Naughty Naughty

I didn't go bikini shopping. I didn't have the strength physically and certainly not emotionally! LOL

I have the funniest two videos for you. EVER. I cried with laughter through these!! I just had to share them with you!
Do yourself a favour and watch them... hilarious!

I met Jennifer Garner last night for dinner and drinks. Ok, well, I think Mushy Peas looks just like her. What a doll. She is hilarious and fun and an amazing listener and story teller. I literally felt as if I had known her for years, regardless of my stalking her blog. I did gush and I did embarrass myself but then again whats new? It was fantastic to meet the person behind the pseudonym and she is as brilliant and fun as she is in her blog. You know the internet and blogging world can be a funny thing. It's very easy to sit infront of a PC screen and be whoever you want to be, have an alter-ego, hide behind something that is safe and free from judgement or whatever. Just ask most peadophiles. It could have been one of those weird moments where you're sitting there going: Dude! How is it possible for someone to be so cool and then you meet them and it's literally a case of 'Oh shit! Who IS this person? What are we going to talk about?'
I've had that before on an email chat with someone I was doing business with. He was witty and hilarious and confident and when I actually met him he was this introverted guy who couldn't string two sentences together orally.
I must say meeting Peas was fabulous. I reckon that date 2 is a must and will probably involve more alcohol (we were trying to be polite...that, and that I didn't want her to think I would take advantage. Kidding! Ok seriously, we were being responsible adults* knowing we had early starts) and some dance moves that will look like I'm doing the sprinkler and shaking the dice, while Peas will be the bonafide hip hop dancer. You'll be able to tell. Trust me.

I've been up early. Early as in: before the sun has risen. There should be a law against that. As a result I now feel as if I've been awake for so long that it should be home time and not 10am. I don't think another cup of coffee will help. I am yawning and too lazy to cover my mouth. It's attractive, especially after eating a bran muffin. Most people in the office today are just too bright and perky. They're giving me a headache. That shrill: "Goooood Mooorning!!!!!" is ringing out all over the place. It could be one of two things. They either got some last night or their holiday is around the corner. Just saying.
Weird thing is, I'm generally a morning person. The end of the year will do that to you.

OK and some good news (think positive Blogshell) I got a message from the person I've been hoping to hear from regarding my audition, which didn't go as I had hoped. The stress, the nerves, the pressure and the intensity of such a show is overwhelming if you haven't done anything like it before.
They said to me that they have feedback for me, which will be given soon and that there is some work to do and lots of intense dedication to put in before we get there.
Happiness. That's a good thing. It certainly isn't a: Look, this has been fun. Don't call us; we'll call you!
I am more than prepared to put in the hard work and dedication and I relish this opportunity so I am excited that the door is still slightly ajar and not slammed shut. I'm putting positive vibes out there.
This dream of mine just HAS to come true. I have dreamt about this particular thing since I a teen. It was the goal I set for myself in this industry and just the fact that I've come this far is pretty mind blowing.

Right. Coffee machine is calling. So is my bed. We can't have our cake and eat it can we?


* Don't snigger.

Hurling Heritage Day

Oh God! I sure made up for my bitching last night. If you didn't read the previous post, I was pretty miffed out with the fact that everyone was partying up a storm and I was in bed early for a half day of work the next day. Half day, whatever. Work is work. I like to think of it as: doing my bit for the economy.
;-)

Special K, Blondie 2 and I went for a girly lunch, instead of the braai today. Let me explain.
We were supposed to have a braai with the gang, but someone had to go and get pissed last night and is hanging like a donkey on steroids.
Dude. The man is so ill and instead of being mad, I find him adorable…he reverts to a cute 8 year old boy you just want to nurse. I will never tell him this. You know why.

So, I was all super psyched for potato salad, chicken kebabs and a boerewors roll; and that craving went straight out the window. It went out the window, when I heard the man hurl his stomach contents straight down the toilet. I know this sounds bizarre and gross, but he vomits weirdly. I know there is no “right” way to vomit and I am going to sound incredibly mean, because I should be concerned, but I find it hilarious. Seriously. He makes the funniest sounds. He sounds like a combination of a hyena laughing, coughing up a fur ball and well, the general “normal” up chuck sound.
Man, it is funny. Trust me. I would say you have to be there, but that’s really sadistic isn’t it?
Can you imagine? “Hi guys, come around… you know I was telling you about the man’s weird vomiting sounds, well, I thought you should experience it first hand, so let’s feed him revolting things to make it happen. Trust me; it’s going to be the best time ever. Ever!”

Anyway, I called up the gang to find out what the vibe was with having a braai. If everyone was still keen, well, sorry for vomit boy... but they all dropped like flies... all of them were hanging. Bunch of babies.
All of them, except my best girls*. Blondie 2 and Special K were still keen to do something. I left the man lying in bed curled into the foetal position, muttering the usual: “I’m never drinking again. No really. I mean it this time. Fuck I wanna die…shit, pass me the bucket…”
I asked if he wanted me to stay, but he kind of waved me off, muttering: “Kill me.” and “Have a good time!”

We met up for sushi and Cosmopolitans. Lunch with girls is never an hour or two.
6 hours later, sun setting, several Cosmo’s in and stomachs literally sore from laughing, we called it a day.
The bill showed that we had enjoyed 13 Cosmopolitans between the 3 of us. We paid the bill and it was only when we were in the car park that we suddenly realised that made no sense. How can 3 girls share 13 cosmos? They either didn’t charge us for an extra one (yeah right) or they over charged us by one (probably.)
My head is spinning and I’m feeling a little bad. What heritage did I celebrate today? I drank Cosmopolitans – for Johannesburg (work with me here) and I ate sushi for…um… well... I’m stumped.
I bought biltong on my way home. Does that count?
The man is still on the couch, watching Absolute Formula 1 and stuffing his face with biltong and Lay’s Salt and Vinegar crisps. It helps with the nausea. Apparently. He is still hanging. Insane.
It’s another early night for me. This time, I really don’t mind. Those Cosmo’s are dangerous. Deliciously dangerous.

* I sound like a pimp. Niiiice.

Frosted bits

I need a nap. I'm exhausted. No rest for the wicked though. I have a hectic weekend ahead. A hectic working weekend.

Anywho, I got a call from my hilariously funny mate, Daddy Long Legs, who asked me if I had ever highlighted hair.
Um...
Nope.
"How hard can it be, Blondie? Just slap on some peroxide and we're rocking and we're rolling!"
"Alrighty, but you're signing a disclaimer."
"Seriously?"
"Yup. Let me just draw one up quickly."
"Blondieeee!! Should I be nervous? This wee guinea pig doesn't need shite hair for the weekend."
"Like I said, sign the disclaimer."

So, I arrived last night, played a little bit of tennis (as you do) and once we had both put the task off for as long as we could, he eventually and very nervously showed me the Highlighting Kit he'd bought.
"Ok cool, give here! Let me read the instructions."
"Noooo. I reckon we read the instructions together!"
We empty the contents out onto his bed and I got super excited to see torture devices. A lovely sweaty cap and a sharp plastic hook for me to stick into his scalp through the small plastic holes and pluck the hair through.
He put the cap on and we (his room mate and I) asked where the swimming gala was. Because we think we're hilarious.
I then had to get every piece of hair through the cap, without missing one of the millions holes. I didn't wanna hurt him, but as a result he was worried that I was being too gentle and not getting all the hair (from the root) out.
"Puh-lease. I am a pro."
"Let's just see shall we?"
"Shoosh you. Who has the power right now?"
"Just frost them tips, will ya?"
I carry on pulling his clumps of hair through the cap and 2 hours later I get the last strand through. Dude. 2 hours? I wanted to make sure I did a good job and didn't hurt him.
Then it was the fun part, mixing the colour together and plastering it all over the tufty cap. Beautiful. We then turned him into a Roman Emperor and made a funky tinfoil hat for him.
30 minutes later, he went to rinse it off and Voila!!
Like I said. Pro.

So, I reckon if my current career doesn't work out I can always go into hair.
Any takers?

I'm exhausted. Need sleep. I can only sleep on Monday. Argh.