Let the games beg.. ah, bugger

The estate agents will have to wait. I have more pressing things to get off my chest.

As I might have mentioned before. I had recently obtained the wonderful box of X-ness. With 360s. For pretty much nothing. It were broke. So I had to get it fixed. R450.00 and a few days' wait later and I had a fully functioning gaming console. Total awesomeness. The girlfriend and I have since then been stocking up on a plethora of games and accessories for the thing. Amazing how something that you got for free can end up costing so much. Anyway, we have been having loads of fun with it and as a special birthday treat, the girlfriend pre-ordered an unreleased game for me that she new I'd like. It's called Forza 4, or somesuch thing. I had been playing Forza 2, which has been extremely entertaining. The Forza games are basically car games, where you drive in races against other cars. From 1980's Corollas to top-end, modern Ferraris, with a bit of 60's classics thrown in. You can also zoop up your cars a la Fast and the Furious/Pimp my ride/Kraaifontein style. My Audi RS4 kicks so much ass. All it needs now is some kwaai spinners, hey? The new instalment of Forza, would obviously be updated and just generally better. I was very excited. Unfortunately the release would only be after my birthday. So, I received a wonderfully copied sleeve design of Forza 4 on an empty DVD case for my birthday. With the promise that I would get the real thing as soon as it lands on our shores. I did. It was was worth the wait. I am an avid fan of the Top Gear TV series. In an almost unhealthy and slightly scary way. The Forza peole somehow convinced the Top Gear people to endorse the game. When you start, Jeremy Clarkson speaks to you. Actual Jeremy Clarkson! Now for a fanboy that is just bloody spectacular. When you choose your first car, James May guides you through the process. I was immediately smitten and joyfully raced on tracks all around the world. Just as I was getting the hang of it and completely immersed in my fantasy driving world, it all came to a crashing (see what I did there?) halt. I went to go switch the XBox on in the morning and... nothing. Just a red ring around the power button. I frantically tried all kinds of permutations of switching the thing on and off. Funny how there aren't many of those. Still nothing. I had been thwarted by the infamous Red Ring OF Death. Named after the even more infamous Blue Screen Of Death from Microsoft's Windows operating systems. I was crushed. What would I do with myself the whole weekend? In the end, I resorted to some quality time with my better half. Not at all a bad substitute. Still, that red eye was glaring at me all the time form the lounge. So, after the weekend, I took the XBox to the repairman again. They would phone me when the problem was found. I waited for week. No phone call. I decided to phone them. No answer. I phoned again. Still no answer. I started to get a bit worried. I phoned again the next day. Hah! Success! The lady answered. I said who I was and that I would just like to check up on how the XBox was doing and she said that they had isolated the problem. I asked what it could be and got the reply that it was an RROD error. An RROD error. Well that just tells me buggerall, now doesn't it? I can see the red ring around the power button you imbecile! I would very much like to know why it is there. RROD error my bloody arse. I gave it another week. No phone call. So I went there, in person, to confront these miscreants that are keeping my beloved XBox hostage. Yes, they have found the problem, it IS DEFINITELY an RROD error (well of course it bloody is). The gentleman is working on it as we speak.

In between all of this I had decided to purchase a new flat panel monitor for my PC. The old CRT was giving a lot of electrical interference to the fancy new sound card. Bit of a bugger that, if you would like to record something. The new Makro in Montagu Gardens/Killarney was going to have insane openeing specials. I booked a morning off from work to go to the grand opening to get me a nifty new screen. Now normally, when leaving the girlfriend's house, it takes me about an hour to get from Parklands to work in Bellville. This morning, the whole bloody world obviously decided to go get them a piece of the deal-of-the-century action at the grand opening. It took me an hour just to get own Gie Road to Blaauwberg Road. For those not in the know, it's about a 3 km stretch. An hour! This, at 7:30 in the morning. The store opened at 7. It was crazy. I listened to 567 Capetalk on the radio and people were phoning in to say that there is no parking left. People were just parking everywhere at the side of the road and there were 8 traffic officers just dishing out parking tickets. Nobody regulating traffic flow though. The store apparently let 100 people through the door at a time and there was a queue of 1.2km at the doors already. I figured sod this for a sackful of squirrels and drove straight past. The monitor could wait. The sale was so successful, that they extended it for a few days. The girlfriend also tried, but al the monitors of the model I was interested in had been sold already. A colleague of hers, who incidently got the furthest, tried as well. He decided to call it quits when the queues at the checkout were 200 people per till long. Wuss. Manfully, I eventually went after the sale again. No hassles with parking, no throngs in the aisles, no kilometre long queues. It was a very pleasant experience. A hugely impressive store. And I got a better monitor than I had hoped for with the sale, for R100 more. Great success! All excitement I took it home, plugged it in and enjoyed the wondrous splendour of 20" LED (I'm not used to much). To my slight dismay, the wonderful monitor from techno-heaven was just too damn good for my current graphics card. Buggery. Which meant I now had to get a new one of those. Which I found, to my great delight, on kalahari.com, on a pretty ridiculous special. But only if you buy a game that I also wanted with it. The price of the game is the also slashed. What luck! The game mentioned is called Battlefield 3. A first person shoot-em-up which has been awaited in great anticipation. I really enjoyed the previous to instalments, so didn't want to miss out on the new one. With the assistance of he girlfriend the combo-pack was purchased online and a whole day later, delivered.

In fact, I received the game, graphics card and XBox all on the same day. After having had the XBox for 3 whole weeks, the kidnappers finally released it to me for their R450 ransom money. I was just a bouncing little tubby ball of excitement. I couldn't wait to get home to set it all up. The XBox ran like a dream. The PC side was a little different.

After having opened the big ol' case, cleaned it out a bit and stuck the new graphics card into its innards, I closed it all up and switched on.
"PRESS ANY KEY TO BOOT FROM CD"
"PRESS ANY KEY TO BOOT FROM CD"
It says that to you twice, just in case you missed it the first time. I did not want to, so didn't press my ANY key.

"Volume boot label not found. Please boot from cd."

My heart stopped a little bit. it has been a while since I last backed up. Please, please don't tell me I just went and broked sumfing.

Luckily, I am not easily killed. I revived my slightly stopped heart and switched off. I opened the bowels of the PC again and just checked all the wiring. Just in case (oh dear, I went and did another pune, or play on words). Et voila! I had, with all the cleaning and vacuming, inadvertently pulled out the power cable to the hard drive, ever so slightly. I pushed this in as far as it would go, put everything back together and started it all up again. With bated breath I waited. Greatest success ever in history .... blah, blah, you get the point. It worked. I could ow see the power of the dark Geforce 550 TI. And it is good, I must say. For the money it does give great performance. I could finally install my Battlefield 3 game. It needs an internet connection to register. Somewhat of a bugbear of mine that I will elaborate on a bit later. I get the girlfriend's internet dongle thingy and start the process. It takes about an hour. It tells me that it is downloading stuff. It does not ask me if I would like to. It just goes ahead. When it does have the courtesy to ask, it doesn't give you the option to decline. If you want to play, you have to say OK. After it did all it's bits, it told me that it was done and I clicked the icon to start the game. All excited anticipation now I see it only has to do a release date check to see if the game is genuine. OK, fine, you go ahead. "Sorry, couldn't complete the check", it tells me. "No internet connection available." I check the dongle, it says that things are fine. I try "Retry". Same thing. I checked and veify and retry everything I can think, to absolutely no avail. I stare at the screen, dumbfounded. Eventually I admit defeat and decide to take my PC and the dongle to the friendly people at Chaos Computers to see if they can figure what's wrong. I get there before they open and they graciously let me in to have a look. The very nice technician asks me if the internet dongle thingy has airtime left. Realisation starting to dawn on me I begrudgingly admit that, you know, it might not. He somehow checks it on his cell phone and true as Robert, it spits out "Current balance R0.00". Yup, foiled by a used up internet connection. So the girlfriend and I purchase some more airtime and I have another go at it. Just that release date check to go now. "Oh dear," it tells me. "Seems the game is not installed. Will download now." I scream "You F*ckers!" somewhere inside my head, as to not wake the sleeping girlfriend. I want to start tearing my eyes off, but I let it continue with whatever it needs to. It downloads more stuff and some updates and some plugins and more stuff. Eventually it all finished I finally get the game going. It rocks. I go 15 seconds into it and get to a blocked door, that I just can't get past. I had to resort to sticking the dongle in and searching for a solution on the web. Ridiculous. I hope this is not going to be the case the whole time. I really, really hope. For now all seems well and fixed. So, all good. Keep your fingers and toes crossed.

To get back to the internet registering bugbear; I spend good money on buying a product, that I would like to take home and use. I do not wish to have to spend more money to register something online that I do not intend to use online. I understand that it is to combat piracy, but for crying out loud, all it does it to promote piracy. The pirates just create or obtain a crack that sidesteps all this bull. No hassle. It's the paying public, doing the right thing, that gets punished. And not all of us in the third world have constant unlimited broadband internet access, 24-7. It really gets my goat. One day, I will be convicted enough to boycott these big computer companies, refuse to buy their products and then you just watch how they'll shiver in their boots.

TFLNOTD:

(706):

I'm silent, like a masturbating ninja.

And now for something completely... well... at least, just something

Oh dear. Tarty has posted a blog, so I guess I HAVE to put something down. It's been so long, I had to reread my previous posts to remember what I have already written. I'm not going to apologise for it again. I have in a few posts before. I do actually work for a living, I don't have the interwebs at home, so this gets done on the odd occasion that I have a few spare minutes. Deal with it.

In part, it has been somewhat of a blessing that I haven't had time to blog. I haven't really had much to put to paper, or screen, or whatever. I like a bit of humour in my bloggin' and it is far easier to poke fun at something when times are crappy, than it is when one is happy. Seeing as I seem to have the biggest smile on my dial this side of Cheshire these days, my pool of material has dramatically diminished. Yes, there are the occasional buggers that insist on pissing me off (they do this deliberately, I know), but I forget about them almost instantaneously. So, here is my attempt at inserting a bit of a chuckle into an account of a fairly mundane, yet deliriously happy existence.

I have obtained an X-Box. With 360s. Whatever that means. I have always been a fervent supporter of the PC and dead set against consoles. I have been swayed. 'Twas a mighty blow hat did it in the end, but I have to admit, I am wholly won over. There are still a few games that can (in my humblest opinion) only be played on PC, but the ones that work on the X-Box are so much fun. Not getting much sleep. Also, the girlfriend is extremely tolerant of the time spent gaming. I am a very lucky guy. Sometimes, she even plays with me...

I recently obtained a kick-ass sound card. Those who understand why this is cool, don't need any further explanation.

I have played a gig for the first time in years and didn't completely suck! Was a bit worried there for a while. But it really is like falling off a bicycle. Thanks Axxon. It was balls of fun. Hope we can do it again soon.

I had a birthday and was utterly spoiled by the girlfriend and friends and family. Got loads of cool presents. National Braai Day, on my birthday. Need I say more?


I got to spend a weekend away, surrounded by 20-21 year old girls. Just girls.

I drove through a breathalyser roadblock, got tested and did not get thrown in jail.

There are more, but I can't think of all of them now. But all this good living (have I mentioned the wonderful dinners yet?) has taken its toll. I really am getting quite a bit solid. More easily visible. Plump even. What, with the working a hell of a lot and 'till late hours, I don't get time for football. The only exercise that I am willing to do. Pretty soon I will have to get a keyboard with bigger keys, so that my pudgy fingers can still type and post blogs. I shall have to read Helena Handbasket's blog and get some pointers on getting back to a leaner, lither me.

Yup, it really is easier to poke fun at the ill-fated than to try with the golden-egged.

Maybe next time I can blog about estate agents. They always seem to drive me up walls.


TFLNOTD:

(630):

For her birthday she wants to, " try something different with our butts a funnel and a bottle of whiskey"

Night of The Bubbles

What an awesome week last week was. I had been working so much lately, that I racked up a few days that I needed to take off again. So I took 'em all that week. I did have to go to work on Thursday, but Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday were all mine. From Sunday I was back at work and today is the next Sunday again, but that week was awesome while it lasted.

Thank goodness the car's window is finally fixed. My assistant in Somerset West made me a wonderful plastic sheet, temporary window (after the freezing cold trip there in the morning). Thank you Elvis. It was quite well made. I think he might have done it before. It did make a hell of a racket though, once I started driving. Sounded like my own private little thunderstorm in the Yaris. Only a bit drier. I must admit, I am even more of an idiot than even I had anticipated. I mentioned before that the face of the radio was not a removable face. Turns out, that it was. I was just too dumb to figure it out. Took a good-for-nothing, window breaking, b*stard, son-of-b*tch criminal to get it. So much for half a decade of studying engineering. I did also discover, whilst finally cleaning all the bits of broken glass out, that the car has a THIRD storage compartment in the front. On closer inspection, this revealed a case for the radio face (that supposedly couldn't come off). Yeah. Idiot. Anyway, the window has now been replaced and I drive in peaceful serenity again. No more raging thunderstorm. Also, no more blaring In Flames. Buggery. Will have to talk to the boss about a new radio. I can't work under these conditions.

To start off the wonderful week of R&R, the girlfriend took me on a romantic weekend getaway. Well, more of a romantic night away. Seeing as I still had to work on Friday and Saturday, before I could go and loaf for a week, she took a day's leave for Monday and we left straight after I closed the shop on Sunday. She found a place in Grotto Bay, called The Beach House. Almost very aptly named. Almost, for two reasons. Firstly, when we got to the security gate boom thing (very security conscious community), we were questioned by a white, middle aged lady about where we were headed, etc. Usually people manning these things are strong, fit, black young men, that one would imagine could do something about unsavoury characters who might spoil the idyllic ambience of the place. It was just weird, ok? So I tell her with my most charming smile that we are off to a guest house called The Beach House. This seemed to take her completely by surprise. "The Beach House?" she asked, completely perplexed. I replied in the affirmative and she said, "Which one?" Now it was my turn for a bit of confusion. How does she mean which one? The girlfriend came to my rescue and said that it is run by a somebody and Michelle. I forget the one now. Light dawned on the face of the security lady and she said, "Oh, ok, because there are two." How odd, I thought to myself. Anyway, she guided us to the correct Beach House and we drove off. Secondly, Grotto Bay is a beach town, but the house we stayed in is not exactly right on it. The beach, I mean. There is a veritable forest of Port Jacksons between the house and the beach. We had to walk for about 15 minutes before we even saw it. It was quite pretty when we finally got there. And then it rained. The journey back was considerably shorter and came with an extra portion of huffing and puffing. Damn, I'm unfit. One can see I haven't been to football in a while.

At the house, we tried to make the best use of the time we had. Part of which, was enjoying the specifically ordered jacuzzi. The girlfriend trawled all of the intrenwebs for hours on end to find a place that had a jacuzzi (the other Beach House in Grotto Bay doesn't have one, so there). So we were damnwell going to use it. The somebody and Michelle ladies did turn it on at 4 that afternoon, so it could warm up a bit before we got there. Turns out, it needs quite a bit of warming up. It was around 7 in the evening and getting pretty nippy outside. We did not want to go sit in the thing and freeze our bits off. The girlfriend started boiling kettles of water and throwing these in the jacuzzi to speed things up, because it just wouldn't get warm enough. Eventually, after a few kettles we ditched the warm clothes and went for a bit of a bubbly dip with lovely red wine. It was great fun. We did however think about how may other people have had THEIR fun in the same tub. We decided it would be best not to drink the water.

We left the jacuzzi on all night for a quick morning splash. We had to be out by 11 so it had to be just a quickie. All excited (we're not used to much, well, I'm definitely not) we ran downstairs for our morning bubble tub, only to be met by Satan's steaming kettle of spitefulness. The damn thing was near boiling point. We switched it off to see if the cold morning air could take the fiery edge off, but to no avail. We had to leave without a morning rumpus in the bubbles.

We quickly packed, checked that everything was locked, etc, hopped in the car and... nothing. The car's ignition made an all too familiar, horrible, hhhhnhhuuhnnn-hhhhnuuuhnn sound. The battery was dead. I looked down at the radio face. We were in the girlfriend's car. Her face comes off. The radio's face, not her actual face, of course. It was still in he car. Now, neither of us know how to switch her radio off. The best way is to just clip the face off and take it with you. Usually, I would do this, but when we were interrogated by the boom lady the day before, I had turned the volume down so low, that I didn't hear the radio was on when we stopped. So it played on merrily through our night in the funhouse. Bugger. The girlfriend offered to push, but I was feeling all too gentlemanly and, besides, I should have clipped the face off, so it was kinda my fault that the car was dead. I got out, made her steer and applied some elbow grease. And knee grease. And hip grease. And.... I think you get he picture. The car was parked on an incline, rear facing up. Luckily, a cleaning lady offered to help. The girlfriend also tried to push a bit and tried to steer at the same time. This did not work so well. The bush next to the driveway found this out the hard way. The driveway was made from loose gravel. On loose sand. I made foot-wide canyons in it, getting the car out the driveway and into the road. Hope somebody and Michelle don't notice. A kindly, elderly gentleman, presumably the next-door-neighbour, saw our distress and offered to help. He didn't look like much of a pusher, so I ordered the girlfriend out the driving seat and made her push, while the old guy would steer. After one or two attempts at running starts, we finally got it going and as the old guy pulled away, I thought to myself: "I really hope he is a kindly, elderly gentleman, who will bring the car back and not drive off with it." It might have been a little late for that thought to surface, but at least I did have it at some point. Luckily, he did stop and gave our car back and had the grace not to say, "I could've stolen this lot, you stupid buggers." I thanked everybody involved, gave the cleaning lady some money for the extra bundle of wood that the fireplace ate the night before and we were finally on the road.

We decided to go to Groote Post wine farm, which is just opposite the road from Grotto Bay. Actually, to be more precise, the sign post and road that leads to Groote Post wine farm is opposite the road of Grotto Bay. The actual farm is two days' bloody rally driving away, complete with mud and water hazards. You never get to see the vineyards, so if you ever decided to go there, as long as you don't see anything to do with wine, you're heading the right way. Once there, it was rather pleasant. There's an Afrikaans chap, who does know his stuff reasonably well, that helps you with he tasting. The wine's not brilliant, but really not bad at all. We bought a bottle or two. After quite a few tastes it was time to head home and go get our Djoom on at band practice. This as how the week of loafing started. And it was off to a hell of a good start.

TFLNOTD:

(530):

I think the duck is in my room. You have no idea how much worse a duck makes a hangover

Thank Goodness For Weak Bladders

Oh what an interesting few days have passed. There have been things in my head that I wanted to blog about (see previous posts), but I have forgotten what they were. Hopefully I will remember them again some time. Luckily life is just full of material anyway.

The flatmate and I did have our talk. It was surprisingly good and nice and not at all as uncomfortable as I had anticipated it would be. It was actually quite pleasant. Shouldof dunnit mumfs ago. Everything is sorted. He's going out, new guy coming in, forms filled out and sent to the agents. And then of course the obligatory credit check fee paid to the agents as well. Erm.... Let's hope they don't look too closely at that bit. Banks really have the oddest sense of humour. And it's not shared by estate agents.

I was going to house sit a friend's XBox, sorry, cat this weekend (that changed, not Xboxing anymore this weekend, damn) and also return his extremely expensive External USB Audio Interface. We call it the soundcard. Which, of course, it is. Only cooler. So I packed it neatly in its box (the soundcard), with all the foamalite packaging and all the bits and bobs and promptly flung it into the boot of the Yaris. Obviously the boot was then full. There was no reason for the last sentence. It was just a mere statement of fact. I had been driving with it in the boot for a few days now, hoping for a chance to drop it off with its rightful owner. I haven't had one. As the car sleeps in a garage at the girlfriend's house and I can see it the whole time the rest of the day, I just haven't bothered ever taking it out of the boot.

Last night, had me and the colleague slaving away, moving a gargantuan desk about two metres to the left. We attempted lifting it up first. Now, we're not spring chickens anymore, but we still consider ourselves fairly strapping youngish lads. Lifting didn't work so well. In fact, not at all. We even had the pallet jack handy to gently roll it away. It never got onto the pallet jack. So we resorted to sitting on the floor, feet braced against something heavy and pushed with our legs, backs against the desk. This worked. We moved it a phenomenal 30cm at a time, but it worked. We did remove all wires from computers etc. first, so that we wouldn't accidently pull something off. After the move we redid the wirng quickly, with a slight modification here and there and then there was this one little wire. A phone cable. I just didn't check where I pulled it out. So I thought the best course of action would be not to really check where I put it in again. Hopefully, something important has not stopped working.

After our labour intensive endevours I headed off home, quickly grabbed a bite to eat, bundled the girfriend into the Yaris and off we went to an old friend's birthday party. He was very glad to see his mates. He had also had quite a few shots of Wild Turkey and pickle juice. It has a name, I forget what. Oh yes, Picklebacks. Most of the people there also had a go at these things. As did I and I was surprised to find that it wasn't as completely horrible as I expected. I really don't like gherkins. So this was quite a leap for me. The venue chosen for this pickle revolution was the Vesperado's local haunt. Looked a bit dodgey outside the gate, but very industrial, yet cosy once inside. "The cheapest Grolsch in Cape Town" the bar lady told me. I decided to believe her and take her up on the offer. Beer is good. A quick few of those and off we went home again and parked the car outside for a change. We did some synchronised breathing exercises, with corresponding bodily movements, which proved a little taxing (I started seeing spots and almost passed out, very embarrassing, so much for stamina) and then tried to get some well earned rest. Until about 2 o'clock, when my bladder decided I am not as young as I think I am and it wants to be relieved. Now. After a short, but frantic search for slippers (tiles are constipatingly cold this time of year), it was time for the loo and then a quiet smoke in the lounge. This was where I heard the soft thudding sounds from outside.

I crept over to the kitchen window and peered outside. Nothing. I peered some more. Still nothing. Then I crept over to the front door and peered through the spy hole. Ahah! I small light suddenly appeared inside my car. I blinked a few times to see if it was just the lack of sleep talking, but no, there was the light again. I switched on the porch light and valiantly ran away to find something that I can moer somebody with. Like a stick or a gholf club, or an elongated pebble. The only thing I could get was a Y-shaped iron rod, that they use for fences. Bit on the heavy side, but I figured, if I could lift it, momentum would do the rest. By the time I got the door and safety gate unlocked, weapon in hand, the miscreant had long since made his escape. I surveyed the damage. Broken passanger window (new small cars don't have the cheap triangle windows anymore), face of radio (which is not a removable face) removed, scratches around the radio as if some idiot tried to slice it out of the dashboard with a pen knife, everything else in the car opened and thrown on the seats. Glass everywhere. But also, fairly expensive laser measuring tool, intact and lying in the open. Most importantly, one External USB Audio Device, in its box, safe on the drivers' seat. I was so happy I could cry. I would have too, if the security company guys (and eventually the police) didn't arrive. Went through all the procedures, made my statement and sent them all on their way again. Obviously without any suspects. They actually put that in the statement that they (very badly) write for you. But they were all very friendly and helpful. When they had all left, I finally had the midnight ciggie. Then as I walked to bed, to try this sleeping thing again, I thought, thank goodness I am getting so old. My bladder might just have saved a bunch of stuff. I crawled into bed, snuggled into the girlfrind and smiled at my luck.

The trip to Somerset West this morning, in the cold and wet, sans window, was not fun mind you.

TFLNOTD:

(317):

We just for robbed for the second time. I believe the only thing I have left to my name is my $75 dildo

Defrag

There are a bunch of things in my head that I have thought of blogging about. Damn that's a horrible sentence. I don't know if I have enough material on any of them to make it worthwhile. They're just a bunch of loose fragments, floating amid the other flotsam in the vast open circle sea in my head. Time to set up a circumfence and see what we can catch.

As alluded to in the previous blog, I wasn't intending to write about actual politics in the governmental (now that's a good word) sense. I was thinking of something a little more personal. As I have also mentioned before, things are a little strained at home. For reasons also mentioned before. (This here is called subliminal advertising. If you haven't read the previous posts, you should now feel that you have missed out on something interesting or important. This plays on your insecurities and makes you feel somewhat inadequate. You should immediately go and read all the earlier posts, just so that you don't feel like you've been left out.) So, what I was getting at, is that there was a birthday party of a mutual friend of mine, the girl and the flatmate. I should probably start referring to her as "the girlfriend". it is kinda official by now. We, the girlfriend and I, did for a while contemplate not actually going. We didn't want to cause unnecessary stress or risk a scene of trailer park proportions. But we decided, you know what, he's our mate and I am damn well going to his party. I don't bloody care. I have a life and I will live it. Screw the consequences. I can't live my life trying to tiptoe around other people's issues. I have reasonably large feet and I wear hiking boots, so there is absolutely no point in me walking anywhere near egg shells. I have apologised as much as I am able. But I am happy and I am sure as f*ck not apologising for that. (I will however apologise about this little outburst to our more sensitive readers. Please cover your eyes when you get to the swear words.)

We went. It sucked. Don't get me wrong. It was awesome to see the mate on his birthday and spend time carousing with him and the rest of the friends. But the tension was so palpable, you could almost taste it. There were two camps. Set up in our honour methinks. Well not really, it just turned out that way. The flatmate was in one corner and we in the other. Glares were flung across the ring, I mean room. The girlfriend went up to say hi to her ex (I didn't bother. If we don't speak at home, walking up and going:"HEY! Howzit BUDDY!" might just be a little fake). She got no hello. Just a stare of death. So much for barking up that tree. We ended up staying on our side of the room and hung out with the friends in the vicinity. After a while, we decided that enough was enough. We had seen our mate, were able to shake his hand, give him a hug (and a kiss in the girlfriend's case, I declined) and wished him happy birthday. We left. McDonald's McFluffies (the girlfriend calls them that, don't ask me why) were consumed and off to bed.

I am glad we went. This was the first time that we were all in the same environment since this melodrama began. It was weird and crappy. But it's over. Hopefully, next time will be less awkward. I am typing this, knowing that it probably won't be the case. No matter how much we say that people must deal with things and get over stuff, sometimes people just can't or more commonly, don't want to. We're not all going to be friends and that's ok. As long as we're happy, have a bunch of friends and family that do care about us, who gives a sh*t?

Now there's just the little matter of when who will actually move out of where....  (Guess we will have to speak after all.)

More odds and ends from the rim next time. Hopefully of a different hue.

TFLNOTD:

(661):

u girls! girls! girls! have fun please don't hook up w/ a roadie! Love, mom

The Politics Of Politics

I have been complained to, at length, about my tardiness in getting these things written. See last post and also comments thereof. My apologies, again, to all of blogspace. This time, I have a proper excuse. I am struggling with an enormous case of blogger's block. I seem to have no material that I can feast my keyboard thrashing, little digits on. Well, I lie. I do have some material, but it is of a somewhat delicate nature. And I am not talking of any kind of medical problems in my nether regions either. I have no shame. I'll tell that to the world any time. It's about people. And politics.

We very recently had our very own municipal elections. This was great fun, as it always is. I went as early as I could get the chance and then had a very pleasant day off. I like our government. They are just the coolest when it comes to public holidays. Any excuse will do to get people out of work for a day. Anyway, so we all went to make our little x in the block of our preference, which will make a difference of exactly diddly squat in the end. Poor people will still be poor and there will still be a massive demand for housing and basic services. The rich will still be looked after in their cushions of wealth. And the middle class sods will bitch and moan because they feel like they have to pay for everything. Also, can any of you tell me what the name of the counsillor is that you voted for in your ward? Have you ever seen this person? Have you ever heard him or her speak or read anything that they might have written? Did you have any basis for voting for this person, other than his/her political affiliation? I sure as hell didn't. I have no clue who this guy is, but my party's picture was next to his head. I shall vote for him! How do I know that this person will have my interests/wants/needs at heart? I honestly don't know.

But we still do it. We still make our mark and believe that we are doing our bit for the greater good of the country. And we are. Even though I said just now that it would make no difference. What we do with our cross, is to take part. To join in the symbolism of democracy. For if we don't have that, if we don't go through the motions of elections and getting representatives from our communities involved in some level of government, then the road to Africa starts very close to our homes.

Oh bugger. I seemed to have shaken off a bit of the block. Didn't realise how much I had written down until I read through this just now. And this was not actually the politics that I was referring to either.  Guess I have material for the next one as well then.


TFLNOTD:

(351):

the story is to long to tell you via txt so when you notice the tattoo on your ass call me.

We Apologise For The Break In Transmission...

...We are currently experiencing technical difficulties.

Isn't that just terribly annoying? With all our advances in technology, we still get those messages fed to us. Usually on the telly, when watching something really exciting, often at some critical point. Like when you're watching a humdinger of a cricket match, the bowler is on a hat-trick and then Bzzzt, squiggle-squiggle, Blip! And then that message appears. With some horrible elevator music as accompaniment. Terrible. Well, I had a bit of a Bzzzt, squiggle-squiggle, Blip moment reasently. So:

We apologise for the break in transm... Aaaagghhhh! Sod Off!!

Where to begin? It's been so long. I hope I can remember how this works. For starters, let me congratulate fellow blogspace inhabitants Boigz the Blogger and Tequila Tart for keeping things going in my absence. Rose Thorn is also due a post. Tsk, tsk. Come on Rosie, I am sure there have been some interesting events in the Rose Bush recently.

I might have been a little too subtle in my last post. At the time, there were a few things on my mind that I really wanted to write down somewhere, but due to a multitude of reasons, a public forum might not have been the right place for them. I wanted to get that accross somehow.

Part of the reason why I was gone for so long, was that I have been kept extremely busy at work lately. I am now finally back in sunny, windy old Cape Town and things have been a little hectic in the office. Also, I have been cut off from the devil. My IT chief decided to block facebook on the last computers that still had access to it. The bugger. So my online presence has almost disappeared entirely. I will have to find an interweb cafe somewhere to get my fix now. I knew this was going to happen. Getting sucked in to the abyss by the charms of Satan. I now get terribly upset when I see friend requests sent to my email and I can't go and accept them. This torture is probably just part of the devil's evil plan.

Another reason why I haven't blogged is of a bit more of a delicate nature. I have tought long and hard about how I should approach this. What I should and should not write, etc. I have come to the conclusion that the best course of action would be the unwashed, unabridged truth. No sugar coating. Well, here goes:

The very first weekend after my return from forn parts, I went along to my new flatmate's 40th birthday party in the quaint little town of Montagu. Which co-incidentally is where I grew up. Well some of my growing up was done there. My parents still live there, so I could visit them every now and then, inbetween partying with the mates. On Saturday night we went big. Dress-up costumes of comic book heroes and all. The costumes were great. Some of the people really did make a huge effort. Mine was particularly fetching thanks to heaps of help from one half of the Demonic Sibling Wolfpack. She went as Tank Girl, complete with dart in army helmet. Very well done indeed. The whole group of starngely dressed people then went about the town, as one does, and made a turn at the Baines and something (forget what the other name is) pub. I knew it as The Sour Grape, in my youth. Lovely little place. And they serve, wait for it... Yes, they serve the best beer in the world, Napier Bier, on tap. (Just a note: While I am working today, a lot of the mates are in Napier, at the Suntouched Inn, drinking this wonderful beverage. Wish I could have gone). Everybody had some. It was fantastic. We also amused fellow patrons of the establishment with our attire and of course our antics, trying to remain in character at all times. After our beer, we went back to party central, which the flatmate sponsored, including the really good food and a whole lot of booze. Of which I naturally partook handsomely. Lots. There was also a bottle of coffe or chocolate tequila floating about. Now normally I can't imbibe tequila, I wish I could, but for some reason it does not like to remain in my body for more than a few seconds. This stuff, the sweetened version, maybe also a little less potent, I could keep inside. That might not have been good. I ended up keeping about half a bottle in. For those that know me, this is no mean feat. I usually need two beers to send me running to the nearest oral deposit locale. That night, however, all the drink stayed with me. I got blind drunk. Horribly, terribly blind drunk. There are huge gaps in my memory. But I do remember that I kinda hooked up with the flatmate's ex. At the party that he catered for everything. The ex that he still had a thing for. Sometimes, I can be a right bastard.

In my defence, not that I am trying to shift blame in any way, I was....extremely drunk. Judgement buggered off a long time before. I did apparently ask somebody, sometime through the evening if it would be a good idea for me to get aquianted with the lady in question. The answer was a very definite NO. But that was when I could still speak. When I had the ability to form not only complex sentences, but could make sounds come out of my mouth in a way that could be understood by other people from this planet. Later, this was not the case. Obviously, events like this can't remain hidden. The flatmate knew, was not impressed and, skipping a few details, we don't really talk now. We're still living together, which is a tiny bit awkward and strained. I did apologise as much as I could and I do feel terrible about how things happened. There's nothing I can do about it now. All I can do, as I have been since all this happened is to stay out of his way as much as possible, visiting friends 'till the early hours of the morning or just sleeping over. Maybe tings will change sometime. Maybe not.

On top of all this, I was accused of whoring about with another man(I am using this term very loosely)'s wife. The two are going through a messy divorce and I got told how much of a "spineless f*cker" I am, by the husband. This is all happening in PE. I am in Cape Town. For a while, I was in Gauteng. Now, according to urban legend, I am apparently quite well endowed. But surely, IT ISN"T THAT F*CKING LONG! Oh, the drama...

Other than that, life is fantastic. It is wonderful to be back in Cape Town. We seem to have some proper weather again today. I do feel at home here. Albeit at work. I shall try to stop the craziness every once in a while, to keep this here blog as up to date as I can now. Hopefully, the technical difficulties are sorted out soon.

I will also try to change the design of this page a bit. Please bear with me, for I know not what I do.

TFLNOTD:

(224):

update: ifinallt managed t5o be in a. Horizontal position without throwing up... the snmall victories.

The Things We Can't Say On Blogs

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Bugger....
I didn't really think this through all that well, did I?

Oh well, as I can't say that which I had wanted to say, I'll say this: I might be off the airwaves for a while but will start blogging as soon as I have the intrenwebs again. Keep the pieces.

TFLNOTD:

(240):

One of two things would happen: He'd love it, or you'd get a restraining order.

On the road again...

I just can't wait t'get on the road again...etc. It is almost time. Today was my last working day in the country's capital. Only the weekend left and I shall be doing what the song says. Back home...

Contrary to all my beliefs and prejudices prior to coming to Gauteng (that's fancy for Joburg and Pretoria), I actually had a really good time here. I thought it would be horrible. I don't know the roads, I don't know the places, I don't know the people. I thought they would look at me, immediately see I'm not from here and say: "Shoo, away you infidel dog foreign person. You do not belong here." Well, in Pretoria they would say that in Afrikaans. But lo, they did not. Not even the horn helmet wearing, bakkie with blue balls on the towbar driving, baby blue jerseyed, staunch boere Blue Bulls supporters did that. As a matter of fact, I was surprised at how welcoming the people here were. I had a blast at Ellispark (sorry Coca-Cola Park), watching the Lions vs Bulls game. With aforementioned supporters and their red counterparts going nuts around me. All in a good spirit. Not a single punch was thrown in all that testosterone filled extacy. It was just plain fun. For the most part strangers here are just nicer than in Cape Town. They really make an effort to make a person feel welcome. Without wanting anything in return. I met some really wonderful people during my stay. Thank you all for making this little adventure of mine so enjoyable.

I did in fact also know quite a few people around the area. Some that I hadn't seen in ages and it was so good to hang out with them again. Thank you guys for your hospitality. Some that I didn't even get a chance to see while I was here. Sorry to those, I'll try again the next time I'm here for a visit.

The roads weren't too much of a hassle in the end. Thanks to my wonderfully quirky GPS, an hour to work in the morning and almost an hour back home at night and the city council's delightful ideas concerning roadworks, I learnt my way around reasonably quickly. You get to see a whole lot of real estate when you drive around like I do and sometimes, some landmarks stick in your head.

It is, as I am writing this, at 5pm Friday evening, raining. AGAIN. Damn, it's rained a lot while I've been here. Travelling the 1 hour trek, each way, daily in these downpours has not been fun. At all. This I will not miss. I've had a near death experience or two in the wet, that I would rather forget. Compound these hectic thunderstorms with the ever continuing roadworks and you get a really interesting drive home.I am dreading this for tonight.

I also saw many interesting places. I had loads of fun with mates from here at The Red Room. A club originally owned by Ashton Nyte from The Awakening. For those of an alternative persuasion, I would suggest it. I saw Parys, which is the closest that I've ever been to touring Europe. And probably will be for a while. The massive Hartebeespoort Dam, with all its tourist trappings. Which is kinda weird. Everybody from around here go there to get away for a while. And then they're all there. Hmmm... There were more places, but I'll not bore you with a list of all of them.

The only gripe, serious gripe, that I have with this place, is that it seems the larneys don't want to be bothered by ever ringing cell phones. Now I can sortof understand this. You know, they are important, powerful people and they have better things to do than to constantly be on the phone. So, in their larney neighbourhoods, they conspire to get almost zero cell phone reception. This is great for the movers and shakers, but really sucks for a guy from Cape Town, that misses his mates and just wants to have a chat with one of them. I stayed in a small hole in the wall, under a house in Bryanston. For those of you that don't know Johannesburg, but do know Cape Town, it's kinda like Constantia. Like I said. Larney. For those of you that don't know either. I am sorry, there is no help for you. Now, in my shoebox, I had about 2 square feet of area that actually got a cell signal. If I move my head a few inches, the signal goes and my call is dropped. This is infuriating. Were I to get off the bed, where this area of reception exists, and walk the 3 yards to the loo, it goes completely. There were a few times when I would get back to the bed and get a message to say that I missed a call. Because I was busy with whatever Nature had in store for me. Unacceptable. Completely wrong. I don't necessarily need to speak to somebody while I am relieving myself, but the principle of the thing is what bothers me. Get off your high and mighty bloody horses you larney buggers and get some towers in here! Ah, now that I have that off my chest...

As you may be able to deduce, I have enjoyed my stay in Joburg and Pretoria. Loads. But the time has come to pack the bags and go where I belong. Not that I can't ever see myself belonging here. Just not now. Right now, my life, my heart, is in Cape Town. I will miss my friends here, but I will remember the good times I had fondly, for years to come. Besides, it's their turn to visit me again.

Catch y'all at the foot of the most beautiful mountain.....in the world.

TFLNOTD:

(732):

shes 19, drunk and said she has no gag reflex. im trying to decide if i have scruples

(1-732):

you dont

(732):

i dont

Moral Fibre

Apparently fibre is good for you. Keeps you reg'lar. That's if you believe the hot little chick with the seemingly perfect life that got it all in the morning. Advertising would like us to believe that if we take a regular crap, all our problems will disappear and we and our lives will be perfect. They lie. I have proof. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my bowel movements and I am still single, slightly over-weight, greying and not as wealthy as I'd hoped I'd be at my age. But that's not actually what this blog is about. The fibre I would like to talk about is a whole different kettle of monkeys.

Moral fibre won't necessarily keep you going to the loo a lot (although it might), but it does have something to do with who you are, deep inside. I have often thought about morals/morality and was reminded about it by BoigzTheBlogger today. He actually suggested I write about this. Morals are nifty things. What people don't often realise, is that they change with us, as we change as people. Things that were completely taboo a while back, might be absolutely fine today. This, both for individuals and in societies. Usually the change is towards a more liberal view, but it can go more conservative as well. It just depends on how we think at that moment. 

When you grow up, you are taught (hopefully) that smoking, drinking, drugs, stealing is all bad. So is sex. For some people it is the premarital version that is wrong. Some believe that all sex is just bad and horrible (and should be shot). As we get older, people start experimenting with various things. Some try cigarettes, some booze, some weed... This is generally all done in secret, because we don't want to get caught. Because it's wrong. And naughty. And we're gonna get moered if somebody finds out. The smoking ends up looking cool (or so we think). The booze is heaps of fun. The weed is chill maaaaan.... We decide that we kinda like these things that were so against our beliefs. The morals change to accommodate these new ideas. Some continue smoking, some drink more, some get high any chance they get. And then one day a person decides you know, this getting high thing just isn't for me. It screws stuff up man. They go completely anti drugs and never touch anything like that again. The morals shift to accommodate these views as well. But stealing. Stealing stays wrong for everybody forever, right? Not if you're really struggling. Then it becomes a way to stay alive. Not if you're stealing from somebody that has always had more than you. Then it just evens the score. Not if you couldn't give a sh*t about rules, because when has the system ever been there for you? 

Bugger. Sorry. Started getting a bit heavy there. I'll try to tone it down. The bottom line is that morals, no matter how much store we put in them, are not static things. Our moral compass works very much like Captain Jack Sparrow's does. It kinda points the way we want it to. Should it be so? Probably not. But if you can go to bed at night, proud of how you did something or how you handled a situation and not be ashamed of your actions, then I guess you're doing alright.


But that's not all. If you read now, you will get the extended version. 

What Boigz and I talked about was a specific bit of morality. It links in with the buddy code. That mythical contract between all male friends. "You don't go for your buddy's girl." That is just nasty. You WILL lose a friend that way. Maybe more than one. But then there is also "You don't go for your buddy's ex". And "You don't go for any girl your buddy is interested in. Ever". Now to me, that's just silly. While yes, one should not covet they neighbour's ass or wife it doesn't mean any ass or wife thy neighbour has ever seen. If a friend breaks up with somebody and things are still raw and he's still hurting, don't go and shag his ex in front of him. That's a bit rude. Out of respect and a level of kindness one would hope exists between friends, give him time to heal, at least a bit, before you go rubbing his face in it. If things don't work out between people, nobody (including the hurting ex) has the right to expect the two parties from this break-up to never be in a relationship again. And besides, that's stupid. If an ex and a friend can make each other happy, then let them. Wouldn't you rather have a mate that you trust date a girl that you (at least once) cared about, rather than some tool, that you don't know, that will give her grief in the end?

As for the other rule, well, if your buddy is actually interested in a girl and at least tries to make this interest visible to said girl, then back off. If she's not interested in him then, he has no claim on her and she's fair game. If your buddy is interested in a girl and never makes any attempt at making this known, then he can't just go calling dibs. Especially if he bloody well goes and calls dibs on any nice girl that he sees. You can't go creating a virtual dreamworld harem for yourself in the real world. Complete silliness.


I might have started to ramble a bit at the end there. These were some of my morally guided thoughts. They have changed over the years and probably will again. Yours are allowed to as well.


TFLNOTD:

(443):
this is your 3rd pregnancy scare in 2 years, I think its time for you to re-evaluate the whole 'im a lesbian' thing

Nothing But Trouble

You know, Will Smith might have known a thing or two when he was a laaitie. Can't really say the same for his kids. I don't know how those little shoulders can carry such big chips, but that's a different story. When he was still called The Fresh Prince, he had a song that went: "Listen old boy, don't mean to bust your bubble, but girls of the world ain't (insert title here). I really don't get how chicks work. Sometimes I think I do, but then they just come up with something that completely befuddles me again. I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this. Why then do we bother with them, you ask? Because we can't help it. They look so pretty and they smell so nice and they make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Drive us up the wall often, but they do light up our lives. Still, I don't understand them. One of the the things that I just don't get would be how their choices in guys work. I have done a bit of research into this and it seems (according to what they say) that they all want a nice, dependable, good oke, that won't screw them around.

This is complete and utter twally. I have seen it happen so many times. Cool, normal chickies, quite smart too, that go for complete and utter b*stards. Then they whine about how these guys mess them around. Eventually, they might break up with aforementioned b*stards. Swear that they will never let a guy treat them like that again and hook up with the next b*stard that walks around the corner. It seems they have this inborn need to want to fix these problem children. Probably something to do with motherly instincts or something, I don't know. *Sigh* This means that, according to what they say, guys like me (the nice dependable type, according to the people that know me, although they only think they do, because in fact I am a right b*stard - shhhhh, it's called advertising, I might get finally get lucky from this ), should be swimmin' in wimmin, while in fact, we sit at home, alone, proverbial finger in our proverbial.......ear.

They also say that they want to be romanced. They want to feel special. So then guys like me (not really, see above for details), attempt this. These attempts to satisfy this need are seen as being "too much" and that they are being "suffocated" by this "relationship". And they run a bloody mile. The best luck I have had with a girl lately, was to completely, flatly ignore her. This just boggles my mind.

I have to admit that I have not lucked out completely throughout the course of my life. For the most part, I have also dated some really hot girls. Most of them were pretty sharp as well. They must've gone through some moment of weakness at the time. Couldn't find a handy b*stard nearby (this is of course not always completely true, just trying to make a point here). Still, there have been some fun and meaningful relationships along the way. But, as I seem to have developed this thinking illness of late, I had a bit of a thought about all this. For the most part (and I'm talking seriously large majority here), girls that I have dated before seem to be much better off now, than they were with me. And I'm not just talking about then and now, but also better off than they would have been, had they stuck with me until now. Logically, I have to therefor conclude that I have had a positive influence on these girls' futures. I did think about this for quite some time and I have come up with a plan that I think will benifit us all.

Ladies, if you feel like you're stuck in a rut, that you are not realising those wonderful ambitions that you have, that your life is not really going anywhere, give me a call. Let's hook up. I'll make you famous.

TFLNOTD:

(315):

I need to get my pants from under your porch. People are asking questions.

We're sinking, we're sinking!

Yeeeeess..... vell, vhat are you sinking about? Or so the joke goes. I made the mistake of thinking or sinking (you decide which is more apt) recently. It all started with the devil. After a very long time of remaining firm, I have finally given in and succumbed to the evil that is facebook. It's the devil. I am sure of this. Which is why I refused to go on it for so long. But for some reason, everybody on the whole damn planet is on the thing and any photos of any event that people attend, get put up there.

I was at the Rammstein concert in Cape Town. It was the best event that I have ever attended. Completely blew me away. I was in the 3rd row from the barrier in front of the stage, got literally seared by massive flames, and I got to touch the boat! Anyway, as I didn't have a camera there, I was relying on wonderful friends to take pics that I could then get from them later. Their place of choice to stick these? Yup. Bloody facebook. So, the only way for me to get at these wonderful images of flamethrowers in action was on facebook.  I cracked, and walked into the arms of Beelzebub. Which, like I suspected it would, has almost taken over my life. Because it does this. This is how it eats your soul. You very innocently send a "friend request" to one or two people that you know. They "accept" you as their friend and suddenly you see who all their friends are and they let you know what they're doing and you ask some of their friends if they would accept you as well and then, before you know it, you have a whole host of people that you are constantly connected to. You can also "search" facebook for anybody else that you would like to connect with. And they all have "status updates". Which is pretty much just what they're doing or thinking about now or something cool that they saw or heard and people comment on these. And then you think of something witty to say and "post" your "reply" to the comment and you keep checking back to see if anybody appreciated your razor sharp wit. Then somebody else "likes" your reply and another person posts something and you keep coming back to see what's happening now. Then there are the "pokes" which I still don't understand, but I am currently involved in poke wars on two fronts. Also, tags. Which I don't get either, but it involves pictures somehow. I will still get to the bottom of this.

While all this frenetic activity goes on (which eats away all of one's time usually spent writing blogs), you browse through all the friends of friends and see the comments that friends make on their friends' pages and run accross old friends, past lovers and aquaintances. It can be really good to hook up with these people that you might have let disappear from your life over the years. I have spoken to people that I have cared about a lot before, that I somehow lost contact with and it has been very gratifying (it is still the devil though). But, as you go through these people that were a part of your life, you also think back to the times when they were there. What you were doing, how old you were, what your plans for the future were back then. Kinda who you were at the time. This brings me to the title for today (see what I did there?).

So facebook (the devil) made me think about where I am, where I have been and the journey along the way. I have had some fantastic times. Met and spent time with some wonderful people. I have received and given a lot of love. I have had immeasureble support. All of which I am truly, humblingly (that is a word, I have decided) grateful for. I have made some terrible mistakes. Taken some very wrong turns. Hurt and dissapointed many people (very often the same people mentioned before). There are many things that I regtret. Clocks that I wish I could turn back. Words I wish I could swallow to prevent them form causing the damage that they did. Deeds I would walk away from and things not done that I should have rushed to do. I wonder what would have happened, had I chosen this way instead of that. Where would my life have taken me then? Where would I have ended up? Do this for too long and you will go a bit bonkers. Because you can't change the past. You learn from it. You cherish the memories of all the happy times. You appreciate your wordly stuff and the riches you have accumulated in your heart and mind and soul. The impressions made on you by all these people that you once knew and all the choices that you had to make. Because of them, maybe next time your choice will be a bit better.

TFLNOTD:

(206):

This is the last weekend of getting drunk and having sex all nite with the plumber. I'm exhausted all weekend and I'm never going to finish the remodel at this rate