When you play with your food…

Traveling the world makes you appreciate home and the things you know. I am not afraid. I have superpowers and I know how to use it. This makes me invulnerable, but I do have a one weakness: food makes me fat. Bet you didn’t see that one coming. And being a superhero is great as long as your costume doesn’t make you look like Barney the dinosaur.

I noticed this weakness the first time I went to the US. Dallas, Texas, to be more precise. Dinner was great. Did you know you can substitute your vegetables for fries? And in Texas it is all good as long as you wash it down with Diet Coke, the magic drink. I came back looking pregnant, but I was still hardcore.

I also had hot Mexican food in Cancun. It is like going to the gym, you feel the burn! Going down and going out! And I loved it. In Egypt I refused to eat for a week. I didn’t think that drinking water scooped out of the Nile is such a good idea. The dead fish floating nearby confirmed my suspicion. Besides, can you imagine the size of a Nile crocodile’s … never mind.

Last week I had chicken feet and something sticky in Angola. I thought this was a true measure of my willpower. But it is difficult to eat something if your teeth are clinched together. I managed to stuff half a plate of food between my lips, cheeks and teeth before my brain finally allowed my lower jaw to relax.

Which brings me to playing with your food. I told Pero de Neiro about my episode in Angola. Apparently this was nothing. Pero moved to Spain. His neighbor brought him a rabbit. Pero was happy, he had a new friend, Fluffy, and he could play all day. What he didn’t know is that you are not supposed to play with your food. Imagine the confusion if someone hands you food and you play with it. Needless to say – Fluffy turned out to be dinner.

Talk about flushing your friendship down the drain…

When Rambo cries…

I’m currently in Angola. For the people who suck at geography, it is on the West coast of Africa. It is a jungle out there and this somehow reminded me of Rambo (part 2 to be exact).

You see, most companies firmly believe that Rambo is employee number … (fill in your employee number). When the war is raging, battles are brutal and throwing money at the problem is not solving it, then they turn to the ultimate weapon in any company’s arsenal. They turn to Rambo. We all know that: “No man, no law, no war can stop him”. And even passport control at a foreign company can’t say no to him.

So why would you want to send Rambo? We’ll apart from being fearless, violent and built like a condom full of walnuts, he is also stupid. Sure there is a challenge, sure you are the best man for the job, sure there is a lot of money you can make from the trip - but they don’t mention everything. You are also the world’s biggest dodo! Why waste money on having a full team of people doing a job, when they can send one fool to take the beating on behalf of the company for not having the before mentioned team.

Now being stuck here in a country with only radio communication to base station and getting beaten to a pulp by clients isn’t the only frustration I have. To sweeten the deal my nemesis is also part of the equation. Yes, you got it – the Snake Oil Salesman is also in the mix!

Now since the Snake Oil Salesman’s posse is responsible for most of the pain I suffer, I need to share this little gem. I managed to convey the pain and suffering I’m currently experiencing to the enemy. The reply I got almost brought a tear to my eye. To quote: “That’s what I thought, and I’m relieved. The problem has been resolved. Now the discussion needs to happen around any financial issues that may surround it.”

So to summarise it all, Rambo has been sent to a foreign country to fight a war that was induced by the Snake Oil Salesman and his posse and to win the war, Rambo’s company must throw more money at the problem, negating the whole effect of sending Rambo in the first place. No wonder they poor guy fights with knives! Rattatatat! Rattatatat! Ka-Boom

The happy massage

I’ve heard the statement “a massage with a happy ending”. Granted it was mentioned by a scary Mexican in a taxi. My beast has taken me to the battle fields of Angola. I need to fight side by side with the Brazilians and two days into the battle I’m starting to feel stressed. Which brings me to the massage.

I had my first massage at, of all places, an airport in Brazil. I was waiting for my flight, had a couple of Reals in my pocket and was already stuffed up on snacks and coffee. So I noticed the “massage chairs”. Good idea to try this out. But it was awkward. You sit there in the middle of the airport with your face trying to peel through a little hole while some woman tries to shove your right arm into your left ear. And most of the people there, like me, have never seen this before. So I managed to gather a little crowd of massage spectators. When I got up I had a red donut ring face.

The second time around was at the same airport. Same scenario, but this time around I knew what to expect. Unfortunately I also had a runny nose which seemed to enjoy the squeeze-your-face-through-the-hole part. I will not go into more detail, but I did make the massage therapist slip. Twice, What-UUP!

The third one was by a hairy Egyptian. It was weird. It was in the gym of a hotel. I remembered to keep my pants on. As you come down the stairs into the gym there is a big dark window through which you cannot see. That is until you switch the light on at the other side. I saw a crack in the window. And I wanted to be sure the next guy on the stairs doesn’t see mine.

The next one was part of a gift from my honeybun. She took me to a health spa for a weekend. There were some forms of torture involved: starvation and sugar deprivation being examples. Luckily I adapted quickly and stole the honey from the dining room to sweeten my tea. For the massage part I got “The strong one”. This lady told my how she bench press my weight. And I could feel the power as she tried to drive her elbows through my back. I got up and it looked like I was running naked in a hail storm.

By now I have become accustomed to the massage. The last one I had was at a day spa. It was a lovely place that does not believe in starvation. I loved it so much that I even fell asleep. My honeybun was with me and she was seriously concerned that I would fall of the table. I almost drowned in my own drool. It was one of the best naps I have ever had. I even snored, through the normal channel as well as the bottom one (which caused the ladies to leave for a while: to giggle I suppose).

But the most fun massages are the ones you get at the unisex hair salon. Women have been holding out on this little gem for far too long. When you walk in you can’t help but notice how relaxed ladies at the washing basins are. Some of them are drooling while their lipstick draws red lines along their cheeks. The older ones’ cheeks are sagging to the point you can see their teeth, cheeks almost touching their shoulders. I must admit – I like these head massages. It is not spectacular to watch, but boy is great to have one!