TEQUILA TROUBLE

TEQUILA TROUBLE

 

Aweh ma se kinnes!

I’m sorry for not posting a story last week.  My cellphone went missing on Sunday night.  And found her way back into my anxious arms on Monday. Long story.  Well not such a long story actually.  In short, tequila was served at cousin Clinton’s birthday bash.  Now when I say “bash”, it was really only 4 of us.  Now when I say “birthday”, it really was a somewhat belated birthday dinner at a lekke smart spot.  So ja, cousin Clinton’s birthday was just an excuse to leave home and wear my new blue crew neck jersey from Superdry.  Otherwise a person never gets to wear these things.  Lockdown Life Mos!

(Ok it wasn’t actually a brand new crew neck jersey. It was a hand-me-down from Anwar.  But not actually a hand-me-down.  Because he never ever wore the jersey.  He bought it and when he came home from the Waterfront he realized that it totally did not look as lekka as it did in the shop mirror.  And then we both discovered that it absolutely suited me.  Look at God!)

The Birthday Bash.  One of the four of us suggested we go to a fancy spot on the Atlantic Seaboard.  I won’t say who.  Tanya.  Elegant setting and rah-rah enough for instagram.  Slightly overpriced of course – but being Capetonian, one gets used to this kind of abuse, and one is prepared to suck it up for a fabulous night out.  And also, you can’t arrive at a spot on the Atlantic Seaboard with a blue crew neck jersey from Superdry and then look at the menu and say YOH NO WAYS EKSE!  No.  Behave.  This is not the Spur.

Wait quickly.  On the subject of not acting surprised when you see the pricetag.  Last week I needed a new harness for my dog Hamilton.  Not sure if he’s outgrown the other one or if I just don’t know how to flippin adjust those horrible things.  Probably the latter.  Anyhoo, off I trot to get a new harness for dikkes.  This time ‘round I decided not to act clever and to be completely honest in the pet shop.

Me: I don’t now how to put this thing on the dog – and I don’t know how to adjust it.

Assistant: No problem Marc.  Let’s decide exactly what kind of harness you’re looking for – and then let me get the toy dog and show you step by step how to attach the harness onto the dog.

I was moerse impressed.  Chose a sexy looking grey harness.  Yes grey can be sexy in a pet shop.  Credit card goes through. Thank You Jesus.  Assistant asks for selfie and I love him even more.  It’s a good day.

I look at my credit card slip in the car and see that sexy grey came in at EIGHT- HUNDRED-AND-FLIPPIN-FIFTY RAND!  Huh!  That much for a harness!  Hamilton is a rescue from De Doorns!  Don’t get me wrong – I would have had the same reaction if Hamilton was from Constantia.  I just threw De Doorns in there for comic effect.  But yes he is from De Doorns and I am from Retreat and I’m sure that both of us never knew we’d witness the day that a harness valued at eight-hundred-and-fifty rand would ever enter our lives.

Now I’m in the car thinking that I obviously have to go back into the pet shop to say are you jusss.  But then I thought I can’t.  The assistant said my name.  And asked for a selfie.  He’s going to tell his friends that Marc Lottering is struggling financially.  The Capetonian in me could not live with that.

Look here, I don’t want to make things up ne – but, in that eight-hundred-and-fifty rand harness, Hamilton walked like a thoroughbred from overseas!

Back to cousin Clinton’s “birthday venue”.  The setting was amazing.  The food was tasty and expensive.  The service was seriously shit.  Which may be why we went for those rounds of delicious tequila.  So as to forget about poor service and go for fun, fun, fun!  And fun was had.  The pics looked amazing.  Insta was lit!  Mission accomplished.

Except I got home and my phone was missing.  I called the venue and they said it definitely was not there.  Of course my mind instantly went to shit service plus phone theft – just wow!

Found my phone on Monday afternoon, next to my bed.  Where I always put it when I get home.  For years now already.

Yoh, but that tequila was lovely.

x

AUNTY RONA!

AUNTY RONA!

Awê Ma Se Kinnes!

Ga-Gwa!!!  Covid Positive!  Soema net soe!  

I wish I could say I was in absolute shock but I wasn’t.  I was in absolute disappointment, yes.  But shock, no.  I have become acutely aware of the fact that it’s very tricky to stay out of the destructive path of Aunty Rona.  The only way to not meet and greet this vicious number is to stay home.  The second you unbolt that trellidoor, anything is possible.

In my head, if Aunty Rona was a person I imagine that she would look like Alexis from Dynasty.  A classic bitch that permi causes kak and just won’t go away.

So I wake up one morning more than 2 weeks ago and I feel a little bit off.  Now at my fabulously feisty age, waking up and feeling a little off is not the most unusual thing in the world.  I more than likely would have written it off to a tequila hangover – except that I had very rarely been partying during the pandemic – there’s been very little reason to.  And also, it’s just weird opening a bottle of tequila if you can’t share it with 15 other maskless friends before breaking into Whitney Houston songs.

My partner Anwar reassured me that it’s probably his flu that he passed on to me.  Well Anwar then decided that maybe he should go for one of those quick Covid tests.  It came back negative.  And a few days later he was fit as a fiddle and flaunting around the kitchen in city bowl gym wear.   So of course, I thought must just be having a little flu headache.

No breathing problems.  No fever.  No loss of smell or taste.

When I suddenly took a 2-hour nap in the middle of day and woke up tired, with a scratchy throat, I took myself for THAT test.  At which point Alexis hoisted a Rothmans and held it mid-air and thought to herself: let me quickly fock up this one’s day.

I live in gratitude that my symptoms were very mild.  Essentially a semi-permanent little headache and not much else.  I’m guessing it’s that one Pfizer jab.  I now have to postpone the second one – but yirre, can that day come already.  While pondering on the new date for my second Pfizer jab, I suddenly remembered, that pre-pandemic, when we spoke about Pfizer, we were whispering about a connection for Viagra.  A Pfizer jab of a very different kind.

I received overwhelming love and support after I spoke about my Covid status on social media.  The surprise for me was twitter.  Because while I have a decent amount of followers on twitter, I don’t engage much on that platform – it’s a hectic space.  You have to tread very carefully in that land.  People are ready to tell you your moer quick-quick.  Zero time for Maya Angelou quotes there ☺

But wow, when I posted about my Rona test result – twitterati came to life!  Twitter loves a good ol’ fiery vaccine debate!  Don’t come here with your pictures of snow and roses – go pose with your puppies on insta! ☺

So I move forward very cautiously, masked up and grateful for every sunrise.  But I’ll post that pic on the gram.

Happy Women’s Day to Women all over World.  Well to all women, except Aunty Rona.  She can now gerus put out her entjie and mince.  Ashes for that one.  Over it.

MEDDLING WITH MEDALS

MEDDLING WITH MEDALS

Awê Ma Se Kinnes!

On Saturday, I sprinted to the lounge to catch the start of the rugby game. Yes, sprinted.  Because I simply could not miss out on seeing Belinda Davids sing the national anthem. Whilst in other households at that time the prayer may have been “please let the Boys be focused and play a brilliant game”, the prayer in my household at that time was  “please may Belinda look smashing and may she hit every ridiculous note flawlessly”.  Happy to report that both Belinda and the Boys delivered.

I must say, I was quite surprised by my interest in sport over the last few days.  Or maybe I should not be that surprised – how can you not be moved by the drama of Olympic medals, coupled with the victorious Bokke!

And that sort of captures the kinda sports fan I am.  I don’t really have a clue as to who’s who, or who broke what world record.  I just sometimes know that, occasionally in the world of sport, there are certain things I have to pay attention to.  

Growing up, the big sporty thing for many of us was Wimbledon.  In fact, we took to the road to play ‘wimbledon-wimbledon”.    The tennis court was mapped out with sand in the road.  We became McEnroe, Navratilova, Chris Evert Lloyd,  Andre Agassi and Boris Becker.  We played until we fought.  We fought until we cried.  The game would come to an abrupt end when whoever owned the tennis bats would stomp off home in tears, bats and all.  To return the next morning best of friends.  

Prior to Saturday, twitterati kept reminding me to also focus my attention on the Olympic Swimming Pool.  There were murmurs that South African medals were going to be flaunted.  And sure as hell there they were.  By Friday midday we all knew the name Tatjana Schoenmaker.  Even I – the one who can’t tell a breaststroke from a box kick  – posted a little something about our first gold medal winner this year.

Swimming for me is much like singing.  Wait, let me explain.  When I sing in the shower I firmly believe that I am Whitney Houston.  And when I swim, I firmly believe that my technique resembles that of Ryk Neethling.  I will tell you that I have never been offered a recording contract.  I will also tell you that when I “dive in”, friends sitting around the pool just frown momentarily and wander off to the braai area.  But I can’t be bothered by the perceptions of others.  That is not how you move ahead in life!

Fun fact: I sometimes wish I were sporty.  Not as in Wayde Van Niekerk sporty, but as in socially sporty.   (One of my many shortcomings I guess).  You know those socially sporty guys.  Great with their partner.  Great with their kids.  Great at their Job.  And then great at soccer, swimming, rugby, volleyball and badminton.  Yes, badminton.  No limits to the skills of these supernatural beings.  I usually stare at those guys and think: ja but can you write a joke ?!?

To this day still, I cringe when the cricket bat suddenly appears at the braai.  How do you even pack that in alongside the potato salad!  And now the pressure is on me to stay as far away from that damn ball as possible.  It’s like being at Square Hill Primary in Retreat all over again.  Little gay Marc purposefully running in the opposite direction of the rugby ball.  But that’s a story for another therapy session.

I wish you an award-winning week.  Give yourself a medal for fabulously navigating your way through life in spite of any perceived “shortcoming”.

Drama Drama

Drama Drama

AWÊ MA SE KINNES

I really should not be surprised. Of course it had to come to this. There are now two camps in the family whatsapp group: those who will take the vaccine, and those who won’t.

I have absolutely no idea why I didn’t see this coming.  Silly me thought everyone who had matric with exemption would jump for the jab.  Verkere Bus Meneer Lottering! (Wrong Bus, Mister Lottering!)  Even family members who speak really well have shocked me with a “TOTALLY NOT TAKING IT!”.  Thankfully some of these bravehearts are debating the issue with more than just “NO! ONE OF MY FOLLOWERS ON FACEBOOK SAID THAT HE HEARD THAT THE JAB WILL KILL YOU”.

A few days ago I saw clips of a big group of unmasked people with placards walking on Sea Point Promenade chanting MY BODY, MY CHOICE. For me, it was hectic to watch.  They looked like normal people with good jobs and houses and stuff.  And yet…there they were.

And yoh, people are ready for a debate hey.  I’m the worst person when it comes to having to have a debate.  I just like to believe in what I believe and I find that life is way too short for me to have to explain to you why I believe what I do.  My whole spirit just breaks into a heavy sigh when I realize that I may have to explain my thought process to a total stranger.  And so, often in a company, I could actually come across as not being too bright.  I’m sometimes even aware of the fact that some people, on first meeting me in a social setting may be thinking: shoo he’s shockingly dull.  But that’s fine.  ‘Cos usually when I speak my mind, I get paid.  So ja J

These past 2 days have reminded me of a principle which I have adhered to for most of adult life: sometimes a person must know when to hou your bek – you have to know when to bite your tongue.  I’m not going to publicly battle with anti-vaxxers.

My decision has been to go with what my trusted GP tells me to do.  And if in a few years down the line, I suddenly grow a penis out of the middle of my back, well…more of me to love.

I raise a level-3 glass to all of us.  Best of Luck with whatever you decide.

A-LOOT-A CONTINUA?

A-LOOT-A CONTINUA?

Awê Ma se kinnes!

It’s been a few days of constantly having to decide which whatsapp vids are fake, and which are not.

And once again I was reminded that there will always be that one doos who cannot wait to share sensational news without bothering to verify its’ authenticity beforehand.  It’s a case of “let me quickly post this in the whatsapp group before anyone else does – in case it’s true”.

I mean, Yirre Bronwyn. – you couldn’t use google to establish whether someone really looted a whole shark?!

We saw looting in SA like we have never seen before.  And some clips went viral before you could say “get a bigger getaway car”.   I’m now referring to that chap who looted a TV that was too big for his car.  He’s notorious now.  Or Famous.  Depending on which way you swing.

I didn’t catch his name. Let’s call him Jakes.  Because Jakes sounds like a name belonging to someone who’s very hands-on.

I wonder if Jakes is sitting at home right now, watching TV.  I wonder how his morning started – on that day.  I imagine that he woke up and had to google which malls had a heavy police presence.  Because that’s where he didn’t go.  I imagine that it was his wife’s birthday on that day, and that he wanted to surprise her with something special.

Let me take my silly mind to that morning.  Jakes quickly kisses his wife Joy and tells her he’ll see her in a bit.  Off he goes.  Drives to the designated mall.  All parking bays are taken.  Dammit.  Jakes parks in the road.  Puts hazards on.  Because he’s law-abiding like that.  Finds the right store.  Spots the perfect TV.  Fortunately no queues at the till on that day.  Firmly gripping the huge TV in its box, Jakes rushes through the mall, to the car.  (He is silently grateful that there’s no fish oil on the mall floor.  That was mos a Shoprite trick).

He gets to the car.  Shit. TV won’t fit into the car.  Opens boot.  Shit again.  Boot full from earlier loot.  It’s been a good morning.  Clears boot.  Shoves TV into boot and strings a miracle together.

Gets home.  Humongous TV on shoulder.  Shouts “honey I’m home! I have a surprise for you!”  Joy responds from the bedroom where she’s packing a suitcase.  “I know you have a TV Jakes.  Everyone knows you have a friggin TV.  You’ve been on the news all day.  Along with my car.  And my number plate.  We need to move.  This is a shit birthday”.

If it’s your birthday today, I hope you’re having a better one than Joy.

Stay safe x