"When will I see you agaaain. (when will i see you again)
Ha ha...ooooh ooo ooooh (precious moments)"
When will I see you again - The Three Degrees
Who listens to music from the 1970's? Just me then? Hmmm k.
So I are gymming in the am now ya'll! It is beginning to become a need. My alarm goes off at 6, and by 6:30 I am so awake my bed becomes annoying. So its either waste an hour laying there thinking about going to gym, or actually getting up and going. The getting up is easier to deal with than the guilt.
Today I got up, but didn't go to gym. I thought I was being clever.
"Why don't I get up and clean my flat before work instead of going to gym? That way when I come home it will be clean."
Brilliant right? WRONG. I'm so tired right now I could pass out on my keyboard and not be at all concerned that I will have qwerty inprinted backwards on my forehead. And I only got to do the bathroom! I guess it is either a sign of how dirty my bathroom actually was, or how I really hate cleaning. The latter I think, cos that is way less embarrassing.
Food has become my new hobby. Like really, I'm becoming obsessed. I want to try all these different recipes and am looking to eat less animal products. It's cheaper and healthier and tastes good - but we all know way less delicious than meat or chicken. I know I'm not going to be fooling anybody whose had a juicy medium-rare steak prepared just right. Oh god...
So basically what I'm saying is that I'm bored and hungry at work and now I'm reading food blogs. I will peruse what is available and let you guys know next week if I have a favourite.
Yes, you heard me, I'll try and post at least once a week so that Sid is not the only one in charge of wasting your bosses money. LOL.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
I’m not into boobies...
So I’ve been very quiet lately. In three lines: I lost my lus to blog (basically my life became boring). The Ex is now The Boyfriend (hereafter referred to as the BF). And work got really busy. So there are my excuses – build a bridge and get over it.
So sometime in January I forgot something that was really important to the BF. Don’t ask me what it was because I forgot, so ja. As penance I offered to make it up to him, whatever he wanted. He wanted a striptease. From me.
I was like “err...not so much”. So I offered to buy him one. Smart right? Again, err...not so much. As the day drew closer I imagined the strippers wanting to shove their boobs and butts in my face...ew. Imagine, vajay-jay all up in my space. Yuck.
So after months of waiting, we finally went to Mavericks the other day. I have to say that I have never felt so fat, nor so secure in my relationship. Strange no? The decor made me think of a Cuban bar, where all the rum and cigar plantations owners come to have a drink, a cigar, and pat a pretty girl’s behind. You know, just lam it uit.
The women were absolutely gorgeous. Although I felt fat (they walk around in outfits that would make the Pussycat Dolls blush), I realised I had the biggest boobs in the house (oh yeah!). This would play a role later...
So we get in (R100 for guys, R50 for girls – I know, ouch) and sit down at a table. There is a beautiful woman dancing on a stage above the bar, doing the most amazing acrobatic things on a golden pole. I’m not bicurious, but damn they are mesmerising. The girls dance for two songs, first song is just hip-hip-turn-butt shake, and then second song is expose breasts-climb pole-slide upside down-back flip off. I say it again. DAMN!
“Cocktail, now!”
So I’ve given the BF R250 to buy himself the attention of any girl he likes. Knowing firsthand what he likes, I’m looking for big boobies with nice butt (ahem). Unfortunately most of the girls are A/B cups with no booty, so it was slim pickings. All he wants is a table dance, which we are advised by our waitress would be better enjoyed in a booth. The booths are separated by glass and are at the back, which limits your view of the stage a bit. But we had still not seen the girl that was gonna make my BFs wish come true. The waitress explained that the girls are wary of couples. Apparently some women are not as cool and secure as I am (ahem). Or they just didn’t order a big enough cocktail.
So she sends a bevy of Colombian beauties to our table. My man is in shock, visibly drooling and I am momentarily forgotten. The girls are beautiful, friendly and are visibly afraid that I am a bitch. I smile and try not to make any sudden movements. So the BF requests that one of the ladies sits and chats with him and that the others come back later. I am mildly taken aback by this. I am not paying for a “Let’s get to know each other – NO WAY! I love that song too!” session. But, being the cool and secure woman I am I give them some space and move to the next table and watch the other strippers wow me with their gravity-defying pole tricks. Don’t worry ladies, I let him know that homey don’t play dat. “You talk to them one more time, and you are going home single”, or something like that. The cocktail was very strong.
The club started to fill up so we moved to a booth in preparation for our table dance. The BF had seen the girl he liked and wanted to place his order with the waitress. While we waited for the waitress we were given a taste of what to expect, as in the next booth a blonde bombshell was giving this group of guys a table dance. There was the expected boobs and butt being rubbed in the face. But then it got too much for me. The glass has a pattern embossed that adds a smokey feel to being in the booth, and why I had not noticed that she was not wearing her g-string anymore. She gets on their laps and partially straddles their faces. Hmmm.
Then she fingered herself.
Removed the finger.
And....
flick.
IN THE DUDE’S FACE! What. The. FUUUUUUCK!
Of course the BF got even more excited for his dance... and I ordered another cocktail.
We finally order with the waitress, “I want Catalina”, and wait for Catalina to appear. A cute Russian woman with a black bob, porcelain skin and bright red lips comes over and asks if she can borrow our booth, “I hev a group off guys thet vant table dens. Cen you moov for leetle beet?” all the while rubbing my thigh with the coldest hands I have ever felt – she could have been a vampire, and I would have let her turn me. We explain that we are also getting a dance and that our girl is on her way, so if they don’t mind waiting they can have the booth for the night when we are done. 5min later Catalina arrives, and she is not the girl he wanted. “You are so embarrassing baby! You can’t even get the names right.”
He goes off and finds his girl, who is eating at the time, so we have to wait again. Russian cutie comes back, “Yoo arre still vaiting? I cen dens vor yoo. I know how to moov my body. I cen geev yoo goodt show ja.” And with that last sentence, she starts gently stroking my boobs.
Cue nervous laughter.
“OMG she’s touching me! Ha ha ha. She’s touching mee!!! HA HA HA HA!!”
The BF: “That looks nice, but no.”
Russian cutie says “Oh khay, why not get a privet dens then? It’s only R50 more end yoo enjoy it more.” This was enough to sell the BF, so we decide that he is going for a private dance by himself and I get to NOT see a girl flick her vagina juice into his face. Win-win.
His girl has finished her supper, and we part ways. Him off to get his dance, and me to sit by myself like some lonely lesbian and watch strippers climb that pole baby. He came back, enjoyed the topless midnight parade (they do a mini parade at 12) and then we left. I asked him if he enjoyed himself and he said yes. Nuff said. I don’t need to hear more than that.
Funny enough, I had a good time myself. And we both had a good time later.... if you know what I mean. ;-)
So sometime in January I forgot something that was really important to the BF. Don’t ask me what it was because I forgot, so ja. As penance I offered to make it up to him, whatever he wanted. He wanted a striptease. From me.
I was like “err...not so much”. So I offered to buy him one. Smart right? Again, err...not so much. As the day drew closer I imagined the strippers wanting to shove their boobs and butts in my face...ew. Imagine, vajay-jay all up in my space. Yuck.
So after months of waiting, we finally went to Mavericks the other day. I have to say that I have never felt so fat, nor so secure in my relationship. Strange no? The decor made me think of a Cuban bar, where all the rum and cigar plantations owners come to have a drink, a cigar, and pat a pretty girl’s behind. You know, just lam it uit.
The women were absolutely gorgeous. Although I felt fat (they walk around in outfits that would make the Pussycat Dolls blush), I realised I had the biggest boobs in the house (oh yeah!). This would play a role later...
So we get in (R100 for guys, R50 for girls – I know, ouch) and sit down at a table. There is a beautiful woman dancing on a stage above the bar, doing the most amazing acrobatic things on a golden pole. I’m not bicurious, but damn they are mesmerising. The girls dance for two songs, first song is just hip-hip-turn-butt shake, and then second song is expose breasts-climb pole-slide upside down-back flip off. I say it again. DAMN!
“Cocktail, now!”
So I’ve given the BF R250 to buy himself the attention of any girl he likes. Knowing firsthand what he likes, I’m looking for big boobies with nice butt (ahem). Unfortunately most of the girls are A/B cups with no booty, so it was slim pickings. All he wants is a table dance, which we are advised by our waitress would be better enjoyed in a booth. The booths are separated by glass and are at the back, which limits your view of the stage a bit. But we had still not seen the girl that was gonna make my BFs wish come true. The waitress explained that the girls are wary of couples. Apparently some women are not as cool and secure as I am (ahem). Or they just didn’t order a big enough cocktail.
So she sends a bevy of Colombian beauties to our table. My man is in shock, visibly drooling and I am momentarily forgotten. The girls are beautiful, friendly and are visibly afraid that I am a bitch. I smile and try not to make any sudden movements. So the BF requests that one of the ladies sits and chats with him and that the others come back later. I am mildly taken aback by this. I am not paying for a “Let’s get to know each other – NO WAY! I love that song too!” session. But, being the cool and secure woman I am I give them some space and move to the next table and watch the other strippers wow me with their gravity-defying pole tricks. Don’t worry ladies, I let him know that homey don’t play dat. “You talk to them one more time, and you are going home single”, or something like that. The cocktail was very strong.
The club started to fill up so we moved to a booth in preparation for our table dance. The BF had seen the girl he liked and wanted to place his order with the waitress. While we waited for the waitress we were given a taste of what to expect, as in the next booth a blonde bombshell was giving this group of guys a table dance. There was the expected boobs and butt being rubbed in the face. But then it got too much for me. The glass has a pattern embossed that adds a smokey feel to being in the booth, and why I had not noticed that she was not wearing her g-string anymore. She gets on their laps and partially straddles their faces. Hmmm.
Then she fingered herself.
Removed the finger.
And....
flick.
IN THE DUDE’S FACE! What. The. FUUUUUUCK!
Of course the BF got even more excited for his dance... and I ordered another cocktail.
We finally order with the waitress, “I want Catalina”, and wait for Catalina to appear. A cute Russian woman with a black bob, porcelain skin and bright red lips comes over and asks if she can borrow our booth, “I hev a group off guys thet vant table dens. Cen you moov for leetle beet?” all the while rubbing my thigh with the coldest hands I have ever felt – she could have been a vampire, and I would have let her turn me. We explain that we are also getting a dance and that our girl is on her way, so if they don’t mind waiting they can have the booth for the night when we are done. 5min later Catalina arrives, and she is not the girl he wanted. “You are so embarrassing baby! You can’t even get the names right.”
He goes off and finds his girl, who is eating at the time, so we have to wait again. Russian cutie comes back, “Yoo arre still vaiting? I cen dens vor yoo. I know how to moov my body. I cen geev yoo goodt show ja.” And with that last sentence, she starts gently stroking my boobs.
Cue nervous laughter.
“OMG she’s touching me! Ha ha ha. She’s touching mee!!! HA HA HA HA!!”
The BF: “That looks nice, but no.”
Russian cutie says “Oh khay, why not get a privet dens then? It’s only R50 more end yoo enjoy it more.” This was enough to sell the BF, so we decide that he is going for a private dance by himself and I get to NOT see a girl flick her vagina juice into his face. Win-win.
His girl has finished her supper, and we part ways. Him off to get his dance, and me to sit by myself like some lonely lesbian and watch strippers climb that pole baby. He came back, enjoyed the topless midnight parade (they do a mini parade at 12) and then we left. I asked him if he enjoyed himself and he said yes. Nuff said. I don’t need to hear more than that.
Funny enough, I had a good time myself. And we both had a good time later.... if you know what I mean. ;-)
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Back from my Sabbatical
Hey everybody
I know,I know. Where the hell have I been and how dare I think I can just come waltzing back in as if nothing has happened and I can just go back to that whore I was with because I've got another thing coming if I think you were sitting around waiting for me!
I know,I know. Where the hell have I been and how dare I think I can just come waltzing back in as if nothing has happened and I can just go back to that whore I was with because I've got another thing coming if I think you were sitting around waiting for me!
That about it? Feel better now? Good.
So I've been rather busy lately, well not really but let's just say I was. Me and the ex are..."hanging out". It's really nice. :-) I'm happy, can you tell?
So let me tell you about Tuesday. I had a really nice day, which started the night before with me snuggling with The Ex. (Sigh. Shut up.) Tuesday was my good friend Sid's b-day so we had some awesome cake at work, and then I rushed off to have my hair done and then the evening was spent having cocktails with the girls. I was very Sex and the City. Minus the weird clothes, because seriously, who dresses like that?
But then just as I thought karma was doing me a good turn BAM! They broke into my car. I say "they" because that's usually who you blame. You know, them! I came out of the restaurant to find my beautiful car defiled and raped. They did not just break into my car, they BROKE my car! The bent the door so that they could put their hand in from above and open the door. They opened her up like a two dollar whore.
They stole my shades and an old jacket, but best of all, the remote control to my car frontloader. What. the. FUCK!!! Why take the remote? WHY?!!!! I swear that is the thing that sent me over the edge, because before I found out about the remote I was relatively stable. But that was the last straw. So the next motherfucker is getting a butter knife in the neck. Yes, a butter knife. I am that pissed off. The cherry is that my excess on the insurance is 8 times the value of the things that were stolen!
And that is how my day turned from a Sex and the City episode to a cheap version of Law & Order: Useless Crimes. The trip to the police station was hilarious at best, mildly annoying at worst. I got there at 11:40pm, only to be met by a half asleep detective, and then have my statement taken by a women that I saw sleeping in the corner when I came in. She continued to make spelling mistakes on my form, and at one point had to scrap the first draft because it would be easier to start over than grab some tippex. The latest is that I will have to replace the door. Fuck!
So I've been rather busy lately, well not really but let's just say I was. Me and the ex are..."hanging out". It's really nice. :-) I'm happy, can you tell?
So let me tell you about Tuesday. I had a really nice day, which started the night before with me snuggling with The Ex. (Sigh. Shut up.) Tuesday was my good friend Sid's b-day so we had some awesome cake at work, and then I rushed off to have my hair done and then the evening was spent having cocktails with the girls. I was very Sex and the City. Minus the weird clothes, because seriously, who dresses like that?
But then just as I thought karma was doing me a good turn BAM! They broke into my car. I say "they" because that's usually who you blame. You know, them! I came out of the restaurant to find my beautiful car defiled and raped. They did not just break into my car, they BROKE my car! The bent the door so that they could put their hand in from above and open the door. They opened her up like a two dollar whore.
They stole my shades and an old jacket, but best of all, the remote control to my car frontloader. What. the. FUCK!!! Why take the remote? WHY?!!!! I swear that is the thing that sent me over the edge, because before I found out about the remote I was relatively stable. But that was the last straw. So the next motherfucker is getting a butter knife in the neck. Yes, a butter knife. I am that pissed off. The cherry is that my excess on the insurance is 8 times the value of the things that were stolen!
And that is how my day turned from a Sex and the City episode to a cheap version of Law & Order: Useless Crimes. The trip to the police station was hilarious at best, mildly annoying at worst. I got there at 11:40pm, only to be met by a half asleep detective, and then have my statement taken by a women that I saw sleeping in the corner when I came in. She continued to make spelling mistakes on my form, and at one point had to scrap the first draft because it would be easier to start over than grab some tippex. The latest is that I will have to replace the door. Fuck!
New hairstyle = R150
Dinner with friends = R180
R200 of stuff stolen from car causing R1600 of damage = PRICELESS!
To take my mind off above-mentioned breakage of car door, I have been indulging in only the fun parts of work, and reading lamebook.com
It is seriously hilarious. This is my current favourite.
It is seriously hilarious. This is my current favourite.
Friday, November 13, 2009
For the Grown Folks
Mortality.
The biggest and scariest word (to me anyways) in the English language. Today I am being faced with my own mortality. I am not She-Ra (shoutout to the 80's superhero comics.)
See? This is exactly what I am talking about. I'm getting old. I am now in the age bracket where I'm still young and hip enough (and can actually afford) to do stuff, but old enough to do them in moderation so that I don't feel like a zombie the next day and I still have money in my bank account. But I remember a time when all those things did not matter. I would go out and think "Fuck sleep, who needs that? I'm PARTYING! My last 20 bucks on a round of shooters? WHY NOT?!!"
Now if I stay out past midnight on a weeknight the next day is one of sleep-deprived torture, constantly watching the minutes tick by as time crawls towards the hour of my freedom from corporate bondage.
Sid: It's like there's this limit of fun that my body can handle. If I go over that limit my body complains.
I couldn't have said it better myself. What happened to my staying power? Where did all that stamina go? Why is it now impossible for me to get by with 5 hrs sleep, when back in the day I stayed up once for 38 hrs straight. Partying! People went to bed, woke up in shifts to keep me company. I was on FIRE!
But all that is gone now, and I'm having a hard time accepting it.
You see, last night I indulged in the Thursday night party at Galaxy. (Why? Because its Thursday, DUH!)
Galaxy is the oldest club in Cape Town, and still the best ever. I was all responsible and everything. Left the club at 1, had a shower and went to bed. Today I feel like the walking dead. The worst is that I didn't even drink (had two ciders, no kak).
I want my 18-22 yr old body back. She was a trooper. She could party. I don't like this 26 yr old wuss. She is a fader.
Bitch.
I am totally aware that I'm getting older. That there are certain things that society is politely going to tell me to stop wearing, stop eating, stop saying, and places I'll have to stop going, just to make sure that I really enjoy the last few years before my inevitable death. (Thanks Society. You're so giving that way.) Unless I reach Madonna status (which if you knew me, you'd know is VERY likely), and then I just won't give a fuck.
The biggest and scariest word (to me anyways) in the English language. Today I am being faced with my own mortality. I am not She-Ra (shoutout to the 80's superhero comics.)
See? This is exactly what I am talking about. I'm getting old. I am now in the age bracket where I'm still young and hip enough (and can actually afford) to do stuff, but old enough to do them in moderation so that I don't feel like a zombie the next day and I still have money in my bank account. But I remember a time when all those things did not matter. I would go out and think "Fuck sleep, who needs that? I'm PARTYING! My last 20 bucks on a round of shooters? WHY NOT?!!"
Now if I stay out past midnight on a weeknight the next day is one of sleep-deprived torture, constantly watching the minutes tick by as time crawls towards the hour of my freedom from corporate bondage.
Sid: It's like there's this limit of fun that my body can handle. If I go over that limit my body complains.
I couldn't have said it better myself. What happened to my staying power? Where did all that stamina go? Why is it now impossible for me to get by with 5 hrs sleep, when back in the day I stayed up once for 38 hrs straight. Partying! People went to bed, woke up in shifts to keep me company. I was on FIRE!
But all that is gone now, and I'm having a hard time accepting it.
You see, last night I indulged in the Thursday night party at Galaxy. (Why? Because its Thursday, DUH!)
Galaxy is the oldest club in Cape Town, and still the best ever. I was all responsible and everything. Left the club at 1, had a shower and went to bed. Today I feel like the walking dead. The worst is that I didn't even drink (had two ciders, no kak).
I want my 18-22 yr old body back. She was a trooper. She could party. I don't like this 26 yr old wuss. She is a fader.
Bitch.
I am totally aware that I'm getting older. That there are certain things that society is politely going to tell me to stop wearing, stop eating, stop saying, and places I'll have to stop going, just to make sure that I really enjoy the last few years before my inevitable death. (Thanks Society. You're so giving that way.) Unless I reach Madonna status (which if you knew me, you'd know is VERY likely), and then I just won't give a fuck.
Friday, November 6, 2009
I'm back...
So once again I am denouncing alcohol. Don't look at me like that! I can stop whenever I want!!
Fuck you...
Alcohol has been fun, but now I'm trying to get serious. Serious about life, about me and the things I want. (Like I've already said for the hundredth time). It doesn't mean that I'm not going to miss that beautiful buzz you get after a few drinks, and then allowing myself to sink into that beautiful pool of "I don't give a fuck what you think cos I just came here to DANCE!"
Sigh...I'm really gonna miss that feeling the most. Don't get me wrong, drunk or sober I'm an AWESOME dancer. Like Fame, only better cos its unrehearsed. I am Mad "Freestyler" Phoenix yo.
And before you people think this is one of those "I'm never having a drink again", its just for a while.
Think I might start smoking that tabasco again. Did that a lot with my ex, we kinda used it as a band aid to an its-ok-but-not-really relationship. Everyone who has been in a relationship knows exactly what I mean.
But now we are friends so maybe we can use it to heal over any cracks that might hamper the lovers-to-friends transition.
In unrelated news I lost a follower last week. I was all the way up to 5, and then the deserter decided that he/she didn't like checking up on an un-updated blog. So sorry to everybody else for being so quiet, and fuck you deserter!
I was at a loss for what to say. What did The Don call it?
Oh yeah, blogstipation. LOL, love that word.
Fuck you...
Alcohol has been fun, but now I'm trying to get serious. Serious about life, about me and the things I want. (Like I've already said for the hundredth time). It doesn't mean that I'm not going to miss that beautiful buzz you get after a few drinks, and then allowing myself to sink into that beautiful pool of "I don't give a fuck what you think cos I just came here to DANCE!"
Sigh...I'm really gonna miss that feeling the most. Don't get me wrong, drunk or sober I'm an AWESOME dancer. Like Fame, only better cos its unrehearsed. I am Mad "Freestyler" Phoenix yo.
And before you people think this is one of those "I'm never having a drink again", its just for a while.
Think I might start smoking that tabasco again. Did that a lot with my ex, we kinda used it as a band aid to an its-ok-but-not-really relationship. Everyone who has been in a relationship knows exactly what I mean.
But now we are friends so maybe we can use it to heal over any cracks that might hamper the lovers-to-friends transition.
In unrelated news I lost a follower last week. I was all the way up to 5, and then the deserter decided that he/she didn't like checking up on an un-updated blog. So sorry to everybody else for being so quiet, and fuck you deserter!
I was at a loss for what to say. What did The Don call it?
Oh yeah, blogstipation. LOL, love that word.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Halloween Post: I'm going as a black fairy
"dressing up as lara croft this year and it was all mad phoenix's idea. AND SHE IS SO BRILLIANT!" Sid Kane's gchat status.
Now if this is not an indication that my plan to take over the world one brilliant blogger at a time is working beautifully, then I don't know what is.
If you have a blog, be forewarned. I'm in your head. You don't know it, and you won't feel it. But I'm there. You will bow to me...one day!
Now if this is not an indication that my plan to take over the world one brilliant blogger at a time is working beautifully, then I don't know what is.
If you have a blog, be forewarned. I'm in your head. You don't know it, and you won't feel it. But I'm there. You will bow to me...one day!
MWA HA HA HA HA!!!!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
I'm getting old, but at least I have good hair.
My best friend is pregnant!
Very exciting news until I took a step back and really looked at the situation. I'm 26, single with no kids, and with no sign of either changing anytime soon. Hmmm. Took me back to my mini freak out I had a while back. Follow the link to bask in my pathetic-ness (I make up words, get over it.)I think the problem is that I've been comparing myself to other people. Take Jewels: happily married for 2 and half years and now having a baby. She is 28. The timetable is on track for her, in that respect. I on the other hand have lived on a Sub-Antarctic island for a year, been to Spain by myself and have a semi-successful-on-the-right-track career and have the financial freedom to do just about anything I want (except buy a house because let's just face it you need a double income for that shit). I'm 26. Who's life would you prefer?
The answer: the other person's.
It's the old cliche that the grass is always greener, and you never miss the water, blah blah blah.
I'm so not falling for that crock of shit anymore. I'm in control. This didn't just happen to me, because I am The Architect. (For all those born in the 90's or who live under a rock, this is a reference to The Matrix). I've decided that from now on I need to be the one making decisions, because going with the flow is just not working for me anymore. I need to be willing to take risks if I want rewards. And I need to acknowledge the good things in my life, before I go head-first trying to create a new one. Because its not all bad. I just need to start weeding out the shit that wastes my time, and refocus that time on something constructive. And I need to realise that great things are not achieved by great deeds, but by consistently doing the same little deed everyday.
Geez, sorry guys. This has really turned into a pep-talk to myself instead of a deep and profound post. FAIL.
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