So I kinda have this deal with The Pilot and Fifty, mmm ok wait in saying that it isn't really a deal more like them being cruel and mean to what can only be described as one fucking fantastic chick!
You see I have a slight shoe problem. And it is slight, I think most of my tarts (and now it would seem my boyfriend too) exaggerate this and make it sound like I eat, sleep and breathe shoes. Admittingly so, I love them. Nothing quite cuts the grade like an awesome, beautifully made pair of shoes. A great pair of shoes can make you feel like Clarke Kent does when he puts on the Superman outfit....
So this little "bet" came about because I am currently sitting on 99 pairs of shoes AND have a birthday coming up relatively soon to which these two thought they would buy me my 100th pair of shoes as a gift. At first, I was touched, deeply moved actually... The support for my hobby and goal of owning 300 pairs of shoes was astounding. How blessed am I, I thought...
... NOT AT FUCKING ALL.
These two bloody shoe loving supporters in disguise were secretly deciding that my 100th pair of shoes should be none other than a pair of crocs. But wait there's more - to add insult to injury, they were going to be pink and... I'd have to wear them on my birthday. Like fuck I am!
Most people would ask what the big deal was - pink crocs, ok so they ain't exactly THE most desirable shoe but nothing wrong them. To these people I say, go get your fucking heads checked. Crocs are the most hideous things ever made and yes, I know they are comfortable but for fucks sake people, have some class / catch a clue!
So this is the dilemma I know face...
The itch to reward myself with a new pair of shoezies is fast becoming a rash. But how do I go about buying a new pair of shoes, my 100th pair, and not show them off like a proud mom? For if I do this, I know those excuse for shoes are on their way and that sends me into a complete panic. I can feel the cold sweat break on my brow as I write this... The desire to be schneaky and lie telling the Pilot they are an old pair is there but I would, oddly enough, feel guilty. Bugger!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Leaving your Mark
You know the saying that says everyone has a story? Well so do scars. In fact, scars have the best stories... They are filled with tails of drunkeness, naughtiness, stupidity and the general juicy facts of a person's life.
My scars could literally tell 1000 stories, mainly due to the fact that I have so many. What can I say: I get drunk and fall down alot ok? Don't judge me.
My favourite scars are the rather peculiar ones I have on my feet, which miraculously found their way onto The Pilot's feet as well... infectious buggers! ;) These scars will always remind me of the exact moment when I walked into The Pilot's parentals house wearing open sandals and his mom commented: "OMG you have exactly the same marks, in the same place, as The Pilot".... Mmmmm, yes well 10 000 000 points to the Einstein that can guess how they got there!
My scars could literally tell 1000 stories, mainly due to the fact that I have so many. What can I say: I get drunk and fall down alot ok? Don't judge me.
My favourite scars are the rather peculiar ones I have on my feet, which miraculously found their way onto The Pilot's feet as well... infectious buggers! ;) These scars will always remind me of the exact moment when I walked into The Pilot's parentals house wearing open sandals and his mom commented: "OMG you have exactly the same marks, in the same place, as The Pilot".... Mmmmm, yes well 10 000 000 points to the Einstein that can guess how they got there!
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Do you believe?
Religios are the worst kind of people.
We all know that the world is made up of a variety of religions - some with a central character called God, others Mary, some Allah etc. We all know that there is freedom of choice in this world and that we all have the right to believe in what we deem fit... So how come Religios don't seem to understand this? Especially the Catholic and Christian ones - man these people are just waiting behind every door to shove more Bible punting crap down your throat.
Personally, I don't believe in God and think the Bible is a load of crap - after all it's a book, and a very subjective book at that! I do, however, believe in a higher power or as I like to term it: "The Universe". My family understands and accepts this and allows me to follow my beliefs.
So my question is this: Why can't others?
Is it really so bad that I think churches are depressing, refuse to get married in one in the long distant future... Am I the Devil Woman, The Eternal Sinner, A Lost Soul etc if I don't go to church, punt my religion down people's throats until they can't breathe anymore? Religion is important to a lot of people but quite frankly I sometimes think it is just used as an excuse, a crux.
I think having faith in something is far more important - however you choose to direct that faith is entirely your decision. A free decision, a decision that no one has the right to critise or mock.
We all know that the world is made up of a variety of religions - some with a central character called God, others Mary, some Allah etc. We all know that there is freedom of choice in this world and that we all have the right to believe in what we deem fit... So how come Religios don't seem to understand this? Especially the Catholic and Christian ones - man these people are just waiting behind every door to shove more Bible punting crap down your throat.
Personally, I don't believe in God and think the Bible is a load of crap - after all it's a book, and a very subjective book at that! I do, however, believe in a higher power or as I like to term it: "The Universe". My family understands and accepts this and allows me to follow my beliefs.
So my question is this: Why can't others?
Is it really so bad that I think churches are depressing, refuse to get married in one in the long distant future... Am I the Devil Woman, The Eternal Sinner, A Lost Soul etc if I don't go to church, punt my religion down people's throats until they can't breathe anymore? Religion is important to a lot of people but quite frankly I sometimes think it is just used as an excuse, a crux.
I think having faith in something is far more important - however you choose to direct that faith is entirely your decision. A free decision, a decision that no one has the right to critise or mock.
Friday, September 07, 2007
The Boat Race
Oh. Sweet. Jebus.
I am, in Lyman's terms, f.u.c.k.e.d. Properly actually...
And this is the reason why...
In an effort to determine the quickest throats in the agency, we will conduct a departmental Boat Race to determine the fastest consumers in the agency @ agency drinks this afternoon.
Each dept has a team of 5 representatives to participate in the challenge.
I am, in Lyman's terms, f.u.c.k.e.d. Properly actually...
And this is the reason why...
In an effort to determine the quickest throats in the agency, we will conduct a departmental Boat Race to determine the fastest consumers in the agency @ agency drinks this afternoon.
Each dept has a team of 5 representatives to participate in the challenge.
- Teams must be comprised of a 60/40 gender split.
- 5 vs 5 in a beer drinking relay.
- Each drinker has to complete his/her beer and place empty beer can upside down on their heads to indicate completion – once this is done, the next drinker may proceed.
- The first team to complete all 5 legs will be awarded the title of Boat Race champions.
- Along with this prestigious title, the winning team will be richly rewarded with a worthwhile prize.
- Judges will be present.
Naturally, my work colleagues have heard the ghastly (and very untrue) rumours concerning my drinking habits and ability. In fact, these rumours have led them to believe that not only can I drink beer *gag* but I can down it in like super-fast-quick-quick-lightening speed. They think I am the champion of shebeen drinking - the thirsty leper that sits and dops all day long. Fucking awesome!
Now you might say, well so what's the big deal? The big deal, my dear readers, is that I am not only part of the boat race but I am our team leader. The big deal is that everyone is counting on me to show them how us uncultured tarts drink. The big deal is that I am fucked or will be at exactly 5:01pm today ;) Thank fuck for all the funneling done in first year...
... If you'll excuse me, I have to go mentally prepare for the drinking challenge ahead. Wish me luck!
It's Getting Serious!
Can anybody tell me why on God's green earth reaching 3 months in a relationship constitute said relationship as being serious?! Anyone?...
I personally just don't get this. Don't get me wrong reaching 3 months is a great and tastic milestone (if you're with the most fantastic man like I am) but in my mind it in no way can mean that the relationship is serious, can it? I mean, whatever happened to the days where the "serious" word got dropped into conversations with your tarts once you had hit like a year... I just don't think that 3 months can be classified as serious, and on that note I seem to be the only thing that thinks this.
Everytime a new tart hears about my 3 monther (which was yesterday) the first thing out of their mouths is "oh so it's getting serious" What in zi fuck are they on about? I dunno, maybe things have changed since I got together with my last boyfriend... then again, maybe everyone has just plain lost their minds!
I personally just don't get this. Don't get me wrong reaching 3 months is a great and tastic milestone (if you're with the most fantastic man like I am) but in my mind it in no way can mean that the relationship is serious, can it? I mean, whatever happened to the days where the "serious" word got dropped into conversations with your tarts once you had hit like a year... I just don't think that 3 months can be classified as serious, and on that note I seem to be the only thing that thinks this.
Everytime a new tart hears about my 3 monther (which was yesterday) the first thing out of their mouths is "oh so it's getting serious" What in zi fuck are they on about? I dunno, maybe things have changed since I got together with my last boyfriend... then again, maybe everyone has just plain lost their minds!
Friday, August 17, 2007
What, no more adrenalin?
I think my adrenal glands are empty... No seriously, I think they have packed their bags and taken a holiday!
I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised after all the amount of overtime they have been putting in. You see, I've had one of those weeks. One of those weeks where you just don't have time to eat, let alone spare 20 minutes in the morning to blow-dry your hair (the result of which has lead me to the conclusion that non blow-dried hair really isn't a very tit look for me). My week has been manic and has left me feeling a bit flat - ever had that?
I find it all very odd...
The worst part is that I had to cancel drinks, lunches etc with so many tarts that I fear next week might see my adrenal glands being kicked into overtime again, but on the social front. Which is great for me, but not so fantastic for my bank account and my liver!
I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised after all the amount of overtime they have been putting in. You see, I've had one of those weeks. One of those weeks where you just don't have time to eat, let alone spare 20 minutes in the morning to blow-dry your hair (the result of which has lead me to the conclusion that non blow-dried hair really isn't a very tit look for me). My week has been manic and has left me feeling a bit flat - ever had that?
I find it all very odd...
The worst part is that I had to cancel drinks, lunches etc with so many tarts that I fear next week might see my adrenal glands being kicked into overtime again, but on the social front. Which is great for me, but not so fantastic for my bank account and my liver!
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The Aftershock of a Phone Call
Ever have one of those phone calls that when you hear your cell ring and see who's calling you, your eyes grow with complete surprise (and maybe a bit of horror) and for a split second you ponder whether or not you should answer that call?
Well I just have. About 15 minutes ago.
My Ex phoned. Now this ex, we'll call him Trainer Man, and I were together for 2.5 years - I ended it after realising that I just didn't love him anymore. We stayed in contact, on a very sporadic basis, and from time to time he drops me a text or a call to see how I am or as he so oddly says: "I like to know what is going on in your life"
But I digress...
The point is Trainer Man called me 15 minutes ago. He ran into The Parental Unit known as "Mom" and he thought of me. So he called. I can't quite explain how I felt chatting to him - I think weird is the best description, with a bit of freak mixed in there as well...
Apparently he is moving in with the New Girl (who I oddly enough went to Varsity with - such a small big world we live in) and the plans are slowly but steadily progressing towards Marriage Lane. This, I find extremely fucking hilarious but fair is fair. Anyhoo, I was nearing the end of the convo, quite chuffed with the way the whole thing had gone, and then *BAM* he asked to see me. For a casual drink or cup of coffee. This really took me by surprise. Now normally I would brush him off and make up some excuse, but for some reason I didn't this time... Well that's not enriely ture, I just didn't brush him off immediately. Maybe it's because I have The Pilot in my life (who is absolutely deevine). Maybe it's cause I felt like he doesn't have another motive, then again... who knows?!
So strange, one day you're at the office and the next you're being asked to see an ex to have coffee or a glass of vino with him on Sunday!
Well I just have. About 15 minutes ago.
My Ex phoned. Now this ex, we'll call him Trainer Man, and I were together for 2.5 years - I ended it after realising that I just didn't love him anymore. We stayed in contact, on a very sporadic basis, and from time to time he drops me a text or a call to see how I am or as he so oddly says: "I like to know what is going on in your life"
But I digress...
The point is Trainer Man called me 15 minutes ago. He ran into The Parental Unit known as "Mom" and he thought of me. So he called. I can't quite explain how I felt chatting to him - I think weird is the best description, with a bit of freak mixed in there as well...
Apparently he is moving in with the New Girl (who I oddly enough went to Varsity with - such a small big world we live in) and the plans are slowly but steadily progressing towards Marriage Lane. This, I find extremely fucking hilarious but fair is fair. Anyhoo, I was nearing the end of the convo, quite chuffed with the way the whole thing had gone, and then *BAM* he asked to see me. For a casual drink or cup of coffee. This really took me by surprise. Now normally I would brush him off and make up some excuse, but for some reason I didn't this time... Well that's not enriely ture, I just didn't brush him off immediately. Maybe it's because I have The Pilot in my life (who is absolutely deevine). Maybe it's cause I felt like he doesn't have another motive, then again... who knows?!
So strange, one day you're at the office and the next you're being asked to see an ex to have coffee or a glass of vino with him on Sunday!
...Behind a Glass Wall of Emotion
Love. It's the stuff that great songs are written about...
... What I find so odd is that we so happily and merrily sing along to these songs of love but yet it is probably the hardest thing to have to tell someone. Ok, so maybe not the hardest but certainly the scariest. Think it has something to do with our (read: my) fear of rejection. The fear the the other person won't love you back. Fuck, I sound like a writer for Mills & Boon being briefed on the next book.
Generally I have a policy that I like to stick to when it comes to "I love you's"... it's always worked for me in the past and has meant that I have never had to plunge head first into the pool. Basically, my policy is that I won't tell a guy that I love him until he has said it to me first. The feminist in me believes this is a load of bullshit as women today should be able to express themselves where and when they feel like it. The girl in me still wants to protect herself.
Some of my fellow tarts think this policy of mine is mental - after all us tarts are liberated etc. The thing, as much as I view myself as an equal when it comes to men, I'm not entirely sure I want to stand up and be counted as one. I think being feminine is a beautiful thing and is something very powerful...
Reason for this post is that I think I am getting to that stage with The Pilot. I'm not entirely sure if I love him yet but I know that I am definitely past falling in love with him. He makes me smile from the inside out... and that is a beautiful thing!
... What I find so odd is that we so happily and merrily sing along to these songs of love but yet it is probably the hardest thing to have to tell someone. Ok, so maybe not the hardest but certainly the scariest. Think it has something to do with our (read: my) fear of rejection. The fear the the other person won't love you back. Fuck, I sound like a writer for Mills & Boon being briefed on the next book.
Generally I have a policy that I like to stick to when it comes to "I love you's"... it's always worked for me in the past and has meant that I have never had to plunge head first into the pool. Basically, my policy is that I won't tell a guy that I love him until he has said it to me first. The feminist in me believes this is a load of bullshit as women today should be able to express themselves where and when they feel like it. The girl in me still wants to protect herself.
Some of my fellow tarts think this policy of mine is mental - after all us tarts are liberated etc. The thing, as much as I view myself as an equal when it comes to men, I'm not entirely sure I want to stand up and be counted as one. I think being feminine is a beautiful thing and is something very powerful...
Reason for this post is that I think I am getting to that stage with The Pilot. I'm not entirely sure if I love him yet but I know that I am definitely past falling in love with him. He makes me smile from the inside out... and that is a beautiful thing!
Monday, August 06, 2007
Celebrating time well spent...
So today is The Pilot and my 2 month anniversary- I know, it sounds absolutely pathetic that one would "celebrate" a 2 monther but in my books this is a very fucking hard (and wonderful) thing to have achieved. Normally I don't make it past the 6 week mark or should I say they don't make it past the 6 week mark. I get annoyed or pissed off or start feeling claustrophobic and Bob's your uncle I gracefully show them the front door.
But not this time.
This time, 8 weeks later, I'm happy. Fucking giddy is more like it and the thought of having an anniversary to celebrate is giving me that warm fuzzy feeling - kinda like the feeling you get after having a glass or three of Gluwine. Tastic.
I think it's really cool that today we will be celebrating the last 8 weeks. Feels like being rewarded for achieving something great. Think this anni is also an important one as we never celebrated the first one and the next two we shall be celebrating apart as The Pilot will be on contract in Africa for 2 months...
So although I feel a bit trivial in telling everyone what a fantastic day the 6th August is, I can't help but want to hold on to that warm fuzzy feeling for as long as possible!
But not this time.
This time, 8 weeks later, I'm happy. Fucking giddy is more like it and the thought of having an anniversary to celebrate is giving me that warm fuzzy feeling - kinda like the feeling you get after having a glass or three of Gluwine. Tastic.
I think it's really cool that today we will be celebrating the last 8 weeks. Feels like being rewarded for achieving something great. Think this anni is also an important one as we never celebrated the first one and the next two we shall be celebrating apart as The Pilot will be on contract in Africa for 2 months...
So although I feel a bit trivial in telling everyone what a fantastic day the 6th August is, I can't help but want to hold on to that warm fuzzy feeling for as long as possible!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Thank you for NOT Smoking
So tomorrow I take the massive leap from one side of the abyss to the other.... and I am fucking petrified. Mmmm, ok so maybe that is a slight exaggeration, after all how can giving up smoking be petrifying I ask myself? Well, quite fucking easily actually. Smoking for me is my crutch - it is to me what chocolate is for most tarts. It's my coping mechanism...
Apparently as a little boozy tart in the making, I used to have a coping mechanism that was pink. More specifically, it was pink and white with a big sheep in the middle of it. Yip, my blankey went everywhere with me. I was one of those kids who used to sit in front of the washing machine and howl like dog, all the time watching my beloved blankey being swooshed around in this big mixing bowl of water and soap. It was rather traumatising...
I wonder if this experience has made me fearful when having to give up my crutches / coping mechanisms?! Of course, I know the health benefits of giving up smoking, every ignoramus knows them, but I am truly nervous. How will I get through a stressful day at work? More importantly, how is my left hand going to feel when I go out boozing and she is just left... hanging there really - nothing to hold, nothing to occupy her with. I mean they say idle hands are the devil's playground so does that mean that my left hand has the potential to become evil? It's all very thought provoking...
Then of course there is the smoke I have on the way to work. This little Charlie Johnson is a major part of starting my day - clears my head and helps me focus. What am I to do from tomorrow morning whilst I drive to work? Sing? Enjoy the sights and sounds? My Talented Brother has suggested that I drive with my middle finger extended as that way my hand will have somthing to do and the car trip to work will be so interesting that I won't care / notice that I ain't huff puffing away. Mmmm, I think this might be a solution but could aggravate my road rage further - prolly not a good idea then...
I didn't smoke for three years. Three fucking years. How the fuck I managed this I have fuck all clue but I find myself racking my brains for the solution... and nothing, not a damned fucking thing comes to mind as to how exactly I went about doing this. Most people would answer willpower... well you know what - fuck willpower, I want an easy solution dammit!
Tomorrow I will technically be a non-smoker. From tomorrow I will sit with the non-smokers when going out to eat. Tomorrow... is going to be a fucking bitch! BUGGER!
Apparently as a little boozy tart in the making, I used to have a coping mechanism that was pink. More specifically, it was pink and white with a big sheep in the middle of it. Yip, my blankey went everywhere with me. I was one of those kids who used to sit in front of the washing machine and howl like dog, all the time watching my beloved blankey being swooshed around in this big mixing bowl of water and soap. It was rather traumatising...
I wonder if this experience has made me fearful when having to give up my crutches / coping mechanisms?! Of course, I know the health benefits of giving up smoking, every ignoramus knows them, but I am truly nervous. How will I get through a stressful day at work? More importantly, how is my left hand going to feel when I go out boozing and she is just left... hanging there really - nothing to hold, nothing to occupy her with. I mean they say idle hands are the devil's playground so does that mean that my left hand has the potential to become evil? It's all very thought provoking...
Then of course there is the smoke I have on the way to work. This little Charlie Johnson is a major part of starting my day - clears my head and helps me focus. What am I to do from tomorrow morning whilst I drive to work? Sing? Enjoy the sights and sounds? My Talented Brother has suggested that I drive with my middle finger extended as that way my hand will have somthing to do and the car trip to work will be so interesting that I won't care / notice that I ain't huff puffing away. Mmmm, I think this might be a solution but could aggravate my road rage further - prolly not a good idea then...
I didn't smoke for three years. Three fucking years. How the fuck I managed this I have fuck all clue but I find myself racking my brains for the solution... and nothing, not a damned fucking thing comes to mind as to how exactly I went about doing this. Most people would answer willpower... well you know what - fuck willpower, I want an easy solution dammit!
Tomorrow I will technically be a non-smoker. From tomorrow I will sit with the non-smokers when going out to eat. Tomorrow... is going to be a fucking bitch! BUGGER!
Monday, July 30, 2007
Swedish Penis Adventures
So The Pilot and I are going to start a business.
Personally, I think it could be highly lucrative. I am technically going to have more responsibility than The Pilot and hence I have proposed that we split the profits 60 / 40. The 60% being for me of course. After all, I will be the one in charge of the marketing, branding and general PR. His role is kinda a more hands-on one and therefore you could say that he is the labourer... Or as I like to call him, my bitch. He did, however, prefer the term bread winner...
This little business idea was the result of a tart who I shall don Issues. Now Issues, deny as much as she has, has the hots for my boy. The Pilot and I saw Issues on Thursday night when a whole crew of us went to jam it up to Prime Circle. Issues has the most annoying habit of forever asking me where the fuck The Pilot is - last time she wanted to rub herself against him. Mmmmm, yes cause like that's so gonna happen! But I digress.... the point is that Issues has now become a personal joke between The Pilot and I. Hell, she even sparked our business idea!
Basically, The Pilot and I figured that since he already had one fan (and it would seem some more at my office and Crystal Girl on Sat) that we were sitting on a untapped resource of monumental proportion, our very own gold mine so to say...
The idea? I'd pimp my boyfriend out, for an astronomical fee, to women who clearly can't keep their eyes off of him.
I, of course, would earn oodles of commission and he would be a busy boy. A very busy boy. We'd both be happy and rich. So am excited.... Keep your eyes open, Swedish Penis Adventures could be making an appearance at your party soon! ;)
Personally, I think it could be highly lucrative. I am technically going to have more responsibility than The Pilot and hence I have proposed that we split the profits 60 / 40. The 60% being for me of course. After all, I will be the one in charge of the marketing, branding and general PR. His role is kinda a more hands-on one and therefore you could say that he is the labourer... Or as I like to call him, my bitch. He did, however, prefer the term bread winner...
This little business idea was the result of a tart who I shall don Issues. Now Issues, deny as much as she has, has the hots for my boy. The Pilot and I saw Issues on Thursday night when a whole crew of us went to jam it up to Prime Circle. Issues has the most annoying habit of forever asking me where the fuck The Pilot is - last time she wanted to rub herself against him. Mmmmm, yes cause like that's so gonna happen! But I digress.... the point is that Issues has now become a personal joke between The Pilot and I. Hell, she even sparked our business idea!
Basically, The Pilot and I figured that since he already had one fan (and it would seem some more at my office and Crystal Girl on Sat) that we were sitting on a untapped resource of monumental proportion, our very own gold mine so to say...
The idea? I'd pimp my boyfriend out, for an astronomical fee, to women who clearly can't keep their eyes off of him.
I, of course, would earn oodles of commission and he would be a busy boy. A very busy boy. We'd both be happy and rich. So am excited.... Keep your eyes open, Swedish Penis Adventures could be making an appearance at your party soon! ;)
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Cuts like a Knife
Fuck. Me
I can't believe it.
I am still in shock and am fighting the urge to pinch myself and yell: wake up, it's just a bad dream. But it isn't a bad dream - it's real. As real as me having to listen to the Parental Unit known as "Dad" cry on the phone...
The fragility of life amazes me and its times like these when I find myself wondering why it takes someone close to you to pass away for you to realise how precious life truly is. It makes you realise that each day is a blessing.
I still keep looking at my phone, willing it to ring, willing it to be my Mom on other end telling me it was all a bad joke. I know this won't happen but right now I'm not sure how to deal with the news my ears heard literally 20 minutes ago...
So strange to think that I won't ever hear his voice again or that my Dad won't be able to go out on the piss with him. In case you're wondering, my Dad's best mate died last night. He was like a second godfather to me (in a non-Mafioso kinda way)! The most gut wrenching thing about the news is how my Dad has been affected. It just breaks my heart, actually it shatters it!
My Dad's mate will leave a massive gap in many peoples lives. So wrong and unfair... And I can feel the dread building up inside me knowing that his funeral will be sometime next week. Funerals freak me out. Don't know why, they just do. The whole ashes to ashes and dust to dust thing makes me nervous...
So this blog post is dedicated to MM (Dad's mate) who lived his life to the fullest, who taught me so many things (particularly how to drink whisky) and who most of all, will be missed every day!
I can't believe it.
I am still in shock and am fighting the urge to pinch myself and yell: wake up, it's just a bad dream. But it isn't a bad dream - it's real. As real as me having to listen to the Parental Unit known as "Dad" cry on the phone...
The fragility of life amazes me and its times like these when I find myself wondering why it takes someone close to you to pass away for you to realise how precious life truly is. It makes you realise that each day is a blessing.
I still keep looking at my phone, willing it to ring, willing it to be my Mom on other end telling me it was all a bad joke. I know this won't happen but right now I'm not sure how to deal with the news my ears heard literally 20 minutes ago...
So strange to think that I won't ever hear his voice again or that my Dad won't be able to go out on the piss with him. In case you're wondering, my Dad's best mate died last night. He was like a second godfather to me (in a non-Mafioso kinda way)! The most gut wrenching thing about the news is how my Dad has been affected. It just breaks my heart, actually it shatters it!
My Dad's mate will leave a massive gap in many peoples lives. So wrong and unfair... And I can feel the dread building up inside me knowing that his funeral will be sometime next week. Funerals freak me out. Don't know why, they just do. The whole ashes to ashes and dust to dust thing makes me nervous...
So this blog post is dedicated to MM (Dad's mate) who lived his life to the fullest, who taught me so many things (particularly how to drink whisky) and who most of all, will be missed every day!
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Dikhololo
Ever have one of those weekends where excessive boozing is pretty much all you do? And by excessive boozing I mean downing voddies at 10 in the morning, drinking while taking yourself on your own very private game drive, boozing and shooting some Jose's before climbing on 250cc quads.... Ever done that?!
I have.
In fact, it's all I did this weekend past. Went away with The Pilot and some of his shacked up mates, although we had a very unique and original individual with us who is currently flying solo. Fifty was legendary! Keep on eye on Facebook for Fifty's video...
The weekend was fucking amazing and just what I needed. I even got to meet The Pilot's alter ego... Ranger Pilot. He's actually very knowledgeable. Very impressive. I actually learnt some things in my drunken haze!
Now you might be asking yourself just how much boozing was done on this Dikhololo weekend... And the answer is as follows:
6 x bottles red wine;
1 x bottle voddies;
1 x bottle Jaggie;
1 x bottle Sherry (gag);
1 x bottle Amarula;
1 x bottle Rum;
1 x bottle Jammies;
1 x bottle J&B;
2 x bottles White Wine;
.... And this was between 7 of us mind you. Plus there were the beers, the Hunters, the Spins and the Jose's...
All in all I think a legend has been born and the history books of our livers were most certainly re-written! :)
I have.
In fact, it's all I did this weekend past. Went away with The Pilot and some of his shacked up mates, although we had a very unique and original individual with us who is currently flying solo. Fifty was legendary! Keep on eye on Facebook for Fifty's video...
The weekend was fucking amazing and just what I needed. I even got to meet The Pilot's alter ego... Ranger Pilot. He's actually very knowledgeable. Very impressive. I actually learnt some things in my drunken haze!
Now you might be asking yourself just how much boozing was done on this Dikhololo weekend... And the answer is as follows:
6 x bottles red wine;
1 x bottle voddies;
1 x bottle Jaggie;
1 x bottle Sherry (gag);
1 x bottle Amarula;
1 x bottle Rum;
1 x bottle Jammies;
1 x bottle J&B;
2 x bottles White Wine;
.... And this was between 7 of us mind you. Plus there were the beers, the Hunters, the Spins and the Jose's...
All in all I think a legend has been born and the history books of our livers were most certainly re-written! :)
Friday, July 20, 2007
Cooking with Gas but NOT in the Kitchen!
Today is one of those days when you sit and ponder how the fuck you are going to get through all your work before hitting that looming deadline of 2pm!
So far the stress of this is causing me to consume massive amounts of siggies... which basically translates into me smelling like a walking and talking ashtray. Yipee. The one comforting thought is that I originally had 13 things on my "to do" list and am now only left with 3 which I suppose isn't that bad but still...
Friday's are reserved for chilling. Taking a slight breather from work. It's the day you give 5% and bust your balls the remaining 4 days of the week so you can do whatever your little alcohol filled heart wants. Today, this is so not the case. Bugger!
The only thing keeping me going is that I am off to the bush this weekend with The Pilot and some mates who are all couples. Mmmm, this begs me to ponder whether I am turning into a coupley kinda person... Who know the type of person who only does weekends away with other couples. No, can't be. I just fucking refuse. After all, I am only now starting to get used to the idea that I have that proverbial someone special in my life. It's a totally weird yet oddly enjoyable feeling...
So far the stress of this is causing me to consume massive amounts of siggies... which basically translates into me smelling like a walking and talking ashtray. Yipee. The one comforting thought is that I originally had 13 things on my "to do" list and am now only left with 3 which I suppose isn't that bad but still...
Friday's are reserved for chilling. Taking a slight breather from work. It's the day you give 5% and bust your balls the remaining 4 days of the week so you can do whatever your little alcohol filled heart wants. Today, this is so not the case. Bugger!
The only thing keeping me going is that I am off to the bush this weekend with The Pilot and some mates who are all couples. Mmmm, this begs me to ponder whether I am turning into a coupley kinda person... Who know the type of person who only does weekends away with other couples. No, can't be. I just fucking refuse. After all, I am only now starting to get used to the idea that I have that proverbial someone special in my life. It's a totally weird yet oddly enjoyable feeling...
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Five times from Sunday... and then some!
Apparently my mate, Schmo, hasn't had a shag in 8 months!
Fuck. Me.
(this is where he would probably drop to his knees, begging and pleading whilst yelling: yes phuleez)
I find this concept of being shagless very hard to grasp. Especially when the said unshagged individual is a guy! Don't get me wrong, I understand that everyone goes through what I like to term "dry patches". Patches of fruitlessness. Patches that have actually lead to a mate getting blue balls - although I am pretty sure that his no fucking period was way longer than 8 months.
But besides the whole dry patch thang, how on God's green earth do you go that long? Do you forget what a good roggering feels like? Maybe... What I can't seem to quite understand is how in today's modern society where, let's face it, Tequila and fuck loads of Jaggie Bombs practically guarantee even the most unfortunate looking peoples a night of romping, do you not manage to come right???
I understand that you won't be tapping that every night but seriously. All one would have to do is fork out a little cash - in the case of Schmo - schmooze some tart at like The Mandog or gawd forbid Casa and fucks your uncle, you're getting laid. Would only have to be done like twice to relieve the feeling of being a sexual reject, right? Plus if you take all the right precautions nothing serious would happen either, except that you might start becoming confuzzed as to what exactly her name is...
... although, thanks to post-its, that shouldn't be a problem either!
Fuck. Me.
(this is where he would probably drop to his knees, begging and pleading whilst yelling: yes phuleez)
I find this concept of being shagless very hard to grasp. Especially when the said unshagged individual is a guy! Don't get me wrong, I understand that everyone goes through what I like to term "dry patches". Patches of fruitlessness. Patches that have actually lead to a mate getting blue balls - although I am pretty sure that his no fucking period was way longer than 8 months.
But besides the whole dry patch thang, how on God's green earth do you go that long? Do you forget what a good roggering feels like? Maybe... What I can't seem to quite understand is how in today's modern society where, let's face it, Tequila and fuck loads of Jaggie Bombs practically guarantee even the most unfortunate looking peoples a night of romping, do you not manage to come right???
I understand that you won't be tapping that every night but seriously. All one would have to do is fork out a little cash - in the case of Schmo - schmooze some tart at like The Mandog or gawd forbid Casa and fucks your uncle, you're getting laid. Would only have to be done like twice to relieve the feeling of being a sexual reject, right? Plus if you take all the right precautions nothing serious would happen either, except that you might start becoming confuzzed as to what exactly her name is...
... although, thanks to post-its, that shouldn't be a problem either!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Mos like Jean Pant 'n Takkies
I find it completely fucking fascinating how dress codes vary amongst companies. I mean do the big chiefs sit down one day with a list of clothing in front of them and decide which items to effectively knock-off the list?!
The Ex Company was anal retentive when it came to dress codes. Seriously. They were overly anal. My poor wardrobe and my fucking bank account suffered oodles amounts of trauma when I first started there. The funniest thing is that as time went on the list of forbodden clothes grew. Casual days become an oxymoron and rather pointless all together.
The New Company, however, is the exact opposite. I fucking love it. Wear whatever the fuck your little heart desires. Be you, even if that means rocking up in a pink skirt, orange top, blue takkies and purple hair. After all, we're part of the creative industry and thus everyone is expected to be totally insane...
Must say that I don't think I will ever let the casualness of my work attire sink to that extent but I find it so comforting to know that if I wanted to come to work in my jean pant and takkies it would be totally acceptable!
The Ex Company was anal retentive when it came to dress codes. Seriously. They were overly anal. My poor wardrobe and my fucking bank account suffered oodles amounts of trauma when I first started there. The funniest thing is that as time went on the list of forbodden clothes grew. Casual days become an oxymoron and rather pointless all together.
The New Company, however, is the exact opposite. I fucking love it. Wear whatever the fuck your little heart desires. Be you, even if that means rocking up in a pink skirt, orange top, blue takkies and purple hair. After all, we're part of the creative industry and thus everyone is expected to be totally insane...
Must say that I don't think I will ever let the casualness of my work attire sink to that extent but I find it so comforting to know that if I wanted to come to work in my jean pant and takkies it would be totally acceptable!
Monday, July 16, 2007
First Day on the Job
It's like having to start your first day at school all over again...
My nerves kicked in at around 8pm last night and, of course, as expected I hardly slept. Having to start your new job and facing the first day that you anticipate so much for 4 weeks brings with it a fair amount of angst!
The drive to my new place of growth and development was probably the worst. By this stage the nerves had taken over and I felt like a Learner Driver being unleashed on Jozi's roads for the first time.
The most amazing part is that I work with such fantastic people. Had a massive bunch of flowers waiting for me on my desk. My entire office is made up of tarts. Something which worried me a little as generally tarts (who are not my direct awesome mates) don't get on with me so well. Never had a problem with the opposite sex though. But the tarts here are nothing short of tastic! The dirty talk has already started and they all seem like my kinda peeps.
With half of my first day almost completely gone, I am ecstatic. I have this little theory that all you have to do is get through the first day, the first week and then your first month before it's all smooth sailing and you have 100% of a clue as to what needs to get done.
So I am excited and can't wait for this little career journey to start. Fire up the engines on all cylinders!
My nerves kicked in at around 8pm last night and, of course, as expected I hardly slept. Having to start your new job and facing the first day that you anticipate so much for 4 weeks brings with it a fair amount of angst!
The drive to my new place of growth and development was probably the worst. By this stage the nerves had taken over and I felt like a Learner Driver being unleashed on Jozi's roads for the first time.
The most amazing part is that I work with such fantastic people. Had a massive bunch of flowers waiting for me on my desk. My entire office is made up of tarts. Something which worried me a little as generally tarts (who are not my direct awesome mates) don't get on with me so well. Never had a problem with the opposite sex though. But the tarts here are nothing short of tastic! The dirty talk has already started and they all seem like my kinda peeps.
With half of my first day almost completely gone, I am ecstatic. I have this little theory that all you have to do is get through the first day, the first week and then your first month before it's all smooth sailing and you have 100% of a clue as to what needs to get done.
So I am excited and can't wait for this little career journey to start. Fire up the engines on all cylinders!
Friday, July 13, 2007
My very own Cheschire Cat!
I are grinning like a major phat cat today! Actually, I'm fucking purrrrrrrrrrring...
Yesterday I felt a teeny tiny bit sad about leaving The Company. Today, this couldn't be further from the truth. I am walking on sunshine with a grin that would match Bon Jovi's recently whitened smile. Loving it!
Am ready, eager and just generally fucking elated that my little cup of ambition will soon be over flowing. I can't wait to get my hands dirty, to get back into an industry that I not only love but am blind-sidedly passionate about.
Can't. Fucking. Wait.
For now, I have to sit here like a useless clown and look "busy". This in itself is extremely hard to do when you are working out your last hours at The Bacon Making Factory. Actually, it's rather painful...
But as any boozed up tart would do in my situation, I stepped out. Yip, stepped out of the office that shall no longer be the baine of my existence! I stepped out and had be a delicious glass of Merlot and a siggie. Fan-fucking-tastic! Now I get to ponder the remaining three hours away slightly pissed and overly content!
Yesterday I felt a teeny tiny bit sad about leaving The Company. Today, this couldn't be further from the truth. I am walking on sunshine with a grin that would match Bon Jovi's recently whitened smile. Loving it!
Am ready, eager and just generally fucking elated that my little cup of ambition will soon be over flowing. I can't wait to get my hands dirty, to get back into an industry that I not only love but am blind-sidedly passionate about.
Can't. Fucking. Wait.
For now, I have to sit here like a useless clown and look "busy". This in itself is extremely hard to do when you are working out your last hours at The Bacon Making Factory. Actually, it's rather painful...
But as any boozed up tart would do in my situation, I stepped out. Yip, stepped out of the office that shall no longer be the baine of my existence! I stepped out and had be a delicious glass of Merlot and a siggie. Fan-fucking-tastic! Now I get to ponder the remaining three hours away slightly pissed and overly content!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Slowly Turning off the Power..
This is my second last day at The Company.
Weird. Happy, but totally weird...
Always thought that the day I walked out of these walls I would feel like a free tart. A tart whose life sentence of slavery had been lifted. Yes, I thought I would feel pardoned...
But now as I sit here T minusing one day before I gleefully walk out these doors and onto bigger, brighter things (aka the drinking hole down the road) I feel something completely different. I almost feel sad. Not sad because I'm leaving (that I am fucking ecstatic about) but sad because... ah well, fuck I dunno really. Just have this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Know what I'm talking about?
Maybe it's because the end of an era is upon me? Most would argue that this era has generally been a highly frustrating one that has turned me into a bitch with a huge mother fucking cause. This may very well be true but still...
You spend majority of your time at work, you pore your heart and soul into it and then it's over. You just walk away. Leave everything and every project you worked on hanging in the breeze as you sail on.
In fact the more I examine this feeling of weirdness the more I am starting to realise that I might be suffering from separation anxiety. Or maybe it's just anxiety. I know I definitely feel anxious looking at the piles of paper I will be shredding for the rest of day!
Weird. Happy, but totally weird...
Always thought that the day I walked out of these walls I would feel like a free tart. A tart whose life sentence of slavery had been lifted. Yes, I thought I would feel pardoned...
But now as I sit here T minusing one day before I gleefully walk out these doors and onto bigger, brighter things (aka the drinking hole down the road) I feel something completely different. I almost feel sad. Not sad because I'm leaving (that I am fucking ecstatic about) but sad because... ah well, fuck I dunno really. Just have this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Know what I'm talking about?
Maybe it's because the end of an era is upon me? Most would argue that this era has generally been a highly frustrating one that has turned me into a bitch with a huge mother fucking cause. This may very well be true but still...
You spend majority of your time at work, you pore your heart and soul into it and then it's over. You just walk away. Leave everything and every project you worked on hanging in the breeze as you sail on.
In fact the more I examine this feeling of weirdness the more I am starting to realise that I might be suffering from separation anxiety. Or maybe it's just anxiety. I know I definitely feel anxious looking at the piles of paper I will be shredding for the rest of day!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
A Proverbial Dilemma of Monumenal Proportions
So things with The Pilot are going tastically. In fact, there going so tastically that he asked me to go away with him next weekend to Mabalingwe - never been but apparently it is gorgeous. Awesome, I love gorgeous things!
Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity - he might even take me flying while we're there. YAY! (Note to self: Do not press any funny / pretty looking buttons whilst pondering what exactly it does!)
Of course once my ecstatic euphoria had slowed down to a more normal pace, I had that little niggling feeling that I was forgetting something important... Ever had that? What I realised later was that I am suppose to be doing a 21km next Sunday, watching The Parental Unit known as "Dad" host his first live jazz and blues jam session and something else on Friday (I still can't remember what this is though).
Now I am proverbially stuck in a rock and a hard place... Beautiful weekend away with The Pilot or running which translates into copious amounts of sweating and supporting the man who helped make me the boozy tart I am today! Mmmm...
Past experience has taught this tart that such a situation is not a welcome one. They generally end very badly with me feeling like I am being fought over like that last piece of doubly delicious triple decker chocolate cake!
This time, however, things are different.
This time I know exactly what I wanna do.
This time The Parentals like The Pilot so much that the Dad's answer to my proverbial dilemma was... Fuck the run! And don't worry bout us or me on Saturday. Just means I'll have more Jamies for the rest of my customers!
This time I realise what truly awesome Parentals I have and just how much I love them.
This time... my bags are packed and I'm ready to go!
Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity - he might even take me flying while we're there. YAY! (Note to self: Do not press any funny / pretty looking buttons whilst pondering what exactly it does!)
Of course once my ecstatic euphoria had slowed down to a more normal pace, I had that little niggling feeling that I was forgetting something important... Ever had that? What I realised later was that I am suppose to be doing a 21km next Sunday, watching The Parental Unit known as "Dad" host his first live jazz and blues jam session and something else on Friday (I still can't remember what this is though).
Now I am proverbially stuck in a rock and a hard place... Beautiful weekend away with The Pilot or running which translates into copious amounts of sweating and supporting the man who helped make me the boozy tart I am today! Mmmm...
Past experience has taught this tart that such a situation is not a welcome one. They generally end very badly with me feeling like I am being fought over like that last piece of doubly delicious triple decker chocolate cake!
This time, however, things are different.
This time I know exactly what I wanna do.
This time The Parentals like The Pilot so much that the Dad's answer to my proverbial dilemma was... Fuck the run! And don't worry bout us or me on Saturday. Just means I'll have more Jamies for the rest of my customers!
This time I realise what truly awesome Parentals I have and just how much I love them.
This time... my bags are packed and I'm ready to go!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Friday, July 06, 2007
The wheel is turning, but the Hamster, eish she is dead!
It would seem ladies and gents that I have officially run out of steam.
The little light that lights up when you switch the kettle on just doesn't wanna come out and play anymore. Nah-huh!
I am finding this very strange and am pondering if this might be the eighth wonder of the world. I have no idea why I feel this way. I just have no little electrons running around my body. I'm flat. As flat as everyone once thought the Earth was... The really weird thing is that the past 2 days have been the best and made me smile from the inside out! So technically I should be walking on sunshine, skipping to my Lu, running down the streets of Phillie but right now, Living la Vida Loca just isn't working for my fragile liver (this is a medical fact - I have a fragile liver - I know, wicked hey?!)
Maybe I am being over-worked? Or underpaid? Or am just in a pity-party mood... Mmmm, yes I think that's it. Now if I could only find my hip flask all would be right with this boozed up tart's world!
The little light that lights up when you switch the kettle on just doesn't wanna come out and play anymore. Nah-huh!
I am finding this very strange and am pondering if this might be the eighth wonder of the world. I have no idea why I feel this way. I just have no little electrons running around my body. I'm flat. As flat as everyone once thought the Earth was... The really weird thing is that the past 2 days have been the best and made me smile from the inside out! So technically I should be walking on sunshine, skipping to my Lu, running down the streets of Phillie but right now, Living la Vida Loca just isn't working for my fragile liver (this is a medical fact - I have a fragile liver - I know, wicked hey?!)
Maybe I am being over-worked? Or underpaid? Or am just in a pity-party mood... Mmmm, yes I think that's it. Now if I could only find my hip flask all would be right with this boozed up tart's world!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Meet the Rentals...
Oh. Jesus. Christ...
Tonight I am officially meeting The Pilot's parents.
Normally, meeting the parents isn't such a big thing for me... Actually, the idea of meeting the parents doesn't really seem like too much of a big deal. Couldn't comprehend why all my tarts would stress about being put in an intimate environment (aka dinner) with your new squeeze next to you and his rentals on the other side of the table staring at you with those scrupulous eyes, judging you... *gulp*
I used to laugh this idea off like it was a relatively decent joke. Today though I am not fucking laughing. Today I will be running the gauntlet and what I envision is worse than any hell some bible punting tosser could dream of.
I have a very vivid imagination and so at this particular point in time it seems to be running away with me. Running away at such a pace that I think Nike might need to invent some new trainers to cope! Firstly, I have visions of having my life (and most likely me) being open to complete scrutiny. Interrogated like a war criminal - fucking awesome!
So in my mild state of panic (this includes the melodramatic panic of what the fuck I am going to wear and can I really wear those shoes?) I googled meeting the parents in hope that some genius out there on the worldwide web would have some calming and insightful tips...
Things to Remember on a first visit:
Be polite and show respect - Mmm, not very helpful but I suppose useful to remember
Don't have a hangover from the night before - Tick :)
Don't ever refer to sex and your partner - Yes because I would so love his parents to know all about our little shenanigans
Don't ask if you can sleep together at their house - Hahahaha, you must be fucking kidding me? Um, excuse me Mr The Pilot's Dad, do you mind if I shag your son shitless in your guest bedroom? Ja, somehow I think that one was a no-brainer... So tick :)
Take small gift with you that has been researched - Do chocolates count as research?
Refer to the parents formally unless invited otherwise - Tick :)
Do not drink alcohol unless invited - Fuck that sucks. What a bullshit tip... Next!
Never attempt to smoke, even in the garden or yard - Awesome!
Never refuse food and drink. Accept graciously - I would never dream of rejecting drink. I love drink! Bring on the drink...
Do show humor and character but not too much - Mmm, so what their really saying is show restraint right?! Restraint - I can be restrained ;) *giggle*
Do think through some basic questions they may ask - NEXT!
Do not be evasive about your work or career - This will definitely not be a problem, I love my career! Tick :)
Dress well and look presentable - Five fucking ticks :) :) :) :) :)
Avoid any form of bad language - Does fuck count as bad language? I kinda think of it as descriptive language... Fuck, no more saying fuck from 7pm onwards. Fuck - this is a tuffie!
Think of the entire situation as a small interview - Oh great, awesome, totally fucking kiff!
... I am officially fucked!
Tonight I am officially meeting The Pilot's parents.
Normally, meeting the parents isn't such a big thing for me... Actually, the idea of meeting the parents doesn't really seem like too much of a big deal. Couldn't comprehend why all my tarts would stress about being put in an intimate environment (aka dinner) with your new squeeze next to you and his rentals on the other side of the table staring at you with those scrupulous eyes, judging you... *gulp*
I used to laugh this idea off like it was a relatively decent joke. Today though I am not fucking laughing. Today I will be running the gauntlet and what I envision is worse than any hell some bible punting tosser could dream of.
I have a very vivid imagination and so at this particular point in time it seems to be running away with me. Running away at such a pace that I think Nike might need to invent some new trainers to cope! Firstly, I have visions of having my life (and most likely me) being open to complete scrutiny. Interrogated like a war criminal - fucking awesome!
So in my mild state of panic (this includes the melodramatic panic of what the fuck I am going to wear and can I really wear those shoes?) I googled meeting the parents in hope that some genius out there on the worldwide web would have some calming and insightful tips...
Things to Remember on a first visit:
Be polite and show respect - Mmm, not very helpful but I suppose useful to remember
Don't have a hangover from the night before - Tick :)
Don't ever refer to sex and your partner - Yes because I would so love his parents to know all about our little shenanigans
Don't ask if you can sleep together at their house - Hahahaha, you must be fucking kidding me? Um, excuse me Mr The Pilot's Dad, do you mind if I shag your son shitless in your guest bedroom? Ja, somehow I think that one was a no-brainer... So tick :)
Take small gift with you that has been researched - Do chocolates count as research?
Refer to the parents formally unless invited otherwise - Tick :)
Do not drink alcohol unless invited - Fuck that sucks. What a bullshit tip... Next!
Never attempt to smoke, even in the garden or yard - Awesome!
Never refuse food and drink. Accept graciously - I would never dream of rejecting drink. I love drink! Bring on the drink...
Do show humor and character but not too much - Mmm, so what their really saying is show restraint right?! Restraint - I can be restrained ;) *giggle*
Do think through some basic questions they may ask - NEXT!
Do not be evasive about your work or career - This will definitely not be a problem, I love my career! Tick :)
Dress well and look presentable - Five fucking ticks :) :) :) :) :)
Avoid any form of bad language - Does fuck count as bad language? I kinda think of it as descriptive language... Fuck, no more saying fuck from 7pm onwards. Fuck - this is a tuffie!
Think of the entire situation as a small interview - Oh great, awesome, totally fucking kiff!
... I am officially fucked!
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Pandora...
Once again, another legend is born!
Jozigal says:
Ok, what else is interesting?
BoozyT says:
Me
BoozyT says:
I'm taking your slight silence to mean that you concur with my interestingness?!
Jozigal says:
Well I was thinking besides me...
Jozigal says:
Insane!
BoozyT says:
And it's fucking great! We're fucking great, no scratch that (yes scratch it - scratch the crap out of it!) we're fucking awesome!
Jozigal says:
I concur...
Jozigal says:
So dude, I had another fucked up dream last night...
BoozyT says:
Did I kill you this time?
Jozigal says:
Dreamt that I had a BF, and his name was Johan, although in the middle of the dream I forgot his name and then D told me that I look happy and that he wasn’t...
Jozigal says:
And then I asked him if I should fix it for him, bcoz I can, and then I woke up...
BoozyT says:
Ok, that's fucking weird noodle!
BoozyT says:
I wonder what all of these mean?
BoozyT says:
And why Johan as a BF name - think next time you need to choose something sexier
Jozigal says:
I know, although this guy was hot!!!!!!!
BoozyT says:
The thing is he might be hot but you have to ask yourself whether or not you wanna be screaming out JOHAN in a moment of passion - just sounds off putting!
Jozigal says:
I never do... Not my thing screaming out names...
BoozyT says:
So you're not a screamer then?
BoozyT says:
Actually, don't answer that! *lol*
Jozigal says:
Didn’t say that...
BoozyT says:
Just think that next time you need to pick a way hotter name - hot dream men need hot names! It's Dream About Sexy Hot Steamy Men 101!
Jozigal says:
Like the one in that email from yesterday...
BoozyT says:
No, you clearly just scream out: Oh fuck me George - oh no sorry, I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to God... Please continue fucking me - thanks!
BoozyT says:
Oh fuck me 5 times from Sunday phuleez. Jee-sus he was gorgeous!
Jozigal says:
I also did a Tarot on myself last night and it also said that there is some union on the way
Jozigal says:
Maybe I get to have a trial BF for a while again...
BoozyT says:
A union, mmmm that sounds fuckable?!
Jozigal says:
That’s always fun...
BoozyT says:
Trial BF are the best - all the shagging, none of the issues!
Jozigal says:
I know...YAY
BoozyT says:
YAY for fuckable trial BF's - bless their um *cough cough*
Jozigal says:
Well we shall see...
BoozyT says:
His cock-a-doo-dil-do... Yes you shall noodle
Jozigal says:
Not nearly near the dating range yet, but your never know...
BoozyT says:
Exactly - lightening could strike and often when you least expect it. Is weird like that, mmmm even shagging buddies are hard to find these days *dramatic sigh*
BoozyT says:
Times are tuff!
BoozyT says:
Hahaha – almost wrote tits are tuff
Jozigal says:
Yes, well at least someone is showing interest...
Jozigal says:
so don’t complain, and The Pilot is crazy about you!
BoozyT says:
BS - you have loads of peeps showing interest they just never manage to cross the finish line and are therefore, according to sound tart theory, not worth the fuck anyway
Jozigal says:
Uhm... Where?
BoozyT says:
Everywhere - you don't notice them but I do - that's why I am your BFF (best fuck finder)!
Jozigal says:
You’re full shit...
Jozigal says:
There has been one, and that was The Baron Man
BoozyT says:
Exactly - great BFF I was there (har har har - oops) I promise that from now on my BFF face will be on constantly!
BoozyT says:
Dude, I think we have another bloggable fuckable MSN here.... again!
BoozyT says:
We are legends! BU JA KA SHA
Jozigal says:
Will copy later.... just a bit busy... besides you can’t put this in your blog.... I sound pathetic....
BoozyT says:
You never sound pathetic - I on the other hand sound like a sex starved nympho!
Jozigal says:
well,. once you’ve opened Pandora’s box, there’s no closing that MF...
BoozyT says:
Especially when it's filled with Spandex, Durex, Playtex and Lube-ex!
BoozyT says:
It's every pimple filled horny freaks dream! Lucky us!
BoozyT says:
Just re-read the last sentence and technically you have named my poen... Pandora!
Jozigal says:
No I didn’t name your waaahhhaaaa - you mentalist!
Jozigal says:
Ok, what else is interesting?
BoozyT says:
Me
BoozyT says:
I'm taking your slight silence to mean that you concur with my interestingness?!
Jozigal says:
Well I was thinking besides me...
Jozigal says:
Insane!
BoozyT says:
And it's fucking great! We're fucking great, no scratch that (yes scratch it - scratch the crap out of it!) we're fucking awesome!
Jozigal says:
I concur...
Jozigal says:
So dude, I had another fucked up dream last night...
BoozyT says:
Did I kill you this time?
Jozigal says:
Dreamt that I had a BF, and his name was Johan, although in the middle of the dream I forgot his name and then D told me that I look happy and that he wasn’t...
Jozigal says:
And then I asked him if I should fix it for him, bcoz I can, and then I woke up...
BoozyT says:
Ok, that's fucking weird noodle!
BoozyT says:
I wonder what all of these mean?
BoozyT says:
And why Johan as a BF name - think next time you need to choose something sexier
Jozigal says:
I know, although this guy was hot!!!!!!!
BoozyT says:
The thing is he might be hot but you have to ask yourself whether or not you wanna be screaming out JOHAN in a moment of passion - just sounds off putting!
Jozigal says:
I never do... Not my thing screaming out names...
BoozyT says:
So you're not a screamer then?
BoozyT says:
Actually, don't answer that! *lol*
Jozigal says:
Didn’t say that...
BoozyT says:
Just think that next time you need to pick a way hotter name - hot dream men need hot names! It's Dream About Sexy Hot Steamy Men 101!
Jozigal says:
Like the one in that email from yesterday...
BoozyT says:
No, you clearly just scream out: Oh fuck me George - oh no sorry, I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to God... Please continue fucking me - thanks!
BoozyT says:
Oh fuck me 5 times from Sunday phuleez. Jee-sus he was gorgeous!
Jozigal says:
I also did a Tarot on myself last night and it also said that there is some union on the way
Jozigal says:
Maybe I get to have a trial BF for a while again...
BoozyT says:
A union, mmmm that sounds fuckable?!
Jozigal says:
That’s always fun...
BoozyT says:
Trial BF are the best - all the shagging, none of the issues!
Jozigal says:
I know...YAY
BoozyT says:
YAY for fuckable trial BF's - bless their um *cough cough*
Jozigal says:
Well we shall see...
BoozyT says:
His cock-a-doo-dil-do... Yes you shall noodle
Jozigal says:
Not nearly near the dating range yet, but your never know...
BoozyT says:
Exactly - lightening could strike and often when you least expect it. Is weird like that, mmmm even shagging buddies are hard to find these days *dramatic sigh*
BoozyT says:
Times are tuff!
BoozyT says:
Hahaha – almost wrote tits are tuff
Jozigal says:
Yes, well at least someone is showing interest...
Jozigal says:
so don’t complain, and The Pilot is crazy about you!
BoozyT says:
BS - you have loads of peeps showing interest they just never manage to cross the finish line and are therefore, according to sound tart theory, not worth the fuck anyway
Jozigal says:
Uhm... Where?
BoozyT says:
Everywhere - you don't notice them but I do - that's why I am your BFF (best fuck finder)!
Jozigal says:
You’re full shit...
Jozigal says:
There has been one, and that was The Baron Man
BoozyT says:
Exactly - great BFF I was there (har har har - oops) I promise that from now on my BFF face will be on constantly!
BoozyT says:
Dude, I think we have another bloggable fuckable MSN here.... again!
BoozyT says:
We are legends! BU JA KA SHA
Jozigal says:
Will copy later.... just a bit busy... besides you can’t put this in your blog.... I sound pathetic....
BoozyT says:
You never sound pathetic - I on the other hand sound like a sex starved nympho!
Jozigal says:
well,. once you’ve opened Pandora’s box, there’s no closing that MF...
BoozyT says:
Especially when it's filled with Spandex, Durex, Playtex and Lube-ex!
BoozyT says:
It's every pimple filled horny freaks dream! Lucky us!
BoozyT says:
Just re-read the last sentence and technically you have named my poen... Pandora!
Jozigal says:
No I didn’t name your waaahhhaaaa - you mentalist!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Let's go Frolic...!
Oh. My. Sachel.
I am like a giddy little kid, a horny teenager and a tart who knows her birthday is 2 sleeps away! ALL ROLLED INTO ONE!!!
Besides the fact that I am in a walking-on-sunshine mood, the freezing cold fucking weather has brought something that I think every kid (and possibly grown-up tart) should have the pleasure of enjoying...
... SNOW!!!
Last time I saw snow I was 14! That was awesome - did some skiing and besides getting wrapped around one of the ski poles (very, very long story) I loved every minute of it. Mmmm, ok maybe that is a slight exaggeration - I did moan constantly about how cold I was but cut a boozed up tart in the making some slack?!
So snow - how totally fucking awesome is snow? Like TOTALLY! Snow has the same hold over me as ice-cream. I see it. I want it. Must have it.
The problem so far is having to control my urge to go and frolic in it, especially when said gorgeous snow is in front of potential client's offices...
I am like a giddy little kid, a horny teenager and a tart who knows her birthday is 2 sleeps away! ALL ROLLED INTO ONE!!!
Besides the fact that I am in a walking-on-sunshine mood, the freezing cold fucking weather has brought something that I think every kid (and possibly grown-up tart) should have the pleasure of enjoying...
... SNOW!!!
Last time I saw snow I was 14! That was awesome - did some skiing and besides getting wrapped around one of the ski poles (very, very long story) I loved every minute of it. Mmmm, ok maybe that is a slight exaggeration - I did moan constantly about how cold I was but cut a boozed up tart in the making some slack?!
So snow - how totally fucking awesome is snow? Like TOTALLY! Snow has the same hold over me as ice-cream. I see it. I want it. Must have it.
The problem so far is having to control my urge to go and frolic in it, especially when said gorgeous snow is in front of potential client's offices...
Monday, June 25, 2007
Doing the Facebook thang!
I don't think there is anyone on this planet who hates Facebook - mmm, ok well maybe Crombie who is of the opinion that MySpace is a brazillion times better. I'm not so sure I agree with her on this one. Granted, I did delete my MySpace account as I kept getting these arb and totally scary and ludicrous requests from mofro looking people....
That's what I love about technology - don't like: DELETE, think you're a fucking nutjob: DELETE...! Awesome!
... Facebook though is proving to be a little problematic at the moment - especially when all your exs from high school days and varsity and and and start sending you friend requests. Now one could argue that these are completely innocent and bare no cruel intentions per say but I am not entirely convinced. Back in the days I was a real fucking spoilt rich girl who thought the world of herself and um ja pretty much just me hey.
But life has a funny, and sometimes hard, way of teaching you the true meaning of it. It's a lesson I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Without a doubt, I am a better person for it but I have to ponder why my ex-boyfs feel compelled to re-connect? I firmly believe that exs are exs for a reason and never again shall them or I meet (unless it's at a club followed by an awkward hello and them offering to buy me a drink or 3... then great, otherwise...)
And I mean it's not like you can reject the poor bastards because well this tart has kinda done that once already and I feel sorry for them. I mean how much of a beating can their ego's really take? Then again, I am completely open to the fact that I think I am overly-fabulous and as such am reading too much into these little requests (tend to read too much into most things)...
Mmmm, the Facebook ponderation continues!
That's what I love about technology - don't like: DELETE, think you're a fucking nutjob: DELETE...! Awesome!
... Facebook though is proving to be a little problematic at the moment - especially when all your exs from high school days and varsity and and and start sending you friend requests. Now one could argue that these are completely innocent and bare no cruel intentions per say but I am not entirely convinced. Back in the days I was a real fucking spoilt rich girl who thought the world of herself and um ja pretty much just me hey.
But life has a funny, and sometimes hard, way of teaching you the true meaning of it. It's a lesson I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Without a doubt, I am a better person for it but I have to ponder why my ex-boyfs feel compelled to re-connect? I firmly believe that exs are exs for a reason and never again shall them or I meet (unless it's at a club followed by an awkward hello and them offering to buy me a drink or 3... then great, otherwise...)
And I mean it's not like you can reject the poor bastards because well this tart has kinda done that once already and I feel sorry for them. I mean how much of a beating can their ego's really take? Then again, I am completely open to the fact that I think I am overly-fabulous and as such am reading too much into these little requests (tend to read too much into most things)...
Mmmm, the Facebook ponderation continues!
Drinking and driving... OR... Driving and drinking
Dear Universe
Lately I have noticed that you have been tyring to put the fear of Sheeba into me. Firstly, let me just say that this is working... And it is something I do not appreciate for the following reasons:
Lately I have noticed that you have been tyring to put the fear of Sheeba into me. Firstly, let me just say that this is working... And it is something I do not appreciate for the following reasons:
- I have always, since the beginning of boozy tart's time, pushed the boundaries. Whether those be the boundaries of a "legal" and "safe" level of drunkenness or seeing just how quickly we could get from Mansfields to Bourbon Street, I have devoted much time, energy and financial resource to my trade. Therefore, the effort to de-boozyfy said self is just not fucking appreciated. I are the way that I are...
- I fucking get it! Enough with the god damn signs already. Yes, I know drinking and driving is me playing roulette with my life in a moving object but I preferred it when I didn't have to hear that little voice that came over loud speaker and said: You've had too much. No more drink for you. Can't drink and drive, must be responsible. I don't particularly like this little voice. I understand why it is there but still, it's fucking annoying. If possible, can you bring back the one that screams: Let the good times roll - she's fucking awesome!
- I am a responsible fully functional adult... mmm, ok so maybe fully functional is a bit of an exaggeration but cut a boozed up tart some slack would ya?! I have a reputation to maintain and going quietly into the night is not one of them. Stop dicking around with me...
- At the current rate, I am spending approximately 10% of my nett salary bribing polisie peoples. This is good drinking money that is being squandered. As previously mentioned, I fucking get it! And as such, would really appreciate you not radioing in to police HQ and informing them of my back-route whereabouts.
I realise that on many occasions I have put my life and those of fellow best tarts in danger but we always made it home ok - a bit shitfaced and tired from smashing pies into them but home and all there! In addition, I have apologised numerous times and thanked my angels, Brit and Tit, in writing!
Universe, I want you to know that I have taken major note of your signs and as I write this have taken massive steps to re-direct my current drunken and possibly out of hand behaviour but I would really appreciate it, if just for one night a weekend, you could quieten my conscious?
As the Parental Unit known as "Dad" always says, everything in moderation... If we both agree to apply this principle, I see no reason why we can't co-exist very happily. We could be the first to strike a mutual understanding - an understanding that would allow for this little voice to stand up and be heard when I am indeed bordering on being a puza'd tart and having to possible maybe kinda face bribing another polisie man if I drive as well as allowing me to be me - in every sense of the word.
All I am asking for is just one night a weekend where the little voice doesn't kick in thus enabling me to go to my happy place! I am willing to agree to this night occurring when I do not have any sort of car keys in my position (as a show of good faith on my part).
I am sure you will find this proposition very fucking reasonable and as such eagerly await your reply.
Much love, BoozyT.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
It don't matter if you Black or White... Really?
Well fuck me George and call me Sunshine...
Every time you think that this country can't get anymore fucking pathetic with its colour issues, some fucking buffoon manages to move the bar just that much further!
The Parental Unit know as "Mom" told me this morning that some fucking bureaucratic official with too much power and shit for brains has decided that unless our Olympic team meets his colour quota, ain't nobody going nowhere! He even went as far as saying that he didn't give two fucks from Sunday where they get the athletes from - fuck they could even get them off the streets of Alexander for all he cared...
What. The. Fuck.
This guy deserves a job with Mugabe. He is fucked in the head and a total fucking nutter!
Whatever happened to being rewarded for personal achievement, for talent, for fucking hard work and dedication to a sport that you not only love but are passionate about? A sport you are willing to build a career on!
Oh well sorry there Sunny, but you're white and therefore well SORRY FOR YOU! It makes me so angry. This whole fucking fix SA's colour indifference is Apartheid all over again - only this time it's the Whites who are being ostracized...
Don't get me wrong, I am by no means a racist. I have Black mates (who I love and adore - Obes you're my man). I was brought up to not see the colour of a person - after all it isn't a deciding factor in anything really. Recently though, SA's new laws and fucking wanker-offs like this guy are teaching us all to view everyone with a colour attached to them. My question to them is how exactly are you suppose to fix the rift between Black and White if all you are telling us to focus on is the very thing that divided this beautiful country in the first place?!
It's fucking comments like this that make me wanna scream at this monkey and ask him why exactly he thinks half of our professional athletes leave SA and go play abroad? Why half of our doctors, nurses, teachers etc are immigrating? Mmmm, I fucking ponder...
How can South Africans ever expect the racial divide that still exists in this country to come to an end when clearly things are not based on whether or not you deserve them, but rather on the colour of your skin!
Every time you think that this country can't get anymore fucking pathetic with its colour issues, some fucking buffoon manages to move the bar just that much further!
The Parental Unit know as "Mom" told me this morning that some fucking bureaucratic official with too much power and shit for brains has decided that unless our Olympic team meets his colour quota, ain't nobody going nowhere! He even went as far as saying that he didn't give two fucks from Sunday where they get the athletes from - fuck they could even get them off the streets of Alexander for all he cared...
What. The. Fuck.
This guy deserves a job with Mugabe. He is fucked in the head and a total fucking nutter!
Whatever happened to being rewarded for personal achievement, for talent, for fucking hard work and dedication to a sport that you not only love but are passionate about? A sport you are willing to build a career on!
Oh well sorry there Sunny, but you're white and therefore well SORRY FOR YOU! It makes me so angry. This whole fucking fix SA's colour indifference is Apartheid all over again - only this time it's the Whites who are being ostracized...
Don't get me wrong, I am by no means a racist. I have Black mates (who I love and adore - Obes you're my man). I was brought up to not see the colour of a person - after all it isn't a deciding factor in anything really. Recently though, SA's new laws and fucking wanker-offs like this guy are teaching us all to view everyone with a colour attached to them. My question to them is how exactly are you suppose to fix the rift between Black and White if all you are telling us to focus on is the very thing that divided this beautiful country in the first place?!
It's fucking comments like this that make me wanna scream at this monkey and ask him why exactly he thinks half of our professional athletes leave SA and go play abroad? Why half of our doctors, nurses, teachers etc are immigrating? Mmmm, I fucking ponder...
How can South Africans ever expect the racial divide that still exists in this country to come to an end when clearly things are not based on whether or not you deserve them, but rather on the colour of your skin!
Walking through Glass Walls
Apparently I am quite a guarded tart...
When I was first told this I took major offense but upon further examination realised that it was true. I can't help it really. I have been hurt in the past and all that jazz which does seem to have left a mark or stain if you could call it that. So I took a vow per say to always protect myself - never ever letting anyone climb that "wall" unless I had deemed them worthy. And by this I mean that they have passed all the little tests and paces I usually put people through before allowing them to enter the most private and personal space of me...
The really strange is that this guardedness only ever comes into play with men. When I meet potential new mates, however, there is no wall. I am as trusting and naive as a new born Bambi. Men are a completely different story! A mate once asked me why this was and to be honest, I have no fucking clue. Maybe because in my mind they are the ones that can hurt you right down to the bone. No matter how ugly / bitchy your best tart gets with you, I don't think it cuts you in quite the same way...
Recently I have met someone who is slowly but surely forcing me to drop my guard inch by inch. In fact, he is turning my walls into glass ones and has this freaky ability to see right through me i.e. he knows when I have started to raise that wall again. It must be the panic in my eyes. You see I am just one of those tarts who never has and probably never will be comfortable with being vulnerable. I like to be the driver, the controlling force.
But this is all changing...
With The Pilot and heaps of support from Crombie, I am slowly learning that it's ok not have to defend yourself every 5 fucking minutes and that no one is perfect all the time (yay!). The really fantastic thing is that I feel like I am evolving... turning from a dinosaur to a butterfly - heck it could even be a revolution! So for the first time in a longtime, I am willing to see how things with The Pilot pan-out: if they do, great guns (as I kinda really like this one) and if not, well then at least I did more than dip my toe in the water...
*chuckle* Walls - wouldn't wanna live behind one forever but maybe, just maybe, allowing someone to turn them into glass and see straight through isn't such a bad idea...
When I was first told this I took major offense but upon further examination realised that it was true. I can't help it really. I have been hurt in the past and all that jazz which does seem to have left a mark or stain if you could call it that. So I took a vow per say to always protect myself - never ever letting anyone climb that "wall" unless I had deemed them worthy. And by this I mean that they have passed all the little tests and paces I usually put people through before allowing them to enter the most private and personal space of me...
The really strange is that this guardedness only ever comes into play with men. When I meet potential new mates, however, there is no wall. I am as trusting and naive as a new born Bambi. Men are a completely different story! A mate once asked me why this was and to be honest, I have no fucking clue. Maybe because in my mind they are the ones that can hurt you right down to the bone. No matter how ugly / bitchy your best tart gets with you, I don't think it cuts you in quite the same way...
Recently I have met someone who is slowly but surely forcing me to drop my guard inch by inch. In fact, he is turning my walls into glass ones and has this freaky ability to see right through me i.e. he knows when I have started to raise that wall again. It must be the panic in my eyes. You see I am just one of those tarts who never has and probably never will be comfortable with being vulnerable. I like to be the driver, the controlling force.
But this is all changing...
With The Pilot and heaps of support from Crombie, I am slowly learning that it's ok not have to defend yourself every 5 fucking minutes and that no one is perfect all the time (yay!). The really fantastic thing is that I feel like I am evolving... turning from a dinosaur to a butterfly - heck it could even be a revolution! So for the first time in a longtime, I am willing to see how things with The Pilot pan-out: if they do, great guns (as I kinda really like this one) and if not, well then at least I did more than dip my toe in the water...
*chuckle* Walls - wouldn't wanna live behind one forever but maybe, just maybe, allowing someone to turn them into glass and see straight through isn't such a bad idea...
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Black... Just Black
So yesterday I felt inspired...
Actually I was bored and thought that my blog needed a bit of a blogging spring clean... This lead to me spending about 20 minutes fiddling and fussing with different colour combinations to make my blog more visually appealing. After all, first impressions are everything - aren't they?!
After settling on a rather funky combo of orange and purple (the colours that shall, one day, be used on my straight jacket) I pressed "save" and wham bam it was done. I mean what is life if it doesn't have a bit of colour in it! The problem is that I get bored. Not easily, but when I am bored the motivational juice that pumps through my veins dries up and I start feeling like the Kalahari. Mmm, not good...
This lead me to the conclusion that I should stick with what I know / like and just make minor tweaks. You know, a tweak here and there but not perform a major overhaul of this extension of moi. So yes, I reverted back to black... Swapping a few colours round until I was happy (this is very uber important).
I read somewhere that people who wear black are hiding... Hiding from what I have no fucking idea but apparently they are hiding nonetheless. I completely disagree with this little statement. I think black represents something sophisticated, charming and very expensive (hence the reason why every car on this planet should be black - Henry Ford was a genius!)...
Actually I was bored and thought that my blog needed a bit of a blogging spring clean... This lead to me spending about 20 minutes fiddling and fussing with different colour combinations to make my blog more visually appealing. After all, first impressions are everything - aren't they?!
After settling on a rather funky combo of orange and purple (the colours that shall, one day, be used on my straight jacket) I pressed "save" and wham bam it was done. I mean what is life if it doesn't have a bit of colour in it! The problem is that I get bored. Not easily, but when I am bored the motivational juice that pumps through my veins dries up and I start feeling like the Kalahari. Mmm, not good...
This lead me to the conclusion that I should stick with what I know / like and just make minor tweaks. You know, a tweak here and there but not perform a major overhaul of this extension of moi. So yes, I reverted back to black... Swapping a few colours round until I was happy (this is very uber important).
I read somewhere that people who wear black are hiding... Hiding from what I have no fucking idea but apparently they are hiding nonetheless. I completely disagree with this little statement. I think black represents something sophisticated, charming and very expensive (hence the reason why every car on this planet should be black - Henry Ford was a genius!)...
Heidie Ho there Lube Girl!
This post is dedicated to Crombie, who clearly, understands me in a way nobody could ever hope to!
Below is a rather colourful conversation that took place today. It demonstrates my ability to think like a guy. God bless MSN. The result of this little convo was approximately 50 used tissues, puffy eyes and an office that thinks I am all kinds of fucked up! I hope you enjoy as much as I did!
Jozigal says:
Hey, are you interested in going to the playtex factory shop with me and the sister on sat
BoozyT says:
Mmm, why, are we shopping for sexy toys.... Do you want to make sexy times?
BoozyT says:
I hear t make on helluva lube!
Jozigal says:
hahahahaha
BoozyT says:
Sounds like fun, count me in dude!
Jozigal says:
... dude, you are so bad.... No shopping for underwear....
BoozyT says:
I said nothing about underwear - I said sexy times. Since when do sexy times ever require underwear...
BoozyT says:
Ok but seriously what are we shopping for then?
Jozigal says:
Underwear....
Jozigal says:
Playtex.... bras.....
BoozyT says:
But you just said we weren't shopping for underwear
BoozyT says:
Oh ok - I finally get it. AM on page 500 now too!
Jozigal says:
not lube.... Underwear....
BoozyT says:
DUH! I was thinking of Durex!
BoozyT says:
Pat the special child!
Jozigal says:
Fuck you are hilarious!!!
Jozigal says:
People are looking at me like I’m insane, g myself silly, in front of my PC....
BoozyT says:
Dude, I can't believe I sat here thinking that it was a strange girlie bonding thing to do... I know, lets all go shopping for lube! YAY!
BoozyT says:
So am I, have just spat snot across my computer! Damn blocked sinuses
Jozigal says:
This is too much....
BoozyT says:
…For one chicken to handle... I'm sure all the boys wished you said that!
Jozigal says:
Cant believe you said yes, you’re in, thinking we are going shopping for Lube....
BoozyT says:
Well I trust you and figured since I had never been in actual sex shop before that it would be entertaining... We could look at vibrators and panties with no holes in them... Mmmm, no wait... Yip, I'm fucked in the head!
BoozyT says:
Did think the request was a little odd but then again maybe not... After all we want sexy times!
Jozigal says:
dude this is the funniest ever!!!
BoozyT says:
I know, am crying some much that I can barely see the keyboard
Jozigal says:
Dude, check your email....
BoozyT says:
I are checking
Jozigal says:
just sent email...
BoozyT says:
And it's empty - all by myself, don't wanna be all by myself (unless it's with a vibrator and some freshly bought Lube!)
Jozigal says:
no check again.... keep checking dammit...
BoozyT says:
Got it!
BoozyT says:
Dude WTF are talking about - its next week Thursday!
Jozigal says:
oh ok.... no worries... then....
BoozyT says:
Silly monkey... Almost wrote do you want to spank my monkey!!!!
Jozigal says:
Yes, I think so...
BoozyT says:
Don't worry, I don't even have a brain anymore. It's all about lube and spandex!
BoozyT says:
My mind she is in zi gutter...
BoozyT says:
So what time we doing Durex?
BoozyT says:
Har har har, I mean Playtex!
Jozigal says:
At about... mmm I think 11
BoozyT says:
Sounds good to me. Allows for some sleepy sleepie time!
BoozyT says:
We can always do lunch or a movie afterwards... After all that lace I think I might need to see something masculine looking...
BoozyT says:
Mmm, that doesn't sound right
Jozigal says:
yes, I agree... Just think we should go check it out...
Jozigal says:
nice underwear for a nice price....
BoozyT says:
No totally
BoozyT says:
Awesome, actually need some new underwear to make sexy times with
Jozigal says:
stop that!!! I cant laugh anymore....
BoozyT says:
I can't help it - it's like WORD VOMIT!
BoozyT says:
My up-chuck reflex is outta control...
BoozyT says:
Soon I will be discussing the bonus points one can hope to achieve by combining a good ja-goo-ga-leigh and lube!
Jozigal says:
The hot trainer just read that whole bit and he just pissed himself laughing...
BoozyT says:
OMG!
Jozigal says:
He thinks you’re fucking hilarious....
Jozigal says:
And wants to set you up with one of his mates...
BoozyT says:
I can't believe you let him read this...
BoozyT says:
Oh... really? Mmmm, which one? And more importantly how old is he???
Jozigal says:
Dude, I had to explain myself pissing myself alone in my office....
Jozigal says:
He is 30, good looking etc...
Jozigal says:
your mojo is in over drive!!!
BoozyT says:
You could have just said that your imaginary friend slipped and fell. That’s totally believable! I'd believe you!
BoozyT says:
Gawd bless MOJO... MOJO, OH MOJO HOW I LOVE THEE... LET ME COUNT THE WAYS... OMG 1...OMG 2... OMG YES YES YES!
Jozigal says:
I’m sure you would, but this seemed funnier!!!
BoozyT says:
Sounds like a prospect... Mmmm... Although Pilot Boy does it for me at the mo
Jozigal says:
great....
BoozyT says:
I'm always keen to meet new peeps. I particularly enjoy watching them as t spit out their wine because I am such a hill-are-i-us individuals
BoozyT says:
Tell him to find some one for you and then we can go double blind dating together! YAY FOR SEXY TIMES! Although I do like my Pilot Boy quite a bit...
Jozigal says:
... Ok, Ill tell him.
BoozyT says:
I think it would be fucking funny evening... Just for shits, giggles and lube!
BoozyT says:
I'll bing the lube and you can bring the sexy times...
BoozyT says:
I have problems!
Jozigal says:
yes, you are disturbed...
Jozigal says:
I like it!!!
BoozyT says:
But devastingly attractively disturbed...
BoozyT says:
I like it to und I like you! In complete non-lesbian up the fanny kinda way
Jozigal says:
yeah what ever you were way too keen to go Lube shopping with me...
BoozyT says:
Whatever! Spandex, Durex, Playtex - they all sound the same! And most importantly: THEY ALL MAKE SEXY TIMES!!!!
Below is a rather colourful conversation that took place today. It demonstrates my ability to think like a guy. God bless MSN. The result of this little convo was approximately 50 used tissues, puffy eyes and an office that thinks I am all kinds of fucked up! I hope you enjoy as much as I did!
Jozigal says:
Hey, are you interested in going to the playtex factory shop with me and the sister on sat
BoozyT says:
Mmm, why, are we shopping for sexy toys.... Do you want to make sexy times?
BoozyT says:
I hear t make on helluva lube!
Jozigal says:
hahahahaha
BoozyT says:
Sounds like fun, count me in dude!
Jozigal says:
... dude, you are so bad.... No shopping for underwear....
BoozyT says:
I said nothing about underwear - I said sexy times. Since when do sexy times ever require underwear...
BoozyT says:
Ok but seriously what are we shopping for then?
Jozigal says:
Underwear....
Jozigal says:
Playtex.... bras.....
BoozyT says:
But you just said we weren't shopping for underwear
BoozyT says:
Oh ok - I finally get it. AM on page 500 now too!
Jozigal says:
not lube.... Underwear....
BoozyT says:
DUH! I was thinking of Durex!
BoozyT says:
Pat the special child!
Jozigal says:
Fuck you are hilarious!!!
Jozigal says:
People are looking at me like I’m insane, g myself silly, in front of my PC....
BoozyT says:
Dude, I can't believe I sat here thinking that it was a strange girlie bonding thing to do... I know, lets all go shopping for lube! YAY!
BoozyT says:
So am I, have just spat snot across my computer! Damn blocked sinuses
Jozigal says:
This is too much....
BoozyT says:
…For one chicken to handle... I'm sure all the boys wished you said that!
Jozigal says:
Cant believe you said yes, you’re in, thinking we are going shopping for Lube....
BoozyT says:
Well I trust you and figured since I had never been in actual sex shop before that it would be entertaining... We could look at vibrators and panties with no holes in them... Mmmm, no wait... Yip, I'm fucked in the head!
BoozyT says:
Did think the request was a little odd but then again maybe not... After all we want sexy times!
Jozigal says:
dude this is the funniest ever!!!
BoozyT says:
I know, am crying some much that I can barely see the keyboard
Jozigal says:
Dude, check your email....
BoozyT says:
I are checking
Jozigal says:
just sent email...
BoozyT says:
And it's empty - all by myself, don't wanna be all by myself (unless it's with a vibrator and some freshly bought Lube!)
Jozigal says:
no check again.... keep checking dammit...
BoozyT says:
Got it!
BoozyT says:
Dude WTF are talking about - its next week Thursday!
Jozigal says:
oh ok.... no worries... then....
BoozyT says:
Silly monkey... Almost wrote do you want to spank my monkey!!!!
Jozigal says:
Yes, I think so...
BoozyT says:
Don't worry, I don't even have a brain anymore. It's all about lube and spandex!
BoozyT says:
My mind she is in zi gutter...
BoozyT says:
So what time we doing Durex?
BoozyT says:
Har har har, I mean Playtex!
Jozigal says:
At about... mmm I think 11
BoozyT says:
Sounds good to me. Allows for some sleepy sleepie time!
BoozyT says:
We can always do lunch or a movie afterwards... After all that lace I think I might need to see something masculine looking...
BoozyT says:
Mmm, that doesn't sound right
Jozigal says:
yes, I agree... Just think we should go check it out...
Jozigal says:
nice underwear for a nice price....
BoozyT says:
No totally
BoozyT says:
Awesome, actually need some new underwear to make sexy times with
Jozigal says:
stop that!!! I cant laugh anymore....
BoozyT says:
I can't help it - it's like WORD VOMIT!
BoozyT says:
My up-chuck reflex is outta control...
BoozyT says:
Soon I will be discussing the bonus points one can hope to achieve by combining a good ja-goo-ga-leigh and lube!
Jozigal says:
The hot trainer just read that whole bit and he just pissed himself laughing...
BoozyT says:
OMG!
Jozigal says:
He thinks you’re fucking hilarious....
Jozigal says:
And wants to set you up with one of his mates...
BoozyT says:
I can't believe you let him read this...
BoozyT says:
Oh... really? Mmmm, which one? And more importantly how old is he???
Jozigal says:
Dude, I had to explain myself pissing myself alone in my office....
Jozigal says:
He is 30, good looking etc...
Jozigal says:
your mojo is in over drive!!!
BoozyT says:
You could have just said that your imaginary friend slipped and fell. That’s totally believable! I'd believe you!
BoozyT says:
Gawd bless MOJO... MOJO, OH MOJO HOW I LOVE THEE... LET ME COUNT THE WAYS... OMG 1...OMG 2... OMG YES YES YES!
Jozigal says:
I’m sure you would, but this seemed funnier!!!
BoozyT says:
Sounds like a prospect... Mmmm... Although Pilot Boy does it for me at the mo
Jozigal says:
great....
BoozyT says:
I'm always keen to meet new peeps. I particularly enjoy watching them as t spit out their wine because I am such a hill-are-i-us individuals
BoozyT says:
Tell him to find some one for you and then we can go double blind dating together! YAY FOR SEXY TIMES! Although I do like my Pilot Boy quite a bit...
Jozigal says:
... Ok, Ill tell him.
BoozyT says:
I think it would be fucking funny evening... Just for shits, giggles and lube!
BoozyT says:
I'll bing the lube and you can bring the sexy times...
BoozyT says:
I have problems!
Jozigal says:
yes, you are disturbed...
Jozigal says:
I like it!!!
BoozyT says:
But devastingly attractively disturbed...
BoozyT says:
I like it to und I like you! In complete non-lesbian up the fanny kinda way
Jozigal says:
yeah what ever you were way too keen to go Lube shopping with me...
BoozyT says:
Whatever! Spandex, Durex, Playtex - they all sound the same! And most importantly: THEY ALL MAKE SEXY TIMES!!!!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Back from a Jet Plane
So firstly I must apologies for pulling a Houdini the past couple of days but alas this little tart needed some R & R and by that I don't mean Red Bull and Rum but the good old rest and recoup story. I had literally burnt my tarty ass at both ends of my non-existent yet ever present candle.
As I do when I need said R & R, I retreated to Cape Town. This in itself is an absolute irony and a slight oxymoron but nonetheless there is something about being by the sea that feeds my soul. Something every tart needs, especially when you live and breathe the rat race for a living! Of course this is where I should probably tell you that the said R & R never really happened except for the 16 hours of sleep I managed to get on Sunday. But I suppose in my own non-alcoholically challenged way my liver (and my soul.. yes yes very important) got some of the rest it has been begging me for lately. Although I probably shouldn't have drunk so many Tequilas or Voddies and Red Bull but I still believe that these active ingredients played a vital role in this tart having a successful catch up session...
... And by this I mean pass out drunk and sleep for 16 hours!
Viva la Town that is la Cape!
As I do when I need said R & R, I retreated to Cape Town. This in itself is an absolute irony and a slight oxymoron but nonetheless there is something about being by the sea that feeds my soul. Something every tart needs, especially when you live and breathe the rat race for a living! Of course this is where I should probably tell you that the said R & R never really happened except for the 16 hours of sleep I managed to get on Sunday. But I suppose in my own non-alcoholically challenged way my liver (and my soul.. yes yes very important) got some of the rest it has been begging me for lately. Although I probably shouldn't have drunk so many Tequilas or Voddies and Red Bull but I still believe that these active ingredients played a vital role in this tart having a successful catch up session...
... And by this I mean pass out drunk and sleep for 16 hours!
Viva la Town that is la Cape!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Hi, my name is... What? My name is... Who?
Fuck. Me.
I have never in my whole life of being a boozy tart had my Puza face on for such an extended period of time!
No seriously, I am even starting to worry that I am turning into the dreaded individual who has to attend a certain kind of meeting once / twice a week and discuss her feelings about being absolutely boozed with a circle of complete strangers. This is one circle of trust that I really hope I never join.
The problem is that this dreaded circle of trust has apparently been in my family for generations. Yes, my family really loves this circle. Particularly my uncle and nonna, oh and great-grandmother on the Parental Unit known as Mom's side. So it's rather distressing and then not...
They say that the first step to "recovery" is admitting you have a problem... Well I have a fucking problem:
I have never in my whole life of being a boozy tart had my Puza face on for such an extended period of time!
No seriously, I am even starting to worry that I am turning into the dreaded individual who has to attend a certain kind of meeting once / twice a week and discuss her feelings about being absolutely boozed with a circle of complete strangers. This is one circle of trust that I really hope I never join.
The problem is that this dreaded circle of trust has apparently been in my family for generations. Yes, my family really loves this circle. Particularly my uncle and nonna, oh and great-grandmother on the Parental Unit known as Mom's side. So it's rather distressing and then not...
They say that the first step to "recovery" is admitting you have a problem... Well I have a fucking problem:
- Why are there only 2 days in a weekend?! I mean what bloody genius woke-up one day and decided that everyone should work 5 days and have 2 days off. It just isn't working for me (or my liver) and I think I seriously need to petition some higher being to change this...
- I am at work! Always a big problem when working out your final days at The Company
- My alcohol induced state can be blamed on two sole individuals. The one being Crombie (who I love to tid bits but duhling seriously I worry when we drop 3 bottles of vino like its 2l of Coke). The other one is a new addition to my life and one that is proving to be highly addictive. He is, in fact, the main culprit and thus is entirely responsible for my new found um... mmm... how to put this; habit?
So now that I have admitted my problems and been totally and completely brutally honest, I have been saved....
Saved from having to search the web for said meetings. Saved from having to attend said meetings. And saved from joining that circle of trust!
Mmm, if you ask me - I think its been a highly productive day!
Friday, June 08, 2007
MOFRO Seek and Destroy Mission
Crombie's boss is the biggest fucking mofro on the planet!
The man is a jackass. He has bum fuckage problems and therefore feels the need to be a completely uptight tosser. Whats even worse is that this mofro fucker rather kinda fancies himself. Problem is he's the type of guy you bag and do it for your country. The universe was not kind in the looks department.
So Mofro has been a real fucking bastard to Crombie as of late. You knows what the man's problem is - maybe he shoved a pencil up his bum and forgot to remove it or he's having troubles with the Mrs. Whatever the fucking problem is there is absolutely no need to become a wanker to the one employee who bends over backwards for you (oh now really darling...)
I spit on this Mofro's shoes. I spit in his ghastly, so 19-fucking-20's curly ass hair. Although my main problem with this is that he might very ask me: spits or swallows babyeeee... ggggrrrrr!
The man is a jackass. He has bum fuckage problems and therefore feels the need to be a completely uptight tosser. Whats even worse is that this mofro fucker rather kinda fancies himself. Problem is he's the type of guy you bag and do it for your country. The universe was not kind in the looks department.
So Mofro has been a real fucking bastard to Crombie as of late. You knows what the man's problem is - maybe he shoved a pencil up his bum and forgot to remove it or he's having troubles with the Mrs. Whatever the fucking problem is there is absolutely no need to become a wanker to the one employee who bends over backwards for you (oh now really darling...)
I spit on this Mofro's shoes. I spit in his ghastly, so 19-fucking-20's curly ass hair. Although my main problem with this is that he might very ask me: spits or swallows babyeeee... ggggrrrrr!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
The crazy bag lady or was it the drunken skunk?
Fuck. Me.
I was the crazy bag lady who was as pissed as a fucking bergie on Cape Town's streets last Friday. Drunk as a fucking skunk I was. Unable to remember where the hell we'd parked my car (or my bloody mind for that matter). The real clincher though, was when I walked around the Engen garage up the road from Crombie's place talking to myself...
Wait, let me elaborate! Firstly, I was under the influence of copious amounts of Olmeca, Jose and Sauvignon Blanc. Secondly, at 2am you're fucking hungry - especially when you haven't eaten the whole day. Solution? Stop off at your friendly Engen kitchen and grab some chow. Simple enough. Well not really. Not really because I was convinced Crombie was with me when in actual fact she was slumped over rat-faced in my car. This meant that I ambled around the Engen shop asking "Crombie" what exactly "she" wanted to eat, totally unaware that I was in fact talking to myself...
Since I believe that everything in life happens for a reason, Crombie and I desperately tried to figure out the reason for my crazy bag lady moment... The only we could come up with was to entertain the Engen staff. Nice!
I was the crazy bag lady who was as pissed as a fucking bergie on Cape Town's streets last Friday. Drunk as a fucking skunk I was. Unable to remember where the hell we'd parked my car (or my bloody mind for that matter). The real clincher though, was when I walked around the Engen garage up the road from Crombie's place talking to myself...
Wait, let me elaborate! Firstly, I was under the influence of copious amounts of Olmeca, Jose and Sauvignon Blanc. Secondly, at 2am you're fucking hungry - especially when you haven't eaten the whole day. Solution? Stop off at your friendly Engen kitchen and grab some chow. Simple enough. Well not really. Not really because I was convinced Crombie was with me when in actual fact she was slumped over rat-faced in my car. This meant that I ambled around the Engen shop asking "Crombie" what exactly "she" wanted to eat, totally unaware that I was in fact talking to myself...
Since I believe that everything in life happens for a reason, Crombie and I desperately tried to figure out the reason for my crazy bag lady moment... The only we could come up with was to entertain the Engen staff. Nice!
In the words of the M People...
... I'M MOVING ON UP!
MOVING ON OUT!
TIME TO BREAK FREE... NOTHING CAN STOP ME! YEAH!
Yip this tart has finally managed to secure her passport and visa out of this little bacon making factory and onto to bigger and definitely far more fantabulous things!
I am glowing with joy. Overwhelmed by pride. And most of all am so fucking happy to be getting the fuck out of The Company.
Sometimes I guess it is just time to cut your losses and walk away. I have been waiting for this day for months and I must say the freedom and weight-relief I feel when I walk into my soon-to-be-ex-office is awesome. I feel like running down the passages, naked and screaming!
My new job is fucking fantastic and my new boss, well she is just short of the best thing since sliced bread!
So now I sit and wait, patiently, while the days here tick tock away and the while sitting here and thinking: So long suckers, you can kiss my tight, perky little but-tocks adios! Woo fucking hoo!!!
MOVING ON OUT!
TIME TO BREAK FREE... NOTHING CAN STOP ME! YEAH!
Yip this tart has finally managed to secure her passport and visa out of this little bacon making factory and onto to bigger and definitely far more fantabulous things!
I am glowing with joy. Overwhelmed by pride. And most of all am so fucking happy to be getting the fuck out of The Company.
Sometimes I guess it is just time to cut your losses and walk away. I have been waiting for this day for months and I must say the freedom and weight-relief I feel when I walk into my soon-to-be-ex-office is awesome. I feel like running down the passages, naked and screaming!
My new job is fucking fantastic and my new boss, well she is just short of the best thing since sliced bread!
So now I sit and wait, patiently, while the days here tick tock away and the while sitting here and thinking: So long suckers, you can kiss my tight, perky little but-tocks adios! Woo fucking hoo!!!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
It’s a mystery why I’m still single…
This is a comment that was made by our very own home-grown Speedo god! I couldn’t believe it when I read this. My mouth almost smacked the new edition of COSMO right off my lap.
How can a man this gorgeous be single?
Granted, I was utterly ecstatic when I found this tid bit out – no girlfriend means I can still live in pathetic hope. It truly baffles me how he can be single. Ok so maybe he isn’t a nice guy but then again who really gives a fuck, right?! I mean some of my exes have been real assholes and as good looking as they may have been, not one of them resembled him.
So why is it that some of the best looking men around are seemingly unattached and clearly quite torn up about this?! As a single tart in this town, its quite standard to find that we are all rather chuffed with the prospects that being single bring you. Of course this does mainly apply to good looking, rather belter tarts. Am sure the fat n ugly types are gagging for boyfriends. Why then are the hot men of this town not content to enjoy the freedoms and joys that singledom has to offer.
Now I know being involved has its perks but it definitely isn’t the end of the world if you aren’t. Fuck. That. I get more action than some of my involved friends (this is a very sad state of affairs mind you).
One thing I can say is that if Mr. Speedo God is looking for a girlfriend, he can most definitely give me a call! Cause I so definitely would…. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and 5 times on Sunday!!!
How can a man this gorgeous be single?
Granted, I was utterly ecstatic when I found this tid bit out – no girlfriend means I can still live in pathetic hope. It truly baffles me how he can be single. Ok so maybe he isn’t a nice guy but then again who really gives a fuck, right?! I mean some of my exes have been real assholes and as good looking as they may have been, not one of them resembled him.
So why is it that some of the best looking men around are seemingly unattached and clearly quite torn up about this?! As a single tart in this town, its quite standard to find that we are all rather chuffed with the prospects that being single bring you. Of course this does mainly apply to good looking, rather belter tarts. Am sure the fat n ugly types are gagging for boyfriends. Why then are the hot men of this town not content to enjoy the freedoms and joys that singledom has to offer.
Now I know being involved has its perks but it definitely isn’t the end of the world if you aren’t. Fuck. That. I get more action than some of my involved friends (this is a very sad state of affairs mind you).
One thing I can say is that if Mr. Speedo God is looking for a girlfriend, he can most definitely give me a call! Cause I so definitely would…. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and 5 times on Sunday!!!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Apologies, I seem to have sustained an injury while on duty!
Ok, I just don't fucking get it!
Just when I thought that things at The Company couldn't get any worse I fucking get reprimanded on Friday for fucking having a personal conversation that quite frankly had fuck all to do with Tame B. Of course being the ass licking pet that she is - she listened, with great intent and gusto. Thus she overheard my conversation to a good mate. I was discussing how my Puza face had been eagerly placed on last Thursday by the usual suspects. I was, however, off work last week Thursday as I was sick (and currently still am). So I got hauled over the coals by Miss-I-have-a-carrot-stuck-up-my-fucking-virgin-fanny, sidewards! Now I can understand where she might be coming from but she had no fucking right or authority for that matter to take what I view as a rather pathetic attempt at showing that she is the "boss".
What really fucked me off about the whole thing is that she subtly hinted that this convo of my mine, this PRIVATE fucking convo of mine, was going to hamper my reputation at The Company.
Fuck. Me.
I'm sorry buckwheat, I don't think I heard you correctly - say what?!
She then continued down the fast lane to fucking me off by then telling me that it was also going to affect my chance for promotion and get this; for a fucking reference too!
Well Fuck me George and call me Sunshine. I never knew. But thanks for the heads up. Please move towards the nearest fuck off exit and return to sucking R's cock!
This fucking woman is not only totally delusional but in need of a good fucking shag! And bloody driving me round the bend at the same time. She is the devil that wears cheap, tie-die crap found at some second-hand store in Melville! ARG!
But... breathe... being the optimistic tart that I am, I decided to look at this on the bright side. The bright side? The Universe is telling me to get the fuck outta there as fast as I can cause clearly my fan-fucking-tastic personality and the fucking amazing job I do there isn't appreciated!
Anybody hiring?
Just when I thought that things at The Company couldn't get any worse I fucking get reprimanded on Friday for fucking having a personal conversation that quite frankly had fuck all to do with Tame B. Of course being the ass licking pet that she is - she listened, with great intent and gusto. Thus she overheard my conversation to a good mate. I was discussing how my Puza face had been eagerly placed on last Thursday by the usual suspects. I was, however, off work last week Thursday as I was sick (and currently still am). So I got hauled over the coals by Miss-I-have-a-carrot-stuck-up-my-fucking-virgin-fanny, sidewards! Now I can understand where she might be coming from but she had no fucking right or authority for that matter to take what I view as a rather pathetic attempt at showing that she is the "boss".
What really fucked me off about the whole thing is that she subtly hinted that this convo of my mine, this PRIVATE fucking convo of mine, was going to hamper my reputation at The Company.
Fuck. Me.
I'm sorry buckwheat, I don't think I heard you correctly - say what?!
She then continued down the fast lane to fucking me off by then telling me that it was also going to affect my chance for promotion and get this; for a fucking reference too!
Well Fuck me George and call me Sunshine. I never knew. But thanks for the heads up. Please move towards the nearest fuck off exit and return to sucking R's cock!
This fucking woman is not only totally delusional but in need of a good fucking shag! And bloody driving me round the bend at the same time. She is the devil that wears cheap, tie-die crap found at some second-hand store in Melville! ARG!
But... breathe... being the optimistic tart that I am, I decided to look at this on the bright side. The bright side? The Universe is telling me to get the fuck outta there as fast as I can cause clearly my fan-fucking-tastic personality and the fucking amazing job I do there isn't appreciated!
Anybody hiring?
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Climbing into bed with Father Time...
Crazy B used to tell me that younger men were the way of the future. I, of course, used to deny this. A mix of disbelief and amusement adorned by face. Could one of my closest tarts be a bona fide kiddie fiddler? Mmm, maybe but definitely not me. I like my men like I like my vino: older and slightly more mature (although this in itself is a paradox).
However, lately I have been completely disproving this little theory of mine...
You see, lately, the men I have opted to um "spend my time with" have been of a younger gene pool than moi. I feel horrifically guilty about this. I feel like an absolute cradle snatcher. So this whole feeling like a sugar mommy thing got me a thinking - why should I feel guilty? I mean my Achilles Heel is currently banging a married woman, with 2 kids and she is 13 years his senior. Now that's something to feel guilty over.Not my little swim swim in the youngens pool. But still, I find myself feeling... oddly uneasy with this whole have a younger man thing.
I suppose when I am like 500 years old, having a man of around 22 will make me feel like a goddess and boost my ego from here to like... fuck who knows. I just know that I would relish every minute of it.
But that's then and I'm talking now! For now, I just can't seem to get over the age thing...
The really fucking crazy thing is that men never grow up so technically whether you date a 50 year old or a 22 year old shouldn't matter cause in reality they are both only 10!
However, lately I have been completely disproving this little theory of mine...
You see, lately, the men I have opted to um "spend my time with" have been of a younger gene pool than moi. I feel horrifically guilty about this. I feel like an absolute cradle snatcher. So this whole feeling like a sugar mommy thing got me a thinking - why should I feel guilty? I mean my Achilles Heel is currently banging a married woman, with 2 kids and she is 13 years his senior. Now that's something to feel guilty over.Not my little swim swim in the youngens pool. But still, I find myself feeling... oddly uneasy with this whole have a younger man thing.
I suppose when I am like 500 years old, having a man of around 22 will make me feel like a goddess and boost my ego from here to like... fuck who knows. I just know that I would relish every minute of it.
But that's then and I'm talking now! For now, I just can't seem to get over the age thing...
The really fucking crazy thing is that men never grow up so technically whether you date a 50 year old or a 22 year old shouldn't matter cause in reality they are both only 10!
Friday, May 25, 2007
Puza Thursday
Fuck. Me.
Note to self: Don't drink so much bloody vino every fucking Thursday!
Note to self: Don't drink so much bloody vino every fucking Thursday!
(and I know I drank vino last night cause I have that funny post drinking wine after taste in my mouth that doesn't disintegrate no matter how many times you brush your teeth... Know what I mean?)
I say this every Friday when I feel like my head has been used to pry open some burglar bars but I know, deep down, that come Thursday next week my puza face will be applied and then its show time babyeee! Of course, it doesn't really help that Crombie and I chose Thursdays as champagne celebration day - although I think it was an evil plot by my mate to get me fucking sozzled every week (I am very entertaining when drunk *chuffed, slightly embarrassed grin*)
So today, as you might have guessed, I still have my Puza face on from the night before. It has also been brought to my attention that not everyone knows what a Puza face looks like. Hee hee hee, let me tell you... it ain't fucking pretty! But for all of you social retards who don't know what a tart looks like when she has too much Puza and is left to suffer a painful hangover the next day; here's a little snapshot:
So to the other Fab 4 members: muchos grazes mia amici - once again I am properly fucked!
Serious as Cereal...?
I heard this saying for the first time today and I must say that I took an instant liking to it. Serious as cereal - yip, definitely think it is the next "EISH" of SA. Just hasn't been discovered yet.
Now as an avid cereal lover (particularly Frosties) I think this phrase should be given the necessary respect it deserves. It is actually quite similar to moi - at first it looks rather frivolous and retardedly special but once you scratch the surface and realise the potential, it's mind-blowing.
Serious as cereal has the potential to be applied in a variety of situations; e.g.
Now as an avid cereal lover (particularly Frosties) I think this phrase should be given the necessary respect it deserves. It is actually quite similar to moi - at first it looks rather frivolous and retardedly special but once you scratch the surface and realise the potential, it's mind-blowing.
Serious as cereal has the potential to be applied in a variety of situations; e.g.
- Guys I am as serious as cereal, I have had way too much to drink. Take me home now. (enter in Scottie)
- Pulling a "sickie" and then being told that your sens of humour the next day is not appreciated as well dagnabbit you are suppose to be sick. Perfect time to turn around to your fucking boss and tell her not only to go fuck herself up the kazoo with a wha-wha brush but that you are serious as cereal about being sick.
- Any form of apology.
- When trying to get your point across or informing some of the idiotic people I share this planet with, that you know something they don't know and in about 5 minutes you are going to educate them with something so devastatingly fantastic that the news has to be as serious as cereal.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Girls who like Boys who like Girls who...
... And so it begins!
After watching Trust The Man last night I was left with a rather sad view of the male species. Sad because men really have descended from apes, they constantly think about shagging (which most definitely has its fucking advantageous) and even go so far as to wank themselves off while you're lying in the bed with them. Although, I must be fair, the women in this movie are equally sad and even more pathetic. The one refuses to fuck her hubbie and the other one can't stop, secretly hoping that her craving for his sperm will produce the one thing she desires the most - a bouncing bundle of joy! The really strange this is uber brudey girl's man consistently thinks about death; coincidence? I think not... I would wanna die too if I knew my astounding shagging capabilities were only being used to produce the dreaded sound of pitter patter...
I guess what I am trying to get across, in a rather typically blonde way, is that I don't get the whole relationship thing. I mean as little ones who hear (and eventually dream of it - maybe this is the root of the problem) that boy meets girl. Girl likes boy, Boy likes girl. They have dinner. They shag senseless. They live happily ever after whilst riding off into the gorgeous sunset on a white horse...
But rarely does this happen - especially the horse part. I fucking hate horses. Really I do. Such pointless animals. As Crombie would say we need to start making hamburger patties outta them...
After watching Trust The Man last night I was left with a rather sad view of the male species. Sad because men really have descended from apes, they constantly think about shagging (which most definitely has its fucking advantageous) and even go so far as to wank themselves off while you're lying in the bed with them. Although, I must be fair, the women in this movie are equally sad and even more pathetic. The one refuses to fuck her hubbie and the other one can't stop, secretly hoping that her craving for his sperm will produce the one thing she desires the most - a bouncing bundle of joy! The really strange this is uber brudey girl's man consistently thinks about death; coincidence? I think not... I would wanna die too if I knew my astounding shagging capabilities were only being used to produce the dreaded sound of pitter patter...
I guess what I am trying to get across, in a rather typically blonde way, is that I don't get the whole relationship thing. I mean as little ones who hear (and eventually dream of it - maybe this is the root of the problem) that boy meets girl. Girl likes boy, Boy likes girl. They have dinner. They shag senseless. They live happily ever after whilst riding off into the gorgeous sunset on a white horse...
But rarely does this happen - especially the horse part. I fucking hate horses. Really I do. Such pointless animals. As Crombie would say we need to start making hamburger patties outta them...
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Things I Hate About the Ex-Newbie
This post is dedicated to old newbie of my team. This guy has got to be the most fucking irritating dork to ever exist. The man's inability to think for himself has got to be his most enduring quality! I am at my wits end when it comes to this... this... fuck I don't even know what to call him but he drives me insane!
The ways I hate the ex-newbie:
The ways I hate the ex-newbie:
- He hums everytime he gets busy. Fucking. Hums. Since we work for a bacon making factory, this equates to me having to listen to his fucking humming for 8.5 hours a day. That's a total of 42.5 hours of humming a week. For fuck's sake can he not just shut the fuck up? Would an hour of peace and quiet be too much to ask????
- He is incapable of saying no. Somehow his brain just doesn't comprehend the use of the letter 'n' with that of 'o'. Or maybe he's just fucking thick? Either way, it drives me mental.
- He's cocky. But not jock cocky. No no no, I know how to handle jock cock. He's cocky in that geeky wanna-be-hardcore kinda way. Think he has hunk-a-phobia. I mean really, if you looked like Brad Pitt or Wentworth Miller then by all means gloat and be a cock. But if don't; sit down, shut up and fuck off!
- He has no balls. Absolutely. No. Cahonies. None. Zip. Zero. If you told ex-newbie to actually go and grow some (or even grab some for that matter) the poor Matilda would look at you like a rabbit in headlights...
- He calls me by my nickname. Now I'm sorry but only my familia and my friends call me by my nickname. Since he doesn't fall into those two categories, he should be addressing me in the proper manner. I swear if he calls me by that name again I am going to ram my clutch pencil down his throat, sidewards!
- He is fucking irritating. Really fucking irritating (Super-H can vouch for this).
Generally, when I dislike people, they know about it. For some reason though, this buffoon just doesn't get it...
... Anyone know a good hitman?
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Bubbles up... and away
So it seems that Crombie's and my little idea of Champagne Thursdays has been stolen! Ok so maybe stolen is a slight exaggeration but nonetheless it has been copied, branded and now advertised as something else. The fucking cheek! I mean they should at least be paying licensing / royalty fees to us.
I must admit, however, that the idea of adding another Champagne day to the week is utterly thrilling and has thoroughly wet my boozy appetite! So maybe it isn't such a god awful idea. Technically, Crombie and I came up with it, which by deduction, would mean that it is a fucking tastic idea and all tarts should start scheduling into their diaries with haste & gusto.
When you get thunking about it, what do you really do on a Sunday that could be classified as suave 'n savvy?! Nutting really. All that is about to change. Now, you can sip French bubbles listening to chilled-out French music (have no idea what the hell this sounds like but I am sure that it will transport you back to the cobble-stone streets of Pari) with the knowledge that you, as an individual tart on this massively enormous planet, are doing fuck all but celebrating.
(According to the image below you can even look all Pari-like - viva la veuve!)
Celebrating what you might ask?
Champagne Sundays, but o' courze!
Monday, May 14, 2007
Tasting Etiquette
My first post of the week is dedicated to something that makes this tart a little more "off the wall" than she already is... It is a subject I hold very dear to my heart. It has been the third companion on Crombie and my many debaucherious night's out.
Being an I-tie and all it was written in the stars that this extraordinary subject and I would get along famously. In fact, we were destined to get along so famously that The Tart's family owned one of these puppies and started producing some of zi best stuff I have had the pleasure of consuming - on countless occasions!
The subject? My third companion? The lord of debauchery? Who else but a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc or was it Merlot, mmmm maybe even the evil bastard known as Chenin Blanc?! Whoever it was, wine has got to be the best thing ever invented / discovered since sliced bread!
Now apparently one isn't suppose to glug the stuff straight from the bottle while singing "come and Rescue me" to Crombie. Nope, there is a proper tasting / drinking etiquette. Who knew?! The whole etiquette thing was developed to help you embrace the different qualities each wine offers. Fuck. Me. Wine has qualities? Fan-fucking-tastic!
This news got me so excited that I did what any tart would do given the situation. I googled. God bless Google! According to Google, if you're going to be tasting a number of wines, your judgment will remain clearer if you spit rather than swallow!
Now I wonder what other areas of life this could be applied to, mmm....
Being an I-tie and all it was written in the stars that this extraordinary subject and I would get along famously. In fact, we were destined to get along so famously that The Tart's family owned one of these puppies and started producing some of zi best stuff I have had the pleasure of consuming - on countless occasions!
The subject? My third companion? The lord of debauchery? Who else but a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc or was it Merlot, mmmm maybe even the evil bastard known as Chenin Blanc?! Whoever it was, wine has got to be the best thing ever invented / discovered since sliced bread!
Now apparently one isn't suppose to glug the stuff straight from the bottle while singing "come and Rescue me" to Crombie. Nope, there is a proper tasting / drinking etiquette. Who knew?! The whole etiquette thing was developed to help you embrace the different qualities each wine offers. Fuck. Me. Wine has qualities? Fan-fucking-tastic!
This news got me so excited that I did what any tart would do given the situation. I googled. God bless Google! According to Google, if you're going to be tasting a number of wines, your judgment will remain clearer if you spit rather than swallow!
Now I wonder what other areas of life this could be applied to, mmm....
Friday, May 11, 2007
If you think I'm sexy...
I think every tart has been called this at least once in their life. I get called this constantly and although some tarts would think it was a major compliment, I can't fucking stand being told I am sexy. Not sure why really, just kinda have a negative connotation attached to it. To try and get over myself (I am apparently riding on a fucking high horse at the moment - yipee kai yeah mother fucker!) I looked the word "sexy" up in good old dictionary (when was the last time you used one of these things? Rather archaic). So "sexy" is defined as follows:
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- concerned predominantly or excessively with sex; risqué.
- sexually interesting or exciting; radiating sexuality;
- excitingly appealing; glamorous
Ok so after reading those I have kinda blown my own little discomfort with the word right outta my own fucking window but let's just pretend that I still hate the word... I mean having some random bloke call you sexy is kinda like having someone call you vivacious - I mean what the fuck? Why not just say, my fuck you look amazing and so full of life. Vivacious sounds far too much like curvaceous for this tart's liking. So the use of this word is most definitely not a good thing!
Then, of course, you get sent a mail which contains photies of fellow tarts and dudes who, by definition, would rate themselves as "sexy". After reviewing these, you will see that above definition doesn't even begin to capture the sexiness these creatures contain...
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Fuck. Me.
Like I said boys, sexy... Just. Don't. Do. It.
I'm a sucker for...
Men. In. Suits.
But not just any old linen / pinstripe / classic black suits. Oh no. I'm talking the expensive kind. The good quality kind. The kind that when you rip off a few buttons in the heat of the moment, you feel the fabric's pain.
I've always loved, actually worshipped would be the right word, a man in a good suit. Mmmm, mommy! They make me want to do crazy, wild animal things to them.
The only thing better than a man in a suit? A fucking hot man in a suit. Fucking hot men in suits is my kryptonite... (and no that isn't a typo or grammatical error. It means what it says).
Crombie is different. Hairy baboons who can sing the night away do it for her. Actually, hairy baboons who can sing the night away like Joe Niemand do it for her. My guys have to be clean-cut, *cough cough* and you guessed it: dressed in a suit! So when I stumbled across this little comic, I couldn't help but think of the Crombster...
Noodle, all I can say is thank fuck we don't have the same taste in men! :)
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Secret Hiding Places
Did you ever have a secret hiding place as a snot rag? A place that you could disappear to and tell the world to fuck right off in the process? I'm not sure if I did but I do recall quite a few hiding places I had as a tarty teenager... Ah yes the joys of youth and all the stupidity that comes with it.
The Tart and I had these hiding places down to a tee when it came to booze, smokes and I think condoms too but that could have been another corrupt mate! The great thing about these hiding places is that they were interchangeable. You could change them to suit whatever mood you were in or even better yet what shoes and shit hot outfit you were tarted up in for the night. Fan-bloody-tastic. I used to think that my hiding places were fucking genius and that no one, not even the almighty Parental Unit, would ever uncover the depths of my sneakiness. Today, however, whilst munching on some tasteless pasta salad the truth was revealed and I was left completely dumbfounded. Left thinking why on God's green bloody earth I had not managed to think of that?!
The hiding place? A girl's platted hair
The treasure? Miniature bottles of Jack, Vodies, Gin (and the list goes on)
How? Scheit loads of ribbon, elastics and very thick hair...
I am still absolutely devastated. To think my long hair could have served such an honourable purpose. Fuck.
The Tart and I had these hiding places down to a tee when it came to booze, smokes and I think condoms too but that could have been another corrupt mate! The great thing about these hiding places is that they were interchangeable. You could change them to suit whatever mood you were in or even better yet what shoes and shit hot outfit you were tarted up in for the night. Fan-bloody-tastic. I used to think that my hiding places were fucking genius and that no one, not even the almighty Parental Unit, would ever uncover the depths of my sneakiness. Today, however, whilst munching on some tasteless pasta salad the truth was revealed and I was left completely dumbfounded. Left thinking why on God's green bloody earth I had not managed to think of that?!
The hiding place? A girl's platted hair
The treasure? Miniature bottles of Jack, Vodies, Gin (and the list goes on)
How? Scheit loads of ribbon, elastics and very thick hair...
I am still absolutely devastated. To think my long hair could have served such an honourable purpose. Fuck.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Supersize Me
I am officially scared for life. My reputation for being a well-dressed, fashionised tart is ruined. My name is smut *loud sobs* And to think this is all a result of wearing that god awful creation. AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So Mrs-S-To-Be finally got married on Saturday and this poor tart, who fro once kept her fucking mouth shut and took the news that I would be wearing that dress with grace and poise, had to wear my maid of honour dress. Now the design was totally gorgeous - loved that - the problem, however, came in once I found out what the bloody hell the fabric was! Yip, I was told that I would be wearing satin. But wait folks, it gets better! Not only was I now going to be wearing the worst fucking fabric on the planet but it was going to be a dusty, dirty salmon pink. Yay for me - I could hardly contain my excitement.
But I decided that I would gush over the dress, telling my friend just how gorgeous I thought it was and a fantastic fabric and colour she had chosen (vomit bag aisle 5 phuleez!) My deepest fears were realised on Saturday morning when I had to climb into my tent. And I say that with just cause. You could literally have fitted the entire Mandela family in it. Now one would think that the fucking thing would be made to perfection, after all it was made for me right? Mmmm, maybe not... My dress dilemma only got worse though... There were 3 burn marks on the side of it, the zip was a gaudy white and it hadn't been finished!
To make sure that this tart is not over-exaggerating a dreadful and painful situation, let's recap my extra special maid of honour dress, the dress that will forever be in my mate's photos to mark her memorable day:
Can't wait to see the official photo's - yip, am just dying with anticipation.
So Mrs-S-To-Be finally got married on Saturday and this poor tart, who fro once kept her fucking mouth shut and took the news that I would be wearing that dress with grace and poise, had to wear my maid of honour dress. Now the design was totally gorgeous - loved that - the problem, however, came in once I found out what the bloody hell the fabric was! Yip, I was told that I would be wearing satin. But wait folks, it gets better! Not only was I now going to be wearing the worst fucking fabric on the planet but it was going to be a dusty, dirty salmon pink. Yay for me - I could hardly contain my excitement.
But I decided that I would gush over the dress, telling my friend just how gorgeous I thought it was and a fantastic fabric and colour she had chosen (vomit bag aisle 5 phuleez!) My deepest fears were realised on Saturday morning when I had to climb into my tent. And I say that with just cause. You could literally have fitted the entire Mandela family in it. Now one would think that the fucking thing would be made to perfection, after all it was made for me right? Mmmm, maybe not... My dress dilemma only got worse though... There were 3 burn marks on the side of it, the zip was a gaudy white and it hadn't been finished!
To make sure that this tart is not over-exaggerating a dreadful and painful situation, let's recap my extra special maid of honour dress, the dress that will forever be in my mate's photos to mark her memorable day:
- It was the size of a tent and could fit a family of 10 in it. This meant I couldn't lift my arms higher than my fucking elbows for fear of flashing a bit tit. Grrrrreeeeaaat!
- Satin apparently stretches. Mmmm, so was now wearing even bigger pink sack. Charming!
- That's how many fucking burn marks this thing had on it.
- The stitching near my waist hadn't been finished and so my over-sized plush family of 10 house starting coming undone. Super.
- The bloody dressmaker cut the dress too short. I tried changing my shoes but alas the ones I had originally chosen were just too perfect to punish and have hide in a shoe box. So I looked like a midget who had recently had a massive fucking growth spurt.
Can't wait to see the official photo's - yip, am just dying with anticipation.
The Fairest Sirs of All...
Before I begin this blog I must apologise to Fab 4 members 3 & 4 for being such a scheit tart and only blogging about the best damn wedding I have ever had the honour of attending. Sorry boyz, my bad...
Anyhoo, the point of this post is to gush non-stop about how fantastic my boyz (which is pronounced in the same fashion as Jerry Mansfield called Joffers his boy) wedding was. The Crombie and I had the best mother fucking time ever, well after we eventually managed to find the place that is - apologies Crombie. It really wasn't this tart's fault - the maps were outdated, there were no signs and I just don't have the fucking patience. In the end we made it; heels, dresses and slightly sweaty faces.
I must admit that I didn't quite know what to expect as this was my first gay wedding ever but I should have known with D&R on top of things (in a totally non-sexual way) that it was going to be a day / night to remember. And man was I right.
The ceremony was one of the best one's I have ever been too. Especially since their vows actually meant something. They focused on promising to grow with each other and that their marriage wouldn't be one of entrapment or restrictions. Not the usual bullshit of obeying your partner - I personally hate that fucking vow. Nope, D&R had me in tears when they exchanged vows. So fantastic to see two such beautiful people celebrating their love for one another.
After scoffing down the most deevine nibbles we got down and dirty - on the dance floor that is. In what I fear was a vein attempt to try and warm my toes up (I had been unable to feel them since about 8pm that evening) Crombie and I got everyone all riled up to do some major tail feather shaking. Of course, poor R was having a mild shit fit with the Dj who clearly took his job of being the boogie master at a gay wedding a little bit too seriously / far. I mean he even played YMCA for fuck's sake. Even D tried to get him to play something more contemporary which resulted in this Boogie Master asking what the fuck contemporary meant. Mmm, right, okay, nuff said...
Either way it was a fucking cracker of a day - something that I will certainly never forget and hold very dear to my heart (just like my boyz...)
Anyhoo, the point of this post is to gush non-stop about how fantastic my boyz (which is pronounced in the same fashion as Jerry Mansfield called Joffers his boy) wedding was. The Crombie and I had the best mother fucking time ever, well after we eventually managed to find the place that is - apologies Crombie. It really wasn't this tart's fault - the maps were outdated, there were no signs and I just don't have the fucking patience. In the end we made it; heels, dresses and slightly sweaty faces.
I must admit that I didn't quite know what to expect as this was my first gay wedding ever but I should have known with D&R on top of things (in a totally non-sexual way) that it was going to be a day / night to remember. And man was I right.
The ceremony was one of the best one's I have ever been too. Especially since their vows actually meant something. They focused on promising to grow with each other and that their marriage wouldn't be one of entrapment or restrictions. Not the usual bullshit of obeying your partner - I personally hate that fucking vow. Nope, D&R had me in tears when they exchanged vows. So fantastic to see two such beautiful people celebrating their love for one another.
After scoffing down the most deevine nibbles we got down and dirty - on the dance floor that is. In what I fear was a vein attempt to try and warm my toes up (I had been unable to feel them since about 8pm that evening) Crombie and I got everyone all riled up to do some major tail feather shaking. Of course, poor R was having a mild shit fit with the Dj who clearly took his job of being the boogie master at a gay wedding a little bit too seriously / far. I mean he even played YMCA for fuck's sake. Even D tried to get him to play something more contemporary which resulted in this Boogie Master asking what the fuck contemporary meant. Mmm, right, okay, nuff said...
Either way it was a fucking cracker of a day - something that I will certainly never forget and hold very dear to my heart (just like my boyz...)
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