Friday Ramble 13/01/2006

Right, now that that pesky holiday thing is out of the way – back to the slog; well for those with jobs.

First Ramble of the new year and on Friday the 13th. If that isn’t a premise for a slasher movie, I don’t know what is. All I have to do is find some hot friends; moving right along…

It’s really been so long since I’ve written this thing that I can’t even remember what has happened since the last post. I really did intend to jot a few things down during the course of the vac, but anyone who really thought there was a chance of that happening is delusional.

I have found recently that often I start telling someone a story and they stop me and say “I’m sure you’ve told me this story before.” But I haven’t seen them in 6 months and the story in question only happened a month or two ago. Then I realise that they had read it in the ramble. On one hand this is quite cool, because it means that my toils aren’t completely in vain. On the other, it means that I might as well just be a computer screen, because in person I m just a bore who tells the same stupid stories again and again. Hey, whatever; I get to gaze at the handsomeness every morning; it’s everyone else who loses out.

First and foremost – congratulations to Hobbo and Little Red Riding Hood. What a magnificently cute couple they make.

I had a very chilled holiday – thanks for asking.

On Christmas I got torn like a pillow at the Neverland Ranch (too much?) because my evil cousins got very happy handed with the whisky. Cousin Wayne was found sleeping naked on the stoep the next morning; Cousin Gav woke up with my Old Man’s ID mysteriously having appeared in his pocket; my Old Man and I quite literally had to lean on each other on the walk home (my sister confiscated the car keys); I wrapped all my presents at 4 o’clock in the morning; the message I wrote in a book I gave to my sister looks like it was written by a right handed two year old with it’s left hand and I couldn’t work out how to spell ‘buy’ so I spelt it ‘bye’; apparently I woke a couple of people with phonecalls; I woke up the next morning to find my room littered with drying blobs of phlegm because I had tried to spit out the citronela candle from two metres away.

The massive New Year’s party that was planned for Knappy’s place kind of fell through because people bailed for one reason or another – so I jammed hard with Knaps, his girlfriend, his folks, and two couples of the folks’ friends. Oh ya, it was wild. Actually New Year’s is overrated anyway, so whatever.

It is very seldom that I can say I got more hammered on Christmas Eve than on New Years Eve. It was just one of those holidays, I guess.

I did make the massive journey into Plett a couple of times. I was most unamused at being told by Ebz before going to some of her mate’s houses for drinks “please, behave yourself, these are my friends”. What the hell? Then during the drinking games, she kept apologising because ‘they weren’t as crazy as the Rhodes ones’. Here is a well kept secret: Rhodes drinking isn’t different to any other place on Earth, it’s just a well-propounded myth.

On a random evening, when Don Rob and his cousin pulled through for an evening, we ended up at some party at the lifeguards house. There was a guy there I was talking to who I couldn’t quite fathom. I couldn’t work out if he was genuinely retarded or just wildly drunk because he almost seemed too well-spoken to be properly retarded but didn’t speak in the typical drunken speech patterns. Anyway, once all the lifeguards had retired to bed and just the random stragglers (ie. us and another group who had gate-crashed) were left, I asked in my best drunken undertones (ie. basically screaming) “so is that guy retarded, or what?” It turns out he was retarded, his father sponsored the lifeguard house, he was sleeping inside with the lifeguards who treated him as a kind of mascot and frequently beat the piss out of anyone who so much as looked at him funny. Smooth Jamo, smooth.

For a large portion of my life I have wandered the streets thinking that Celine Dion and Barbara Streisand should do an album together. What a happy Christmas eve it was for me then when I found out that this had in fact come to pass. Gloria in excelcius.

Even Knappy is on the bandwagon when it comes to ripping Ye Olde Knapster off. Here is an excerpt from an email he sent:

Just thought that I would tell you all that I am a big girl. I had to get
some of my precious life juice extracted from my body yesterday, and in case you
didn't know, my biggest fear in life is a needle being shoved into my fleshy
skin. So as the needle entered, the nurse alas could not find my vein, and
proceded to tell me as much. So, as she did this, I started to feel
slightly light-headed, and thoughts of having to have the needle puncture my arm
again entered my now blood-drained brain. I then boldly announced that I
was going to pass out, and promptly did just that. So there I was, head
fallen back, eyes rolled back into myhead, shaking around (apparently I went
into shock), with a needle stuck in my arm. I was sucked back into
reality, and it felt like a really wierd dream. Freaky. The nurse
had called for help so when I came to, there were two nurses, one of them
holding my head, and the other frantically trying to get an oxygen mask glued to
my face. This all happening in the Coporate Health Centre at Standard Bank
in town, a place where nurses are used to normal people, not big girls from
PE. Needless to say, no blood had been drawn. This still had to be
done. So they shipped a special sister from the laboratory downstairs
especially to come and draw blood from the big girl. So, after all that,
the next episode went by without hitch. I did feel light headed again, but
managed to remain conscious. Amazing.

It is going to be a boring six months without you around my guy.

I was woken by an sms coming through this morning. It said “listen to 94.7 now”. Indecent Obsession – Kiss Me. Oh ya. And to think poor old Moses only got a burning bush. It is without doubt a sign that a spectacular weekend awaits.

Ok. So at the somewhere towards the beginning of this week I started to hear rumblings about a certain email that was going around taking a huge amount of piss out of me. Fair enough; but what did anger me was the fact that whoever sent it didn’t have the balls to send it to me. But then I was alerted to the fact that it had been posted, in all it’s glory, on the Philosophers webpage. Having read said email, I would like to issue a statement:

Timothy Andrew Kluyts, Esq.

Regarding your letter voicing concerns about my general conduct, I would like to issue a formal apology.

Firstly, I would like to apologise for at the age of 22, making plans and then breaking them. Shame on me for not having a clear idea of what direction I should be taking in life; to think that I only have 47 more years until my allotted 3 score years and 10 is spent. I understand now that I should have, like you, stumbled upon a career path at the age of 12 which ignited my passions; I should have looked harder. I feel I owe you a special apology for forcing you through my actions to repeat the “Jamo, we weren’t going to smell the fucker” joke when the two of us were in the company of any third party for the past year.

An apology for my behaviour regarding ladies is also in order. I have never quite come to terms with why I have spent the greater part of my life being led around by my scrotum by one woman or another. I have always held in high regard your policy of ‘never go back to an ex’. The manner in which you dealt with your relationship with Toni was a model of this rule. I also held you in awe when all your mates were saying “look the chick is cheating on you” to which you replied “ya but…she says…drunk…can’t remember…no…now she says it never happened…everyone else is lying…” The way you just ditched her straight away was ruthless man. Were I but as cold and calculating as you, I would be a better man.

I apologise for never having kissed a girl who was passed out.

Also apologies for having a receding hairline and looking mildly Jewish. Aryans such as yourself are indeed the master race. The receding hairline is most frustrating because it prevents me from emulating you in maintaining the same side-path hairstyle since the age of 2.

I can only but aspire to be steel-sphinctered like your honourable self.

Yours in reverence
The Puddle of Bowel Discharge sometimes kindly referred to as Jamo.

I would walk to the ends of the earth for you my guy, but sometimes you really are a self-righteous prick. If someone would be kind enough to email that to him because he refuses to read the ramble online - not due to reasons of technological incompetence but rather pig-headedness - I would appreciate it.

A thousand apologies for the brevity and general lack of content in this week’s Ramble. There were supposed to be some photos and stuff but due to a technological glitch (my sending my flash drive through the washing machine) I was unable to post them this week.

An amusing read here if you are interested.

Love, kisses and man-meat to all.
Jamo.