Jou ma se kinders
Last Updated: 2011/02/26 Being from Cape Town, I must say I miss Cape coloured women.  When I was young I used to love playing with their silky hair and wished I could get rid of my kinky coarse variety. “What’s wrong with you?” asks my friend while applying skin lightener? “Black is beautiful. Why would you wanna be any other race?” I ignore her and her weave and go back to my dreams of being yellow and speaking like I’m singing. Coloured girls are the future for various reasons: They will never leave dark foundation on your shirt after a hug. You will never run out of cigarettes. You will always be assured of a large family as many of these girls breed as if Allan Boesak sent them on a mission to increase the coloured race. They don’t have to fork out thousands on their hair as they mostly have long silky hair that doesn’t need relaxers or weaves. They always know where to get hair curlers and wear them with pride, even in shopping malls. You don’t have to listen to those clicks most African languages have. They are the closest thing to being a white woman and we know you black men love them as they look like they’ve popped out of an Usher music video. Their bruises are more obvious than ours, so if you hit her it will be easier to see. They don’t have to send their sons to initiation school, where they stand a chance of getting a horrendous infection and even dying. My friend disagrees with me about coloured women. She insists that black guys don’t date crazy people. “What?” she says. “Coloureds are nuts because: They drink Black Label beer and smoke like chimneys. They shout and throw plates. They have no front teeth and eat fish like they are trying to deplete the ocean. They love to fight in public and most are very violent. They’re always referring to your mother’s this or your mother’s that. They know exactly what tik is. They love designer clothes. They love making love and leave even the randiest negro exhausted. They walk around in their gowns and pyjamas during the day. What is wrong with my friend? I wonder. So what if folk walk around in their gowns and pyjamas during the day, especially since they will eventually go back to bed? Why waste washing powder? Shouting is also sometimes necessary, especially when you speak to folk like Jimmy Manyi, who might not have a clue what he is talking about. Designer labels are mostly made in the Cape so why should they not love them? Referring to one’s mother should also not be an issue unless a monkey gave birth to you. Besides, reminding you of your mother shouldn’t be a bad idea. Call her now. What the hell is wrong with loving sex? Should they hate it? Just because my friend is a lousy lay doesn’t mean the entire coloured nation should not like protected sex. Knowing what tik is doesn’t necessarily mean one is using it, I told my daft friend. Saying they are violent is also a generalisation. I know plenty of coloured fraudsters and coloured Hari Krishas. Of course I miss Cape coloured people. Which other race do you know that is more obsessed with naai masjiene, Oh, and I don’t mean sewing machines. Besides, only in the Cape would you hear somebody screaming out: “Jou ma owe jou hond sex geld!”
I am so Fat, I have Rolls where you don’t even have places.
Get on a diet FATTY.
@spillly
Its Friday.
Fuck you. It’s the weekend already.
I finish work in an hour and all I want is a beer and a smoke.
And I am gonna get one too. Cause I have mates.
Productivity. Should be a swear word.
Don’t even mention Monday.
Peace. Love. Couch.
@spillly
Don’t follow me.
Gag.
Always gag.
I usually start my blogs with “So…”
So… on Sunday I ventured out to see U2 at Soccer city (FNB stadium) whichwas the 5th time I have been fortunate enough to witness such an event. Now
I used to be the world’s biggest U2 fan. Flown to London twice, Australia
and even once drove to central Joburg (yeesh!) to see them. Of late their
last few albums have been rather disappointing, if not down-right shit. But
after every live show I walk away thinking that I have just witnessed
something spectacular. U2 are showmen first and foremost. They used to be
musicians first, but those days ended, in my opinion, after the Achtung
Baby! album of 1991. So for 20 years they have been re-hashing old classics
in new ways. Sunday (bloody Sunday) was no different. The show was truly mind blowing.
The sheer size of the stage and the planning and logistics of the whole
event boggle my mind. The bespoke stage that’s schlepped all over the world
is something out of a sci-fi movie. Let’s get this straight, I’m no longer the biggest U2 fan, but I’m still
smiling at the extravaganza that was their show.
From the nose bleed seats I could not see the ego that is Bono, but who
needs to ? I was there for the crowd, the cold shivers I had with Tutu’s
prepped speech and the energy that only 110,000 (reportedly) South African
Souls can bring to an arena like soccer city. Now that’s the 3rd time I’ve
had tears of joy in that stadium – it’s a magical place.
By no means are the 2 concerts even in the same category, but I think that
Rammstein had more stage presence, truer support and without the special
effects of each show, Rammstein would have been my 1st choice in live act.
They fucking rocked hard. I would go and see either set again in a heartbeat. U2 are the rolling
stones of my generation, except I’m getting tons of satisfaction. Walk on…. Spillly
Ich will dass ihr mir vertraut
Ich will dass ihr mir glaubt
Ich will eure Blicke spüren
Ich will jeden Herzschlag kontrollieren
Ich will die Ruhe stören
Ich will dass ihr mich gut seht
Ich will dass ihr mich versteht Ich will eure Phantasie
Ich will eure Energie
Ich will eure Hände sehen
Ich will in Beifall untergehen
Thanks for the reminder sloppy!
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device, so please excuse any typo’s made with my man-size fingers on the teeny weeny keyboard
You believe in God
I believe in Music
When You go and pray
I go and turn up the radio.
I hope this does not sound like just another rant. I’m not ranting. I do
believe that the universe is plotting against me to teach me a lesson, but
what that lesson is only god knows.
but it’s become clear to me that the moments are here where life altering
decisions need to take place. These decisions always seem larger before you
make them, I know, and hindsight is 20-20 but it’s always hard making such
large choices that affect other people besides yourself. I’m going to take
the selfish fork in the road. My friends are resigning from their chosen careers & friends are “giving
away” their business’ in order to choose “life” and “lifestyle” over stress,
money, ego’s and fast cars. Why is it so obvious to us that the lifestyle
choice is the right choice but making it is so logically wrong? I am tired
of the same stresses, the same aggravations and the same discussions over &
over, day in and day out. The time, my friends, has come. No more guilt. No
more responsibility to people that have chosen their own paths in their own
lives. I am almost 36 and that’s a big number in the larger scheme of things. I
look at what I’ve achieved and I’m happy with the accomplishments but now
it’s time to make that decision that will stop the grey hairs, the stress
balding and the teeth grinding of my late 20’s and early 30’s. Maybe this is
my chance at the “eat, pray, love” that is needed in everyone’s lives at
some point. To go away, re-invent myself and present the new me to the world
I want. I know what I don’t want and I don’t want what I have. I’m not
stupid, I know what I have is often un-achievable in one lifetime and I’ve
done it in half. The chances of such success twice in a life are slim, but
it’s not that kind of success I’m now chasing. I want time, freedom of
choice and less road rage. I want late mornings, afternoon naps and meetings
at odd hours with interesting people, discussing creative ideas and visions.
I want to help those making the mistakes I have made and I want more.
I want. I want. I want.
And why not? I deserve it. We all deserve it. It’s a cliché but life isthere to be taken and life is short. I just need to look at my tattoo to
remind myself that we are all dying and we are all living, but some of us
are living full lives, while some of us are merely surviving. So this is not
some lame-ass new year’s resolution. I don’t wanna run a marathon. I don’t
wanna lose weight or stop smoking. I certainly don’t want a Porsche. I want
to be happy. I know what it will take but I don’t know the exact route to
get there. I am picking a road and sticking to it.
36 my friends. 36.
Ps. Large overpriced gifts are welcome. Maybe group together and buy me alarge fuck-off present. Or an ipad.
