This is not a Valentine’s post

So far my plan is working out perfectly.

It’s been three years in a row I have avoided buying chocolates for R 200 that would normally cost R 80.

Three years since I had to suffer the ignominy of a bearded man buying a teddy bear (as opposed to wrestling grizzly bears, which is the norm for bearded men)

Three years since I forgot to make a dinner reservation and spent close to my annual cellphone budget in one afternoon trying to get a  booking in a restaurant.

Its been a pretty awesome three years. You know, apart from the crippling loneliness and hundreds of empty ice-cream containers.

I’m not hating on the lovebirds- if anything I’m… 13% jealous.

This year is going to be different.

This year I’m going to drive slowly down 4th Avenue in Parkhurst with a couple friends and a couple paintball guns. Holi festival came early bitches!

Just kidding- I don’t have friends with paintball guns. And if I do, they’re probably dining in Parkhurst on Thursday.

In reality, I’m going to invite between 3 and 5 hookers round, buy a pound of cocaine and fill a children’s swimming pool with KY Jelly. So what this post is about is asking all you wonderful, happy and most importantly attached people to help a single friend out.

Thanking you in advance.

In the real reality though, I’m going to find someone who deserves a good night- cook them a great dinner, feed them wine and then hope and pray they’re willing to watch a LoTR marathon with me.

Based on breaking news, my options for such a partner seem to be limited to ex-Benedict, Judy Sexwale, Vanessa Paradis or the blow-up sheep I got as a joke for my 21st.

My first choice- his ex-holiness. Do you think he’s a white or a red kind of guy?

The Naked and (Hardly) Famous

I’m getting good at these pun-ny titles hey?
This, in the vein of entertaining you folks rather than ranting at the farce we call our government, I will regale you with another story from my not so distant past…

The Time: 2004
The Place: Johannesburg – Northern Suburbs
The Occasion: Natalie’s Birthday Party

Agent 00Pete reporting. The squad has arrived at the operational area, it consists of one man with a smile so big it almost touches at the back of his head, a ginger who thinks he’s not and me, dressed in a tutu and cute strappy top with polka dots.

The local population consisted mainly of girls. Well, I was only looking for girls. As usual when a man (read: me) goes out with the intention of getting laid, they pretty much ignored me. There was a short liaison in the garden maze, but nothing worth reporting (read: I got horribly dissed)

After extraction, Pete got tired of using the military report style of writing.
Agent 00Pete out.

So Chad, Garron and Steve were in the car with me and we were being merry, having already ate and drank.
We were in the car and on our way home when the craving for an ice-cream took me. And it took me without asking, or even cajoling. One minute drunk, the next, ready to kill for a frozen dairy-based dessert.

I realised when we stopped that my skin-tight choice of clothing had left no space for my wallet and I was in fact broke.
However, the craving was not abating.
I suggested that if my friends paid for it, I would go into the garage shop and buy the ice-cream… Naked.

With much averting of eyes, and contortion on my part, I managed to remove the strappy top, tutu and underwear, whilst still retaining my cowboy hat, boots and rainbow striped socks. It was incredible.

I vacated the vehicle, nonchalantly moseyed on into the shop, ignoring the gasps of the ladies behind the counter, selected my frozen treat and approached the tills.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want an ice-cream”

“…”

I like to think that those ladies learnt three important lessons that night.
Cowboys exist. They’re sexy as hell. And they leave their hats on.