November 13, 2010 | 4 Comments
Car License and Registration - What's the worst that can happen?
Hypothetical question, but let’s just say you received a notice in the mail to renew your car license, and you never actually got around to having it renewed. Let’s say it’s… oh, I don’t know… 8 months overdue now? Read More…
November 12, 2010 | 6 Comments
The Greeting Loop of Infinity - On and on and on and on. And on. And on.
Just got back from Engen in Orange Street, Cape Town. I just popped in to get some milk and El Grande condoms, but what should have taken 10 minutes ended up taking 2 hours instead. Here is why: Read More…
November 11, 2010 | 1 Comment
So clothing store Markham is having their annual “Face of Markham” competition, where they choose a dude based on a popular online vote. With this in mind, I think we all realise the fact that it would be staggeringly brilliant if I walked away with the crown this year. Read More…
November 11, 2010 | 3 Comments
Name Tag - Is this what it is going to come down to?
Now let me make something pretty clear from the outset – I am shockingly bad when it comes to remembering people’s names. When meeting someone for the first time, I usually pull aside a friend or The Girlfriend afterward and ask them to jog my memory.
“The guy with the unibrow…. was his name… Michael?” I will ask gingerly.
“No Shaun, his name was not Michael. His name was Carl. No where near Michael. Christ, it’s as if you weren’t even trying,” they will reply in an irritable tone.
So yes, I am bad with names and faces – but not as bad as EVERYONE else seems to be, especially when it comes to me?
Now, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I would like to think I am a fairly striking fellow. I am tall, I have dark hair, I’m blessed with a lovely pair of thighs, I should be fairly memorable to all and sundry. Yet for some bizare reason, people cannot seem to remember me. Granted, this mostly seems to apply to other men – I’m always a hit with the ladies – but it still hurts my feelings when I bump into another guy who I met at a braai and had a beer with merely weeks ago, and he sticks his hand out and says “Hi, I’m Trevor”.
F**k you, Trevor. I know exactly who you are. I gave you my last Amstel two Saturdays ago, because you seemed like a decent bloke, and The Girlfriend keeps telling me to stop being such an unlikeable c**k and start sharing things, and there you go and forget you even met me. How do you think that makes me feel, Trevor?
The Girlfriend says it’s because in person I’m quite a boring guy with no redeeming or standout qualities, but she is just being bitter because I have refused to give her foot rubs this past week, so her opinion is decidely unobjective.
However, it’s definitely something I need to work on, as it reared it’s ugly head again this evening.
I was in Darling Street in Cape Town – which is decidely dodgy at night let me tell you – as I needed to go to the late night pharmacy to buy some hair removal cream (don’t ask). As I was approaching my car, I was accosted by a young couple, who gave me a story about how they needed money to get on a train to go home to Simon’s Town. I instantly recognised them as the homeless addicts who used to live in the street outside my flat. Our paths had crossed numerous times and I was sure they knew who I was. Yet there stood the guy-who-looks-remarkably-like-a-weasel, giving me the completely fabricated story about train fare, and not remembering who I was.
“It’s me! It’s me!” I blurted out. “Don’t you remember me? You threatened to pee on my car. I’m pretty sure you did. Come on, you MUST remember me,” I implored desperately.
He looked at me blankly, then proceeded to swear at me in pidgin English, before moving on, leaving me wallowing in self pity
I am completely insulted by this, and am pretty sure this is all some sort of elaborate joke, albeit one being played by people from all walks of life, who are unlikely to know of one another. Yes, it sounds implausible, but this can be the only reason for the continued snubs being thrown my way.
So the next time I greet someone who I recognise and I KNOW should recognise me as well, they had better remember who I am. If not, I shall be leaving them with a heavy reminder for future.
Namely, my foot up their arse. (yes, spelt the South African way too)
Oakes signing off.
November 10, 2010 | 1 Comment
Bed Springs - Always the noisy giveaway.
I was lying on my bed the other day, staring at the ceiling whilst gently rubbing my thighs. The reason I was doing this of course, was because I had jogged the previous day, The Girlfriend wasn’t interested in helping me, and so I was left to rub my tired muscles myself, it obviously isn’t something I just do for fun.
Anyhoo, I proceeded to hear what was the unmistakeable sound of someone urinating with great force in the toilet one floor above me. I then heard the creaking of the bed upstairs as well. I have now discovered that, for whatever reason, I can hear the new neighbour above me whenever he climbs into and moves around in his bed.
This makes me uneasy because our bed also makes a lot of noise, which means that potentially, my neighbour who lives on the the floor below me can hear every creak and squeek of my bed. Which suddenly puts great pressure on me to perform now, as I have an audience below who will be able to work out exactly how my bedroom exploits have gone. Come to think of it, the half smile he gives me whenever I bump into him in the lift is starting to make sense now. It’s not a half smile of politeness or shyness, it is quite clearly a half smile of pity.
So to set the record straight, if you are my neighbour who lives below me and you are reading this, the fact that the vigorous squeeking of the mattress springs ends after 2 minutes every other night, does not mean things have finished quickly.
It just means we have moved over to the kitchen counter or the bathroom floor. Maybe even the shower if we are feeling really feisty.
True story.
Oakes signing off.
November 9, 2010 | 1 Comment
Best Seller: What this will be, when it is eventually published.
It’s Wednesday, and of course I haven’t written anything of substance in weeks (some of you may say months even, to which I would retort with a solid punch in your mouth)
To try and get the ball rolling again, I thought I would start off lazily and just throw in another extract from the staggeringly brilliant and as yet unpublished and untitled Shaun Oakes novel. (See earlier extract here. Oh and here too)
Oh and remember, in case this is read by family / friends / someone who thinks this may or may not be based on them – this is clearly a fictional tale. Granted, a stupendously brilliant tale, but it still remains a fictional one. The story revolves around David, a twenty-something guy who, although a bit of a cock, really has a heart of gold. Okay, let’s go.
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Shane is what some may call the sweet guy next door, and women tend to fall for his “I just want to be your friend” plutonic vibe he gives off. This has never worked for me though. Women tend to see through my fake sincerity, Jenna probably being the exception, although I think she finds my raw and unadulterated shallowness amusing. I’ve tried on numerous occasions to get Shane to hook me up with one (or some) of his chick friends but he has resisted so far, which actually offends me a little bit. I certainly wouldn’t mind hooking up with White Bikini Babe who’s now walked all along the pool toward… Oh for f**k’s sake! Unbelievable! She sits down next to Ryan and they start chatting, although I can’t hear what they’re saying. Ryan is trying to look all suave but I can see he’s buzzing at the moment. Why on earth would she be interested in Mr Dull himself, Ryan? He’s always coming up with these dry observations which he thinks are rather amusing (they aren’t) and to top it off, he’s just a feeble little sheep. He has no real drive when it comes to pulling women and I can’t believe that tired little plan of waiting around actually worked, and just as I was about to make a move myself. I had made small talk with her earlier, even though I can’t remember her name ( I know it started with an “A”). Anyway, I was quite charming and even made her laugh a few times. I very much doubt whether he can top that. Knowing him, he’ll probably blow it so maybe I could still nip in there. As I correctly predicted, he never called his Megan from the previous night, saying he had “a feeling” about her and wouldn’t call her after all. I decide on letting the two of them have their fun for the time being. I get up and sway towards Red Head, whose name I’ve also already forgotten. It’s impossible to remember so many people’s names anyway, but my bad memory makes things even worse. Also, having spoken to her earlier it would just be awkward now to ask her for her name again, so I’m just going to have to roll with it. She’s certainly not bad looking, and the mole on her cheek really accentuates her looks. She’s rather pale though, she obviously burns easily because she’s sitting in the shade and she’s also wearing dark shades. I’m pretty sure she’s checking out my package, which I’ve further complimented with a rolled up pair of socks strategically placed in my underpants, and I accentuate things further by very subtley swaying my groin area toward her face. “Hi,” I say rather smoothly, “Is this seat taken?”. Is this seat taken? Did I really just say that? It was a bit corny to say the least but she gives me a polite smile all the same and motions for me to sit down. My normal ice breaking method in these situations would be to ask why she’s being so quiet, does she know everyone here and so on, and I proceed to do this now. She says she doesn’t know anyone here really besides Shane and Hog Girl, who’s still chatting away furiously with Aubrey. I tell her I don’t really know anyone either and that I feel a little uncomfortable, and she tells me likewise. I like to call this tactic the “Puppy Dog”, playing on a females sense of vulnerability. We are supposedly both feeling vulnerable now as we don’t know anyone, and we’ve now established a common connection, so immediately she will stick to me like a fly to shit. We will now make meaningless small talk for a while, we will have more drinks, I’ll make her laugh with my hysterical one liners and soon she’ll be eating out of my hand. What I don’t count on though, is the fact that she’s a bit of a bore. In fact, that’s probably an understatement, if there was a hypothetical city made up entirely of boring people, and your social status was based on how dull you were, she would probably be the mayor, or some other high ranking official. This potential spanner in the works throws me off a little and I have to reassess my position here. Somehow, I’ve found myself in the middle of a conversation about a syndicated television show from the 90′s (“Roswell”), and she is giving me the lowdown on the lead male actor (“Jason Behr”) and how his career developed once the show ended. Not surprisingly then, I soon realise that she is both single and incredibly tiresome, but I nod my head approvingly as she carries on with the tale of Jason Behr. I’m definitely still in with a chance here, but do I really want to? I can carry on lying and pretending that we’re connecting but, in truth, I’m starting to contemplate throwing myself into the braai flames if she carries on like this. Thirty minutes has passed, although it feels like hours, and talking to her feels like being in the world of Narnia. On the up side though I see White Bikini Babe has had enough of Ryan, as she’s back in the pool with her friends. Ryan is sulking by himself now, mentally going over what he said in an attempt to find out what drove her away. I decide on staying put for a while, and carry on with the façade. She begins complimenting me, which clearly tells me we’ve moved onto the next level of social flirtation. She obviously likes what she’s seeing and must be taking in all my bullshit because she’s really feeding my ego now, telling me how fascinating she finds me. Fascinating? All I did was tell her about my job and I think I may have mentioned something about being very spiritual. In truth, I’ve been about as fascinating as one of the pieces of wood we are burning, but she’s either highly intelligent or just incredibly naïve. Using my famed analytical skills, I’m leaning towards the latter. … Times continues to tick by, and I carry on manfully, putting in some serious legwork. We’ve been chatting for quite a while now, we’ve had a few cocktails as well, maybe a few too many. She’s been making it for us and I haven’t failed to notice it getting progressively stronger. I think she’s trying to get me wasted, which is a strange bit of role reversal here as it is I who would normally encourage the fairer sex to over indulge. She clearly hasn’t heard of my legendary ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol, and I’m in for the long haul tonight. I see Aubrey and Hog Girl have left our company, most probably over to his place, so hopefully they’ll stay there for the evening. Everyone is quite drunk by now, except me of course and the paved area near the pool has been turned into the official dance floor. The four pool chicks, with White Bikini Babe leading the way, are getting down and grinding with Shane and Ryan, who now seems in better spirits than earlier. We decide to join them, and I break out into a gentle rhythm, again showing my class as a top dancer. I’ve done all the spade work, so my smooth moves should seal the deal. I can see it clearly in her eyes that Dave is her desire, much like Deaf Girl from the previous night. I quickly check her ears for any sign of impediments. There are none. End of extract |
Nice. You will notice that, much like a Will Ferrel or Ben Stiller movie, this has repeat viewing potential. I myself must have read this at least 48 times already, and it keeps getting better.
Okay, we will talk again tomorrow. No really, we will.
Oakes signing off.
October 31, 2010 | 2 Comments
Moobs - What we are currently dealing with.
I was staring at my reflection the other day, after someone rather eloquently commented that the shirt I as wearing made me look like “a huge tit”. Seeing as resembling a large female breast was not really the look I was going for, I decided to give my appearance a closer inspection, and thus made the following observations.
Now the first point was not too distressing, as I regularly get called both a tit as well as several other vulgar terms (mostly relating to male and female body parts) by various friends, colleagues and family.
No, the really devestating thing was the moobs, which had crept up on me in a dark, insidious manner. I even misspelt devastating in the previous sentence, that’s how devastated I was. The once fairly proud, muscular pecs that I could crack wallnuts with – especially ones that had already been slightly cracked to start with – were now reduced to saggy, drabby little bits of flesh, that kind of droop and hang loosely. A bit like how a 75 year old man’s balls must look after more than a half century of shagging.
Saggy Man Boobs - What Shaun would look like if he took his top off, put on blue underpants, and got kicked in the mouth by a professional wrestler.
The Girlfriend claims she has been telling me about this for months now, but this must have clearly been blocked by the internal filter I have, the one which prevents me from hearing her when she asks me to take the trash out, pick up the wet towels, or when she tells me to stop trying to have sex with her when she is sleeping.
Besides the shock and horror, I am also left with a feeling of incredible annoyance – not really at myself and my laziness (granted, it’s been several months now that I’ve been swapping dumbbells for doughnuts) – but more at life in general. The man boobs are most apparent when I am wearing shirts, but for various reasons that I will vent about another time, this is my preferred clothing attire, after having a major fallout with t-shirt manufacturers.
And then, just like that, life decides to not just give me lemons, but to take a wedge and squirt some in my eyes as I look up at it in surprise.
F**k it.
Time to do some bench presses I guess.
Oakes signing off.
October 11, 2010 | 1 Comment
It’s Monday, and I’ve just come off an epic weekend at Rocking The Daisies (which was pretty good, that’s why I used the word “epic” to describe it. I don’t just throw words like that out there willy nilly.)
I might chat about RTD a bit later, but that’s not really what I’m feeling right now. Seeing as it is Monday, I thought I would talk about tequila, as it is something I became re-acquinted with this past weekend, like an old lover who you haven’t seen for a while, and then bump into one random Saturday evening, and end up having wild rigourous sex with in the back seat of your car, in the bedroom, and later, because you felt like showing off, on the cold bathroom floor.
I had some time to kill today, and so decided to write some bullet points as to why tequila and I are on such good terms. I decided to turn it into a game called “Tequila is my friend because…”
So let’s play.
Tequila is my friend because…
Tequila gives me the confidence to chill with B-grade pop singers, like Stacie Oricco.
Tequila gives me the ability to magically look and feel like a rock star from the 80s.
Tequila allows me to run with my arse out when playing cricket, which is a good thing because running with your arse out makes you go faster. Fact.
Tequila gives me the ability to play drums like an absolute beast.
Tequila gives me the ability to balance green bottles of beer on the side of my head, whilst simultaneously looking bemused.
Tequila allows me to see invisible food and eat it in mid-air, whilst using a trendy Persion scarf as a napkin.
So, to thank you for sitting through what may admittedly appear to be a rather random post, I am going to reward you with some free stuff.
As I am talking about tequila, perhaps I should give away some?
Okay, I have a few boxes of el Jimador tequila, which I would love to give you.
You’ve heard of el Jimador?
Probably not. Not yet, anyway. It’s the number one selling tequila in Mexico, and it has now hit our shores.
I’ve been trying it out and I’ve become quite fond of it. In addition, it also comes with a Mexican wrestling mask and some moustaches, so you KNOW you are going to have a lot of fun with it.
el Jimador Tequila - Number one selling tequila in Mexico.
You just know you are going to have a lot of fun with this.
Okay, I have 3 of these boxes to give away. Just go to my Facebook Page (over here) and on my wall, and tell me why Tequila is YOUR friend. (eg: Tequila is my friend because it makes me dance like a champion)
The three most creative entries will get a box shipped to them. Will announce the winners on Friday afternoon. (15th October)
Okay, get to it then. I’ll chat to you again just now.
Oakes signing off.
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