Hi guys
Ok I'm back and I'm feeling great. How's the week been?
Let's just jump straight into it shall we?
I was invited to a blogger get together at Cranks in Rivonia on Friday night by ExMi. Naturally I accepted and when Friday night rolled around I found myself a really excited and just a little nervous. I'd never met these people before but I knew all about their lives already, it was an interesting dynamic.
When I arrived ExMi and I both decided that eating was out of the question and that drinking was the way to go. To take the edge off the nerves I ordered myself a beer and settled into getting to know a whole bunch of the Joburg bloggers and twitterers I'd been following for the past few months. It was great and I ended up having a fantastic time.
I left at around 11:30 and on the drive home I got a call from my girlfriend to let me know that the cops were everywhere and that I should be careful. Super, I decided to take the back roads. I knew that the pigs always trapped under a certain bridge very close to my house so I decided to go over the bridge in the hopes that I wouldn't be pulled over. I wasn't that lucky.
As I drove further down William Nicol drive I slowly began to realize that the bastards had moved the road block further back to catch people like me. I began to experience a sinking feeling when the police began to pull me in with their tractor beam torches, ushering my car to the side of the road.
I opened my window to the (very brand new, wet behind the ears) policeman. The conversation went something like this:
Policeman: Eh Boss. Can I see your licence?
Tom: Evening officer, sure.
*This is when I frantically start searching for my wallet. Turns out I forgot that I put it in my glove box when I arrived at Cranks. If anything made me look drunk it was me pulling my car apart trying to find the darn thing.
Tom: There you go officer
Policeman: Thomas, you are young (um thanks?) have you been drinking?
Tom: No sir, I'm just on my way home. See those lights there? (Points to the nearest intersection) I just have to turn there and then I'm back.
Policeman: Thomas I think you have been drinking and now you must blow.
Tom: Sir, with the utmost respect, I just want to get home. If you must test me I'd like a Drager test and to see the certificate of competency for the operator.
Policeman: *calls supervisor
Supervisor: Come now sir, you must blow. Get out of the car.
Tom: Ma'am I'd respectfully like a Drager test please.
Supervisor: No! You must blow! (tries to open my car door, it's locked) Come, we are going to see the supervisor.
Tom: Ok
Supervisor's Supervisor: Boy, you must blow now (how many times did they have to say that?)
Tom: Sir, I just asked for a Drager Test.
Supervisor's Supervisor: *Laughs in my face
Tom: Sir, I'm being really respectful, I'm not trying to cause trouble.
Supervisor's Supervisor: Bring me the handcuffs!
Tom: Erm what?
Supervisor's Supervisor: Resisting arrest!
Tom: Ok ok I'll do the breathalyzer test.
That didn't help. This 6 foot 7 inch odd man pushed me onto the police car and slapped those handcuffs on like I was his bitch. I have a feeling he'd been waiting all night for something like this to happen because he pushed me into that police van like he was the protagonist in an episode of Miami Vice (without the pale blue suits and cocaine). I sat down; hands cuffed behind my back and uttered a single word.
Shit.
I turned around to greet my fellow inmates.
Tom: Hi guys
Dude 1: Why do you have handcuffs on?
Tom: I'm not sure actually, no one explained to me why I'm being arrested and I didn't have a breathalyzer test.
Dude 1: That's ridiculous.
Dude 2: We're all in for drinking; they said that they're going to take us to Loveday Police Station.
Tom: Where is that?
Dude 1: In the CBD, it's not a great place.
Tom: Crap, um could you do me a favour?
Dude 1: Sure, what?
Tom: Could you take my phone out of my pocket, press the green button, dial the first number and hold it to my ear?
I managed to place a very awkward phone call to my sleeping girlfriend as the police started the car up and drove us away at about a zillion miles per hour. Now I'm not sure if you've ever sat in a police van with handcuffs on driving at a zillion miles per hour but I can tell you that it's tough to hold on.
With my phone safely back in my pocket, my hands behind my back and my girlfriend frantically calling everyone I knew we headed off into the darkness to meet an uncertain fate.
And that's where I'll leave you for now. In the next post I'll tell you guys all about the test,
Douglasdale Police Station and Randburg Cells.
Until then....
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Update
Hi all
Wondering why I've been a little scarce lately? Well, to put it bluntly, I was arrested on Friday evening after the Joburg Bloggers get together. I was thrown into a police car, handcuffed and without explanation and taken to a police station for an alcohol test. I waited for five hours before I was tested at which point they found me only marginally over the legal limit, threw me back into a police car and took me to another station. I hadn't eaten for 14 hours by then and it turns out that this affected the amount of alcohol in my blood. After having my papers processed I was transported to cells where I sat, without food or drink for a further 10 hours. Eventually, after what seemed a lifetime I was released on free bail and ordered to appear in court on Monday morning.
On Monday I waited for hours with my attorney until the court decided to postpone my case until May, pending blood results. They never took my blood. This should work in my favour and there is a 90% chance that it will simply be thrown out.
It was the worst experience of my life and I'm still not quite right.
Sorry for the lack of posts and comments lately. Please don't stop following my blog, I'll be back to normal in a few days, at which point I'll write a few posts documenting the experience. For now please just bear with me, I don't have too much humour stocked up at the moment.
Lots of love
Wondering why I've been a little scarce lately? Well, to put it bluntly, I was arrested on Friday evening after the Joburg Bloggers get together. I was thrown into a police car, handcuffed and without explanation and taken to a police station for an alcohol test. I waited for five hours before I was tested at which point they found me only marginally over the legal limit, threw me back into a police car and took me to another station. I hadn't eaten for 14 hours by then and it turns out that this affected the amount of alcohol in my blood. After having my papers processed I was transported to cells where I sat, without food or drink for a further 10 hours. Eventually, after what seemed a lifetime I was released on free bail and ordered to appear in court on Monday morning.
On Monday I waited for hours with my attorney until the court decided to postpone my case until May, pending blood results. They never took my blood. This should work in my favour and there is a 90% chance that it will simply be thrown out.
It was the worst experience of my life and I'm still not quite right.
Sorry for the lack of posts and comments lately. Please don't stop following my blog, I'll be back to normal in a few days, at which point I'll write a few posts documenting the experience. For now please just bear with me, I don't have too much humour stocked up at the moment.
Lots of love
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Blog Swop!
Hello there . Startled? I’m sure you are. No, I’m not Tom, but close enough. Blog twin, am I. I go by the name of ‘ExMi’. We decided to swap blogs today, and have ourselves a little TMI Thursday party. What does that mean? It’s a day to overshare. And I plan to overshare, like, a lot.
Much like Tom’s story, mine takes me back to first year at university. My mate, Furburger (don’t ask) and I decided it would be smart to drive down to our other mate’s beach cottage for the afternoon. So we stopped at home first for the essentials
1. as many bottles of wine as we could find, including a bottle of cane and sherry;
2. cigarettes - 2 cartons – yes, for the afternoon.
3. Money – we managed to scrounge about forty bucks between us.
4. Petrol card – on account of how we were students, and didn’t have any money for petrol.
5. Sunblock – because we’re practical like that.
6. Flip-flops – because we were going to the beach.
7. Bikinis – see above reason.
You might have noticed that we didn’t pack any clothes. You might be wondering about that. Yeah. We only thought we’d be staying for the afternoon, but landed up staying for about four days. Well, I did anyway. Furburger went home the next day, and I landed up staying in a wooden house with 9 rugby-playing, beer-drinking jocks.
We arrived at the Chateau de Drunken Jocks, and were greeted at the door by men in Speedos. It was pretty. Pretty revolting. Forced us to down tequila, and opened every bottle of booze we brought with. Each person was assigned a bottle of booze, and it was their duty to finish it. This involved persuading other people to do down-downs out your bottle. There might have been drinking games, and there may or may not have been strip-blackjack involved. Blackjack? Yes. Because at that stage, poker was too complicated. No one had poker-faces, everyone was far too shit-faced.
The boys, who were dealing, of course cheated. Us girls landed up naked. They were really bad cheats too, because they landed up naked too. Although, now that I think about it, that might have been the whole point. You might also be thinking that it would be very easy for them to get naked, since they were wearing speedos. Not so. When it was decided we’d be playing a game with stripping involved, they rushed back to their rooms to put on every single article of clothing they’d brought with them.
And so there we all were, naked. Somewhere in between the chasing each other round the house screaming, and being willy-slapped and boozing, the sun had set. So we decided it would be the perfect time to go to the beach. Because the best time to be on the beach is after dark.
We had one problem though.
Drew, the smartness he is, thought it was hilarious and disgustingly funny to throw all our clothes over the wall into the neighbour’s garden. And it wasn’t like we could go and retrieve them. These people had massive Dobermans, and I wasn’t exactly volunteering to go stand at their gate and ring the door bell in my birthday suit.
So. The mission to the beach had to be undercover.
Even though the sun had set, it was still pretty bright. Full moon and all. The road to the beach was also rather busy, cars driving past every few seconds. So we set out, the 11 of us, all butt-ass naked. Except for our sunglasses, and towels over our shoulders. Seemed like a good idea at the time, I tell you.
The 11 of us took a naked march down the main road in this little seaside town. Every time a car drove past, we dived into the bushes, and pretended to be deer. Why? Because it was a good idea at the time. Sometimes we didn’t make it undercover in time, and it must have been a sight. 11 naked bums, 9 penises, 4 boobs and 2 vaginas. People hooted. It was a spectacle. If there were no bushes to dive into for cover, we’d throw ourselves down flat on the path, and cover our heads with our arms, like we were under attack from above. Shrieking with laughter.
Anyway, we arrived at the beach, battered and bruised from all the bush-diving, and covered with bits of gravel from the path. Somehow, we decided it would be a smart thing to play touch-rugby. One problem. We had no rugby ball.
So basically this game involved Furburger and I being chased around the beach by 9 naked men, and being tackled to the ground repeatedly. I got in a few groin-kicks, so it was a prett fair game.
Somehow we lost a few members of the party, and I landed up wandering down the beach with Bucket and P Diddy (names they’d assigned themselves for the weekend, strangely enough). Now, we’d had enough of this running around on the beach thing, and were starting to get sober. So we decided to duck back to the house, and get stuck back into the booze. So we went ahead of the others.
They followed shortly thereafter. Bucket came up with a fantastic idea that we should hide in the bushes, and as they came past, we’d jump out screaming and scare the bejesus out of them. Somehow, they landed up getting past us, without us noticing. And they apparently lay up in the bushes in wait for us. So there we all were, naked, hiding in bushes, trying to scare each other. Eventually I get fed up, and take a stroll down the middle of the road, pretending nonchalance, but actually shitting myself in the dark, all alone.
I snuck up behind German and Frank the Tank (yeah, I know, they’re lame like that) and decided it would be funny to run past them screaming like someone was chasing me. I did. They didn’t even seem to notice, so deep in drunken conversation were they. Either that, or behavior like that was so common-place that they didn’t even bat an eyelid.
I got back to the house first. I don’t know where everyone else was. I managed to climb over the front gate and climb through the bathroom window after standing on Gary Player’s car (yes, he’s corny like that) and hauling myself up. I rummaged around in the bedrooms, for clothing, and discovered that there was nothing that these boys had brought with them that was clean and non-smelly. I eventually ripped a sheet off the bed, wrapped it around me, and declared myself a Roman.
The rest of the group trickled in slowly, in various states of disrepair. P Diddy had to be carried, on account of how he’d stubbed his toe and was on death’s doorstep. I decided, at 2 in the morning, that now that I was clothed, I could go ring the neighbour’s bell and ask for my clothes back.
I rang, and rang and rang and rang. Shouted and screamed and woke just about the entire road up. But these people never came to the gate. I don’t even think they were there. Eventually I gave up, and decided to call it quits and go find something to drink.
Sherry and cane was about all that was left, and we got stuck in. the next game of choice was Truth, Dare or Command. Sparky (he’s called that because of all the bright ideas) then dared German to start a fire, and burn everyone’s clothes. And of course in the drunken stoned state we were, we thought it was hilarious. I didn’t care, because I was under the impression that I’d be getting my clothes in the morning when the neighbours woke up.
Turns out the neighbours had gone away. I never got my clothes back. In the morning, once we’d sobered up and realized we all had no clothes, but needed to go to the bottle store for more booze, everyone followed my lead, and ripped off bedsheets, raided the cupboards for towels. Frank The Tank found a maid’s outfit, which he wore. So off we went, to the local mall, me dressed in a brown-paisley (elasticated) bedsheet, flip-flops and sunglasses.
I found a Pep Stores, looked in my wallet, and discovered enough money (coins) to buy myself some underwear. I’m not proud, but I bought Pep Panties that day. Pink ones. I had to, we were going to the beach after the mall, and it wasn’t a nudist beach. So, I spent the day in pink panties, on the beach. Of course, I took my brown paisley (elasticated) sheet along for the ride. And the boys all bought themselves some underpants as well, and clung to their sheets and towels too. Once the boys had bought underpants, they then all tied their sheets around their necks, like Superman capes, and ran around the mall screaming and pretending to fly. Eventually we were asked to leave. I don’t blame them.
A lovely day cooking in the sun, getting plastered and playing silly buggers. We got back to the house, and made one last attempt at retrieving our clothes from the neighbours. No luck, and no one wanted to chance it with the huge slavering guarddogs. So I spent another evening lounging around in my brown paisley (elasticated) bedsheet.
The next morning we all had to return to Durban. We had homes to go to, parents who were worried about us, and exams to study for. The drive home, all of us clothed in Pep underpanters and bedsheets was, well, mortifiying. We were all very much sober at this stage.
The whole way home I was worrying about how I was going to explain to my dad why I arrived home three days later, wearing only my flip-flops, sunglasses and a brown paisley (elasticated) bedsheet.
Turns out I didn’t have to explain, my dad wasn’t home. I threw the Pep Pink Panties and Brown Paisley (Elasticated) Bedsheet in the bin, and pretended nothing had happened. When my dad asked me how my weekend was, and what we’d done, I told him we had a Roman party.
He knew better than to ask, because the conversation stopped there. Needless to say, I can’t pass a Pep Stores without remembering my Roman Weekend. Nor can I ever look at bedsheets quite the same way again.
All I see is myself, running down the main road, with my sheet tied around my neck, billowing out behind me, being chased by my guy friends all trying to spank me with their flip-flops, and tackle me to the ground so they could penis-slap me on the forehead and nose.
Yup. And that, my friends, is why it’s never smart for girls to join boys on a boys-only weekend.
Much like Tom’s story, mine takes me back to first year at university. My mate, Furburger (don’t ask) and I decided it would be smart to drive down to our other mate’s beach cottage for the afternoon. So we stopped at home first for the essentials
1. as many bottles of wine as we could find, including a bottle of cane and sherry;
2. cigarettes - 2 cartons – yes, for the afternoon.
3. Money – we managed to scrounge about forty bucks between us.
4. Petrol card – on account of how we were students, and didn’t have any money for petrol.
5. Sunblock – because we’re practical like that.
6. Flip-flops – because we were going to the beach.
7. Bikinis – see above reason.
You might have noticed that we didn’t pack any clothes. You might be wondering about that. Yeah. We only thought we’d be staying for the afternoon, but landed up staying for about four days. Well, I did anyway. Furburger went home the next day, and I landed up staying in a wooden house with 9 rugby-playing, beer-drinking jocks.
We arrived at the Chateau de Drunken Jocks, and were greeted at the door by men in Speedos. It was pretty. Pretty revolting. Forced us to down tequila, and opened every bottle of booze we brought with. Each person was assigned a bottle of booze, and it was their duty to finish it. This involved persuading other people to do down-downs out your bottle. There might have been drinking games, and there may or may not have been strip-blackjack involved. Blackjack? Yes. Because at that stage, poker was too complicated. No one had poker-faces, everyone was far too shit-faced.
The boys, who were dealing, of course cheated. Us girls landed up naked. They were really bad cheats too, because they landed up naked too. Although, now that I think about it, that might have been the whole point. You might also be thinking that it would be very easy for them to get naked, since they were wearing speedos. Not so. When it was decided we’d be playing a game with stripping involved, they rushed back to their rooms to put on every single article of clothing they’d brought with them.
And so there we all were, naked. Somewhere in between the chasing each other round the house screaming, and being willy-slapped and boozing, the sun had set. So we decided it would be the perfect time to go to the beach. Because the best time to be on the beach is after dark.
We had one problem though.
Drew, the smartness he is, thought it was hilarious and disgustingly funny to throw all our clothes over the wall into the neighbour’s garden. And it wasn’t like we could go and retrieve them. These people had massive Dobermans, and I wasn’t exactly volunteering to go stand at their gate and ring the door bell in my birthday suit.
So. The mission to the beach had to be undercover.
Even though the sun had set, it was still pretty bright. Full moon and all. The road to the beach was also rather busy, cars driving past every few seconds. So we set out, the 11 of us, all butt-ass naked. Except for our sunglasses, and towels over our shoulders. Seemed like a good idea at the time, I tell you.
The 11 of us took a naked march down the main road in this little seaside town. Every time a car drove past, we dived into the bushes, and pretended to be deer. Why? Because it was a good idea at the time. Sometimes we didn’t make it undercover in time, and it must have been a sight. 11 naked bums, 9 penises, 4 boobs and 2 vaginas. People hooted. It was a spectacle. If there were no bushes to dive into for cover, we’d throw ourselves down flat on the path, and cover our heads with our arms, like we were under attack from above. Shrieking with laughter.
Anyway, we arrived at the beach, battered and bruised from all the bush-diving, and covered with bits of gravel from the path. Somehow, we decided it would be a smart thing to play touch-rugby. One problem. We had no rugby ball.
So basically this game involved Furburger and I being chased around the beach by 9 naked men, and being tackled to the ground repeatedly. I got in a few groin-kicks, so it was a prett fair game.
Somehow we lost a few members of the party, and I landed up wandering down the beach with Bucket and P Diddy (names they’d assigned themselves for the weekend, strangely enough). Now, we’d had enough of this running around on the beach thing, and were starting to get sober. So we decided to duck back to the house, and get stuck back into the booze. So we went ahead of the others.
They followed shortly thereafter. Bucket came up with a fantastic idea that we should hide in the bushes, and as they came past, we’d jump out screaming and scare the bejesus out of them. Somehow, they landed up getting past us, without us noticing. And they apparently lay up in the bushes in wait for us. So there we all were, naked, hiding in bushes, trying to scare each other. Eventually I get fed up, and take a stroll down the middle of the road, pretending nonchalance, but actually shitting myself in the dark, all alone.
I snuck up behind German and Frank the Tank (yeah, I know, they’re lame like that) and decided it would be funny to run past them screaming like someone was chasing me. I did. They didn’t even seem to notice, so deep in drunken conversation were they. Either that, or behavior like that was so common-place that they didn’t even bat an eyelid.
I got back to the house first. I don’t know where everyone else was. I managed to climb over the front gate and climb through the bathroom window after standing on Gary Player’s car (yes, he’s corny like that) and hauling myself up. I rummaged around in the bedrooms, for clothing, and discovered that there was nothing that these boys had brought with them that was clean and non-smelly. I eventually ripped a sheet off the bed, wrapped it around me, and declared myself a Roman.
The rest of the group trickled in slowly, in various states of disrepair. P Diddy had to be carried, on account of how he’d stubbed his toe and was on death’s doorstep. I decided, at 2 in the morning, that now that I was clothed, I could go ring the neighbour’s bell and ask for my clothes back.
I rang, and rang and rang and rang. Shouted and screamed and woke just about the entire road up. But these people never came to the gate. I don’t even think they were there. Eventually I gave up, and decided to call it quits and go find something to drink.
Sherry and cane was about all that was left, and we got stuck in. the next game of choice was Truth, Dare or Command. Sparky (he’s called that because of all the bright ideas) then dared German to start a fire, and burn everyone’s clothes. And of course in the drunken stoned state we were, we thought it was hilarious. I didn’t care, because I was under the impression that I’d be getting my clothes in the morning when the neighbours woke up.
Turns out the neighbours had gone away. I never got my clothes back. In the morning, once we’d sobered up and realized we all had no clothes, but needed to go to the bottle store for more booze, everyone followed my lead, and ripped off bedsheets, raided the cupboards for towels. Frank The Tank found a maid’s outfit, which he wore. So off we went, to the local mall, me dressed in a brown-paisley (elasticated) bedsheet, flip-flops and sunglasses.
I found a Pep Stores, looked in my wallet, and discovered enough money (coins) to buy myself some underwear. I’m not proud, but I bought Pep Panties that day. Pink ones. I had to, we were going to the beach after the mall, and it wasn’t a nudist beach. So, I spent the day in pink panties, on the beach. Of course, I took my brown paisley (elasticated) sheet along for the ride. And the boys all bought themselves some underpants as well, and clung to their sheets and towels too. Once the boys had bought underpants, they then all tied their sheets around their necks, like Superman capes, and ran around the mall screaming and pretending to fly. Eventually we were asked to leave. I don’t blame them.
A lovely day cooking in the sun, getting plastered and playing silly buggers. We got back to the house, and made one last attempt at retrieving our clothes from the neighbours. No luck, and no one wanted to chance it with the huge slavering guarddogs. So I spent another evening lounging around in my brown paisley (elasticated) bedsheet.
The next morning we all had to return to Durban. We had homes to go to, parents who were worried about us, and exams to study for. The drive home, all of us clothed in Pep underpanters and bedsheets was, well, mortifiying. We were all very much sober at this stage.
The whole way home I was worrying about how I was going to explain to my dad why I arrived home three days later, wearing only my flip-flops, sunglasses and a brown paisley (elasticated) bedsheet.
Turns out I didn’t have to explain, my dad wasn’t home. I threw the Pep Pink Panties and Brown Paisley (Elasticated) Bedsheet in the bin, and pretended nothing had happened. When my dad asked me how my weekend was, and what we’d done, I told him we had a Roman party.
He knew better than to ask, because the conversation stopped there. Needless to say, I can’t pass a Pep Stores without remembering my Roman Weekend. Nor can I ever look at bedsheets quite the same way again.
All I see is myself, running down the main road, with my sheet tied around my neck, billowing out behind me, being chased by my guy friends all trying to spank me with their flip-flops, and tackle me to the ground so they could penis-slap me on the forehead and nose.
Yup. And that, my friends, is why it’s never smart for girls to join boys on a boys-only weekend.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
To Cat or not to Cat?
Still no phone call today kids, I'm beginning to get a little despondent here. I've spent all day looking at my phone and checking my mail, waiting for just a little information. Its weird how this has been affecting my mood, someone called on private number and never left a message and I found myself more than a little annoyed.
Seriously. What can I do with a private number if you don't leave me a message you tool? Do you expect me to magically divine where you came from and who you are? I'm not a super computer, so how about next time you call you leave me a message telling me what you wanted.
In other news we may be getting a cat. After the Guinea Pig Debacle I was left feeling somewhat over cautious towards getting another furry friend. It's a big responsibility to take care of a pet and you have to be prepared to shoulder that responsibility for the rest of the animals’ life. After a lot of thinking I started considering the idea of a cat last week, we have quite a few in our complex and they're relatively easy animals to keep thanks to their 'screw you' attitudes. When I found out that they can get used to life in a flat I thought it might not be such a bad idea.
Well today it was like fate (whatever that is) hit me on the head. Sleepyjane twittered that someone she knew was giving away kittens and, knowing that Lee would be thrilled with the idea, I asked her for the number.
My girlfriend was predictably giddy over the idea and a result we're probably going to see the little critters tonight. Any ideas for names?
I ran into this picture on facebook today and I had to think long and hard about posting it because it's ridiculously embarrassing. Thanks to the urgings of ExMi I decided to let you guys have a look see at me aged 18, in the height of my band days. Here it goes....
I know, I'll never live it down.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
A State of Flux
I've been waiting all frikken day for an e mail or a phone call. Not from just anyone mind you, this e-call (that's what I'm going to call it) is important. I can't tell you guys what it's about or who it's from just yet but if you follow me on Twitter then you might have some idea of what I'm talking about. I know you're probably wondering why I'm not divulging any juicy details; this blog is full of those after all so what's another post? Well if this doesn't come together they way I want it to then I'm going to reserve the right to stick my head into the ground in peace.
Hopefully the e-call will come through early tomorrow morning and I'll be able to tell you all the good news. For now I'm going to leave you with a song that describes how I'll be feeling if things go my way:
The Police - Walking on the Moon
Giant steps are what you take
Walking on the moon
I hope my legs don’t break
Walking on the moon
We could walk for ever
Walking on the moon
We could live together
Walking on, walking on the moon
Walking back from your house
Walking on the moon
Walking back from your house
Walking on the moon
Feet they hardly touch the ground
Walking on the moon
My feet don’t hardly make no sound
Walking on, walking on the moon
Some may say
I’m wishing my days away, no way
And if it’s the price I pay, some say
Tomorrows another day, you’ll stay
I may as well play
Giant steps are what you take
Walking on the moon
I hope my legs don’t break
Walking on the moon
We could walk for ever
Walking on the moon
We could be together
Walking on, walking on the moon
Some may say
I’m wishing my days away no way
And if it’s the price I pay, some say
Tomorrows another day, you’ll stay
I may as well play
PS: I'm still determined to write a post on new age evangelism but I'm having a little trouble tracking down the information I'm looking for. Give me a few days!
Hopefully the e-call will come through early tomorrow morning and I'll be able to tell you all the good news. For now I'm going to leave you with a song that describes how I'll be feeling if things go my way:
The Police - Walking on the Moon
Giant steps are what you take
Walking on the moon
I hope my legs don’t break
Walking on the moon
We could walk for ever
Walking on the moon
We could live together
Walking on, walking on the moon
Walking back from your house
Walking on the moon
Walking back from your house
Walking on the moon
Feet they hardly touch the ground
Walking on the moon
My feet don’t hardly make no sound
Walking on, walking on the moon
Some may say
I’m wishing my days away, no way
And if it’s the price I pay, some say
Tomorrows another day, you’ll stay
I may as well play
Giant steps are what you take
Walking on the moon
I hope my legs don’t break
Walking on the moon
We could walk for ever
Walking on the moon
We could be together
Walking on, walking on the moon
Some may say
I’m wishing my days away no way
And if it’s the price I pay, some say
Tomorrows another day, you’ll stay
I may as well play
PS: I'm still determined to write a post on new age evangelism but I'm having a little trouble tracking down the information I'm looking for. Give me a few days!
Monday, February 16, 2009
Valentine's Vindication
I caved this weekend.
After my militant anti Valentines Day post on Friday I gave in and snuggled up to every romantic ideal I could muster. It was soppy, it was gushy and it was horribly sweet (for me). It was so unlike me that I had to check myself in the mirror before I went to bed just to make sure that I hadn't turned into a sop like that Orlando Bloom fellow(what kind of a surname is Bloom?).
Why on earth would I, the anti commercialism crusader, would I fold like a deck chair? Read on, read on!
It all started on Friday evening when Lee and I decided that we'd go out for dinner to Dopio Zero. It was unpredictably empty and there were candles everywhere, it seemed to me that these guys had started celebrating V Day a little early and were wondering why the romantic atmosphere hadn't translated to a full restaurant. We drifted onto the topic of romanticism after I spent fifteen minutes moaning about pushover guys that made men/boys like me look bad. The roses in the teeth, the long hair, the poetry and the silly gestures did nothing but make us normal dudes look stupid and unromantic.
Then Lee dropped the bombshell.
Lee: "But you aren't very romantic"
Tom: "Um what? I am so romantic. I am more romantic than Casanova"
Lee: "Exactly"
Tom: "What?"
Lee: "He's dead"
Ouch.
This sparked a little something in my head. I decided to ignore everything I'd said about the fourteenth of February and move the little dinner I'd been planning to the following day.
On Saturday morning I dropped Lee at work and went straight to the shops to get me some delicacies, wine and tulips. Tulips are hard to find. Eventually, after experiencing a few "You've left it a little late buddy" looks from aged florists I tracked my prize to a backwater shrub purveyor and (reluctantly) made my purchase (holyshittulipsareexpensive!). With my booty in hand I jumped into my car and headed home to plan my next move.
Sometime that afternoon I got a call from Lee to let me know that her Dad had fixed her and that he was on his way to drop it off. Great, that meant I didn't have to pick her up. At 4pm sharp I started straightening out the house, I laid the table (candles, flowers- the whole shebang), uncorked the wine and I got to cookin'.
The menu?
Salmon, lightly glazed in a sweet and sour sesame seed marinade on a bed of succulent basmati rice, roasted vegetables (not from a bag I'll have you know) and grilled olive ciabata.
It was delicious.
Then we went to watch Burn after Reading and we had desert and coffee at Ciao Baby's.
Lee loved every minute of it. Maybe this Valentines thing isn't soooo bad.
Did I do good?
PS: I've had a wonderful explosion of new readers lately so it's only natural that I make sure you understand the status quo. I ALWAYS respond to EVERY comment you may leave on my posts, so make sure you check back if you're interested. Thank you all so much for reading!
After my militant anti Valentines Day post on Friday I gave in and snuggled up to every romantic ideal I could muster. It was soppy, it was gushy and it was horribly sweet (for me). It was so unlike me that I had to check myself in the mirror before I went to bed just to make sure that I hadn't turned into a sop like that Orlando Bloom fellow(what kind of a surname is Bloom?).
Why on earth would I, the anti commercialism crusader, would I fold like a deck chair? Read on, read on!
It all started on Friday evening when Lee and I decided that we'd go out for dinner to Dopio Zero. It was unpredictably empty and there were candles everywhere, it seemed to me that these guys had started celebrating V Day a little early and were wondering why the romantic atmosphere hadn't translated to a full restaurant. We drifted onto the topic of romanticism after I spent fifteen minutes moaning about pushover guys that made men/boys like me look bad. The roses in the teeth, the long hair, the poetry and the silly gestures did nothing but make us normal dudes look stupid and unromantic.
Then Lee dropped the bombshell.
Lee: "But you aren't very romantic"
Tom: "Um what? I am so romantic. I am more romantic than Casanova"
Lee: "Exactly"
Tom: "What?"
Lee: "He's dead"
Ouch.
This sparked a little something in my head. I decided to ignore everything I'd said about the fourteenth of February and move the little dinner I'd been planning to the following day.
On Saturday morning I dropped Lee at work and went straight to the shops to get me some delicacies, wine and tulips. Tulips are hard to find. Eventually, after experiencing a few "You've left it a little late buddy" looks from aged florists I tracked my prize to a backwater shrub purveyor and (reluctantly) made my purchase (holyshittulipsareexpensive!). With my booty in hand I jumped into my car and headed home to plan my next move.
Sometime that afternoon I got a call from Lee to let me know that her Dad had fixed her and that he was on his way to drop it off. Great, that meant I didn't have to pick her up. At 4pm sharp I started straightening out the house, I laid the table (candles, flowers- the whole shebang), uncorked the wine and I got to cookin'.
The menu?
Salmon, lightly glazed in a sweet and sour sesame seed marinade on a bed of succulent basmati rice, roasted vegetables (not from a bag I'll have you know) and grilled olive ciabata.
It was delicious.
Then we went to watch Burn after Reading and we had desert and coffee at Ciao Baby's.
Lee loved every minute of it. Maybe this Valentines thing isn't soooo bad.
Did I do good?
PS: I've had a wonderful explosion of new readers lately so it's only natural that I make sure you understand the status quo. I ALWAYS respond to EVERY comment you may leave on my posts, so make sure you check back if you're interested. Thank you all so much for reading!
Friday, February 13, 2009
V-Day Ramblings
This weekend is looking like it's going to be pretty average, and that's just how I like it. Lee and I share a common indifference towards 'V Day' as a whole and I don't see why one would have to highlight that you love someone on a predetermined date when you remind them every day (collective 'Awwwwww' please...thanks). No seriously, I'm weird like that.
This indifference has escalated itself to such a level that tomorrow Lee will be going to work from 9-5. Her car is dead at the moment so I have to drop her off and fetch her later so at least we'll share that time together. To celebrate, I'm going to battle Zombies on my TV with my friend Adrian. Romantic isn’t it?
Normally we see our folks on the weekend, either that or we clean, but this Sunday we're planning to head off to 'The Cradle of Human Kind' to look at some old bones. I noticed last week that this place of origin is only 50km's or so from where we live so I quickly decided that we should go pay homage to my ancient ancestors. I've always loved history so this should be really awesome. If we actually end up going I'll be sure to take my camera with for documentation purposes.
PS: If any of my readers are anti-evolutionary evangelists you can go suck it. It doesn't matter what you say -adding up the estimated ages of the major bible figures from Adam onwards is NOT a credible way of calculating how old the earth is. Screw it, I'm writing a post on this next week. For now I'll leave you with a pearl of wisdom - God didn't put fossils on earth to test us, they're actually dinosaur bones.
PPS: I drew a picture on paint today. It's been in my head for a while. It's a bit small so you might have to click on it to see it better, that red thing on the bottom left is a battery. Please let me know if I'm totally lame.
PPPS: My soundtrack for the weekend is 2Unlimited – No Limit
Happy weekend everybody!
This indifference has escalated itself to such a level that tomorrow Lee will be going to work from 9-5. Her car is dead at the moment so I have to drop her off and fetch her later so at least we'll share that time together. To celebrate, I'm going to battle Zombies on my TV with my friend Adrian. Romantic isn’t it?
Normally we see our folks on the weekend, either that or we clean, but this Sunday we're planning to head off to 'The Cradle of Human Kind' to look at some old bones. I noticed last week that this place of origin is only 50km's or so from where we live so I quickly decided that we should go pay homage to my ancient ancestors. I've always loved history so this should be really awesome. If we actually end up going I'll be sure to take my camera with for documentation purposes.
PS: If any of my readers are anti-evolutionary evangelists you can go suck it. It doesn't matter what you say -adding up the estimated ages of the major bible figures from Adam onwards is NOT a credible way of calculating how old the earth is. Screw it, I'm writing a post on this next week. For now I'll leave you with a pearl of wisdom - God didn't put fossils on earth to test us, they're actually dinosaur bones.
PPS: I drew a picture on paint today. It's been in my head for a while. It's a bit small so you might have to click on it to see it better, that red thing on the bottom left is a battery. Please let me know if I'm totally lame.
PPPS: My soundtrack for the weekend is 2Unlimited – No Limit
Happy weekend everybody!
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