30 07 09

It has been some time since I wrote, my dear reader.

In that time, many dramatic events have unfolded, and I shall now list them for your reading pleasure, in no particular order.

1) I have rediscovered chocolate-covered raisins, which has reminded me that this is the only civilised way to disguise those dried up, frigid little grapes. Delicious.

2) I’ve realised that when people say “no offence but…” they really do mean lots of offence.  People really do say the most extraordinary things to one another in office environments, and think that by masking it with a giggle it’s less offensive.

3) Taking out a gym contract suggests that I should, at some point, make an appearance at the gym.

4) I’d like to beat the crap out of white people who begin conversations with people of a different race, “Where’s your manager?!”

5) Caring less is sometimes a lot more manageable than caring more, except when it comes to finance and hygeine.

6) I approve of fish-shaped pretzels.

I do hope you’ve been blown away by my stupendous list of news. One can only hope next week will prove to be as exciting.


More walking and talking

27 07 09

 walking-1Yesterday Orange Poodle and I managed to walk another 15 or so kilometres around Joburg without being harmed. This distance excluded the treks to and from the car, which turned out to be a lot more problematic than we bargained for as a result of misplacing our vehicle for a while when trying to leave  the parking lot. I now know why those people decide to braai in the parking lot among the cars, instead of setting up in the designated barbequeing facilities closer to the festivities – they do it so they can remember where they parked after drinking their bodyweight in beer and brandy.

walking 2

‘Twas a good morning, as it has been for the past four years we’ve been LPEJs  – Large Public Event Joiners. The Poodle attempted to fondle a puffy stuffed carrot and then a tomato, and I managed to avoid, once again, stealing sachets of water out of the hands of my fellow walkers. I feel I have quashed this urge sufficiently to say that I am over that little kleptomaniacal period of my life.

Enough bogs were provided along that way, which was grand as it meant less viewing of public urination by both men and women. More men than ever seemed to have shaved legs, though why they were wearing shorts in -1 degree weather was a mystery.

On the downside, perhaps the screaming sokkie treffers at 8am were not as encouraging and uplifting as those on the business ends of the street-side gas barbeques, would have wanted us to believe.

The pics above are of the front lawn of a pseudo-prominent Joburg couple, apparently (no, not Des and Dawn, but good guess!) The depiction of what appears to brightly coloured black Africans standing around next to a zebra made me wonder if I was so tired from walking that I had begun hallucinating. Apparently not.  And I thought garden gnomes were amusing!

The disappointment of the goodie bag

24 07 09

Good god, you should see the crap-arsed shit in this year’s 702 Walk the Talk ‘goodie’ bag. This name itself is a misnomer; this is by no means good. It is not even average. It is poor. If this bag were a human being, it would be Carl Niehaus – full of amazing promises but really just full of lies. This year’s bag contains:

1 x Yardley roll-on deodorant 

1 x Coca Tea tea bag (the divine and magic plant of the Incas, apparently)

1 x City of Joburg water bottle (maroon)

1 x Rooibos tissue oil ( I am NOT pulling out all the tissues from the box and oiling them – I WORK, ya know?!!!)

1 x package Stimorol chewing gum

1 x Kotex sanitary pad + R3 off coupon

10 x cluttering, tree-destroying pieces of paper encouraging people to join gyms and medical schemes, take out a newspaper subscription, buy dog and cat food and outdoor equipment, and – my favourite – to “release the power of [their] body’s adult stem cells to promote wellness.” What the fuck?!

Sadly, the sanitary towel pleased me most and will probably be the most useful.

Who do these people think they’re kidding? Foisting expiring stock on the one-day-a-year walkers of Joburg does not a brand loyal customer create. For that matter, why didn’t they just chuck in a few rusted old razor blades and a cake of soap with a pubic hair on it? Or an egg mayonnaise sandwich?

I’m going to sneer at the sponsors during my walkies on Sunday. Yeah, that’ll show em!

The art of the pick-up

23 07 09

Two friends have been flirted with by two separate men in the traffic respectively, within the past 36 hours. There are interesting parallels regarding both attempted pick-ups/picks-up:

Both men were driving inappropriate enormous, shiny, 4×4 vehicles.

Both men spied my friends in the parking lots of upmarket northern Johannesburg shopping centres.

Both men remarked that my friends were ‘cute’ and ‘gorgeous’ as their opening gambits.

Unfortunately for both of these potential paramours, my friends don’t think highly of the urge to drive little-dick car like these, and really find that they just get in the way. In fact, one of these women told her potential suitor exactly that.

Their stories differ in the manner in which the tales end. Friend 1, after mentioning her distaste for space taken up by suitor 1’s tank, was deemed unworthy. Friend 2, however, was persued through a couple of dark suburbs at 22:00, despite having turned down suitor 2’s request/demand to have ‘coffee’ together.

 A friendly little car chase in Joburg is never all that friendly.

What have we learnt from this, my friends?

1) My friends are hot

2) Men in big cars are more likely to ask out women in traffic than are men who ride bicycles.

3) Chucking a business card into the vehicle of the object of one’s lust, instead of chasing her around Joburg etc., raises a man’s chances from “not a frigging hope in hell” to “maybe if I’m reallllllly horny”.

And now, a couple of headlines for today:

Prosthetic leg-waving rock fan spared jail  (The Guardian – U.K)

Couch potato lifestyle ‘bad for kids’ – (IOL – S.A)

Stop the music!!!

22 07 09

Cast your mind back a few years to the year 2001. Tall buildings in New York went up in flames, caves in Afghanistan topped the list of Places Not to Be, and shoes became the obvious means for smuggling a bomb onto an aeroplane. It was a pretty shit year for world peace and harmony. None of the above-mentioned horrors, however, compare to the true tragedy of 2001…the infliction of Swedish crooner Bosson on the world’s ears.

All through 2001 and some of 2002, we had to deal with Bosson’s squeaky love song, “One in a Million”. Beauty contest organisers could not get enough of this amazingly original and moving tribute to love, and naturally made it the theme advertising jingle to all manner of contest – Miss Pig Farmer S.A; Little Miss Precocious – west Gauteng region; Miss Best Red Lipstick and Cheeks – Boksburg, etc. etc.

Eventually, by late 2002, even Jacaranda FM had stopped playing the tune, and we all were able to turn on the telly without having to watch Bosson’s contorted face as he reached notes no man should ever be able to reach with out having his testicles strangulated.

Jump forward seven or so years, now. Imagine the cold sweat of fear and fury that followed upon switching on my television late last night and seeing Bosson’s hillbilly-esque face, complete with longish, side-parted hair and a goatee, asking “what if I?”

Actually, that’s not the entire truth. I first watched this music video on Sunday, as I lay prone on my couch trying to fight off nausea and diarrhoea resulting from some nasty bug that’s doing the rounds in Joburg right now. Yes, it did occur to me that Bosson was only adding to my feeling so crap, but the video was so masterful that I could not tear my eyes away. That, or I couldn’t find the remote control because I was lying on it.

The highlight of the video is when he manages to squeeze out a genuine tear during an extreme close up, after he’s found to be a lowly stable hand, rather than a rich guest at a wedding. It moved me. To the toilet.

And then it struck me…Bosson must be coming to South Africa! That’s about when the SABC starts flighting bizarre music videos by pseudo-popstars. And yes indeed, Bosson will be inflicting his brand of dolphin calling on Carnival City arena at the end of August.

I must ask, once again, why people like Bosson, Michael Learns to Rock, Dana someone from Belgium, and various taverna singers from Greece are encouraged to perform in South Africa. Perhaps it’s because Madonna won’t?

Microwave mishaps

20 07 09

Today I microwaved foil at work.

Perhaps I was distracted by Dorcas’s surprising announcement that she’d recently picked up a plastic water bottle from a random dustbin somewhere, and was now using it.

Perhaps I am just dumb.

Whatever the reason, I ended up putting the foil sauce pouch into the heating machine and punched the start button.

When, a few seconds later, I noticed zinging and pinging and flashing inside the microwave,  I realised that I had done something wrong.

After managing to stop the microwave, I stood back for about a minute and wondered if microwaving that foil had changed the chemical components of the material, and if my touching it would result in being shocked or my turning luminous green and attaining super power status.

I wondered, too, if my pasta sauce would now taste bad. It didn’t – I ate it anyway. Yellow Schnauzer once microwaved a fork. So there! That was inedible to begin with.

Last week someone broke the office’s hot water urn. We’ve now been urged (read: threatened) to treat it gentle-like. Ha!! I don’t get treated gently in this office, and at least *I* don’t threaten to spurt scalding hot water at my colleagues. Frigging urn!

P.S. You all need to watch the TV satire “Better off Ted”. Brilliant stuff.

Friday stories

17 07 09

Two stories have amused me today.

The first involves a government minister in Russia denying that he’d been shot dead. Apparently, security forces in the turbulent Ingushetia region had confirmed that Ruslan Balayev had been shot dead in a shootout. However, he said he’d just been at work.

Just because Ruslan is at work should not be a given that he is not dead. I am sure we’ve all seen many examples of non-alive office workers continuing to drain resources and add non-value.

The second concerns an accusation by Hamas that Israel has been distributing aphrodisiac chewing gum to Palestinian youngsters in order to corrupt them. “The aim according to our initial investigation is to corrupt
the young generation of the Gaza Strip,” said [Hamas police spokesman in Gaza] Islam Shahwan.

Now that is a cunning plan if ever I heard one. Where can I get me some of that chewing gum here in South Africa?

Today, I get to go out for lunch with my office. Sigh. What is the strongest drink you can suggest that won’t make me barf on the spot?