The irrelevance of celebrity fragrances

There is honestly nothing more useless than a celebrity fragrance. How these 'slebs manage to come up with the most ridiculous names for their fragrances I will never know.

•  Britney Spears has "Fantasy" and "Curious" which "represents the young woman who pushes boundaries and revels in adventure". Yes, I suppose Britney Spears is in fact a curious specimen, and very adventurous too, particularly with her lifestyle and hairstyle choices. 

That's pretty curious if you ask me...

• "True Star" by Beyonce sounds like an obscure petrol station that you only ever see in the furthest corner of the Earth, whose logo looks suspiciously like an Australian flag. Like some kind of station you find up in Mount Frere in the Eastern Cape that doesn't actually sell petrol, only an Americanised version called "gas".

• Sean John's scent is called "Unforgivable" and he personally selected the "combination of breathtaking, addictive and slightly dangerous essences". What do you suppose "dangerous essences" are? Diluted cyanide? Hydrochloric acid? Sounds great. I cant wait to spritz that on my skin.

• Justin Bieber's "Someday" makes me want to punch something in the balls. Someday what,Justin? Someday your voice will break? Someday you will be a man? Someday you'll get to wipe your own bum? Someday...He also has a new fragrance called "Girlfriend". I fail to belive that there is a more sexually confused teenager out there publicly going through puberty. Shame shame shame.



Poor kid. He doesn't have a clue what's going on.



• Antonio Banderas honestly has about 8 fragrances. Of which atleast 4 contain the word "seduction". "Blue Seduction" and "Seduction in black" to name but a few. Just how many colours of seduction could there be? I thought there was only one kind, but apparently if you are Spanish and slimy, you get the opportunity to seduce in every form and colour. I wonder if any of those fragrances contain a little chloroform to make the "seduction" that much easier...He also has a fragrance called "The Secret". What's the big secret Antonio? Will we find out in your next mysterious fragrance? Are all of his fragrances a set of sick clues leading us to a spot where women have been stolen and turned into guinea pigs for his perfumes? Testing the rate of successful "seduction"? I don't think I like that. Or him for that matter.

• My personal favourite though is Mariah Carey. Oh Mariah... When you think of any fragrance "created" by Mariah Carey, I'm sure all of you immediately think of a women prancing around a garden made of bubbles and rainbows in a pink bikini, and some sickly aroma floating around that is actually pink in colour. You can actually see the sickly pinkness of this fragrance. Well, if you thought this then you are 100% correct. Obviously. My favourite of her range is "Lollipop Bling". It really just ties up her persona does it not? It is described as "A playful and radiant fragrance combination of gourmet jelly beans and golden peony creates a flirty, fun experience". How old are you Mariah? Are you even allowed to sell perfume to confused little girls?  And just what the hell is "golden peony"? It sounds like polony. And if there is polony of any kind in that bottle she is hitting an entirely different target market to what I am sure she was aiming for... 



Next time someone should tell her to leave her toys at home.



A comprehensive guide to all that is crap: Part 4

I humbly apologise for the lack of a blog update in the last two months, but you cannot blame me as I have been very busy thinking up something crap beginning with a "Z". The English alphabet is far too long and extensive if you ask my expert opinion. So here it is, the final installment of "The comprehensive guide to all that is crap." Enjoy.

S: Stationary bike seats

Stationary bike seats are so crap. Probably the crappest of all that is crap. I fear that they will, ultimately, be the death of me. And my gooch. Since I started spinning classes I have had to make the difficult decision of choosing between a tighter backside, and bearing children. I suppose since that first day I mounted that cruel, hard seat, I waved goodbye to my unborn children and any chance of future happiness. Really though, my gooch will never be the same. I thought I would pass away in the 5th session that I attended, and so I announced to my boyfriend that I would never sit on a bike seat again, even getting to the point where I had decided that I would never teach my unborn children to ride a bike (that's if I could have children, given the damage that bike did). To which he gave a sly grin (some might call it a leer) and produced a "gel pack" bike seat cover that he explained slipped so smoothly over the bike seat and made it feel like I was sitting on a pillow that was made from 5000 thread count Egyptian cotton and stuffed with the finest, sweetest, softest thing you can imagine. I would like to say Ryan Gosling's face. But thats not for here... So I took it with me as I braved another spinning class, tucked under my arm discretely so that nobody thought I was a "nancy boy", and I have never looked back! It changed the stationary bike seat from a mortal enemy to a dear friend, and I can only suggest that you invest in the same to make your life that much more fantastic.

PS.  I sincerely do not understand how men cope with spinning classes, if anybody has any feedback on this, please contact me.

T: Toilet paper that is that little bit too far behind you.

I recently went to the toilet at a very fancy restaurant and was appalled at the state of the toilets! Not only did they have some kind of flusher technology that caused the toilet to flush when it detected movement in the bowl (which left me with urine and water splashing up on my behind in midstream, not to mention a mild chaffe that followed), but it also had the toilet roll dispenser placed just out of reach behind me. God that is so annoying. It was placed in a position that was about 5cm too far behind you, so that you physically had to turn around to reach it, and risk falling off the seat at the same time. Ghastly. I really hate that. It was like the person who fixed it to the wall had freakishly long ape arms which he swung behind him so easily to grab a couple squares of tp. What an asshole.

U: Unwelcome guests
There is always that friend that you have, that has another friend, who knows another friend, who always brings along his uncle. To your house. And he doesn't ever bring beers. And he never wants to leave. He just wants to sit on your couch until the early hours of the morning reminiscing in a creepy fashion about the way your friend's mom looked before she had kids and drinking all your booze. How does one get rid of an unwelcome guest? There really is no direct way!  Even if you are as direct as "Please leave now", they think you are being funny and coy and that, in fact, you are asking them to get you another drink, and help themself to one while they're there. Hate those unwelcome guests.

V: Vending machines
They are way too expensive. And no matter what you say, you have, at one point, witnessed your Fritos get stuck in the final coil of the dispenser and lost your temper in a way that caused a great embarassment to you and your loved ones.

W: Waiters with attitude

I have a healthy respect for waiters. I myself have waitered my fair share of tables and so I treat them well, and tip them how I see fit. Having said that, it really grates my tits when a waiter has attitude and does not stick to the wise old saying that "the customer is always right". I once encountered one of these waiters at a restaurant with my family. My sister ordered ribs, and I ordered a steak. When we received our food, I got ribs, as did my sister. Politely, I called the waiter over and said "I'm sorry sir, I didn't order ribs, I ordered a steak." To which I expected him to humbly apologise and bring me my real meal. I was completely taken aback when he hissed at me "No you didn't! You ordered ribs!" "Um, no I really didn't. I ordered the steak. I don't even like ribs." To which he replied, "You definately ordered the ribs. I don't care what you say." Okkaaay then....I politely asked to speak to the manager, to whom I retold the story. He obviously had a firm word with the waiter and told him to come back to apologise. He dragged his feet over to our table, sulking like a teenage bitch, and said "I apologise for speaking to you like that. Your meal will be on the house." I replied with a gratious "Thank you" and gave him a smile. That obviously pissed him off because he ended the conversation with "But I'm still right, you definately ordered the ribs", before he turned on his heel and stormed off. Thanks for ruining the entire evening bro, and possibly the rest of the year.

X: X-rated child pornstars
Has anybody ever watched "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding"? Refer to Part 3 if you have not. By Jove it is a sight to behold. I have never seen anything like it! Children as young as 8 years old getting spray tans, highlights in their hair, and wearing high heels. Im not even talking about the jelly-shoe type high heel. Im talking stilettos. Bloody Hell I didn't know where to look!! Apparently for special occasions (such as a Christening or a confirmation, where, if I am not mistaken, you are presented before the eyes of God) the Gypsies like to dress their offspring in gaudy crop tops and mini-skirts, or some kind of skin tight unitard with holes in all the wrong places. They then proceed to recreate the Christina Aguilera "Dirty" music video on the dance floor of the Church Hall which they have hired out. The Gypsies also claim that sex is not allowed before marriage. I find that extremely hard to believe whilst watching the baby prostitues gyrating before my eyes at the tender age of 6.

Y: YOLO

If there was ever an American turn of phrase that pissed me off the most, it is this one. YOLO. Apparently standing for You Only Live Once. I don't see the point of shortening that phrase to an annoying acronym. Unless you are taking your "only living once" so seriously that you do not, in fact, have enough time and or breathe to blurt out the entire phrase. Wow your life must be pretty darn exciting if you find yourself constantly on the edge shouting "YOLO!!!!!" Twitter has opened my eyes to this phenomenon, because just about every teen "humour" account turns very unhumourous when they start tweeting things like "hiring a stretch Hummer for my prom 'cos YOLO!!" or "Wearing these killer heels tonight 'cos YOLO!" or "drove over a cat today 'cos YOLO!!". Thank you for shouting that in my face, because, up until you shouted that in my face, I thought we lived twice. Or atleast 3 times. Really? I think you've had enough YOLO for one day. Time to go to sleep now cos YOLO. (honestly how ridiculous and incomplete does that sound? Go away annoying teenager.)

 

Z: Z-list celebrities

I thought about it, and have come to the realisation that Z-list celebrities are among one of the worst races in the world. They think they are so clever and good looking, but, if they really were, they would not be on the Z-list of all producers. They think they're big shit cos they got caught driving without a seatbelt, or because they once played an honourary role on the cast of the cancelled romance series "Loving" in the late 90's. You remember Loving? The unoriginal theme song went like this: "L-O-V-I-N-G". What a piece of shit. Then when they don't get the attention they crave you find nude pictures of them in HEAT magazine that curiously "escaped" their private stash (God only knows how sordid their "stash" really is), or they bang some D-list celebrity, or all of them, and are caught red handed with cocaine messed all over their faces.

Exhibit A: ex-SABC presenter and has-been, Kuli Roberts. A small extract from the City Press about the attack on Kuli Roberts by Trevor Noah at the Steve Hofmeyer Roast gives insight to the sadness that is this sad Z-list celebrity, who is purely well known for being a skank and an idiot.

"McSlutty, I’m glad you’re sober enough to join us,” he said to her, before having a go at a controversial column on coloured women that saw Roberts fired from Sunday World last year.

After that, she was repeatedly lampooned for being a nymphomaniac, a cocaine junkie and an alcoholic, with multiple references to her vagina"

Shame...should've seen that one coming...

A comprehensive guide to all that is crap: Part 3

N: Nicki Minaj

• I don't quite know how I feel about Nicki Minaj. But I do know that she is stark raving mad. I don't understand the phenomenon of her at all. She dresses like a transvestite lunatic who lives in a cage that is suspended from the ceiling of a dance club, she "sings" like a 15 year old boy who has been sucking Helium from balloons at his little cousins birthday party. And the lyrics of her songs? They don't make any sense at all.
• Exhibit A: An extract from her song "Wuchoo know":

"It was a quarter passed 3 when I ran into rell

Didn't forget my keys cause my name ring bells

A lil white tee some addidas with the shells

Tun in the coup oh! shoot broke a nail

Let me let me think what I gotta gotta do

Should I get the black or the chrome 22

And if a bird try to get out of the cage

I bitch down new york times front page

I went to starbucks I wanted to get a frapo

Then had a snapple apple with the capo

That's fendi but that's irrelivent

Threw him a couple benjies now I'm da president

And I'm nicki and nicki so picky

Slick like ricky flow be so icky

Class is finished you'll be home bout 3

So all ya rap bitches what ya'll know bout me"

Just what the hell is going on there?! Nothing makes sense! Bloody hell it's like being stuck in the mind of a garden gnome on Tik. What is she going on about "That's fendi but that's irrelevant"? The whole bloody song is irrelevant!

• Exhibit B: Evidence of her madness:

 

O: Over sharing

• Everyone always has that friend that goes one step too far. And then Boom! You now know all about the connection between their anal fungus and that guy with Pink eye who sits at the back of the lecture hall muttering madly to himself. We do not want to know why you are sitting on a donut pillow. Nor do we want to know why you have developed a mysterious bald patch on the back of your head. We also don't want to know why you have a big black bag and a shovel with dried blood on it in the boot of your car. Just keep to yourself please.

P: Pub toilets

• I don't know what it is about pub toilets, but I have yet to find one where I would actually sit on the toilet seat. I can fully understand the state of toilets in night clubs, because people tend to get shit faced and throw up in the sink. Who can blame them? There's always a queue. But it's worse when the toilets are bad in a pub, because they serve food there! Surely there's a code of health which pubs need to adhere to to even be open? I don't know. I used to love pub grub. I really did. Particularly the pizza's they used to make at my old favourite haunt "Terrace". I loved them right up until the day I attended said pub on a busy night and I was sober. And I saw someone throw up in the pizza oven. True story. So I stopped eating there. I also stopped going there completely when I went to the toilet, busting for the loo, and was met by a girl taking a poo with the door wide open, and wiping her bottom with her hand. Not to mention the cleaning lady who was throwing up in the sink. When interviewed later the cleaning lady said "Eish, it was too much. I have seen some crazy things in these bathrooms, but this was just the worst. I could not keep my food down." I almost felt like I needed to call the police, or at least alert campus security. What kind of place had this turned into? 

Q: Queues

• Queues are so crap. Queues anywhere and everywhere are crap. Queues in Government institutions are the worst. There is always some asshole standing so closely behind you that you can feel his kneecaps digging into your hamstrings. And you can feel yourself catching whatever chest infection they may have because you are now breathing the same air. And there is always someone who farts in a queue. The worst is that you can't exclaim loudly and run dramatically from the room holding your nose, because then you will lose your place and have to go through the entire process all over again. Queues in bathrooms are also bad. Especially queues in places where everybody in the line has the potential to throw up on your back. I don't like it.

R: Rhythm method of contraception

• I don't care what any Catholic says. The rhythm method clearly does not work. Obviously, because you have 8 unplanned children.
• Please see the following extract from Wikipedia on the rhythm method of contraception:

"Failure rate:

One concern related to the use of calendar-based methods is their relatively high failure rate, compared to other methods of birth control. Even when used perfectly, calendar-based methods, especially the rhythm method, result in a high pregnancy rate among couples intending to avoid pregnancy. Of commonly known methods of birth control, only the cervical cap and contraceptive sponge have comparably high failure rates. This lower level of reliability of calendar-based methods is because their formulas make several assumptions that are not always true"

So there you have it. The only method that is more crap than the rhythm method is the cervical cap and the contraceptive sponge (whatever the hell that is). That's good to know.

A comprehensive guide to all that is crap: Part 2

G: Geriatric Drivers

• Wow, old people who drive can suck on monkey ball hairs. Their licences should be removed from their possession before they reach 60. Everybody knows that once you reach 60 you become a person of poor judgement, weak motor skills, little (or no) hearing ability, and of course, partially blind. Not to mention inconsiderate of other drivers on the road. Combine all of these lovely, timeless traits and you have a recipe for disaster and hit and runs. I got flipped off the other day by a grandpa driving a damn nice Volvo, who stole my parking space. He was clearly the one in the wrong, but, when I hooted in dismay at his old ass, he actually zapped me. It was so bloody rude I didn't know what to do. I just cried and drove away. Although it was rude, I suppose that when I am old, I will be just as rude. I actually can't wait to crash into young and inexperienced drivers and then claim insanity and Alzheimers when they try to press charges. I suppose I will flip people off as much as I like, because I am old, and because I can. Bitch.

Would you trust this man at the wheel? I think not...

H: Hair removal

• Hair removal of any kind is crap. Try the hair removal cream, you smell like you've just emerged from a sulphur experiment and your hair merely breaks off  for weeks, leaving your underwear looking like a wig. (it doesn't disappear, as they falsely claim, and so you tend to find it in the most bizarre places that you didn't expect) Try an epilator, and you are left with burn marks and a fear of anything battery powered. Try waxing and, well. The end is near. I went for a wax the other day, and halfway through making irrelevant small talk with the beautician about various other downstairs' that she waxed she pointed out to me "Um, you're reacting really badly to this treatment". "Oh, am I? Maybe it's because you just ripped out all of my pubic hair with hot wax?" What the beautician called a "mild reaction" turned out to be a very embarassing trip to the chemist, where on the way I tried to rub up against just about every sharp object I could find to ease the never ending itch that had seized my downstairs.(eg. chair backs, corners of tables, sharp wall corners, my car door, etc)

If Oprah doesn't trust it, neither should you...

I: Ill-mannered service staff

• I'm sorry, but if you are providing a service to someone, you should actually provide them with a service. And not a motive for murder. I, myself, am an ex-waitress, and so I deeply appreciate waitrons and treat all of them with the utmost respect. I visited a restaurant a couple years ago where the waiter brought me ribs, when I clearly ordered steak. "Um, I didn't order ribs, I  ordered the steak." "No you didn't, you ordered the ribs, I heard you." "Um, no, I really didn't, I don't even like ribs." "Well, you ordered them, so now you can eat them." "Excuse me? Can I please speak to your manager?" *Manager comes over, we complain, and he calls back waiter* "I apologise for bringing you the wrong meal." "That's ok, thank you for apologising." "But you seriously ordered the ribs, I don't care what you say." "Ok......" Not going back there again. Say goodbye to your 10%, asshole. You can go to hell, and take your damn ribs with you.

J: Just about everything sold at Verimark

• Verimark, the home of every crap thing in the universe. I don't know how much crapper you can really get than "the genie bra" or "the floor wiz" or "the fake hair piece that even your husband won't notice". Verimark hosts a range of contradicting products. For example, we have: "Gorilla steering wheel lock, NOTHING cuts through Gorilla" vs. "Shogun knives, cuts through ANYTHING!!" Really? Does it now? What about your famous "Gorilla steering wheel lock? Hey? I thought that was resistant to anything? Including your Shogun knives. Now what? Imagine there was a sudden influx of cars with gorilla gear locks which had been cut through by Shogun knives? What would you do then, Verimark? I suppose you would find yourself in somewhat of a pickle. Not only are their products contradictory and crap, so is their packaging. A friend of mine worked for them as a graphic designer and he said that whenever he tried to design some cool packaging for a product, a superior would say, "No, I don't like it, it needs more lumo pink and eighties font. Change it." He said it was the worst job ever.

K: Karaoke

• Wow. There is nothing I hate more in this world than karaoke. I have never felt more embarassed or uncomfortable, than with a mike in my one hand and my drink in the other. Karaoke is basically the source of the majority of my shortcomings in life. It is the reason I was kicked out of a "chinese men ONLY karaoke club", it was the reason why I threw up on a parking meter, and it was also the reason why my boyfriend swallowed a chicken wing whole, without chewing and recognizing a bone in the meat, and nearly choking to death. One night after a hot date with Kyle, I was feeling quite pissed, and so decided to call up Diana and Nats and arrange a second hot date for the evening. I told Kyle to come meet up with us later at Terrace. Little did I know, it was karaoke night, and I was feeling bold. I don't remember much of the night, but unfortunately there is photographic evidence of the ordeal.Kyle has claimed that, when he came to meet up with us, our trio was seen singing "If you wanna be my lover" by the Spice Girls, where Nats and Diana both have microphones, and I was singing loudly and proudly into my Hunters Dry bottle. Without even knowing that it was a drink. And not, in fact, a broken microphone. He told me that he left quietly and went home instead...

L: Left over coffee/ wine in cups/ glasses whilst washing dishes

• You know when you decide to tackle that load of dishes. No fear, just grease. You set out with such good intentions, get all that crockery squeaky clean and be able to see your reflection in the wine glasses. Well, your job is made impossible when every Tom, Dick and Harry decides to leave half of his wine/ coffee in his glass/ cup. Nice one, asshole. Could you really not have finished that? Thank you for making my life a misery. I can't just toss it into the water carelessly, now can I? So what do I do? Do I trundle outside and toss out the stagnant liquid into my garden when it could've gone into your mouth? Or do I contaminate all of my other dishes with your liquid filth? My day is ruined. There are starving kids in Africa, so come on now, finish your bloody drink so that I may avoid a heart attack due to stress.

M: My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding

• Gypsies are pretty crap. Have you ever watched "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding"? Bloody hell it is an international crisis in the making!! I'm not sure how it works...I always thought Gypsies were free spirits called "travellers". I thought I liked the idea of being a "traveller" once, until I was met with the horrific reality that is the life of a gypsy. It turns out that Gypsies are more than just "travellers" of land. They are travellers of much, much more. Apparently gypsies live in an irrelevant time where crushed velvet, tattoo chokers, and  LED-lit wedding dresses are the height of fashion. Lord save us from the Gypsies. It is not the brides on "My big fat Gypsy wedding" who are my primary concern, I am more worried about the prepubescent gypsy child-whores who dance around like a more crazed version of Britney Spears in the "I'm a slave 4 U" music video. On tik. We have something to worry about if these so called "travellers" are to interbreed. Many things to worry about in fact. Like the tragic epidemic that the gypsies call "bridesmaid dresses". By Jove. If, by some Godforsaken reason I were to ever befriend a Gypsy, I think that I would very hastily de-friend that Gypsy very quickly if I were a bridesmaid. Please see below:

Gypsy Children

------------------------------->

Turn into Gypsy Brides

<---------------------------------------

Who turn into Gypsy skanks with compulsory skank brigade. Not my pick for a bridesmaid dress, but hey, it's not my "special day".

Unbelievable.

A comprehensive guide to all that is crap. Part one

Is it just me, or are a lot of things very crap? An A-Z of the crappest things around.


A: Adverts for life insurance

• Thanks for reminding me about my imminent death, but I'd rather spend my money while I am alive, thank you kindly for your concern.
• Also, does nobody watch CSI? Do you not know that life insurance is always the motive for murder? Well, that, and a love-scorned crime of passion. The bottom line is that I'd rather not be murdered though for the money that I cant enjoy.

"Lets kill that tight- assed rat bastard and life off his life insurance, Mom! Oooohhh Yeah!!"

B: buying petrol, electricity and toilet paper

• There is nothing worse than spending your hard earned money on things that you actually cannot go without. I DESPISE spending money on petrol, but I had to learn the hard way about how you actually cannot go without it...particularly if your job is 8km away and it rains a lot. And how suddenly everybody who wants to give you a lift has now become a potential rapist.
• Buying electricity is even worse, as apparently there's not much you can do without it. I am stubborn when it comes to these things but I have only recently discovered that my stubbornness is a bit ridiculous. It was pointed out to me how silly I am when my boyfriend came home to find sitting in the complete darkness, drinking a glass of room temperature water and watching a blank TV. "Hey, um, what are you doing?", "Nothing", "Um, yes, I see that, why are you doing nothing?", "I didn't feel like buying electricity", "I see..."
• But out of all of these buying toilet paper is the worst. Because this is something you REALLY cant do without. I instead prefer to steal it in multiple quantities from my place of work. I've even created a scenario in my head about what I'll do should I be discovered. It's a work and progress though, it's not ready to be revealed yet. The greatest success of all is when my boyfriend returns home from the SS with a sports bag full to the brim with 2-ply toilet paper. We're a great team.

C: Crap DJ's

• I recently attended a string of weddings, where I got too drunk and twisted my ankle. But that is irrelevant. What is relevant, however, is the crapocity of the DJ which provided nothing but "Lurrv jams" from start to finish. Apparently he even asked the bridal couple what sort of music they liked and went about making them a play list, only to shut the door of decency in their face and play Bee Gees and commercialised pop the entire night on "their special day". To make matters worse, the DJ played at 2 out of 3 of the weddings,  and bloody nearly 3 out of 3 (had I not intervened). This DJ was not only useless at life, he messed up the bridal couple's first dance, tripped out all the lights in the venue, failed to provide a stable dance floor and last, but not least, bought a monkey to a wedding. The monkey was wearing a diaper. And I saw the DJ's "lady friend" (although I'm not sure "lady" is the appropriate word) change the monkey's diaper on the bar. I also saw the monkey bite a small child and it was probably the reason for the rabies (as well as HIV/AIDS) outbreak in South Africa. 

D: Drivers who think it's ok not to use their indicators and who sneak past you into the parking you were waiting for.

• This is the ultimate of all that is crap. You know it's going to happen when you have been waiting very patiently for a very old, partially blind geriatric to do a 60 point turn to get out of their parking space. Just as you are about to pull in, some asshole wearing sunglasses in an undercover parking area, driving a generic sports car screams into the parking space, blaring his music and grinning at you apologetically. No, it's not ok, you shit stain. Just wait till I find another parking spot. On top of your car. You pig.

E: Examinations

• "Hey, you think you're smart? You think you're clever there buddy? Why don't I set you straight with a past paper from 100 years ago that clearly contains content which I told you not to learn. Ha. Who's the smart one now?"

F: Food poisoning

• Wow food poisoning is crap. My dear friend Squiggy recently gave me all the contents in her fridge. "I was going to give it to a hobo or something, but you can just have it instead." "Wow, thanks." In this care package I discovered a nice big tupperware full of what looked like very sick mince. I frowned at it, but Squiggy assured me that, although it looked strange and was cooked by a German, it tasted really good." Well, she was wrong. I invited my friend Kenny over to share the German mince with me at our sewing club. I spruced it up with a little tomato sauce and various other condiments (apparently NAZI's don't believe in seasoning).It still looked pretty sick, but we ate it anyway.Thinking everything would be fine I went to bed with a full stomach, feeling satisfied, only to be woken in the dead of the night with blinding tummy cramps and violent diarrhoea. Nothing unusual for me though. The best part was when I went to visit Kenny the next day and she was dying in her bed of dehydration and had been up all night and day with the very violent runs. She was very weak. But it was quite funny.Please refer to "Oops you crapped your pants" to learn the consequences of food poisoning.

To be continued...

Oops! You crapped your pants.....

Everytime you think you're a genius, you need to think back to the time when you were learning not to crap your pants. Whether you're 4 or 84, it's something that has definately happened to you. Whether you talk about it or not, it is something that has definately happened to you.Whether you buried your shitty pants in the garden and wore a dish towel as a skirt or not, it has definately happened to you. Dont deny it.

Below are a few of my favourite stories. A couple of them were just unlucky, or in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dont lie to yourself, they definately apply to all of you in more ways than one. And by the way, whenever I refer to "a friend of mine", I am not referring to myself, except when I am. In which case you will never know unless it is in fact you who I am talking about, in which case you'll know. You'll know.

"Oops, you crapped on uncle Jack's farm"
A newly wed friend of mine was staying at her uncle Jack's Aloe farm with a bunch of family and her newly wed husband. The family decided to go for a long stroll around the farm. My friend (let's call her Susan) and her husband were strolling along when the feeling suddenly hit Susan. There was not a toilet in sight When you gotta go you gotta go.Susan and her new husband (which, I might add, had no idea of her IBS at the time they married) opted to stray to the back of the crowd and nonchalantly observe the Aloes,one of millions on the farm. When the coast was clear, Susan darted for the nearest cover, and went about her business. Needless to say when she was done, the only form of  tp around her was an abundance of aloes. Ouch. No thanks. So she went for the only possible option, she just used her undies and then tossed them aside either to be eaten by a hungry dassie or to be used as very crap fertiliser for the aloes. Thinking nothing of it, and carrying on with her stroll, she mentioned none of this to her husband and tried to act like she hadnt just performed this demeaning act. Until the next day when they went on a game drive around the farm and passed the exact spot where the misdemenour had occurred. Susan realised in horror that it was at this place because, when she had carelessly disposed of her panties, she had, in fact, thrown them directly into the tree above her whose poor, unsuspecting branches hung directly over the road, and thereby, her unassuming shitty undies hung there too, just waiting to be discovered by her family and her new husband. Very pleasant.

"Oops, you crapped and broke the toilet"
You know when you go to a new friend's house and you're too afraid to do a number 2 because you havent yet established where poo-humour stands in your friendship? Or simply where poo stands? We've all been there. This story is one of my favourites. *Mike and a couple of his friends had gone over to their new friend *Amy's house for the weekend. I repeat, new friend. One is never comfortable pooing in a new environment, particularly a new friend's home. You dont want to offend them, and you also dont want them to know that you poo. So what do you do? You cant just not poo the entire weekend. My best technique is the one I call "the shower" technique. Where you say you're going to have a shower, then you go about your business and shower afterward, giving the smell time to evaporate by the time you vacate the shower, leaving your unassuming host none the wiser.
However, this technique doesnt work for everyone. Especially when the toilet breaks because the poo you have made destroyed their plumbing. This was the case for my poor friend *Mike. He is also a fan of the "shower" technique, and made ample use of it over the weekend at his new friend's house. It worked until the toilet didnt want to flush because of his monster duke.  Mike was flustered, he had no idea what to do. I mean, what would you do? You dont want to alert your host to the fact that you have broken their toilet by crapping in it, because what if they come in and try to fix it and see your poo? Goodbye new friend, hello ostracism. It's a sticky situation. So Mike did what any humiliated homosapien would do, he started the shower. He then scooped out the poo into a plastic bag (God knows where that came from) and climbed out the bathroom window, taking his loot with him. Now, any normal human being would simply have run away, carrying their bag of faecal matter on their back, and left the country. But not Mike. No. After climbing out the window he found a secluded spot in the garden, away from the prying eyes of his host and he began to dig a hole. He buried his own crap in his new friend's garden like it was a beloved pet who had been a part of the family for decades. After this he returned to the bathroom via the window and carried on with his fake shower. Hours later he emerged, feeling very proud of himself. I dont know whether to be proud or appalled, but it does make you think, doesnt it?

"Oops, you crapped when you fainted"
Shame. This is a most unfortunate story of a friend whose dehydration and sickness caused her to void her bowels on the kitchen floor of her family friends' chalet in the Christmas holidays. She was already sick with food poisoning due to Berg water, which didnt help, and so she avoided the family outing to the golf course and opted for a quiet morning at the chalet, crapping her brains out. At some point she was fooled into thinking she was strong enough to go to the kitchen and pour herself a refreshing glass of Coca Cola. She was wrong. The blood went straight to her head and she fainted on the kitchen floor. When she came to, she discovered to her dismay, that she had sharted on the kitchen floor. ("Sharted" Def: When you fart and a bit of shit comes out) Thank the pope anybody who may have been around to witness the event were out on the golf course. But still, it happened. And somebody had to clean it up. Im just saying.

"Oops, you crapped on the dance floor"
This is among one of the worst. You think its funny to fart on the dance floor because nobody knows that its you. But its a different story when you crap your pants on the dance floor. Particularly if you are wearing a g-string and a skirt. There isnt really anywhere for it to go. So what does one do? A friend of mine suffered this exact dilemma. Later, she pondered whether she could've behaved more appropriately and avoided the situation altogether. But thats irrelevant, because it had already happened.
Once she'd crapped her pants, or skirt, she knew she had to get to the bathroom, albeit a bit too late. But how does one get there when you are wearing a g-string and a short skirt? Do you walk swiftly to the bathroom just to get there and risk dropping doodies on your way? Or do you creep and clench the whole way there, but then allow the smell to linger which'll make your peers more suspicious of your slow and unsturdy creep? Tough call. Very tough call. Im not sure how she got there, but word is she's still alive and thriving, so everything must've worked out.

Even if you've never told anyone about your mishap, it doesn't make it disappear.
 We're all the same. We're all just crusing through life, breaking hearts and trying not to crap our pants.

That was a strange ______ to ______

That was a strange surface to eat your chip off of:
 I had an extremely humbling experience in the elusive "Tiger Tiger" in Cape Town a couple weeks ago. Humbling because I learned that I am no better than the 2-for-1 long island ice tea that I drink. However, I was humbled in more ways than one on this particular evening, mainly due to the fact that it ended with me losing a fight (and my dignity) against a disgusting chip schwarma and an unfriendly taxi driver with no sense of humour.
You don't need to know all the details, the main part of the story is that I did eat a crushed slap chip straight off of the sole of my boot. (hopefully from MY schwarma, God help me if it was just off the street, chances are good though) no napkins, no sanitizer, no pride. All I can do is hope that somebody paid me.

That was a strange way to clean the house:
My sweet boyfriend ( bless his soul) is an extremely neaurotic cleaner. I'm talking crazy clean freak, like shower 6 times a day, must use coasters, wear medical booties around the house type of clean freak. It comes out even more so when he is pissed. I found this out the hard way.... After a night of big drinking and small midget tossing, we returned home. Once home, I passed out right away. I mean, went to sleep right away because I was so tired and not drunk at all. I was awakened by the shrieking sounds of a man "singing" at about 4am. Feeling troubled, I ventured downstairs to find the most curious sight: my boyfriend, stark naked, sprawled on his belly on the floor, iPod plugged into his ears,singing along like a lunatic, doing some kind of dance move that appeared to be a hybrid between a pelvic thrust and the worm, cleaning the floor with the tiniest sponge you have ever seen. It was hands-down the most bizarre thing I had ever seen. He didn't even notice me. So I did what any good girlfriend would do,I took a picture of his nakedness, then went straight back to bed.

That was a strange place to defaecate:
My friend Squiggy once told me of a horrific robbery at their home which is on a small holding in Plettenburg bay. However, it is horrific for reasons that may not immediately come to mind. Somebody tried to break into their house by getting in through a bedroom window. The alarm went off (as a good alarm does) and gave the perpetrator such a fright that he actually crapped in his pants. They found this out when they investigated the sight of breached security (the window) and outside on the ground they found a pair of shitty underpants stuffed in some jeans. It was like he just pulled everything straight off in one go and ran for the hills. And he would've got away with the humiliating mock robbery too, had he not left his ID book in the pocket of his jeans. Apparently he was one of their employees.
He was fired for being a dumbass and for shitting on their property.

That was a strange way to wake up:After an intensive night of liver abuse, I once woke up alone (thank God)  lying horizontal across my bed, on top of my pillows, completely naked. With not a stitch of duvet covering me. My first thought was "Oh my God, what if somebody had walked in on this disaster that is my naked behind while I was asleep?" Little did I know that that was the least of my problems. My piggy little bloodshot eyes then toured around my room where more nightmares came alive. Next to my bed was not one, but two crinkled up pie packets, complete with crumbs, and a half eaten cupcake . But that was not my problem. My problem was the empty can of DOOM which lay on its side directly next to my bed, and, in turn, my face (my bed was just a mattress on the floor at this stage in my life) surrounded by a sea of dead ants which stretched from the cupcake to the door. It was horrendous. My room looked like a crime scene. I didn't know how I would ever get out. Imagine my shock when later that afternoon I eventually found my car and discovered yet another 2 pies stashed under the car seat. By jove, what a way to wake up.

That was a strange place to leave your shoes:My sister came to Stellenbosch to visit me for a couple of weeks. She couldn't handle the intensity of it and had to leave shortly after, but that's irrelevant. One night we went out, and she'd had a few too many so she decided to go home with her friend and just sleep over at her place. I expected to only see her much later the following day and so carried on with my daily routine. At the petrol station (where I stopped to buy hangover food) I drove over a pair of broken pumps sitting perfectly side by side in the middle of the petrol station. On closer inspection, I realised that these were my sister's shoes! I placed them in a very sterile pie packet and drove home where I was greeted by my very hungover sister who was complaining about how sore her feet were because she had to walk home barefoot. The conversation went something like this:  "Um, I found your shoes", "where?", "at Engen", "oh ya, I forgot about that, I got irritated with them because they kept falling off so I just walked out of them and carried on with my life". "Cool". Its nice to live in the moment like that. Especially when you've got to walk 5km the next day in blistering heat with a hangover and no shoes. Smart move.

That was a strange place to throw up:I threw up on a church once. Did not mean any disrespect, nor was I trying to give the church attitude. The church just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shame for the church. And my poor soul which has probably been struck off the list by now. To my defense I only found out it was a church when my solid-as-faith friend made me return to the site the next day to clean it up. Forgive me.
That was a strange place to fall asleep:

I love you, Man

So my boyfriend of 3 and a half years has recently come out of the closet and has admitted that he has several man crushes.
He's informed me that they are nothing to be alarmed about, but he was wondering, if he got the opportunity, would he be able to pursue them in the hope of landing a conquest that involved a night filled with passion and infinite talk of football? And would I consider it cheating? Then he laughed and said he was joking. Which I'm sure he wasn't. I think not.

Apparently man crushes are fairly common. I mean I guess I have a girl crush? I'd probably marry Shakira and her honest hips, given half the chance. Who wouldn't? I also imagine seducing her in a dance off and then her hugging me erotically and congratulating me when I beat her. But that's where my fantasy ends. When my dreams are destroyed because my celebrity girl crush wants nothing to do with me or my seductive dance routine. Too bad so sad. Life must go on.

 Wouldn't you?

Although I have allowed myself one celebrity girl crush,
Kyle's celebrity man crush list seems to go on forever and consists of several untouchable members of the Arsenal football squad. He's claimed he would give himself to those guys in a way that you've only ever read about in the health clinic. I'd love to see that though. He would probably be so nervous and choked up he'd pee his pants and cry. And then his man crush would not want to be his friend. I can't say I'm not jealous though, he looks at Oxlaide Chamberlain, Jack Wilshere and Theo Walcott in ways he has never looked at me. Not to mention the fact that he carries around an ID photo of Cesc Fabregas (which he so lovingly cut and mounted so neatly) in his wallet. Are we worried?

 MY COMPETITION:

                   

A single man crush does not bother me, nor does a couple of harmless celebrity crushes. (Who is he kidding, Theo will never invite him back to his lush apartment to continue their conversation on the humidity in his left sock.)  However, I don't really understand the concept of man crushes on non-celebrities. Like commoners. Like

people you actually know.

For example, I have noticed the "bro luv" between Kyle and one of his best friends, Steve. They practically look at each other with heart shaped eyes and Kyle ignores me when they are together. They tell each other how spiffy they look and they drink out of the same beer glass. Its wierd..
Kyle's also started stealing the love of my best man friend, Tony. With Kyle's strong jaw line and love for football and beer, it was like man-love at first sight for Tony. He doesn't come over to visit me anymore, he comes over to visit Kyle. Breaks my heart really.

Is my Boyfriend stealing my boyfriends? Or are my boyfriends stealing my Boyfriend? How puzzling.
My advice: if you start seeing heart shaped eyes between your significant other and a friend of yours who is of the same sex, kill the relationship. Or perhaps even one of them, if you must be so drastic. But make the sacrifice of losing one of them so you can keep your favourite one before they are gone forever. Do whatever you have to before it gets too late. Nothing is too extreme. I'm talking hiring the crew from "Cheaters", taking a baseball bat to their windshield to frame a crime of passion, or hiding fake photographs or letters in and around their belongings to frame them of cheating on one another. Its a small sacrifice to make. Do anything to stop the man-love before it gets out of hand and they start carrying around pictures of each other in their wallets instead of pictures of you.
I'm not bothered about it, I'm just saying.

A tribute to the 90's

The 90's was a great era. So youthful (well, depending on your age, I suppose....) So full of pop, teased hair, and swing tops with impossibly high necklines that made even a 10 year old look preggers. I loved the 90's for so many reasons, it was the prime of my life really (aged 2-12 years)


You were all there at some stage (except you,you baby prostitute who is only 12 years old, go away from my blog)


Here are a few things that caused me to reminesce and write this blog because they are just too boss to be forgotten....


Tamagotchi's: These were amazing. Tiny computerized animals that had all the same needs and functions of a human. They had to shit, eat, sleep and be loved just like us. Oh how we can learn from our beloved tamagotchi's! I never had one. My mom told me they were stupid, so I used to get to look after all my friends' tamagotchi's when they had their own needs to take care of (eat,shit, sleep etc) it was all fun and games until they started to go out of fashion and I had to drop out of school to take care of all the kids. You know how it is...they grow up so fast!

Hankerchief crop tops: Remember those tops made out of spandex which only covered the front half of your body and was held together by that bungy cord-type elastic at the back? Loved those things. They didn't love me though. I distinctly remember wearing one to the grade 7 "disco" and thinking I was kak hot. Until I walked past a group of boys and one shouted "ah sick!!!" And another started throwing up. At first I put the incident down to them being exposed to something really gross or participating in underage drinking at the disco, but the more I think about it, the more I recall that the "gross thing" was actually me in a back-less 'kerchief top.....just the kind of push you need when you're a 13 year old girl with body issues and a bit more hair than the rest of her peers.


Disco's: ah Discos. The best. Such a stressful time for a teenager. You planned your outfit months ahead, then on the date  had to stay home all day from school feigning sickness so you could get ready. You know, iron your hair (with an iron, there were no such things as ghd's), or plait your hair early in the morning and spend the day wearing corn rows and talking black so you could have desirable curls at night (ahem ,Kenny....), shaving your 3 armpit hairs, experimenting kissing techniques on your pillow/hand/mirror/dog to perfect your style in case you got lucky and trying on a variety of combinations of outfits before falling to a heap on the floor crying that you were ugly and had nothing to wear. All of this and its only 1pm. "Oh God no! Only 5 hours to get ready for the disco! How much time I have wasted!" Cue another distressing episode of crying and personal attacks. Then when you eventually got to the sad disco: you twisted your ankle because you were wearing platform shoes, you drank too much Oros and got that suspicious orange ring around your mouth, and no one asked you to dance. What a disappointing night.Couldn't wait to do it all over again the next year.


Roller discos: Same as above, but involves knee pads, roller blades and hands and knees covered in gravel and blood.

A series of crap and unsuccessful boy/girl bands: We all loved them. We all knew the words to their songs. We all had a fantasy about hooking up with Nick Carter, (Then being gutted when he leapt out of the closet, even though we secretly knew the whole time). We all made our parents spend their hard earned cash on Platform "Spice" Shoes (as well as all the other products in their wide range), just so that we could put out hair into pigtails and pretend to be "Baby Spice" or whatever the hell her name was. Why the crap names? "Scary Spice"? "Sporty Spice"? "Posh Spice"? "Sexy Spice"? Bloody hell, they could sure as hell give Robertsons a run for their money with all their bloody spices. And what was the deal with the boy bands? Talking about crap names, here's just a few to make you question the musical talent of society:

• N*SYNC
• Boyz II Men
• West Life?
• Backstreet Boys (Ummmmm....what back street are you talking about here?)
• Aqua
• Venga Boyz
• All Saints

  






                       VS.














Gelled fringes and Hawaiin shirts: Need I say more about this combination?


To conclude, it must be noted that the 90's was a fantastic decade. So fun-filled and brightly coloured, with a constant Spice girls / Back street boys soundtrack in the backround. How fitting.