So I had a new experience today…I lost my virginity – my virginity to acupuncture that is (sick sick puppies for thinking what I know you were!). Yip I had my first experience with acupuncture and it was awesome! I feel great – far more energy and hopefully it will be able to treat what is inherently wrong with me… (although I fear that this topic is highly debatable).
The weirdest part is that I am currently walking around with 3 needles in my right ear-lobe. Now yes this sounds really fucking peculiar as I too had visions of these long, thin metal objects protruding from my ear – how feng shei I thought but alas they are so über tiny that you wouldn’t even know that I have them. And thanks to the super-duper miracle extra strong wonder tape stuck to them and my ear (thank fuck), they should be going nowhere in particular in any hurry, well at least not until my next appointment!
Bring on the ancient healing methods!
BU-JA-KA-SHA!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
That Indescribable Something
The X Factor, that certain je-ne-sais-quoi, a certain something that catches your eye or your imagination for that matter. Everyone has heard of this at some point in their lives, we had it drilled into us during the most unbearable and unfortunate season of every bloody Idols.
This quality is something that very few possess – it is something that you either have or you don’t and if not, no amount of tutoring or fashion sense or makeovers will provide you with this little gift. You are simply born with it. It is an unspoken confidence and sexiness – it is the ability to turn heads (without using Body on Tap which by the by is a completely scheit shampoo!).
Certain celebs possess this X factor: J-Lo, Madonna, Beyonce, Shakira etc vs. celebs that don’t: Paris Hilton, Scarlett J etc… Now don’t get me wrong, the celebs that don’t possess this undercover sexiness are no less gorgeous but for me they lack that something extra. And in fact some of the celebs that DO possess this aren’t necessarily THE most gorgeous out there…
Of course, this applies to us normal tarts as well. Some of my friends have it and some don’t. It is what makes some more memorable and enchanting than others – at least to the opposite sex that is (I luff all my fellow tarts longtime fi’ dollar). This indescribable something can take many forms, the most common description of it being “sexy” – sexy topped with a joie de vie that is envied by all!
To these tarts - la bella vita and so are you!
This quality is something that very few possess – it is something that you either have or you don’t and if not, no amount of tutoring or fashion sense or makeovers will provide you with this little gift. You are simply born with it. It is an unspoken confidence and sexiness – it is the ability to turn heads (without using Body on Tap which by the by is a completely scheit shampoo!).
Certain celebs possess this X factor: J-Lo, Madonna, Beyonce, Shakira etc vs. celebs that don’t: Paris Hilton, Scarlett J etc… Now don’t get me wrong, the celebs that don’t possess this undercover sexiness are no less gorgeous but for me they lack that something extra. And in fact some of the celebs that DO possess this aren’t necessarily THE most gorgeous out there…
Of course, this applies to us normal tarts as well. Some of my friends have it and some don’t. It is what makes some more memorable and enchanting than others – at least to the opposite sex that is (I luff all my fellow tarts longtime fi’ dollar). This indescribable something can take many forms, the most common description of it being “sexy” – sexy topped with a joie de vie that is envied by all!
To these tarts - la bella vita and so are you!
Monday, October 30, 2006
Fit for a King
What a weekend!
Crombie is in looooooooove… She has this major thing for Joe Niemand and so me being the completely supportive tart that I am, gladly obliged with eagerness when we went off to Back 2 Basix to scream like a bunch of fucking horny love-struck teenagers. Naturally, Crombie managed to rope a few more peeps into the equation and so our table, which was THE best mother fucking table in that place, everyone else just sat there with the odd toned down “woo hoo” being said in a raised voice – these people are all kind of freaks! This of course ensured that the big man noticed us and saw Crombie getting up on that big wide wooden stage and singing her little heart out with Niemand – all for the sake of Live concert tickets (which of course she got cause she totally kicks ass and of course by the time we managed to get to the Dome the concert was finito, no more, hasta la vista – I mean what the fuck kinda bullshit concert was it anyway…) Oh well, the 45 minute trip was entertaining:
1. we got picked up by some very cute boys in a black Peugeot – extra points because their car was black
2. we started figuring out names for peoples cars using their number plates e.g PMD = Pick My Dick, FVB = Fucks Very Badly, PDN = Poes + Dick = Nookie, SSD = She Sucks Dick, Mine stands for She Has Balls / Super Hot Blonde (we couldn’t decide) whilst Crombie’s is She Takes Yours…(once again we kept saying how fucking lucky she is that she didn’t get stuck with STD, never a good thing when you are a shit-hot chicken!)
Ah yes Saturday… Heh heh heh. Well this day saw Crombie and I being raised at the fucking crack of dawn and heading down to The Vaal. I think The Vaal now stands for fucking debaucherious behaviour and way too much drinking – who knew?! Basically Crombie and I spent the whole day at The Riviera, being scoped out oh by pretty much everybody and in particular a very large bunch of Jozi boys who then tried to show off – much like kids in a paddling pool who keep yelling for their Parentals to keep watching them; very cute but it gets fucking tiring / annoying very fucking quickly! Eventually we decided that we had been complete lazy tarts for long enough and headed back to her mom’s place (Crombie has such a cool family, little strange like mine, but very cool) where we managed to transform ourselves into shnazzy Jozi tarts but in a casual kinda way – as after all this was The Vaal!
Anyhoodle… We went back to The Riviera and drank some more, had fucking interesting convo’s about who the fuck knows what, although I do remember that we decided on giving Crombie’s Nice Guy (who she is kinda seeing but in a very non-official kinda way, personally I like to think of it as her keeping her options open, when in doubt: deny, deny, deny!) a wardrobe makeover. I mean the man wears fucking chino’s at the age of 27! And you know that nobody looks fuckable in a pair of chinos – they just look like a fucking idiot number one and number two, if you have a continental dad, they remind you of him – not exactly the look you wanna go for when you have the desire to give him a rogering…
After getting bored at The Riviera we hub-nubbed it to a Café Paparazzi (love the name) were we slummed it for the rest of evening. Basically we landed up paruzzing places such as The Dros (said in heavy Afrikaans accent as I discovered), then off to some skanky little “club” called Café Attica (at least I think that’s what it was called, too pissed at this stage to even remember my own name) where the DJ was clearly just über fucking excited about having a smoke machine and hence at one stage I was tempted to scream: FIRE! Needless to say when the opportunity presents itself in terms of throwing name, you fucking do and in the process you get mother fuckingly shit-faced.
Eventually this little jol had Crombie and I arrive at the conclusion that it was time to move on. This was mainly due to the following:
1. I had some old dude, almost farting dust age, tell me I had nice ankles – I mean excuse me while I just vomit in my mouth!
2. Crombie and I had an argument with some dick-watt who drives a GTI Golf 5 (I mean nice car and all but it hardly made him an expert on the subject) surrounding the fact that having a good romp in an Aston Martin is far more pleasurable that in a Ferrari – merely from a space point of view of course. This poes, however, didn’t agree – I mean after all he knows cars *scoff* Like I said, complete fugly fuckwitt!
So we landed up heading off to a small place called Denim & Jeans (I mean I can like to go out in my short jean pant and denim belt – oi man ek lyk so pritty!) We walked in and….. we fucking ran out! All I remember is hearing Bokjol FyF pumping op die stereo and I knew it was time to vacate the are-ee-a! I mean I just stood there and was like: Nay, nay, nay, 1000 times nay!!!! Naturally being at a pissed level of oh 1 000 000, Crombie and my more artistic side came to the surface: her poor car! It drove around for the rest of the evening with “Crombie and BoozyT kick ass!” “We’re shit hot” “We’re hot – ssszzzzz” Such modesty!
Now a normal fucked-up-drunk would have gone home at this stage but oh no not the Crombster and I, we were on a Fanta mission – if there was fun to be had, we were going to find it! And so off we drove to this place like half way to Timbuktu called Stonehavon – apparently it is some or other pub but alas we did not find out as the rather useless fucking thing had closed already. I mean what a joke?! How can things close at 1am in the god damn morning – in Jozi this would never happen… This is what Crombie and I preceded to biatch about the whole trip home – and boy was it one mother fucking long trip! In our alcohol induced state we kinda got lost. Technically this is Crombie’s fault as she should know the area but I wasn’t exactly a very good wing man at all – passed out halfway to somewhere. This tart did apologise big time and one time to Crombie, who in turn confessed she had fallen asleep as well… Now I can see the little wheels in your mind asking well then who the fuck was driving? *bashful grin* Crombie was, although technically she wasn’t so we came to the brilliant conclusion that her little Fiat Go comes with auto-pilot! Who knew of such wonders - VIVA LA FIAT!
Eventually the evening came to a rather drunk end which translates into us finally getting back to The Vaal and then of course being hungry enough to eat a hamburger and 4 children! So the Excel garage become our new best friend until of course they pissed this tart off by not having Chutney Simba chips – totally criminal. In the end we settled for a Peri-Peri pie (which was fucking hot and tasted like a fucked-off chicken pie to me…) a bag of Doritos and Big Corn Bites – and I ain’t talking the small packets here people. Oh no, the big guns were brought out! After consuming our body weight in food, it was time to pass out – somehow I managed to actually put my jammies on first – yay, go me, so talented!
Sunday – Sunday was spent doing as little as possible and eating… Eating whatever we could think of to fill the gapping whole that was our stomachs. Gone was my head and instead a thump mobile – oh the pain! We did manage to put in quite an appearance at Crombie’s brother’s braai. Heh heh, he thought I was someone famous aka a SA celeb so technically like a C-Grade hoo ha but still fucking hilarious! Her poor bro had nightmares of “me the celeb” coming to their braai *bu ha ha* Nice to see I haven’t lost my touch! Of course Crombie’s bro’s little nunu who isn’t quite a snot-bag yet took an instant liking to me – who knew that my mojo had personified to such an extent that even 6½ month old boys want me *lol*!
Tanking you kindly Crombie for a weekend that was fit for not just one king, but for many!
We ser-i-us-ly kick some major ass!
Crombie is in looooooooove… She has this major thing for Joe Niemand and so me being the completely supportive tart that I am, gladly obliged with eagerness when we went off to Back 2 Basix to scream like a bunch of fucking horny love-struck teenagers. Naturally, Crombie managed to rope a few more peeps into the equation and so our table, which was THE best mother fucking table in that place, everyone else just sat there with the odd toned down “woo hoo” being said in a raised voice – these people are all kind of freaks! This of course ensured that the big man noticed us and saw Crombie getting up on that big wide wooden stage and singing her little heart out with Niemand – all for the sake of Live concert tickets (which of course she got cause she totally kicks ass and of course by the time we managed to get to the Dome the concert was finito, no more, hasta la vista – I mean what the fuck kinda bullshit concert was it anyway…) Oh well, the 45 minute trip was entertaining:
1. we got picked up by some very cute boys in a black Peugeot – extra points because their car was black
2. we started figuring out names for peoples cars using their number plates e.g PMD = Pick My Dick, FVB = Fucks Very Badly, PDN = Poes + Dick = Nookie, SSD = She Sucks Dick, Mine stands for She Has Balls / Super Hot Blonde (we couldn’t decide) whilst Crombie’s is She Takes Yours…(once again we kept saying how fucking lucky she is that she didn’t get stuck with STD, never a good thing when you are a shit-hot chicken!)
Ah yes Saturday… Heh heh heh. Well this day saw Crombie and I being raised at the fucking crack of dawn and heading down to The Vaal. I think The Vaal now stands for fucking debaucherious behaviour and way too much drinking – who knew?! Basically Crombie and I spent the whole day at The Riviera, being scoped out oh by pretty much everybody and in particular a very large bunch of Jozi boys who then tried to show off – much like kids in a paddling pool who keep yelling for their Parentals to keep watching them; very cute but it gets fucking tiring / annoying very fucking quickly! Eventually we decided that we had been complete lazy tarts for long enough and headed back to her mom’s place (Crombie has such a cool family, little strange like mine, but very cool) where we managed to transform ourselves into shnazzy Jozi tarts but in a casual kinda way – as after all this was The Vaal!
Anyhoodle… We went back to The Riviera and drank some more, had fucking interesting convo’s about who the fuck knows what, although I do remember that we decided on giving Crombie’s Nice Guy (who she is kinda seeing but in a very non-official kinda way, personally I like to think of it as her keeping her options open, when in doubt: deny, deny, deny!) a wardrobe makeover. I mean the man wears fucking chino’s at the age of 27! And you know that nobody looks fuckable in a pair of chinos – they just look like a fucking idiot number one and number two, if you have a continental dad, they remind you of him – not exactly the look you wanna go for when you have the desire to give him a rogering…
After getting bored at The Riviera we hub-nubbed it to a Café Paparazzi (love the name) were we slummed it for the rest of evening. Basically we landed up paruzzing places such as The Dros (said in heavy Afrikaans accent as I discovered), then off to some skanky little “club” called Café Attica (at least I think that’s what it was called, too pissed at this stage to even remember my own name) where the DJ was clearly just über fucking excited about having a smoke machine and hence at one stage I was tempted to scream: FIRE! Needless to say when the opportunity presents itself in terms of throwing name, you fucking do and in the process you get mother fuckingly shit-faced.
Eventually this little jol had Crombie and I arrive at the conclusion that it was time to move on. This was mainly due to the following:
1. I had some old dude, almost farting dust age, tell me I had nice ankles – I mean excuse me while I just vomit in my mouth!
2. Crombie and I had an argument with some dick-watt who drives a GTI Golf 5 (I mean nice car and all but it hardly made him an expert on the subject) surrounding the fact that having a good romp in an Aston Martin is far more pleasurable that in a Ferrari – merely from a space point of view of course. This poes, however, didn’t agree – I mean after all he knows cars *scoff* Like I said, complete fugly fuckwitt!
So we landed up heading off to a small place called Denim & Jeans (I mean I can like to go out in my short jean pant and denim belt – oi man ek lyk so pritty!) We walked in and….. we fucking ran out! All I remember is hearing Bokjol FyF pumping op die stereo and I knew it was time to vacate the are-ee-a! I mean I just stood there and was like: Nay, nay, nay, 1000 times nay!!!! Naturally being at a pissed level of oh 1 000 000, Crombie and my more artistic side came to the surface: her poor car! It drove around for the rest of the evening with “Crombie and BoozyT kick ass!” “We’re shit hot” “We’re hot – ssszzzzz” Such modesty!
Now a normal fucked-up-drunk would have gone home at this stage but oh no not the Crombster and I, we were on a Fanta mission – if there was fun to be had, we were going to find it! And so off we drove to this place like half way to Timbuktu called Stonehavon – apparently it is some or other pub but alas we did not find out as the rather useless fucking thing had closed already. I mean what a joke?! How can things close at 1am in the god damn morning – in Jozi this would never happen… This is what Crombie and I preceded to biatch about the whole trip home – and boy was it one mother fucking long trip! In our alcohol induced state we kinda got lost. Technically this is Crombie’s fault as she should know the area but I wasn’t exactly a very good wing man at all – passed out halfway to somewhere. This tart did apologise big time and one time to Crombie, who in turn confessed she had fallen asleep as well… Now I can see the little wheels in your mind asking well then who the fuck was driving? *bashful grin* Crombie was, although technically she wasn’t so we came to the brilliant conclusion that her little Fiat Go comes with auto-pilot! Who knew of such wonders - VIVA LA FIAT!
Eventually the evening came to a rather drunk end which translates into us finally getting back to The Vaal and then of course being hungry enough to eat a hamburger and 4 children! So the Excel garage become our new best friend until of course they pissed this tart off by not having Chutney Simba chips – totally criminal. In the end we settled for a Peri-Peri pie (which was fucking hot and tasted like a fucked-off chicken pie to me…) a bag of Doritos and Big Corn Bites – and I ain’t talking the small packets here people. Oh no, the big guns were brought out! After consuming our body weight in food, it was time to pass out – somehow I managed to actually put my jammies on first – yay, go me, so talented!
Sunday – Sunday was spent doing as little as possible and eating… Eating whatever we could think of to fill the gapping whole that was our stomachs. Gone was my head and instead a thump mobile – oh the pain! We did manage to put in quite an appearance at Crombie’s brother’s braai. Heh heh, he thought I was someone famous aka a SA celeb so technically like a C-Grade hoo ha but still fucking hilarious! Her poor bro had nightmares of “me the celeb” coming to their braai *bu ha ha* Nice to see I haven’t lost my touch! Of course Crombie’s bro’s little nunu who isn’t quite a snot-bag yet took an instant liking to me – who knew that my mojo had personified to such an extent that even 6½ month old boys want me *lol*!
Tanking you kindly Crombie for a weekend that was fit for not just one king, but for many!
We ser-i-us-ly kick some major ass!
Friday, October 27, 2006
An ode to Fridays
*dreamy sigh*
I just looooooooooooove Fridays! It has got to be the only work day that actually calls to you to get outta bed and start the day, knowing very fucking well that come 4 o’clock you and your ass are outta da office and ready to embrace the weekend and all the drinking, entertainment and just basic fuck-wittedge debaucherious (how I love this word) behaviour one could possibly imagine.
The mood that Fridays instill in people is even evident in the office guards’ faces – much friendlier and willing to beat the living be-jesus outta everyone cause that’s how they roll! This Friday in particular has seen one of our Directors in a particularly good mood… He went and saw Billy Joel last night and who the fuck knew that the Piano Man would have him singing down the passages?!
Apparently the taxi’s are on strike, again – who knew, and hence some of our kitchen staff aren’t in the office today. This Good-Mood Director thus took it upon himself to not only inform everyone in Our Company about this little debacle but to forward them the “handover” document… The best part is that he assigned tasks to the following people:
1. Tea Making – assigned to our very fucking scary Financial Manager – she is the type of lady that would have made you piss your pants as a snot rag aka kid. As this Good-Mood Director says: You gotta go for the big ones!
2. Organizing the Directors’ Lunch – assigned to the biggest chocolate grabber and general prankster of Our Company, can only fucking imagine what they would have gotten for lunch.
3. Vacuuming – (this is my personal favourite and Super-H und I roared with victory over this!) assigned to the Company Poes. This dick-watt thinks he is Brad Pitt re-fucking-incarnated when he couldn’t be further from the truth. He just irritates the fucking shit outta Super-H and I, complete and utter pond scummage material… Mmmm, oh poes face – I don’t see you fucking vacuuming bitch!
So yes, this Friday has gotten off to a tastic start *satisfied sigh* which hopefully will be translated into a tastic weekend filled with all things nice and spicy ;) The best part of today for this tart: I have a half day!
VIVA LA FRIDAYS!
I just looooooooooooove Fridays! It has got to be the only work day that actually calls to you to get outta bed and start the day, knowing very fucking well that come 4 o’clock you and your ass are outta da office and ready to embrace the weekend and all the drinking, entertainment and just basic fuck-wittedge debaucherious (how I love this word) behaviour one could possibly imagine.
The mood that Fridays instill in people is even evident in the office guards’ faces – much friendlier and willing to beat the living be-jesus outta everyone cause that’s how they roll! This Friday in particular has seen one of our Directors in a particularly good mood… He went and saw Billy Joel last night and who the fuck knew that the Piano Man would have him singing down the passages?!
Apparently the taxi’s are on strike, again – who knew, and hence some of our kitchen staff aren’t in the office today. This Good-Mood Director thus took it upon himself to not only inform everyone in Our Company about this little debacle but to forward them the “handover” document… The best part is that he assigned tasks to the following people:
1. Tea Making – assigned to our very fucking scary Financial Manager – she is the type of lady that would have made you piss your pants as a snot rag aka kid. As this Good-Mood Director says: You gotta go for the big ones!
2. Organizing the Directors’ Lunch – assigned to the biggest chocolate grabber and general prankster of Our Company, can only fucking imagine what they would have gotten for lunch.
3. Vacuuming – (this is my personal favourite and Super-H und I roared with victory over this!) assigned to the Company Poes. This dick-watt thinks he is Brad Pitt re-fucking-incarnated when he couldn’t be further from the truth. He just irritates the fucking shit outta Super-H and I, complete and utter pond scummage material… Mmmm, oh poes face – I don’t see you fucking vacuuming bitch!
So yes, this Friday has gotten off to a tastic start *satisfied sigh* which hopefully will be translated into a tastic weekend filled with all things nice and spicy ;) The best part of today for this tart: I have a half day!
VIVA LA FRIDAYS!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Glorious bastard
Choices – we have so many and yet so few sometimes…
We are all given choices in life, whether it be to turn left or right (unless of course you are a freak and can’t turn left like Zoolander), what cereal we are going to eat for breakie (personally, I choose Frosties or Choc Bits – I mean what an ingenious invention, chocolate in cereal, mmmm…) what we want to “become” (unless of course you are like my Vein Ex who’s dad was so über set on him becoming an accountant that he couldn’t see his son was anything but..) the car we drive, etc. Although this is technically a doubled-edged sword as many of us would love to drive a SLK 55 AMG / Beemer Z4 (always got your back Crombie) but alas our piss-willy slave salaries won’t allow it so it’s a choice but a rather limited choice…
I often ponder if this contradiction arising in one’s ability to choose things filters into the men we “date” – I place this in inverted commas as do people really date anymore…?! I mean your mate doesn’t introduce you to her new score and go: Oh chicken this is the guy I am dating *gag* Just sounds OLD, kinda like the saying chin-wag, I mean what the fuck?!
Now I know all the science stuff regarding pheromones, physical attractiveness etc (I won’t divulge into the biggest bullshit lie of course being attracted to someone for their personality. What a crock of scheit!) But my ponderation leads me to thunk about whether being lonely or dateless or desperate can effect your ability to find a guy attractive.
NB NOTE: this tart does not possess any of these highly anti-social qualities, at least for now – maybe when I am 50, all wrinkly and thoroughly fucked up from drinking too much, mmmm yes, maybe then…
I mean does being desperate, dateless or lonely or god forbid all three, lead to a lowering of one’s standards? Can this really turn a fiver into an 8? If so, I really wish my despair at not being able to buy new shoes would turn my old ones into Prada’s *sigh*
We are all given choices in life, whether it be to turn left or right (unless of course you are a freak and can’t turn left like Zoolander), what cereal we are going to eat for breakie (personally, I choose Frosties or Choc Bits – I mean what an ingenious invention, chocolate in cereal, mmmm…) what we want to “become” (unless of course you are like my Vein Ex who’s dad was so über set on him becoming an accountant that he couldn’t see his son was anything but..) the car we drive, etc. Although this is technically a doubled-edged sword as many of us would love to drive a SLK 55 AMG / Beemer Z4 (always got your back Crombie) but alas our piss-willy slave salaries won’t allow it so it’s a choice but a rather limited choice…
I often ponder if this contradiction arising in one’s ability to choose things filters into the men we “date” – I place this in inverted commas as do people really date anymore…?! I mean your mate doesn’t introduce you to her new score and go: Oh chicken this is the guy I am dating *gag* Just sounds OLD, kinda like the saying chin-wag, I mean what the fuck?!
Now I know all the science stuff regarding pheromones, physical attractiveness etc (I won’t divulge into the biggest bullshit lie of course being attracted to someone for their personality. What a crock of scheit!) But my ponderation leads me to thunk about whether being lonely or dateless or desperate can effect your ability to find a guy attractive.
NB NOTE: this tart does not possess any of these highly anti-social qualities, at least for now – maybe when I am 50, all wrinkly and thoroughly fucked up from drinking too much, mmmm yes, maybe then…
I mean does being desperate, dateless or lonely or god forbid all three, lead to a lowering of one’s standards? Can this really turn a fiver into an 8? If so, I really wish my despair at not being able to buy new shoes would turn my old ones into Prada’s *sigh*
Monday, October 23, 2006
Persistent Little Rabbit…
Friday night saw me have a rather enlightening encounter. And no, I am not talking about meeting the big man upstairs or my guardian angel (which was probably recovering from a fucking hangover). This enlightening encounter involved my Achilles Heel’s child-hood friend, Plain Jane.
Plain Jane and I had a very amusing convo on Friday night which after Crombie pointed out, made me finally realize that men will do anything for a score and the easier it is to get, the faster they are running of the pick-up lines… Zi convo went something like this:
PJ: Hey… How you been – you look stunning…
Me: Thanks, good to see you…
PJ: Do you still talk to Achilles Heel?
Me: Um kinda but not really, why???
At this point I am fucking smelling a dead rat…
PJ: Oh it’s just that we kinda got together in like June and ever since then he won’t return my phone calls, texts, nothing. He can go fuck himself for all I care. He is a complete asshole who is only interested in racking up the chicks.
I am now thinking – WHOA! Sounds like a female with the male version of penius envy to me. She is also sounding rather fucking crazy at this point but I figure I’ll run with it. I have after all never been the type of tart to turn down a chance to get some great goss especially when it pertains to my Achilles Heel… So of course I played the supportive ear *wicked grin*
Me: Oh I didn’t know that. Shame man – you sound like you are having a rough time with it but then again it’s not like you guys shagged each other so it shouldn’t have affected the friendship as badly as you say…
Note the subtle fishing – fucking A, who says tarts can’t fish?!
PJ: I know but he is just such a…a…. I mean I go to his dad’s house for dinner loads of times with my folks and I know he doesn’t come because he knows that I will be there. I mean we just kissed and so I just don’t get it… He just doesn’t know what he wants and I just can’t believe that he didn’t tell you either…
Now in order to fully understand my fucking amusement and pure joy at this statement you need to grasp the following:
1. She goes to these dinners uninvited…She just tags along – like the fat ugly kid at school who used to try and sneak into your sleep-over parties all the fucking time… very irritating
2. These dinners are at my Achilles Heel’s dad’s house (emphasis on Achilles Heel’s dad’s house) so why the fuck she thinks he would be there just amazes me – I mean the man is 25 for fuck’s sake and unlike her is not attached to her parentals ass hole!
3. Actually he knows exactly what he wants – it just isn’t you… This is when I realize that my brothers favourite saying of: meat is meat and a man’s gotta eat… applies to this situation
4. He never said anything because you obviously weren’t that memorable plus I had just blown him off (still trying to understand that decision – sigh)
5. He didn’t shag her!!!!!!!!!!
Me: Oh well, shit happens. I mean things like this happen all the time…
PJ: I know, I mean just because we have seen each other naked doesn’t mean we can’t be friends…
Ffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
Nnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooooo - see number 5 above!
I just consoled myself with the fact that it must have been a very hectic snog session or she was lying (Crombie voted for this option) or even better yet – he saw her naked and decided: fuck no, I ain’t giving that a rogering! I think I like that option best…
PJ: I mean it is ssssooooooooo bad that when I see him out he doesn’t even greet me…
Ka-ching! Jackpot…
Me: Oh really – that’s odd and so sad. Strange though, Achilles Heel isn’t like that, at least not with me… Are you sure?
PJ: Oh… Of course I am sure, it was that night at The Palms that just all happened to be there…I mean he just totally ignored me and then sat watching some other chick on the dance floor the whole night… So unfair! Fucking bastard! *her friend waves* Oh well have a good evening, see you around…
Alleluia! Alleluia!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
I, of course being the totally fabulous drunken tart that I am didn’t see the point in being a total fucking bitch (was oh so extremely tempted but I just know that Karma would come back and bite me in the ass over shit like that) and hence didn’t tell her that THAT chick on the dance floor that night… was me!
Plain Jane and I had a very amusing convo on Friday night which after Crombie pointed out, made me finally realize that men will do anything for a score and the easier it is to get, the faster they are running of the pick-up lines… Zi convo went something like this:
PJ: Hey… How you been – you look stunning…
Me: Thanks, good to see you…
PJ: Do you still talk to Achilles Heel?
Me: Um kinda but not really, why???
At this point I am fucking smelling a dead rat…
PJ: Oh it’s just that we kinda got together in like June and ever since then he won’t return my phone calls, texts, nothing. He can go fuck himself for all I care. He is a complete asshole who is only interested in racking up the chicks.
I am now thinking – WHOA! Sounds like a female with the male version of penius envy to me. She is also sounding rather fucking crazy at this point but I figure I’ll run with it. I have after all never been the type of tart to turn down a chance to get some great goss especially when it pertains to my Achilles Heel… So of course I played the supportive ear *wicked grin*
Me: Oh I didn’t know that. Shame man – you sound like you are having a rough time with it but then again it’s not like you guys shagged each other so it shouldn’t have affected the friendship as badly as you say…
Note the subtle fishing – fucking A, who says tarts can’t fish?!
PJ: I know but he is just such a…a…. I mean I go to his dad’s house for dinner loads of times with my folks and I know he doesn’t come because he knows that I will be there. I mean we just kissed and so I just don’t get it… He just doesn’t know what he wants and I just can’t believe that he didn’t tell you either…
Now in order to fully understand my fucking amusement and pure joy at this statement you need to grasp the following:
1. She goes to these dinners uninvited…She just tags along – like the fat ugly kid at school who used to try and sneak into your sleep-over parties all the fucking time… very irritating
2. These dinners are at my Achilles Heel’s dad’s house (emphasis on Achilles Heel’s dad’s house) so why the fuck she thinks he would be there just amazes me – I mean the man is 25 for fuck’s sake and unlike her is not attached to her parentals ass hole!
3. Actually he knows exactly what he wants – it just isn’t you… This is when I realize that my brothers favourite saying of: meat is meat and a man’s gotta eat… applies to this situation
4. He never said anything because you obviously weren’t that memorable plus I had just blown him off (still trying to understand that decision – sigh)
5. He didn’t shag her!!!!!!!!!!
Me: Oh well, shit happens. I mean things like this happen all the time…
PJ: I know, I mean just because we have seen each other naked doesn’t mean we can’t be friends…
Ffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
Nnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooooo - see number 5 above!
I just consoled myself with the fact that it must have been a very hectic snog session or she was lying (Crombie voted for this option) or even better yet – he saw her naked and decided: fuck no, I ain’t giving that a rogering! I think I like that option best…
PJ: I mean it is ssssooooooooo bad that when I see him out he doesn’t even greet me…
Ka-ching! Jackpot…
Me: Oh really – that’s odd and so sad. Strange though, Achilles Heel isn’t like that, at least not with me… Are you sure?
PJ: Oh… Of course I am sure, it was that night at The Palms that just all happened to be there…I mean he just totally ignored me and then sat watching some other chick on the dance floor the whole night… So unfair! Fucking bastard! *her friend waves* Oh well have a good evening, see you around…
Alleluia! Alleluia!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
I, of course being the totally fabulous drunken tart that I am didn’t see the point in being a total fucking bitch (was oh so extremely tempted but I just know that Karma would come back and bite me in the ass over shit like that) and hence didn’t tell her that THAT chick on the dance floor that night… was me!
Wie wie!
Ah, the French… Now I know that most tarts have dreamt of spending an evening with a rather swanky looking Parisian, sipping on French champagne, paruzzing along the cobble-stone streets of Pari and being schmoozed in the language of looooooove… Well Friday night it was this tart’s turn – lucky lucky lady! My little rendezvous was just as expected – expect of course without the Pari part or the champers for that matter (it was offered but alas too many Tequilas meant that I totally forgot to say yes – Crombie I apologise muchos grandes for this fuck up, can’t believe I didn’t close the Moët deal!)
Anyhoo, my little French fucker turned out to not only be utterly snogable and a definite 9/10, but a Gucci rep! *shock, horror, coronary attack* I’m sorry I don’t think that has fucking sunk in yet so I’ll repeat myself – A FUCKING GUCCI REP! Of course this did not affect my judgment at all when deciding whether or not to snog the living Be-Jesus outta him, after all I am not a shallow tart ;) Super-H and I tried to understand what the fuck this gorgeous creature dressed head-to-tope in Gucci was saying (me trying rather pathetically to speak what small, useless amounts of Italian I know and Super-H trying to remember her school-girl French) after which, I decided that less talk and more action was most definitely required!
I do, however, fear that I owe Super-H and Crombie an apology for so not keeping it PG at all. Actually I think that apology needs to be extended to the whole of Qba as well *bashful smile*… My bad or was it my good?!
Anyhoo, my little French fucker turned out to not only be utterly snogable and a definite 9/10, but a Gucci rep! *shock, horror, coronary attack* I’m sorry I don’t think that has fucking sunk in yet so I’ll repeat myself – A FUCKING GUCCI REP! Of course this did not affect my judgment at all when deciding whether or not to snog the living Be-Jesus outta him, after all I am not a shallow tart ;) Super-H and I tried to understand what the fuck this gorgeous creature dressed head-to-tope in Gucci was saying (me trying rather pathetically to speak what small, useless amounts of Italian I know and Super-H trying to remember her school-girl French) after which, I decided that less talk and more action was most definitely required!
I do, however, fear that I owe Super-H and Crombie an apology for so not keeping it PG at all. Actually I think that apology needs to be extended to the whole of Qba as well *bashful smile*… My bad or was it my good?!
Friday, October 20, 2006
I don’t feel like dancin’, no sir, no dancin’ today!
Ever had someone pop your bubble of happiness? Piss on your parade? Ruin your mojo? Well that’s what happened to me this morning. There I was all ready to skip to my car, my tarty heart pumping full of love, ready to kiss the flowers, grass, my beautiful car and the rest of the Jozi population heading down William Nicol whilst screaming a fat ol’ how ya doing? when my thunder was stolen right from under me… I can tell you it was the second most depressing thing I have ever fucking felt.
The first was when my mojo disappeared and then of course there is the thought of now having to give up vino in exchange for whisky *gag* or even worse never be able to drink about… Ok so its like numero three but it was still fucking depressing and brought me to tears – which for a tart of my caliber is an unprecedented thing!
Now normally this person would have incurred all types of my wrath and would probably have been cursed in 3 languages as well as missing an eyeball or two but for some reason my not-so-evident-anymore-good-mood managed to calm down the boozed up tart in me to a mild state of pissed-off-ness where I was able to be the bigger person (not quite sure what the fuck for but I ran with it) and merely slammed the door hard enough so as to wake my fucking neighbours. Oh and let’s not forgot the oh-so-sugary-sweet-smile that was flashed simultaneously! Aha – how fucking trivial do I sound right now? Mmmm…
Anyhooz, this morning’s thunder stealing was just THAT depressing that after I told Crombie about it, she posted a blog all about how fabulous I am – which is so very true – to try and cheer me up. And it did a bit, worked wonders for getting the warm fuzzy feeling back und I now truly realise the value of friends… Luff you all longtime fi’ dollar, in non-lesbo way of course!
I did still feel a bit down – actually down enough to contemplate NOT going out tonight! Can you fucking handle that? Me, the boozy tart, sit at home on a bloody Friday night? (when I told Crombie this I could almost hear her choking on her coffee) Yes, my thunder was gone and I was nothing now but a mere mortal tart, who for once, thought the idea of watching TV on a Friday night was relatively cool… *depressing sigh* I was gonna give up or pass up a night of boogying, getting down on it and getting jiggy wit it all cause of this thief! Fuck writing this is even making me more depressed! I WANT MY THUNDER BACK – WHAAAAAAAAAAAAA! (picture the new KFC ad)
Karma though must fucking love me cause this thunder stealer called to apologise *victorious smile* which was enough to make me almost keel over and peg – this thunder stealer never apologises to me without making me sweat for at least the entire day… mmmm, maybe things are a changing! To this thunder stealer – thank you, you are totally forgiven but do it again and we have problems sugar!
The first was when my mojo disappeared and then of course there is the thought of now having to give up vino in exchange for whisky *gag* or even worse never be able to drink about… Ok so its like numero three but it was still fucking depressing and brought me to tears – which for a tart of my caliber is an unprecedented thing!
Now normally this person would have incurred all types of my wrath and would probably have been cursed in 3 languages as well as missing an eyeball or two but for some reason my not-so-evident-anymore-good-mood managed to calm down the boozed up tart in me to a mild state of pissed-off-ness where I was able to be the bigger person (not quite sure what the fuck for but I ran with it) and merely slammed the door hard enough so as to wake my fucking neighbours. Oh and let’s not forgot the oh-so-sugary-sweet-smile that was flashed simultaneously! Aha – how fucking trivial do I sound right now? Mmmm…
Anyhooz, this morning’s thunder stealing was just THAT depressing that after I told Crombie about it, she posted a blog all about how fabulous I am – which is so very true – to try and cheer me up. And it did a bit, worked wonders for getting the warm fuzzy feeling back und I now truly realise the value of friends… Luff you all longtime fi’ dollar, in non-lesbo way of course!
I did still feel a bit down – actually down enough to contemplate NOT going out tonight! Can you fucking handle that? Me, the boozy tart, sit at home on a bloody Friday night? (when I told Crombie this I could almost hear her choking on her coffee) Yes, my thunder was gone and I was nothing now but a mere mortal tart, who for once, thought the idea of watching TV on a Friday night was relatively cool… *depressing sigh* I was gonna give up or pass up a night of boogying, getting down on it and getting jiggy wit it all cause of this thief! Fuck writing this is even making me more depressed! I WANT MY THUNDER BACK – WHAAAAAAAAAAAAA! (picture the new KFC ad)
Karma though must fucking love me cause this thunder stealer called to apologise *victorious smile* which was enough to make me almost keel over and peg – this thunder stealer never apologises to me without making me sweat for at least the entire day… mmmm, maybe things are a changing! To this thunder stealer – thank you, you are totally forgiven but do it again and we have problems sugar!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Sometimes I sits and helps and sometimes I just sits!
So last night my team and I had The Dinner. The Dinner involved hub nubbing with our Directors as well as our big international CFO – their idea of course and in some way this was to thank us for being well, the best fucking team they have ever had! Too bloody right *chuffed smile* Now the evening and the wine flowed fantastically, much to my surprise, and the food was excellente (big thank you to Piccolo Mondo – I’ll definitely be back, when the bill isn’t mine of course!)
A comment was made though at the beginning of the evening which not only saw the tart break out in cold sweats but the I tie in me was ready to kill! I have cousins who have friends who cousins who have connections… CEO simply asked me, with a dead-pan face as well – the bastard, if I thought that Tame B was a good boss? I’m sorry I didn’t catch that – can you repeat?! At first I thought he was joking – I mean Tame B, my and Super-H’s boss? hahahahaha, good one – if this CEO thing doesn’t work out at least you know you can make it as a comedian!
I stood there, glanced over to Tame B waiting for her to tell him that he had it all wrong – she wasn’t our boss, just a mere team mate, one of the pond scums like us… I waited, und I waited some more and then I realised it wasn’t gonna happen, she was just standing fluttering her eyelids and so if I actually wanted something to eat (at this point was starving and could have eaten a chunk outta a horses ass!) I had to answer him – you know swallow my pride and confess to being someone’s fucking kippie! I managed to mumble something into my vino (whoever said alcohol wasn’t useful was a fucking liar) which he seemed happy with and along we went or so everyone thought…
I have a terrible habit of harping – and this comment was going to become the next big harpe! I woke up this morning and pondered: how the fuck did the Directors get this “idea” into their heads? I mean ok so she was here before Super-H und moi but then again so were the bloody dinosaurs…And then it hit me – like a ton of fucking bricks *BAM*: she must be feeding the idea and the fucking ignoramuses that we call our true bosses are lapping this scheit up, mouthful by mouthful! It makes perfect sense and what better way than to look like the poster child for fucking Noddy Badges than to portray your team mates as your fucking bend-over-backwards-so-I-can-ass-rape-you phlebs! Nice, clever and mostly very fucking sneaky! I mean how else do you make sure that your star is always the shiniest and the brightest and the prettiest – you can surely see the sick picture that is starting to form here!
In my moment of pure genius, all the condescending comments and behaviour made sense – the fucking bossy glances, all of it! It fit like a fucking warped out puzzle! As Super-H so brilliantly stated:
It truly gets me twitching when she takes that pseudo-authoritative tone with me. I just want to scream “yes, I know! I HAVE managed to tie my shoelaces and get to work this morning. Oh, and I’ve also written quite a few successful proposals before this one THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!”
Nicely said Super-H! Luff you longtime fi’ dollar – thank fuck I work with someone normal!!!
In the midst of this cocky Whose The Boss bullshit, Tame B’s most mother fucking annoying habit dawned on me and the root of its evil become evident! She makes damn fucking sure that you know how hard she works, how late she is working, how tired she is, how long she has been at work for, how, how, HOWWWWWWWWW!!!! It’s just so fucking irritating – I mean the key to working in life is to work smart, not long aka slow for poes sake… But I figure it’s her fucking life and if she wants to piss it away sitting at a desk doing countless hours of slavery only to turn around and receive her weekly pat on the head from CEO then she can go blow herself cause I certainly won’t be joining her!
Super-H and I considered the option of selling ourselves pretty much down the same river and then realised that we could do that just by standing at our desk looking all lush and tart like! Besides, one day the tables shall be turned and we will be decked head-to-toe in nothing but Prada, Gucci and Dolce & Gabbana whilst Tame B will be asking: can you spell Gabbana for me?!
Ps. To Karma: this blog posting doesn’t count towards my overall Great Human Being Award!
A comment was made though at the beginning of the evening which not only saw the tart break out in cold sweats but the I tie in me was ready to kill! I have cousins who have friends who cousins who have connections… CEO simply asked me, with a dead-pan face as well – the bastard, if I thought that Tame B was a good boss? I’m sorry I didn’t catch that – can you repeat?! At first I thought he was joking – I mean Tame B, my and Super-H’s boss? hahahahaha, good one – if this CEO thing doesn’t work out at least you know you can make it as a comedian!
I stood there, glanced over to Tame B waiting for her to tell him that he had it all wrong – she wasn’t our boss, just a mere team mate, one of the pond scums like us… I waited, und I waited some more and then I realised it wasn’t gonna happen, she was just standing fluttering her eyelids and so if I actually wanted something to eat (at this point was starving and could have eaten a chunk outta a horses ass!) I had to answer him – you know swallow my pride and confess to being someone’s fucking kippie! I managed to mumble something into my vino (whoever said alcohol wasn’t useful was a fucking liar) which he seemed happy with and along we went or so everyone thought…
I have a terrible habit of harping – and this comment was going to become the next big harpe! I woke up this morning and pondered: how the fuck did the Directors get this “idea” into their heads? I mean ok so she was here before Super-H und moi but then again so were the bloody dinosaurs…And then it hit me – like a ton of fucking bricks *BAM*: she must be feeding the idea and the fucking ignoramuses that we call our true bosses are lapping this scheit up, mouthful by mouthful! It makes perfect sense and what better way than to look like the poster child for fucking Noddy Badges than to portray your team mates as your fucking bend-over-backwards-so-I-can-ass-rape-you phlebs! Nice, clever and mostly very fucking sneaky! I mean how else do you make sure that your star is always the shiniest and the brightest and the prettiest – you can surely see the sick picture that is starting to form here!
In my moment of pure genius, all the condescending comments and behaviour made sense – the fucking bossy glances, all of it! It fit like a fucking warped out puzzle! As Super-H so brilliantly stated:
It truly gets me twitching when she takes that pseudo-authoritative tone with me. I just want to scream “yes, I know! I HAVE managed to tie my shoelaces and get to work this morning. Oh, and I’ve also written quite a few successful proposals before this one THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!”
Nicely said Super-H! Luff you longtime fi’ dollar – thank fuck I work with someone normal!!!
In the midst of this cocky Whose The Boss bullshit, Tame B’s most mother fucking annoying habit dawned on me and the root of its evil become evident! She makes damn fucking sure that you know how hard she works, how late she is working, how tired she is, how long she has been at work for, how, how, HOWWWWWWWWW!!!! It’s just so fucking irritating – I mean the key to working in life is to work smart, not long aka slow for poes sake… But I figure it’s her fucking life and if she wants to piss it away sitting at a desk doing countless hours of slavery only to turn around and receive her weekly pat on the head from CEO then she can go blow herself cause I certainly won’t be joining her!
Super-H and I considered the option of selling ourselves pretty much down the same river and then realised that we could do that just by standing at our desk looking all lush and tart like! Besides, one day the tables shall be turned and we will be decked head-to-toe in nothing but Prada, Gucci and Dolce & Gabbana whilst Tame B will be asking: can you spell Gabbana for me?!
Ps. To Karma: this blog posting doesn’t count towards my overall Great Human Being Award!
Indemnity me? No indemnity you!
Indemnity forms – at some point in our lives we have all had to sign these white, crisp pieces of paper that basically give our teacher, camp leader, guide or more recently the gym instructor or even the gym for that matter permission to cut off all our toes, because we fucked them off or broke something, and we have no legal action or course to take against them!
This morning saw me signing an indemnity form at the Gym – lucky lucky lady I tell you! Here I was ready to sign this little piece of paper basically giving these slave driving, bun-busting bastards permission to take away my rights to sue! In the midst of waiting for the fucking indemnity dude to arrive (how hilarious, they have a specific guy to do this – I ponder if he has an indemnity form indemnifying the Gym from any injuries he might sustain from fucked off gymers?!) I started picturing the scenarios I could have used 2 weeks ago (before the clever fucks realized that I hadn’t signed one of these things…) or that could unfold in front of my eyes today:
Scenario 1:
Whilst perving at the hottie in a tight Tee, I would miss place my footing and hit my chin on the treadmill bar thus sending me flying backwards into the bicycles. Blood pouring down my face, me screaming in sheer pain – the Gym response: Sorry for you, we indemnified your ass tart! My claim: the Gym shouldn’t be allowed to have such beefcakes on their premises with single women like me around. I mean really, whatever happened to being considerate – they can train at 7am, when all the fatties come out and play!
Scenario 2:
During my session in hell aka gym training session on the treadmill, I would – from pure exhaustion and over-working it on this damned thing – collapse thus my one leg would go flying in the opposite direction, getting caught on Poser No1’s tread and hence would break, whilst the rest of me got clobbered on the fuckign head a few times by the revolving walk-mac? There would be oodles of blood and screams, naturally… Ahhhh, and then I would awaken (from being totally unconscious of course) to find them smiling – smugly – saying: shame, it’s a pity she signed that indemnity form!
By the time that Indemnity Boy for the Gym got to me, I was a wreck…sweaty palms, my heart
was racing, cotton mouth had set in and I was about to blow my fuse like Mount Crack-a-toe-a! I think I had a full blown panic attack… Eventually I gave in – I sold my soul to the Indemnity Devil, had no choice really (that’s what I tell myself to make me feel better). And all for the fucking crappy-ass use of a gym…!
This morning saw me signing an indemnity form at the Gym – lucky lucky lady I tell you! Here I was ready to sign this little piece of paper basically giving these slave driving, bun-busting bastards permission to take away my rights to sue! In the midst of waiting for the fucking indemnity dude to arrive (how hilarious, they have a specific guy to do this – I ponder if he has an indemnity form indemnifying the Gym from any injuries he might sustain from fucked off gymers?!) I started picturing the scenarios I could have used 2 weeks ago (before the clever fucks realized that I hadn’t signed one of these things…) or that could unfold in front of my eyes today:
Scenario 1:
Whilst perving at the hottie in a tight Tee, I would miss place my footing and hit my chin on the treadmill bar thus sending me flying backwards into the bicycles. Blood pouring down my face, me screaming in sheer pain – the Gym response: Sorry for you, we indemnified your ass tart! My claim: the Gym shouldn’t be allowed to have such beefcakes on their premises with single women like me around. I mean really, whatever happened to being considerate – they can train at 7am, when all the fatties come out and play!
Scenario 2:
During my session in hell aka gym training session on the treadmill, I would – from pure exhaustion and over-working it on this damned thing – collapse thus my one leg would go flying in the opposite direction, getting caught on Poser No1’s tread and hence would break, whilst the rest of me got clobbered on the fuckign head a few times by the revolving walk-mac? There would be oodles of blood and screams, naturally… Ahhhh, and then I would awaken (from being totally unconscious of course) to find them smiling – smugly – saying: shame, it’s a pity she signed that indemnity form!
By the time that Indemnity Boy for the Gym got to me, I was a wreck…sweaty palms, my heart
was racing, cotton mouth had set in and I was about to blow my fuse like Mount Crack-a-toe-a! I think I had a full blown panic attack… Eventually I gave in – I sold my soul to the Indemnity Devil, had no choice really (that’s what I tell myself to make me feel better). And all for the fucking crappy-ass use of a gym…!
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Beeyatchy Colleagues Incorporated
Fuck me, I have never ever seen a grown man drop a strop. I’m talking about al serious faccia lunga here people! I mean for fuck’s sake! *breathe* It’s like working with my baby brothers when they were four!
My colleague, we’ll call this wittle boy Grumpy as that is all he seems to be lately, has just popped my little bubble of happiness and hence has been receiving death stares every 10 minutes for the last 2 hours or so und this is why…
I mean he skulks around the office bitching and moaning like a tart with PMS about HOW much work he has. Now personally I fucking hate people like this…
1. We all have fucking shit loads of work to do tad pole so get over it
2. Nobody cares how busy you are you dumb fuck
3. Just say no when your capacity is already been extended to match the Great Wall of China, it’s real easy – repeat after me: N-O!
4. GROW SOME FUCKING CAHONIES!
Now Grumpy managed to piss on my parade this morning in a big way! Super-H wasn’t too chuffed with the wittle bugger either. Basically there are 4 of us in my “team” – Super-H, moi, Tame B and the Grumpster. The Grumpster is the newby, the Matilda and therefore has no rank whatsoever with us tarts, plus he is the only male in our team and hence has no say *har har har* Anyhooz, the just is that Super-H and I traded with Tame B and him to go to various company events – unfortunately for us Our Company is anal retentive and hence cannot allow my entire team out for a few hours – god fucking forbid! So Grumpy then decides, after he has been to event numero uno, that he now wants to go to event numero due! which basically translates into having to draw bloody fucking retarded straws to decide who goes! I mean for fuck’s sake dude, how old are you – I thought we all passed kindergarten a very fucking long time ago! Jeee-sus!
So I now find myself having no more sympathy for the poor wittle bastard as well as visions of me hitting his head against his computer screen, brick wall, basically anything that is solid really just to show my appreciation for him being such a big boy! What he hasn’t realized yet is that he messed with the wrong tart – I ain’t afraid of no popo! And with Super-H on my side, Beeyatchy Colleagues Incorporated is ready to tackle this little fucker head-on!
Next thing you know he will bring his fucking dummy with him to work!
My colleague, we’ll call this wittle boy Grumpy as that is all he seems to be lately, has just popped my little bubble of happiness and hence has been receiving death stares every 10 minutes for the last 2 hours or so und this is why…
I mean he skulks around the office bitching and moaning like a tart with PMS about HOW much work he has. Now personally I fucking hate people like this…
1. We all have fucking shit loads of work to do tad pole so get over it
2. Nobody cares how busy you are you dumb fuck
3. Just say no when your capacity is already been extended to match the Great Wall of China, it’s real easy – repeat after me: N-O!
4. GROW SOME FUCKING CAHONIES!
Now Grumpy managed to piss on my parade this morning in a big way! Super-H wasn’t too chuffed with the wittle bugger either. Basically there are 4 of us in my “team” – Super-H, moi, Tame B and the Grumpster. The Grumpster is the newby, the Matilda and therefore has no rank whatsoever with us tarts, plus he is the only male in our team and hence has no say *har har har* Anyhooz, the just is that Super-H and I traded with Tame B and him to go to various company events – unfortunately for us Our Company is anal retentive and hence cannot allow my entire team out for a few hours – god fucking forbid! So Grumpy then decides, after he has been to event numero uno, that he now wants to go to event numero due! which basically translates into having to draw bloody fucking retarded straws to decide who goes! I mean for fuck’s sake dude, how old are you – I thought we all passed kindergarten a very fucking long time ago! Jeee-sus!
So I now find myself having no more sympathy for the poor wittle bastard as well as visions of me hitting his head against his computer screen, brick wall, basically anything that is solid really just to show my appreciation for him being such a big boy! What he hasn’t realized yet is that he messed with the wrong tart – I ain’t afraid of no popo! And with Super-H on my side, Beeyatchy Colleagues Incorporated is ready to tackle this little fucker head-on!
Next thing you know he will bring his fucking dummy with him to work!
Would you like some cheese with that wine?!
What it is with the men of today? They seem to have traded places with us tarts / chicks and have now become the more complicated species, playing a good round of games on a frequent basis and just plain not being able to tell us what they want, need or even wanna do for fuck’s sake. I mean they have completely developed this hero-complex where they think that women of today still stare out of their bedroom windows at night with this wide-eyed starry, bunny in head lights look and wish and hope and pray that their knight in shining armour will gallop up on a white pony, sorry I meant horse, and whisk them away!
Crombie and I debated this very issue last night over a rather delicious bottle of vino. Her recent Cyber Friend who then become a reality and saw the Crombster crossing the finish line has turned into a relevant bloody over-analysing hero-complex male. I mean for fuck’s sake dude, nobody needs saving! If you would like to make yourself useful and to fulfill that hero desire inside you (that’s right you sing it Mariah!) then become a firefighter or go rescue kittens from massive oak tress for fuck’s sake. But do us women all a bloody mother fucking favour and GET OVER YOURSELF!
Unless we have a neon sign slapped on our ass that flashes red with the words SAVE ME, then fuck off! You will have greater success wanking yourself than saving a "sexual revolution" tart!
Crombie and I debated this very issue last night over a rather delicious bottle of vino. Her recent Cyber Friend who then become a reality and saw the Crombster crossing the finish line has turned into a relevant bloody over-analysing hero-complex male. I mean for fuck’s sake dude, nobody needs saving! If you would like to make yourself useful and to fulfill that hero desire inside you (that’s right you sing it Mariah!) then become a firefighter or go rescue kittens from massive oak tress for fuck’s sake. But do us women all a bloody mother fucking favour and GET OVER YOURSELF!
Unless we have a neon sign slapped on our ass that flashes red with the words SAVE ME, then fuck off! You will have greater success wanking yourself than saving a "sexual revolution" tart!
Monday, October 16, 2006
Hang-over Shmang-over!
It’s official: I’m getting old or at least feel like I am! *sniff sniff* I mean gone are the days of being able to go out on a huge mother fucking piss up and give it horns almost every night. Yip, I’m getting old alright – I mean one big night for me and I am toast, finito, fucked, KO, non-comprende… You get the idea. Now this is hugely devastating to a tart like me! I thrive on drunken action and sozzled chit chat…
I remember the days when I could drink my boys under the table – their only tarty chick friend to ever manage to do so. And that was in Matric! So technically my drinking peak hadn’t been reached yet and I looked to my future with gusto, eager to devour it and all the Tequila’s that Jozi could offer!
Unfortunately for me my drinking stamina has collapsed – poof, gone, vanished, completely bloody fucked off and left me high and dry (more often than not suffering from cotton mouth) with nothing more than a fucking headache which would indicate my head had been run over by a fucking behemoth of a truck! I mean, the sensitivity to day time is almost so bad I had to ponder if I was a vampire for a few hours… Mmmm, do I like to suck people’s blood? Um no… Do I like to drink blood? Hell no… Ok so I am not a vampire but I did have to question why the sun just had to shine so god damn brightly and what is with the bloody birds – we all know you go “tweet tweet” you fucking annoying things! *arg*
I even tried the use of good ol’ KGB – hey I figured if the Russians invented something as fucking fan-bloody-tastic as vodka, why not?! Well it did kinda took the feeling of acquainting myself with the porcelain god for the rest of the “day-after” away but other than that, it was just plain fucking useless! And to think, that 40 bucks could have bought me 2 glasses of vino – oh the tragedy!
So I have decided that the only way to prevent this age degeneration and lack of drinking stamina is to simply up the big tarty nights out – that way I will just have to push through my hang-over the next day. After all, the only way to fight alcohol… Is with MORE alcohol!
I remember the days when I could drink my boys under the table – their only tarty chick friend to ever manage to do so. And that was in Matric! So technically my drinking peak hadn’t been reached yet and I looked to my future with gusto, eager to devour it and all the Tequila’s that Jozi could offer!
Unfortunately for me my drinking stamina has collapsed – poof, gone, vanished, completely bloody fucked off and left me high and dry (more often than not suffering from cotton mouth) with nothing more than a fucking headache which would indicate my head had been run over by a fucking behemoth of a truck! I mean, the sensitivity to day time is almost so bad I had to ponder if I was a vampire for a few hours… Mmmm, do I like to suck people’s blood? Um no… Do I like to drink blood? Hell no… Ok so I am not a vampire but I did have to question why the sun just had to shine so god damn brightly and what is with the bloody birds – we all know you go “tweet tweet” you fucking annoying things! *arg*
I even tried the use of good ol’ KGB – hey I figured if the Russians invented something as fucking fan-bloody-tastic as vodka, why not?! Well it did kinda took the feeling of acquainting myself with the porcelain god for the rest of the “day-after” away but other than that, it was just plain fucking useless! And to think, that 40 bucks could have bought me 2 glasses of vino – oh the tragedy!
So I have decided that the only way to prevent this age degeneration and lack of drinking stamina is to simply up the big tarty nights out – that way I will just have to push through my hang-over the next day. After all, the only way to fight alcohol… Is with MORE alcohol!
Thursday, October 12, 2006
I Fucking Hate Word!
I fucking hate Word! Who ever the fuck said that Bill Gates was a genius was a complete fucking mad man and shouldl have been bound in a purple and green straight jacket and chucked off to a looney bin for fuck's sake!
My reason for hating Word as much as I do right now in this moment in time - simple, it has corrupted my fucking document that Tame B and I have spent the past 4 fucking god damn bloody days working on! There we were all ready to send it The Directors for Our Company before it is due tomorrow for a massive client pitch and *FUCKING BAM KA-BOOM* - Sorry for you, Word cannot open this document due to it being corrupt! I'm sorry I missed that! I swear I think my heart stopped... I FUCKING HATE WORD... BILL GATES YOU MOTHER FUCKING NERDY IGNORAMOUS, YOUR STUPID RETARDED EXCUSE OF A PROGRAM SUCKS BALLS - DO YOU HEAR ME!!!
The worst parts is that I had had these horrific fucking dreams the night before where I dreamt that we had to re-do every mother fucking thing! I guess dreams really do come true!
My reason for hating Word as much as I do right now in this moment in time - simple, it has corrupted my fucking document that Tame B and I have spent the past 4 fucking god damn bloody days working on! There we were all ready to send it The Directors for Our Company before it is due tomorrow for a massive client pitch and *FUCKING BAM KA-BOOM* - Sorry for you, Word cannot open this document due to it being corrupt! I'm sorry I missed that! I swear I think my heart stopped... I FUCKING HATE WORD... BILL GATES YOU MOTHER FUCKING NERDY IGNORAMOUS, YOUR STUPID RETARDED EXCUSE OF A PROGRAM SUCKS BALLS - DO YOU HEAR ME!!!
The worst parts is that I had had these horrific fucking dreams the night before where I dreamt that we had to re-do every mother fucking thing! I guess dreams really do come true!
Dear Alcohol
First & foremost, let me tell you that I'm a huge fan of yours. As my friend, you always seem to be there when needed. The perfect post-work cocktail, a beer at the game, and you're even around in the holidays, hidden inside chocolates as you warm us when we're stuck in the midst of endless family gatherings. However, lately I've been wondering about your intentions. While I want to believe that you have my best interests at heart, I feel that your influence has led to some unwise consequences:
1. Phone calls: While I agree with you that communication is important, I question the suggestion that any conversation of substance or necessity takes place after 2 a.m. Why would you make me call those ex-boyfriends/girlfriends when I know for a fact they do not want to hear from me during the day, let alone all hours of the night?
2. Eating: Now, you know I love a good meal, but why do you suggest that I eat a taco with chili sauce, along with a big Italian meatball and some stale chips (washed down with WINE & topped off with a Kit Kat after a few cheese curls & chili cheese fries)? I'm an excellent eater, but I think you went too far this time.
3. Clumsiness: Unless you're subtly trying to tell me that I need to do more yoga to improve my balance, I see NO need to hammer the issue home by causing me to fall down. It's completely unnecessary, and the black & blue marks that appear on my body mysteriously the next day are beyond me. Similarly, it should never take me more than 45 seconds to get the front door key into the lock.
4. Furthermore: The hangovers have GOT to stop. This is getting ridiculous. I know a little penance for our previous evening's debauchery may be in order, but the 3pm hangover immobility is completely unacceptable. My entire day is shot. I ask that, if the proper precautions are taken (water, vitamin B, bread products, aspirin) prior to going to sleep/passing out face down on the kitchen floor with a bag of popcorn, the hangover should be minimal & in no way interfere with my daily activities.
Alcohol, I have enjoyed our friendship for some years now & would like to ensure that we remain on good terms. You've been the invoker of great stories, the provocation for much laughter, and the needed companion when I just don't know what to do with the extra money in my pockets.In order to continue this friendship, I ask that you carefully review my grievances above & address them immediately.
I will look for an answer no later than Friday 3pm (pre-happy hour) on your possible solutions & hopefully we can continue this fruitful partnership.
Thank you,
Your biggest fan!
1. Phone calls: While I agree with you that communication is important, I question the suggestion that any conversation of substance or necessity takes place after 2 a.m. Why would you make me call those ex-boyfriends/girlfriends when I know for a fact they do not want to hear from me during the day, let alone all hours of the night?
2. Eating: Now, you know I love a good meal, but why do you suggest that I eat a taco with chili sauce, along with a big Italian meatball and some stale chips (washed down with WINE & topped off with a Kit Kat after a few cheese curls & chili cheese fries)? I'm an excellent eater, but I think you went too far this time.
3. Clumsiness: Unless you're subtly trying to tell me that I need to do more yoga to improve my balance, I see NO need to hammer the issue home by causing me to fall down. It's completely unnecessary, and the black & blue marks that appear on my body mysteriously the next day are beyond me. Similarly, it should never take me more than 45 seconds to get the front door key into the lock.
4. Furthermore: The hangovers have GOT to stop. This is getting ridiculous. I know a little penance for our previous evening's debauchery may be in order, but the 3pm hangover immobility is completely unacceptable. My entire day is shot. I ask that, if the proper precautions are taken (water, vitamin B, bread products, aspirin) prior to going to sleep/passing out face down on the kitchen floor with a bag of popcorn, the hangover should be minimal & in no way interfere with my daily activities.
Alcohol, I have enjoyed our friendship for some years now & would like to ensure that we remain on good terms. You've been the invoker of great stories, the provocation for much laughter, and the needed companion when I just don't know what to do with the extra money in my pockets.In order to continue this friendship, I ask that you carefully review my grievances above & address them immediately.
I will look for an answer no later than Friday 3pm (pre-happy hour) on your possible solutions & hopefully we can continue this fruitful partnership.
Thank you,
Your biggest fan!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!
This posting was stemmed from a convo / debate I had over the weekend with a mate over girls’ nights out! This is a concept that one would imagine many males to understand and encourage or at the very least take advantage of! I mean guys, sere-i-us-ly the whole concept of a girls’ night out is not to spend time with the girls and play catch up (no matter what your girlfriend tells you this is just plain BULLSHIT!) Hell no, we do that via email when we should be working or meeting for a “girlie” movie aka massive bloody piss-up where we can trade war stories and our daily / weekly game of what’s happened to who and how the bitch deserved it as well as get the general hot goss / low down…
NEWSFLASH: Girls’ nights are specifically reserved for fucking debaucherious behaviour. Where semi-decent tarts turn into Tartess al Mundo! Case in point was my Friday night *satisfied sigh* My two fabulous tartess and I went from pure, innocent tarts from work just having some sushi and vino to fucking unbelievably drunk bastards! In the process of this transformation, we landed up going past Dad’s – was actually an attempt to siphen some mula of my pappa but in the end, as my dear old and oh so lovable dad can only do – he got us to drink more vino and I left with fuck all money too! This lead to a conversation, well really it was actually like an explanation, of the way our girls’ nights work with my Achilles Heel’s Father. The man was purely fucking fascinated by the thought that we were about to go out on the piss and wouldn’t be paying for any drinks! I mean elementary my dear Watson! This is an inherent gene that all females are born – ah yes, the natural ability to pick up me!
So Crombie explained everything ever so über nicely and basically the rules of engagement were laid down…
We are hot and therefore cannot be held responsible for men wanting to get us completely shit-faced so they can up their chances of scoring by like 0.01%... *evil grin*
This is a regular occurrence.
We have no obligation to these men – they buy us drinks at their own risk. Of course we are not bitches and hence the poor gullible bastards are given our “real names” – swear on The Bible!
Now I must give Crombie here a VERY special tank you chicken – she made sure I got some good punches in… The pained expression that crossed over my Achilles Heel’s Father’s face when he realized that yes, his son is a fucking moron for not seeing what is clearly in front of him and that I am out living la vida loca (man I use to have such a crush of Ricky Martin – BLIND!!) The best part is – his son knows it too, that he lost me – not the Ricky Martin thing!!!
But I digress… Basically Super-H, Crombie and I were a hit! The tequilas were flowing (which I still have a bone to pick with dear old Andy!) and so were the free drinks! Although Super-H did send a rather fucking blind text to a mate about his mate, Oh So Fine, telling him in no uncertain circumstances that I wanted to snog Oh So Fine senseless – too bad he was sick (for both of us that is)… So a big up to Super-H for being a complete tart and trying to hook this tart up with some action for the evening – appreciated schnoodle, as always!
So to the men we took complete advantage of over the weekend and with particular reference to Friday night (and yes Crombie this includes your little crossing the finishing line stint too…), I can only say: SORRY FOR YOU!
NEWSFLASH: Girls’ nights are specifically reserved for fucking debaucherious behaviour. Where semi-decent tarts turn into Tartess al Mundo! Case in point was my Friday night *satisfied sigh* My two fabulous tartess and I went from pure, innocent tarts from work just having some sushi and vino to fucking unbelievably drunk bastards! In the process of this transformation, we landed up going past Dad’s – was actually an attempt to siphen some mula of my pappa but in the end, as my dear old and oh so lovable dad can only do – he got us to drink more vino and I left with fuck all money too! This lead to a conversation, well really it was actually like an explanation, of the way our girls’ nights work with my Achilles Heel’s Father. The man was purely fucking fascinated by the thought that we were about to go out on the piss and wouldn’t be paying for any drinks! I mean elementary my dear Watson! This is an inherent gene that all females are born – ah yes, the natural ability to pick up me!
So Crombie explained everything ever so über nicely and basically the rules of engagement were laid down…
We are hot and therefore cannot be held responsible for men wanting to get us completely shit-faced so they can up their chances of scoring by like 0.01%... *evil grin*
This is a regular occurrence.
We have no obligation to these men – they buy us drinks at their own risk. Of course we are not bitches and hence the poor gullible bastards are given our “real names” – swear on The Bible!
Now I must give Crombie here a VERY special tank you chicken – she made sure I got some good punches in… The pained expression that crossed over my Achilles Heel’s Father’s face when he realized that yes, his son is a fucking moron for not seeing what is clearly in front of him and that I am out living la vida loca (man I use to have such a crush of Ricky Martin – BLIND!!) The best part is – his son knows it too, that he lost me – not the Ricky Martin thing!!!
But I digress… Basically Super-H, Crombie and I were a hit! The tequilas were flowing (which I still have a bone to pick with dear old Andy!) and so were the free drinks! Although Super-H did send a rather fucking blind text to a mate about his mate, Oh So Fine, telling him in no uncertain circumstances that I wanted to snog Oh So Fine senseless – too bad he was sick (for both of us that is)… So a big up to Super-H for being a complete tart and trying to hook this tart up with some action for the evening – appreciated schnoodle, as always!
So to the men we took complete advantage of over the weekend and with particular reference to Friday night (and yes Crombie this includes your little crossing the finishing line stint too…), I can only say: SORRY FOR YOU!
Friday, October 06, 2006
Feel the Burn
Yip, it has to come to this! The insane and torturous use of my body in all places! My ode to pain and sudden increase is cursing and cussing for that matter started on Monday! Oh, to talk about it actually hurts my buns! You know I am a summer gal through and through, gimme a beach, sun and a margherita and I am as happy as a pig rolling around in a shit load of scheit! Unfortunately for moi, summer does come with a slight glitch / snag: summer means MOVE THAT ASS! or at least in my warped little family especially with a father parental who is a complete fitness addict – god forbid the man should have one fucking fat roll at 53! I mean honestly – the Americans don’t seem to mind resembling a small potato!!!
I have been dragging my ass to… GYM, yes ladies and gents I said the dreaded word: GYM! Every morning at like 5am in what I think and just can’t bear to accept is a vain and rather fucking useless attempt to get my buns to resemble a small orange! *pant* Even typing this is exhausting! The parental unit member known as “dad” is apparently über proud of his little tart for making such an effort to be healthy and life a long and prosperous life (and to want world peace too!) I even fucking quit smoking – ok well that is kinda a teeny tiny white lie but I have cut down, plus I think if my dad knew half the shit I got myself into, he would have had a coronary about 10 years ago!
Anyway so I shall just have to keep moseying along, crying on the inside every time I have to walk another step on that fucking machine! I mean I just look at it and it sends shivers down my spine – it gives me the evil once-over as if to say: come ‘n tart move that fucking ass…! I mean who the fuck thought of inventing something that made you walk whilst technically standing still? Talk about taking a trip done bloody fucking strange street!
I suppose the higher power above did give us legs for a reason?!
I have been dragging my ass to… GYM, yes ladies and gents I said the dreaded word: GYM! Every morning at like 5am in what I think and just can’t bear to accept is a vain and rather fucking useless attempt to get my buns to resemble a small orange! *pant* Even typing this is exhausting! The parental unit member known as “dad” is apparently über proud of his little tart for making such an effort to be healthy and life a long and prosperous life (and to want world peace too!) I even fucking quit smoking – ok well that is kinda a teeny tiny white lie but I have cut down, plus I think if my dad knew half the shit I got myself into, he would have had a coronary about 10 years ago!
Anyway so I shall just have to keep moseying along, crying on the inside every time I have to walk another step on that fucking machine! I mean I just look at it and it sends shivers down my spine – it gives me the evil once-over as if to say: come ‘n tart move that fucking ass…! I mean who the fuck thought of inventing something that made you walk whilst technically standing still? Talk about taking a trip done bloody fucking strange street!
I suppose the higher power above did give us legs for a reason?!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
When Girls Drink Too Much...
1. We have absolutely no idea where our purse is.
2. We believe that dancing with our arms overhead and wiggling our butt while yelling "woo-hoo!" is truly the sexiest dance move around.
3. We've suddenly decided that we want to kick someone's ass and honestly believe we could do it too.
4. In our last trip to pee, we realize that we now look more like a homeless hooker than the goddess we were just four hours ago
5. We start crying and telling everyone we see that we love them sooooo much.
6. We get extremely excited and jump up and down every time a new song play's because "oh my god! I love this song!"
7. We've found a deeper/spiritual side to the geek sitting next to us.
8. We've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.
9. We yell at the bartender, who we believe cheated us by giving us just lemonade, but that's just because we can no longer taste the gin.
10. We think we are in bed, but our pillow feels strangely like the kitchen floor (or the mop?)
11. We fail to notice that the toilet lid's down when we sit on it.
12. We take our shoes off because we believe it's their fault that we're having problems walking straight.
LJ sent me this wonderful piece of journalism this morning and I must say that I had a considerable gas when I read it. I could identify / have done EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE and some on any given good night of pissing it up and I must say a good time was definitely had by all!
Case in point: last night *bashful smile* Had a few of the matie o’s over for dinner, considering that I was turning into one of those fucking sponge Bob mates that I cannot bloody well stand and therefore figured I needed to pay them back per say. Well one bottle of vino lead to another which lead to another 4 or 5 or whatever, lost count *shrug of shoulders* Everything started going a little fuzzy at this point…
I do, however, remember Kelloggs showing Crombie and I how to walk like a smodel. But not just any smodel walk, oh no – Kelloggs brought out the big guns! She tried, in what must have been a rather vain and fucking pathetic attempt, to show us how to do the box walk. Um sorry – WHAT?! Exactly my bloody fucking point! Needless to say I couldn’t coordinate my ass from my elbow and hence landed up looking a smodel gone wrong! I do blame vino, naturally of course, but I do fear that my dreams of having the smodel catwalk swank have been horribly fucking crushed…
Oh well, CHEERS!
2. We believe that dancing with our arms overhead and wiggling our butt while yelling "woo-hoo!" is truly the sexiest dance move around.
3. We've suddenly decided that we want to kick someone's ass and honestly believe we could do it too.
4. In our last trip to pee, we realize that we now look more like a homeless hooker than the goddess we were just four hours ago
5. We start crying and telling everyone we see that we love them sooooo much.
6. We get extremely excited and jump up and down every time a new song play's because "oh my god! I love this song!"
7. We've found a deeper/spiritual side to the geek sitting next to us.
8. We've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.
9. We yell at the bartender, who we believe cheated us by giving us just lemonade, but that's just because we can no longer taste the gin.
10. We think we are in bed, but our pillow feels strangely like the kitchen floor (or the mop?)
11. We fail to notice that the toilet lid's down when we sit on it.
12. We take our shoes off because we believe it's their fault that we're having problems walking straight.
LJ sent me this wonderful piece of journalism this morning and I must say that I had a considerable gas when I read it. I could identify / have done EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE and some on any given good night of pissing it up and I must say a good time was definitely had by all!
Case in point: last night *bashful smile* Had a few of the matie o’s over for dinner, considering that I was turning into one of those fucking sponge Bob mates that I cannot bloody well stand and therefore figured I needed to pay them back per say. Well one bottle of vino lead to another which lead to another 4 or 5 or whatever, lost count *shrug of shoulders* Everything started going a little fuzzy at this point…
I do, however, remember Kelloggs showing Crombie and I how to walk like a smodel. But not just any smodel walk, oh no – Kelloggs brought out the big guns! She tried, in what must have been a rather vain and fucking pathetic attempt, to show us how to do the box walk. Um sorry – WHAT?! Exactly my bloody fucking point! Needless to say I couldn’t coordinate my ass from my elbow and hence landed up looking a smodel gone wrong! I do blame vino, naturally of course, but I do fear that my dreams of having the smodel catwalk swank have been horribly fucking crushed…
Oh well, CHEERS!
Monday, October 02, 2006
A Crombie kinda Day!
Firstly I must thank my dearest Crombie for my incredibly flatter stomach due to a retarded amount of laughing and my fucking paining head! Especially since the little cow is still in bed sleeping – has the day off as it is some or other Jewish holiday, catch is: she isn’t fucking Jewish. But 10 points for working the system girl!
Anyhoo, Crombie and I had decided to have a bit of a Pumba session aka pig day out! Speaking of Pumbas – anybody remember that song from The Lion King? Well that was our theme for yesterday: Are you aching…Yip yip yip… For some bacon…Yip yip yip…You can be a big pig too! Oi! Now a day like this always involves a revolting amount of vino, pizza, chocies and generally everything else that us tarts should NOT be eating. Naturally, do we give a continental? I dudn’t thinks so…
The day basically started off with Crombie and I paruzzing around the BP’s of this world, namely the one’s in Parktown North & Parkhurst, whilst pumping the tunes attempting to play the roles of hard core rapper types all decked out in the latest gear (I think we were both still pissed from the night before) and I suppose just generally acting completely fucking retarded – the attendants were giving me the evil eye man I swear!
So after deciding that the video store next to good ol’ Colony thought we were mental people (tick next to things to achieve before I turn 25), we headed off to celebrate. Bottle of vino numero uno. This of course lead me to wow Crombie with my stupendous IQ when after klapping my bloody head on my car door (I swear someone secretly and very sneaky like dropped my suspension) proudly exclaimed I had a knob! A fucking knob!!! I will leave the jokes that ensued up to your creative and warped little minds…
Crombie and I then starting talking drunk – always a wonderful thing and my favourite time of the day too. Nobody who is sober and therefore completely fucking boring and a waste of your time will understand, which of course only amuses you more… So our convo went something kinda like this whilst catching a glimpse at some ad for epilepsy (don’t ask):
BoozyT: It must be so crap to suffer from epi..um…epil…mmmm, aha epsileps!
Crombie: Hee hee, you dumb fuck – its epilepsy
BoozyT: Har har har, I knew that! But seriously can you imagine saying that to someone – I suffer from epsileps! Fucking mental…
Crombie: Your fucking mental! Hee hee, my ex-sister-in-law used to called it elliptical aka an elliptical fit!
BoozyT: Fucking moron! Can you imagine – she is having an epsileps elliptical fit people! Somebody call 911! I ponder if having epsileps gets worse around an eclipse cause it’s after all elliptical *bu ha ha*
Talk about being über intelligent! So yes I may be living up to the reputation of now being a complete fucking dumb blonde but nothing beats a Crombie kinda day!
Anyhoo, Crombie and I had decided to have a bit of a Pumba session aka pig day out! Speaking of Pumbas – anybody remember that song from The Lion King? Well that was our theme for yesterday: Are you aching…Yip yip yip… For some bacon…Yip yip yip…You can be a big pig too! Oi! Now a day like this always involves a revolting amount of vino, pizza, chocies and generally everything else that us tarts should NOT be eating. Naturally, do we give a continental? I dudn’t thinks so…
The day basically started off with Crombie and I paruzzing around the BP’s of this world, namely the one’s in Parktown North & Parkhurst, whilst pumping the tunes attempting to play the roles of hard core rapper types all decked out in the latest gear (I think we were both still pissed from the night before) and I suppose just generally acting completely fucking retarded – the attendants were giving me the evil eye man I swear!
So after deciding that the video store next to good ol’ Colony thought we were mental people (tick next to things to achieve before I turn 25), we headed off to celebrate. Bottle of vino numero uno. This of course lead me to wow Crombie with my stupendous IQ when after klapping my bloody head on my car door (I swear someone secretly and very sneaky like dropped my suspension) proudly exclaimed I had a knob! A fucking knob!!! I will leave the jokes that ensued up to your creative and warped little minds…
Crombie and I then starting talking drunk – always a wonderful thing and my favourite time of the day too. Nobody who is sober and therefore completely fucking boring and a waste of your time will understand, which of course only amuses you more… So our convo went something kinda like this whilst catching a glimpse at some ad for epilepsy (don’t ask):
BoozyT: It must be so crap to suffer from epi..um…epil…mmmm, aha epsileps!
Crombie: Hee hee, you dumb fuck – its epilepsy
BoozyT: Har har har, I knew that! But seriously can you imagine saying that to someone – I suffer from epsileps! Fucking mental…
Crombie: Your fucking mental! Hee hee, my ex-sister-in-law used to called it elliptical aka an elliptical fit!
BoozyT: Fucking moron! Can you imagine – she is having an epsileps elliptical fit people! Somebody call 911! I ponder if having epsileps gets worse around an eclipse cause it’s after all elliptical *bu ha ha*
Talk about being über intelligent! So yes I may be living up to the reputation of now being a complete fucking dumb blonde but nothing beats a Crombie kinda day!
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