This morning, I woke up fat.
I also woke up with a pimple the size of China on my chin.
This has all come at a most inconvenient time.
I’m attending a function tonight you see, and I need to be looking my best.
But no. The universe is on a roll and is taking out her premenstrualism (it’s my blog, I will make up words if I want to) on me.
I’ve woken up fat. And with a pimple on my chin. And I’m no longer in the good mood that usually accompanies Fridays.
Now I’m just trying to think of a creative excuse for not going out tonight.
Last night, woooah. Might be the reason I look like I do today. Met up with a dear friend who has been tra-la-la-ing around Europe for the last 4 years. There was much laughter, screeching and even higher pitched squealing last night over countless pints of beer and way too many tequilas.
Good times people. Good times.
Must admit, I was not expecting the news she share. She got married. Two years ago. To her girlfriend. And I never even knew she batted for our team. Good on her. Only, I’m getting a little irritated by the fact that everyone around me is getting married (including most of my mofo maatjies) and I’m not.
Hmmmm.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
damn you Universe
The universe thinks she is funny eh? Well, she got me pretty good! So by now, I would imagine, everyone, or most of you have heard of “The Secret” right? Well – I have, and ever since reading it I decided I would try that “expect cheques in the mail” affirmation. lol. So for the last 12 months I have been expecting my R30 000.00 cheque in the mail.
Well – good news. I got it! – hahaha – I kinda got it anyway. See, “The Secret” does tell you to be specific right? Right!
So I get home last night, and that DAMNED direct axis, you know the loan company? Well, their stooopid marketing campaign have sent me a cheque for R30 000.00, it’s a specimen copy, of course, telling me that I qualify for a loan of up to R30 000.00 – yeah, what ever!
You are going in the bin…
You were close Madame Universe, but please, try again.
And while we are at it. I’m still waiting for my
• Apple laptop
• Mansion in Constantia
• Fancy car. Any car, so long as it’s fancy really
• Maybe hair that is not thinning and showing it’s first signs of grey?
• The perfect job – hell no, I want R20million remember, so skip that.
• A library full of books
• Super fast internet connection
• A Yacht
• Maybe show me where my cell phone is? Just a thought?
• Smoothie blender
• And a puppy.
Now, no more delaying please. I have things to do, places to go and people to meet :-)
ps - this was my 100th post. So say something nice and supportive :)
Well – good news. I got it! – hahaha – I kinda got it anyway. See, “The Secret” does tell you to be specific right? Right!
So I get home last night, and that DAMNED direct axis, you know the loan company? Well, their stooopid marketing campaign have sent me a cheque for R30 000.00, it’s a specimen copy, of course, telling me that I qualify for a loan of up to R30 000.00 – yeah, what ever!
You are going in the bin…
You were close Madame Universe, but please, try again.
And while we are at it. I’m still waiting for my
• Apple laptop
• Mansion in Constantia
• Fancy car. Any car, so long as it’s fancy really
• Maybe hair that is not thinning and showing it’s first signs of grey?
• The perfect job – hell no, I want R20million remember, so skip that.
• A library full of books
• Super fast internet connection
• A Yacht
• Maybe show me where my cell phone is? Just a thought?
• Smoothie blender
• And a puppy.
Now, no more delaying please. I have things to do, places to go and people to meet :-)
ps - this was my 100th post. So say something nice and supportive :)
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
an indecent obsession...
I’m going to fill you lot in on a little “not so secret”
I have this indecent obsession with a model / (I’m sure he wants to be an actor too) and I have had for some years now.
I quite litteraly break out in a sweat when ever I see pictures of him. The “Milk” one is quite famous as I know it…
I know that I’m in a very happy relationship and I love my boy to pieces… but c’mon… Jonathan Breeze?
Sorry babe, I would sell you for Jonatha Breeze.
So here is my plan. I shall become “crazy-psycho-stalker-boy” find his e-mail address and harass him.
I shall be relentless.
I will not stop until he crumbles and realises that I’m the man of his dreams and he makes me his lawfully bedded husband.
Yes.
That might work.
sigheth
I have this indecent obsession with a model / (I’m sure he wants to be an actor too) and I have had for some years now.
I quite litteraly break out in a sweat when ever I see pictures of him. The “Milk” one is quite famous as I know it…
I know that I’m in a very happy relationship and I love my boy to pieces… but c’mon… Jonathan Breeze?
Sorry babe, I would sell you for Jonatha Breeze.
So here is my plan. I shall become “crazy-psycho-stalker-boy” find his e-mail address and harass him.
I shall be relentless.
I will not stop until he crumbles and realises that I’m the man of his dreams and he makes me his lawfully bedded husband.
Yes.
That might work.
sigheth
Monday, February 22, 2010
hey bru - hows about a 5 bob eh?
The homeless and disadvantaged have been on my mind a lot lately. We all see them everyday. They are at all the intersections. They are on the corners of the streets. They camp outside Spar and Woolies.
I used to give every homeless people I saw the spare change I had in my pocket. Then it occurred to me one day that if I keep giving every homeless person I see money, I’m going to need to start asking everyone for money.
There is a guy in my neighborhood who has a sign, "Will work for food. Need a job."
I see him in the same place every day leaving at the same time every day holding the same sign every day. Doesn't he already have a job?
I don't want to sound cruel, but living in a big(ish) city, you start to become...What's the right word? Immune to the problem?
Cold hearted?
I'm not sure. But you find yourself ignoring them after awhile, even judging them.
"That one doesn't look so bad. Hey, the other leg still works."
“He’s probably just going to buy booze with that money”
Sound familiar?
That's when I decided only people with truly creative signs get money from me now. Not the “why lie I need a beer” guys. I mean the unique ones. The ones who have created a good commercial for themselves. (I would probably be that “beer” guy…lol)
On Currie Road there used to be a guy who had a sign that read, "Unemployed troll, lost my bridge."
That's worth a few coins.
Last night on one of my many contemplative walks, there in the doorway of a bed store only a few meters away from my apartment, I saw a homeless man laying out cardboard and a soiled sleeping bag for the night. (We call him smiley. Well – because he smiles a lot. Even that one time it was raining, and his dirty old pillow was getting wet – he just smiled). Just inches away from him, behind glass sat an opulent king sized bed covered in warm, fluffy blankets. That moment has stuck with me. People will spend thousands of rands for a bed, but turn up their noses at a homeless guy asking for a few loose coins. I know that we are part of the problem. Maybe a better way is to say our indifference, is part of the problem.
At the Beachfront flea market (amphitheatre), there once was a woman who had a little crafts stand. She had a sign that read will write your name on a grain of rice.
Passing by it with my mother one day, she remarked, "She should write her name on a job application."
Her point was that it was a useless talent. When would that ever come in handy?
How about with room mates?
"Hey, you ate all my rice again!"
"It's not like your name was on it."
"Actually..."
She wasn't buying it.
My point was that at least this lady was doing something.
Then there are the silver painted guys. They hang out everywhere these days, where tourists are fat with change in their pockets.
They stand still and occasionally make robot noises when they suddenly move. People will stand in front of them debating if it's a statue or not. I was out with my cousin, who was visiting from the UK earlier last year, in an attempt to show her more of the city, we came across one such silver painted gentleman. A crowd stood before the unblinking, unmoving man wondering out loud if he was real or not. At the base of his podium sat a bucket with change in it and a little sign for donations.
My cousin looked in the bucket then up at the man and said loudly, "Imagine how much money you could make if you moved for 8 hours a day."
Before I could intervene, a pigeon flew overhead and dropped a shit on the silver man's shoulder. The crowd laughed. Still, he did not budge.
That's when my cousin opened her purse and pulled out a crisp R100 note and threw it into the bucket.
"If a bird can't tell the difference between him and a real statue, he's pretty good."
I think seeing another human being who has given up completely scares us on some profound level. We would prefer to not contemplate such things in line at Sandwich Baron on our lunch hour. Then we go back to whatever corporate hell we feel our sanity slowly giving way to so we can make money. It makes us wonder if that could happen to us. We question a system that for better or worse, we all participate in.
What is the other option?
How did it happen to them?
Will it happen to me?
Why did they let that happen to them?
Is there any hope left for them?
What does it take for someone to become a ghost in our society?
The only solution I see that seems to work is this: Paint the homeless silver.
I used to give every homeless people I saw the spare change I had in my pocket. Then it occurred to me one day that if I keep giving every homeless person I see money, I’m going to need to start asking everyone for money.
There is a guy in my neighborhood who has a sign, "Will work for food. Need a job."
I see him in the same place every day leaving at the same time every day holding the same sign every day. Doesn't he already have a job?
I don't want to sound cruel, but living in a big(ish) city, you start to become...What's the right word? Immune to the problem?
Cold hearted?
I'm not sure. But you find yourself ignoring them after awhile, even judging them.
"That one doesn't look so bad. Hey, the other leg still works."
“He’s probably just going to buy booze with that money”
Sound familiar?
That's when I decided only people with truly creative signs get money from me now. Not the “why lie I need a beer” guys. I mean the unique ones. The ones who have created a good commercial for themselves. (I would probably be that “beer” guy…lol)
On Currie Road there used to be a guy who had a sign that read, "Unemployed troll, lost my bridge."
That's worth a few coins.
Last night on one of my many contemplative walks, there in the doorway of a bed store only a few meters away from my apartment, I saw a homeless man laying out cardboard and a soiled sleeping bag for the night. (We call him smiley. Well – because he smiles a lot. Even that one time it was raining, and his dirty old pillow was getting wet – he just smiled). Just inches away from him, behind glass sat an opulent king sized bed covered in warm, fluffy blankets. That moment has stuck with me. People will spend thousands of rands for a bed, but turn up their noses at a homeless guy asking for a few loose coins. I know that we are part of the problem. Maybe a better way is to say our indifference, is part of the problem.
At the Beachfront flea market (amphitheatre), there once was a woman who had a little crafts stand. She had a sign that read will write your name on a grain of rice.
Passing by it with my mother one day, she remarked, "She should write her name on a job application."
Her point was that it was a useless talent. When would that ever come in handy?
How about with room mates?
"Hey, you ate all my rice again!"
"It's not like your name was on it."
"Actually..."
She wasn't buying it.
My point was that at least this lady was doing something.
Then there are the silver painted guys. They hang out everywhere these days, where tourists are fat with change in their pockets.
They stand still and occasionally make robot noises when they suddenly move. People will stand in front of them debating if it's a statue or not. I was out with my cousin, who was visiting from the UK earlier last year, in an attempt to show her more of the city, we came across one such silver painted gentleman. A crowd stood before the unblinking, unmoving man wondering out loud if he was real or not. At the base of his podium sat a bucket with change in it and a little sign for donations.
My cousin looked in the bucket then up at the man and said loudly, "Imagine how much money you could make if you moved for 8 hours a day."
Before I could intervene, a pigeon flew overhead and dropped a shit on the silver man's shoulder. The crowd laughed. Still, he did not budge.
That's when my cousin opened her purse and pulled out a crisp R100 note and threw it into the bucket.
"If a bird can't tell the difference between him and a real statue, he's pretty good."
I think seeing another human being who has given up completely scares us on some profound level. We would prefer to not contemplate such things in line at Sandwich Baron on our lunch hour. Then we go back to whatever corporate hell we feel our sanity slowly giving way to so we can make money. It makes us wonder if that could happen to us. We question a system that for better or worse, we all participate in.
What is the other option?
How did it happen to them?
Will it happen to me?
Why did they let that happen to them?
Is there any hope left for them?
What does it take for someone to become a ghost in our society?
The only solution I see that seems to work is this: Paint the homeless silver.
blah blah fishpaste
Looking back over my past couple of blog entries I think a mini-series of self-revelations has developed.
If I were 25 I would probably be blogging about the fact that I just realized I am fat. But not the kind of fat where you go on a diet and lose the fat and look great and then go on Noeleen and spite all your high school and varsity nemesi (that is plural - look it up). More the kind of fat that is always fat and can never quite be eradicated. Not that I truly believe fat should be eradicated because if not for that we would all be skin and bones and to be honest I think round cheeks with dimples (face or other) are very attractive. I am talking the kind of fat that comes from negative self-image. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.
So maybe what I am saying has nothing to do with fat and everything to do with self-image, body image and self-esteem. Here's the thing - self-esteem is the bastard of all bastards. It is the working class fighting the bourgeois. It is a classic. We hate that which is way up there but secretly way up there is where we long to be. So how does one achieve that hanging out in just the right mental spot? If you are too high up then you are hated by the masses and by yourself. If you are too far down then you are hated by the masses and by yourself. Maybe just maybe if you can suspend yourself somewhere in the magical middle you can become unfat. I do not know.
But today's revelation has more to do with the idea that I never really say what I mean to say. In my mind I do but in reality I race around the edges so deftly carefully coloring only within the lines that I never really say anything that has to do with how I feel. Instead of saying what I think due to, in my opinion, that mid-20s revelation I first discount what I think. Second, I try to figure out what part if any of what I just discounted might be vaguely palatable to others. Third, I spend an undue amount of time watching TV shows about the edges of society that I am certain the less I say the better off I am.
If you are wondering what the hell I am talking about yet sense an atmosphere of hostility join the club. I'm not talking about anything but what I am thinking... and there is a lot to think about, but that’s another story.
Maybe what I’m trying to / want to say but feel I cant, or am not allowed or am just to scared to say because (insert pause of 8 minutes) I don’t understand
the concept of drawing lines?
I don’t know. I’m going to leave you all with this quote…
“We are friends and I do like to pass the day with you in serious and inconsequential chatter. I wouldn't mind washing up beside you, dusting beside you, reading the back half of the paper while you read the front. We are friends and I would miss you, do miss you, and think of you very often.”
~Jeanette Winterson~
p.s. If you actually looked up nemesi I am laughing at you. But secretly. Not to your face.
If I were 25 I would probably be blogging about the fact that I just realized I am fat. But not the kind of fat where you go on a diet and lose the fat and look great and then go on Noeleen and spite all your high school and varsity nemesi (that is plural - look it up). More the kind of fat that is always fat and can never quite be eradicated. Not that I truly believe fat should be eradicated because if not for that we would all be skin and bones and to be honest I think round cheeks with dimples (face or other) are very attractive. I am talking the kind of fat that comes from negative self-image. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.
So maybe what I am saying has nothing to do with fat and everything to do with self-image, body image and self-esteem. Here's the thing - self-esteem is the bastard of all bastards. It is the working class fighting the bourgeois. It is a classic. We hate that which is way up there but secretly way up there is where we long to be. So how does one achieve that hanging out in just the right mental spot? If you are too high up then you are hated by the masses and by yourself. If you are too far down then you are hated by the masses and by yourself. Maybe just maybe if you can suspend yourself somewhere in the magical middle you can become unfat. I do not know.
But today's revelation has more to do with the idea that I never really say what I mean to say. In my mind I do but in reality I race around the edges so deftly carefully coloring only within the lines that I never really say anything that has to do with how I feel. Instead of saying what I think due to, in my opinion, that mid-20s revelation I first discount what I think. Second, I try to figure out what part if any of what I just discounted might be vaguely palatable to others. Third, I spend an undue amount of time watching TV shows about the edges of society that I am certain the less I say the better off I am.
If you are wondering what the hell I am talking about yet sense an atmosphere of hostility join the club. I'm not talking about anything but what I am thinking... and there is a lot to think about, but that’s another story.
Maybe what I’m trying to / want to say but feel I cant, or am not allowed or am just to scared to say because (insert pause of 8 minutes) I don’t understand
the concept of drawing lines?
I don’t know. I’m going to leave you all with this quote…
“We are friends and I do like to pass the day with you in serious and inconsequential chatter. I wouldn't mind washing up beside you, dusting beside you, reading the back half of the paper while you read the front. We are friends and I would miss you, do miss you, and think of you very often.”
~Jeanette Winterson~
p.s. If you actually looked up nemesi I am laughing at you. But secretly. Not to your face.
Friday, February 19, 2010
i had to throw away my fave shoes :(
Hey there shoes.
You look and feel fabulous.
Well, at least you did.
We’ve been through some muddy situations, several incidences of wine and beer spills, a few paint splatters here and there and some sort of tear on your left side where my little toe keeps sticking out.
We’ve climbed over mountains, jumped in puddles, remember that time we ran after the bus the day I was late?
Shoes,
You and I had something special.
I was always so good to you.
I NEVER called you bad names like “scruffy” or “dirty” or “smelly”.
You were far too hip and way to cool for that.
I know some of my friends have been mean.
You’ve heard them say “throw those damned shoes away!”
How that one girl, Nash said you were the ugliest she had seen.
How others said “you should burn them”
You know I would never do that to you.
We’ve been together for 3 years!
But, now, I can see the strain in your sole;
the rips of your base,
clinging to your seams for dear life.
You have no more give.
I’ve simply stretched you to the limit.
I think we need a break from each other.
I need to see other shoes.
Something with a comfy rest and plenty of tread, in a brown?
Maybe black?
But don’t worry, favorite shoes.
This isn’t goodbye.
I’ll keep you safe in a box at the bottom of the cupboard.
I think our relationship can handle it.
You’ll always be perfect.
Perfect, perfect shoes.
Love you madly, Wozzel
Ps, shoes, may I please borrow your laces? I’m in this odd tying things up phase. Let me know?
You look and feel fabulous.
Well, at least you did.
We’ve been through some muddy situations, several incidences of wine and beer spills, a few paint splatters here and there and some sort of tear on your left side where my little toe keeps sticking out.
We’ve climbed over mountains, jumped in puddles, remember that time we ran after the bus the day I was late?
Shoes,
You and I had something special.
I was always so good to you.
I NEVER called you bad names like “scruffy” or “dirty” or “smelly”.
You were far too hip and way to cool for that.
I know some of my friends have been mean.
You’ve heard them say “throw those damned shoes away!”
How that one girl, Nash said you were the ugliest she had seen.
How others said “you should burn them”
You know I would never do that to you.
We’ve been together for 3 years!
But, now, I can see the strain in your sole;
the rips of your base,
clinging to your seams for dear life.
You have no more give.
I’ve simply stretched you to the limit.
I think we need a break from each other.
I need to see other shoes.
Something with a comfy rest and plenty of tread, in a brown?
Maybe black?
But don’t worry, favorite shoes.
This isn’t goodbye.
I’ll keep you safe in a box at the bottom of the cupboard.
I think our relationship can handle it.
You’ll always be perfect.
Perfect, perfect shoes.
Love you madly, Wozzel
Ps, shoes, may I please borrow your laces? I’m in this odd tying things up phase. Let me know?
i'm alive :)
Oh my. An entire week away from the world of blogs. Well, an entire week away from the world. I’ve been ill you see, and it’s not been fun. I’m all better now and am catching up on all the updates I’ve missed around here and am just popping in to show face so you lot know I’m still alive. So until I have something more substantial to write about, I bid you all a great day.
Friday, February 12, 2010
oops - i did it again
Ok. I’m going to try writing a post. Try, because I am dying.
I am not hung over. I’ve fallen right over. And I blame the Merlot. All three bottles of it that my roommate and I polished off last night while helping her pack for her trip to Portugal. Lucky bitch. I don’t usually drink red wine these days. The reason. I love it. I love it too much but my boyfriend says it makes me a bitch. So I stick to the white wines and my favourite, beer, of course. I did however drink red wine last night, Satan!
My head hurts and I’m doing everything in my power to get out of work early today.
So last night was also the Opening of Parliament. I must say I would not have shed a tear if the place was bombed, but I must be careful of what I say in case someone takes it as a serious threat. Thing is, when the shit hit the fan back when Zuma became president, I was the first person to say “give him a chance” but since all the latest scandal I just give up. Arms in the air! I just give up. I don’t have any time to listen to his inane ramblings and as far as I am concerned, he can just blow it out his arse!
I also baked last night. I did – I baked a pink cake. For a friends birthday party tonight. Well, two friends birthday parties tonight. Well, only one of them is my friend. Even so, even only he is half a friend. See, thing is, it’s boyfriends best friend and his boyfriend, and I don’t like them very much, a little bit, just not much. But yes, I baked them a cake because I’m sweet and kind like that and anyway – they are not to know that I don’t like them. that much.
Goddammit will someone put the lights off in here, my head is killing me.
The pink cake. It’s so cute. I should take a picture of it. Talking of pictures, I downloaded the pictures from our break away into the Eastern Cape last week. I was devastated when I looked at them.
Apparently I am fat again.
Well frikking done Wozzel, you work like a mad man to lose 20kg and a few years later – voila, you’re doing a sterling job at getting back to square one. So I have decided that something drastic must be done. And it must be done soon.
Moving swiftly along from topics surrounding my ever expanding waist line, the other pics came out beautifully, but in my fallen over state this morning, I forgot to bring them into the office with me.
Oh dear.
Ps – additional info. Spoke to boss person while typing this out and hooray, I’m outta here in a bit.
I am not hung over. I’ve fallen right over. And I blame the Merlot. All three bottles of it that my roommate and I polished off last night while helping her pack for her trip to Portugal. Lucky bitch. I don’t usually drink red wine these days. The reason. I love it. I love it too much but my boyfriend says it makes me a bitch. So I stick to the white wines and my favourite, beer, of course. I did however drink red wine last night, Satan!
My head hurts and I’m doing everything in my power to get out of work early today.
So last night was also the Opening of Parliament. I must say I would not have shed a tear if the place was bombed, but I must be careful of what I say in case someone takes it as a serious threat. Thing is, when the shit hit the fan back when Zuma became president, I was the first person to say “give him a chance” but since all the latest scandal I just give up. Arms in the air! I just give up. I don’t have any time to listen to his inane ramblings and as far as I am concerned, he can just blow it out his arse!
I also baked last night. I did – I baked a pink cake. For a friends birthday party tonight. Well, two friends birthday parties tonight. Well, only one of them is my friend. Even so, even only he is half a friend. See, thing is, it’s boyfriends best friend and his boyfriend, and I don’t like them very much, a little bit, just not much. But yes, I baked them a cake because I’m sweet and kind like that and anyway – they are not to know that I don’t like them. that much.
Goddammit will someone put the lights off in here, my head is killing me.
The pink cake. It’s so cute. I should take a picture of it. Talking of pictures, I downloaded the pictures from our break away into the Eastern Cape last week. I was devastated when I looked at them.
Apparently I am fat again.
Well frikking done Wozzel, you work like a mad man to lose 20kg and a few years later – voila, you’re doing a sterling job at getting back to square one. So I have decided that something drastic must be done. And it must be done soon.
Moving swiftly along from topics surrounding my ever expanding waist line, the other pics came out beautifully, but in my fallen over state this morning, I forgot to bring them into the office with me.
Oh dear.
Ps – additional info. Spoke to boss person while typing this out and hooray, I’m outta here in a bit.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
twinkle twinkle
Twinkle – twinkle… little RAT???
Just what the hell are you at!?
Nibbling away at the BREAD LIKE THAT!
I’m going to find a big mean pussy cat!
to kiiiiiiillll you!
There is a rat in my kitchen what am I going to do?
Well – either it is a rat or a really large cockroach. Either way, it’s horrible and looks terribly violent.
It must go away.
Just what the hell are you at!?
Nibbling away at the BREAD LIKE THAT!
I’m going to find a big mean pussy cat!
to kiiiiiiillll you!
There is a rat in my kitchen what am I going to do?
Well – either it is a rat or a really large cockroach. Either way, it’s horrible and looks terribly violent.
It must go away.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
perfect!
Today on the radio I heard a song that I’ve always loved.
It’s cute. Catchy – but completely wrong.
I think so anyway and that’s all that matters.
The song? “It’s got to be perfect”
You know it. From back in the 80’s – I can’t remember who sang it, but that is not the point. The point is that in my opinion they got it all wrong.
“Young hearts are foolish, they make such mistakes” tra – la – la – la – la (ok, that part they got right)
And the song goes on to say “It’s got to be (e – e – e – e – e) perfect”
I don’t want perfect.
I’m not perfect.
No one is.
And if you do think you are, or that I am or that someone is, we are all doomed.
And what the hell is perfect anyway?
My boyfriend told me something when we first got together, that I will never forget. I have shared it with all my friends, it is something I think we should all know and remember. I'm quite sure I've said it here somewhere before...
“This thing about relationships being 50/50 is bull shit. There is no such thing. Relationships are 40/40. The other 20% is compromise, understanding, communication and learning - because - none of us are perfect. There can be no half/half”
What he said after, and what I have learnt is that together you make up that other 20%. There are times when he will need to make up for where I am at a loss and times when I do on his behalf, in all circumstances.
I might be using a trivial example here, it might not even mean anything to some of you, but I believe that this is relevant in all aspects of our lives.
STOP trying (because that is all you will ever do try) to be perfect. STOP expecting and demanding perfection in and out of everything and everyone.
JUST STOP IT.
You’ll be happier. I guarantee it.
And just to add to the cliché (ness) of all of this and my somewhat random - all over the place attempt at a post, I leave you with one of the most clichéd love quotes of all time.
“Love is not seeing the perfect person, but seeing the imperfect person perfectly”
Isn’t that just perfect?
It’s cute. Catchy – but completely wrong.
I think so anyway and that’s all that matters.
The song? “It’s got to be perfect”
You know it. From back in the 80’s – I can’t remember who sang it, but that is not the point. The point is that in my opinion they got it all wrong.
“Young hearts are foolish, they make such mistakes” tra – la – la – la – la (ok, that part they got right)
And the song goes on to say “It’s got to be (e – e – e – e – e) perfect”
I don’t want perfect.
I’m not perfect.
No one is.
And if you do think you are, or that I am or that someone is, we are all doomed.
And what the hell is perfect anyway?
My boyfriend told me something when we first got together, that I will never forget. I have shared it with all my friends, it is something I think we should all know and remember. I'm quite sure I've said it here somewhere before...
“This thing about relationships being 50/50 is bull shit. There is no such thing. Relationships are 40/40. The other 20% is compromise, understanding, communication and learning - because - none of us are perfect. There can be no half/half”
What he said after, and what I have learnt is that together you make up that other 20%. There are times when he will need to make up for where I am at a loss and times when I do on his behalf, in all circumstances.
I might be using a trivial example here, it might not even mean anything to some of you, but I believe that this is relevant in all aspects of our lives.
STOP trying (because that is all you will ever do try) to be perfect. STOP expecting and demanding perfection in and out of everything and everyone.
JUST STOP IT.
You’ll be happier. I guarantee it.
And just to add to the cliché (ness) of all of this and my somewhat random - all over the place attempt at a post, I leave you with one of the most clichéd love quotes of all time.
“Love is not seeing the perfect person, but seeing the imperfect person perfectly”
Isn’t that just perfect?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Living Will
I, Wozzel, being of sound mind and body, do not wish to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means.
Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of pinhead politicians who couldn't pass ninth grade biology if their lives depended on it, or lawyers/doctors interested in simply running up the bills.
If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to ask for at least one of the following:
Bottle of wine
Chocolate
Margarita
Sex
Chocolate
Steak
Long Island Iced Tea
Sex
Mexican food
Chocolate
Cheeseburgers
French Fries
Pizza
Sex
Ice cream
Strawberries
Chocolate
Daiquiri
Sex
Chocolate
It should be presumed that I won't ever get better. When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct my appointed person and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes, and call it a day!
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so kiss slowly, laugh insanely, Love truly and forgive quickly..
Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of pinhead politicians who couldn't pass ninth grade biology if their lives depended on it, or lawyers/doctors interested in simply running up the bills.
If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to ask for at least one of the following:
Bottle of wine
Chocolate
Margarita
Sex
Chocolate
Steak
Long Island Iced Tea
Sex
Mexican food
Chocolate
Cheeseburgers
French Fries
Pizza
Sex
Ice cream
Strawberries
Chocolate
Daiquiri
Sex
Chocolate
It should be presumed that I won't ever get better. When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct my appointed person and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes, and call it a day!
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so kiss slowly, laugh insanely, Love truly and forgive quickly..
Monday, February 8, 2010
back to reality
The problem with going away, to the middle of nowhere.
Where you call a log cabin home for a few days.
Where you wake up to the sun rising over the ocean.
Where you climb mountains and drive over rocky terrain, your only concern are goats in the road.
Where you drive through places called Bizana and Flagstaff and over rivers with names like Mbizana and Mbata and the likes…
Where riding a horse into town is just a hell of a lot easier than taking the car…
is that, well, you just never want to leave.
Your mind floods with ideas of living there forever, barefoot and wearing tie-dyed clothing. Sitting along the banks of the ocean, fishing – with a hot flask full of coffee in the morning. An ice-cold beer under the shade of an old tree.
I was quite sad to leave yesterday and wiped the tears out of my eyes as I hugged my mother goodbye and began the 5 hour drive back home to the chaos that is the city.
Someone remind me why we do this to ourselves?
Why we insist on calling this concrete jungle our home.
Why we would rather be in the noise and pollution.
I want a simpler life.
I want to watch butterflies fluttering about – I want to watch birds soar over mountain tops. I want to hear the mountains sing in the evenings as the crickets and bugs and other little nunu’s come out for the evening…
to do what ever it is that little crickets and bugs and other little nunu’s do in the evening. Or maybe that’s just it. They just sing.
and wouldn’t you if you lived there?
(i will upload some pics soon, i've got a few to share)
Where you call a log cabin home for a few days.
Where you wake up to the sun rising over the ocean.
Where you climb mountains and drive over rocky terrain, your only concern are goats in the road.
Where you drive through places called Bizana and Flagstaff and over rivers with names like Mbizana and Mbata and the likes…
Where riding a horse into town is just a hell of a lot easier than taking the car…
is that, well, you just never want to leave.
Your mind floods with ideas of living there forever, barefoot and wearing tie-dyed clothing. Sitting along the banks of the ocean, fishing – with a hot flask full of coffee in the morning. An ice-cold beer under the shade of an old tree.
I was quite sad to leave yesterday and wiped the tears out of my eyes as I hugged my mother goodbye and began the 5 hour drive back home to the chaos that is the city.
Someone remind me why we do this to ourselves?
Why we insist on calling this concrete jungle our home.
Why we would rather be in the noise and pollution.
I want a simpler life.
I want to watch butterflies fluttering about – I want to watch birds soar over mountain tops. I want to hear the mountains sing in the evenings as the crickets and bugs and other little nunu’s come out for the evening…
to do what ever it is that little crickets and bugs and other little nunu’s do in the evening. Or maybe that’s just it. They just sing.
and wouldn’t you if you lived there?
(i will upload some pics soon, i've got a few to share)
Thursday, February 4, 2010
away for a few days.
Oh people. Wonderful people. I'm in my element. I'm so happy that when I fart, little rainbows come pooping out. I'm going away for a few days and the break could not have come at a better time. I'm tired. I need a few days away. I'm going to be a million miles away from home, in the middle of no where with my family. Everyone, except, of course, for younger brother who just does not do the family thing. That however is another post for another day - and I've got a headache right now so dont feel like discussing it. But I do want to brag about the fact that I'm going to be far away, camped along side a beautiful river mouth, comfortably nestled between stunning mountains, where the fish eagles cries can be heard - the crickets love songs chirriping in the evenings - where you can actualy see all the stars in the night sky - and time almost seems to stand still. Morning walks through forrest paths and some sailing. Yes. I think some sailing is in order. Horse riding, a spot of fishing (not that I fish, but we do these things there ya know?) And then we will also have a big party - coz it's my step dads 60th, and that is why we are all going to be there. I'm going to be up bright and early tomorrow morning, like 3:00am - so we can get a good start on the road.
yes. It's going to be quite grand and I'm real excited :)
So - farewell till then, and just because it's my blog and I can, I'm reposting one of my faves - just to keep things interesting. bye bye
to poo - or not to poo. what is the question?
Taking a poo can be a bit tricky when you are in a new relationship. Really; we don’t want to think about our partners exercising bowel movements, I get that.
It’s very much the same way we don’t want to think of our parents as being sexual beings –
…….but we know.
I used to think mine just never did. Poo that is. He stayed over so often but I had never seen him go into the bathroom for longer than a minute to take a wee – I thought it rather mysterious. Of course I never asked. I just let it be.
We were discussing the art of poo just the other day. We were talking about overcoming stage fright. Seeing as we live together now and taking into consideration that the bathroom is en suite, we thought it was necessary.
We discussed toilet etiquette. I was surprised and naturally pleased to learn that he also does. Poo that is. “I’m not the only one” I wanted to sing and shout! Instead I just said so in my head.
I don’t get stage fright. When I poo that is. For goodness sake. I just let lose.
I might open a tap.
Maybe run the shower?
You know the *cough cough* to disguise the “plimp kloomp klimp plomp”
but if you gotta go you gotta go.
When nature calls she doesn’t wait for an answer.
Yes I do believe one should be polite about it. One should be considerate and light a match, spray a spray – open the window a little perhaps.
Wozzie’s random thoughts – poo’s do’s and don’ts
One does not need to offer support. Standing outside cheering is going over board.
Asking “did you poo” in the morning - not on.
No need to announce it “honey, I’m just going for a poo. See you in a bit” No. No need. I don’t care.
Do spray. Please.
Don’t grunt. Please.
Sing – if it helps.
Do not under any circumstance name it.
Flush.
You know you have crossed a barrier, achieved a connection – reached a new level in your relationship when you ask “so was it lose or hard” and you may as well just get married right there and then on the spot because nothing is sacred anymore and you are officially a couple.
Ok, now that I’ve scared you all off and have you all shaking your head in complete shock I’m going to go now and talk shit somewhere else.
yes. It's going to be quite grand and I'm real excited :)
So - farewell till then, and just because it's my blog and I can, I'm reposting one of my faves - just to keep things interesting. bye bye
to poo - or not to poo. what is the question?
Taking a poo can be a bit tricky when you are in a new relationship. Really; we don’t want to think about our partners exercising bowel movements, I get that.
It’s very much the same way we don’t want to think of our parents as being sexual beings –
…….but we know.
I used to think mine just never did. Poo that is. He stayed over so often but I had never seen him go into the bathroom for longer than a minute to take a wee – I thought it rather mysterious. Of course I never asked. I just let it be.
We were discussing the art of poo just the other day. We were talking about overcoming stage fright. Seeing as we live together now and taking into consideration that the bathroom is en suite, we thought it was necessary.
We discussed toilet etiquette. I was surprised and naturally pleased to learn that he also does. Poo that is. “I’m not the only one” I wanted to sing and shout! Instead I just said so in my head.
I don’t get stage fright. When I poo that is. For goodness sake. I just let lose.
I might open a tap.
Maybe run the shower?
You know the *cough cough* to disguise the “plimp kloomp klimp plomp”
but if you gotta go you gotta go.
When nature calls she doesn’t wait for an answer.
Yes I do believe one should be polite about it. One should be considerate and light a match, spray a spray – open the window a little perhaps.
Wozzie’s random thoughts – poo’s do’s and don’ts
One does not need to offer support. Standing outside cheering is going over board.
Asking “did you poo” in the morning - not on.
No need to announce it “honey, I’m just going for a poo. See you in a bit” No. No need. I don’t care.
Do spray. Please.
Don’t grunt. Please.
Sing – if it helps.
Do not under any circumstance name it.
Flush.
You know you have crossed a barrier, achieved a connection – reached a new level in your relationship when you ask “so was it lose or hard” and you may as well just get married right there and then on the spot because nothing is sacred anymore and you are officially a couple.
Ok, now that I’ve scared you all off and have you all shaking your head in complete shock I’m going to go now and talk shit somewhere else.
my homosexual agenda
You have heard of the “Homosexual Agenda” right? How us (gays! eeek!) are trying to turn you all into moffies and how we want to take over the world uh? I remember reading it a few years back and I laughed so much – I don’t know where people come up with crap like that. I’ve not managed to find that “Homosexual Agenda” – I would have posted it to show you who have not ever read it what it’s all about. But, phu-leeeze! A homosexual agenda?
Although this is not an original idea and I can not claim any credit for coming up with myself, I have decided to share with you my very own homosexual agenda. Yes, it’s true. We do have one. I myself included. Sorry if it came across that I was lying to you.
my homosexual agenda
During the week.
5:00am – wake up.
5:30am – go for run.
6:30am – go shower, brush teeth, dress – etc etc.
7:10am – leave for work.
7:45am – arrive at work. make coffee. Eat breakfast. Check e-mail.
8:00am – work. occasionally check whats new in blog land. Read the newspaper. Smoke too many cigarettes.
13:00pm – lunch. This makes me very happy.
14:00pm – back to work. occasionally check whats new in blog land. Read the newspaper. Smoke too many cigarettes.
16:30pm – go home. do home things like cleaning and cooking and chatting and what ever else is on the menu.
20:00pm – shower. Watch a bit of TV.
21:30pm – in bed. Reading.
22:00pm – sleep.
On the weekends.
Pretty much the same except I don’t go to work. Spend lots of time in the garden and on the beach. Visit friends. Visit family.
Not that interesting is it?
I’m not interested in trying to turn anyone gay. (is that even possible, for goodness sake)
And I’m not trying to take over the world.
I’m just trying to be the best me that I can.
Although this is not an original idea and I can not claim any credit for coming up with myself, I have decided to share with you my very own homosexual agenda. Yes, it’s true. We do have one. I myself included. Sorry if it came across that I was lying to you.
my homosexual agenda
During the week.
5:00am – wake up.
5:30am – go for run.
6:30am – go shower, brush teeth, dress – etc etc.
7:10am – leave for work.
7:45am – arrive at work. make coffee. Eat breakfast. Check e-mail.
8:00am – work. occasionally check whats new in blog land. Read the newspaper. Smoke too many cigarettes.
13:00pm – lunch. This makes me very happy.
14:00pm – back to work. occasionally check whats new in blog land. Read the newspaper. Smoke too many cigarettes.
16:30pm – go home. do home things like cleaning and cooking and chatting and what ever else is on the menu.
20:00pm – shower. Watch a bit of TV.
21:30pm – in bed. Reading.
22:00pm – sleep.
On the weekends.
Pretty much the same except I don’t go to work. Spend lots of time in the garden and on the beach. Visit friends. Visit family.
Not that interesting is it?
I’m not interested in trying to turn anyone gay. (is that even possible, for goodness sake)
And I’m not trying to take over the world.
I’m just trying to be the best me that I can.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
clever monkey - i mean chimpanzee.
I read an article about a chimpanzee living in a zoo in Sweden who has demonstrated the ability to plan ahead. In a seemingly calm and deliberate manner he collects small stones and pebbles to throw at human visitors later. The article also mentions that he does not throw stones at other animals, other chimps or randomly aiming at empty coke cans left on railings. Only at people.
Scientists and zoologists are amazed at this behavior and want to study it more. They want to set up workshops and conduct other “scientific” experiments.
I have an opinion. Of course.
See, I think they’re missing the bigger point of the story.
This is a message from one species to ours and to me it seems pretty clear to me what he is saying – “fuckoff and let me outta here!”
Makes you wonder what those singing whales are saying about us.
I bet it’s something like “stupid arse cunt poes human beings”
I really don’t swear like that in real life. I promise.
Ok – sometimes.
Only, it’s probably true – and we probably deserve it.
Scientists and zoologists are amazed at this behavior and want to study it more. They want to set up workshops and conduct other “scientific” experiments.
I have an opinion. Of course.
See, I think they’re missing the bigger point of the story.
This is a message from one species to ours and to me it seems pretty clear to me what he is saying – “fuckoff and let me outta here!”
Makes you wonder what those singing whales are saying about us.
I bet it’s something like “stupid arse cunt poes human beings”
I really don’t swear like that in real life. I promise.
Ok – sometimes.
Only, it’s probably true – and we probably deserve it.
Things (and people) I just cant wrap my head around
I have a friend who insists on being rude, obnoxious and condescending to me at every opportunity she can find. If I go for drinks with mates, “you have a drinking problem” if I buy a new jean pant “you should have bought the other one” If I’m interested in a guy. She will point out every fault he may or may not have (and makes them up if she can’t find any) and her favorite line is “but you can do so much better” it has taken her about 8 months to get used to my boyfriend. A friend suggested she may have a secret crush on me? shame.
I’ve de-faced her. She is no longer on my “friend list” and I’ve cut her out. Really now people. The best thing I’ve learnt is to say “blow it out your ass!” like a cancer, if it’s there, cut it out. Don’t ever let other people bring you down. Bye bye now.
Nimrod. Yes. The guy from Live Lotto. Can anyone understand a word he is saying? And I’m sure he is also doing some other work for etv, because I can’t understand who ever is announcing the shows either. I’m sure it is him. Maybe he’s the cheapest?
Zuma. Now, I’m the last person to write anything related to politics, but pray tell, how we as South Africans must feel proud of a president who is married to 5 woman, has 20 children and recently in the media because he has a child out of wedlock. This, going hand in hand with our governments anti-aids campaign of One partner, safe sex – blah blah blah. Why I’m even bothering, I don’t know.
Math. I don’t get it. Numbers are not my forte. pi does not = 3.14159265
Pie = something you eat with chips and curry gravy. Finished and klaar.
Airplanes. And how they actually stay in the sky. I’ve read everything there is to read. I still don’t get how that huge piece of metal manages to do it. This is why every time I do fly, I become an alcoholic re-born Christian.
Why I’m not allowed internet access during work hours. It’s just a horrible way of making the day more unbearable for all of us. And I’m sick of here!
Directions. I’m the worse. Don’t ever ask me for any. I will get you lost. I have no sense of direction and it gets me into trouble. All the time. This is why I always live on or near a main road or water.
Ok. That’s all. Back to your knitting.
I’ve de-faced her. She is no longer on my “friend list” and I’ve cut her out. Really now people. The best thing I’ve learnt is to say “blow it out your ass!” like a cancer, if it’s there, cut it out. Don’t ever let other people bring you down. Bye bye now.
Nimrod. Yes. The guy from Live Lotto. Can anyone understand a word he is saying? And I’m sure he is also doing some other work for etv, because I can’t understand who ever is announcing the shows either. I’m sure it is him. Maybe he’s the cheapest?
Zuma. Now, I’m the last person to write anything related to politics, but pray tell, how we as South Africans must feel proud of a president who is married to 5 woman, has 20 children and recently in the media because he has a child out of wedlock. This, going hand in hand with our governments anti-aids campaign of One partner, safe sex – blah blah blah. Why I’m even bothering, I don’t know.
Math. I don’t get it. Numbers are not my forte. pi does not = 3.14159265
Pie = something you eat with chips and curry gravy. Finished and klaar.
Airplanes. And how they actually stay in the sky. I’ve read everything there is to read. I still don’t get how that huge piece of metal manages to do it. This is why every time I do fly, I become an alcoholic re-born Christian.
Why I’m not allowed internet access during work hours. It’s just a horrible way of making the day more unbearable for all of us. And I’m sick of here!
Directions. I’m the worse. Don’t ever ask me for any. I will get you lost. I have no sense of direction and it gets me into trouble. All the time. This is why I always live on or near a main road or water.
Ok. That’s all. Back to your knitting.
Monday, February 1, 2010
in my own little world
When I'm taking a walk by myself, I tend to play with the environment. I climb up on railings, step on stairs that are not on my path. I jump on all the big rocks I can find, hug and touch trees, pick up stones and sticks, flowers and leaves. I skip from the pavement to a stone fence and back. I chase butterflies – I greet the birds. I blow kisses to the clouds – they just laugh at me and throw rain drops on my head.
If there's something more to do than just walk a straight line on a flat surface, I'll be happy to do it.
Sometimes I use this consciously to get out of my head and more into the present moment. I rarely do it when I’m around other people.
They might think I’m mad.
Sometimes I just play and sometimes I do this to escape real life. To just get out for a while, a change of scenery you know? I spend a lot of time in Villa La Wozzél – I like being in my own little world. It’s happy and peaceful there. Plus all the boys are hottt and covered in chocolate they are foreign and they speak in French and Italian accents. Some of them are French/Italian. Now you know.
I have a new ipod. My first one had been stolen 2 days after buying it, and that was over a year ago. I’ve received this one as a gift from my cousin. Makes walking through the world, half here, half in my own - a little more interesting. No more looking at the world through rose tinted sunn glasses, I’m looking at the world through the voices of some of my favorite musicians.
When I’m walking down the road I amuse myself by making the people in my field of vision dance and sing to the music I'm listening to. I've always had this habit of picturing something "on top" of the visual reality I'm seeing, like putting the sun in the sky when it's not there. Or putting the man on the moon. The images feel like they're half in my head and half in my eyes, so I "see" them superimposed (is that a real word?) on top of ordinary reality.
Sometimes I put on some juicy dance tunes or power ballads and make woman pole dance, old men burst into song, I dress the straight boys up like The Village People – I have them singing along with Celine Dion. Little old grannies “smack that” and who let the dogs out again!? I generally cause havoc and mayhem - people dancing and twirling, jumping over the street and making grandiose moves in the aisles between the washing powder and dishwashing liquid at Spar.
So if you see a strange little man with curly brown hair, listening to his ipod, watching strangers like something fun and interesting is going on there, laughing to himself, wiping the laugh tears out of his eyes, who knows…
that might just be me.
So do come by say hi :) and remember to smile, it makes me happy.
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