My second being 30 experiance

Salamu

So my adventure into 30 began on Friday night. And yes I did find out something about myself, which will be outlined throughout the post.

Trust me….you won’t be able to miss it.

It was Chris Rock who once made fun of 30 year olds going to clubs thinking that they were in their prime. “What the fuck is up with that? You’re 30….sit your ass at home and watch some football,” was what he said.  

Bearing this in mind, I accepted an invitation to Maritzburg’s most happening club “Red Door”.

My feelings towards clubs are not because of the person who extended the invitation, but because I never have been, and never will be a club person.

My reasons are quite simple and can be summerised as such:

-         I can’t dance. AT ALL

-         I am a big guy and DETEST mofo’s purposely bumping into me or shouldering me in hope that I see it as a provocation.

-         I like to pick up my women in well light areas when they don’t have half a bottle of Jose Quervo in them.

And finally…

-         I can’t dance. AT ALL

So I roll up to the door of Red Door at 10 pm after working the night shift. And I was dressed to the nines, unfortunately the crowd dressed to the fives so I stood out like a sore thumb.

I have this black button down shirt which I very partial to. It’s got the flag of Jamaica on the sleeves and JAMAICA written in big on the back just above a number 9. It is a cross border soccer shirt. The reason I am partial to it is because it is a good fit and is slightly tight around the guns (never a bad thing).

I should have known I was going to be in for a rough time when the bouncer at the door looked me in the eye and said to me: “This isn’t Jamaica MAAAN, dere aint no Reggae music here!” But I knew this because I heard the band belting out Black Sabbaths WAR PIGS on the way up the stairs to the club.

Black Sabbath - War Pigs

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Inside I was greeted by a VERY darkly light area where like I said, the crowd was dressed to the fives, and everyone looked like a bunch of gothic Vikings trying to shake their brains out their heads by head banging as hard as they could.

I don’t have a problem with fat people, or fat people getting down. I am a big person myself. But there was this big guy on the dance floor, who was a few inches shorter than me, but just as big as me weight wise, jumping up and down as the band went through their songs. The bastard was jumping to so hard I thought he was going to go through the concrete floor any second!

Now bear in mind people. Im a reggae person….who listens to song about peace love and happiness. Here I am in the middle of Sleepy Hollow at a dimly light club where I am getting purposely bumped left right and centre and having to be subjected to songs about war, death and ripping children apart.

Cut a long story short, I got stood up, the invitee never arrived, and as I was walking out, the bouncer said to me: looks like you’ll never be the same again my bruda, showing me his tat of Bob Marley and a tat bearing the Lion of Ratafarianism. 

Mei jua daima kuwa kabla yenu, na vivuli nyuma yako!

Having a smoke in the room man.

Coming to terms with the big 3 0!

Salamu.

So the Lion of Lebanon has turned 30, and whereas I had issues about reaching the age towards the middle of last year, I know can see that 30 will be the age for me because you have finally reached the age where you can say what you want to people without tippie toeing around a subject.  

Not that this ever stopped me before, but it was frowned down upon, now the frowning doesn’t happen.

But what does being 30 mean? This will be my challenge for this year.

It will probably mean different things to different people. A friend of mine moved, with her family, to Australia 8 years ago. This morning, Australia Day, her brother posts on Face Book how proud he is to be an Ozzie.

Now to me I can’t see many reasons why you should be proud to be an Ozzie. You put shrimps of Barbeques and you get licenses to shoot Abbo’s. Your cricket commentators are overly biased and 70% of your country is desert.

But to an Ozzie, being an Ozzie is the best thing in the world.

The secret here is to find something so be proud of. Like the fact that Australian women are some of the most beautiful women in the world. And that you have some of the best sportspeople in the world. And of course Australia has Chopper Reid.

That’s what I need to do with being 30. I need to find something to be proud about.

What that is, I don’t know, because I am not married, don’t have kids and am not earning a fat salary and don’t drive my dream car.

But I have an interesting job and have been to places in the world people twice my age haven’t been to.

So instead of viewing 30 as a challenge… I will view it as a voyage of discovery. Who knows…I might discover myself or I might destroy myself… either way I will make 30 a year to remember.

Happy Australia Day and India Independence Day to my Australian and Indian readers.

Mei jua daima kuwa kabla yenu, na vivuli nyuma yako!

Australia has some of the most beautiful girls in the world!

Landmarks and Home Coming Greatness!

Salamu. 


As I write this post I may have my 4 000th page view from the USA. Well done guys, MASSIVE BIG UP'S.


Once again this blog was inspired by true events. A friend of mine from work recently visited her old country India and began a 24 hour long journey back to South Africa, which included a 10 hour stop over at the Dubai International Airport. 

Tharuna, my friend in question, posted on Face Book that she could kiss the ground at OR Thambo International (in Johannesburg). This brought back memories of my various home coming's from my travels and similar feelings of utter joy when landing home. 


The most memorable time was flying into JHB via Nairobi Kenya on Kenya Airways. It was a midmorning flight and it was as hot as shit outside. About an hour into the flight, as we were flying over Tanzania, the plane shut down at 30 000 feet and free fell for a few seconds. Now you know its some scary shit when the cabin crew shit themselves, because they have seen it all before, the complexions of these dark African ladies turned as white as ghosts and one of them even dropped her beverage tray. 


The plane eventually rebooted and started to climb again, and our pilot Captain Morgan (I am not joking, that was his name) came over the PA system and apologised for flying into a severe thunderstorm that the radar never picked up! WHAT RADAR WERE THEY USING? THE ONE INVENTED BY NOAH WHEN HE LAUNCHED THE ARK? 


In between watching Days of Our Lives and Cheaters (which was dubbed into Swahili) the flight wasn't all bad as I had a cute brunette sitting near me and we spent most of the flight swoping stories.

As we were coming into OR Thambo it was pissing with rain, and there was a strong tailwind on the runway. So the rocket scientist Captain Morgan misjudged his  landing and had to climb the aircraft and try it again. Do you know hoe scary it is to go from landing at 800 km/h to climbing at 800 km/h in a matter of a few seconds? I was hurling abuse at the man like he has never heard in his life. 


When we did land I, like Tharuna, kissed the ground of my home country. 

The second part of this blog relates to a comment left on Tharuna's status by her friend Revanidhi Kullan. In response to Tharuna's expression of joy, Revanidhi said: I'm coming home! Im coming home! Tell the world Im coming home!

This reminded me about a wonderful story involving  boxing promoter Don King.  

He was coming to South Africa to promote a fight. And like all African American's coming to AF-RIKA is a big thing!

So he gets off the plane with his stuffed up hairstyle holding miniture US flags in his hands flashing peace signs screaming at the top of his voice: I'm home everybody! Im home! Tell the world Im home!

Now shouting that shit at OR Thambo was not enough. King whent straight from there to Soweto where again he walked through the streets screaming: I'm home everybody! Im home! Tell the world Im home!

He then whent to Winnie Mandela's house and screamed from the gate of her property: I'm home Winnie! HEY WINNIE...ITS DON KING! Im home Winnie! Open up!

Winnie did eventually open up, for her security guards to tell King to stand on the other side of the street before they shoot him. 

When I interviewed King in Dubai I asked him about the incident and he said: "What Winnie did was unnecessary! She was very angry that day! I have never been cussed at so much in my life then on that day in So-Whe-To!"

I have never been cussed at so much in my life then on that day in So-Whe-To

Sleepy hollow Gems and Irritating Brits.

Salamu.

This weekend saw the first  full weekend I have spent in Sleepy Hollow (Pietermaritzburg) since I moving in about three months ago.

First lets discuss the reasons behind my stay. I have had a busy December and New Years where I spent enough time with family and as you all know, I do like some time by myself.

So it was that this weekend was dedicated to doing what I wanted to do.

I think I have made it clear on this blog that while I am not the biggest gambler in the world, I do like to roll them bones and spin them wheels for money from time to time. I have heard a lot about the Golden Horse Casino so I decided to try it out.

It was the first casino in South Africa that I have gone to where they do not charge you for entrance and it is the  first casino I have been to in South Africa which does not seem like it is bursting at the seams with loads of people.

My game of choice always has been, and always will be European Roulette. Most of the time I lose but there is the odd occasion where I hit it big and win quite considerably by my standards. I exchanged R300 for chips and was getting a bit stuffed up by the Hubid spinning the wheel. In fact I was down to my last R50 rand when the new spinner came and I caught 4 two way splits and 3 numbers in a row. I then correctly called the section of the table where the next number would fall as well as catching that number straight and a two way split.

At the end of the day I won R1 300, which to me is not bad work for two hours at the table.

But what was nice about the casino was that it didn't feel as if there was a human wave pushing against you to place their bet. And there were no arms appearing out of nowhere to place bets. it was nice and pleasurable.

I then went to the Keg and Hedgehog to catch some FA Cup action and got chatting to a gorgeous voluptuous looking blonde number at the bar. As we got more pissed we flirted more and more, just before we hit the Stroh Rum she suggested that she will charm the hell out of me. I called her bluff accusing her of being: "All show and no go" so she suggested that we meet up for breakfast in the morning.

I was hoping that this would take place at her place after a night of inspecting her asset portfolio (which looked promising) and assessing the firmness of her bottom end (which looked extremely promising). But the fact that we had to call a cab to take her home meant that my chances of participating in any such activities was none.

So Sunday came and I found yet another gem of Sleepy Hollow...St Mary's Church.

It is this real old church which is not the largest I have been in, but the checkered floor tiles reminded me of Westminster Abby (which is the global home of the Anglican Church). The priest gave a moving service and it didn't feel like I was going to the same mass as the Grim Reaper's near future clients.

So off I go to the Cascades shopping center after mass and find the girl I was chatting to the previous night. She looked ravishing and was cute as a button. She even apologized for the fact that I had to see her end up in the state that she was.  But then the conversation went downhill.

We got chatting about ancestry and it turns out she is from Pontipridd in Wales and moved to south Africa when she was 17 with her parents. I had never been with a Welsh girl before, but considering my liking for Charlotte Church I was keen to dala this girl. I said that I was from South Africa, but my ancestors were from Lebanon.

The cow then said possibly the worst thing under the current circumstances.

“It must be hard having such violent ancestors who strap bombs to their chests. The Brits would never do anything like that.”

NICE. So I look at this girl (while pulling a fist under the table) and say in the coolest tone I could muster. “Those would be the Iraqi’s and the Afghani’s. Not the Lebanese. Ad I don’t quite like the tone of your voice or the direction of this conversation.” After this I got up and left her high and dry at the table with the bill and a breakfast she didn’t know what to do with.

I really detest people who are arrogant and think that they are God’s gift to humanity. But unfortunately the Brits are naturally like that.

In her defense, she did contact me today and for a second time apologized for her actions. I forgave her really quickly and suggested she lay off the Brit arrogance a bit. Who knows, maybe the Welsh birds can outperform the Geordie and Essex birds?

Things are not what they seem.

Salamu.

So it is 2012, the year that the world is supposed to end.

Personally I do not prescribe to that crap as I think the Myans were possibly the biggest potheads in the world at the time. They ran an empire from Mexico down to Colombia so were definitely rooting poppy seeds or some shit.

This is besides the point.

There is usually some level of inspiration behind most of my blog posts. What can I say...I have muses everywhere. This post is regarding the person I really am under my thick ogre like appearance.

I was watching The Last Samurai last night, for like the 44th time, when a friend of mine from Joberg and I got talking. It was the girl; I mentioned in an earlier post regarding awkward first dates. She has attracted the interest of a really nice guy but is scared to commit to a relationship and blah blah..blah blah...blah blah. You know, the usual women crap.

So I told her a story regarding fears taking over and it must have really hit home because she was all very thankful and friendly. And she said: "You know, deep down...behind your Shrek (ogre appearance) you are actually a clever and level headed guy.

I am quite perturbed about the fact that people see me as a person who is not level headed and clever. I mean if we had to judge people by their covers. Paris Hilton would be just a dumb blonde air head who spreads her legs. Oh wait...

But you know what I mean, and what leads people to think the way that they do is beyond me.

I do have some theories, but please be warned that these are unproven.

1) My degree. I have a BA, and when you are studying a bachelor of arts at university you are the joke of the campus with people telling you that you are going to spend the rest of your life asking people if they would like fries with their food.

I mean, this to me is bull shit. I am probably cleverer then most of the wankers studying a B COM or a LLB or all of that crap. My general knowledge is at the top of its game and when people sit down and have a conversation with me they are surprised at my level of intellect.

2) My looks. As you can see by my pic on the side of my blog, I am no oil painting and will definitely not win any beauty competitions.  I do have a bit of a thick look about me.

and

3) My personality. Believe it or not, I have become quieter since my break up with my ex. I prefer to sit and observe rather then make myself known and the center of attraction. It may be a confidence thing, but I have  just come to the realization that not everyone in the world wants to hear your crap. Which is true.

So...there it is...something you didn't know about me. I am a pretty level headed guy. Its just a pity that like all level headed people, i cant follow my own advise.

"You know despite your ogre appearance, you are quite a level headed person"