of moving... and how I'm glad it's almost over

I’m exhausted. As mentioned previously, I’m moving home. With my boyfriend being a househusband he has taken upon himself most of the work. We had the keys to our new rental a month ago already, which has been a massive help. The walls have all been scrubbed from top to bottom. The courtyard is clean. The garden beds neatened and I’ve already planted. Shelves have been painted, screws tightened – a few odds and ends repaired here and there. My boyfriend, I tell you, has WOW’ed me! I never knew the handyman he is! I’ve seen him fix a leaking toilet – repair the old kitchen sink plumbing – remove and repair the paneled sliding doors (the joys of renting I guess).

The place is looking amazing.

We were there Saturday and Sunday morning 7:00am untill late – moving boxes and dusting and packing. The move however is not over. Today the furniture is being moved. I have to be at work – well, I had to be. I came in and I batted my eye lashes and voila – the boss lady says I can leave at 12:00 – the movers arrive at 13:00 – so that gives me time to get home! I’m so excited. I just feel that my boy has done so so much already I really want to be there to help with the last of the move. Even though I’ve hired someone to do it for me and they will do all the carrying it is still stressful and I will feel better being there to help where I can.

Plus, I get to have a glass of wine on a Monday afternoon :)

So wish me luck, and hopefully the madness all comes to an end by this afternoon. And then we can break the new bedroom in ;)

Me, myself and I - a random note

I am: hung-over

I have: the wine flu

I know: it is of my own doing

I think: wine is the devils drink

I don’t think: I am going to make it through this day

I want: an ice cold beer. No, it’s not too early

I have: a double espresso and a cookie

I like: double espresso’s and cookies

I hate: semi-sweet white wine. it is soooo 80’s

I dream: a million dreams a night

I fear: that I’m ging to be bald before 32. and the hair that is left will be all grey :(

I am annoyed: with my boyfriend

I crave: time out. leave. Vacation. More wine.

I usually: have chicken rolls for lunch

I search: for my keys every single morning.

I hide: wine from my boyfriend

I wonder: if he knows?

I know: that he does!

I just can’t help: it.

I regret: a few things.

I love: Darryl

I can’t live without: my guitar.

I try to: cook new things. Mostly unsuccessfully.

I enjoy: work most days.

I don’t care: that she is his best friend. She is not welcome in my home.

I always: win.

I never want to: go to Jeffery’s bay again. EVER.

I rely on: me, myself and I – only. A lesson well learnt.

I believe: that magic exists in every day and every way.

I dance: all the time. ALL the time.

I sing: at the top of my voice and I’m not embarrassed.

I argue: a lot.

I write: everyday.

I win: all the time.

I lose: rarely.

I wish: I could fly to the moon.

I listen: and I hear.

I don’t understand: why he told her what I said.

I’m scared of: being alone.

I forget: that I’m not 17 anymore.

I am happy: because I work on it!

random photos I'm trying to figure out if I like or not

of the Ethekweni Municipality, and why they can eat my #^&@*

I’m not sure what one would experience elsewhere in the world when dealing with electricity connections and transfers, but I know how it goes on this side of the world.

Why – just this morning I was at the Ethkweni Municipality. Tranferring my electricity account from where I live at the mo mo to where I am moving to mo mo (not sure where that comes from – humor me)

Yes. I was there. For 3 hours – makes me smile like this ---> :-)

No. Not really. All the did was piss me off. Like this ::d(-_-)b::

3 hours – and I did not manage to have the connection transferred. I ended up having to go to 3 different Ethekweni offices, I did not even know there were 3 in Durban. This one does not know, so they send me there, then they don’t know, so they send me elsewhere, and they don’t know, and they don’t know, and…. I just walked out and came back to work.

So I move tomorrow and I don’t have power. Lovely.

I’ll try again this afternoon, once I’ve calmed down and I can get hold of some vodka.

stuck

Hey all.

I’m having bloggers block. And I’m not in the mood to write a diary entry. I need to be a bit more creative. Only, I’m stuck.

So – here is what I would like you lot to do. All three of you still following the blog. Hehe.

Comment below with random words, or blog post suggestions. Give me a theme or give me a word. Give me a color. Give me what ever you have… I’ll see what I can do with it.

Thanking you kindly.

The Woz.

of birthday parties... and a cow

This proved to be a very busy weekend. there was no time for lying on the beach or even catching a quick snooze on the couch. This was birthday weekend.

Saturday morning 9:00am:
My best friend’s daughter turned one! We went up the hill to Hillcrest and found our way to the Animal Farm! What great fun. The boyfriend was excited. He got to milk a cow. In all his 31 years he had never milked a cow? Never. He can cross out that one on his bucket list.

Saturday afternoon 13:30pm:
Lunch with Silla, whose Phantom of the Opera themed 26th birthday party we could not make. So a quick bite and a few drinks later we were able to say we did our best to spend time with her.

Saturday evening 20:00pm:
Laura’s big 3 uh Oh! That was fun. I think. I can not remember. The only reason I even know I was there is because there are photographs. Eish. Well done girl, fantastic party. How am I going to compete with that in March? Eh? Uh? Oh well, I will :)

Sunday afternoon 13:30pm:
My cousins daughters second birthday. That was an event. Nothing scarier than a family gathering. The boyfriend loves it – he gets a lot of attention from the family, but I could do with less. Hehe. You must understand that when my side of our family gets to a larger family gathering – it is always interesting, what with my older sister and brother both gay and my youngest brother a Pastor… I’m sure you can imagine.

Anyway – boring, I know, but my blog – so I don’t care. Here is a pic of my man milking a cow.

what you mean it's NOT summer?

Why do I love living in my hometown, Durban, Sunny South Africa?

Well – that’s not a very difficult one to explain.

While the rest of the country is reeling from the cold and wearing warm fluffy mittens, here in Durban, the middle of Winter and this is the weather forecast for the weekend…

Saturday 13-25°C
Sunny and mild.

Sunday 16-29°C
Sunny and pleasantly warm.

Pleasantly warm :) just the way I like it. I guess I will have to schlep the 1km down the road to the beach and sit in the sun and surf…

again!

egad!

3 strikes AND YOU'RE OUT!

I think strikes should be illegal. Especially when these strikes affect innocent people. Let us have a look at the current fiasco we find ourselves in.

Teachers are striking because they want more money. I get it. They deserve a hell of a lot more, only – a vast majority of them are only substandard teachers. Who suffers? The kids. Children have not been able to get to class because the teachers refuse to be there. I watched on telly this morning as one of the Union members said “we don’t care if we strike for the rest of the year or who is affected” that person should be shot right there and then. Final year students have exams coming up and they cant do anything about it. This morning I read a story about the chaos at Scottburgh High School here in KZN. I shall copy and paste for your easy reference (aren’t I sweet)

“Scottburgh High School had closed last Thursday because of the intimidation accompanying the nationwide public servants' strike. On Wednesday, 107 pupils and four teachers were studying at the local country club when a gang invaded the property, demanding to know what the pupils were doing. Pupil Johan Naude saw two fellow *matrics brutally attacked. "They grabbed two girls by the hair, threw them on the floor and started kicking them. I saw one of the girls hit on the head with a *knobkierie and I was also hit when I tried to help them," he said.”

HEY? WTF? I don’t like this one bit.

Even the nurses and doctors are striking. It has spiraled out of control. They have blockaded hospitals and clinics, refusing sick people entry and the right to medical care! This scares and worries me immensely. Strike if you must – but do NOT deny people their basic rights!

I’m not saying that I’m ready to pack my bags and flee the country because I maintain my love and pride for this place. Only, it is beginning to wane. I suppose all we can do is wait and see…

I think the Government should give them the increases they want. Give it to them. And then, follow it with “But now we are going to have cut departments in half to afford it”

Lets see how quickly they shut up then.

I’m not one to write newsworthy or political blogs – but this has just started to piss me off now.

of time out... that i need

He wanted a little bit of magic,
He needed a ray of sunshine –

He wanted to dance in the rain,

Just to feel alive again.

of my secret crush... who i love and want to marry

Have I ever told you my secret crush? Well, not so secret really. Everyone knows.

Well, now they do.

I think he is lovely. I drool when I see these pics.

sigheth.

Oh - Jonathan Breeze, how I love thee. Come here and spank me.

Please.



ok. I'm embarrassed now. Ignore above.




drool. drool. drool.



hmm. milkshake anyone?

...sigh...

of randomness... because I am

Boi ya ka sha (that’s how I would spell it anyway)


I want to tell you the story of my dear friend who we shall refer to as Nu.

She’s generally very sweet. And she burps. Which is incredibly funny. Especially when we are in a bar, or at Woolies. (The other day she burped inside Tappa’s and someone said “oh my god, are we on the Bluff?)

That was me. hehehe.

Nu is older than me, by I think about 42years? No. Not really. But this post is about age. And most importantly, Nu’s age… She is 42, I am 29.

My dear Nu was telling me just the other evening, while we were sitting outside on the grass drinking Bacardi and coke zero, smoking a joint and eating parmesan, that she wished she had more friends her own age.

“But Nu” I said. “Anything much older than you is dead!”

And we laughed. But not because it was funny. We were high remember?

Anyway – I’m still in a bit of shock after hearing all this. Trade in the younger model for an older model? That’s just absurd. It does not make sense to me. Either way, I’ve devised a plan of action. I’ve come up with a few ideas on how to meet people after 40. (any other suggestions welcome)

Start a book club
Do your shopping on Tuesday’s afternoons. Its pensioner’s day.
Volunteer at TAFTA – drive the bus on Tuesday’s.
Get a “ring” tan. Join a “Divorce Support” group.
Start bird watching.
Start accepting invites to your friends children’s weddings.
Decoupage is the new Pottery class. If you are over 40.


I told Nu that I was disgusted that she would say such things to me.
I’m not straight enough.
I’m not tall enough.
I’m not old enough.

I feel like the kid at the funfair who is not allowed on the rollercoaster because I’m less than 1meter tall (which is just about right).

And we laughed. Because that was funny. And by then we weren’t high anymore. So we smoked another joint and then we were. And we laughed.

I looked up to the moon, which we all know I adore, and it was full, with a milky gold hue around it. I confessed to Nu, that when I was younger, just a wee little Wozzlet, that I really believed there was a man on the moon!

Nu burped and said “when I was younger, there had not even been a man on the moon”

And we laughed. Because that was funny. And we were high.

And then we poured another Bacardi and coke zero. And I went to look for more cheese.



The end.

my thong song

I bought a thong.
I don’t really understand why I bought a thong. But I did.

And I wish I had not.

I was there. I saw them. Lying exposed in the men’s underwear display – thongs. And I thought to myself “everyone deserves the right to feel sexy. Thongs are sexy. Right?”

Wrong.

Very, very, very wrong. You are allowed to feel sexy, and by all means, please do. But not everyone is meant to feel sexy in a thong.

So there I was, in my new HOT RED (yip. Mistake number one) thong – modelling around the bedroom, my very own man hips swaying involuntarily of themselves, trying my utmost best to get my boyfriend in “the mood” when he blurts out “You look like a giant tomato pulling a zap sign at me walking around in that. Destroy it”

Well, I tell you, that’s not all that was destroyed on fatal evening : code named : thong cock up. My poor heart was too. And so I said “dam you! You’ll get this thong stuck in your head!”

And then we both laughed because thong sounds like song. With a lithp.




thank you. that is all.

some early morning C&H

of goldfish and people and their similarities

I’m a manipulator. I am quite proud of this fact. Not in the evil, bitchy way the villains in a soapie are manipulators. More of a “I know how to and so I use it to get my way”

I’ve come to believe that people are very much like goldfish. I have goldfish and I’ve spent a lot of time observing them – goldfish do nothing really. They swim. They eat. They poop. Once a day I feed them. They know now, I’m sure, that every morning at 5am Daddy Wozzel comes through and sprinkles flakes into the tank. Like manna from heaven. Only it’s fishy. I can walk past the tank anytime of the day and tap the lid and what will those little fishies do? They frantically swim to the top in expectation of food.

This is why I think people are like goldfish. I read people well. I know what to say to who, when and how to say it. I bat my eyelids and smile and try put the cutest sweetest face on when dealing with a lady. When I’m dealing with an obviously straight “man’s man” I just as easily put on the more macho “howzit bru” look. I look for the weak spots or soft spots in a person – I learn what persons interests are, what makes them tick, what makes them think. And once I’ve gathered all of that I use it to my own advantage.

So far, so good.

I have a great job. The best office space in the department. I get to do pretty much what I want. I get to take time off when I want, I am asked for my opinion. I’m included in things that others in my department are not. And this is because just like my little fish that get fed a little bit each day – just enough for them not to get greedy – I feed people the information they want. I tell them what they want to hear or what they need to hear, sometimes stuff that they don’t need to hear. I befriend them. I make them number one. And again, just like those goldfish, when I walk past they come swimming to me hoping for more… but they only get what I give them and when I want to give it to them. And in return I get what I want. The truth is, and I don’t want it to sounds terrible, but people are jealous of me at work and I'm seen as someone who always gets his way - yet I’m still the favorite amongst them all, because I know how to handle them.

Only I am the one scoring because I’m the one playing the game and I’m the one keeping count and when I’m the one who wants something or needs something I know exactly where to go and who to speak to – to get it. I have ambition. I have goals. And I'm not scared to step on a few heads or scratch a few backs to reach them.

Yes. Yes. I know. Quite ingenious isn’t it?

cut and blow

I had my hair cut yesterday. I went to a salon I had not been to before, so naturally I was a little hesitant. You see, I have very mean, spiteful hair that refuses to co-operate with anyone, being temperamental and all, I get nervous when someone new cuts it. I’m always a little worried my hair will say something rude or bite them.

One just never knows with obnoxious hair.

So there I was – seated, and this young lady started cutting my hair and chatting away. Next thing I realise she is flirting with me. I’m terrible at reading signs and can never be sure of these things. She said “you have beautiful curls” and so I said “thank you, now cut them off please” and then she said “you’re quite a good looking young man” and I blushed and said “thank you, my boyfriend also thinks so” and then she was like “oh, you’re gay? All the good guys are gay” and I said “well, there was this one time…” and she laughed, and I laughed…

And I only paid R50.00 – for a haircut. In Mount Edgecombe. That’s unheard of.

I was quite pleased to learn I can use my looks to get what I want (and discounted hair cuts) and so immediately started thinking of all the things I could get and how I can use my looks to do so.

Only then the bubble popped and I came back down to earth. I mean really now, 29 years and I’m only realising this now. Clearly I’m mistaken.

Which just made me feel sad. At least I have good hair today.

of packing boxes... which I hate

When my boyfriend and I met I was living with a roommate in a beautiful large Town House. It was my roommate who suggested / invited my boyfriend to move in with us. It was a crazy and intimidating situation considering that the boyfriend and I had only been together for 4 months at the time and the dynamics of all three of us living together was scary. And after much consideration and debate it was decided that he would move in with us and another year later it’s all worked out wonderfully.

Of course people change. And the last year has been one of great change and shift. We have had a few issues here and there. Now and again something crops up and there is a disagreement amongst the three of us. The last two months have been particularly tough. There have been a few more arguments. A few more outbursts. And slowly I started hating home. I did not feel comfortable anymore. I felt like I had no space.

This weekend the boyfriend and I went and looked at a new home. We fell in love with the space. We still have a safe secure inside, lock up parking. We still have our own private garden (this is huge for me) – we are still in the same area, central. Close to the beach. Just outside the city. And I am in my element.

It worked well while it lasted all of us together, and now my boyfriend and I get to start doing things our own way. In our own space. And I think it’s bloody marvellous.

I just hate packing and now I need to get some boxes…




(ps, for those who follow my blog… the new place happens to be the apartment that “the friend” lives in, he is moving… no one can say this was not meant to be, it all just seems to fit together perfectly)