the politics of dancing

Ah bless really. Today is exactly the 1000th post I have written on this blog. Ten cubed and all that.

I went to a braai last night, after possibly the most stressful day I've had at work evah....I probably pulled out about a kilogramme of hair in artful clumps yesterday. And right now, I have a lot of hair. (And it's always straight. Always.)

Annnyway. Half the stress is whoreganising this bloody Schengen visa. For me and the people in my office who also don't have British/EU passports.
And there are more of them than us. Diabolical.

I have unwittingly become the Visa-Paperwork-Super-Organiser-Collective of the office.

Let me tell you: Ball Ache. Without A Cricket Box. If you get my vibe.

Annnyway. Went to a braai at E2's place, because S2 is out from Dubai for a bit. Always festive, except I came in after pilates sporting a pulled hamstring and shvitzing unbecomingly on the brow and full of corporate-related work stress. After one or two glasses of house rosé with Poen, I actually started sitting upright like a normal person who wasn't crazily spreadsheeting over a computer all day in a psychotic frenzy.

Work is insane at the moment. Insane.

On top of being the person who has to teach the office how to Greek Zorba Dance for a Guinness World Record, that my company plans to break in Greece.

Don't you just love that. Can you dig it?

Yet another project I have found myself in charge of; this Zorba Dance Off will comprise thousands of employees who will dance Zorba-like in a stadium with the Guinness Record Guys in situ to view the whole event and whack it into the Guinness World Record Book of 2008.

For the solitary record of the most people to Greek dance - perfectly choreographed mind you - in a group, ever. No kidding; this is my serious face.

I love it though, of course.

Thousands of people, Zorbaring, after a few ouzos no doubt, what a giggle, oh my God.

And I am the person responsible for teaching my office the moves.

'Cos if I don't, and we don't get the Record because I didn't show them properly, it will be all because of my incompetence. And my bad Greek decorum. Thank fuck for YouTube is all I can say.

Because incompetence, in any form, is a disease.

No less than 59 steps, arms slung over shoulders, and copious amounts of footwork, is what this is. I'm teaching the office 4 moves. Which we'll have to repeat for around 10 minutes.

Hell.

There will be injuries. One move involves The Running Man with arms still slung over shoulders. Fucking hysterical to watch, I might add.

If I don't get my visa today, I'm going to breathe great big whopping fireballs and blow up the whole of Johannesburg.

Just a warning.