Sunday, February 26, 2012


Jeesh what a weekend! I'm still broken. Bruised, happy, broken and in desperate need of some good sleep, even after spending the vast majority of yesterday in bed watching Southpark.

The weekend started out as any other, with a trip to the mechanic, where I handed over ALL my money, politely thanked him for returning my mobility to me and looked forward to a very lean weekend indeed. It really is a strange phenomenon; the weekends that look the bleakest because of the 'end of the month Salticrax' syndrome usually turn out to be the best.

I DJed at a friend's birthday party - roaring success - even if I did insert a joke track to start with, much to the bewildered and wide eyed dismay of all gathered. The rest of the set went off without a hitch, except for the times the songs wouldn't cue or I forgot to press play. At least my sets are generally eventful. (I should tell you how Slappy got her name some day...)

The rest of the evening was spent hanging around with a bunch of delinquents in dark corners and taking advantage of the outrageous drinks specials. Upon leaving, the Hot Girlfriend and I, bottle of wine in hand, discovered there was no money. Lots of taxis, but no money. We walked home. Or rather, a determined drunk me dragged a rather surprised her home through a nice dodgy part of town. Some days I wonder... Especially since the place was still packed full of our friends, any one of whom would gladly have taken us home.

Saturday morning was ugly. We stayed in bed and only just managed to drag our carcasses to LordDoom's birthday braai later in the afternoon. Much to my chagrin, I had volunteered to fix the braai. So, carting along lots of tools, I went about shaping and drilling and riveting a new sheet of metal along the existing drum. Splendid success! Until roughly an hour later when the fire was good and going and had actually managed to burn its way through the sheet metal. Anyway, good times.

Yesterday was a total write off. Bed, Southpark, Top Gear, Lord Of The Rings. And caterpillar hunting. I've taken on a kind of Steve Irwin / Keith Kirsten characteristic when it comes to my little garden. It's under attack. An invasion of caterpillars are enjoying the fruits of my labour, quite literally. In a very humane catch-and-release programme I have come up with, I catch them and place them in an old compost bag filled with old nibbled on leaves and half eaten tomatoes. Sort of like an old age retirement village for errant worms. Not that the bastards deserve it.

Aaaaaaand: The Meyer Of Awesomeville was all over our telly. Having inexplicably managed to miss Top Billing in the week, I caught his insert on the repeat yesterday. He totally tuned Simba as well. My friends. They rock. Out. With their... nevermind!

NGDG: "Be your own man, or woman. Step up, walk out front. If the Pacific teaches us anything it's that, if there's going to be bloodshed by ambush, it's the leaders who make it through. The machine gunners wait for the bulk, the stragglers, to walk into the trap."

Spread The Love. With Your... Nevermind.

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