Wedding Woes

I sometimes underestimate myself but very seldom do I overestimate myself. Few weekends ago I was guilty of some overestimization, which is a word. I had too much. I attended a wedding and ended up putting whiskey glasses on the lamps in the pathways. Let me start at the beginning.

I was invited to a wedding of the girl I attended my matric dance with. We were never in a formal relationship but I sometimes think she wanted to touch my pecs. Anyway I accepted the invitation and off we went. The ceremony was held in a sandy road at a hotel near Nylstroom. For those not familiar with Nylstroom it is very much like New York, in the sense that there are real people. New York is a famous city in USA named after the founder, Ren New York e Terrier. It was built close to the Statue of Liberty which was placed there later. The whole chicken and egg story.

Anyway the ceremony started the afternoon and finished with a fair amount of sunlight still left in the day. We had some drinks; I had some beers being a proper alpha male I needed to present myself as such. I had forgotten that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. After the second beer I remembered the lack of recent sustenance and started being more vigilant for girls wanting to take advantage of me.

We were seated at our tables and were served salmon or maybe carpaccio. The toasts started and before I knew I had consumed a glass of champagne another beer and a glass of red wine. Some say you shouldn’t mix your alcohol but I say put on the music, close the curtains, take of your hat a let’s straighten some hair. Or that is what I would have said if you asked me then..

The dance floor was opened and I moved like George Michael on ecstasy – manly with a hint of sensitivity.

The girls that I carpooled with told me about the one bridesmaid being an absolute bitch. According to them she was intimidating and hard to like. I felt a connection. She was standing at the bar with the bride so I moved into the bar area, behind the bar, and asked her if she was single knowing that she wasn’t. The look I got would scare some into wetting their pants but I thrive on sexual tension, more commonly referred to as conflict. I told her we should go dance, she refused so I offered her money, she accepted. Suffice to say she was immediately impressed by the way I moved. She told me this. I kid you not, in all honesty, she said: “who taught you to dance?” I then replied “it’s a long story but in short, wolves. If you really want to know there was a movie made about me and my journey towards dancing perfection. It’s called Dances with Wolves.” I didn’t elaborate because I am not fond of it when people call me Mowgli and think it is funny.

As the night progressed people started buying me shooters and beers and wine and I bought myself whiskey. Whiskey is the drink that prevented the Scots from invading Isle of Man, it also was the drink that kept the plane from going down in The Gods Must be Crazy. I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol and acted accordingly. The best way to describe this is that you feel that all women find you to be great conversation and a deep camaraderie is born between all men. For instance, I spoke to a guy I met earlier and after five minutes he told me to go for a drive in his brand new Sirocco. I also had random guys buying me drinks, although that might be due to their attraction to my George Michael persona.

I was starting to win all of the dance off’s and most of the bets. (Yes I knew it was Kim Carnes who sang Betty Davis Eyes) I decided I needed to go to bed. On my way to my room I noticed I was carrying two whiskey glasses. They were kind of full. So I stored them on the lamps leading to my room believe wholeheartedly that I would consume it the next morning.

After my shower I noticed I was surprisingly dizzy, I had no idea why.

The next morning I woke up and had a bit of a headache. It might have been related to the dizziness I had felt the night. I phoned my sister, she is a nurse, and asked her about my symptoms. She told me I was drunk and I told her she had wasted money on her degree in the light of the ridiculous diagnoses. Denial. I apologized later and she accepted. We have a very understanding relationship.

I had another shower and we went for breakfast. I was greeted very heartedly by everyone. I had obviously made a fantastic impression, which is unlike me. Even my carpoolers, that I have known for most of my young life, was surprised by the number of people who came to greet me the morning, especially when the bitch walked over and with a huge smile greeted me. She might have seen Dances with Wolves.

It was a very nice wedding and I had made many memories. I had met people who wants me to drive their car when I am drunk; I had bitches warm up to me and even proudly announced that Kim Carnes sang Betty Davis Eyes. Most importantly, I feel, I had realized that when you store whiskey to be consumed later you should jot it down on your arm or maybe set a reminder on your phone. You never know when you might crash into the Kalahari and make friends with some clicky people.

We Are Special

I understand that most of my emotional piers have passed away and that makes some of my views on life somewhat controversial. This is nothing new to me. I had an extremely controversial childhood, never fitting in anywhere. I had come to realize that I am different. I am the lion in the flock of cave sheep.

(Cave sheep: def. Cave sheep are family of the regular sheep but habituates caves due to their sensitivity to light. Their main source of sustenance is deposits of minerals on the walls of the cave. By licking the walls of the cave they not only acquire nutrition but expand their habitat. Being the matriarch the mothersheep is attached to the rest of the colony by umbilical type cords through which it is believed they communicate. The cave sheep is the main source of synthetic wool. The wool is processed from their excrement.)

As a child I had an extremely large head. People struggling with depth perception, that is people with just one eye, sometimes mistook me as a blimp when seen from afar. It was not only on the cute scale where the bulbous orb caused some interesting situations. My father once dropped me one my head, unintentionally. He claimed that the top-heavy nature of my build was not ideal for the traditional baby holding grips. For instance I could not be carried in the incline ramp hold or the popular back shot hold. According to my father I stopped breathing after he dropped me on my head, which explains my sporadic stints of projectile vomiting. Life started for me as a period in which my shortcomings came to the fore.

The point I am trying to make is that I, in all honesty, am not the world’s most attractive man. I have this balding head and hairy arms. I have never been conventional and probably never will be. I adapted or died. I am writing this so it should be safe to assume I adapted. I invented the word adaption.

I came to realize that being unconventional holds its advantages. My head casts a very handy shadow and mosquitoes can’t get to my skin due to the hair. There are many other things but I won’t discuss them all. Apart from the numerous physical advantages the most important thing about being me is the emotional mountain range I have become. I am very stable, you could say I am a place where you could leave your horses.

When making a point us great writers always evoke memories of great historical figures. These are people who made an impact, people who stood up for what they believed in. Several come to mind, Shakespeare, Dickens and Joost just to name a few.

I have found that many a historical figure was not very attractive, physically. The perfect example of this is Roosevelt. Old Frankie always made a huge impression with the ladies wherever he wheeled. Some say he never stood up for what he believed in but I say he never stood up because he couldn’t. The man was by all accounts an unlikely candidate to become prime minister of England and he didn’t. He was up against incredible odds and failed. He then became the president of the US of A.

What this piece is all about is that the reader should realize that all of us have something special. You might be unattractive but you most likely are hugely talented when it comes to welding, or you might be beautiful and regularly converse with plankton. There are people who appear to have it all, they might be smart and beautiful and fast and that might make you jealous. These people have their shortcomings as well.

I once knew a girl who on paper was amazing, she also looked good on floors. The problem with her was that she knew this which then made her obnoxious and anally retentive. She reminds me of the time I spent in Prague as a drill instructor, not the military kind but the diy kind, my ears hurt all the time. My opinion is that you are most likely the things you don’t know you are.

I leave you with this phrase: As dit pap reen skep, as dit kak reen koes.

Them Beaches (and some excellent puns)

This holiday season I spent time at the coast with my siblings, more specifically at San Lameer. San Lameer is a golf estate with villas that you can rent, you can also steal them but questions get asked if you go around with a villa under your arm.

The cost of these villas in peak season is absurd. You can compare it to the amount of money that Richard Branson spent on convincing people he is dyslexic. I always found it silly and thought that removing his arm and surgically attaching a blender would be a better for publicity than giving an indefinite excuse for spelling mistakes. Just think if he had a blender for an arm he would be able to perform at parties as a cocktail armtist. That would surely be quite unique. He would also blend in much more easily. He might just then be prone to some dicey decisions.

Although the weather was not ideal for spending time on the beach I did spend enough time there to formulate my feelings into something sensical.

One of the things I hate about beaches is the effort that goes into creating an experience that is remotely enjoyable. I understand the captivation of the sea and the recreational opportunities presented by the huge expanse of water but I am not convinced.

To illustrate this I will now proceed to describe the day of a person, say our friend Colin, and his experience on the beach.

————–

This morning Colin got up and nearly wet his pants when he saw that it was a sunny day and for the first time this week he could go to the beach. He was in fact so excited that he threw a knife at his neighbor. His neighbor got the point. Colin quickly brushed his teeth and put on his swimming shorts.

Colin applied sun tan lotion to his face and three quarters of his body, as he could not reach the oval shaped spot on his back. People could later spot Colin a mile away.

Colin spent the next fifteen minutes trying to get his shirt on but the sun tan lotion prevented it by making his shirt stick to his body like a Bolivian Stripper to her playlist.

Our friend Colin now gathers his equipment and journeys to the beach. The heat is excruciating and the journey long. He starts hallucinating due to dehydration and shows people he passes his raccoon while shouting “I can do water divination with this”.

Colin finally arrives at the beach and finds his spot for the day. He rewards his endeavors by quickly going for a swim. He nearly drowns when a wave the size of a small industrial revolution hits him in the face making him swallow a large amount of saltwater making it possible for a school of blue fin tune to survive in his bladder for a sustained period of time. (This is not impossible – see Moby Dick)

(Note by author: Moby Dick is a white whale that is shot by a big harpoon. The name of the book could have been Mobile Dick but then the harpoon would have missed and the book would have had a less profitable run)

Colin now decides to tan like the rest of the people around him. He proceeds to lie down face up with his sunglasses and hat strategically placed so that he can look at the girls passing him on the beach. After a while Colin has to turn over due to his water divination device showing fast approaching rain.

Time passes.

Colin decides to return home.

On his way back Colin develops a rash between his legs that hurts so much he starts walking like someone wearing his collection of model trains in his special place.

————

Do not misunderstand me, I enjoy going to the coast for the summer holidays. I just think the whole scene got skewed along the way. I blame vanity.

I think money is the root of all evil. Including paying for having your chest hair waxed, which is ok if you are a lady. I once had my chest hair waxed for some reason unbeknownst to me at this very moment. The sensation, I found, was very similar to somebody slapping me on the chest, repeatedly, with what felt like a very hot marshmallow or sardine on a stick. I wasn’t very serious about the whole waxing thing and since realizing my state of baldness I have assumed a mindset best described as confident contempt.

Apart from the chest hair as an example of what is wrong with beaches there are other things as well. I think the ladies should reassess their beach attire and not just some of you, all of you. If you look good in that bikini don’t wear it because all the men on the beach will compete for your attention. They way men typically do this is they either tan, which is uncomfortable or they run around playing rugby or beach bats. All this is based on you wearing a bikini that leaves nothing for the imagination.

I know this sounds a bit daft but the above is true. The day I spent on the beach I fell in love about seven times. Each time it was due to someone wearing a bikini. I then started doing things that should impress the ladies, things like swimming really fast to nowhere. Then running from the sea to my towel, my shoulders dipping a bit more than usual with each step. I then stand looking at the ocean, flexing my pectoral muscles ever so slightly. See all this is so shallow not even an unconscious Kermit could drown in it. Yes. Vanity. It is not just a magazine.

Thing is I might be wrong about this. I think it’s the fact that I am extremely un-tan-able and hairy. I have hair on my arms and chest. I do not have back hair though. But still it seems as though the hair is falling out of my head and growing out of my arms. All this makes me an unlikely beach bod finalist. My talents are more of a mental capacity than a physical. Or so I would hope, as I am only a five out of ten on the scale of attractiveness.

The point is I might be wrong about beaches.

Legal Pick-Me-Ups

In the light of it being Friday and me wearing this shirt for the first time in a year or so I have decided to compile something small.

I want to share some important decisions I have recently made: I have decided to abstain from interfacing with girls for longer than 25 minutes at a time. I have also decided to start a company. While I am on the subject I need office space, money and a secretary willing to call me Quickfeet. I have decided to start writing a book and stop my subscription to What to Expect When Expecting. Lastly I have decided to listen to a significant amount of Roxette.

I think that people underestimate the effects of Roxette on the psyche. The girl always dressed in silver bikini tops and jeans tighter than L’Oreal’s hair care division’s relationship with Donald Trump. Truly something to behold! It was sci-fi combined with Top Gun and I loved it. I had a crush on her till she shaved her hair. It has always been an absolutely romance killer for me. I would rather walk in on her dropping few friends off at the dam than her saving her hair.

Anyway, some of the great moments in my life were with Roxette power-strumming and drumming away in the background. I remember singing, “Sleeping in my car – I will undress you; Sleeping in my car – I will caress you” at age 7. Moments like those change you. It changes you in the same way puberty changed Macaulay Culkin from the cunning little boy somebody forgot at home to the guy you would hope your daughter does not date.

Yes, Roxette. Their words are ridiculous but let’s face it nobody cares.

I am definitely going through a rough patch. My Ritalin has no effect, I stopped smoking and the girls in Girls of the Playboy Mansion has been downgraded. I miss ridiculous boobs and dumb conversations ending in shrieking laughter. I must add that the times that I have seen Girls of the Playboy Mansion was during family hours and thus was censored. I am apposed to nudity except when married, in which case I am a very very fervent supporter. Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that it is definitely time for some Roxette.

(Note by the author: What I can also suggest, and will be doing, is reading some Bushims. George W Bush is without a doubt my person of the century and will possibly be the jester at Parliament meetings in the PRC. That is if I decide on having a democracy.)

(Note 2 by the author: I am considering one of Roxette’s pieces as the national anthem of the PRC)

Books and Covers and a Canadian

I recently joined an outreach to a small town, Bulembu, in Swaziland. Few people know this but Swaziland was named after me. Spain was also named in my honor but they don’t have many outreaches this time of year and the Spanish tend to invade my personal space. I once had to kill a small poodle to illustrate the importance of respecting my personal space. Some of the Spanish animal activists took offense when I killed the poodle and inquired into the authenticity of me being the founder of Spain. Today this inquiry is better known as the Spanish Inquisition. There is a similar story about me and the role I played in the Boston Tea Party but I don’t like to go into it, lets just say I avoid playing golf in thunderstorms.

When we got to Bulembu we pitched our tent and met some people. Some of the people I met I can’t remember and others I do, which is the same as saying “people tend to age” or “the word telephone is French for you might sound nice but I won’t make a move, you could be underage”. During this time my suspicion in the current youth of the world grew somewhat. There is a couple of reason why I am making this statement. The main reason is the fact that these people do not recognize me for the person that I am. There is a couple of other reasons like most of them wear such little clothes that if they bump into each other sooner or later one is to fall pregnant. For the remainder of this piece of literary marvel I will only discuss the lacking recognition I receive when meeting a person for the first time, mainly persons of the female variety.

My suspicion began the first day of the trip when I met a girl from Bloemfontein and she said that I look like a doctor. I went with it claiming my choice in career was due to my lack of playing doctor-doctor as a child. I spoke of other things as well. She did not respond in the expected way, in other words she hadn’t erupted in spontaneous bouts of applause after spending ten minutes with me.

After the awkward situation I realized that I seriously needed to figure out this first impression debacle. I was waiting for a certain set of circumstances to rear its head so that I might explore the apparent shortsightedness of these twenty-somethings. The situation presented itself the following day.

The person, or shall we say guinea fowl I met was a girl from Canada.

Yes, Canada, as in we may speak like the Americans, except with a little “eh” at the end of each sentence. More than that we live more to the north so that we might have the chance to host the Winter Olympics in ’76, ’88 and 2010. We also speak French for no apparent reason.

She was of dark complexion, had dark hair and a cute smile. I initially wanted to adopt her. She wasn’t what you would call unattractive. Well, you could call her unattractive if it was opposite day and that is only in another three months time. The last time I was the guest speaker at The Opposite Day Awards Ceremony (TODAC) we had a wonderful time laughing at each other as we threw up in our plates. For those wondering what the last sentence is all about – the opposite of eating is throwing up.

So at the first meeting I called her atLeigh (@Leigh). She is responsible for the Twitter page of the Community and so I thought it would be hilarious to call her atLeigh. I was so not funny, according to her, that I actually heard her say to the person next to her that loosing a limb is funnier or even the time when her family got stuck in a blizzard and they had to kill her puppy for sustenance was funnier. Suffice to say she was either a bit on the slow side or she was playing hard to get. Just for the record I have met girls who played the hard to get card with me but that façade dropped the moment I mentioned my abs.

The next day I was planning on going on a photographic expedition of the town. I am a photographer of note. It has been said that I am as good with a camera as Napoleon was with losing the battle for sanitation. I am referring to the Battle of (correct term is “for”) Waterloo.

Anyway I came across the Canadian planning to do the same. (Here I am referring to the photographic expedition not the battle for sanitation. I believe she would lose that battle. She doesn’t have the same spunk as Napoleon) This was the opportunity I was waiting for. I could now determine the time it takes for people of this general age to realize who I am.

As we started our journey around the town I increased my charm level to a very responsible 20% and proceeded to speak to her. I started off with the standard questions. She was somewhat reluctant to answer most of them so then I moved on to my forte, statements and observations.

Here follows a list of some of the observations and statements I made as our journey progressed:

• The main reason for these high temperatures is the sun
• The fashion police started of as an NGO
• I met Paul McCartney recently and he admits to using Botox
• The Spanish Inquisition was a bitch
• I am a partner in a hugely successful kite company. Our motto is “kites because dikes can’t fly”
• I am the most dangerous man in the Free State and I am not even in the Free State (this usually works like a charm, see Dating Tips)

During this time she did not break. I felt the challenge had been laid down and I would rise to meet this challenge no matter what.

We continued our journey and took pictures of people and trees and I took some of her rear. I think she took some of mine as well, I did not notice it but I knew it was the case when I realized at a later stage that she is a ninja. Ninjas are renowned for their sneakiness and baggy clothes.

I then asked her to marry me in the pasture. She started laughing and I could she by the hopeful shimmer in her eyes she wanted to consummate the marriage there and then. To avoid grass burn I insulted her. I told her she was fat and that from then on in I would refer to her as The Fat One. Although the flame in her eyes dimmed a bit I could see that even the new nickname she would treasure as it would be a tie she would have with me. Wanting to impress me she started calling me Beautiful, which would later evolve to an affectionate Beaut. Apart from the feminine nature of the nickname I realized that her eyes had finally opened up to who I am.

I would like to bring to the attention of the reader that although I am hugely attractive and other impressive things I also sometimes get misplaced. Do not worry if someone does not like you immediately and do not judge a book by it’s cover. If there is one thing to take from my experience it is that if you want people to get to know you go to Swaziland and propose in a pasture.

(Note from the author: Swaziland and Spain will soon be acknowledged as colonies of the PRC or People’s Republic of Cobus)

Career Moves

Over the last couple of weeks I have not posted any new entries on my blog. Due to the pressure of my fans and soon to be citizens I wrote this piece. It took me at most a half an hour and is pretty bad. What I will say is that I post something bad and then follow it up with a masterpiece.

This is your president speaking.

I graduated a year ago. It was easy, for me. Some people say doing engineering is hard work and intellectually challenging. I found it as relaxing as sleeping in a bed as soft as Mexico’s immigration laws or Rosie O Donnell’s thighs. I once slept in a bed on one of Rosie’s thighs (sleeping on Mexico’s immigration laws presented some challenges) and it was very comfortable, she always wanted me relaxed so that I could stay calm when Doctor Phil came over late at night and started serenading her with Roxette and George Michael. George once asked me to have a drink with him and I declined knowing that he sometimes refers to himself, in the third person, as Michael Flatley and then unbuttons half his shirt just like Thump from the A-Team. I think his name is Thump. I am referring to the black guy with the chains around his neck and the unsettling haircut.

Back to my educational journey. I got a standing ovation when I received best student in Geography and Technical Design in the tenth grade. Our headmaster once referred to a group of people clapping hands while standing as a standing ovulation. It was without a doubt one of the funniest things I have ever heard. He was prone to these random accidental obscenities. He once, while addressing the school with his fly open and him being unaware of it, reacted to the students laughing at him “There is an ugly thing rearing it’s head”. That’s about the sum of what I can remember from my school days.

During my university studies I made some good friends. Some of the funniest moments in my career as human occurred during those four years. The one coming to mind is the time when we had a really shallow conversation about people and their obsession with the (please excuse the nature of the following) dimensions of the male’s wedding vegetables (a la James May). My one friend, lets call him Andre, said that the cliché line is “It’s not about the size of the boat but rather the motion of the ocean. Yet you can’t cross the Atlantic in a canoe.” I then responded by “Yes, it’s like throwing a banana down a corridor”. Andre laughed till his jaw cramped. The reason this was so funny is because Andre always spoke in the same tone of voice and never laughed; only chuckled.

After finishing most of my academics I started working, which I then quit after three weeks due to it being as enjoyable as stabbing myself in the ear. I then started doing postgrad studies, which I discontinued halfway though. I am currently busy saving the world with my literary prowess and emotional stability.

The next few years holds many exciting things. I will most likely quit the majority of them. The big one will be that I am starting on my autobiography which will then fund the country I am going to initiate, or introduce or the thing you do when you open a country. The country will be called PRC which is short for The Peoples Republic of Cobus. The details on my country are somewhat vague but the conceptual overview will be posted in the near future on this blog.

Dating Tips

The previous post was worse than eating a dog. The worst thing I ate was a tape worm, it was a dare and that is how I met Oprah. We fell in love and had a baby which was adopted by Brangelina. As always they wanted to name the kid after a geographical area and most of New York was taken by David Beckham and Toothpick Spice. Brangelina named the kid Alberkerky. I have never been to Alberkerky but I hear they have a fantastic spandex factory, Oprah wanted to move down there for the spandex. I think that was the reason why we separated.

Back to the previous piece. I had to post it to make my fans understand that I speak with authority on the subject of dating and woman. I feel it is my obligation to share my knowledge on these matters. Although the piece is directed at men I believe woman would also find in this piece interesting if they are lesbians. Here follows the essentials of dating.

Be polite. When you go to pick someone up for a date never shoot her dog. Woman like their dogs alive. Except Chinese woman who like dogs in their tummies. If you are wondering wether she is Chinese point at her dog and rub your belly, if she smiles she is Chinese.

Watch your language. There are a couple of things that all men should know about the proper use of language when in the company of a lady. Do not refer to her as a piece of ass, they take this as you referring to them as the hind quarters of a donkey. Also don’t mention the word Playstation except when referring to yourself.

Make fun of her. Woman are attracted to intelligent, confident men. When you belittle her she understands that you are actually better than her. Most woman finds this attractive in a guy and if she doesn’t respond to the belittling in that manner she is most probably a lesbian. If she is a lesbian tell her you are actually a man but that you feel flattered.

Find her interesting. Even if you find plankton more interesting than her act as though you find her interesting. You can tell her at a later stage that you wished you swopped her lip balm with Pratley Steel and that she should be a public speaker at conferences for the deaf. Tell her that you now understand why van Gogh cut off his own ear.

Kissing. After kissing someone you do the dance.

If you need to go to the bathroom. Every event during the date is an opportunity to impress. When you have to go for a number one, tell her you want to check your flow rate. When you go for a number two refer to it as a delivery.

Be attractive. Find your good side and let her always sit on that side. To find your good side look at an object trough a circle you make with your hands. Get the object to appear in the middle of the shape. Now close each eye individually and see with what eye the object appears in the middle. That is your good side.

Asking the right questions. You want to know if she is a serial killer so you try to ask it subtlety and it came out wrong.. We all have been there, even me. I asked Oprah if I could take some friends to her island and she said I am only using her for her money. This is not true, I was obviously using her for the island and street cred. See, woman tend to take things the wrong way. The answer to this problem is to follow each question with an “I am just kidding” or “I’m f$%^ing with you” depending from where she is. If she is from Pretoria swearing most probably is ok, if she is from Johannesburg use the first phrase, if she is from Durban get the hell out!

Compliment her. I find that woman normally takes this well. Some of the lines I found that does not work are: “you have a strong jawline”; “they look real”; “If you were Chinese I would shoot your dog”; “if you have an island we can do this more often”; “do you know my son? Albekerky?”; “weren’t you the body double for Brad Pitt in Troy?”; “you are so pretty I would eat our waiter if I had some floss with me”; “I once had a dream about you, I was being chased by an otter”; “I like woman who smell like you, reminds me of the time I spent working as a taxidermist”.

Wear protection. This is one of the best known dating facts but let me reiterate. There is nothing more important than protecting your body. You never know when a date goes wrong and she tries to attack you. Wear kevlar. Kevlar can stop a knife and protect you from small firearms.

Be understanding. If she trips over something and falls, don’t help her up. Tell her that life is not about how hard you fall its how fast you get up. Give her the slow clap until she is on her feet, give her a hug and tell her this is a big moment in her life and that you are grateful to share it with her.

Don’t be modest. Woman like bad boys. Make some stories up. I find that the one that works well for me is when I tell them I am the most dangerous man in the Free State and I am not even in the Free State. I follow this by punching her very hard on the hammy to make my point more clearly.

My journey towards romantic maturity

My track record with the woman of this world is definitely deserved of a small piece of literary history. The last part of the statement might sound a bit arrogant but I am a firm believer that I am not fully appreciated in my time. I will one day be mentioned with the likes of Charles Dickens and The Eiffel Tower.

Approach this piece as a collection of short stories. This piece will not discuss all of my romantic endeavors due to pending lawsuits.

Primary School

E

It all started wrong. I was 12 and she was the friend of the girl I actually liked, so I asked her out. It was my first encounter with the world of subtle plays and complex manipulation that is dating.

It lasted two weeks and heightened her social standing by at least eight points. For those unfamiliar with the social standing points system, or SSPS, eight points is equivalent to having dumped Paris Hilton or being seen with Nelson Mandela at a sushi bar.

D

The next love was a year later, she was new to the school. Our year group went on a camping trip. I asked her out, we dated and two days later she left me for one of my friends. She later got a breast augmentation and he got to see her new devices.

I did not know what to do with the hate boiling within and so joined the school chess club.

Secondary School

J

We frequently vacationed in Zimbabwe before the Mugabe era. There was a girl who lived with her mother on the lodge where we stayed. You know the rest, we had trips on a quad, fled from a flock of tigers and listened to The Offspring.

She was my first kiss, my longest relationship and she had a bikini. The building blocks of some of the great romances of our time. We did the long distance thing but after a while broke up due to the complication of border crossing and heat stroke.

J

My next love was a girl that sat in front of me in grade nine Afrikaans. She had a cute nose, thick dark hair and had really good dress sense. Some time passed and I sent her an email declaring my undying love which did not go down the way I had imagined. Instead of appearing at my door in a cute dress with Bryan Adams’ Run to You in the background she changed her email address.

The crush extended for a couple of years till I realized my best friend had been dating her without me knowing. His family were undoubtedly richer than we were and his looks was somewhat more socially acceptable than mine. I felt beaten and considered plastic surgery but then remembered I had gone through to the second round of our school’s grade two body builder competition.

I was again faced with hate that I did not know how to channel so I auditioned for the choir, where I was laughed at. I moved on and began my foray into weekends of playing Counter-Strike.

University

G

The University era had begun with a first years camping trip. The second evening a girl appeared in our doorway, drenched with rain and looking all kinds of pretty. I increased the charm to 75% resulting in us clicking. The last evening we stayed up together laughing at the steam emanating from one of my friend’s back and funny things I said, of which there was a lot.

The next day I was informed of her current relationship with a national cricketing hero (referred from here on in as XY). I again had the urge to declare my love. I knitted a scarf which I gave to her with the words “I am giving you the chance to choose me over XY”. She declined and started crying. I still don’t know if she cried due to my declaration of love or my impressive knitting skills.

XY proved to be a cheat and I unknowingly filled the role of the gay friend. A role which I had since played more often than not. My receding hairline and excessively hairy arms made woman at ease in conversation for some strange reason. (read Bald is the new Beautiful for my take on this)

T

During the time of G I met a girl with the most incredible insight. I am sure of this because she found me attractive and funny. We dated and broke up inside three weeks. My mother said it was my dislike in horses combined with her parents having a farm that caused the rift in our relationship.

She is getting married soon and I haven’t received an invitation. I know it is not due to my body odour as I consume my  own body weight in antiperspirant on a weekly basis.

E

My next appearance on the stage of hormonally driven affection was with a British girl two or three years my biological senior. She was the kind of pretty that did not stop growing on you. We took a ride on a camel and I saw her underwear. I did not see the underwear while she wore it, I saw it in the heap of laundry on her bed when I went to pick her up.

We went out to celebrate her birthday one evening and while sitting next to me she touched my raccoon. I nearly fainted and she told me she did it because I make a funny face when placed in awkward situations. I reacted by placing my hand on her knee while asking her “what do you think about this?” she replied with a “higher” and I, in my best Jennifer Aniston accent, asked her again “what do you think about this?”.

A while later she returned to England and I was faced with the what ifs. We never even kissed, which to me is the same as forgetting to laugh after having accidentally produced a number two in somebody’s shoes.

Final Words

Although I have not mentioned all of my journeys with summer dressed, flower smelling, butterfly inducing woman, this should provide sufficient background to those confounded by my romantic maturity.

It is obvious that this piece is in no way finished and that my fascinating journey with woman will result in a book deal, a Huisgenoot wedding and Oprah appearances.

Nitida Prune Estate

I recently visited wine country. I tasted wine, overcame my fear of cheese, decided to buy a farm and repeatedly unlocked an open door. One thing struck me about wine country citizens, they are mostly self-absorbed, perpetually drunk and largely oblivious to the outside world. I just need to clear something up, by wine country citizens I imply to a large extent the people working on the farms themselves not the people in the general area. Another thing, I try to offend by referring to it as a farm and not an estate. A short description follows of my first day on the farms.

Delaire

My first run in with these wine farmists was when a youngish guy, dressed as if he was on his way to play golf in a courtroom, gave us a glass of white. He stood back and gazed at us in a manner that would make you believe that we were going to explode, or touch him inappropriately. I took a sip and told him that I have no intention of touching him. Grazing the comment aside he went on to explain the viscosity of the wine by saying that the wine has legs. I was startled and could not find a witty comeback. He did not give me time either as he continued describing the wine as having a slight nutmeg and peach taste. I agreed fully and asked him if someone had purposefully tried to sabotage the wine by adding peach and nutmeg or was it by accident. It was the second time that I was flatly ignored.

We bought a couple of bottles and were on our way.

Fairview

I felt right at home as there were mountain goats trying to climb a tower, we had something in common. I shouted at them in my best goat dialect trying to explain that there is no rope and it would therefor be unsafe to try and climb all the way up. A couple of snobby white folk gave me a look that would make Dick Cheney cower in fear. My sister ushered me away to the wine tasting area.

At the door of the wine tasting area there was a poster informing that it was actually a wine and cheese tasting. I had a strong dislike in cheese believing that it would make my breath smell like Marilyn Manson’s feet after he ate a live pigeon. My sister understood this and informed the Brit at the till that we were only interested in the wine, he didn’t give and we got a sticker saying we could taste wine and cheese, there was no room for writing my name.

The wine tasting was surprisingly uneventful with no one trying to tell me about tobacco or rose petals that I should smell or taste. The one ludicrous act I saw was people having a sip, gargling with a technique similar to the Listerine commercial, which I have tried several times and not once did I not cover my face in Listerine. I thought it was kind of funny, but then they went on to spit out the wine. I was deeply offended to say the least. I thought the wine police would cuff him and put him behind a firing squad that uses frozen grapes and fallen laborers as ammunition. (behind the firing squad as you would assume that they would be drunk) I then observed several other people doing the same. My sister explained to me that this is happening to prevent the people from ending up intoxicated. From that moment onwards I had serious doubt in her judgement and suggested that she should see a psychiatrist.

I reluctantly followed my sister to the cheese tasting, I was feeling adventurous and the amount of wine I had consumed dulled my taste buds. I shadowed her example and stuck the toothpick in the small blots of cheese and had a taste. Most of the cheese had a small undercurrent of feet but then I came across a cream cheese covered in a brownish powder. It was a spicy mixture of wine and other things covering the royalty of cream cheese. I had stumbled upon an oasis in the desert of feet cheese. I bought some.

We picked up the wine we bought and wandered down to the car, I was slightly under the influence. My sister opened the car and I put the wine in the boot while talking to myself. She gave me the keys and took a seat in the car. As I walked to my side I greeted one of the white ladies that had judged me when I conversed with the goats. She stood looking at me quizzically as I went on to unlock the car repeatedly while my sister’s door stood wide open, resulting in the car emitting loud pebble-in-plastic-container like sounds. We left with my sister wetting herself with laughter.

Waterford

It’s a nice farm, mountains, a courtyard and a drive on a gravel road. We took pictures for a couple on their way out. By on their way out I don’t mean dying as they looked healthy, too healthy. I think he might be using her face cream. I did not tell her this as it was not my place to speak on the matter.

We took a seat in the courtyard and was served by another Brit. He did not want my autograph. The wine was good. The last couple of wines was served with chocolate as it was supposed to enhance the taste of the wine. Food and drink complementing each other was nothing new to me, I once had a killer sandwich and washed it down with a Cream Soda. My sister insisted that I keep this to myself.

Nitida

At Nitida I found a new passion and goal. It is your typical wine farm and has an overpriced restaurant. It is pretty but I initially thought that I would not sell my mother to own it. It all happened when we went to the tasting area/cellars.

At first I was struck by the number of awards that the farm had won over the years and the stiff upper lip vibe the place gave off. The woman running the show gave me a look that I had only seen before when I told Oprah she did not look good in her pants, but that is altogether another story. She asked if we wanted to taste wine and I said, “no I am here to inspect your barrels” and winked at her. I did not receive the expected smile and she did not take off her clothes. I had to assume that she had professional training judging by the way she resisted my charm. I knew that the only way she would warm up to me was if I showed her my raccoon but it was not the time nor place for this. I told my sister that we should leave.

As we drove off I thought about the farm and then it struck me: the place had huge potential! Not as a wine farm but as a prune estate, Nitida Prune Estate. The responsibility had fallen squarely on my shoulders to buy the place, remove all the grape vines and plant some prune trees or shrubs or whatever it is that you find prunes attached to. The cellar/tasting room should get some disco balls and loud 80′s music except for sad hour when we would listen to The BeeGees and hold hands. You would only be allowed if you brought roller skates and a reflective vest. The restaurant had to be transformed to a bowling alley and the house should be fenced off to host paintball tournaments and pajama parties.

Maybe it will catch on, I am already picturing the Cape with The Prune Route and The Prune Festival. There will be Prune Tastings and no more need for laxatives.

Bald is the new Beautiful

One of the many things plaguing the modern man is the loss of natural scalp insolation. While some of the, as society would make us believe, lucky ones are blessed with a full forrest of hair others are held back by the lack thereof.

In some cultures it is believed that the loss of hair is indicative of intelligence but mostly it is seen in the same light as having no knees or public knowledge of your misdemeanor involving retired ladies of the night.

I see this phenomenon in a different light, it might be due to my impediment that is lack of sufficient foliage but for arguments sake lets ignore my subjectivity on the matter. What I believe is that no notable change in the world has occurred without a bald man heaving his almighty ability, whatever his field may be, on the mere commoners of the time. Albert Einstein is the prime example of this, there are many more including all of the notable American presidents, Dr Phil and then of course Demi Moore in GI Jane.

Another aspect of not having the hair in the right place would be the beneficial effect on aerodynamics of a person. Is it a coincidence that Usain Bolt shaved his hair, I would believe not. I do not wish to be in the man’s shoes as I am deeply uncomfortable with appearing in tight clothing that with little doubt can be traced back to ballet, but he is fast in the same way that Margaret Thatcher is unattractive.

What then is my point? It is that the fairer sex need to realize this and start finding it sensual and attractive to have a fella whose head can double as a whiteboard or maybe a mirror, the possibilities are endless people.

One of these days people will look in awe at the intelligent men who does not have hair on the top half of their heads. They will look upon these men in only in brief stints of time as they will move with surprising speed due to their considerable aerodynamic ability.