hung Out To Dry

I wrote this in Afrikaans because the language carries more taboo than open minded English ever will while at the same time maintaining a fearless sorrow.

Hahahaha
Nah I’m shitting you… just wrote in afrikaans because I never do.
By the way the piece has no application, it was just written about this girl who committed suicide by hanging herself on the school grounds after stripping naked and cutting herself.
Call this my back period


Die geluide wat daar uit gekom het was soos ou water pype.
So ‘n snak snak na lug….
‘n suis en dan ‘n fluit soos haar lee longe hul dors probeer less…
maar die gordel van haar skool broek het teen die yl blou grys vel in haar nek gesny en stywer en stywer die flees fandel van hulpeloosheid van die netbaal paal gehang.
Peodel nakend kaal gill die geteerde ligaam die woorde wat niemand wou hoor.

Son stralle koester sag sag te vergeefs.
Sys uitgehang en vergeet
En die son se hell pyle sal nooit haar siel kan smelt, want soos piccaso is sy geskilder met kwas hale van pappa se liefde, ligte steekies op klein gewriggies waar doctor nie haar hart kon heel, en vlees wonde waar die pyn moes uit.

En daar het sy gehang.
Toegedraai in die winter genaade van omvattende donker

force fed suicide

I have never felt air as heavy as that.
In the nights that followed I could not sleep under its weight, I could feel it encapsulating my body in its malignant filth.
Was it the impending death that polluted that winter nigh or was it the unfathomable things I had seen.
Some questions, I suppose, are made to linger (the Gods have a nack for the theatrical)

It was slight hysterics that cracked on the two way, a request for medical help. The paramedics, they said, wouldn’t touch him.
In our haste to fetch the doctor and take him to the boy neither myself nor Johan had imagined what we would be faced with.
In hine sight I imagine that the word suicide was yet to be defined in such tangible graphic terms in minds that attach foot notes of movie scenes to such a situations.

There were flowers laid out behind the car and he had locked his dog in with him. “he didn’t want to die alone.” People said
I was younger then and could not fathom how the prospect of death was less intimidating than being alone, this, I would only learn to understand this years to come.
People said many things and they still do.
Culers and Koeksissters on off chance run ins regurgitate a distortion of colored in details.
“Oh but he was gay you know”
“They say they found drugs on him”
In unison they shake their heads and rub their chins each one a better informant then the other.

But it was a different picture that tragedy painted that night.
Such a young body with his head slumped forward onto his chest, the light in the car port was stark white and chemical to my horror widened eyes.
A little dark trickle painted the back of his neck and the hair colorant coagulated in clumps in his hair.

When the doctor rushed past me and moved the cop out of the way I caught a glimps of the medic as he leaned against the van.
His face was set and his eyes unmoved.
Mechanically he answered the onlookers pleas for help.
“ I told you before lady, his a suicide the medical aid doesn’t cover it, you have to wait for the other ambulance”
it twisted my mind to the point pain to imagine a life that would kill a heart like that and I felt sorry for him.

When I breathed again the sickness about it stuck to my skin.
They had moved the boys body onto the ground.
1…2…3… Now blow 1…2…3..Now blow
It was slight at first and then it came in thunderstorms.
Under Johans hands the boys chest convulsed and jumped as it sucked in gasps of air.
Then it when still and he opened his eyes.
Where am I? he gasped at me
“Your home your going to be alright” my best efforts could not have hidden it from him
“where’s my dog is he okay?” he asked in a stronger voice
“His fine, his in the house”
then the purple framed eyes misted again and he cried harder than I have ever seen.
No No No he shouted and moved fast.
Lifting his head up and banging it down on the floor.
Holding his breath it became clear that the cry fro help my have been a serious attempt to harm himself.
He would pass out from lack of breath, wake and do it all again and again.

It sat there like cancer on my spine for nights to come, it left shadows on my mind as I tried to imagine how completely consumed he was by grief that it would drive him to that.
I concluded then that I didn’t have the capacity to feel that big….
But, again, I was young and would still grow to respect heart ace for all her destructive magic

I saw the boy the other day
As he drove by he smiled and waved
He passed and he was just like many other people in my life for a moment. A smile a face a voice.
Meat and bone and not a thought more than that.

Dead of day

Have you ever woken up
To die a thousand times
Was the sin of slumber
The sweetest of illusions

Have you fought against the light
Just for seconds in his arms
Just to taste the sweet poison
Of nights changing joy

Has it cut through your skin
To see the morning dawn
And do your dreams bleed for you
With old hurts
That sting today

Stop my breath
Because with morning he dies again

20/03/07-

Slave in my mind

This is an attempt to let the civilized world know that I am still here
Its my cyber S.O.S from the vast deserted dessert of GPRS.

My plans to resign took an interesting turn and instead of cutting all ties with the company I worked for I am still affiliated with them in a very complicated way that I am yet to get my head around.
I am now the struggling, dead broke, tired and over worked owner of a Bond Origination company.
As I explained before this is a hard company to start as it demands all your time and energy to start but does not generate an income for many months.
I am also battling with infrastructure at the moment.
I am working from home right now.
This is nice for some people but working from home in Nestpark means that your phone lines only work 2months in a year.
This is attributed to the bustling trade in copper wire that thrives in our underground.
After the lines were stolen and replaced 3 times in the last few Months Telkom has given up and I have been told that they don’t plan to replace the lines at all this time. “Sit tight” they said “we’re going wireless”.
Good Luck with that!
Problem is that this will only happen at the end of next month, bringing my chances of Fats fabulous broad band ADSL to zip.
I am now running a webmail e-mail and fax to mail fax line from my cell phones very delicate GPRS connection.
It also seems that every printer I approach registers it dislike in my character by spitting out every document in blotchy crumpled messes.
Thank you very Bloody much.
I now pay Post net 7 bucks a pop for A4 color prints.

I am also, after making 50 phone calls to Estate agents in a fruitless attempt to market my little campaign, in the process of rethinking my marketing strategy.
I have decided that even telemarketers hate telemarketers and my telephonic efforts have made me sound like a telemarketer and thus I have no ground to blame the sorry sods that turned me down.
I am currently rethinking things and plan to think out of the box as soon as things get organized enough for the box to be located.

On the bright side of things.
I do have two meetings set up with two rather big estate agents.
These meetings feel like job interviews and I feel it would be much simpler if everybody just saved time and presumed that I know everything.
However until such enlightenment reaches the other elements of this market I will just have to grin and bare it.

At least Stiffla still follows orders as he should.
He has recently taken a great liking to the song De La Rey, I am terribly proud of this fact and so I only swear at him a little when he laughs at mine and Ducklings heated fights.
For those of you who don’t know… Duckling is my car.
Well at least that’s the generally accepted term.
Duckling doesn’t have rims nor does she have hub caps. She rides on rusty shitty looking wheels wrapped in rubber of discernable origin in the thickest profile I have ever come across
I could tell you that commuting in the sorry thing was a protest against stereotyping as this creamy colored Golf is the last thing people expect me to drive.
Unfortunately I doubt that there is any moral or political ploy I could use that carries enough weight to explain this.
You see Stiffla is not concerned with the fact that the front and rear bumper don’t match in color or model. He is not even concerned with the fact that Duckling doesn’t have a radio (not cd player, radio my friend) and the only sound you get to enjoy is the volksie beetle like buzz of her ill kept engine.
No Stiffla derives his pleasure from the cars most obvious incarnation of its dislike for me…. Its doors
The handles have been changed twice to no avail.
You see out of the four doors on the car it is the drivers door that will not open from the outside.
Meaning that I have to clamber in the passenger side (when I am in public I pretend that I have a reason for this behavior) and open the drivers door from the inside, run around the car and then get in.
This routine is better than trying to lift the door of its hinges to unlatch the bloody latch, because I am often confronted by car guards accusing me of attempting theft.
This often ends in me having to explain to the car guard that, considering the shape of the car, it is a bloody cheek to ask for a tip and that they should rather pay me to remove the car from their premises.

The silver lining is in the fact that Stiffla owns an OPC with a Turbo that refuses to boost and has to go in for a looking at.
While the OPC is in for repairs Stiffla is left with no alternative and will be forced into Ducklings company for a day
RA-RA


Well look there that was actually a post
Ill be……

P.S. I doubt that I will have time to comment on everybody’s blogs everyday for a
While so all I can do is promise to try and get around to everybody soon

Peace peeps

Screw Vista

Microsoft recently braught out Vista and while the world hase been raving about how efficiently it does the job I am left wanting more.
Now (thanks to Ptozac) I have found a version of office that suites my needs.
have a look!

death of a soul

I am having another of those tragic days.
I can’t write.
I can’t string three words together.
I published my first work at the tender age of thirteen and now when I have lead a life worthy of these lofty ballads I can’t put a single word to verse.
It’s a sin. My dad is turning in his grave!

I realized something tonight while I stared blankly into the pixels of this terribly small monitor, I realized that I know why I can’t write.
It didn’t take months of soul searching or meditation, it didn’t require a single session at a shrink or even vast amounts of vodka.
All it took was one of those rare moments of reflection that passes so fast that you can’t lie to yourself.
In this single split second I remembered telling a song writer that in the real world money always triumphs over love, I remember telling a lover to be realistic and I remember telling myself that to hurt is weak.
And in that single passing instant I knew that when I drove the idealist from myself I drove with it love hope and heart. I killed the feeling that fed a human soul until it became easy to rely only on my opinions and logic to feed only my mind.

I just stumbled upon the true meaning of tragedy.
Its like death in a way, when you dye your soul departs and leaves just a shell, a physical vessel that the earth ultimately claims


I had a great love once
But I never tell you about it because I fear the force of a broken heart.
I never tell you that he had chubby hands and that he bit his nails.
I don’t write about how he sacrificed new underwear to shine his bike.
I don’t blog about his funeral and the red roses on his coffin for fear that hysterical confusion of utter and complete loneliness may swallow me again.
I have not committed a word to paper about how, when they found the accident he had his arms around me and how they had to pry my little sister from his body because she didn’t understand why the medics weren’t seeing to him anymore.

I had a hero once
My dad had a good heart and wonderful mind.
I never grew out of thinking that my dad could do anything,
He always understood me because, they said, your just like your dad.
But I haven’t written that he had bushy hair or that he had no wrinkles only smile lines.
He called me princess and told me not split ends.
I never say out loud that I still come home and wish he were there for me to test my new theories on, how I wish for his open minded intelligent answers.
My dad was a lecturer, the best you’d ever find (and Grem will agree) he gave everything for his students. Neighbors called him doctor Bernade because he took in and cared for every stray youth who came around.
And there is not a word doc nor a piece of paper that erupts with my feelings of how unfair it was that it was kid that killed him that night. A kid in mommies new Beemer who only had a learners.
I don’t say these things and I simply cant write them because I don’t let myself feel these thing
Emotion is weakness I don’t allow myself or those around me

And deeper the rabbit hole still gets
I have a great love now.
And I don’t have the courage to shout from the rooftops that I love him.

I wish I had “moral of the story” ending to this blog or that I could tell you that now that I understood it I could change it.
But truth be told I have no intention of deviating from my emotionally detached views, as they protect me.
I will simply let live those who are lucky enough to afford the luxury of idealism.
Perhaps one day I will face the demons inside, but for now I will only let the monsters of the mind scare me enough to inspire.
After all, as I said to Etain, The writer needs the pain

Real lifes great revenge

To think that it was this side of six months ago that I was an obsessive blogger.
My thoughts were consumed with idees about what to blog, I religiously read all the bloggs I possibly could and at the end of the day could discuss little els then my new found sureal social experiences.
Unfortunatly real life also reads my bloggs and shortly after posting that real life is less interasting than my book, the bugger pitched up and kicked me in the ass.

Suddenly my tranquil little exsistance was bombarded with revalations, mood swings and big life changing choises.

I found out that a persone that I thought to have moral fiber was using me as a scape goat for her mistakes, she had done this before, earlier in the year and I had let it go after proving my innocents, but February had not yet ended when she tried it again and this time it pissed me off.
Unfortunatly the woman is to some extent my superior and for my word to hold sway, I have to bitch to the bosss a hundred times threaten to leave the company and then fill out a written complaint in triplicat.
I will let you know as soon as this profesional cat fight reaches some form of consenses.

My job hunt is also taking some interasting turns.
You see I am set on staying in the home loans industry but I intend to elevate my position in the industry, I figure I have done the dirty work of others long enough to be an expert.
In the space of a week I have been offered two positions in my chosen field, one of which is an opurtunity to start my own company.
It is a verry secure proposal and the initial outlay will cost me a few phone calls and a few liters of petrol.
This to say the least is promissing, however nothing is without its snaggs.
You see to take advantage of this I have to leave my job because of conflickting interasts. I have no problem to do this at the moment!
But in origination you only get paid on bonds that have registered at the deeds office meaning that my little company will at best only generate an income in three months

Those three months is where the problem lies.
I have comitments, rent, accounts, a cell bill and a mobile scrap yard that chews emense amount of petrol to keep me driven.
Thus I am putting myself in short term danger for my long term goals still asking if its all worth it

This my friends is Real lifes great revenge

PS: If any one of you tel me to follow my heart I will most likely birth an reindear.
I need logic people idealism has no place in business

PPS: Not only has blogger gone ahead and changed my header to that baby shit mustard colour but it has also taken my spell checker away and unveiled the fact that the only thing worse than my spelling is grems grammer.
So live with it dammit

Back on trac

After and short absence that I plan to blame on work related stresses, I am back.
Did you miss me?
Okay I promissed myself to post more than once this week and to catch up on the comments I missed today and friday.



As far as weekends are concerned this one was blast by the way.

As Duckling and I pulled up the driveway on friday afternoon there was a loud appeal that came from the fieldsmen in the bottom garden.
The match was already in full swing.
When I opened the gate I herd the batsman protest mentioning something about the wicket keeper being shorter than the bat and boundry lines made up of tree stumps and thus LBW's cant be taken into account.
I had a good giggle at them and whent to umpire the game in my stelleto heels.
Almost all the regulars were there and only the grem was amis (not that he plays cricket)
Since Stiffla got that cricket set theres sure to be some form of day night on the Parker lawn.
We had italion food for dinner and watched movies and played computer games (an activity that I cant seem to escape)

Saturday braught along with it the aneversary of Willem ( Stifflas brother) birth. we had planned a small quite get together, nothing big and nothing extravagant. Crystal and I baked a pink cake and marinated meat.
Fortunatly our parties are never subdued affaires and when Dan-louis dragged out the strings the party all of a sudden snow balled
There was red wine enough to keep dan-louis myslef and the grem ,who dragged his but over for the ocation, in running supply.
I still dont know where the wine came from or when the neighbors pitched up but thats what happened.
Dan louis sang then I joined in and before long we were commisioned to entertain on st patricks day.

At some point Grem and I decided that there would have to be a blog meet soon.
So guys this is a call to all Gauteng bloggies, I will supply the venue and you guys bring your "tjop, dop and skrop". Bring friends too.
I will let you guys know about a time latter. next month some time....
just give me a prelim yay or nay K.
Donsie Chantelle and Grem have no excuse.

Kay peeps sorry bout this but I must go again.

New Peeps

MySpace Glitter Graphics



Well I was sitting here listening to the pregnant girl and the noisy one talk about baby names, wondering what to post about...
Then Stiffla pitched up and gave me a damn good reason to spot (see I know I would find some use for him. His created a new blog because blogger screwed the last one up
hes at
http://stiffla.blogspot.com

I also have another person to introduce to you
Go have a look at Alleks blog its at
http://thinkwritedospeak.blogspot.com

I am into the glitter thing at the moment and I think I am turning into a girl. To hide this fact I have chosen the most subtil glitter for this post
when things go all pink you can start worrying

Monday moments of reflection

Its monday again, and I am about to start petitioning the 4 day work week.
Nothing at the salt mine has changed, other than Prozak, who is teaching herself the fine art of bullshit.
I anticipate that the status quo may not change unless I can somehow spike the water cooler with vodka...
This I suppose is my life.
I have almost finished my book and I dread the last page. I always do... ending a book means that I have to pay attention to the real world... since there are no antimatter terorist attacs to rescue the vatican from in the real world I always end up mildly disapointed.
I plan to use the above as an excuse for teaching myself to play PC games... yes I fear that the darkside may be strong with me.
Speaking of the darkside... they did it again.
Darth (Stiffla) arranged another LAN night and I was surprised to see that the geek comunity that invaded my tranquil home on a regular basis had mushroomed and before I could whipe the shit from my eyes there were no less than 8 PC set up in my living room.
They took all of 11 minutes to transform my organised little world into a NASA controll room.
They played counter strike or something like that
I shot at Stiffla
Having not yet satisfied my new craving for first person shooter thingies I joined in when they started Serius sam
I Shot at Stiffla (they give you bigger guns in this game so I shot at him alot)
Then they told me that since I was on Stifflas team I could not shoot him
I told them that I was board and whent outside to look after the braai fire

Oh yes valintines day is coming up.
So as of tomorrow I plan to post nothing but depressing things in contempt for this pointless day.
I also baught Stiffla a knife for valintines day and gave it to him early in protest
HAHAHAHA eat that st Valintine

I will post the pics of the weekend on the other blog tomorrow because stiffla has been screwing with my computer, I now have a 2gig thingamajig with 80meg of hard drive (I think) that can circum navigate the globe in one foul swoop and make the hublle whatseface look like a dinki dino, Unfortunatly however my wonder PC doesnt have the camera software loaded yet.
I plan not to feed Stffla for a while and then bribe him into action with a piece of potatoe.
Sooner or later thet bugger will load what I need onto the pc and then do what I need him to with the software stuffies

Viva la Geeecks

I have also been checking Grems blog every five minutes for news on his weekend he needs potatoe treatment too

Am I talking shit....?
Damn better give you guys something to comment on
Okay in the comments tell me what you did with your weekend, what your fav PC game is or bash Valintines day

Peace out peeps

So today I told Valerie that I would never show any of my co-workers my blog for fear of death by burning... after saying that I proptly set about contradicting myself.
Say Hi to PROZAC guys.
Prozac and I pretend to work together....
the rest of the stuff youl learn from her blog
Go have a look its at
http://hypocricyofdelerium.blogspot.com

Peace out peeps

The unlikely Beautifull

I Bitch a lot
I know this
I have put on my big girl panties and dealt with the fact that I am the hanus bitch of the origination world.
But today I plan to shock the world by admitting that I recently had an aaaaaaag sweeet moment.

Two of the woman in our office are very pregnant, so naturally the whole office have googled their fingers to the bone for baby names and baby cloths and baby brickabrack......
Myself excluded naturally.
I love babies ,granted, but in my opinion there are enough cars and helter-scelter littering the net to keep me occupied long enough that I don't have time to ponder pudding faced fetuses.

And then it happened
One of the girls brought in her sonar photographs in and I when puppy eyed.
There he was little "Dante" (or at least that's what his name is this week) floating like and astronaut in space, waiting for his giant leap.
I realised then that despite the fact that "pregnant girl" has swollen feet and a bad temper now (oh and she still spends so much time in the loo that I have considered moving her telephone there) come the middle of May she will be a great part of little miracle, and in this way the swollen belly that she curses everyday is beautifully.

Now all of a sudden I have been bombarded by the unlikely beautifully.
The sudden friendships I have formed with people that I have never met, the sudden friendships that I have formed with my co-workers due to the fact that they need a rock.

there are thousands of silly little things that I have seen and that people have said that strike me as nice or pretty in the most ironic ways.

What have you guys seen recently that's beautifully?

Photo blog

Hey there guys

This is just to let you guys know that I have started a Photo-blog you can find it at http://faithfatal.blogspot.com. You will see that this blog has a new template and is the only evidence of my successfully blog modification.

I will post all the extra pics of everything there so you can see

Buddha Got the wrong adress

Just when you guys thought that you were rid of me I return from the mind boggling depths of blog templates to regale you with a another of my dull-as dogs-water stories.

By this time you know that I do believe in the devine but unlike Christians I dont believe in a text book version of a devine being, I believe that each believe system in their own possesses a element of truth and I will never presume to tell a person that their god is not the true god.

I respect all peoples and their believes and strive to better understand the religions of the world.

It is for this reason that on occasion I visit a Chinese temple near Bronkhorstspruit. Its a beautifully serene place and when you walk the Hals of the beautifull buildings you feel like you have been transported to another place and time.

This weekend I took Stiffla, the Grem and Joan down there as they toO are fascinated by the culture.

Whilst there, I was prompted by a monk to offer my name to the Buddha of meditation. I was given a slip of intricately folded paper to keep in my I.D book, and had to write my name on another slip and lay it at the Buddhas feet.

I was told that the Buddha would now smile on me and bring me good fortune.

It was a nice tradition but I believe that the Buddha got the wrong address when delivering his good fortune because the very next day Stiffla received word that he had won an x-box 360 in a competition

Lucky bastard

Anyway we dedicated the rest of the day to eastern culture and ate at a Chinese restaurant with chop sticks.

I have pics that I will post up soon for your enjoyment

PS: The said temple will be celebrating their new year on the 18th of feb. Those who can make it should come and see.

Its gonna be fun.

BLOG TEMPLATES

There are a few questions that will burden the minds of man for years to come such as:

-Why is abbreviation such a long word

-Is the pope a Catholic

-whats better to scratch in, your nose or your year

and last but not least

-how the hell do you load a different template to your blog without screwing everything up?

It is the latter that has of late had me pulling my hair from its follicles.

I am no computer junkie and to date my HTML knowledge is limited to how to cut and paste code to places where it says HTML CODE HERE!

I have found one or two templates that are to my liking and I saved these until such time as I am able to load them to my blog correctly.

I have followed the blogger instructions and still messed it up.

So I need help!

give me a hand guys !

It pays

Stiffla and I have been together for close to a year now. We live together and are the proud parents of two spoilt cats.
But when it comes to financial arrangements we don't let love and emotion cloud better judgements.
All our joint expenses are split right down the middle, we share costs such as rent, groceries and utilities.
Each of us are responsible for our personal costs such as medical aids and petrol.

But what happens when established lines have not been drawn?
Picture this....
First date, You've just finished dinner and the bill arrives at your table.
What do you do.
Its the twenty first century after all so does the guy pay does the girl pay or do you split the bill.
Personally I think splitting the bill on the first date is tacky, I do believe though that the girl should offer to pay.
So this is the dilemma!
I understand that many girls will declare that they don't mind to pay and quite honestly neither do I but if I were really presented with a situation where your date sat and actually worked out my share of the bill I may think twice before accepting an offer for a second date.

My solution is that the person who suggests the activity should bare the financial burden. but that's just me...
Tel me what you guys think or let me know if you have ever been caught in that situation.
I especially want the guys opinion on it

Behind the Veil

I am a woman and proud to be.
I went to school and got an education as it was a right my great grand mother fought for.
I vote at every election as I know there are many woman who are still denied the right to have a say in their country's (and ultimately their own) future.
I am the equal of my male counterpart and I will not be oppressed.
I have freedom to dress as I please and say what I mean without the fear of persecution.

As I triumphantly make this declaration, I realise how often and easily one takes these simple rights for granted, and today as I read again the story of Jamila I was urged to slap myself on the writs for being as inconsiderate.



Jamila was an Afghan woman who attempted to flee her home with an male stranger. Unfortunately Jamila was caught in the act by her husband and charged with adultery.
Sadly Afghanistan was still bent under Taliban law and Jamila was sentenced to death by stoning.
Her death was slow we can only imagine excruciatingly painfully.
Her husband who had shot and killed Jamilas alleged lover would only spend 12 years in prison.


During the time of Taliban rule ,that only recently ended in 2001, the laws woman had to abide by surpassed any opression I have ever heard of.
Woman were forced to where a Barqu which covered them from head to toe and only provided a Small patch of mesh-like material to see through.
A woman who unveiled her face or ankles could face a prison sentence.
Woman were prohibited from walking the towns unescorted and were not allowed to work or go to school.
In war torn Afghanistan woman who were widowed had to resort to begging to support themselves and their families.

Now years latter the laws have changed but actual change is slow and hundreds of girls and woman are still living in unthinkable conditions.
Many have missed years of schooling and many of the woman in the country are illiterate.

This is my happy thought for the day.
I can read, I can vote, I can work, I have rights and my children will be born to a world where they have the same privileges.
No matter how bad things are in South-Africa we should always remember that they can be so much worse

Peace out Peeps

Blogg Whore

I have been threatening to do this for a while... So this morning I flaked (all resistance crumbled) and I made the list...
I am currently updating my link list as there are a few blogs that I would like to share with you guys.
You see I am a bit of a blog whore and when I have the time I surf everybody's links and in doing so I have found a few really interesting people with great stories to tel.
I am gonna add them all to my link list and perhaps they will become part of your daily blog requirements too.


PS: I promise to write a real blog when I'm done

Check the worry in my eye

I woke up this morning thinking that it was Friday and the realisation that my very long and uninteresting week had not yet reached its end, momentarily tainted my usual bubbly state of mind.
I needed happy thoughts and so I dug deep and counted my blessings.....
Perhaps I am lucky as I was able to name the following among my morning happy thoughts
-I woke up with all my toes in tact " very unlike my poor sister who had a very difficult night"
-I woke up next to a very lazy pussycat and good old Stiffla (the proverbial boy in a mans body) my little family... and I don't even mind the morning breath that much.
-I woke up.....
I plan to try and do this every morning for as long as I can remember to stick to the resolution (3 hours and counting).

On principle I find new years resolutions a rather odd tradition and so I am boycotting it by making my resolutions at odd times in the year.
Thus far I have come up with the following....
yesterday I decided that I was going to put a big red "occupied" sighn on the only ladies room in the office to deter the pregnant girl who has taken up permanent residence in the lone lavatory. This may seem silly but I have a bladder the size of an atom and its hard to blog when your eyes are watery!
Today I have decided too seek other employment... I am basing my job hunt on a very simple criteria..."money".
While I realise that this is a very materialistic basis to aim my professional ambitions on I realise that I am shallow enough to equate money with success.
Tomorrow I will resolve to find a girlfriend. Thus far I have struck the noisy chick with the unhealthy cat obsession from the list of possible candidates and due to definition logistics was also forced to disregard the Grem.
I am not however terribly phased about the success of this venture for reasons pertaining to my personality and the fact that I can always step on my sisters toe and make her go dancing with me (she can bounce on her crutches and be a conversation piece).
By now you must be wondering what the hell the title of this blog has to do with the actual content.
My answer my friend is nothing unless of course you fancy yourself a deep profound individual who can distract meaning from my nonsense (too you "Good luck")
I just liked the pic so the title came from that and the words are the direct result of the effects boredom and a serious need to take a leak has on a sober mind.

Lil sisster

I feel like dirt!

I know that this is not exactly the kind of statement that one expects from me but today I feel like dirt!

The reason for this very unusual state of emotion is because my hands are cut and I can do nothing to help.

This all may seem like irrelevant ramblings so I will explain my predicament.

I was informed yesterday that despite the best efforts of many specialist My little sister would have to undergo and operation to amputate part of her second toe.

The infection that was causing the bone in her toe to split could not be stopped and amputation was her only option.

With this knowledge and knowing that she would be starting varsity at the end of the month it was decided that the opp was to be done at the earliest possible date....."today".

I spoke to her yesterday and all she could say was that she was scared.

This is not something you hear out the mouth of a plot hardened Parker girl often but even so the point didn't hit home until a few minuets ago.

A few moments ago a glance at the time told me that Crystal (My sister "nice name I know") should be out of theatre by now and being the considerate person I am I dialed my moms number to hear how it went.... that's when it started....My timing was malignant; I had called only moments after Crystal had woken up and she was in pain.

Past my moms voice I could hear my little sister crying and so I cried.

I cried because in that moment the sister that teases me because I am shorter than she is, who is all of 18 years old and starts studying biocenetics in a few days, became a child again.

She was hurt and confused from anesthetic and I couldn't help.

I cried because I didn't take colleagues advice and take the day off and go to the hospital.

I cried because regardless of how much we fight and how terrible we can be to one another, shes My little sister and will always be my charge.

So here I sit counting the minutes to 16:30 so that I can go down to the hospital and make sure she gets to go home tonight even if it has to be under the threat of a doctors life......

Sorry you had to sit through that but this is me "dirt" love me or leave me.

Ill post some gruesome pics to make up for it

Peace out Peeps

Regardless of the fact that I have had almost nothing to with my long days at work for the past two weeks, I have been very unable to string three words together and create a blog that is worth the read.
This is partly because I have a new favourite writer and have been glued to Angels and demons for the past three days and to DA Vinci code before that.
These great books have had a great influence on my believe matrix.
I have always questioned the Church as an institution but I have now been driven to actually research the matter and form a founded opinion.
This also is a problem as thoughts on religious history and doctrine are causing me serious writers block and I have not been able to write a single good car article and I have deadlines looming in the near future.

I have just read what I have written and if you log out of this page at this point I don't blame you....This stuffs boring.
For the remaining suckers for punishment.....
We have two running projects (besides the looming launch) that are costing us amazing amounts of cash and time.
We have as yet only partially finished one room in the house and I now also have a 1985 VW Golf that needs an attitude overall.
I must confess, though, that I don't mind the demand for my time as much as I mind the terribly negative influence that the house and car have had on my tragic financial situation.
I have thus come to the calculated conclusion that, while 2007 has the potential of turning out better than it's predecessor, its going to be a very very broke year.
That said I think I should have a long talk with the providers of my monthly hush money.
I promise to provide a play by play on the progress the Golf and the cottage makes, however slow this may be.
....
....
......
Damn I have nothing els to say
wait....
nah nothing !
peace out peeps

Our little holiday

All good things come to an end ,as they say, and this ,sadly, includes the silly season.
It is the third of January and I ,unlike many of my fellow bloggers, am back at the bullshit factory.

I do admit that since it is still very early in the year I have very little to do and as such plan to torture you lot with a long blog, or I 'll attempt to at best.

Our little holiday started off with a trip to warm baths. So on the 16th of December we packed half a bottlestore and five good friends into Sriffla's OPC and off we went. We had a good singalong in the car as the chosen sound track ranged from "Snot kop" to " System of the down" and the fact that I am now forbidden from bursting into song for any reason is irrelavant!

On arrival at Forever resorts the in keeper- being a delicate fellow- immediately assessed various states of psychopathic behaviour and forthwith assigned us to a bungalow as far away from the general population of holiday makers as he possibly could.

Luckily the lone structure had an air conditioner and it didn't take too long to vacate the warthog from our front door.

With the Warthog perangulating to some other poor buggers front lawn we settled in, and by settling in I mean we moved all the utensil's out the Kitchen so that there was ample space to house our supplies (definition of supplies: 12 Heineken, 12 Bavaria, 1 bottle current absolute vodka, 1 bottle red wine, 1bottle jack Daniels, 1 bottle spiced gold, 1 bottle stoh rum) and turning the Air con to "ice age".

The rest of the warmbaths expedition was spent in and around any of the various water activities that makes the resort a popular destination. Stiffla and Juan spent a lot of time racing one another down the speed slides until the life guards chased them away for scaring the children after which he and Dirk purchased children's floating devices and tried to fool the life guard at the super slides. they failed dismally and sulked over a bear .

All this while my sister and I tried hard to disassociate ourselves from these Hillbillies.

The evenings we laced with many drinking games and hubbly smoke.

And just to prove that what I am saying is no exaggeration I am going to proved photographic evidence to support .

Stiffla and Dirk "Brain wave activity not detected"

I rest my case

Some unknown woman that kept jumping in front of the lens

My little sister "Crystal"

The group

Christmas Day

Now I believe that I have mentioned my families rather disturbing obsession with Christmas, but in case the point didn't hit home I intend to illustrate the fact.
For Christmas Myself Stiffla and the Grem relocated to a 14acre garden my mother and sister call home, there we were enlisted to help smoke Christmas gammon cook tongue and mix Salmon mouse. There were few objections to this task as the threat of having to mow all 14 acres of ankle high lawn loomed in the back round.

On Christmas morning we did the Gift giving thing under my moms 2meter high Christmas tree. Stiffla got given toys and has as yet not stopped nagging me to play Cricket or chess or darts with him, Boys will be Boys right.

Christmas Lunch was the big event of the day, My family traditionally serves a cold lunch as midday heat in December generally cripples you over a hot meal. So a table was set with cold salads smoked meats Cornish game hen and crackers.

We ate We drank and we were merry.

After lunch people became sluggish beings and either went to sleep or played with their Christmas presents.

Have a look!

The Christmas tree and gifts

This is the hoard at lunch. The two at the head of the table are my mother and her husband. The Couple on the left are my sister and Rudi (Rudi is the flavour of the week who became her steady boyfriend) To the right is Stiffla and the head in the centre is Grem in all him Glory

I had to add this as it is possibly the only nice-ish photo ever taken of Stiffla and I (pardon the sunburn)

Stiffla and Grem playing chess

That's it then. I hope that all of you had as great a time as I did and that all of you have returned safely to the seats of higher blogging

PEACE OUT

Last For The Year

This is going to be my last post for the year, I will have to survive without the good old internett untill early in the new jear.

but as concillation I will be spending soem time with my family and quite a bit of time playing the fool in warmbaths.

I promiss to post pictures of the merryment.

I am going to miss all of you so much as you have become such an important part of my life. please be safe and take care of yoursleves.

Have a great Christmas and an excelent new year

ALL MY LOVE

A very merry Christmas to you all

Whats Weird

I have been tagged by Val and I am now charged with sharing my quircks with the world (I call them quircks Stiffla calls them "definate sighnes of a dead hamster and an abandon wheel"). So here it goes 6 weird things about me:

1) I giggle like a little girl: I never grew out of it and when I really open my mouth and laugh you can hear my from miles away. Stiffla and Grem say I sound like a pin ball machine.

2)I cant stand not having an opinion about stuff: You know you get those things that just dont have enough impact on your life to bother having an opinion about... wel I dont have things like that....I need to have an opinion about everything or els it will bother me untill I formulate an opinion.

3)I love salt and lemon juice, I always seem to be drowning my food in one or the other, last night infact, I so craved sour stuff that I mixed lemon and salt and ended up eating it as is!

4) I am an enless source of useless information..... you think you be traveling in the car listening to a song or watching the scenery and suddenly the serenity will be broken by "hey guys did you know" at which point everybody rolls their eyes at me.

5) I've said this before but I think it needs a space in the quirck section. I sing Chritmas carols, and I sing them all year long, while I cook in the shower while I work and I dont care who hears me.

6)I am killer afaid of needels. and when I say this I mean I go all psyco about it. I know in the small bit of my brain that is responsible for logical thought that getting a shot is not painfull, but the thought of being used as a glorified pin cushion freacks me out.

So thats it then. six of the things that make me weirder than you. but it all doesnt end here. I tag Sammy. Sammy write down six thinks thats wierd about you and then pass it on sothat we will have a perpetual chain of wierdos blogging the globe

Discover

This weekend whilst looking for a gift for Stiffla I wandered into a dark little shop that smelt of Sandal wood.

It was a warm little place with warm lighting and pretty things and books lining the wall.

At a low table on a cushion sat a blond woman, she was barefoot and smiled when I entered.

as I browsed the shelved I noticed that the woman didn't breath down my neck as other shop keepers do in this crime torn country of ours. She didnt hound me with sales pitches and was happy to let me wander as long as I pleased.

This little shop sold candles, insence, crystals, pendants and herbs, cards and all sorts of little trinkets that most of society would frown upon.

I started talking to the woman who cals herself dragonfly and after she had explained a few things to me and done my tarrot card reading I made my purchase.

This weekend whilst looking a gift for Stiffla I baught my first tarrot card deck.

The deck is a deck desighned to empower woman and teach them that they are powerfull and important. I think that it is perhaps this view of a womans place in society that drew me to wiccan culture many years ago. They ,unlike the church, dont just talk about gender equality they actully practice it.

I dont claim to be a wiccan (I believe that one must first learn to be at piece with the world and yourslef), and I dont renounce the Lord either, even though my views of my faith differ greatly from that of garden variety Christians, but I do have a few theories, that I intend to elaborate on in the coming weeks.

I also intend to enlighten people on the subject that is very misunderstood.

So here I embark on another journey of discovery enlightenment and perhaps self healing.

What goes around

This is Friday and it is my given write to blog Bullshit all day. I found this story and though everybody may enjoy this.

His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer. One day, while trying to eke out a living for his family, he heard a cry for help coming from a nearby bog. He dropped his tools and ran to the bog. There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy, screaming and struggling to free himself. Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what could have been a slowand terrifying death. The next day, a fancy carriage pulled up to the Scotsman's sparse surroundings. An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved."I want to repay you," said the nobleman. "You saved my son's life.""No, I can't accept payment for what I did," the Scottish farmer replied, waving off the offer. At that moment, the farmer's own son came to the door of the family hovel."Is that your son?" the nobleman asked. "Yes," the farmer replied proudly."I'll make you a deal. Let me take him and give him a good education.If the lad is anything like his father, he'll grow to a man you can be proud of."And that he did. In time, Farmer Fleming's son graduated from St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in London, and went on to become known throughout the world as the noted Sir Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of Penicillin.Years afterward, the nobleman's son was stricken with pneumonia. What saved him? Penicillin.The name of the nobleman? Lord Randolph Churchill.His son's name? Sir Winston Churchill..

In good times

Thursdays are notoriusly borng days, the only alure they hold is the simple fact thats its the day before friday, so after leaving work yesterday I had little hope for the evening that lay ahead, that was until DW and I took a trip to pleasant little shop that is bursting to the brim with affordable alcahol.

DW needed a beer and by now everybody knows it, so we grabbed a 6pack and just as we were retreating my beady little eyes fell upon an item that caused my wallet to do the highland flip.

At the end of the day we left heavily laden with 6 pack Castel and a 2000 vintage portues red wine.

I knew that DW would not partake in the wine and I knew only one other person who had the culture to enjoy this with me. We enlisted the Gremlin and soon we were in a state of serius merriment. Good Itallion pasta great Portuegeus wine and always faithfull South-african beer.

We lite a fire for no reason what so ever and since dinner had come and gone we ended up putting chees and tomatoe sandwitches on the fire just for good measure.

These are my friends.

We understand one another and yet still like one another.

These are my firends and I love them.

When I finally retired to bed I reflected on how blessed I am. My life is filled only with the good people that I want in my life I have friends in so many walks of life and I have finally been able to rid myself of the bad apples of humanity that seem to cling to me like shit to a woolen blanket.

I dont believe that I would be able to exsist in solitude People need people and I am glad I have all of you

Big love to Stiflla and Grem

Wrap me up for Christmas

I used to love the night befor Christmas, Mom would be drowning finger biscuts in sherry for the triffel, dad would be tanning some meat on a good black wattel fire, and my blister and I would be singing carols and pestering either one or both of our paerents.

Now I know this sounds like another in a row of nonsensical blogs, but in truth this is a subject close to my heart.

I love Christmas, I go all starry eyed and fuzzy, its the only time in the year when I feel there may be a glimmer of hope for mankind.

And while fate has placed some bitter memories uder my tree I remain a loyal crusader for the spirit of Christmas.

I know that growing up tends to take away some of the magic but there are just some traditions and principals that that I will always be true to.

1) Always decorate a tree. In our household the decorations on our Christmas tree are as old as my sister and I. some may have lost the sparkle and glitter but they are tinny little footprints in my families Christmas story.

2) I Put thought into the gifts I give. Christmas has become verry comercial and you should try to champion that by making the gifts you give a reflection of your feelings for the person your giving it to. one of the greatest aspects of a gift is the fact that someone remembered you

3) I always wrap gifts in papper. dragging a present from a bag or a box will never be as fun as it is to unwrap your gifts. we are all children at heart.

4) I always take the time to write in the cards. Each gift has a card and each card has a message. and each card goes with love.

5) Sing carols. why not. The grem and DW will tell you that I sing Christmas carols all year round when I cook.

6) Where a silly hat

7) Say "Merry Christams"

8) Eat, drink and be merry

9) Spend Christmas with those you love. I have never missed a Christmas with my family. I spent every Christmas of my life with my dad and now that hes gone I spare a thought for every Christams we had together. Forget the trials of the year gone by and make amends.

The painted people

I havent posted anything for a while, my absence has not been because I have nothing to say its because I have too much.
My blog is my little bitching outlet, where I reserve the right to rant and rave about politics and society to my hearts content, but lately I have found that my blog has become a bit heavy.
for this reason I have decided that today I will write about something that doesnt matter.
TATTOO's
Do you have any?
Did it hurt?
Do you want one?
Or are you of the believe that its a discusting missuse of your body.
I want one, but I'm chicken shit!
Not so much of the pain involved in getting it done but of how permanent it is. I dont want to wake up one day and realise I dont like having "die dissel boom van potchefstroom" scribbled down my arm. Even worse... I dont want to wake up in 30 years and my "disselboom" tattoo has disintergrated to say juts "oom".
If I had the courage I so despiratly lack the above would be what I would go for.
I'd give myslef wings in a world where society grounds me so.
I have also heard of a new proceedure that assures the tattoo lasts only 5 years.
Perhars I'd do that?
Either way...Let me know what you guys think!