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Archive for the ‘Arb’ Category

guys.jpgTen things I learnt/observed (not necessarily first hand) in a sports bar while watching South Africa beat Whales over the weekend. In no particular order…

    1. When your team plays rugby, do not invent a drinking game that is based on the number of points they score. 34 -12 is not necessarily a good score.
    2. There is nothing romantic about drunk dialing at 1:30 on a Sunday morning, especially not when your mates are yelling “he tried to pick up a hooker” in the background. Don’t ever say the words “I just wanted to know how you are.” Trust me, don’t. Not at 1:30 am.
    3. Cheap is just unforgivable. If you claim to have left your wallet at home when it is your turn to pay, then you are a cheapskate and you are stupid! I can handle stupid when I’m forced to. Cheap? No!!
    4. Life is often like a staged play. Masks and make-up and shadow puppets, and then some. Never buy a drink for a guy who says he went to school with older brother, and when probed about it ten minutes later, can’t remember your brother’s name.
    5. Factoid: A two at ten is a ten at two. When your mate says, “Hey, you want to meet a hot chick?”, do not try to convince him that she’s not. Let him wake up next to her the next morning and find out the hard truth for himself.
    6. There is no such thing as public indecency at 2 am on a Sunday morning. The cops may disagree, but they have to be around to catch you in the act.
    7. When a girl wears a green t-shirt that says “I’m a keeper”, it usually means that she is not, unless it refers to the fact that she can “keep” her liquor down better than you can.
    8. When your team scores a try, do not throw your hands in the air and jump up out of your chair at the same time. There is no dignity in falling backwards and landing on your arse. Not even when you are drunk.
    9. When a guy throws a shitfit about a decision the referee made, let him be. He is bigger than you are and will pound you into the ground with one swing of his giant fist. Nobody’s perfect. Accept it.
    10. It is indeed possible for your hair to hurt when you are hung-over. (I learnt this the next day.)

Ain’t life grand?

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Doctor, we have a pulse!

Hello!Psssttt! I just wanted to let you know that I am still alive. I haven’t posted at all since I changed companies, and it kinda feels like I’ve been cheating on the few of you who read and comment regularly. That does not however mean that I haven’t been reading or following the escapades of my favourite bloggers online.
To be honest, the change has been a bit tougher than I thought it would be. But, I am an optimist and I’m hoping that things will smooth out a bit over the next few weeks. I’ve been really really busy and have not had time to write a decent post or anything remotely meaningful.
Long hours, even longer meetings and a never-ending induction programme have taken its toll on me. In some ways I almost feel like Santiago who’s hooked the big fish and is struggling to get it to shore (Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea) (corny reference… I know!!)
In hindsight I probably should have negotiated a January 2008 start date, but it is too late now and I am stuck chasing my own arse for the next couple of weeks until I go on holiday. Yeah, I managed to get them to agree that my going on holiday, after a less than two months of work, would be both beneficial for the company and for productivity. What can I say, other than everything is negotiable.
On the plus side, my new colleagues are very friendly, supportive and helpful (the quiet before the storm?) and I am feeling right at home. I have already identified a few accomplices whom I know I can rely on should the need arises. It may or may not last … sooner or later they’ll get to know the strange personality behind the calm exterior. The job prospects are truly exciting and I have a bona fide shot at doing something that I genuinely like and am particularly good at.
Is it just me or do you also sense a parody in the making?

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RWC World Cup FinalThe title and the picture has nothing to do with the content of the post, but I just could not help myself. So there! Bite me, Kev and Mr R Rabbit!
I was notified by the IT department this morning to clean up my e-mail account as I’ve exceeded my storage limit. Gah! (Wonder if this has anything to do with my resignation?)
I had a quick look at my inbox and found that I had 283 unread messages, mostly mail-forwards and funnies sent to me by colleagues and friends. I deleted them all and freed up a whopping 18% of the space allocated to my account.
Spurred on by my moderate success, I did the same on my cell phone. I cleared my entire inbox! It is not that I don’t care to receive the coy and flirtatious sms’s people send to me. Quite the contrary. I enjoy a good laugh. I like witty, flirtatious banter. If only they did not take up so much space and time.
Moving on. Text messages and emails have become pivotal in modern flirting and communication. The attractive thing about text messaging is that they are secretive. No one knows (or so we hope) but you and the person that you are flirting with. Embarrassment in front of others is almost nil. For many people, the electronic medium has opened up a whole new world of low risk flirting. Anyone can text. Even my mother is pretty nifty with a cell phone.
In most cases the art of flirting is trial and error. There is no class or seminar that can prepare an individual for flirting. Courtship behaviour is not a subject that can be taught.
Text messaging and emails have taken flirting to another level(?). Coy verbal phrases can now be exchanged while we are at a distance. If a message goes unanswered, it is repeated or the individual will ask,” Did you get my message?”
These days, if someone I’ve met or a girl I find interesting sends me a text or email that doesn’t grab my attention, I feel pretty apathetic about them.
For example, any text that starts, “God, I’m so pissed off at the moment,” or “You would not believe what just happened,” immediately makes me think, that perhaps I should pretend I left my phone at home rather than get into this.
The one thing that vexes me is e-mail that has been sent to my work addy or text messages that contain excessive insipid digital banter – such as 😉 lol !!!!!!!!, cu l8r, etc. I don’t mind the odd lol or smiley, but when used excessively, they make me feel like I’m nursing someone, rather than communicating with them. Do I make sense to you?
The bar of digital conversation has been raised considerably over the past few years. If you don’t start trying that little bit harder, pretty soon the only thing keeping you warm at night will be a string of emoticons.

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PuzzleHe (serious): Are you all set for this afternoon’s big meeting? I don’t have to tell you just how important it is that we pull this off.
Me (matter of fact): I think you just did.
He: I did what?
Me: Told me.
He (clearly lost or pretending to be): Are we talking about the same thing?
Me: I thought we were, but now it seems we’re not.
He (raised eyebrows): Huh?
Me: The subtle yet artful manipulation hiding behind your own words clearly escapes you.

How did he miss that?

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Fish in a barrel

WaiterBeing the miserable sod that I am, I am quite happy to bring someone down to my misery level, especially when that person is primary the source of my woes.

Question: Why is it that when you want to have a quiet and serious conversation with one of your friends, your waiter is the quirkiest person on the face of the planet?

There you are going through an account of how a new job offer flushed your precious holiday plans down the toilet (or how you just got dumped++) when your waiter has clearly swallowed the Energiser bunny in the kitchen before coming out.
He’ll start out by saying something like, “Good morning, folks and what can I do for you today? You’re at the (Insert Restaurant Name), the happiest place on earth next to Hooters!”
Fuck… you… sparky. I was going to have the mixed seafood platter, but now I’ll just have the chicken salad. And leave the dressing on the side. (I did not say it out loud, but my body language probably communicated that I was irritated)
Now I know what you are thinking. I am unreasonable and the guy is merely doing his job in being friendly and welcoming. And you may be right for thinking so. There is a no way he could have known that I wanted him to tone it down and be less of an intrusion, unless I told him so. If I were a woman, you’d be forgiven for thinking, “Diva!”.
Having admitted to being a bit of a douchebag, I do however believe that a good waiter should be able to read his patrons and adjust his attitude accordingly.
I was all set to make up for my insolent behaviour, when he did something that really pissed me off. It took twenty minutes for him to arrive with the drinks order!
When they finally arrived and while he was busy putting the drinks down on the table , I leaned in and asked politely, “I know you have a sign that says, We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service To Anyone!, but is the lack of service your subtle way of telling us to piss off?”
Clearly taken aback by this precious ounce of respect, he blushed and rambled off an excuse of why it took so long for him to get around to us. His excuse may have been perfectly valid, had it not been that the place was basically empty and that he had only two other tables to see to.
I made a mental note to tip him in small coins.
(++No worries, I was not dumped)

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Slut?Overheard this conversation between the gf, [S] and one of her friends.

Friend: I like everything about this guy. Pity, I don’t stand a chance with him.
[S]: Of course you do. You are being too hard on yourself.
Friend: The only reason a guy like him would go out with a girl like me is because he thinks I’m a slut.
[S]: Well there you have it. Prove him right… then prove him wrong.

I don’t need to worry, do I?

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Grilled BBQ SteaksYesterday, the 24th of September 2007 was a public holiday. Heritage Day. Heritage Day is a day on which South Africans across the spectrum are encouraged to celebrate their cultural heritage and the diversity of their beliefs and traditions, in the wider context of a nation that belongs to all its people. Sounds good doesn’t it?
In 2005, a media campaign sought to “re-brand” the holiday as “National Braai Day” (translated National BBQ Day), and encouraged all South Africans to get friends and family together and to cook up a storm in true South African style and celebrate. How wonderfully patriotic we are!
Our company decided to get in on the festivities and we were all invited to attend a BBQ at an outdoor venue in Johannesburg. My scepticism aside about how much CO2 we’d be sending into the atmosphere and how many animals we’d be consuming, I was surprised at how well organised the event was.
As a rule I shy away from socialising with my colleagues on what I deem as my time, but [S] reckoned it was better than spending the day by ourselves. Who am I to disagree and stand up a chance to play with the other kids?
I had been forewarned about what NOT to say, or mention, etc. It’s a thorny issue as I tend to make weird statements that have no bearing on what is being discussed, but the better half resided over my behaviour (and she was sitting right next to me).
So I told the odd joke, ate food in the appropriate fashion (small bites and chewing with my mouth closed), listened to jazz, talked about sports, the state of affairs in Africa, laughed and smiled at comments, flirted politely and made appropriate statements like “cool” and “wow”. I even called my boss dude.
I was trapped in a Jane Austin set novel in the 21st century, eating the gorgeously cooked food, drinking the carefully chosen wine and making sure that my underwear did not show above waistband of my fashionably distressed jeans.
I was so charming and fitted in so well, I wanted to have sex with myself, in a non-sleazy kind of way.
I did however slip up at one point when I got asked a particular question about my food. “So, how would you like your meat?”
“I’ve not touched the vodka, so for now I’d like it to stay in my pants”
At which point, red wine flew out of my boss’s nostrils and [S] gave me a look that was so dirty, the white T-shirt I had on turned decidedly gray.
“Just kidding”, I said laughingly, “dead and well cooked with a generous helping of soot”.
Everyone giggled. The jury is till out on whether they laughed with me or at me.
Old habits are so hard to break… and so apparently is my ability to stay in line! Bugger.

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