Riding the Slipstream

[*Warning: This post may contain words dating back to another era*] The 1st of September is traditionally celebrated as Spring Day in South Africa. And to mark this rather wicked occasion, the entertainment committee at my company has decided to celebrate in it style. Now Sept 1 is not to be confused with the SPRING EQUINOX (22 September) which is of course the official’ first day of the Season of Spring (incidentally also the birthdays of Frodo and Bilbo Baggins)– when the Sun crosses the Equator moving southward. For most ppl here, 22 September is of little significance and will most likely only get a mention at the end of the 8 o’clock news bulletin. Seeing as 1 Sept falls on a Thursday, the committee, in a wise and unprecedented move, decided to move the celebrations to Friday the 2nd. Unreal, man! The Chitster likes a good celebration. String the words party, celebrate and booze together in one sentence and you have my immediate and undivided attention. What can I say? A good plan needs very little convincing and I didn’t get out much when I was a child. . There is however a condition attached to this party. It has a theme! And this year’s theme is… (strike that triangle, Bertha) FLOWER POWER! All the employees (including those we have resigned) are required to dress up in sixties/seventies regalia and pay tribute to the counterculture movement. Now I think the hippies of the 60’s and 70’s were awesome, but that is just it … they were awesome in the 60’s and the 70’s. Who wants to dress up like a hippie in 2005? Seemingly, a lot of people do! Flower power and the spring day celebration…what a stretch of the imagination. I bet it took all of one joint to come up with that gem. I think Mrs. [B], who heads the entertainment committee, is a member of the neo-hippie movement. That would explain the love beads on her wrist. I got my eye on you Mrs[B]… so don’t tempt me! When I asked about other aspects of the hippie culture such as recreational drugs, free love, spiritualism and wild sex orgies, I was told to mellow out and leave the planning to those who know what they are doing. There will be prizes for the best dressed cat and chick. When I discreetly enquired (again) if the marijuana leaf tattooed on my right butt cheek counts as flower power… it was met with a scowl that would make even Donald Rumsfeld flinch. So much for that brilliant plan! They say when you can’t beat them… join them. So I have decided to play along and dress up (dress down?) in my finest threads… torn bellbottom jeans, raggedy paisley shirt, flip-flops, and bandanna. I will adorn my face and arms with day-glo flowers and whatever other groovy symbols signify the sixties. BUT… I will however draw the line at Bob Dylan’s music. I hear one Bob Dylan song played at the party and I will strip down to my underwear and show off my tattoo!! (Do you hear me, Mrs. [B]?) Far out, man! Let’s bring on the Summer of Love. And if you get tired of the listening to the psychedelic 60s tunes, take the stairs up to the roof. I will be the one holding the bong, chatting to Bob Marley and John Lennon and dancing to the tune of Burn Baby Burn! Dig it?

What if your financials for this project is based on the wrong assumptions? This is the question that set off an entire debate this morning. (Gimme one large spool of 3/4" solid braid nylon rope to go, please?) Now on the surface this sounds like a right reasonable question to ask and kudos to the guy who brought it up. When one is about to invest a substantial amount of money in a project, one would like to have some guarantee that the money will be well spent and that the project is a winner. It makes good business sense. It is however not a good question to ask when I had just spend 40 minutes going over the pros and cons of various project scenarios and presented you with a substantial amount of facts and data that clearly support my approach to the project. Don’t you just hate it when this happens? It makes you look stupid. It also turns a one hour presentation into a two hour meeting with us rehashing the same old shit… over and over. Where have you been you dope-smokin' moron? Have you been fondling yourself underneath the table? I have a “what if” for you. What if I were to come over there and stick my foot up your ass? The questions you should be asking yourself is: Does anyone really care what I think and where can I get clean underwear? I hate you George! You drive like a girl and your mother dresses you funny. I'll wait for you in the parking lot when school.... I mean work... comes out.

I’ve just been told that I will be going on a 3 day team building exercise with my soon-to-be-ex colleagues. Yippee…. I am so happy. I tried to argue that I am leaving the company soon, but the boss pointed out that I am an employee and a member of the department until the end of this year. Hence, I am going. I actually thought hard about playing the I-know-how-you-get-your-freak-on card (do I get a yay from the congregation?), but then I may need to use it for something more substantial and much more valuable. [Bide your time Chitty and play that card only when you absolutely need it] I am not fond of team building breakaways. The underlying principals that supposedly govern them are good, but let’s face it, people just go along to get time off from work and to behave badly. I can’t even remember half of the getaways I’ve attended. Perhaps that says it all. We will strategize and assign actions, agree on outcomes, goals and the way forward. We’ll get all buddy-buddy and kiss-your-ass with our colleagues, but by the time we get back to the office all will be forgotten. The issues will be stored in a dark cupboard until the next team building getaway. Of course we will have fun too. We will take part in silly, albeit great fun, team building activities. There’ll be lots of boozing, strange and out of character behavior. A few reputations may even be lost along the way. You may even get to like a few people and find out more (way more) about some of your colleagues than you care to know, but that is part and parcel of the package I suppose. Strangely enough there is one event that sticks out in my mind from the last getaway I attended. It was a team building exercise demonstrating the need for clear and effective communication and trust. Each team, consisting of two ppl, had to row a canoe across the length of a swimming pool. One of them blindfolded (the rower?), while the other (your partner) called out directions in getting you across to the other side. Being blindfolded, this was a recipe for a disaster. I knew that the minute I became aware that Rich (my partner) had trouble distinguishing his left from my left and his right from my right. With Rich calling out instructions and by following the sound of his voice, I managed to move forward in a straight line for about the first 2 meters only. Thereafter things just went badly… very badly. By the time I reached the middle of the pool, I was at a friggin right angle to the other canoes in the pool, cutting across their paths as I headed for the side of the pool. People were shouting and screaming for me to get out of their way. Someone even hit me with a paddle. It wasn’t long before collided full on with one of the other contestants. The canoe rocked form side to side; I lost my balance and went under like the Titanic. I swallowed a bellyfull of smelly pool water. When I tried to come up for air, I knocked my head on the bottom of one of the canoes above. Dizzy. My God… I was going to die... blindfolded… at the bottom of a swimming pool at the hand of Sir Richard the Dyslexic. I wondered if one could get Absolut Martinis in heaven, ‘cos if I couldn't, I was going be one pissed-off dead person. And seeing as I swallowed about a gallon of swimming pool water, I was going to walk around with swimming pool-breath for all of eternity. Man that sucks! And then, just like magic, my feet touched the floor of the swimming pool. I stood up and the water only came up to my waist. Fuckit… now that was just plain bloody nasty!!!. Having made peace with the fact that I was about to die and grow wings… being able to stand up was just not on. I wanted people to jump in the pool as they tried to save me, drag me over to the side and give me mouth to mouth resuscitation. I wanted a dramatic TV-style near-death experience that would make my mother proud. I wanted girls to faint and regret the fact that they had not slept with me and would not be able to bear my children. Most of all I wanted Richard to rot in jail for the rest of his miserable life as my untimely death would conveniently be blamed on him. Justice... Chitty style! I exited the pool to much ridicule and hysterical laughter of my colleagues. I hated Richard, who very wisely, decided not to hang around. He may be dyslexic, but the boy is not stupid. Perhaps going on a getaway is not so bad. After all, it is an opportunity to drink Martini's and get revenge on some unsuspecting fool (the boss perhaps?) for the humiliation I had suffered. I always wanted to make my mark in this company… the team building camp could be the perfect opportunity.

My girlfriend has no sense of direction. And when I say no sense of direction, I mean no sense at all… nada… zilch. She could get lost in her own backyard even though she lives in a complex and her garden is about the size of my office. I just spend 40 minutes on the phone giving her directions to where she wanted to go. It would have saved us both a lot of time if she had just come by my office, picked me up and took me with her. I basically made the entire journey with her even though I did not set a foot outside of my office. When I started off by telling her, "You have to head north on the N3", all I got in return was silence. Eventually she replied, "I haven't the slightest idea which way north is. Tell me where to go in terms of suburbs and buildings and landmarks." Luckily for her I am a super being with a photographic memory (NOT!) and can remember every detail of every road and every landmark on the way to a place that I have never been to myself. What could be simpler than that? I was completely stumped. ME: Uhhh… honey, do you have a map book of JHB and its suburbs with you in the car? SHE: Yes, I do, but that I do not know how to use it. ME: So what do you use the book for? SHE: Oh in case there is someone with me and they can look up the directions in the book. (Now why didn’t I think of that… of course… the answer was staring me right in the face…. Aaarrgggghhh) ME Oh really…? That was all I could get out. I honestly did not know what else to say. Anyway we managed to get her to where she wanted to be. Of course I am now completely bald as I had managed to pull all the hair from the top my head. I’ll stick it back on with superglue before I leave this evening. Step by grueling step, with her relaying information to me regarding the road she was on, the road signs she saw, the lane she was in and the speed she was traveling at. More information on the buildings and landmarks she passed along the way, traffic lights, the occasional car passing her, etc. We lost the cell phone signal a few times and that just made it all so much easier. Two silly kids in love, traveling the highways and byways of JHB’s northern suburbs. Oh what fun we had!!! If you are ever in JHB and you somehow manage to get lost, please call me up… I’m in the book under:

We kicked Aussie ass on Aussie soil and I (and the SA team of course) have the battle scars to prove it!!!! The Boks beat Australia 22-19 in the Subiaco Oval on Saturday. True to tradition and not having learnt A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G from the previous tri-nations games, I gallantly proceeded to sacrifice my liver for the love of the sport and for my country. It was NOT a pretty site... but these things seldom are! The entire Sunday was spent in recovery as I tried to kick-start the handful of brain cells I had left and attempted to donate my liver to sports research at UCT in the hopes of procuring a new one. Sadly the offer was turned down. WELL DONE BOKKE!! (In the bag! - photo courtesy of sarugby.net)

Ok… comments on the post below necessitate that give I up my day job and become an online gossip columnist. Suits me fine… I have just one question; "what is the pay and can we discuss perks and benefits?" I hope I have not raised expectations unnecessarily and made the story seem juicier than what it really is. Yesterday morning I went to work earlier than usual. I urgently needed to go over the research that had been completed on a bunch of new product concepts. All research is kept in the Marketing library and not feeling up to hauling all the files back to me desk, I decide to make myself comfy on the floor and jot down the key notes and obseravtions on my notepad. Good idea at the time… big mistake in hindsight. The Marketing library is linked to what we refer to as “the creative room”. Here’s where we do all of our creative activities, strategy sessions, brainstorming, concept writing, strategy sessions, storyboards, etc. As I am sitting on the floor and shielded by the shelves it is basically impossible to see me from the creative room. I first become aware of the other ppl when I hear the door of the creative room closing. I sort of straighten my back and see that it is my boss and JN, female, head of Finance department. It is strange for them to be in this early and especially in this part of the building. I am about to get up and make my presence known when he pulls her in closely and kisses her. Fuck me bloody sideways... Now I know the company has a fairly relaxed office policy… but no-one has EVER greeted me like that on arriving at the office. That kiss pretty much sealed my fate. There’s no chance of escape and there was no way in hell I was going to make it known that I am in the adjacent room. So I remain quiet and pray that no one sees me. I want to ignore what’s happening, but at the same time I find it kinda exhilarating. (What is wrong with me?) HE: I missed you so. (hehehe) SHE: I know. I hate being away from you too. (more lip-locking) SO... have you told (insert his wife’s name) about us? HE: Not yet. I’ll do it on the weekend, I promise. The kids will be at the grandparents and (insert wife’s name) and I will be alone at home. This is it… there is no going back. SHE: Oh, my poor baby… Please call me as soon as you get a chance? There’s a lot at stake and I need to know how it went down. Promise? HE: Sure I will… I just wanna put all of this behind us… start a new life. (Add more kissy sounds and a lot more is said… heavy breathing... bleh). The convo is kinda syrupy, innit… and what's with the I miss you’s and silly pet names? How the hell can two senior company execs, stand there kissing and fondling each other? Of course they think they are alone… but why make out at the office? Find a bed, on the other side of town... dammit and leave the antics to ppl like me…. hehe! If I move my head slightly forward I can see them both clearly and believe me I don't like what I see. It is clear they are having an affair that and that it’s been going on for a while. From what I glean, she had already broken the news to her husband and hence the urgency for HIM to do the same. Although she and the soon-to-be-ex are still living in the same house, for all practical purposes they are no longer together. Now this is a woman who’s been married 3 times prior to this… all 3 marriages had ended in divorce after 2/3 years of marriage. And yes… she’s a hot mama… looks amazingly good for her age and oozes sex appeal. (Way to go boss... grrrr!). I don’t know her well, but I hear she is a friggin piranha and there are lots of rumours around about her out-of-office antics. The term “loose” (although I am not entirely averse to such behaviour... grin) may have been mentioned on several occasions. She also has a child, aged five, from husband no.4. It is amazing how much sleaze you can pick up at the Friday afternoon booze-up. He’s been married to the same woman for 17(?) years. They have two kids and the wife apparently has no idea of her husband’s infidelity. By all accounts he is a good guy…. one of the bright sparks on the corporate ladder… well that is until now. I enjoy working with him. He is not my favourite person, but then bosses rarely are. He always talks about his wife and kids and his "newly" acquired sleazy habits come as quite a surprise to me. Midlife crisis, perhaps? Buy a friggin’ Ferrari and get over it is what I say. I feel silly and embarrassed sitting there. My legs are starting to ache, but I am too scared too move for fear of making a sound. It is now far too late for me to come up with a decent excuse for why I had been hiding in the next room. I wish they would stop the bloody snogfest and get back to their offices. Seeing your bosses make out has zero ‘erotic’ appeal. But... wait… apparently there is another angle to the sordid saga. They are also gearing themselves up for a showdown with the board of directors as soon as the affair becomes public. HE: When we go public with the affair, one of us may be called on to resign. SHE: What do you mean… resign? HE: Surely you realise there’s no way we will be allowed to stay on in our current positions as heads of department and as members of the board. Ron (HOB) will not allow it. SHE: I know they won’t be thrilled by the turn of events, but they can’t fire us for that. Surely the board has to vote on it? HE: Yes, and I can tell you now… they will side with Ron. There is no way they will allow two ppl who are romantically involved to sit on the same board. It will be seen as unethical, unprofessional and will affect the decisions made at that level. It will be met with resistance. In some companies, and for the similar reasons, husbands and wives are not allowed to work together, even when they work in separate departments. SHE: I understand. But what if we play our cards right and get the other members on our side? We can campaign for their support in the matter. We beat Ron to the punch and tell the others before we tell him. HE: Are you saying we should go behind Ron’s back and get them to vote in our favour? It is a big risk and could mean both of us losing our jobs. SHE: Oh… come on, it’s worth a try. We make a good team and I am not giving up that easily. I have worked too hard to get to where I am now. HE: Perhaps… I’d prefer to make a clean break and look elsewhere. There are too many HR, political and personal issues involved. SHE: Listen… let’s see how far we can take it. I still say we work on the other directors. In the midst of all this, the last thing I need now is to be out of a job. Things are tough enough as it is. Ssshhh… someone’s coming. Will I see you tonight? HE: Yeah… (kisses her and slaps her on the butt). She giggles. Finally... they leave the room. I hear them greeting someone just outside the door and it closes behind them. Now how fucking soap opera-ish is this bit? Wheeling and dealing behind the Top Dog’s back. Give it up already, cut your losses and get out of here! As for my boss… he should keep his mama on a leash and introduce her to the real world. I wait 5 minutes, gather up my files and take them back to my office. I’ve got more research done than I had bargained for. I fucking hate this and I hate feeling compromised by what I know. Not only do I now know way too much about their personal lives, I am also privy to sensitive information directly related to the company. Understand my dilemma? Screwed if I do and screwed if I don't. And this is the juicy secret I am the keeper of. I feel somehow obligated to do something. I want to don my superhero suit, screw them both over and save the day so to speak. Perhaps I should just mind my own business… complete my special projects and get out ASAP. Anyone got rope?

I am caught like the proverbial deer in the headlights. I overheard something today that I was not meant to hear. I was in the wrong(right?) place at the wrong(right?) time, well that is how I see it. Shhh... is that singing I hear? (I know a secret... na-na-ne-na-na...) It was one of those moments when you wish you can puncture your eardrums with a sharp pointy object and go deaf. But as it happens when you drive past a gory accident scene, your simply stand there and listen… to every bloody word! Fuggit…fuggit.. fuggit, now I share something with two of my co-workers and I don’t even like them. My newly acquired knowledge is nothing more than juicy gossip and therein lies the problem. Do I remain silent or to pass the scandalous tidbit on to someone else? I don’t like keeping secrets. Keeping a secret is akin to lying and keeping this little secret pisses me off. I did not ask to be let in on it, dammit. I want to keep quiet, but when I decided on that course of action, I was unaware just how much of a burden it would be on me. The friggin secret has taken on a life of its own. It is burning a hole in my brain and it is the only thing I think about. It has a voice and begs me to pass it on, to set it free and to share it someone else. It wants us to become a threesome or a foursome or a whatever-some. It is not even all that juicy, but my mind has tricked me into believing that it is. Men aren’t made to keep secrets and I am no different in that respect. Men share and mention things in passing or brag to their buddies of what they did and what they now. We don’t even consider it gossip; it is just something that has come to our attention. Men do not realise the value of gossip and secrets as much as women do. We do not know how to trade in the currency of gossip. A woman would treasure information like this and dish it up for maximum mileage when the time is right. My conscience refuses to let me speak. It bombards me with moral anecdotes about doing the right thing and it wills me into silence. Ever noticed how loudly silence speaks when you don't want to heed it? I cannot stand it anymore. I am telling, because if I dont, I think I’d split in two. I need peace of mind and screw the two people concerned. I also ran out of rope so hanging is out of the question. The office bimbo would be a good starting point... oh yeah. Now excuse me, while I pursue my new career as tattle-tale.

El fabuloso! I have a birthday coming up and I find it quite a daunting prospect. It is not that I hate birthdays…. I have come to dislike to some extent what my birthday has come to represent in my life. My friends have been trying for weeks to ‘muscle’ me into having a loud party, with lots of food, loud music, etc. on the weekend before the birthday. See, my birthday falls on a Wednesday… not exactly suitable for a celebration. In return there will be gifts and cards and well wishes and many phone calls on the day. Somehow it all seems so contrived. The alternative would be to do nothing at all. Just a quiet evening at home with the gf and that’s that. However, there is this nagging voice in the back of me head that tells me I need to celebrate, with my close friends… at least. Treating “my day” like it is any other day in the year just does not seem like the right thing to do. I am of course predisposed to do these types of things. I grew up in a household where birthdays are supposed to be a fabulous day where everything revolves around you. My mother insisted on it and if you knew what's good for you would not dare to cross swords with she-who-has-to-be-obeyed. It is New Year’s Day with you as the centre of attraction. But much like New Years Day, it rarely lives up to expectations. The night before there will be the obligatory dinner with the parents and the siblings. I think I may have mentioned before that my mother suffers from delusions of grandeur. Of course my parents will sigh and ask me when I am getting married. To which I will mumble and say something incoherent that they cannot understand. They will play the overused yet much-maligned guilt card about grandchildren and how they are not going to be around forever. A silly game of Tic-tac-toe. One of these days I am going to break it to them that marriage does not equate to children or vice versa, but I doubt they will see the logic in that. My sisters will be on my side in all of this, but only because they hate the gf and will tell me that I could do better. Haha… it somehow comes with being the younger son, I suppose. Since we are at dinner with the parents and I cannot exactly tell them to F&*K OFF and mind their own business, I will smile and steer the conversation away from me by questioning the one brother-in-law’s inability to hold down a job. So much fun - except for the "f-u-n" part. My brother will try once more to get me me to go into business for myself. He’ll tell me that I am wasting my life in the corporate world and that I can only realise my true potential by being my own boss. Whoo-bloody-hoo… I’ll remind him again that his dreams aren’t mine and he really should work on getting a life of his own. Somehow my words will fall on deaf ears because he will bring it up again later in the evening. The only thing drier than the conversation will be the food that my mother would have spent all afternoon preparing in my kitchen. I sound pretty ungrateful I know, and there are many good things about my family that I appreciate immensely. You however have to spend an evening (especially on your birthday) with them to understand where I am coming from. Yep, I can’t wait! Thank God, there will be alcohol to make the evening bearable. I think I understand now why I desperately need a celebration party of my own. Salut!

Due to a number of frantic phone calls from a concerned group of people, I want to make the following statements:

I suspect this link may be able to shed light on the subject: Man dies after 50 hour videogame binge

And onto the bandwagon, I jump... I’ve watched the first few episodes of the current series of South African Idol on television. What can I say…? Sunday evenings are kind of slow and I am desperately in need of entertainment and good laughs. Firstly... I take my hat off to those kids who took the trouble to enter the competition... they certainly are brave. But, more importantly and the reson for this post… the majority (prolly 99.9%) of entrants are really bad… completely D-E-L-U-S-I-O-N-A-L. Some of them are so far out there… not even the freakin' Hubble telescope would be able to spot the talent in them. They have however convinced themselves that they have what it takes to make in the music/entertainment industry only to be told that they are rubbish and have as much talent as Tony Blair has brains. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, these people will not accept the TRUTH about themselves.They are convinced that they can actually sing. They sulk and argue with the judges… some to the point of becoming abusive. They rape and musically assault some of the most popular songs in music history and expect to be praised for it. Now these kids did not walk into that audition and decide to sing for the first time. They must have sung before… perhaps even practiced the songs they intend to sing. Other people, like their parents, friends, brothers, sisters have heard them sing and must have realized just how terrible they are. Why did these people not warn them or tell them the truth about their singing abilities? What makes a parent tell his child that he can achieve something, when that goal is clearly out of his reach? Do they derive some form of sick pleasure from seeing a stranger humiliate their child/friends on public television? It is one thing to be supportive and quite another to set someone up for failure and humiliation. Those judges are vicious! They neither hold back on the truth nor do they mince their words… they tell it like it is in no uncertain terms. This seems to be a modern day trend where children/adolescents are told that they can achieve anything in life if they just believe in themselves. And perhaps it is true to some extent, but when it is not enough, it causes more harm than good. We all can’t be stars merely because we believe that we can. In a competition of this nature, belief will only take you so far and then true talent is required to complete the journey. We have to instill in our kids a sense and an awareness of their personal limitations and worth. Be brutally honest, if need be, and let them know that there is a chance that their best may not be good enough to take them to the top of the tree. For sure we will not achieve much in life without a sense of self-worth and confidence, but self delusion that is fueled by parents, society and one's peers will only set one up for failure and a lot of pain. Their world and the freaking universe, for that matter, owes you nothing, least of all allow you to get away with being an asshole. It is good to strive and have dreams. It is much more important to know our own limitations and capabilities. That is all. As you were.

I had just come back from having a long lunch with 4 of my colleagues at a restaurant. It must have been one helluva lunch (sans alcohol) because I walked into a glass door on my way out. I don’t know what is more humiliating walking into the door or having to pretend that it was nothing, when your forehead is throbbing and your knee feels like it has just been crushed by Thor’s hammer. Thank God, I had managed to stay upright. There is no dignified manner in which deal with these situations, is there?. You fall down or walk into a door, you are pretty much an ass and people will laugh no matter how concerned they are for your welfare. Come on, I would have laughed if it had been someone else or had it not not been for the bump to my knee and my forehead. The walk of shame – yep, there is no other way of looking at it. One cannot skulk away unnoticed. Everyone saw you… the collective gasp and the silence that follows is a dead give-away. My first thought was to blame the restaurant. I wanted to pick up the nearest heavy object and throw it at the glass door. I wanted revenge, but I could hear the suppressed laughter and snickering coming from my captive audience. So I played along and smiled back at them while I rubbed my forehead. Bastards… each and every one of them!! Strangely enough, I have no recollection of anything that transpired prior to making contact with the door. I guess the knock to my forehead knocked every single memorythought out of my head. Hahaha… I may be suffering from temporary amnesia. Back at the office I quickly took stock of my injuries. Nothing broken and no blood was shed, but I will sport a nice little bruise on me forehead for the next few days. Call it my battle scar. Suddenly the hilarity of the whole situation hit me. I started to laugh uncontrollably. Tears were rolling! Perhaps it is relief at escaping injury or the looks on my colleagues’ faces as they tried to contain their laughter. Either way, it did me a world of good. Screw pride, dignity and self respect! There are only so many people who can claim that they have walked into a glass door and survived and apparently I am one of them. (Come on, people... work with me here, ok?). I have a feeling that walking into objects is something I may have done regularly in the past… damned if I can remember when.

“Deal with it” These are the exact words someone used today to shut me up when I objected to something they were saying. What this person seemed to have forgotten is that I am an opiniated SOB who rarely backs away from a challenge, so I proceeded to have my say anyway. Yeah, Wednesday morning sucks when coming to work feels like it is Monday all over again. I am tired of dealing… tired because I do too much of it. I am tired of dealing with the crap others feel they can dump on me. I am tired of people telling me to “deal with it” when they do things that are wrong and insensitive and hurtful. The outside world already requires us to deal on a daily basis. Bush invades Iraq – we may not like it, but we deal with it. Terrorist attacks in London – we deal with it. The petrol price goes up – again, we deal. Thabo loans Mugabe a shitload of our hard-earned tax money – we may write angry letters of protest, but we deal. So many friggin deals and so little of me to go around. So with all this dealing going on around me, the majority of which is completely out of my control, the last thing I need is some nitwit at the office telling me to deal with their bulshit. Telling me to deal does not give you license to act or speak as you please, to offend and to make callous statements. Nor does it give you the right to intrusive and manipulative. I don’t have to deal with anything you dish up if I don’t want to. What I will however do is refuse to let you get away with it and I will deal WITH YOU right there and then. So the next time you feel the desire to tell me to deal with it… pipe it and smoke it or I will shove it down your throat so fast, you’ll think you swallowed a giant smoke stack. Dealing with one’s own problems is of course another story altogether. You have no choice… you either deal or you go down in flames. There is no escape. I don't have money right now, ok... make a plan to get more work, enter into prostitution, pull of an “Italian Job" heist or do without. That report the boss wants by close of business today… lie, fake near death or work late – but deal. Girl friends, boyfriends, sex life, parents, death, living, health, car payments, bond payments, etc – deal, deal, deal. Need a promotion... work hard, up your profile, sleep with the boss – just deal dammit! Having said all this… I am still tired of dealing. I am not saying I can't/won’t do it… I just wish I knew where to draw the line when it comes to my own personal issues. Dealing with others are easier… you shut he door and tell them to fuck off. I sometimes wish I could tell myself to fuck off… but that would be rude, especially since I am such a caring and sensitive person and goddammit.. I like myself.

Livewire’s post about honesty got me thinking of instances when being honest just does NOT seem the right thing to do. I am not advocating dishonesty or deceit and my post is tongue-in-cheek and hardly in the same class as Livewire’s. But... do any of these sound familiar to you? When applying for a new job; What is your greatest weakness? Oh that would be… I am a schizophrenic cross-dressing sex addict. Whoo… I am so glad we got that out of the way. Phew... I feel so much better. Why did you leave your last job? Well, my boss was an ass and there was this one time an amount of R50,000 mysteriously found it way into my private bank account. How do you feel about teamwork? Love it! Love it! Love it! There is no “I” in team is there… hahaha? What did you like best about your last employer?” If I liked it over there, why am I sitting across from you and having this interview? (Of course you lie and tell them how great your employer was). When stopped by the police, one is practically forced to lie. Not because you want to, but because of how the questions are asked. Are you aware that you just went through a red light? Red light… what red light? Uhhh… did I mention I am colourblind. Yeah, I cannot see red… red appears grey to me. So, officer… how about the Boks, huh… wow… what a great game they played on Saturday?! Are you aware that you exceeded the speed limit? "Uhhh… no" Now would be a good time to pretend you are deaf and start communicating in sign language. Remember first dates? How does one tell the whole truth without frightening the life out of your date? So… how long has it been since your last date? Two years and counting… I like animals... do you like animals? Are we talking about you or the four legged kind? Do you believe in love at first sight? I have no problem with the notion that one person can love another from the moment they meet. It is the second sight, usually the day after or later, that bothers me. What do you look for in a partner? You tell me what you have and I’ll agree. How’d the two of you break up? I think it was the incessant jealousy and stalking that finally drove her over the edge. My favourites. Do you think this is funny? This question is usually asked by someone in authority, like your parents or your boss when you screwed up badly. Now this is a tricky one. The short and fast answer is a flat out, “NO sir/ma’am”. Now if only you can stop giggling and shaking uncontrollably. Does this dress make me look fat or do you think my ass looks big? Every man on the entire planet has or will at one time in his life face up to this one. My advice, “LIE, LIE, LIE and if that doesn’t help… lie some more. Do you think so-and-so likes me? (Usually someone who is completely out the league of the one who’s asking) I am sure they do! Are you kidding... what’s not to like about you? You are young and single and quite a catch. So… does this mean you are thinking of asking her out? Take a guess… how old do you think I am? Whoa… hehehe… tough one. You don’t look a day older than 30. (Secretly thinking… you must have been around since before WW2) And when they tell you their real age, you fake surprise and say, “ Oh really? Wow… one would never say!” I’d settle for them picking a number and telling me what it is. Remember when your mother asked you, “Did you pray before you started eating?”. Usually happens just after you took the first mouthful. No there’s a lie just waiting to happen. There’s no way you can say no. Not unless you want to get the speech on how there are so many children less fortunate than you are. I can’t wait to have children of my own so I can play the same tricks on them… hehehe. Why aren't you married yet? (#1 personal favourite) Hahaha… I usually try to walk away and say, “Can I get you something to drink? I am thinking of getting an eintire bottle of tequila for myself. I just bet your single friends just love being around you”. Have you ever cheated on your gf? Yeah, I do it all the time. Since we are getting personal and nosing around in each others business… how many affairs have you had since you got married? Are you excited about the performance appraisal you are having with the boss? Yeah sure, I simply love it when he craps all over me about things I should’ve done and could've done. Thank God for those 6 margaritas I had at lunch time. How about credit applications. Do you have a history of bad debt? “No. Although… there was this tiny little incident… a long long time ago... but I am sure you don’t want to know about that”. Medical aid/doctors visits. How many alcoholic beverages do you drink a day? (Embarrassing moment!) Uh… Two… per week. Yeah that sounds like an average number of drinks. The doctor doesn’t need to know I hit back a whole bottle for the last 4 nights in a row. What does a guy have to do to get a drink around here? For the smokers, How many cigarettes do you smoke a day? Five!! Five sounds like a really nice number. Actually, it’s more like five packs day… but who’s counting. 5 cigarettes… five packs… yep, close enough. How may sexual partners have you had in the last year? Uuhh… ONE, well... maybe two… and there is no way you can make me admit to more. You know, usually I am too out of it to know, but since you absolutely have to have a number…. Two it is.

Yet another major sporting weekend on the immediate horizon and I am dreading it. Not from the perspective of the sport itself, but from what it entails in my circle of friends. My girlfriend is already giving me the eye as if to say… "You’ve just spent a week in the Cape and on your first weekend back, you are spending it with the guys”. I know deep down inside that I should be saying no to the guys and take the time out to nurture my relationship. But somehow I cannot get myself to do that. Very few men can and I, it seems, am not one of the few. I love sports and I love rugby and the fact that we are playing the mighty All Blacks this weekend makes it so much more important to me. Even if I decide not to watch the game, my thoughts would be with them and she would end up telling me to go and join my posse of delinquents. How lucky am I? Extremely lucky, I would say. We are all meeting up at my friends Alan’s place. Ten of us and everything has been planned to the last detail. This is about the only time you can expect a guy to plan an event and not screw it all up. The booze, the beer, the snacks, the big screen TV, the braai, biltong and everything else that goes with it has been organized. Judging from previous experience it is going to be a rough one. The last game we had had against Australia (not the Tri-nations game) turned into an all–nighter and I ended up nursing a hangover the size of Mount Kilimanjaro. The antics we get up can only be described as juvenile and immature, even though they seem like the biggest deal at the time. There’ll be loud screaming and shouting, singing, dancing, jumping, larger than life gestures and lots of hugging and back-slapping. One would think that the whole outcome of the game depends on how enthusiastically we can cheer our side on. There's nothing like a game of sports to bring out the worst in us. Of course there are also the obligatory alcohol fueled arguments and debates during and after the game. None of which are particularly exciting, but as a whole are such key ingredients to whole male bonding sports phenomenon. Yeah, I will have many flashbacks on Sunday that will make me wish I had not been born and many more moments when I will hold my head and utter the words…. “Oh, please God… no... we did not do that… did we?!” Last week in Cape Town was no exception as my brother-in-law, a group of his friends and I invaded the local pub and proceeded to behave in manner that would have made the women in our lives blush and made the pub owner smile for ear to ear. We finally managed to crawl (in the literal sense) home at around three in the morning(!)… my BIL having made numerous sacrifices to the knee high white porcelain god. Being with a somewhat strange group of people I had managed to keep myself in check and behave decently. Besides, someone had to drive home and explain to the sister why her husband looked like he had just played an extra in The War of the Worlds. Having made it through last Saturday one would think that I would have learnt my lesson. But that is the thing about being a man… we never learn. We bitch and moan about the stupid things we did and then go right back to doing it the next time around. There is no logical explanantion for this behaviour... we do it, because we can. Every embarrassing moment begins with a lie told to oneself. Unfortunately I am no exception and my love of sport and of big events will always get the better of me. Convincing proof once again that I'm a jackass... hehehe. Even now, the prospect of going to work on Monday seems a daunting one indeed. Uh.. I hope the maid remembered to wash and iron my Springbok rugby jersey. Go Bokke... go!!!!

Baby, it’s good to be back… it’s so good to be back! I have just spent a week visiting my sister and her family in the Western Cape. I figured that since the single biggest event in my life is working on hitherto non-existent special projects (I promise this the last time I mention it), I may as well take the time off and devote it to myself. So come last week Friday, I jetted off to the Cape and spent time with my sister and her husband in Paarl, that quaint little Boland town in the heart of the Cape winelands. I am still undecided whether visiting the Cape in winter was such a good idea. The winters in the Cape are something else and even though I grew up there, the damp and the cold get to me. Having said that, I was not going to allow a bit of cold and wet weather get the better of me or spoil my fun. A helluva lot of my time was spent relaxing indoors… hanging out with family… reviving old friendships, and even making a few new one’s. There were many many late nights, eating out, drinking wine, reflecting on my current situation and generally just making a nuisance of myself and getting myself into compromising situations that are better left unsaid. All in all though, I had a great time. My body and soul has been re-energized and I am ready to move on to the next phase. It is amazing how much solace and peace one can find in the things that are familiar to you. It puts everything back into perspective and reminds you how much you really have going for you and how much there is out there for you still too experience. I have also realised that in order for me to be happy, I need to be doing things, be creative... keep busy. So... screw the idea of waiting until the end of the year before I move on to my next job… time waits for no-one, not even for me. The chitty is back and God help us all (well, perhaps only those who know me)… hehehe.