...Continued from yesterday's blog:
WARNING!! This blog is facking long. lol.
Back to how pale DB and Champ were. Shew. There I was, while we were at the Shopping Centre for brekkie having heart failure because I had brought no sun protection for my body of any way, shape or form and needed to buy some urgently. My head would be well covered. Excuse the pun. I had 5 hats and 6 pairs of sunglasses for the two whole days we'd be there. Told you I pack like an eeeedjit. Instead I was convinced that I didn't need any sunblock.
Back to the beach scene.
So we're chilling on the beach, me acting a fool as I tend to. Spotting Phallic symbols in the jiggling Lifeguard pole (where were all the yummy lifeguards I have to ask?) and singing "I'll be ready" , the Baywatch theme, to Kat as I re-enact a scene reminiscent of the 1990 Syndicated programme, except I'm no Pammy.
I start to think that there is no way, on earth, that I am allowing my body to fry to a crisp in this day and age. I don't want to be all leathery and wrinkling by the time I'm thirty. Hell no. After all, Kat did buy me a 'David & Goliath' shirt with the slogan 'Pale is the new Tan' on owing to my pasty complexion. I have rep to uphold. Thank heavens Kat has brought along her trusty SPF 8 tanning oil.
Dude. Kids like me don't use SPF 8. SPF 20 at the least, SPF 30 on a good day. But I smother myself in the oily stuff, nonetheless. Wishing and a-hoping and a-praying that I don't look like Lobster Girl by the end of our stint in the sun - and not like that chick on the Oxy add with the flapping lobster on her forehead. Worse. Nothing is as bad as when my Vig lathered himself in Olive Oil (uhm, warning siren anyone?) in December and burnt himself to a cinder. So bad that he could hardly move without helping from the pain inflicted by his clothing rubbing against his fried upper thighs. So funny that its not funny.
I'm not one to lie in the sun leisurely and wait to be burnt to a crisp. I need to be active to keep my mind off the fact the unfiltered UV rays , largely due to the hole in the Ozone layer, are slowly converting the melanin in my skin to a more palatable colour.
The boys head off to the water's edge for a body surf and Kat and I take the opportunity to natter on the status quo, how we mysteriously are not hanging in the slightest from the night before and how desperately we wish that boys in Jozi were more like these Dirtbin boys: so polite, doting, gentlemanly, funny, fun.
Dear God.
Please make more delightful Dirtbin boys come live in Jozi or at least more boys like these two. I think I may like to marry one.
Thank you.
Amen
I mention that we should have bought Beach Bats AND sunblock while we were shopping.
Suddenly DB and Champ are off to find us Beach bats at the little shop. The come back with what could be the lamest excuse for a badminton set in all history. Champ and I attempt to play leisurely - NO CHANCE in hell. The shuttlecock aimlessly floats away in the opposite direction no matter how hard you klap it. Ball. Eventually Champ and I resort to playing with an imaginary ball. Crickey.
DB has a certain taste for humour of a cheesy nature. He is a walking cheese ball. I actually should have written down some of his cheesiest comments but that would have been too much work.
The sun is donnerse hot and we decide its time to chill a little. We head up to the beach pool to rinse off. Wowza. There sit 2 of the biggest beauts I've ever seen in my life and here I mean 'biggest' quite literally. What is with society at the moment - do they have no pride? I've always been on the lucky side with my weight and build but I still freak out if I've eaten like a starved hyena. [insert Vig's hyena call here...whoo-ooop]. Save the whale and harpoon a fat bitch I we chant.
So back to the pad we go, again wishing and a-hoping and a-praying, this time that DB's roomie, aka Shrek isn't there. Actually that's an insult to Shrek. He's Fungi. He's revolting and obscene and rude and talks to his girlfriend like trash. He deserves to be moered. He isn't there, we breathe a sigh of relief.
We all take a bit of a chill, Kat's not feeling her best as her repetitive tonsilitis is back again. So I watch rugga with the boys and listen to the thunderstorm outside.
That evening we head off to a local Toti haunt "Breezers" because DB's older bro's band is playing there for a Hippie-themed 21st. They rock. They're sorta a cross between Jack Johnson & Jason Mraz. Kiff bru.
DB's neighbour from when he was two-bricks-and-a-tickie tall (he hasn't grown that much) happens to catch fire to her hair and her funky synthetic faux fur jacket making the song lyric "Y'all I'm on fire" very opperative in this instance. Suddenly I'm having a problem breathing. Great. I try and not make it obvious but after about an hour Kat is ready to rush me to hospital. Not before we make a trip to the ladies and two bonehead, clutchplate (I'm afrikaans by heritage so I'm allowed to refer to them like that) heffalump skabberashes start tuning "Kyk daarie twee dronk twins". WTF? Why do most of the peeps in this place seem to hate 2 blonde girls that aren't from here. When Dirtbiners are in Jozi we're always the first to show them a good time. They walk past us and we're ready to pounce, even gathering newly-met and lovely Dirtbin ladies to join the fray after we've relayed the bathroom story. Grrrrr.
Champ, ever obliging to help, offers to take me to fetch my medication. I urge him to not make me laugh because it makes the situation worse and yet I can't stop laughing from the time we leave. The trip back to Breezers is pathetic - neither of us can think of anything to say because we laughed all the way there and now have run out of material.
We don't spend much longer at Breezers but don't leave before the bonehead heffalump walk past us on our way out and I start barking. I think they got the picture. Bedtime is early and this time Champ and I have to share the sleeper couch...ouch. And sorry for Champ who was subject to my post flare-up breathing.
Sunday is chilly. Its overcast. DB makes us a lovely brekkie of eggs on toast. Yum. I love food. I think I have a problem. Next thing I know we're off to Queensmead stadium to see the Toti Mens Hockey 1st Team take on Westville. Shall we pack the Tequila Kat asks. Sure. Why not?
The match is rather uneventful and I'm not the biggest hockey fan. I honestly think they're a bunch of skinnies that were to small to play rugby. I will, however, admit that it take alot of skill to play the sport and Hockey peeps are in no way any less fit than your typical Rugby player, in fact they're probably more fit overall, man for man. Suddenly the heavens open. It's bloody hailing in Durban. Have you ever? We share a sneaky tequila in between this all to keep us warm. Arrrrrriba Arrrrrriba! The astro doesnt drain in time and the rest of the match is called off.
DB joins his teammates for their Fine's meeting. Suddenly we're being summoned to join and handed a Smirnoff Spin. I'm fined for talking. Duh. Two fingers for that. Then someone's asking what our claim to fame is. Then someone has an outstanding fine from last week that happens to be a double tequila. We have tequila.
Who brings tequila to a hockey match. We do. And the team is fined for that. Kat and I are ordered to each have a double shot. Eish. Outstanding-fines guy drinks his outstanding fine and immediately regurgitates it. Attractive. And off to Joe Cool's we go.
Twas my virgin Joe Cool's experience and it was pretty cool. Again danced my bum off and we made a spectacle of ourselves. Apparently we even had an audience. Fun times.
By the time 11pm rolls around I'm knackered. We decide on a bit of padkos for the trip back to Toti and stop off at the nearest Mac D's. There is quite a queue in the drive-thru but we're in no rush so we don't stress. Then there's hooting from the rear. Some tosser with their hand plastered to the hooter. C U next Tuesday! DB jovially joins in and starts hitting Kat's hooter. I tell him to stooppit. It's very inconsiderate. He hoots again. Cheese ball!
Then there's an Indian woman in clear 'raver' glasses that storms up to the order/pay window we're at from that same rowdy car. "Y'all better get some fire under y'all asses. This isn't a f*cking Drive-thru, how can you call it that? Why don't y'all take some cocaine so y'all can f*cking run this place properly." Are you facking kidding me? WTF? No, you didn't bitch. Kat is ready to climb out the car and slap the hag. Who speaks to people like that? Who mentions cocaine unless they're a junkie themselves. We convince Kat to calm down, although I'm feeling somewhat the same. There is not reason to talk to anyone like that, and it is definitely not the lady at the window's fault.
Then there's a man from the same car that comes up to the window. Geez dude. Give them a break. Its a public holiday the next day and everyone is out on the jol. Then he's swearing at her and asking for the manager. Get us out of herrrrre.
Monday its time for us to hit the road, once again. Kat is feeling very worse for wear and it makes me worry. Her reoccurring ailments and illnesses make me think her body is beginning to tell her to "Fack off." I offer to drive but she reassures me she's fine. I don't believe her but she's stubborn. The trip home is always more chilled but still good times.
Overall a great weekend with much fun had. Special thanks to Kat aka Bokkie, Dirtbin Boy and Champ - together, with me, the 'Awesome Foursome'. Bummer to come back to cold Jozi.
Took Tanur to see the new Hannah Montana flick yesterday like I promised to and not entirely embarrased to say I enjoyed it. Ate Jelly tots and popcorn and drank Cherry Slush as promised.
There's a stunning song lil' Miss Cyrus sings that I've really taken to. It's one of those songs to help you through bumpy times. I dont care that it was written by a 16 year old with not a care in the world. It's whatever I want it to be. If you absurdly interested in what I'm talking about click this link http://www.musicloversgroup.com/miley-cyrus-the-climb-lyrics-and-video/ while I deliberate for the millionth time whether or not to make the trip to Swazi for Biltong Bro Part II's 30th. My Majer says no. Not sure the Faj cares. Yes. No. Yes. no...yes....no....
Hails x
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