Tradition

From next month we’re going to have at least two new people joining us at publicaddress: so we went out at lunchtime today to get them their new sneakers. That’s one of our little traditions. Seeing as we’re a Durban agency that reflects Durban’s laidback attitudes and personalities we like to welcome new staff with a pair of sneaks. They’re not super expensive ones. In fact, that’s the whole idea… There’s only one rule that comes with them: You MUST wear your sneaks to every papu. (If you don’t already know what a papu is, you can find out here.)
Have I mentioned that Durban advertising rules?
Well, it does!

We’re LIVE!

Check it out people! Our publicaddress website is now up and running!
You’ll find me in the profile section, under “people”… Well. I’m not physically UNDER any people, but you know what I mean?



Don’t forget to download something kiff for your desktop from our download section.
DURBAN ADVERTISING RULES!!

Seriously, you guys. Transformers is like the coolest movie I’ve ever seen!

… And it’s not just because I’m in advertising and creatives like myself like getting off on uber-cool graphics and CGI stuff!
This movie just ROCKS! Trust me.
Even the website is killer…
Cheri and I caught the 6pm show at Musgrave last night, with handbags stuffed full of chocolate, cheese burgers and popcorn. I knew it was going to be cool, but damn, nothing could have prepared me for just HOW cool it was going to be. For most of the movie Cheri and I just sat there in a wide-eyed daze murmering “coooool… cooooool… cooooool…” like some sort of mantra.
I really thought that I was gonna dig Megatron (I have a thing for bad boys!) but when Bumblebee did that cool wheelie thing and transformed from and old, stuffed up transformer into an awesome new yellow Camaro transformer? I knew I was in love.



And as for Optimus Prime? Uber LANK kiff, as Cheri would say!
The Dreamworks people really have taken it to the next level. In fact, they’ve basically invented a whole new level about 15 levels above what movies used to be, and that’s where they are now with this film.
There’s loads of eye-candy for the girls and explosions for the boys, so everyone should have something/someone to perv.
Check it out. You won’t be sorry.
(Note: The running time is 2 hours 22 minutes, so don’t order a big coke like Cher and I did! Ouch.)

Gym Shower Etiquette 101

I’ve been hitting the gym pretty hard for about 2 years now, and I can honestly say that I’ve learned a lot. Not just about my body and the way it works, how far I can push if and where I have to respect my limitations, but I’ve also learned a great deal about the way I interact with people and the way that they interact with me, in a small, sweaty, “exposed” environment. My Body Talk (energy healing) practitioner told me once that she only goes to the gym when she’s absolutely forced to (if bad weather won’t allow her to train in her own pool at home), otherwise she does her very best to avoid the negative, aggressive energies firing around the gym, from all the time-poor/cash-rich, stressed, overweight fuckers trying in vain to fight genetics, the ravages of time and the bulging stress-vein in their temples. Me personally? I feel the angry energy too… But that’s not what this blog post is about.
This post is about how you should behave in a gym locker room / shower environment, - a “how to” of sorts to help you navigate your way through the potentially embarrassing and painfully uncomfortable world of non-sexual group nudity.



1. Don’t touch my stuff with your stuff!
In my house, I have some rules. One of them is, don’t EVER touch my towel. You touch my towel, you die. It’s as simple as that. This is a rule that I enforce with the very people that I know and love. Strangers at the gym don’t get the same courtesies as the ones I know and love. I’m way more brutal with strangers. If we are sharing a bench in the locker room, please do not let any part of your stuff touch any part of mine. That’s disgusting. A few weeks ago some woman tossed her towel ON TOP OF MINE on the bench while we were changing. Once I’d recovered from the nausea and revulsion I SHOOK my towel out from under hers, making sure her towel ended up on the athlete’s foot infested tiled floor, before giving her a shrug and a “Oops! Did I do that?” eyebrow raise… Next time she won’t be so lucky.



2. Please, for the love of God: If I don’t know you, don’t talk to me when I’m naked.
Nudity makes people uncomfortable, - we all know that. I have found that in order to break the tension, people feel that they need to fill the uncomfortable silence with verbal diarrhoea. They try to fight their discomfort for as long as they possibly can, but by the time you’re both completely naked, they can’t TAKE it anymore, so that’s the time they choose to ask you where you bought your gym bag, or what you think of the new treadmills, or how much you paid for your running shoes, etc etc etc. I find it difficult to make conversation with strangers when I can see their genitalia. And in my mind’s eye, all I can see is my own nakedness, - a mental picture of what they must be seeing. Sigh. Just don’t do it.
(Also, especially don’t try to sell me something when I’m naked. I’ve had women approach me about insurance, herbal weight loss teas and business “networking” opportunities all while I was kaal-gat.)



3. Don’t have half hour long conversations on your cell phone, while you’re completely naked, lying spread-eagled on a bench.
It’s fucking disgusting. I don’t need to see what you had for lunch. And NO conversation is EVER so important that it can’t wait until after you’ve pulled your clothes on. I can hear you laughing and joking, therefore it CANNOT be a serious pressing issue that you’re trying to sort out. Bloody hell…



4. Only The Jackson Five should ever have afros that big.
Ladies, bikini grooming is everything. If you’re not going to wax because you’re a big sissy for pain, then get yourself a trimmer and TRIM for Pete’s sake! I’m not saying that you have to go as extreme as I do. (I’m currently sporting a look that the guys at work call “The Bald Eagle”. I get many a double take in the change room…) But a landing strip would be far less vomit-inducing. Hell, even a George Micheal designer stubble trim would be easier on the eye. I’ve often wondered if some women would actually drop a pants size through a simple hedge trim. I’d be very interested to find out…



5. No gawkers please.
If you’re bringing your children with you to the gym, please keep them on a leash and please keep the little perverts away from me! You may have squeezed them out of your privates and therefore don’t care if they see you naked, but I do mind when I’m trying to get dressed and I’ve got some little boy staring at me with his mouth open, while his mother is quite happy to pretend that she can’t see what he’s doing just so that she can dress in peace for once. Don’t make your problems (mistakes?) my problems. I have no issues with hitting children, and I might just start with yours if you are too prozac’ed up to do it yourself.

6. Be prepared.
I make an effort to sit down at my desk, think about everything that I could possibly need to get showered/dressed, buy little travel pack versions of everything and pack them in my little gym bag for when I need them. I like being prepared. (Okay… It’s not a “little” gym bag. I could actually leave home for 2 weeks and have enough stuff to keep me beautiful. What? I’m anal that way.) I therefore have no patience for lonely bitches who try to start a conversation or make new friends by borrowing my stuff. I once had a lady walk up to me and say, “You look like you have a nice big bag with lots of stuff in? I don’t suppose you have any talcum powder for me?” The only reason I didn’t punch her in the face, is because I’m a lady. The size and contents of my bag have nothing to do with you, so stay the frack out.

I have a couple of other pet peeves / rules that don’t just involve the shower, like…
- If you’re ahead of me on the super circuit, when the super-circuit beeper beeps, get the fuck off the machine and out of my way. (While you’re dragging your fat ass off the machine, I’m losing MY full time on it! Fuck.)
- Wipe your sweat off the machine before I have to use it. ALL of it!
- Don’t “book” a machine by throwing your towel over it, only to have a conversation with your friends or try to chat up a personal trainer when I’m QUEUING for the same fekking machine. GEEZ!!
- Don’t try to chat me up when I’m sweating. Especially if you’re an old geezer. Just fuck off.

I think I really hate the gym. I LOVE working out. But I hate the gym. No… I actually like the gym it’s the people that work on my goddam nerves.
I think I just don’t like people.

Shit. Writing this piece has made me angry. Now I want to climb up to a watch tower and shoot somebody. Anybody.

The Simpsons Movie? Thumbs up!

On Friday night The Guy and I were looking for something relatively low key and laid-back to do, so after much deliberation and confusion we decided on the default low-key outing option ie. the movies and headed off to Gateway to see what was on. I was really REALLY amped to see Transformers, ‘cos I’ve heard great things about it, but The Guy was vehemently opposed to the idea. (I don’t know why. So don’t ask.) He’d seen The Simpsons movie before, but is a big Spiderpig fan so didn’t mind seeing it again. I love The Simpsons and am a big fan so I wasn’t too bummed about not seeing Transformers. (Besides, maybe I can con Cher into coming to the movies this Wednesday to watch Transformers with me… How ‘bout it, CheriBeri? I’ll even spring for popcorn & horrogs!) After grabbing a quick sushi (with no embarrassing face stuffing incidents this time, phew!), wandering around the centre and bumping into my cousin’s wife (ack!) we ended up at the apple iStore for about half an hour, drooling on all the cool mac stuff.



Do yourself a favour and check out the store. It’s freakin' AWESOME!
The Guy himself went from pledging his undying devotion to pc's as we walked into the store, to leaving half an hour later vowing to get a mac himself someday. (Can I get an Amen for the latest mac convert?) I basically drooled for a solid 30minutes.

(Oh. By the way. The reason for the “ack!” on meeting my cousin’s wife? Well… You have to understand that my family loves to "talk". Which family doesn’t? My folks and brothers haven’t met The Guy yet, and I was hoping they’d be the first, but if I know my people, the entire family probably knows all of The Guys specs by now. Not that I mind too much. He’s quite easy on the eye and was on his best behavior. Oh well…)

And eventually, we made it to the movie…



Yeah… I think I’d rate it, hey? It might have been The Guy’s infectious laughter that made it a whole lot funnier than it was, but I really did enjoy it. No big surprises really, - just like an hour and a half long episode of The Simpsons with no ad breaks and no dumb network logo in the corner of the screen. I did quite enjoy studying The Guy's reactions to things, - seeing what he found funny vs what I thought was hilarious. I noticed that both of us didn’t find the blasphemous church-stuff too funny. (No big surprises here. We’re both God-fearing Christians.) We both LOVED the Spiderpig bit… But after much consideration I’ve decided that I am way more “evil” than he is. He’s the kind of guy who would laugh at a man dressed as an old lady falling into a ditch. With me, it really has to be an old lady. And she should preferably break something. (Snigger.) He would be appalled at that last statement. In fact, he’s constantly suggesting that I twist his arm into doing all sorts of deviant stuff that he wouldn’t ordinarily ever consider doing. I say, rubbish! Nobody can MAKE you do stuff you really don’t want to do. Whether he likes it or not, he’s got a rubber wrist just like mine. (I have a whole rubber arm. Nay 2 rubber arms! But that’s a story for another time. Heh heh heh.) Maybe that’s part of the attraction: the fact that we’re both so highly and easily corruptable.
(I like. I very, very like!)

Quite possibly the WORST fast food experience I’ve ever had!

Shot, Debonairs (Newlands) for a totally kak pizza experience.
Here’s how it went down…
I stayed home from work on Wednesday with a busted up back, - not from having any kinky sex or anything like that (sadly!), but from reaching around in my car for something and over extending a muscle and some joints. I’ve been trying to nurse myself back to health for almost 3 weeks now, but somehow the pain has been getting progressively worse. Also my idea of nursing myself back to health, is swallowing as many painkillers as I can get my get my hands on during the day, working out like a demon 4 times a week, and then passing out in the weirdest sleeping position ever to aggravate the already strained part of my body. Rest and physio didn’t feature until yesterday when I eventually couldn’t take the pain anymore. (What can I say? I can’t tolerate weakness! Especially my own…)
My mom and dad were on leave yesterday, so when I woke in desperate need of some "comfort food" (read: melted cheese) I decided to treat us all to some pizza from the nearest pizza place, Debonairs in Newlands. Somehow “comedy of errors” doesn’t quite sum it up, because it was sadly more infuriating than funny.
First I call to place the order and get their order guy happens to have the thickest, strangest accent ever! He had to say everything at least 3 times for me to know what he was trying to ask/communicate. THEN they took almost an hour to get there, by which time my hungry father had gone from waiting in the kitchen, to waiting on the veranda, to waiting on the driveway, to standing in the street with his arms folded and a fist full of cash, fuming and vowing not to tip the delivery guy. THEN the pizzas finally get there and the one hasn’t been sliced. We don’t have a pizza cutter, and trying to slice a molten-lava hot pizza with a blunt knife is impossible, even more so where you’re already starving. Our pizza looked like we’d stuck a bomb in it by the time my mom was finished. THEN we discover that they’ve started using some cheap mozzarella that, no matter how hard/long you chew retains one rubbery solid shape, so that – in order to actually get it down your throat – you have to swallow it whole! THEN the final straw came when my mom bit into an olive pip, feeling like she’d cracked her own pip in two from the sheer jarring force of it all!
It goes without saying that we won’t be supporting those guys anymore. Not just the Newlands store, but the entire franchise can bugger off! As processed as their pizzas were, I kinda enjoyed Debonairs back in the day, but boy have their quality control levels dropped!
Mom and I felt quite queasy later in the day too… Shiver! The thought of that rubbery “mozzarella” makes me sick.

UPDATE: My brother, not knowing about this incident, decided to treat us to pizza from Debonairs just this weekend. I'm not sure which branch it was from, but it definitely wasn't from the one in Newlands and it was MUCH MUCH better... If inconsistency is their big problem all I can say is that they've pretty much lost me as a customer. How do you know which branch to support? Pfft!

Stupid cell phone camera drained the colour…

I kinda got a little side tracked a few weeks ago, so my crochet project (the afghan/throw for my bed) fell a little behind schedule. Ag! Who am I fooling? I’ve blown the schedule clean out of the water with my procrastination and general lazy-assed laying about. So… Here’s what I’ve decided. Instead of killing myself to complete one major project every 6 months (as originally planned… ja right!!) I will now endeavour to complete one major project per year, with as many minor projects as I’d like to take on along the way. So this afghan qualifies as this year’s major project. And yes, it WILL be done by the end of the year, even though I’m really not looking forward to blocking and joining all of the squares that it will take to make the final thing. (Groan!) The moment this is done, I’m hoping to have a few weeks/months to make a few baby blankets to put away from some family/friends who I know will be having babies or are planning to have babies soon. I’d like to finish the blankets now and put them away for when I need to hand them out, rather than to start late and not finish them in time, as is more “my style”… (Eyeball roll!)
So here’s how the squares are looking so far…



I’ve completed eight of each of these “colour variations/patterns” (that’s ±72 squares in total). I took the picture late last night, in my badly lit bedroom, so the colours are all drained and washed out! The camera didn’t do it any justice at all. The colours are much warmer in reality. They’re denim blue, dusty/rosy pink and a pale wheat kinda colour. I was so desperate to capture the warmth in the colours that at one stage I was balancing a torch in my mouth kneeling on my bed with my face as close to the squares as possible and taking the pic with my elbows propping me up and keeping me from landing on my ass.
Who says crochet is for girls?!

From Zero to Poo-Yourself in about 4 seconds…

Okay… So there I was looking forward to a laid back friday afternoon and early dinner with The Guy, - nothing too spesh, just fast food and a laugh or two at the chicken joint ‘round the corner from my house, when The Guy tells me that there’ll be a small change of plan. (Ooh! Spontaneity! Surprises! I like.) I got there first and called to ask if I should get us a table, but he instructed me (he’s VERY bossy and loves ordering people – not just me – around!) to wait outside. There was something he wanted to show me… Turns out that he was getting some ridiculously expensive car sound fitted to his car and, as is often the case with men, his friends were there to lend a hand, a laugh and some general hanging-about pointless man-company. (Girls? You know the type… Why do men always have to do things in packs? Anyway.) And the thing that The Guy wanted to show me was a car belonging to one of those friends. In fact, the friend offered to bring The Guy over to meet me (while the car sound was getting sorted out) and to actually take me for a very short spin in his super, uber, lank, crazy fast car. I’m not sure what all the numbers mean, but I’m told that it’s a 2l, 16valve, turbo… thing.
Well.
It started out innocently enough, until The Guy warns me that I really should sit back, instead of perching on the edge of the backseat (so I could touch him, giggle!). I didn’t even get to ask why, before the friend takes off at top speed, throwing me backwards (blind!) and pinning me to the backseat. Is it lame to admit that my life flashed before my eyes and we didn’t even get past 3rd gear? Well if it is lame, then so be it! Damn. It was fast. But it wasn’t just getting from A to B quickly that made the whole thing “fast”… It was the way the car felt under us; the way it sounded… all of it, added to the experience. (By the way, “Friend”! My lawyer will be calling you later this week about the pending whiplash case I’m starting against you… Just kidding!)
Let’s get one thing clear. I’m no sissy when it comes to speed. I once racked up a bunch of speeding fines to the value of about R4000 in the space of 3 months or so. (Ack!) When a fine comes to my house my father doesn’t even bother to open it to see who it’s for. He just angrily throws it on my bed and glares at me as he walks past. There was a joke around our house that, that year I had taken it upon myself to fund the SA police Christmas bonus kitty all by myself. Whatever. I can’t drive slow, so shuddup!
Even though I worry that The Guy will be safe while he toys with this racing rubbish, I really can’t be a hypocrite and try to make him stop. I never would. I can only imagine how good it feels. I haven’t told him this before, but I have a serious problem with speed too. (Speed as in “fast”. Not speed the drug! Doh.) It’s weird. Rollercoasters make me queasy with that sick, lurching, stomach-in-your-mouth feeling, but fast cars are just fine, thank you very much.

Funny...

I ALSO see salad just like this! (Heh!)
Check out the making of this awesome tribute to Giger and Giuseppe Archimboldo here.
Way cool.

For the ladies.

My dad sent me this email today and it really touched my heart. Mainly because it's the way I've been feeling lately about myself and about being 32, - just comfortable in my own skin. Read on. It's good stuff.

THIS HAS BEEN WRITTEN BY A MAN...

This is for all you girls 30 years and over and for those who are turning 30, and for those who are scared of moving into their 30's AND for guys who are scared of girls over 30! This was written by Andy Rooney from CBS 60 Minutes. Andy Rooney says:
As I grow in age, I value women who are over 30 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:

A woman over 30 will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.

If a woman over 30 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do. And, it's usually something more interesting.

A woman over 30 knows herself well enough to be assured in who she is, what she is, what she wants and from whom. Few women past the age of 30 give a damn what you might think about her or what she's doing.

Women over 30 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you, if they think they can get away with it.

Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.

A woman over 30 has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A younger woman with a man will often ignore even her best friend because she doesn't trust the guy with other women. Women over 30 couldn't care less if you're attracted to her friends because she knows her friends won't betray her.

Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over 30. They Always Know.

A woman over 30 looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of younger women.

Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over 30 is far sexier than her younger counterpart.

Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off if you are a Jerk if you are acting like one! You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her.

Yes, we praise women over 30 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed hot woman of 30+, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year-old waitress.

Ladies, I apologize. For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free". Here's an update for you: Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage, why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire Pig, just to get a little sausage!

LIVE EARTH follow up...

I finally got around to downloading our pledge pic from asimpleswitch.com and here it is!



Vanessa, myself and Maria (in that order)... You can just see we're nursing hangovers from HELL from the night before. It's hilarious now when I look at it, but it wasn't so hilarious at the time. I've never felt pain like that before. Groan.

Hulk smash! Hulk CRASH!

Yesterday was quite a weird day for me…
It was busy and all seemed to be happening on some surreal level. I didn’t let it bug me though, thinking that my follow up appointment with my hairstylist might bring my senses back to The Real, - having one of the girls wash, dry and style my hair might make me feel human again, right? Or so I thought. It turned out to be an equally unrewarding, empty experience. My hair looks GREAT – don’t get me wrong – but I just wasn’t “in the moment” somehow…
The last straw came when I got home expecting to find a receipt and some change for a bill that I’d asked my father to pay, safely chucked on my bed. Instead I find that he’s given the people the ENTIRE amount (no change!) and they’ve made the receipt out incorrectly! (I requested that they do it a certain way for my tax return.) Argh! You’ve got to understand that my arrangement with the people came after several lengthy phone calls and visits, so when they STILL didn’t get it right, I felt like I had every reason to be pissed! I don’t think I’ve ever felt so “alone” than at that moment. The feeling that, if I didn’t do it myself, I actually couldn’t rely on anyone to just “take care of it” for me. I had asked for a little support on something really simple and my support system had failed. In fact the support system felt nonexistent. In no time at all, I graduated from silent indifference in the car, to screaming blind bloody rage, - fury so intense that, let’s just say it’s a good thing I don’t have a gun. I could have quite easily off-ed him!
It was clearly time for what I like to call a “breaky-breaky, fucky-fucky”, which is basically where you ravage your way through the house/office (actually any space will do!) like Godzilla or The Hulk, pulverizing everything in your path… (For added effect you can also growl/yell “Hulk smash! Hulk CRASH!” as you drop kick things out of your way!) So I did a few Jean-Claude Van Damme flying kicks to some shit in my room and skulked off to the lounge to breathe (deeply!) and try to calm the throbbing vein in my cranium.
Some good advice from someone who knows: Don’t try to practice your favourite hobby when your mad. You’ll just end up like that guy in the toothbrush commercial who builds a squiff cupboard (with drawers that don’t fit), smashes it to pieces and then brushes his teeth too hard. Know the one? Well… all the murderous rage in my shoulders went straight down my arms, through my fingertips and along my crochet needle and wool, to make stitches so tight and tense that at one stage I thought I had knotted the needle in permanently! (@£$%£$%!!!!!)
But then a funny thing happened: The Guy called quite unexpectedly to find out how my hair appointment had gone. When I told him that I needed to go back for yet another follow up appointment next week, he proceeded to have the sexiest little jealousy fit ever! He barked something about how he’s convinced that my (very straight) hairstylist is actually just getting me back there so he can run his fingers through my hair (crap, - trust me!) and that he’s coming with me next week so that he can bust a cap in the salon. (I had visions of him having a breaky-breaky fucky-fucky in this uber cool, serene, grey salon while Tibetan monk meditation music twinkled gently in the background. Hilarious!) There was also a very crude “pube” remark that I’m too much of a lady to ever repeat, - but damn! It made me laugh. He made me laugh. And the heavens opened up, and the angels started singing, and the sun shone through the clouds and the vein stopped throbbing etc.
What is this strange power that men have over women?
I’m an independent woman dammit! I am in control of my own feelings right?
Wrong.
The Guy turned a totally kak day around with a simple little phone call. Powerful stuff, if I say so myself. A few days ago he joked that I should start saving up for his Christmas gift, - a turbo thingy for his car worth thousands. (He’s such a dreamer! Pfft!) But I think I should just get him a cape and mask. “SuperGuy” has a nice ring to it, I think.
The little midnight calls that followed later only sweetened the deal even more…

Apologies to the Toyota Auris people…

I spelt your name incorrectly…
No WONDER I couldn’t find you on the net. Doh!
Check it out peops:
http://www.auriscity.co.za/
Naas… Very naas.

It's the S-N-O-O-P D-O double G!

We're rocking some vintage Snoop in the office today! Doggystyle, 1993, - only the best... I could try to to make up some words to wax lyrical about how awesome Snoop is, but I think I'll just leave it to him:

It's the bow to the wow,
creepin and crawlin,
Yiggy yes y'allin,
Snoop Doggy Dogg in the motherfuckin house like everyday,
Droppin shit with my nigga Mr Dr. Dre.
Like I said, niggaz can't FUCK with this,
And niggaz can't FUCK with that
shit that I drop cuz ya know it don't stop.
Mr. One Eight Seven on a motherfuckin cop.
Tic toc never the glock just some nuts and a cock.
Robbin motherfuckers then I kill dem blood claats.
Then I step through the fog and I creep through the smog,
Cuz I'm Snoop Doggy (who?) Doggy (what?) Doggy [Dogg]

That's some poetic shizzle, right there, y'all!
To which I can only respond with a melodic:

Doggy, Doggy, Doggy, can't you see?
Somehow your words just hypnotize me.
And I just love your jazzy ways.
Doggy Dogg, your love is here to stay!

Taken from my favourite track on the album... Sigh.

Cars are kiff.

Wow! What a weekend!
It was strangely full of cars, cars, CARS!
The Guy is a bit of a drag racing fanatic and races a bit himself (swoon!) and was basically booked all weekend on a drag race event thing that he was involved in.
But he wasn’t the only one going car mad… One of my best girls, LorLor, totally managed to hook us up with VIP tickets to the launch of the new Toyota Aurus at some swank spot on the waterfront. Nice.



We weren’t even sure if it was going to be cool or not, and were quite comfortable to just pull on a pair of jeans and a sexy top, see if we make it to midnight and take it from there… Little did we know the event was going to be so awesome! I knew things were taking a turn when I ditched the jeans in favour of a killer LBD that I’d forgotten about at the back of my wardrobe. I dunno… I suddenly felt like getting a little dressed up. So I did. And I’m glad I did, ‘cos the Aurus people really went all out! Wow… There were cool rollerblading, lumi-clad waitress chicks, keeping everyone well juiced on shooters and yummy chow. The dj was freakin’ brilliant and the other entertainment rocked too. There were these platforms all over the place where, every few songs, some dancers would put on a mini performance to whatever. Of course by 1am we were so hammered we thought it might be a good idea to get on the platform ourselves. (Ack!) Let’s just say, one minute there were steps going up and the next minute there were no steps… Wipe out! Fortunately Noodle and I landed on our feet, but needless to say we trashed that idea very quickly and chose to stay away from the platform from then on (LOL!).



Not the most flattering angle for me, but anyway...
Whoever said that tequila is The Devil, clearly has not met the tequila/whisky/jagermeister combo. Groan. Our dancing got progressively more manic as the night wore on and by the time The Guy decided to surprise me at the event (±1am) I was totally sweaty and squiff. (Ah crap!) He was elated at having won his race (my hero!) but far too tired to come in and see my friends. So I got The Shits that he wouldn’t meet them and then he got The Shits and I had The Shits, and we drove home in a huff. (Pout.)
I don’t know if excessive boozing can lead to tourettes syndrome, but all I know is that I kept bumping into things all of Sunday and letting loose with a stream of obscenities that would make a sailor blush. It hurt, you guys… It really really hurt. Hangover induced tourettes is no fun. I’m not going recommend it. Anyway, it’s my fault for not knowing my limits.
Sunday was very bleak and depressing for a number of reasons (all sorts of altercations and deliberations) but at least it ended nicely with The Guy making me laugh. He has such a sexy, infectious laugh, he soon had me in stitches.
And now it’s Monday and back to work. The weekend euphoria has worn off and I’m trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of my tummy, - the feeling that something is wrong… The feeling that something really bad is about to happen (to me). What does it all mean, I wonder…

Happy (on) Women's Day!

What better way to spend Women’s Day than as an absolute princess, pampered and preened to precious perfection… But, now I’m getting ahead of myself! The pampering and preening was more like the icing on a somewhat decadent, indulgent, heavenly cake of a time that I’ve been having lately.
Let’s see… Where should I begin?
First there was this really big pitch presentation that we’ve been preparing for here at work. To say that it went well would be a bit of an understatement! We just did so well and the client was really happy, so I guess the new business will be ours. Driving back to the office along the beach, with the sun on our faces and the waves crashing on the shore and our little hearts so full of pride, I thought I might cry. But I didn’t because the guys would’ve given me kak about it! Although at some stage I think they might have also been tempted to cry but blamed it on some sea sand in their eyes instead!
Then there are all the latest developments with The Guy… Perhaps now an update on The Guy is in order… Goodness knows what the rest of the world will think about us being together seeing as I am a good few years older than him, but my word, we don’t seem to care! We’re hitting it off like the proverbial “house on fire”. Well… Nothing’s literally in flames, but it sure feels hot! (*giggle*) Since meeting face-to-face last week and getting to know each other via an intricate web of technological innovation (ie. phone, sms and the internet), we decided to take our well-choreographed techno-samba to the next level and actually have a meal together like real people do in the real world. Civilized, grown-up, real people. That’s us, - or at least, who we aspire to be. So off we went to dinner on Wednesday night to the Cape Fish Market (Gateway), and here are a few dating tips I’ve gleaned from the evening…
What to do and what not to do on a first dinner date with a guy:
1. Don’t order sushi. (Biting a piece of sushi in half is bad luck, but the sight of you stuffing an entire salmon nagiri in your gob in one go – as is the custom! – is something that he should only see later in the relationship when both of you have degenerated into a bunch of couch potatoes who don’t care what they look like. My sushi chef probably thought he was doing me a favour with the giant pieces, but I really just wanted to kill him. Shot for nothing, A-Hole! I’m pretty sure that at one stage I might have caught The Guy’s raised eyebrow. Ack!)
2. Don’t order a whisky if your man is drinking a cola tonic. (No matter now sober you know you are, you’re going to feel hammered just knowing that he’s not drinking at all.)
3. Try not to get served by midgets. With braces. Who can’t stop talking in their squeaky little voices. (This WILL irritate you, especially when he’s being nice to the midget, and inadvertently encouraging her to talk more. And more. And MORE!)
4. Don’t be afraid to make an entrance! (Swishing in, in a sexy little number is worth the look on his face when he sees you. And the lump in his throat when he tries to greet you. Also remember to feign innocence when he demands that you throw a jacket over your shoulders because he doesn’t want other guys checking you out. A simple “But darling… This old thing?” following by some furious eyelash fluttering and open-mouthed disbelief will do just nicely, thank you! Make guy jealous? Check!)
5. Try not to look like a love-struck fool as you gaze into his eyes, listening to his riveting story about fixing his car.
6. Make sure you have a full tank of petrol for the long ride home. (You might find yourself taking the long route just so you can spend more time together. Shweet.)
… A great time was had by all! We’ve since been meeting and techno-samb-ing whenever we get the chance. There has been a minor glitch or two, like him not warning me that his aunt might show up unexpectedly to meet me while we’re out (HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!), but other than that, it’s going well.
And last but certainly not least on my agenda, Women’s Day! After months and months of saving and agonizing over whether or not to do a permanent bio-ionic type straightening on my naturally soft-curly hair, I finally decided to go through with it. There really was only one choice for me when it came to salons, so earlier in the week I called Babylon (Cowie Road, Durban) to book some time with Jono, the owner, resident DJ and all-round king of beautiful hair. I could never have expected Jono to offer to open the salon especially for lil’ ol’ me on a public holiday (Women’s Day) and to treat me to his absolute undivided attention and care! But that’s exactly what he did! What a gent!?! Four hours in the seat could have been agonizing, but it was just brilliant! I stepped out feeling like a princess, and I’ll be back on Tuesday for the follow-up appointment and a treatment. Thanks, Jono! You’re a star.



You can see my shiny hair in these happy, smiley pics…

I think this sums it up quite nicely...

A weekend of interesting get-togethers…

Last week was tough, you guys! Really really tough… Meetings, deadlines, demanding clients. The works. By Thursday evening, I’d reached rock bottom. Got home from work, went to church for a little spiritual “healing” and got home ready to drown my sorrows in a couple of bottles of wine. (I was so stressed, I would’ve sucked back a bottle of cutex remover if there was no booze in the house! Help!) So when Friday morning (the start of the weekend, yay!) finally rolled around I could barely contain my excitement. “Hay no corrida” blasted its way through my stereo as I made my way to Rhubarb (the recording studio that we use for all our voiceover recordings) to record my voice for a presentation that we were putting together for a client. I’ve done loads of voiceovers in the past, so I wasn’t too stressed about it. In fact, rather the contrary: It felt good being back in a studio doing something other than the day to day grind at my mac. Then it was back to the office to put the finishing touches on the presentation, to deliver it to the client by 4pm. By 5pm I was home and basking in weekend bliss, also due in part to the fact that there’s a new guy around who’d been calling me all day. Nice. We had an awesome hour-long chat on the phone, full of goofy jokes and getting-to-know-you flirting. Friday evening was chilled. Saturday was busy, - our cleaning lady has gone AWOL, so my mom and I threw on our aprons and spent the day cleaning. Yawn. Then Saturday night I was off to Primi to meet my best mate Lor-Lor for dinner. (Cool website, Primi!) Two cosmopolitans later we were laughing our heads off, talking about the usual: men and sex. (I think that the bartender poured those drinks with real love! Boy, were they strong! Maybe it’s ‘cos we waited so long for them – something about them losing their cosmo glasses, WHAT?!? – that I think he thought he’d get us sloshed so we wouldn’t complain to the manager!) I had the ravioli and Lor-Lor had the salmon pasta. I think it might have been a little too much for that late at night, ‘cos by the time I’d eaten my last piece, I felt like a beached whale. A tipsy beached whale. Groan. So I can’t say that I felt too sexy meeting The Guy for some QT. But I’m glad I did. We’re having a really nice time getting to know each other. (More on this as things develop. Wink!) Sunday was family time, - lunch with my gran. Breyani, yum! And before I knew it, it was Monday. Again.
Things don’t feel too bad today though…
I’m looking forward to a productive week at my desk; being back at the gym after having the flu for so, SO long; having more laughs with The Guy and eating healthy. (I really want to look good in the killer dress that I bought for my dad’s 60th birthday party in 4 week’s time, so it feels wonderful being back on track with the healthy living after 3 week’s of the flu and comfort eating.)
Life feels weirdly normal for a change. Weird.