DAY 74: HAIR HELL

For the past 8 years or so, I've been judging my level of attractiveness by how I look when I wake up in the morning. I believe standing in front of a mirror, puffy eyed, sans mascara, looking kind of grumpy, is a very honest approach to judging ones own fuckability. That is until I moved to Durban. Every single morning since I arrived here, due to all the humidity and static electicity in the air that comes before a good old Durban thunder storm, I’ve had to face Tina Turner in the mirror. My hair hates this place. And it hates me. Which means I have gone from what I believed to be about a 61/2 to a very definite 2 on the Morning Mirror Fuckability Meter. Awesome. This also means that instead of the old ‘brush and go’ routine, I have now become one of those irritating chicks that spends 45 minutes on her hair in the morning. Double awesome. Now all I need to do is get myself one of those dumbass handbag dogs, a pink power suit, some false nails and I’ll be well on my way to being Paris Hilton’s new BF. Like, totally!

DAY 71: MADIBA DAY IN DURBS

Tomorrow is Mandela’s 91 birthday. The entire country has been asked to give up 67 minutes of their day to serve the community, in appreciation for the 67 years he has served in SA politics to help our country become what it is today. Free and fair, for the most part.  

Balls. What to do, what to do… I go onto my dear friend Iain Thomas aka The Copyninja, aka The Internet Buddha’s blog to help me get into the giving-helpful-at-peace-with-myself-and-the-world spirit. And then it hit me. The Copyninja’s posts are so uplifting and awesome and human beings are so grumpy and unawesome. They need cheering up. They need to fucking smile. They need The Internet Buddha. What better way to serve the community than to be the middleman to inner wisdom and self-reflection?  So with the Copyninja’s permission, I took some of what I believe to be his best posts and turned them into Madiba Day affirmation cards, which I will be handing out at the robots on the cnr of Argyle and Windermere for 67 minutes between 16:00 17:07. Come grab one if you’re in the area. If you can’t, and feel left out, go to pleasefindthis.blogspot.com

DAY 70: THE DURBAN VIBE

My best friend, Mr Grossi (ex ‘Durbanaat’ and Bear lover) arrived in Durban from Cape Town to pay me a visit, laugh at Renault Brown, Feng Shui The Flat of Awesomeness and gag at my cooking. This was all to be expected. What I wasn’t counting on was having to experience The Durban Grossi, which is basically the polar opposite to The Cape Town Grossi. 

Having spent three days in Durban, one evening he arrived at my front door and presented me with a punnet of cooked pork sausages. He had this wild look in his eyes, like he’d just come back from a hunt. His hair was disheveled, and he looked more rugged than I’d ever seen him look before. I went into shock. Why weren’t his shoes matching his shirt? Why didn’t he smell like Hugo Boss? Where the hell was his Man Bag? And what’s with these pork sausages? When I confronted him about it, he mumbled something about the vibe in Durban just bringing out the Rugger-Bugger (excuse the pun) in him. Had three days in Durban managed to turn my best friend Hetro? Good God, I hope not. But as the week progressed, I began to realize that my flamboyant friend was no more. ‘The  Durban Vibe’  had somehow managed to get its filthy Durban Jock fingernails into him via osmosis. The week progressed as follows:

Day 1:  Durban Grossi manages to expertly wield a drill, while smoking a cigarette and drinking a Hansa Pilsner at the same time.

Day2: Durban Grossi manages to get Renault Brown out of The Parking Of Death and doesn’t flinch when a shard from her clutch stabs him through his SHOELESS foot.

Day3:  Durban Grossi suddenly knows all the mechanical intricacies and differences between a DEFY and a LG washing machine.

Day4:  Durban Grossi suddenly knows what a glue gun is, how it works and can tell you all about the dynamic structure of  Thermoplastic glue if you don’t tell him to shut the fuck up.

Day5:  Durban Grossi is suddenly an expert on how to fix Steering Wheel Locks.  He can also head bang at a Goth club and instead of ordering his usual ‘waat waan wuth arse,’ chooses to drink several Brandy and Cokes instead.

Day6: Durban Grossi suddenly knows how to get those little plastic thingies to stay on the end of a Hilti nail. Who is this man?

Day7: Durban Grossi manages to excrete two (very neat) sweat patches under each arm while carrying the heaviest mirror in the world up four flights of stairs.

DAY 69: A NOTE TO ALL MALE 'DURBANAATS'

Fellas, sometimes a lady just wants to go into a bar and have a quiet, stiff drink and contemplate life. Just because I am alone does not mean that I am lonely. If I change my mind and decide that I require your company, I will let you know. I promise. Until then expect to receive some bat. Pay attention ladies, I've found that this one works a treat:

Preppy Drunk Dude: Hey, your hair looks like Peppy Le Pu.

Me: Wow. Thanks.

Preppy Drunk Dude: Can I buy you a drink?

Me: No.

Preppy Drunk Dude: Do you live around here?

Me: No.

long silence

Preppy Drunk Dude: What's your name?

Me: Beelzebul Abaddon

Preppy Drunk Dude: What?

Me: BEEL-ZE-BUL ABA-DDON

Preppy Drunk Dude: Is that German, or something?

Me: No. It's Satanic.

Preppy drunk Dude: Satanic?

Me: Yes, I worship Satan.

Preppy Drunk Dude pretends to answer his phone and walks away.

DAY 67: PROJECT FACE LIFT

I have just won the 110% Award at TBWA. This means that I won absolutely nothing except a pat on the back and a smidgen of god-damn respect. Which is OK, I guess but a new car with brakes that work or a Shetland pony dressed up as a Scottish Highlander would have been cool too. So what is the 110% Award? Well, it's a Global TBWA initiative whereby anyone in the agency (creative,suits, strategy, IT irits etc) can submit any idea they believe is cool, out-the-box and 'disruptive' for any of our clients. The best work is then chosen, and the entire agency gets summoned to view all the work in this weird, scary auditorium that we have in the agency, where the winner is then  announced. Being the winner means that my idea then goes into production (if client agrees). Great. Happy days, right? NO. WRONG. FAIL. The problem is that I am about 75% sure that my idea is not going to be able to be pulled off...how should I put this...legally. Unless I shag the Chief Councillor Sultan King of Bronze Statues in South Africa, or Jacob Zuma. Which I am about 85% unwilling to do (the other 15% is if CCSKBSSA is in fact also a sexy Scottish-French wine farmer and has a chameleon rehabilitation centre). Anyway, I'm rambling. Here's a crudely Photoshopped interpretation of the idea...and then we'll get to the part where I need you to help me break the law:

If the council doesn't give me permission, I'm going to be needing volunteer 'statue face polishers' from around the country to help make Project Face Lift a reality. That means you. I will provide your team with ninja suits, ropes, a couple of tins of Brasso and indemnity forms (releasing me from any responsibility in case of injury, death, arrest, or a sudden allergic reaction to Brasso)...Any takers? Seriously. If you're crazy, or bored, or have a fetish for extreme polishing email me at indigoconcepts@gmail.com

DAY 60: EISH, ETHEKWINI

DAY 54: THE JABU REPLACEMENT