The Great WheelSpin of '99

When I was 16 and pimply, three friends and I were cruising home from the drive-in one Friday night, blasting Kenny Loggins. We were so fucking cool back then… it was unbelievable. We even had the hand movements in sync while singing along.

So *Blignaut, who this masterful Opel now belongs to, pulls into a BP garage and stops – turning to *Rift and *P-Bug and saying with a sly grin “I think its time she learns to drive”. This absolutely ridiculous suggestion was greeted with two nods and giggles – none of which came from my frozen face of horror.

Within seconds they were out of the car, pulling me from the back seat and plonking me in the driver’s seat (which didn’t take much effort despite my pleas for mercy and my spider-monkey attempt to push my entire body off the car.) And suddenly there I was – holding onto a steering wheel for the first time ever, looking directly onto the petrol pump and picturing the painful fiery death sure to come. *Rift and *Blignaut were excitedly talking together trying to explain how to pull off.

It was time…

Following *Rift’s EXACT hand-gesture directions I did the clutch / accelerator thing so fast that it resulted in the longest, most impressive wheelspin of all time, stretching out for metres. All that could be heard in City Deep on that still night was the sound of screeching rubber, drowned out only by the sound of four young terrified screams.

The petrol pump got closer, the Attendant’s eyes got wider….

I slammed on the brakes so hard that *P-Bug’s face smashed into the back of my seat causing a blood nose.

Three lit cigarettes could not have appeared faster in front of my face if I were naked.

Those are the friendships that never fade. The ones which completely yank you out of your shell and shock the shit out of you to force you to experience new things.

And despite the fact that it took me YEARS (no exaggeration) to get behind the wheel of a car again – this is one of the memories that I would not exchange for anything.

(* Changed the names, c'mon! Nobody's mothers would be THAT mean!)

PRK

Big Love and Pornography

I am an early bird, that’s one of my many curses. Regardless of how late, hammered or just plain exhausted I get into that bed; I barely make it past 7.30 on a Saturday morning.

This particular Saturday morning, as usual, I got up, and that urge hit me out of nowhere, as it usually does… I turned to give Mr CT a quick glance (Sound asleep, perfect! I should have at least 2 hours before he wakes up) I hopped out of bed and sneaked across the creaky wooden floor, quietly closing the door behind me. I grabbed my newest prize DVD and headed straight for the DVD player. Guiltily, I glanced over my shoulder before slotting it in, pressing Play, turning the sound WAY DOWN and cosying up on the couch.

Finally…. The film started.

I could not tear my eyes from the screen. Every word, every movement had my undivided attention. I became so engrossed that I didn’t even hear the floor creak under his weight as he sleepily made his way from the bedroom to the living room behind me. Standing there, still in his underpants he glanced from the screen to me wiping the tears from my eyes and gave a loud, exasperated sigh and threw his hands in the air… . “Oh my GOD!!! Not P.S. I Love You AGAIN!!??!! How many time have you WATCHED this?” and with an annoyed huff and a few mumbles I didn’t care to translate as he walked back out of the room.

“You wouldn’t understand…” I called feebly after him and giggled as I re-composed myself and came back down to earth. I took one last glance at Hilary Swank slowly singing I Love You Til The End to Gerard Butler’s ghost in a Karaoke bar and got up to start my normal day in real life – and of course, to avoid the inevitable smirks I would be getting for being a total wimp.

P.S. I Love You is one of the most beautiful stories I have ever seen, a close second to The Notebook. And there are not a whole bunch of women out there who can disagree with me.

A good romance is like a woman’s equivalent to pornography.

It’s pure escapism. Men fantasize about unrealistic sex, women fantasize about unrealistic romance. We imagine ourselves as this beautiful, irresistible heroine with a charming hero who meets her and his entire life changes. Who looks at her as though the world would end if they never saw each other again. Who wants to know everything about her because she is just that captivating. Basically, the kind of unrealistic love that only exists in the first month of an actual relationship before all of our nasty little flaws spill out and the fact that we are only human is apparent.

Same way men imagine themselves getting onto a luxury bus of cowgirl cheerleaders who all cannot resist the very sight of them and basically go for a long series of enjoyable rides (very intentional pun).

We are all allowed to dream....