This just in from my sister.
Tickets! Don’t lose out!
Category 1 tickets available for the first night of Taraweeh.
Price: Face value … Front row directly behind the Imaam!!! Unbelievable Atmosphere … Feel it … It is Near!
No vuvzelas; bring your tasbeehs.
(You’ll only get the joke if you were raised Muslim.)
A month or two ago, Barry and I attended a farewell party for his American friend.
The setting for the party was one of the most palatial houses I’ve ever been to. Seriously! With the house situated on the mountain and overlooking the ocean, the view was spectacular. And if this wasn’t enough the house contained a pool, two huge TVs (at least) and a projector. The whole time I was there I couldn’t help thinking, “Is this, what American dollars gets you?”
At some point during the party, someone brought out an American board game. The name of the board game escapes me, but I do remember that it was similar to 30 Seconds in that each person had to describe a term on a card and his/her team members had to guess the word.
Me: It’s something that you blow up. You can use your mouth or …
American man: Inflatable mattress?
Another American man: Penis?
Me: Erm … inflatable mattress is correct …
Looking back at the whole thing, maybe I shouldn’t have said, “You can use your mouth”.
Yesterday I went to bed at around 5:30 and didn’t wake up until 6:45 this morning. That’s more than 12 hours sleep. Hell, I didn’t even get to eat supper. I got home, ate a handful of Cheerios and then went to bed.
Anyway, by now you’ve probably all heard that Paris Hilton was arrested for allegedly smoking pot in Port Elizabeth. Not to left an opportunity to mock a celebrity go by, Nandos came up with THIS brilliant ad:
And in other awesome things I’ve discovered:
This is called “In the Shadow of an Orchid”, 2005.
Found anything interesting on the web lately?
Me: My subconscious is fucking with me. I had a dream that the MFH emailed me to ask me out on a date. And all I thought was, “THAT only took me four years.”
Dizzy*: I think your subconscious wants you to make a move already.
Me: He has a girlfriend. Do you think my subconscious wants me to get rid of her?
Dizzy*: I think your subconscious wants you to find out if he’s REALLY happy …. I’m kidding! Don’t do anything to hasten the poor girl’s demise.
Me: Soooo … you won’t be my alibi then?
I woke up this morning to find that I DID indeed have an email from the MFH. Unfortunately it was all innocent and work related and no matter how hard I tried, there was absolutely no way that I could delude myself into believing that the words “I can programme a script that will validate all the links within a website” actually translates into “I want to do things to you that would make Jenna Jameson blush”.*
*I don’t actually want him to say that. It just sounded funnier than “I can’t stop thinking about your brown skin and pert ass. I should totally dump my girlfriend and do whatever it takes to make you mine”.
*
Oh, did you know that when using predictive text and you start typing the word “dream”, your phone will automatically assume that you wanted to type the word “erection”. Unless of course that’s just my phone …
Available from SMBC.
*
Hey, how are you today? You’re in dire need of some entertainment? Well you’re in luck because today’s edition of Daily Dipshittery is brought to you by Sid Kane, proud sponsor of the Complete Loss of Dignity Programme. Please feel free to grab a box of popcorn and get comfy.
Let’s start by setting the scene.
Yesterday afternoon. I’m alone in my office, verifying the accuracy of various spatial datasets whilst simultaneously wondering how the fuck Lorelei Gilmore could possibly leave Luke for Christopher. And while the Luke/Christopher mystery is STILL bugging me, it doesn’t dampen my mood. I’m happy as fuck and I’ve called on my inner Mariah Carey to express this happiness.
Now you see while most people actually have a Mariah to call on, all I ever happen to get is “The subscriber you have dialed is unable. Please try again.” But I, like Paris Hilton, would never let something as silly as lack of talent stop me from doing anything. I will happily sing at the top of my voice, much to family’s chagrin. Of course I am slightly more considerate of strangers and would never subject them to my singing. Yesterday however …
Yesterday, I was just so incredibly happy. So before I know it I’m happily singing out loud to Heal Over. Except, you can’t really call it singing. Screeching would be a more apt term. The result is a fit of giggles from my colleagues next door and the following gchat from Fahiema.
Fahiema: You know everyone down the passage can hear you singing, right? It’s not that we don’t appreciate it. We laughed. A LOT! It’s just that we were wondering if you’re in pain.
Yeah who needs TV when you have me around?
Kelly Clarkson. I wasn’t THAT impressed by her show – I’ve seen better international acts. I think that the instruments were too loud and that I would have preferred to hear more of her voice. 
Kelly does have a rather interesting accent though. And it took me a while to figure out what she was trying to say. 
One of Kelly’s back up singers.
A recent SMS (text message) I sent to Juan while at the Kelly Clarkson show:
I’m listening to a few white boys speak Afrikaans. I had no idea that the Afrikaans could sound so sexy.
Juan’s reply:
That’s why I speak English all the time. Don’t want to be too sexy. You poor girls wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Intrigues me with every move
Til I’m breathless, I’m helpless
Can’t keep my cool
Steals my heart when he takes my hand
Infatuation – Christina Aguilera
I’m not sure how many of you noticed the recent Die Burger poster.
English translation: Tiger pulls a Joost
Joost van der Westhuizen is a South African rugby player who was caught on tape snorting cocaine and having sex with a hooker. Of course he denied the allegations by quoting Shaggy, “It wasn’t me.” Apparently the guy in the video had a much larger penis that our Rugby hero. (Yeah, I know I’m just as baffled as you). Months later Joost came out with a book where he confessed AND profited from his many affairs.
Man if I were Amor (his wife) I would have taken him to the cleaners!!!
This one is for Cazz who bitched about me not blogging every day.
I’d gone to Cavendish to purchase my mother’s birthday present. Five seconds into the mission at hand I was distracted. You know how it goes – girl with undiagnosed ADD … pretty, shiny things …
The pretty, shiny things in question were the items on display in the La Senza window. Now if you know me you’ll know that I heart La Senza. In fact I pretty much heart all things Canadian (except Celine Dion) since they invariably remind me of my first Canadian love …
I’m not quite sure what I found so appealing about this guy. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s character was a huge dog lover? Maybe it was the fact that he tended to enunciate each syllable succinctly? Or maybe it was the fact that he was a hot guy in an uniform? Who knows? It’s a mystery that even Jessica Fletcher would have a hard time unraveling.
Anyway … where was I going with this again?
Oh right.
Drawn to the store like Robert Downey Jr to cocaine, I marvelled at the goods on offer. Unfortunately marvel was all that I could do. It turns out that under the current economic climate I would need to donate a kidney to afford ONE of their underwire bras. Not willing to part with one of my internal organs for underwear I quickly considered offering the rich, older gentlemen browsing in the store, sexual favours in exchange for a pretty, pink bra*. What? It’s only considered prostitution if he pays you in cash!
Of course rationality soon won over and I left the store with William Wallace’s words ringing in my ears, “They may take our lives, but they’ll never take… OUR FREEDOM!” Erm, yeah …
Not willing to the the mall without lingerie I snuck into Edgars where I found myself purchasing 2 bras (one in canary yellow and the other a combination of yellow and black) for a third of the price of a La Senza bra.
* Please note that I’m only joking. I so would not suck dick for ONE lousy bra. 5 bras and matching panty set, maybe? Hahaha. Joke! Man, I’ve seriously have to stop talking rubbish my future husband might be reading this and I don’t think he’d be … Ugh, who am I kidding my future husband will probably find this frigging hilarious.
Also FH if you are reading this you DO know that I’ll never be able to serve you a decent meal, right? But look on the bright side, at less our kids (Esri and Idrisi) will be GIS gurus by the time they’re 5.
And it’s beginning to get to me
That I know more of the stars and sea
Than I do of what’s in your head
Barely touching in our cold bed
It’s beginning to get to me by Snow Patrol
This weekend I went on an overnight hike with my parents and some of their friends. Lame, I know. It’s not that I had nothing better to do it’s simply that I couldn’t shake the image of perfect thighs that surely would result from hiking 9 hours each day. Other than grueling pain there were some moments of hilarity on the trip. On the morning before we were to leave the hut situated on the top of the mountain, for the one at the bottom, one of the old nutters called out, “Has anyone seen my panties?”
Silence from the peanut gallery.
Old nutter, “Don’t worry they’re clean.”
This story became even funnier when I found out that the old nutter had only brought one panty along with her because she apparently doesn’t stink after she exercises.
Unfortunately I don’t have any picture of the hike with me but I’ll put some up later. Anyway tomorrow I bring you a meme that Mickey has forced me to complete.
Oh and BTW my birthday is on the 8th of December …
