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at the mercy of mother nature...

2009-07-13T14:39:00.007+02:00

Mother nature is at her bitchiest here in the Cape. And we all know Cape Town peeps; a bit of rain and they're all freaked out. Hell, we closed a whole freeway this AM, over a little bit of water.

On Friday, I was chilling with people made of some different stuff though. Rain or not, CC, JC and myself whipped out the braai stand, organised an umbrella, booze and skilpaatjies.

Problem is, I had the little matter of a rugby game on Saturday afternoon, so my drinking had to be limited to light beer. Nontheless, we all had fun listening to a 'Wackhead' Simpson CD and munching on some good meat.

Despite only consuming three Savannah Lites, all of 3% alcohol in them, I woke up with a hangover. Seriously. I chilled in bed the whole morning before heading over to the field. The game was a bruiser, but we were playing the bottom team in the league. Evidence was the 51 points we wracked up.

That wasn't the fun part though. The fun and games were on the 1st XV bench. Some of us were sat there for some 80 minutes in the biting cold and stinging rain, huddled under one umbrella, counting down the minutes. I got a 5 minute run at the end, which I was delighted about just to get moving. The banter on the bench was fabulous though. I raced home afterwards for two reasons; to jump out of the soaking clothing I was in and into a hot shower, and to catch what was left of the Sharks game at Fat Cactus.

I caught the second-half, regrettably. The Sharks were awful, and the less said, the better. Ditto the rest of the evening. I can't remember having a good time at the Stones in Obz.

I spent yesterday with JC and CC, lunch at Rascals, pizza and movies on the couch. Talking a whole lot of shyte as well, just to keep each other entertained. It was brilliant. A day well spent.

The weather is most uninspiring, so much of the same expected this week.

twit or twitter?

2009-07-10T12:04:00.003+02:00

I decided to be a twit and Twitter. It's lousy. All you can do is add "Followers" (read friends), and update your status. That's it. It's like, Facebook Lite. With NO fat, whatsoever. That's the end of that experiment.

My mom called me up during the MJ memorial to ask me if I was watching. She reminded me of the days when I used to go up in front of the telly and impersonate MJ or Lionel Richie when one of their songs went on. I felt like quite a tard, and hurried her through her moment of nostalgia.

I'm keen to go see the game at Newlands tomorrow evening. It's going to rain, I have it on the good authority of the South African Weather Service. But at R50 (!) a pop to see the Sharks, no matter how depleted, and a virtually full strength Province side. Not that many Cape Townians willing to sit in the rain though.

What happened to the "Year of the Fan" campaign?

up yours to the Brits

2009-07-09T08:36:00.005+02:00

The Brits have gotten to my tits now, seriously. Not their citizens, at least, but their sports journalists. Bunch of prats, the lot of them. For a bunch of people who look to Gordon Brown and Prince Charles for inspiration, I can understand why they are utter pricks.

It started with the bunch that came over with the British and Irish Lions team to play the Springboks. They hyped up their team sommer the okes who were left behind to wax lyrical about Andy Murray.

Then after the whole eye-gouging affair, the pricks have the audacity to tell us what to do with our coach. Never mind the propaganda they spread following Pieter de Villiers' press conference after the whole eye-gouging incident. The crap they wrote was so far removed from what de Villiers actually said, it defied belief.

The man on the street would read this in the papers and believe it word for word, but I was smart enough to trawl the Web and look for the transcripts of the press conference. After reading it, I was livid! It was akin to spreading lies.

From my take, they were trying to divert attention from yet another Lions series defeat, branding them heroes, and the Boks savages. How the Brits love to celebrate defeat! I was pissed off, but well, let them stew in mediocrity, while we basked in victory.

Prior and throughout he Confed Cup, all the noises coming from the Brits was how dangerous South Africa was. Apparently, we're too scared to step outside to go buy the milk, fearing hijacking, mugging, rape and murder. Articles of this nature were abundant, and it seemed every effort was being made to discredit our country.

The Lions came and went, all 50 000 of them, with no major incidents. And then I read this article on The Guardian website, which is one of the respected papers and websites. The writer is a regular contributor to the site, and her opinion seems to have been well respected before this article.

The article is despicable and poorly researched, but is similar to many an article I have read from British columnists. Then I bumped into an article written by Jeremy Clarkson after he had visited Jo'burg and stayed there for a few weeks. It made me feel a little better about the British scribes, but not much. It's hilarious, though.

What did we ever do to the Brits? Are they still carrying scars from the Boer war? There definitely seems to be a concerted effort to discredit South Africa as a viable World Cup host, but it will be up to us to prove the Poms wrong. Personally, I'm confident we can do it. The Rugby World Cup, African Cup of Nations, Cricket World Cup, T20 World Cup, IPL, and the many more competitions we have hosted, could not have been a fluke. The Soccer World Cup will be much bigger, but I rest assured we will be ready.

too much dancing leads to sore buttocks...

2009-07-06T10:48:00.004+02:00

"Rough night?" Asked my housemates yesterday after my 12 hour convalescence.

"The night was great, it's the day that's killing me." Was my retort.

Considering I almost didn't go out, I'm in two minds what to make of Saturday night. I came home after my rugby game, which we lost 6-5, I read and fell asleep. I had already written off a trip to Table View, and at 10pm, with no inclination to leave my bed, was about to turn off my phone when CC rang and suggested a trip to Oblivion.

Since he eliminated the risk of driving as well, I couldn't say no, especially with half the quota of dancing girls also going. The girls were in a rather sombre mood, and it would have felt like a wasted trip to go all the way there for such a night. It was nothing Jaggermeister cannot cure though, and soon, we had the girls trawling the dancefloor.

Things soon got complicated though, as they seem to often on a dancefloor. As much as I hate it when someone does this to me, I cannot elaborate on that just yet. Let's just say girl like boy, boy like girl. But it's complicated.

Things just got worse when J, who wasn't working, as I originally had feared, pitched up. I understood why I like that girl, which I don't want to, but I do. What can I do? I was having a hell of a time, so I thought fuck everything, and went bos on the dancefloor (avoiding pole dancing, though). I only get to once a week.

I spent some six hours on CC's couch before heading for my own bed to complete my recovery. My head may be feeling better, but the rest of the body still has to catch up. But there's no rest for the wicked, and life goes on.

the titanic game...

2009-07-01T10:51:00.004+02:00

Ever had one of those weeks that just fly by without anything of consequence happening or achieving anything noteworthy so you just float through the week and let things happen on their own like MTN double debiting your account or the cat next door piss on your car or dropping your lunch of lasagna on your keyboard and being stuck in the office while your mates are at Ratanga Junction and sending you MMS' of what a jolly good time they're having and the only reply you can think of is "Cretins".

So I let MTN have my money, they can hold on to it for me for the time being. The cat next door is off the hook because let's face it, the inquisitive shit will be road kill on the dangerous streets of Mowbray. I have a new keyboard, and I found out the lasagna has tomatoes while I was picking it off my desk, so I suppose I gained a bit there. And the cretins at Ratanga? Well, the mofos have flu from some ride that goes through water. Karma bitches!

Winter makes a real sour puss out of me. I had a friend over last night, and she brought over a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Simonsvlei Sweet Rosé (it's been a while [!]), along with a copy of Titanic (!). Yeah, I know. I also raised an eyebrow and was like, WTF chicky?!

She settled me down and told me the score. Basically, it's all a drinking game, of sorts. Every time Rose said Jack, she took a shot of her JD, and every time Jack said Rose, I took a shot of my Simonsvlei. She said there would be no winners in this game, just losers. She never mentioned a draw, as we both scored.

The consequences have been dire, of course. But well worth it. At least the day is over, and now I'm left with the biggest dilemma on earth; rugby practice, or jol at Tiger?

rugby saturday...

2009-06-29T11:02:00.004+02:00

If I hear another MJ song, tribute, or conspiracy theory on his death, I'm going to vomit. Every radio station, TV news agency, and man on the street has been at it ad nauseam this weekend. The conspiracy theories are what got to me the most. Don't they know to blame it on the sunshine, blame it on the moonlight, blame it on the good time, blame it on the boogie?

Luckily there was enough to distract me during the weekend. I was supposed to have an early night on Friday due to the busy schedule I had lined up on Saturday. But 2am I was still at Stones with Coffee, Mini Cooper and his date. Mini's date had a hard time handling her tequila, which made for a hilarious conversation at the bar.

Three hours of sleep, and I had to get my 'Rugby Saturday' rolling. First it was off to breakfast and catch the first half of the All Blacks/Italy game. No problem. Then off to SACS to catch some Cape Schools rugby, particularly Selborne vs Paarl Gym. I caught up with a few old boys I knew, and avoided the younger old boys. They are always a distinct bunch; loud, abrasive, shoddily dressed and usually sporting a Castle can.

Unfortunately, Selborne lost 14-18 despite being the better side. Like all the Selborne 1st XVs I watched over my high school years, they only lost as a result of failing to take their chances, not because they were beaten by a better team. I stayed behind to watch the first half of the Grey PE/Rondebosch game, which was quite entertaining.

Then it was off to get my own game underway. During the first 10 minutes, I had the ball six times, created two scoring opportunities, squandered one, and gained some good yardage. I could hear the opposition in a panic plotting how to stop me during one stoppage, which was music to my ears. After that, I hurt my shoulder, and we couldn't keep the ball to save a life. As a result of those missed opportunities and ill-discipline, we went into halftime 5-15 down.

After going down 5-22 early on in the second stanza, we rallied to score five unanswered tries, one of those by me. I did spill one on the line for what everyone reckons would have been try of the season, but oh well.

With my shoulder in so much pain, I decided to have a quiet night, so I chilled at Mel's with CC. I caught some of the highlights from the Boks victory over the B&I Lions, which must have been a fantastic game. We called it a night early at 11pm, because were as uninspired a bunch as you could find.

Yesterday was a beaut of a day, so Mr. Paul, CC, JC and I had lunch at Rascals. I was still pretty buggered, so I decided to catch the Confed game at home after I completed a few errands. I didn't even bother to watch the final, my thoughts were on sleep.

My shoulder is still a little sore, but the anti-inflammatory stuffs did me a lot of good. I might not be able to do any upper body weights this week, but at least I'll be ready to play on Saturday. I quite enjoyed playing centre rather than the fool at the back. Touch wood I stay there.

It's a lovely week ahead; sunshine all the way. Apart from the usual, I have little to complain about.

R.I.P MJ...

2009-06-26T10:08:00.007+02:00

For some reason, I'm highly irritable this morning. For what reason? I have every reason to be cheerful. The sun is out, payday, I'm working half-day today, and 'Wacko Jacko' was put out of his misery.

Don't get me wrong, I loved Michael Jackson. My family still relay the tails to whomever will listen of how I loved the song "Thriller", but couldn't bare to sit through the video. The man was my childhood hero.

But after his face started melting like wax and took up kiddie fiddling, I kept my adolescent admiration for the man to myself. I started to pity the man after he went bust, and him passing on really feels like he has been put out of his misery. R.I.P.

At first I thought the whole MJ 'kicking the bucket' thing was a hoax after some idiots started circulating an e-mail yesterday of some stadium in Malaysia who's roof collapsed and claimed it was the Moses Mabhida Stadium. I saw the thing to be a hoax, and replied to the sender and included everyone that was Cc'ed on the mail to tell them off.

There's no need to be undermining the efforts being put in to successfully host the World Cup. It's shameful and very underhanded. I don't have time for pricks of that ilk.

I must be going through PMS or something; the stress, insomnia, muscle pain, headaches, fatigue, mood swings... I'm telling you. Not sure about the abdominal cramps and bloating, or the breast tenderness. I'll keep you posted though.

Just to have some decent karma on my side, I swung by PEP (!) to buy a couple of blankets, and ransacked my cupboard for some old clothes and shoes, and cruised through to N1 City to drop off the stuff where Goodhope FM were doing this whole "Keep Cape Town Warm" campaign. That's commitment for the cause for you, eh?

They didn't want a pair of running shoes I offered, but no sweat, I know a guy. There's this dude who comes around to ask for food and money in the early evening, so I skipped my gym session to wait for the bloke. They were a tight fit, but his toes will be snug in those. They'll be especially handy if, you know, he's running from the long arm of the law (he's not a fan of the red tape required to go through to "acquire" certain items of his liking).

Now I can sit back and wait for karma to pay me back. Perhaps play the lotto tomorrow.

dedication is...

2009-06-24T12:27:00.004+02:00

Sometimes a screw becomes loose, and I do something out of the ordinary. Last night was such an occasion. Having given gym a skip on Monday in favor of movie night, I decided I had to go all out yesterday. And I did.

After gym, I was stuck in the madness of really, really loyal Bok supporters on their way to Newlands to see the Emerging Boks vs the British Lions. I thought to myself, these cats are willing to freeze and get drenched just to watch a bunch of fellas who don't have a Bok cap to their name and may never get one, and a bunch of Lions dirt trackers. Dedication.

And let me tell you something, it was a storm out there. Monsoon weather, Lions coach Ian McGeechan called it.

Where's MY dedication, I thought. So I pulled over at the Common after the mayhem of Campground Road, and took off into the approaching hurricane. In the dark.

The funny thing is it felt great. The rain was actually making me warm, and it was great preparation for this weekend's game, if it rains (a quick prayer for sunshine). When the wind lashed the rain onto my face, I found myself laughing. I must have looked like a complete whack-job to the onlookers stuck in traffic.

I was expecting a bout of flu this morning, but alas, I live to tell the tale.

I have been approached to blog for a South African sports site. Income is generated from the site's advertising space, which is shared amongst the writers on the site. I'm considering it, but life is hectic as it is at the moment.

It's one more thing I have to make up my mind about. They never cease.

concussions of a dangerous mind...

2009-06-22T14:14:00.003+02:00

Another day, another visit to the doctor. The girl at the reception of Medicare shook her head and asked, "Now what?" So I replied, "Concussion." To which her retort was, "That sounds about right." Sarcasm being my third language, I had to have the last word, so my riposte was, "You should have seen the other guy."

That's how my first game went after my little hiatus. A bloody concussion. And just for the record, the other guy was fine. Maybe he had a temporary dull ache to his knee, but I doubt he felt it with all the adrenaline doing the rounds.

In contrast, I lost some 15 minutes of my life thereafter, and my jaw hurts like hell. I only came to when the half-time whistle blew. I've been too embarrassed to ask the other blokes what I was up to during those 15 minutes.

My doctor wasn't going to let me off the hook either. After I told her I came to see her about a concussion, she told me I shouldn't have anything to worry about without examining me. When I asked about any potential brain damage, she told me I would be fine, as one needs a brain to suffer brain damage in the first place.

Smart ass. And a fine one at that. I should Google her address and poison her beloved mutt she keeps on going about. But she has a point, because I decided to play on the rest of the game with no protection to my head. The brain doctor chewed me out for both, the balding pillock.

I guess he's alright though, because he cleared me to play this weekend. He reckons if I don't get any post-traumatic seizures, I should be alright.

Take that pretty lady-doctor! The funny thing is (not literally), I had a feeling before the game I would get an injury. One severe, but not so bad it would kill me.

The rest of the weekend was far less exciting, I'm afraid. I stayed home on Friday night and arbed around without any intent. On Saturday night, post concussion, I was at JC's with CC watching a rerun of the Strictly Come Dancing finale, and then we watched Kindergarten Cop. We gassed ourselves at the retro fashion and Arnie's one-liners.

We had the intention of heading somewhere during the course of the night, but after a whooping beer between the three of us, we called it a night. CC and I had a police escort following us home. The one night I wouldn't have minded being pulled over, just to get it out the way.

Yesterday there was another cop van following the R-tards and I around while Caz was behind the wheel in Rondebosch East. Caz decided she wanted to cruise around the area after we had been at CC's place watching some American football movie. The boys in blue must have figured we were casing the place out. Just as well they didn't pull us over, because Caz lacks a learner's license, and the dozing S2e at the back could have been classified a passenger.

I certainly hope this weekend is a lot more exciting. Things are a lot quieter around the house with the 12 year old away in Knysna on a school trip. Quieter isn't always better, though.

tooth fairy brought me something...

2009-06-19T11:22:00.004+02:00

I'm pretty upset this morning, after the Proteas choked yet AGAIN! But anyhew, nuff of that. Nuff was said last night at the household.

I'm also upset I'm going to the dentist in an hour. My front tooth started hurting like a mofo after I had soup last night, and it hasn't let up. I mean, tears were welling up in my eyes it was so sore. It's one of the teeth I had an 'accident' on last year.

Two aspirins and two anti-inflammatory painkillers later, mixed with some vino, and I was out like a light.

God bless modern medicines!

matric dance or matric farce...

2009-06-18T08:16:00.005+02:00

I had a freaky-ass dream last night. I was cruising along in Betty after a night on the town, and I got lost. I cruised down a road which went over a river for some distance, and then all of a sudden, there was no more road. I rode over the edge, and into the river. I jumped ship, and ended up in a house by the river with my mates chilling there.

I told them about the demise of Betty, and we came outside to check this out. Some dude was gingerly driving Betty out the water, gave me the keys, and told me I would have to get my carburetor checked out. And off he went. It was light by now, and we all just shrugged and had some breakfast and went to bed.

The dream seemed so real, I woke up, jumped out of bed in a state of panic, then realised hang on. It was daytime in the dream when I went to bed. It's dark now. I would never sleep that long. Massive relief!

I was astonished by the amounts of money matrics have to shell out to attend their matric dance nowadays. Back in my day (I know, I know...), it was R100 for you and your partner, and the rest went to your apparel. My suit cost me a cool R1,500, while my date's dress, hair, shoes and jewelry cost her something around R2,000. The after-party was organised at someone's house, so all you had to bring was yourself, your date (or whoever's date you stole during the course of the night), and your booze.

At one of the schools here in Cape Town, it's costing matriculants R400 per head for the dance, then there's their garb, and then R100 for a ticket to the after-party, per head. And it all turns out to be as overrated as New Year's Eve. Back in my day (yes, yes, I said it again), we would never have taken it lying down.

My parents had it easy, in retrospect.

I had to deal with two twelve year old girls high on life last night while trying to watch the soccer. Cramming for an important exam is easier on the mind than those two. Imagine when they are high on sugar!

Miss Bokkie, where'd you go?!

2009-06-17T09:02:00.003+02:00

Talk about a welcome public holiday! If there was something I needed more than anything, it was to sit at home and do nothing, if you don't count the run around the Common and Caz's driving lesson. I'm surprised I'm not dying of a cold after this weekend.

The game between Western Province and the British and Irish Lions at Newlands was awesome. We got there an hour before the game, ducking from tree to tree to avoid the rain on the way to the stadium. We got a little lost finding the pub, but thanks to the help of security, we found our way. There was time for one drink, and off to find our seats, on the other side of the stadium.

As we got to our seats, the rained miraculously ceased. The seats were awful, adjacent to the try-line. But at least we had the dancing girls for company. Those girls must have been freezing in their skimpy little revealing t-shirts and even skimpier hot-pants, but they never showed it. The crowd around us was appreciative of their presence and their moves had a few of the ouens literally drooling, with the game a mere distraction.

It was a close game at half-time, albeit it had been all Lions, in my opinion. Off to the pub then, to get out of the biting wind and to get something to numb the pain. The second half was a nail-biter and could have gone either way. The dancing girls had moved to the other try-line, so I got to watch more of the game (hilarious how everyone around us came back to their seats and immediately inquired where the girls had gone). Unfortunately, a late Stephen Jones penalty sealed it for the tourists. I refused to chant any of the Province songs because, well, let me put it this way. Had it not been for the cold, I would have donned me Sharks jersey. Mind, I would have been less popular than the Lions supporters.

Game over, so off to Springboks for a beer and a tequila, anything to warm us up just that bit. The place was packed, so we milled around the cigarette machine for a couple of rounds before we realised there was a bigger party at the back where some one-man band was playing. Off we went, only to walk into a sea of red Lions jerseys. What the hell, let's crash the whole damn thing.

We found ourselves a spot on top of a table, near the 'sheiks', who were having a ball of a time. While perched on the table, I invited over a girl dressed in a Bok jersey, an anomaly in that crowd. Her name escapes me, but she was awesome at down-downs. After his incessant bitching and hassling my potential score, I managed to find King Arthur a promotion girl to entertain him. Needless to say, he fumbled it.

In the process of laughing at King A, Miss Bokkie disappeared somewhere. Not happy. We finally decided to disembark from the table and head home. On our way to the car, the heavens open up. We were all soaking wet by the time we got to the car, right down to our fifth layers of clothing.

When we got to Mini Cooper's place, the heater and the vodka came out. The bottle of Absolut stood little chance against three of us, and after it's demise, we decided it was still early days. Off to Mel's to crash a 21st. I thought we were still in decent form, but in hindsight, well...

We were onto our second drink, when unprovoked, Mini toppled off his barstool and knocked his head on the ground. He got up as if nothing had happened, only for King A to point out the blood on his barnet. Cue a rush to the bathroom to get him all cleaned up. That pretty much sobered us up, and we decided enough was enough. After dropping them off at Mini's place, it was around the corner to call it a night at 22h30.

Bless, because I woke up sans hangover and took Caz for a driving lesson and lunch at Spur. I got home and the household decided to invite a few peeps over for supper, who proceeded to bring over more wine than was necessary. Everyone felt compelled to fill up my glass every time it was half empty (not half full). I was too absorbed by the football to notice where this was going.

Sunday night dinner parties have been banned. Monday was the worst day of my life. I'm only glad the recovery is complete, and hope there is no permanent damage to the liver.

down in the dumps...

2009-06-15T12:22:00.002+02:00

Blogging not possible...

Results of a run-in with boxed red wine...

the tyranny of a few...

2009-06-12T08:26:00.004+02:00

I spent a year at my old crib without exchanging more than pleasantries with my neighbors. A slap on the face to those that preach about the friendliness of the people of Cape Town.

A week into my new place, and I know my neighbors to my left and centre. Given, to my left I have a couple of lesbians, ditto to my 10 o'clock (they seem to follow me around!). Yesterday, I had a long chat until it got dark with the couple across the road.

We had a long chinwag about the many pleasures of the area and the few pitfalls, like, kinda getting hijacked (an old man down the road six weeks ago). They've invited us for a braai on a weekend when the weather is more favorable.

Then I went through the indignity of being kicked out of one of my watering holes for bringing about bad karma. The Proteas were busy chasing England's total in their T20 World Cup match, and some people at Fat Cactus, patrons and staff, had money on the game. I didn't agree with their predicted winning margins, and with every over, I was being proven right. So they turned on me. Bunch of tyrants.

Luckily I wasn't there for a long stay, but to Blueteeth S2e his favorite song he had been badgering me to download for him for like, forever. He was like a little kid on Christmas morning when he got the song. He has no problem downloading porn on his phone (Caz tells me some of it is somewhat disturbing), but he can't download a 4 MB song.

Very amped for the ruggers at Newlands tomorrow. Maybe I should call off tonight's shindig and go all out tomorrow.

my name is earl...

2009-06-11T16:10:00.003+02:00

So I'm walkabouts in Kenilworth Centre, on my way to CNA to buy the new Spud book, when my train of thought is interrupted by, "Excuse me sir. Would you like to donate R1 to the Children's Home for blah blah blah blah..."

I'm thinking, did he say "sir"?!

So I head over to the offender, a PFY (Pimply Faced Youth) manning a stand.

Me: Did you call me "sir"?

PFY: Yes sir. How would you like to make a donation to the Children's Home...

Me: ...Hold that thought. What makes you feel you should call me sir?

PFY: Sorry sir, it just came out.

I'm was in a rather chipper mood after some breakthroughs on the world of FreeRadius at work. When I'm in a good mood, my tongue loosens up.

Me: That's what you say to your girlfriend when you orgasm too quickly.

PFY: [blushes] snigger...

Me: Is it my age?

PFY: No sir, it was unintentional. But you can make a donation to the Children's Home for the Abused. It's only R1.

Me: Tell you what, I'll give you R5 if you quit calling me sir.

PFY: Sure sir.

Me: You want to try that again?

PFY: Sure. Thank you.

Me: That's better. So, where is this home?

PFY: In Cape Town.

Me: Duh. But where in Cape Town?

PFY: I don't know.

Me: [Raised eyebrow].

PFY: It's my second day here. I just came from George.

I insert my R5 into the coin box.

PFY: Thank you. You are one of the few people with a good heart.

The kid must have had a tough day out here. Probably hasn't heard of something called a recession.

Me: Really? I'm going to Google your Children's Home to make sure it is legit. If not, I'll be back.

PFY: Thank you, sir.

I could have kicked that kid. If I wasn't hanging around with people older than me as often as I do, I would have taken offense to that kid addressing me as sir. I just walked away, opposite direction to the CNA, having forgotten the reason I was there in the first place.

I got a measly little sticker smaller than the buttons on my shirt for my R5. But I suppose I bought myself some good karma for a bit. So says Earl.

P.S. I couldn't find the home on Google.

lounging around...

2009-06-10T08:25:00.004+02:00

We found this funky little spot last night called Cybar out in the "student burb", more commonly known as Rondebosch Main Road. It's the perfect kind of lounge; cozy, comfortable, the right amount of lighting, and as far as I can tell, cool people as well. We didn't stay long enough to get the full lowdown, but the talent was getting better and better (or it was the Jagger).

I forfeited my torturous lap around the Common (and the opportunity to see someone else run-over) to see what the place was about, and the R-tards and I were impressed. The food is very reasonably priced, with snacks dominating the menu. Most importantly, they have happy hours that suit my hours, and we've made a date to pop in on Friday.

Caz has it all worked out, as well as "setting me up" with someone after my dance routine with J rather fizzled out this week, there's also a trip to the Old Biscuit Mill to a club called Deco Dance thrown in. Did a bit of Googling, and the place sounds rad to me. 80's nights? Lesbians? All of a sardine, I'm amped!

Thankfully there wasn't a repeat of last Tuesday from the three of us when "one or two" got a little out of hand, and the Jaggermeister was the needed tonic for the stomach ache that had dogged me since Monday evening.

I've been afforded the opportunity to go see the Western Province game against the British and Irish Lions on Saturday at Newlands. I was a bit hesitant at first; I mean, who wants to go see the Province play? But then I have been bemoaning the poor attendances during this Lions tour, so I thought let me do my part. And it's free. Who says no to free tickets? Just don't expect me to be bellowing Prrroooooooviiiiiiiiiiiiiiince!!! with the rest of the die-hards who have been through so much agony this year.

And the good news is we have a bye in our rugby calendar this weekend. I don't have to pipe up with some lame excuse again. There are so many times I can get injured playing touch rugby.

roads to hell

2009-06-09T08:13:00.003+02:00

My dad had a dream I set our pozi alight with my mom in the house. Seriously? There was the incident with garage when I was young, but there was no malice to it. I'm not capable of arson, although I have to admit, I have always been fascinated by pyrotechnics.

I'm getting a little fed up by the horrible roads in Cape Town. The roads to Transkei are in better shape. Some of the roads have been recently dug up for one or another reason, but then they've been poorly covered up with soil. In case anybody from the City Council is reading this, I'm referring to Durban and Sawkins Road in Mowbray, Campground Road in Claremont, right next to Sahara Park, and Keurboom Road, on two different locations.

Then there are the potholes. These mothers look like an earthquake has done a number on them. I'm especially referring to the ones on Garfield Road in Kenilworth. They could lead to the core of the earth by the look of things. Durban Road is again in the mix, with what looks like the aftermath of an altercation between the road and a jackhammer.

The problem is, these roads have been in the dire condition they are in for what seems like forever. Don't the upper echelon of the Council drive their Mercs on the same roads? CT roads are getting a little heavy on my shock absorbers. I could try to avoid using these roads, but they are my shortcuts to work, gym, home, or my watering holes? Petrol isn't cheap, you know. Nor are shock absorbers.

I think I should start drafting my scathing letter to the Council or our Minister of Transport, whatshisface. Attach my invoice from Supa Quick while I'm at it.

rain, so what?

2009-06-08T08:15:00.005+02:00

I had a dream I was being chased by a bull last night after I hassled it's calf. I used every evasion tactic in the book, until I got paralyzed and couldn't move anymore. The bull was about to met out it's punishment when I forced myself awake. My dream wasn't too bad compared to Caz's, who dreamt she lost her nipple the other night. She had a nipple stand and it fell right off and started bouncing away.

The big dance-off didn't happen on Friday. It was postponed for Saturday, but I had other engagements I had to attend to. On Friday I went to E.T's braai all the way in Bergvliet. This wasn't any braai. This effort was underdoors. Yes, under, not indoors. E.T set up an improvised braai area because it was pissing with rain. But a little foul weather has never stopped South Africans from whipping out the 'ol Weber. I have no idea where the doors came from, but 10/10 for effort. There were a few of us I.T geeks there, and the instructions were BYOB. Bring Your Own Bandwidth.

It was great fun though. I finally got to meet E.T's girlfriend, whom I was fearing was a figment of his imagination. Or a blowup doll. My money was on a blowup doll. There were some cool peeps there, besides myself of course. I met a couple of girls who play for a girl band, Ripcords, or summat. I got the lead singer's digits, but she may be lesbian.

I avoided the margaritas like they were the ebola virus; I was strictly on Savanna Lites, driving and all. One thing they don't do, the Savannas, is lift one's mood. I had three the whole night, and I ran out of steam at 11pm, at which point I bailed. A wise decision, as the after-action report detailed the debauchery I would have no doubt been involved in had I stayed.

On Saturday I ventured to Hemisphere with Mini Driver for his birthday party. Things started off with vodka shots at his place, and since neither of us were driving, the short ones didn't stop there. Being with an older crowd than we are used to, we were quite conservative to begin with. Then we found the dance-floor. It was nice and dark, and a great place for our misdemeanor.

In-between agitating the floorboards and tequila at the bar, we managed to bag some digits. I have no intention of calling the girl, but I wasn't going to be outdone by the birthday boy, not even on his day. I crawled into bed after a nice chicken and mayonnaise sandwich from the Shell garage. It sorted me out one time.

I took Caz for a driving lesson yesterday. It was harrowing at times, especially for the poor guy on the scooter she almost mowed down in the parking lot of Kenilworth Centre. You should have seen his eyes; dinner plates! Nonetheless, she was chuffed of her first driving experience. Some people may scoff at the idea of putting another woman behind the wheel, but the way I see it, it's another designated driver.

It's back to rugby this week... eish. A dentist's appointment doesn't seem so bad in comparison. At least the sun is shining again, which is pretty useless if it's during the week.

just when things were looking up...

2009-06-05T08:57:00.003+02:00

I have a gripe I've GOT to air this A.M. I know I was singing, or more like humming, the praises of the boys in blue. Well, strike that. The other day I had just completed a lap around the Rondebosch Common when some poor bloke got himself run over. From where I was standing (against a pole for support since I could not hold my own weight anymore), it looked serious. I was inclined to go help, but there were slevin chiefs at the scene chop-chop. No need to crowd the poor bloke.

The lady that ran the dude over was in hysterics on the phone, presumably trying to summon some indians. After five minutes of watching the scene unravel, I did a bit of a stretch and was ready to go. I mean, if the cops have been summoned, the rest will be taken care of. Besides, I was in bad need of a shower.

After a prolonged spell of R & R (I had just been given a painful reminder that I have a liver), I was ready to go when I noted another ten minutes had passed and not a siren in earshot. I was about to put a call through when a siren suddenly broke the monotony of the traffic noise and a van spun around the corner. Slaapstad time, huh? Then presto, six more vans pitch up in the next five minutes, making the already challenging traffic situation almost impossible by blocking the road. Idiotic.

It was all good and well that the cops were there, but what of an ambulance? The bloke has been lying there for some twenty-five minutes. Some fella then pulled up next to me in one of those soccer mom Renaults, and runs over to the scene. I'm guessing he was a doctor because he went over to examine the victim after much debate with the boys in blue.

I thought if this guy is still alive, he owes it to himself to hang on a little longer. Still no ambulance siren. I've began a new set of stretches now, and taking a browse at tonight.co.za's TV guide wondering if there's anything worth numbing my brain over later on. The cops have realised they're a traffic hinderance and are moving their vans out of the way and, gasp-shock-horror, are directing traffic.

I've gone off on a tangent now and am checking out other sites, and I get woken up by the sound of an ambulance siren. Out of the blue, 35 minutes later, we have a... fire truck... There's no fire I was aware of on the scene, but I suppose those cats know a thing or two about first aid, so it was better than nothing. Of course, they completely block traffic, and I had better things to do than watch this ridiculous scene.

I had long lost site of the lad who was taken out by the green Toyota Conquest, I sure hope he made it. But it is ridiculous that it took 35 minutes for any sort of medical aid to arrive on the scene. Considering the area is surrounded by hospitals, all of them within ten minutes drive, at a stretch, it was appalling. And the boys in blue handled the situation so atrociously, I was embarrassed for them.

I sure hope to stay clear of any accidents in the near future, or I may be toast.

Hitler's Reaction to Bulls Victory

2009-06-04T11:04:00.002+02:00

feeling blue bull...

2009-06-01T09:02:00.002+02:00

The rugby fraternity of the country must be feeling pretty blue. Not just because of the hangover from celebrating, but because the Blue Bulls were fantastic. I had a great time watching the game, and not just because of the entertainment value of the showpiece.

I watched the game at Oblivion with J, and it was a fantastic jol. We got there an hour and a half before the game began, but that flew by very quickly. We didn't care that it was so full and we had to make do with seats on the window seal, which were plush compared to the guys plumped on the floor directly underneath the big screen. The game itself was a carnival, pity J had to go off and work afterwards.

The whole weekend was just party mode. I was supposed to stay at home on Friday, but after I sorted my women issues, I ventured out with Damage and Damagelina. I ended up at Cubana after dropping them off where I partied with CC and the Dancing Girls. The Girls made quite the impression on the dance-floor. I took the time to show them a move or two to use at their dance classes. We've got a date set for Friday on the dance-floor again; eish wena!

I crawled home for my last sleep at the old place at 05h30, was asleep some 3 hours before Dru intervened to help me move. Lacking sleep and energy, we spent the next 4 hours moving my stuff, and I spent another 2 hours unpacking it. Needless to say, I have been in my chops.

As if things hadn't been eventful enough, on my first night at my new place, they broke into my car. I came home pretty late, and I was too lazy to park the car inside. I won't be doing that again. I wasn't too upset, in retrospect. I got the window replaced yesterday, and my access was zilch (!). There was nothing to steal in Betty, anyhew. So all's well ends well.

The cops are also quite jacked up nowadays. I got a call last night from the Victims Unit. The lady asked how I was feeling about the break in, whether I had any anger issues, and crap like that. It's not like I was mugged at gunpoint, but the effort was appreciated anyway.

I was hoping to close the deal with J, but things never go as planned in life. I'll try get something sorted tomorrow.

i can eat what i want and i don't look like a twat...

2009-05-29T09:32:00.000+02:00

I saw some twat yesterday driving around with one of those surgical masks on, in fear of swine flu. He looked like what he is, a twat. Pity really, he was driving a really nice car. A pimped out Mini Cooper. Imagine how other people must feel when he's sitting amongst them with that thing on, like they're dirty or something.

I've got a theory about all these diseases and viruses, like flu, ebola and babies. If you're meant to get them, you're meant to get them. Bless, no reason why a dude can't protect himself, like with condoms. I'm just saying the dude looked silly. But I'm sure that's what some other character thought way back when they introduced condoms. "Look at this thing on my johnson, it looks ridiculous." At which point he probably took it off and got himself some STD, or worse, offspring.

The dude with the surgical mask reminds me of everyone who keeps on telling me what to eat and what not to eat. Everyone is conscious of what they chow nowadays because of what some Dr. Nutritionist tells them on Oprah. I've got three problems with all this advice; non of the products I'm told to eat taste any decent, non of it is meat, and t'boot, I'll probably outlive 'em all (The Big Guy permitting). I'm no ignoramus of course, eating bloody well anything. But there are two chances of me staying away from meat, and they both aren't good.

And everybody has been on a big wank about how cows are the biggest polluters with their farts for the past few years. And some tree hugging knuckleheads started a campaign to stop cows farting. They don't mention how they plan to achieve that on their website, but I've heard of some Japanese boffins stumbled upon some fong-kong food additives that suppress the methane production in a cow's stomach. The lot want to turn us all into vegans eating gravel.

I'm ranting. I'm moving house again, the nomad that I am. I'm moving a lot closer to the trouble makers. The likes of the R-Tards, CC, the Skanks, Damages and Mini Driver are a walk away in either four points of the compass. And of course I'll be staying with Coffee, which should be interesting. Which ends my lesbian experience. The experience of living with lesbians, in case you were confuzzled.

I'm moving further from work, to little Mowbray, which means I can genuinely bitch about traffic now. I missed that, you know. Like at a party when you run out of conversation chatting to a stranger, I can use traffic now without the danger of being caught on a lie. I've done so much moving it's a breeze for me, whereas the lesbos were camping it up.

It's going to be a rather busy day tomorrow, considering the date with J afterwards. Good times.

girls, girls, girls...

2009-05-28T08:10:00.000+02:00

I suppose I have to explain my week's absence from blogging. It starts with a girl and ends with a girl. Doesn't it always? Women, can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em, eh? I've had my head in for virtually a week, and I have a couple of days to sort myself out.

Before things started snowballing, there was, or is, this long distance thing I'm involved in. It's a drag, it was a bad idea, and my phone bill must be two grand plus. I like the girl, but the soonest we'll see each other is October, which is too long for any self-respecting dude.

Then it was this older chick. She's something of a regular at Mel's Kitchen, so I'm told. I popped around there to catch a glimpse of the infamous promo girls and a sample of the Grolsch they were promoting last Wednesday. One beer led to four and a couple of vodka shots, and the next thing I know, we've moved from conversing about jazz music to fully making out. At the bar. In full view of gramps and grandma at the table behind us.

That added a layer of complication to my life I needed like a fart in a spacesuit. Now, I'm not just trying to find a way to break off the long distance business, I first have to find a way to tell her I've been playing games on someone else's home ground. The consensus is I should use my away form as a reason to break it off, but that would be cowardice of me. I'm not sort, in a sense. Which means, like the taste of tequila, this long distance thing is going to last a while.

As if the trifle didn't have enough layers, on comes the custard (yummmm...). The thing with J reignited like a Table Mountain summer runaway fire. I was on my way out of Oblivion, when there she was, at the door, head tilting, Bambi eyes, and that smile, all laying it on me before she asked me to stay a while longer. There wasn't a single bone in my body, including the very prominent one, that didn't want to stay. Who am I argue to with my bones?

As predictable as a Julius Malema brain-fart, things got out of hand after that. All I know is we are going away next week, somewhere. Not sure when I agreed to this, but there you are. I shouldn't listen to those bones of mine, specifically the one that seems to make all the noises at times like those. What is a guy to do? There's also our date on Saturday. During the Super 14 Final. She may be a Bulls supporter.

To dumb it down, I have to tell one girl of my promiscuity, then break up with her, on a separate day, and close the deal with the other. All this must be done by Saturday night. No pressure.

sweet dreams?

2009-05-27T08:20:00.000+02:00

Right! So it's been a bleeding week since my last post, but it seems like forever, really. Such a lot has happened, but I don't have the time to go for a long boring tale. It's better off when it's short and sweet. Well, short anyhew. It's not always sweet. More tequila. Sometimes. But I digress.

I've had a couple of disturbing dreams lately. Not the go see the head doctor type, but those you wake up and think "Huh? What was that all about?"

The first involved Ronaldinho. There I was driving with a couple of mates from the airport with "buck-teeth" stuffed in my trunk, when we pulled over and the Brazilian hopped in and took over the steering. He seemed to know his way around Cape Town pretty well, so we refrained from directing him. Then he took a corner too sharply in the Mont, we all bailed out, and Betty crashed in front of a cop block. Because he was, well, Ronaldinho, here for the Confederations Cup and all (although there aren't any Confed Cup games in CT), they let him off the hook. So we all sneaked on the car again around the corner, and off we went to the Holiday Inn where he was doing an interview. I knocked over a few Johnny Walkers onto the carpet, much to our amusement.

The second one occurred last night, right after I had awoken from an E-TV soft-porn-esque effort, and I think I know the person who was in the dream with me. Anyhew, in the dream, I was playing cricket against the Aussie team with the Waughs, Warne, Allan Border et al. First I ran out Tim May (I think it was) and was about to bowl to Michael Bevan, when I thought, "Hang on a blimey minute!"

I may have been upset at digressing from an R rated dream to Bevan flicking me over square-leg. I didn't catch another wink after that, instead I listened to some crappy 5FM DJ obviously on too much caffeine to keep him up at that horrible hour. He should try my dreams, they work a treat. I just have to figure out who the co-star of my erotic dream was (which could explain why it never reached it's climax), and why I have one of my girl mates intruding on my dreams instead of Carla Ossa.

I have a date with J on Saturday (who was not in my dream, incidentally), which should be interesting. The timing is rotten, really. I put off my comeback to rugby just for that, instead of rescheduling it. That prompted a mate to think I'm addicted to this broad. I guess I am, and who would blame me? She's a looker! Perhaps on the young side, but morality is a quality I can ill-afford right now. You would understand if you saw the smile on that face.

Any road, Chumps League Final tonight. I have to find a venue to cheer on Barcelona. It's been a horrible year for any side I have supported this year. Maybe I should switch allegiance to ManUre then. Or not...

party tricks...

2009-05-23T08:28:00.001+02:00

Have you ever been out with somebody, and you two just hit it off. Both of you have cool dance moves, hit on similar chicks, AND, he lets you hit on his sister. yeah, it's a guy!

Party M. and I defected to the Toiger during the skanks birthday at 91 On Main, and we had a PARTY!

Yes, I went to Tiger and had fun. Go figure. Oh, BTW, 91 On Main sucks. Everyone is pretending to be somebody they aren't, and older crowd my ass!

Oh, and the Unicorn. I was so close! Fair wnough, I got her very drunk,but what is a guy to do?