I tried. But the fact of the matter is that my blog should have ended 5 posts ago with this http://lordwiggly.blogspot.com/2008/03/neglect.html
I went on a fantastic holiday to Lesotho and spent 12 hours over 2 days on a horse. So much to share…but I can’t. My creative writing inspiration has died somewhere along the line. Just reread this http://lordwiggly.blogspot.com/2007/01/new-years-party.html to see how I would have liked to do it, but I just can’t. I’m over it.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my new betty found my blog and I can’t post about things like relationship worries or fantasies about how things should have been, or crazy boys weekends away with six Russian strippers, a kipper and two thousand elastic bands. Maybe its cos the chapter of singledom has closed. Whatever the reasons, its done and dusted.
So good luck to you all, thanks to my fans, and to those I admire, keep up the good work!
Wiggly over and out.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Motorcycle Wigglies - Part 3
So I decided to focus my efforts off road. Well let me tell you the variety and specialisation of off road motorcycles is mindblowing! You can get involved in trail racing, MotoX, Motard racing, endurance racing or just do your own thing offroad on weekends with a bunch of mates. The last option is definitely my first choice for getting into and exploring this new exciting world.
The first thing to consider though, is: Is this just a phase I’m going through, or do I enjoy the sport enough to dedicate a day to it every two or three weekends? Do my pace of life and my responsibilities allow this kind of lifestyle? I’ve seen so many classified adverts from people selling almost brand new bikes and kit at bargain prices because they just don’t have the time or inclination to fit into this new world. So what I recommend is finding someone who will let you ride their bike on a day out and tagging along to experience everything that you would typically experience. Note that off road bikes need a bakkie or trailer to transport them to dirt tracks (which are often very far from the city centre), and leaving this up to someone else could be the difference between a ride every few weeks or a ride every few months.
As for product range, there is plenty to choose from. The Japanese brands dominate the scene – just like on road bikes. They tend to be cheaper and more reliable than the European bikes, and you can’t go far wrong with a brand that pumps a lot of money into its racing and development. If you’re a newbie, you should go for a used bike that won’t break the bank account or cause tears to well up in your eyes when you drop it on a rock. But possibly the most important decision to start off with is engine size. You gotta start with something easy to get the hang of, but also something that won’t leave you drooling for more power a few months down the line when your skills have improved.
But what if your mates aren’t interested and try as you might you just can’t find someone willing to show you the ropes? Well, you could blog about it, or just say stuff the advice and go out and buy a bike and get on with it. Yeah, watch this space…
The first thing to consider though, is: Is this just a phase I’m going through, or do I enjoy the sport enough to dedicate a day to it every two or three weekends? Do my pace of life and my responsibilities allow this kind of lifestyle? I’ve seen so many classified adverts from people selling almost brand new bikes and kit at bargain prices because they just don’t have the time or inclination to fit into this new world. So what I recommend is finding someone who will let you ride their bike on a day out and tagging along to experience everything that you would typically experience. Note that off road bikes need a bakkie or trailer to transport them to dirt tracks (which are often very far from the city centre), and leaving this up to someone else could be the difference between a ride every few weeks or a ride every few months.
As for product range, there is plenty to choose from. The Japanese brands dominate the scene – just like on road bikes. They tend to be cheaper and more reliable than the European bikes, and you can’t go far wrong with a brand that pumps a lot of money into its racing and development. If you’re a newbie, you should go for a used bike that won’t break the bank account or cause tears to well up in your eyes when you drop it on a rock. But possibly the most important decision to start off with is engine size. You gotta start with something easy to get the hang of, but also something that won’t leave you drooling for more power a few months down the line when your skills have improved.
But what if your mates aren’t interested and try as you might you just can’t find someone willing to show you the ropes? Well, you could blog about it, or just say stuff the advice and go out and buy a bike and get on with it. Yeah, watch this space…
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Motorcycle Wigglies - Part 2
I finally figured out how to get the toolbar back when I create a new post in Blogger – hence the reason for my not being able to post URL links or pictures. If you experience the same problem, go to Internet Options-Security and enable internet scripts that are not marked as safe. Although I am now “Putting my computer at risk”, I can post just like I used to, and that’s all that counts, right?
Now, following on from the comments on my previous post, is a good time for the death debate.
If I were to buy my first roadbike, it would look something like this (not too sure about a red one but you get the picture).
Now, following on from the comments on my previous post, is a good time for the death debate.
If I were to buy my first roadbike, it would look something like this (not too sure about a red one but you get the picture).
It’s a Honda VFR400 sportbike, one mighty sexy machine, and second-hand its pretty affordable too at around 25k for a recent model.
Its not too big or too powerful and would therefore make a pretty good bike for a beginner, with enough power to keep the owner grinning once he’s mastered the basic skills of riding.
The flip side is that riding on our roads can kill you.
This is a fact. Any biker that denies this is an idiot. In fact, any motor vehicle driver that denies this is also an idiot. Our public roads in South Africa have one of the highest death rates in the world. People who use the roads need to acknowledge the risks and learn how to mitigate them if they want to Arrive Alive. Bikers are especially more vulnerable as they are not enclosed in a “cage” on 4 wheels like motorists are. Ever felt scared being sandwiched on all sides by minibus taxis going 100km/hr in a 60 zone? Imagine what that could be like on a bike. Minibus taxis offer arguably the most danger to a biker because there is simply no way “out”- they are long and high and you can’t fly over a taxi like you can over a car. But we’re getting too technical here.
We’ve all been affected by stories of bikers involved in fatal accidents. Many moms and dads have lost sons on motorbikes, and I know two men who died and three who have had some serious scrapes. One almost had his leg amputated. One was confined to a wheelchair. And the other was so doped up on Morphine when I visited him that he showed me his catheter with much pride and enthusiasm. I pray that I never have to have a long pipe shoved up my Japs Eye to collect my weewee, ever.
So what can you do if you want to ride a roadbike? All bikers say that they are extra careful and vigilant. But statistically, it’s the cars that take out the bikes due to motorists ignoring the rules of the road, or just not seeing the biker. Most people will agree with me that here in Joburg its only a matter of time before some idiot driver’s mistakes result in a bumper bashing with you. If that’s true when it comes to biking as well, its only a matter of time before some asshole runs a red light or “doesn’t see you” and cuts you off. A bumper bashing between a car and bike causes a lot more damage to the biker. Do I really want to learn this the hard way when I’ve seen the results first hand? No. And I’m scared for my mates on their 80cc scooters. Real scared.
So how can you get your two-wheeled thrills without the constant dangers of traffic and the ever-present taxis trying to kill you? That’s simple. Enter the wide world of offroad motorbiking……
Its not too big or too powerful and would therefore make a pretty good bike for a beginner, with enough power to keep the owner grinning once he’s mastered the basic skills of riding.
The flip side is that riding on our roads can kill you.
This is a fact. Any biker that denies this is an idiot. In fact, any motor vehicle driver that denies this is also an idiot. Our public roads in South Africa have one of the highest death rates in the world. People who use the roads need to acknowledge the risks and learn how to mitigate them if they want to Arrive Alive. Bikers are especially more vulnerable as they are not enclosed in a “cage” on 4 wheels like motorists are. Ever felt scared being sandwiched on all sides by minibus taxis going 100km/hr in a 60 zone? Imagine what that could be like on a bike. Minibus taxis offer arguably the most danger to a biker because there is simply no way “out”- they are long and high and you can’t fly over a taxi like you can over a car. But we’re getting too technical here.
We’ve all been affected by stories of bikers involved in fatal accidents. Many moms and dads have lost sons on motorbikes, and I know two men who died and three who have had some serious scrapes. One almost had his leg amputated. One was confined to a wheelchair. And the other was so doped up on Morphine when I visited him that he showed me his catheter with much pride and enthusiasm. I pray that I never have to have a long pipe shoved up my Japs Eye to collect my weewee, ever.
So what can you do if you want to ride a roadbike? All bikers say that they are extra careful and vigilant. But statistically, it’s the cars that take out the bikes due to motorists ignoring the rules of the road, or just not seeing the biker. Most people will agree with me that here in Joburg its only a matter of time before some idiot driver’s mistakes result in a bumper bashing with you. If that’s true when it comes to biking as well, its only a matter of time before some asshole runs a red light or “doesn’t see you” and cuts you off. A bumper bashing between a car and bike causes a lot more damage to the biker. Do I really want to learn this the hard way when I’ve seen the results first hand? No. And I’m scared for my mates on their 80cc scooters. Real scared.
So how can you get your two-wheeled thrills without the constant dangers of traffic and the ever-present taxis trying to kill you? That’s simple. Enter the wide world of offroad motorbiking……
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Motorcycle Wigglies - Part 1
Ok so I’m back by popular demand. LOL.
Two-wheeled madness seems to have hit. What with the burgeoning fuel prices and the retarded levels of traffic on our roads, more and more people seem to be looking at motorcycles as an alternative, easier, cheaper and “fun” way of commuting.
The fever seems to have hit mostly young males, between the ages of 18 and 38. At least, that’s my observation. And I contracted the fever too. As they say, four wheels moves the body. Two wheels moves the soul.
A few guys I know have bought themselves scooters. (You know, the “Vespa” type of scooter, popularized in the 60s and 70s by hip young women dressed in the latest fashions emancipating themselves on 80cc’s of pure attitude.) They have all gone for the Jonway brand, seeing as you can buy an 80cc brand-new-out-the-box for 9 gorillas, (that’s nine thousand ZARs) and you can ride it all the way from Joburg to Cape Town on half a tank of cough syrup. But mostly their plan is to use it for commuting to work and back to save some time and a few bucks. Incidentally, sales of Jonway scooters have risen a thousand percent or something ridiculous like that this year alone.
Two other dudes have bought themselves the BMW F650GS. It’s a trail tourer/enduro bike, with on- and off-road capabilities. You can ride around in the bundus on the Sunday and ride it in to work the next day. With the BMW brand though, comes BMW pricing. At about 65k for one out the box, its still cheaper than anything on four wheels.
So when the fever hit me, I realised I had a few decisions to make. Firstly, what type of bike should I go for? What do I want to use it for? How much am I prepared to spend? Enter the Internet as an inexhaustible source of information.
I had no idea that there was so much variation when it comes to the world of motorbiking. Roadbikes range from the 80cc scooters mentioned above to 14 hundred monsters. Offroad bikes similarly span a wide range, with dual purpose bikes thrown in the mix too. There is so much specialization and customization that you really need to understand what you want to achieve in the world of two wheels. And you also have to gauge your level of skill. For a beginner like me, and a bit of a lightweight too, I shouldn’t bite off more than I can chew. Many advocate learning on a “dog” before you can handle bigger bikes, or the bike of your dreams. But for someone who doesn’t want the hassle of upgrading too early, I’m looking for a happy medium of a bike which is easy to master yet will provide enough power to keep me grinning for a while still. And keep me alive, that’s important too.
So much more to share. Keep tuned for the next installment, folks ;o)
Two-wheeled madness seems to have hit. What with the burgeoning fuel prices and the retarded levels of traffic on our roads, more and more people seem to be looking at motorcycles as an alternative, easier, cheaper and “fun” way of commuting.
The fever seems to have hit mostly young males, between the ages of 18 and 38. At least, that’s my observation. And I contracted the fever too. As they say, four wheels moves the body. Two wheels moves the soul.
A few guys I know have bought themselves scooters. (You know, the “Vespa” type of scooter, popularized in the 60s and 70s by hip young women dressed in the latest fashions emancipating themselves on 80cc’s of pure attitude.) They have all gone for the Jonway brand, seeing as you can buy an 80cc brand-new-out-the-box for 9 gorillas, (that’s nine thousand ZARs) and you can ride it all the way from Joburg to Cape Town on half a tank of cough syrup. But mostly their plan is to use it for commuting to work and back to save some time and a few bucks. Incidentally, sales of Jonway scooters have risen a thousand percent or something ridiculous like that this year alone.
Two other dudes have bought themselves the BMW F650GS. It’s a trail tourer/enduro bike, with on- and off-road capabilities. You can ride around in the bundus on the Sunday and ride it in to work the next day. With the BMW brand though, comes BMW pricing. At about 65k for one out the box, its still cheaper than anything on four wheels.
So when the fever hit me, I realised I had a few decisions to make. Firstly, what type of bike should I go for? What do I want to use it for? How much am I prepared to spend? Enter the Internet as an inexhaustible source of information.
I had no idea that there was so much variation when it comes to the world of motorbiking. Roadbikes range from the 80cc scooters mentioned above to 14 hundred monsters. Offroad bikes similarly span a wide range, with dual purpose bikes thrown in the mix too. There is so much specialization and customization that you really need to understand what you want to achieve in the world of two wheels. And you also have to gauge your level of skill. For a beginner like me, and a bit of a lightweight too, I shouldn’t bite off more than I can chew. Many advocate learning on a “dog” before you can handle bigger bikes, or the bike of your dreams. But for someone who doesn’t want the hassle of upgrading too early, I’m looking for a happy medium of a bike which is easy to master yet will provide enough power to keep me grinning for a while still. And keep me alive, that’s important too.
So much more to share. Keep tuned for the next installment, folks ;o)
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Fashion fo Schizzle wit da Huggy Bizzle
You gotta check this out! Now here is a blogger who knows how its done ;o)
http://alimoso.com/pages/Funny%20stuff/Absolutely_HYSTERICAL.htm
http://alimoso.com/pages/Funny%20stuff/Absolutely_HYSTERICAL.htm
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Cognitive Dissonance
Hi Wiggly
So I read your blog and then wikipediaed cognitive dissonance, interesting. I am sure I have read this kind of thing before but it really hit home today. My thoughts, morals and actions are all misaligned right now, I feel I could justify any action or inaction and can no longer say for sure what I think morally or ethically correct conduct is.
What are my real motivations and how do my actions align with my desired outcomes. All highly confusing. I think I need to lie down.
John
_________________________________
Hey John
We studied Cognitive Dissonance in our 3rd Year Course on Human Organisational Behaviour, during which we used Training Day as a case study. Is this ringing any bells?
It is concerning for me to hear you say that your moral and ethical value system is misaligned with your behaviour right now. What exactly are you doing that is conflicting with the way in which you want to live your life? How are your actions upsetting your internal value system?
Have a think session and if you wanna chat about it, lemme know.
Wiggly
_________________________________
Yes I do recall our third year classes, “you have to be a wolf to catch a wolf”.
Don't worry I'm not engaging in any activities outside of culturally acceptable norms.
Some of the main dissonance currently comes from needing to accept and understand others actions in relation to my own perceptions. However on reflection I have discovered that I am engaging in similar behavior which I had not really thought about before. Basically when is it ok to hurt the people you say you care about to save yourself pain and when is it the right thing to protect others despite how it affects you.
Make sense? Or am I talking gibberish?
________________________________
It went a little something like this (and I quote):
Denzel Washington: To protect the sheep you gotta catch the wolf - and it takes a wolf to catch a wolf y'understand?
Ethan Hawke (trippin' on Peyote): Whaaat?
Denzel Washington: I said, you protect the sheep by killin' the motherfuckin' wolves, no you didn't hear me, you listenin' but you didn't hear me!
Back to your note, John, sounds like a tough one. What I do in that kind of situation is evaluate who the people are that I care about. Do I really care
about them? Are they invaluable to me? What value do they add to my life, and am I adding as much value to theirs as I should be? It is easy to
loosely categorise people into family, good friends, and friends on the periphery. When someone who actually isn't adding any value to your life
hurts you, you have to think of yourself and do what's best for you in that circumstance. However, when that person is a good friend or family member,
sometimes we have to shoulder the burden and go through some pain to protect them.
Another school of thought says that its your life and you have to protect yourself at all times because nobody else is going to. Its every man for
himself and you have to put yourself first or get crushed in the stampede of survival.
Hope this helps.
________________________________
Cool man.
But you see the problem, you came to the same solution, sometimes you have to protect others and sometimes you have to protect yourself. And the decision as to who gets hurt is not always that simple.
One of the points if you recall is that in cognitive dissonance people will always try to justify their actions to reduce the misalignment, so if you end up hurting people that you previously thought where important to you then you will likely justify that by saying 'well they were not that important to me anyway' because else there will be great internal conflict with knowing you hurt people you actually do care about.
But if you know this is going to happen in the future and you don't want those people not to be important then I guess that's when you can decide to not hurt them… hey I think that's it. That's actually not too complex.
Later Wiggly.
_______________________________
By the way these conversations really make me laugh we should publish them.
_______________________________
Hehe LOL! Sometimes I feel like I missed my calling as a business psychologist/therapist! The calm voice of reason for the mind of today’s turbulent man.
The cool thing about having a blog is that I can publish shit like this any time I want…no sooner done than said :)
So I read your blog and then wikipediaed cognitive dissonance, interesting. I am sure I have read this kind of thing before but it really hit home today. My thoughts, morals and actions are all misaligned right now, I feel I could justify any action or inaction and can no longer say for sure what I think morally or ethically correct conduct is.
What are my real motivations and how do my actions align with my desired outcomes. All highly confusing. I think I need to lie down.
John
_________________________________
Hey John
We studied Cognitive Dissonance in our 3rd Year Course on Human Organisational Behaviour, during which we used Training Day as a case study. Is this ringing any bells?
It is concerning for me to hear you say that your moral and ethical value system is misaligned with your behaviour right now. What exactly are you doing that is conflicting with the way in which you want to live your life? How are your actions upsetting your internal value system?
Have a think session and if you wanna chat about it, lemme know.
Wiggly
_________________________________
Yes I do recall our third year classes, “you have to be a wolf to catch a wolf”.
Don't worry I'm not engaging in any activities outside of culturally acceptable norms.
Some of the main dissonance currently comes from needing to accept and understand others actions in relation to my own perceptions. However on reflection I have discovered that I am engaging in similar behavior which I had not really thought about before. Basically when is it ok to hurt the people you say you care about to save yourself pain and when is it the right thing to protect others despite how it affects you.
Make sense? Or am I talking gibberish?
________________________________
It went a little something like this (and I quote):
Denzel Washington: To protect the sheep you gotta catch the wolf - and it takes a wolf to catch a wolf y'understand?
Ethan Hawke (trippin' on Peyote): Whaaat?
Denzel Washington: I said, you protect the sheep by killin' the motherfuckin' wolves, no you didn't hear me, you listenin' but you didn't hear me!
Back to your note, John, sounds like a tough one. What I do in that kind of situation is evaluate who the people are that I care about. Do I really care
about them? Are they invaluable to me? What value do they add to my life, and am I adding as much value to theirs as I should be? It is easy to
loosely categorise people into family, good friends, and friends on the periphery. When someone who actually isn't adding any value to your life
hurts you, you have to think of yourself and do what's best for you in that circumstance. However, when that person is a good friend or family member,
sometimes we have to shoulder the burden and go through some pain to protect them.
Another school of thought says that its your life and you have to protect yourself at all times because nobody else is going to. Its every man for
himself and you have to put yourself first or get crushed in the stampede of survival.
Hope this helps.
________________________________
Cool man.
But you see the problem, you came to the same solution, sometimes you have to protect others and sometimes you have to protect yourself. And the decision as to who gets hurt is not always that simple.
One of the points if you recall is that in cognitive dissonance people will always try to justify their actions to reduce the misalignment, so if you end up hurting people that you previously thought where important to you then you will likely justify that by saying 'well they were not that important to me anyway' because else there will be great internal conflict with knowing you hurt people you actually do care about.
But if you know this is going to happen in the future and you don't want those people not to be important then I guess that's when you can decide to not hurt them… hey I think that's it. That's actually not too complex.
Later Wiggly.
_______________________________
By the way these conversations really make me laugh we should publish them.
_______________________________
Hehe LOL! Sometimes I feel like I missed my calling as a business psychologist/therapist! The calm voice of reason for the mind of today’s turbulent man.
The cool thing about having a blog is that I can publish shit like this any time I want…no sooner done than said :)
Monday, March 3, 2008
Neglect!
My blog has definitely been a venting ground for me. It has been a place where I can say things as they are and get unbiased feedback from an anonymous community. That in itself can be great guidance. I’ve also used it as a sounding board to either gain self-assurance or comments both positive and negative. Blogging can be quite tough because there are a lot of hecklers out there and trolls who write nasty comments just to get a reaction and provoke debate. It can be ugly and nasty but it can also be very cathartic.
I never went to see a psychologist after my breakup. Two of my friends suggested it and I didn’t think it was a bad idea but it never happened in practice because I didn’t follow it up aggressively. In fact, my blog became my medium of expression, just talking about things and typing them down and displaying them to what is in reality a small community of bloggers (but in potential, the whole world), has helped me no end to working through my feelings and what goes on in my mind. I can be brutally honest, brutally frank, and use all sorts of expletives to convey my frustrations. In fact, my blog was rated no persons 17 and under by a US authority, so I stuck the warning up to at least act as a disclaimer to some of the content.
There are many posts where I spoke about my ex – some with anger and negativity and others with desire. The original intention for my blog was to write about my experiences to elicit humour, but more often than not my feelings about my ex came out. I also used it as an insight into the dating life of a single guy, from dating normally to Internet Dating as well. It was all experimental, some truths thoroughly embellished and others glossed over. I wouldn’t call everything accurate, but I did write from the heart – where I was and what I was experiencing at the time.
In some posts I come across as totally arrogant. In others sensitive. Sometimes crass and vulgar. I believe that none of my readers know the real me. We portray masks to the world and I blog as Lord Wiggly because sometimes he can be totally different to me. There is Work Wiggly. Braai Wiggly. Family Wiggly. Sports Wiggly. Wiggly around the 21 year-olds. Wiggly around the 31 year-olds. Wiggly in nature. Wiggly in his car. And Wiggly in his Blog too. Every scenario and situation conveys a slightly different aspect of personality, although what remains true in each scenario is the morals, ethics, beliefs and values that make me, me.
Sometimes my value system has been tested by my own actions and behaviours. That is known as Cognitive Dissonance (the basis for the film Training Day and why it remains one of my favourites). Basically a person’s attitudes (morals, values, beliefs and ethics) and behaviours (actions) are aligned. When attitudes change and behavious remain the same, or when behaviours change and conflict with attitudes, there is a misalignment and either the one or the other needs to change to compensate. This transition phase is known (in behavioural human psychology) as cognitive dissonance. And I’ve written about instances where I’ve been on the margin on a few occasions, which might skew one’s perception of me. I’ve designed some blog posts to shock people on purpose, and some to make them think.
And so, as the chapter of the ex and the hurt and the pain and the crazy party animal draws to a close, it feels as if my blog does too. But, just like High In Dubai/High in J. to the. Burg, I’m not ready to call it a day and close up shop just yet. Rather, I’m going to relieve the pressure and post about things when the need takes me. In fact, this chapter of my life may be closing, but another one has begun, so keep tuned for some events which are bound to be More than I Bargained for…
I never went to see a psychologist after my breakup. Two of my friends suggested it and I didn’t think it was a bad idea but it never happened in practice because I didn’t follow it up aggressively. In fact, my blog became my medium of expression, just talking about things and typing them down and displaying them to what is in reality a small community of bloggers (but in potential, the whole world), has helped me no end to working through my feelings and what goes on in my mind. I can be brutally honest, brutally frank, and use all sorts of expletives to convey my frustrations. In fact, my blog was rated no persons 17 and under by a US authority, so I stuck the warning up to at least act as a disclaimer to some of the content.
There are many posts where I spoke about my ex – some with anger and negativity and others with desire. The original intention for my blog was to write about my experiences to elicit humour, but more often than not my feelings about my ex came out. I also used it as an insight into the dating life of a single guy, from dating normally to Internet Dating as well. It was all experimental, some truths thoroughly embellished and others glossed over. I wouldn’t call everything accurate, but I did write from the heart – where I was and what I was experiencing at the time.
In some posts I come across as totally arrogant. In others sensitive. Sometimes crass and vulgar. I believe that none of my readers know the real me. We portray masks to the world and I blog as Lord Wiggly because sometimes he can be totally different to me. There is Work Wiggly. Braai Wiggly. Family Wiggly. Sports Wiggly. Wiggly around the 21 year-olds. Wiggly around the 31 year-olds. Wiggly in nature. Wiggly in his car. And Wiggly in his Blog too. Every scenario and situation conveys a slightly different aspect of personality, although what remains true in each scenario is the morals, ethics, beliefs and values that make me, me.
Sometimes my value system has been tested by my own actions and behaviours. That is known as Cognitive Dissonance (the basis for the film Training Day and why it remains one of my favourites). Basically a person’s attitudes (morals, values, beliefs and ethics) and behaviours (actions) are aligned. When attitudes change and behavious remain the same, or when behaviours change and conflict with attitudes, there is a misalignment and either the one or the other needs to change to compensate. This transition phase is known (in behavioural human psychology) as cognitive dissonance. And I’ve written about instances where I’ve been on the margin on a few occasions, which might skew one’s perception of me. I’ve designed some blog posts to shock people on purpose, and some to make them think.
And so, as the chapter of the ex and the hurt and the pain and the crazy party animal draws to a close, it feels as if my blog does too. But, just like High In Dubai/High in J. to the. Burg, I’m not ready to call it a day and close up shop just yet. Rather, I’m going to relieve the pressure and post about things when the need takes me. In fact, this chapter of my life may be closing, but another one has begun, so keep tuned for some events which are bound to be More than I Bargained for…
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Banish The Clogosphere
This guy don’t dig bloggers squat.
Checkout http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=banish
He made me cry. With real tears. They had nothing to do with my hay fever. I swear.
Checkout http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=banish
He made me cry. With real tears. They had nothing to do with my hay fever. I swear.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
7 Random or Weird Things
I’ve been tagged again! Demmet. But I can’t let High In Dubai down, so here it is. Notice my non-conformance to the rules of posting the “meme”. I’m non-conformist like that.
1) I don’t buy in to the consumerism hype built around days that are supposed to be special. For example, our recent St Valentines Day, which is Hallmark’s second biggest card-sending day of the year behind Christmas. And Christmas, which has now become Xmas, which is quickly losing its religious significance to mass-holiday-hysteria. I don’t dig the cheapening of these occasions through commercialisation. ‘Nuff said.
2) I think Samuel L. Jackson is the coolest actor of all time. He totally rocked in movies like Pulp Fiction, Jackie Brown and The 51st State. I would have preferred his character to be more Gangsta in Star Wars, but he would probably just tell me to “chill, motherf#@ker”, and threaten me with his purple light sabre.
3) Although I would consider myself a rugby fan, I’ve never solely supported any individual rugby team on a provincial or Super 14 level. I’m from Joburg so I should be a Lions/Cats man, but I don’t qualify ‘cos I don’t weigh over 120kgs and “flippen break oes” at Ellis Park Stadium after Saturday home games.
4) I have a picture of me winning the highly-contested 100m sprint at school. It is my most noteworthy sporting achievement to date. Oh the glory of my victory over the other Grade 1s!
5) Lack of consistency is a pet peeve of mine. People who change the goalposts for no particular reason or don’t follow through with things they say they are going to do drive me nuts.
6) I was born with a full beard and have been shaving ever since.
7) I’m not afraid to admit that Enrique Iglesias has come up with some brilliant songs. Do you know, do you know you can run, you can hide, but you cant escape him baby!
1) I don’t buy in to the consumerism hype built around days that are supposed to be special. For example, our recent St Valentines Day, which is Hallmark’s second biggest card-sending day of the year behind Christmas. And Christmas, which has now become Xmas, which is quickly losing its religious significance to mass-holiday-hysteria. I don’t dig the cheapening of these occasions through commercialisation. ‘Nuff said.
2) I think Samuel L. Jackson is the coolest actor of all time. He totally rocked in movies like Pulp Fiction, Jackie Brown and The 51st State. I would have preferred his character to be more Gangsta in Star Wars, but he would probably just tell me to “chill, motherf#@ker”, and threaten me with his purple light sabre.
3) Although I would consider myself a rugby fan, I’ve never solely supported any individual rugby team on a provincial or Super 14 level. I’m from Joburg so I should be a Lions/Cats man, but I don’t qualify ‘cos I don’t weigh over 120kgs and “flippen break oes” at Ellis Park Stadium after Saturday home games.
4) I have a picture of me winning the highly-contested 100m sprint at school. It is my most noteworthy sporting achievement to date. Oh the glory of my victory over the other Grade 1s!
5) Lack of consistency is a pet peeve of mine. People who change the goalposts for no particular reason or don’t follow through with things they say they are going to do drive me nuts.
6) I was born with a full beard and have been shaving ever since.
7) I’m not afraid to admit that Enrique Iglesias has come up with some brilliant songs. Do you know, do you know you can run, you can hide, but you cant escape him baby!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
All is fair in Love and War
She vanished as suddenly as she had appeared and I was left momentarily stunned. My eyes scanned the room eagerly to find where she had gone but to no avail. I probably just had to patiently wait where I was and it was likely that she would return. It was harder doing nothing than forcing my way through the crowds to find her, but like a strategic warlord I dug in and bided my time.
As I resumed a polite conversation my mind drifted back to that five second encounter. She had struck me with an austere look and a beauty that was elegant and timeless. Her hair was of a rich copper luster and I found it most alluring. The few words she had spoken had been in a husky voice, and in that instant with all the contributing factors her sex appeal had shot right through the ceiling. I simply had to see her again. I bided my time, hoping my gamble would bear fruit. And my spirits soared.
My gamble did pay off. She returned and this time it was with a friendly and mischievous smile. There was a glint in her eye and a gracefulness about her even though I sensed that a few drinks might have taken their effect. I turned on the charm and cheekily engaged her. She indulged me on a whim and I couldn’t get enough. The way she moved was mesmerizing. All too soon I was alone and wondering if I would ever see her again. Would she even remember me? I had been a five minute distraction in a long evening, a light footprint on her beach washed away by the tide. The imprint she left behind on me, however, had been in concrete.
I needed to see her again. I had to trust in Chance, in Fate and in Destiny. Yet sometimes humans can steer events in their favour. They can make things happen. They can take their chances. And if Fate is a kind mistress, they can even carve their own destinies.
Fate smiled upon me and I took the first opportunity I got to see her again with both hands. Still, I was apprehensive. She had wowed me for five minutes late one random night and I had only stolen daydreams about these brief moments to remember her by. I would either be bitterly disappointed by a totally different character or hypnotized all over again by the personality that fitted my memory and expectations. When we met again it was as if it were the first time for her, but for me it was like walking once more in the gardens I remembered as a child, re-living every memory, relishing the very fabric of the experience and sewing the past and present together with a satisfied grin.
She wowed me all over again. And when we sat side by side staring at a flashing series of moving pictures I couldn’t help but avert my eyes to her gentle face and allow myself to be wholly captivated by her beauty and her empathy. The way her hair fell softly over her face. The way her inviting lips moved slightly and reactively. The way the tears welled up in her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks. Those were incredibly beautiful and touching images which will remain with me forever.
Once again engrossed in the movie I felt her arm move upwards. I could sense that her fingers were inches away from mine and an electricity sparked through the gap and ran all the way from my fingertips to my upper arm. I had never felt anything like it before. I longed for her to touch my hand so that I could squeeze it tightly and yet didn’t dare to grab hers, as much as I wanted to.
Still, there was no awkwardness afterwards. No strange gangly feeling. It was comfortable and effortless, yet fun and exciting. The feelings seemed mutual. Our interaction worked. We wanted to spend all our time together, and if life were devoid of duty we probably would have. The days that followed blended together in a sea of blissful contentment, and our first date seems months ago when in reality it was a recent event. The more I get to know this woman the more I admire and adore her. I’m finding new things about her at every turn and yet when all the novelty turns to familiarity I know that her character will be sustenance in itself. I am not worried about the future, or asking anxious questions. I have totally surrendered to the experience with no preconceptions and am falling down a well filled with love - simply enjoying this marvelous wonder.
As I resumed a polite conversation my mind drifted back to that five second encounter. She had struck me with an austere look and a beauty that was elegant and timeless. Her hair was of a rich copper luster and I found it most alluring. The few words she had spoken had been in a husky voice, and in that instant with all the contributing factors her sex appeal had shot right through the ceiling. I simply had to see her again. I bided my time, hoping my gamble would bear fruit. And my spirits soared.
My gamble did pay off. She returned and this time it was with a friendly and mischievous smile. There was a glint in her eye and a gracefulness about her even though I sensed that a few drinks might have taken their effect. I turned on the charm and cheekily engaged her. She indulged me on a whim and I couldn’t get enough. The way she moved was mesmerizing. All too soon I was alone and wondering if I would ever see her again. Would she even remember me? I had been a five minute distraction in a long evening, a light footprint on her beach washed away by the tide. The imprint she left behind on me, however, had been in concrete.
I needed to see her again. I had to trust in Chance, in Fate and in Destiny. Yet sometimes humans can steer events in their favour. They can make things happen. They can take their chances. And if Fate is a kind mistress, they can even carve their own destinies.
Fate smiled upon me and I took the first opportunity I got to see her again with both hands. Still, I was apprehensive. She had wowed me for five minutes late one random night and I had only stolen daydreams about these brief moments to remember her by. I would either be bitterly disappointed by a totally different character or hypnotized all over again by the personality that fitted my memory and expectations. When we met again it was as if it were the first time for her, but for me it was like walking once more in the gardens I remembered as a child, re-living every memory, relishing the very fabric of the experience and sewing the past and present together with a satisfied grin.
She wowed me all over again. And when we sat side by side staring at a flashing series of moving pictures I couldn’t help but avert my eyes to her gentle face and allow myself to be wholly captivated by her beauty and her empathy. The way her hair fell softly over her face. The way her inviting lips moved slightly and reactively. The way the tears welled up in her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks. Those were incredibly beautiful and touching images which will remain with me forever.
Once again engrossed in the movie I felt her arm move upwards. I could sense that her fingers were inches away from mine and an electricity sparked through the gap and ran all the way from my fingertips to my upper arm. I had never felt anything like it before. I longed for her to touch my hand so that I could squeeze it tightly and yet didn’t dare to grab hers, as much as I wanted to.
Still, there was no awkwardness afterwards. No strange gangly feeling. It was comfortable and effortless, yet fun and exciting. The feelings seemed mutual. Our interaction worked. We wanted to spend all our time together, and if life were devoid of duty we probably would have. The days that followed blended together in a sea of blissful contentment, and our first date seems months ago when in reality it was a recent event. The more I get to know this woman the more I admire and adore her. I’m finding new things about her at every turn and yet when all the novelty turns to familiarity I know that her character will be sustenance in itself. I am not worried about the future, or asking anxious questions. I have totally surrendered to the experience with no preconceptions and am falling down a well filled with love - simply enjoying this marvelous wonder.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
She saw The Sign
I was driving around in my car with my new girlfriend, Red Rocket, running a few errands before our Sunday social engagements. As luck would have it, I drove past the premises of the lawyer who is handling my “divorce”. So I pointed it out to her as we drove past.
“Wow”, she said. “It is appropriately called [insert first name of my new girlfriend here].” I didn’t even catch on. “No”, I said, “that’s just the name of the Property Agent”. Red Rocket’s name is on a HUGE blue and white sign right on the lawyer’s premises. How ironic can life be.
Just like Ace of Base, I saw the sign, and it opened up my mind and I am happy now living without you, I’ve left you all alone.
“Wow”, she said. “It is appropriately called [insert first name of my new girlfriend here].” I didn’t even catch on. “No”, I said, “that’s just the name of the Property Agent”. Red Rocket’s name is on a HUGE blue and white sign right on the lawyer’s premises. How ironic can life be.
Just like Ace of Base, I saw the sign, and it opened up my mind and I am happy now living without you, I’ve left you all alone.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
It is finished. The deed is done.
My thoughts are a blur. I have just told the person that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with that it is all over. I told her that I didn’t want her to fight for me. I just signed the papers, and she pulled the engagement ring off her finger and told me she would leave it with the lawyers. She sped off in a fancy new BMW 335Ci, and the fairytale ended just like that.
Rewind. You might remember that my ex fiancée wanted me back. After a year and a half, she sorted out her head enough to realize that the reason she was unhappy was because I wasn’t in her life anymore. She said all the things that I had waited for so long to hear. The things that, on those utterly alone and tear-stained nights, would have healed my shattered heart in an instant. And yet why did I not jump at the chance to be with her again? Why did I not embrace her and kiss her and pull her towards me and tell her that it was all ok and that we were going to be together forever just like we had imagined it all those years before? When she said that she loves me and is in love with me and she felt it all along and it has never changed – why did that not melt my heart all over again?
Well, if I had anything in my chest that resembled a heart, maybe it would have melted. Maybe if she had left me a piece of my own heart it would have bled in empathy with her pain. But she had taken my whole heart for herself from day one, and when she left me she took it with her. All that remained was a small, hard, cold piece of dull anthracite. I felt nothing but pain. I functioned as a shadow of my former self. The joys of life disappeared when she disappeared. It was a long hard road, but slowly, and with a lot of help from my friends (and the many different variants of alcohol) I finally managed to nurture a blossom from the middle of that blackened lump of rock hard coal. Slowly and with much care I recovered. I’m not sure now what resides in the chest cavity where my heart used to be. I wonder if whatever it is has the same potential to love unconditionally as my old heart did, or whether this new thing will only really be healed once it is united with the original. If that is the case, what I did tonight won’t be helping matters at all. But if I am right, and by God I pray that I am, the thing that started to blossom where my old heart used to be will be better, stronger, wiser and more intense than the old one ever was. I intend to give it a chance. Time will tell.
So cry me a frikken river. I'm flippen angry. I’m angry at myself for even thinking some of these things. I’m angry at her for taking 17 months to realize what she lost. I’m angry that she shunned all of my attempts to win her back. I’m angry that at the time, my fight was in vain. I’m angry that she treated me like shit, that she took me for granted, that she pushed me away, that she shut me out of her life. I’m angry that I gave up. I’m angry that she didn’t tell me sooner, once she had figured it out for herself. I’m angry at myself for not hugging her and kissing her and thereby healing all the scars of the past. I’m angry for wanting to do that because of the bond I have formed with someone new. I’m angry that if it wasn’t for this other person, I probably wouldn’t have had the strength in myself to resist her. I’m angry at myself that I know I did the right thing. Because it hurt like a fucken bitch.
So where does that leave me? I’m at the end of the end. The end of the fairytale. I’m at the bit they don’t tell the children. I’m at the place I should have been 17 months ago. And I’m at the beginning of a new beginning. I’m negative yet optimistic. I’m hurting. I’m angry. I’m hating. Myself, mostly.
But there is a new tiny blossom inside me that is loving. And I think that makes it all ok.
Rewind. You might remember that my ex fiancée wanted me back. After a year and a half, she sorted out her head enough to realize that the reason she was unhappy was because I wasn’t in her life anymore. She said all the things that I had waited for so long to hear. The things that, on those utterly alone and tear-stained nights, would have healed my shattered heart in an instant. And yet why did I not jump at the chance to be with her again? Why did I not embrace her and kiss her and pull her towards me and tell her that it was all ok and that we were going to be together forever just like we had imagined it all those years before? When she said that she loves me and is in love with me and she felt it all along and it has never changed – why did that not melt my heart all over again?
Well, if I had anything in my chest that resembled a heart, maybe it would have melted. Maybe if she had left me a piece of my own heart it would have bled in empathy with her pain. But she had taken my whole heart for herself from day one, and when she left me she took it with her. All that remained was a small, hard, cold piece of dull anthracite. I felt nothing but pain. I functioned as a shadow of my former self. The joys of life disappeared when she disappeared. It was a long hard road, but slowly, and with a lot of help from my friends (and the many different variants of alcohol) I finally managed to nurture a blossom from the middle of that blackened lump of rock hard coal. Slowly and with much care I recovered. I’m not sure now what resides in the chest cavity where my heart used to be. I wonder if whatever it is has the same potential to love unconditionally as my old heart did, or whether this new thing will only really be healed once it is united with the original. If that is the case, what I did tonight won’t be helping matters at all. But if I am right, and by God I pray that I am, the thing that started to blossom where my old heart used to be will be better, stronger, wiser and more intense than the old one ever was. I intend to give it a chance. Time will tell.
So cry me a frikken river. I'm flippen angry. I’m angry at myself for even thinking some of these things. I’m angry at her for taking 17 months to realize what she lost. I’m angry that she shunned all of my attempts to win her back. I’m angry that at the time, my fight was in vain. I’m angry that she treated me like shit, that she took me for granted, that she pushed me away, that she shut me out of her life. I’m angry that I gave up. I’m angry that she didn’t tell me sooner, once she had figured it out for herself. I’m angry at myself for not hugging her and kissing her and thereby healing all the scars of the past. I’m angry for wanting to do that because of the bond I have formed with someone new. I’m angry that if it wasn’t for this other person, I probably wouldn’t have had the strength in myself to resist her. I’m angry at myself that I know I did the right thing. Because it hurt like a fucken bitch.
So where does that leave me? I’m at the end of the end. The end of the fairytale. I’m at the bit they don’t tell the children. I’m at the place I should have been 17 months ago. And I’m at the beginning of a new beginning. I’m negative yet optimistic. I’m hurting. I’m angry. I’m hating. Myself, mostly.
But there is a new tiny blossom inside me that is loving. And I think that makes it all ok.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Interview with a Fluffy Fiend
Inspired by Sheena’s sudden self-gratifying journalistic mission, and her subsequent tongue-out-of-cheek bashing received at the hands of Bridget (a real journalist, I believe), I have decided to try my very own hand at being a smart, funny, poignant, interview journo guy. But I thought to myself, why interview real-life people? I mean, how BORING is that shit?! Anyone can interview a real person. But it takes a special kind of highly talented yet slightly misguided journalist to interview someone perceived as imaginary. So after a long and thorough search and a few plane trips later, I finally managed to locate someone in Vegas who fitted the bill. Enter The Easter Bunny.
LW: Hi Mr Bunny. Or should I call you Easter?
EB: Oh, you can call me Zeb. Its short for Zebulon. People only call me The Easter Bunny during the tenure of my contract, which is roughly around Easter time each year.
LW: You have a contract?
EB: Oh yes. There isn’t really much to do after Easter. You know how it is, the chocolate eggs have all been found, and if I leave the ones that weren’t found instead of collecting them up again, something is sure to find them, like a badger. Or the Tooth Fairy.
LW: Aren’t you afraid that the badgers or other unsuspecting woodland folk would get the gold tin foil stuck in their teeth or throats and choke and die?
EB: Not really.
LW: Oh! I thought you would be some kind of conservationist. You know, being a giant bunny and all.
EB: Look guy, just because I’m a giant friggen bunny doesn’t mean I’m a fluffy wuffy lovey dovey cuddly wuddly ball of fur. I’ve been around a long time and seen quite a few things, let me tell you. There’s this strip-club here in Vegas with women that can actually suck…
LW: Ok ok bud, this is a family show. I’ll get the address of that place from you later. So Zebulon. That’s an interesting name. How exactly did you get that, and how long have you been around for?
EB: Well, that’s a long story. I’ve been around since the birth of ideas, since proto-life realized that something must have created them, and that if they were created, they were sure to be destroyed one day. This led to the concepts of time, birth, death, and the realization that there must be some kind of god, or gods. As life-forms progressed and became more sophisticated, so too did ideas grow and multiply. I’ve been many things in my time, like the God of Rocks, the Keeper of Waterfalls, and Time’s Little Helper, to name a few. But concepts and ideas change and diversify, and at one stage it was difficult to get any kind of work. Luckily this guy JC came along about two thousand years ago and created a whole new bunch of concepts in people’s minds. His death brought on a new age of thinkers and believers, and I was lucky enough to secure a contract. At the time Zebulon was a really popular name, its Biblical shit you know, and my body took on the shape imagined by all the believers. I think its called concept-somatic personification or something like that. Like, for example, guess what I looked like when I was God of Rocks?
LW: A rock?
EB: You’re a fucken rocket-scientist kid.
LW: Thanks, I know. That was quite a story. Anyways, I don’t want to bore you with questions about your job, so tell me why The Easter Bun….I mean, Zeb, lives in a place like this?
EB: Well, I’ve lived in many places, but recently I’ve adopted Las Vegas as my base of operations. No-one here seems to give a shit that there is a giant bunny walking around the streets and talking. You think they’d catch on when I poop on cars in plain daylight and order carrots and lettuce and even beetroot at the strip clubs, but no-one seems to bat an eyelid. Folks here are very accepting, I dig it.
LW: Cool. Besides going to strip clubs, what do you do for fun?
EB: Well the nightlife here is insane. Chicks dig a giant bunny, I can get lucky just by asking them to take me home and rub my front tail….
LW: As I said, family show here bro….
EB:….and the casinos are something else. I can spend all night at the roulette and craps tables. Texas Hold’em Poker is making a huge comeback, and that’s how I make the majority of my cash in the off-season. I can even sit at home all day and graft online.
LW: You play poker? How did you learn?
EB: How did I learn? I practically invented that shit! Trust me kid, when you’ve got nothing to do for 11 months of the year except chase naked young maidens across the moors by moonlight, you soon invent other things to keep yourself occupied. It took Santa and I ages to develop the 52-card deck. It contains the most complex combination of mathematical probabilities we could come up with. And I know all about maths too. Me and Pythag used to theorise about algebra and calculus way into the night.
LW: Wow, we seem to be getting deeper here. I thought you were all about shagging the bitches and jolling and gambling and stuff, but it turns out that you’re an accomplished inventor, mathematician and theorist too.
EB: Hey, I’m just your average concept-somatic personification, but I do what I can.
LW: And you’re modest too. That’s great. If you had one piece of advice to give us mortal humans, what would it be?
EB: Go easy on the morphine. If it had me addicted for a couple of centuries, can you imagine what it’s going to do to you?
LW: That might explain your difficulty in getting work there for a bit.
EB: You have no idea.
LW: Ok well I’ve picked your brain for long enough. What do you say we go for a drink somewhere, maybe play a few hands of poker, slowly get stoked for a club and then smash it in our faces?
EB: Sounds like a plan! Kid, you’re gonna love this town. Stick with me, I’ll show you places that will blow your tiny little mortal mind!
LW: Off da CHIZZANG, yo!
EB: What?
LW: Hi Mr Bunny. Or should I call you Easter?
EB: Oh, you can call me Zeb. Its short for Zebulon. People only call me The Easter Bunny during the tenure of my contract, which is roughly around Easter time each year.
LW: You have a contract?
EB: Oh yes. There isn’t really much to do after Easter. You know how it is, the chocolate eggs have all been found, and if I leave the ones that weren’t found instead of collecting them up again, something is sure to find them, like a badger. Or the Tooth Fairy.
LW: Aren’t you afraid that the badgers or other unsuspecting woodland folk would get the gold tin foil stuck in their teeth or throats and choke and die?
EB: Not really.
LW: Oh! I thought you would be some kind of conservationist. You know, being a giant bunny and all.
EB: Look guy, just because I’m a giant friggen bunny doesn’t mean I’m a fluffy wuffy lovey dovey cuddly wuddly ball of fur. I’ve been around a long time and seen quite a few things, let me tell you. There’s this strip-club here in Vegas with women that can actually suck…
LW: Ok ok bud, this is a family show. I’ll get the address of that place from you later. So Zebulon. That’s an interesting name. How exactly did you get that, and how long have you been around for?
EB: Well, that’s a long story. I’ve been around since the birth of ideas, since proto-life realized that something must have created them, and that if they were created, they were sure to be destroyed one day. This led to the concepts of time, birth, death, and the realization that there must be some kind of god, or gods. As life-forms progressed and became more sophisticated, so too did ideas grow and multiply. I’ve been many things in my time, like the God of Rocks, the Keeper of Waterfalls, and Time’s Little Helper, to name a few. But concepts and ideas change and diversify, and at one stage it was difficult to get any kind of work. Luckily this guy JC came along about two thousand years ago and created a whole new bunch of concepts in people’s minds. His death brought on a new age of thinkers and believers, and I was lucky enough to secure a contract. At the time Zebulon was a really popular name, its Biblical shit you know, and my body took on the shape imagined by all the believers. I think its called concept-somatic personification or something like that. Like, for example, guess what I looked like when I was God of Rocks?
LW: A rock?
EB: You’re a fucken rocket-scientist kid.
LW: Thanks, I know. That was quite a story. Anyways, I don’t want to bore you with questions about your job, so tell me why The Easter Bun….I mean, Zeb, lives in a place like this?
EB: Well, I’ve lived in many places, but recently I’ve adopted Las Vegas as my base of operations. No-one here seems to give a shit that there is a giant bunny walking around the streets and talking. You think they’d catch on when I poop on cars in plain daylight and order carrots and lettuce and even beetroot at the strip clubs, but no-one seems to bat an eyelid. Folks here are very accepting, I dig it.
LW: Cool. Besides going to strip clubs, what do you do for fun?
EB: Well the nightlife here is insane. Chicks dig a giant bunny, I can get lucky just by asking them to take me home and rub my front tail….
LW: As I said, family show here bro….
EB:….and the casinos are something else. I can spend all night at the roulette and craps tables. Texas Hold’em Poker is making a huge comeback, and that’s how I make the majority of my cash in the off-season. I can even sit at home all day and graft online.
LW: You play poker? How did you learn?
EB: How did I learn? I practically invented that shit! Trust me kid, when you’ve got nothing to do for 11 months of the year except chase naked young maidens across the moors by moonlight, you soon invent other things to keep yourself occupied. It took Santa and I ages to develop the 52-card deck. It contains the most complex combination of mathematical probabilities we could come up with. And I know all about maths too. Me and Pythag used to theorise about algebra and calculus way into the night.
LW: Wow, we seem to be getting deeper here. I thought you were all about shagging the bitches and jolling and gambling and stuff, but it turns out that you’re an accomplished inventor, mathematician and theorist too.
EB: Hey, I’m just your average concept-somatic personification, but I do what I can.
LW: And you’re modest too. That’s great. If you had one piece of advice to give us mortal humans, what would it be?
EB: Go easy on the morphine. If it had me addicted for a couple of centuries, can you imagine what it’s going to do to you?
LW: That might explain your difficulty in getting work there for a bit.
EB: You have no idea.
LW: Ok well I’ve picked your brain for long enough. What do you say we go for a drink somewhere, maybe play a few hands of poker, slowly get stoked for a club and then smash it in our faces?
EB: Sounds like a plan! Kid, you’re gonna love this town. Stick with me, I’ll show you places that will blow your tiny little mortal mind!
LW: Off da CHIZZANG, yo!
EB: What?
Monday, January 28, 2008
Gangsta replies for your stupid foolass, yo!
A few bloggers have, in the past, pasted up lists of things that make them go white with fury. I haven’t done anything like that yet, but seeing as it is reality-check Monday morning after a great weekend and I’m listening to the angry gangsta rap beats of Xzibit and friends whilst my work piles up around me, I’m in the mood to embrace a touch of negativity and ass-kicking ninja-type whupass shit, yo. So here are a few of my pet peeves (with ideal ways in which to deal with the situation):
1) People who desecrate the English language, most notably by interchanging the words “loose” and “lose” ‘cos the education system is so crap that they never bothered to learn how to spell in the first place. An example: “I’ve got nothing to loose.” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “That’s ‘cos you’re a fat ugly bitch who can’t spell, so get your fat foolass on a spelling bee and a diet, yo!”
2) People who don’t bother to re-read their SMSes and emails and leave out words and get their spelling all fucked up. An example: “I love – I have never stopped”. Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “You mean you love ME, bitch! ME! Don’t leave the YOU out in that sentence, it’s possibly the most important motherfucking word, yo!”
3) People who get road rage and vloek the cars in the traffic when they’re on the phone to you. An example: “Wiggly, we had such a wonderful time together that day, don’t you remember? I really miss you. Can’t we get together ASSHOLE! STUPID FUCKING WANKER! MOVE YOUR FUCKEN HUMVEE OUT MY GODDAM WAY! Oh where was I? How about next Sunday?” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “How about no, you fucken ho! Get some anger management sessions, and don’t waste my phonebill swearing at niggas in the traffic. That shit will get your foolass killed, yo!”
4) People who are inconsiderate, seek attention and turn every situation around so they get to talk about themselves all the time. An example: “I’m so happy for you but you see, I’m really angry ‘cos you showed your happiness and that made me feel uncomfortable.” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “What the fuck? Are you serious? How about you dry your eyes princess, grow the fuck up and start being genuinely happy for your friends before I hang you upside down from my rafters and beat the shit out of you with a 2 by 4 like a cheap, empty, badly made paper-mache pinhada. How about I do that, yo!”
5) People who flaunt how rich they are when they are actually living off the bank’s credit. An example: “I threw away all my gold cards and got me a URANIUM card! I’m so frivolous I use my humvee to drive down my driveway to pick up the post in the mornings, and that’s ALL I use it for.” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “Shut the fuck up, you IDIOT! You’re gonna be in more debt than you can claw your way out of before you can say ‘bank repossession’. ABSA owns your bitchass! So dance like a monkey, fool, dance!”
6) People who are loud and consistently distracting to others in an open-plan office. An example: Colleagues shrieking with laughter at the top of their lungs when you’re on the phone with an important client. Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “Please hold on for a moment, I need to change location to get a better signal” //Wiggly calmly walks over to said colleagues with cellphone clutched tightly in hand and punches the loudest, noisiest bitch in the face with all the power he can muster whilst still holding the cellphone, so that her nose instantly explodes in a spray of bright red blood and her nose-bone splinters and slides effortlessly upwards, piercing her brain and causing instant, silent death.// Wiggly continues calmly and patiently into the resulting satisfying silence and the blood-stained phone as if nothing has happened, “Thank you for your patience. I do believe that I can solve your problem efficiently.”
7) People who constantly admonish your actions or choices, especially when it comes to relationships and your dealings with the fairer sex. An example: “I can’t believe you think she’s hot. If you go for her I can’t be your friend anymore”. Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “Are you fucken insane? Do you want me to beat you within an inch of your life? Plus, when was the last time you scored a chick anyways? 1995? Shut your dumbass mouth before you say something you regret, fool!”
8) People who are intolerant of other people’s cultures. An example: “Those Chinese people sound so silly when they talk, I can’t keep a straight face!” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “You won’t be able to keep a straight face after I break all your teeth with this fire extinguisher either, so shut the fuck up you stupid fool!”
9) People who disrespect you, especially when they do it in your own home. An example: “This is such a stupid game, I can’t believe I’m here. And the music sucks too.” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “How would you like to be tossed right off my balcony you ungrateful bitch?! I invite you into my crib out of the kindness of my heart and you disrespect me loudly in front of everyone! Fuck off back to the filthy hole you crawled out of and if I EVER see you or hear your whiney voice ever again I WILL get medieval on your stupid foolass, YO!”
10) People who anonymously leave negative and insulting messages in the comment section of other peoples blogs. I was copying a great example from Kevin Cadman’s blog, but he’s already dealt with it in the most uber-ninja-gangsta way imagineable, so go have a good laugh at http://boredkevin.blogspot.com/2008/01/you-reckon.html.
Wow, that was a great way of blowing off some steam! You guys should try it sometime. And remember kids, violence, rudeness and vulgarity never solves anything, but it sure is entertaining! Have a great day now, yo!
1) People who desecrate the English language, most notably by interchanging the words “loose” and “lose” ‘cos the education system is so crap that they never bothered to learn how to spell in the first place. An example: “I’ve got nothing to loose.” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “That’s ‘cos you’re a fat ugly bitch who can’t spell, so get your fat foolass on a spelling bee and a diet, yo!”
2) People who don’t bother to re-read their SMSes and emails and leave out words and get their spelling all fucked up. An example: “I love – I have never stopped”. Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “You mean you love ME, bitch! ME! Don’t leave the YOU out in that sentence, it’s possibly the most important motherfucking word, yo!”
3) People who get road rage and vloek the cars in the traffic when they’re on the phone to you. An example: “Wiggly, we had such a wonderful time together that day, don’t you remember? I really miss you. Can’t we get together ASSHOLE! STUPID FUCKING WANKER! MOVE YOUR FUCKEN HUMVEE OUT MY GODDAM WAY! Oh where was I? How about next Sunday?” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “How about no, you fucken ho! Get some anger management sessions, and don’t waste my phonebill swearing at niggas in the traffic. That shit will get your foolass killed, yo!”
4) People who are inconsiderate, seek attention and turn every situation around so they get to talk about themselves all the time. An example: “I’m so happy for you but you see, I’m really angry ‘cos you showed your happiness and that made me feel uncomfortable.” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “What the fuck? Are you serious? How about you dry your eyes princess, grow the fuck up and start being genuinely happy for your friends before I hang you upside down from my rafters and beat the shit out of you with a 2 by 4 like a cheap, empty, badly made paper-mache pinhada. How about I do that, yo!”
5) People who flaunt how rich they are when they are actually living off the bank’s credit. An example: “I threw away all my gold cards and got me a URANIUM card! I’m so frivolous I use my humvee to drive down my driveway to pick up the post in the mornings, and that’s ALL I use it for.” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “Shut the fuck up, you IDIOT! You’re gonna be in more debt than you can claw your way out of before you can say ‘bank repossession’. ABSA owns your bitchass! So dance like a monkey, fool, dance!”
6) People who are loud and consistently distracting to others in an open-plan office. An example: Colleagues shrieking with laughter at the top of their lungs when you’re on the phone with an important client. Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “Please hold on for a moment, I need to change location to get a better signal” //Wiggly calmly walks over to said colleagues with cellphone clutched tightly in hand and punches the loudest, noisiest bitch in the face with all the power he can muster whilst still holding the cellphone, so that her nose instantly explodes in a spray of bright red blood and her nose-bone splinters and slides effortlessly upwards, piercing her brain and causing instant, silent death.// Wiggly continues calmly and patiently into the resulting satisfying silence and the blood-stained phone as if nothing has happened, “Thank you for your patience. I do believe that I can solve your problem efficiently.”
7) People who constantly admonish your actions or choices, especially when it comes to relationships and your dealings with the fairer sex. An example: “I can’t believe you think she’s hot. If you go for her I can’t be your friend anymore”. Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “Are you fucken insane? Do you want me to beat you within an inch of your life? Plus, when was the last time you scored a chick anyways? 1995? Shut your dumbass mouth before you say something you regret, fool!”
8) People who are intolerant of other people’s cultures. An example: “Those Chinese people sound so silly when they talk, I can’t keep a straight face!” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “You won’t be able to keep a straight face after I break all your teeth with this fire extinguisher either, so shut the fuck up you stupid fool!”
9) People who disrespect you, especially when they do it in your own home. An example: “This is such a stupid game, I can’t believe I’m here. And the music sucks too.” Wiggly’s gangsta reply: “How would you like to be tossed right off my balcony you ungrateful bitch?! I invite you into my crib out of the kindness of my heart and you disrespect me loudly in front of everyone! Fuck off back to the filthy hole you crawled out of and if I EVER see you or hear your whiney voice ever again I WILL get medieval on your stupid foolass, YO!”
10) People who anonymously leave negative and insulting messages in the comment section of other peoples blogs. I was copying a great example from Kevin Cadman’s blog, but he’s already dealt with it in the most uber-ninja-gangsta way imagineable, so go have a good laugh at http://boredkevin.blogspot.com/2008/01/you-reckon.html.
Wow, that was a great way of blowing off some steam! You guys should try it sometime. And remember kids, violence, rudeness and vulgarity never solves anything, but it sure is entertaining! Have a great day now, yo!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
It was the worst of times. It was the best of times.
They say that once you have had your heart broken you should “grieve” and remain single directly thereafter for half the period of time you were together. For example, if you went out for a year, you should spend the next six months recovering, getting back in touch with yourself and moving on, until you are ready to face another relationship again.
Now I don’t know who “They” are. “They” are probably the same people that say stupid things like “You shouldn’t whistle at night because it calls evil spirits”, “Don’t run with scissors” and “Never swim for the half hour following a meal”. I once sprinted across the lawn at night directly after supper, armed with a pair of scissors and whistling like a crazed Bafana Bafana supporter, before diving headlong into the swimming pool. Nothing terribly evil happened, except my mother scolded me for “catching my death of cold” and my father was livid about my slicing the Kreepy Krauly apart with the kitchen scissors. Even so, the “They” I was referring to might have had a point about a suitable grieving period. You certainly do get the time to process your issues.
Cue December. I was juggling different girls like a sixteen-year-old Jason Priestley, partying and getting drunk like a bandit with my crazy mates and generally having a whale of a time. My motive for having such a good time was to forget the events of the past, to forget how the woman I had proposed to had totally crushed my heart, and to forget how I was still, uncannily and rather stupidly, in love with her. It had been fifteen months, and in that period I had tried to get her back several times. I had tried to get together with different girls more than just several times, and I had initiated a few of the briefest of “relationships”, doomed from the outset for failure. Nothing I tried had seemed to work - I had always still felt a gaping chasm in my soul and a small, dull and rather tougher-than-normal lump of anthracite in my chest where my heart had once been. And I felt all that fifteen months later, after a nine month relationship. That is three times longer than the prescribed 5 month grieving period recommended by “Them”. I tried to justify it by elevating my ex to “soulmate” status, believing that she was the only woman who could ever make me happy again. And yet I secretly dreaded what would happen if she wanted me back, because I knew in the marrow of my bones that she just wasn’t the right woman for me and that if someone “better”, or more compatible (to be Politically Correct) were to come along, I would hold the power over my ex that she had always held before. And I wondered that if I were to find this “better” woman, would I even be READY for a girlfriend? I mean, I was far too content with painting the town red with my buddies 4 days of the week and leading on a string of girls that I actually felt nothing for.
“They” say that that is the best headspace a single person can be in. And yet my ex still permeated my thoughts, especially when she bought me one helluva expensive Christmas present which screamed “I am still in love with you and am going to manipulate your emotions to a state of mental instability until you finally slit your wrists with your credit cards and bleed to death”.
And when I wasn’t ready at all for it, as “They”, had always pointed out, I met Her when I was least expecting it. Her. A woman who simply knocked the socks off my ex. A woman who made the FHM lingerie model ex seem plain, jaded and oddly twisted. The ex can’t hold a candle next to this woman, and she doesn’t even know it yet. The ex may be a six-foot blonde stunner, but this new woman, humbly and without even knowing it, has made me realize the extent of the “pills and ashes” under her lingerie (to sculpt a phrase from the Counting Crows). And the ex is finally pleading for me to come back to her. Her timing simply stinks.
Now I don’t know who “They” are. “They” are probably the same people that say stupid things like “You shouldn’t whistle at night because it calls evil spirits”, “Don’t run with scissors” and “Never swim for the half hour following a meal”. I once sprinted across the lawn at night directly after supper, armed with a pair of scissors and whistling like a crazed Bafana Bafana supporter, before diving headlong into the swimming pool. Nothing terribly evil happened, except my mother scolded me for “catching my death of cold” and my father was livid about my slicing the Kreepy Krauly apart with the kitchen scissors. Even so, the “They” I was referring to might have had a point about a suitable grieving period. You certainly do get the time to process your issues.
Cue December. I was juggling different girls like a sixteen-year-old Jason Priestley, partying and getting drunk like a bandit with my crazy mates and generally having a whale of a time. My motive for having such a good time was to forget the events of the past, to forget how the woman I had proposed to had totally crushed my heart, and to forget how I was still, uncannily and rather stupidly, in love with her. It had been fifteen months, and in that period I had tried to get her back several times. I had tried to get together with different girls more than just several times, and I had initiated a few of the briefest of “relationships”, doomed from the outset for failure. Nothing I tried had seemed to work - I had always still felt a gaping chasm in my soul and a small, dull and rather tougher-than-normal lump of anthracite in my chest where my heart had once been. And I felt all that fifteen months later, after a nine month relationship. That is three times longer than the prescribed 5 month grieving period recommended by “Them”. I tried to justify it by elevating my ex to “soulmate” status, believing that she was the only woman who could ever make me happy again. And yet I secretly dreaded what would happen if she wanted me back, because I knew in the marrow of my bones that she just wasn’t the right woman for me and that if someone “better”, or more compatible (to be Politically Correct) were to come along, I would hold the power over my ex that she had always held before. And I wondered that if I were to find this “better” woman, would I even be READY for a girlfriend? I mean, I was far too content with painting the town red with my buddies 4 days of the week and leading on a string of girls that I actually felt nothing for.
“They” say that that is the best headspace a single person can be in. And yet my ex still permeated my thoughts, especially when she bought me one helluva expensive Christmas present which screamed “I am still in love with you and am going to manipulate your emotions to a state of mental instability until you finally slit your wrists with your credit cards and bleed to death”.
And when I wasn’t ready at all for it, as “They”, had always pointed out, I met Her when I was least expecting it. Her. A woman who simply knocked the socks off my ex. A woman who made the FHM lingerie model ex seem plain, jaded and oddly twisted. The ex can’t hold a candle next to this woman, and she doesn’t even know it yet. The ex may be a six-foot blonde stunner, but this new woman, humbly and without even knowing it, has made me realize the extent of the “pills and ashes” under her lingerie (to sculpt a phrase from the Counting Crows). And the ex is finally pleading for me to come back to her. Her timing simply stinks.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
'Snice Hey
You know the way you feel when you first see an advert and you think its totally cheesy, especially when someone you know is in it? You have two options. 1) If you don’t know the guy too well and don’t want to piss him off, be supportive. 2) If you do know the guy well, mock the shit outta him. Hey, that’s what guys do. Look , I had to go with option 1), but I would’ve been much happier adopting option 2).
Consequently, you know the way you feel when that previously cheesy advert reaches cult status, especially within your group of mates? You have two options. 1) If you were previously supportive, you can claim the victory and a hand in starting a huge underground cult phenomenon. 2) If you previously mocked the shit outta the oke, your only option is to feel like a dumbass. Boy was I glad I could claim the victory!
For those of you who haven’t seen the KFC Variety Bucket advert, check this link. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Znvy7RgIFRo . Do it. Just fucken do it, and keep the window open. Keep the window open I said.
Right, you’ve watched it once. What did you think? A bit cheesy, perhaps? That may be. But there is one South Africanism in that advert that is taking off like an engine from a Nationwide plane. The way the one oke says “’Snice hey.” Aren’t you glad you left that window open now? Play the advert again and watch for it. Roughly translated into an English that non-South Africans can understand, he says “It is nice isn’t it?”
Now consider my bunch of 21 year-old mates constantly talking about scoring older chicks. When they say “older chicks”, they mean like a 24 or 25 year-old lingerie model. Add a 26 y/o Lord Wiggly into the mix and this doesn’t come close to his definition. He reveals his fetish for older women as being any remotely attractive female between the ages of 27 and 42. On the higher end of the scale with the age gap being what it is, this totally opens up the options for a “Miss Loveday” kind of experience (yes, Standard 9 Maths Miss Loveday. If you don’t get the reference, play the ad again). Well, our group of mates started saying “The older woman thing. ‘Snice hey!” incredibly often because the many sordid conversations gave innumerable opportunities. After a while, “’Snice hey”, started referring to anything that was enjoyable or nice. Again, when used out of context of the older women thing, this gave ample opportunities for guys to surprise-attack each other with mother jokes. Let me give you a few examples.
SD (21 years old): I scored this hot chick on Friday night. She was even a coupla months older than me!
LW (nodding head slowly in approval): Older women thing. ‘Snice hey.
IS (27 year old IT guy): The secretary at work was so nice to me today, she even made me a cup of coffee.
LW (mockingly): The older women thing. ‘Snice hey.
LW (in his element): Checkout this awesome surfboard! It’s a six foot Spider with custom candy-green paint-work by Graham Smith!! Shit I want it so badly. ‘Snice hey!
IS (so happy for an opportunity to get back at LW): Your MOM’s quite nice hey.
LW (stumped for a scathing comeback at the shock of this attack): Fuck you.
So you see, a lot of South Africans have started saying “‘Snice hey” and using it in daily conversations, accelerating its use like wildfire, and promoting the KFC Variety Bucket advert to cult status. This has meant that my older women fetish is finally gaining acceptance among my group of friends. My recent fling with a stunning 38 year-old mother of 3 hardly received a grilling. Just as well ‘cos it doesn’t look like my tastes in women are changing. Even The Rocket is a coupla years older than me and I didn’t even know it. Older women thing. ‘Snice hey.
Consequently, you know the way you feel when that previously cheesy advert reaches cult status, especially within your group of mates? You have two options. 1) If you were previously supportive, you can claim the victory and a hand in starting a huge underground cult phenomenon. 2) If you previously mocked the shit outta the oke, your only option is to feel like a dumbass. Boy was I glad I could claim the victory!
For those of you who haven’t seen the KFC Variety Bucket advert, check this link. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Znvy7RgIFRo . Do it. Just fucken do it, and keep the window open. Keep the window open I said.
Right, you’ve watched it once. What did you think? A bit cheesy, perhaps? That may be. But there is one South Africanism in that advert that is taking off like an engine from a Nationwide plane. The way the one oke says “’Snice hey.” Aren’t you glad you left that window open now? Play the advert again and watch for it. Roughly translated into an English that non-South Africans can understand, he says “It is nice isn’t it?”
Now consider my bunch of 21 year-old mates constantly talking about scoring older chicks. When they say “older chicks”, they mean like a 24 or 25 year-old lingerie model. Add a 26 y/o Lord Wiggly into the mix and this doesn’t come close to his definition. He reveals his fetish for older women as being any remotely attractive female between the ages of 27 and 42. On the higher end of the scale with the age gap being what it is, this totally opens up the options for a “Miss Loveday” kind of experience (yes, Standard 9 Maths Miss Loveday. If you don’t get the reference, play the ad again). Well, our group of mates started saying “The older woman thing. ‘Snice hey!” incredibly often because the many sordid conversations gave innumerable opportunities. After a while, “’Snice hey”, started referring to anything that was enjoyable or nice. Again, when used out of context of the older women thing, this gave ample opportunities for guys to surprise-attack each other with mother jokes. Let me give you a few examples.
SD (21 years old): I scored this hot chick on Friday night. She was even a coupla months older than me!
LW (nodding head slowly in approval): Older women thing. ‘Snice hey.
IS (27 year old IT guy): The secretary at work was so nice to me today, she even made me a cup of coffee.
LW (mockingly): The older women thing. ‘Snice hey.
LW (in his element): Checkout this awesome surfboard! It’s a six foot Spider with custom candy-green paint-work by Graham Smith!! Shit I want it so badly. ‘Snice hey!
IS (so happy for an opportunity to get back at LW): Your MOM’s quite nice hey.
LW (stumped for a scathing comeback at the shock of this attack): Fuck you.
So you see, a lot of South Africans have started saying “‘Snice hey” and using it in daily conversations, accelerating its use like wildfire, and promoting the KFC Variety Bucket advert to cult status. This has meant that my older women fetish is finally gaining acceptance among my group of friends. My recent fling with a stunning 38 year-old mother of 3 hardly received a grilling. Just as well ‘cos it doesn’t look like my tastes in women are changing. Even The Rocket is a coupla years older than me and I didn’t even know it. Older women thing. ‘Snice hey.
Monday, January 14, 2008
To blog or not to blog?
Yes I have been tardy with getting back into the swing of the blogging world. At the end of 2007 I reflected on my past year of blogging and was unconvinced that I should continue. I was disillusioned, tired, and started to consider blogging as something of a chore as opposed to something that makes me happy. With the New Year now in full swing I have realized that my story remains unfinished; this period of transition in my life – although having progressed somewhat – remains unconcluded.
So here I find myself yet again typing furiously on my keyboard. It is probably no coincidence that it is a Monday morning back at work and my internet connection is currently on the blink. So much has happened since I last wrote in December that I’m going to have to summarise like a Mother.
I had an awesome holiday in Durban Town. Ten days of surfing, sun, chicks, booze, poker, partying and general tomfoolery. It was one of the best holidays ever conducted on a shoestring budget. That didn’t prevent fraudsters from helping themselves to the last remaining 4 grand in my bank account though.
I considered the phrase “He’s just not that into you”, swapped the genders around and made up my own conclusions. When a guy tells a girl that he missed her, thought about her a lot in the holidays, and realized how much he enjoys spending time with her, an appropriate response is not “Oh, that’s cool”. That is an opening for some kind of reciprocation. Also, apply behaviour over and above words alone. When dancing with a girl that you like and her group of friends, it is customary for the said girl to be present for more than just ten minutes in a three hour period. Her disappearing with some other guy is not generally a good sign that affection is mutual. One of the solutions could be to disappear with another girl. However, making this a public “fuck you” lends more impact than a clandestine one. If the girl used for revenge purposes is one of her friends, or better yet, her sister, vengeance can be all the sweeter. Pity I didn’t take either up on their offers.
I do have some FANTASTIC news though! I have met a total rocket. It’s the first time I’ve had butterflies in my stomach since the days of my ex fiancée. It’s early days yet, but our first date lasted 14 hours. Almost three of those hours were spent on our first kiss. That has got to be some kind of world record. It’s all a bit shaky though, ‘cos her best friend is a girl who liked me from the days of my Internet Dating. The unwritten rule amongst females for dating guys that their friends are into led her to bulleting me twice, but persistence pays off - as they say, three time’s a charm. Looks like 2008 is shaping up to be a bloody interesting year.
Oh, before I go. I saw The Lion King at the Teatro Montecasino yesterday. It is one of those experiences that cannot be described, but if you can, beg borrow or steal a ticket before the show ends in February. You won’t regret it.
So here I find myself yet again typing furiously on my keyboard. It is probably no coincidence that it is a Monday morning back at work and my internet connection is currently on the blink. So much has happened since I last wrote in December that I’m going to have to summarise like a Mother.
I had an awesome holiday in Durban Town. Ten days of surfing, sun, chicks, booze, poker, partying and general tomfoolery. It was one of the best holidays ever conducted on a shoestring budget. That didn’t prevent fraudsters from helping themselves to the last remaining 4 grand in my bank account though.
I considered the phrase “He’s just not that into you”, swapped the genders around and made up my own conclusions. When a guy tells a girl that he missed her, thought about her a lot in the holidays, and realized how much he enjoys spending time with her, an appropriate response is not “Oh, that’s cool”. That is an opening for some kind of reciprocation. Also, apply behaviour over and above words alone. When dancing with a girl that you like and her group of friends, it is customary for the said girl to be present for more than just ten minutes in a three hour period. Her disappearing with some other guy is not generally a good sign that affection is mutual. One of the solutions could be to disappear with another girl. However, making this a public “fuck you” lends more impact than a clandestine one. If the girl used for revenge purposes is one of her friends, or better yet, her sister, vengeance can be all the sweeter. Pity I didn’t take either up on their offers.
I do have some FANTASTIC news though! I have met a total rocket. It’s the first time I’ve had butterflies in my stomach since the days of my ex fiancée. It’s early days yet, but our first date lasted 14 hours. Almost three of those hours were spent on our first kiss. That has got to be some kind of world record. It’s all a bit shaky though, ‘cos her best friend is a girl who liked me from the days of my Internet Dating. The unwritten rule amongst females for dating guys that their friends are into led her to bulleting me twice, but persistence pays off - as they say, three time’s a charm. Looks like 2008 is shaping up to be a bloody interesting year.
Oh, before I go. I saw The Lion King at the Teatro Montecasino yesterday. It is one of those experiences that cannot be described, but if you can, beg borrow or steal a ticket before the show ends in February. You won’t regret it.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Calling all Technophiles
Hey guys
For some reason, Blogger isn't allowing me to edit my blogroll! I don't see the little "edit/delete" links next to each URL when I load the "customise" page. It just tells me that there is an error on page whenever I load it. This has been going on for two weeks now. I've read through the online help but I'm still stumped. Can anyone help me out? I know the Glugster is pretty good at this...anyone else had similar issues?
A quick update. I finally managed to bully my way into a holiday! One of my mates from Durban said I can crash at her place with no worries 'cos she stays in a 2.5 bedroom place all by herself. I can even take a mate down. The best part about it is that this chick who I'll be staying with bought my old surfboard before I moved back to Joburg, and she's bought a new one so I can use my old board when I'm down there! Yeah! The Hooded Villain rides again!
I'm really looking forward to ten days or so of beach time, crazy parties, and of course the monstrous New Years Bash! Hopefully it will take my mind off things and I'll be able to re-evaluate my life and priorities whilst bobbing up and down on my back at the backline (oh yeah, I might be able to regain my title as "laziest surfer ever"!) One thing is for sure, the Joburg vibe definitely stresses a person out. Everyone at the coast is way more chilled. Makes me wonder where I'll be next year, where my plans will take me.
Scarily, with Zuma as president we can all look forward to an even greater corruption of state and embezzlement of our hard-earned taxpayers' money. Never mind that HIV causes AIDS - take a shower, eat some beetroot, maybe even rape a toddler and you'll be just fine and dandy. At least, these are the misconceptions of the politicians coming into power. A new age is sure to dawn, putting the "Africa" right back into "South Africa". I'll probably be better off struggling to make a living in the UK or Aussie, than watching the country I love rotting to pieces under an even more corrupt rule. After all, Zuma reckons that Africa is for Africans, and he doesn't believe that white people are Africans at all. Scary shit.
People laugh at me when I point out that South Africa is going the way of Zimbabwe. They say things like "The foreigh investors would never allow it!" or "There is too much at risk for that to happen". If only I could truly believe that. It just saddens me that I may have to adopt a new country. And hopefully I manage to do it before Zuma or his even more left-wing successor decides to chase all the paleskins out of Africa for good.
Anyways, all this talk of doom and gloom has pretty much summed up the fact that its time for a new year. I used 2007 as a transition phase, a "life is going back to normal" period. A time for healing broken hearts, wounded spirits, empty souls. By the end of next year at the very latest I'm going to have a plan and an implementation strategy. But thats for next year.
This will most likely be my last post for 2007. I've enjoyed blogging on the whole, but there have definitely been times where I wondered why I continue doing it, and times when I thought "enough is enough". Still, I captured pieces of my year in this medium, over a hundred posts under my belt. I'll see what next year has to bring and take things as they come.
Wishing you all happy party times and a great end to the calendar year!
For some reason, Blogger isn't allowing me to edit my blogroll! I don't see the little "edit/delete" links next to each URL when I load the "customise" page. It just tells me that there is an error on page whenever I load it. This has been going on for two weeks now. I've read through the online help but I'm still stumped. Can anyone help me out? I know the Glugster is pretty good at this...anyone else had similar issues?
A quick update. I finally managed to bully my way into a holiday! One of my mates from Durban said I can crash at her place with no worries 'cos she stays in a 2.5 bedroom place all by herself. I can even take a mate down. The best part about it is that this chick who I'll be staying with bought my old surfboard before I moved back to Joburg, and she's bought a new one so I can use my old board when I'm down there! Yeah! The Hooded Villain rides again!
I'm really looking forward to ten days or so of beach time, crazy parties, and of course the monstrous New Years Bash! Hopefully it will take my mind off things and I'll be able to re-evaluate my life and priorities whilst bobbing up and down on my back at the backline (oh yeah, I might be able to regain my title as "laziest surfer ever"!) One thing is for sure, the Joburg vibe definitely stresses a person out. Everyone at the coast is way more chilled. Makes me wonder where I'll be next year, where my plans will take me.
Scarily, with Zuma as president we can all look forward to an even greater corruption of state and embezzlement of our hard-earned taxpayers' money. Never mind that HIV causes AIDS - take a shower, eat some beetroot, maybe even rape a toddler and you'll be just fine and dandy. At least, these are the misconceptions of the politicians coming into power. A new age is sure to dawn, putting the "Africa" right back into "South Africa". I'll probably be better off struggling to make a living in the UK or Aussie, than watching the country I love rotting to pieces under an even more corrupt rule. After all, Zuma reckons that Africa is for Africans, and he doesn't believe that white people are Africans at all. Scary shit.
People laugh at me when I point out that South Africa is going the way of Zimbabwe. They say things like "The foreigh investors would never allow it!" or "There is too much at risk for that to happen". If only I could truly believe that. It just saddens me that I may have to adopt a new country. And hopefully I manage to do it before Zuma or his even more left-wing successor decides to chase all the paleskins out of Africa for good.
Anyways, all this talk of doom and gloom has pretty much summed up the fact that its time for a new year. I used 2007 as a transition phase, a "life is going back to normal" period. A time for healing broken hearts, wounded spirits, empty souls. By the end of next year at the very latest I'm going to have a plan and an implementation strategy. But thats for next year.
This will most likely be my last post for 2007. I've enjoyed blogging on the whole, but there have definitely been times where I wondered why I continue doing it, and times when I thought "enough is enough". Still, I captured pieces of my year in this medium, over a hundred posts under my belt. I'll see what next year has to bring and take things as they come.
Wishing you all happy party times and a great end to the calendar year!
Monday, December 17, 2007
Being Nekkid 101
Seeing as I forgot to write my 100th post in my birthday suit, I promised Louisa that I would write this one starkers and incorporate some maple syrup and a lot of licking into the mix. I won’t lie to you, its gonna get weird. In fact it already has. The syrup has bonded rather painfully to the hairs on my forearms, making licking it off a rather uncomfortable experience. God knows how I’m going to reach the syrup on my chest and, uhm, downstairs area. And my keyboard looks like a rabbit from Chernobyl has mated with it a few times. Its all gone rather icky. Thank goodness it’s a public holiday and I’m writing this in the comfort of my bedroom and not at my client’s office.
Anyways, as you guys may know, I put up my profile on one of these dating sites earlier in the year. Thought I would give it a bash and what what. The first subscription ended on a bit of a bad note and my recent one wasn’t really followed up vigorously on my part at all. I can’t say I’ve met anyone on the site worth befriending or even considering romantically. Not to say it can’t be done, of course, there are a few living internet dating success stories. But the time has come for me to remove my profile. That’s just the way it is.
Now I put a lot of thought into introducing myself and what I’m looking for in a potential partner, so I thought I would tack it up here on my blog before I delete it forever from the halls of cyberspace. So here it is. You might even be surprised that thousands of women aren’t banging down my font door at this very moment.
Ok ok, all that aside, it basically boils down to one question: “If you find a naked man smothered in maple syrup appealing, hit me up”.
I’m off to take a shower.
Anyways, as you guys may know, I put up my profile on one of these dating sites earlier in the year. Thought I would give it a bash and what what. The first subscription ended on a bit of a bad note and my recent one wasn’t really followed up vigorously on my part at all. I can’t say I’ve met anyone on the site worth befriending or even considering romantically. Not to say it can’t be done, of course, there are a few living internet dating success stories. But the time has come for me to remove my profile. That’s just the way it is.
Now I put a lot of thought into introducing myself and what I’m looking for in a potential partner, so I thought I would tack it up here on my blog before I delete it forever from the halls of cyberspace. So here it is. You might even be surprised that thousands of women aren’t banging down my font door at this very moment.
Why should you get to know Lord Wiggly?
I used to say that I’m "funloving and easygoing". Hell, everyone on this site is "funloving and easygoing"! Since I realised that I have begun a journey of self exploration. Sure I love to have fun! Everybody does. And yes, if there is a party happening, Im usually right there in the mix, jamming up a storm, telling jokes, livening things up and making sure that everyone is having a good time!But parties only make up a small percentage of the time we have available. And the rest? Easygoing for sure. I enjoy taking things as they come, not stressing out about things too much, maybe I still have some coastal air in my lungs ;o) But theres a lot more to me than that...
I have drive and ambition. I have dreams and a future. I have a career, pportunities, plans, life is happening all around us all the time. We must experience as much as we can, live life to the full, take advantage of the amazing opportunities that life has to offer. After all, when you’re older and look back at the past, how sad would it be to feel as if you haven't accomplished what you set out to achieve? Feel as if life has passed you by? The "if only I had..." is useless. "I did" is powerful, even if the consequences were harsh. Wisdom is not a destination, or a state of age. It is knowledge that has been applied, tested, proven and replicated.
Well enough about the philosophical stuff! If you're still reading this you may realise that I'm not your run-of-the-mill young man. So if you want to experience a life less ordinary, it may be worth it to step into my world ;o)
He describes his ideal match thus:
My ideal match is a woman of substance. Kind, caring, generous and loving. Down-to-earth yet classy and driven. Sophisticated. And fun to be around. I am very open-minded, but how will I know my perfect match until she stares at me through the looking glass?
Ok ok, all that aside, it basically boils down to one question: “If you find a naked man smothered in maple syrup appealing, hit me up”.
I’m off to take a shower.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
My 100th post - Hindsight - How Fitting!
I thought some of my previous posts were long, but this one really takes the cake. That’s ok though, cos it’s my 100th post, my Century! Shebee inspired me to write a letter to my 13-year-old self. That’s me 13 years ago, half my current age. I would have just finished my first year of high school. Here’s one letter I really could’ve done with at the time. After all, hindsight is 20-20 vision.
Dear 13-year-old Wiggly
Howzit hanging China! This is a message from your 26-year old self. Now listen up and listen good. I’ve done it all before, I’ve experienced this shit, so listen to what I say or I’ll fuck you up one day (LOL! – that means Laugh Out Loud by the way – I still rhyme like a gangsta!)
You’re a good kid. You’re clever. But you know you’re not a nerd. Good. Or is it really that good? BE clever. BE the clever nerd kid. Study hard bru. You’ll thank me when you get your engineering degree one day and you realize that all the jocks and popular kids from school are either in jail, working construction, or murderers, bouncers and worse. Make friends with the other nerd kids. I know they’re not cool right now. But who cares? Most of them are good people, and have drive and ambition to succeed in life. They do know how to have fun. And they are the future lawyers, accountants, stock brokers and entrepreneurs. Now that IS cool. But get to know them for who they are and not for what they will become. Ag no dood, you should’ve listened to me on that one. Its useless playing catch-up when you finally realize this, too much water under the bridge.
Make the most of your school career. Join in as many plays as you can, you’ll never get the opportunity to act again. Its tons of fun, it will develop your confidence, and you’ll make more friends. Start playing cricket – you’ve missed tons of seasons already. Get involved! Its up to you – you have to do this for yourself! Its such a great game, and you’re actually pretty good at it! It will develop your school spirit which is sorely lacking. Trust me on these things….oh bugger. You should’ve listened.
I know you enjoy playing hockey and you were a fricken machine this season! Keep at it, you’ll be promoted to the B team next year! Keep fouling those assholes on the enemy team – okes will come to respect you and theres nothing wrong with being red-carded twice in one season next year. Just try not to break anyone’s bones, or kick them in the nuts too hard. Opposition team members are people too. Except those brick shithouses from Affies and Pretoria Boys. They can take a good beating. Good man.
I know you’re heartbroken right now, that bitch Audrey shouldn’t be running after a guy double her age. But dood, don’t stress, really! She turns out doing absolutely nothing with her life. She’s got more issues than Playboy. She has no drive, and she loses her looks and packs on the pounds after Matric. She even loses her blonde hair! She looks like Stiffy’s sister in three years time and you can’t believe THAT transformation! From supermodel to an old man’s ugly wife in 3 years – just never remark on this out loud. Well done.
You’ll get the opportunity in Standard 8 to totally get freaky with a girl two years older than you. She’s a hottie bud! Don’t be scared and spout some bullshit about “respecting women”. She is in your sleeping bag because she likes you and she wants your roaming hands to discover every square inch of her body. I’m telling you, most teenage girls are even hornier than you are and want to get some boy-on-girl experience. When you kiss her, don’t stick your tongue in her mouth as far as you can and suck like you’re trying to get a Milky Lane double-thick bubblegum milkshake through a straw 10 centimetres in diameter. Start slowly, tenderly. Press your lips softly against hers, be gentle. Flick your tongue almost imperceptibly over her lips and into her mouth, gradually building up the intensity and pace until she tries to rip your clothes off. Go with it. Kiss her neck, bite her traps, lick her chest and slowly…slowly…make your way down to her breasts. Don’t go straight for her nipples, kiss, lick and suck her tits all over first. Pretend she’s got sherbert all over them and you want to make it wet before you lick it all up with both lips. What?? YOU IDIOT!!!! You totally blew that opportunity! You’ll be doomed when it comes to chicks until second-year varsity!
Stuff hockey in Matric. You’ll develop blisters on the soles of your feet the size of golf balls after your third match, and you’ll be dropped from the team for non-attendance at practice. Take up rugby for Matric instead. Stuff what your mom says, in fact don’t even tell her, just do it! You would have been gymming for five years now and you will actually be pretty well built for a 17 year old! In fact, you’ll be able to run the hundred metres in 11.2 seconds thanks to all that upper body training! (But don’t join the athletics team – stuff the coaches. They think you suck now – don’t bend to their will when you turn out to be pretty good at athletics. Good on ya!) I don’t know what position you will play in rugby, but you’ll enjoy the scrum. Maybe a lock if you’re good enough! If not, try fullback or winger. You can kick a mean field goal and don’t even know it. Bugger it man, you would’ve had so much fun! At least you studied like a machine for Matric and got excellent marks.
Before I finish on your school career remember this. Don’t be a goody two-shoes. Get in trouble. You’ll enjoy school way more that way. When Thabo tries to hit you next year, don’t punch him in his head, you’ll nearly break your hand. Just run his cranium into the wall a coupla times. And make sure he knows never to fuck with you again. In fact, don’t back down to that idiot of a prefect either. If he tries to hit you, knock him the fuck out. And if he hurts you, make sure he gets demoted and possibly even expelled. Revenge is sweet. An all-boys school is no place for wimps. Be hardcore. Stand up for yourself. Believe in yourself. Don’t take anybody’s crap, not ANYBODYS! A few detentions and jacks here and there are totally worth it in the long run. You’ll develop street-cred bud. You need it. Oh, and THIS is super important. Fight now when you’re in school, not afterwards. You can get into trouble with the law if you fight after you turn 18. You can even go to jail! So enjoy it now while it can be laughed off by parents and headmasters as “schoolboy fun”, not later when you’re filling out police statements with charges of Assault with Grievous Bodily Harm hanging over your head. That will not be cool, shithead.
First year varsity is easy, but once again, I urge you to get involved! Join the rowing club – if you don’t, by the time you try your hand at it after varsity your endurance levels will have tailed off a bit and you’ll only be good at the sprints. Join a social club – dammit, no wonder your first year was so boring. Oh, and after you get your Springbok award for scouting, go to the ceremony, go on a Jamboree and do your Troop Scouter course. You’ve come all this way, you might as well go the whole hog, who knows, you might want to get involved later on in life again. While you’re at it, make sure you attend a PLTU. And kick some arse, dammit.
When you finally get a car, don’t drive it at 187km/h down the highway at every opportunity you get! Respect your car and it will respect you. Don’t give in to anyone who thinks you drive like a grandmother….why do I get the feeling you’re not listening to me? Oh well, you’ll learn the hard way. Smashing into an undercover cop and being charged with Negligent and Reckless Driving will not be cool. But don’t stress, they’re just trying to scare you and you won’t be convicted. Don't worry about any Malicious Damage to Property charges either.
Second year will be awesome. No matter what people say, you will make a success of your life, believe me. Don’t worry about failing a few subjects, it will be a great kick up the arse to rediscover that drive and ambition that will disappear from about Standard 8. You’ll finally be 18 and lose your virginity. Don’t be scared to experiment with the evil temptress who you fall in “love” with. Take the opportunity with both hands, she will teach you a lot! And don’t worry when she breaks your heart by cheating on you with another guy. You will find a perfectly good substitute girlfriend three weeks later. And you will land up breaking her heart! Its not a good feeling though, it will be pretty kak. Don’t do anything to a girlfriend that would make her cry. And don’t go on a woman-hating spree ever – it isn’t worth it.
In your second second year, you’ll realize that you have a core of good friends. Treat them like gold. Don’t ever neglect them for the love of a woman. That is transient, but your friends will stick by you through the hardest of times until you won’t mind that mom never gave you a brother – you will have as many brothers as you could possibly wish for. You’re a lucky guy for that. And on that note, treat your family well. They only want the best for you. Times will be tough, your folks will give you shit, you’ll want to run away from home many times, but remember that they are only doing what they think is best for you. A few kak decisions maybe, but they are only human after all. Love them, they love you.
IMPORTANT: Always use a condom. NEVER trust a woman you hardly know that says she has had the injection or is on the pill, and ESPECIALLY not one that claims in the heat of passion that she will take the “morning after” pill. You can’t trust these sluts. You can only trust yourself. Don’t go and do something stupid. There are diseases out there. You don’t want your tollie to fall off. Or die from killing diseases like AIDS either. Or cause an unwanted pregnancy. Use your head. The one on your shoulders, idiot. Trust me on this, it could save your life. Re-read this letter when you’re 23 if you have to. For the love of God, take this warning seriously.
When you reach the age of 25, you’ll meet a woman soon after you vow never to fall in love with another woman again. Fortunately or unfortunately, you won’t be able to keep your promise. You will be presented with an opportunity of experiencing love or walking away. But I’m talking real love this time. Complete with fairytale storyline. I’m not going to tell you what to do – but who am I kidding, we both know exactly what you’re going to do. Don’t kid yourself though, its not all a fairytale. Real love involves washing dishes and doing the laundry. Sometimes it’s a thankless task. Sometimes you’ll want to pull your hair out cos it can be a lot of hard work, and not just the household variety. You will be challenged and you will have to inspect every aspect of yourself critically. You will learn a lot about life, and love, and what it means to truly love. In fact, when she breaks your heart, it won’t be like before. You might not be able to move on. You might go for the rest of your life pining after this one woman, the one love of your life. I don’t know all the answers right now, I’m still waiting for my letter from my 52-year-old self. Hey, if I don’t get one, does it mean that I don’t make it to 52? I don’t know. Just be careful is all I’m saying. You’ll soon find out which people really love you.
But know this. You are a great guy. You are talented and have a gift for people, even though you don’t consider yourself a people’s person. Haven’t you ever wondered why people tend to like you so much? (No you haven’t, I know). It’s because you’re genuine, because you care. Because even though you might get involved in some scrapes, you have a rigid set of values and ethics. When you do the wrong thing, you feel bad about it and try to fix it. You admit when you’re wrong, but for the most part, you see the good in others and that makes them feel good about themselves. You’re funny, loyal, not so bad-looking either. Guys wanna be you. Chicks would be lucky to be with you. You really come out of your shell during your varsity years. So stick around for the next 13 years, its pretty good value, you’ll enjoy it and have some wonderful, amazing good times. Never mind the bad times, but don’t do anything stupid. Don’t jump off that balcony when you’re tripping on hydroponic DP laced with amphetamines. Don’t kill yourself (or anyone else) in your car. Take care of yourself and be good to yourself. Everything usually works out alright in the end. You won’t be liked or loved by everyone and that’s ok. Just remember to love yourself.
Ok bud, I’m sure that’s way too much information to process right now and it might not make much sense, you might have to refer to this a few times in the future and you'll thank me for it one day. Its not complete, you’ll have to figure out a few things for yourself along the way. Now phone up Audrey and tell her to get fucked now that she's become a slutty whore, and after that go give your mom a hug, and apologise for all the stress you’re about to put her through.
And one last thing. You’ll regret more in life the things you didn’t do, than the things you did do.
Cheers for now
Your buddy
26-year-old Wiggly
Dear 13-year-old Wiggly
Howzit hanging China! This is a message from your 26-year old self. Now listen up and listen good. I’ve done it all before, I’ve experienced this shit, so listen to what I say or I’ll fuck you up one day (LOL! – that means Laugh Out Loud by the way – I still rhyme like a gangsta!)
You’re a good kid. You’re clever. But you know you’re not a nerd. Good. Or is it really that good? BE clever. BE the clever nerd kid. Study hard bru. You’ll thank me when you get your engineering degree one day and you realize that all the jocks and popular kids from school are either in jail, working construction, or murderers, bouncers and worse. Make friends with the other nerd kids. I know they’re not cool right now. But who cares? Most of them are good people, and have drive and ambition to succeed in life. They do know how to have fun. And they are the future lawyers, accountants, stock brokers and entrepreneurs. Now that IS cool. But get to know them for who they are and not for what they will become. Ag no dood, you should’ve listened to me on that one. Its useless playing catch-up when you finally realize this, too much water under the bridge.
Make the most of your school career. Join in as many plays as you can, you’ll never get the opportunity to act again. Its tons of fun, it will develop your confidence, and you’ll make more friends. Start playing cricket – you’ve missed tons of seasons already. Get involved! Its up to you – you have to do this for yourself! Its such a great game, and you’re actually pretty good at it! It will develop your school spirit which is sorely lacking. Trust me on these things….oh bugger. You should’ve listened.
I know you enjoy playing hockey and you were a fricken machine this season! Keep at it, you’ll be promoted to the B team next year! Keep fouling those assholes on the enemy team – okes will come to respect you and theres nothing wrong with being red-carded twice in one season next year. Just try not to break anyone’s bones, or kick them in the nuts too hard. Opposition team members are people too. Except those brick shithouses from Affies and Pretoria Boys. They can take a good beating. Good man.
I know you’re heartbroken right now, that bitch Audrey shouldn’t be running after a guy double her age. But dood, don’t stress, really! She turns out doing absolutely nothing with her life. She’s got more issues than Playboy. She has no drive, and she loses her looks and packs on the pounds after Matric. She even loses her blonde hair! She looks like Stiffy’s sister in three years time and you can’t believe THAT transformation! From supermodel to an old man’s ugly wife in 3 years – just never remark on this out loud. Well done.
You’ll get the opportunity in Standard 8 to totally get freaky with a girl two years older than you. She’s a hottie bud! Don’t be scared and spout some bullshit about “respecting women”. She is in your sleeping bag because she likes you and she wants your roaming hands to discover every square inch of her body. I’m telling you, most teenage girls are even hornier than you are and want to get some boy-on-girl experience. When you kiss her, don’t stick your tongue in her mouth as far as you can and suck like you’re trying to get a Milky Lane double-thick bubblegum milkshake through a straw 10 centimetres in diameter. Start slowly, tenderly. Press your lips softly against hers, be gentle. Flick your tongue almost imperceptibly over her lips and into her mouth, gradually building up the intensity and pace until she tries to rip your clothes off. Go with it. Kiss her neck, bite her traps, lick her chest and slowly…slowly…make your way down to her breasts. Don’t go straight for her nipples, kiss, lick and suck her tits all over first. Pretend she’s got sherbert all over them and you want to make it wet before you lick it all up with both lips. What?? YOU IDIOT!!!! You totally blew that opportunity! You’ll be doomed when it comes to chicks until second-year varsity!
Stuff hockey in Matric. You’ll develop blisters on the soles of your feet the size of golf balls after your third match, and you’ll be dropped from the team for non-attendance at practice. Take up rugby for Matric instead. Stuff what your mom says, in fact don’t even tell her, just do it! You would have been gymming for five years now and you will actually be pretty well built for a 17 year old! In fact, you’ll be able to run the hundred metres in 11.2 seconds thanks to all that upper body training! (But don’t join the athletics team – stuff the coaches. They think you suck now – don’t bend to their will when you turn out to be pretty good at athletics. Good on ya!) I don’t know what position you will play in rugby, but you’ll enjoy the scrum. Maybe a lock if you’re good enough! If not, try fullback or winger. You can kick a mean field goal and don’t even know it. Bugger it man, you would’ve had so much fun! At least you studied like a machine for Matric and got excellent marks.
Before I finish on your school career remember this. Don’t be a goody two-shoes. Get in trouble. You’ll enjoy school way more that way. When Thabo tries to hit you next year, don’t punch him in his head, you’ll nearly break your hand. Just run his cranium into the wall a coupla times. And make sure he knows never to fuck with you again. In fact, don’t back down to that idiot of a prefect either. If he tries to hit you, knock him the fuck out. And if he hurts you, make sure he gets demoted and possibly even expelled. Revenge is sweet. An all-boys school is no place for wimps. Be hardcore. Stand up for yourself. Believe in yourself. Don’t take anybody’s crap, not ANYBODYS! A few detentions and jacks here and there are totally worth it in the long run. You’ll develop street-cred bud. You need it. Oh, and THIS is super important. Fight now when you’re in school, not afterwards. You can get into trouble with the law if you fight after you turn 18. You can even go to jail! So enjoy it now while it can be laughed off by parents and headmasters as “schoolboy fun”, not later when you’re filling out police statements with charges of Assault with Grievous Bodily Harm hanging over your head. That will not be cool, shithead.
First year varsity is easy, but once again, I urge you to get involved! Join the rowing club – if you don’t, by the time you try your hand at it after varsity your endurance levels will have tailed off a bit and you’ll only be good at the sprints. Join a social club – dammit, no wonder your first year was so boring. Oh, and after you get your Springbok award for scouting, go to the ceremony, go on a Jamboree and do your Troop Scouter course. You’ve come all this way, you might as well go the whole hog, who knows, you might want to get involved later on in life again. While you’re at it, make sure you attend a PLTU. And kick some arse, dammit.
When you finally get a car, don’t drive it at 187km/h down the highway at every opportunity you get! Respect your car and it will respect you. Don’t give in to anyone who thinks you drive like a grandmother….why do I get the feeling you’re not listening to me? Oh well, you’ll learn the hard way. Smashing into an undercover cop and being charged with Negligent and Reckless Driving will not be cool. But don’t stress, they’re just trying to scare you and you won’t be convicted. Don't worry about any Malicious Damage to Property charges either.
Second year will be awesome. No matter what people say, you will make a success of your life, believe me. Don’t worry about failing a few subjects, it will be a great kick up the arse to rediscover that drive and ambition that will disappear from about Standard 8. You’ll finally be 18 and lose your virginity. Don’t be scared to experiment with the evil temptress who you fall in “love” with. Take the opportunity with both hands, she will teach you a lot! And don’t worry when she breaks your heart by cheating on you with another guy. You will find a perfectly good substitute girlfriend three weeks later. And you will land up breaking her heart! Its not a good feeling though, it will be pretty kak. Don’t do anything to a girlfriend that would make her cry. And don’t go on a woman-hating spree ever – it isn’t worth it.
In your second second year, you’ll realize that you have a core of good friends. Treat them like gold. Don’t ever neglect them for the love of a woman. That is transient, but your friends will stick by you through the hardest of times until you won’t mind that mom never gave you a brother – you will have as many brothers as you could possibly wish for. You’re a lucky guy for that. And on that note, treat your family well. They only want the best for you. Times will be tough, your folks will give you shit, you’ll want to run away from home many times, but remember that they are only doing what they think is best for you. A few kak decisions maybe, but they are only human after all. Love them, they love you.
IMPORTANT: Always use a condom. NEVER trust a woman you hardly know that says she has had the injection or is on the pill, and ESPECIALLY not one that claims in the heat of passion that she will take the “morning after” pill. You can’t trust these sluts. You can only trust yourself. Don’t go and do something stupid. There are diseases out there. You don’t want your tollie to fall off. Or die from killing diseases like AIDS either. Or cause an unwanted pregnancy. Use your head. The one on your shoulders, idiot. Trust me on this, it could save your life. Re-read this letter when you’re 23 if you have to. For the love of God, take this warning seriously.
When you reach the age of 25, you’ll meet a woman soon after you vow never to fall in love with another woman again. Fortunately or unfortunately, you won’t be able to keep your promise. You will be presented with an opportunity of experiencing love or walking away. But I’m talking real love this time. Complete with fairytale storyline. I’m not going to tell you what to do – but who am I kidding, we both know exactly what you’re going to do. Don’t kid yourself though, its not all a fairytale. Real love involves washing dishes and doing the laundry. Sometimes it’s a thankless task. Sometimes you’ll want to pull your hair out cos it can be a lot of hard work, and not just the household variety. You will be challenged and you will have to inspect every aspect of yourself critically. You will learn a lot about life, and love, and what it means to truly love. In fact, when she breaks your heart, it won’t be like before. You might not be able to move on. You might go for the rest of your life pining after this one woman, the one love of your life. I don’t know all the answers right now, I’m still waiting for my letter from my 52-year-old self. Hey, if I don’t get one, does it mean that I don’t make it to 52? I don’t know. Just be careful is all I’m saying. You’ll soon find out which people really love you.
But know this. You are a great guy. You are talented and have a gift for people, even though you don’t consider yourself a people’s person. Haven’t you ever wondered why people tend to like you so much? (No you haven’t, I know). It’s because you’re genuine, because you care. Because even though you might get involved in some scrapes, you have a rigid set of values and ethics. When you do the wrong thing, you feel bad about it and try to fix it. You admit when you’re wrong, but for the most part, you see the good in others and that makes them feel good about themselves. You’re funny, loyal, not so bad-looking either. Guys wanna be you. Chicks would be lucky to be with you. You really come out of your shell during your varsity years. So stick around for the next 13 years, its pretty good value, you’ll enjoy it and have some wonderful, amazing good times. Never mind the bad times, but don’t do anything stupid. Don’t jump off that balcony when you’re tripping on hydroponic DP laced with amphetamines. Don’t kill yourself (or anyone else) in your car. Take care of yourself and be good to yourself. Everything usually works out alright in the end. You won’t be liked or loved by everyone and that’s ok. Just remember to love yourself.
Ok bud, I’m sure that’s way too much information to process right now and it might not make much sense, you might have to refer to this a few times in the future and you'll thank me for it one day. Its not complete, you’ll have to figure out a few things for yourself along the way. Now phone up Audrey and tell her to get fucked now that she's become a slutty whore, and after that go give your mom a hug, and apologise for all the stress you’re about to put her through.
And one last thing. You’ll regret more in life the things you didn’t do, than the things you did do.
Cheers for now
Your buddy
26-year-old Wiggly
Monday, December 10, 2007
8 Things
I was tagged by Don’t Believe A Word I Write a while ago to divulge 8 lesser-known facts about myself. In order to lend some structure to this carte blanche mandate, I will have to categorise separate areas and expand on these, in some cases catching up on recent events. Cos I’m logical and like that. Methodical. And thrifty too. Guess that’s why this post is slightly delayed!
Social Temperament
You know how some people make a “loveable drunk”, or an “aggressive drunk”? I have been recently coined as a “miserable sober”. Apparently I’m much more agreeable after a mouthful of Potency for breakfast. At least, this was the case on the morning of the 46664 concert. Fact # 1: I’m exceptionally agreeable after a few shots of liquor and 8 or so beers.
Personality
Since varsity days, my nickname (and indeed persona) has included the word and preconception of “Dodgy”. Now while I sortof remember how I might have earned this reputation, over the years it has been blown way out of proportion. Fact # 2: I have been labeled for life as "Dodgy" after performing an innocent strip-tease in a schoolgirl’s uniform on a varsity bar counter for a bunch of ladies. Oh the injustice!
Love Life
After having been painted with the “dodgy” brush in this department as well, Fact # 3: I have, a while ago, mentally embarked on a “lets take things slow” policy. Admittedly, this has broken new ground for me and it is strange and unusual, but not in a bad way. I’m increasingly enjoying the company of a certain young lady more and more, discovering genuine compatibility instead of the rush or pressure often caused by a careless drunken snog. Things are going well through an investment in time and interest, the results have been self-perpetuating and hopefully this will continue and flourish. But for now I’m just enjoying the ride.
Music
Some people have said I like “Gay” music. Well if Danny K, Enrique Iglesias and Ricky Martin sing “Gay” music then yes, Fact # 4: I like “Gay” music. Whats wrong with that? My favourite song at the moment is “Let Me Think About It” by Fedde Le Grand & Ida Corr…”Dum da rumda da dum dum dum!” That can only be described and imagined as “Hot Lesbian” music though. Fact # 5: I like “Hot Lesbian” music even more.
Sport
Fact # 6: I suck at Ten Pin Bowling. I received the “Worst Bowler Award” on Saturday night. No matter how many times my “coach” drummed the mantra “Visualize. And Execute” into my subconscious, I failed to deliver the goods. I did manage to bowl 2 strikes…uhm in 20 frames. That’s ten percent! But I also failed to hit any pins twice in a row on 3 separate occasions. Hey, if you haven’t developed bowling skills before a certain age, you’re doomed to be pathetic at it for life. Had a fun time tho :)
Fashion
The rip in my favourite pair of jeans now stretches from the middle of my crotch all the way around to underneath the middle of my right bum cheek. I think I gave an old lady and her grandkid quite a show on a flight of steps yesterday. Lucky for them, I was wearing a pair of trusty black Authentic Underwear. I blame the rip on the female tiger that attacked me in the Cage of Death at the Rhino and Lion Park yesterday. Yes folks, an actual tiger. Sadly, no pun there. Happily, am still alive to tell the tale. Fact # 7: I WILL NOT throw away my favourite pair of jeans. What to do?
Entertainment
I got horribly, horribly, horribly smashed on Friday night. It was wonderful! Crawling back from The Hat at 5am with birds singing and twittering at the giant ball of flame about to rise past the earths crust on the easternmost edge of vision was not the greatest of experiences, however. Thankfully my hangover was limited to that queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach which persisted for the next 24 hours. It was better than the face-splitting headache which was sure to manifest had I not eaten before going to bed. Fact # 8: I can eat half a loaf of white bread straight out the packet and enjoy it immensely.
DBAWIW, hope those facts have met your expectations and delivered peace to your soul.
Social Temperament
You know how some people make a “loveable drunk”, or an “aggressive drunk”? I have been recently coined as a “miserable sober”. Apparently I’m much more agreeable after a mouthful of Potency for breakfast. At least, this was the case on the morning of the 46664 concert. Fact # 1: I’m exceptionally agreeable after a few shots of liquor and 8 or so beers.
Personality
Since varsity days, my nickname (and indeed persona) has included the word and preconception of “Dodgy”. Now while I sortof remember how I might have earned this reputation, over the years it has been blown way out of proportion. Fact # 2: I have been labeled for life as "Dodgy" after performing an innocent strip-tease in a schoolgirl’s uniform on a varsity bar counter for a bunch of ladies. Oh the injustice!
Love Life
After having been painted with the “dodgy” brush in this department as well, Fact # 3: I have, a while ago, mentally embarked on a “lets take things slow” policy. Admittedly, this has broken new ground for me and it is strange and unusual, but not in a bad way. I’m increasingly enjoying the company of a certain young lady more and more, discovering genuine compatibility instead of the rush or pressure often caused by a careless drunken snog. Things are going well through an investment in time and interest, the results have been self-perpetuating and hopefully this will continue and flourish. But for now I’m just enjoying the ride.
Music
Some people have said I like “Gay” music. Well if Danny K, Enrique Iglesias and Ricky Martin sing “Gay” music then yes, Fact # 4: I like “Gay” music. Whats wrong with that? My favourite song at the moment is “Let Me Think About It” by Fedde Le Grand & Ida Corr…”Dum da rumda da dum dum dum!” That can only be described and imagined as “Hot Lesbian” music though. Fact # 5: I like “Hot Lesbian” music even more.
Sport
Fact # 6: I suck at Ten Pin Bowling. I received the “Worst Bowler Award” on Saturday night. No matter how many times my “coach” drummed the mantra “Visualize. And Execute” into my subconscious, I failed to deliver the goods. I did manage to bowl 2 strikes…uhm in 20 frames. That’s ten percent! But I also failed to hit any pins twice in a row on 3 separate occasions. Hey, if you haven’t developed bowling skills before a certain age, you’re doomed to be pathetic at it for life. Had a fun time tho :)
Fashion
The rip in my favourite pair of jeans now stretches from the middle of my crotch all the way around to underneath the middle of my right bum cheek. I think I gave an old lady and her grandkid quite a show on a flight of steps yesterday. Lucky for them, I was wearing a pair of trusty black Authentic Underwear. I blame the rip on the female tiger that attacked me in the Cage of Death at the Rhino and Lion Park yesterday. Yes folks, an actual tiger. Sadly, no pun there. Happily, am still alive to tell the tale. Fact # 7: I WILL NOT throw away my favourite pair of jeans. What to do?
Entertainment
I got horribly, horribly, horribly smashed on Friday night. It was wonderful! Crawling back from The Hat at 5am with birds singing and twittering at the giant ball of flame about to rise past the earths crust on the easternmost edge of vision was not the greatest of experiences, however. Thankfully my hangover was limited to that queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach which persisted for the next 24 hours. It was better than the face-splitting headache which was sure to manifest had I not eaten before going to bed. Fact # 8: I can eat half a loaf of white bread straight out the packet and enjoy it immensely.
DBAWIW, hope those facts have met your expectations and delivered peace to your soul.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
..........HEPPI!!!!
I’ve got jack-all plans for New Years, and its starting to depress the crap outta me! My New Years Party philosophy used to be not to plan anything, because if you plan a major bash, chances are that it will disappoint you. Rather be in the presence of your good mates in a relaxed setting, add booze, and the mother of all parties is sure to materialise. But this philosophy of mine has changed recently, and you’ll find out why soon enough.
This is how I’ve spent my New Years bashes since the Millennium:
1999/2000
Spent at a Greek Party (The Ithacaetian Dance) at Caesars Casino, with my family and extended family. I won a Kruger Rand! But that’s about it.
2000/2001
Went on a camping trip to the Pilanesberg with my girlfriend at the time and a bunch of her mates. It was my first New Years spent without the family, and the first New Years party I seem to remember really enjoying! Actual diary entry: “Had a raucous party at the campsite (where I was nicknamed Tyrell Williams), got verschnickered much, jumped in the pool at midnight, banged my head on the bar and jumped on the trampoline. Passed out at abt. 1:30! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!” Clearly it was a goodie.
2001/2002
Made another camping trip back to the Pilanesberg, but this time for New Years Eve…(actual diary entry again): “Went to Sun City (got in for free!) had supper at News Café and then got into the MVG Gold Card Party! Rock and Roll!” One thing I remember was that booze was on the house, and I punished a few double Johnny Walker Black Labels. I saw in the New Year with my girlfriend on the dance floor…a true romantic’s dream.
2002/2003
This New Years Bash will be tough to beat. It was spent with 3 of my best mates in Southbroom - Big Dave, Crockett and The Twon - and was totally unplanned. I drank half a bottle of Spiced Gold neat and a quarter of a bottle of Southern Comfort neat. Then the “Long Walk To Freedom” happened, and that is worth a blog post all in itself. Thereafter I downed a bottle of champagne with the help of 2 ladies in the boot of Crockett’s car and allegedly used the foulest language ever heard by man on the drive back home. It was the best of times…
2003/2004
Once again Big Dave, Crockett, Twon and I headed to Southbroom, this year with girlfriends in tow. Instead of getting into the actual party, we made a campfire on the beach, drank a sh!tload of alcohol, smoked some contraband and watched the fireworks. I remember waking up on a dark, deserted, freezing beach at 4am and spotting about seven or eight black guys holding pangas rather menacingly in the shadows by the treeline. It could’ve been the paranoia setting in, but we packed up ASAP and got the rock out of there anyway!!
2004/2005
On the 31st of December I was in Athens with my parents. We spent the day sightseeing and had supper in the Plaka under the watchful eye of the Acropolis. We walked the cobbled streets and landed up in Dimarcheio Square for a concert and firework display. I’ve never seen so many Arabs and Pakistanis just walking the streets in all my life. It was nice to spend a New Years with the folks, but after the previous 4 raucous parties it lacked a certain appeal.
2005/2006
Spent the day with my girlfriend tanning on St Michael’s beach and swimming in the pool. It was a magical day, and at sunset we went for a stroll on the beach and I proposed. Again, I could dedicate a whole blog post to this event but at this point in time I would rather have it erased from my memory with a blunt scalpel and some sulphuric acid.
2006/2007
After a 5 day hike through the Transkei, The Buggers trudged into Coffee Bay around noonish and spent the day eating, sleeping and generally recovering from their hectic ordeal. That night there was a Trance Party in our campsite and I made the acquaintance of a blonde strumpet who helped take my mind off the events of the previous year. However, it was not a good sign for the year ahead when she pulled down her pants and urinated right in front of me. Maybe the lesson to be learnt was that classy females are hard to find.
So now you know why the pressure of having a massive New Years Jol is getting to me. I have to plan something awesome to take my mind off the magic that happened on the St Michaels beach in 2005/2006 or face an evening of depression, reflecting on the events of the past and how life could have been. The only way to get over old memories is to make new and more amazing ones. So far I’ve come up with zilcho and time is ticking fast.
This is how I’ve spent my New Years bashes since the Millennium:
1999/2000
Spent at a Greek Party (The Ithacaetian Dance) at Caesars Casino, with my family and extended family. I won a Kruger Rand! But that’s about it.
2000/2001
Went on a camping trip to the Pilanesberg with my girlfriend at the time and a bunch of her mates. It was my first New Years spent without the family, and the first New Years party I seem to remember really enjoying! Actual diary entry: “Had a raucous party at the campsite (where I was nicknamed Tyrell Williams), got verschnickered much, jumped in the pool at midnight, banged my head on the bar and jumped on the trampoline. Passed out at abt. 1:30! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!” Clearly it was a goodie.
2001/2002
Made another camping trip back to the Pilanesberg, but this time for New Years Eve…(actual diary entry again): “Went to Sun City (got in for free!) had supper at News Café and then got into the MVG Gold Card Party! Rock and Roll!” One thing I remember was that booze was on the house, and I punished a few double Johnny Walker Black Labels. I saw in the New Year with my girlfriend on the dance floor…a true romantic’s dream.
2002/2003
This New Years Bash will be tough to beat. It was spent with 3 of my best mates in Southbroom - Big Dave, Crockett and The Twon - and was totally unplanned. I drank half a bottle of Spiced Gold neat and a quarter of a bottle of Southern Comfort neat. Then the “Long Walk To Freedom” happened, and that is worth a blog post all in itself. Thereafter I downed a bottle of champagne with the help of 2 ladies in the boot of Crockett’s car and allegedly used the foulest language ever heard by man on the drive back home. It was the best of times…
2003/2004
Once again Big Dave, Crockett, Twon and I headed to Southbroom, this year with girlfriends in tow. Instead of getting into the actual party, we made a campfire on the beach, drank a sh!tload of alcohol, smoked some contraband and watched the fireworks. I remember waking up on a dark, deserted, freezing beach at 4am and spotting about seven or eight black guys holding pangas rather menacingly in the shadows by the treeline. It could’ve been the paranoia setting in, but we packed up ASAP and got the rock out of there anyway!!
2004/2005
On the 31st of December I was in Athens with my parents. We spent the day sightseeing and had supper in the Plaka under the watchful eye of the Acropolis. We walked the cobbled streets and landed up in Dimarcheio Square for a concert and firework display. I’ve never seen so many Arabs and Pakistanis just walking the streets in all my life. It was nice to spend a New Years with the folks, but after the previous 4 raucous parties it lacked a certain appeal.
2005/2006
Spent the day with my girlfriend tanning on St Michael’s beach and swimming in the pool. It was a magical day, and at sunset we went for a stroll on the beach and I proposed. Again, I could dedicate a whole blog post to this event but at this point in time I would rather have it erased from my memory with a blunt scalpel and some sulphuric acid.
2006/2007
After a 5 day hike through the Transkei, The Buggers trudged into Coffee Bay around noonish and spent the day eating, sleeping and generally recovering from their hectic ordeal. That night there was a Trance Party in our campsite and I made the acquaintance of a blonde strumpet who helped take my mind off the events of the previous year. However, it was not a good sign for the year ahead when she pulled down her pants and urinated right in front of me. Maybe the lesson to be learnt was that classy females are hard to find.
So now you know why the pressure of having a massive New Years Jol is getting to me. I have to plan something awesome to take my mind off the magic that happened on the St Michaels beach in 2005/2006 or face an evening of depression, reflecting on the events of the past and how life could have been. The only way to get over old memories is to make new and more amazing ones. So far I’ve come up with zilcho and time is ticking fast.
Monday, December 3, 2007
The End of an Era
It is with a heavy heart that I said goodbye last night. All the wonderful memories threatened to overwhelm me in a surge of emotion. But let me start at the beginning.
In January of 2005 I was living in a digs in Durban. Two of my best mates had formed their own digs in a large house in a larney area in Joburg with four other guys I didn’t know. I wasn’t quite sure how to take the news. My digs was awesome and I was having tons of fun living there. I suppose I was happy for my mates, but kinda scared and apprehensive that they were moving on, especially with four randomers, and rather jealous to be missing out on all the fun they were sure to have.
My fears of the unknown would soon prove to have no foundation though. I was invited to their first unofficial braai and as luck would have it I was in Joburg for that day, due to be driving back down to Durbs on the following day. I wasn’t going to have even one beer (cos I’m responsible like that), but it was not meant to be. Tons of friends pulled through and I landed up connecting with lots of people I hadn’t seen in my year’s absence. It was great fun catching up and before I knew it I was well hammered and having a massive party!
The Digs, aka Pogo Digs, started organizing their first official party soon after that. The guys turned out to be a bunch of hooligans and it became clear that living there was quite hazardous. You could be rugby-tackled into the rose bushes at 4am after a huge night out, and if discovered “on the job” with a young lady, your privacy was embarrassingly far from guaranteed. So of course I made sure I was in Joburg for their first official party. I even took them a bunch of household cleaning products as a gift. True to form, the party (live band included) was insane, and the Pogo Digs started getting a reputation as the loudest, craziest digs in Joburg.
I missed their Winter Wonderland party, where they imported a few cubic feet of polystyrene-like “snow” which covered every square inch of their lounge. They had even hired a DJ! And I was sorry to have missed it. I moved back to Joburg that August, spent increasing amounts of time at The Digs, and had a whale of a time at their December party - clowning around and smashing it large like there was no tomorrow. That night I even realized I was in love.
Unfortunately (there are always sad bits in every love story), I sortof lost contact with the lads from the digs for the next 9 months. Being engaged had the effect of removing bits of hooliganism from my life, my own behaviour included. Yet, when the pieces of that broken relationship shattered around me like jagged shards of deadly glass, the boys were there for me, and although they didn’t know it at the time, they were instrumental in sweeping away much of my angst and pain. Soon it was as if we had never been estranged, and The Digs became my home away from home.
In October, The Digs hosted Das Digsfest, inspired by their trip to the Oktoberfest in Munich. 100 litres of draught beer was purchased for the event (served in one litre steins), a four piece Oompah band was hired, and everyone rocked up in their finest lederhosen and dirndls. The trestle tables lent an authentic air to the garden and we were transported to Deutschland for the day, drinking copious amounts of weissbeer and singing along to German pub songs. It was the pinnacle of The Digs’ success (in my eyes), their finest party never to be matched again.
I don’t know exactly when the distinction between my original friends and these new digs boys faded, but it did and I landed up considering all of them as my close friends, a family unto themselves, but a family unto me too. I can’t count the number of suppers we shared together, the number of times I went over for a beer and a quick chat and landed up staying there for hours. How many movies did we watch there? How many table-tennis tournaments and midnight swims did we have? How many rugby and cricket games were screened on giant projectors? How many jols did we go on, and how many times did I pass out on their couches, always to be woken the next morning with a cup of tea and bleary-eyed yet friendliest of faces? The happy memories that we shared in those walls will remain with me forever. I just want to say thanks to all The Buggers from The Digs. Davy Crockett, The Twon, Johnny The Monkey, The Dirty Jew, IJ, Waldo and Nialsy “The Godfather”.
So why did The Digs come to an end? Well fortunately for one of the best reasons ever. The Buggers are growing up. Some have bought their own properties, some have or are going to move overseas, some are embarking on new and exciting jobs, and the rest are settling down, moving on with their lives and girlfriends. It is a sad end and an emotional one, but the friendships formed there will never die. The Digs will certainly remain in our memories as the days when legends lived together, and men were free.
In January of 2005 I was living in a digs in Durban. Two of my best mates had formed their own digs in a large house in a larney area in Joburg with four other guys I didn’t know. I wasn’t quite sure how to take the news. My digs was awesome and I was having tons of fun living there. I suppose I was happy for my mates, but kinda scared and apprehensive that they were moving on, especially with four randomers, and rather jealous to be missing out on all the fun they were sure to have.
My fears of the unknown would soon prove to have no foundation though. I was invited to their first unofficial braai and as luck would have it I was in Joburg for that day, due to be driving back down to Durbs on the following day. I wasn’t going to have even one beer (cos I’m responsible like that), but it was not meant to be. Tons of friends pulled through and I landed up connecting with lots of people I hadn’t seen in my year’s absence. It was great fun catching up and before I knew it I was well hammered and having a massive party!
The Digs, aka Pogo Digs, started organizing their first official party soon after that. The guys turned out to be a bunch of hooligans and it became clear that living there was quite hazardous. You could be rugby-tackled into the rose bushes at 4am after a huge night out, and if discovered “on the job” with a young lady, your privacy was embarrassingly far from guaranteed. So of course I made sure I was in Joburg for their first official party. I even took them a bunch of household cleaning products as a gift. True to form, the party (live band included) was insane, and the Pogo Digs started getting a reputation as the loudest, craziest digs in Joburg.
I missed their Winter Wonderland party, where they imported a few cubic feet of polystyrene-like “snow” which covered every square inch of their lounge. They had even hired a DJ! And I was sorry to have missed it. I moved back to Joburg that August, spent increasing amounts of time at The Digs, and had a whale of a time at their December party - clowning around and smashing it large like there was no tomorrow. That night I even realized I was in love.
Unfortunately (there are always sad bits in every love story), I sortof lost contact with the lads from the digs for the next 9 months. Being engaged had the effect of removing bits of hooliganism from my life, my own behaviour included. Yet, when the pieces of that broken relationship shattered around me like jagged shards of deadly glass, the boys were there for me, and although they didn’t know it at the time, they were instrumental in sweeping away much of my angst and pain. Soon it was as if we had never been estranged, and The Digs became my home away from home.
In October, The Digs hosted Das Digsfest, inspired by their trip to the Oktoberfest in Munich. 100 litres of draught beer was purchased for the event (served in one litre steins), a four piece Oompah band was hired, and everyone rocked up in their finest lederhosen and dirndls. The trestle tables lent an authentic air to the garden and we were transported to Deutschland for the day, drinking copious amounts of weissbeer and singing along to German pub songs. It was the pinnacle of The Digs’ success (in my eyes), their finest party never to be matched again.
I don’t know exactly when the distinction between my original friends and these new digs boys faded, but it did and I landed up considering all of them as my close friends, a family unto themselves, but a family unto me too. I can’t count the number of suppers we shared together, the number of times I went over for a beer and a quick chat and landed up staying there for hours. How many movies did we watch there? How many table-tennis tournaments and midnight swims did we have? How many rugby and cricket games were screened on giant projectors? How many jols did we go on, and how many times did I pass out on their couches, always to be woken the next morning with a cup of tea and bleary-eyed yet friendliest of faces? The happy memories that we shared in those walls will remain with me forever. I just want to say thanks to all The Buggers from The Digs. Davy Crockett, The Twon, Johnny The Monkey, The Dirty Jew, IJ, Waldo and Nialsy “The Godfather”.
So why did The Digs come to an end? Well fortunately for one of the best reasons ever. The Buggers are growing up. Some have bought their own properties, some have or are going to move overseas, some are embarking on new and exciting jobs, and the rest are settling down, moving on with their lives and girlfriends. It is a sad end and an emotional one, but the friendships formed there will never die. The Digs will certainly remain in our memories as the days when legends lived together, and men were free.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Once Upon A Time In Texas
Yeah, I’ve been slack with the blogging. The main reason is that for the life of me I really don’t know how to put this. How can you write what you really want to when you know what you say will be read by the party you are writing about? Seems like other bloggers have been experiencing similar issues lately. Oh well, in the interests of making a reappearance before you all delete me from your blogrolls, here it is.
Last Friday night was my Year End Function and the theme was the Wild West. At our company staff meeting two days prior, our director told us that he had hired out the whole venue so we should feel free to make an effort dressing up. This prompted me to duck early on Friday afternoon in a mad dash to accessorize my outfit. I don’t have any pics yet but use your imaginations. My outfit consisted of a white cowboy hat, faded checkered blue long-sleeved shirt (open but tucked in, with a white vest underneath), red neckerchief, faded blue jean pant (with hole in crotch which I unknowingly enlarged later), and porno white leather shoes (130ZARS at Monsieur Price). Accessories from the Chinese Market included one pair of silver spurs, one shiny belt buckle and ammunition, a sheriffs badge (displaying a bull’s head and the auspicious title of “Fort Worth Peace Officer”), two western revolvers (one for the date) and a sawn-off shotgun.
I mounted my jet-black steed, kicked my spurs into her side, discharged my firearms into the air for the sheer hell of it as she reared on her hind legs and galloped off to pick up my damsel for the evening. When I arrived (gosh, she’s going to kill me for this next paragraph), I expected her to be wearing a checkered shirt and a jean, ya know, nothing too exciting but fun enough. Have you ever seen the cartoons where the boy bunny sees the girl bunny and his eyes pop right out of his head like a large pair of binoculars, usually accompanied with a shout like “Yaaazooooo!” Well, that’s pretty much what happened to me when she walked round the corner in her checkered shirt, short denim miniskirt and black leather fuck-me boots. She offered to change if her outfit was too sexy but I would hear none of it.
We arrived at the venue and they had gone to great lengths to kit it out in accordance with the theme. There was a mechanical bull, a poker table upstairs and cactuses were everywhere. There were some Red Indians, many cowboys, a western gangster and a few bar wenches for good measure. We played some poker, rode the bull a coupla times (which I’m sure contributed to the now rather large hole in the crotch of my jean pant), line danced to artists like Billy Ray Cyrus, Shania Twain and of course, Cotton Eye Joe, and drank as much as we could on the company bill without getting too ratted for the drive back home. I even won a poker set for being the “Best Poker Player”!
I think I must’ve gone up a notch or two in the eyes of my directors and colleagues with such a stunning cowgirl on my arm, but they were all very suBtle with their approvals and cross-restaurant thumbs-up. We had a great time together, and rounded off the evening with the obligatory stop at Manhattans to make it another 4am jol. At the moment, I’m trying my damndest to snag another date with the sexy cowgirl - hopefully we can herd some cattle together on my ranch soon :)
Last Friday night was my Year End Function and the theme was the Wild West. At our company staff meeting two days prior, our director told us that he had hired out the whole venue so we should feel free to make an effort dressing up. This prompted me to duck early on Friday afternoon in a mad dash to accessorize my outfit. I don’t have any pics yet but use your imaginations. My outfit consisted of a white cowboy hat, faded checkered blue long-sleeved shirt (open but tucked in, with a white vest underneath), red neckerchief, faded blue jean pant (with hole in crotch which I unknowingly enlarged later), and porno white leather shoes (130ZARS at Monsieur Price). Accessories from the Chinese Market included one pair of silver spurs, one shiny belt buckle and ammunition, a sheriffs badge (displaying a bull’s head and the auspicious title of “Fort Worth Peace Officer”), two western revolvers (one for the date) and a sawn-off shotgun.
I mounted my jet-black steed, kicked my spurs into her side, discharged my firearms into the air for the sheer hell of it as she reared on her hind legs and galloped off to pick up my damsel for the evening. When I arrived (gosh, she’s going to kill me for this next paragraph), I expected her to be wearing a checkered shirt and a jean, ya know, nothing too exciting but fun enough. Have you ever seen the cartoons where the boy bunny sees the girl bunny and his eyes pop right out of his head like a large pair of binoculars, usually accompanied with a shout like “Yaaazooooo!” Well, that’s pretty much what happened to me when she walked round the corner in her checkered shirt, short denim miniskirt and black leather fuck-me boots. She offered to change if her outfit was too sexy but I would hear none of it.
We arrived at the venue and they had gone to great lengths to kit it out in accordance with the theme. There was a mechanical bull, a poker table upstairs and cactuses were everywhere. There were some Red Indians, many cowboys, a western gangster and a few bar wenches for good measure. We played some poker, rode the bull a coupla times (which I’m sure contributed to the now rather large hole in the crotch of my jean pant), line danced to artists like Billy Ray Cyrus, Shania Twain and of course, Cotton Eye Joe, and drank as much as we could on the company bill without getting too ratted for the drive back home. I even won a poker set for being the “Best Poker Player”!
I think I must’ve gone up a notch or two in the eyes of my directors and colleagues with such a stunning cowgirl on my arm, but they were all very suBtle with their approvals and cross-restaurant thumbs-up. We had a great time together, and rounded off the evening with the obligatory stop at Manhattans to make it another 4am jol. At the moment, I’m trying my damndest to snag another date with the sexy cowgirl - hopefully we can herd some cattle together on my ranch soon :)
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Whales and dolphins, yeah!
WoW! It feels like I've won already! Thanks Shebes, you make me blush :*)Yes, I blog for the sheer glory and insane amounts of money it generates.
Something that's been bugging me lately. When my gran was born in 1920, there were approximately 2 billion people on the planet. Now, 87 years later, that figure has more than TRIPLED! That's a scary thought, especially when it comes to evaluating the resources available, how we have desecrated our planet in that time, and the way that the world population is estimated to reach 9 billion by 2050 (thanks Wikipedia.) What kind of planet will our children's children inherit? How much natural wildlife will remain? How many more species will prematurely become extinct, only to be remembered in books and pictures?
My one buddy is giving up his corporate job for one in which he gets to live in the jungles of Africa and photograph wildlife all day. I am so happy for him and so jealous at the same time. Jealous because I don't have the courage to give up a life centred on generating an income for one that can potentially benefit this planet. It makes me ponder my very existence and purpose in this world. Should I become a Greenpeace activist, boobytrapping whaling ships? Or some kind of United Nations democrat, trying to make a difference in this politically-charged world? I've always kind of fancied those as retirement options. But will I still have the fire in my belly when the time comes? Or will I cop out and have led a largely unremarkable life? What can we, as corporate sector citizens, do to make an impact on the health of this planet - ensuring its hospitable existance for aeons to come? Or will my engineering colleagues simply manufacture unbelievable science fiction-like colonies on other planets once ours has been raped of all resources and denuded of all vegetation and wildlife?
Chills me to the bone.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
In the loop
So, as pointed out by Shebee, there are a few loose ends that require an update. You will remember talk about my Year End function, Internet Dating and this wonderful email fraud that keeps doing the rounds.
Firstly, the Internet Dating thing. What a crock of horseshit! Look, I know that 2 of my very good mates found some top quality betties through the net. But I’m putting those odds at one to one billion. And I attribute those odds to misrepresentation. It’s easy to form a perception of someone you know in real life. But if you haven’t met that person yet, you are bound to form a perception that is largely based on your own imagination. The more you get to know someone, the less room for your imagination, and in the case of Internet Dating, the higher the probability of disappointment.
After having chatted to various specimens on the site, I decided that pursuing a meeting with any of them would simply not be worth the effort. Let us examine a single example - Exhibit C. Her profile picture was absolutely stunning. After chatting via email, it came out that she was not, in fact, blonde as in her profile pic. Further investigation revealed that she was, in fact, thirty kilograms heavier than her profile pic suggested. Still, however, my positive nature did not rule her out because of her incredible sense of humour. But as with all the other “ladies” on the site, the conversation had dried up after the initial preliminaries (i.e. So what do you do for a living? How many brothers and sisters do you have? Ummm…..ja. Nice chatting to you.) It wasn’t going any further than that. Until a freak chance on Friday night.
Now last Friday I had decided to organize a huge posse for some “Stomp The Yard” fun at our local nightclub. Cue twenty of my closest mates hell-bent on getting motherlessly smashed (except, of course, for Designated Steve). We’re hanging at the bar, our fourth double cane and cokes in hand, when this Be(s)hemoth apprehends me, apparently materializing out of thin air and displacing 40 hectalitres of the surrounding area. “Hallo Wiggly” it (she) bellowed. I stood there with my mouth agape for a full ten seconds before realizing that this gargantuan apparition was, in fact, the petite Exhibit C as advertised on her dating profile. She had recognized me from my photos. It’s a pity I could not say the same for her. I politely invited her to crack the dancefloor with us (no doubt she would have excelled), but she said she needed to be elsewhere and promptly disappeared like an Eland in the mist. My mates set about in hysterics once they saw the look of shock on my face and plied me with seven or so black sambucas to help me forget. I mean, why would anyone so blatantly misrepresent themselves on an Internet Dating website, where the intention (I assume) is to eventually meet people in person? Apparently it’s quite common, so let that be a lesson to all you prospective Internet Daters out there.
Right, back to real life. I was looking for a date for my Year End Function. And I found one quite unexpectedly. She reads this blog on occasion, so the less said the better, but after an awesome night out with her I thought to myself that it had been so much fun I really would like to see her again. So I asked her! It doesn’t hurt that she is rather easy on the eye too, and bound to charm the socks off my colleagues. In fact, I’m quite looking forward to it whereas before I was dreading it. Oh the power of a beautiful woman!
Lastly, this persistent email fraud that keeps hitting my inbox. Since I replied to Mr Aziz as Sgt Hendriks, I have won 3 more email lotteries amounting to billions of pounds. I have also received two more (most urgent) notices from shaisters claiming to represent banks in Africa. It looks like Glugster was right, the only thing I succeeded in doing by replying was to confirm that my email address is active thereby upping the volume of this type of spam. It’s getting ridiculous now. I’m starting to consider changing my Yahoo! account.
So the moral of the story is beware of both Internet Dating- and Advance Fee Fraudsters!
Firstly, the Internet Dating thing. What a crock of horseshit! Look, I know that 2 of my very good mates found some top quality betties through the net. But I’m putting those odds at one to one billion. And I attribute those odds to misrepresentation. It’s easy to form a perception of someone you know in real life. But if you haven’t met that person yet, you are bound to form a perception that is largely based on your own imagination. The more you get to know someone, the less room for your imagination, and in the case of Internet Dating, the higher the probability of disappointment.
After having chatted to various specimens on the site, I decided that pursuing a meeting with any of them would simply not be worth the effort. Let us examine a single example - Exhibit C. Her profile picture was absolutely stunning. After chatting via email, it came out that she was not, in fact, blonde as in her profile pic. Further investigation revealed that she was, in fact, thirty kilograms heavier than her profile pic suggested. Still, however, my positive nature did not rule her out because of her incredible sense of humour. But as with all the other “ladies” on the site, the conversation had dried up after the initial preliminaries (i.e. So what do you do for a living? How many brothers and sisters do you have? Ummm…..ja. Nice chatting to you.) It wasn’t going any further than that. Until a freak chance on Friday night.
Now last Friday I had decided to organize a huge posse for some “Stomp The Yard” fun at our local nightclub. Cue twenty of my closest mates hell-bent on getting motherlessly smashed (except, of course, for Designated Steve). We’re hanging at the bar, our fourth double cane and cokes in hand, when this Be(s)hemoth apprehends me, apparently materializing out of thin air and displacing 40 hectalitres of the surrounding area. “Hallo Wiggly” it (she) bellowed. I stood there with my mouth agape for a full ten seconds before realizing that this gargantuan apparition was, in fact, the petite Exhibit C as advertised on her dating profile. She had recognized me from my photos. It’s a pity I could not say the same for her. I politely invited her to crack the dancefloor with us (no doubt she would have excelled), but she said she needed to be elsewhere and promptly disappeared like an Eland in the mist. My mates set about in hysterics once they saw the look of shock on my face and plied me with seven or so black sambucas to help me forget. I mean, why would anyone so blatantly misrepresent themselves on an Internet Dating website, where the intention (I assume) is to eventually meet people in person? Apparently it’s quite common, so let that be a lesson to all you prospective Internet Daters out there.
Right, back to real life. I was looking for a date for my Year End Function. And I found one quite unexpectedly. She reads this blog on occasion, so the less said the better, but after an awesome night out with her I thought to myself that it had been so much fun I really would like to see her again. So I asked her! It doesn’t hurt that she is rather easy on the eye too, and bound to charm the socks off my colleagues. In fact, I’m quite looking forward to it whereas before I was dreading it. Oh the power of a beautiful woman!
Lastly, this persistent email fraud that keeps hitting my inbox. Since I replied to Mr Aziz as Sgt Hendriks, I have won 3 more email lotteries amounting to billions of pounds. I have also received two more (most urgent) notices from shaisters claiming to represent banks in Africa. It looks like Glugster was right, the only thing I succeeded in doing by replying was to confirm that my email address is active thereby upping the volume of this type of spam. It’s getting ridiculous now. I’m starting to consider changing my Yahoo! account.
So the moral of the story is beware of both Internet Dating- and Advance Fee Fraudsters!
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Child of War
The year is 1944 and the world is at war. Picture occupied Athens, once a bustling city with cheerful inhabitants, now a grim and desperate place to live. Menacing Nazi guard towers keep watch on the streets, armed with searchlights and machine guns. A curfew has been instated – Nobody to be out of doors after dark. Transgressors will be shot on sight.
It is night time and everyone in the suburb of Nea Smyrni is huddled in their houses. Heavy blinds cover the windows so that no light spills out onto the road. In one house the doctor of the clinic across the street and his wife have just eaten their meager supper rations and are relaxing in the soft, flickering candlelight. The doctor gazes at his wife. She is beautiful. Her long blonde hair is loosely pinned up, and he can see her blue eyes shining, even in the candlelight. She is a strong woman, not only of body but of spirit, and he feels lucky to be sharing the rest of his life with her. But as he looks down at her heavily pregnant frame, the doctor is worried. He has a child on the way, and the future of his fatherland is uncertain. Already the Greek communist rebels have grown strong enough to start a civil war, and the doctor knows that as soon as peace in Europe reigns again, his country will be torn apart in a bloody genocide. He fears to leave his home and become a refugee. That is the last thing he wants to put his wife through as she has experienced the hardships of a refugee life before. She had told him about fleeing the land of her birth, Asia Minor, and her city of Smyrni in 1922. She was very small at the time but remembers bits and pieces and the struggle to make a new life here in Nea Smyrni. If her parents had not been able to smuggle their jewellery out with them, it would have been even harder. The doctor shudders at the thought, determined never to endure that life. It can only be harder than the one they are living now.
He is jarred from his thoughts by a whimper and his wife’s hand is white as she suddenly clenches his. Her water has broken. “Tο μωρό έρχεται!” The baby is coming. He kisses her on the forehead and tells her it will all be fine. They have spoken about this and planned in advance. They know what they need to do. He grabs a small bundle that has been packed for this very occasion, snuffs the candles and they head to the door.
The doctor opens the door a crack and peers out into total darkness. There is no moon tonight, they are lucky. He waits for the searchlight. They cannot run down the street to the clinic until it has passed or they will be shot dead in their tracks. He can feel his wife’s pain as she doubles up, gripping his hand so tightly that tears sting his eyes - not from pain, but pure emotion. The giant white light creeps around the corner and comes towards them. He closes the door and counts silently. He has done this before and knows the number of safety. When he reaches it, he opens the door again a crack, checks that the coast is clear, and tugs his wife outside into danger. Hurriedly they cross the street, him shielding her from the direction of the tower and supporting her as best he can. A dog barks, their pace quickens, a shout! They’ve reached the door and he unlocks it expertly. There can be no room for error. They are inside! Safe. He leads her to a comfortable bed waiting close by, kisses her again and tells her he will be right back. He is off to boil the water. The excitement of delivering his own child is unreal.
The doctor’s wife gave birth to a baby boy that night in 1944 in war-torn Athens. He had green eyes and sandy hair. The proud parents were ecstatic! Watching his wife holding their first child just a few hours after delivery, the doctor had made up his mind. He would find a better life for him and his wife, he would ensure a better future for his son and his family at all costs. He owed his descendents the power of a good decision. It was at that moment that my grandfather, the doctor, decided to leave his fatherland behind.
Author’s Note: It was 7 years before the doctor could relocate his family to Johannesburg, South Africa. Greece was indeed torn apart by a bloody civil war after V-day, and as soon as it was over and he had scraped together what he could, he led his family to the land of hope and fortune. He would never practice as a doctor again, as Apartheid discriminated against foreigners as well.
It is night time and everyone in the suburb of Nea Smyrni is huddled in their houses. Heavy blinds cover the windows so that no light spills out onto the road. In one house the doctor of the clinic across the street and his wife have just eaten their meager supper rations and are relaxing in the soft, flickering candlelight. The doctor gazes at his wife. She is beautiful. Her long blonde hair is loosely pinned up, and he can see her blue eyes shining, even in the candlelight. She is a strong woman, not only of body but of spirit, and he feels lucky to be sharing the rest of his life with her. But as he looks down at her heavily pregnant frame, the doctor is worried. He has a child on the way, and the future of his fatherland is uncertain. Already the Greek communist rebels have grown strong enough to start a civil war, and the doctor knows that as soon as peace in Europe reigns again, his country will be torn apart in a bloody genocide. He fears to leave his home and become a refugee. That is the last thing he wants to put his wife through as she has experienced the hardships of a refugee life before. She had told him about fleeing the land of her birth, Asia Minor, and her city of Smyrni in 1922. She was very small at the time but remembers bits and pieces and the struggle to make a new life here in Nea Smyrni. If her parents had not been able to smuggle their jewellery out with them, it would have been even harder. The doctor shudders at the thought, determined never to endure that life. It can only be harder than the one they are living now.
He is jarred from his thoughts by a whimper and his wife’s hand is white as she suddenly clenches his. Her water has broken. “Tο μωρό έρχεται!” The baby is coming. He kisses her on the forehead and tells her it will all be fine. They have spoken about this and planned in advance. They know what they need to do. He grabs a small bundle that has been packed for this very occasion, snuffs the candles and they head to the door.
The doctor opens the door a crack and peers out into total darkness. There is no moon tonight, they are lucky. He waits for the searchlight. They cannot run down the street to the clinic until it has passed or they will be shot dead in their tracks. He can feel his wife’s pain as she doubles up, gripping his hand so tightly that tears sting his eyes - not from pain, but pure emotion. The giant white light creeps around the corner and comes towards them. He closes the door and counts silently. He has done this before and knows the number of safety. When he reaches it, he opens the door again a crack, checks that the coast is clear, and tugs his wife outside into danger. Hurriedly they cross the street, him shielding her from the direction of the tower and supporting her as best he can. A dog barks, their pace quickens, a shout! They’ve reached the door and he unlocks it expertly. There can be no room for error. They are inside! Safe. He leads her to a comfortable bed waiting close by, kisses her again and tells her he will be right back. He is off to boil the water. The excitement of delivering his own child is unreal.
The doctor’s wife gave birth to a baby boy that night in 1944 in war-torn Athens. He had green eyes and sandy hair. The proud parents were ecstatic! Watching his wife holding their first child just a few hours after delivery, the doctor had made up his mind. He would find a better life for him and his wife, he would ensure a better future for his son and his family at all costs. He owed his descendents the power of a good decision. It was at that moment that my grandfather, the doctor, decided to leave his fatherland behind.
Author’s Note: It was 7 years before the doctor could relocate his family to Johannesburg, South Africa. Greece was indeed torn apart by a bloody civil war after V-day, and as soon as it was over and he had scraped together what he could, he led his family to the land of hope and fortune. He would never practice as a doctor again, as Apartheid discriminated against foreigners as well.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
More Advance Fee Fraud!
I’ve won the UK lottery twice in less than a month! See my previous winning post here.
To add insult to injury, these scam fuckers keep sending me their stupid emails. When the third one came I started getting livid. I mean, how stupid do they think I am? And after a night on the town getting smashed as a miner on payday, I replied (check the time of the email - can you imagine how boozed I was?!). It wasn’t the most eloquent reply, or the best written. But hopefully it will stop these emails flowing like Victoria Falls right into my inbox.
----- Original Message ----
From: ezizat aziz ezizat_aziz0021@hotmail.com
Sent: Saturday, November 10, 2007 7:27:38 AM
Subject: URGENT ATTENTION NEEDED
FROM: MR EZIZAT_AZIZ
AUDITING / ACCOUNTING DIRECTOR
BANK OF AFRICA(/BOA)
BURKINA-FASO WEST AFRICA.
My dear I am contacting you in regards to a business transfer of a huge sum of money from a deceased account. Though I know that a transaction of this magnitude will make anyone apprehensive and worried, but I am assuring you that all will be well at the end of the day. I decided to contact you due to the urgency of this transaction.
PROPOSITION; I discovered an abandant sum of $11.5M(Eleven Million Five Hundred thousand United states Dollars) in an account that belongs to one of our foreign customers who died along with his entire family. Since his death, none of his next-of-kin or relations has come forward to lay claims to this money as the heir. I cannot release the fund from his account unless someone applies for claim as the next-of-kin to the deceased as indicated in our banking guidelines. Upon this discovery, I now seek your permission to have you stand as a next of kin to the deceased as all documentations will be carefully worked out by me for the funds $11.5M(Eleven Million Five Hundred thousand United states Dollars) to be released in your favour as the beneficiary's next of kin.It may interest you to note that I have secured from the probate an order of madamus to locate any of deceased beneficiaries.
Please acknowledge receipt of this message in acceptance of my mutual business endeavour by furnishing me with the following;
1. Your Full Name:
2. Your Contact Cell Phone Number:
3. Your Age:
4. Your Sex:
5. Your Occupations:
6. Your Country and City:
These requirements will enable me file a letter of claim to the appropriate departments for necessary approvals in your favour before the transfer can be made. I shall be compensating you with $4.6 Million Dollars on final conclusion of this project, while the rest $6.9Million shall be for me. Your share stays with you while the rest shall be for me for investment purposes in your country.
If this proposal is acceptable by you, do not take undue advantage of the trust I have bestowed in you, I await your urgent email.
Regards,
MR AZIZ
------------------------------------------------
And herewith my extremely irritated response:
----- Original Message ----
From: Tyrell Williams lordwiggly@yahoo.com
To: ezizat_aziz40@myway.com
Sent: Sunday, November 11, 2007 3:20:09 AM
Subject: Re: URGENT ATTENTION NEEDED
No problems. I am a police officer and will facilitate the transaction as you so wish. That is, after we investigate the legitimacy of your account.
Regards
Sgt Hendriks
-----------------------------------------------
I hope these dumb fucks are clever enough to remove me from their mailing list.
To add insult to injury, these scam fuckers keep sending me their stupid emails. When the third one came I started getting livid. I mean, how stupid do they think I am? And after a night on the town getting smashed as a miner on payday, I replied (check the time of the email - can you imagine how boozed I was?!). It wasn’t the most eloquent reply, or the best written. But hopefully it will stop these emails flowing like Victoria Falls right into my inbox.
----- Original Message ----
From: ezizat aziz ezizat_aziz0021@hotmail.com
Sent: Saturday, November 10, 2007 7:27:38 AM
Subject: URGENT ATTENTION NEEDED
FROM: MR EZIZAT_AZIZ
AUDITING / ACCOUNTING DIRECTOR
BANK OF AFRICA(/BOA)
BURKINA-FASO WEST AFRICA.
My dear I am contacting you in regards to a business transfer of a huge sum of money from a deceased account. Though I know that a transaction of this magnitude will make anyone apprehensive and worried, but I am assuring you that all will be well at the end of the day. I decided to contact you due to the urgency of this transaction.
PROPOSITION; I discovered an abandant sum of $11.5M(Eleven Million Five Hundred thousand United states Dollars) in an account that belongs to one of our foreign customers who died along with his entire family. Since his death, none of his next-of-kin or relations has come forward to lay claims to this money as the heir. I cannot release the fund from his account unless someone applies for claim as the next-of-kin to the deceased as indicated in our banking guidelines. Upon this discovery, I now seek your permission to have you stand as a next of kin to the deceased as all documentations will be carefully worked out by me for the funds $11.5M(Eleven Million Five Hundred thousand United states Dollars) to be released in your favour as the beneficiary's next of kin.It may interest you to note that I have secured from the probate an order of madamus to locate any of deceased beneficiaries.
Please acknowledge receipt of this message in acceptance of my mutual business endeavour by furnishing me with the following;
1. Your Full Name:
2. Your Contact Cell Phone Number:
3. Your Age:
4. Your Sex:
5. Your Occupations:
6. Your Country and City:
These requirements will enable me file a letter of claim to the appropriate departments for necessary approvals in your favour before the transfer can be made. I shall be compensating you with $4.6 Million Dollars on final conclusion of this project, while the rest $6.9Million shall be for me. Your share stays with you while the rest shall be for me for investment purposes in your country.
If this proposal is acceptable by you, do not take undue advantage of the trust I have bestowed in you, I await your urgent email.
Regards,
MR AZIZ
------------------------------------------------
And herewith my extremely irritated response:
----- Original Message ----
From: Tyrell Williams lordwiggly@yahoo.com
To: ezizat_aziz40@myway.com
Sent: Sunday, November 11, 2007 3:20:09 AM
Subject: Re: URGENT ATTENTION NEEDED
No problems. I am a police officer and will facilitate the transaction as you so wish. That is, after we investigate the legitimacy of your account.
Regards
Sgt Hendriks
-----------------------------------------------
I hope these dumb fucks are clever enough to remove me from their mailing list.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Sweet Valley High
So last week I decided to take the plunge for the final time before I give it up as a bad joke. I decided to give the whole Internet Dating thing one more chance, to say that I gave it a fair go, and to hopefully find someone worth dating. So I purchased a one month subscription (at reduced rates), added a whole bunch of recent pics and reckon I’ll erase my profile when the time is up.
To get started, I eagerly looked up the sexiest woman that I had bookmarked (a “sensual fitness” dancer); even though I knew that our compatibility would be low. To demonstrate how incompatible we are, she had already erased her profile. Not a good start. Anyways, I composed a lengthy message for the girl I thought was most compatible as per my initial reason for signup. Lets call her Exhibit A. I then browsed the site a bit and landed up contacting 8 ladies in total. I sat back and waited.
Three of the girls I contacted replied, including Exhibit A, albeit a bit later than the others. The more we spoke, the less compatible we seemed, until her subscription allegedly expired. I gave her my contact details but as yet no reply. Exhibit C, the first to reply, matched my personality extremely well. In the first day we exchanged names and contact details. Pity that her profile pic (which is bloody stunning!) is no true reflection on her looks compared to the other photos she subsequently sent me. Still, I haven’t written her off ‘cos her sense of humour is second to none. Exhibit B and I got chatting. She seems really sweet but lives in another city, so her Geographical Desirability (GD) rating is through the floor. Then a stroke of good fortune! Exhibit J made contact out of the blue! I wrote her a reply ‘cos she seemed fantastic! But her subscription has expired too. Oh kak.
On the weekend I contacted another four ladies. One of them replied with a “Thanks, but I don’t think we’re right for each other”. That is basically chick-speak for “I don’t find you attractive so get lost”. Urgh. With a 75% rejection rate up front, this Internet Dating thing is not for the faint-hearted.
I’ve got a year-end function in two weeks time, and we’re encouraged to bring our partners. Last year I took an old flame. We landed up having loads of fun and even kerfoefeled on the dancefloor right next to one of my directors. Everybody kept commenting on the gorgeous blonde on my arm for months after that. This year I have no-one to take though. Should I take anyone at all? How loserish if I don’t. But I can’t just take a randomer either. And I can’t not go – after an awesome teambulding session recently that would be a cop-out. Maybe I can take the girl I was supposed to take to movies last week? That is, if she doesn’t diss me again this week. Or maybe I should call up the girls I took to my school dances. Oh wait, all 3 are married. One with kids. My bad. That reminds me of my friend who is a single mom. I’ve been avoiding her since a rather embarrassing SMS session which turned out to be one of her friends playing a joke on me. Jeez, my love life is like high school all over again.
To get started, I eagerly looked up the sexiest woman that I had bookmarked (a “sensual fitness” dancer); even though I knew that our compatibility would be low. To demonstrate how incompatible we are, she had already erased her profile. Not a good start. Anyways, I composed a lengthy message for the girl I thought was most compatible as per my initial reason for signup. Lets call her Exhibit A. I then browsed the site a bit and landed up contacting 8 ladies in total. I sat back and waited.
Three of the girls I contacted replied, including Exhibit A, albeit a bit later than the others. The more we spoke, the less compatible we seemed, until her subscription allegedly expired. I gave her my contact details but as yet no reply. Exhibit C, the first to reply, matched my personality extremely well. In the first day we exchanged names and contact details. Pity that her profile pic (which is bloody stunning!) is no true reflection on her looks compared to the other photos she subsequently sent me. Still, I haven’t written her off ‘cos her sense of humour is second to none. Exhibit B and I got chatting. She seems really sweet but lives in another city, so her Geographical Desirability (GD) rating is through the floor. Then a stroke of good fortune! Exhibit J made contact out of the blue! I wrote her a reply ‘cos she seemed fantastic! But her subscription has expired too. Oh kak.
On the weekend I contacted another four ladies. One of them replied with a “Thanks, but I don’t think we’re right for each other”. That is basically chick-speak for “I don’t find you attractive so get lost”. Urgh. With a 75% rejection rate up front, this Internet Dating thing is not for the faint-hearted.
I’ve got a year-end function in two weeks time, and we’re encouraged to bring our partners. Last year I took an old flame. We landed up having loads of fun and even kerfoefeled on the dancefloor right next to one of my directors. Everybody kept commenting on the gorgeous blonde on my arm for months after that. This year I have no-one to take though. Should I take anyone at all? How loserish if I don’t. But I can’t just take a randomer either. And I can’t not go – after an awesome teambulding session recently that would be a cop-out. Maybe I can take the girl I was supposed to take to movies last week? That is, if she doesn’t diss me again this week. Or maybe I should call up the girls I took to my school dances. Oh wait, all 3 are married. One with kids. My bad. That reminds me of my friend who is a single mom. I’ve been avoiding her since a rather embarrassing SMS session which turned out to be one of her friends playing a joke on me. Jeez, my love life is like high school all over again.
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