muddle's puddle

Happy Birthday me!

2007-06-04T11:26:00.001+02:00

Welcome to the right side of 30.
No need to fasten your seat belt.
It's a pretty steady ride from here on...
And no jokes allowed about that there last line

It's true too much masturbation is unhealthy

2007-05-22T02:36:00.001+02:00

It has become necessary for me to express my distaste at this cold. I cannot ignore it any further.

Firstly a polar fucking bear has taken up residence underneath my desk, and secondly, there is a penguin nibbling on my right nipple – permanently. It’s just not on. My heater has packed up thanks to Nigel (the ghost in the aircon) getting up to his fucking tricks again. It literally coughed yesterday, let out a huge sigh. And died. No amount of remote control coaxing, pleading nor staring in disbelief is going to get this Panasonic piece of antique shite up and running again. *Sparing a thought: How are the homeless people going to survive this winter?*

Besides all this, getting into bed alllllllllllllooooooooooooonnnnnne at night fucking stinks.
Worse than a bucketful of rotting chicken livers. Honestly. I’m not exaggerating.

What is now exacerbating this here problem is the fact that there is a man. A guy. A boy. A Mr DoodleBits. A member of the opposite sex that talks about grabbing my arse, sucking my tits and engaging in conversation with my vajayjay. It’s the most marvelous thing ever.

Except for one teeny tiny rather signifikant detail. Which I’d very much like to divulge, but I have fear. Fear of the fact that my blog is now no longer anonymous (which blows) and if I was to spill my guts onto this page it would be inevitable that he may get to read it. So I am stuck between a rock and another rock – as evidently, there is no Hard Place.

Feckit. So this means that, whilst I would very much like to verbalize my frustrations at the whole situation and of course get all 3 necessary opinions (I say three because that generally is the amount of faithful readers I have – bless you all), I can’t. I can’t talk to my friends about this either as I don’t think any of them realize the magnitude of my frustrations. Neither do they take me seriously when I publicize the fact that I’ve gone completely Mom’n’Dad.

So instead of ranting about Boy in his Astronaut suit I am going to turn it around and rant about me instead.

Here goes…
Why was I born so obsessive? Why couldn’t I just be normal like everyone else? Why do I have to latch onto something and then think about it non-stop-24-hours-a-day-and-actually-lose-precious-sleep-over-it? Why can’t I just go out and do whatever - whatever whatever is? Why do I have an imagination that can control a morgue full of rotting dead brains? Why do I lie in bed thinking about what/where/when/how/if/why/would/could/can/did/now?
Why can I not just let it go and see what happens? Why do I hit the pause button waiting in anticipation for some form of anything? Why has this affected me like this? Where did hardcore little me go? What if I’m wrong about this?

That’s it right there.
WHAT.IF.I.AM.WRONG.ABOUT.ALL.THIS.BULLSHIT.CRAP.MANURE.SHITE.
Then what? Some may say so it’s not a big deal you’ll get over it. Yes I will……….maybe
But that’s not my worry. The worry is if I’m wrong then I could be wrong again…and again…and again….and again…….which means I might never actually be right. Or worse. It means I don’t have gut instinct.
Oh god. No gut instinct. Can you imagine?

Just a gutless instinctless blob, wandering around, bobbing in the flow (not even with it ‘coz that would require some form of intuition). A globule containing only the four senses (of which my hearing aint that sharp really). No ESP. No inner fecking guide. Not even so much as a hunch.

Fuck off now with this post. It’s a real crappy mad babbling post I know. Apologies. If I was still just Muddle then I’d offload the whole shpiel… I've probably said too much already...Told you I was losing it…

Birthday Hues

2007-05-21T01:20:00.000+02:00

It is exactly two weeks till my birthday.

Feck.
It’s not that ageing freaks me out. Nor is it the fact that the big 30 is like sort of around the corner.On the contrary I don’t mind adding another digit on to the end of my age.

What bothers me is the increase in the need for random things and products that one didn’t need before:

1. Creams containing collagen – thanks to gravity certain body parts are in need of help umm raising their game.
2. Eye gels – to remove black circles and puffiness from under the eyes. When did this happen? When did I pass that mark of no matter how much sleep I get it’s never enough?
3. Cellulite massagers – no need to go into any further explanation
4. Fat pants. This bothers me. Immensely. I mean where did my metabolism emigrate to?
5. Cookbooks. Gone are the days when 2-minute noodles did the trick…
6. Heat pads. This freaks me out. Dancing in a club used to be par for the course – now I worry about how my neck may take it in the morning. C’mon!
7. A good pair of slippers. Once upon a time I had a pair of dragon-feet slippers. They were ridiculous. Gigantic black feet with red talons. Nowadays it’s a simple little slip-on or booty.
8. Did I just use the word booty in a totally non-Beyonce way?
9. Plants. When did keeping these alive become so important? I used to only be interested in one aspect of gardening – grass. Now it’s all sorts of bromelias and sanseverias….
10. Hair loss tablets, shampoos, conditioners, home-made remedies….
11. Echinacea tablets. These have replaced KGB. I cannot leave home without them.
12. Moisturising socks and gloves. My skin it seems has aged past the point of a regular moisturizer doing the trick. Not forgetting about the fact that I have night cream, day cream, extra moisturizing day cream, day cream with SPF, anti-wrinkle serum. The list is endless. Goodbye Nivea. Hello Guinot.
13. Shoes. Granted my fetish for this has not died down in any form. I admit I have a problem when it comes to shoes. And I love my problem. BUT! Gone are the days where I’d don an uncomfortable pair to work in the name of fashion. These days it must be life or death, make or break situations that call for the toe-squishing, heel cutting shoe.

It’s all just a little crazy. Where on earth did my flippant approach to life go? And when did I become sensible and practical? And well…. Boring? When did the need for a bookshelf replace the desire for a disco ball? When did love become more important than sex? YIKES when did taking the pill not become crucial? When did Ellen replace Eddie Murphy?
At what point did I say goodbye to Bubble-Yum and hello mint-flavoured dental floss? Surely this turning point was an event impossible to miss? I couldn’t have just quietly phased into it, I mean there must have been a pinnacle point. A single moment where I realized I was poised between a diamante thong and granny panties?

But nothing in my mind stands out. It just seems like BAM! I have a strelitzia. POOF! I own a casserole dish! SWOOSH! I carry tissues in my bag! And to be honest it’s just a little scary as I can’t help thinking – what will creep up on me next? Will I find myself baking hashless blueberry muffins for my daughters class? Will I find it acceptable to go out with grubby hand marks on my shirts? Or worse!! Will I start wearing a blouse? Will a good investment constitute a good pair of tummy tuck panty hose?

It all makes me want to vomit to be perfectly honest. So I will start to pray now that I am going to be a 45 year old woman who still listens to Snoop, lifts weights, wears a nose ring, shaves her legs and follows European fashion. Please God. Hear my plea. Do not turn me into someone who doesn’t bother with panty lines, pedicures or varicose veins. Keep me hip God.
I beg you. Let me remain in love with Mac and Guerlain and Bobby Brown. Let Marc Jacobs remain a guru in my eyes and Chanel an investment. Keep me away from Queenspark and Jet and MyFamily magazine. Never allow me to buy a one-piece bathing suit or a pair of GreenCross shoes. I implore you God – you may age me and wrinkle me and turn me grey. But please. Do not elasticate my pants.

Say what?

2007-05-18T10:17:00.000+02:00

The other night I had the God awful task of taking my step-mother out for dinner.

She lives in the States and is here visiting her father who has been ill. I don’t particularly care to see her but I know my father would have wanted me to make an effort (especially since she’s the mother of my “babiest” brother). Anyhow I have been calling her and leaving messages for over a week. To no avail.

But I am not going to bitch too much on that as there is so much else I can bitch about so let me not digress.
I went to her parents flat to pick her up for a nice dinner out somewhere, but instead we landed up eating at the little restaurant next door her parents flat as she didn’t want to stray too far “in case”. Uh huh…….

And as for the conversation…
Well we spoke about my father (who’s dead) the entire night. Not kidding. THE ENTIRE NIGHT. Now the thing is my father and I did not have any form of relationship until he got sick. I hated him my whole life which in turn I used as an excuse to be a disgusting teenager, allowing my emotional-cum-man issues to wreck almost everything. However I have emerged as an independent women from this ordeal, a little scarred but wiser nonetheless.

Neewhays when my dad got sick I felt I had no option but to confront my demons, and so I did. And it was the best thing I could have done, as forgiveness is a lot lighter than resentment…. And a hunchback isn’t exactly 2007 is it?

But.

I don’t know my father like she does. She lived with the man for 20 odd years (she was 19 he was 33). He was her lover, her partner, her provider, the father of her child etcetera etcetera etcetera.

But.

He was my father. My blood. And sometimes that counts too… Right?

So back to the conversation….. Dad this Dad that When Dad and I yadda yadda and there I was listening patiently.
Quietly thinking to myself: “ Why yes! I am fine! Thank you for asking. What’s that? My job? Oh yes its lovely I really enjoy it, everyday is a new challenge, great fun, good company. What do I do? Oh well I run an entire fucking warehouse of goods and staff is all. What’s that you say? Men? No there isn’t anyone at all in my life. Under construction as they say. CPM? Oh we ended things over a year ago. Remember I told you? No you don’t…oh must be because you’re a brain-dead selfish git. Hmmmm? My bazooka wound? Oh well funny you should mention it because just the other day I was cleaning the house – yes yes the one you haven’t been to – and the wound just opened up right there and then! I know can you imagine! Gosh bazooka wounds, they just don’t make ‘em like they used to do they?”

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any heavier, she comes out with a statement that shot through me like fire: “You know what luvvy, I have figured out why dad died. It’s because he fulfilled his purpose here on earth. I was so young and dependant on him that I could do nothing for myself. And that’s why he died. He died so that I could realize that I can actually do things on my own – like write a cheque”.

Deathly Silence.
Yes.
That must be it.
My father was savaged by cancer so that you could learn about finances.
That’s why he was born.
Not to father two kids. Not to be a good son. Not even to enjoy life’s pleasures.
No.
He died so that you, you fucking self-centred empty-headed moron, could pay the electricity bill on your own.
Gosh!
He must have loved life having such purpose.

I mean seriously?

But of course, I kept quiet.
Because what’s the point? Why even attempt it.
It was clear from the outset that this conversation wasn’t to share feelings, or memories.
So why bother?
And it was here that I realized that there are times when I literally sew my mouth shut and I really shouldn’t. And times when I bang my gums together and make a big noise, and really I shouldn’t.
So now I have to see her tomorrow for lunch.
And I am thinking……. Anybody got a bazooka handy?

Sit! Roll over! Down!...Swim? Flap?Breathe?

2007-05-07T02:19:00.000+02:00

I bought two goldfish.

In attempt to bring life into my bleak office space.
Plus I think it's time to get over my fear of fish.

They're boring. They just hang around in one spot. I think they're lovers though coz the one doesn't stop tail-gating the other one.

I named them Su and Shi.
It's a warning to them. Just in case the feckers try anything funny.

Come on Alice get down the rabbit hole you bitch!

2007-05-05T00:26:00.000+02:00

Big smelly poo.

I am in a very odd space.

I think maybe this is it..... I'm losing it.....it's finally happened!

Are you trying to kill me?

2007-04-27T00:17:00.000+02:00

I was in a huge fuck off car accident today.

In China. Where no one speaks a word of "engrish".

So when you say "Ow. My shoulder hurts".
They think you've said "Please donate my arm to a Vietnam veteran".

Fugg.

The driving in this place leaves something to be seriously desired. To put it plainly it's the worst fucking driving I've ever seen. Our taxi's back home - luxurious and relaxing drive in comparison.

In fact if we put one of our taxi drivers into one of these puke green cabs - they'll literally shit their pants. It will be the end of our problems let me tell you.

So I have just a few words about what happened this morning:

Car in lane on left of me.
Driver just switches lanes and bangs car.
Hits brakes.
Skids.
Pedestrian on crossing. Hits windscreen.
Car spins out of control. Hits pavement. Car on roof.

I am upside down crawling out of broken passenger window.
Jackie Chan is nowhere in sight to assist.
Neither is a psychotherapist to assist me in my breakdown at seeing someone eat a windshield.

Driver still wants his 60 bucks.

Wena - ek sal jou fokken moer.

So ummmm.... eina. Ow. Ouch.

I think I ate Moses' underpants

2007-04-26T03:26:00.000+02:00

Hello.

I am Muddle’s left kidney.

I am hanging onto her trachea at the moment attempting to climb out of her rotten, intoxicated body so that I may die a slow, painful death.

Cheese and rice. I got plastered last night hey! Like really freaking drunk.
Very quickly – happened to bump into a girl I was in school with and haven’t seen in 12 years (she emigrated) in Hong Kong on the train (dude what are the chances).

Anyhow last night we did dinner and a few drinks. A few too many.
Landed up clubbing with a whole bunch of expats, drinking screwdrivers and dancing on tables. Yikes.

Of course the drunker I got the more insane I became until eventually I stopped talking English and pretended I could only speak Afrikaans (dismal just dismal). The problem was I had already been speaking English to these folks the entire evening so none of them were really convinced. But of course no deterrent for me I just carried on making a complete idiot out of myself. At one stage I was running around with chopsticks up my nose.

At around four in the morning we decided it was home time and I managed to get us a lift with Jo and Roger- two lovely Asian fellows.

Good god were they sorry they ever picked the two of us up!
I was singing Ruiperd at the top of my bloody lungs while J translated the words. Then we put a spin on things by adding in between every verse “Met Jo en fokken Roger hier. Julle twee kan gaan kuk in die mielies want jy verstaan fokall”. God were we outta hand!

These poor blokes were convinced they were coming back to the hotel for some ass when we first got in, but one thing is for sure they were only too pleased to see the back of us! She had to drag me out of the car because I kept kissing their hands saying “Oh dankie julle. Julle twee is so baie pragtig en ek is so baie life vir julle.”

I don’t know what it is with me these days. I get drunk and I just want to praat die taal. And to be honest (in case it isn’t painfully obvious already!) my Afrikaans is appalling.

Woke up this morning feeling like someone had performed a frontal lobotomy on me with a shoe horn. Had to catch a train to China which was just hell. Slept the whole way and of course can’t turn my head to the right now. But shizerhund what a jol!

Houston.....help........

2007-04-24T02:29:00.000+02:00

Oh cripes.

Oh shizer.

Oh lord.

Oh feck.

Oh no.

Oh hell.

Oh bloody bugger.

I have fallen for a kangaroo.
Yes. I am in love with a Sheila.
Ok well ex SAFA but still.
I am in love with an Australian God of Portuguese loins.

Fugg. It’s always the bloody continentals that get me.
But really. Shit.Fuck.

I want to eat his piri-piri cock…. I MEAN CHICKEN!!!!!!!

I want to give birth to his dark skinned blue-eyed babies….I want to be pregnant with his children for the rest of my life…

Aaagh no…
How bloody inconvenient this is….

Please Gwen - make me a Hirojuku girl!?

2007-04-22T06:21:00.000+02:00

No really.

This is what I want out of life. And my reasons are solid albeit superficial.

1. Asian girls do not have cellulite.
2. They have really great hair (really really really really great)
3. They don’t bother with laser hair removal and waxing etc etc as they have no body hair – it’s all on their heads (where it should be)
4. They all have great calves (we’re talking about the kind of muscle that could kickstart tractors. Solid ass shit.)
5. They’re petite. The real sort of petite not the anorexic trying hard to be kind.
6. They do not have to worry about their boobs being too small or too big as they are all, mostly equally flat chested.

Other things of minimal interest:

It has been a year (today) since CPM and I split up. I am not sure if life is better, worse or actually unaffected since The Breakup.
One thing rings true it’s time for a shag. Ok won’t push things, a random snog would be just fine.
I dreamed of the ex-Eyebrow plucker last night. It was hectic. I’m having very fucked up dreams lately. This one was particularly unwelcome. Yeeeeesh.
My career is taking off. I have my dream job and I didn’t even realize this. It’s brilliant.
I am busy acquiring a big fuck off HOUSE for me and the dogs.
I miss my dogs. Terribly.
I am probably going to use the Gautrain when it’s ready. Yes I will be cleaning my hands every 30 seconds but it beats drunk driving.
I need to write another family blog. There are things I need to get off my chest (which is huge by asian standards)

Did I mention that it’s been a year since CPM left? Good god. A whole year huh? 365 and a quarter days. Hmph time really does fly.

Shoes.And bags.And shoes and shoes. And bags.

2007-04-19T06:35:00.000+02:00

This is the best goddamn place on earth!
I am never coming home. Like ever.

Today i walked through this shopping centre and to my delight, in no particular order of importance because how can you rate such marvels:

Vivienne Westwood
Marc Jacobs
Prada
Chanel
Gucci
Armani
Versace
BCBG (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Chloe
Miu Miu

A.L.L.U.N.D.E.R.O.N.E.R.O.O.F.

You know you're in heaven when you are faced with such beauty.

Besides this my fear of crowds is being severely challenged but am coping. Had to dash out and buy baby wipes as the alcohol based hand cleanser just wasnt doing it for me (particularly on the subway - eeeeeeuw).I am in total awe of the people walking around with masks on. Truly amazes me. That's taking a germ phobia to a whole new level.

I have managed to convince my boss that our company needs property here. He is looking into it tomorrow. Fuck. When you're good. You're just good.

In other news, the chocolate colons seem to be complimentary as they keep the stash fully stacked. However it is cheaper to throw a party for 15 back in SA than it is to buy pizza in HK. So chocolate colons it is.

Have not found any sex shops as yet but am most certainly on the lookout. Did however see a strange thing - a beggar with no legs threw himself out of his wheelchair (which he discreetly hid btw two phonebooths) onto the pavement, and proceeded to leopard crawl around asking people for money. The problem is with all the crowds he did get rather trod on (trodden? trodden on?). Some of you reading this may call me ill for reporting on such a fact but I on the other hand found this bizarre to the point of humour.

Ok then there is just one other issue I'd like to address. The fish biltong? This is disgusting. There are shops selling smelly dried fish. It's everywhere. And you can buy these seafood kebabs which sound a lot more yummy than they are. I'm talking a full blown baby squid on a stick. Head, legs, suckers and all. SSSSSSSSSIIIIIFFFFFF.

Did I mention that they have a Vivienne Westwood store here?

I heart Hong Kong.

Sumo wrestlers, Hong Kong and nasal hairs

2007-04-18T02:06:00.000+02:00

I could tell you about the plane ride and how I was situated next to a woman with a severe cold, so the sniffing was continous, however she did not smell of garlic – total saving grace. She did have the longest nostril hairs I have EVER seen and how they stuck out of her nose at 90 degree angles but really that is just pukey so let’s not go into it.
I must however write about the sumo wrestler that took up 3 seats in economy class! I shit you not there was a sumo wrestler on the plane! It was worrying. I kept thinking “Motherfucker if this plane goes down I am sooooooo holding onto your little ponytail so that you break my fall”. Seriously the guy ate every 30 minutes. This dude sitting in front of him (assuming the coach) kept giving him these ice cream tub sized tupperwares and he just tipped it in there! Was wondering how he was going to pee though? I mean there was no ways that that guy could fit into them cubicles??? I reckon he stands at the door and aims! Poor dude was sweating like a beast!

Anywhoosibees landed, cellphone not working as Vodacom promised it would be. Found and got on Airport Express train. Ja – EXPRESS my fucking butthole. I mean if you know where you’re going I am sure the darn thing is faster than the roadrunner on ephedrine. I however, did not. And this particular train only stopped at 3 stations – none of them where I wanted to be. Naturally.
So I decided on a plan of action:
Get off at Hong Kong Station and transfer to the red line which takes you to Tsim Sha Tsui. Uh huh.
DUDE!!!! It’s 8:30 in the morning. I swear half the world’s population was in that subway and there I am, this arse with a big suitcase getting in everyones way! By the grace of chop suey I found the train after walking Comrades with a suitcase, a laptop bag and an oversized travel tote (uber chic, but I suppose not the point). Got on and arrived in Tsim Sha Tsui. Follwed the exit signs to platform L3….and followed….and followed….and followed……and dropped 4 kilo’s getting there….and have Madonna arms……..aged a year….and finally came out into the sunshine only to find I was nowhere near where I wanted to be!
Caught a fecking cab.

Taxi driver chatted to me the whole way. All 3 minutes of the drive. Didn't understand much except for something about taking the express instead of a taxi. Go shove it up your arse.

Hotel. Get room key. Laptop on table.Start up. Battery flat. Shuts off. Plug converter. Wrong plugs. Curse lady at CNA. A lot. Find plug in room. Make makeshift plug converter. Breathe sigh of relief. Laptop on. Put 3G card in. But data card doesn’t want to shake hands with error 619 - WTF??. BY THE GRACE OF BUDDHA IN A LILY POND IS THIS A SICK JOKE? I am technologically retarded in the very hub of daily technological rebirth!

So back downstairs to lobby and Hirojuku girls behind desk. I buy a wireless pay as you go card thingy for *cough* $220 HK. It’s supposed to last 24 hours. According to this thing I have already used 8 hours. I haven’t been in the country for 8 fucking hours.

Joy.

Will have to get on the train again tonight. Am going to pretend I'm back in 'Nam. Charlie....everywhere....trust no one.

P.S.the shoes here are fucking incredible! It was a wise decision to leave the credit card behind.

P.P.S. hotel room is a dive. This means no poo’ing for 7 days.Ouch.
P.P.P.S Saw hot Asian boy on motorcycle….had daydream about holiday romance….me on the back of moped…..laughing…head thrown back……scarf blowing in the wind….black dress with white polka dots (have no idea why?)…and then taxi driver picked his nose and it was over in a flash…..
P.P.P.P.S Asian chicks are hot
P.P.P.P.P.S arrived at room hungrier than Nicole Richie at midnight. Found biscuits in room called Collon (Colon???Eeeuw that’s gross) – chocolate flavoured. The Chinese on the box translates into egg rolls. Chocolate flavoured colon egg rolls…. Y.i.k.e.s.

It can't be Tuesday? It feels so much like Monday..

2007-04-03T10:07:00.000+02:00

For some or another reason I am feeling a little bent out of shape this fine morning.

This can only be attributed to the following:
•There is a moron, that is contracted to work within my offices who drives me to the brink of rabid madness. This man is the link that comes before the missing link. I cannot fire him because he doesn’t technically work for me, and I hate him. I am not over-exaggerating. I.H.A.T.E.H.I.M.
•The new girl who has started working for me is odd. Purpley-black hair cut in a strange circular long but also short vibe kind of odd. She is drinking 3 sisters tea that is supposed to make her pretty (wtf?).Obsessed with Egyptian whatever, incense sticks in the office that smell a little like mothballs and base that is three shades lighter than her skin, which makes her look like she’s dead.
•Life, generally has become a little boring. I don’t seem to be getting into as much trouble as I used to. This can only mean one thing… I am getting old. Which sucks balls the size of elephant testicles.
•I am leaving for Hong Kong in exactly two weeks and the pile of work I have before I go is mammoth. Now it would be easy enough to get through it if my staff would stop coming into my office every 20 minutes to ask me if I could please explain to them how they should wipe their arses.
•The beast within is awakening. It must have something to do with winter. I must get action. In any form. It need not be sex. But contact with the opposite sex is now necessary for my survival. It has been almost 4 months. Need I say more?
•It looks like I have to drive to Nelspruit today. Can you not just vomit all over your Donna Karan Cashmere sweater?
•I have been asked on my first blind date. Nerve-wracking. And unbelievable that it has got to this point - I am no longer hot enough to be randomly picked up in a club. No. My mother’s best friend has taken it upon herself to set me up. Yup. That was the sound of me gooi’ing finger. More on this at a later stage.
•My eating habits these days resemble that of a hyena, preying on anything and everything. Can you say Irritable Bowel Syndrome?

So in summary… I think I should go to Cape Town this weekend, drink mojitos and perhaps find somebody willing to fondle my breasts. Or my big toe. Whatever.

Oh Brother.

2007-04-02T09:19:00.000+02:00

So there’s a lot of crap going on at the moment. Literally – crap.
Realistically speaking 97% of all this is work and more work, which I simply don’t feel like talking about.
Because it’s boring – except for the fact that I accidentally sent an email to a client in which I called him and I quote “a worthless wad of camel shit”. Yes, I did this. Yes I should have been fired. But luckily I wasn’t. It really was an unfortunate mishap. Sort of like Janet’s wardrobe malfunction.

The other 3% can be broken down as follows:
1.9% has a lot to do with channel 69 on DSTV – the crime channel. I am addicted. I fall asleep watching grotesque stories of gay relationships ending in murder and cannibalism, sausage kings shooting meat inspectors, men killing their mothers and wives and then climbing bell towers to shoot innocent people, and teenage boys murdering teenage girls with golf clubs and then climbing trees to masturbate and cry about it. It seems I have fallen ill. Mentally that is. Granted I do fancy myself as the female brunette version of Horatio Cane without the completely meaningless not to mention verbose over-kill statements. But still. Is it ok this fascination with death and psychos? I mean heaven help the pope if I see that there’s something about serial killers on. I just don’t think it’s all that normal.
0.23% involves my dogs. I am completely fascinated that they can lick their own genitals. I am sure there are many people who have verbalized this before, but they’re just doing it to be funny. I have actually put a little time into this, and truly I am just blown away by the whole notion that God gave this ability to dogs and cats only. He’s a smart guy that God dontcha think? I mean imagine we could actually lick our own va-jayjays and gogo’s? We’d probably have world peace. Mind-blowing.
0.06% is spent contemplating how come I am not good at drawing. I always wanted to be good at something arty. I’m pretty envious of people who are able to just draw from their mind. Me, I’m good at apple peeling. And even that I’m not that great at. I only peeled an apple in one go this one time. Not at bandcamp because I can’t play any instruments. Although that would have been a nice talent to have too….
0.57% I wonder if Mozart was actually poisoned by Antonio Salieri, and did Pandora realize how much controversy her box would cause?
0.18% I greedily ruminate over Nike’s creative genius. They have actually managed to sell people 100% polyester – a fashion faux pas, if ever there was one committed, treated with a non-lasting chemical coating that they cleverly coined as “dry-fit”. Basically it distributes your sweat evenly throughout the fabric, giving the illusion that you’re not actually sweating that much and in one area. May heaven help you if you find yourself in a wind tunnel at this point as hypothermia is an almost guarantee. Virtuoso.
0.02% of the time I debate whether or not a new vibrator will actually seem like a stranger, thereby heightening and improving the solo experience that these days has become so boring.
0.04% I try to convince my self that laser therapy on my bikini line will not be THAT sore and I should just do it. Although I know for a fact that it will be a similar experience to having a needle shoved directly into my cornea…

Brief overview without spilling everyone’s beans:

Went to the blog awards on Friday night. One word. Hilarious.
Peas is a little legend and everything you’d expect. The chick is comedy in heels and was truly wearing a yellow bra!
Ant is gorgeous. And I wanted to steal her shoes. Hmm…Wonder how that would’ve gone down…..
Jam is just the sweetest thing ever. No really – she is. Hands down.
Champers is a little dangerous behind a lens but very clearly a passionate and intelligent gal!
Peteypie is friggin hysterical. The dude’s laugh is contagious – you’re just gorgeous! And I like the Spy hardhat!
Chewy left before I plucked up the courage to go and meet everyone so can’t really say much ‘bout him except ladies he’s quite a babe.

And that’s all folks!

Who needs mates when your best friend will one day be a walking stick?

2007-03-20T11:52:00.000+02:00

I had a panic attack last night.

All because of a lady who had snot hanging out of her nose.
Really. I’m not making jokes. She had snot literally sticking out of her nose at a 45 degree angle. Muzz reckons it was tissue. I don’t care what it was. It turned my stomach.

It just so happens we were stuck in a very teeny room with a lot of old people last night.
Old people are nice, except they make me cotch.
So there I was stuck in a corner behind the Hummer and Darth Vader. The Hummer did this exactly – hummed and whispered to himself consistently, and Darth Vader well it speaks volumes doesn’t it? These two had me pinned against a light switch and a sideboard. I didn’t have enough space to bend down, pick up my bag and run out in terror.
Then old Snot Face was standing behind Muzz, whom of course was trying his damndest not to laugh, whilst my gag reflex was in overdrive. Repugnant.

To top it all off, standing at the door was Mucus Man. Naturally as far as I’m concerned when in a crowd of people, there is always one, displaying their revolting germs to the group. He was it. Firstly the nose was running faster than Carl Lewis in the 100m dash at the 1984 Olympics. Secondly he was breathing through his mouth because his nose was more blocked than a Rubic’s cube. Spluttering and gasping away, allowing his heinous disease to enter and take over the universe.

And I wasn’t exactly in the best mood either. I ran out of their as soon as the gap presented itself and swallowed gargantuan gulps of polluted air outside in order to keep myself conscious. It’s a sad state of affairs when you’re running away from decrepid geriatrics.

In other news, my very good friend is going to a wedding with the Hulk. The same wedding I am going to (dateless but not the point in this scenario). So my oldest friend is going with the man I’m obsessed with to a wedding. Isn’t that just darling of her?

Human Nature. I love it. People are great. Loyalty is alive and well on earth.

Britney may have a point...

2007-03-15T08:55:00.000+02:00

I hate going to the hairdresser.

Germs germs germs.

That’s all I can see when I walk in, which is why I never ever go.
But I am going. On Saturday. I’m dreading it.
But it is necessary. I have avoided it for around 2 years now and my hair looks like the House Wren’s nest. Messy, to say the least.

It so happens that the hairdresser I usually go to, and have developed some sense of comfort with, is on maternity leave which sucks more than an industrial vacuum. So I am having to try out a new place down the road. All the girls there have purple and black hair. They all wear nail polish named Vixen and eye shadow that’s probably called something like Savage Kiss. So pretty much the norm when it comes to 21st century hairdressers. I’m down with that.

It’s just the concept I can’t get past. Anyone who is everyone can just walk right in there with their dandruff or lice infested skull and get a wash or a cut and blow wave (blow wave – isn’t that just such a silly name for a hair dry?)

So these anybodies can sit their filthy bums down in the chair and have their diseased head washed in the basin, just before I have to sit there and have my hair washed. Yukk.
I am going to go their with my own washed head from home.
Especially since I reckon most people don’t bother to scrub the back of their necks in the shower every day. And those basins have that offensive dip in them where you have to lie (comfortably…seriously?) whilst some stranger washes your hair with their very intruding unknown hands. And then they comb your hair with that very public comb that has been used on approximately 2000 people prior to it touching your skull, thereafter wrapping your head in a disgusting hair-dye stained towel that gets washed in a normal washing machine as opposed to at 100 degrees where germs wouldn’t survive.

Then the loathsome comb of course makes its appearance again once your butt is in the chair, but this time he’s coupled with his sleazeball friend – the scissors. Oh god. My skin crawls. And I have, just vomited into my mouth.
Even though they leave that thing in the antiseptic plunger jar thingey, it isn’t the point. The point is that it’s just so unbelievably public. It’s job is to cut off other peoples dead hair. Thousands and thousands of others. G-r-o-s-s.

Eeeeeeuw. Then it’s all on the floor mixed together in repugnant little clumps and it sits there until the sweeper comes. Oh! And that broom! Can you just imagine what the hell is going on inside the bristles of that thing? Remember Roald Dahl’s “The Twits” ? Yup Mr Twits beard? Oh my god I’m hemorrhaging from disgust.

Shit.

And I would attempt to cut my own hair but I’ve tried in the past and really balls’ed it up.
However, Bianca the neo-Goth who is putting blade to hair, better not look at me sideways when I walk in there with dripping wet hair, a comb and a brush. Otherwise she is going to have to deal with someone who gags every other minute, and whom, unable to take such affliction, dies in the chair from an anxiety attack.

Oy.

Bye Uncle Teddy

2007-03-14T09:16:00.000+02:00

My uncle died yesterday.

My poor grandmother of late-80-something (we aren't exactly sure when she was born)has had to bury her husband, and now both her sons.
It's awful.
But I know what my uncle would say - "So...That's it".
Guess he's right. That is it. Nothing one can do about it.

Uncle Ted I think you were the only one who ever understood what was going on inside me when it came to our family. I will miss our talks about the conspiracies of the world, religion and the Free Masons.

I wish you well on your journey and am comforted knowing you and dad are both watching over me.

So...That's it.

Anybody in there?

2007-03-13T07:05:00.000+02:00

I can't blog these days.
I don't know why.

I have so much to blog about...

Like the fact that according to a reliable source, I am apparently not dateable.....
or....
That Kinks has a boyfriend - which is both marvellous but also fucking terrifying..
or....
That I used to drink Lecol green juice until I puked green, when I was little....
or....
That I had to endure "mass digestion" amongst the geriatrics on Friday evening....
or....
That people in general are just unbelievably odd, but the ones you love are just unbelievably fucked up...
or....
That I am considering getting a catheter put in for my trip to Hong Kong in April...
or....
That I sobbed so much in the finale of "So You Think You Can Dance" that a piece of my lung exited my body through my right eye's tear duct...
or....
That I love Woolworths so much....really...just sooooo soooo much....
or....
That my brother and Si the Clown know about my blog...
or....
That I think I've become too sensible.....Too much of anything is not a good thing...
or....
That I've written about six blogs on some of the above and they're all just so blah..

It's just so obvious. I am in desperate need for a haircut.

Sliding in Sideways

2007-03-05T06:09:00.000+02:00

I don’t know what month it is or what day.
I don’t know when my last meal was, or if I’ve had any pornographic dreams in the last I don’t know how long.
I don’t know if my house still looks pretty in the daylight, or if my tv is in working condition.
I don’t know if the fridge still keeps things fresh – come to think of it I don’t know if there is anything in my fridge.
I don’t know if my dogs remember me. I’m not actually sure if they still live at home.
I don’t know when I last pee’d or painted my toenails.

I do know that as of this minute, I am vrot.
I have worked every day for the last I don’t know how long from 6am until sometime past 8/9pm. This includes Saturday and Sunday.
It is complete and utter vomit.

Life is chaotic and sooooo not fun. There has been no play. Not with someone else and not with myself.
On Saturday night I was forced to stay in (as all two of my jolling partners had other plans – Kinks has found herself a potential mate but this is a blog for another time when I am feeling stronger and less emotional). So Saturday night I collapsed on the bed after a full day at the office. Apparently Forrest Gump was showing, and I had already mentioned to Si the Clown that this is what I would be masturbating over. Save your judgement for someone who’s breathing.

Bulls balls. I never even got to see Forrest run with his little wobbly legs.
Coma. Only word that describes my state, approximately 12 minutes after hitting the pillow.

I am hotter than a Texan Horned Lizard right now and I cannot understand why. The vunge has not seen action since I don’t know when. Normally it is after not having sex for a while and then having it that this happens….. I have passed the stage it seems. I have entered into a whole new realm of desperate that I am bordering on self-molestation. It is an awful experience. I have fantasised about The Orangutang, The Hulk, The Crier, The One So Bad He’s Not Worth Nicknaming, The Paramedic, every nameless man I know, men who blog, men in adverts…it is out of control. The worst part is that there is never time to do this before I flatline at night. It occurs at the most inconvenient of times – during that first cuppa in the morn, Sunday poo’s, whilst trying to rid myself of the insane calf spasm that continously attacks at 3am every morning. Awful timing…bloody awful.

I need a life and would appreciate all advice on how and where to find one. I would also like to OG someone. I had to use it somewhere Kinks. This is my new word for have sex with no meaning at all, attempting to register it on UrbanDictionary

Other than that and before my eyelids lock down like the Bellagio vault – sayanora.

Does this look like my happy face?

2007-02-01T10:28:00.000+02:00

Where do I begin to explain why I am about to walk into Nedbank with a bomb strapped to my bosom.

Let’s see, perhaps I should begin with the fact that I haven’t been able to hold a fifty-fucking rond note in my grubby little hands for the last four weeks?
It’s a long story but a good one so bear with me.

Part one: Scene One
There I was at the ATM with my Nedbank card poised, ready to insert and draw off the fruits it keeps hidden behind it’s black and green face. Fingers twitching with excitement I put in my PIN number, selected the account and watched the machine blink and wink at me whilst he counted my money in his secret little room back there before handing it over for me to spend.
But no money spewed out of it. And neither did my card. Instead I got yelled at in green and yellow “CARD RETAINED” and then it ejected a white receipt that stated “Card Expired”. Crap.
Get back to office. Phone Nedbank tollfree number.Lady answers (I wish I could remember this crustaceans name):

Part One: Scene two
Crabby lady: Nedbank tollfree blah blah blah, how can I help you?
Me: Hi. I’ve just had my cards retained at the ATM due to them being expired. But it says they only expire 01/07 – doesn’t this mean they expire end January?
Crabby Lady: M’am that’s not possible – our machines don’t retain cards because they’ve expired.
Me: Are you calling me a liar?
Crabby Lady: Yes m’am.
Me: I beg your pardon?
Crabby Lady: M’am our machines…
Me [INTERRUPTING]: I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME. WHAT’S YOUR FAX NUMBER PLEASE? *all said in highly agitated tone at being called a liar*
[Crabby Lady gives fax number]
Me: Are you near your fax machine right this minute?
Crabby Lady: Yes
[Me faxes piece of retarded paper that clearly states in black and white CARD EXPIRED]
Me: Received my fax?
Crabby Lady: Yes M’am
Me: Am I still a liar?

Part two: Scene one
Crabby Lady: M’am would you like us to order you new cards?
Me: You did that in December already
CL: No m’am we haven’t.
Me: THEN WHY DID I HAVE TO RESPOND YES TO THE SMS YOU SENT ME ASKING ME IF YOU SHOULD ORDER NEW CARDS FOR ME BECAUSE THEY WERE ABOUT TO EXPIRE????????? *slightly raised voice*
CL: I don’t now M’am
Me [picking up my eyeball that has popped out from frustration and putting it back in it’s socket]: Yes. Please go ahead and order me new cards. When will I receive them?
CL: At the end of this month M’am
Me: And what do you suggest I do for cash between now and then?
CL: I don’t know M’am
Me: So when you answered the phone and asked “how can you help me?”, you were actually just making a fucking joke? *click*

It is necessary to add in that in the time that has passed my account has been frozen, thawed and frozen again. It is inaccesible to me, robbers, negotiators, kidnappers etc etc.This all links back to my ID book and the fact that Nedbank has misplaced the by now 5million 4hundred and 75 copies they have made since I was 16 and had my own ID book. I have had to go in there twice. If I go into this side of it I will have heart failure and die on my laptop. Interesting tidbit: it takes approximately 5 minutes to freeze and account, yet 5 WORKING DAYS to unfreeze it

Yesterday, cellphone beeps. Message: Your new Nedbank cards are ready for collection. Please bring your green ID book and a utility bill.

Part three: Scene one
Girl at Nedbank: Nedbank blah blah blah
Me: Hi! {upbeat} I am coming in to collect my new cards today, and I just wanted to know something please – my ID book is with BMW because they are using it to register my car, am I then able to use my driver’s license as idenitifcation?
Girl: Account number please M’am?
Me: ###-###-###
Girl: Yes M’am that won’t be a problem we have a copy of your ID.
Me: Thank you so so so much.
*click*

Part three: scene two
[Me walking into bank. Bounce in step.Walks up to information desk.]

Lady behind desk: Hi M’am, how can I help you?
Me: Hi. I’m here to collect my new cards [pulling out utility bill and drivers license]
Lady behind desk: Hau. No M’am we need your ID book.
Me [smiling through slightly clenched teeth]: No. You don’t. The lady told me my driver’s is fine because you have a copy of my ID book.
Lady behind desk: No – we haven’t got it.
Me: What did you do with it? It was here this morning. Does someone in this bank have a fetish for eating these?
Lady behind desk: No you are not FICA compliant?
[Room spinning – help]
Me: Why not? When I had to become FICA compliant I brought you my ID book which you made yet ANOTHER copy of as well as my insurance policies, because I was not living on my own then.
Lady behind desk: No m’am
Me: Please {desperate} just call a manager before I lose it and stick my stiletto heel in your eyeball.
{Lady behind desk waddles off in panic. Returns with smiling manager}

Part three: Scene three
Smiling manager: Hi M’am – what seems to be the problem?
Me: THE PROBLEM IS YOU ARE SMILING AT ME? WHY ARE YOU SMILING AT ME? I DON’T SEE ANYTHING FUNNY ABOUT THIS SITUATION AND I HAVE NOTHING TO BE HAPPY ABOUT. STOP SMILING AT ME.
Not smiling any more manager: *Mouth hanging open like dying fish*
Me: You have my money. It’s mine. I work hard for it. It belongs to me. Three and a half weeks ago your machine STOLE my bank cards because it had expired…
Smiling again Manager [interrupts]: *little laugh escapes lips* No M’am our machines don’t retain cards because they have expired
Me: “No M’am our machines don’t retain cards because they have expired” {said in mimic’ing voice one would use when repeating what someone else is saying in order to mock that person}. WHAT? WHAT? *removes slip from purse points to little black and white wording at the bottom* WHAT DOES THAT SAY? THERE! THERE! THERE! READ IT. READ IT SO EVERBODY AROUND US CAN HEAR YOU SAY IT.THERE. READ IT.
Not smiling again Manager: Oh.
Me [screaming]: OH? AS IN THE LETTER O? IS THAT ALL YOU’RE GOING TO SAY TO ME? O???
I-WANT-MY-M-O-N-E-Y.
Not smiling Manager: I understand M’am but you have to be FICA complaint..
Me [deep breaths in]: OH!!!! OKAY!!! You understand??? Shew well, that’s a great relief. So seeing as you understand, are you you going to go to the ATM and draw out the cash I need to pay my domestic worker?
Pale faced Manager: No M’am I am afraid I am not going to do that…
Me: Ok….then you don’t understand. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND AT ALL WHAT IT’S LIKE TO NOT BE ABLE TO TOUCH YOUR OWN MONEY FOR FOUR WEEKS WHILST YOU TAKE THIS SUNDRY AND THAT SUNDRY OFF IT AND IT GAINS ABOUT TWO-MEASLY-FUCKING-CENTS WORTH OF INTEREST.
[Breathes deeply. Closes eyes. Pictures happy place. Happy place is under invasion by women wearing green polyester crepe]
OKKKKAAAAAAAAAY….. Right, between when you made a copy of my ID and my insurance policies right? Between then and now – how did I become un-FICA compliant? Perhaps I should go to Home Affairs and apply for a new ID book that you can keep in your little drawer, and then that way when you need a copy of my ID you can just reach in there and pull it out? Unless of course the person who eats the copies of ID’s prefers the real thing? If that’s the case…IF THAT’S THE CASE WELL THEN I GUESS WE’RE ALL SCREWED AREN’T WE?
Pale faced Manager: Ma’am what we’ll do is we’ll give you a temporary ATM card that you can use until we’ve sorted this all out for you. Please follow me.

Part three: Scene four
[Manager and me are standing at ATM machine. Card is again poised with a mixture of fear, resentment and anticipation. Card goes in. Machine beeps. Vomits out white paper. No money. Me walks away before Manager has a chance to get me to go back into the bank and reauthorise the card, and before another precious hair from my overheated head fell out. Straight into FNB]

I am not a bad person. Why are you treating me like this? WHY??All I want is my money for fucks sakes. All I wasn’t is to hold at this point a mere ten-rond note, that came out of my account number, in my hands. I don’t think it’s a lot to ask? Why are you doing this to me? I don’t owe you money. In fact I have paid you so much interest and bank charges over I dunno what,the 25 odd years that I have been a client? A loyal non-complaining client, which if we calculated all the years of highway fucking bank robbery, you probably owe me money. For Gods sakes how pathetic an establishment can you be? I’ll have you know I have owned my home for over a year now. Do you know that I am still waiting for you to come back to me on what home loan you’ll grant me? FNB, Absa and Standard all came back to me within 3 days of my application? And I haven’t ever paid them a fudging cent!! So that’s it. I am but so done with Nedwank. I am moving to FNB. I walked in there and all they want from me is MY DRIVER’S LICENSE OR ID BOOK, a utility bill LESS THAN 3 MONTHS OLD, and my last pay slip.

As a result of today’s events, I have 200 000 less hairs on my head, I have a ruptured spleen, my eyeball now refuses to stay in it’s socket, I have developed a twitch in my neck from sheer agitation, my emotional state is nothing short of wrecked, my arm pits are sweaty, my maid is unpaid, my wallet is anorexic….My phone has just beeped.
Message reads as follows:
Need cash? You are invited to come into any Nedbank branch and apply for a personal loan of up to R100,000!For queries or to unsubscribe, call 0860 103 582.

FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
Now they are actually taunting me?????? Need cash my fucking left stinky stock!
Please – just get on your knees and kiss me where I fucking poo you.

Up and at 'em tiger

2007-02-01T09:31:00.000+02:00

In a bid to make myself feel better, I have taken the following measurements and precautions:

1. I have packed away all of my fat clothes. I considered giving the puppy the key to swallow but realised the stupidity in that.
2. I bought a new make up organiser (Woolies – they’re quite super) and have re-arranged my make up into sections: face, eyes, lips, brushes.
3. I booked my waxing and laser appointments for the entire year. I am hoping to never walk out the house without my Brazilian. Yes of course there’s the in btw stage which presents a problem. I am still trying to find a solution to that one. I won’t be doing it myself
4. I found and ate a picture of CPM and myself. I think I symbolically need to crap this out of my system. PS it wasn’t a photo as much as it was a drawing from one of those machines – you know the kind? Just so no one thinks I ate an actual picture
5. I changed the bed linen. I don’t know why I did this. My maid is going to think I’m mad ‘coz she just changed it but I did it anyhow.
6. I seriously considered chopping all my hair off and going drastically red. The contemplation lasted about 4 minutes. That’s how long it took for me to picture my face as doubling in size, and the romance of red hair to disappear as my black locks will never go red but more that scaly kind of peroxide orange.
7. I took my new car for a spin….a real spin….200km/h on the Ben Schoeman
8. I had a dance-athon in the kitchen last night whilst making dinner. I now have an official routine for 3 songs out of the 480 odd on my Ipod. I am debating whether or not to unleash them at some place like the Maneater on the weekend…
9. I have stopped watching Love Actually. It is in the linen closet. Way at the back beneath the duvet covers, next to The Notebook.
10. I was brief with CPM at gym last night. This was stupid and doubly immature…..but it made me feel better so shove it.
11. In a bid to get my hair to stop from thinning and falling out (this can be soul destroying) I am listening to my granny (yes the same granny who always warns me not to swim in the sea with my period, like I swim in the sea in any case). She says swallow a teaspoon of jelly powder every day, so I am.
12. I taught the puppy to fetch. Next on my list, how to not pee all over someone in excitement
13. I arranged all my vitamins by jar size. I have no idea why this made me feel as good as it did to be honest.
14. I bought a cancer bandanna from P’n’P
15. I also bought vanilla essence. I figured every woman should have this in her kitchen cupboard regardless of whether she can cook/bake.
16. I put nipple cream on my nipples. I haven’t done this in long. Felt good hey.
17. I surfed the net looking for flights to the Cayman Islands. Once I found the cheapest flight I saved the page. Then I looked for hotels there, and when I found one I liked I saved the reservation page. Then I looked for images of the islands on Google, browsed through them, and had a good holiday there all in all. Even had a summer romance with the bell boy at the hotel I stayed at.
18. I wore open toe sandals without bothering to paint my toenails. And I didn’t give a fuck.
19. I deleted all the names and numbers in my phone that I don’t care enough about to remember or recognise. I also deleted all the sms’ I had from The Hulk. I felt shit after that one, but I’m thinking in a day or two I won’t give a shit.
20. I plucked my eyebrows. God those things are no joke. I inherited them from my father. They are thick and jet black and they dominate my entire face. If I left them, they’d grow into the Amazon and yes I’d have a monobrow that could be entered in the Guiness World records. Yummm…attractive…..
21. I found my third tattoo, a little picture of a buddha. I am having it done on either my ankle or my foot.
22. I am now drinking Holotropic Green Tea instead of coffee. It’s gross but again here I am hoping it will make me feel better in a day/week or two.
23. I paid extra money towards my bond and my credit card. This made me feel like vomiting. But then I thought about the R12 interest I had saved myself, and I actually vomited. So the precaution here – don’t do that again. It’s silly.
24. I made everyone at the office call me Rose for the day. What? I think it’s a pretty name and I felt pretty being called it….
25. I re-read Female Ejaculation and the G-spot by Deborah Sundahl. Did all the exercises too. Felt great after that. What a super book.
26. Categorised my lingerie into: Hermit, Super Sexy and Slut. I think I may need to shop in the Slut department a little. Get something red….
27. I sterilized my spare nose ring. Didn’t particularly feel anything after that but I’m sure in the long run it might do some good….

Hopefully all this will kick in soon. If it doesn’t I may have to put drastic measures in place….

Oh My God there’s a huge knife in your back!?

2007-01-29T09:46:00.000+02:00

Yes.
I know.
I put it there myself.

CPM has met someone. And I am finished.
And my reasons are just so mature I have shocked even myself.
I am actually upset because I feel he shouldn’t get to be happy first.
It should be me. And it should be him hearing about it.
Why?
Because. Because for fucks sakes he deserves to be happy, really he does. But only after I am. Because it was me who gave and gave and gave. I compromised and I sacrificed, and when I couldn’t anymore the whole relationship fell to pieces. So it should be me. Me meeting someone whom everyone describes as “friendly and open”. Me me me. Not him.

I cannot believe myself. I cannot actually believe how I am behaving. This is total self sabotage I know. And please believe me when I say I completely know how stupid and immature I am being. But I can’t help myself, neither do I want to help myself at this very minute.

I am angry, and sad, and jealous, and teary… and I hate being like this.
It’s not that he is with another person. It’s just that he fucked up our relationship. And I – I am a good person who deserves to be happy so why, why, why, why does he get to be happy first? Why?

It’s unfair. And if one person tells me my time will come, I will remove this knife from my back, stab them between their eyes, and then kindly put it back where it came from.

Eurrrgh.

Grief

2007-01-25T00:01:00.000+02:00

There has only been one instance in my life when I have felt absolute grief.

The pinnacle point, where everything changed, when the world became real and darker, when I turned my back on faith and religion, when I let go of friends I thought I’d have for life, when I experienced absolute helplessness, when I myself wanted my own life to end and the universe to just stop turning, was when my ex’s brother died.

When I think about that day, everything hurts. My heart, my mind, my soul, all of them shatter all over again. Never will there be a sadder day in the history of the world. The day that Life stole that soul. There are very few people who really know what I went through during this time. Not one of these people understand how it impacted on my entire outlook on life as we know it. Nobody will ever know where I went inside myself or how to this day I battle to rid myself of certain manifestations and defence mechanisms that developed as a result.

And no one knows that I think about him countless times a day – everyday. Everyday.

The thing was, I always had the feeling he never really liked me. I was right about that, I know it. So when he died, I was devestated for so many reasons. I couldn’t get it out of my head that he never liked me. It killed me to think that he never realised how much I loved his brother and that I wasn’t there for the fame or the money. I loved his brother so much, it was actually a sickness that I allowed to destroy large parts of me. He was so bad for me, and everyone knew it except me. To this day, years later, my ex’s friends get this look on their faces when I tell them I’m well and happy. It’s a look that always follows a sentence along the lines of “Good. Good. You really deserve it you know. You do. Really.” But the thought that he didn’t maybe see this love, ate at me for a long time.
I think this is why I stayed around for so long after he died, when I should have walked away. I wanted to show him that my motivations weren’t as he thought. And this was where the helplessness came in.

Everyone’s felt helpless in their lives before. It just varies in degree.
God.
I watched the person I loved more than anything, suffer through shock, heartache, anger, physical pain, emotional torment. Watched him spiral out of control and there was nothing I could do or say. Nothing. Mark my words when I tell you that there isn’t any harder thing than that. And the more he spiralled the more abusive he became. The harder it was to leave. So hard, I prayed for something to happen to me just so I could escape it all.

But I did walk eventually. I came to realise I was either going to leave, or die. And I didn’t want to die. I had physically turned a greyish colour. My flame was snuffed. So I left and I didn’t look back.

Funny thing is, a year and a half down the line, it hit me that I never ever grieved for him. I grieved for his family, and ached for what they were all going through. But never for him. And God this hit me like ten thousand tons of bricks. Just one day, just like that, out of the blue, I fell apart.

So what’s the point of all this morbid stuff? Nothing really. If you’re not me that is.
I’ve come to peace with all the guilt and regrets and all the stuff that’s just too heavy to keep lugging around. Im’ still angry that he was taken so tragically and unjustly. But I know I’ll never understand why it all happened. And I also know that grief, does strange things to people, and it never leaves their worlds unmarked.

I don’t know why I think about him all the time, why I dream about him. I don’t know why I’ll be driving and suddenly there he is, in my mind, clear as anything. I don’t know why little things happen that make me think he has had a hand in their workings. I will never be able to really explain this to anyone. Little bits maybe, but not the whole deal. Weird - I’m not a secretive person – on the contrary I tell my friends everything.

But he…he is my secret. Not one single person on this face of this planet will ever be privy to what I really think and feel. If there was one very valuable lesson I learned it’s that people more often than not, don’t get it. Even when they say they do. One of the people I was friends with yelled at me during this whole thing and said to me “It’s not like he was your brother”. I have not spoken to her since. She was right though, he wasn’t my brother. But still she just didn’t get it.

I’m not sure why I’m posting this. Don’t think this post has much point to it. Maybe I won’t publish it…… Maybe I will…….

Okay but just what if?

2007-01-24T11:23:00.000+02:00

I was hit by something for the first time last night:
I’ve done okay. I am kinda okay.

I have my own home, which I don’t battle to pay for. I have a brand new car which I have been dreaming of owning for the last 5 years. My bills are always paid for and I have good investments. I can afford to buy whatever I like and go wherever I want. From a material aspect I am not left wanting.

Spiritually I have finally come home. I am learning about the things that fulfill me on this level and putting into practice what I’m learning. I have not stuck to my borne religion and the practices I choose are not exactly conventional. Nonetheless, it’s an euphoric feeling – being found.

The thing is I have some concerns which maybe come with age. I don’t know. I am almost sure I am going to fall in love again, one day, and it will be the long-lasting kind. Pretty sure.

But what if I’ve already met the love of my life? And then the next person I love, won’t be in the same way. What if that happens? Like what if I never love someone like I loved-love CPM? If I land up with second best, and knowingly just settle for it anyway, just because I don’t want to be alone?

Or worse, I realise that this is second best and that first best had already come and gone, so I forego it and land up alone? You know because no one can compare to first so whilst you do love the person you actually feel more empty doing it? I don’t really want to spend the rest of my life alone. I know I have time. But it’s not actually the point.
The point is What If?

I don’t believe in that whole Jerry Maguire you complete me crap, and I’ve never really believed in the institute of marriage either. But I do know that sometimes the people we are with are able to make us better versions of ourselves. Let’s face it, if we could give ourselves everything well that would be paradise. I’m not looking for financial stability, but god the emotional aspect of all this is huge.

So why do I actually want someone? Because as much as I love myself, some days I don’t like myself. Because I can’t hold myself at night. Because sometimes I can’t talk myself through something or out of something. Because making yourself laugh or cry all the time is lonely. Because when I come home I can only talk to myself for so long before my own company stagnates. Because my dreams aren’t as fantastic when they only involve me. Because sometimes my advice to myself is one-sided. Because sometimes bathing alone sucks. Because sometimes I need to fight with someone other than my mother or my neighbour. Because sometimes my body craves touch. Because leaving work late because I have nothing to rush home too is draining. Because sometimes I wish someone else would feed the dogs. Because I need to be smiled and laughed at. Because I want someone to be a sweat pants wearing slob with. Because waking up alone all the time can be monotonous. Because I want to hear the response – Me too. Because I want to be moaned at. Because I want to watch crappy not of my choice DVD’s. Because sometimes I want to moan about having to compromise. Because I want a take out night. Because sometimes it is not okay, and I want someone to lie to me.
Because so many many times, I just don’t get me and I need someone who will.

And I’m scared. I’m scared that it’s just going to be me.

Confessions of a monkey lover

2007-01-23T10:41:00.000+02:00

I may have had an epiphany. And with that comes confession.
Since I was a little girl I have had a severe crush on Jean Claude Van Damme.

Yip.
The Mussels from Brussels.

And yes whilst all the movies are just so cheesey, when I watch him on tv something awakens within my erogenous zones.
Now to be fair, any man with a french accent would be able to bed me at the mere mention of the word “hello”, but it isn’t even like his accent is really that French innit? Perhaps it’s the whole Flemish influence then….I don’t know.

The point is, I know a lot of women who would puke at the thought of him, but god knows those toned, oversized arms and that bulging chest, not to mention those sinewed legs, send ripples of orgasmic pleasure through my body….Shudder.
The fact that he can fuck anyone up (ok I know it’s the movies but it’s all part of the fantasy) with his left foot and look superb doing it, just trebles the illicit desire to bed him and break him.

Ok, so as a woman in my better 20 somethings, I think I can conclude that the reason I am attracted to overgrown, wrestling-like characters (CPM 6foot3 and just solid; Archie not that tall but built like an orangutang, The Hulk god that body is amazing all cut and shit, the Useless Boy I just shagged so I could wrap my hands round his muscular arse, and the list goes on), is because of JCVD. He set the precedent. Layed down the foundation for all that would be found sexy. Set fire to my cylinders of passion.

Now the problem is, any man that is into his physique (when I use this term I mean really into not just likes to keep fit by playing sport) is more often than not, an arse. It’s true. Men who spend hours working away at their bods are often more into themselves than is normal. They are arrogant, selfish, obsessed, if on steroids they are psycho, they are usually cheating bastards and care more about their appearance than anyone else. They are infatuated with the right food groups, take longer to get ready than their girlfriends, and are impossible to share a mirror with.

So I am done blaming The Hulk (because I must push him to the darkest recesses of my mind) for everything. And I can’t blame JCVD because, well….if I got mad with him the make up sex would be more than I could handle.

Instead, I now blame Steve Erkel for not being just slightly more sexy, and a little less nerdy.

F L A B B E R G A S T E D

2007-01-22T08:45:00.000+02:00

On Saturday night I think I heard the worst pick up line ever used on earth.

Granted this gent was rather fucked up on something, but it’s no excuse for the conversation that ensued.

[Setting: club, house music playing loudly, people sweating, rowdy crowd drinking at bar]
[Boy walks up to girl. Boy bites girl on shoulder. Girl almost knocks boy out]

Girl: Dude did you just bite me on the shoulder?
Boy: God you’re beautiful.
Girl: FOCUS did you just bite me on my shoulder? Because like dude I don’t know you. You just don’t go around biting people that you don’t know.
Boy: I just can’t believe how gorgeous you are.
Girl: Oh God.

[Girl turns back on Boy and tries to hide behind friend.Boy walks away. Boy returns 5 minutes later]

Boy: You know that feeling you get when you meet someone that you really like, and then you see them in a club or a restaurant….and that feeling you get in your stomach, like you need to poo?
Girl [eyes wide with horror]: Sorry?!!? Did you just say I make you want to poo?
Boy [excited]: Yes! Yes! Do you know that feeling? Like you need a poo?!!?
Girl [ shocked beyond comprehension]: No. No. I’m afraid I don’t know that feeling at all.

There it is.
I made someone want to poo.
Things seem to be getting better and better.
Oh Lord.

40 Days 40 Shites

2007-01-19T01:43:00.000+02:00

I wasn’t supposed to go out last night.
But I did.

The Hulk wasn’t supposed to be there.
But he was.

I wasn’t suppose to be at all affected and nervous by this.
But I was.

He wasn’t supposed to come home with me.
But he did.

I know I should feel guilty.
But I don’t.

He should call today.
But he probably won’t.

Yikes.
His excuses for being a doos in a nutshell:
He isn’t sure if he’s staying in this country.He doesn’t want to fall for someone and then have to leave them, and be heartbroken about it (so did you just say you have/could/are falling for me?). He is scared (yes it is the ultimate cheese episode of Dawson’s Creek). Apparently he quote made a conscious decision to turn it all off unquote (men can do this, like it’s a light switch or something? Unbelievable…just turn it off…) but then he received that hilarious sms from me about Gert Vlok Nel and his bustin’ choons “Timotei Shampoo” and “Beautiful in Beaufort Wes” (who can resist charm like that?) and he decided to turn it back on…(crikey really?just like that?women are so far behind in the whole evolution thing I’m sorry).

He made breakfast this morning. Ok well he opened the yoghurt we ate…

You're actually serious?!?

2007-01-18T10:14:00.000+02:00

Yesterday at the gym (whilst I was minding my own) I was ferociously and verbally attacked by a one dollar ho.
And really I was minding my own…
You see I walked into gym and CPM was there so naturally we said hello to one another. I mean we did love each other for three years, and still have respect and love for one another so it’s really only natural we’d greet each other in such surroundings right?
Right.
So had a little chat and then up the stairs I went to find myself a treadmill. As I get to the stairs, this woman is staring at me. Now I know who she is, but I choose to ignore her because well all will reveal itself…So as I get to around the third step (she’s still death-staring me), she opens up her hideously over-self-tanned face and says “Yes – I am giving you a look – what what?”
Seriously? No.No. Seriously?
Now to explain who she is. When CPM and I went to that wedding last year, we were chatting about the new women in his life and he told me he was seeing Paris Hilton’s left ingrown toenail (this chick), but she fucked him around and now he thinks she’s a bitch. When he told me this, I kept my mouth shut barring the little giggle that escaped my lips.
Other than the fact that this woman has done everyone in our area and is actually well known as the village hooker, she also happens to be one of my ex’s (the eyebrow plucker) dancers from when he first started out in the music industry and lucky for me I had a not so nice experience with her waaaaay back then, but was too young and head-over-heels-in-love-with-a-kunt to actually say/do anything. Over and above all of these pleasantries, she is a golddigger. Like really. Her ex-boyf is a 50-something year old millionaire whom she used to get a new car and a dancing studio built for her. This is something she will admit to your face. Poor CPM actually took her out on a date and treated her like a lady as opposed to the whore she is, and well I guess she had her fun with him and then she dropped him.

Right so I chose to ignore her braindead comment, deciding in my head that she is a crack addict who can’t help herself from saying stupid things, and I continue to walk up the stairs, IN SILENCE.

When I finished on the treadmill, I needed to go back down to the weights section which was no issue really as I figured there’s no way she’s going to carry this on.
So there I am doing what I came there to do, and lo and behold this empty-headed diseased mollusc walks ACROSS the gym to where I’m standing. SERIOUSLY?
So I turn around to face her, and she puts her finger on my nose – she put her finger ON my nose.
And the following mind-blowing sentence escapes her probably herpes infected mouth “I’ll look at you how and when I want so if I were you I’d watch where I step”.
(At this point CPM is making his way at a furious pace across the gym).

Again I choose to ignore the fact that not only has she touched me, but she’s actually threatened me, so I turn around and silently carry on what I’m doing.

The silicone-injected-past-her-prime-I-wear-a-see-through-top-over-a-bra-to-gym- because-yes-you-guessed-it-I-am-a-slapper then sees CPM rushing across the gym, also realises that basically the entire gym is watching this little scene unfold and revelling in the spotlight, leans in and in my ear, says to me “Stay away from him you fucking whore, or I’ll fuck you up”.
Again. Again – SERIOUSLY?!!!?

It was at this point that I could no longer keep quiet. I don’t care who you are, do not belittle my relationship with this man like that.
So I turn around and politely (just to piss her off) I say, “Sweetheart whilst I appreciate the fact that you’re completely braindead and don’t know any better, let’s get something straight between us right now. I was with that man for 3 years before you sucked his cock, so do me a favour – save the filthy looks and the trash talk for someone who actually deserves it. And whilst your brain mulls over that idea, why don’t you also think about this…. How good exactly did I taste when you went down on him?”

At this point I gave a polite smile, turned around and carried on. CPM had arrived by this time. Garbage pail kid’s mouth was still hanging open behind me, and people were laughing…I hope at her, but if it was at me I’m actually fine with it because the chick got what she deserved.
So CPM asks me what’s going on, I say nothing other than the fact that you’re rottweiler is off her lead and you should consider putting her down. I refused to tell him what happened. He could ask her for the details if he liked. I just wanted to get on with what I came there to do.

Needless to say Miss Hillbrow walked away without a word, mouth still hanging open, and CPM spent the rest of the hour gymming with me just “in case”. Bless his heart.
I told him over a smoothie what went down, and we laughed about it. Although, he was horrified. Actually, as was I. I took the opportunity to mock him about his taste in women, and how since me he’s gone downhill – HAHAHAHA!

I know I shouldn’t have given her any response. I know I should have been the grown-up one as well as the lady, but like I said at that point I just couldn’t keep it in. I saw red quite literally. However I still can’t believe that a woman in her mid-30’s, still behaves like that? It’s pathetic. And the whole thing has made sad today, because it made me realise that CPM and I, we still adore each other. We hold true love for each other and we respect one another. I can’t say this about any of my ex’s.
God he’s a special and great man. I hope he has a great life, and I hope the woman he lands up with knows that she’s a real lucky girl.

I also hope I don’t experience a one on one with Trailer Park Tessie again. Next time I might actually clock her with the tens!

Dr NBF's Cat in the Hat

2007-01-15T09:44:00.000+02:00

Sheweeeee! I am still reeling from this weekends CHAOS to say the least.
After dinner on Saturday night my New Best Friend, Tt and the Grimbear were having a chat in the parking lot, as you do, when we heard a rather loud crack. Only to witness the remains of a Tazz ski backwards on its exhaust pipe, and come to an abrupt halt, on impact with a robot.
DUDE.

NBF also known as the She-Herder (hahaahaha that’s funny) is a doctor, so YES you were obligated to go and see if people needed help as opposed to just speeding off to the Hat!
So she did...yikes.
In the red corner, we had one car with air bags that contained one times Possible Spinal Trauma Lady, one times Bleeding Forehead Guy and one times I Look Fine I Was In The Back Boy.
And then…..in the blue corner…..we had one Tazz minus air bags and now minus an entire left side, containing two times High Drunk Suspicious Lover Boys with McD’s smushed into their jean pant.
Now unfortunately for Depraved Oxygen Suspicious Lover Boy, he really got the errrm short end of the stick, as they were hit square on the passenger side where he was sitting. Ok this kid was FUKT, bleeding all over the show. So there the She-Herder is, no gloves (yeek) with her little stethoscope drowning in her cleavage playing Doctor Doctor in her little heels (she’s about four foot nine give or take a mm here or there!)

Now, I have learned that when the brain is not getting enough oxygen for whatever reason, people get aggressive. Which is funny because usually I just faint but whatever…

So Depraved Oxygen Suspicious Lover Boy was yelling his head off about needing to wee and breathing and stuff, whilst Cotton Mouth High Drunk Suspicious Lover Boy was panicking and asking if his friend could just sit up. Dude!Everyone knows when someone’s been in an accident they should try to lie as still as possible – like don’t you watch Scrubs???

Anyhow the Paramedics arrived (chiassusss those okes are hek-tik), made me hold a bag of stuff whilst they injected other stuff into it, the cops (angry cops, they were angry angry cops) also arrived all tuff’n’stuff (the one made me so nervous I developed a leg shake). All this time C.M.H.D.S.L.B. is worrying about the insurance on his car and where the t-truckers are going to take his car to. Like the ‘meds are working on his “mate” who is clearly broken, as in not in working condition, and he’s asking the 'med chick what he should do about his car and who he should talk to and insurance this and insurance that…. Good gad sober up man.

I had to phone Cotton Mouth's aunt for him which was distressing enough without him leaning on my car door with his bloody elbow, spilling his guts about not being sure if they actually ever finished the bottle of wine and will they pick up that they had been klapping some ganj as well, and insurance this and who's fault that... Like Bro there may be a lady who is paralysed and your friend could be in trouble GET A GRIP.

Gosh! We thankfully did eventually find our way to The Hat where the She-H found blood on her shirt (puked a little in my mouth - I did not the She-H) but we were so traumatised from the experience that we couldn't care enough to go home, so we drank instead and relived the experience through the picture of the wrecked car that she made me take with her phone camera. She-H you’re a sick sick puppy.

So, what did I learn this weekend?
Chicks that wear leopard print-anything get loads and loads of porny action.

Oh ja…and you shouldn’t drink and drive.

What's going on?

2007-01-10T00:47:00.000+02:00

So I know this is a really awful thing to say, but the more time I spend around my friends the more I realise how together I actually have it.

Yes I know - nothing like putting others down to make one’s self feel better, but seriously this isn’t the case here. My friends have major problems.

At the rather tender age of 26, my one mate is depressed (on hectorini medication) over the fact that her job pays too little, her boyfriend has just started working (studious kind) and therefore does not earn enough to support the two of them just yet, so she worries about how they will ever marry and survive. This of course has manifested itself into an IF HE EVER ASKS fear, which in turn has left her panicking about having to live at home with her parents for the rest of her existence (highly unlikely c’mon), which has turned into a fear of it never being her chance to wear white and say I do, which resulted in her putting unecessary pressure on the dude which oddly enough he seems to handle quite well but it begs the question – for how long?

Then there’s Tits who has been with her boyfriend for 7 years,living with him for 3 in a fully furnished and payed for mansion in Fourways, but he has not popped the question yet. Whilst he has openly stated that it will definitely happen (she’s a fair bit younger than he) and I am convinced within the next 6 months it shall, she is and has been considering falling pregnant on purpose so that he has no choice. Dude. Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

Then there’s the one I worry about the most. This one has a severe eating disorder which is really just all the other crap manifesting itself into something tangible. She is sickeningly attached to her parents because she believes if she actually lives life for her, then their life will literally fall apart. Any in depth discussion regardless of the topic gives her anxiety about the topic whether this directly influences her or not is irrelevant. Example, you think your brother may be gay. She will now have severe anxiety over a brother (anyone she’s not fussy) being gay. She is seeing someone and has been for 9 months, but says it’s not a relationship because she is never sure where she stands or where she wants to stand. So one minute he is not for her and the worlds biggest cramp, and the next he hasn’t called all day and she is on the verge of suicide. She constantly says she needs a psychiatrist and believes that all her happiness can be found in a tablet. When she’s exercising it’s to the extreme like 3 times a day, and quite literally there is no balance whatsoever. The most heartbreaking thing of all was this used to be my most sensible, no-nonsense, intelligent friend.

So I know I have the whole germ thing, which is controlling in itself and sometimes I can really fall off the right track but cheese and rice nothing like these chickens. My job is disgustingly, stressfully hectic and believe you me I earn my salary month after month, my family are not exactly the most stable bunch of folk, regarding men I have never made the right decisions really and spiritually I’m not the most conventional. Yet despite all this I really do not think that I have ever actually fallen off the bandwagon and climbed into a dark little hole? Crap maybe I think I'm a together kinda gal but ask one of my mates and they may debate me on it?
I know I am a little more thick skinned than most which is not always an advantage, but I have to ask, at this age with the world literally at our feet surely these people should be more flexible and able to cope with the lemons life sometimes hurls at us? Surely this isn’t normal?

I mean shit? If they’re already turning to drugs and pills and external sources to fix their inner kak what are these chicks going to be like at 40?

It’s worrying…for me anyhow….

Pussy on the duvet and one helluva fat toe

2007-01-09T00:32:00.000+02:00

I mean seriously could 2007 have started off any better than this??

Last night when I got home from work I was so friggin tired (like I was drooling on myself from exhaustion) so I got into my pj’s and hopped onto the couch for a Grey’s marathon ‘coz you know it’s what you do….

But then I had to get up to feed the dogs and as I attempted the stairs I fell over the puppy.
Hurtling down a flight of stairs that is basically as about as steep as Mount McKinley, at the speed of a Peregrine falcon……does not equal funny.
I have almost definitely broken my big left toe.
Hulk? Why???? You stupid worthless cup of camel cum……………!!!!

Anywhoosiebees I eventually got my eyesight back (pain always blinds me temporarily) and found my way to my bed thinking if I can just lie down then the intense throbbing will disappear.

Not so much.

I entered to find my neighbour's fucking cat pissing on the duvet?????????????
W H A T I S T H A T ?

Right like I am going to stand washing a duvet with a broken toe? Nuh uh… it’s a job for Aristotle. That’s my dry cleaner.

Ok so I chucked the duvet off the bed and in a bid to distract myself from the now tear jerking pain as well as the left foot convulsions, I turned to the telly.
Ok Monday night tv has officially gone to hell. Mnet puh-lease! ER is like so last last last season. It’s like the Bold and the Beautiful of medical drama’s. B-O-R-I-N-G.

Flick flick flick and what do I find on Discovery – a doc on STI’s and Aids.
Now I start off every year being tested for everything under the sun. It’s my New Year thing I don’t know why (proud to say I am clean). So I was quite intrigued by these English folk at this clinic and all the patients they interviewed. Seriously here’s a question – if you suspected you had chlamydia or herpes, would you announce this to the world through an interview? Imagine there you are you meet a gal in a bar and she’s like I’m sure I’ve seen you before……You’re all like No I don’t believe we’ve met…And she’s all Yeah your face is just sooo familiar….Hmmm…..OH MY GOD YOU HAVE HERPES!

I must say it was rather interesting to watch but at the same time scary. Like honestly it can happen to you in a second. One night you’ve had a few too many and you’re getting it on with someone and you have every intention of being safe but then as things get a little hotter and heavier, suddenly it just finds it’s way in there and BAM! You have gonorrhea. Shite. That just scared the trousers right off me.

But what I really found the most gross, (I gagged when the guy presenting the programme gagged), is Crabs.
It’s lice.
Lice in your pubic hair. Little spreadeagled insects with really thick legs for gripping onto coarse body hair like pubes.

Eurgh.
Dude.
Vomit.

They showed this magnified picture of one of these little suckers, and the dude actually puked a little in his mouth. Now the sick thing is you can be staring at someone’s genitalia and it all looks good. BUT! Little do you know that if you were staring at it through a microscope you’d possibly see all these little crab-like beasts having a pube-olympics-cum-obstacle-course-competiton.

Siff.
I’m off sex. Like totally. My germ phobia has just manifested itself in yet another area of my life. It’s probably The Hulk’s fault. Yup. He probably invented Crabs.

I have posted a picture for education and effect because seriously, this is one thing you’ll never ever want to have rummaging around in your curly’s.

Excuse me - have you seen my maturity lying around?

2007-01-08T03:37:00.000+02:00

I am supposed to be working but my brain is having an out of body experience.
I am so friggin tired it is ridiculous.

Went to Manhattan on Saturday night with The Popster (here from London for a visit) and got home at around 6am on Sunday morning. Typical of us two when we get together. The evening included: that one really bad shag from way back when trying to impress me with his freaking hilarious sexy dance moves (it has to be said I did pee a little in my La Senza t-bone from laughter); a very very cute Croatian Geologist (dude studies rock formation – seriously); a Turkish guy named something like Kaphir (whose breath smelled like guinea pig anus), and last but not least some sweet 22 year old whom I revoltingly took advantage of.

Then last night I went out for dinner but before I did that I took 2 fat burners not realising what the time was which was just plain dumb because OBVIOUSLY could not sleep. Lay in bed with my eyes closed for 3 and a half hours. That’s some crazy shit.

What’s worse is, as I was lying there I started thinking about The Hulk (not the actual green guy) – this is my nickname for screwed-on-the-first-date-and-never-really-followed-through-boy. The reason I was thinking about him was because friend whom I went for dinner with is good friends with him (her boyf and him=good mates) so we landed up discussing him for the better part of the evening. This was a bad idea.

So of course lying in bed with no sleep on the horizon I allowed my mind to wander and luckily I came to when my hands went a-wandering into my bloomsies!

Yanked my Ipod out and listened to some Irish Folk music. Shite. It was a close call.

Screw you Hulk.

I pretty much blame him for everything these days. Because I can.
Like just the other day my Dstv got hit by lightening and I just involuntarily yelled out “Damn you Hulk boy”. And then my neighbour started knocking things into her wall at some ungodly hour close to sparrow’s fart and I just cried out “Hulk! You bastard”. It was a cry out though…So you have to drag out the the last sentence in that….

Yup.
What's great is I have everyone else doing the same thing. My mother stubbed her toe on the chair on Saturday and I just heard her yelling "Hulk you stupid stupid fucker". I don't know why but it seems to work for everyone.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he's an elephants swollen testicle?
I don't know...
Perhaps it could be because he invited me to go away with him and then only called like a week later after coming back, to ask me if I wanted to go away with him the next weekend...
Or maybe it's because he waterski's like a possum with a missing leg? Not that I'd know seeing as he didn't take me to the river....
Perhaps its because he's about as likeable right now as a severe case of the plague....

Sheez...some people might read this and think I'm a bitter hooker who allowed herself to get fucked and thereby fucked over......

CURSE YOU YOU HULK BOY

Back to basics 101

2006-12-22T00:01:00.000+02:00

Ok so here it is….

I am knitting a rather gigantic throw-over for the couch. I’ll come back to why this is in a tickle.

I have met someone….. I think…..I thought….. Nope…it’s still a think…

However in my normal stupid, idiotic, senseless, consequence-kisses-me-where-I-poo-all-day-manner, I went and slept with him on the 1st date.

Whoops.

Now to clarify – this person is not exactly a stranger. I have known him for years (so I didn’t randomly slut myself which makes me feel a bit better). And I thought (think) we had a really awesome time, there was a good vibe between us. You know that whole connection thing. I mean the guy took me to watch cricket – if anything that comes a close second (ok 3rd) to taking me to a rugby match. Like dude – he had me at “Hello do you wanna go to the cricket?”

Anywhoosiebees without splurging the graphic details onto this page (under any other circumstance I would but this time I’d really like to keep them to myself), I will say that everything about the evening was brilliant.

But the thing is, I had actually told myself (Kinks was witness) that I wasn’t going to sleep with him just yet because I didn’t want to mess this up in any way. Aren’t I just the most headstrong, convicted nympho on the planet???

So…..
Of course as life will have it I didn’t hear from him until Thursday (bleakest human being EVER).
Of course put it down to having hopped in the sack with him faster than anyone can do the Macarena.And hated myself for four days.

Went out for dinner with Tits on day 3 of all this, and of course moaned and groaned about the fact that I am a good-time girl and I need to pull it together whilst drowning my sheer disappointment in a bottle or two of vino. Now the idea of going on a celibacy streak had already hatched itself in my mind that afternoon whilst Kenny G played his sax somewhere in the recesses of my disturbed mind. So it was decided there and then that I was going to sign the Treaty of the 40 day 40 night Serviette!

Contract as follows.

For the duration of 40 days and 40 nights:

No snogging. Kissing on the cheek allowed, pecks on the mouth allowed but they may not linger for more than 6 seconds
No naked body contact whatsoever. Handholding allowed. If your torso’s are bare and touching – you’ve fucked out!
No oral sex. Do not venture in the direction of his member even if he is fully clothed.
No sexual intercourse allowed – this includes Dry Humping!
No anal sex.
No massage of any nature.
Tickling is allowed but in moderation – he may not tickle your nipples/breasts/voog/inner thighs. Reverse applies where it makes sense!
All cuddling allowed (I had to fight for this one. I love cuddling more than anything) but only as long as both parties are fully clothed.
No masturbation under any circumstances. Showers are to be short lived – accidental slipping of the hands whilst washing and again YOU FUCKED OUT! (this is a really kak one and to be honest I don’t see why I can’t tackle my own dinosaur every once in a while?)
Porn allowed. (God only knows why she allowed porn but not masturbation. I mean torture me while you’re at it!)
Ends on 30 January 2007!

And this is why I have taken up knitting.

Problem is, he called on day 4….and asked me to go with him to the Vaal for the weekend.
So Tits revised the treaty on her own accord. I am now allowed to kiss, and she reckons we can get naked in Tahiti as long as we don’t have sex. I have decided this would be utterly impossible and am therefore going back to the original contract clause #2.

So night one went fine as I was about as miserable as a fly that’s landed in diahorrea.
Day one – he called. Night 2 went out with Kinks. All innocent, and all of a sardine,lo and behold there he is standing at the bar.
Got invited back to his place and yup I went…………………

BUT! I just kissed him. I did not sleep with him. I did not remove any article of clothing barring my shoes! It was fucking difficult because he is GREAT and I find myself totally into him – which I guess is all the more reason not to. Plus I am clearly too easy which he knows so in not being easy a 2nd time (doh!) I’ll be able to tell if he likes me or the cookie!

Guess now we’ll just have to wait and see….

It’s going to be a throw-over that could probably warm a small country.

Sex, Rum and Wedding Cake!

2006-11-21T18:16:00.000+02:00

So it was The Wedding this weekend.

Yup The Wedding where CPM and I went as dates.

It fucking rained. How shite is that? You're a bride in this big, expensive fucking marshmallow looking dress and it friggin pisses down with rain THE WHOLE TIME?!?!
No honestly that's like really kak.

Anywhoosiebees, there we were CPM and I next to one another in this chapel, and his mother (bless her heart) leans across his lap and says to me "Oh. I'm just so glad you're back".

SHOCK FUCKING HORROR.

Smiled sweetly and stared straight ahead! I was too scared to look at CPM's reaction!
Bloody hell did I light up a fag as soon as we got outta there - I think I ashed all over the bride's dress!! C-R-I-K-E-Y!!

Right so whilst they were taking pictures during the few minutes that the rain let up I gulped as many vodka-lime-lem's down my throat as was possible, snorted a couple of sandwiches up my schnitzel and of course smoked a half a box of Stuyvie's!

During all this time I might add CPM is acting like my boyfriend - hand gently on lower back, organising drinks, sweeping hair out my face. This is one thing that got to me. I'm a romantic underneath all this bullshit exterior so when you treat me like a princess fuck knows - MUSH.

It was at this point where EVERYONE came up to me with a different version of the following sentence:

"You guys are so amazing together. I think there's hope. You're going to get back together after tonight".

Excuse me while I regurgitate my sandwich on your shoe.

Right so the night went off fine. There we were, acting like 8/9 (????) months hadn't existed and everything was as everything has ever been.
We danced, we laughed, we ate, he drank (hahahaha small stab apologies), and then in front of everyone he kissed me!
(Okay okay so small little thing I neglected to mention earlier he actually kissed me in the hotel room earlier whilst he watched me getting dressed. I knew that black corset number was hotttt!!)

Yup kissed me right there and then in front of all our old friends and his family.
As true as Billy Ray Cyrus has a mullet - HIS MOTHER STARTED CLAPPING!!!??!?!?

Fuck me - right here and now apologies to the bride for stealing your wind babe! 'Coz right there and then you were not the focus of anyone's attention! Jaaayzuz. Hectic okes.

And that as they say, was that. We spent the entire night together thereafter, had flipping superior sex, and I woke up in his arms on Sunday morning.
Now re this whole wunderbar sex thing - shit it has me a bit concerned. Firstly at some stage during the night (it must have been during a U2 song) he got very emotional and with tears, yes that's right, with tears in the eyes, he told me he loves me. And it was circumstance preventing us from being together because he isn't going to change.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..........

The sex was passionate, not raw (which I expected it to be). It was awesome and beautiful and comfortable.

Now here's the thing. Knowing the vulnerable space I am in I realised that it would just be oh so easy to slip back into CPM routine and be with him. I am fully aware that the Liver Saga has turned me into an emotional lonely 80 year old. Someone who goes to bed every night alone, wishing for it to be otherwise just so that she could climb into bed with someone other than herself right now. With someone who could comfort her and keep her warm and safe. Would be easy with CPM.

BUT!

I had to give myself a serious talking to on the way home on Sunday because I knew he wasn't coming back, and I wasn't even sure I wanted him back in any case. So I decided as we reached my front door, that it was wonderful to be physical with him, but I don't want that relationship back in any way, so I did the normal thing.

Turned round, pecked him on the cheek, told him he smelled like rum and was in need of a shower, said thanks, and walked inside.

Would be lying if I said I didn't wait for an sms or phone call from him, becuase I did and probably would have until it came. Which it did, today. We didn't mention it.

Surprise surfuckinprise!

Oh well.....

Shame, wonder how his mum is taking it?!

Will you dance with me in the rain?

2006-11-10T22:39:00.000+02:00

I watch you with my soul
And I wonder where you go
When you close your eyes and drift away

Do you find her there in the clouds?
I hope she holds you close
And then wishes you back home

Sometimes my memory soars beyond this life
And I dream of you and bicycles
It was a time that could have been...

The pain that breaks my heart
Will be my cross to bear
For you will be always with sunrise

And with every deep breath I draw
I try to find you there.
In this space that has never existed for us

Maybe...
Just maybe in this place of serenity
We will find each other

With our feet balancing on Harmony
Unlike as we are on earth
We will meet beneath a drop of hope
And if time will allow us such grace

We will dance together in the rain.

- Me

To blog or not to blog

2006-11-05T17:48:00.000+02:00

Yup. Sunday.

And I have been in the office since noon.

Yup.

Lately the story of my life. All work and zero play.

Ok maybe this is a teeny lie taking into account this weekend. But let's be real it's the first weekend I've been out in ages. No really like as in forever. So by that, this weekend was the exception to the rule.

Friday night went to some waspy place in Fourways for this guys bday. Boy was he vrot. He tried to locate the scars left behind by my rather messy tonsil op 6 years ago. How embarrassing for him that I kept my mouth closed and he landed up licking my two front teeth for around 30 seconds. During which time I had my hand on his forehead trying to get him off me. (It must be said he caught me by surprise which is disgusting in itself, and then proceeded to dip me, which was clever because I was off balance with no escape). Shame. How sad that all was.
Met a Cycling Lawyer. He was cute but not my type. Had a good chat about nothing really. He openly admitted he was too drunk to hold a conversation, so he spent most of the time with his head on my shoulder (napping??) asking for water. Poor soul - bless him.

Then Saturday night had the ex's-ex-neighbours bachelorette - again Fourways.
Wasn't really up for it. In fact on Saturday I was hoping someone might attempt to remove my spleen with a Carrol Boyes butter knife. But actually didn't have too bad an evening.
There was another hens party there and she had a blow up man-doll. I stole it went home and had a jolly good time! Jokes - BUT I WANTED TO!Except I just couldn't understand why his winky was all flacid. And it had a very red tip. That would put me off immediately. The manufacturers of these things should think about that...

Anywhoosiebees, silly things them bachelorettes really because all the girls want to buy some "debatably delectable" shooter which really just means you land up mixing all kinds of ferocious alcohols everytime someone buys a round, and suddenly you feel like cotching. Lucky for me I realised this all just in time and started drinking water by the jug-ful!
Good fun all in all. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it's because I haven't socialised with anyone but my screwball family for the last like 5 weeks since The Liver saga.

I'll tell you something I have been on my own A LOT.
And it sucks balls. Copper balls that leave that foul taste behind.

This is for a number of reasons:
1) Coming home every night from work, having a shower and getting into bed with two Irish setters can become incredibly monotonous
2) Due to this routine of work, netball, home, shower, hospital,sleep, work, hospital, sleep, netball - I am exhausted
3) There is much in my life to bitch about right now. Which personally I think is fine ESPECIALLY considering I try not to complain about things/try to always turn the conversation about how the other person is/ try to handle things on my own as I hate being a "burden"/ am not good at saying I'm not ok I need help. So this is really the first time that I've actually said Hmmm... I'm not really doing ok. In fact I feel as if I am in emotional failure. And surprise surprise there are people whom I thought I could rely on to shut the fuck up and listen and be good mates about it but nooooooooooooooo!! It turns out that they are selfish and only happy to talk if we're talking about them, their work problems, their employee problems, their money problems, their life problems etc etc! Actually thinking about this particular person - it's no surprise really at all. My first instinct was that this was a selfish selfish person and I should have gone with it! That'll teach me to ignore my intuition again!
4) Being in emotional failure and feeling so lonely is shite. I am sick of myself and would like a distraction.
5) Now that I've used that word I would welcome any distraction in my life right now. Anything to take my mind off everything and away from what is going on.
6) I miss sex. Not fucking. This must be clarified. I miss being touched by someone. The knowledge that someone is waiting to hold you. That's nice yeah?
7) I cannot stop thinking about Archie. I have not heard from him in ages. He is apparently going through major poo at the moment. I think I gave it up too early. Fucking pussy of mine - bloody mind of it's own. But Archie I miss your stupid face.
8) My mother is falling apart. As is her family. Being alone gives me too much time to think about what might happen and how we are all going to be affected. This Liver Saga sucks tremendous fucking mammoth manure.
9) Being alone every night of the week has disenabled my social skills. I am battling to talk to people without completely zoning out and/or feeling claustrophobic.
10) Being alone is starting to make me feel like a loser who does nothing but whine.

And so on that note I am going to stop whinging. Thank you Blogger for being my best friend. Because even when I don't write for weeks at a time, you are still here in your green splendour! You never fail to download/upload or republish. You don't get mad if I start writing in the morning but only come back to you in the evening. You don't care if I write at 4am. You are always here! I don't have to talk to you face to face so that you can see my facial expressions and understand if I am being serious or kidding, you just know! You never know when to expect me, but are always waiting with an open keyboard and a fresh blank page!

BLESS YOU BLOGGER!

That kid Luke

2006-10-25T16:11:00.000+02:00

Okay so there's this kid Luke in my complex, and that kid, should be shot.

Seriously.

So should his folks.

Luke is this pain in the proverbial, brown haired, podgy, dirty t-shirt wearing, snot nosed, doesn't clean his ears often enough but picks his nose like the fucking

Star of Africa

is up there, lower end of middle class, white kid.

Fuck this has completely rubbed me the wrong way.

Truth be told - Luke seems a little simple. He's always interfering in your gardening telling you how you should plant and where, and how his mother does it, or how you should teach the dog not to run out the garage and around the complex like Taz on speed, and how his mother's boyfriend taught his dog not to (no prizes for guessing the guy moered the thing good and proper).

Luke will follow you around whilst riding his bike, talking in that high pitched voice of his, no respect for the subtle SHUT THE FUCK UP signs that often occur when one person is just talking way too much.
Eurgh. You can hear his little booger infested nose manufacturing it's goods at a pace faster than a factory full of recently fed Chinese people.

Disgusting.

Always going on about his mother this, and his mother and her boyfriend that, and the good old me, my mother and her boyfriend when we went there. His pathetic linguistics skills are enough to make a corpse spew.

Anywhoosiebees. So this morning I am driving out the gate, window open and David our one security guard is on duty so I wave politely and say good morning to the bloke.

Whilst waiting for him to open the gate I see Loathsome Luke trudging up the road pulling his mother and her boyfriends dustbin behind him. A sickening sight to say the least. He parks the bin in the allocated area and then proceeds to explain to David whom I might mention here is around 30/40 years his senior, that he will be bringing more rubbish FROM HIS MOTHER'S HOUSE tomorrow.

Now I know there's nothing wrong with what I've just said except for the fact that Luke the Louse spoke to David in an accent that a black person whose first language is not English would. So it went something along the lines of "Eh leesten to me tooomorro I em breengeeng mor rubbeeesh okay? Frrrom my mutha's house eh okay? So you mussent let them dryve weethout thet rubbeeesh okay?"

The fucking twat. And his stupid, moronic, senseless, pathetic, braindead mother and her boyfriend should all be shot. Luke should be shot for being a dumbass and his mother and her boyfriend should be executed for educating their germ pod in this manner. Stupid bastards all of them. The success of this country lies with it's children, and the biggest fuck up is that there are people like Luke's trifling mother and her white trash boyfriend out there, allowing (encouraging?) their kids to behave in this manner.

What is it with people like this? Why do they think that the only way someone, whose first language isn't English, will understand them if they speak with the same accent as the person they are attempting to communicate with? You don't hear David talking back in some waspy, prim and proper way? Cheese and rice where is the respect?

If kids can't even respect their elders, then how can respect for other races be instilled in them?

It's mind-boggling and revolting. I was so repulsed by this display of superiority by this juvenile, that I got out my car and forced him to apologise for his behaviour.

I am expecting World War 3 when I get home from work today. Funny that how people get aggressive when they are wrong. I am pretty sure the mother and the boyfriend will be there waiting to pounce.

I hope so. Perhaps I'll just boggle their simple backward minds with a Ghandi approach. Or I'll yell at them. Tell them that they're a bunch of fucking racists, teaching their son that it's okay to treat people of colour with no respect, and that they should be hung for such encouragement.

Either way, the chances of it sinking in are slim. But I won't not retaliate.

I won't turn a blind eye.

That's just as bad as what they're doing.

Crawling out from under this rock

2006-10-13T09:31:00.000+02:00

God it's been a long time since I had just five minutes to myself.

So here is me taking full advantage of it.

Boy - life has been a little shite as of late. Trying to deal with my work life which has quite literally taken over almost every aspect of my being, which I've decided is not a bad thing at all. I love my job, every second of it and if it's my escape these days - so bloody what. Trying to handle some family issues that have poked their ugly heads out from under the carpet as a result of current situations.Some stuff that happened with The Dentist from my childhood days have come back to haunt me a little. I'm not ready to face it. I don't know if I ever will be. I'm trying to make it go away but I'm not sure I'm doing a good job of that. It literally makes the skin covering my spine crawl.Can't think about it.
And then of course - friends. Don't keep many of those around really I like to keep them few, but lately it just seems like there are even fewer around than usual.

In a very weird and unfamiliar place right now.

As for my love life, well in the fabulous words of Peas - it's just pants.
I have seen Archie a few times in the last few weeks. He's such a cool guy. But it's not going to land at my desired destination. He needs to get past this break-up or decide that he wants to get back together with the gal. Needs to sort himself out in a nutshell and I am just hurting myself by expecting something.So I am slowly training myself to stop watching my phone like a dog eyeing meat that's defrosting on the kitchen counter.
Pity really - the sex was superb. Ranks amongst the best if not THE best. Bloody marvellous really. But admittedly so it wasn't just about the sex which it often is with me. It was about being. Just being. About having someone want you and hold you. I mean whilst fucking like a rabbit is always nice - being there in more than just a physical way is a whole different ball game.

Canine drooling,ice on meat melting,kitchen counter so high STOPPIT STOPPIT STOPPIT.

Then C.P.M. bless his heart has been calling quite often to chat and see how things are.
Shame.
He really is such a special person. I hope he has a good life. A truly happy one.

Apart from that, I went to see The Dreamwalker last weekend. The Dreamwalker(not his actual name it's the aka I'm giving him! Like Si the Clown) is a spiritual guide/medium/psychic/healer whatever terminology you like. He is the best thing since sliced bread WITH butter and jam!
I have been seeing him for over a year now and he is the first person whom I've ever allowed to reflect back at me, who I am.

So when The DW and I first met I think I was the biggest sceptic ever.
But whoa! Fuck me quickly with an espresso spoon was it PHENOMENAL!
What an experience, and the beginning of the healing of my soul. Since then I have been learning about crystal healing and colour therapy, and I feverishly study the practise of tarot.Yup. I'm a weirdo too!
Growing up I always knew something about me was a little different - I have always had the most incredible intuition. The only way to explain it in laymens terms is that sometimes I feel like I'm existing together WITH the earth and not just on it. Often I get these feelings about things happening but I'm not sure what to do with them or how to categorise and interpret them. Then they happen, maybe in a slightly different way to how I imagined but the basics are always there. Anyhow apart from this I think I am what one would also call an old soul, and I see things in people that they don't present to the world. This being both a curse and a blessing - sometimes you just want to be able to take things at face value. I'm going to have to start a new blog under a different name in order to discuss this side of myself and my life. It's a very hippy, spiritual, airy-fairy just plain weird side!

So where was I?
I forget. But them five minutes are up. I maybe haven't crawled out completely from this hiding place, but hey a little sunshine in the eyes only hurts for a few minutes!

Perhaps next time I may bask a little...

Out with the old and in with the...errrm...old?

2006-09-13T08:28:00.000+02:00

Fuck - it has been a really shit week to say the least. Emotionally charged.

Anyhow, some other stuff has been going on too that has got me thinking about relationships.

I have been talking to my gran a lot about marriage and love (her and my grandpa were together for 56 years). It's funny to hear how she partly agrees with me that marriage is probably for the birds and one shouldn't do it until one is established and comfortable within ones self. But this is an entirely different discussion for another time.

So I bumped into somebody from the past - we'll call him Archie. Archie and I had a very short lived fling just before I met CPM. Well if I have to be honest, I left Archie at the umm bar for CPM! Anywhoosiebees so I bumped into him on his way to have coffee with his recently ex-girlfriend, and we had a little chat. The old how've-you-been-long-time-no-see-what's-been-happening-how's-your-love-life-family-and-friends-jeez-ja-it-has-been-what-4/5-years-you-look-good-too-nice-to-see-you-ja-we-should-get-together-to-catch-up-in-a-nutshell-conversation.
Went right on my way after that and didn't give it 2 seconds thought after. Of course until he sms'd me that night saying how good it was to see me blah blah blah. So we started chatting and whatever, and okay, I might or might not have seen him rather spontaneously standing at my front door at 2:30 in the morning.

Now I don't know if this is normal (I think I really am in a bit of a weird emotional space right now), and the fact that all this stuff is going on has emphasised the fact that I am alone. I feel it every night - alone. Fucking alone. Now here is where I ponder normality - it is not the kind of alone where I want somebody to talk to etcetera ecetera. I just want to be held, touched and kissed. I just want some kind of physical contact with another human being, so that I don't have to feel so empty. Is this sane? I mean seriously is it normal?

Now here's where the other problems come in. Back in the day when Archie and I first met, I wasn't interested in getting into a relationship of any sort. I just wanted to be friends with him. So as friends we went to a wedding, me as his date, drank a leeetle too much champagne and landed up getting a little physical. I wasn't really attracted to him you know in that uncontrollabe way, but we got on well and I guess the rest is irrelevant. The truth is, he's a brilliant guy. He has this dry sense of humour which I love in a man. He doesn't come from the easiest of places and his "crew" is not exactly the type you'd want to be associated with - ever. He's rough around the edges too be honest. I could maybe go so far as to say he's from the wrong side of the tracks. He is huge, which makes me feel safe, and not afraid to smash his fist through someones face if the need arises. But he's truly a softy and one of the most passionate, attentive individuals I've ever met. Everything I find attractive in a man and everything I shouldn't be involved with. Obviously.

So after whatever, I decided in my head that it was purely a case of two people needing company and taking advantage of the fact that they could find it in each other, even if it was for one night. And even though the whatever was mind-blowing and like nothing I've ever experienced before (seriously I didn't know there were men out there who genuinely care about doing whatever it takes to satify a woman - whatever it takes),I still decided it wasn't worth it to make more out of the situation than just a base physical get together.

Sooooo...............
Here's the problem: I wait for his call/sms/email. Everytime my phone beeps I get an excited feeling that it's him, and when it isn't I am more disappointed than a kid with a burst helium balloon. Let me clarify quickly, we have spoken since (everyday there's been some form of contact actually) and there has been no awkwardness at all. In fact he's given off the impression that he wants to see more of me. But yesterday for example, he emailed me in the morning and then that was that for the day, and I felt crap.I was so hoping to hear from him last night or see him maybe.

W H Y???????????

SHIT. FUCK.
Do I like this guy? Or is this a case of a purpose being served? I sound like a fucking 15 year old immature, inexperienced, senseless moron. This is the stuff I do not miss about relationships - the crap that comes with 'em. Heaven forbid it should just be Wham Bam and Thank'ya Ma'am.Which I thought I had decided in my head that it was? See paragraph 7. Not quite sure how to distinguish whether or not this is just a case of whoohoohoo got a bang buddy or yay found someone I want to see again. How did this manage to get complicated?

Eish.

Goodbye...

2006-09-07T17:52:00.000+02:00

My grandpa has just died.

The world has lost the most marvellous man.

I loved you dearly gramps and will miss you always.

xxxxx

Teenage Hormones

2006-09-04T17:30:00.000+02:00

It's official, I have found the single most hysterical thing in the universe.

This is spleen-splitting, tear-wrenching, muscle-aching, face-contorting, head-convulsing, body-collapsing, bladder-failing funny!

Check out

You Tube

Search for Crazy German Kid. Sit back and enjoy.

Oh it needs serious sound so make sure the boss ain't anywhere near ya!!

Bloody fucking hilarious!!

I'm still crying and I saw it last Friday!!

Show us what's behind door number 2 Bob!

2006-09-01T09:40:00.000+02:00

Went out for dinner last night and then was supposed to do drinks with Kinks after, but she wasn't feeling so up to it, so after a rather boring dinner (but great food that Bukhara is something else), I made my way home.

Got an interesting phone call on the way home, and landed up going on a rather spur of the moment date.

Bejaaaaayyyyyysus.
BBBWWWAAAHAHAHAHAAAHHHAAA!!

I'm going to be a spinster I'm going to be a spinster (sung to that irritting tune kids use when they're teasing their fellow peers)!

Why?

Because this whole dating thing is bloody awful! I mean look the guy is funny, but very possibly bisexual - which is fine. I don't have a problem with this, but I would not like to be involved with somebody who is bisexual. It's a preference. I'm a one man kinda gal. He is also intelligent and then also possibly pseudo-intelligent. Dramatic (like really - art school/actor/ktv presenter).
Oy.

Uh uh - not for moi!

So I don't want to do that ever again. He didn't stop laughing at me for a second (apparently I'm quite funny) which led him to state that girl's are not usually as funny as guys and he finds me very "refreshing". GIRLS ARE NOT AS FUNNY AS GUYS???????? Ok dude you obviously have never read Peas On Toast - like whatever man.

Anywhoosiebees, I am laughing about this today (I am also wondering how it is I meet such strange people. Kinky will have a bucketload to say about that!)

Ja. Ja. Ja.

WAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!
I'm thinking about how during one of the chats about something or other I was thinking about how my pussy was dryer than sandpaper! No really I think my libido decided to hibernate right there and then. Even my arse fell asleep. I actually yawned in the poor sods face and then told him he was boring me, said of course in a Mr Jokey Joke way!

Look I'm sure in the history of the dating world there have been worse dates, I din't have a bad time at all. I just cannot believe how it can be soooooooo apparent that someone is just not for you.

Good grief, I think I should accept the fact that if nothing else, I am perhaps a little off the wall.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank whomever it was that came up with the Dildo. Bless you because without you I would have a life of zero penetration to possibly look forward to, and that is just too horrendous to even contemplate!

Could the zoo be on a rampage?

2006-08-30T17:46:00.000+02:00

The other night whilst trying to make my way home from a meeting in Roodepoort I got terribly lost and landed up on the R14 to Pretoria! Oooooh kuk julle!

Dark dual carriage way – absolutely no lights and no off ramps for km’s and km's!
Anyhow the point of all this is I nearly and I mean very nearly collided with a bull. Yup a stationery 600-kilo-with-horns-bull. At least I think it was a bull – might have been a frigging wildebeest! Nah it was a bull. Scary stuff.

When I eventually got home, I found a rather scruffy obviously stray poodle dry humping my pedigreed Irish Setter’s back. Didn’t put my impressed face on. Anyhow the bloody animal wouldn’t leave. It sat outside the gate for 3 hours until eventually I gave in to myself and let it in. The mongrel is still hanging around trying to get a piece of errm, well, back!

Then this morning I went to gym bright and early. When I got back to my car, there was a cat sitting on the roof and he wouldn’t climb off even when I started the car! Got home and scout’s honour there was a lizard on the door handle!

All these animal encounters, I just had to consult my book on animal totems.

The bull.
Keynote: Fertility
Cycle of power: year-round
Basically in a nutshell a bull showing up is a sign of fertility through sacrifice. It has to do with possessions, possible insecurity, stubborness, the union of the male and the female.
(Oh crap a sign of fertility yup just what I fucking need!!! Although in order to benefit or be punished by fertility obviously depending on how you look at it, one must be engaging in the act of procreation - this ain't me)

The dog.
Keynote: Faithulness and protection
Cycle of power: year-round
There is a spirit and willingness to love; reflects faithfulness and companionship
(Hmmmm…..no I don't think so. If there is one thing I am pretty sure I don't want it's companionship. Did I just tell a lie?Ummm nope I don't think I did I'm good alone right now really)

The cat.
Keynote: Mystery, magic and Independence
Cycle of power: Nighttime
Accredited with independence and unsocialbility. Home only after dark – the dark is the home of fears and things humans do not want to confront, the cat has come to be associated with the night’s mystery and magic.
(Unsociable…..check…..independant…..ja there it is….check!)

The lizard.
Keynote: Subtlety of perception
An animal of great subtlety with very quick movements; indicates ones psychic perceptions are either already active or about to be activated more strongly.
(Just before the bull incident I was thinking about my father and whether he knows when my time to go, is…….Coinkydink? Maybe…)

Anywhoosiebees very interesting I guess if one cares about stuff like this. Nonetheless I am doing my best to stay away from any farming areas. I would hate my death to be reported with the headline “Death by biltong!”. Hahahahaa!!! I know this is going to come out completely sick, but can you actually imagine being killed by a bull's head through your windscreen???!!?!!?!?
How about this one "Bovines: Docile pets a load of bullshit?"!!! Teeeeheeeee!!

I challenge anyone and everyone to come up with a headline for the above situation! What a lag!

2006-08-29T10:24:00.000+02:00

Happy Birthday Dad.

xxxx

It's a jungle in here

2006-08-18T11:43:00.000+02:00

I am writing this one from seat 5B onboard a British Airways flight to Cape Town. Fasten your seatbelts, this is going to be one helluva ride.

Fuck, people are stupid.
And their idiocy seems to ooze out of them, this uncontrollable fountain of dumbness, as soon as they come into contact with airport property. Be it the floor of the airport, or a fucking trolley - which by the way if you can find one, the joy you'll experience is comparable to finding a golden ticket in your willy fucking wonka chocolate bar.

5:55am
Arrive at JHB International Airport, or Oliver Tambo Airport, or HELL.

Car in front attempting to retrieve ticket from parking ticket machine. Proves to be too much for his pea brain. Six cars must now reverse down a blind cornered ramp, because he has single-handedly managed to destroy a machine that spews out thousands of tickets a day, whilst trying to retrieve his one. Good on you Mate.

6:10am
Park in parking bays pre-designed how ever many many years ago by designers way ahead of their time, for Mini Coopers. Get out and begin treasure hunt for trolley. Unsuccesful. Mission aborted.

6:20am
Flight is currently boarding.Have only just made it to que for check in. People walk incredibly slowly around the airport. If they're not in a rush, well then you're not in a rush. They also do retarded things like walk DOWN a ramp that is actually for people walking UP a ramp with a heavy trolley.

6:27am
Waiting in que to clear "security". Al Qeida would have a field day here I am sure of it. In fact if we had such things like a World Trade Centre, they'd come here just for practise. I mean those okes are looking to be recognised as the bad boys of the terrorist industry right? Well, if they flew a plane into Ponty, Government would probably thank them for solving a few problems right there, innit?!!?

6:31am
Have cleared "security", now en route to gate E10. Rushing. But lady in front of me on escalator has absolutely nowhere to be. She has a one way ticket to Get The Fuck Outta My Face Bitch, but she doesn't know it, so she's dawdling. My 90-something year old senile granny moves faster than this sow. This is what I love about European culture. Stand right, pass left or whatever it is. Brilliant. Just brilliant. Here, it's stand in the middle and then phaff around in your bag, whilst it's on your right hip, so nobody can even squeeze past.

6:38am
On bus. Great - first point of germy contact. Refuse to hold pole or hanging loop. Stand with legs so flexed, back so rigid, a freaking tidal wave couldn't knock me off my feet. Bus engine roars to life and we pull off. Fall over and catch myself on revolting pole. Vomit.
I actually think that the poles at Teazers or The Lounge are cleaner than the Bus pole. YES - okay they are covered in gwat juice from every European country to have experianced a civil war in the last 30 years. Just Vagina Jam all over those blinking things. But I am willing to bet they are cleaner than these bus poles.
Disfuckingusting.

6:50am
Boarding plane. Or should I say Germ Pod.Locate seat 5B. Great. Just fucking fantastic. It's a middle seat, two hours of being squashed between TWO germy stupid people. Oldish man at window seat. Hairiest hands I have EVER seen. King Kong - seriously. And he has swollen flappy cheeks. Oh my god I am going to vomit. They have those little red veiny things. He is coughing. There is hair coming out of his nostrils. I see it. I wonder how much puke a sick bag can actually hold? THERE IS HAIR COMING OUT OF HIS NOSE - STIFF GRAY HAIR!

Aisle seat - young girl. She hasn't washed her hair in plus minus 3 weeks. She doesn't feel the need to tie this horse's tail of grease back and up and away,noooooo. It is loose and flying all over the place. I think one just flew the chip fryer that is her scalp, and has found it's way into my throat. The only way this can get worse for me is if someone has an epileptic fit within the proximity of seat 5B. Seriously, a fatal heart attack would be way better.

Man in seat in front - 4B, has a serious dandruff problem. He is a classic reminder as to why I never let my head touch the backs of any public chairs. EVER.

Man in seat behind - 6C, is snoring. How embarrassing. I mean if you know you have narrowing nasal passages or an epiglottal blockage, take a fat burner before you fly. Something like HEAT maybe, so that you stay awake in public places like Germ Pods. Jeeeezzzzzzzuuzzzzz.

7:05am
Safety procedure demonstration. I am right under the air hostess' nose. So out of respect I politely pay attention. Shit she must hate her job. I must admit, just once I would like to see them accidentally pull the tags on the life jacket a little too hard so that the thing inflates. Look around plane. Surprise surprise not one Barbarian is paying attention.

7:42am
Breakfast has arrived. It is funny how people lose all etiquette and manners at a higher altitude isn't it? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're this person, restricted by this chair, eating off a tray well below any acceptable height from a reach perspective. So the whole bodily scenario encourages one to bend over and shovel this barf food into one's mouth at a similar speed to Mach. Incredible an entire Germ Pod filled with gluttonous savages.

And airplane food. This one eludes me. I mean there isn't a fucking country in the world where people have the same political opinion, but I'll guarantee you they all hate airplane food. And the airlines know this. So ummmm WHAT THE FUCK? Example, this morning we are served:

Eggs - now there isn't anything worse than runny aborted chicks.If you're going to do this you have to cook them at least to a semi-consistent state.
Sausage - which no jokes resembles my baby cousins wiener.
Muffin - lemon and more lemon and poppy seed. I have totally figured this one out. You are not supposed to eat these until you have landed safely at your destination. This is because they are so luminous yellow, if you crash they double up as flourescent lighting. I have saved mine for when we have a drought of Ethiopian proportions. That is the only time I will ever consume anything so yellow.

I once watched this programme called Chefs gone Bananas on the Reality Channel, where these chefs get mad and do things like pee in gravy and spit greenies into sarmies. I am sure these guys get jobs making airline food after they've been caught and fired. In fact I'm pretty damn positive.

King Kong is now attempting to open his luminous pink yoghurt. Oh god listen up pal, if that YES YES there it is!His yoghurt has splashed all over the place. Some has landed on my beautiful green Pringle shirt, he is apologising and attempting to TOUCH ME!????
Go away do not touch my person I WILL jab my plastic spoon into your thyroid gland you bald headed fuck.
Good grief.

8:05am
Simba the chip fryer has fallen asleep with her head facing me and her mouth slightly open. I am trying to remember a time when I felt more nauseous. Either the altitude has affected my memory or there has never ever been a moment in my existence when something has made me feel more repulsed.

Someone behind row 5 is coughing and spluttering. I am picturing their germs flying out of their mouths (like in that movie Outbreak when they show the disease spreading), through the air, down the aisle, and finally settling upon my innocent skin. I will remind the universe now, that I have a rather awful bout of influenza at the moment, YET I have the decency to hold my coughing in, in front of all these people. I had the common decency to leave home with not one not two but three travel packs of tissues, so that I would not sniff, not so much as once whilst sitting in this Germ Pod with all these cockroaches. This is really difficult when you consider I ahve a ose full of bogies, running ones all the time. People are just idiots.
They are Moronic and Barbaric and Unsanitised.

King Kong has just farted. For crying in a bucket. I am now looking for the epileptic. One's got to be here somewhere. Man behind still spluttering, am clicking my heels three times and wishing he is fatal heart attack victim.

Oh yes please, let us top this off with the cherry on this microbe producing cake - a crying baby about 4 rows back. I cannot stand kids at ground level. I don't even want to go into how I feel about them a few feet in the air. I will simply say if that baby doesn't shut the fuck up I am going to throw my book - Anton Rupert A Biography, at that kids scrunched up red face.

8:31am
King Kong is sniffing a torrent of snot back up from his nasal hairs to his neanderthal brain. Simba the chip fryer is still asleep - I have just noticed that she is wearing these brown flat pointy pumps with the strangest socks I've ever seen. they come up halfway through the arch of her foot. Blue jeans. Black and white sports track top. Fashion faux pas of note. Hmmmmm. Just when I thought I couldn't feel more violated and....yes there it is a little vomay in the mouth.

The hostess has now just asked us to wish a Mike a happy birthday. People clapping and twisting their turtle necks in their seats searching for Mike. I am about to throw myself off this plane. But divine intervention, we are about to land - Thank You God. King Kong has leaned back in his chair making his nostril hair growth extremely visible. Simba the chip fryer is wriggling in her chair trying to see out of the window. She is leaning dangerously close to my rather tiny safe space. I feel a warning rising. HEY PRINCESS GREASE MONKEY BACK THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE INSIDE OF THAT THERE ARMREST.

Okay, I'm off.Thank god for the Nokia 9300 with which I have done this posting. I am hoping to have a relaxing weekend in the Mother City after todays meeting. If this plane ride is anything to go by I'm completely fucked. The worst part is coming up. Offloading these bacteria riddled folk off the Germ Pod. Having to stand in the narrow aisle sandwiched between Simba and King Kong. Inevitably someone is going to stand too close and breathe down my neck. If it's the Splutterer I'll kick him in the balls I swear I will.

God speed.

Sun tanning chinamen and walking grandpas

2006-08-16T11:07:00.000+02:00

Fuck me did I have a weird dream last night!!

In my dream I was sleeping, and I awoke to find a really skinny chinese guy in a robe, sun tanning under the tree in my garden (which was not actually my real garden like the one I have in real life). Anyhow I woke up with some kind of aggression problem because I yelled at him like a drunken fish wife!

Anywhoosiebees he tried to explain (he was really a nice man I shouldn't have yelled at him) what he was doing there but I wasn't having it, because as it turns out my garden on both sides had been over run by people!

And they were all family members! G-O-O-D G-R-I-E-F?!

So my gran and all five of her sister-in-laws were sitting on some chairs having tea in the garden, there were some other people milling about, children trampling through flowerbeds and women sun tanning on the grass!

I of course in this Hulk mood I awoke with, screamed at them all and threatened to have them all arrested (I threatened to have my granny arrested???!!?). My great uncle then told me because he was part of "the board" he was going to have an official warning sent to me! Lordy talk about a family feud!
After I screamed at him asking him how many freaking people he had in his garden fucking it up, he went and shot my dogs!

Now this was the weird part because I of course had a full blown panic attack, but didn't take the dogs to the vet immediately (dogs=my life, so this would be completely out of character). But they were not bleeding or anything, they were just panting and drooling all over the place, but still running around!

Then all of a sudden everyone was indoors, and who walks in? None other than my grandpa - who actually in real life hasn't walked in about 5 years and is completely out of his mind. So I started crying that my grandpa was sane again and nogal walking! So we had a huge celebration in his honour inside my house (chinese guy included) as well as panting dogs!

Hells bells thank goodness it was round about this point that I woke up, because I could feel the Hulk returning and wanting to throw basically my entire family in jail over this tea/cake/sun fest!

I've tried to analyse this and came up with the following:

Loving all things Asian has consumed me. I'm having chinese for dinner tonight. I'm thinking sweet and sour chicken?
I'm bad mother material or else I don't think a gunshot wound is all that serious
My gran smokes dope on the sly
My grandpa can actually walk and is sane and is tricking us 'coz he can't stand us all!
I probably shouldn't host any parties anytime soon
My garden needs cleaning - there's dog poo all over the show

Once were real

2006-08-14T07:04:00.000+02:00

It hasn't been a great weekend.

This may have something to do with the revolting flu thats been incubating in my immune system. It may also have something to do with the fact that I spent the whole weekend sniffling snot, downing syndol-corenza-echinacea cocktails, trying to break a fever, shivering and sweating at once, in my bed alone. Sick. And alone.Alone.It sucked balls.

It may also have something to do with the fact that C.P.M. called me yesterday. His father was in a really bad accident and is in hospital with something along the lines of a collapsed lung and crushed vertebrae.

Yup. It's probably got to do with this.

He has not called me of his own choice since The Breakup. Thats almost 4 months now. This is not to say we have not interacted on any level during this time. I have cried in his ear a number of times, I have yelled at him both in a sober and a drunk state. I have sat across a table from him listening to him tell me his life is falling apart. I've even slept with him. I have bitched about him, and smiled thinking of him. I've hated him and missed him.

After he called yesterday, I thought about us. I thought about how his calling me means maybe nothing, and everything.I'm sure he wanted me to know, seeing as his dad and I adored each other. Seeing as C.P.M. had only ever had to deal with his feelings when I was around, I am sure it felt natural for him to call the one person he felt safe being emotional with. Then again maybe he just felt I needed or would want to know.

I guess it makes no difference why he phoned.

I was in Builders Warehouse trying to figure out which box contained the light bulbs I need to re-illuminate my house when the phone beeped. Some of the lights (ok ok all the ones in the kitchen) around the house have not been working since he left, and yesterday I got fed up with this.

Anywhoosiebees after a long chat about how/when/where/what/if/can/mother/brothers/him/ hospital I left Builders Warehouse empty handed and heavy hearted.

This is a tough one because I would like to be there for him and his family. Not just because I love them like they're my own blood, but because if there's one battle versus myself that I lose all the time - it's the fact that when there's a problem I will be there.

But this time, I can't be there for him or them. Truth is they don't need me anymore. And truthfully I don't actually want to be involved in this one. I only think I do 'coz it's the right thing to do. But it isn't actually.

So all this got me thinking about us, as I've mentioned. Four months is not a long time on your own after years of being involved. Especially since I only really accepted being on my own like 2 months ago, and only then started enjoying it. Sure there have been times when I've laid awake in bed feeling lonely and really just wanted to feel someone next to me. To have someone put their arms around me, play with my hair, kiss my forehead. But I haven't cried about not having this, in a while. I have been okay.

But yesterday, some things dawned on me. C.P.M. is not the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. Yes, I have actually known this for a long time. But, this means a lot of other stuff that I can't have, that maybe I want again, sometime.It also made me realise that what we had was so real. I mean I knew that, but I think I didn't really...

So C.P.M. I want you to know what was going through my head this morning, as I cried in the shower for the first time in ages:

I am really going to miss doing my "happy breakfast" dance for you and seeing you laugh your head off at how goofy I am.
I am going to miss curling up on your lap on Christmas morning on our bench counting all the ships.
I am going to miss our December holiday at the flat, drinking beer shandy, playing Uno and Cluedo.
I am going to miss Sunday braai's and making you my famous pap n sous!
I'm going to miss squeezing your pimples and the stupid way you positioned the couch.
I am going to miss cooking pasta with you, screwing everything up and you coming to my rescue.
I am going to miss sticking my finger up your nose.
I am going to miss walking on the beach with you, talking absolute rubbish and doing uncoordinated cartwheels, just to make you smile.
I'm really going to miss playing darts till all hours of the morning.
I am going to miss your disapproving face when I went on one of my infamous Christmas shopping sprees.
Im going to miss lying at the pool with you forcing you to let me practise my tarot on you.
I'm really really going to miss waking you up at ungodly hours to kill the mosquito flying round my head.
I'll miss singing at the top of my awful voice when I got bored on our road trips and not to mention having lengthy discussions about "truckhh drhhivers in their big truckhhs".
I am going to miss making you take me places on a Sunday when you just wanted to lie on the couch.
I'm going to miss sulking before them stupid dress up parties and running away from you and your bloody camera.
I'll miss getting mad at you because you leave food in the fridge way past it's expiry date.
I'll miss your funny sayings and they way you mix up your words.
I'm going to miss our annual tradition of having our picture drawn by Picasso at the games room.
And I definitely already miss lying on your tummy doing crosswords while you slept.

I am sorry about what's happened to your dad, and I hope everything is going to be fine. I wish I could offer you more, but the truth is I actually have nothing left in me to give you.
I miss all these things, absolutely yes, but I don't want them back.

Not with you anyhow. So why was I so down yesterday? And why am I so sad today?

Because it's hard realising that you and me were so brilliant,and we were so real, and that there was no real reason why we ended, we just did, but that it's actually for the best. Because our lives in just 4 months, have gone about their seperate ways, when at one time that seemed utterley impossible. Because no matter what happens in life from here on, we will probably never need each other like we did, and will probably never be able to really be there for one another like we were.

Because we are really and truly over, in every aspect of our relationship. We have become different people through this breakup. And because life without you is better, but it is hard, and it is lonely. It is really really lonely.
Yup - really lonely.

Yes, it is more free, but in my freedom, I find some things about myself that I don't like that weren't there when you were around.And in this freedom, there is no pressure to live in ways either of us didn't want to, but the ways in which we did want to aren't there anymore.

Yesterday, you needed me (maybe) and this made me aware of how huge the space between us has become. It's not a bad thing. It's good actually. But I also realised how much of that space has been created because the things I miss, are really and truly gone.

I am sorry that I couldn't do more yesterday, and say more, and be more. I could hear how upset you were, I promise. I hope you know I did think about you, and your mom and brothers, and I meant what I said when I said if there's anything you need, call. I truly hope your dad recovers quickly and that everything goes ok.I am really glad that you called me and hope you know that you can do so anytime cooks.

Ok that's all.
xxxx

Chicken alla medulla oblongata

2006-08-11T09:26:00.000+02:00

I accidentally snorted chicken seasoning up my nose last night. God it burned like hell, I couldn't actually believe what severe pain it caused.

Anyhow, today the inside of my nose feels like it has been raped by a razor blade, and it seems my brain is doing some major marinating, causing a migraine that might measure a magnitude of 6.4 on some scale or another.

Good grief. Ouch.

My nose is also in training for the Comrades next year, very enthusiatic fucker, won't stop running for a minute.

Anywhoosiebees, I need to clear the air about something.
Bad sex.
Like the really awful kind. Now I am opting not to say whether I have had any of this recently or whether this particular incident occured sometime in the past, but it did happen, and it does need discussing because I am genuinely perplexed by it.

Now, it has to be said,I have never ever considered myself to be a super model by any means whatsoever, but I don't think I'm Frankenstein. I mean he was hideous. And green. And he had huge nuts and bolts through his skull. I'm not green, definitely a few screws loose, but no need for nuts and bolts just yet.

Right, so there I was in bed with this specimen that I just so happen to think is wildly attractive. I mean really magnificent, I would like to marry him and have his babies (and I don't want babies - only his). Now this perving has been going on for some time now (about 3-4 years) so the fact that it had culminated in this moment was just spine-tingling. I was dead keen on ripping him apart. That was until I saw the goods. Now I DO NOT CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS size counts. In both length and girth. I am sorry, but if all your important bits are barely being stroked, then it is just not pleasurable.

However I looked past this and got on with it anyway.

Good gawd.

No really bloody freaking awful. From the kissing (never uses tongue, kisses like a gaping fish flapping on a jetty) to the fondling of my breasts, to his total inability to finger me (I think he may have been attempting to remove my ovaries as a method of birth control - ummm OW!), a rather uncoordinated attempt to muff me and then screw me. Shame. This poor boy - I don't know if he was nervous or if he has a problem, but his penis kept well....giving up. Now as I said I am not Cindy Crawford but if he didn't find me somewhat attractive, he wouldn't have been there, so surely this was not the problem?

This basically meant he kept stopping mid throes of ghastly thrusting to wank so that he could get the blood flowing back to his member. When that failed he tried his best to get it in anyhow. I mean have you ever been fucked by a limp dick? You can't get it in easily, then you do but now you can't actually move it around, 'coz it's just going to slip out again, and fuck it's a vicious cycle of no-no's. It's so sad it's comical.

I really didn't know what to do, where to put myself - at one stage I actually had my one hand up in the air, in the "Oh my fuck - what the hell is actually going on? Dude w-h-a-t are you doing?" position. I faked it - 3 times. I had to. I hate doing that, but I just felt so bad for him.

Now more than the sex being important, the kissing for me is the most important. I love kissing. I daydream about sitting on a couch just kissing for hours and hours and hours. C.P.M and I used to do that - it was superb. It's just so intimate, and actually I do believe you can tell a lot about how you'll click with a person just by kissing them.
Heaven above help us -I actually asked him at one stage to stick out his tongue (at that point I was wondering if he had one), and he said the following: "Why does everyone always ask me to do that? Girls are weird."
DUDE!!! TAKE THE HINT!!

I don't need to carry on (Lord knows I could). The bottom bottom bottom line is - I really and truly have never had such awful sex in my life before. The problem is he is a nice boy, really he is. He's very complex and I find his air of mystery quite intriguing, not to mention the fact that I could look at him all day everyday for the rest of my life (I'm somehow going to have to get a good photo to satisfy that one 'ey?). He's shy which I find ridiculously endearing, and in some ways he is an old school gentleman which is always nice. Apart from the whole disastrous sex thing, he really has potential. (First to have potential in anyway since CPM).

I hope I am not being a shallow bitch on this one? Sex is really important to me. I take it seriously and I enjoy it to the absolute maximum (obviously when possible). I give it my all in the bedroom, I hold nothing back, because I feel it really can be the most phenomenal way of really and truly being with someone. It is a powerful act when done properly, with healthy intentions. So how does one get around a situation like this? I don't mind seeing this guy again, but the possibility we may land up naked in my bedroom again is there, and truthfully I don't know if I will be able to go through with it again.

With C.P.M the sex was fucking cataclysmic in the beginning. But over time we got to know what we like, what works, what doesn't, and after a few months, it was sublime. We also trusted each other at this point so I could tell him to stop one thing and try another, without hurting his feelings, and likewise he with me.

BUT. And this is a very big but - C.P.M had the tools with which to work with. I honestly could pleasure myself whilst perched upon his penis, for hours on end. Bless that special man.

So the question remains here - what do you do? Is it ok to walk away from something based on the fact that you know it's always going to be horrific? Or do you shut up, give the person a chance, all while falling deeper and deeper in love with your dildo? Either of these options sound wrong in my head. Shame - just such a nice boy. And he actually told me after, that if there's one place he knows he can hold his own, it's in the bedroom. How delusional!

Fuck I feel like I'm in a bit of a fix here.

Cleaning out the closet

2006-08-07T09:23:00.000+02:00

I decided yesterday to clear out my cupboards of all old clothes, shoes, dust etcetera etcetera.
(This was sparked off by the new linen I purchased, it was like a bedroom makeover).

So I spent the late afternoon pulling, chucking, refolding and repacking. Boy I got rid of a lot of stuff (Ma I finally let go of that beige jacket that I called rustic and you call tattered!) *Note to self:my mother doesn't read my post*

Anyhow, tucked away in the corner of the railed cupboard are the clothes I wore to my fathers funeral.

My dad passed away two and a half years ago (on the same day as the tsunami). He was diagnosed in March 2004 with cancer, primary source being the kidneys, but by the December it had spread to his lungs, spine, brain and blood.

My parents divorced when I was just a few months old, and my father left South Africa for the fast food soil of Los Angeles, under the pretence that he was going on holiday. I never heard from him again, until I was about 9 years old. My mom took me through to L.A. to visit my father and his new "girlfriend" who was actually by this stage his wife, 8 months pregnant with his child. I stayed with them, my mom stayed for a week and then went to stay with friends in Canada, to allow some bonding time. I had to be rescued 4 days later, and let's just say I wasn't collected in the same condition I was delivered.

And that was that, until I turned 14 and I had errrm anger management problems. I hated my mother because she was the only person I could hate who would never leave me. I made The Dentists life a living hell I'm sure, I was in trouble at school, I mixed with the wrong crowds. Teenage nightmare. And a sucker for punishment and rejection. I decided (after a pathetic attempt at suicide), that I needed to confront my father and the issues surrounding the concoction of abuse endured. So I left home, travelled to the middle of the Californian desert with an open ended ticket in my pocket and my mothers heartbreak on my cheek.

As it turns out, my father had been burned in a really bad fire at his apartment, and life on his side was broken and vulnerable. Puuuuurrrrfect. Sweet sweet revenge.

Ja - didn't quite work out so sweetly. It goes without saying that once again I returned home to my mother, more damaged and not in my original packaging. The break point had come. I was done trying to get my father to love and accept me.

In November 2003 my mother was diagnosed with cancer and my life fell apart. I could not lose the only consistent thing in my life. (One must remember I am a Gemini through and through. I will test you and push you to your limit, hoping you will prove me right and break.) My mother never broke completely. She has always loved me, even when I have murdered her time and time again with malice.

Four months later, my step-mother called to tell me about my father being ill. And God hit the pause button in my life. Spiralling in turmoil, still reeling from my mothers illness and feeling so alone, I made the decision that I could not live the rest of my life with regret. I had to go there.

I took leave from work immediately, and went to see my father. As a woman.

For 4 weeks I battled with wanting to scream at him and demand apology after apology versus my own inner self that was prepared to forget and forgive and move on. Going around with him, people asking who I was and him proudly showcasing me as his daughter, made me feel nauseous to my bones. I am not your daughter you righteous son of a bitch. I am the child you have chosen to abuse and ignore.

But I kept it in, and rode the rollercoaster alone. There were times when I could have smothered him with my vendetta. But there were also times when I realised I was this mans child, and we had a bond that neither of us were capable of breaking. At that stage we were uncertain of the cancers mortality, and my father being the stubborn bastard he was, was convinced he was going to win this fight for his life.

In the September, things didn't look so great, so I went again. This time with a new found inner peace. My father was dying. This man whom I had spent my whole life despising and blaming for everything, but whom could have been my best friend, had we just given each other a chance. I was so angry at the situation. Twenty-four years of not knowing him, and God was going to give me 8 weeks to settle a lifetime, and satisfy the rest of my life. I had vowed when I was a little girl, that I would not invite my father to my wedding. Now I was being given no choice.

In those 8 weeks I transformed as a person. The Bitter Train left with all my luggage on board, and me waving to it from the platform. When I came back home from the last visit, I had a dad.

On the day my father died, the world was filled with tragedy. Mine mattered not to the world. But the pain I felt consumed my own environment. His funeral was an out of body experience. I wasn't wholly there. I was writhing in pain and grief. I felt hard done by. A missing puzzle piece that just didn't actually fit anywhere. People saying speeches, expressed their condolences to each person of my dads family - except me. Nobody knew who the distraught girl staring at the coffin, tears streaming down her face was.

I said goodbye, all alone.

And on that day I wished so hard that I had just a few more moments. My half brother, all of 14 at the time, had had a life filled with my dad. So had my step-mother. They had eaten breakfast with him. They'd been to the grocery store with him. He'd watched basketball games and movies with them. He'd talked politics and economics in their presence. He'd mended their house and knocked golf balls around in their backyard. He'd given pocket money and asked about friends. He'd slept on their couch, and snored in front of their tv. He'd said goodbye to them in the mornings on his way to work, and hello in the evenings when he returned.

I had nothing on one hand, yet on the other I felt I had all I needed. Acceptance and forgiveness.
Last year I was on a sports tour, and when we sang the national anthem I cried. Not because I was filled with pride for my country, but because I wished he was there, smiling proudly at his little girl, clapping his hands and taking pictures.

I could not get rid of the funeral clothes last night. I sttood for about an hour, feeling the fabrics in my hand. It's silly I know. I just tucked them away in a corner. I am not ready to say goodbye.

I have barely even said hello.

Saturday Night Live

2006-08-05T20:53:00.000+02:00

Ridiculous. Just a ridiculous ridiculous day.

Talk about a comedy of errors.

I had to send an outrageous amount of branding (brandage?) to Bloemfontein today, ex JHB. This stuff was obviously ordered at the last minute by client, so had two suppliers work through Thursday and Friday at a pace more furious than an 18 year old boys love-making.

One supplier stuck to his end of the bargain and delivered Friday close of business with a smile on his face.

The other didn't. Long story short we fought about not paying them until the goods arrived (ummm COD stands for cash on delivery motherfuckers) which we won eventually and it was agreed the stuff would be at our warehouse at 8:30 Saturday morning.

So moron here was at the office at 8:15 this morning (yes - Saturday, and did anyone notice how absolutely fucking freezing it was this morning?), waiting for said supplier to arrive within the following 45 minutes at least.

Ha fucking ha ha.

Said supplier arrived at 10:00.
Courier arrived at 10:15.

Opening comedy set: courier is supposed to send one ton bakkie. Courier actually sends Corsa bakkie.
I had 4 gazebos (+ walls), 60 banners (with frames), 100 3mx2m boards and 20 flags. I had a better chance of fitting a hippopotamus into my left tear duct, than I did of getting all that stuff into the C.B.

And the next comedian on stage: had told second late supplier that I would pay the freaking 70k odd balance once I had checked the goods, and that I would use the account we had with the bank they bank with so that it showed up immediately PLUS I would send an sms confirmation to the pain in the arse sales managers phone so that they could be comforted in the knowledge that we weren't out to fuck them in their vaginas with a screwdriver. But OBVIOUSLY said online banking was enjoying its Saturday, not allowing anyone to make any payments. Good grief. So had to pay with another bank and then convince said supplier that I had actually done the payment and that the proof given to driver was not a forged document.

Ladies and Gentleman please welcome onto stage: fucking courier pieces of shit. We then could not get hold of man who had promised a one tonner. Apparently it's illegal to answer ones phone on a Saturday. If only I had known this earlier. So had to call in our driver that was on "standby" to come to work, drive our own one tonner to Bloem, stay over, come back tomorrow. But of course he wasn't picking up phone (it's really illegal). So there I was, no feeling in my hands and feet, clutching my cup of coffee, trying to come to terms with the fact that I was going to have to drive a one tonner to Bloem, all whilst looking around for Leon Shuster and a hidden camera.

By this stage it was 12:00 and we were 2 hours late leaving with the delivery. Thank god driver eventually answered only to hurl out an explanation of how he was in the toilet - pooing.

It's just too much information really.

So truck eventually left, as did I with 6 banners in my car, to be delivered to one of clients buildings in Anderson street, where apparently the security guards were waiting for me.
Rubbish.

Building closed, no security guards in sight.

And the winner is: contact person not answering their phone. What a fucking surprise. Spent three hours sitting like a duck with a porcupine quill up my ass, waiting. Finally got hold of the "contact person" and she finally got hold of security. Mission achieved.

Got home at around 5:00 - feeling like I'd been hit by a tornado of knock knock jokes. Day will only be over once I knew driver had delivered safely to Bloem. Bless his heart he made it.Gave him Monday off the poor soul.

I walked over to the fridge to crack a cold Windhoek in celebration (more that the day was over than that I had achieved the unspeakable). It was not to my astonishment that there was not a beer in sight. The fridge seems to have drunk them all.

So how am I spending this most marvellous Saturday night?

Well I am at home. Alone. I got 2 dvd's and climbed into bed. OOOOH what a curveball, the tv in my bedroom is not linked/tuned into the dvd player which is upstairs in the loft, where the heater isn't. So here I lie in bed,alone,cold and exhausted. Dogs are at my feet, cuppa next to my head, Barbershop 2 on Mnet, armed with a book of sudoku puzzles and a leaking pen as ammo.
Blogging. How sad.

I'd love to say, what else can go wrong (yes I did just say it but I didn't actually I wrote it so I don't think it counts), but seeing as Lady Luck is just not on my side I am afraid that in saying that I may tempt a power failure, or cause my dildo to lose its permanent erection, one of the dogs might vomit on the duvet, my pen may leak all over my lip and then the shower will run out of hot water.

Tomorrow is Sunday - and then it's Monday. My P.A. starts on Monday. Thank buddha.

Have you seen this man?

2006-08-04T11:53:00.000+02:00

It has become obvious that I have become rather desperate for a little ass.
Muddle in a Puddle desperately seeking Crack-o-Crack Man.
Call me on 555-SmellyBum.

*guffaw*

Once upon a lifetime

2006-08-01T23:55:00.000+02:00

Remember the days when we were kids.

Life was so simple then.

Pride was when you got a 1 on your report for cutting and pasting, or when you're Grade 1 teacher used your colouring in as an example for the rest of the class to follow.

Envy well, when you weren't first to get to Lisa at break and someone else beat you to the bartering of sandwiches. That was true coveting. Or when your "best friend" gave another girl a "friendship bracelet" you were The Green Eyed Monster for sure then!

Greed, I can safely say was only applicable to toys and not money. Back then, desire reared it's head when Garbage Pail Kids were the big thing. Adam Bomb, Acne Ashley, Nasty Nick, Semi Colin, Phony Lisa, Blasted Billy, Potty Scotty. And who could forget the deliciously fleeting taste of the pink stick of gum you got in your pack of cards?! Ha ha! I remember trying to win cards by hitting them over on the unyielding corridor floors till my hands were red and aching!

Laziness took it's ultimate form when the bets you made ended in "Whoever loses is slave for there day!"

Lust. Ha ha ha! First time I came into contact with this was when I sent my first Valentines card! I still remember the note: "Dear Wayne.....Roses are red....Violets are blue....Lisa says it's silly but I still like you.."

Competition and rivalry was fuelled in a game called England-Ireland-Scotland-Wales. I could have played that game for hours at break. Funny how whilst jumping over that elastic band, I never worried about showing my underwear off to the entire playground!

Speaking of underwear - when did wearing Woolies bloomers become uncool? Back then egg-yellow underwear and pale blue bloomers with red printed flowers were normal. When did a string that divided your gunch into two uncomfortable hemispheres become sexy and the norm?

Oh and socks! This was not an issue of comfort! We had those nylon socks of all colours, including a luminous range, which we would put on pair after pair after pair! Then roll them down one by one into little tubes clashing of colour! And Jazz shoes!

And then of course to keep your laces looking spiff (mulit-coloured laces or luminous ones at least) we had BowBiters!!! I had Ninja Turtles, and Pluto, The Beagle Brothers and Daisy Duck and a million others!

Oh god and snap on bangles and Pop Swatch! Those gigantic watches that you could unclip an then clip onto your clothes! And the bigger a variety of straps you had the cooler you were!

Oversized sweaters worn over ski pants! And the ski pants had elastic stirrups that you could wear over the suede sole of your Jazz shoes! Cycling shorts under your skirts! And who can forget that gym pants fad - Mickey Mouse print with the big elastic waistband and then they ballooned out to Alladin-ic proportions!
In those days it was completely acceptable to wear jerseys your gran knitted you. I had one with Rainbow Brite on the front!

Hahahaha!! And banana clips! Oh and those clips with the shoelaces or balloons coming out of them?!!?

Posters of the Beverley Hills 90210 cast and not to mention Michael J Fox on your wall! Jon Bon Jovi! I went to his concert in Standard 5 and I think that was the first day I looked at a man with awe-filled eyes! Bought and wore the t-shirt for ages after!

K-Tv had only just begun, and Pumpkin Patch was the show not to be missed! Whahaha - Fraggle Rock, and Jem and her rockband - The Misfits! Chevy Chase was funny in the National Lampoons, Synergy was my Angelina and Mr T was my hero! Full House was just sooo cool and Richard Greco was "just like so like hot"! My Little Pony and Saved By The Bell!

Crimped hair - hahaha I still have my crimper, tip top condition, it actually still works! And my mom used Epilady and went for electrolysis!

I had a keyboard or "synthesizer" and Milli Vanilli were the it guys! Madonna's coned boobs! Weird Al Jankowic and a black Michael Jackson! Laura Brannigan and Carli Simon and The Bangles - Eternal Flame!! New Kids on the Block and Salt-N-Pepa?!! Casette tapes! Beta!

Mortal Kombat and Circus Charlie! Wonderboy (or Island Boy) and arcades playing PacMan! Then of course there was the hours and hours dedicated to playing with the He-Man figurines "By the Power of Grayskull"!

Dirty Dancing was the ultimate love story and the family bonded when Dynasty was on. Tom Selleck and Connie Selleca were just dreamy and Don Johnson in Miami Vice was just uber-slick! MacGuyver was an undisputed genius - the man could stop an electric gate with bubble-gum?!!?

You rode bikes or roller-skated in the streets without a worry, and you could spend hours in the pool in summer! Hula hoops and Shrinky Dinks and not to mention that plastic wire scooby doo stuff! Teddy Ruxpin and Pound Puppies! Oh god and Alvin and the Chipmunks and how we would record ourselves on the dictaphone and then play it backwards to sound like them??! THE CALIFORNIA RAISINS?!!

Archie comics and Beano! And what about MAD magazine? Judie Bloom and Enid Blyton. Dr Seuss and Nancy Drew! Oh My God and Sweet Valley High?!!??

Capri Sun juice and Lecol (I used to drink green lecol till I puked). That cereal with the marshmallows in umm...Lucky Charms? Curry Naks and hahahaha Monster Munch!! Flambies and Yogi Sip in the carton!

I could go on forever.

The point is, when we were kids life was so much simpler.
Getting a letter with your name on was the most exciting thing. Now you dread it because it's just bills bills bills.

School and homework kept you busy, but there was time for swimming, and ballet, and art and play dates. Now it's work, money and December Holidays if you're lucky. We live from one weekend to the next and survive on the fun these provide us.

And boys. Boys were so gross for so long and pains hey? They pulled your pigtails and hid your suitcase. When the day came where Kissing-catchers was exciting and fun, they did their best to NOT get caught! During Red Rover Red Rover, they torpedoed through you like you were the wall around the Great Fort of Rajasthan.

What happened?

Now the two sexes fall for each other and it's often senselessly. We are so easily caught up in unhealthy, misguided situations, where sex, power and money control our emotions. Communication in those days was clarified when you looked at your friend, scrunched up your nose, giggled and said "Hey?" and then giggled some more.

Today, communication has broken down to a point of retardation. We have more tools with which to be in touch with one another, but we fail miserably to do so. Our daily stresses and our egos are able to fuck up even the best of things. We want our significant others to just simply understand us, when we ourselves don't. We fight, often without knowledge of why. We confuse love and lust, hate and disrespect, and the line between right and wrong is smudged altogether. We want what we can't have and mistreat what we've got.

We under-simplify things and over-complicate everything else. We lose sight of love and friendships over words said in moments. We say what we feel because honesty is apparently the best quality, but yet do we ever stop to think about how we are affecting the receiver of our honesty? We search for meaning in places it does not reside, and attach too much weight to our interpretation of others.

We go to bed angry and then wonder why we're tired. Our greatest challenge is telling people we love them, and yet we take it away at the drop of a hat. We apologise and then think that "Sorry" can dissolve any pain caused in the heat of the moment. We want to heal overnight and live forever, so that we can conquer the world and die fulfilled. We confuse comfort with happiness, and anger with passion. Our judgement is so twisted, we can justify anything.

We allow our jobs to become our first love, and many of us are happy to be alone. Not because of any other reason other than it's easier to be alone than it is to share one's private space with another. We marry temporarily because divorce is just that easy. We love, we fuck, we leave, we stay, we stray, we return, we die, we haunt.

We watch programmes on plastic surgery and threesomes and gay men dressing and re-doing straight men, we stick people on islands so we can witness what we've known all along - man is an animal. Our idea of reality tv is 15 people in a house drinking, eating, fighting and fucking. If we need to know ANYTHING, we Google it. Cartoons today are about 3 girls that can kill baddies in cold blood or a moronic purple dinosaur that sings pathetic (not to mention cult-like and irritating) melodies.

We think our souls and our minds are one and the same. We have forgotten how to trust our instincts, and each other. We wage wars over money. We steal from the rich, and we rape the poor. Our senses have become fine tuned machines, yet when we hear we forget to listen, when we smell we forget to breathe, we see but don't remember, we touch but we do not feel.

We engage in one another for recreation and not interest. We live by the microwave and time has us in bondage.

Today I have witnessed and felt what it means to be human. The errors we make. What it's like to be at that point where you realise the milk is spilled. The words we speak with clarity in our minds but chaos on our lips. The reality in our selves versus the perception in others. We say what we feel and so often it comes out twisted that we don't get what we want. What's worse is we don't know how to fix it. The more we try the deeper it gets until you are isolated and alone dealing with his words, your words and the words you never said.

Such is life.

Today I want to be that little girl, in her pink ballet leotard and pink tights, sitting in the backseat of her moms trunter. A little girl who watched Smurfs and slept with a Care Bear. Who dressed in baby blue corduroys and flannel shirts. Whose world was her mom and her granny and her teacher and her friends. Who still loved her birthday and wasn't afraid to smile. A tomboy who climbed trees, and chased frogs and openly cried when she was upset. A pure heart who could rely and trust others, and who worried about pidgeons in winter and ladybugs in the pool.

Yup. Life was simpler back then.

Mirror, mirror on the wall

2006-07-30T19:15:00.000+02:00

Realised something this weekend. Not many people know me.

They think they do. But they're wrong. And the little bit that they do know, is due to the fact that I am a loud mouthed dramatist, with a passion for swearing and an addiction to pornographic conversation, poo and sex shops.

Now I am not talking about Joe Shmo here. I am talking about people who have known me for the greater part of my development. Odd really.

Sat back and pondered this revelation today, and the deeper I delve into this notion, the more shocked and surprised I am. I am a dark horse without ever even knowing so. In fact I always thought of myself as a bull in a china shop.

Not the case!

How did I come to this conclusion? Well I had a chat with a good friend, and it was clear as day that I had no fucking inkling as to how she actually perceives me. Not even the foggiest of foggy ideas here!

Which obviously made me think: I don't know how I come across nor how I am understood. I think I am a certain way, and I always thought this was obvious. Apparently not. Mind-boggling.
Truly truly fascinating. So my friends think of me as someone completely different to who I am, and it seems no one has ever come out and spoken of this. Now call me Bob's ugly rotten tonsil for saying this is a problem for me!! I mean am I being completely paranoid here? Alarm bells ring when you realise you're somewhat of an enigma, but you really always thought you were so obvious, that you're an eyesore?!?!?

Anyhow. I am hoping to get it out of one of the fuckers eventually because I have managed to mind fuck myself with the whole notion of perception versus reality.

On a lighter note, I spent the weekend in pain. I am trapped in a 75 year old womans body - my spine has given up. Caved in. Lost it's passion and just delapidated. It is not interested in keeping to it's erect status whatsoever. Yesterday I was so fed up. Sunday has been deemed "Cuddle Yourself Day". It begins with a bout of playing with ones self in the morning. Followed by a decent hour or so of rubbing ones tummy. Due to the fact that my vertebra have waged war on my right shoulder blade, none were available for any bending or moving, whatsoever. This meant I could not masturbate. Grrrrrrrrrr. So I spent a good 2 hours stroking my belly, watching cartoon network (GOD what rubbish?!?!) and What went Wrong on the reality channel.

Eventually decided to haul my ass out of bed - had grandparents 56th wedding anniversary (56 years FUCK ME WITH A POGO STICK!!). Ate some cake, laughed at the delirious geriatrics, growled at The Dentist and then pissed off to the car wash (Sunday afternoon ritual). I love the car wash. I feel like royalty there. Free coffee, they drive your car around for you. It's just bliss.

So anywhoosiebees, found a little table in the sun and stretched my aching body, like a cat, purring away in my little patch of heaven, ready to tackle this months YOU blockbuster. And there he was....

A cute little specimen reading the paper. At first glance I noticed the following: superb (really superb though) lips, chocolate eyes, exquisite hands, yukky shoes, 10 seasons-already-past cargo pants.

I think I stared a little too long 'coz I got caught, and then had nothing else in the world left to do other than smile - that sweet brief mysterious smile and then immediately look away maneuver. It worked (Good on Cosmo mag this proves you don't always spew out pages and pages of rubbish monthly). So we got to chatting. What a nice nice nice boy. Certainly not the kind of man you can brutally assault in the bedroom. He's just too nice. Although I had visions of bonnets and soapy water and arses slipping off windscreens, as he explained what Cable Management servicing actually entails. Imagining banging a person in the back seat of his car as soap and water cascades around the two of you, is not a good idea. It proves really difficult to stay focused on the conversation at hand. (Ignoring the fact that I stared at his mouth the entire talkfest). Really cute. Very fuckable.

So when my arse decides to rip my spinal cord back through itself and then relodge it in it's rightful position, I will return to my one man porn show in my bedroom.

Yup, just me, medicine man, carwash boy, Jack and BBBB.

One big happy FUCKING family!!

Drunk skunk

2006-07-28T02:12:00.000+02:00

Drunk drunk drunk drunk.

what the fuck?

Woke up at 5:00am this morning to be at the airport by 5:45 - flew to Cape Town for the day got home at 9:30pm.

Had promised Kinky I'd meet her for a drink so went to 88's to meet her for ONE fucking drink.

As it so turns out, I haven't been out in a while. Haven't been drinking in a while (can't believe how many times I have had to backspace and respell). One single vodka red bull turned into a jager-bomb and a double vodka red bull. This turned into another single vodka red bull. And ashamedly, I am fucking drunk right now.

Over and above the fact that I am completely pissed on this teeny amount of alcohol - I am also completely mind fukt. My shoulder for some fucking reason, has been in a spasm from hell, the entire day. I am in agony (I am hardly in agony) and I am ready to burst into tears.

Not 'coz of the agony.

There is something about life, I don't get.

It's completely fukt up.

You see, fuck. I don't know.

Men are complicated for nothing hey?

There's this guy right now who's super. Unattainable, but super. I respect him. I love his sense of humour. I love how he makes me feel so comfortable and he's just so real. Just no bullshit. Just not average.
But the emphasis lies on the word unattainable. That's it. nothing else matters, the rest is all horse shit.
So therefore it's really completely beside the point.

So I went out tonight (can't see out my left eye) with the intenton of having ONE drink and coming home because I am exhausted. Truly fucking exhausted. (My fucking fucking shoulder is killing me). But of course as we know the night didn't go according to plan.
I was accosted by a someone I know. Cornered. Questioned. Flirted with. ( I think I'm going to vomit).

Backed up into a situation I dont enjoy being in. And it fukt up my night.

I might be ill.
I attract the wrong people. I am a strong, independant, un-pinnable (I know it's not a word) female. And I am happy this way for now.

I just want to be me. I just want life to be simple in the way I deem is simple. Not by anyone elses notion of chilled. I can't go out.It's not fun and inevitably shit like this always happens.With the same person drilling my fucking mind with the same fukt up bull.

Can't write anymore. feel too ill.

Being a woman

2006-07-25T09:12:00.000+02:00

I am going to the gynae today at 12:30. Yup. 12:30.

I have been having severe anxiety attacks over this since yesterday lunch time.

My gynae is an old man.He wears those glasses - the ones that magnify your eyes. So when he looks at you it exaggerates the intesity of his peering.

I feel nauseous.

Men can never understand this one. Just like how we cannot ever understand the proctologist and the coughing balls.

It's fucking horrendous.

Firstly, there is the gown that you have to wear. Please (there are real tears in my eyes right now.No joking around) I do not understand why that gown is there. I usually take an oversized t-shirt with and beg him to allow me to wear it.

Public gowns worn by public people washed in public machines with other public garments that have been worn by public people with public germs that they probably got from other public people with other public germs, ironed by public irons by public people, transported on public trolleys by more public germ people, put in the doctors rooms into the public dressing room with its public germ infested handle.

Ok. A tear has escaped my left eye. I am totally freaked out.

Then we move onto the bed, feet in stirrups, punani basically standing alone on stage facing the world. Old man gynae staring at our gwats. He reaches over and fetches THE STEEL ALLIGATOR which we won't mention is incredibly fucking PUBLIC! It has seen more fucking pussy that Hugh Heffner would if he had nine lives. Gross. Common public guavas. I am going to throw up.

So he shoves THE STEEL ALLIGATOR in and exposes your binnepoes pink inners to the galaxy and you feel as if you could easily yoga yourself into your own vagina and be swallowed alive.

It doesn't end here, no god forbid it should. The man then lubricates his latexed finger (shoot me now) and pokes around in there (boys no it is never ever pleasant) squishes your ovaries, feels your uterus lining (at this point there is a good deal of pressure on your anus and you feel as if you might explode - fountains of poo right there onto the table whilst wearing your public fucking gown). Once he is finished probing your yonis inner workings he removes his hand - it is a similar movement to when one pulls out the plug in the bath. He shuts THE STEEL ALLIGATOR and yanks that fucking bastard thing out of you. Drops it onto the tray (common and public!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and now you will see him move towards your face.

There is about to be an old man groping your tits. Now the funny thing here is, I am feeling my breasts RIGHT now, and it is not painful. When this decrepid geriatric starts to squeeze 'em you can die. Why the fuck is that????? So he cops a feel (please bear in mind that during all this time his nurse, who always has a hairy upper lip is standing at the foot of the bed - watching???!!!!!!!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?) tweaks a nipple almost always brushes underneath your arm, where you are sweating like a racehorse on steroids doing the chicken dance.

And then it's over. You can get dressed now - always said in that same tone.

Now I'll be perfectly honest I am glued to the bed. My arse has been in this stress cramp for the last 10 minutes, and I cannot move back to the public change room. When I eventually get there I have to have a Pampers baby wipes speed bath. I also have to do my best to not faint.

I am also at this point always a shade of nauseating green-grey. And why do they have two doors there? An in and an out door? You come in through his office but you leave by the back door directly into the waiting room via the secretaries station. What the fuck is that about? The doddering enfeebled fuck can't look you in the eye and say goodbye but he can place his nose 2cm away from your clitoris? Uh uh. Not cool.

Another tear has escaped my left eye.

I am dreading this appointment. I honestly would rather drink from a strangers cup. And anyone who knows me, will know that that is a serious statement to make.

May the powers be with me today. Please I cannot throw up.

I am having a panick attack at this minute and must leave this desk for some water.

Cinderfuckinrella

2006-07-22T15:52:00.000+02:00

Dinner with the folks last night and I am still steaming from my ears almost 24 hours later.

At the risk of sounding like an angry 16 year old shitface - parents are fucking strange creatures.

I didn't grow up in the worst household on the face of the planet. But it's not the best either.

My mother and father divorced when I was just a few months and my father basically fled the country, leaving my then 21 year old mother with j-f-a.
So for most of my nappy years I lived on my great uncles couch by night, and was cared for in my granny's flat by day.

When my mom saved up enough money we moved to a small townhouse up the road from my granny, which we shared for some time with my aunty (then on her first divorce - there were 2 more to come) and my cousin.

My gran basically raised us while the two moms worked switchboards at estate agencies and insurance firms. She was an avid gardener, so needless to say my first word was "Flower" and I could say "Acacia" before I could say "Wee-wee".

Life was a bed of errrrm...begonias.

Then my Mother met The Dentist and His Son.

The Dentist and His Son came with a lot of stuff from their previous life, as did we, but the intention of merging with as few growing pains as possible, was there.Our little family unit of two had now become an odd four.

I have taken after my father, who is of Middle Eastern descent. My hair is black, my skin olive. I have very harsh, dark eyes (they are almost black) and my eyebrows are absolutely nothing to be messed with. Without these my face would be incredibly plain. When I was a child, I looked like I had been adopted from an orphanage in Banglapur.
My new step-brother had hair so blonde it looked white. Skin the colour of milk, with eyes like lapis lazuli. Had he walked the streets of Berlin in the 20th Century, he may have been adopted
by Hitler himself, as the Aryan prototype.

We most often were met with strange looks wherever we went.

Over and above this, we did not get on, and my childhood memories are filled with many a violent physical encounter with my step-brother.

The Dentist is a rather strange person. He has a very mean face, which I attribute to the Polio he had as a child. God the man is scary looking. This is the reason why I never really had friends round to our house as a kid. All my friends had admitted to me,that they were petrified of him.
This resulted in me spending a lot of time with other families, which as a child I bonded with rather quickly, and often confused and crossed the lines of norm.

As a teenager, The Aryan and myself were rather unpleasant. He resented my mother and manipulated The Dentist. I remember him throwing tantrums of epic proportions, causing chaos and unrest within the entire household.

I by this stage had become completely unattached to my "family" and was fiercely independent. I had a stubborn, naughty streak that was unbreakable. The Dentist never got involved for fear of the venom that would seep into his blood through his eyes, which I would spit from the depths of my soul. My Mother tried, god bless her, to control this wild child from Sin City. But it was to no avail - I had been left on my own for far too long by this point. I had also stewed in my own emotions and issues surrounding my fathers disappearance, and my Mother was the object of my destruction.

Fast forward to present day.

I like to think I am alot calmer. My Mother and I often have a laugh about what a wrecking ball I was, and how much I owe her for sitting it out. She's just phenomenal. I would've drowned me in my own puke ageas ago!

As for The Dentist, things have gotten worse I have realised.
I actually thought when I moved out of home, reducing contact to a minimal once a week, our association would simmer down to a likeable point. In the beginning it did, but this seems to have been all smoke and mirrors.

The Dentist has always emphasized how hard he works to keep things going and how his life is far from luxurious and stress-free. Money has always been an issue. My Mom stupidly didn't make enough of her own and had to rely on him (no maintenance from my paternal side), so I have been making my own dosh from the age of 13. I have also shaped my thinking into always being able to rely on myself and myself only (not a good thing in all situations but difficult to break even then when you realise this).

But this post is not about the fighting, the tears, the money, the rejection etcetera etcetera.
This post is about letting go of ones parents.

I have realised that the question I have as to what the fuck my Mother was thinking, is never going to be answered. It is also none of my business.
When I look at her, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. My Mother is outgoing, and naive. She is a fitness freak (Comrades runner x5) with the corniest ,daftest sense of humour you'll ever come across. The woman is an airhead in the most adorable way. She tells long winded jokes, and then forgets the punchline. She forgets her name and forgets to close her boot when driving out the garage, leaving the thing behind on the concrete floor without so much as a realisation of the calamity she leaves in her wake. And I do not understand how on earth she can be happy with this miserable, introverted man. A man who is moody 24/7/365 and whose sense of humour has not yet left his revolting mothers womb. A man who cannot befriend a dead porpoise if he gave it his best effort. I am convinced he chose to become a dentist, so that he would not ever have to hold a conversation with anyone human. When he opens his mouth to say something, it comes out vicious and abrupt. His tone is so morbid and his presence so cold that your breath is visible when he steps into a room. The only time he seems to be happy is when he is holding a golf club. It reminds me of Jason from Friday 13th.

And yet, 19 years on she remains in a house with The Dentist and The Aryan (who despises her). She has not yet given up on the notion that one day this group of derelicts will find the good in each other and get along. And sadly this is as possible as peace in the Middle East.

Last night at the weekly meeting there was a blowup as a result of moodswing number 506. The Drumbeater (that's me) was once again placed in front of her bongos and handed the notes by which she would bang out the tunes that play in everyones mind. Yes. This is the role I have always had in this unit of emotional retards. I have a temper that comes in tornado sized proportions and a mouth the size of a black abyss. So when there is a problem I am the one to beat the drums until somebody snaps and does something about it. The Dentist was in his usual happy state, putting everyone down with his expertise that ranges from how to change a battery to delicate how to beading on a wedding dress, and I was wearing the bulls eye. But I decided to keep quiet, that was until my Mother added fuel to the raging inferno in my belly by saying "She can't take it anymore. Say something to him. Say something".

Which I did. I shut him up with one foul swoop of my irritated brain waves. I socked it to him without giving him a chance to retaliate or even squirm. He just buried his head in his potato salad in that evil way he does things.

I then shovelled the food into my mouth and left the house angry, agitated and aggressive. Not feelings I enjoy. Not how I would have liked to start off the weekend.

I am not an easy cat to keep as a pet I admit, but fuck is it possible that my Mother is truly happy and cared for and loved without me seeing it? Have I allowed myself to be so jaded by my own opinions that I am blind to reality?

He is a miserable, pitiable tragic soul and a person whom I will never like or respect for that matter, which obviously can only create further future issues. I cannot and will not ever accept this man as a role model. I strive daily to not be a moping son of a bitch, so that immediately puts us in two completely different time zones.

But as I said, it is not my business I suppose. I have to just let them be. Which brings me to the next point that as offsprings of fuck ups, surely we should then be able to go about our lives as we wish. Surely if I cannot interject and interfere, then neither should they?

God I feel like that teenage girl who hates the world again. I worked very hard to put that person to bed. I am not about to let other peoples mistake, screw things up for me.

So Mother and The Dentist. Sorry that my life and the chosen path does not necessarily gel with your concept of norm. But please, don't get me started on norm.

Ground Hog Day

2006-07-21T09:39:00.000+02:00

Weird thing happened to me this morning.

I woke up by chance, rolled over to look at the time on my cellphone and it read 7:50.
So of course I flew out of bed in a flat spin (fucking hate it when the alarm doesn't go off) rushed into the kitchen to put the kettle on, full throttle back into the bedroom to get dressed.

Fully clothed within 7 minutes - back to kitchen and....there on the huge clock on the wall (heeheehee new personal joke) it read 7:02!!

Good Gawd what the fuck?!?!?!?

Right turn to microwave 8:02??

Dude fuck me gently with a thorn bush?!

Hightailed it to the bathroom where watch sleeps - 7:03?

Ok some motherfucker is playing a sick joke on me.

So there I was standing in the middle of the dining room, jaw on the floor, scratching my head like a confused cavewoman, unsure whether to rush to work or chill for a cuppa!

Decided to get into the car and go to work anyhow regardless of the time. Radio clock said 7:14.
I'm going to be early.Very early.

Picked up stray dog along the way. He was standing in the middle of the road between the two lanes of maniachal cars, petrified ut of his mind. Drove to the vet in the area to ask if they recognise the dog. That vet is a dick I had to leave before I punched him too. Can't afford to be sued twice right now. Went to another vet, they hadn't seen the dog. Had no choice but to take this pooch (beautiful hey!!) to the SPCA, where I had a fat chat to the lady behind the counter there. I'm going to work for her on Saturdays. Her clock said 8:20 on the wall

FUCKER!!!!!
My radio clock still says 7:14. Late. Got kukked out.

There is an evil force at work today.....I hope this is not my karma....

UH OH - I didn't think about that!

(P.S. R Gooroo you're the smartest person I know but ummm...so far you're not right!)

Forgive me father for I have sinned...

2006-07-20T08:31:00.000+02:00

I dislocated my thumb at netball last night. It was so gross.
I have never been so irritated in my entire life - EVER.
It was sore, but more annoying than anything else. Right hand as well, so we all know what that means...

Bugger.

Anywhoosiebees, life since Tuesday has become a leeeeeeetttle chaotic. (Kinky don't frown at me please).
Now unfortunately I am unable to go into details as Jerry Springer may find my blog and beg me to come on his show, and I am not sure that I am strong enough to turn that kind of opportunity down so...

The truth is I have sinned. Not in the worst way one can I mean I didn't murder anyone's kitten or anything like that, but I maybe didn't behave accordingly.

The problem is, I don't feel bad about it. Well not really. I mean I feel a little bad. But I think maybe not bad enough. Maybe not as bad as the situation would require...

Ummm...
Well....
Shizer....
Errrrmmm...

OK FUCK IT I LOVED SINNING.
I WANT TO SIN OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

Oooh crap...

Ok so you know how one can get off murder using the self-defence thing?
Right so what are we saying? We are saying if one acts purely on an instinctual basis ie. to protect themselves, then it is not necessarily wrong? (Hahaha Kinky is a law student she's going to eat me alive for that one!!)

So if I say I acted wholly on a primal instinct, is it really wrong?
I mean what is a person to do?

Another hypothetical to help me explain my situation:

You are a human being, who has been used to errm...ok - eating your whole life. There has never been a shortage really of Food, and you enjoyed the fact that you could eat and eat and eat whenever you like, whatever you like, wherever you like.
And then all of a sudden - no more Food. Gone. Poof just like that.
In the beginning it's ok because you have had your fill of Food and you can survive a while without it.
BUT!
Then you start to get little hunger pangs, which turn into ravishing needs. You start to fanatasise about the Food. Food that's around you. Food you ate once upon a time. Food you saw in books. Food you never thought you'd eat. Food that's in someone elses fridge.Free Food. Expensive Food. FOOD FOOD AND MORE FOOD.
So what lands up happening is, you go to a ummm... market. Ja a Food market. And you see Food that you really really want, but it's in someone elses trolley. Now remember you're starving hey?!
And the Food is calling out to you. It is appealing to your every need and it wants you to not starve anymore. The Food is so tempting that it's almost as if it's begging you to steal it. (Please don't forget how hungry you are). So you do.

You take that Food. You steal it and you eat it and you enjoy every last crumb, because that Food is exactly what you want, it's exactly what you ever wanted and needed. And inside your ummmm... tummy that Food feels fantastic because you're empty in there, but now you don't feel so empty. You feel full and excited, even though you know it was wrong to eat that Food, you almost don't care. You justify it because you needed the Food and the Food maybe needed you.

It was primal. And base. It was a moment of desire that ran away with you as you looked at that Food. In fact you weren't actually you in that minute. You were a starving person driven purely by the fact that you just had to eat. The desire and the hunger and the weakness and the animalism got the better of you, and you gave in to your licentious self. You actually had no other option at the time.

Are you wrong? Is it an awful, immoral, profligated thing for an otherwise level-headed, sensitive, ethical human being to do?

Because as mentioned, and this is the God honest truth, I just don't think it's so bad. I really think it's situation dependent, and it would be easy for anyone to judge that starving lunatic in the Food market, if they just weren't in that person shoes. Of course then, the person is wrong.

But what I'm asking is, is there a possibility that in some situations, there truly was nothing else to do but to shamelessly yield to your unchaste, illicit side? To abandon all thoughts of denying yourself of anything at that moment, and to immerse yourself in the immediate satisfaction that that particualr point in time, had to offer you.

If it is wrong, may the path to hell be paved with Food so that I may indulge whilst on the way to the hot seat. Because that is then where I am definitely headed.

(X rated)

2006-07-18T01:53:00.000+02:00

So I think I've got a problem right.

It's 2 'o' clock in the morning and I am awake for two reasons.
One, I have a smelly shit load of work to get done.
Two, my hormones have gone into sexual overdrive causing severe insomnia.
Not to mention a cramp in my right hand. (I need to eat more bananas. *note to self: work harder on potassium intake*)

Now I know that I have mentioned this in the past, this carniverous sexual appetite of mine, but I truly am worried about what a rapacious lusting I have for sex.

Now with this concern in mind I have come to understand that this is an issue, not only for my right hand, but for any future hopes of penetration in the near future.
Why?
Because when a man makes contact with a woman just for a chat, and he lands up smothered in her imaginations disgusting smut, his initially accessible penis is bullied into submissive oblivion. And in a nutshell the man is then FORCED to engage in red-hot pornographic xx-rated discussions with me, when all he wanted was to know how my day was going.
It's just not on.

I cannot have a normal acceptable conversation any longer than 3 minutes before my inner perverted sex fiend injects into the chat, it's deviant sexual desires.Why?WHY?WHY?

Then to make matters far worse than rotten cabbage, I keep replaying the conversations in my head, keep re-reading the messages on my phone, so that I may feverishly engage in sexual intercourse alone. AND I AM OK WITH THIS?!?!

So with all this information and all these ravishing thoughts racing through my mind, I have decided to use my blog as a place where I can just get it all out now. This is my bid so that I may be able to return to society as a wholesome, contributing member of society. Eventually.

I therefore STRONGLY recommend that any sensitive readers do not continue on this journey of devilish, queer, warped, tainted confessions of desire. Please - I do not want the corruption of pristine minds on my rap sheet.

So here goes.....

I fantasize about my clothes being ripped off my body as fantasy man delights himself in and devours my skin, stroking my bare breasts with his finger tips whilst his lips caress all my sensitive zones. I can feel my hips gyrating to his every movement, as my legs spread and I enclose him within the confines of my inviting self. Back arched in pleasure, my neck exposed as he nibbles causing my flesh to ripple and my body to tremble.He places his one hand between my shoulder blades and the other in the small of my back, lifting me onto him, revelling in that drowning feeling of entry.Squeezing his shoulders to stop myself from exploding, I quickly bring myself to orgasm at which point he forcefully lays me down on my stomach and slowly, but deliberately teases me with his fingers, massaging my thighs, shoulders and neck. Licking and kissing me from head to toe and back again, before he presses down inside me with commanding rythmn until we both climax in intense delectation, ending in an explosion of burning lust and breathless exhaustion.

Mmmm...I'm done. Can't continue...
Please excuse me. I must attend to the throbbing occuring between my legs.
Immediately after which, I will have to ice my aching hand.

(PS. Kinky I know you're there - we may have to go back to the shop)

Jane,Jack,Tim,Jill and Dick

2006-07-17T09:32:00.000+02:00

Meet Jane. Single, occasionally funny, loud, adventurous, outspoken.

Jane meets Jack.

Jack is great. Jack is funny, intelligent, interesting, crazy, fun. A good mixture of things which makes him very attractive. Jack is really great.

But of course we all know Jack and Jill are together and have been, well, forever really.

So Jane being a good person, knows she can never play with someone elses ball without permission. Without even knowing Jill, Jane has an instinctive respect for her, and so she puts all thoughts out of her head. Jane and Jack will be friends.Good.

Then Jack (who's really great by the way) introduces Jane to Tim.

Tim is nice. Funny (in a very sarcastic way), difficult (which Jane seems to enjoy, a challenge), and he's available.

So Tim and Jane get to speaking a little here and there.
Jane's natural response to Tim is one of uncertainty, she is not sure if the chemistry is there.

But it turns out it could be. Or Jane has not seen Dick in so long and is really lonely.

So Jane and Tim end up having a little roll in the hay, and it's pleasant.

Now of course things are a little odd for Jane for a number of reasons:
Jack (who's really great by the way).
Tim has not said anything to Jack.
Jane doesn't feel it's her place to tell Jack, Tim should.
So Jane is unable to really talk to Jack (who's really great by the way) like she's used to doing, because she is scared that it might come out accidentally about Tim , and then Jack might be a little sad that he wasn't told before.

Jane has some other concerns.

Since there's been no Dick in her life, she has started to become accustomed to life without Dick.
Jane is enjoying the time she gets to spend alone. She enjoys playing with Spot. Jane takes delight in seeing Sally, Lucy and Mary, when she likes where she likes.
Jane also revels in the idea of not answering to anyone, and not always having fixed plans. She likes the idea of her phone not ringing after work hours.
She is not ready to return calls always, and make sure she replies to every message. Jane does not want to feel like she is tied down in any way. Jane wants to know that if she wants to go out and play with Sally, Lucy and Mary, she can, without cutting her play day short because Tim wants to play.
Jane also wants to be able to maybe have other play days.

But Tim is merry, and Jane doesn't want to just stop playing with Tim.
Jane feels selfish, a feeling she's not accustomed to. She is worried that Tim is maybe a little more ready to have a set play date with Jane. But Jane is not ready for this.

Jane is also nervous to talk to Jack about this, as Jack's loyalties rightfully lie with Tim she thinks, and not with her. So she is afraid that Jack may now tell Tim, and Tim is going to be sad and mad, which Jane doesn't want at all. So Jane is hoping Jack (who's really great by the way) is going to keep Jane's secret and maybe give her some advice seeing as he knows Tim so well. Jack also knows Jane, and knows she's not a malicious person at all, and would never hurt Tim on purpose. Jack (who's really great by the way) will surely understand where Jane is with regards to play dates and Dick, and will recognize that Jane is not really ready for another Dick?

Jane is in a spot of peril.

Dog eat dog

2006-07-10T08:18:00.000+02:00

Fuck me, what a weekend.

Qba Friday night no ass. Tits' boyfriend told me he has had a crush on me since the first time he saw me (5 years now) and he thinks we should hook up and get it out of our (???) systems.

I passed. Good gawd.

I don't even want to talk about Saturday and the stupid hooker bitch that I flattened on the highway. Yes, flattened. Landed a square one on her jaw. She deserved it. I should've hit her in the nose while she was down. Miserable swine. I hope the gangrenous cunt is hurting like hell today.

Which brings me to my actual issue, of animal rights. Ok these DO NOT exist. After this braindead souless worthless blob of camel cum refused to move the helpess innocent dog she mowed down, from the middle of the road, I took matters into my own hands (after I taught the inbreed a little lesson).
So I called the SPCA right, to help me get this poor thing, whom for all we know could still have been alive, out of the middle of the fast lane on the N1. Now I completely understand the SPCA is totally understaffed and well pretty much fundless but CRIKEY. The woman on the phone told me to call Pick it Up. Yup. Like as in the garbage disposal. She then followed this up with a "We only get involved when it's a dignity issue".

Ummmmmmmmmmm..........Ok.
CALL ME SADDAM HUSSEINS LEFT NUT??!!

Dignity issue. Hmmmm ja that's right leave it in the road to be continously run over by taxi's, trucks,busses,cars, mini-vans,towtrucks etc etc. This way we will ensure that this poor dog dies with is head held high and his insides neatly tucked away in their rightful places.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!
I sulked pretty much the whole day and night.

Woke up on Sunday and decided a little retail therapy might be in order. Decided I needed some nice shirts for work so off I went to Pringle. Was doing just fine in there until the snot-nosed shop assistant came to offer her "help".
Fuck these people. Seriously FUCK THEM.

Firstly please do not treat me as if I cannot afford anything in your shop and am just browsing. You dumb mound of fungus. The only reason you are wearing that jersey is because you work here and you get a staff discount.

Secondly, please do not tell me I wear a size 8 when I know for a fact I am a size 10, and an 8 will not fit over one of my thighs. You do this because you don't like me, you despise the fact that you're working on a Sunday, so you derive a sick pleasure from making me feel like a mare with an arse the size of a barn.

Thirdly, you insignificant minimum wage "fashionista", please do not suggest that I wear a green shirt, with a pink cardigan. In case you hadn't noticed I am not a simple-minded-I-eat-bullshit-for-breakfast consumer. I happen to have style. You don't. And that, you repulsive imbecile is not my fucking issue.

Fourthly when I pay, with cash, please do not now decide to smile at me and suddenly evolve into the world's most prized employee of the fucking millenium. My eyes are sending razor-sharp knives right into the epicentre of your forehead, and in my imagination you are dying a slow, excruciating, gory, savage, crimson death. You had absolutely no right to ruin my down time. And for that I despise you. In fact at the end of this month, when I come in to see what new suits you have, I will loudly request that I do not get served by you.

Ja. What a fucking weekend. The forces were testing me and I am afraid I failed miserably. But it has been very long since I lost my temper this way. Fuckit that bitch deserved it and so did that miserable expendable fucker. I might get sued. I'm prepared for that. Bring it on.

I'm hungry.

Throat the size of a pea

2006-07-07T08:20:00.000+02:00

Yip that's how I feel this morning.
Ill.
And I have an entire day of meetings from 9:00 until 3:00 to look forward to. I am sure by the end of the day my throat will have swelled itself shut and I will die at somebody's board room table whilst fantasising about copulating on it just five minutes before I gasp and platz.

Anywhosiebees I got tagged yesterday by R Gooroo, nasty bugger!

So here goes, hyphenated words beginning with n:

Narrow-minded: term given to men who won't allow their girlfriends to penetrate them with a strap-on

Never-do-well: the person I become on tequila

New-fashioned:the dildo Kinky and I saw at the Hustler shop that looks like a skinny lava lamp. That's hot.

Nip-up: the manouevre one has to pull during sex when the penis hits your liver

Neo-Malthusianism: fancy term for the practising of safe sex.
Muddlism orig. my ass Def: do not have children - especially if you are ugly

Near-term: the short period of time somewhere in the future, that I am hoping to get some ass in

Niminy-piminy:pornographic term given to a woman who cries during sex "coz it's just so beautiful".

Never-ending: word used mainly in a negative manner, unless you are using it to address the following: orgasms, cash flow, poo's (positive for a Muddlian anyhow), relationships (whahah threw that in there for shits and giggles and for Peas' sake)

No-lose: lies: somebody always loses

Never-never land: concept invented by crack whores to keep hope alive. Now loosely used to describe a Fantasy Land to kids, which is downright fucking disgusting considering you are basically telling them they're never-never going to get there. And we wonder why the youth of today is so fucked.

Nine-to-fiver: life's way of telling you you're getting there

Night-blind: similar to beer goggles but having to do with light. When not wearing any beer goggles one fucks in poor light so as to avoid any clear visions the next day

Nerve-wracking: the feeling that comes over you when you see someone else's turd in your toilet. Also described as the feeling that one experiences when they realise they may never get a decent shag ever again. One might also feel nerve-wracked when they're about to get laid and they haven't shaved their legs.

Niger-Congo: a group of people who through a combination of genes and cross-border pollination, are rumoured to have the largest cocks in the world

Nine-banded aramdillo: An armadillo with nine bony plates. Nine boners - a woman into beastiality ultimate fantasy.

No-fly zone: the act of cumming in most womens mouths

No-holds-barred: attitude taken by a Muddle when having sex especially after a dry spell

Nitty-gritty: this is a phobia experienced by most straight men as a result of their mothers

No-load: impotent man

No-frills: the holy grail of sex

No-tilling: a term used when one is too embarrassed to outright say they aren't getting any ass

No-hitter: a most accurate term for my weekend jols

No-no: the act of holding a woman's head down while she blozzes

Nose-dive: when a guy breaks his snout on your pubic bone during a muff-dive

Nuclear-free-zone: Government lies

Gooroo I hope I met your expectations.
I am off to meeting one of the day. I can't believe how sexually starved I am it clearly is all I can think about.
I am going to do my utmost best to remedy that this weekend. Please God I come back on Monday scared that I might be with child.

Snot and smiles

2006-07-06T10:54:00.000+02:00

I have two choices here as to what I am going to write about and I am currently undecided.

One makes me sad and the other makes me laugh. One has consumed my butt-fucked brain but it isn't really worth writing about, as it doesn't really matter.

So we'll go for fun!

My friend, the drama queen (hereafter known as Tits) did a very funny thing yesterday.

Remember Medicine Man?

Well as it turns out she made a few phone calls yesterday to find him!

Hahahahaaha!

Bwahahahahaaha!

Teheeeeheeehehheee!

I am thinking of the receptionists face as Tits told her the story of Friday night in a germ hole!

Blimey!

Anyhow of course they laughed themselves retarded and then proceeded to tell her unfortunately they cannot give her employees personal details, but she can leave hers with them and they'll try get it to the right person.

At which point she left the following message:
"Hi there Medicine Man, you met my friend on Friday night at Olivedale Clinic. She was the hot (*muddle interjects ?????? wtf) one in the black coat. Anyhow apologies for my behaviour my stomach was cultivating its very own species of abominable snowmen. My friend thinks you're hot, and she's sexually frustrated (*muddle interjects is it that obvious???!!) and I was hoping you could help her out with that. So if you're interested call me on ### ### ####!" (*muddle interjects ladies and gentleman I officially have a self-appointed pimp)

How embarrassing??? I nearly drowned in the bath!This guy is immediately thinking I am a psycho!!!!???? Oh God if it was me on the receiving end of this message I'd be like "Dude. What the fuck?How psycho is this - this guy actually tracked me down to my work?! Nuh uh dude's got stalker potential".

I've had a stalker before - IT WAS NOT FUNNY.
The guy wrote me poetry telling me I was a stealth panther in the jungle and crap.
He used to sit outside my res building waiting on the steps.....
This is kind of the same thing?????????
Oh my God I'm a stalker?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Yip I've just crossed over into insane. I am a certifiable nut job.
My sex life is over.

Speaking of sex life had a little chat with my special friend last night - we'll call her Kinky (I know you're there). And she mentioned that her horniness has actually turned her into a nasty person, which I find most interesting. I mean how sad for us? It is really hard to get laid out there.
My fear is, after much toil and resolution and a little elbow grease, I got rid of my virginity.And now I think the fucking thing has grown back.

So here I sit, with an unwanted virginity back in place, with the concern that I have lost my last marble and should be committed, having a freful fit of nervosia whilst my adrenalin produces some sort of panic serum in cohoots with my sweat glands opening their flood gates (Raymond the office poltergeist is fucking around with the aircon system it is 32 degrees in here), and my rather spastic colon has spasmed itself into a gyrating helix, all of this while my hands shake like a piece of paper having an epileptic fit.

Yup. He should definitely get my number. I'm a real fucking catch!!!!

4:14am

2006-07-05T08:17:00.000+02:00

I had the worst dream last night.

I dreamed it was C.P.M's bithday and his mother organised a surprise party, and she invited me. Everything was fine we were polite to each other when he got there and then all of a sudden we got into a fight, and he told me he was seeing someone else. The only reason he told me is because I noticed he had shaved his upper thigh, and I pulled his pants down and he had done his short 'n ' curlys too. I was like the Wild Woman from Bornea I was slapping him and screaming and crying all over the show.

It was fucking awful. Woke up at 4:14am and I was in tears which really is the worst 'coz the dream is so real that you aren't sure if it happened or not.

Anyhow as you can tell I am in a terrible,emotional, humourless, weepy mood. I didn't cry in the shower - well let me rephrase, I didn't make it that far, it started on the pillow and continued all the way on the drive to work.

I'm so confused. I just want to see him but I know there's no point. I wish he'd just call.

I don't know what to do anymore.

SOS.SOS. Muddle in a Puddle.

Please God, fracture my shin

2006-07-04T08:34:00.000+02:00

Monday night netball. What an adventure.

Except for last night. Boring.

No jiggle bum(s) and no injury. The two things I prayed for most.

It's obvious why - apple ass 'coz she (they) have the most marvellous effect on my panties, and an injury so that I could go to Olivedale Clinic and hopefully see The Medicine Man, then bang him in the trauma room, or wherever.He too has an orgasmic effect on my lingerie.

God did not grant me with either. Thanks a mill pal.

Left feeling rather sad so cheered my self up with a little car karaoke. That Laura Brannigan sure knew what she was doing back in the 80's.

MEDIC!MEDIC!HELP!WE'VE GOT A BLEEDER!

2006-07-03T08:45:00.000+02:00

Picking up from where I left off and then moving on swiftly.

Two apple-bums times one horny biatch plus one trendy QBA divided by 5(or 6) vodka red bulls MINUS one stomach ache = GINORMOUS FAT FUCKING ZERO.

Yip my friend went and got herself a sore tummy the hooker. Now admittedly she is a drama queen, so of course off we went to the hospital to get her checked out. *Muddle sadly replays her goodbyes to 2 jiggle bums*

Hos·pi·tal
n.
1. An institution that provides medical, surgical, or psychiatric care and treatment for the sick or the injured.
2. Chiefly British. A charitable institution, such as an orphanage or a home for the elderly.
3. A repair shop for specified items: a doll hospital.
4. Archaic. A hospice for travelers or pilgrims.

BULLFUCKINGKUK
A hospital is a germ infested hole, capable of breeding diseases unknown to modern medicine, run by people who have never heard of stress management, but are good at keeping secrets.

This was my hell.
My question is - why do they cover the chairs in that depressing deep blue coloured fabric?
And why are the chairs so close together in the waiting room? I mean logically speaking, people in a hospital waiting room are waiting for a doctor of medicine, not free suppository samples. They are waiting for a doctor because they are ILL. So why stick 'em all so close together so that their revolting immune systems (which are obviously already in some kind of failure) can blend and mix and infest with each other, procreating new disgusting diseases?

No.

I did not fare well with the coughing, germ-spluttering child to my left. I was revolted by the woman doubled over in pain in a wheelchair, grossly covered by a blanket. And the man running around in a towel, devoid of trousers, whipped my stomach into a nauseous frenzy.

But I was coping for the sake of my distressed friend.

Of course that was until THAT WOMAN rushed in like the Tasmanian devil on speed with THAT BABY, and was immediately shown through THOSE DOORS, which caused complete pandemonium with THE PEOPLE running the show.

(Panic attack rising full tilt from the depths of my peripheral nervous system).

It just so turns out THAT BABY had been afflicted with MENINGITIS. They turned half-mummified bodies away at the door saying "Sorry we can't take you - contagious area. Sorry. Sunninghill or Sandton please".

(Panic attack at maximum volume inside oesaphagus).

I had to walk outside to smoke a fag,drink a quart,swallow a bottle of rescue remedy.....and pray.

And then it happened.

My knight in reflective overalls stepped out of the parked ambulance and my pussy became the most acquiescent troglodyte on the planet.

Oh brown haired over six foot a sturdy build foxy assed medicine man please take my recently languid milky breasts in your hands whilst your mouth seeks out my wilting yet sprightly flower and transport me to a land of ravishment and euphoric pleasure where I may self-indulge in your throbbing tumescent penis.

It is the truest of lust and sexual perplexity that I feel for this man. I fantasized about this glittering palatial specimen the entire weekend. I spent most of these delectable moments in bed simulating all achievable positions we could get ourselves into, and ohhhhhh lord......

I did not get his number and he did not get mine, but Paramedic boy, know this, my sexual adventures alone in my bed were sublime. And if ever I see you again, well you're a paramedic so if I ever see you again I hope I can talk,walk,breathe etc, but if I do, I will mount your swollen sausage on that gurney faster than you can say "Contagious outbreak of Cytomegalovirus in the Olivedale area".

Until then I will continue to masturbate over you like a rabid untamed feral barbaric pack mule.

God Bless you.

WAHWAHWEEWAH!

2006-06-30T21:32:00.000+02:00

AT QBA!!!!
APPLE BUM JUST WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR!!!!

LOW CUT JEANS TUMMY PEEKING THROUGH!!

SHE'S SO FUCKING FUCKING HOT!!!!

IT'S JIGGLE BUM GUYS IT'S JIGGLE BUM!!!

OH FUCK ME - SHE'S A FUCKING TWIN THERE ARE TWO HOT-ASSED JIGGLES!!

SHITE!!!

Fashion faux pas

2006-06-30T14:59:00.000+02:00

For you Suavy

Jobs your Uncle

2006-06-30T08:36:00.000+02:00

So I started the new job yesterday. Weird timing it being the end of the month and all, but well there's work to be done.

Anyhow so I have come across a few things that perhaps may not go down so well should they continue:

The bathroom is unisex, which for some is cool. Knowing how I struggle with the concept of toilets in the best scenario,this does not sit well with me. It's the urinals outside the claustrophobic porcelain box. This tells me that this was a men's b/room with pee-jars and a pooper. Yuch!
There are not enough mugs, so when one person is finished their coffee, you wash that mug and use it again. I don't know why I have a problem with this, as at my old job, the mugs (there were plenty come to think of it) were washed and re-used. New people new germs I think. I am going to go in search of my own mug today that actually has my name on it. Cardies.
The dry-mac. I don't own one. They seem to be standard issue here. FASHION POLICE!
As a result of my impeccable trend-setting style, the receptionist does not like me. I feel a make over coming on!!
My tyrannosaurus aircon does not seem to work. I have it set to reach 25 - it doesn't seem to be able to pass 13. By 5pm I may be frozen to this keyboard. I'm going to turn it off.
The fax machine is on a little round table. From an interior decorating point of view, this nauseates me. Draped over this little round table is an off-white cloth. I feel as if they pulled this get up from a confectionary in Kempton. The cloth makes me throw up into my mouth a little.
The woman who was in this office left her "Kissables Lip Ice" behind. I saw a stick of cream covered in a strangers mouth germs and projectile hurled into the bin. Removed with immediate effect.

Apart from these minor pickles, things are super!

I'll take these pickles over that Dumbass, the Truck with the Extra Boot (For you Cookie) and the Pale Princess who's actually a Dragon with farting problems anyday!

Goodbye old life! Never again will I find myself in the dark,rank depths that lies behind the Top Star drive-in!

P.S. My nose is running and I think I am developing chill blades.

P.P.S. The fucking aircon is haunted - it just fucking turned itself on. Fuckit so not only have I managed to piss of the receptionist but I fucked off the poltergeist in here as well.

P.P.P.S Wait a minute - it's reached 14!!! God Bless you Raymond (I'm naming the ghost Raymond)

If you're expecting humour. Stop right here.

2006-06-29T09:07:00.000+02:00

I have hit a wobbly.

I don't know what the fuck is going on with me.

Last night I watched Ladder 49 for the fourth time, and I cried my stupid eyes out.
It turns out most programmes on TV have this effect on me. For the last few weeks I have been an avid watcher of the Series Channel, which I am slowly coming to realise is a LARGE mistake.

Extreme Makeover:The Home Edition.

OH MY GOD SOMEONE PASS ME A KLEENEX.

It's not normal how I sob. I am pretty sure that I managed to expel my spleen, whilst blubbering beneath the duvet. Nothing short of ridiculous.

This morning, in the shower, the uncontrollable whimpering began. I don't know what it is, about the shower - it brings out the hysterical kunt within me.

I have done a little probing into my demented mind, and sadly it has emerged that I really do miss the stupid fuck, and I am lonely.

It seems I cannot distinguish my head from my cheerless little heart anymore. This morning I came extremely close to driving to his work and telling him I miss him. Amalgamation: son of a bitch.

I didn't. But I could've. Easily.

Why is this happening? I am so sick of thinking about him. I am even more nauseated when I talk about him. My friends must be ready to fucking strangle me (I would be too).

I mean do I really want him back? I don't know.
Am I just craving companionship? I don't know.
Am I lonely? Fuck yes.
Am I sick of my masturbation escapades ending in a half-assed orgasm that can be compared to the satisfaction one gets after taking a much needed leak? Rhetorical.

Honestly I have been through way worse things than this in my life: deaths, cancers, failures (big ones).
So why am I fucking battling to get a friggin' grip on my shit?!!???

I don't know.

But I think from here on I must stick to watching E!
Girls of the PlayBoy Mansion is way less agonizing, and besides that Kendra is one sexy fucking biatch. I like the way she laughs and the fact that she "really doesn't have a certain goal in life".
And don't even get me started on ol' Hughie that doddering S.T.D.

I just won't watch those childhood stars gone wrong programmes. That's a guaranteed tear-jerker, and what with my prosthetic spleen and all, I'm not sure I'll survive it.

God help me.

Dumbass

2006-06-28T14:28:00.000+02:00

I am about to indulge in some petulant moaning. Forgive me.

There is a person in my office, whom I fear is a walking miracle in the sense that I think she is brain dead, but alive nonetheless.

A more half-baked dunce has not yet graced this planet since the beginning of it's wondrous existence. Good gawd, she is so fucking thick. The dumb fairy actually realised it did not have enough stoop in it's stoopid wand to bless this idiot with. I am flabbergasted by what comes out of this womans mouth. It is not normal.

Now, yes you can call me impetous. You can even go so far as to call me an impatient bitch. I don't care.
The bottom line is this particular person is stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It is difficult for me to reproduce on this page, her poppycock daftness. There are so many irking things she says and does on a minutely basis.

I would love to give you an external example of the ignorant,unsophisticated, uncultured, moronic blockheaded things she does, but I fear that she may find this blog, and whilst I wish she would,there is no point hurting this slab of granite's feelings.

So instead, I will continue with the theme of how much stupid people provoke me. (She is talking now and I am holding back my puke).

You see the thing is, within any group there are certain dynamics. Some people are leaders, some are subordinates of these leaders. It's nature deal with it.

But then you get people who are neither leader nor follower. In fact they don't fit in at all, but god knows they try. Hard.

So when intelligent people are having a conversation about something, and these stupid amoebas try to involve their useless asses into the conversation, an amazing thing happens.

Everyone just shuts up.

It is infuckingcredible.

Like when the clever people are laughing at an email (obviously doing so without including the numskulls) and then feeling all left out, the mental defective muttonheads come over and start laughing, even though they have completely missed the funny boat. And they actually ruin it for the clever people. They ruin it.

I can't stomach it.

So in truth, everytime this person opens her mouth I cringe, and to tell the truth, nine times out of ten, I throw up a little into my mouth.

You see I understand not everyone is as socially competent as everyone else but JEEEZZZUZZ. How on earth did this person make it past the age of 4? And not only that, but how is it possible that she is employed, when there are wood chips out there that have more sense than her?

To be honest I am quite dumbfounded by her existence. It shocks me that she is intelligent enough to remember to exhale. I wish she wouldn't.

I wish she would allow the carbon dioxide to build up and poison her only surviving mateless braincell.

This is an unrealistic wish. Not the wish of an intelligent person.

I wish that she would realise that she is a solid block of witless peat moss. And that she should do us all a favour and shut the fuck up.

Whew. I'm done now.
Apologies.

Lustful agony

2006-06-27T14:06:00.000+02:00

Netball again last night and once again the disappointment of no jiggly apple-bum.

This resulted in me being so distracted with heartache, that I spent most of the game on the floor. Literally.

The first fall resulted in me smashing my scaphoid on the unfriendly puke green felt floor, which has rendered my right hand almost useless. This is no joke as not that long ago I smashed the left scaphoid to smithereens and had to have a pole-thingy put into my wrist as a substitute.
The second fall resulted in my left arm being trodden on by one of the elephants of the opposing team. When eventually I got up, the elephant had gone amiss (how convenient) and I have a bruise with an actual shoe imprint, in it's place.
The third fall was plain ridiculous. I am sure I was tripped by a player on my team. The result a good fake grass burn on the left knee, and some ruffled hair.
The fourth was the cherry on my apple-less cake. The stupid birdbrain on the challenging side thought she'd pull some move only a derelict baboon is capable of. Now,because she is not a derelict baboon but more of a cadaverous anesthetized toad, she did not pull this move off. Landing on top of my lustful athletic person, she squashed me into the flexible net as if I was merely compressed worthless snot. Sending me crashing to the felt (again), I heard a cry, a splintering crack and a thwak not unsimilar to the sound of sonic speed.

The final result - an ass with a blue maculation causing utter anguish and vexation, and one hell of a grudge against the blockheaded stinker from Abaddon.

All this for a chick with a fabulous derriere and a magnanimous camel-toe.

Anyhoosibees

2006-06-26T13:12:00.000+02:00

As it so happens the weekend was fucking boring.
Only because I did not get any ass.

It was a friends surprise birthday on Saturday night and I was the red herring. So my morning was filled with fuschia helium balloons (one popped whilst I was driving on the N1 and I nearly drove into a concrete bridge) and a boob cake (friggin fantastic I almost boned it) whilst she got ready for the pamper day that lay ahead for the afternoon.

As mentioned on Saturday I got my underwear all soaking wet whilst having the beguiling pebbles rubbed into my back. Which was obviously the single worst thing to be happen to a person who knows their night is going to be filled with married couples. I drank in between every treatment just to calm myself and my clitoris, who it turns out has a mind of her own COMPLETELY.

Honestly I feel these days that it is my clitoris who goes out at nights with her friends, the twins, left labia and right labia. I am just the vehicle. Therefore from here on I cannot be blamed for any bad decisions made as it is not actually me making them, but the Genital Clan.

Back to the Surprise Party. So this particular friend of mine lives with her Boyfriend in Fourways (I had to take my passport to get there legally) in a friggin mansion. Three words - ASS IN BUTTER. So there we were at the mansion drinking Northern Suburbs drinks known as Cosmo's. Turns out (being a Heineken and Windhoek lover) I can put these biatches away like the fat kid does cupcakes. With nothing else to do but drink and smoke (box and a half, emphysema) around the fire, I had no choice but to analyse the situation.
There I was, young, fresh, horny,oiled,painted and ready in a room full of women discussing pregnancy,nausea and c-sections.

You talk about a waste of talent. I have to admit I fast slipped into a Cosmic induced landslide of depression. My vagina shrivelled up like a cock caught in a snowstorm (bearing in mind she has not yet recovered from the whole Mandy's wax adventure). I actually started to consider the invitation given to me by mate to have 3some again with her and boyfriend in mansion. I say again, it is a long story that actually doesn't need to be told here, as the word 3some pretty much describes the important bits.

However I turned the plea's down. Whilst I am absolutely desperate for fanny friction, I choose not to get into situations that may incriminate me at a later stage. I mean picture their wedding next year. I'm drunk. Probably horny (Cookie Monster I wasn't joking about having Queen Pasiphae's libido I could screw a bull) and all of a sudden I blurt out that she has the most magnifique tits on earth and that I've sucked them before whilst our boyfriends watched. Some things are just not well received at weddings. This may be one of those things?

So I drove home alone. Slept alone. Woke up on Sunday with a hangover and head filled with dreams of having sex with JFK on hot pebbles somewhere in Gaylordsville,Connecticut.

Mirror mirror on the wall.....

2006-06-26T13:06:00.000+02:00

As promised....

Haisher than the Heff

2006-06-24T14:53:00.000+02:00

I have just finished a mani/pedi and hot stone therapy massage.
During the massage I nearly fucked the therapist.
Afterwards I had to draw on every resource I had in order to not masturbate on the fucking plinth.
Jesus.

Freak-a-honie

2006-06-23T11:53:00.000+02:00

Sitting outside the other day, tweezing out the ingrown hairs on my knees (as we do it here in the far Oos) I noticed something rather strange.

As you walk out of my house onto the patio, the jacuzzi is on your left, and on your right is the outer bedroom wall with roof. So sitting on the tiled slab next to the jacuzzi, I noticed in the corner (where wall meets roof) is a tiny square mirror.

This has completely puzzled me. This mirror is about 15 x 15. It's little and it's tucked away. What could it possibly be doing there?

So I tried a few ideas.

First I got into the jacuzzi and sat in every imaginable place in every imaginable scenario. I could not see myself much so I do not think the previous owner placed it there for peep show hour in the jacs! But who knows, perhaps they were very very very teeny tiny dwarfs?

I then climbed onto the slab next to the braai and took a peek but could really only see the neighbours garden.

Stumped am I.

As it so happens, there is the exact same mirror in exactly the same position on the other side of the house. This one looks into the garden, as well as, depending where you stand, the neighbours garden.

Both neighbours are single woman. I met the owner of the house when I went to see it. He came armed with two gats. And he had a tic. He also informed me he was selling because he and his wife were divorcing. However according to complex gossip, they used to fornicate outside on the pavement.

Hmmmmmm.......

Theories?

The Elusive Brazilian

2006-06-22T10:23:00.000+02:00

So since The Breakup, I have not done much downstairs gardening. Ploughing,yes. Gardening,no.

I know, I too hate it when a bitch lets herself slide.
However in my defense, there really has been no reason to endure the agony. I mean the tractors that have had a shot at errrrm ploughing have been well not exactly of industrial proportions. So really why bother bringing your A game to a friendly?

Which brings us to last nights events.
Yup I decided, armed with a jar of Mandy's Water Soluble wax (WHATFUCKINEVER), one leg cocked upon the toilet, I was to de-weed my downstairs. You see, for some reason when she is in tip top shape, I feel like a friggin sex machine! So it seemed not only plausible, but necessary.

GOOD GAWD.

The top half started went ok(ish)
The middle half: follicle-wrenching pain that caused a flood in every bodily duct. Sweat was pouring as tears streamed down my face.
Yet still I moved further south, thinking I had the hang of it now.

PHWOOOAAAAAR!

It was at the minute that I pulled the first bit of goo, that I learned a most valuable lesson.
Human beings are not conditioned to inflict pain on themselves. Only on others.

I was unable to pull the entire strip off. It turns out dear Mandy, removes this wax from the inside of the Queen Bees anus. This wax I am convinced can be used in constructing buildings. In fact I am going to use it this evening to glue my towel rack back onto the wall.

So here I am one leg in the air, caught in a web of stringy goo and half tugged hair, dry heaving.
Due to the severe shock, I was flung into a moment of murky indecision. I jumped back off the toilet in utter shock,hands flying,skin tearing, my foot is on the floor.

My ganunch is stuck together.
The pain is overwhelming and all I can think of is how I might never see my clitoris again.

I am in Yoni hell.

I cannot pull. I cannot scrape.I cannot tweeze. I cannot wipe.

The shower seems to be the best bet. I mean it's water soluble right?

For the love of God - WHY??!!!???!!!???!!

Firstly the bleeding follicles on my top bits did not take so well to the warm water. I am being stung by the Queen Bees scorned sister.
Secondly - soluble my freaking fucking butthole.
Thirdly I had had a bath the night before which is in the second bathroom. My extra moisturizing Nivea body wash is in the other bathroom. C.P.M's man things are still on the rack in the shower. His man things include: a nailbrush and Shower to Shower shampoo/conditioner.

It is a hopeless situation. I had no choice. I had to use the shampoo. I know it doesn't sound like a bad idea to you either. You are thinking, well it's a conditioner too, so maybe I'd be able to condition them into slippery softness and they'll just slink out of this squelch.

Who's canary did I strangle that I deserve this?

The fucking shampoo contained menthol. My bleeding open follicles are now corroding. And my yoni is tingling.
And it is not a good sensation. It is cold. Like an icy cold hypothermic numb feeling. There is dry ice stuck to my FUCKING GWAT.

I karren't feel my punani. I am convinced adding a little mentholatum to a pussy is a form of Chinese torture.

So carefully wrapped in my Glodina (can't let the towel touch the fanny because well you know, towel stuck to vagina is not funny), I lay down on the bed with my legs in a frog position, trying to relieve myself of this misery. I lay for about 45 minutes.

Needless to say, SHE now looks like a turkey that has been in a fight with a puma, and survived.
There is no way I can get any ass looking like this.

To add insult to injury, my friend told me our beautician passed away on Wednesday night. This is not funny, but I know you're laughing right now.

On the flip side, I think I managed to do so much damage to my roots down there, that the hair is going to be too scared to grow back.

Nonetheless the bottom line is, the only pump coming near this borehole is the kind that has no body attached to it.

Headless head.

Sod it.

Big Love

2006-06-21T21:47:00.000+02:00

So it turns out there are a few things I am not so good at.
Receiving gifts is one such thing. It stems from my self-esteem issues and the semi-conscience notion that I don't deserve to be made a fuss of. Yip I know the stupidity behind this can be paralleled to the insanity behind my toilet issues.
It is not news to anybody - I am not normal.

So I am taking this opportunity to say thank you for a most generous gift. You've made me feel very special.
We can argue about the greens on Friday.

Thank you Cookie Monster

Oh Jiggle.Oh Jiggle, wherefore art thou ass?

2006-06-20T11:36:00.000+02:00

Hot girl with jiggle bum was nowhere to be seen last night.

I have nothing else to say.

To live we must conquer incessantly, we must have the courage to be happy (Henri Frederic Amiel)

2006-06-19T14:11:00.000+02:00

So last week I was offered possibly the most unbelievable job in the world. Took the weekend to think about it. I have accepted.

Yay for me. I will finally be earning real money. I will also finally be working for a real company. I will also be working for people who truly appreciate my capabilities and dazzling charm.

Hahahaha a pox on you current BOSS - it's your biggest customer who's offered me this job! You know the very customer whom you told me I got lucky with when I landed their account and it had nothing to do with who I am or any skill. The same company who's patronage saved your sodden companies arse from financial fucking oblivion last year. Well it just turns out they love who I am and have tripled the "great" salary you were paying me.Yip dude you were right -
how fucking lucky am I!?

So what does this mean? Well, it means the bond every month is paid for.So is the insurance, the levy, the water and lights,the telephone,the internet, the dogs,the car, the cellphone,the medical aid,the left over student loan will be paid off after the first salary cheque as will my credit card.
There will be money left over to save. I can afford all the luxuries of Woolworths food. I can go overseas or to Zanzibar at the end of the year if I so desire,which I do. Very much so. After all this I can also still save a decent amount of dosh every month for rainy days!

And............and this is the best part......I can still shop for shoes (the very expensive kind that make an outfit that I often dream about after I've seen them in the window) every month!And jeans (the kind that are considered expensive in dollar terms) every second month! And I can still on top of all this afford to go out to any place I like and show off my fabulous sense of style!

Karma baby.Karma.

Oh my aching central nerve

2006-06-19T13:17:00.000+02:00

So the weekend was spent exactly as I promised myself.

Learnt 4 of the dances in Fame and rewarded myself on Sunday with a Bollywood fest.

I have already decided that this weekend is all about Flashdance! And not the fucking J-Lo kind of Flashdance - I'm talking about the full blown Jennifer Beals shake yo' booty run on the spot like a loon kinda Flashdance!

Only problem is I think I must warm up properly before (I can't turn my neck to the left at all. It hasn't eased since yesterday morning. No really. Doesn't turn left.At all. No turning)

Found out that I have been invited to the girls-next-door-C.P.M. wedding in November. I had a thing about her and him hooking up since she moved in there. I told her about it over coffee. I maybe shouldn't have. I have deeply hated that bitch for fucking ever. She is the kind of person who drinks too much and then touches other girls men inappropriately. All the girls in my ex-group of friends had a problem with this habit. I wished many harmful things upon her during our relationship. I told her some of this.

I'm so excited to go to her wedding. I am a false fucking cow. I deserve to be shot.

I am only excited to go to the wedding so I can look hot. Better get to the gym this afternoon.

Oy.

Not that my thinking is OOOOOH he'll see me all hot and stuff with a magnificent date and realise he made a mistake and come running back. That's not my thinking at all.

Honest.

It isn't.

No really. It's not.

I'm genuinely pleased girl next door is embarking on a journey of happiness. That's the real reason I'm so excited. Really.

Honest.

Scouts honour.

Oh fuck off. Buddha will be my judge.

OH COME ON

2006-06-17T22:34:00.000+02:00

SABC2 is screening Fame.

What are the chances?

Payed R40 to keep it the weekend.

Bugger.

Wise words of a lumberjack

2006-06-15T09:56:00.000+02:00

With the long weekend here I find myself consumed with feverish excitement at what lies ahead of me! Plans like these usually take weeks of well planning,testing,replanning and retesting.
Tonight I will take up habitat in the loft where I will be remaining (for as long as it takes) whilst my dancing career undergoes its rebirth! Yes! I will be teaching myself the rather spectacular dance from FAME!
Marvellous! And just when you thought it could not possibly get any more spectacular, I hit you with the clincher - my reward for mastering the art of dance jogging, A BOLLYWOOD FEST!

Oh yes sportsfans! The luxurious life of singledom!

On that note I leave you with this:
Very few people ever get the big Hollywood ending.Buy a lottery ticket you've got more chance of being the only winner. Yip it sucks but really,what are you gonna do?

So I'm a little off.....

2006-06-14T13:55:00.000+02:00

Since my little snot fest on the couch on Saturday I have done a little soul searching. As it turns out I am not as normal and adjusted as I thought. However in saying this, it is my peculiar inner-workings that I think should be the most adorable thing about me.

So if I was to compose a personal ad it would read something like this (it would also be long):

We'll skip the part about me being female,age,location and just get down to the bona fide shit that counts.

So I realise I am afraid of being single. This is nothing to scoff at.

I have an intense phobia of germs - in particular those of other people. This has evolved into a total fear of strange toilets and of strangers using my toilets. The latter would be an out-and-out violation of my privacy and safe-space. This has become so bad, that when I have dinner parties I lock my bedroom door to eliminate the possibility that someone might stumble across an unoccupied toilet. I do not pee until I get home from work. And G-d forbid I need a number 2, I actually drive all the way home and then back to work once done.
I hate being sent anywhere for business - hotel bathrooms for me are more revolting than being forced to eat a strangers earwax. I once found a pube in the bath during the initial routine inspection of the room I had been allocated. I threw such a tantrum that I was moved to the Penthouse of this particular hotel, and still I chose to go to another hotel.
When I moved into my new house I had to convince C.P.M. to use the toilet in the bedroom first, the same applied when we went on holiday anywhere. For some reason I need someone I know and trust to initiate the toilet first. Uh-huh I know stoopid.

Then leading on from this is the unmentionable obsession I have with my own poo. I hate to do this act alone, so C.P.M would often find himself on the bed having a full blown conversation with me upon the throne, mid-expulsion. Over and above this I can discuss poo for hours in depth - it is my favourite topic. The sanity behind this lunacy is the following: I usually only go on Sundays (unless one sneaks up and surprises me) and as a result of this I have delared Sunday, Poo Party day. Therefore the act is an actual celebration for me, and who in their right mind does not love to revel in celebration?

I cannot stand in queues as the thought of someone breathing on my neck makes me want to vomit on this keyboard. South African's I'm afraid have no concept of personal space and this makes me aggresive (I have actually been chucked out of Nedbank as a result of this line-aggression).

I shop with a little like runners radio as I am afraid of crowds. (I asked for an IPod for my bday but no one listened so I will just have to be the loser in the mall with the little kuk radio.) This fear obviously eliminates concerts and anything of the like.

I have an intense fear of fish. Dead ones are scarier than live ones. It is so bad I cannot discuss it any further.

Then there is what I call the Sympathy Destiny unfulfilled problem. SDU is something I am convinced more people suffer from than anyone wants to admit.
I will present the scenario:
1. I am in a grocery store, I need some onions, 2 at the most. I pick one up and it feels yukky. I cannot put him back. I feel bad that he will not get to fulfill his destiny so I put him in the packet anyway. I will now go home with 3 onions. Sometimes even 5.
2. I have a headache and three tablets fall out of the bottle. The dilemma of who to put back sends me into a frenzy. I am mortified at having to make the choice, so I swallow all three. (Yes I do dread the day 10 fall out, as I will have to overdose. There won't be any other way out)
3. I blow my runny nose on a tissue and throw it in the bin. Five minutes ago it was in a box with it's family and now it is all alone. I chuck one in there so he has company.
4. Are you getting it yet?

I love animals. They are so helpless and reliant on humans it breaks my heart. So this means when I see a dog/cat/bird/worm on the side of the road/highway/running through a field I have to stop and pick it up. Doesn't matter what time, what area. This means my home is a boarding house for strays and losties (as I call them). C.P.M. could not stand this about me. Once when driving home I was so convinced that I knocked over a little shtinglekinch (cat), that I called C.P.M. to come and help me. When he arrived I was in midst throes of a hysterical fit unable to move the car an inch out of the way, as I didn't want to hurt the kitty anymore. He proceeded to look for the shtingle under the wheels - which as you've guessed by now, there wasn't one. Afraid that I had maybe hit it so hard it flew over one of the walls, I buzzed every house asking if they had a cat and that if I had knocked theirs over they were to call me. To date I have not received a call.

I do not like clowns. They are not funny nor delightful.

************ C.P.M. would not feature in the actual personal ad************

I love sport. In particular rugby and basketball. I want a man to take me to a rugby game. I want to scream and yell and drink beer (I just don't want to queue to get in or out) and I want him to think it's cute when I wipe the chair down with one of my Pampers baby wipes (carry them in my handbag at all times).

I love to pop pimples. This was my favourite Sunday past time with C.P.M. (after I had my Poo Party) I would straddle him on the couch and declare a blackhead molestation fest!This obviously would only come in time, as first I would have to get over your germs.

Then there's my sexual appetite which probably doesn't need to be discussed in my personal ad. Some men might answer it just based on this.

I'm thinking the heading would read:
ANUPTAPHOBIC SPERMATOPHOBIC ICTHYOPHOBIC NYMPHOMANIAC SEEKS PECCATOPHOBIC CAULROPHOBIC COMPASSIONATE SPORTLOVER

Strike a chord with anyone?Anyone?Anyone?Anyone?ANYONE????

I lost my heart inside your apple-bum

2006-06-13T13:07:00.000+02:00

So last night in a bid to distract my self from my own inner pain, I played 4 netball games.

Yip 4.

And as it turns out, just before the 4th one I saw this girl, whom I so happened to think was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I was rather bowled over by her bum (as well as her face she's gorgeous). Realising just how lesbian I must have looked I tore my eyes away from the luscious apple-like arse and walked onto the court.

Turns out she was my partner. I was gobsmacked. The luck of it all.

Anyhow I tried so hard not to give anything away so actually stayed so far away from her, and retracted into my cocoon of shyness (something I always do when something/someone is so beautiful and hot). Needless to say I was the worst player on court. However inside my pornographic thoughts, I was happy. REALLY happy.

The problem came in when she scored (not with me how sad) she would do this little dance where she threw her hands up in the air and shook her little apple bum from left to right to left to right....Oh Lord. Could this girl break my heart anymore? I mean my ass wobbles when I do that. Hers jiggled. It shook just enough to catch the eye and then stopped. I've never seen an ass that jiggled and did not wobble before. Magnificent.

I know what you're thinking. This chicks gay. I'm not. I love cock. It's just I love checking chicks out. It is not this often that they inspire me to talk about it 24 hours later.

So knowing she will never find this there are things I must let her know.

I'm sorry I could not speak to you. Your ass sent me into a downward spiral of inhospitableness. I simply could not trust myself to say a word.
You look like you paint. That's hot.
I'm sorry if I smelled bad - it was my 4th game.
There is no way you could have smelled me I did not come within 10 metres of you.
Your apple-bum is superior to anything I have ever seen.
You had a camel toe in those tight pants. Usually this makes me vomit. Yours made me feel splendid.
Thank you for introducing yourself at the beginning of the game. I am sorry for not returning the gesture. I wanted to but the only words on the tip of my tongue were "Your bum has swallowed my heart".
This is a compliment.

I have made a few resolutions for next week if you are there.

I will smile at you in a buddy buddy way so you don't think I'm the worlds biggest cow
I will double make sure your ass is as marvellous as it seemed (I had played 4 games my brain had been deprived of a lot of oxygen)
I will take note of any flaws in your face (oxygen deprivation again)
I will smile at you in a buddy buddy way so you don't think I'm the worlds biggest lesbian stalker

Thank you apple-bum.

Hobbit fucking

2006-06-12T13:09:00.000+02:00

So the weekend all in all was quite arb.

Couldn't face Jack Frost on Friday night so porn and blankets it was.

Saturday night was an adventure to say the least. I have somehow managed to create a rather haphazard threesome. The Game Ranger, Si the Clown and myself have become fast friends over this last week, and have been dubbed "Oh them!They're like the porn version of Winnie the Pooh".

The Game Ranger is like Eeyore. Slow, lazy and downright mopey. He has the lowest of expectations in order to never be disappointed, which basically means Si the Clown and I can hook him up with ANYONE!

Si the Clown is definitely like Tigger. Boisterous and impulsive. Never thinks before he acts, which basically means the Game Ranger and I can hook him up with ANYONE!

I am like Pooh. Endlessly craving honey (or that little sweet somefink somefink) in order to satisfy that little "rumbly in my errrrrr you know". Which basically means Si and the Game Ranger can hook me up with ANYONE!

Now as a result of this finding (the ANYONE theory) we went on a little shopping spree. We started out drinking at News Cafe where we began to hatch our plans for the rest of the evening.

Part one of Plan A: walk across to Franky Bananas and torment the youngsters. This we achieved with little effort. As it so happens we decided it would be funny to give every girl that walked past us a Don Johnson look. Then either Si or TGR would go up to her and apologise and explain that I'm actually lesbian and that's why we were checking her out. This obviously got me hot and sweaty under the collar which resulted in me coming out with the line of the century:
Picture it. This teeny tiny mousy-brown haired, round at the hips couple walk past us and I say "MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...... I always wanted to fuck a hobbit".
(I realise it is not so funny here on this blog but try to put yourself in the actual moment.) (If you can't do that due to a serious lack of imagination and sense of humour failure fake it I don't give a fuck.It was funny.)
After about 20 minutes of us laughing ( I pee'd a little in my undies) we decided Frankys Banana wasn't satisfying enough.

So Part two of Plan A: Sutra - Boksburg. (Don't judge me we were chasing the jol). Well it was here that the Dare game revealed itself. The entire evening was filled with my daring the Clown. He then dared TGR who in turn dared me to do something completely stupid (of which most of it we have on camera. Thank you GD for cell phones). You would not think the 3 of us are the ages we are (we stood out like sore thumbs everyone there was in their lower 20's). Now because of the earlier chirp the night of course turned out to be a Hobbit-hunt. When eventually She of the Shire revealed herself, it happened to be the Clowns turn!
Well........if ever there was a more hilarious moment in time! The Clown is fairly good looking like chicks dig him, but not this one!! She gave him bat the first time which was funny (I pee'd again but this time only like a drop). The second time she walked away in disgust (I managed to hold in the pee) and the third time she smacked him!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I could not hold the pee!!

So all in all, TGR had managed to almost come right with two girls dancing on one of the podiums there (that was nearly, until the one revealed she was 16 - the 15 odd years gap proved to be too much for him), the Clown got a smack from Frodo's ex girlfriend and I could not dare try as I had pee'd in my pants (which emphasised my geriatric status).

At three am we decided to call the hunt off, pat each other on the backs and leave.

(Bumped into CPM's good mate and his gfriend on the way out. Was met with look of horror and disgust. Could not understand it. Tried to brush it off. That was till gfriend smsd me telling me her bfriend -CPM's goodmate- was going to tell him that he saw me out. I did not understand - was CPM going to be angry 'coz I was at Sutra and when we were together I always refused to go with him when he went there?She replied no 'coz of the 2 guys, bfriend felt it his duty to inform CPM that I could be cheating whilst he is away.Informed gfriend that CPM and I were no longer together and how could she and he not know this?Had CPM not told them. She replied Shocked - we did not have a clue)

Put the above in brackets because I wanted it to seem like it was a total afterthought and not what consumed my mind thereafter for the entire weekend.
Does anyone else think it is odd that he has not told anyone?

Spent Sunday washing the clothes I pee'd in, pondering the above.

Next week I am putting a nappy on and going to find me some ass. Or probably I will stay in.

TGR has gone back to the reserve. My 3some has been destroyed. Si and I may experience some serious withdrawals. The only way for me to get over it is to go shopping at the Hustler shop.

I wonder if they sell adult nappies?

Couch Rugby

2006-06-10T15:18:00.000+02:00

Durban as it turns out was our place. Every long weekend,xmas and any other time we could spare we enjoyed together at the flat there. Just so happens I know he's there this weekend watching the rugby with everyone of our friends.
Now I know the answer to this question but fuck it I am feeling verbal today - I wonder if he thought about me when he walked through the door, into the tv room where my xmas sock hangs, up the stairs into our bedroom where on his nightstand is a picture of me that his mom took on New Years,framed it and put it there?

I know. But it would be more pathetic if I sms'd him like I almost did 15 minutes ago: "I wish I was there with you".

But I do.

Fuck

I'm going to kill you all dead

2006-06-09T15:24:00.000+02:00

Boy am I in a bad mood today.
And you must know something about me - when I am in a bad mood it comes out of every pore. Example my dress attire. I have come to work today in black track pants and a very baggy black hoodie sweater that has the words white trash sprawled across the front of it. I am wearing sneakers.
Needless to say my boss was less than impressed to see me this morn but FUCK HIM.

I am trying to decide if I am more tired or more hungover.

I have Turrets today, the swear words just keep popping out my revolting potty mouth much to my co-workers horror. I will do my best to keep them out of this fucking blog. (ooops)

Went out last night with the boys. Something I have not done in a looooooooooooonnnng time (as you don't when you're in a relationship). Anyhow it was a magnificent experience. Going out with boys is so different to going out with girls - boys are honestly a lot more relaxed than girls.

Anyhow needless to say I did not stop laughing for one minute (fuckshit that's why my stomach muscles hurt like a motherfucker today) (ooops). The line up included:
Myself
Si (what a clown)
Have you met my friend
The Game Ranger
and another arb guy I named Dave

Anyhow Si and the Game Ranger honestly had me pissing in my pants from the first drink, so no need for me to explain what was happening to my bladder by the 7th round. Of course having so much uncomplicated FUN allows one to ignore their surroundings and focus only on those they are surrounded by.

MOTHERFUCKER.

This stupid boy (I'm so mad I can't even think of an appropriate nickname for him) whom I happened to have shagged a few weeks ago ( it was so bloody rubbish) twice, decided to rain on my parade. Bastard son of a bitch. He comes up to me in the midst of my laughing at Si the Clown's playing the convo game (if I have time a little later I will explain, right now it is irrelevant) and tells me how I fucked him up. That was the best night of his life, and some bull about his reality versus mine and blah blah blah blah yakk yakk boo fuckin hoo.

To which after I endured the whole story (with a kind face I might add here) I politely said to him "Ummmm you are very drunk so something tells me tomorrow that you might feel silly about this whole thing. Maybe we should discuss this another time when you are more clear in your thoughts". Kunt. I didn't actually call him that but shit I was thinking it.

Honestly who is this doos to rain on my parade? He doesn't do my bookeeping, piss off get over it (I mean ok it's not everyday you get someone as adventurous in the sack as I but dude you were kuk it was evident let's all move on together). Shit man I tell you at that very minute I had huge sympathy for Cinderella. Imagine - there you are having a good time and stuff and suddenly the night is ruined by some a-hole who decides you should be the pumpkin! Or whatever.

Well after he argued in some kind of garbled English to which I could only respond with shrugs at this point (whilst trying to stop myself from cracking up in his face as the Game Ranger was right behind him playing the convo game!) anyhow he eventually stalks off and 2 minutes later I see him pulling some chicklet at the bar.

??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Now to be honest I didn't give a hoot. The thing about this whole story that bothers me is - did the dickhead have to ruin my party just 'coz he was too drunk to control his emotions?
Clearly he is not THAT fucked up by the whole situation so seriously people WHAT IS THE FUCKING PROBLEM WITH LETTING SLEEPING DOGS LIE?
If I ever see him again and he pulls that bullshit crap I might have to tell him off. And I might be forced to tell him exactly how garbage-like his love making was (both times) which is something I do not want to do. But mofo put me on the spot like that again and spoil my fun and I am going to lay your shit bare.

Shew. I feel a little better now.

Good rant.

Apologies to those who dared to endure. I am hoping for 0 comments on this one as I may not be able to justify my behaviour to those I love!

Phallic Fallacies: The things women think about and do, that men don't know about! (Dedicated to and inspired by Peas)

2006-06-06T17:18:00.000+02:00

Phallic Fallacy number 1: The obvious one - masturbation. Yes guys we do it - a lot - most of us daily, and not just once!

Phallic Fallacy number 2: Ejaculation. This one I find to be a hot topic. Women can and do ejaculate and NO it is not pee. However on that note we do sometimes pee on you a little during sex. SORRY!
*if anyone is interested in this topic please buy yourselves a book called "Female ejaculation and the G-spot" by Deborah Sundahl. TRUST ME LADIES IT MAKES FOR A GREAT READ ON A LONELY NIGHT*

Phallic Fallacy number 3: Size. We will tell you it does not count. We are lying. It does. There is no point sleeping with someone with a cock the size of a mini Bic lighter (let's be honest we don't masturbate with our pinky?)

Phallic Fallacy number 4: Best friends. Most of us have kissed our best girl mate (s).

Phallic Fallacy number 5: The rest want to but aren't sure how to approach the situation

Phallic Fallacy number 6: Bandcamp. Women do often wonder what kind of pleasure can be derived from sticking strange objects up their pussy's. Not sure about flutes but you never know what can tickle one's fanny!

Phallic Fallacy number 7: The scratch. Yip we do it in public too we are just much more discreet than men. If crossing our legs in public doesn't alleviate the itch, we cleverly fiddle with our g-strings or we raise the waistband of our jeans into the camel toe position and we shift it around until we experience some relief!

Phallic Fallacy number 8: No woman alive likes the taste of cum. *Any girl out there wanting to argue this point I am very open to discussion*

Phallic Fallacy number 9: No woman over the age of 21 ACTUALLY enjoys sucking your dick. This does not mean she won't do it. However youngsters will do it for hours. 21 pluses will do it for a bit and bet your balls bro she wants the favour returned immediately after

Phallic Fallacy number 10: Kuk. Women poo. Even the hottest one. Deal with it.

Phallic Fallacy number 11: Missionary. You have NOT EVER made a woman orgasm in this position. Yes I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news but she's faking it

Phallic Fallacy number 12: We think about sex often during the day.

Phallic Fallacy number 13: Smut. When we get raunchy emails at work from a male co-worker we may pretend to be disgusted. Truth - we can't wait to go home and re-enact the scenario. (I for one am therefore not a fan of acting disgusted I LOVE IT)

Phallic Fallacy number 14: We do wonder about your friends cocks

Phallic Fallacy number 15: Brotherly love at least one Sunday lunch with your family we have wondered what your brother is like in bed (oh and we also wonder about his cock)

Phallic Fallacy number 16: Food and fantasies women when cooking for you, are waiting for you to ravage her on top of the potatoes she's peeling

Phallic Fallacy number 17: hints we are going for a shower and we happen to get undressed on the way to the bathroom or with bathroom door open - consider this an invitation to join AND DO SO. There is no worse rejection for us when we inititiate and you remain flacid on the couch.

Phallic Fallacy number 18: History.Do not ask us if you are the best we've ever had. Chances are you aren't and we will be forced to lie.
*Hot tip:If we ask this question lie you fat bastard like you've never lied before in your life*

Phallic fallacy number 19: Fucking.It is actually possible for us to fuck you and then leave without attaching any worth to it (despite what all the women's magazines say)

Phallic Fallacy number 20: Fucking part 2. If it is a fuck - we actually don't want you to call/we don't want to greet you when we see you and we will treat you like you're dead.

Phallic Fallacy number 21: Instigate. If you want sex say so - we do not enjoy lying on a couch with you, you pressing your pecker into our lower backs.

Phallic Fallacy number 22: Finger painting. Of all the men who've tried with their fingers to tango with our little nubs , most have failed dismally. Yourself included.

Phallic Fallacy number 23: The Oscars. If the sex is kuk we will give an award winning performance whilst thinking of:
a) another man
b) chores we haven't managed to get done
c) my favourite - the pair of shoes at Europa that we are dying for
d) our dogs/cats
e)whether or not that ceiling fan was there when last we were flat on our backs in this very room

Phallic Fallacy number 24: Lauren Bobbit. We have sincerely considered cutting it off when we've been mad with you. Seriously. And more than one time.

Phallic Fallacy number 25: Lauren Bobbit part 2. We have also considered biting it off when you have held our heads down whilst you are getting it sucked.

Phallic Fallacy number 26: Back doors. We want to have anal sex - yip the kind seen in pornos. But we are scared we will poo. Oh and there's the pain issue.

Phallic Fallacy number 27: Winner. It is not ever ok when you finish the race before we are even done stretching. We will say it's ok to spare you. we are lying.

Phallic Fallacy number 28: Warming up. This takes a lot longer than any man has ever been aware of

Phallic Fallacy number 29: We never lie.

Phallic Fallacy number 30: Morning glory. We love 'em. However please boys - just because your dick has woken up rearing to go does not mean our pussies are ready for pumping. Hello????? If you can be bothered to warm up a car engine before you drive it to shit you can treat HER with the same respect.

Phallic Fallacy number 31: Chitter chatter. When we get together with our girlfriends we reveal everything. EVERYTHING.

Phallic Fallacy number 32: Chitter chatter part 2. In detail. Disgusting detail.

Phallic Fallacy number 33: Kosher issues. Women are pigs. Way worse than you boys can imagine.

Phallic Fallacy number 34: The Ellen. We notice other women when we are out and about. Tits/ass/legs/hair.

Phallic Fallacy number 35: The Portia. We would like to get into the abovementioned pants'. Well most of us anyway - the remaining are genuinely not interested and the rest are already in her pants!

Phallic Fallacy number 36: The Brad. We notice other men too. This does not mean we would ever exchange you for them. But honey if he has a great ass, he has a great ass.

Phallic Fallacy number 37: Wonderland. We lie about our fantasies because we are worried if we tell you the truth you will think we're sick/sluts/trash/psycho. *please see number 33*

Phallic Fallacy number 38: Ugly cats. Most of us have pussy complexes. We are worried that in some way it is different - bigger/darker/aromas? The list is endless

Phallic Fallacy number 39: Corporate.We fantasize about having sex with you on your office desk and your bosses desk as well as the boardroom table. Oh and in your mothers kitchen.

Phallic Fallacy number 40: The Big O. If we don't orgasm - it is not ok - we expect you to find your breath and get your machine into action a 2nd and possibly even a 3rd time round.

Phallic Fallacy number 41: Oral. If we let you know we are going to cum, it is still some time away so keep working.

Phallic Fallacy number 42: Oral part 2. If we let you know we are cumming - do not and I repeat do not tell us " Yeah baby that's right let it all out". EVER.

Phallic Fallacy number 43: Christina. We are happy to be dirty.

Phallic Fallacy number 44: Jessica. We are sweet and romantic in the same breath and do not like it porn star style all the time.

Phallic Fallacy number 45: Hairballs. It is positively revolting and the single most irritating thing when one of your slimy pubes finds their way into the back of our throats. If we can endure a Brazilian for this purpose you can at least trim it short. *Tip: it looks a lot bigger*

Phallic Fallacy number 46: Shift gears. Pleasure is not derived from how deep and hard you can thrust your boykies into and out of our flowers. Treat us like a rugby match - try line in sight attempt every tactic possible.

Phallic Fallacy number 47: Groan vs Moan. Fine line here often blurred. Do not mistake painful groans for pleasure moans. If we flinch and jump - STOP!

Phallic Fallacy number 48: Nibbling. This is excellent we love it. Do not BITE us - this includes: nipples/clits/hoods/ass/ears/necks/thighs/love handles and anywhere else you can think of.

Phallic Fallacy number 49: Nibbling part 2. Forceful nibbling is allowed. This is different to biting. Learn the difference mofo's.

Phallic Fallacy number 50: The Jenna. Fisting is an interesting prospect that probably given the right amount of time to digest, we will be game.

Phallic Fallacy number 51: The Jenna part 2. We will need alcohol. Copious amounts probably.

Phallic Fallacy number 52: Cardio. If you roll off us panting like a dog on a hot day and we are not even glistening - it was kuk. Get a treadmill your stamina sucks balls.

Phallic Fallacy number 53: Wedding bliss. Something chemical happens to us at weddings *please see documentary Wedding Crashers*. They fuck us up - all of us. We are horny emotional bitches and you can get some. Cash in boys it will be wild.

Phallic Fallacy number 54: Wetspot. We do not want to sleep here ever. In the old days a man would lay his jacket over a puddle for a woman to cross without getting wet. Make this more 2006.

Phallic Fallacy number 55: We want to get laid as much as you do.

Phallic Fallacy number 56: This is a lie - we want it more.

Phallic Fallacy number 57: Greed. It may seem like we are sex gluttons on these days when we cannot get enough. The truth is we are having phenomenal sex on this day *pat yourselves on the back if this has happened* and we really honestly truthfully cannot get enough. We will screw you till you're raw, or dead whichever occurs first.

Phallic Fallacy number 58: Greed part 2. You MUST please I repeat MUST make sure that you are able to have sex with us on these days more than twice. The disappointment is too much for us to deal with on top of everything else.

Phallic Fallacy number 59: Greed part 3. If you just plain and simply cannot, take out our dildos and finish the job. Our dildos (in my case my big beautiful blue boy) is always good, usually so good that I feel satisfied. This might have something to do with the fact that my ex had incredibly wonderful big strong arms. Boys start weight lifting.

Phallic Fallacy number 60:Greed part 4. We want it in the kitchen/shower/bedroom/ bathroom /dining room/restaurant bathroom/airplane toilet/ rollercoaster/car/club/bookstore/lift/ changing room. Basically anywhere and everywhere.

Phallic Fallacy number 61: Porn. We like it (why do you think we flip through your GQ's and FHM's? Ok yes it is to look at the crazy hot bitches on the pages but also for the light porn). Whilst we like it a lot - we do not like to only have sex whilst watching it.

Phallic Fallacy number 62: Travel. We love highway head. So much so that even the most neurotic woman can block out thoughts of accidents. This is especially true if we had wine at dinner.

Phallic Fallacy number 63: Alcohol. Enough of this in any form turns us into raucously horny fuckin rabbits who will do/say/try anything

Phallic Fallacy number 64: Hotels. Again a chemical reaction here inexplicable really. For some reason hotels bring out the whores in us. We are hardcore hookers in a hotel and will do our best to break the headboard in two.

Phallic Fallacy number 65: The Jamie. Food + Sex = Always good idea (as long as it is not too sticky - we don't like to get our hair too messed during sex)

Phallic Fallacy number 66: Eddie Murphy. Inside we are laughing hysterically at your fuck face.

Phallic Fallacy number 67: Eddie Murphy part 2. We love how mesmerised your face is when we get ourselves off.

Phallic Fallacy number 68: Eddie Murphy part 3. Your face is ridiculously hilarious when you are getting yourself off.

Phallic Fallacy number 69: Need we say more.

A celebration in my honour!

2006-06-06T14:02:00.000+02:00

Ok so before I start there are some people I promised cake to so.....dig in guys!
Please take note of my princess toppings - because this is exactly how I feel!

So to my birthday as well as my new found inner peace and to my wonderfully supportive blogger mates - CHEERS! *hiccup*
'Scuse me that is the champagne I am drinking in Miss Champagne Heathen's honour!

Anyhow I am in very good spirits today (barring being drunk on imaginary champers!) so I am not going to go into too much detail about my day yesterday, as I would hate to ruin a good party!

Basically C.P.M's longest lasting mate asked me out for coffee which I thought was a bit strange but my curiosity got the better of me (as it does) so I went (as you do).

*Muddle smiles now at the story about to unfold beneath her eager fingers as the sweet smell of satisfaction fills the air around her*

Well it turns out C.P.M and this mate had a little incident in mates car whilst under the influence last week (and no this is not where the satisfaction comes in I'm not that bitter guys gimme some credit). R70 000 damage OUCH! Plus C.P.M and another mate were pulled over by pigs and almost arrested for drunk driving on the weekend!

Now I am going to quickly start up my time machine and take y'all back a year where C.P.M. was driving us home rather over the limit (I had asked if I could drive seeing as I had only had diet coke but nooooooooooo he was Fhhine.) and we were pulled over and he was breathalised.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY over the limit and placed in the back of a police car to be taken to Alexander jail.

Guys let me tell you something the boy's face went green-grey-white-shades of ivory-and back to green.

I obviously could not let this happen so at first I convinced the deputy to take him to Bedfordview jail instead. When I saw how easily I opened this window, I unleashed a performance worthy of an Oscar,Emmy,Grammy,BAFTA, SAMA and any other award one can think of.

I actually made myself cry and told the bobby on the beat that our house is not safe and we had been burgled the night before and I can't sleep there without my husband ('twas a feverish Friday night so it meant the fucker would have to sit till the Monday) and our one child has measles and the cat is pregnant and his mother stays with us and she has Alzheimers.

My gawd! I poured it on so thick that the guy wouldn't even accept the bribe C.P.M. offered! He told us to just get home safe and then turned to me and said "Lady I feel sorry for you that your husband is like this". Then he turned to the fucker and said "Grow up. You're lucky to have a wife who puts up with you".

Bwahahahahahaha! In your face u doos! Anyhow needless to say I was friggin fuming when we got back in the car (me behind wheel obviously) and I let him have it (honestly the whole thing could have been avoided had he just let me drive). And guess what the brainless beermug says "Oh! I was in the wrong place at the wrong time!It's not my fault".

Uhhhhh huh - OH DUDE PUH-LEASE. It was at this minute that I realised I had just become like everyone else in his life. I had bailed him out of a situation that he should have been punished for. I was his mother.

Anyways he said he had learned a valuable lesson the next morn when he sobered up however as you've probably already guessed the "revelation" lasted till the next Friday.

Ok disembark from the travelator and back to coffee yesterday. So friend is telling me all this stuff and when he's done he turns to me and says:

"Look we all know there is nothing we can do about the break up, all of us think he has made the biggest mistake of his life, but we are really worried about him. He has been fucked every night since the break up and the accident etc have not slowed him down one bit".

Me:"Ja so?"

Him:"Well we don't know what to do?"

Me:"Ja so? What would you like me to do about this?"

Him:"I dunno - maybe you should call his mom?"

CAN YOU SMELL IT?CAN YOU SMELL IT?CAN YOU SMELL IT?CAN YOU FUCKING SMELL IT?!!!!!!!!!!????

I burst out laughing at this one. I must call his mother and say: "Your 30 yr old son is out of control. His friends are worried and wanted me to call you so you can do something about it. Now I know this may prove difficult as you are still prepared to clean up his vomit when he spews all over your house, but ummmmmmmmm do you think you can give it a try?"

Flabbergasted is not the word.Thunderstruck and staggered don't do justice either.

I mean seriously?

So I proceeded to tell this shmuk my thoughts on the matter.As I have stated before HE thinks HE is invincible. HE truly believes when shit like this happens that HE was in the wrong place at the wrong time. HE will never realise that these things are little warnings. Little red blinking lights that say "Bro I have given you many chances. These are now warnings - your luck is about to run out. Please heed the signs motherfucker!"

Now maybe someone out there is calling me a cold hearted bitch right this minute. But C'mon people? It's like what - I was born with a stamp on my ass that said C.P.M's guardian friggin angel? Me thinks not.

Anyhow I still managed to sit with friend for 3 hours, go through a whole box of fags and 7 cuppas listening to him analyze his friend of 15 years. He let slip some interesting tid-bits and made some good points:

C.P.M. truly believes that the time will come when he will have to grow up but until then he wants to do everything to the max so that he has no regrets. Therefore there is no space in his life for anything/one else
C.P.M truly believes that he has more chance of getting hit by a bus than having an accident whilst vrot (now I have never worked at the statistics bureau so call me uneducated for saying uhhh I don't think so)
C.P.M. knows a lot of people so if one mate lets him down he will call another and another and another until some wanker agrees to a "quiet few".
As a result of the above C.P.M. has not spent one night alone on his couch whilst all friends are with wives/girlfriends and therefore has not actually realised that I am not around
His friends are irritated with how out of hand he gets and are starting to lie about why they can't go out with him
He has been with other woman and according to 2 separate friends they have been hounds/pigs/trolls - now maybe they said this to spare my feelings but they're his mates right, the guy looks like a total lahooooozaher!
He has cried everytime he has gotten out of hand and refuses to speak about it to anyone
He has mentioned that he knows he needs to slow down but he just can't do it
He has slept in his own puke and pee'd in the corner of his room more than once
At Lusito land he disappeared and when found admitted to spending time in the tent he spent time in with me the year before

I am not going to go past 10 as I do have some respect left for HIM and don't want to paint HIM with any more Good gawd ur kidding colours.

HE is also apparently feeling completely crap over the whole forgetting my birthday thing and mentioned something to his mates about writing an apology card and putting it in my postbox.

Truthfully, in a way I feel sorry for the son of a bitch. He really is screwing up his life and he isn't even aware of this. And honestly he is a great guy with a beautiful heart, who will go out of his way for his family and his friends. In all honesty he never treated me badly in the sense of being a complete dickhead to me like some others in the past. And thanks to me, my insatiable sexual appetite as well as my lack of inhibition and constant need for experimentation he is not bad in the sack (when we first got together he actually bit me whilst taking a little muffdive - not nibbled - BIT). Thanks to genetics or something he has a rather lovely sized well girthed penis. Great body - good man smell. Yip I do feel for him.

But then on the other hand is the SCORNED WOMAN who really just wants to know....

CAN YOU SMELL IT?SMELLS FUCKIN SWEEEEEEET TO ME!CAN YOU?HUH?HUH?

Off I go to finish off that champagne and a cig and to enjoy being a princess even if it is just for today!

*Royal wave*

Muddle

The thing about disappointment...

2006-06-05T12:08:00.000+02:00

C.P.M. forgot my birthday.
I am devestated but I have risen from a coma and my amnesia has somewhat cleared.

So here goes:
Things I hated about you when we were together and now won't be forgetting in a rush:
1. Every other person in your life knows how special I am - you don't. Your parents sent me flowers, your brothers called me, your best friends sms'd me. You lay on a couch recovering from your hangover.
2.You are 30 yrs old and so afraid of change so you rather act like you are 19 to ease the pain of reality
3. You are on a path of self-destruction and I cannot travel it with you any longer
4. You hate the fact that you are quiet and introverted and so in order to not feel trapped within yourself you drink yourself stupid
5. You think that you are immortal (this stems from your fear of growing up) and so when G-d gives you signs that you should take stock of your life and the worthy things in it, you think it's a case of bad luck and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
6. I would have given you everything. You couldn't give me anything
7. You are the most magnificent, amazing person I have ever met. But obviously not amazing enough.

Your best mate told me things about you last night that are so true, and I couldn't believe my ears. I always thought he was on your side. He's not. He thinks you need help.
I was shocked to hear that your friends and family knew it was a matter of time before I left you, and even more shocked to find out they can't believe how long I stayed.

I knew already last week that you were going to forget my birthday. But I so badly wanted you to prove me wrong. I so badly needed to know that you do still care about me.

You proved me right, and you actually did me the biggest favour, because you have driven the final nail into the coffin.

I hope that you are able to pull yourself together because I want you to be happy, and I would hate to know that when the next best thing comes into your life, that you will be too fucked up to keep it.

As for me, the healing process has truly begun. And today I sincerely believe that we both lost out on each other, but I am not the final loser.

As your mate says - ths is and end to a new beginning for me. I at least know where I'm going from here.

Grandma and the Pale Prince

2006-06-02T22:47:00.000+02:00

What has just occured is too funny for me to not write about it!

I have just finished family dinner which with my famiglia is always something!

So my Gran has decided to set me up with someone. Let me explain to you (which I shouldn't have to as this should offset a whole load of hysterical chaos) why this is so funny.

Few years back (when princes' were many and toads were so few) my Gran tried to set me up with a boy named Colin. Colin is so pale he is see through.Transparent.Translucent.Clear.
The boys hair was so light it was yellow - not blonde. I could see blood running through his vains.
I am convinced that (and Buddha please forgive me for what I am about to publish) there has never been an uglier person born since Colin.
A more mismatched pair has never existed on earth before.

So you can only imagine what ran through my head when she turned to me and said "I have such a nice boy for you".

Here goes.

Eliott is 33 and is always visiting his mother at her retirement village. This is where my Gran met my future husband, he was picking up his faxes from his elderly ma. He is approximately 5ft (the fact that I am close on 6ft obviously irrelevant). And wait for it - Eliott makes prosthetic limbs. Now I know what you are thinking, it's a perfectly respectable profession. Agreed.

However I tried to explain that there are already far too many idiosyncrasies attached to this one. Like does he pull that practical joke where you shake his hand and it pops off? As an advert, has he got a leg hanging out of his boot? Does he bring work home with him so he can shape and file whilst watching D.H?

I laughed so hard I cried.

I cried more and more when I realised my life has come to a point where my gran is interviewing boys at her retirement village.

Woe is me. Woe is me.

Tissue please.

I have quit g-strings

2006-06-02T10:33:00.000+02:00

It's official I really have. I am not kidding, wouldn't dare kid about such a serious situation.

There are a number of reasons for this decision, namely:
1. They are all in the wash
2. Granny panties are the equivalent to hairy legs or an unkept bikini line - enough to stop a woman from doing silly unnecessary things with silly unnecessary boys
3. I am ready to admit that my ass looks gargantuan with a peace of dental floss up it's ummm crack
4. They are all in the wash
5. They are uncomfortable oh and are all in the wash

Went for yummy indian food last night with uber special girlfriend. Decided after the wine set in to go for drinks after. COLOSSAL mistake.
Bumped into my U.F.O. (ultimate fantasy orgasm) who since a few weeks ago isn't actually my U.F.O. anymore as he is rubbish in the sack (but still magnificent to perv over). Anyhow how's this for an insulting drive thru conversation:
U.F.O: Hello! I was going to sms you today (small peck on cheek)
Muddle: Hmmmm... Sure you were (thinking about small peck haha)
U.F.O: No really I wanted to know how my friend is?
*It will do you good to know he is talking about my pug and not my flower*
Muddle: (Not shocked at this as me thinks he is just a pretty face) Mmm he's fine
CUT TO ME AND MY FLOWER HOTSTEPPING AWAY

Why did I tell this story? I guess because as each day passes the opposite sex eludes me.
Men are wonderful. But fuck me are they weird creatures.

I think I have penis envy. (Which might be reason 6. as to why I quit g-strings)

Muddle

Stones in puke

2006-06-02T07:06:00.000+02:00

I am writing this from underneath my duvet covers (which you should take quite literally as I have hidden myself from morning,I will not be seen by it and yes screw my boss).
The dog has taken a fancy to morning sickness. Rather chipper and her usual energetic self for the rest of the day once she has cotched (usually in my bedroom).So this morning she hurled in the kitchen and right there on the floor landed a rather large sized stone.

Yes. That is correct a stone.

I am wondering if it this particular stone causing this morning sickness, or perhaps I should wait for her to projectile a meteor rock and a decent sized planet before whisking her and my new finds off to the vet?

Goodness.
Muddle

Do you spell desperate with a d?

2006-06-01T11:42:00.000+02:00

Experienced a teeny meltdown last night in the since that I have amnesia.

Seriously.

Not kidding. (wondrous expression this)

I have completely forgotten all the kuk stuff that went on btw me and C.P.M.
I find myself desperate for him to come back, when at the time of breakup I was adamant that he had to take a walk and I know there were reasons for this. Fucking good ones at that!

Had to phone a friend.

She however was not harsh enough and did not remind me of why I disliked him so much at that minute. Something about his drinking and living with his mother at the tender age of 30!!!!
I mean is this soooooo bad??????

So I am going to compose a list entitled:

Endless things I obviously hated about you then and can't remember now.

This is proving to be more of a challenge than I estimated.

I might have to revisit this tomorrow.

In the meantime I have phoned a friend. I have asked the audience - 0 comments on my blog nobody finds me interesting :( The 50/50 thing is totally irrelevant, and at the moment the gigantic cramp in my ass has been named My Mother.

Therefore I feel I have been weighed and measured, and I have come up fucking short.

Muddle

At the bottom of my coffee cup

2006-05-31T14:07:00.002+02:00

So it's been 7 weeks 3 days 3 hours and umm 9 minutes (who is this mathematical genius counting in my head all of a sardine and where was this @#$%^& in high school when he was needed?). Where was I? Oh right 7 weeks since C.P.M. ( commitment phobic mother#$%^&*) ok fine yes yes ironic his initials are the above forgive me if writing this gives me the same satisfaction as imagining I have just blown his head off with a barrel of TNT. Sue me you righteous sons of bitches!

Where am I? Yes 7. 7. 7. 7. SEVEN weeks since HE told me that he wasn't sure if I was the one.

Quick nutshell (any nut, your favourite in a shell maybe) recap as to why I am so inspired to explain to you how I got to the bottom of my coffee cup. So C.P.M. and I had been dating for just under 3 yrs (math guy piss off now no more counting) and me being the GIRL that I am, was obviously h.o.h in love. After a most marvelous Dec hols together (ok ok we went with his family...Again...And NO!!I did not see it coming - explain in a bit). Anyhow marv hols came back to Joz to move into my own very lovely new home. How fab - 2006 was off to a great start and I was excited to see this man a little more often (quick quick rl/ship had existed mainly of seeing each other on w-ends as he works for dad and like a pig *mental note to idiot self here quickly - works for dad?*) and as I had moved EXACTLY 2.4km's away from his work everything just seemed "perfect".

K U K !! Never have I been so wrong. C.P.M. is soooooooo C.P.M that even the idea of spending one night there during the wk was like a no go *mental note to idiot self - the signs were there u shmuk*

Anyhow so C.P.M. goes off 2 ski with mates in Austria for 2 wks comes back and wait for it.......
Confesses undying love for me (I know you cynics are thinking Bastard he cheated!But he didn't at least if he did we would have real reason to hate him which I find works better than the bitter fabricated kind). So he's in love right. Has realised that altho his friends are rather important to him this hol was just 2 hectic and he never ever wants to go anywhere without me ever again so long as he lives *ponder to me - wonder if he's dead now in this case?*. Well you can imagine (well you can't if you're an unromantic, cold-hearted s.o.a.b.) how happy lill' ol' me was!

Yes!! My man (not referred to as boy here) had finally come to his senses. Of course the nxt few weeks were bliss. What is that they say about absence makes the heart grow fonder? Screw that my pussy grew into a tiger so as you can imagine the sex was supreme!

Things didn't stop here - for the first time we had a real marriage talk which HE brought up and it turns out I WAS THE ONE!!

Ffwd to a month and a bit later. BULLOCKS!
HE is standing in my dining room all teary (#$%^ him for that) I am telling him things must change or it's over and he replies, saying he just didn't know, and he can't give up drinking with his mates 2wice a month to have dinner with my family (long story ramble ramble blah blah).

The bottom line is he left. I thought I'd be fine. Really. I mean his loss right?? Oh puh-lease! I have chugged a bottle of wine in the bath almost every night, finished all my vanilla incense, read that horrible horrible book "It's called a breakup coz it's broken" (*note to you:this book is Satan on a keyboard.Do not buy it. Boycott these bastards who have overcome addiction and found true love.I heard they're not even human anyway*) .

The funny thing is (and there is something funny here I am sure) that I knew things had to change btw us or I was out. I knew then the reasons why I could no longer carry on the way it was and that possibly he wasn't the one for me. He's not a bad guy or a complete dickhead (like my ex-eyebrowplucker) and I have/had no reason to hate him. He treated me like a queen in fact. But I knew he was either letting go of Mommy's apron strings or I was letting go of him. It made perfect sense.

Yet now as my self-doubt creeps in merged with the frightening sight of certain teeny tiny cocks that have crept into my henhouse merged with my big blue beautiful dildo losing his appeal merged with the fact that my dirty laundry (this is literal) is exactly halfway to the ceiling merged with the fact that my bday is on Sunday (do you think he'll call?He's going to forget.I hope he does then I can almost real hate him like I do the ex-eyebrowplucker) merged with the fact that I am still long-term relationship fat merged with the fact that I wish that stupid #$%^ would come to his senses and come back. What's that you say author of Breakup broken crap kuk? It's me who needs to come to their senses? Oh ja....well screw you mr and mrs we're wealthy thanks to Oprah and women in a breakup are psycho and we love to tell them how they're all SUPERFOXES. Uh huh - you heard me s.o.b.'s superfox this!

Muddle