Shoping with the family

This morning I was playing touch rugby with Sawyer from Lost on a deserted beach when Stiffla told me to move up.
Reluctantly I opened one eye and it shot in the direction of the window… the slight misty resentment I boarded towards Stiffla for disturbing me from my dream evaporated into one of those real “Oh shit” feelings. The sun was shining…which meant one of two things…. Either it was Saturday or I had overslept.
It turned out to be the latter.
In 15min I was dressed and driving the living shit out of “Giffie” (my car) and yet I still pitched late for work.

I have decided to blame this slothly behavior on Stiffla’s Brother “Will”.
Yesterday a months hard labour and misuse of the companies internet facilities paid of and I, like the rest of the population, flocked to the supermarket so that I can take my family off the diet of cardboard box and tomato sauce I had them on.
Usually we all do this together as I keep Stiffla and Will under the illusion that they actually have a say in what they eat.
The boys register their dislike of this monthly ritual in various way’s.
For one; each insists on having his own trolley, this is not because they are overly helpful but rather because they want to race one another up and down the tampon isle. (the bright side is that half of the woman in Boksburg have been frightened into early menopause)
The only reason I permit this behavior is because if we get only one trolley one of the boys commits himself to the cockpit of this Pick and Pay propelled hell cart, and believe me there is not much room in there next to a 20 year old kid.
Other manifestations of their bad grace include adding an assortment of sweets chips and toys to my selection when I am not looking. I have countered this by sticking to a budget, if after the bare essentials have been paid for there is any money left they get to choose from the collection of crap they added.
They also unpack my trolley in the wrong order and then tell me that I am a hag when I bitch about having oven cleaner in the same packet as the frozen goods.
And the most recent trick is to go watch movies…. No hang on you don’t get it… I found them flat on their asses in the appliance section, each with a packet of jumping jack popcorn watching the movie they run on the screens.

I ask you. It’s no wonder their mothers a text book psycho.

Anyway, yesterday, Stiffla was not able to make the expedition and I was left with just Will.
If you have ever taken a three year old shopping you will have some idée as to what I went through.
I picked him up from work and having a captive audience, I announced that we had to go do the shopping.
He looked at me like a wet cat and said “do we have to”
“Yes” I said sternly, then Will stuck his head out the window of my moving car and asked the woman in the car next to us if she would adopt him.
Leaving the poor woman to her heart attack we made our way to the hyper market where I had to bribe the little bugger with food before he donned a shopping cart.
With a long face he followed me and grabbed every opportunity to piss me off.
The floor of the unfortunate institute is now plastered in egg and mayonnaise because every time I want to drop something in the cart Will reversed it.
I learnt my lesson and started creeping up on him… however the creative mind of a shit stirrer has now limits and he retaliated by trying to ram the cart into my ankles.

I am now petitioning that the shopping cart be registered as a lethal weapon.
I have yet to hear the end of this and he is still bitching about the inhumane torture I put him through.

Latter I am going shopping with Chaz and I swear that if she breaks any speed limits with a trolley or dons a cucumber as a fashion accessory I am going to stick my head in the microwave

Blogs that hit the spot

I am sorry that I am only getting around to spreading the love now but my mother in law called me a “snotkop” (snot head) over the weekend and I have been sulking about the fact that a person with brain activity that barely rivals that of single selled organisms had the nerve to call me something so degrading. She also insulted my family and extended family so I am really pissed and am as we speak composing a really good argument to have her tar and feathered.

But late is better than never unless you’re a woman and then late is just as bad for ones nerves…. Did I say that out loud .

So here it is

A little while ago…okay admittedly a little longer than that. CEO nominated me for an award thingie.
I was killer ecstatic cos I have never gotten one of these things and I am yet to figure out where to put it so I can be 100% la-dee-da about it.
Thanks CEO


Anyway the point I think is to spread the love so here are my nominations for Blogs that hit the spot.

Etain
Etain is a poet and a writer and she writes about very real things and emotions and always executes this perfectly

Rabbit
What can I say other than… reading his blog has improved my sex life. This blog is not for the faint at heart peeps

Angel
This lady is the coolest single mom I know. She’s big on writing bout life and the real stuff. She’s also an S.A . blogger with spunk.

Fish
Okay where do I begin.
I go to this blog everyday just to see if he’ll through me a bone by giving me an idée about who fish is. He’s one of those guys who has so much color that you could spend the day just baiting him into a conversation


Pink stuffing
Shes young and fun, I almost identify with her and she runs TOO MUCH INFORMATION TUESDAYS!

Monster in law

Anthony told me he had cancer so that I wouldn’t dump him, I told him never to come near me again and swore that I would never commit to a guy who has less integrity than I have and who thinks that aluminum touring style wings are "Pimping". Anthony got a fourteen year old pregnant and is now awaiting the birth of his illegitimate brat.

Then came another chapter that I dare not cover here because I just might want to chew off my arm and hit myself with the stump.
However out of this 11month long pit of hell my current relationship was born.

Stiffla was ,to me, the proverbial silver lining around a very dark cloud.
I am not gonna get into the details today because I have a strict no gooey squishy post clause. All that I am going to say is that Stiffla doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body, he would never cheat (primarily because he wouldn’t know a flirt if it walked up to him and sexually molested him in the street) and we have never had a fight because of his completely docile nature. I scream he listens till I feel better then offers me a beer.

However our fairy tale is far from perfect…..Enter devil woman….. Stiffla’s mother is as close to the spawn of hell as you will ever get.
When we moved in together she threatened to get the priest to come talk to us about our sins.
This is no joke people she really really did saying that “living together before getting married is against Gods will” she only changed her mind when Stiffla explained that she better get a damned good priest cos he will be walking right into my playground.

After that I made the cardinal mistake of inviting the battle axe and the rest of the family to our flat for Stiffla’s birthday…
I was polite to the old Hag, swore at Willem and Dan (the brothers) and joked with Stiffla’s dad.
All went well….well at least that’s what I thought.
Unfortunately I was about to find out that years of elective unemployment (sitting on your but at home with nobody to talk to but the maid) has nursed a love of gossip in the woman.
Promptly at eight the following morning Stiffla got a phone call from the witch to explain to him that she saw dust in the flat and that she couldn’t believe that I was forcing the poor dear to do his own ironing and washing.
For Stifflas sake she said that she would come and pick up his washing and have it done fore him.

I choked on my coffee, I swore ,my lord, did I swear and when I had recovered my composure I politely told him that he could tell his mother to go Fuck herself in no uncertain terms.

Ladies and gents I work a 8:00 to 17:00 I come home, I cook and then I relax.
Obviously this woman was expecting me to quit my job so that I could wait hand and foot on her little angel.
I would rather die than become some guys maid.
I am very sorry, Stiffla was forced into domestication boot camp the second he walked into my door and I am proud to say that he cooks, Irons and washes cloths like a pro now.


Anyway the whole thing blew over and she said sorry.
Unfortunately a sewer rat doesn’t change its spots and the Troll pitched up at my house on my birthday.
Uninvited I might add.
I was doing the washing and Stiff was fixing the roof, Will was playing PC games and even poked his head out his room to say hi (we haven’t seen that much movement from him on a weekend since….)
I made a huge effort to be accommodating considering the setting.
I offered cold dink and chatted to his dad and his mom but apparently my efforts were found wanting….

On Monday the news reaches me via my trusty munchkin Will that I made her feel unwelcome.

Now the fact that she sure as hell wasn’t welcome is irrelevant, the fact that I was singled out while her sons barely acknowledged that she was there, highlights the fact that she is out to get me.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!

Anyway in dew time she will be told that I am not interested in her plastic friendship and she can spare her sorry for someone who gives a shit.
I will not be the victim of her board narrow little mind.
I am even considering not inviting her in the wedding.

By the way if any of you are gonna tell me that by posting this I am just as bad as she is…. I object this woman is an amateur at bitchyness compared to me

Have you noticed that my pics dont suit my posts

Today a test on face book told me that I am only 23% normal and I am abusing my right to be strange.
I was compelled to sink to a level of eloquence where the word DUH would suffice.
I suppose if you weren’t allowed to use the words, loud, volatile argumentative, obnoxious, lunatic, exocentric and psychopath; strange would be the perfect word to describe me.
Don’t get me wrong I am not dangerous or anything (unless you fall into the ex boyfriend category) I just subscribe to a very different reality than what most people do.
For example:

I talk to myself on a regular basis. This is mainly because I have this suppressed personality (she’s the nice one) who wants to dress up in pink, quit her job and go care for hungry orphans and abused woman in some syphilis infected third world country.
This personality needs to be shouted at from time to time.
So its not unusual to see me crapping myself out at intervals.
At the end of the day I am much more productive when I have convinced myself that South-Africa is as third world as I can handle and if those woman want to be less abused or less hungry they should stop voting for Robert Mugabe.

I love to tell people things like “Money does buy happiness” “personally I don’t give a shit” and “yes as a matter of fact I do believe a good hiding can do wonders for disciplining you brats”.
I know that when I say these things people will give me the opportunity to tell them how idealistic they are.
That and I also love pissing people off.

I openly discuss sex with priests pastors and anybody who appears to frigid for my liking.

I bait people by exposing exactly how terrible I am from the word go hoping that they will pick a fight I am sure to win

I would rather be right than content.
I’d rather be rich than have kids.
And most of all
Id rather Blog than face book


Disclaimer: I had nothing else to say so if its sucks, I am sorry you were sucker enough to get this far


Peace out peeps

Idiot and mothers in law

Good blogs are like farts. They come to you when you least expect them and when you try and create one out of thin air it turns out shitty.
It is 3:57 pm and my attempts at blogging have been winded, to say the least.

Tomorrow I am not going to spend much time in the office.
I am going to grin and bare it and go and see my clients.
You might think that my pessimism is unfounded but believe me it isn’t.
I suffer from a very serious condition that I have come to call “Impaired Direction Inclination-T” or IDIOT.
Symptoms of IDIOT can range from getting Lost, driving in circles and direction confuckulation to severe highway anxiety.
The only known treatment that can adequately manage IDIOT is voice prompting GPS.
Unfortunately very few doctors suffer from IDIOT and I have not yet been able to get one of them write me a prescription for a Garmin GPS.

In other news…
There is a dark cloud of matrimonial disaster looming.
Don’t get me wrong I love Stiffla but I am starting to think that we should just have a killer bachelor and bachelorette party and forget about the rest. I have no qualms about planning a party based on drinking and stripping but I do however dread the year of planning that goes into the wedding.
My other reasons for abstaining from matrimonial bliss is the bovine devil woman from whose lions my beloved happened to spring.
I understand that it is not unusual to dislike ones mother in law but is it natural to fantasize about selling her into slavery.

My time is up I‘ll tell you the mother in law story tomorrow

Bok fever

Before I start my post I want you guys to go have a look at Chaz's blog. its in my link list.
Chaz and I work together. she is currently verry pissed off about abortion and is voicing her concern in verry graphic terms. Please go drop her a comment.


I understand that Rugby is not big in the states but I would like to give you picture of what South-Africa is like this morning.
For those of you who don't know the South-African Springboks are playing the English Roses in the Rugby world cup final this Saturday.
You must understand that contrary to the pretty picture S.A tries to show the world things are all but Rosy here and dividing line between races very much still and issue.
However this morning... as I was driving to work I couldn't miss that every driver in every care was wearing a springbok jersey. Every radio station has played an amazing selection of war cries and I have heard the national anthem sung at leats 5 times.
You must understand that I am not the worlds biggest SPORT fanatic but as I sit here there is knot in the pit of my stomach and my skin is goose pimply.
It is absolutely amazing.

However this is Africa and here every silver cloud has a dark lining.
As I said before, our government likes to portray our country as free of racial discrimination however the truth is very different.
When the springboks get back from France the team will be turned up side down because the government is starting to reform the team.
They are forcing the governing bodies of the sport to have a certain amount of players of colour in the team.
Picking players based on Merritt is no longer an option, we are being forced to pick players based on skin color.
I don't know about you but this sounds racist to me.
And on the other hand if we are doing this with rugby why not with soccer.
If the team is to be a true representative of South-Africa shouldn't there be a certain amount of white players in the soccer team.

What do you guys think?
How would you feel if bush said that you had to have majority black players in your baseball team or football team.
Shouldn't this kind of politics be left out of sport.

Either way after the world cup I am supporting the all blacks and boycotting the Springboks

Problems with Horses

“When you fall of the horse just dust yourself off and get back on”
I am not being trivial again, I have a point.
I don’t get back on the hors I launch an epic inquisition into why I fell of the hors before finding a new hors
Now I have to be honest this isn’t Texas and I am running the hell out of horses.

I am a committed student of history and I have, above all, learnt that while history has the potential to strengthen a nation it can most defiantly destroy an individuals believes.

I am one of those individuals.
I only see the destruction as enlightenment.
I grew up a Christian with an enquiring mind so much so that the “having faith” was not an answer. The Dutch reform church failed miserably in answering my questions, the apostolic almost had me but in the end I turned to the written words of history and science and fact gave faith a royal hiding.

I rethought my spiritual believes and in the end was drawn to what is loosely termed Eclectic paganism. I don’t believe in gods, rather in energies and attributes within ourselves I believe in nature and the power it has over man kind.
Where heaven was reincarnation filled the void, and where prayer was meditation came.
I was especially drawn to the fact that no sex was held lord of the other and woman were given their rightful respect.
A lot of my inspiration was drawn from the romantic figures of Celtic and Gaelic gods.
The stories of Morgan and Diana and the wise Merlin.
And when I say romantic I am mean romanticized. One of the largest growing religions in the world is wicca, they are peaceful and accepting and may in fact be misleading.
You will be taught that there are different paths, witch craft, Shamanism and Druidism.
And the gods have positive and negative traits.

Now this is where my dilemma comes in
I am currently reading a book about the mythology of the ancient Celts
In this book the Druids are animated as no less power hungry and manipulative as the Vatican and the people as barbarians who honored their Gods by human sacrifice.
Not he caring country people they are seen as today
However at the same time the book also notes that the lore of the ancient Britons Celts and Gael was handed down by verbal stories and that some of the only written material we have on them are the observations of Caesar during their campaigns in Brittan.
Most of these manuscripts were written by Monks of the Christian order they were trying to enforce upon the British natives.

Now I ask you!
The verbal folk lore is most definitely badly distorted as it is thousands of years old
And the written material is questionable given the religious climate of the time.
What do we believe.

Personally I am happy with my nameless way of life right now, this is only because ignorance is bliss and I often prefer being right to being happy, but if anybody has some form of info to add please do

Nothing to talk abouty

Today is a bit hectic and I ahve not had time to think about anything other than how to get to midrand, How to get out of having to go to midrand and how much I hate midrand.
However since I have so many greeeeeeeeat new people to talp to I am gonna make a quick blog of it and swing by yours.
The below pics were mailed to me by Chaz under the title "stupid directors"









Peace out peeps

Happy Birthday Body

As of yesterday I have inhabited this body for 22 years.
Its in the terrific condition you would expect to find such a young model. No disease rusting at the body work and no notable allergies or chronicles to put it out of work.
I am not planning a trade in for a long time yet.
Happy Birthday Body!
Now I understand that there are raised eyebrows right now and perhaps you are muttering something about “what’s that crazy strumpet on about this time” but if you bare with me for just a moment I will explain.

I am not a great fan of birthdays in the commercial sense of the world, it’s nice to be treated nicely and its a good reason for a party, but then again so is a Saturday.
I spent my birthday in reflection.
Since my last birthday I have moved house and in doing so rebuilt my relationship with my mom and sister, I have cemented the foundations to the worlds most tranquil relationship by getting engaged to the worlds noisiest little bugger, I have made two new friends, I have made no money in a difficult job then found a better job, I have bought a car on my own with not a single cent from mom for a deposit, I have changed my religion, I have gone from suicidal to ecstatic to completely content and am now wallowing in between, I have gotten over Johan’s death and learn to let go…I have also become brave enough to admit that my life is better now, I have forgiven Vee, I have said sorry to Alicia and I have learnt to heal myself.
I have had a good year.

This is where I am gonna make sense so just hang on.
My dad used to say that growing old is mandatory but growing up is optional.
My body is growing old
But I refuse to grow up
I plan to apply 6 year old flair to a 22 year old mind till the day that I die.
Because when I am 80 years old I want to be able to look at 80 years of life well lived and say stuff like “are we there yet” “wowie that’s sooooo cool” and “can I go again, ag pleeeeeeas just once more”.

This is too another year
To me sounding this optimistic for as long as I can handle it
To Etain for remembering my birthday from Britain.
To Grem for partying with me even though your on standby
To Chaz for looking after me when I needed someone to hold my hair back.
To Stiffla and will for oblivion
And to the Boks for giving me a world cup final for my birthday

Peace out Peeps

I have a quacking migrane

Have you ever had one of those days when even the air tastes bad your so pissed at everything.
Well I am having one off those days.

All started off okay, I got out of bed leaving stiffla drooling on his fat cat, ironed my clothes and got dressed....
This is where it all started, I hate ironing everything and consciously buy cloths that don't need to be ironed, however the weeks of rain have done funny things to everything in my house and I was forced into this loathsome labour.
This done I proceeded to don the freshly ironed top when mother nature kicked me in the teeth again.
It seems this graceful Deity and I are not on speaking terms and somebody forgot to tel me.
when I pulled the top over my head it felt clammy. I told myself that the fact that its ice cold was causing it to feel that way and I only realised that the thing had in fact not dried properly when I got to the office and cold was no longer a viable excuse.

So there I was in wet cloths with puffy hair swearing at everything in bad grace When mother nature sent in her infantry and fan fair.
You might recall that a while ago Marra and I were arguing about weather or not a ducks quack echos;
Well I still don't know about the duck but I now know that an Egyptian goose's quack does.
I have also learnt that the silly thing is dumb as bricks.
now I know for sure that fate will teach you things and that one should learn while you can because one day you most certainly will need it.
This in mind I have decided to feed myself to my rottweilers when I get home as I fear whats in store for me if Fiat is teaching me the dynamics of Egyptian gees.

Hang on back to the story.
There is a goose on the balcony of my office and its been quacking without any sign of stopping for three hours.
In the hope of getting rid of the bugger I have thrown my stapler chair and PC at it but to no avail, he just moves higher up and quacks away.
It took me a while but I figured out the reason for this toe nail curling behavior when I stepped outside to swear at him.
you see every time the bugger quacks the echo created by the surrounding buildings quacks back at him.
Thrlittle shit has been answering himself for three hours while I have been composing cooking instructions for dead goose with stapler stuffing.

Oh by the way I am dedicating this week to hating men.
Two of my girlfriends (hey I have girlfriends, well at least that's what I call them, I believe the popular term for me is bitch) have man problems and I have just had a fight with the chairmen of a car club.
I am quite sure the lines of communication between us have been cut as I was forced to make a graphic remark about his but and a scooby.
naturally I am spitting mad and intend to take it out on the multi coloured collection of dick heads I am sure to find on my commute home.

Witch Brings me to another point.
Ladies and gents... I drive a white corsa lite sport with black frost rims I am short angry.
If you see me on the road bugger off out of my blind spot
say thank you when I give you gap because I could have left you stuck in the wrong lane till your eyeballs dry.
If your a truck doing 80km/h in front of me, bugger of to the slow lane where you belong or at least move out of infront of me.
If your the stupid bitch in the black bmw who was driving on the shoulder of the road today..... I hope you have to remortgage your house to pay that fine
If your the guy in the white honda civic... turn down your radio... your cascada is ruining my ramstein
and last but not least to every brakpan inhabitant who drives a golf coartina datsun bakkie..... note that hooting at me while picking your nose is not a socially accepted form of flirting and I dont think your cute... also note that I am not an idiot and therefor do not fall for the hole in your exhaust that you are trying to pan off as a turbo....I WILL KICK YOUR ASS...and if I cant Stiffla will.

thanks to the young man in the white Nissan nivara who gave me a gap on giloolies today... your mamma raised a good man

Peace out peeps

blogg graveyard

I have made up my mind that I am gonna have to add a gravyard section to my peanut gallery.
it seems that 90% of the people who I have linked no longer blog and I have been forced to go blo whoring again.
so for the last few days I have neglected to post anything new because I have been surfing the links from site to site commenting on some very nice blogs.
I now plan to compile a new peanut gallery full of blogs that I intend making regular reads.

I am also to scared to blog because there a have been tornado warnings in Gauteng and Icebergs off the African cost... this may be a parralel univers and I fear for teh safty of my blog.

Brain fart

Ideas are often like men.
When they first approach you, you brush them off as annoying and uninteresting.
However like men they don't go away and you can't turn your ass without it trying to hump your leg (the man not the idea).
With lots of distraction you finally succeed in ignoring it. Its there but only in the corner of your mind just on the presipace of awareness.
Latter you can't help yourself, the prospect of mulling over it has grown on you and at the end of the day it occupies your full attention all day and you have no simple escape.

I have an Idea of the male persuasion and when combining it with the antics of Stiffla and his sibling I have enough nagging testosterone variables to rival the whole Rugby world cup line up.

Now like men all ideas and theories need names (especially in the developing stages) while men need names so that you can shout at them in crowds, ideas need names so that you can say " I cal it my "drol in die drink water" theory" and sound all educated and complicated about it.

I call my theory "the worst case scenario" and if I had the patience I would write a book about it.

If you take all these small little rifts, fights and issues that plague the world at the moment and dramatise the worst possible outcome.
What if the fight for gender equality resulted in a female dominated work force and men were driven into the stay at home dad position.
What if Aids continued on its downward spiral and finally whipped out the whole entire African population.
What if CERN succeed in recreating the big bang and in doing so discredit Genesis and make Christianity obsolete, if the creation of antimatter became the most powerful weapon of mass destruction.
Imagine what the world will be like in a 100 years from now.

We will all be hunter gather warrior woman with hunky male sex slaves campaigning to repopulate Africa after global warming and shit made it the only inhabitable place on earth.
Or perhaps the only survivors would be the people who realised that society and the system would literally mean our end and started these little intentional societies.
What will our new Gods look like and will there still be money power hungry religious sects trying to push their own agenda by indoctrination?

This was my official Friday Brain fart.
the proverbial rush of shit to the brain