Posts tagged ‘Pointless Story’

Ride on you sexy thing

It’s official. My car is riding.

My car is probably the biggest and most expensive rash decision of my life. While the circumstances of buying said car is not something I’d like to get into (it makes me look more stupid than I would like to admit) at least Hubs now has a nice manly project to sink his metaphorical teeth into.

And hell, he got it running. *yay Hubs*

Problem is, the glue holding the interior on the ceiling has melted in the sun and now the interior flaps like the Great Temple Curtian just behind the driver’s seat.

Fact: I am not Jesus, and could not tear the Great Temple curtain holding the view out the rear window hostage.

Other Fact: I happen to have very long arms and a very small car.

The drive from my parents place to my flat looked a little like this:

My amazing artwork

Looks pretty comfortable right?

Wrong.

We went trapezing down the road like this: with Hubs laughing, my face strained and my arms aching.

But you know. It’s what we do.

That’s how we ride.

Advertisements

July 14, 2009 at 6:20 am 10 comments

Saturdays are oh so good to me

Happy weekend everyone!

I’m not working and Hubs is gone today.

Mrs SoCo and I will be taking up residence on my balcony and discussing things like politics, bad hairdays and other topics of awesomeness.

To my neighbors:

Consider this payback.

July 11, 2009 at 9:36 am 1 comment

Love Letters II

Dear Kitchen Sink,

Please grow the self cleaning mechanisms to wash my dishes on my behalf. The way that you allow the dishes to pile up makes me look like a bad wife and an overall poor housekeeper. It’s despicable and I am tired of your sloppy approach to cleanliness. Get moving. Go, Go, Go.

Thanks,

The Boss

**********

Dear Heater,

Breaking down on the coldest day of the year to date was uncool. We gave you a chance to proof yourself and you failed. Big time. Be prepared to be replaced by one that will work harder than you.

Claim unemployment or something.

Love,

One frigid lady

**********

Dear Psychic that thinks Michael Jackson was an alien,

You are nuts.

Regards,

A logical person who knows that white skin, strange facial features and weird social tendencies are more accredited to weirdness than to extra terrestrials

**********

Dear my former Kettle,

What the freak? Why did you listen to the heater and kisk out on me? Just before the inlaws came over too? Are you planning a coup on me? Bad timing Mister. Very bad timing. I thought we were friends? All the great times we shared in that little icebox known as Pretoria- fubar. I’ll miss you, but you chose your own fate.

Goodbye,

An old friend who enjoyed too many steamy drinks at 4 in the morning.

**********

Dear New Board Game,

You are like monopoly and trivial pursuit but even hotter. I love you!

Love,

Your adoring fan

**********

Dear person who keeps sending me spam,

Suck it.

Best Regards,

The one who is getting tired of deleting your crap.

**********

Dear Weirdos who find my blog by typing porn words into Google,

Although it entertains Hubs and I with the words you type to try and find me, and although it will make one really funny post one day, I kind of find you revolting and wish for you to leave.

If that shines and sparkles with you, of course.

Thanks

**********

To: Sco-man,

I’m glad you are back.

From: Your #1 Fan

**********

Dear Spring,

Momma’s ready for you!

**********

Dear Hubs,

I positively adore you.

Love,

Your go-go

**********

Dear reader,

I’m glad you stopped by today. I love you.

Love,

Me.

July 7, 2009 at 7:58 am 16 comments

The Vuvuzela

The Confed cup is underway with lots of noise! The wonderful *choke* vuvuzela has really been causing a ruckus!

The Vuvuzla:



is a plastic trumpet that when blown emits a high pitched blasting sound, much like a big air-horn on trucks, except maybe more irritating.

South Africans have being blowing these things by the droves, drowning out any commentary, music and thoughts of those in the stadiums and watching on the television.

Personally, I don’t give a damn about soccer. Or even the World Cup **may the government and its people not see that statement and throw me in Anti SA prison** But those cursed vuvuzelas can die.

I along with Basil Coetzee “find comments about this being a truly African experience condescending and patronising.” I would like to know how a PLASTIC TRUMPET is at all South African? What about this blasted noise maker is African in nature? It’s plastic. And a trumpet. It’s a gosh darn plastic trumpet.

Unless of course, the nature of South Africans is irritation, inconsiderate, loud and obnoixious. Only then would vuvuzelas be African. And that my friends is just ludicrous.

Isn’t it?

Sure I’ve heard the arguements for the Vuvs. I get that we can’t ban the shouting in England or the other ruckus’s in other countries, but for the sakes of the Wives of Soccer fans, please oh please… ban the vuvuzelas.

Please?


I need to protect my hearing for old age and things.

June 25, 2009 at 1:28 pm 7 comments

Everyone needs a little flesh sometimes.

Found:

Flesh in Royco Cooking Sauce. That’s right. It’s freaking flesh.

(that’s what it looks like anyway)

(Obviously)

It came slooshing out of our cooking in sauce and a quick call to the complaint line went a bit like this:

Me: Hi, I want to complain

Operator: What would you like to complain about?

Me: there seems to be flesh in my cook in sauce.

*phone disconnection* (My imagination has cooked up her screaming curse words for lack of better things to say)

Me: HI, I found Flesh in my cook in sauce.

Operator: Excuse me?

Me: Flesh. Cooking Sauce. F-L-E-S-H.(at this point I giggled. I mean there is flesh in my food. FLESH!)

Operator: Oh I see.

She took my details. I got a call the next morning.

New Operator: I received a message about a foreign body.

Me: Yes, you could call it that. A body.

She had me explain what it looked like

ME: like flesh of some-sort *notice the repetition?* about the size of a palm.

N.O: We take foreign bodies very seriously.

I’m sure she did. I’ve been barraged by phone calls for the last two weeks, and no one will believe me. There was a piece of flesh in my dinner. And someone’s gonna pay.

Or perhaps they already have…

Anyone missing a hand?

June 18, 2009 at 12:45 pm 4 comments

Keyword Wednesday

It’s that time. The time when all your secrets are displayed on my stat counter. I know what you searched for to find me.

These are the recent keywords that readers have used to find me on Google.

Sometime I’ve gotta wonder…

1. Messy Beauty- This obviously links to Klara’s Blog. But seriously. When I looked it up on google I got nothing but random ridiculous searches. What are you looking for?!?!(Unless you are looking for Klara’s blog. And if that’s the case, go check it out!)

2. One day as slave- we we forced to harvest tabacco. Are you serious?!

3. guyus as slaves- Sounds like porn to me! Try again later.

4. Tea for my aching tummy- Rooibos (or red bush)tea, honey. Does it every time.

5. letting go- It’s hard. But a good Facebook clean out does wonders!

6. stood up quotes- If you don’t stand up for something then you’ll fall for anthing.

7. Best friend getting married letter- Glad they found me. I could totally help with that. Not.

8. mullet with a farmers tan – Oh the wonders of the internet

9. dahlingitsme- Hi.

10. oh my tummy aches- Why are you tellin Google?

11. funny crap to say- Now this is something I can help with!

12. why do people meddle?- Why the heck should I know?!

13. “the day of destiny” – Tada!

14. How to make my husband a slave- Um.

Pretty Nutso me thinks.

June 3, 2009 at 6:19 am 4 comments

The Journey of the Giraffe which is probably the least eventful story in the world. But is complete with pictures.

Of course, I have many giraffe stories. However, I have yet to have a giraffe story with a CAMERA on hand. Lucky for me, while on a walk through our chalet park, we stumbled across this:

I know. Adorable.

I had a camera this time. No make up on my face mind you, but a camera. Proof:

Make-up aint nothing when you are staying in a chalet with a private pool.

We walked 20 metres up to the guy on our side of the fence and he decided to step forward to greet us.

He halved the distance in one step.

I chickened out. Ran away and used the zoom.

Magnificent.

The End.

May 30, 2009 at 5:28 pm 2 comments

Older Posts Newer Posts