23 days to go
Shonezy, Arya and I are all going to the Ingeli Dhaga together, on 11 March. It's a small event that includes a 1K swim and a triathlon (to those insanely inclined). It's put together by Westbury Prep, and I think those guys are doing a fine job. Plus, an open water swim is an open water swim and it should be fun. While we're up there, I'll be asking Kerry to meet us at the Harding Dam. Maybe she'll join us for a picnic and bring Kay so my stepdaughter has a playmate. Now, if the weather cooperates.
My friends have decided that they're taking me to a Sharks game on my birthday. I'm as big a rugby fan as the next jersey wearing, wors eating, beer guzzling fan. But on my birthday? I envisioned a romantic dinner out with the wife, maybe a head-to-foot spa day, playing HoMM V until I start speaking in olde English and openning loads of present(s). We're sleeping over at Durban too. None of them like shopping so I'm guessing we're giving all the malls a skip. :o( But the natives are getting restless and I must give in. We're raring to go to Durban. Plus we're missing the Roman Lounge party this Friday in Durbs due to the first Sharks game (we are all in monogamous relationships, save Claude and really we can hook him up at next month's exclusive party, he's waited 23 years. A month more won't hurt. We are not missing the first game of the season just so Claude can get some.)
This will all mean that the wife owes me a weekend away for my birthday. And yes. I expect a big fuss because I always get one. The downside to birthdays means one is getting older. Which I can do without. Mid-30s. Ugh. That's so. Ugh. 23 days to go.
Last week I was despondent. Disconsolate. So utterly depressed. I figured out the problem: I only worked out 45 minutes last week. As soon as I finished an 800 metre warmup in the pool last Monday, I was back to my old wise-cracking self. Enrophins. As much a drug as any out there.
Tuesday's dinner with Chris turned out to be so much fun. I hadn't laughed that much in a long time. We lingered for three and a half hours debating various issues, using arguments that got increasingly ridiculous the more daiquiris we consumed. Of course the rum hit us pretty hard because we'd both skipped lunch earlier that day due to an overlong meeting that sparked short fuses at work. And this week, I saw him for two hours, agitated and annoyed, making me trot to catch up with him almost running to Pick n Pay because he wanted a pie. Now. He's such a woman.
My friends have decided that they're taking me to a Sharks game on my birthday. I'm as big a rugby fan as the next jersey wearing, wors eating, beer guzzling fan. But on my birthday? I envisioned a romantic dinner out with the wife, maybe a head-to-foot spa day, playing HoMM V until I start speaking in olde English and openning loads of present(s). We're sleeping over at Durban too. None of them like shopping so I'm guessing we're giving all the malls a skip. :o( But the natives are getting restless and I must give in. We're raring to go to Durban. Plus we're missing the Roman Lounge party this Friday in Durbs due to the first Sharks game (we are all in monogamous relationships, save Claude and really we can hook him up at next month's exclusive party, he's waited 23 years. A month more won't hurt. We are not missing the first game of the season just so Claude can get some.)
This will all mean that the wife owes me a weekend away for my birthday. And yes. I expect a big fuss because I always get one. The downside to birthdays means one is getting older. Which I can do without. Mid-30s. Ugh. That's so. Ugh. 23 days to go.
Last week I was despondent. Disconsolate. So utterly depressed. I figured out the problem: I only worked out 45 minutes last week. As soon as I finished an 800 metre warmup in the pool last Monday, I was back to my old wise-cracking self. Enrophins. As much a drug as any out there.
Tuesday's dinner with Chris turned out to be so much fun. I hadn't laughed that much in a long time. We lingered for three and a half hours debating various issues, using arguments that got increasingly ridiculous the more daiquiris we consumed. Of course the rum hit us pretty hard because we'd both skipped lunch earlier that day due to an overlong meeting that sparked short fuses at work. And this week, I saw him for two hours, agitated and annoyed, making me trot to catch up with him almost running to Pick n Pay because he wanted a pie. Now. He's such a woman.