if i could write a letter to my 16yr old self

Hey, hi. Hello there!

You’re probably on the beach again. Drinking Autumn harvest with that other crowd. Mom is right by the way, they are rubbish friends, but you’re going to figure that out for yourself very soon.

16 eh? Enjoy it while it lasts lad. You’re going to wake up one day and you’re all like 28 going on 46 and you’ll wish you had played more, danced more and stuck it out with those piano lessons mom sent you to. It’s ok though, you’re still pretty good, but I will say it anyway. You could have been better.
(you're getting a guitar for your 17th birthday, shh, dont tell anyone i told you. You're going to love that guitar)

Listen, you don’t want to hear this, but you’re over weight man! What’s with all that junk food? Seriously. Go on diet. Now. Don’t wait until you are 21 – it’s too long. You’re missing out, plus, you look kinda hot in a Port so sort it out.

Dude, listen to me. You are gay. You know it, but you need to deal with it and get that out of the way now. Getting engaged to Michelle to try and be “normal” is one of the stupidest things you will ever do, believe me, you will do a lot of stupid things, but this one will only cause you both pain. I know you have no idea who Michelle is, but you will meet her when you move to Johannesburg. She is lovely and sweet and kind and caring. Be nice. (Yes, you move to Jhb, you hate it and move back to Durban) Once you have accepted this life gets easier. I promise. It is not a train smash. You won’t lose friends and all your guy mates still meet up with you for beers in the pub. Yes, you like beer. Who woulda thunk it hey?

If this reaches you in time, and my godsiens, I hope it does, please, please study more! You’re writing Matric finals in 1998 and if you slack you’re not going to get into Uni easily. (ps, don’t drop out of Uni 3 times, it pisses mom off big time) It sucks having to work double hard for some recognition, and money. You like money, even though you’re not so sure what its like to have much of it now, you will soon learn that money makes life easier. Be grateful that you don’t base your life on it though. People like that in you.

Somewhere around the age of 23 you are going to go through a very strange phase where you think that tight jeans, big hair and piercings are cool. They are not. No one thinks they are. They lie to you when they say it is. You are going to look like a clown. Don’t do it.

You will start going bald at about 27, it’s slow.
I know.
It’s also crap.

Please don’t open that Truworths account. Please. PLEASE! That goes for that credit card too.

You will have your heart broken in a most cruel inhumane way and will go on a Vodka binge. You’re going to get very sick. Very sick.

You fall in love again, even though you say “I will never love again” – he’s a nice chap and you learn a lot from your previous relationship. So go with it. It all works out fine in the end. I promise.

I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know the outcomes to everything. I know you think you do but you don’t. You will be happy. You will be sad. Life is going to throw you a few curve balls. There will be surprises and downfalls. This is a fact of life and you will learn that. Just do your best. That’s all I can ask of you.

I know I’m wasting my time and using up the last of my magical time portal to send this letter to you because you won’t listen to me anyway.

You’re always going to think you know best and want things done your way. So go a head. Life is a rollercoaster bru, and you’re going on the ride of your life.
Hold on tight because you are going to fall off the rails now and again.

I love you. I do. I always will, even though sometimes I think I don’t.

Now go home – you have chores to do.

Love from me, I mean you. I mean us.

You know what I mean.

feeling sorry for me self...

I am sick. Not well. Not up chucking all over the place sick. Just not feeling lekker.
Not sure what is going on but over the last few days I have had zero energy.
Zilch.
Nothing.
Nadda.
I cant quite figure it out. All I know is it’s HORRID and it needs to go away!!!

No. This has nothing to do with date night. Which I might add was just frikking awesome. We were home nice and early and then my boyfriend fell asleep on the couch. We need to talk about that this evening, but I digress.

Coupled with an irritating cough – I went to see the good Doctor this morning on the way to work who prescribed some medicines for the cough and plain old energy tonic for the lethargy. And a vitamin B12 shot. Nice. All of this before I even got to the office this morning.

Seems the antibiotics and energy potions don’t gel.

The understatement of the week is -:

"Warning: May Cause Drowsiness"

That's what it says on the side of the bottle of antibiotics I’m taking.
It should say "Warning: You may wake up in a pile of your own spittle, with your head resting on your keyboard and the letters T,R and H permanently scarred into your forehead."

No amount of caffeine is doing the trick.

I want to go home but have too much to do.

sigh.

breath in, breath out.

Why is it that good people like myself, and you all of course, are doomed and cursed with having to work with idiots?

Really. Here me out. I’m having one of those days.

What I hate most about interviewing prospective new employees is that more often than not they have not read the job spec slowly, and carefully. So they come unprepared, unqualified and quite often, uninterested.
Luckily for me interviewing prospective new employees is not my problem. It does however become my problem when I have to work with these new employees who say stupid things like “where is the loo?” and “do I need to press zero before the number to fax?” and they breathe in my space. Because, have you not heard? I’ve been clusterfucked.
Yes.
Clusterfucked.

And I see new people.

Goodbye quiet corner where no one bothered me.
Goodbye window. Goodbye sanity.
Goodbye tree. I shall miss thee.

Hello strange people breathing on me. Who I do not know.
Hello noise. Hello strange smells. Hello strange stain on the carpet.
Hello cooler. Right next to my desk. Where people come and get water. Would you be so kind as to bugger off!

So, as you would imagine, it took me a long time to find something to smile about this morning. It was pointed out to me though, just the other day, that I’m the guy who always seems to be able to find the silver lining in just about any cloud. So I have a reputation to uphold. – Off I went to try find something to smile about. Only, all I found was my boss, and that’s not cool, and then he wanted to chat. And he asked me if I’m ready and motivated for the new year and the promotion (which I’m not terribly) and I said “Yes” and I was dismissed and I scurried off to my desk faster than a rat caught on cheese when the lights are turned on.

And it was only like, 10:30 am.

I decided that today the silver lining would have to find me. I was not taking any chances leaving my desk again.

But I did. I went to the loo.

Love zips – convenient.
Hate zips – break at the most inconvenient of times.

Anyway, zip breaks and I’ve had to spend the entire day walking around with June’s jersey wrapped around my waist so that the bright red underpant does not keep making an appearance. It’s quite classic actually. I look like an idiot. I’m finished. I can’t cope. I’m done.

So another colleague comes through to my desk leans over the cluster partitioning and she tells me this story that I absolutely must share with you. It is brilliant! It’s hilarious. Because I say so.

Where do we start? I think it is important to start with the fact that she is Afrikaans. Very, very Afrikaans, and up to about 2 years ago she could not speak English at all. Now, living and working in Durban it’s kinda important, so she has improved tremendously.

Anyway, I’m drifting off here.

She was at a motor bike rally, some 3 maybe 4 years ago, and having had too much wine (and being at a rally remember) she went looking for a tree to take a pee behind. Then she fell and tripped over one of the big overgrown roots. A concerned stranger asked “Are you ok?” and she replied “Ja, I just fall over a carrot of the tree”. The stranger politely corrected her saying “no, it’s roots” and she said “I’m not rude, I just fall over the carrot of the tree”

Poor guy just walked away shaking his head. I can not cope!

I’m going to pee in jean pant!

I are falling over the carrot of the tree now too! Bwahahaha!

(a carrot in Afrikaans is wortel, which is the same word for root, just for my non Saffa readers)

And then, I smiled. And I said “thank you Charline, you silly girl”

Awesomeness!! I found something to smile about! Well, at work anyway, because in my personal life.. I’ve got lots to smile about at the moment, and it is date night tonight. Something that makes me really happy! Every week boyfriend and I go on a date. We have since we’ve been together, and even though we are always doing something, always on the run, we ALWAYS take one day out of a week that is just for us and no one else is allowed to be there.

I love date night. And I love my Daz. My dazzling Daz :)

tree appreciation day

I do a lot of writing at home. The old fashioned way. Pen and paper. I have a laptop and all that, but mostly I enjoy free hand. I have a huge (fire hazard) pile of files and papers next to my chair, where I can easily just lean over and grab when I want to write something down. Pages and pages of stuff I’ve used, some I’m still to find place for. Poems, songs, lists, journals, thoughts, and quotes I’ve heard. Squiggles and doodles and little cartoon drawings. The whole shebang!

I love how when I write, my hands slide smoothly over the pages. I love watching the words appear flowing right out the pen, or little pixies sitting on mushrooms, watching big grinning cartoon faces created, almost as if I have no choice in the matter. I love the smell of old books, curling up in bed reading and sometimes, I fold paper into little butterflies.

Last night I got to thinking about how much paper we use every single day. In the office for example. Jeepers we go through reams and reams of paper. And I’m such a paper fanatic it’s quite mad. My boyfriend always teases me because I’ve always got notes or half written stories or ideas folded up in my pockets. He always says “my man en sy papiertjies” which, for my non Saffa readers means “my man and his little pieces of paper”

This in turn got me to thinking about trees. Coz like that’s where paper comes from right. Right.

It must really suck being a tree surrounded by people who like paper.

And this is what I’ve been thinking about all day.

The trees.

Today I’m having a tree appreciation day.



Have you read this poem before?



Trees

I think that I shall never see,
A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed,
Against the earths sweet flowing breast;

A tree who may in Summer wear –
A nest of robbins in her hair.

Upon whose bosom snow has lain,
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

~Joyce Kilmer~


It's one of my fave poems of all time.

I think its lovely.

i am legend

It is generally known amongst those of you who know (very clever Wozzie) that I like my early mornings. My day starts between 04:30 am and 05:30 am depending on how I’ve slept the night before. People always want to know why I wake up so early. And the answer is quite simple. This is me time, when I’m left alone to my thoughts and the day - as it begins. My morning meditations are not that spiritual, I don’t bang a gong or hum a hum – I simply tell myself to STOP – and enjoy a new beginning. The sun, wiping the sleep out his eyes, again, depending on his mood, will either rush out of bed in a blaze of glory, or just take his time and slowly crawl on out, sometimes he makes his bed, sometimes he does not, leaving pillows of clouds lying around.

It is also a time when the world is usually at its nicest… asleep. A time when the birds, who are usually drowned out by the droning greyness of everyday, lift their voices to the sky and welcome in a new morning, splashed with oranges and yellows.

It’s a time I’m left to the sound of my own foot steps on a tar road, pushing through sweat and aching muscles. The beating of my heart and the stinging in my eyes reminding me I’m still alive. Breathing in a cooler, fresher air. This is the time I can pretend that the earth is more than just mud and my toes are more than tools of balance. It is unforgiving and all encompassing to hold the day for exactly what it is… completely unplanned and unaccounted for. This is when I get to take a step back from who I am everyday. This is when I remind myself to stand on my own two feet! This is when I remember, I’m running on my own two feet!

I am a bird and I’m singing again, I am free. And here, where no one can see me, I fly!

This is the time I read. Where I find time to write. When ideas rush in (where angels fear to tread? Sometimes I fear to tread there!) Where I can sit in bed and play the guitar. Where my words are free and it does not matter what I say or what I sing. Who I think and what I am. This is where I once would wrap, so carefully, each fear, insecurity and word that I held onto in fear of being unheard, unnoticed - uninteresting, in layer upon layer of bubble wrap.

These mornings have become a sanctuary.

I am no longer afraid of my words. I watch them chase playfully after butterflies. I day dream and I make wishes. I ask the words, to stay with me for the day. I ask them to help me know when to say what needs to be said, take a step back and remain silent where I need to just listen. Let me rub out lines that should not be there. Let my words not be walls around me, but rather a door to open. A story to read.


Today I mark another day off my calendar, but not off my life. I wish to live everyday as a living statement of who I am. I do not want to miss a thing.

I am superman, bouncing from one couch to another on a movie set, that looks remarkably like my living room and I laugh at myself in the mirror, flying past in my bright red cape. Wooooooosh!!

I am super-gardener, tending to the crops growing on the windowsills in my apartment.

I am super-businessman, getting ready to jet off to LA. Holding board meetings with the dishes piling in the sink.

I am a super-rock-star on centre stage - in my bathroom. The world is my oyster. And the soap gives me a standing ovation.


I am legend!






“Sooner or later, those who win are those who think they can”

~Dr. Paul Tournier~






(And I get all that just from waking up early in the morning)

all over the place today

I’ve been so ridiculously emo over the last 2 days or so, and quite simply, full of shit. No. Don’t worry. This is not a bitchy fuck the world post at all. I’m just saying. Just putting it out there. Fo shizzel? Honestly though, this “King of the painted smile” crap is a tough act to keep up, and when your closest friends start saying things to you like “you have been less and less you everyday” and “pardon? You don’t want another glass of wine?” you know that something is going on. Right? Right. I don’t really want to talk about it though.

It’s not always easy to say what you mean or what you want to say eh? Or what you feel. Or how you feel. This is why there are so many “lost” people out there. I think so. It makes perfect sense to me. So just nod and agree.

"Life is a comedy for those who think... and a tragedy for those who feel"

(That is so true) – life is also a comedy for those who drink. Cheap box wine. Or meths.

And now you know. Because you would be sorely mistaken to think that I’m this happy, laughy, bouncy guy all the time. I’m not. Whoever is going around telling people that I’m a nice guy should stop. Immediately. I’m dirty, I don’t brush my hair, I shout at people who irritate me, and often I hit them. I like hitting people. I have a list of people I would like to smack upside the head and a few I would like to kick. Alas, some of them are not even in Durban. So I must start planning a few trips across the country. (I’m not really dirty by the way).

However, When it comes to my friends and the people I care about. Well – I would go the ends of the world. There are even some I would take a bullet for. Yes. I would. A bullet. These are the people who know the real Wozzel. These are the people who say those things like “you’ve been less and less you everyday”. These are the people, who keep me (or try too) sane. These are the people who know that nothing makes me happier than a good bottle of Merlot. And the people who know that sometimes, all I need is a hug.


Anyway – I’m writing, but there is clearly no direction. And I’m rambling. And DAMMIT – I said I did not want to talk about it.


My nizzel is totally shizzeld out!

Ok – moving on…

Knock knock?


And now – for something totally irrelevant and of little or no importance, a list of words and sentences I use just about everyday.

• Lovely. Pronounced – Lovely
• I can’t cope!
• I’m finished!
• Where is my wine?
• Fuckoff.
• Blow it out your ass!
• Nought bru!
• Moo.
• Baa. Pronounced – Baaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
• You shitting me?
• Dude/Dude?/Duuuuude!!!

Things in my head this week

• My upcoming road.
• Lunch.
• My dad.
• Wine.

And that’s all folks.

The end.

(ps) if you’re still waiting for the knock knock joke – hahaha. I am laughing at you. But secretly. Not to your face.

one day

Sometime in the future, (could be tomorrow, could be next week) I'm going to die. Chances are good that I won't be happy about this. So, to make it easier on me, I've decided to include in my will several silly things as my final requests. Therefore, the people I know will have to do these things out of respect of my memory.

Suckers.

And I will be in heaven, looking down with Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Michael Jackson, Brittany Murphy, and assorted others as you people have to do all the things I've laid out for you. We will laugh. And not just cause heaven's air is made of laughing gas.

Here's what I've got so far:
1) shown at calling hours in casket made of delicious waffle cone
2) Play "Thriller" by Michael Jackson during memorial service and do robot dance
3) Read eulogy in style of auctioneer
4) Sever body into 9 pieces, bury one in each province
6) Except head, which should be frozen. Everyone will get to carry it around for a week like the Stanley Cup. Also can etch name into side of face.
7) Instead of hearse, tie me to top of car roof, like carcass of dead Kudu.
8) Cars in funeral procession must have bumper sticker that says "Honk if you're horny!"

And yes, I know you bastards will bury me in a shoe box at Oribi Gorge. That's fine too.

eye spy with my little eye - just about everything at the moment

So I’m wearing glasses now. Which is quite cool. I can’t help asking myself how the heckles I’ve been getting through life without them. I never realized how bad my eyesight was. When I got them yesterday I was like a little kid pointing out everything to my boyfriend as we drove home. “oh wow, look, I can read the license plate number of the car in front of us” - “oh my, I can actually see the headlines of the paper on the lamp post” - “shit! I never realized everything actually has a solid line around it”

I’ve been going through life in b.l.u.r.

The optometrist was not so nice though. Must admit. Could have been friendlier I think. Considering I am actually spending the money I work for. Saying she had a face like a slapped arse would be a compliment.

But I digress.

Today must also be the first day I’ve not had a headache before 10:00am. S.E.R.I.O.U.S! I’ve always suffered with headaches, which leave all ogre like by the end of the day.

Bye bye headaches.

I was advised not to wear contact lenses. Which would have been my first choice. Something about the shape of my eye and lenses not being compatible or something like that, but I’m quite liking the frames I got. Discreet. Frameless. And I look a bit more distinguished, as per colleagues. I bet that just means “older”.

Moving onto a dilemma I currently find myself in. Gardening.

Yip.

I said it.

Gardening. I used to love it. I’m just not so sure anymore. And I spend a lot of time working on mine.

What I’ve discovered is that gardening is not as easy as it should be. It is a messy business and it does not matter how hard you try – gardens just do not end up looking like they should, or, as they do in the Top Billing Magazine anyway.

I sing.
I dance.
I beg and I plead – do my plants listen?
Do they hear me?

I think not.

I trim, I cut.
I toss the soil –
I fertilize.
For goodness sake, I make my own fertilizer!
I’m left with a mess.

Looking like over cooked, sloppy veggies at the moment, reminds me of boarding school.

Ja – lets blame all the rain. There sure has been a lot of it here lately. I even built a shelter from an old tomato box to protect my little ones from all those heavy falling rain drops. It never helped much. Only I thought that was the point of rain.

Really – really, quite contrary, to make your garden grow.

Instead, I have what resembles a pond at the moment. A dirty, muddy pond scattered with leaves.

Perhaps I should just grow ferns. Anyone can grow a fern.

And now, for some useful information…

obviously, you need to click the pic to make it bigger :)

duh.

a friend..

My best friend in the entire world lives in Canada.
He always has.
We have never met.

Uh?

We’ve not.

When I was 10 years old we had a school project that involved making “pen-pals” with kids of the same age in other countries. We were given some contacts and told to choose. Of course I wrote and sent off a letter to my “pen-pal” and soon we were writing all the time.

As the years went by we obviously progressed to e-mail and chat and all of that.

19 years this year. Sjoe, that’s a long time. He is probably the one person I’ve known longer. A friend I’ve had longer than any other friend.

We’ve sent home DVD’s and gifts.
All the cliché flags and mementos.

I’ve got 3 Canadian flags, too many Canadian themed fridge magnets, note books, pens and pencils.
He has his fair share of South African logo’d goodies.

We speak on the phone often,
We chat every single day.

I’m dying to go to Canada one day to visit, and he is dying to come to South Africa and I know it will happen.

I guess who will finally make it over first?

hehe – he even “came out” to me about 2 years ago (even though I had told him I was gay at 18). Bizarre.

19 years this year, of a friend I’ve never met.

There is something pretty cool about that you gotta admit.

it's dry, no - you can not drink it

Here's a joke for all you mind readers out there...

seeing stars

I slipped and fell.

I did.

On Wednesday afternoon at work.
I’m not quite sure how and why it happened, but I did.

One minute I was standing on my own two feet, the next I was flat on my back.




I hit my head pretty hard on the tiles and was out cold for about 5 minutes. Then I went to the Doctor
and he checked that I was not too badly damaged. No fractures etcetera.

Two injections later (for the pain and swelling) I was quite literally f.l.o.a.t.i.n.g – it was lovely.

I’ve had a headache since then, I still do, but I will survive.

Only now I feel like a bit of a toss for falling. I don’t know how it happened. It just did.

It coulda been worse I guess.

Gemmie the cat

I have spent quite a bit of time observing Gemmie the cat. I call him Gemsbok. My roommate (who’s cat it is) calls him Goud Gat. hehe. He really does amuse me. Last night he got his claws into my monkey and we watched as he jumped and somersaulted, doing back flips and other interesting acrobatic moves, throwing him in the air and pouncing – gotcha!

Yes, I said monkey. Did you laugh at that?

I have a monkey. Really. A teddy monkey :)

Gemmie has a lekker life. He must be one of the most pampered cats I’ve ever met. He eats well, gets spoilt rotten and his best? Being brushed with the comb. He will sit there as still as a statue, purring in pure glee as his coat is brushed. Once you flip him over to do his belly he starts playing with you, clawing at your hands and arms. I have the scars to prove it.

The only rule is that Gemmie is not allowed in my room. Not because I don’t like him. I just don’t like cat hair on my bed or pillows. You would think this is easy enough? I think he is very aware of this rule and at any opportunity will try his best to dart in when the door is opened.

Silly funny kitty.

He does not have a favourite couch at home. He loves them all. Once he finds a spot he curls up as cats do, and takes a nap. He will wake up an hour or so later, take a slow walk through to the kitchen as not to tire himself out and have a munch on some of his food, a quick licky water and then back down the passage, pausing for a minute to have a look around before finding a window to jump through into the world outside. Once there he looks around – finds a spot in the sun, or the shade if it’s too warm where he takes a nap. By now he has tired himself out with all that sleeping, walking and eating. He’ll wake up after an hour or so, find a private place to take a wee-wee and poo-poo before jumping through the window, making his way from the lounge to the kitchen where he finds his food, has a quick bite to eat, a licky water, and then back to the lounge to find a soft warm couch to settle on for a nap.

I could so be a cat.

Especially Gemmie the cat.

words...

I write a million words on my wall, and I look at them,
And laugh at myself.
I make flow charts between them,
Scientifically calculate their accuracy.
String them into silly little poems with no rhythm no rhyme.
I spike them onto kebab sticks and braai them on hot coals,
Serve them with chilli and lime.
I sew them into pink ballet shoes and hang pretty ribbons on them.
I sever them from my body and tie them into the laces of my butch black boots.
I wear them like shiny pearls from my neck,
And I drape them on the windows in the serenity of my bedroom.
I loath in them and swim in them,
And I laugh at how they float off in big soapy bubbles.

I wish I could construct a sentence and wrap it in tissue paper,
Tie it in a bow and place it on your door step.
Then tomorrow, when you wake,
It will be there,
These words I chose for you.

I know you will find them,
Somewhere inside me in time to come.

my humble opinions and views

My boyfriend arrived home late on Friday evening as he was busy flying across country for work. This gave my roommate and I some one on one time to catch up. It’s important to note that roommate and I lived together first, my boyfriend moved in with us, and since moving in we have done more “couply” things and I’ve somewhat neglected my friend.

So we had time to catch up. What fun! First we had cocktails at home – then went to a place called Jack Rabbits in the area we live in for a few drinks. The point of the post today is to tell you about the discussion we had. I never thought this blog would be a place I discuss my relationship with my boyfriend in much detail, but I will share this.

See, my roommate had been in a relationship with a man who messed her around for 5 years. It was a tough time for her, a time that she was quite literally just hanging by a thread, clinging onto his every word and promise, being ill treated and so on. Now recently dating a new guy (who I might add is so lovely and so kind to her) we had lots to talk about. I loved what she said next.

“Woz, what you and Daz have, wow, it’s what I look up to in a relationship. It is what I want to achieve. You guys just seem to fit. I never see you angry with each other, and even when there is a disagreement, you both say what needs to be said – get it out and over with, and you move on. 5 minutes later you are both cooing and ooing and kissy kissy like nothing happened. And the compromising, I never notice anyone doing more that the other. You guys just seem to both give and take equally, it’s beautiful”

And I tell you all. It was lovely to hear that. To know that it’s not just in my head, I don’t just seem to think everything is going well, people notice it too!

Not that I’m a relationship expert at all, I’m just trying something different this time – and it’s working well and the three most important lessons I’ve learnt are these.

When we first started dating, he said something to me that I will never forget. “This thing about relationships being 50/50 is bull shit. There is no such thing. A relationship is 40/40. The other 20 is compromise. It’s understanding, it’s communication, together we need to make up the other percent”

And it works for us.

So that’s my first point. Don’t be all, 50/50 in a relationship. Understand that relationships involve hard work, but never forget; that they should be such hard work that you begin resenting the fact you are in one.

My next suggestion is that you should not be trying to be perfect. Else we are all doomed. Imagine being in a relationship with someone who wants everything to be perfect? But first, please tell me, what is perfect?

Lastly, something I believe strongly about is that there are no such things as time limits. I agree there are guide lines one should follow. We could call them “best practice” – when we hit puberty our parents never gave us a handbook saying “this is how life will be and these are the rules”

Rule number one, FORGET ALL THE RULES! You will learn them as you go along and they will mean different things to you at different times in your life.

And so I go back to the time lines or time limits. My boyfriend and I, as I’ve discussed before, waited a little longer than the average couple before we got intimate, yet, we moved in together quite early in our relationship. There was a big discussion about it of course, and what we decided was that we were not going to give into time lines. I know people who have been in relationships for over 10 years, and are not married. I know couples who had known each other for only 3 months before getting married. I know a couple who have been together for over 5 years and don’t live together. You get my drift? You know what I’m saying with this? You take it comes, and if it feels right, you go for it. If not, then just pull on the reigns a bit. Everything happens in the time it is meant to.

And that’s that. Dr Phil has left the building and now that you know my views on this all.

Jeepers, I sound like my mother.

just a thought.

One evening my poor little brain was only seconds away from exploding, sorting through an eleventyhundredthousand different thoughts. (Which happens when I can’t shut down) I decided that if I were to maybe focus on something a little bit more creative I could at least go into “standby” mode for a while.

So I decided to paint over the bright red tattoo that my roommate and I decided to accessorise my living room walls with - using spray paint a little while ago. (While not on detox).

It took a while, but I had no plans on being anywhere else, and by the time I was finished I had white freckled hands, a distinguished looking grey streak of hair and a perfectly white patch of paint standing a few millimetres off the wall. (It’s a pretty big patch I should probably mention)

183 coats of paint will do that, but no one will ever know that there is red under there.

I wonder if life would be any easier if we could all just paint over our own flaws. Or would we look like fools with a patch of paint sticking out a millimetre from our foreheads.

What we'd really like to say to some people...

I LOVE IT! hahah

you wanna mess around? then deal with the consequences!

Last night just as we were going to bed boyfriend received a frantic text message from his best friend saying that his boyfriend had just caught him on gaydar and that there was trouble in paradise.

My first response was “what the hell is he doing on gaydar” so we sent a reply asking the same. The response was “I’m human, I’m just looking” to which we replied “looking is ok, but gaydar? speaks for itself? eish”

We did not get a reply after that.

Now this is the thing. We all mostly know that the gay community can be pretty promiscuous. There is a lot of “hooking up” that goes along with it all. I myself have never had a gaydar profile, being a bit of a prude myself I always tried the more conservative approach to meeting guys. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no paragon of virtue and I’ve had my one nighters and drunken hooliganisms in clubs – a lot less of those than a lot of people I know, and I wont and don’t judge you if you are on these sites looking for whatever it is that tickles your fancy. I myself just don’t.

My problem though is that when you are in a relationship you should honour that commitment. No questions asked.

So I can really understand why now, that he is in Shit Street, and I do not feel sorry for him at all.

“just looking” – no. I do not concur. What exactly would you be looking for? Networking? Friends? What now, so you log on to gaydar and you swap stories and you update your status and upload pics from your family holiday? Send out notifications of the latest news and celebrity gossip?

I don’t think so. That’s what facebook is for.

This started an interesting debate at 11:30pm in bed. Both boyfriend and I agreed that if either of us caught of each other on a dating or hook up site there would be hell to pay. There is only one reason you are on a site like that. To meat (yes, MEAT) people. And then, in my opinion, if you want to tell me that it’s “just to look” I’m going to say ok, but it’s also to see how far you can go without getting caught. And then, I ask, how far will you go?

The thought terrifies me because in my 28 (very almost 29) years I’ve had 3 long term relationships, 2 of them that were probably trouble from the start and they both cheated on me. It is unfortunate, but I will admit that it’s made me a very reserved person and since then I’ve dated very carefully, practically screening guys I’ve been interested. The third relationship is one I’m in now, that I’m incredibly happy in. One in which I feel safe, secure, loved and most importantly respected.

(on the “prude” side of things, some light on my own story, boyfriend and I only kissed 6 weeks after meeting and sexual intimacy was 2 months into our relationship – so you kind of know where I’m coming from I hope)

If you were “just innocently looking” then why were you “caught”. If you are not happy, and you need or want something else or something more, then just say so, get out of the relationship you’re in and don’t go around hurting people.

How very horrible and cruel.

Know what I mean?

Cre-8-ive

What's with personalised number plates?

I do not understand.

I have a friend who bought himself a car last week. His license plate reads “4 Jim”

He bought the car for himself. Why go put your name on it?

The little Atos on the hi-way this morning “C U L8R” – how fast does an Atos go?

The mini – “Mini me”

Very creative.

As for the dude in the Range Rover.

It already says Range Rover on the back of your Big Silver Truck.
It also says Range Rover on the license plate holder.

Therefore, I decree your personalized license plate of "RNGE RVER" to be repetitive, annoying and quite frankly, bleeping stupid.

Sincerely,
Wozzel

dinner with friends

It was a dinner with friends.
Friends who have a two year old.
It was three days before his birthday.
He tugs on his mothers sleeves and asks her to step inside.
A few minutes later they come out and mum says;
“G jnr wants to know if we can sing him happy birthday”

And so we did.

Out comes the biggest, scrummiest looking lemon meringue –
Complete with a candle.
(but shhhhh, it’s a magic candle)
And so we sing as eyes widen in happiness and accomplishment.
We sing “Happy Birthday” in 2 official languages.

Four times.

“Wow”
“Oooh”
And a smile covering his face.
He blows out the candle so proud of himself.
But then!
The MAGIC!
The candle re-lit all by it’s self!!

“Nog een?!”
“Wow”
And he blows it out again.
“ag nee mama, hahaha,” he holds his tummy as he laughs.
“Nog een!?”

And he blows it out again.
There is spit in the air, there is slobber everywhere.
Excited fingers digging into the lemon meringue.
And it’s all over his eager little face.
All over his sticky little hands.

Because it was his pre-birthday party…

Only, after all that – I did not want any lemon meringue.

And I love lemon meringue.

The pure excitement, the innocent joy -
The magic - of a little boy who has just turned 3.

I was ok with no lemon meringue.

vok se die bok! (which means "fuck said the buck" for my non Saffa readers)

I have a problem.

I call it critical ass.

Critical ass is the point at which, no matter how hard you try, squeeze, breath or hold your breathe, you no longer fit into your pants.

It is true. I have picked up a pants size.

If contentment makes you fat I’m clearly fat, I mean, content.

I’m content dammit!

On Saturday, boyfriend and I went to go buy new clothes for work and we both have picked up one size. I said I will not buy a size 34 pant, I will not. I will wear my slightly faded, older size 32’s, even if I am busting at the seams and I will go on diet and I will run and I will swim and I will do whatever it takes to fit into a size 32 again by the end of January because I WILL NOT allow this.

When I was in school I was a fat, and so this is why I can not allow myself, I can not give myself permission to pick it up again.

I shant.

I refuse.

So wish me luck. I have 3 weeks in which to make this happen.

Even as I sit here and type I can hear my tummy laughing at me.

ja - we will see who gets the last laugh!

one more photo

I like "action" photos and our friend, who happens to be a photographer was happily shooting away during the two days she joined us on holiday, so here is one more. I think this one is my fave :)

oh - hi there 2010

I have returned from holiday.

I wish to return right back to my holiday to be honest with you.

I have a good tan – at least.

Funny how fast it goes though, unfairly so.
I was quite depressed this morning, waking up early, not to stumble through to the living room with a book and cup of coffee, but to go shower and get ready for work.
And this after 12 days of pure bliss.

We spent days and evenings on the beach.
Shared kisses under the starlight on the boat.
Picnicked on the banks of rivers and lagoons,
chased Zebra that grazed to close us while out on a game drive,
were chased by a Zebra after chasing said Zebra.

We spent most of our time at my boyfriends family home and were spoiled rotten. Really, we did not have to do a thing.
We laughed, played silly games and sang songs around the bonfire, even when I was too tipsy (read drunk) to remember the chords to the songs.

Good, fun times.

Oh, and look, I shall share a picture of myself with you. Not a face pic, I could never be that brave.



Oh – one more thingy… Happy 2010 everyone! Here is wishing you all a wonderful new year.

We are hosting the Soccer World Cup here in South Africa this year. Should be exciting. Eeek, all I’m worried about is the traffic and and the crowds to be honest with you. I live very close by to the Durban stadium. Should prove Interesting.