Hollywood Good

• 10 Lemons Quartered


• 2 Oranges Quartered


• 1 Bottle Vodka or Tequila or Bacardi


• 5 litre bucket or glass container full of ice


• 2 cups Sugar

Preparation

I found out about yucca while on a fishing trip. I don’t know where the name came from. Here is the recipe: Squeeze the juice from the fruit over the bucket full of ice. Toss in the peels when that’s done as well. Add the sugar, and pour the Alcohol over the whole lot mix or if you have a lid shake well. While sitting around the campfire one evening some friends introduced us to yucca. Now when the jar gets passed to you, you give it a shake, twist off the lid and have a gulp. There is a ritual that goes with it. If you don’t shake it first you loose a turn. If you take too small of a drink, you must drink more until everyone is satisfied that you didn't cheat yourself. This stuff is seriously nice to drink believe it or not. However beware it is serious Hooligan making juice and can cause you to loose track of time and space

Um. Yeah.

Vagina waxing.

Grand.

So last year, in December, for my birthday, The Boyfriend gives me a voucher for a spa day, and tells me to choose from their menu of treatments. So I do. I decide to have a massage, (a 45 min back, neck and shoulder massage – because I have issues with other people touching me, and what if a full-hour is too long and what if it freaks me out and then I have to lie there for an entire hour?) a facial, (because I want one) a manicure, (not a pedicure – because I can’t stand people touching my feet) an eyebrow wax and tint and an eyelash tint (because I’ve never had one, and it sounds cool) and……a bikini wax….

Why? Because I like to be smooth down there, and waxing seemed like the way to go, although I could never work up the balls to book an appointment for myself to get it done. And self-waxing strips at home didn’t seem like an option. I mean come on – who is seriously going to WAX THEIR OWN VAGINA? That would involve mirrors and staring into your own….well, you get the idea.

Shaving is fine – because I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t even have to look anymore.

But….back to the story.

So I decide. Vagina waxing must happen. And it must happen for my birthday.

I think nothing more of it – after all – I’ve been through child-birth – what could be worse than that, right? (Okay, so I had a c-section under general anaesthetic, but so what?) My spa day rolls around, I put on my comfy pants, make sure to put on underpants and I smoke a joint beforehand – you know, to relax me – and I surrender my body and face and hands to the beauticians at said spa.

The massage was wonderful. I wish it could have lasted longer. The “spa manicure”? That made me snort. The thing that makes it a “spa” manicure? They soak your hands in a bowl of warm water before they start the treatment. Seriously. The eyebrow wax and eyebrow tint and eyelash tint was cool. Took me a bit of time to adjust to having such dark eyebrows, but I will definitely do that again at the end of the month. The facial? Absolutely incredibly divine. Was still reasonably stoned at this stage, and the hot steam blowing in my face was pretty orgasmic for my skin. I fell asleep during my 90 minute facial.

The best was clearly saved for last. The vagina wax. Initially, having no idea what varieties were on offer, I’d opted for a plain bikini wax, but then when the tiny brunette beautician (or whatever the fuck they call themselves) lead me by the hand into a small, dark room and I explained to her what I wanted, it turned out to be a little bit more along the lines of what Sass describes in this post, only sans backdoor waxing** – in other words – a full vaginal wax.

So she tells me to take off all my clothes, put on this wrap-around towel thing and hands me a DISPOSABLE G-STRING. All neatly wrapped up in its own little box. A DISPOSABLE g-string. Like hospital broeks, but the porno version.

I lie down on the bed, she dims the lights and turns the music up. You know, really setting the romantical mood. Not. She runs her hand up my thigh and parts them. Tells me to put my one foot under my other knee. So now I’m lying on the bed, in a wraparound towel, wearing a disposable g-string, with my legs waaaaiiiiiiiide open.

My face is on fire. I’m trying not to think about the fact that there is a little brunette woman, standing between my legs, about to touch me in a place no one except my boyfriend has for the past three years. (Okay, my obstetrician/gynaecologist touched me there A LOT – but you know, it was unavoidable and I didn’t volunteer for it). She peers into a little tub that’s bubbling with blue liquid, and pokes a wooden lollypop stick into it. I wont go into too much more detail here, except to say: OHMYDEARSWEETBABYJESUSINASHOPPINGCART it hurt when she pulled it off. And it was only a teeny-tiny little bit she’d applied just to give me an indication of what waxing felt like.

I then understood why she’d turned the music up loud. It wasn’t to set the mood. It was to drown out my shrieks of ‘OH DEAR GOD THAT FUCKING HURTS’ and ‘MOTHER OF FUCK, IS *THAT* REALLY NECESSARY?’. It fucking hurt, and it fucking hurt bad. Even worse was the fact that she kept touching the area she’d just violated, with her fingers – attempting to soothe the skin – and she kept putting her face right in my crotch, and blowing vigorously on my vagina. I have no idea what for, other than the fact that it was completely mortifying. Even more so mortifying was the fact that she’d have to apply pressure on my labia when pulling the wax off, to avoid pulling my entire vagina right off my body. Even though I have small, neat little lips, when wax is involved – goddamn they become STRETCHY. And stretching HURTS.

The procedure that probably took in total 20 minutes, felt longer than my manicure, massage and facial combined. I was convinced she was going to kill me, and that I was going to pass out from the pain. She kept telling me that the next time I had it done it would be much less painful, and that it would progressively become less painful. “WTF-EVER” was all that was going through my mind.

I’d initially opted to have ‘all off’. And working around the g-string – what with pulling it all over the place and fiddling under it – was painful. All of it was painful. I was bordering on dying of pain when eventually I said to her YOU HAVE GOT TO STOP NOW. So I conceded to having a Brazilian. A little ‘landing strip’. Mostly because I was petrified of her touching my clitoris, and mostly because that part would have been fucking painful. I chickened out, and walked out of there feeling considerably plucked, tucked and totally fucked.

My vagina was on fire – it was red and puffy and I walked much like a cowboy does when he hasn’t realised yet that he no longer has his horse between his legs. It was sore. And it was sore for the next 24 hours. But after that? Smooth as a baby’s bottom.

And it stayed that way for longer than 3 weeks, which is great. Would I ever do it again? Probably.

But I’m definitely going to apply some kind of numbing cream to my vagina beforehand. And I’m definitely going to smash a bottle of vodka in the parking lot.

But I’m definitely not going to ask for the same chick again. In fact, I hope that place has a high staff turnover.

Because seriously. How are you honestly supposed to look a person in the eye when they’ve been looking you square in the vag for the last twenty minutes?

Original Post http://www.expensivemistakescheapthrills.co.za/

She said, "But we don't know anything about each other."

He said, "That's all right, we'll learn about each other as we go along."

So she consented, they were married and off they went on a honeymoon to a very nice resort on the South Coast of Natal.

One morning they were lying by the pool when he got up off of his towel, climbed up to the 10 meter board and did two and a half tuck, followed by three rotations in the pike position, at which point he straightened out and cut the water like a knife.

After a few more demonstrations, he came back and lay down on the towel.. She said, "That was incredible!"

He said, "I used to be an Olympic diving champion. You see, I told you we'd learn more about each other as we went along."

So she got up, jumped in the pool, and started doing laps. After seventy-five laps she climbed out of the pool, lay down on her towel, and was hardly out of breath. He said, "That was incredible! Were you an Olympic endurance swimmer?"

No," she said, "I was a prostitute in Vereeniging, but I worked both sides of the Vaal Dam.

What you need

1 teaspoon caster sugar
Juice from 2 limes, about 2 tots
2 tots white Rum, like Bacardi
2 tots soda water
4 mint leaves
1 sprig of mint and lemon slice to garnish

The process

You should prepare this in a shaker or a really thick glass before transferring to a long slim collins glass.

Break up the mint leaves and toss them into the shaker, quarter the limes, squueeze out as much of the juice as you can and toss them into the shaker. Add the caster sugar and give the contents a crushing with a mortar or a wooden spoon. You get the idea, they need to be crushed to extract the last of the juice from the limes and to release the flavor from the mint.

Add the rum and and fill the shaker with ice.

Give it a good shake, remove the top and add the soda water and give it one last shake.

Pour everything from the shaker into the glass, garnish with a slice of lemon and man you in paradise

To show off, the Engineer called to his cat, "Tsquare, do your stuff." T-square pranced over to a desk, took out some paper and a pen and promptly drew a circle, a square, and a triangle.

Everyone agreed that was pretty smart. But the Accountant said his cat could do better. He called his cat and said, "Spreadsheet, do your stuff."
Spreadsheet went out into the kitchen and returned with a dozen cookies. He divided them into 4 equal piles of 3 cookies each.

Everyone agreed that was good. But the Chemist said his cat could do better. He called his cat and said, "Measure, do your stuff." Measure got up, walked over to the fridge, took out a quart of milk, got a 250ml glass from the cupboard and poured exactly 240ml without spilling a drop.

Everyone agreed that was good.

Then the three men turned to the Government Employee and said, "What can your cat do, if anything?" The Government Worker called to his cat and said, "Coffee Break, do your stuff." Coffee Break jumped to his feet, ate the cookies, drank the milk, crapped on the paper, humped the other three cats, then claimed he injured his back while doing so, filed a grievance report for unsafe working conditions, put in for Workers Compensation and went home for the rest of the week on sick leave.

It started as a fun idea to raise funds to heat the local school swimming pool, but the calendar they chose to produce has landed 25 Underberg mothers in hot water.

“In Underberg, there is really only one month a year for children to take swimming lessons,” says Christy Murray, a Gauteng events organiser and mother of two, who relocated to the area three years ago and who is the driving force behind the calendar. “The rest of the year is just too cold.”

“At a recent birthday party, three mothers had to jump into the pool fully-clothed to rescue kids in trouble in the water.”

The moms decided something had to be done to get their children more swimming lessons, so mother-of-two Sue McKenzie suggested that they do as the women in the Calendar Girls movie did, and take their clothes off. The 2003 Calendar Girls movie is based on the true story of Yorkshire women who produced a nude calendar to raise funds for leukaemia research. And just like the movie, local reaction has been mixed. Underberg primary school, for which the funds are destined, has balked, headmaster Mike Corlett saying “although their fundraising drive and initiative is exciting and different, the school can’t be seen to be associated with this calendar”. Letters to the local newspaper show the community is divided between glowing praise, uncertainty and anger. Various concerns have been voiced.

Jenny Grinwis, a local photographer, life skills and Bible education teacher, who turned down invitations to work on the calendar, is not a fan. “Images of sex in the media bombard our children every day. If we expect our children to make godly decisions, we must lead from the top, not topless.”

“Residents in the community had heard the ladies were almost nude in this calendar,” says John Pearce, security co-ordinator for Underberg Community Watch, “and told us they were concerned what the effect in the community would be if the local work force had these pictures up on their walls, for instance.

“This is a small community and everyone knows everyone. But no one knows how some men might react — whether it’s a black labourer or a white guy full of ink [drunk].”

But the models say it’s been a positive experience. Calendar model Arthie Singh, a 34-year-old mom, says she was initially very nervous.

“As an Indian woman, I was shy to do this. But it was so much of fun; I’ve grown as a person and feel better about myself and my body now.”

Her co-worker, Pauline Mofokeng (34), who also appears in the calendar, echoes Singh’s sentiments. Interestingly, although both have their husband’s blessing, just as all the models do, neither Singh nor Mofokeng has told extended family. They think they’ll like what they see however.

“Those against it don’t know what they’re talking about,” says Sam, calendar model Candice Kynoch’s husband, “The photos are tasteful and nothing like some people imagine.”

A follow-up is already being suggested.

“We husbands might do a 2012 calendar,” he says, “Because rugby World Cup tickets aren’t cheap.”

Calendars go on sale in the new year. For inquiries or to sponsor the Underberg NUD(e) calendar, call 082 994 2068

Facebook link http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Underberg-Calendar-Girls/245441863679?ref=pymk&v=wall

Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my best to make my daughter's suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt them in the living room and they'll stay wilted all night.

"So," I'll call out jovially. "I see you have your nose pierced. Is that because you're stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR stupid?"

As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two stone tablets that I have on display in my living room.

My daughter claims it embarrasses her to come downstairs and find me attempting to get her date to recite these eight simple rules from memory. I'd be embarrassed too--there are only eight of them, for crying out loud! And, for the record, I did NOT suggest to one of these cretins that I'd have these rules tattooed on his arm if he couldn't remember them. (I checked into it and the cost is prohibitive.) I merely told him that I thought writing the rules on his arm with a ball point might be inadequate—ink washes off—and that my wood burning set was probably a better alternative.

One time, when my wife caught me having one of my daughter's would-be suitors practice pulling into the driveway, get out of the car, and go up to knock on the front door (he had violated rule number one, so I figured he needed to run through the drill a few dozen times) she asked me why I was being so hard on the boy. "Don't you remember being that age?" she challenged.

Of course I remember. Why do you think I came up with the eight simple rules?

Malay Curry Recipe

This recipe is a typical South African Malay Curry. The first Malay people in South Africa were brought as slaves from what is today Indonesia. As a result of the influence of the Malay and West Asians from the Indian sub-continent who came later, many curry (or kerrie) dishes are popular in South Africa.

What you need

• a few tablespoons of cooking oil


• two onions, sliced


• one clove of garlic, minced


• one small piece fresh ginger root, peeled and crushed


• one teaspoon turmeric


• one teaspoon coriander


• one teaspoon cumin


• one stick of cinnamon (or a half-teaspoon ground cinnamon)


• one teaspoon curry powder (or more, to taste)


• four cloves


• two pounds lamb, mutton (or beef) cut into bite-sized cubes


• one eggplant, cut into slices or cubes


• one sweet green pepper, cleaned and chopped


• one to two hot green chile peppers


• one cup dried apricots, soaked in warm water and drained


• one small can tomato paste


• one teaspoon vinegar


• two cups beef broth or stock (or mutton stock if available)


• one-half cup apricot jam


• one cup plain yogurt or buttermilk

What you do

• Heat the oil in a large pot. Over high heat, fry the onions and garlic, stirring continuously. Add the spices and continue stirring for a minute.


• Reduce heat slightly. Add the meat and fry it until it is browned on all sides. (This may be easier if you remove the onions and set them aside, then return them to the pot after the meat is browned.)


• Add all remaining ingredients except the apricot jam and yogurt (or buttermilk). Cover. Reduce heat. Simmer on low heat, stirring occasionally, until everything is tender, approximately an hour.


• Stir in jam and yogurt (or buttermilk) a few minutes before serving.


• Serve with Chapatis or Rice. Or make a Bunny Chow.

Opposition parties and labour federation Cosatu have described the R85-million lawsuit launched by Eskom's former chief executive, Jacob Maroga, as "scandalous" and a "disgrace".

This follows a report in the Sunday Times yesterday that Maroga filed a civil claim at the Johannesburg High Court demanding that he be paid "reasonable damages" if the cash-strapped parastatal would not reinstate him.

Maroga resigned in November amid controversy but in court papers he argues that the Eskom board had forced him to quit before his contract expired in 2012.

Cosatu general secretary Zwelinzima Vavi said that though he believes Maroga has the right to seek redress if he feels he was unfairly dismissed, the amount of money he wants sends a "terrible message".

"We should not condemn anyone who feels aggrieved when they want to take their case to court, but his actions send a terrible message to the public. It sends the message that it is easy for the elites to get millions in packages after resigning or being fired," he said.

"Maroga can't plead innocence. He is not a victim of the current situation at Eskom. He had a chance to turn things around."

Maroga is suing Eskom's acting chief executive and chairman, Mpho Makwana, and Minister of Public Enterprises Barbara Hogan for:

* R1-million a year for a "dedicated protector and driver" for his family;

* R500,000 a year for security at his home in Kyalami Estates, northern Johannesburg, and R100,000 for general home support;

* R1-million a year for "personal assistance";

* Just under R100,000 a year for a petrol and garage card, and for insurance for his Mercedes-Benz C350; and

* R5,000 a month for medical aid, to the age of 80.

Hogan's spokeswoman, Ayanda Shezi, said the minister would oppose the lawsuit and investigate claims by Maroga that he was ''threatened" into resigning.

"The allegations made by Maroga will be addressed in the course of legal proceedings," she said.

The Sunday Times reported that, in court papers, Maroga accused attorney Yunus Shaik, whom Hogan sent to mediate last year, of urging him to leave.

Eskom said in a statement that it will also oppose Maroga's application.

Both the DA and the Independent Democrats have labelled Maroga's lawsuit "disgraceful".

ID leader Patricia de Lille said the former Eskom boss's "disgraceful" demands highlight the "urgent need to review the salaries" of those heading public companies.

DA MP Pieter van Dalen said Maroga was partly to blame for Eskom's woes and his lawsuit was unjustified.

Congress of the People spokesman Phillip Dexter said yesterday that Maroga had ''run down" the company that he now wants plenty of money from.

"Given his bad performance and the debacle at Eskom, it's scandalous that he is demanding such money. He was running the organisation and was part of the group who brought it down."

• 14 or more whole plain Tuck Crackers


• 1/4 cup sugar


• 1/4 teaspoon salt


• 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and still warm

Local organisers are getting jittery amid international criticism of the cost of travelling to the tournament