Ow, you punched my boob

“Hey there, I was just wondering how much a back massage is?”
“Uhh…. *silence*… umm…. We don’t do those.”
“What?”
“Umm… we don’t do umm… butt massages, sorry.”

This was definitely going to be a good time.

The other night, The BestFriend and I trotted to the "Happy Feet Traditional Asian Massage Parlour". I hate the word parlour. It makes me think of herpes, crabs and bad smells.

I.Hate.Pedestrians.

I am not an angry person. I’m quite cheerful, even in the mornings. I don’t sulk, I don’t get irrationally angry – unless I drink too much gin - and I remain calm in stressful situations. There are only two things that truly peeve me off beyond control. They take hold of the frontal lobe of my brain and contort it into a manic and fizzing ball of anger and resentment:

Shit drivers and equally shit pedestrians

Hi there, I'm GypsyFeet

I haven’t written in a while. Probably ‘coz the BossLady said that she isn’t marking our blogs anymore since she's busy with the new troop of First Years. Today I felt something was lacking in my life and I realised it was the fact that I missed writing about stuff that interested me. So here goes nothing, a bit of a life update:

1. I’m a Proud Mom
I was drunk the other night! Gasp! Who does that? Off we trotted home at around 4am from Fez to my friend's house to find some food. And I quite literally stumbled across a cat. “Shhhee hash’nt got a howme” I was told. “She waz jusht like, like left here in the garden. Her name is Jezabelle.” Jezabelle? Like the slut? I immediately picked up the cat and took it home. It felt like a magnificent idea at the time. I renamed the cat Bella (no, not Twilight Bella, JezaBELLE-kinda Bella) and went to sleep. I woke up at 7am and thought about how strange my dreams were until I rolled over and found a cat staring me deeply in the eyes. Fuck.

Bella can breakdance

2011 Nerves

I’m on holiday. It’s quite lovely and I'm enjoying it thoroughly. However I am plagued by irrational dreams (nightmares) about starting college again in roughly two weeks.

Throughout my childhood I was always nervous before going back to school. These nerves have followed me through my teenage years, into semi-adulthood and now into whatever you call yourself when you hit 22.

New Years Shmnew Shmears

For weeks I have been trying to remember last years’ New Years’ resolution without any luck at all. Whilst searching in my cupboard for a pen to write this very blog, I found myself eye to eye with a glimmering bottle of vodka, which was staring me down, calling me stupid and daring me to drink it. It was being mean. I then remembered.

The realisation that my pathetic attempt at a resolution last year, and for the past 4 years, has been to stop drinking so much, whacked me smack-bang in the middle of my alcohol-infused kidneys.

I’m sick of resolutions which I can’t keep. Especially ones which I don’t want to keep and just say I’m going to do because it makes me feel like a better person. Because when I break them, I feel worse. And that’s no fun at all.

The Prince

Once upon a time there was a maiden. This maiden lived in a beautiful land where the deep blue seas met the pure white sand of the shore, in a turquoise burst, as vivid and enchanting as the brightest star in the sky.

The maiden was not blessed to be laden with gold. She laboured many hard hours a day in an effort to raise enough gold to visit the weekly market; to care for her noble steed, Geraldine; and to buy enough candles so she never had to brave the dark.

The maiden lived at the top of a huge stone tower. Late one noon, sitting contentedly by her window, holding her quill and parchment, she was writing a declaration for story teller named Penguin, informing the people of the land how wonderful his works were. When suddenly, a grey-breasted carrier pigeon flew through the window and landed delicately on the maiden’s hand.

Cape Town Chronicle: The Foundation

Almost 22 years ago (it’s my birthday this week, gifts are welcome), I was born in the sunny city of Durban. I loved it there and had a wonderful childhood and youth. After matric UCT offered me a scholarship and it was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down.

Although my sister and her family live in CT, I decided that I wanted to go into UCT Residence (Res). We had been told throughout high school that if you had an “A” aggregate and held a leadership position within the school, you would get into one of the top Residences – either Fuller or Baxter. As this is what I had aimed for and achieved, those were the ones I applied to. Low and behold, I was placed in Tugwell Hall because 2007 was the first year that placements were completely random and no academics were taken into consideration. Great!

After doing some research, my mother and I had a bit of a panic attack especially as we heard a rumour that a girl had recently been raped and murdered in Tugwell. Ominous clouds hovered over my future in CT. I began visualising scenes of my imminent death which centred on me getting into the shower, as a katana-blade yielding psychopath tiptoed into the Tugwell bathroom after me. (I was however, tanned, toned and thin in these nightmares, my only reprieve).

Reality Bites

In a recent study, it was found that young adults would rather watch a few episodes of a series as opposed to a movie. Furthermore, for at least 43% of them, their series of choice is Reality TV. "I can watch it all day and I don't feel bad. I love it so much. It just makes me happy" said a 20 year old lass. However, its not just the girls who are going gaga for reality shows, "Ya I dig them because they're just really funny.".

Where did this obsession with Reality TV stem from? Instead of spending time with actual friends, people are content to sit on their couch/bed/chair/floor/toilet and silently watch other people who they do not know from a bar of soap.

Awkward Child Moment of the Week

Things got a bit awkward with niece number 2 this week. Apparently she overheard some people talking. Things went a bit like this:

"Kayli" she said innocently.

"Yes, niece number 2?"

"Whats a golden shower?"

"You heard wrong. There is no such thing. They said golden power. It's a little cloth you use to clean gold jewellery."

"Oh."

 

I'm getting HUGE

It's 10:28pm and I just got home from gym.

I plan on getting enormous. Like this magnificent piece of statuesque greatness. She is my muse, her name is Genevieve:

Please note the following facts which make her such a fabulous example of womanhood:


1. Her dam-like cleavage clearly portrays her earth-shattering sexuality.
2. A tan which would make Hercules ashamed to be called a Demi-God.
3. Her necklessness, a shrine to her power and grace.
4. Her bulging, globular veins, a testimony to her determination.

Someone Help

I wrote a blog. A long one.

I wrote it in Word, but now I cant paste it here. It just wont let me. I may cry.

How do I make it work? I have a sad face right now.

Very Naughty Men II - The Fan Walk

Other than working at Caprice (ie. slutty men beach bar) I worked at all the Cape Town soccer matches on the Somerset Road Fanwalk. We had a quaint bottle-green hut, with a rose-red roof and a canary yellow door. Or so I thought. By the end of the World Cup I referred to said hut as a minuscule, creaky shed, with vomit-green walls, a congealed-blood-red roof and a pus-yellow door.

We made pancakes. No wait a second, I made pancakes. Up to 500 a night. 500 pancakes. 6 pans. 1 Kayli. I never want to see anything flat and round ever again.

Very Naughty Men

I have been trying to pull myself together and write about the World Cup for quite some time. I really wish I had written throughout the month because now I just have to much to say. I LITERALLY don't know where to begin. This story may be muddled, so please forgive me, but I shall try my very best.

So South Africa hosted the World Cup. People feared that the crime would be so horrendous that entire hotels of foreigners would be stolen. People feared that terrorists from our neighbouring countries would suddenly attack, using anthrax and air-born AIDS to kill the Universe. People were wrong. We hosted the most beautiful and moving World Cup that I think has yet been seen.

The Villiage Idiot

The stupidity of certain people really blows my mind. Like really.

I mean, we all make mistakes. Just the other day I was looking in the freezer for something to eat. Upon finding nothing which interested me I decided to close the freezer. My mommy always told me never to leave it open. The problem was that I forgot to remove my head first. I escaped with both a bruised right ear and ego.

But at least I was at home and up until the posting of this blog, no one knew of my sin.

People on Facebook however are publically re-tarded.

^Insert Interesting Headline Here^

I think I have become boring.

I can not think of any witty things to amuse my millions of adoring fans with. Im not sure what is going on, but it seems that my brain has switched off. Maybe I have been over worked this alledged "holiday". Although I still insist that I haven't had one. Yes, thats it. I have been over worked and until the end of the month finally arrives, I am still underpaid.

As my dearest Gran always says in response to a simple "How are you?": "I'm fit, fat, overworked and underpaid". That sums me up pretty nicely. The other day I ate so much that if I didnt know better I would have feared pregnancy. But no, nothing to worry about on that front.

I need a few more days to gather my brain from its various places of hiding, as it is most definately not in one piece. Once I have done so, I will have a bit of a tale to tell about my experience during that "Thing-That-I'm-Not-Allowed-To-Mention-In-Connection-With-That-Thing-Where-People-Kick-A-Thing-Around-On-A-Thing".

I hope the college Bosslady doesn't mind the delay. Maybe she won't notice.