in the spirit of Casual Friday
23 Sep 2011, Posted by Cape Town Girl in What utter nonsense, weekends, 0 Comments
Dear Diary. Tuh-day was the first day of the new show. It was swell. Got all prettied up ‘n sparklay. Mah baybies jus lurve their mama all spangly. Wern I woz walking behind the stage, a nice man told me I look ‘like a walrus in a hairband’. I towld him I ha-haa! There ain’t no such thang as a walrus! It’s called a Wal-MART!” Silly billay. Brit brit
Dear Diareh. Y’all know I just had the best time up on stage. I done did my fancy tricks from when i woz a l’il girl. I lurve dem tricks cos my babehs always clap real hard when I do good. While I woz practisin’, my dance teacher said “Britannay honey, maybe you should try some new moves that are better suited to a woman of thirty.” I done laffed at hur! Don’t she know thirty is the new 21! Chic-it-tah! Brit Brit
Dear Diary. I just gone and had a thought. Did y’all ever thank ‘dear diaray’ sounds a byit like ‘dear diarrhoea”? Anyways so woz workin’ on mah triceps on stage this past show when some one done and yelled if I am pregnant. Well duh I ain’t! You can’t get pregnant if yur jump around 5 times after making love. I done read that in US Weekly. Din’t y’alls??????
Dear Diury
Today I rided a big fat ol’ gueetar, then I celebrated with some Fritos and Fanta Orange. Life is great y’all! Brit Brit
Dear Diary
Tuhday was average. Sometimes I feel like people are laffing ‘at me and not with me’. My shrink says ‘I am in my sad place’. Towld my daddy I was feelin’ fat. He done said “You are beautiful brit brit! Now put on that gold bikini and fake it til your check make it to your bank account.” Guess mah daddy is right. At least they don’t make me sing no more. Sometimes I wish I wuz still Daddy’s l’il girl again. Oh wait, legally, I aym! Life is great! Brit brit
Dear Diary. Been doing some thankin’ bout mah life. That Lady Gaga got me searching for meanin’ in mah wurk. So decided 2 wear this glitter nappy 2 express who I aym. PS I ate some McDonald’s for lunch. Don’t tell mah nutritionist. She thanks I wurk real hard at staying this skinny! But lucky I’m just blessed with a fast embolism. Brit Brit.
“I told my Daddy that if he didn’t get me an iPad and return that silly BlackBerry PlayBook he got my for my birthday, I would embarrass the whole family by making a cardboard one and sticking it on my head at Ascot, taking thirty-one thousand photos of myself pouting and tag myself in them so all the board members would see and the shares in his company would go down. And now he knows he can ‘take me at my word’ and that I have ‘grown the f*ck up’ and can see that I do ‘finish what I started’. Yes you can touch it if you like.”
As a seasoned Capetonian, my life is very carefully arranged so as to cause me Minimum Effort and Maximum Awesome. I live 5 seconds from where I work, I shop 5 seconds from where I live, and if anything takes me longer that 5 seconds to get to / do, I simply abandon it. It’s a maxim to live by. Try it. This morning took an unusual turn in that my petrol light was flashing, so I thought, let me just swing past the petrol station (NOT a BP), also 5 seconds from my front door. Swing past. In, out, off to work. Totally plausible, but only in a world where there are no floaters.
I have discussed floaters before. They are the bane of the 24-hour Engen on Orange Street. They drive into the driveway, and then, instead of turning left or right or nipping into a petrol bay, they simply stop and… float. They float, and they back up the traffic into Orange Street, causing near-pile-ups and much screeching of tyres, swearing and hooting, gnashing of teeth and abandoning of religious beliefs. All of which is totally unnecessary at 9am in a city that generally looks and feels like this:
Blissful.
Can you see how this would completely FUCK with the pretty?
This morning we had a very special floater. Not only did this floater drive in and, predictably, float and cause a traffic jam, but she also dropped the cigarette she was smoking out of the window. She then made everyone wait (and hoot, and screech, and rev engines and pray that cars do not drive into the back of them around the semi blind corner) while she handbraked her car, opened the door, got out and retrieved same cigarette (she clearly dropped it by mistake – it wasn’t finished! heaven forbid she miss out on that last drag! the world might just end! ) and then get back in her car while she fiddled around in her handbag for dog knows what – a lighter, some lipstick, a tampon to stop further braincells bleeding out her nose? You’re smoking a cigarette at a petrol station? Jesus…
Listen up floaters: Drive into the Engen, and decide. Do you want PETROL, or do you want a PIE? For PETROL turn RIGHT. For PIE, turn LEFT. But whatever you do, DO NOT STOP AND FLOAT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. PLEASE.
Please.
please.
Me been huntin’ derm laaaaaaions on dis here studio dern nerr fort years naowh.
Me dern seen der strangdest tangs ind mah tairm.
One dayhr, we dern e’en come face-ter-face with derm laaaaaaaaaions.
Burt naow me hide behind ders bush and waieet, for derm ter comes an der mahddle of der naaaight.
Derm laaaions kerms ter tirch us aohn. err. studioerrrs.
Dern tirch meh aohn mah studioerrr!
