Happy merry!

Merry Christmas to all, near and far. I hope you all had wonderful times with loved ones. While I am currently away from most of mine, I still did have a really good Christmas. Spent it with the old mate and his family. We ate lots. Again. It was magical to see the kids unwrap their mountains of presents. I did also receive a few myself, even though I told people they shouldn't. They went and were nice and got me rocking stuff anyway. I have been entertained and spoiled like you wouldn't believe ;)

I would like to apologise for not posting often enough of late, but honestly, people have just not pissed me off recently. How can I rant if people don't give me reasons to? There was the windshield episode shortly after I arrived here, but it didn't seem news worthy at the time and there were lots of other things happening, so I never mentioned it.  As there is a lull in excitement at the moment, I guess I can recount it now.

I had phoned ahead the previous day to make sure that the auto glass place could replace my company Yaris's windshield that day. They said they could. I organised payments with the accounts department and was at the glass place at 7:40am. AM. That's in the morning. Which in Cape Town would still be called night time. The place only opens at 8, but I wanted to be sure that I'd be first in the queue. Got all the paperwork sorted. They said the car should be ready by 10am, which is good. After all, in Cape Town, that would be when people wake up. So, I go for a bit of a walk-about. The Menlyn shopping centre is quite impressive. If you ever get the chance, go there. There is this one particular store that sells anything from electronic gadgetry to spatulas. And it's not a big department store. They have the most amazing things there. I wandered about in there for, well, quite a while. Then headed back to the incredibly efficient auto glass place. They did say that they would phone me to fetch the car, but I figured, I might as well head back to save a bit of time. About 100 yards from the glass shop, they do phone me. I pick up, with this big, way-ahead-of-you grin on my face and get told that the windshield that they had in stock was cracked, sorry, they have to get me a new one. They had already removed the old windshield, so I couldn't really take the car before they installed aforementioned new one. This will now arrive at 10am. Look up a bit. Yup. That was when it was supposed to be finished. The grin was gone, but what can you do? So I say thank you for letting me know, please just get it done a.s.a.p. I phone my office and let my colleague know I will be later than anticipated, he must please cancel the appointment that I had. He says he would, but I must please remember that he has to leave at 1pm, so I have to be back by then. I say it's all good, still plenty of time. I go to the glass shop and sit down for a bit of a read. At around 10:30, I see a bakkie arrive with windshields on the back. I am happy. It's later than what I was told, but at least it's here. By 11, my car still had a big gaping hole where the windshield should be. I get a little nervous. Just before I get up to ask the helpful gentleman at the front desk when this screen will be fitted, he pops his head into the waiting room and says that my windshield had just arrived. Oh. So it wasn't on the bakkie with the rest of them? Ok, fine. Just get it done. Finally, I get the car back. I pay them vast amounts of money and new windshield gleaming and fitted I drive out. And I notice something's missing. My licence disc is not on there. I search the car. Thrice. I go back and ask where this disc would be. They reply with: in the car. I say no. The helpful desk gentleman then searches the car. Astonishingly, he can also find no disc. I search the shop and eventually find the blue sticker that was on the back of the licence disc, but no disc. While all this is going on, a search also ensues for the bloke who fitted the screen. He, who is the only one in the multiverse that would know what had happened to my disc, has now mysteriously disappeared. After what seemed like an eternity, he is found again and when questioned, replies that the old windshield didn't have a disc. Gmmph...of course it bloody did, I'm standing with the back sticker thingy in my hand! Then follows another thorough search through the car. Would you believe it? It still hasn't magically reappeared there. Back up to the shop and more looking around until finally, helpful desk man finds it in a rubbish crate. Grumble...grumble..gmph...bastards throwing away my disc...grumble...grumble. I grab the disc, get a new sticker from the glass people, stick the disc on the new screen, race away to get back in the office and arrive there at 12:58. Made it. Struggled from bloody 7:40 in the middle of the night until 1:00 in the middle of the day to get it done, but it was done.

So, while I am happy that my new windshield is fitted, I have had no problems with it so far, I did manage  to get to my office on time and (though still horribly expensive) the price that the auto glass shop asked for was pretty good, I will have to be sorely pressed to use this company for any glass in any car ever again. Ever.

TFLNOTD:

(204):

Passed out on her toilet. Dog licked my face to wake me. Awkward talk with her boyfriend, who hadn't been home last night. Not sure exactly what town I'm in, but I'm south. Will call for ride when I figure it out.

Pie Sharts

I have a silly little pet peeve. For some reason, it rubs me completely the wrong way (although, I must admit, even the wrong way wouldn't be so bad anymore, as long as rubbing is involved), when people use terms incorrectly. People that should know better. If you are learning a new language or just learning new and interesting words in a language already known to you, it is fine and understandable and your attempts should be applauded while you are kindly yet firmly pointed towards the correct usage. That's all cool. But if you should really know better...

Like, frinstance (this is a game played by trolls, look it up), "Cornish". Spell check wanted me to use a capital "C" there, because it is derived off a proper noun. I would guess Cornwall? Anyway, Cornish, as in, a pie or pasty. I might have mentioned before that I am somehow involved with flooring. People come to me and ask me if I do Cornishes. No, I do not. At the moment, even a pie would look very attractive to me, but I am in fact not "doing" anything right now. Girls from Cornwall included. I also do not SELL pies of any kind or type. What you think you are looking for, however, is called a cornice. This is a concave, sortof right-angled trimming that is fitted where a wall and a ceiling meet (look up, if you are in a normal kind of house or flat you probably have those). I do not sell those either. Floors, see? Not ceilings. Which leads me to believe that what you actually are looking for is a similar looking type of  trim, albeit a lot smaller, which is fitted where a wall or cupboard would meet a floor. This is called a scotia. And no, we strangely enough don' t have those either. Maybe we should, but we don't. What I do have, is the convex version which is called the very original name of a quarter-round. It is called thus, because it looks like a quarter of a solid cylinder which has been split four equal ways ("quarters") along its length. And its outer side is "round". Quarter, round. See? No, a half-round would be two of these stuck together. I don't know where you learnt the term, but a half-round would just be silly. It is called a quarter-round. You can use "quad" if you want to sound like you're in with the flooring tech lingo. Oh, you are actually looking for the bigger thing? That would be skirting boards or skirting or just skirts (again flooring tech lingo). Yes, the wooden things where the floor and wall meet. Oh, you want the skirting to go all the way up the door frame? That would be an architrave. Yes my fitters can make those up and fit them for you. Is there anything else you would like like? Maybe a steak and kidney?


TFLNOTD:

(502):

She told me she wanted to wax my ass. I'm terrified and oddly aroused.

Stranger in a strange land

It's Sunday again in bright and sunny and pretty damn hot Pretoria. It has finally happened. After months of talking about it, I am now actually in forn parts.

The trip here was bearable. I stayed over in a chalet type thing that I would have loved to call quaint, but just can't. Neat and tidy, but pretty much a place to sleep and get cleaned up, it was. They did have a pool, which was highly appreciated after a tiring drive. This was in Colesberg. A place that seems to be one big bed and breakfast. Just about every house there has a B&B sign on the gate. Apparently I am not the only person to think that it would be a good place to split the Cape Town-Jo'burg journey and the residents are making the most of it. As my impeccably neat lodgings didn't offer much in entertainment and buggerall in food, I went in search of sustenance in the bustling metropolis of Colesberg town. After walking through the whole length of the town, I went back to just about where I parked the car and entered a lovely little English pub called The Horse and Mill. I have to call something quaint in this post and this little pub qualifies. They do a very good lamb curry (mild, like the tannies at the kerkbazaar used to make it) and their Guinness isn't bad either. Oddly enough, they had their first pub quiz night, in aid of the local cricket team, on the very night that I was there. Seeing as I am missing out on pub quiz in Cape Town, I promptly requested a pen and piece of paper from the sweet waitress and ninja'ed in on their quiz. The people were great. Very friendly. They very quickly invited me in to play with officially. There was a 6 pack of beers up for grabs and as I joined in late, I would pay a reduced entry fee. I couldn't refuse. I don't know if I'd mentioned this before, but the Guinness was good and a friendly person there, bought me some more. In the end I didn't do too badly. I think I came in second, bearing in mind that I played on my own and the rest all had teams. Slept very soundly that night.

The next day was horrid. I have never in my life seen so many big trucks on one stretch of road. Also, about 50 kilometres after Bloemfontein, there is a toll gate. I stopped at an Ultra City at Bloem, got some breakfast at Steers and proceeded towards aforementioned toll gate. I get to the front of the queue, whip out my red, football player emblazoned Absa debit card and the gentleman looks at me and says: "Only cash and credit cards sir." I go: "Excuse me?" He repeats his sentence and I say (as I have no credit card - banks have finally discovered that giving me those things is just a bad idea for everybody): "So, where's the nearest bank machine?" He mumbles a reply of something about "turn around, 2 kilometres", I couldn't make out much. As he then closes his lane, directs the long queue of cars behind me to go to the next lane, so I can reverse out of there, I think to myself that nobody bloody told me about this. Yes, I was told about the speed cameras, about the staggering amount of trucks and that there are toll gates, but somehow, nobody thought it a good idea to let idiot boy know that these damn things don't take debit cards! So, as surreptitiously as I could manage, I extricated myself from the lane and traffic jam that I caused and headed back towards the nearest ATM. I scanned the immediate area. I scanned the horizons. I did not see anything 2 kilometres back. The gentleman at the gate must have been ever so slightly mistaken. I did not see anything for about 30 kilometres. The friggin toll gate is in the middle of nowhere. I had to drive back, almost to Bloemfontein again. Which, charming as some of its previous inhabitants might believe it is, is not a place that I wanted to visit twice on my journey. I eventually found a bank machine at a garage called the Sunny Hill Star Stop. Is it just me, or does that seem a little contradictory? After drawing more geld and refuelling the car, which I had planned on doing a bit later on the trip, but had to reschedule due to unplanned detours, I set off once again. At the toll gate, I was warmly received by the same attendant that made me turn around. I did not swear at him...    Thereafter followed 50 bajillion more trucks until I arrived, pretty gatvol of driving, at our Honeydew branch.

Now, I have no idea how the roads work in this part of the world. There is no mountain or sea to assist in navigating, so the boss's father had to lead me to my lodgings for the night. Their pool house on their property in Bryanston, as it turns out. Very posh, darling. The boss's parents also took my colleague (who I am relieving from his duties) and I for dinner at their local seafood restaurant, which was grand and very kind of them. The colleague left the next day, after he quickly explained the goings on and gave me the keys and the Tom-Tom GPS thingy (this is essential. Without this machine I would have been so lost here). I moved to my lodgings for the next two months that night.

Before he left, my colleague did tell me that I should make a turn at Hooter's. Which is a restaurant. Apparently their food is good and the service is great. And the Jo'burg Hooter's is supposedly the largest one in the world. I figured it's probably one of those themed type of places. The theme being about old cars or horns or something. Oh boy, was I wrong. It is a themed restaurant, yes, but it's not about old cars at all. It's about the tight, white vest thingy, bright orange, short hotpant, white socks and sneakers-wearing Hooter's girls. Oh man. The food, albeit a bit pricey, is very good. Very chicken wings and prawns orientated, massive burgers, you get the idea. But the Hooter's girls...   ...they are extremely well trained. Really. Very well trained. Those girls make so much money for that restaurant, and I have a feeling they don't do too badly with tips either. I couldn't help myself. Had to go back the next night as well. After having met friends for drinks at another pub (I had worked 'till 7, drove from Pretoria to Johannesburg - this takes about an hour - eventually found the place I was supposed to be), I decided it would be a splendid idea to see what the R50+ sandwiches at Hooter's tasted like. I found my delectably cute waitress from the night before - who seemed genuinely happy to see me, probably because she thought: "Hey, it's that idiot from last night that blew so much cash, let's see what I can make him spend tonight!" Still it was nice to be remembered and the hug wasn't too bad either. I looked at her and with my most charming smile said: "Please give me food, I am sooo hungry." And she looked at me with those pretty blue eyes and said with the cutest frown on her face: "Oh, I'm sorry, the kitchen closes at 10." My heart just dropped. So, I did what every warm blooded South African man would do and said: "Well, get me an Amstel then." When she came back with the beer I asked where I could then purchase some form of nourishment at this time of an evening and she directed me, admittedly begrudgingly, to Macdonalds. So much for my plans for the night. Still, I left with a smile on my face, a song in my heart and a growing fondness in my...

Anyway, I also did get horribly lost in this city on Friday. Although I can't really call it getting lost. To get lost, one needs to move from a point of known location and gradually work one's way towards a point of unknown location. I start from not knowing where the hell I am. Being somewhere else where I don't know where I am doesn't make all that much of a difference. Although being in the wrong place where I don't know where I am can be somewhat inconvenient. I took a turn-off into a highway, in the wrong direction. It took me about half an hour or so to figure out I was going directly the opposite way of where I needed to be. I had to reschedule the appointment for Monday and took about an hour and a half to get back to the office. Lovely. Oh, yes and these people are hugely into their road maintenance. There are roadworks going on everywhere. You're beetling down the highway at whatever the speed limit allows and suddenly the lane just ends. No road signs telling you it's about to end, just a few cones packed out over the lane. And the people drive either like maniacs or like they are in a funeral procession. It is lunacy.

Last night I spent at a braai at a mate's house.We've been friends for 24 years now. We phone each other 3 times a year. He phones me on my birthday. I phone him on his and one of us phones the other on Christmas. We kind of take turns with that one. It was great to see him and his wife and kids again. I ate like a pig. It was awesome.

The people here are, in general, really nice and friendly. I think it is because they don't have a mountain or a sea. They have to be nice to each other. In Cape Town we can afford to be clicky snobs. We don't need friends. We have a sea. And a mountain. I miss them. And my mates.

TFLNOTD:

(518):

I just want to let you know it was a unanimous decision that we would eat you first if we ever turned into cannibals, we figured with all the bacon you eat you may taste like it. It's a chance we are willing to take with your life...don't forget that we love you

Catching up

First off, apologies for being a sleg b*stard and only getting to this now. I have a whole host of excuses that will probably all feature in this here update. Some of them definitely will.

I have been a bit under the health weather of late. For the last bloody month to be exact. Were you to be a slight bit insane, you would scroll down to my post on Sunday, 23 October and see that I mentioned I was ill. Took off work for Wednesday and Thursday. That Wednesday was the 20th. Today is the 20th. A month! A whole bloody month and I'm still not fixed. To add to my germ infested annoyance, my poor housemate was brung low by the flu again as well. He stayed home the whole week. Walked around like a zombie. Apparently he either re-infected himself again or I re-infected him. I am opting for the latter. So, we are just merrily recycling our lurgies between the two of us and could, possibly, remain ill for the rest of our lives by doing this. Or until Armageddon. Whichever comes first. According to the Mayans or who-ever (they didn't have a flag, so they don't really count and people don't need to remember what their nation's name was), the world will end in 2012 sometime. People are also thinking of making a movie about this. It will never fly. Mark my words. Nobody will go and watch stupid cr*p like that. Anyway, I digress, that was excuse number 1. I wasn't feeling too well. This also meant that I wasn't able to play football until this past Thursday. That just sucked.

The first week of November was consumed by work. Went past in a bit of a blur. From what I can remember, I did have my first taste of pub quiz night. That was great fun. It is amazing what weird arbitrary sh*t some people know.

I also helped the housemate out at his benefit gig at Mercury. I sold raffle tickets for a guitar we gave away. It was a great night. The bands Terminatryx, Cold Hand Chemistry and Witness to Wolves all rocked. I was a little disappointed with the turnout. Thought we had more people in this town that cared about puppies and kittens and stuff. But the people that were there had a blast. Because I was also intimately involved with the draw of the guitar raffle, I got to meet the adorably cute lady that won the guitar. She had apparently bought the ticket on behalf of a friend and was quite vexed that she had to give it away again, partly because she wants to learn to play. Yes. Of course I did. Obviously I had to offer my services to a damsel in distress. It's just my honourable nature. Of course I offered to teach her to play. It was the least I could do. So now, yours truly is officially a guitar tutor as well. And I must say, I am quite impressed with my student.

Then there was a birthday of a very dear friend. Happy Birthday!

And then the fellow band member friend and his lovely lady came for a visit. For a week. Oh heavens me. I was at Mitchell's in the Waterfront more times in one week than I've been there for...oh, bugger. I wanted to say a year or at least a few months, but we have been going there a bit regularly the past while. They keep insisting on giving us beer at ridiculously cheap prices. So there might have been a morning or two that I didn't feel as sprightly and sparkly as I normally would. That there is excuse number 2. And it counts for more than one excuse as well. This kind of thing happened frequently, over an extended period of time. I am claiming at least 5 excuses for this.

Then there was the birthday party for a football friend at a place called Bronx Sports Bar. Why they chose the name of one of the most well known hang-outs in Town and how they get away with it, I don't know. 'Cause this ain't Bronx. It is not in Seapoint. It's in Brooklyn. Yup. Whilst it is truly awesome to drink quarts at a very reasonable price in a pub, it is most definitely not classy. Which goes a long way to explain the rest of the place as well. The people frightened me. I was so scared in the loo, I almost didn't need it anymore. Aaaand, they inflicted karaoke on us. I have never understood the fascination with karaoke. You know, for some people the shower should just really be enough. The birthday boy and his friends had a blast and two of them actually did surprisingly well with the singing thing. This ties in with excuse number two.

Another week of work, work, work (this qualifies as excuse number 8 - look carefully, work it out, it's true) and then last night. Saw two bands at Mercury that need a mention.Throatball (it sounds like you think it would, only quite well done) and Juggernaut (whose lead singer looks like you think he would, only hairier). I was pleasantly surprised. If you like it a little heavy with loads of rock and roll, check them out.

Alright, that means I have only 8 excuses for not staying up to date. It's still a lot and I will try to not let things slip again. Keep the pieces.

TFLNOTD:

(812):

Please do NOT set off the smoke alarm when I am tied to the bed like this...

Time to kill

Again, I draw my inspiration for this here thing from my place or work. Sorry about this folks, but if I'm here until 10:30 at night sometimes, it means that I spend a vast amount of time at work (as I am while writing this post). Seeing as I do not have much of a life these days, almost anything vaguely interesting in my life tends to happen at work. Like Friday.

Friday was actually my day off. We work strange days. But, bright spark that I am, I left my phone somewhere on Thursday and had to go to the office on aforementioned off day to retrace my steps through various appointments of the day before, phone anybody I might have seen and try to get the missing phone back. Luckily, I do have amazing clients and my phone was returned early in the morning (before I even got there) by a person at whose house I had left it. Apparently, the strange noise (my phone ringing from people trying to find out if I'm still alive) confused the crap out of the household, until they finally found the phone UNDER a bed somewhere. No, I did not kap 'n quick snooz. I was on the job, working hard. Really. No, really.

While at the office, getting my phone back, one of my fitters comes around to fetch a carpet that he had to fit for us that day. I bent over backwards for this client. Did everything at very short notice. Got the carpet in, sorted out the fitter, everything ready in less than two days. Normally, it takes around four days. Anyway, we couldn't release the carpet, because we had not received proof of payment. So I set my colleague on the blower to try and find the client and make him pay us, so that the fitters can get to laying the carpet. No answer. Voicemail. We phone, literally (and I mean literally, not like Americans use literally, proper literally, the opposite of figuratively), every five minutes to track this guy down. No luck. The fitters eventually get opstropelis and decide they would rather leave. "Let him phone us and we'll see when we can fit him in next week", they tell me. I decide that it's time for me to go and enjoy my day off, away from work, but I would swing by the client's house to let them know that we're still waiting for that payment. Fitters, hang on.

And? You guessed it. Nobody's there! Well besides the painter and some builders and garden people, but the owners aren't there. According to the painter, they just slipped out for a while, they would be back soon. So I tell the painter, "dude, tell this guy that he needs to pay us, my fitters are getting difficult and we want to get this job done. He must just let us know that the payment has been made and all willl be fine." The fitter says he'll tell him. I leave. A few hours later, my colleague phones me about something else and mentions, "oh yes, that guy with the carpet says we can leave it, he doesn't want us to fit anymore, we're wasting his time."

... We....are wasting....HIS....time???

EXCUSE ME???!!!

WTF have I been doing (on my off day you b*stard)? I have done everything in my power to make this go smoothly and you tell me I am wasting your time?

You know, sometimes I get really angry. Thank goodness I was speaking to my very sweet and innocent, relatively new, colleague. I did not end up killing anybody. But I tell you, it was close. People can be so bloody thick sometimes, you just want to grab them by the throat and shake some sense into them. Aaarghh!!
They don't seem to realise that the world does not always revolve around them every second of every day. They don't think. They don't bloody listen. People really need to get over themselves and listen. At least sometimes.

Luckily my colleague, bless his heart, managed to convince client and fitter that Monday would be a good day to do the fitting. We have received the payment and all is well.

TFLNOTD:

(604):

Come find me please? Im in a ditch.

(1-604):

That doesn't help me much...

(604):

I'm right under the moon!

Licence to ill

I hope I don't get sued for that. Boys, just think of it as free advertising.

Sometime during last week I thought "hey, the year is almost over and I haven't been sick at all". You see what I did wrong there? I went and notified the bloody universe of an otherwise unimportant and unnoticed oversight. It rectified this. Speedily. Monday I was fine. Tuesday I was buggered. Damn flu. So after working a day while sick and then spending 2 days either in bed or en route to or from the loo, I am now back at work, snotty and just plain blegh. I hate being sick. I have too much to do, there is no time for illness. Not that anybody ever really does have time for it, I guess, and I know I share the same lot as many over this period. But what happens to other people is nowhere near as important to me as what happens to me. And besides, being in the fast lane of single life, one can't afford to walk around with fluids running from every possible orifice on one's face. Even though all orifices from the waist down seem to be in good working order, it doesn't matter, because nobody wants to come within arm's reach of the afflicted. People part like the red sea to let a sick person pass. "Hell no, you stay away from me, " "put that tongue back where it came from" and "you ain't givin' me your lurgies" are just some of the remarks directed, from a distance, at the poor unfortunate sod, sniffing and coughing away.

There's no real point to this litany. I'm just misereable because I'm sick. But I have my pills, my throat lozenges and my immune boosters. Bugger, I forgot to take one of those this morning. Anyway, I have all my weapons against the disease. My cause is just. I must prevail.

TFLNOTD:

(512):

So....maintenance found the bullethole.....

Birthdaze

I got so wrapped up in moving that I completely forgot that I had a birthday recently. I mentioned to somebody that it rocked, well, swayed gently from side to side is more accurate. Went away to a farm between Montagu and Barrydale with wonderful friends (their birthday present to me). Saw my folks, which I don't get to do often enough. Mom cooked up a feast for us. Then went to the B&B farm. Large amounts of wine was tasted, heaps of beer consumed, with a fire almost constantly going. So cool.

We did have strange neighbours though. Nice enough people, we got along well. Spent a lot of time with them outside, by the fire, doing the consuming, but somewhere along the line, the conversation went religious. It always amazes me that people all over just assume that other people believe the same things as they do. Then they are quite shocked when they find out that this is not the case. It seems to be common with white, middle-class, South African Christians. For some reason, they also get very defensive about their beliefs. Let it go people. We are all creations of our chosen deity. We should all have the right to worship or not worship whatever or however we choose or choose to not choose. After all, we expect this right from others. Shouldn't we give it as well?  Do not just about all religious texts preach tolerance? Live and let live.

...gathering thoughts to head in a different direction...

When we came back after this wonderful weekend away, more good friends gave me a vintage classical guitar as a present. I was pretty stunned. Thanks everybody. That just blew me away. And then my ex-girlfriend goes and buys me 2 packs of insanely expensive strings (she did get a bit of a discount though, thank you nice people at the music shop) for my baby, a Yamaha Compass semi-acoustic guitar. Thank you lady. She sounds like the dream she is again. So all-in-all, a rocking birthday haul this year.

And then this weekend happened. The same lovely lady who took me along with her man to the farm had her birthday. Wonderful hosts as these fine people are, they stocked up on refreshments for all their guests at her party. Oh boy, there was just too much. This morning was wayyyy too bright and came a few hours too early. Having to be at work at nine was not as wonderful as it may sound. But I made it through so far, only 3 more hours to go...

...only 3 more hours to go...


...only...


TFLNOTD:

(+44):

Yeah I think we tried to use the shower curtain as a parachute because its tied to my backpack with some string. Dont know if anyone actually attempted it though.

Keep on movin'...

Moving day has come and gone. Which is way it has taken me so long to update the blog. I spent the whole of last weekend packing, wading through, loading and off-loading boxes, appliances and furniture. It really is amazing that one person can accumulate so much crap. This has all been taken to a top secret, high security storage facility. All my stuff, packed off in a big box, not unlike a garage. Although it is on an upper level. So you need a forklift to go quickly fetch something that you forgot to keep out. I am now a squatter, staying in the lounge of a very good friend, who was kind enough to give me a roof over my head (and some space to put even more boxes). This, we made very clear, is just temporary. In a short while I will be heading off to the green pastures of Pretoria for a few months, after which I shall stay in aforementioned lounge again. But then, come hell or high water, I will find my own place. Promise. Soon. I can feel it in my water.

This weekend I went to my cousin's wedding which was great fun and it seems that I have finally, also managed to meet a really nice girl.


TFLNOTD:

(614):

I know it sounds like a good idea, but doing Spanish homework at a bar just because the owners are Mexican and they give us margaritas really wasn't the best decision.

The List

Sounds like a John Grisham novel. The man seems incapable of writing something with a title that contains more than two words and does not start with "The". Anyway, it's Sunday, I'm at work and my shift is almost finished, so it's time for an update.

None of you have called me about sharing an abode, so I am still looking for a place to stay. It seems harder this time around than it used to be. Maybe I'm just getting old. Imagine an elderly croaking voice saying: "In my day, we didn't take so long to find a house. They were practic'ly lining up for us to move in." I think my lifestyle might have just priced me out my market. All the places that I've seen so far seem so tiny.  I have way too much stuff for tiny.

To get to my title for this post. I read on Tequila Tart's blog that ladies of this world apparently set up a list of what they are looking for in a man. Then they are to "send it out to the universe" or something. This is supposed to attract somebody with attributes mentioned in the list. I can not comment on the efficacy of such a list, partly because she still needs to make hers and has not reported back on any results. It did get me thinking though. Same as my flat hunting, that seems more difficult than it used to be, looking for a significant other has become rather more challenging than previously, as well. Whether we consciously set up our list or whether we just have some kind of preconceived idea in our head, we all (that is single people, well mostly single people, definitely some single people) have a few requirements of the next special person in our lives.

When you are young, like in school or studying, everybody is just a little ball of potential. Nobody expects anything from anybody. Everybody will still bloom into what it is they will become. So the the list is relatively short and it is therefor quite easy to hook up. When you're old, like me, people kinda expect you to have made something of your life. Therefor, the lists get a bit longer and more detailed, containing some very specific must-haves. Whether it be the right car or house or status or physical appearance or mental health, they do get added to the lists. This puts guys like me in a bit of a sh!toutaluck position. This is the reason why I think it has become so difficult to meet new romantic interests. Even if you do get past the "Who is this idiot that wants to chat me up?" defense, people still have their lists and woe unto him that does not score high enough.

I say: Bugger the lists. Lady, I may not have everything that you might be looking for in a man, but I'm a straight, nice guy that will treat you well, will care for you, maybe even love you at some point and will not mess you around. If that's not enough for a start then good luck with your list.

TFLNOTD:

(864):

no, no, no. omg. i said i wanted a SANDWICH! not a picture of your dick. damn cant you read? SANDWICH! now im blinded. great job.

The Moving Blues

It's Sunday, so it's time for my weekly update. Honestly, I don't know where people get the time to do this every day.So far it has been an awesome weekend. I hung out with various friends, made some new ones, maybe had a little too much to drink, got presents, saw a totally awesome movie (Ninja Assassin - If you can stomach blood and gore I repeat, totally awesome, watch it), ate like a king/pig (take your pick), danced, laughed at some weird dude's dancing and looked at possible places to stay.

Yup it is time to move, yet again. I don't know how many times I have moved since I got to Cape Town, oh, 16 years ago. It seems that landlords have this strange vendetta against me. Almost every flat I move to is sold at some point and I'm told to bugger off. At one stage I moved once a year. This time I had a year and a half. I need to be out of my place, at the latest, by the end of November. Right, fine. Only, my work is opening a new shop in Pretoria East in October and I need to be there for two months, to help get the place up and running, from the start of November. Do you spot the problem? I can't very well move when I am in Blue Bull land. So, to make things easiest on me, I would like to move before I go away. Therefor, I need to give notice from my current flat a little earlier as well. I did this. I explained that I will vacate the premises on 2 October. A Saturday.This has to be approved for some or other reason. I sent my notice in August. I am still awaiting this approval. But now I could start looking for a new place.

Excitedly, I plunged head first into gumtree and clicked my way to the flats for rent in my price bracket. Which turned out to be a little bit smaller of a selection than I had hoped for and every single one is available from 1 September. That doesn't help me much, now does it? I spent the next few days trawling through all the possibles, seeing what is out there and when September hit, I started making viewing appointments. Pickings are a wee bit slim. To date, I haven't found a place that I really like. If they finally approve my notice, I kinda need somewhere to move to. Time is running out.

So, I am sending out an APB to all in the blogverse: If you know of somewhere in Cape Town that I can stay let me know asap. I would not like to be homeless soon. If you, or somebody you know,  would like to share a place, please be aware of the following. I'm a bit of a filthy slob, I make quite a lot of noise, I have strange people over at odd hours that sometimes look as if they will never leave (usually lots of beer involved as well) and I have a few annoying habits. If you are comfortable with all of that then gimme a call roomy!

TFLNOTD: (I'm going to leave the links in from now on , so that you can check out the site yourself)

(302):

when are you leaving homes?

(610):

it's 7:51. why the f*ck are you awake at 7:51

(302):

I had a sex dream about Oprah.

(610):

go back to sleep

(302):

dude. it was a sex dream. about. Oprah.

Aural displeasure

I have to admit, against my beliefs about human nature, that most of the clients I deal with at work are quite well-adjusted, generally nice people. My day job being in retail, this is not something that one would expect. So, I am often pleasantly surprised by how friendly, understanding and accommodating some people can be. But then you get the ones like I had recently. Two in one day, in fact.

Now, I am a patient guy. I can take a lot of crap from somebody, without having to apply some blunt force trauma to said person's head. But these two really tested my limits. I think the reason why they were so trying was that they just don't listen. The one would ask a question and be so wrapped up in her self-absorbed arrogance that she wouldn't give me a chance to answer. About three words into my reply, she would just start talking again. I was aghast. At one time, I had to start the same sentence seven times before she gave me a chance to finish it.Totally aghast.

The other one is a severely obese diabetic. I get it. You can't help the way you look because of a genetic dysfunction. Life is hard. You can't go anywhere, because it's difficult to move something the size of a house to the toilet, let alone to the shops. Your son died of a terrible disease. You have endless legal battles with the whole world. I really do get it. You do not have to tell me all of your terrible life story all of the time. My question, madam, is: Do you want to buy it or not? I don't particularly care that the one you had your heart set on is out of your budget and therefor you have to go for the one that you didn't like that much, but you really liked the other one and you so wanted to get that rather, but oh, it is just too expensive, so you will have to go for the one you didn't want to get, but that is all you can afford because the one you really wanted is just so expensive, so now you are forced to go for the crappy one that you didn't want, but you really want the other one, but it is just too much...   AAAARGGGHHH!!

Sometimes it is a really good thing that a 2 x 4 doesn't fit through a telephone line.

There was more, but I shall refrain from typing it here. I am afraid that you might start banging your head against the desk, like I eventually did.  I did, for a while there, think that she was never going to stop. I had visions of my cold dead hand gripping the receiver for the rest of eternity as my decaying body wastes away, with her voice endlessly pouring through the phone line into my skull. Thankfully, finally, the call did end.

Is there a point to this long tirade? Just this: When the other person speaks, it is not just a time for you to think up what you will be saying next. Take a breath. Listen. They might have something of import to impart on you.  Then again, maybe not. Maybe I'm just full of it.

TFLNOTD:

(303):

Yeah apparently i got lonely because everyone was hooking up so i took matters into my own hands. I woke up on the floor spooning a vaccuum cleaner, a mop, 40 paper cups, and industrial grade detergent.

Rainy days

It's Saturday and cold and wet in Cape Town. Exactly as it is supposed to be. I don't know where people get off complaining about wet weather here. This is Cape Town. Known through the ages as The Cape of Storms. What did you expect? Anyway, I like this weather. It's great for sitting indoors, with a book or a DVD and snuggling with that someone special. Yeah...being single and at work doesn't really fit into that image all that well. Buggerit. I still like the rain.

Although, I really hate driving in it. People seem to lose all sense on the road as soon as the first drops hit their windscreen. Instead of driving a little slower and being just that ounce more observant and careful, they go exactly the other way! They do the dumbest things, even more idiotic than what they normally do. And for some, this is quite the challenge. So I am putting this call out there, to all the stoopid people, you know who are, to please try really hard to go against your nature and just take it a bit easier when the wet stuff comes down. Please. Failure to do so might one day result in a foot so far up your posterior that you look like a unicorn. I'm not threatening anybody here. Goodness knows I am not a violent man. Just saying. You know, accidents happen.

For those of us needing some stress relief after a hard day on the roads, I shall leave this link to one of the best websites ever: www.textsfromlastnight.com. Go there. You will enjoy it. I will from now on put a favourite text from last night (TFLN) of the day on each post (if I remember) until such time as I am told I am not allowed to. Here is today's:

(707):

Things got a little weird when he fired up his homemade flamethrower in the living room.

It starts...

Hello World.

Peer pressure has finally rubbed off on me as well. It seems everybody, including everybody who is nobody is blogging these days. I just never saw the point. Until now.

It hit me, as I was loading flooring into a customer's car today, that maybe it could be a good thing. Having somewhere that you can jot down your thoughts, rant and rave a bit, share a few wild ideas and untested axioms. It could be therapeutic. I had to spell check that one. Bit of a big word there. And here in this electronic world, we can blow ourselves up with completely unjustified self-import and pretend that what we think and what we say actually matters. That, as long as we write as though we actually did go through twelve years of school, people will take notice, care about our feelings, our experiences of this world, becauce, let's face it, in the real world, nobody really gives a sh*t.

So there. I've done it. I am now part of the electronic revolution, albeit a few years behind. I don't know how often I will be able to update this thing, but I will try to do it as regularly as possible.

Rants and raves to come soon.