready for our first dive… and my first ever dive in the ocean. In retrospect, I probably should have taken my 2 hours of sleep the previous night, empty stomach and non-existent sea legs into consideration before happily bounding onto the boat and into open water. I already began feeling distinctly dodge before executing my backwards boat entry into Mozi’s waters.
Enjoyed the dive tremendously at a reef called ‘creche’ – very shallow and full of small and colourful fish. Me and my dive buddy surfaced after about 30 mins. We were bobbing up and down on the open water waiting to get back onto the boat and I began to realise that I probably wasn’t going to get through this experience without feeding the fish. I was hauled up onto the boat and we sat…. and waited for the others to surface… and waited… and waited… and with that I was over the edge of the boat doing my bit to ensure the aquatic life of Mozi wouldn’t go hungry that day.
After finally reaching dry land, I recovered quickly and we all headed off for a frollic in the waves and a couple of cocktails, taking in the sights and sounds of gorgeous Ponto. This was followed by many prawns and many 2Ms before hitting the sack.
The next day dawned, and so did Dive No. 2. We headed out to a reef called Doodles – at about 17m. Now I know 17m doesn’t sound that deep – but when you hit the water and the bottom is absolutely no where in sight after about 3 solid minutes of descending, you begin to realise that it’s pretty darn deep. I eventually got to the reef, and started to let my mind wander. I began thinking about the intricacies of scuba equipment. Why did I have such blind faith that this invention would continue to fill my lungs with breathable air?? So much so that I would allow myself to be 17m underwater in the middle of the ocean?!
As these thoughts swirled around my brain I saw the other divers all pointing at something under a coral cliff. As I swam closer, I saw the outline of the most enormous fish I have EVER seen in my life. I thought to myself – holy crap – it’s got to be a shark, and now I have to pretend that this is something I actually wanted to encounter underwater, as opposed to the starfish, parrot fish and occasional clown fish that I had really hoped to spot.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a potato bass. Not exactly ferocious and fearsome, but still flippin’ huge!! A couple of blue spotted rays, eels and enormous schools of fish later I managed to begin enjoying myself. So much so that I decided not to entertain my colleagues by displaying the contents of my stomach after this dive – so all round an awesome experience.
The rest of the weekend flew past in a haze of excellent Portuguese food, even better company, 2Ms, Manikas, midnight swimming and endless laughter.
What a fantastic weekend – anyone keen to head back tomorrow?????
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Proudly South African
I am so in love with this country. Sometimes the feeling just overwhelms me. I’ve done a bit of travelling, seen a lot of Europe – but nothing has ever been remotely in the same league as SA. Here are a couple of things that make me wake up every morning with a smile on my face…
1. The bush – is there anything better than driving around in an open 4x4 taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the wild? Or having drinks by a roaring bonfire listening to the sounds of hyena and lion calling in the background
2. The beach – the vast expanse of wide and wild coastline in the Transkei, the rockpools packed full of starfish and sea anemones at Swartvlei, the turtle breeding grounds of Kosi Bay
3. The energy and spirit of Jozi, where in summer the vibe is almost palpable
4. The camaraderie of ordinary South Africans – where people are almost always willing to go the extra mile and lend a helping hand
5. Long conversations with petrol attendants about life, love, politics – whatever (oh yes – also the fact that we HAVE petrol attendants)
6. The South African ability to laugh at ourselves
7. ‘Ja Nee’, ‘As well’, ‘Now now’ and ‘Just now’ makes perfect sense to us
8. Chivalry isn’t dead
9. Biltong
10. The braai - no one else in the world manages it quite like we do. No one else understands that if the braai goes out three times before you manage to actually cook anything on it, just adds to the fun.
On that note, I’m actually leaving the country – MsMozi is off to Mozi tomorrow! At 3am, with wetsuit and weight-belt in tow, I will be heading off to the sunny shores of Ponta do Ouro for the weekend, to scuba dive with the whale sharks, drink 2M and eat fresh seafood.
1. The bush – is there anything better than driving around in an open 4x4 taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the wild? Or having drinks by a roaring bonfire listening to the sounds of hyena and lion calling in the background
2. The beach – the vast expanse of wide and wild coastline in the Transkei, the rockpools packed full of starfish and sea anemones at Swartvlei, the turtle breeding grounds of Kosi Bay
3. The energy and spirit of Jozi, where in summer the vibe is almost palpable
4. The camaraderie of ordinary South Africans – where people are almost always willing to go the extra mile and lend a helping hand
5. Long conversations with petrol attendants about life, love, politics – whatever (oh yes – also the fact that we HAVE petrol attendants)
6. The South African ability to laugh at ourselves
7. ‘Ja Nee’, ‘As well’, ‘Now now’ and ‘Just now’ makes perfect sense to us
8. Chivalry isn’t dead
9. Biltong
10. The braai - no one else in the world manages it quite like we do. No one else understands that if the braai goes out three times before you manage to actually cook anything on it, just adds to the fun.
On that note, I’m actually leaving the country – MsMozi is off to Mozi tomorrow! At 3am, with wetsuit and weight-belt in tow, I will be heading off to the sunny shores of Ponta do Ouro for the weekend, to scuba dive with the whale sharks, drink 2M and eat fresh seafood.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Bad first dates and even worse second dates
There is nothing fun about dating. The only time dating ever seems fun, is when you are involved and you aren’t actually allowed to date. In fact, I think the main purpose of dating, in my case at least, is to give my mates something to laugh about.
Since Italian ex-boyf and I broke up around October sometime, I’ve gone on a couple of dates – all of them bad.
The first had all the makings of a great date. We went to Moyo’s Melrose Arch for drinks and the conversation flowed with ease – so much so that we decided to continue the date through to dinner at the Meat Co, and then back to Moyo’s for more drinks. I was looking at this guy and thinking: “Wow! This guy is quite a catch – he’s so fun and spontaneous!!” I didn’t realise quite how spontaneous, until the evening came to a close. As we got ready to leave Moyos at around 2am, he suggested we run out without paying the bill. I was horrified.
The best part of this story is that my friends somehow managed to convince me that I should give this guy a second chance. Needless to say, this did not turn into the romance of the century.
The next guy sent me roses at the office the day of our first official date. Talk about putting the pressure on! Don’t get me wrong - flowers are a fantastic gesture – but AFTER the date – definitely not before – and what made this act particularly stalker-ish was the fact that I hadn’t told him where I worked, but he had googled my company (as well as me, he later admitted) from my email address to find out where my offices were.
It is all making me very skeptical and somewhat jaded.
I think I’ve reached the conclusion that successful relationships only ever develop from already exisiting friendships, or at least acquaintance-ships, thus eliminating the dating process. This in itself is troubling, as I go through the archives of my brain trying to work out if there are any men that I’ve met somewhere along the line that I could ever see myself potentially getting involved with. I come up empty-handed.
All I have mentioned above has no application to Rock God – our first date would be earth-shatteringly, heart-stoppingly, mind-blowingly perfect.
Since Italian ex-boyf and I broke up around October sometime, I’ve gone on a couple of dates – all of them bad.
The first had all the makings of a great date. We went to Moyo’s Melrose Arch for drinks and the conversation flowed with ease – so much so that we decided to continue the date through to dinner at the Meat Co, and then back to Moyo’s for more drinks. I was looking at this guy and thinking: “Wow! This guy is quite a catch – he’s so fun and spontaneous!!” I didn’t realise quite how spontaneous, until the evening came to a close. As we got ready to leave Moyos at around 2am, he suggested we run out without paying the bill. I was horrified.
The best part of this story is that my friends somehow managed to convince me that I should give this guy a second chance. Needless to say, this did not turn into the romance of the century.
The next guy sent me roses at the office the day of our first official date. Talk about putting the pressure on! Don’t get me wrong - flowers are a fantastic gesture – but AFTER the date – definitely not before – and what made this act particularly stalker-ish was the fact that I hadn’t told him where I worked, but he had googled my company (as well as me, he later admitted) from my email address to find out where my offices were.
It is all making me very skeptical and somewhat jaded.
I think I’ve reached the conclusion that successful relationships only ever develop from already exisiting friendships, or at least acquaintance-ships, thus eliminating the dating process. This in itself is troubling, as I go through the archives of my brain trying to work out if there are any men that I’ve met somewhere along the line that I could ever see myself potentially getting involved with. I come up empty-handed.
All I have mentioned above has no application to Rock God – our first date would be earth-shatteringly, heart-stoppingly, mind-blowingly perfect.
Miles away…
A couple of weeks ago over a Parkhurst lunch, A, J and K all started discussing plans to flee the country (or at least Joburg) in the not too distant future. As the only one at the table, with absolutely no plans to leave the country at all, I was quite put out.
The more I thought about it, the more I realised that not a single one of my dearest friends plans to stay in SA for much longer.
And the same goes for family – with my brother, sister-in-law and nephew living thousands of miles away in the land of the unfortunate accent, vegemite and Kylie Minogue.
I wonder if it’s the same everywhere else in the world, or if it’s particularly pronounced in SA, but it seems like I constantly have to bid farewell to the most beloved of friends as they head off for distant shores, where the sun rarely shines. Although the world keeps getting smaller and smaller, and emailing my far-away friends is a great way to kill time at work, nothing can quite replace having them a 10-minute drive away.
This was felt the most severely with the departure of one of my best friends, also known as The Fugitive, when she packed up and moved across to Hamburg, Germany about two years ago. This was the result of some time she spent in Germany for a dancing tournament where she met a German sailor, fell head over heels in love, and off she went to start a new life. Luckily, she’s been back to visit quite a few times, not always under good circumstances, but it’s made the transition a little easier for all of us that she left behind in SA.
I suppose the one bonus is a vast array of holiday destinations to choose from with free accommodation on offer… but I’d really prefer it if all my friends stopped moving to Europe and rather chose somewhere a little more sunny… maybe with an ocean-view – Zanzibar, Seychelles or Mozambique…. just putting some suggestions out there.
The more I thought about it, the more I realised that not a single one of my dearest friends plans to stay in SA for much longer.
And the same goes for family – with my brother, sister-in-law and nephew living thousands of miles away in the land of the unfortunate accent, vegemite and Kylie Minogue.
I wonder if it’s the same everywhere else in the world, or if it’s particularly pronounced in SA, but it seems like I constantly have to bid farewell to the most beloved of friends as they head off for distant shores, where the sun rarely shines. Although the world keeps getting smaller and smaller, and emailing my far-away friends is a great way to kill time at work, nothing can quite replace having them a 10-minute drive away.
This was felt the most severely with the departure of one of my best friends, also known as The Fugitive, when she packed up and moved across to Hamburg, Germany about two years ago. This was the result of some time she spent in Germany for a dancing tournament where she met a German sailor, fell head over heels in love, and off she went to start a new life. Luckily, she’s been back to visit quite a few times, not always under good circumstances, but it’s made the transition a little easier for all of us that she left behind in SA.
I suppose the one bonus is a vast array of holiday destinations to choose from with free accommodation on offer… but I’d really prefer it if all my friends stopped moving to Europe and rather chose somewhere a little more sunny… maybe with an ocean-view – Zanzibar, Seychelles or Mozambique…. just putting some suggestions out there.
Monday, February 5, 2007
The Dodgy, the Knee and the Wild Wild West….
So another weekend has come and gone in a haze of John Deere’s, bad karaoke and smatterings of Loser Complex.
Friday after work I ran off to Sandton with D and squeezed in some shopping before the evening’s festivities. Managed to buy two dresses and the My Chemical Romance cd, which I am SO loving right now. Realised by this time that I was running desperately late, and all the traffic heading towards Wanderers wasn’t helping matters in the least. Dashed home, threw on a new dress and headed to K’s house, arriving about an hour later than previously arranged. At this point we decided we should have a drink before we left for Bucket’s house party.
We finally rocked up at Bucket’s house an hour and a half late, hoping to slip in unnoticed and pretend we had been there the whole time. This plan didn’t quite materialize, as nobody else had pitched up and we were the only people there. Anyway, we had a great catch up session with Bucket, an old school friend who has been in London for the past two years. A bottle of wine later we decided to hook up with the friends that had gone to the cricket at the Dodgy Roger.
The problem with places like the Dodgy – is the dodginess it attracts. I can put up with 20-somethings at all levels of drunkenness, but can’t handle the 60-somethings that lurk around there all alone. You know the type I’m talking about: camel filter cigarette hanging out their mouth, glass of Captain Morgan straight up in their hand, leering at the 20-something females as though one of them is suddenly going to decide that this is the kind of man she’s been looking for all her life.
These type of Dodgy-regulars always end up lurking around me for some reason which leaves me panicked – not because of their dodginess, but rather because it leaves me trying to work out what happened to them that left them to lead such a dire and lonely existence. I try and imagine them 40 years ago - were they just like all of us, but somehow ended up missing the boat and all life has to offer?
Saturday headed across to The Ron’s place for sundowners. Arrived at exactly the same moment as Broken Arm – if you are wondering why this was a bad thing, read this and this. Had to deal with the uncomfortable small talk during the lift ride, which lasted about 3 and a half hours (well that’s how long it felt – note to self: No more kissing friends of friends). Sat around having drinks with The Ron’s friends – who definitely all reckon they’re so hot right now. I actually caught a few them doing the ‘Blue Steel’.
Then headed over to A and K’s pad for a quick glass of champers and to get ready to hit the Knee for a bit of karaoke. It was John Deere’s all round as we gathered the courage to sing our hearts out. I ended up doing ‘I love rock & roll’ and ‘Dancing Queen’. A and K did the most unbelievably terrible rendition of ‘I Swear’ – but with such conviction. Total rock stars! So glad I have it all on tape!
Sunday headed across to meet D at Clearwater Mall – which I think is in Roodepoort. Where ever it is, I’ve decided I’m moving there. I’ve never seen such a collection of stunningly gorgeous men in all my life before. So hot it actually hurts. As D said, the West Rand boys are all tanned and well-built, but not in the Sandton gym and tanning bed kinda way – more in the Roodepoort rugby playing, lawn-mowing kinda way. I’m ready to pack up my Northern Suburbs life and head off to the Wild West Rand for good.
Friday after work I ran off to Sandton with D and squeezed in some shopping before the evening’s festivities. Managed to buy two dresses and the My Chemical Romance cd, which I am SO loving right now. Realised by this time that I was running desperately late, and all the traffic heading towards Wanderers wasn’t helping matters in the least. Dashed home, threw on a new dress and headed to K’s house, arriving about an hour later than previously arranged. At this point we decided we should have a drink before we left for Bucket’s house party.
We finally rocked up at Bucket’s house an hour and a half late, hoping to slip in unnoticed and pretend we had been there the whole time. This plan didn’t quite materialize, as nobody else had pitched up and we were the only people there. Anyway, we had a great catch up session with Bucket, an old school friend who has been in London for the past two years. A bottle of wine later we decided to hook up with the friends that had gone to the cricket at the Dodgy Roger.
The problem with places like the Dodgy – is the dodginess it attracts. I can put up with 20-somethings at all levels of drunkenness, but can’t handle the 60-somethings that lurk around there all alone. You know the type I’m talking about: camel filter cigarette hanging out their mouth, glass of Captain Morgan straight up in their hand, leering at the 20-something females as though one of them is suddenly going to decide that this is the kind of man she’s been looking for all her life.
These type of Dodgy-regulars always end up lurking around me for some reason which leaves me panicked – not because of their dodginess, but rather because it leaves me trying to work out what happened to them that left them to lead such a dire and lonely existence. I try and imagine them 40 years ago - were they just like all of us, but somehow ended up missing the boat and all life has to offer?
Saturday headed across to The Ron’s place for sundowners. Arrived at exactly the same moment as Broken Arm – if you are wondering why this was a bad thing, read this and this. Had to deal with the uncomfortable small talk during the lift ride, which lasted about 3 and a half hours (well that’s how long it felt – note to self: No more kissing friends of friends). Sat around having drinks with The Ron’s friends – who definitely all reckon they’re so hot right now. I actually caught a few them doing the ‘Blue Steel’.
Then headed over to A and K’s pad for a quick glass of champers and to get ready to hit the Knee for a bit of karaoke. It was John Deere’s all round as we gathered the courage to sing our hearts out. I ended up doing ‘I love rock & roll’ and ‘Dancing Queen’. A and K did the most unbelievably terrible rendition of ‘I Swear’ – but with such conviction. Total rock stars! So glad I have it all on tape!
Sunday headed across to meet D at Clearwater Mall – which I think is in Roodepoort. Where ever it is, I’ve decided I’m moving there. I’ve never seen such a collection of stunningly gorgeous men in all my life before. So hot it actually hurts. As D said, the West Rand boys are all tanned and well-built, but not in the Sandton gym and tanning bed kinda way – more in the Roodepoort rugby playing, lawn-mowing kinda way. I’m ready to pack up my Northern Suburbs life and head off to the Wild West Rand for good.
Friday, February 2, 2007
The harsh dark reality…
Wednesday evening, after a quick post-work glass or two of wine with work mates, I headed off home. As I drove through the familiar streets, I started thinking about what I’d make for dinner, what I’d watch on tv, who I’d phone for a chat – not realising that the universe had different plans in store for me.
I pulled into my road as the sun began to set, I noticed that while all the properties on my street were there in their usual illuminated state – in the place of my complex was a somewhat dark and shady area. As I got closer I realised… we had no power.
Not a problem. It’s probably just a switch that’s tripped. It’ll be back on in a couple of minutes. I let myself into my flat and light all the candles which until now had been purely for display. My apartment is illuminated with the amber glow of flickering candlelight and I think to myself, this is quite fun.
Then I sit.
The initial thrill of the flickering candlelight is starting to wane, and I stare wistfully at the remote control. Then I notice my cellphone – thankgod! Something to do! As I begin scrolling through my phonebook, my phone starts beeping at me – “Battery low”. Crap. I manage to fit in half a conversation before my phone dies.
I sit some more and listen to the sounds of Crazy Man and Crazy Woman downstairs, threatening to kill each other (I should be so lucky).
I sit and my mind begins to wander. I’ve always loved living on my own, but without all the distractions, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I start to imagine how awesomely romantic this power failure would be if I was sharing it with someone special. Even Crazy Man and Crazy Woman have each other.
And with that thought, I’ve packed an overnight bag, grabbed my keys and I’m out the door.
There’s nothing like a little darkness to show you the light.
I pulled into my road as the sun began to set, I noticed that while all the properties on my street were there in their usual illuminated state – in the place of my complex was a somewhat dark and shady area. As I got closer I realised… we had no power.
Not a problem. It’s probably just a switch that’s tripped. It’ll be back on in a couple of minutes. I let myself into my flat and light all the candles which until now had been purely for display. My apartment is illuminated with the amber glow of flickering candlelight and I think to myself, this is quite fun.
Then I sit.
The initial thrill of the flickering candlelight is starting to wane, and I stare wistfully at the remote control. Then I notice my cellphone – thankgod! Something to do! As I begin scrolling through my phonebook, my phone starts beeping at me – “Battery low”. Crap. I manage to fit in half a conversation before my phone dies.
I sit some more and listen to the sounds of Crazy Man and Crazy Woman downstairs, threatening to kill each other (I should be so lucky).
I sit and my mind begins to wander. I’ve always loved living on my own, but without all the distractions, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I start to imagine how awesomely romantic this power failure would be if I was sharing it with someone special. Even Crazy Man and Crazy Woman have each other.
And with that thought, I’ve packed an overnight bag, grabbed my keys and I’m out the door.
There’s nothing like a little darkness to show you the light.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Go Squad!!!
I have a job that involves going on a fair amount of free trips to check out new destinations and every once in a while I get to drag someone along with me. Italian ex-boyf and I had just broken up, so when the overnighter at the Cradle of Humankind popped up towards the end of last year, I got the chance to take the fabulous K with me.
Although we had a fantastic time there (may I add, massages, fireplace in the room, giant tub, outdoor showers) – the real defining moment happened on the way back to Jozi. We noticed how refreshed and rejuvenated we both felt after getting out of the crazy city and decided we had to try and do it more often. It was at that moment that The Squad (then known as the Adventure Squad) was born.
It is so easy to get caught in a rut living in Jozi. As much as I love this city – with it comes routine. The same restaurants, same bars, same clubs, same everything, week after week. With it comes a certain amount of comfort and dependability, but sometimes I just really feel like a break from the ordinary is necessary.
So with that goal in mind, K and I decided to get together a group of the most sensational people we knew and once a month we would find something to do that was exciting and out of the ordinary. A little later on, A joined the founding committee and we all realised that the opportunities for The Squad were endless. We were onto something big. Logos, t-shirts, movies, fines evenings and websites were all on the cards.
Then came the first activity – a tree top canopy tour. We filmed the whole experience from the car drive there, to an analysis on our tree swinging skills from our guide. It was an awesome day, and prompted us to plan the next activity as soon as possible.
So the next adventure is this weekend – it's not exactly super-adventurous in an extreme sport kinda way. But fuelled by the hilarity of watching the footage from the canopy tour – we decided on karaoke – which we will be filming and keeping for all time. Although not adrenaline-prompting, it'll still take more than a tad of courage to hop up on stage, in full awareness that your drunken vocal skills will be immortalised for all time.
I can’t wait!
Although we had a fantastic time there (may I add, massages, fireplace in the room, giant tub, outdoor showers) – the real defining moment happened on the way back to Jozi. We noticed how refreshed and rejuvenated we both felt after getting out of the crazy city and decided we had to try and do it more often. It was at that moment that The Squad (then known as the Adventure Squad) was born.
It is so easy to get caught in a rut living in Jozi. As much as I love this city – with it comes routine. The same restaurants, same bars, same clubs, same everything, week after week. With it comes a certain amount of comfort and dependability, but sometimes I just really feel like a break from the ordinary is necessary.
So with that goal in mind, K and I decided to get together a group of the most sensational people we knew and once a month we would find something to do that was exciting and out of the ordinary. A little later on, A joined the founding committee and we all realised that the opportunities for The Squad were endless. We were onto something big. Logos, t-shirts, movies, fines evenings and websites were all on the cards.
Then came the first activity – a tree top canopy tour. We filmed the whole experience from the car drive there, to an analysis on our tree swinging skills from our guide. It was an awesome day, and prompted us to plan the next activity as soon as possible.
So the next adventure is this weekend – it's not exactly super-adventurous in an extreme sport kinda way. But fuelled by the hilarity of watching the footage from the canopy tour – we decided on karaoke – which we will be filming and keeping for all time. Although not adrenaline-prompting, it'll still take more than a tad of courage to hop up on stage, in full awareness that your drunken vocal skills will be immortalised for all time.
I can’t wait!
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