Tag Archives: The world is flat and I’m actually a round ball.

How do I write a blog post without sounding like a total bitch?

So I haven’t written on here for a while because I suck. No really, I’m not even going to come up with excuses, I’m not going to tell you that my job is like running up a hill, being chased by Justin Bieber while a subsequent crowd of rabid Bieber fans run after him AND IN THE BACKGROUND, REBECCA BLACK SINGS ABOUT FRIDAY OVER AND OVER UNTIL YOU MEMORISE ALL THE DAYS OF THE WEEK. That’s possibly the worst scenario ever.

Anyway, to the point – Out of nowhere, this happens:

Firstly, Ew.

Secondly, there’s not enough breast-milk to feed this much of douchebag.

I’m sure this happens on a daily basis. At any given time, girls breasts are at risk of being dry-humped by dudes with lactose deficiency. But enough is enough, I’ve had it with these guys, the ones that hoot when I’m walking to the hairdresser, minding my own business. The ones that think that calling me ‘sweetness’ or ‘baby’ or ‘sexy’ is somehow going to get me to do 100 naked push-ups on their livingroom carpet. If you, reader, know of or are one of these guys (or girls, depending), this post is for you.

1: Sexy without subtlety is cheap

I know we women like our guys to be ‘in control’ and ‘affirmative’, but what we don’t say is that you have to beat around the bush for EONS until you get any actual bush (or branches, as is the style these days). The instant strong-armed approach only works 2% of the time, so making your instantaneous boning intentions known is probably going to backfire on you. Flatter, placate, be coy, walk away. Suspense mode: ON

2: Be present for the actual flirtation

Scenario: Attractive female walks along street, oozing Sophia Loren attitude, you see her, and in your mind, you go like this…

So naturally, you do what any guy in your situation would do.. Rev your engine, turn up the music, hoot and proceed to drive away in the most show-offy manner you possibly can. I don’t know how you expect Sophia Loren to be impressed by this if you’re driving off while she’s being enveloped in a cloud of your testosterone-flavoured dust.

Seriously, why do guys do this?

3: We really don’t care about if your card sparkles more than Edward in the sunlight.

Sometimes, you’ll meet a really nice girl who is more interested in you than your bank account. This may not apply to every girl, each to her own and whatnot, but flashing your wealth without being coerced to is a free passport to Tackyville in which you’re the sole applicant for mayorship. Sure, money is important, so is a personality. Close your wallet and grow one.

4: I like that! What? YOU DON’T? Mmm. I don’t think I like it anymore…

Don’t do this. Someone that does not stand by their convictions just to impress or to avoid conflict goes does not a good impression make.

5: Read the situation

Pay attention! Words betray body movements. If she maintains eye contact along with boundless smiles: #winning. If she’s agreeing with one word answers and looking at the shoes on the girl in the dress that totally does not go with said shoes, you lost her. See what I did there? Exactly.

6: The object of your affections is NOT YOUR PREY.

Do not back them into a corner, do not act as if they’re the kill you’ve just dragged from the unhinged-jaws of a zombie (unless you’re the hero in this situation, then by all means). Tease, don’t crowd. This is not an orgy.

7: If you want to talk to me about your gym sessions, expect to be hearing about my pathetic love of cats and shoes.

Flirty conversation should be light and general. If you’re picking me up at a gym or I indicate that it interests me, this would be the sole time that a gym related conversation would be applicable. Similarly, if you strike up a conversation about shoes, we would… wait, then you’re probably gay.

8:Flatter flatter. Lie lie. THIS TIME I’M SERIOUS DAMNIT!

“No” or “I’m not interested” does not mean “try until you make me say yes”.

9: If you want to pick up chicks, do not read The Game

South African woman are born with a bullshit detector, I know this because I’ve seen one of the classic ‘seduction’ moves in action multiple times, failed. If you’re approaching flirtation as science instead of art, you might have to work on your interpersonal skills. Natural charm trumps rehearsed gimmics/tricks every time.

 

So… yeah.

I probably bitch level-upped after this post.

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Schwoar Harold! That zombie almost looks real!

Date: 31/12/2011

The world celebrates the dawn of a new year. Jocks, hotties and other semi-cool people are celebrating with copious amounts of alcohol, karaoke, dancing and picture taking. Almost everyone is doing it, even that Joey guy from Friends. Whatever happened to him anyway? Oh, no-one cares about Joey, his hair doesn’t glisten half as much as Rachel’s. Damn that Rachel.

Somewhere, in the basements/attics/3rd bedrooms of parent’s houses around the world, sits lonely late-20-somethings,  frenzied with scouring the internet for hentai porn, playing World of Warcraft or homing in on their Guitar Hero skills. These people are the scourge of society, your boss or that guy you’ve been flirting with for over a month – ladykiller765.

In the midst of their revelry, something tragic happens to all the socialites of the world. Dr X, an evil mastermind tripping on peyote, accidentally transmits an ultra high frequency sound-wave that triggers a part of people’s brains that turns them into FLESH EATING ZOMBIES. Unawares to the mayhem occurring around them, the nerds, geeks and miscellaneous misfits remain unaffected, safe within the protective layer of their noise canceling headphones. I know what you’re thinking. What about the deaf people Miss blog writer person? You doubt the genius of Mr X. Don’t get all stroppy with me!

The fate of humanity lies in the hands of ladykiller765 and the like. Who will save our species? Who will boldly go where none have gone before? Who will turn off the LHC? Who will blog about the event?

GEEKS or NERDS? WHO WILL SURVIVE A ZOMBIE ATTACK?

One whose IQ exceeds his weight. Places much value on learning the technicalities on almost every subject without feeling the need to put this knowledge into practice. Ignored by society, the nerd becomes a hermit, sharing his thoughts with a select group of individuals, usually using the internet as a medium of communication. Nerds have little to no social skills, possibly eliminating the likelihood of procreation through ‘traditional’ means. The nerd is ill-equipped to defend himself, though is not a novice in terms of knowing what it’s like to be a victim. This may or may not be considered as an advantage. Easily identifiable by his attire, demeanor and reliance on medical apparatuses which often leads to him being the butt-end of the joke. Unless the zombies have a wicked sense of humour and an acute case of  jock-syndrome, it is unlikely that the nerd will be the victor, though he will be able to explain his demise in clinical detail.


Not necessarily as smart as a nerd. One that puts on the façade of superior intelligence through  fixating on a certain type of genre that does not fall within social norms. Not as inept as his nerdy counterparts, the geek’s social prowess ranges from zero-Pete Cashmore. The geek is able to use his technical skills to his advantage, depending on his chosen genre. Therefore, a fitness geek might be more capable to defend himself than a portable geek, a special-effects geek might get too distracted by the realism of the zombies, missing the opportunity to flee or a die-hard video game geek might know all the tricks of the trade.  Most geeks possess a certain amount of sex appeal. Disguised as ‘the dark silent type’, they are able to find a mate in many social settings and even online, either using their natural talents or through acquired knowledge, example: The Game by Neil Strauss.

I don’t know about you, but my money is definitely on the geek. A geek is most likely to survive, find a mate, procreate and continue the species, one well thought out role playing adventure at a time. Although the future generations might be very elitist, it does look bright enough for us to forgive Dr X’s slip-up with the sparkly cactus. In fact, if such a situation were to occur, the future would most likely be run by an operating system, have a soundtrack featuring at least one synthesizer and we’d be able to hyper-jump through the space-time continuum with one click on our i-Pods attached to our jet packs.

Many thanks to the lovely twitter people for all your help in my, at the time, absolutely pointless research. Especially to @LeeAnneOlfsen and @NickJackson for your meticulous proof-reading 🙂

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Sent from my smart phone.

I know what you’re thinking, not another social media article. Truthfully, I agree, we’ve reached the stage where no-one cares about articles on how to increase the girth of your social media profile. Also, no-one actually uses the word girth in normal conversation. I bet you’re about the google the definition of the word ‘girth’ right now.

Social Media is better than a phone call.
So you went to Vida-e to meet with @missfuzzykittenIloveNickJonas. You don’t know why you went to Vida-e, it may be that the people on twitter are subliminally sending you messages through their ‘I’m off to Vida-e!’ tweets. @missfuzzykittenIloveNickJonas is going through a very difficult stage in her life, which is quite evident through her exaggerated sighs. You are unperturbed by this and continue your story about the Don Packett youtube CV rip-off. You laugh. Alone. Manically. @missfuzzykittenIloveNickJonas does this weird twisty thing with her mouth, not a good sign. She then asks you if you’ve noticed that her Facebook relationship status has changed. Pennies drop everywhere. How could you have missed that? You practically live online. You sip on your Vida-e coffee slowly, at a loss for words.Social Media has made you a bad friend.

Social Media promotes fake laughter.
You’re at work. Your Outlook notifies you that you have a new mail. A combination of intrigue and disappointment flutters. We get it, Outlook sucks. Oh, the mail is from Mr. Joke Sender, it’s a joke you’ve seen on twitter three weeks ago. Your facial expression remains unchanged. Ten minutes later, Mr. Joke Sender comes into your office, grinning with more gusto than Jim Carrey. ‘So… how funny was that mail… hey?’. You like Mr Joke Sender, he’s a bit corny but he’s actually a good person to have around if the printer gives you problems. You can either A – tell the truth and say that you’ve seen the joke, whilst watching him breakdown emotionally, or B- fake laugh. You fake laugh to save Mr. Joke Sender’s ego. You’re going to hell.

If you attend an event that was not mentioned Social Media, chances are, you stayed at home with your cat, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s in you pjs.
Oooh. Is someone getting married today? Are you attending the wedding? Tweet about it. Are you at a braai with other social media folk? Tweet about it. Are you at home with your cat, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s in you pjs? Don’t tweet at all. Put your phone off. Instead, muse about the fact that 5 years ago, you were perfectly happy with the idea of NOT telling the world about every little thing you’re doing.

Social Media promotes emotional outbursts.
OBAMA WON THE NOBEL PRIZE! OMG THEY’RE BOMBING THE MOON! FUCK AMERICA! LET’S BOMB THEM AND SEE HOW THEY FEEL! ALSO, KANYE’S AN IDIOT! I just can’t take this anymore, I can’t believe he didn’t call. OMG YOU GUYS! NICK JONAS IS SO HAWT. I JUST LOVE HIM. I don’t know who to turn to, my life is over. I’m serious this time guys. Get your teeth whitened! Ask me how. Lady, no-one cares. Average person’s reaction to emotional outbursts: ‘Awh, that’s too bad/awesome/hardcore, I hope this phase passes…. OOOH 10 OF THE MOST AMAZING WORDPRESS THEMES ALL IN ONE POST!’ *click* End.

Social Media endorses contradictions. No they don’t! Yes, yes they do…
You’re facebook chatting, posterous’ing and tweeting at the same time. If you were any more awesome, you’d be Guy Kawasaki. You resent that I said that, you hate that I compared you to Guy Kawasaki. You’re shit hot right now, you’ve manufactured your personal brand, have a water tight alias and a very own domain, but something is missing. You live online but crave a simpler existence, hence your constant need to use the ‘lighter’ version of any social media platform. You like the clutter free look but still crave the meatier version. You want a young Sofia Louren but you’re getting Paris Hilton and as much as Paris tries, she’ll never do that hip sway like Sofia. This saddens you. Please refrain from having an emotional outburst.

Social Media turns you into an elitist.
You’re having a pretty decent conversation with a budding entrepeneur. You wonder why you haven’t heard of this cat before. Light bulbs flash – he’s not on the interwebs. You suggest he get on it ASAP in order to increase his brand awareness. You do not pay attention to local internet user statistics. Turns out, ‘this cat’ has an ad airing on SABC 1, a station you vowed not to watch after their recent financial crisis. This does not concern you, the internet dweller. If it is not on social media it does not exist, right? WRONG.

Social Media makes you a bad person.
You’ve seen it, you’ve laughed at it, people have suffered. http://www.latfh.com http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com http://dontjudgemyhair.com http://www.peopleofwalmart.com Didn’t your mother ever teach you to NOT make fun of other people. Save it for family dinner punk.

As much as you want to, you’ll never give up Social Media. Ever.
You laughed at every point I made yet silently agreed at the same time. Addict. You’ll be off to Vida-e to drown your sorrows in a bottomless cup of coffee. You’re hardcore like that.

I have no words. Rather, I do, I’m trying to condense it in 140 characters or less.

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My life is tragic.

I think I’m lactose intolerant. This makes me sad.

Refer list of things I like to eat/drink when I’m not so happy:
-tea with milk
-coffee with milk
-coffee with milk AND cream
-cappuchino with milk AND cream
-toasted cheese sandwiches
-cream cheese on crackers
-chocolate milk 😦 😦 😦
-strawberry pops with milk
-milk tart
-milk chocolate
-ice cream
-ice cream with milk chocolate

Do you see the problem. Without milk I’d be sad and confused with nothing to console me but my cat who’s on the brink of puberty and doesn’t give a shit about me anymore. That’s so depressing.

Once upon a time, my tummy had the temperament along the lines of this:

Ignore the person in the picture. I don't eat people. People taste like pork.

Ignore the person in the picture. I don't eat people. People taste like pork.

and now its more like this:

volcano20eruption

…which gives people the impression that I might explode like an angry person if I don’t get any milk, which is not true, I’d probably mope around feeling sorry for myself…

unless I see someone like this:

hayden-got-milk

Haha, very funny. Die bitch.

P.S: I know you’re that Claire-what’s-her-face from Heroes and you can’t die so when I said ‘Die bitch’ I meant that in the nicest way possible.

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Question: Why is the O before the C? Shouldn’t it be in alphabetical order? And if it was ‘COD’ instead of ‘OCD’, would it be too fishy?

I spent 3 hours organising my iTunes yesterday,  I could have went on all day to be honest. I used to think that I do things like this because I don’t have a life but recent developments in my somewhat tranquil existence has led me to believe that I may have a slight case of OCD. You see, I enjoy this. I enjoy sorting things so that they slot into their correct categories, typing out the track names when they’re not there, scouring the internet for information to make my methodically compiled lists more meticulous.

Scary innit?

As I was searching for album art to link to the albums so that it makes my iTouch look more pretty (why don’t the cd making people put the digital version of the album cover on the cd? don’t they realise that there are people like me that EXPECT things like that to be readily available?), I came across this:
 

linkinfart

Notice something there? Who in the world has time to do things like this? What kind of sick pleasure do they get out of it? People that make things like this ^ have no lives. What is surprising is that there are so many parodies of album covers out there. Parodies I shall not post on my blog, if I do that, it means that I support and endorse said people with no lives which means that I in turn have no life, thus creating a sour vicious cycle of self contempt that I may or may not take out on a poor album cover.

I do have a life. A life with OCD.

OCD is not a disease, its an organised art.

So there.

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I surround myself with stupid people so I feel more intelligent.

The world has a way of making sense just when the outlook gets more mangled than Amy Winehouse’s dreadlocks… A strange visual I know, but that’s the only way I can look at it.

For months now, I’ve been complaining about my job. Everyone knows this because I bitch about it almost every day. I know I should have acted on this feeling a while ago but I didn’t because I got scared. Poor little pampered girl with a fetish for shoes that I am, I was more concerned about the fact that I enjoy and rely on a regular income to keep me fabulous. Also, I didn’t want to lose all that I worked so hard for over the past two years, and I know that knowledge can never be truly ‘lost’, but a reputation and a working record can, especially if I move out of my field.

I’m one of 5 people in the whole country that do what I do. I like saying that because it makes me sound so important, but I’m not that important really, any monkey in a skirt could do my job and still have time to spare.

If there is one thing I could possibly miss about my job, its all the free time, free time I use to stalk people. People that read my blogs. People like you. I know who you are. LOOK AT ME WHEN I TYPE TO YOU. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE. YOU OWE ME A MILLION DOLLARS.

Poor reader. I’m sorry you have to read my crap. I assure you that my drivel will cease to be only because I won’t have time to write crap anymore. I’ll only write the important stuff like mission statements and lists about things that are meaningful like ways to cut down on your energy usage or maybe, if I’m really stimulated, a well informed discussion on my views about the state of the economic climate and how it impacts the environment.

Which reminds me, I have another blog to publish about how misleading the scientific community is. If you are a scientist, BEWARE! My thesis lacks evidence and would probably frustrate you, but if you feel the need to send me some sort of message, feel free to do so. I’ll respond maybe, or never, probably never.

So, readers, no more theories about martian kangaroos and toasted sandwiches. I swear. 

… until I get bored of my new job or its totally unfulfillable or I decide to take over the world or clean my cupboard or decide that I don’t need shoes to make me happy and only I can make me happy and maybe I shouldn’t really give a crap about what other people think of me… *deep breath*

so, back to Amy’s dreadlocks, does she ever wash them?

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Chocolate is the devil, that is why I love it.

When I was younger (around two years ago) I used to be sexy like Spock. I had these rock-like abs and legs that would make any woman dissolve in the acidity of her envy. That was before I started my career as a sometimes productive corporate monkey…

Now I’m only half as hot and totally unfit. The other day I took on the bold task of giving Mojo a bath. Not entirely the most genius of ideas, but I was getting bored of watching cartoons at 8:30 in the morning. Boy, was I in for a surprise. Not only did I spend +1 hour running after the little guy, but I did it with the gusto only an Olympic champion should possess.

Oh the pain… the sheer agony.

The next morning I woke up with the most excruciatingly sore thighs. I must have torn some muscle tissue. Not to mention the fact that I have to make myself pretty for work and wear these high pointy heels (because I’m a small person and small people need help) and walk around in them. So there I am, traipsing around like an old person, trying to look cool when all I really want to do is find a  semi-shaded spot to wallow in my self neglect.

That is when it dawned on me, I’m becoming one of those deluded people I despise so much. I have pretensia [An illness whereby the infected person pretends that things are a certain way, when in fact, they are not]. This blog is a written promise to myself to never get fat like Britney, because she too was hot once and now she’s just ‘meh’. I can’t be ‘meh’. Its not like I have buckets of sparkling personality to sustain me. One day, all this sarcastic venom that I spit out will lose its attractiveness. I need to have something else to fall back on. I need to be superficial for once (haha).

I need to *sniffle* give up chocolate.

I hereby solemnly swear that from the very moment this blog is viewable by public, I shall be a good girl and eat rabbit food (even though it tastes like cardboard). In addition, I shall come up with (and stick to) a regular exercise routine.

I am not destined to be a fat lady with a million cats.

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