Anal Sex, is it worth it?

I just can’t seem to get away with this subject. A phone call from a mate yesterday had me reeling in wonder:

Mate: You’ll never guess what I’m doing!
Me: I dunno… having your bikini line waxed?

RrrrrrrrrrrRrrrrrrrrrrip!

Mate: Holy Mother of Gaaaaaaad! Yup, and after that I’m having my anoos bleached.
Me: Your anoos? As in, your anus? As in, you are making your bum hole hairs white?
Mate: Absolutely. Its the new brazillian.
Me: You are fucking insane.

Surely, for the love of all things sweet, pure and innocent, if you are planning on letting your partner insert his … in your … as a couple you are way passed the point of complaining about ass hair and how brown the actual insert spot is?

Mucking Fad, I swear to baby Alli praying in his Mosk…

Things I don’t understand

Foreword: Mom if you read this, it was Loulou who suggested it, blame her. I am still virginly innocent in my naivety, ok. Keep telling yourself that.

____________________________________________________________________

Yesterday on the way home I was driving along, quite merrily when I came to stop at the red robot. In my idling car, I happily sang along to Michael Buble’s ‘You’re Everything’ when I noticed him.

Smoking away in his car, bobbing his head to his unce, unce, unce “music” and looking ultra cool even tho the boot of his GTI was half open with what appeared to be half a fridge sticking out. I watched him in my mirror, thinking of all sorts of lovely names to call him. I’d seen him around over the last couple of years, so he was local, and right in between calling him a dork and wanker, it dawned on me. I knew this man a little more than I would care to remind myself. I mean, not too long ago, he had put his …. near my … and I had completely forgotten about it!

Which brings me to todays topic:

How is it that sometimes, some of us can do things which seem so right at that moment, and the next day not even think of it in the same light? Take GTI for example; we had been flirting up in the hills on a weekend away where he happened to be at the same place I was. He was keen, I knew that, but I was bored and decided to amuse myself with him. A few tequila’s later and we found ourselves to be in a place with not many other people around and we … became personal.

Skip to one year later and here I am at the robots and thats the last thing I remember about him. How screwed up is that? Not only did I feel utterly ashamed for not remembering, I felt even worse because I actually shuddered at the thought. What seemed ok back then would be totally off sides now.

Another thing I do not understand is Anal Sex. Leon (my gay bf) loves it. He raves about it. I tried it once, and thought I was literally going to kak in my pants. Up the bum, no babies may be true but I think I would prefer to fall pregnant than have something shoved up there again.

Sies man.

Note to Readers

Oh hello.

I have posted a few older items in my archives, namely:

• March 07
• April 07
• May 07

When you are bored, have a looksee. I couldn’t leave them rotting on my old blog, they feel like children to me. I always feel bad about leaving something behind if it has a name. Just like my curly-whirly spoon that’s followed me everywhere in life since I was 8years old.

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My friendly friend Flea

I love my friends. A few of them have been with me through thick and thin, a couple of them have only witnessed some parts of me and one or two of them are still getting to know me. As different to each other as they are, they all have one thing very much in common:

They are all loyal and decent and honest people, and for that I love them. I know that I moan about them all not getting along, which makes things difficult at times when I want to see all of them at once, but some how we manage to get around it. Somebody asked me the other day what my favourite things are about my friends. I couldn’t answer then, but I think I’ll do it now, starting with the original best friend, Flea:

I met Flea first. She was the biggest bitch on earth, or so I thought. She is litrally the size of a 14 year old, but fuck, that woman has attitude! She is six years older than me, but we’ve never really felt the age difference. Its either the fact that *I* am very mature, or she is trying to be mutton dressed as lamb… I think its the former.

Flea and her friend BitchyBlondeBimbo watched me one night, surrounded by a rugby team* dancing the night away on the dancefloor discussing how utterly skanky I was as I had a poor guy, beautiful in personality and looks, waiting for me at home. Little did they know that the very same beautifulinpersonalityandlooks guy was screwing my “best friend” and I had just found out. I was mad as hell, as I’m sure you can understand, and when they confronted me about it, and I let them in on my situation, Flea switched teams very quickly.

You see, when she had found out about her bf cheating on her she politely smashed a glass over his head in front of all his friends and humiliated him. So together, we decided I needed lessons with man-revenge. And so was the start of beautiful friendship.

Over the years, we have both grown up so much. From the days of partying it up in the clubs to where we are now are two very different kinds of people. Flea went from waitress/kindergarten teacher to working for one of the biggest companies there is, and is now in senior management. I still can’t believe that it was only four years ago I had to teach her how emails worked.

I think if I really had to pick only one thing that I love about her, other than the fact that she fits right in with my family and makes herself completely comfortable at my parents house, is that she has the ability to get along with any type of person, as she has pretty much been there and seen it all. We both started out as young, naive and vulnerable girls and have grown up to be something completely different, yet without losing sight of who we are, or our friendship that we find in eachother.

Even tho she is so tiny, she has a heart big enough to fit an elephant and is someone I will always feel ok being myself with.

* I love vaalie season. Rugby teams from all over transvaal come to the coast to compete in curry cups and what what and us local south coast girls get to reap the benefits of hairy, sweaty, manly men who run around in skin tight shorts and almost always no shirts. Yum.

Live Funerals

Have you ever heard of anyone holding a funeral for themselves before they die? Think about it, its the one party where the entire event is dedicated to how fanfuckingtastic you are. Not like birthdays or anniversaries, where people are there out of jealousy to see how fat you’ve got, or how kak your boyfriend is. When you die, no one is jealous. And if they are, then they seriously have some suicidal issues to deal with.

So, your funeral attendees are there to sympathise with your loved ones and remember only the good things about you, because if they even think anything bad about you, its a curse on them. You know, because of that old fishwives tale: Do noteth speak illeth of the deadeth. I think I’m going to do that. The invitations could be set out in obituary style, something like this:

We regret to inform you that the Famous She Bee, 23, Author of The Blog, If these Walls Could Talk (thought out and written down on the Lower South Coast of South Africa) sadly, and most horrifically, pegged on Friday 13th October 2007*.

Miss Bee was born in vaalieland and grew up to be a responsible and looked-up-to person in her community. She was a sexy secretary, most valued at her Place of Employment. Her boss misses her terribly and promises to avenge her death by murdering the culprit with use and means of the ‘post it’ as his choice of weaponry.

SheBee was a member of many online groups, had a few close friends, an overgrown proportion of a family and had very many animals. She loved to dance, sing and listen to white noise. SheBee was the daughter of a car sales lady, and two very different men. One an electrical engineer, the other a banker-turned-construction worker. She was a sad young spinster who never got the chance to be a ball and chain, much to the dismay of all the young eligible bachelors who chased her in her living life**.

Miss Bee is survived by her two birds, Left and Right and also her two*** dogs,Susie and Milo. If you would like to get technical, one supposes the two geckos who preside in her home might miss her a touch too, as she always lovingly tried to pee-shoot them with her BB Gun. Please send money with your RSVP in order to feed Miss Bee’s surviving animals.

A memorial service will be held on Wednesday, 15th October 2007 @ {insert secret local location} at 3:00 PM where the great rock band, REM will be playing a tribute to their no.1 fan while you party away in the moonlight. Please RSVP to {insert living friends who care} by no later than two days before the Memorial service, where you will be required to bring along the following:

1. Your own booze. (She always was a cheap-skate)
2. One funny hat (To be worn)
3. Money (For her animals, doofus)

* I hope I have not jinxed myself to lie down and die on this date. Watch out for the 13th of October, if you don’t see a post, know I am fucked.

** I wish.

*** Yes, you read correctly. I have now inhereted another dog. This one is old and blind and was going to be put down, so the stupid (dumbfuck) chic in me couldn’t let that happen and I decided to keep him. His name is Milo.

Shit I hope this doesn’t offend anybody. You know how touchy those bloody Americans can get. Hahahhaa.

Kidding.

(Not actually, though)

Theft, bribery, nudity – its a Safrican thing!

On Saturday night we decided to go watch the rugby at Schoeners. I thought after Friday night, we’d have a quiet drink or two and go home once SA had won the match. You know what thought did, right? He got out of bed to tuck his feet in!

Little did I know, we would walk into a bachelor party. And then befriend the bachelors. I had no intention really, until the NO. 1 Batchelor Bull himself came up to me (pissed) on command of his fellow friends, and complement me on my boobs. Usually I roll my eyes at this and mutter an annoyed “Thanks”. Tonight, however, I had a few in me, and was feeling pretty jovial as the DJ had heard it was my bday week and dedicated my favourite songs to me. I complemented him on his jug instead, taped to his arm. He was delighted with the pun and hauled me over to his mates to whom I was formally introduced. All thoughts of an early evening went out the window from there.

My dad and Trace were already on the dancefloor, Brother Darryn had escaped the house and studying and was well on his way to drunkdom. I drunkenly texed a mate, who arrived with a crowd of other mates, Sister Ash and I were challenged to a game of strip pool. Out of politeness we accepted graciously.

The Loser had to strip = the longest pool competition of ever. After about half an hour in, thrity million sunken white balls, three flicks of the stick and balls rolling all over the floor, Ash was clever enough to distract Bull #2 by bending over to pick up her bag while he sunk the black ball.

Here is the result:

Despite being invited to go home with the Bachelor Boys for coffee and cake*, Ash and I declined and blamed the parents. Eventually at 3am we decided to go home.

With shouts all the way up the road, ducking and diving from the cops who followed us with their lights off, we got to the gate and were followed home by Dad and Darryn who hooted all the way up my driveway.

They were pretty chuffed with themselves, and I only found out why once I started video camering them:

Turns out, when we pub crawled to the next place after Schoeners closed, they spotted their rugby mascots behind the bar, a Blue Bull for Darryn and a Shark for Dad. Somehow, Darryn distracted the barman while Dad swiped the mascots** and put them in the car. Also, the stole*** a flag from Schoeners while the rugby was on. I cannot take my family anywhere!

*Very nice guys, and had they not been celebrating a pending marriage one week away, or been a little better known to me, or not been so cliche’d about the ‘coffee’ ruse, I might have considered going home with them. Or maybe not.

**Warrick came to visit me yesterday and immediately recognised the mascots from The Pub. He is there all the time so he knows the place pretty well. Jokingly he says ‘Hey, those are the ones from xxxx’s! I nearly thought you guys stolen them!’ as he looks over to my dad, unsure of himself.

You could hear the crickets creaking…

***I have convinced them to take them all back to the respective owners of said pub, where they will leave the mascots in a box with a note of apology, which I will be writing apparently. I fail to see the humour the owners will have when they spot the cracks and chips in their beloved Bull, which was knocked over by Susie yesterday morning. In all fairness, my dad has glued it back together…

A couple of things

1. I’ve been reading through a few comments on my favourite blog/friend/mentor/woman i have a few things in common with. Her readers mentioned that they don’t like reading blogs about the authors rambling on about themselves.

To a degree I can understand that, yes no one wants to read sentence after sentence about how fanfuckingtastic I am, but surely the purpose of a blog is to write about MY life, my experiences, my thoughts and my situations. Taking that a step further, wouldn’t that equal to writing about just ME?

Even now as I type this I am feeling kinda self conscious about writing the words “I, ME, MINE” and am wondering if I should feel justified. I dunno, what do you think?

2. With regards to looking things up on the internet, have I possibly missed something. Americans seem to be able to google just anything, and get their answer. I usually have to type in six or seven variations before I come close to understanding. Do they have:

• Better search engines?
• Cleverer use of search words that they type in?
• Better questions?

There are a couple of topics I want to write about soon, I just don’t seem to be able to find the concentration/energy/time/drive to do so just now, so I am officially leaving myself a to do list.

FOR ME TO-DO:

1. Post on Flea, to prove she does feature in my life and is worthy of a mention, as per her snotty email this morning
2. Paternal Parentals moving in, me camping in the lounge
3. Aunt LouLouBell’s ability to balance on two wheels
4. Anal sex, is it really worth it?
5. Phases of My Life & Personality Changes

Thanks, that is all for today.

PS: Dad and Trace arrived late last night. Am tired. **Yawn**

Humphry Bumphry to Me!

Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday Dear Meee-eeeee
Happy Birthday to Me

So usually I wake up to a crowd of family throwing presents at me, or at least a sexy hairy man giving me another sort of birthday present, one that doesnt involve gift wrapping and ribbons, but today I woke up to Susie licking my nose and whining to go outside. The minute I stepped out of bed I slid on some pee that she so kindly left me right next to my bed side table.

I got to the kitchen and the birds started screetching for some attention and food, put on the kettle for myself, walked outside to see what Susie was up to and saw my mom driving up the driveway and it dawned on me:

I am 23 years old today. I have basically achieved my goals that I set for myself before I was 23. I have my own home. I have my own car. I pay my own bills. I am happy and satisfied with my life for the first time in forever.

I am me. And it feels good.