Sunday mornings should not be like this

31 10 10

I’m currently at the very beautiful, if parking-space deficient Westcliff Hotel, for a conference, sadly.

I’m bored, uninspired, a little hacked off and still tired after dreaming much of the night about my one client/boss and not having informed her what time I’d be coming through today (I arrived as she was leaving, which I think is ideal for these types of events- a continuous presence for the congress organisers, who actually don’t give a fuck if I’m here or at home, picking my nose).

The seating is so tightly packed that I can count the revolting, pale hairs on the yellow-cancer-braceleted arm of the nerd sitting next to me, furiously making notes. Usually when I sit in such close proximity to an individual, I snog him on a fairly regular basis, or at the very least, I want to.

To better things… I saw ‘The Girl in the Yellow Dress’ at the Market Theatre, which was quite wonderful. Funny, thought-provoking, disturbing.. An worthwhile play.

Ok, suppose I have to go back inside now… 😦



29 10 10

I am generally quite easy to please in restaurants. If the food is flavoured well, warm if it should be warm and vise versa, arrives before I become ‘hangry’ (so hungry you’re angry) and I receive adequate attention from the waiter, I am a happy diner.

When the portion is so small that I’m left desiring an entire other meal, arrives an hour after ordering, costs twice what it would anywhere else and the waiter stares blankly and shuffles his feet when you tell him it was ordered medium rare and not well done, I am not what you might call happy.

The Green Peppercorn in Morningside is  playing out of its league. I won’t be returning.

On another note, I am very pleased to read this story which contends that drinking green tea doesn’t really prevent breast cancer in the majority of women.  Vile, vile stuff, green tea.

Errr, yes, that’s it for now.

What’s in a week?

28 10 10

When a week becomes nine days long, shoot me.

Ironic advertising

25 10 10

When your product positioning is built on the idea that women are allegedly safer drivers than men are, and thus deserve lower insurance premiums, the following is probably not what you want advertised:






Advertising insurance for women on a smashed car (most likely driven by a woman) does not inspire confidence, I’m afraid.

More on the bachelorette party

22 10 10

I learnt today that a woman I vaguely know is attending a bachellorette party tomorrow that involves a lap-dancing lesson and a trip to Tease-Hers, a strip club for females featuring nude males.

Doesn’t that sound FUN, girls and boys?

How stupendously *awesome* it must be to:

a) Spend an afternoon/evening with mothers, aunts, grannies and people you are likely to barely know,

b) Do so while learning how to grind your arse and other nether bits effectively into a man’s lap and face.

When the hell did this become something people do as a group activity, for a party? Agh, I can’t even wrap my head around the alleged fun of taking a pole dancing lesson, for any reason, let alone because it is a bachelorette party, which demands an accepted level of cheekiness and risque behaviour before it’s considered a pah-tay!

The idea that I might be cajoled into learning how to administer a lap dance to some poor bloke is so absurd and sickening that it’s laughable. The individual I mentioned who is going to have to struggle through this ordeal said, “I was told to deposit a crazy amount of money in the party organiser’s account, and this doesn’t include food.”

Screeeeee! This is why these parties are the worst. Brides-to-be, listen up…NO-ONE WANTS TO BE FORCED INTO DOING THIS SHIT. If someone wants to learn how to lap dance, she can organise lessons for herself.

A good time is NOT watching nerdy Katie, obsessed with her own amazing sexiness, giggling and riggling her rhythmless vagina to “When I think about you I touch myself.”


Cartoons in Context

21 10 10

A few of us took in the Cartoons in Context exhibit last night, which is being hosted by Museum Africa in Newton.

Apart from a number of less-than-inspiring opening speeches, particularly one by the Sowetan’s editor, who had the bad grace (?) to inform those gathered that he’d only been told that he was to speak that afternoon, the evening was lovely.

Wonderfully thought-provoking cartoons were on display, chronicling a history that somehow has a little more context for me, now. Education + entertainment = time bloody well spent.

The highlight was getting to know some of the work of cartoonist Sifiso Yalo. I shall be following him more closely.

If you’re in the Jo’burg area, go check it out – entrance is freeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

I adore Helen Zille’s face in this cartoon.

I want a DVD player for R100

19 10 10

This is the inside of the piece of malfunctioning crap also known as a DVD player that I’ve had for *a year*. The previous DVD player was struck by lightning after 2.5 years of good service.

This fucking thing won’t play the picture – only the sound – because the yellow connection got stuck in the yellow connector part, and broke off.

When I tried to extract this broken part, it became ever more firmly wedged in.

DVD players are the worst, even worse than the licensing department. They cause nothing but dismay and despair. I need one, however, but since I’m going to have to throw away the fucker in a year’s time, I refuse to buy anything but the barely-competent Fiat Uno equivalent.

To make things worse, I ate a Ryvita cracker this evening and it *literally* tasted like cigarette ash. WTF?!!! Who makes food/alleged edible substances that tastes like ash?!

I’m going to bed…for a month.