Chronicles of Bana(na) - the pain, the watch and the wardrobe

So it's been a little while since I last posted. Mostly, cause I've been very busy, being busy and also, my internet connection at the office seems to hate me blogging, which is a whole other blog about conspiracy theories on it's own.

SO, without further adue, lets begin with a little translation - Bana is the isiPedi (Northern Sotho) word for Man. And being one (a man and not a isiPedi word that is), I thought I'd play off that a little to craft my Chronicles of Narnia word twist. Hehe. I've actually had today's title in mind for most of the week since my last post, but I didn't have a story to fill in all the bits, so I waited.... And I've been waiting until today. And now; I can revel in my true genius!!! *laughing manically to self, whilst passers by consider committing me for psychiatric*

The Pain

This morning, I feel like I'm suffering from sunburn. What on earth am I doing with sunburn in April any wise person would ask. The truth of the mater is it isn't sunburn at all. Nope, no sunburn for me, not now. Instead the discomfort I'm dealing with today is from a long contemplated, but not previously acted upon piece of 'cosmetic enhancement'.

I'm a hairy lad. The fact that I was bald by 27 is a hint at that. I've previously trimmed my stomach and chest hair back with a barbers 'buzzer' and have been waxing my awfully hairy back just under a year. Why would I do this? Well for starters, my dad's domestic, amongst others, used to called me Max (the Gorilla), for the latter part of my high school years. And then not too long ago a female friend asked me, not so politely, why I hadn't taken my shirt off, moments after I'd dived into a pool (sans shirt of course)!

I digress... The point is, all this body hair has bothered me a little. As a homosexual, I believe I should not have that much body hair, even if I'm what they would call butch! And now, especially with my recently found 'gym body', it was covering up all the definition I've worked so hard for.

So, after much contemplation, I decided to book myself for a chest wax, to match my back wax. Yesterday was the day of the Big Wax. That's even the way I noted it in my diary - the BIG WAX. With much trepidation, I entered the 'spa' took my shirt off and submitted myself to the mercy, or lack thereof, of the beautician. I won't lie, there were times my eyes watered and I whimpered - which is not the same as crying, but it comes pretty close.

How bad was it? Let's put this into perspective, we're talking about roughly 880 square cm of dense body hair being yanked off in the space of a few minutes! Last nights shower was decidedly COLD for my tastes, but that was the only way to stay comfortable. As a precaution, my chest and stomach are very well oiled today, and I have a sachet of moisturising lotion in my pocket for it's cooling powers once the oils have worn off. I just hope the uncomfortable tingling and red spots of the inflamed follicles subsides in the next 24hrs. I got through it - and after seeing the results - I've already booked for next month! I think CV's also impressed, which helps! :0)

Ladies, with your 'Brazilians' - I know your pain, and now I suspect, much more.


The Watch


It was my birthday recently, and mah man CV bought me (amongst other things) a new watch. This is no ordinary watch though - it's a POLAR F11. The POLAR range of watches is designed for future or present fitness guru's. For the unfit, I suspect this watch could be likened to the 'Hitleresque' gym class teacher you hated so much at school.

When starting the thing up to the first time, you basically measure your fitness, choose what kind of fitness level you whish to achieve and follow the workouts it plans for you.

My first week was a bit of a disaster as I learnt how to use the watch and tried to figure out which of my current workouts would slot relatively comfortably into the watches pre-set requirements. In spite of that, and much to CV`s dismay I was awarded a trophy for my efforts.

I kid you not though, if you're working out to the watches rhythm, this thing pushes you - HARD! I swam yesterday (which was the only workout I could do after the big Wax). My workout was only supposed to be 35 minutes, but it took me 8 minutes and 20 laps just to get up to my required heart rate to start. By the end of it, 48 minutes in total, I'd done 92 laps (2,3 Km's or 1,43 miles)! I guess that's make me a shoe in for a decent finish the Midmar next year. So me thinks I'll be entering.

Thank you polar (and CV of course) - for making me even more, more aware of fitness levels, but now with purpose - LOL.

The Wardrobe

People wishing to avoid sexy male models (read homoerotic imagery) should not read further, we venture 'below the belt' here...

My birthday is often marked by the odd treat for myself. Last year was music and DVD's - how utterly predictable. This year, in a revelation of my not oft gay self - I spent it on underwear. This is not the kind of underwear middle aged wives buy their husbands from the local Woolies. It's not even from the established brand Jockey or even the more upmarket Calvin Klein. Nope, this year I spoilt myself to uber low cut briefs and boxers - imported from distant places, manufactured for men who who wish to feel very very sexy.

I bought two brands of undies from an (almost certainly gay) underwear shop called FMO, For Men Only. Branded Ginch Gonch and XTG... my latest additions to the wardrobe are feeling like the best buys I've made in a while! Look at them, they're absolutely deeeelicious and they make me feel the same!

And whilst you're drooling over those, I bid you a fond...
Ciao4Now!