So, the camping trip was a success. Beautiful scenery, sunny weather and some rather disturbing images just to even out the balance, such as a hand-sized spider (photographic evidence available) and the lovely Mr CT sporting nothing but a purple thong (no photographic evidence available).
Sat by the fire at nights, playing music, learning how to braai, talking total random shit which only drinking vodka out of a watermelon can be blamed for….
A cricket decided to set up camp with us and we just could not get the little guy out of the tent. Now me not being a big fan of hard-shelled creepy crawlies, I was not particularly crazy about his ice-breaking attempts at first like jumping out of the suitcase at me in the mornings when I went for a change of clothes or hiding underneath my hat patiently waiting for the right moment to catch me unawares. But I warmed up to him eventually. And on the last day – he even hopped into the car when we left. Obviously wanting a taste of the big city life, who can blame the guy?
So here we are – back to the real world, back to my homicidal cat, to my job, to the endless distraction of breasts in Mr CT’s face ….Fan-tastic….. Can you just hear my excitement and enthusiasm?? Can ya?
Already fantasizing about the next escape.
PRK
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Sports, Beer and ..... Dresses
Okay – so it has really been a while since the last entry… apologies!! Here is a recap of everything that is happening so far.
Mr Cape Town’s sister is getting married in the near future – and I decided to shock everyone and attend in a dress…. Very brave choice on my part… and A LOT trickier than I was hoping. Not because I am a particularly fussy lass where clothing is concerned, but because I cannot seem to find a dress which was not designed to fit an ironing board…. I now have to choose whether I want my breasts or my hips to be comfortable…
Recently went to my first ever cricket game – loved it. I finally see what all the fuss is about. I was especially happy to see that you are allowed to drink on the stands. When the game started I was asking a lot of annoying questions but by the time the game was over I was jumping up and down with tomato sauce and beer stains on my jersey and wearing one of those mohawk hard-hats (which I only learned later can actually be adjusted to fit properly…. This thing was flopping all over the place much to the silent amusement of the folks I was with…)
Got a camping trip coming up!! Next week – watch this space, I will have 4 glorious days to make a complete ass of myself out in the wilderness. Who wants to take bets as to what it’ll be?? One-sided tan / burn…… near death encounter involving a palm-sized spider….. Getting drunk and passing out in a tube floating down the river… Man.. I cannot wait!! My camera will be handy for in case my bad luck somehow transfers to Mr CT and I can catch him in a mid air screech … Will suck the week dry of as much amusement for the blog as possible.
Dancing going well, finishing up with Course Number 1 this week (good for me!!). Still having loads of fun, and yes – still waiting for the rhythm to kick in. I am that tubby girl in the back corner who veers hip-first off in the wrong direction mid-routine and does not even noticed because she has her back to everyone. Nothing but a whirlwind of bum and arms complimented by the frantic ching-chinging of a coin belt. I guess the sensuality comes in one of the later courses…..
That’s all for now.
PRK
Mr Cape Town’s sister is getting married in the near future – and I decided to shock everyone and attend in a dress…. Very brave choice on my part… and A LOT trickier than I was hoping. Not because I am a particularly fussy lass where clothing is concerned, but because I cannot seem to find a dress which was not designed to fit an ironing board…. I now have to choose whether I want my breasts or my hips to be comfortable…
Recently went to my first ever cricket game – loved it. I finally see what all the fuss is about. I was especially happy to see that you are allowed to drink on the stands. When the game started I was asking a lot of annoying questions but by the time the game was over I was jumping up and down with tomato sauce and beer stains on my jersey and wearing one of those mohawk hard-hats (which I only learned later can actually be adjusted to fit properly…. This thing was flopping all over the place much to the silent amusement of the folks I was with…)
Got a camping trip coming up!! Next week – watch this space, I will have 4 glorious days to make a complete ass of myself out in the wilderness. Who wants to take bets as to what it’ll be?? One-sided tan / burn…… near death encounter involving a palm-sized spider….. Getting drunk and passing out in a tube floating down the river… Man.. I cannot wait!! My camera will be handy for in case my bad luck somehow transfers to Mr CT and I can catch him in a mid air screech … Will suck the week dry of as much amusement for the blog as possible.
Dancing going well, finishing up with Course Number 1 this week (good for me!!). Still having loads of fun, and yes – still waiting for the rhythm to kick in. I am that tubby girl in the back corner who veers hip-first off in the wrong direction mid-routine and does not even noticed because she has her back to everyone. Nothing but a whirlwind of bum and arms complimented by the frantic ching-chinging of a coin belt. I guess the sensuality comes in one of the later courses…..
That’s all for now.
PRK
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Airbrushed Attitude...
So the first month of the year is behind me and the New Years Resolutions are going pretty strong so far….. well… some of them…. OKAY ONE OF THEM but that shit takes time, okay?? I joined a dance class recently and even though I still look like a hippo trying to balance on its back legs while using a hula hoop, it is loads of fun. And it also feels good to have something that’s all mine.
It does wonders for the self esteem – I would recommend it to anybody. It has automatically catapulted me into healthier eating as well – BONUS…. That is probably because I don’t really want to look like the only earthquake hazard in the studio while shaking the old rude box and, without realising it, causing the other students to shift uneasily away by a few paces.
It really is quite funny how whenever I am, once again, on the road to that hot little body that I always dreamed of I start to imagine how much more fabulous my life will be when I am thinner. How much happier I will always be, always smiling and laughing the worries away because I will just look too sensational to care.
Why is looking good such an essential part of feeling good?
Think about this for a moment – how good do we really look during a toe-curling orgasm? Or when we are enjoying a completely out-of-our-minds-drunken laugh attack? Or getting a head massage…
Damn you, Cosmopolitan....... DAMN YOU!!!!
PRK
It does wonders for the self esteem – I would recommend it to anybody. It has automatically catapulted me into healthier eating as well – BONUS…. That is probably because I don’t really want to look like the only earthquake hazard in the studio while shaking the old rude box and, without realising it, causing the other students to shift uneasily away by a few paces.
It really is quite funny how whenever I am, once again, on the road to that hot little body that I always dreamed of I start to imagine how much more fabulous my life will be when I am thinner. How much happier I will always be, always smiling and laughing the worries away because I will just look too sensational to care.
Why is looking good such an essential part of feeling good?
Think about this for a moment – how good do we really look during a toe-curling orgasm? Or when we are enjoying a completely out-of-our-minds-drunken laugh attack? Or getting a head massage…
Damn you, Cosmopolitan....... DAMN YOU!!!!
PRK
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Just a Bit of Trivia
I am always reading up on stuff – people’s life stories, the background dirt. No – not Entertainment Weekly’s version. That shit fascinates me. So I recently read up the life story of a notorious serial killer of the late 60’s.
Acquainted with Hollywood stars like the Beach Boys (huh??? Yep you read correctly), had a large group of followers, a singer, a song writer. Extremely influential character. Take a look at these lyrics...
PEOPLE SAY I'M NO GOOD
People say I'm no good
But they never never do they say
Why their world is so mixed up
Or how it got that way
They all look at me and they frown
Do I really look so strange
If they really dug themselves
I know they'd want to change
Everybody says you're no good
'Cause you don't do like they think you should
Do you expect them
An' do you expect you to act like them
Look at them man
Look at the fix they're in
I don't care I don't care what they say
Just let 'em sit there and burn
The young might not be so dumb after all
An' from the young you might even learn
Everybody says you're no good
'Cause Charles you don't do
You don't do like they think you should
Do you expect them to act like you
Do you expect themTo expect you to act like them
Do you expect to see
Do you expect the fool to see what a fix he's in
Do you expect the fool to see what a fix he's in
In your cardboard houses
An' your tin-can cars
You sit there and you wonder
You wonder where you are
Those diamond rings they're obscene
You sit there and you wonder
And you say who's to blame
Take a look at yourself
Take yourself off the shelf
You can't belong to nobody
With your Can't-Cough medicine
And your wonder drug
You got, more sickness
Than you got cures of
WHISPER:
Cancer o' the mind
Pretty deep when you know the history. These songs were actually recorded.
He used to sit around camp fires with his followers (his “family”) and predict racial wars which would break out which he was meant to start. He believed that a Beatles album was recorded just for him to show him how to do it. They were always quoted in his stories.
His followers, when instructed, performed sexual favours for him, broke into houses for him and even brutally murdered people for him. (DUDE – I cant even get my boyfriend to go to the MOVIES with me…)
This guy is still alive despite the fact that he was sentenced to death when they caught him. Call it perfect timing. The death penalty was dropped in that state shortly after he was sentenced. And when it was brought back later his sentence remained on Life.
His lyrics have been used in songs by Guns ‘n Roses, Marilyn Manson….
This is just a portion of the story of Charlie Manson.
PRK
Acquainted with Hollywood stars like the Beach Boys (huh??? Yep you read correctly), had a large group of followers, a singer, a song writer. Extremely influential character. Take a look at these lyrics...
PEOPLE SAY I'M NO GOOD
People say I'm no good
But they never never do they say
Why their world is so mixed up
Or how it got that way
They all look at me and they frown
Do I really look so strange
If they really dug themselves
I know they'd want to change
Everybody says you're no good
'Cause you don't do like they think you should
Do you expect them
An' do you expect you to act like them
Look at them man
Look at the fix they're in
I don't care I don't care what they say
Just let 'em sit there and burn
The young might not be so dumb after all
An' from the young you might even learn
Everybody says you're no good
'Cause Charles you don't do
You don't do like they think you should
Do you expect them to act like you
Do you expect themTo expect you to act like them
Do you expect to see
Do you expect the fool to see what a fix he's in
Do you expect the fool to see what a fix he's in
In your cardboard houses
An' your tin-can cars
You sit there and you wonder
You wonder where you are
Those diamond rings they're obscene
You sit there and you wonder
And you say who's to blame
Take a look at yourself
Take yourself off the shelf
You can't belong to nobody
With your Can't-Cough medicine
And your wonder drug
You got, more sickness
Than you got cures of
WHISPER:
Cancer o' the mind
Pretty deep when you know the history. These songs were actually recorded.
He used to sit around camp fires with his followers (his “family”) and predict racial wars which would break out which he was meant to start. He believed that a Beatles album was recorded just for him to show him how to do it. They were always quoted in his stories.
His followers, when instructed, performed sexual favours for him, broke into houses for him and even brutally murdered people for him. (DUDE – I cant even get my boyfriend to go to the MOVIES with me…)
This guy is still alive despite the fact that he was sentenced to death when they caught him. Call it perfect timing. The death penalty was dropped in that state shortly after he was sentenced. And when it was brought back later his sentence remained on Life.
His lyrics have been used in songs by Guns ‘n Roses, Marilyn Manson….
This is just a portion of the story of Charlie Manson.
PRK
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Yellow
Despite the amount of shit that women are constantly accumulating and cannot seem to part with – there are very few things in life that we truly need. Yes, we do understand this. And these are the things we don’t need to search crowded shopping centres and E-Bay to find.
Orgasms, laughter, chocolate (aka stomach orgasms), compliments that make our hearts flutter (usually leading to orgasms) and, of course, our Best Friend (as terrible as this sounds…. Spirit Orgasms)
She knows more about you and your scandalous past than anyone (because she was kinda there poking you with a finger pushing you to get up to all that crazy shit in the first place). She knows how to calm you down, and she is the only person on the planet who is allowed to call your boyfriend a prick without getting a good old fashioned cunt-punt and she can handle you when you drunk and disorderly – which, lets face it, is more often than anyone would like to admit….
My best friend and I had rituals which we would tirelessly carry out on a weekly basis. We would talk about EVERYTHING, from comic book heroes to ex-lovers to brilliant tracks to world domination and of course the needless repetition of classic memories collected over the last 9 years.
(My best friend, if the comic book heroes didn’t give it away, is a dude)
I had a drinking carpet which we would plonk ourselves down on, despite the perfectly comfortable couches in the living room, with a bottle of Klippies, some coke, and a stack of CD’s which we would plough through over endless conversation and careful planning of every next song until 4 / 5 in the morning. And, boy did some of those conversations and duets get fucked up. I recall one where we were even admitting which members of the opposite sex we would shag (Eva Mendes, in case you were wondering, and probably Fergie).
The funny thing about those nights was that I never realized that one day they would end. That one day that drinking carpet would become an entrance rug in my flat and he would not be around the corner anymore. I would have to cut those shit-shooting conversations down to a sober, sneaky skype chat during office hours.
Here is to him – on his 28th birthday. I will be hitting the pub tonight, filling up on brandy and suitcases, sending him pics of the hotties and singing along, loud as possible to the good tracks – and more than likely getting home and passing out on the old drinking carpet with my drunk ass.
Miss you G. Have a good one.
PRK.
Orgasms, laughter, chocolate (aka stomach orgasms), compliments that make our hearts flutter (usually leading to orgasms) and, of course, our Best Friend (as terrible as this sounds…. Spirit Orgasms)
She knows more about you and your scandalous past than anyone (because she was kinda there poking you with a finger pushing you to get up to all that crazy shit in the first place). She knows how to calm you down, and she is the only person on the planet who is allowed to call your boyfriend a prick without getting a good old fashioned cunt-punt and she can handle you when you drunk and disorderly – which, lets face it, is more often than anyone would like to admit….
My best friend and I had rituals which we would tirelessly carry out on a weekly basis. We would talk about EVERYTHING, from comic book heroes to ex-lovers to brilliant tracks to world domination and of course the needless repetition of classic memories collected over the last 9 years.
(My best friend, if the comic book heroes didn’t give it away, is a dude)
I had a drinking carpet which we would plonk ourselves down on, despite the perfectly comfortable couches in the living room, with a bottle of Klippies, some coke, and a stack of CD’s which we would plough through over endless conversation and careful planning of every next song until 4 / 5 in the morning. And, boy did some of those conversations and duets get fucked up. I recall one where we were even admitting which members of the opposite sex we would shag (Eva Mendes, in case you were wondering, and probably Fergie).
The funny thing about those nights was that I never realized that one day they would end. That one day that drinking carpet would become an entrance rug in my flat and he would not be around the corner anymore. I would have to cut those shit-shooting conversations down to a sober, sneaky skype chat during office hours.
Here is to him – on his 28th birthday. I will be hitting the pub tonight, filling up on brandy and suitcases, sending him pics of the hotties and singing along, loud as possible to the good tracks – and more than likely getting home and passing out on the old drinking carpet with my drunk ass.
Miss you G. Have a good one.
PRK.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
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.
PRK
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
Monday, January 12, 2009
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.
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....
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