Tuesday, September 28, 2010

I'm sick so you all will put up with my vacation pictures

I got the day off for being diseased so I thought I'd post you some piccies:

Sticky Fingers. Its owned by one of the Rolling Stones, but they were closed when I got there and then I got so miserably lost I never got my dinner there.

This I took at the Royal Mews at Buckingham Palace. It was decidedly boring.

Somehow, this looks more comfy than the golden carriages.

These are the Bobbies all protecting the Pope when he was visiting. None of them carry guns. So really, the Pope was protected by a bunch of guys in funny hats with no weapons. And presumably, the Lord.

This is some Prince or other that they stuck on a giant phallic pole. He had a Napolean complex. Or a Freudian one.

Me. Next to the National Gallery. Looking fed up.

A little piece of home. Proving my theory that South Africa already has invaded Britain.

Riding along the Thames I spotted the famous Gherkin building, famous for its odd erm...gherkiny shape. I think its the headquarters for Anne Summers.

Big Ben. Traditionally you are supposed to lob rocks at it if you are from South Africa.

And I honored the late Princess Diana by walking up and down this long, boring path for 3 hours. I think she'd be pleased.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

A pictoral exploration of Essie in England

I don't feel like blogging about England. I wrote a haiku though:

Wet, cloudy
Damp every day.
Ooh, Guiness!

I'll leave a big blank space so you all can reflect on the beauty of my poetry.

I stayed in a quaint English Tudor cottage. This isn't it. But it was decidedly quainter than the one I stayed in. I'm all about The Quaint. Yes. That's a real thing.

Here I am at the Queen's Locomotive. It's in a mall in Windsor, so I assume it doesn't go anywhere. I'm not sure why it's cool but my boss made me stand there for a picture and I was rocking awesome oversized earrings, so I obeyed.

Here's me next to the flag at Windsor Castle. The flag indicates that the Queen is home, which is really considerate if you are an assassin or terrorist. I wanted to climb up there for the photo op but then a bobby threatened me and I pretended not to speak English for 20 mins.

Guiness. Happy. Refer to my Haiku for further details. Guiness is actually really weak compared to African beer so I won a weekend worth of free cab rides from these Spanish cabbies in a drinking contest. I'm awesome.

I was trying to be sexy with this guy but in hindsight it looks like I'm kneeing him in the balls. I'm doomed to die alone.

Here I am on the Tube, which is not really a Tube but a dank hole full of Stephen Fry advertisements and unfriendly British people pretending to listen to their Ipods when you ask them for help. This is my "Tube face". A look that just says...Fuck off.

My hotel room. I went to Robben Island once, and I swear Nelson Mandela's cell was bigger than this. But he didn't have TV. But neither did anyone else because we only got TV in the late 70s in South Africa. Sony took away our TV privileges because we put Nelson Mandela in prison. Really, it's a vicious circle.

In Hyde Park, looking bloaty and annoyed because the guy couldn't figure out how to work my camera and I was shouting at him and then I hiked through the park behind them and they pretending not to notice me for 2 hours.

Statue of Winnie the Pooh having dirty sex. Or something. I don't know. I couldn't make out the inscription.

Ode to the Godfather. Somewhere in Kensington. I don't know, I was lost.

I'm so glad to see the ass-end of Dubai

OK, so I’m flying in an hour and I realized that after 17 hours of travelling I did not smell as fresh as I (and my fellow passengers) might like but of course my deodorant and toothpaste had already made their own way to London because you can’t take it on the plane in case you turn it into a weapon of mass destruction. So I decided that, for the sake of everyone involved, I'll try to spruce up.

First thing was brushing the teeth in the ladies' room with the toothbrush I nicked off the stewardess. The mini non-weapon of mass destruction toothpaste tasted like chalk and all the brush bristles came out in my mouth, but that was OK.

No worries.

But I still smelt sweaty and didn’t want to rely on the Fanny Shower thinger they use as toilet paper so I slipped into the prayer room the Muslim women use to cleanse themselves before prayer. I know that Mohammed might not have approved of it, but let’s face it he wouldn’t have wanted to sit next to me on an airplane for another 7 hours either.

So I washed up quickly hoping no one noticed me (the exposed butt crack being a dead giveaway that wasn’t, in fact, a devout Muslim).

But my t-shirt still smelt kinda gross.

Luckily I remembered my brother had given me a present before we left, that I had quickly tucked into my handbag. I had asked him to bring me a nice top back from Durban – “something weird and hippyish” – while he was on vacation there.

Unfortunately when I took the shirt out of the wrapping I realized he didn’t choose something I would consider weird. He choose something Yoko Ono would consider weird. Something i (although would love to wear in my own free time) did not want my boss to see me in the first time she met me in person.

I didn't realize why all the women ushered their children out of the room at this point. But I suppose a camera flashing in the shower stall would spook me too.

SoI decided to salvage the sweatier shirt by running into the perfume store at the last minute and spraying myself to high heaven with the first thing I could find.

Did I choose the delicate Celine Dion perfume I was eyeing for myself? Or one of the tried and trusted brands I love?


I grabbed “Sex Appeal” by Jovan. You know how most perfumes describe themselves as "wisps of hyacinth" and "floral notes"? Sex Appeal smells like ball sweat. With hints of chalk.

There were 50 Indian people flying to Gatwick all praying to Ganesh that they don’t have to sit next to me.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

The Loch Ess...brought to you LIVE from Dubai

One of the sad things about this trip is that my compadre Mattie couldn't come along. It's been his dream to come to England for years, and I can't say the same for me. So in the spirit of love and companionship I've printed out 10 photos of Matt to leave in random spots around Britain. At the back I wrote, Matthew was here (sorta).

So if you happen to be travelling internationally these few weeks, you might find his picture someplace. Yes, it will be still there. It wouldn't be Mattie if you could get rid of it easily.

Anyway, here are the photies of the trip so far. I've seen nothing but airport so bear with me.

Here we are at Cape Town airport. I told Mattie I didn't need those shoes, but he insisted on buying them for me. BTW, Mattie, if you are reading this you owe me 50USD. Pay me back any time.

The first thing I wanted to do once we landed though was check out an authentic Arabic restaurant.

I ended up going with Burger King though.

Dubai toilet paper. At least it's warm

One of the cool things Emirates does though, is that they have these huge glasses bins with slots on top around the airport where people can stick money for charity.

That's when it hit me. What would Mattie do if he saw bins of money just sitting there?

So I tossed him in there. I hope in doing so I didn't somehow pledge his services to some Arabic harem, but at the end of the day, it's all for charity right?

I'm either in Dubai or the Afterlife. Neither one is fun, though.

Look at me...Blogging from Dubai. I feel so sophisticated.

It took me forever to find a docking station for my laptop because ever single electronic outlet is being crowded by Japanese people. I tried to ask them to move in their own language, but I can’t remember any verbs so I just went “Sumimasen! Sumimasen!” until they got creeped out and left. I’m very rusty but I think the guy said “Tanaka-san, let us get away from crazy person with no shoes before she stab us”.

I arrived at Cape Town International about at 3 pm (about 3 hours before my flight was due to take off...my mom was worried that I would miss the flight if something went wrong or took too long). Of course, by 3.10 pm I was checked in, had my passport stamped and was waiting to board.
Flight was crap. My little TV thinger broke and would only play “Prince of Persia” over and over again and I just had to sit there while it happened to me. Luckily my boss phoned me wayyy ahead of time and told me to get drunk on the plane because there’s no alcohol in Dubai, so the drunkenness took some of the pain away. Plus I stole their little cosmetic kit with the mini-toothbrush and gigantic socks in retribution.  Airportland isnt fun. We ate dinner at 9 pm and then I snuggled under my hopelessly inadequate thermal blankie for a good night's sleep at about 11. Only to be awakened 2 hours later for “breakfast”.

There is no meal I want to eat at 1 am unless I’m hungover. And even then it's always the same meal. A happy meal. I can't face a fruit cup at 1 am on no sleep.

I’ve got another 6 hours to kill in the airport.There is nothing here but giant stuffed camels and Phillipino stewardesses. I still don’t know which gate I’m boarding at and the men in the white pajamas aren’t very helpful either. How come they dress their wives like ninjas but then they make you take off your shoes and belts and jackets at the metal detector?

Here's a photo of me at the airport but it's a bit well-lit and makes me look like a member of the Undead, which is freaky because I dreamt I died on the plane when I nodded off in the vast space between dinner and breakfast. I hope this isn't the Afterlife. If it is, the Afterlife is very lame. Really, you guys have nothing to look forward to.

Dubai, from what I’ve seen out of the window, is very flat and full of fancy hotels. I can’t really give commentary on the place because its my understanding that if I leave I will get arrested. If not for not having a visa, for having my butt crack showing because I had to take off my belt at the security checks and can't be bothered to put it on.

Friday, September 10, 2010

A brief history of South Africa: Part II

OK, part II of the history of my country.

For the next couple of hundred years the Dutch stole the cattle off the black people, and the black people stole it back and so it went on and on until the French decided to invade the Netherlands.

So Britain was all like, “Oh, we can hold onto the Cape Colony for you. We can water the pot plants and things while you’re away” and the Netherlands was like, “We were going to ask Germany to do that” and the Brits said, “No, we asked them to watch India over the Easter weekend and they threw a massive party and broke our CD player” and the Dutch said, “Well why don’t you just help us defeat the French” and the British said, “We really don't like to meddle” and then they had some tea and handed over the keys and cancelled all the Dutch newspapers and the British went to the Cape Colony.

So then Britain occupied South Africa for a few years and then annexed it, which is a fancy way of calling “keepsies”. And then for the next couple of hundred years the British stole the cattle the natives had stolen from the Dutch and the natives stole it back until this guy called Shaka called everyone together and was like, “Hey. There’s like 250 000 of us, and 200 of them” and the Zulus were like, “Huh. You’re right. We didn’t notice because we too busy discovering tobacco and stealing back our cattle” but they didn’t want to listen to him. Then some dude murdered his uncle and Shaka took revenge by locking the guy’s mother in a hut with hyenas that slowly ripped her to pieces and he set the whole thing on fire and the Zulus were all “Whoa, don’t fuck with Shaka. He crazyyyy.”

The other tribes didn’t like that so the Zwide decided to kick his ass at the Battle of Gqokli Hill but Shaka sent a herd of elephants around the hill to stomp them to death. Just to prove that he was a badass motherfucka.

Shaka was a bit of a momma’s boy, and when his mom Nandi died Shaka told everyone that they weren’t allowed to plant crops or drink milk for a whole year and that any woman who got pregnant would be killed along with her husband, essentially putting an end to nookie in the Zulu Kingdom. He also killed 7000 people “for not looking sad enough” and killed all the cows so the calves could know what losing a mother felt like. Which is a right asshole thing to do.

Shaka didn’t die a particularly cool death either. Basically his brother Dingane said, “Hi Shaka, look over there!” and then Mhlangana (the other brother) hit him over the head and dumped him in a grain pit.

And then we named an airport after him. They put up this statue of Shaka but they took it down because it wasn't badass enough. True story. They said he looked too peaceful in the statue and needed a spear or a dead virgin or a hyena on a leash or something.

Here's President Jacob Zuma and King Goodwill Zwelithini. They are both Zulus. They look really pissed in this picture. I bet they were arguing over who got to cut the airport ribbon. "I'm the President of the Country!" "Well, I'm the motherfucking King" "Of the Zulus, maybe. I'm President of the whole country, so I'm technically your boss" "Yeah, but you are a Zulu, so I'm your goddamn monarch" "Nuh-uh" "Uh-huhhh" "Smile, Goodwill they are taking the picture." "That's King Goodwill to you, dipshit."

Thursday, September 9, 2010

A brief history of South Africa Part I

I got a review that suggested I need to discuss myself and my home country a bit more in this blog because it’s “interesting” but really, that’s just ignorant. Living in South Africa is just like living in America but with more bugs and less white people.
So I thought I’ll give you guys a nice historical overview.

I live on a wine farm in a small town called Wellington. It’s quite a big farm and the wines are quite popular so if you recently got a nice Chenin Blanc from South Africa, chances are it’s from the same vineyard my cat pees in every single day.

South Africa is located to the South of about 5 countries that have gone to shit in the last 10 years, so we are super psyched about that.

Our president is Jacob Zuma. He’s got 5 wives, a fiance, and 21 children. Our taxes are really, really high.
Here’s the three first wives rocking some hats. As you can see, he’s clearly going to score with at least 2 of them.

Anyway, South Africa was discovered by Vasco de Gama. When the locals were very surprised but they had a big orange flag and awesome pantaloons so they let them hang around. A couple of other Portuguese guys sailed past the place and then in 1652 the teenaged Jan van Riebeeck arrived and opened a refreshment station. In Afrikaans apartheid schools we learnt that Jan van Riebeeck was a national hero but when you think about it he really was like, the manager of the Cape Colony Wendy’s.

He kinda looks like one of the Jonas brothers.

For a long time we had his face on all our money but then the historians said the guy in this picture isn't even really Jan van Riebeeck but we already printed the money, so we just ignored that little fact.

Now our money has a sheep on it. Probably better that way.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

For every single pot, there is a lid. Even weird pots. Pot-smoking pots. Crooked pots. You get the idea.

My mom has a saying: every pot has a lid. Meaning: there is someone for everyone. This is, thanks to the Internet, true and scary.

Type the word "dating" into google.

See? Dating for...walkers.

I'm not sure what a walker is. I googled it and it's either:


But the best site by FAR was Zombie Harmony, a FREE and fabulous dating site for those wishing to hook up with zombies. You can select whether you are looking for a slow-moving, fast-moving or immobile partner and even choose how many limbs he/she should have left. Because the apocalypse doesn't have to be lonely.

Now, you all know that I'm not on the market to date anyone (dead or undead) but I'd like to share with you some important information about how to date a zombie.

1. Communication is key

At some point, your partner may pressure to become a zombie too. Becoming a member of the undead is long-term commitment and a huge step. Don't take the decision lightly. Talk to your significant other and his victims about this before committing to anything.

2. Safety first

Remember that your partner has special needs. Your zombie might get over-excited by huge crowds or public transport and rip someone's arms off by accident. If this happens, quickly apologize and move away to a quiet spot where you can help him calm down.

3. No means no

Zombies may not understand personally boundaries. Teach your partner that no means no when it comes to mauling. Use deadly force if necessary.

4. The eye of the beholder

The biggest benefit (I find) of dating a zombie is that they aren't obsessed with your looks like "normal" guys. Almost all they care about are your brains.

5. Plenty of fish in the sea

If you accidentally or purposefully decapitate your zombie, don't despair. One zombie is pretty much like the next, and you will surely find someone new in no time flat.

Happy dating, guys! I've created my own profile just for fun:

Let me know if you guys make a love connection!

Monday, September 6, 2010

I'm off to the UK baby!


I had the amazing privilege of spending the morning in Cape Town trying to pick up my visa. I was looking forward to being back in the city but within 10 short minutes I was flashed by a hobo and tripped over two rats dragging a dead cat into the sewer, so I was reminded why I decided to move to the countryside to begin with.

The application was a pain in the ass but I suppose that what's you get for making jokes about terrorism. (Travel hint: people are not laughing about that yet.) I love my shiny new European visa with all my biometric scans and things. It is much fancier than my African visa which was basically just a stamp with some notes scribbled over it.

I look as terrifying in this picture as I do on my passport photo.

Unfortunatly I have to fly to Dubai first and figure out how to spend a day in the airport. My grandma was very excited to hear about this and immediatly asked me if I could take some knitted socks to my cousin in Saudi Arabia "if you manage to swing by there".

But on the bright side, my boss felt bad about sending me there so she's booked me into a 5 star hotel in Central Lonon for 3 nights. I'm very happy because I really get to see the city centre...and also I have somewhere nice to take Prince William for a one night stand (the man IS the future king of England, after all).

Friday, September 3, 2010

Why I think DW didn't get laid in high school

Someone posted DW's prom picture on Facebook. It wasn't a good prom. She ended up dumping him in the corner and making out with his friends.

I think dressing as a priest put the nail in the prom coffin.


Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Conventional Wisdom vs the Loch Ess Monster

I spent my whole weekend cleaning my house and now it's dirty again. Well I've learned my lesson. I'm never doing that again. It's pointless. Then I got this email with good housekeeping tips, but they seemed a little off, so I've modified them. Happy cleaning, y'all.


To remove smells from your fridge, put an open saucer of vinegar inside.

MY ADVICE: If your fridge is smelly, the temperature is set too low to adequately cool the corpse you are hiding inside. It’s time to break out the shovel.

If you have accidentally put too much salt in a dish as it's cooking, simply add a peeled potato. The potato will absorb the excess salt.

MY ADVICE: If you have accidentally put too much salt in a dish, it's a real pity. You'll eat what I give you.

For headaches: Cut one lemon in half and rub it gently over your forehead. The pain will disappear.

MY ADVICE: Take one lemon, cut it in half, mix it with tequila, and drink. What? You have a headache. Sorry to hear that. Have some tequila.

Put a mini-marshmellow in the bottom of your ice cream cone to prevent it from leaking.

MY ADVICE: Sneeze over your ice cream immediatly to prevent people from asking for bites.

If a cake recipe says you should sprinkle the bottom of the pan with flour, use the dry cake mix instead. That way there won't be dry flour stuck to the bottom of your cake when you turn it out.

MY ADVICE: Go to a bakery. They decorate it for you, too.

To open a stubborn jar, place rubber bands around the lid for extra "grip". Alternatively, try wearing a rubber glove.

MY ADVICE: Ask the sexy new neighbor. I'm sure he can open it.

Pour leftover alcohol into ice cube trays and freeze it. That way you can re-use it in sauces and dishes.

MY ADVICE: Leftover...what?!