THE GYM STORY

THE GYM STORY

Awê ma se kinnes!

Check here. I kinda have to go to gym. Otherwise I’ll just die suddenly – while eating something that I bought at drive-thru. Gosh. Which means I will then die in a parked car, in my drivers’ seat. Alone. At like 20-to-2 in the afternoon. How totally sad and uneventful.

I sometimes wonder how I’m going to die. Like most people, I hope it will be quick and painless. And that my last outfit is fabulous. In case it gets widely reported and there are pictures and stuff. And that is why we need to pay attention to our late grannies and mommies who used to tell us to always leave home wearing a clean underpants “in case you get involved in an accident”. I spent a great deal of my childhood waiting to be involved in an accident. I spent a great deal of my youth wearing a skoon onnebroekie.

And not one car accident, come to think of it. All that Omo for nothing.

But ok the bigger point is: leave home looking lekke. You just never know. Could be your last day. Reminds me of one of my favourite motto’s: always dress as though you’re going to bump into your ex. Because you know, when you bump into that one, you want rivers of regret to be flowing. Jaaaaa, cry me a lotus river.

And on the topic of always looking like a snack: while you are alive and kicking, urgently tell your people what your wishes are when it comes to you and your coffin moment. I’ve made it clear to my nearest and dearest that I want to be cremated. And that I definitely don’t want aunties wailing in the church while looking at my very dead face in the open coffin, and then having the nerve to touch my cold forehead. No! I’m already dead! Please don’t double-dead me with those delta variant hands. We’ve all been through enough.

Cremate, kanalla. You can mos go to my instagram account if you want to have one last look at me.  There lives the real me. In the right light, with the right filter, at the right angle.

Shoo I’ve digressed. Again. But so off I go to gym. Because once you pay for that personal trainer and (occasionally) sweat your moer off, you realize that in order to really get what you’re paying for, you need to gently step back from the gatsby’s and the samoosas and the daltjies. And that’s a good thing if you want to hold on to all ten fingers and all ten toes. Don’t get me started. My youthful Cape flats eyes have seen too much.

Back to Gym. It can be a very entertaining space. Let’s start with them Personal Trainers. I’ve had 4 in my lifetime. Cape Town and Joburg. All of them good-looking. This good-looking aspect is more important than you think. My sessions are usually at 8am and you need some kind of frivolous motivation to get you out of bed by 6. The entertaining part is listening to personal trainers speak to each other. It’s very seldom about global warming.

And then there are those other characters that you are bound to find at most gyms.

Delilah arrives at gym in full make up, wearing the tightest trendiest gym number, everrr. Her mission is clear. She’s there to turn on more than just the tap. Sloooooowwwwww intenssssse gradient on that step machine thingie. Ammal kyk! And she’s lurving it! Married.

The ex body builder. In his Gold’s Gym vest. He was famous when he won all those competitions in the early 90’s. He now has a coffee shop. He’s friendly. And we are all friendly back. First name basis. Because him and his chommies are also bouncers at that popular club. We mos don’t want to wait in the queue if we personally know dinges.

The gym staff who work the gym floor. We quizzically look at some of them and wonder why it appears as though they’ve never used the gym equipment themselves. One would think ne.

The unfriendly dewwwd. You’ve “known him” for years but the steroids won’t allow him to say hello. Be wary of his towel. If its’ dangling over a piece of equipment, it means he still has “one more set brewwwww”.

And then I leave gym at the end of my session. Feeling holier than thou. Looking down on my chommies who’ve not taken a trot in days. And looking forward to Sunday morning. When I will go to Bo-Kaap to get my favourite koesisters. Life is tricky. A person is only human.

Woof!

Woof!

Awê Ma Se Kinnes!

We have not been back to puppy training classes because our dogs are gangsters.  In the words of Aunty Merle: “they embarrass a person”.

They have great names.  Hamilton and Phoenix.  Both handsome.  And they are amazing for pics on facebook and instagram.   It stops there.  Much like a beautiful ex.

We’ve had dogs before.  Dachshunds.  And aside from the emotional “woe is me” blackmail in their eyes every time you picked up your car keys, the Dachshunds were perfect.  Because the thing about brown sausage dogs is that they are completely unaware of the fact that they are dogs.  Nobody has ever really sat them down to explain to them that they are not people.  And that’s mostly fabulous.  Sadly the two 4-legged humans left us for doggy heaven 7 years ago.  (Holly ha can you imagine their shock when St Peter pointed them in the direction of the doggy section).

Enter Hamilton and Phoenix.   Hamilton is from De Doorns.  Lean and Athletic.  Africanis.  Basically mixed.  Or as my cousin said – “Hamilton’s mos a coloured dog”.  We adopted Hamilton via Sidewalk Specials, a totally amazing organization.  Check them out on insta.  I look at the ridiculously important and amazing work that the Sidewalk team does and I have to sit back and say: shoo God was in a great mood when he made those people.

Phoenix is a chocolate lab.  He arrived as a gift.  Just about everybody falls in love with him when they see him.  The most beautiful droopy eyes that would make you give him your left lung if he asked nicely.

We were highly optimistic when both Phoenix and Hamilton quickly learnt to pee outside.  Then we excitedly started taking them for walks, on their leads.  Well that didn’t go so well.  They would dig their heels in, particularly when other dog lovers were close by.  Because then we could not say fokkin walk!  No.  We would then need to gently kneel down and sweetly say what’s wrong baby?  But of course, behind my buff I would whisper to Hamilton ek gat jou lekke moer byrrie huis!  Translated, I’ll be giving you a few smacks when we get home.  Now don’t go calling the spca please.  I never followed through on those threats.  Those are just idle threats that flow from my sanitized lips – familiar phrases from my upbringing in Retreat.

Off we trotted to puppy classes.  O my Lawwwd.  Ok I will say that Phoenix was not as crazy as Hamilton.  Hamilton acted as though he had never met me in his entire De Doorns life!  Every other pup around us seemed to eventually be doing the right things for those little chicken treats.  Rolling on their backs.  Walking on one leg.  Doing somersaults through a fire ring.  Not our dogs.   You know that moment when you can even see in the trainer’s eyes, she’s thinking oe jirre we are going to need Jesus for this opera.

At one stage the trainer said to me Marc you should speak to Hamilton in a friendlier, more animated voice.  I obliged.  Voice an octave up.  I’m Here Hamilton.! Here Hammy!  Good Dog!  Yesss!  What a Boy!  Hamilton froze and straight-up gansta-stared at me with a look that said what are you on tik?!

I think we went back on three more occasions until we blamed stormy Saturday morning weather.  Those storms are still bravely raging on.

My neighbour has suggested we call in a dog whisperer.  I may actually do just that.  For my own entertainment.  Because I think that that’s one of the best jobs in the world.  You are able to tell the owners any kak.  How can they argue?!

Me as a dog whisperer:  Fluffy says that your hairstyle does not suit you and it pushes him over the edge.

Watch this space

And hello, don’t forget to get your ticket for LOOT!

X

Marc

A STRESSFUL BRA STRAP

A STRESSFUL BRA STRAP

 

Awê ma se kinnes!

The thing is this man.  If you are going to post a picture of yourself getting vaccinated, kanalla make sure that it’s a lekke pic.  You can’t go to the vaccination station with a thick long sleeve top, and then awkwardly stretch and pull the top so that it’s off your shoulder.  The whole situation just looks very stressful.  Plus, now there’s that bra strap that wasn’t expecting an outing on that day.  You know the bra strap I’m talking about.  The one that’s not for a special occasion.  Now you are looking stressed.  The bra strap is looking stressed.  You shoulder is looking stressed.  And that’s the picture you post.  You shouldn’t.  That’s the kind of picture that encourages the anti-vaxxers. You are supposed to make the vaccination process look fabulous and desirable!

That’s why I made sure that both my vaccination pics were lekke.  I would like to think that at least one person out there saw my vaccination pic and thought: I don’t believe that this covid thing is real – but I’m going for the jab because i also want a photo like that!

And since I’ve mentioned the anti-vaxxers, let me not ignore the elephant in the ICU ward.   My Pfizer jaw dropped 2 days ago when I saw that the anti-vaxxers decided to protest just outside Groote Schuur Hospital.  The mind boggles.  Picture this.  A pre-protest meeting was held and someone raised his unvaccinated hand and said guys I have an amazing idea – why don’t we protest at Groote Schuur Hospital where all the exhausted front-line workers are – where there are people like you and me fighting to breath – ja why don’t we have our protest there!  And someone else with matric responded That’s an Amazing idea Nazeem!  Not brutal at all!

WHAT THE ACTUAL!  As they say in the classics Moettie My Bors Warm Maakie.  Don’t make my bors warm.  Which would be a bad thing to happen right now as Ventilators are currently in high demand – for those of you who didn’t know.

Let’s move on to less controversial stuff, shall we?  Someone sent me an email last week to say that there’s no way in hell she was buying a ticket for my upcoming show LOOT!  Her reason: it’s disgusting to poke fun at people who loot.  We were all quite perplexed by this.  Here is someone who has big problems with a show that nobody has seen.  Even I have not experienced this disgusting show yet.   But now I’m certainly looking forward to it.

I’m not going to bore you by fiercely defending the yet-to-be-seen show as I’ve always believed that comedians venture into tricky territory when they start explaining their craft to philistines.  Instead, I’m going to tell you that the artwork on the LOOT! poster was created by 12 year old Ben Appolis.  His dad Lindsey usually photographs me but this time we decided to go into a completely different direction.  My point is: how kwai is it that this young human being is only 12 and is doing beautiful stuff!  I love it when the world gets like this.  Remember when you and I were 12.  All we heard from the grown ups was: go play outside – big people is talking!    I would stomp off, traumatized by the knowledge that they were oblivious to the fact that in that sentence, ‘people” is “plural” – they should have said: big people ARE talking!  Surely!

I want to encourage you all to be like daddy Lindsey.  Don’t only push for the academic A’s.  If you can see that your laaitie is artistic, celebrate and encourage those skills too!  Ben sent me an invoice and everything.  Yes his dad made him take them out to lunch but that’s besides point.

Be a lekke parent.  And be a lekke person and buy a ticket for my show LOOT!  Details somewhere here on this website.

Have a fabulous week!

x

LOOT!!

LOOT!!

ABOUT LOOT

A man steals a flat screen TV and finds that it’s too big to fit into his getaway vehicle.  A President loses his iPad while a nation looks on.  A woman gives birth to 10 invisible babies. These are indeed the days of our South African lives.

Stand-up comedian Marc Lottering tackles these and other outrageously true stories in his new online comedy show LOOT!  You will also hear Marc’s take on his journey with Covid.

LOOT! features Marc’s new stand-up material, with no characters.

LOOT! runs for 70 minutes and is not suitable for children.

Tickets cost R80,00 and are available via www.quicket.co.za

For all enquiries, please contact Gayle:

072 070 7594 (whatsapp)

Gayle@pennylanestudios.co.za

ARE YOU’S JUSSS!!!

ARE YOU’S JUSSS!!!

 

Awê Ma Se Kinnes!

Jusss is actually a fabulous word.  Not often used in polite company.  I don’t believe that there’s an absolutely right way to spell it.  Today I shall spell it JUSSS – simply because I want us all to be on the same page as to what word I’m placing under the spotlight.

Last week I was in a zoom meeting and of course, Murphy’s Law, the minute I got all professional and settled into the meeting, my 2 dogs started “performing”.  Now “performing” in this instance is also an interesting word (When we were kids on the Cape flats, and we were acting silly and being the source of much annoyance to the grown-ups around us, an aunty would easily klap you on the back of the head and shout “hey stop performing bladdywill!!!”)

So my dogs were “performing” while I was on zoom.  Basically carrying on as though they were possessed by all the demons from Devilsdorp.  I gracefully excused myself from the 4-person meeting, got up from my chair, and barked: ARE YOU’S JUSSS!!! The dogs understood immediately and quietly went to chill like lions on the cover of an old Jehovah’s Witness magazine.  I calmly returned to the meeting to find everyone pissing themselves.  Breeking.

In the aforementioned example with the animals, “are you’s jusss!?” means “are you crazy!”.  So that then, is one meaning.  In my world, there are three more meanings.  Bear with me kanalla.

So off you and your 7 friends go to your favourite restaurant.  You order your main course.  The food arrives.  Everyone is excitedly asking everyone else what their meal tastes like.  Your meal is mind-blowing!  This is when you look up and say O MY GOD – THIS FOOD IS JUSSS!  Yes. Jusss also means amazing.

And as the evening progresses, you realize that one of your friends at the table is looking quite fabulous.  Not dripping with loud or trendy labels or anything – but everything that he is wearing is just fitting lekke.  The perfect outfit on the perfect person.  Well you would look at that friend and say FRIEND, TONIGHT YOU ARE LOOKING JUSSS.  On point!

And then you all order another round of drinks.  Remember you’re a table of 8 ne.  Everyone is now smaaking a different beverage.  You notice that the waiter is not writing anything down.  You mos know the kind of waiter I’m talking about.  Allergic to pen and paper.  You suggest to the ambitious waiter that maybe he should get a pen.  He casually dismisses you with his left hand accompanied by the “I’ve got this” body language.  The drinks arrive and it’s a predictable friggin disaster.  Genius has screwed up most of the order.  You angrily observe the chaos, lean over to your chommie and whisper I AM SOOO JUSSS! This of course is when jusss means furious.

Now that very same sentence means something completely different should you end up making out with one of your friends in the uber, on the way home from the restaurant.  That’s when you might whisper, after nibbling on a warm earlobe: I AM SO JUSSS RIGHT NOW.  This definitely does not mean that you are angry.  It means fifty-shades-of-grey stuff.  I’ve noticed over the years that people who grew up speaking suiwer Afrikaans, in this scenario, spell and pronounce the word as follows: JAGS.  I only discovered that spelling later in life.  And when people spell it like that, the word only has one meaning: horny.  This suiwer afrikaans pronunciation of the word has always made me giggle.  I don’t quite know why.  I think it’s the GGGG sound.  It’s just so perfect.  Letting you know exactly what’s about to go down.  Repeat after me: GGGGG

I wish for you a beautiful week ahead.  Ja man, have a jusss week!  And don’t allow annoying idiots to get under your skin and make you jusss.  And then if you are lucky enough to spend time with someone you love, don’t be shy to get cuddly and lekke jusss – it’s good for your mental health.

X