Oh yeah! Let's jump off a bridge and rely on that elastic band to save us from plummeting into the ground at 200 km/hr!!

So a while ago I had a drunk conversation with a friend that ended with a pact that we would, the following day, drive to Bloukrans bridge outside Plett, from Cape Town, and bungy jump off of it.
I don't know why I made that pact. It was silly really. I had absolutely no intention of going through with it because I am a terrified lunatic that gets frightened climbing a ladder. 
There are many other things which I would prefer to do, such as plunge into a bath of boiling hot oil, shark dive with an open wound, go for a bikini wax when I am hungover, or go for a 15 km run with only one sports bra. See, I can be extreme...but I'm afraid that's about as extreme as I get.


I have my reservations about diving off of a bridge with only a rubber band to save me for several reasons:


1. I am afraid that when I reach the bottom of the plunge, my eyeballs will continue the bungy jump and jump straight out of my sockets, attached only by the opthalmic nerve. Easy to picture isn't it? Well,no, not when your eyeballs are hanging lower than your elbows because they enjoyed the jump a bit too much.


2. A friend of mine told me that when his friend was doing his first bungy jump, he was incredibly nervous, so they thought "hey, let's play a joke on the old boy to loosen him up a bit". Well, the joke consisted of shouting "WAIT! WAIT! WAIT!" just as their "friend" departed the bridge. That's not funny at all. Now, luckily the friend survived, however, had it been me, I would have died instantly from a heart attack before you could even say "Wait" a second time. Then the joke would be on them. Ha.


3. I am afraid that, joke or no joke, I actually will die of a heart attack. I scare easily.


4. I am afraid that, if by some chance I should actually survive the hellish ordeal, I will surely void my bowels because my body will think it is dying nonetheless. The shame that would plague me when I am pulled back to the top and have to be changed like a geriatric after they've shat themselves might kill me on it's own.


So in the end my conclusion about bungy jumping is this: don't do it. You will surely perish and die.

Rugby, really, I have no care for you.

As a first-time blogger, I just thought I should get it off my chest before you think you like me and then read on and realize I am actually a traitor to my country. Really though, I pretended it was my favourite sport for so many years. This would involve several of the following excruciating events: 

• Cheering for the wrong team because I had no idea what was going on
• Being super proud that I almost hooked up with a "college first team rugby player" (When, actually, he stared at my boobies the entire time he spoke to me and then threw up on my back, after I denied him to a "chow". To this day I still have no idea what a "chow" may be, perhaps that is why he threw up on me? I guess I will never know. How sad)
• Twisting my ankle walking on uneven ground that has not been landscaped
• Being ridiculed for taking advantage of the "free snacks" on offer at prestigious games such as the "Hilton- Michaelhouse" and "College- anyone" and perhaps slipping on a sausage roll because I piled my plate up so high I could not see where I was walking.
• Falling down a steep embankment which was unmarked
• Being mercilessly boooed whilst walking in front of a stand of school boys in the middle of a game
• Getting so drunk that I threw up on, and swore at, a squirrel mascot

Oh, there are so many events with which I could relate to, but really what is the purpose? I hate the game. I despise every facet of it. Partly because I do not understand any rules, and partly because I hate the Americanised skanks that run around the perimeter of the field flashing their goods.

I only realized how much I hated it when I started having to pay to attend a game, and was no longer allowed to bring my alcohol along. That made me really sick. How rude can you get? I think my ultimate distaste for it grew when I was made to down the entire contents of my cooler box in a matter of minutes in front of an extremely unsavoury "security guard" and her "mate", which, in turn, brought about agony and humiliation for myself. Not to mention a denied entry into the grounds for being "drunk and disorderly", as well as "indecent" apparently. Thank God I was asleep during this whole fiasco!

So there it is! I hate the sport. Despise it. And, I happen to blame it for my most humiliating moments! So next time, don't ask me if I would like to come with you to the rugby. I don't want to. I'm busy. I have to wax my cat or do anything else.