Maybe princes shouldn’t kiss dead girls in the forest ……. just saying

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This evening I was watching a trailer for Maleficent.  Georgia had seen it already and I needed to remind her that she mustn’t spoil the story for me, as I had not watched it as yet.

Georgia told me that her favourite princess was Rapunzel (both share hair of a ridiculous length) and that Sleeping Beauty came in a close second.

I looked at Georgia and felt the overwhelming urge to remind her that “she did not have to be saved by a Prince….”

She is clever enough, strong enough and street smart enough to save herself, and get herself out of nearly any situation by using her smarts.

A prince on a white horse was not needed.

She nodded and still stared glazed eyed at the images on the screen.

I decided to not let this moment pass.  I reminded her that wasn’t she the best at Math in her standard – wasn’t she the cleverest and most creative girl we knew?

Wasn’t she brave and determined enough to get herself out of nearly any situation, without the aid of a prince.  On a horse.  Who needed to stop by and kiss dead girls in the forest?

A guy who  would make life altering decisions based on whether a shoe fitted someone?   Because he seemed to be unable to recognise the women he spent a few hours dancing with.

I am not anti fairy tales, I love the whimsy and the total abandon.

I am however aware that every fairy tale has a princess, or fair maiden waiting for a prince to rescue them.

I think it would be great for a prince or princess to rescue any of my girls if they were in a predicament.  My sense seems to revolt at the point where as girls, they are cast as the damsel in distress, and they need to have a prince to rescue them.

I know it is a silly and probably irrelevant differentiation, but I want my girls to grow up knowing, and believing they are capable of anything.

Even rescuing a prince who happened to have his finger pricked on a sewing needle.

Alternatively questioning a prince who would ride past and kiss a girl who for all intense purposes who seemed to be dead.

A prince who can’t recall a visual nor the name of the person he had danced with the night before.

These are princes who you do not actually want to mix any DNA with.

Happily ever after is a challenge.  At best choose a prince who can do facial recognition, does not want t to kiss every dead girl he rides past, and most importantly appears to have some sort of an income where he is not dependent on his parents.

Otherwise, as you were.

 

I hereby pronounce you ….. divorced {throws confetti?}

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As you may or may not know, Kennith and I are going through a divorce process.  It has not been a horrible divorce, but it has been a divorce, and ending a relationship that has been in existence for the last 20 years.

We have three children,.  We have a shared life that overlaps in many aspects.

We have been in a relationship with each other for our entire adult lives.

Sitting and breaking that up into a spreadsheets and pieces is traumatic.

No matter how nicely you “play with others” and no matter how much you try your utmost to act like an adult, the process is really awful.

It is often not the big things that leave you bereft and licking your wounds, but the tiny almost insignificant things that you realise are actually pretty significant, that make you cry and sob.  I remember when Kennith was meant to collect the rug that is in our bedroom, I felt like if he took that rug I was going to break into a thousand pieces.

It’s a rug — it really has no sentimental value.  But when he arrived to collect it, I really felt this was the time when I was going to break.  {In the end he left it, because he could see I was upset…..}

The last ten months have had me work through every possibly emotion.  Which includes sadness, denial, pain, indecisiveness, happiness, relief, anxiety, euphoria, being numb, pain and despair, confusion, rejection, chicken licken’s fear of the sky falling, and any thing else you can add to the mix.

For the most part I have tried to appear composed and that I have my shit together.  I am not sure why it was important to look like I am keeping my shit together. I think possibly because I felt that if I started to slip, it would be all over and I would be a crumpled heap at the bottom of the white cliffs of Dover.

There have been several moments where I have felt like I had taken a walk over to the dark side.  That there was no way I could actually hold on to this little ledge of sanity that I am clinging to.

That feeling of panic and irrationality often pops up at the exact moment where I think I have got this all under control.  To remind me in no uncertain terms that I am actually a minefield of emotions right now, poor decisions and sometimes immense sadness, fear and self loathing.

I cannot imagine what my life is going to be moving forward.  I am stuck in looking back, and am struggling to lift my eyes up off the floor and really get a good look at the horizon.

I am scared.  I am afraid.  I am still a bit shell shocked to be honest.  I referred to Kennith as my husband the other day … then I just stood there and stopped speaking mid-conversation ….. because I was not sure what to say.

Kennith attended court last week – it was an uncontested divorce, so I did not have to go along.  Kennith let me know when he was at court, and then let me know when it was over.

Wednesday was a very surreal day.

I knew what was going to happen. I had participated in all the decisions and the processes, so I was well up to scratch on what was happening, the how, when and what.

When it happened, I really felt like I had been sucker punched.  Like something in me had just caved in.

Last Wednesday left me feeling sad, scared, with a sense of profound loss.  Twenty years and it was over.  Officially.

It is difficult to explain — it is difficult to articulate.  Last Wednesday was an important milestone in my journey of life.  I am not sure yet whether it was a good milestone, a bad milestone or just a milestone.

 

Quotes about life and maybe a bit about divorce, that resonated with me:

 

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And the two I liked the most

 

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The stuff I learn from the Crime Investigation Channel ….

I like documentaries.  Unfortunately reality television has managed to find it’s way into nearly every channel, and reality television makes me want to bang my shin against the coffee table — really hard.

There is no History on the History Channel.  But if I have any interest what so ever in Pawn shops, then it appears it is the place to go.

I could also complain about most other channels in the same way.

The only channel that has not been affected, is the Crime Investigation Channel — well except for the show “The First 48 Hours” which I am not a fan of, but I digress.

Watching a documentary about Donald Piper who is eventually convicted on two counts of murder – however is suspected of at least four.   The women often work in the hotels, as housekeepers and they are killed whilst cleaning the rooms.

The MO is the same, and it is not limited to one hotel, it is happening across various hotels.  Each time he commits the crime he gets a bit more clever, and is leaving less and less information about himself.

Now the problem with hotel rooms is that there is a lot of “traffic” there – so it is not like they have to rule out the people who live there and discard those fingerprints — nope there is a few hundred fingerprints all over the room of different people, so these detectives are really have a difficult time of it.

I can’t recall if the perpetrator was killing these women, and posing their bodies, or also sexually assaulting them.

The crux of my story is that at some point the evidence team decide they will take the bed spread, wrap it neatly in plastic and take it to the evidence laboratory and then check it to see if they can find any evidence on it that will give them some sort of a DNA trace.

This is not the actual bed spread, but it is similar in that it has that wild crazy busy print.

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The technician, who looks like he has just learnt a valuable life lesson, explains that they unwrap this bedspread, they black out all the lights and use one of those blue lights to show up semen on the bedspread.

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It shows semen on the bedspread.  Initially they think “win we have evidence” —- and then they realise this bedspread lights up like a Jackson Pollock painting (see image below for a visual reference)

There was semen on the bedspread.  There were 120 DIFFERENT SEMEN STAINS.

“Waiter, bring the bill please …. I need to go now.”

It seems hotels do not wash their bedspreads as often as they should – hence the need for crazy designs.  On average once a year.

Yes, I retched a bit as well.

Tip 1:  Never stay in a hotel unless they have white linen.

Further in the same show, they suspect this guy who is the Maintenance Manager for a few hotels.

They approach him and ask him if there is any reason why they would find his semen in a particular room, where one of the women were killed, and it turns out that him and his wife had stayed in that room before and had sex, and that would be the reason his semen was in the room.

{let’s exclude the questions you and I are both asking about WHAT THE FUCK  IS HOUSEKEEPING doing in these establishments??….}

Any-the-who, same Maintenance Man phones the investigator the next day and says, well you are probably going to find semen in the rooms, the bathrooms and on the light shades or nearly every room.

Investigator:  “well thank you for telling us …. but why?”

Maintenance Man: “I used to go into every room in the hotel and masturbate on everything ……”

Investigator: “someone bring me spoon to dig out my inner ear so I can act like I never heard that….”

Tip 2 :  If you ever hire a Maintenance Man for a hotel chain, you may want to have an “excessive masturbation” clause as part of your employment contract.

Tip 3:  Invest in one of those black light numbers.

120 DIFFERENT SEMEN STAINS …… and you used to get all creeped out by your mattress having bed bugs.  It’s all about perspective.

 

This post is actually not about breast cancer, it is about praying.

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Someone who is very close to me told me she was diagnosed with breast cancer when she went for her last check up. (Let’s refer to her as Pamela, to make this easy.)  She had some issues with her one breast that had continued for some time, and at the time she and the doctor felt it was related to breastfeeding.

She had stopped breastfeeding, and had gone back to the hospital, and the hospital had run tests.

She told me she had been diagnosed with breast cancer about two weeks ago.  The doctors were running a battery of other tests to see what the severity was of the problem, and she needed to return to hospital yesterday for those tests results, and go through another set which would assist them to decide on the best treatment for her.

I was devastated for her.  She is a mom, and she needs to work.  She cannot be ill, and not earn an income.  But more importantly she cannot die.  I wondered to myself why is this happening to her —– for crying out loud.

I have never tested positive for cancer, so have no idea how it must feel to have someone across the table from you confirm your worst nightmare.  I have no idea how that feels.

I had to have something cut out of an area right next to my eye – which my dermatologist was concerned might be cancer.  Tiny little spot, minor surgery to take it out and send it for a biopsy.  I still sat and thought to myself “is this how it starts, you get a small spot somewhere which turns out to be a cancer that has already spread, and there you are staring at your spot going, it’s only a spot…”

Either way my totally inconsequential spot really scared me, because the word “cancer” had been used.

It turned out to be an inconsequential spot.

Pamela had an appointment yesterday to return to the hospital for her results, and then for them to run more tests and make a decision how aggressively to proceed.

I held her in my thoughts all day.

I have always admired her for the strong, controlled woman she is -and the way she deals with the punches that life throws at her.  She does not fall down in a wet heap, but works through it, stands up, dusts herself off and comes out of the corner with her fists up.

This post is actually not about breast cancer, it is about praying.

I thought to myself yesterday, is it enough to keep Pamela in my thoughts, or is it important that I pray for her?  Or ask other people to pray for her, say via Facebook?

I am agnostic, so praying is already a bit of an issue for me.

I wondered, that if God does exists, in which ever form he/she may be  (I am just going to use he, as this is going to get cumbersome) – and knows everything and is all powerful, then surely he would know the fight that Pamela is going through already, and he would make a decision whether to assist Pamela or not to.

Would praying change the outcome for Pamela — would God be swayed by prayers?

Is he like a cricket umpire who makes a decision, and only reconsiders his decision when the players run up into his face screaming OUT or what ever they scream.  Or does he stand there unmoved, because his decision is his decisions, and he is the umpire?

It started to remind me of IDOLS or America’s Got Talent, and that a person could only move forward if enough people phoned-in in support of that person.  Is the concept of praying sort of the same?

What if no one prayed for Pamela?   Would God still assist her as much or as little as he was going to do anyway, and it was irrelevant whether 1 person prayed for her or 1000 people prayed for her?

There I sat yesterday wrestling with this beast called religion —– and prayer.

I started at one point to reason, what if I prayed for Pamela, even if I technically did not believe in a god, surely then I would still be praying and well that would be good for Pamela.

I reverted back to my proposition that if God was all seeing and all knowing, then he would recognise an insincere request from someone who is not sure whether he exists or not.  Would that count against how he had already decided how Pamela’s results were going to go?

I am not sure.  I really am not.

Pamela had a full day of testing, and the results though still breast cancer, were not as disastrous as she had initially been told.  She is booked for a biopsy on the other breast, so that they can decide on the treatment and do it all at once.

I am not sure how prayer works.

I am not sure how life and the universe works either.

I do like the power that can emanate from people who are collectively thinking the same thing, or hoping for the same thing ….. and no I am not sure how that works either.

If you want to bear Pamela in mind for the 17 November when she has her biopsy please do.

 

 

 

Going on an airplane makes me scream like a 6 year old …..

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I am really petrified of flying.

Not drink a tiny bottle of Rescue, and down a large bottle of Chenin Blanc and you will be fine “sort of scared” – I am ridiculous over anxious and constantly sure that the plane is going to fall out of the sky in flames.

None of this made any better when a friend told me that when it a passenger plane “falls out of the sky” it probably takes about 20 minutes for the plane to go from cruising altitude to the “side of the mountain” in flames.

I can’t quite imagine screaming for 20 minutes.  Without having to stop and call the air steward for a drink, because no doubt I will be parched.

If I was on Kulula, do you think they would still charge me R22.00 for a Millers if we were going to crash and burn?

I digress.

I am scared of flying.  I try to avoid flying.  Not really a big ask in my world, as jet-setter is hardly the term that would apply to my sort of life style.

That being said I flew to Johannesburg last week.  I got on a plane and I thought okay, I am going to do that thing when I curl up in the brace position and this is before I am even seated in my correct seat.  Then I am going to spend the rest of the flight screaming every time the stupid catering trolley hits that metal skirting thing in the main aisle.

Every time the metal trolley hits one of those metal strips I am convinced the plane is going to break into two.

Yes, I do realise this does not make sense.

This time I thought I would use a new tactic.

1.  Don’t think about the flight.  At all.  To the point where you actually do not even print out the ticket things to take to the airport.

2.  Do not watch any “air disaster” shows.

3.  Download a few albums onto your iphone.  Songs you know.  You know the words, and you know the order of the songs.

4,  Fit head phones in your ear.

5,  Find  a volume level where you cannot hear your heart beat, nor the possible sound of the rivets popping off the wing on take off and landing.

6.  Keep music firmly on – but pause when the air hostess does the emergency procedure, because that shit could save your life.

7. Keep ear phones in and music going – the entire flight, before, during and after.

I realise it is not a method that is going to set the “people who are shit scared of flying” community abuzz, but it worked for me.

I am normally scared totally shitless when ever I fly. I had loud music, and the fact that the music was familiar and I knew what was coming kept me at ease.

I have never been “calm” during a flight – unless I am so medicated that even swallowing my own saliva appears like a challenge out of my realm, but I flew to Johannesburg and back again, and the entire time I sat there with a reasonably content look on my face.

Without crying, not once.

Without holding on to the passenger next to me, whether I knew them or not.

Without paging the air hostess once to alert the pilot that there are several rivets on the wing that appear to be working themselves loose.

I flew.  I sort of enjoyed it.  I was not scared.

Me + Flying = winning!!

 

For f*k sake, why do PR companies get it so wrong?

{I have been wanting to post this for some time, but I keep thinking that one of the rules of media is not to alienate all the potential advertisers and PR companies.  Surely.  I have however come to the conclusion that I really am not dependent on advertisers, and PR companies .. .. or their products. So, with that in mind, here is me throwing caution to the wind ……}

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I am not exactly the darling of the media industry.

I really do not care much for free give-aways.  I don’t really want to punt your product on my blog, and I automatically delete press releases that have been spammed on to me.

I have very little interest in trying to make a living through my blog.

I like to blog.  I like to blog when I want.  About what I want.  When I want.

Nothing makes me less likely to blog than feeling forced to blog about something or someone.

I do not really want to watch my P’s and Q’s when it comes to whether I am going to have a bit of a shit fit at a later stage that may or may not involve your product or your client’s company.

I really just could not be arsed.

The last Blog Meetup I went to – there was quite a bit of talk about Bloggers and PR Companies and how we can work together.

I have had very limited experience with PR companies other than the odd SPAM.  I get really frustrated when I get press release, after press release, after fucking press release.  {though I do ask to be removed from the mailing list …. politely}

I have not posted a press release on my blog.  Ever.  I am not likely to start now.

I do try to be as courteous as I can – if you think Reluctant Mom and your client can do something together, then contact me directly with something that sort of interests me, and will appeal to my readers.

The problem is I get invited to events.  In Johannesburg.  I AM IN CAPE TOWN.

I get notified about products that have ABSOLUTELY no relevance to my life.

In get sent the same thing that almost ever blogger is sent.  So even though I MIGHT be vaguely interested in your product, when I see the same thing pop up on 5 other bloggers pages, then I am not going to be posting it on mine.

I get press releases.  I DO NOT POST PRESS RELEASES.

I get asked by PR companies about my visits/hits/pap smear results.  NO, YOU CANNOT HAVE MY NUMBERS, NOW GO AWAY!

I am sure there are lovely, bright, clever and some very talented PR people out there.

I am almost sure of it, though the evidence that I am presented with leads me to believe otherwise.

Why do PR people not work harder at forging relationships with specific bloggers, rather than spamming all of them?

Or is this a numbers game and you send 100 mail shots in the hope of getting 2 that will stick?

If so, that even makes me feel more special.  In theory I am a motorist and you are just handing out brochures at a street corner, and hoping one of us is going to read it and then go and buy your pizza {insert product} or tell a friend about it.

I can honestly say my soul dies a little every time my mail box opens and there is something from a PR company.

I want to be excited about your PR company.

I want to be wowed by the product you are trying to punt.

I want to think “wow, you are so clever you have really got my attention ……”

I love a good advertising campaign — I do.  Make me think, make me go “hey I am intrigued” and I am yours for the taking.

The problem is that your email is generic.  And so annoying that you irritate me.

I just want to delete you. With a hard delete, not the soft one where I can change my mind and go and get you out of my deleted folder later.

 

I also accept that I might be the only blogger who thinks this way, and there are PR folks who are getting it right.  Or not.

Pregnancy tests …. and other irrelevant purchases ….

Yesterday I pop along to get a jab.  The nurse looks at me and says “I can’t give you this injection if you are pregnant.”

I go: “Well I am not, so jab away.”

She says: “Yes, but how do I know that?”

I go: “I would know, I am not pregnant.”

She: “Sometimes people are pregnant and they do not know.”

I: “Yes, I am sure that happens, but this is not one of those times.  I am not pregnant. It would take a miracle.  Of the biblical variety.”

She: “Yes, but I don’t know that…”

I: “Listen, I seriously am not pregnant …. why are we even discussing this?”

She: “I need to be certain you are not pregnant….”

I: “So what is going to happen now?”

She: “Buy a pregnancy test, and bring it back to me — I will wait for you.”

I: “Really I must do a pregnancy test?”

She: “Yes, they are over there by the tampons and sanitary pads…”

I …. thinking really, this is happening.  I go over and pick up a pee on a stick test.

I am feeling embarrassed to be standing holding a pregnancy test.  Yes, I do realise how nonsensical my embarrassment is.  But that doesn’t stop me somehow feeling embarrassed.

I purchase goods to the value of about R500.00 so I can hide the pregnancy test under them as I stand in the queue to pay for the pregnancy test and the other items which are only purchased to use to hide the pregnancy test.  One of those items being sunblock.  Another was a sponge.

I go and sit on a bench and think about how this process is making me feel.

First, the nurse person is being slightly pedantic, but clearly she has had an experience she does not wish to repeat.

I start thinking of all the pregnancy tests I have taken in my life – and the varying reaction to whether the test was positive or negative, and how each test had some emotional consequences to it.

Now the part to remember firmly here is that I AM NOT PREGNANT. It is just not in the realm of possibility.

I still start imagining what if I am, and then what.  PLEASE JUST TO REITERATE THE FACT IS I AM NOT PREGNANT.

I continue to create various delusions of this “miracle pregnancy” which means by the time I actually get to the bathroom to pee on the stick, I have practically worked out children’s names, and whether I would put this baby up for adoption and the relationship I would forge with the prospective parents.  You can see how far I have already stepped out over the edge of reason and logic at this point.

The three minutes I had to wait for the stripe or no stripe, was three more minutes of me escalating this delusion into full technicolour with sound, and even a theme song.

Christ-a-moley, of course the test was negative.  I felt a bit forlorn that I would not have a child.

AGAIN AT NO POINT IN THIS WAS I EVER GOING TO BE PREGNANT.

The ability  I possess for my imagination and delusions to run away with me, makes me realise why I should never be left alone on a bench.  Or unmedicated.  Or be allowed to listen to Kenny G.

Then I hit myself with the super sized toilet roll, and sprayed perfume in my eye just as a way to slap myself back to reality.

Good grief that was a very strange 10 minutes of my life.

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Bloggers with no clothes on … does this make them easier to socialise with?

This weekend a few bloggers got together and visited Thyme Day Spa to do a treatment together – it was more of an exercise to get to know each other better, and see if we could interact outside the safety of the blogosphere.

I knew one of the bloggers well.

I knew one of the bloggers in passing.

There were two bloggers who I had never met personally, but I had seen at the last Blogger Meet-up.

To just clarify, I am painfully shy and being in close proximity to people I don’t know, with the threat of having to make small talk paralyses me.  I chose to accept the invitation as another step in the direction to force me into social situations, when in truth I would rather hide at home and stroke my social phobia with a large glass of wine, and my cat.

The day was planned, and this required us to all go into a room – a particularly small room, to take all our clothes off and put on swim suits.

I have body issues.  I was not going to shave as my wax is booked for tomorrow.  Not only was I going as Orca, but I was also going as hairy Neanderthal Orca.

I was mortified that I would have to wear a swim suit in front of people I barely knew because at the moment I do not even wear a swim suit in front of no one.  I just tried not to think about it.

There were 5 of us.  Everyone got undressed – there was no where to hide, this was a really small room.  As we undressed we were practically knocking elbows against each other.  There was no where to hide your shyness, or to try and slink behind anything.

After that we all got herded into a sauna room – again really small.  Cheek to jowel sort of stuff. And there we sat.

Five girls all sort of strangers to each other.  Sweating. Mascara creating the panda bear look.  With not too much in the way of clothing, and being given a little container with mud and scrubs.

The awkwardness lasted about 30 seconds, then everyone was talking, and rubbing mud on each other.

We had been given very clear instructions NOT TO PUT THE MUD on our faces or our nipples.  Of course then we had to inquire why this instruction was given.  Clearly someone had put mud onto their face and nipples, with less than ideal side effects.

The friendly therapist made her eyes bigger, and spoke in a very clear voice NO FACE OR NIPPLES!!  Which we all repeated back to her — several times NO FACE OR NIPPLES!!  It sort of became the mantra for the day eventually #nofacenonipples.

After the sauna, where we had to rinse off and there was a lot of polite “shall I spray you off?” going on, as you do.

We moved to the jacuzzi, we were served bubbly and we proceeded to chat like we had known each other for ages.

We had lunch and then had a bit of a lie around in the sun and chatted.

One of the bloggers/Sally Jane Cameron posted a note on Facebook and I think it encapsulated what we all felt, but might have struggled to find the exact words for:

This might be a little deep for Saturday night but it occurred to me that an activity like this helps to facilitate a deeper connection between women than a normal full clothed outing. The sense of vulnerability maybe? But sharing and being honest was cleansing for the emotions too. Laughing was good for the soul.

How do you know that it has all gone well and there is little in the way of awkwardness left?  When we stand around feeling the one bloggers breasts.  True story!!

It really was a good day.  Lovely group of women ….. hope to do something similiar again.

{I think we all had an unspoken agreement that no one was going to take photographs and post them anywhere …….}

 

 

This was the only image taken on the day.  Thanks to Charlotte for organising evening.

Girls screaming at the TV ….

What with my whole “hey lets treat girls and boys the same” mantra going on … last night we are watching a programme, which is pretty much like Tosh.O but only with slightly less bad language.

Okay, it might have been Tosh.O.

Any way, there is a lot of you tube videos about pranking and what ever else.

In this one scene a guy, who clearly has a fear of birds is faced with a bird, no dissimilar from a guinea fowl in size.

Guy freaks out, because for him birds (Ornithophobia) are like me being attacked by a daddy long legs — it is total over reaction to the situation that is actually happening, because the subject scares the crap out of you.

Georgia sitting out the couch – totally of out no where – SCREAMS at the guy on the show: “MAN UP!!!”

I look at her with a look of WTF? on my face.

She nods and says: “Boys shouldn’t be scared of birds, it’s a bird, he needs to man up!!!”

man up

 

I will add it to the list of things to talk to Georgia about.  In a one on one situation.

I am a feminist because …. * I don’t think we should be telling our girls to get labia augmentation ….

… the worst insult is to be compared to a woman

… because I believe the world should be safe for women and girls .. everywhere

… because half the girls in Yemen will become child brides

… because 75% of people in Brasil believe that a woman who dresses in revealing clothes deserves to be raped

 

There are so many girl-boy things that piss me off, that I just did not notice.

I accepted and rolled with the punches.

Then I had a girl child and it all changed.

I started realising that I was treating my child differently because she had a vagina and my son had a penis.

The realise was not instantaneous.

It crept in, and then I realised that I was fostering the same belief system.

I got offended.  Then I got angry.

If I see one more plastic iron and ironing board in the kids’ section at Toys R Us, I am seriously going to shit in the aisle.

I hate the fact that if a boy cries someone says to him “stop crying like a girl.”

I get angry that if a boy shows any emotion then he is told that “He is a poesie” – because having a poesie/female parts is weak and means you are somehow lower on the totem pole.

Last time I checked women – for the most part – either pushed every person on this earth out of their vagina, or had the child cut out of her abdomen.  That is pretty hard core stuff.

Feel free to stick as many breasts as you please on sign boards advertising anything from LUX soap to CASTROL oil, but gd help if you breastfeed, because that will cause a public outcry.  And Facebook will suspend your account.

The idea of women being equal to men, is not to drag men down, or to make men feel small or inadequate.  It is about making sure that girls know that their equality is not dependent on them having pens in pink and purple …. seriously what the fuck BIC — who the hell thought up this humdinger?

 

bic for her

 

I look at music videos and I throw up in my mouth.

I watch movies with women and girls and I get angry – I do not want my girls to think that they need to be that girl to get noticed.

I look at girls fashions where shorts are shorter than the pockets of the same shorts.

I get angry that women are getting breast surgery, hymen surgery (to put it back — I shit you not) and labia surgery.

Where, where have we lost our way and how will we ever find our way back?

Have a girl child …. it will change your life.

 

 

 

They are back singing about knots ……

I love loved and still do love “”What Does the Fox Say?” — I still listen to it, I am that person.

The guys are back and have made another almost as catchy song, Trucker’s Hitch.

 

 

 

My head is a hive ….

head is a hive

“I have lost touch with a couple of people I used to be….”

I saw this quote and it reminded me of the power of keeping a blog.

The way you record who you are and how you feel about something.  I think the key to blogging is to be truthful with yourself.  Writing for yourself is difficult enough, I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to write for someone else.

My blog has become part of me — but at the same my blog is not every part of me.

As of late I have had a lot of things I need to work through in my head – and I work better with stuff in my head by taking it out of my head, and putting it on paper.

I journal constantly.  It may not quite be formal note book keeping, but it is writing down my thoughts. I often start an empty page with “How do you feel today?”

And then I write.

I do need places to write, to jot down thoughts, to sometimes work through a thought that is running in my head.  Journalling and blogging allows me that privilege.  There are a lot of things in my head that I can’t put down on this blog — probably because they are too personal, or because they are work in progress, and I need a bit of time to understand where I stand, so I prefer to jot them down in a standard A4 hard cover book with my fountain pen.

There is something therapeutic about shaping the letters and watching the ink soak into the page.

What I love about this blog and journalling is that I also get to look back over time and realise that I have changed who I am, or how I think about something.  And how much I have changed in some ways, but not in others.

I thought an idea was a good one before, does not mean I still do.

It also gives me permission to make decisions based on how I feel — because sometimes that is all you have to go on.

I get to look back over my experiences with my kids and realise how much I truly like them.

I know we all love our kids, but I really like my kids – they are funny, and clever and make me laugh out loud.  I look back over some of the stuff they have said and done that I have recorded on this blog, and I know they will hate it and cringe later, but I think they will also smile at themselves.  Or refuse to talk to me from 13 – 19 years old.

Let’s just wait to see how that pans out.

This year has been one of huge shifts and adjustments.

I have learnt a great deal about myself in the last 9 or 10 months.  At the same time realised I know almost nothing about me, and life and stuff and things.

Some days I feel all powerful and I can take on the world, the next I feel like sitting in the corner blubbering like a village idiot without a village.

I continue to do stupid things – daily – and also things that defy my perception of how brilliant I am.  And have the potential to be.

I have made some brave decisions, and some stupid choices — and above all I am trying not to expend too much energy beating myself up about the stupid ones, and try not to get too over inflated with the brave ones.   The day often ends with a glass of wine on the couch and the noise inside my head often gets quiet, which is a peaceful place to be.

Tomorrow is another day, and there will be a new set of choices and decisions …. and probably some McDonalds meal choices, and we know those can be tough too.

“I have lost touch with a couple of people I used to be….”

 

I have lost touch

The one where my dog shat himself ….. and then I screamed DON’T KILL MY DOG

My car is still in for repairs — to the tune of R65 000.00 and change.  As mentioned before, VW Caddy’s are not designed for plowing fields.

Well, you live and learn new things each and every day.

I found out my dog Parker gets violently car sick.

How did I find this out?  You may ask.  On the R300, like you do.

I was driving to Pringle Bay – I decided to take the dogs along, because the kids were not with me.  And because I am scared of the dark, and my dogs make me feel better when I am faced with a large wall of blackness.

Any the ho. I thought this would be a nice leisurely drive. I would stop along Clarens Drive and take selfies of me and the dogs, you know doing cool stuff.  That is how I imagined it.

Reality unfortunately did not receive the memo.

FORTUNATELY. I had placed blankets on the back seat of the car (the hired car) and I put the dogs in and off we went.  I knew something was a bit off when Dexter jumped into the front seat with a look of suprise on his face.  He is a Boston Terrier – guy has huge freaking eyes, for him to look more surprised you must know something big is going on.

Parker_9017

 

 

I look at the back seat and Parker – the French Bulldog – has evacuated his bowels, and is now proceeding to try to empty everything out of his body cavity via his mouth.  Onto the back seat of the rental car.

Parker_9229

Of course I am swearing like a drunken sailor —- and it leaves me no choice but to swerve controllably from the right hand land across three lanes and come to a halt on the side of the road.

I do not wish to knock anyone who has real estate anywhere along or near the R300, but shall I say that of all the places you want to stop your car – alone – the R300 is seldom a good choice.

Which probably explains why they do not have those concrete picnic tables and chairs that were ché cool in 1984.

I turn the engine off, and try to assess the damage.

The damage is a large amount of runny shit and a fair amount of dog vomit, which is only being exasperated by the fact that he is now lying in it.

Cheese and rice.  I try and scoop up what I can —- yes we have all scooped up shit and puke, don’t act like you have never had to catch some from your child …this is similiar, it is just a dog and in my car.

I then realise I need to grab a plastic bag from the boot as I need somewhere to safely store the now shit soaked blankets.  I get out the car, careful to only open the door a fraction because the traffic is barrelling down on me.

A fraction is pretty much all Dexter needs to exit the vehicle and go and stand in the lane of the oncoming traffic.

Fortunatey – because it could not get much worse, he froze and just stood there.  As I would have done had three lanes of traffic being headed to me at speeds in excess of 120 km/h.

The way I solved the problem was to flap my hands around hysterically – not dissimiliar to how they do JAZZ HANDS in fancy dance routines.  I also screamed MY DOG, MY FUCKING DOG, DON’T KILL MY DOG …… I am not sure what helped, the screaming, my hysteria, my improvised dance routine or the rather large eyes of Dexter, but traffic managed for the most part to try and swerve around him.

I eventually sat on the tar and tried to coax him OUT OF THE THREE LANE HIGHWAY.  How the hell that dog got out of there and was not killed, or me killed is still a mystery.

Get dog in car.  Have a small yet powerful crying jag.

Go to the boot, get plastic bags – get back into car vacillating between screaming at Dexter for being so stupid, and then kissing him and telling him I am so grateful he is alive all whilst trying to cram shit covered, and now dripping puke, blankets into the now what seem like really small plastic bags.

Just as I am really up to the my elbows in all things chaos, three police vehicles pull over.  These guys climb out armed to the hilt.  I had a vague sense they were expecting more than a hysterical woman in a car and two dogs.

He knocks on the window.  I can’t hear what he is saying as the traffic is so noisy.  I am still a bit hysterical, and I cannot work out how to get the rental vehicle’s passenger side vehicle to roll down.

I have no idea what this guys assessment of the situation must have been — my guess is he was radioing in for backup, or at least some sort of sanitary control vehicle.

I eventually find the go down window button —- now bearing in mind I am still moving between crying, laughing with happiness and retching —- I am trying to say “I am fine”  and I have huge panda eyes of mascara and no doubt a bit of shit on my shirt too.

He does not look convinced.  He leans over and says “Ma’am are you okay?”

Me: Yes ….. I had a bit of a dog incident….

Him: You know you shouldn’t park here …

Me: *glancing around at my surroundings as if I had just noticed I was not parked in the scenic part of town” … yes, I know, my dog just shat himself and puked, and then the other one nearly got run over in the road …….

Him: *possibly removing the safety off his gun* …. are you okay?

Me:  Yes …. dogs you know …. *I sort of shrugged like that would make sense*

Him: *leans over and looks at the dogs* ….. do you need any help?

I am wondering then if it would be okay to ask the nice policeman to help me clean shit and puke of the car seats ….. my guess is his idea of public service is not going to go that far…

I eventually compose myself —- try to appear like I can control a vehicle and two dogs, and merge back into the traffic.

Parker then continued to puke the entire way to Pringle Bay.  Eventually he was not puking so much as trying to disengage his liver and spleen.

It is really difficult for a French Bulldog to look sad — but Parker looked like death.

Clearly I did not do any selfies, no stops along Clarens Drive — and now I need to get a full valet before I return the rental car.

Otherwise it was a really lovely drive.

 

 

 

 

Rocky Horror Picture Show at The Fugard {Must freaking see…}

I really love The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I know every line of every song, and all the dialogue.

Big fan. Me.

I went along a few months ago to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show at The Fugard, and I loved it. I thought I would arrive and be disappointed as it did not match up to the movie and and and ….

Wrong!

It was brilliant.

Last night was the 300th performance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and they are back here in Cape Town until November.  The show last night surpassed brilliant.

It was even better than the previous time.

Loved the show – adored the ad libbing, and the entire evening was so much damn fun.

If you have a passing vague interest in The Rocky Horror Picture Show or are a fervent fan, then do yourself a favour and go to see The Rocky Horror at The Fugard in Cape Town.  Book at Computicket.

Brilliant.  Brilliant.  Brilliant.

With the unbelievably talent —- and quite jaw dropping Brendan van Rhyn as Rocky ….. 

06 The Rocky Horror Show

 

08 The Rocky Horror Show

 

10 The Rocky Horror Show

{this is not a sponsored post, I bought my own tickets and my own alcohol….mostly}

I am here to warn you almost all the clichés are true ……

We received the confirmation that Isabelle was accepted into the pre-primary school we had applied to, for next year.

In 5 months time, my wee girl will be in Grade R — I usually am not very sentimental over these things, but the fact that my little baby girl will be in Grade R next year, and then I will blink and she will be standing in her school uniform in Grade 1, does make my breath catch a little bit in my throat.

I know the old cliche of it all passes so quickly, and not to wish your child’s baby years away.  But damn, it is exactly like that.

Isabelle is still my baby – even though she is a bit of a thug, and can throw a punch like no one’s business.  But she is still my baby, who cuddles up next to me, and puts her head on my shoulder as she sucks her thumbs and rubs here “doggie.”

By the time Isabelle is in Grade 1, Georgia will be in Grade 4 – which puts her in the senior phase of her school.  Her uniform changes from a tracksuit to the formal school uniform.  I can’t imagine her Wednesday (where they) legs in a dress, and black school shoes.

Connor will be in Grade 7, and be starting his high school career.

It is all a bit much actually.  Where the hell does it all go?

It feels like a very short time ago when I was breastfeeding Connor.

It feels like a blink since I arrived home from hospital with Georgia, the surprise girl I did not expect.

It feels like this morning when I was sitting rocking Isabelle, and rocking her, because she was not sleeping and I thought that this dear beautiful girl was going to be the death of me.

I am here to warn you that all the clichés, every last kitchy one of them, every annoying little thing that strange people say, whilst you roll your eyes is true.

Except the one about you having heartburn and your child having a lot of hair.

And the one about if your baby stands early your child will have bandy legs.

That is all total bull shit, but the other stuff is mostly true … it does go by in a blink of an eye, and it does make you feel a bit lost and forlorn that they no longer need you as much.

Baby Connor – 10 December 2001

 

18

 

Georgia born – 20 June 2005

Georgia_small

 

Isabelle born - 10 June 2009


Isabelle-Born

When someone catches you sniffing a book, and looks at you like you are insane …

Totally relatable quotes about books, reading and book obsession ….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We lose ourselves in books... quote books world imagination reading read real life

 

Story of my life..there aren't enough hours in the day..

 

"Some books you read. Some books you enjoy. But some books just swallow you up, heart and soul." #Books #Quote

 

Never Judge a Book by It's Movie - so many that I could apply this to ... Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, Lovely Bones come immediately to mind.

YES! WE SHALL! After I finish just ONE more chapter... ok, maybe two... or maybe another book... xD

 

One must be careful of books and what is inside them, for words have the power to change us. - Cassandra Clare

 

No known cure. Many remedies are out there, but all met with mixed results.

Exclusive Books are giving books away …..

140825_Reading

 

Okay, they are not actually giving them away for nothing, but they are giving them away for a lot less money that you would spend under normal circumstance.

I went along last year to the Exclusive Books sale, and I can tell you without any hesitation, that it was the best freaking SALE ever.

I do love books, and all things book related, so the idea of walking into a warehouse arrangement with trestle tables piled high with books was a bit on the orgasmic side for me.

I love to smell books, I love to touch books, books tick nearly all the things I need to get my senses running on an all time high.

This year the EXCLUSIVE BOOKS SALE is running at Canal Walk  —- I am imagining rows and rows of table of pure deliciousness.

The SALE OF THE FREAKING YEAR runs from 28 August – 14 September, 09h00 – 21h00 and is going to be situated opposite Entrance 8, which is near Game and they are using the store that was used by Khoki before.

Here are some tips for preparing for the sale – I want to pass on my wisdom to you:

1.  Have a good breakfast.  Keep the liquids to a minimum, you do not want to have to drop your stash to go for a urine break.  Alternatively fit a catheter.  You can get the basics from your local hardware store.

2.  Do some basic stretches — it may come down to speed and you grabbing something before someone else does.  Focus on upper body and arm work — legs aren’t going to be that important.

I do suggest doing these stretched before you get to the sale, but I guess if you have a leotard and want to do it there, no one will object, but you are losing valuable shopping time whilst you show us how you can bend it like Beckham … but to each his own.  However with some of these stretches your very relaxed vagina muscles might squeeze out a bit of urine, so I think add some dry wipes to your bag just in case.

Page9 700

3.  Try not to have any hand luggage – this will include your bag, young children, your husband or a cup of anything from Vida Cafe.  The longer you hold something, the more chance you have of missing out on all the good stuff.

4.  This is one of the few times where you will be permitted and encouraged to wear a fanny pack.  Keep some lip moisturizer stick (not the tub kind) available, your credit card — you may want to sort out your credit limit or an extension before you get there.  I am going to put a few high protein snacks in as well — I don’t want to get dizzy like the last time.

5. Test your clothing before you leave home.  Check you can walk really fast — no running involved, but there are going to be moments when you spy a book on a table, and  it is the last one, and then you notice some other shopper who has also seen the book.

Having clothing that you can move fast in is going to come in helpful.  If you have to the lip moisturizer stick you can also use it to strike her to distract her, she will then drop the book and the “finder’s keepers loses weepers rule kicks in”.  No one ever expects to be stabbed or struck with a chapstick, so it is a useful tool in your arsenal.

Okay this is a shank used in prison, but it is nearly the same thing.

6.  Leave children at home — trust me on this, you want to stay focussed and dedicated.  Kids are really of no use to you on this outing.  Leave them at home, lock them in the car, or tie them to a bench outside, but do not bring them to this sale.

7.  Ditto for husbands, partners, sperm donors -— you may want to match kids up with their respective fathers on this day and get them to go somewhere.  Else.  Together.  But not here.  With you.

baby daddy

8.  What ever plans you have made for “after the sale” — cancel them.  Chick, there is no time after the sale.  The sale is an all day affair.  And you are going to be exhausted afterwards — and also you are going to want to unpack all your books and look at them.

 

9.  Think strategy —- how much can you reasonably carry?  If it is not a lot, then you need to be doing some “jerk and lift” exercises now already.

crossfit-olympic-lift-jerk

10. Take along some heavy duty canvas bags, because you will not be able to carry it all in your hands.  Your shoulders may get sore with the weight of the bags, so I suggest grabbing some of those heavy duty Kotex sanitary pads, and just wedging a few under the bag strap.  Sure people are going to snigger, but you will be respected when their bag straps are cutting in to their shoulders and you stand their with your gloriously relaxed shoulders with no big red welts on them.  Winning at this, you will be.

11.  Think Xmas — you can purchase so many of your gifts right there and then, so go along with loose list in your head of who you can buy books for.

This is also a fantastic defense when you get home with a trunk load full of books — if anyone judges you and says “well, fuck how are you going to pay water and electricity now??” then you can just say: “These are Christmas gifts … for the CHILDREN, for gd sake have a heart —– its Christmas!!!”  You may need to practice that line a bit to make it sound like it is actually Xmas, because in reality it is August, and well, no one is thinking Christmas right now.

But points to you for thinking and planning ahead.

father-christmas-and-reindeers

12.  Invest in a camelbak — these things are great for EXCLUSIVE BOOKS SALES and when you are finished using them to drink from, they can double as a catheter bag.

camelbak

 

12.  Amateur Hour is having your partner/husband drop you off and he will come back later to collect you.  This is a SALE people, not a freaking play date.  Drop yourself off and leave when you are ready, or out of money — which ever arrives first.

I hope this handy little guide helps you, and you have an awesome EXCLUSIVE BOOKS SALE EXPERIENCE!!

EB(1)

5 Finger shoes —- those shoes make me want to punch a baby …..

This made me snort with laughter today … much needed.

 

5 fingered shoes

 

 

 

These by the way are five finger shoes ..

 

Vibram FiveFingers Signa Water Shoes

When the wheels fall off …..

Jeremy Lipking

I get really frayed around the edges when things do not go to plan.

I am not suggesting I am someone who is unable to adjust to the things that life throws at me, or that I am unable to adapt when the situation calls for it.

I can adjust my sails and pick a new course without too much ado.  I am pretty flexible, and though I might first stand there like a deer in the headlights, I make decision and remain flexible in most situations.

I will confess that the last month has had one too many whoppers for me to deal with.  This last week I have felt exhausted, and very sleepy, and by the time Friday rolled by I was already feeling like I was stretched that little bit too thin.

Then VODACOM came along and by the second hour of being bounced from one department to another, I think I lost the last remnants of my mind.

I could feel a full scale panic attack coming on whilst I was standing at the NOT ACTUALLY A VODACOM, BUT LOOKS LIKE A VODACOM store at Century City.

My heart rate was up, I could feel that breathing was starting to feel a bit laboured.

I was sweating up a storm, and I think I stopped blinking.  I really was not having a fun time, and the fact that it was allowed to escalate, really felt like a donkey had kicked me in the nuts. Or if I had nuts where they might be.

I was actually unable to think clearly after that point and the balance of the day was spent in full scale panic and anxiety melt down.

Kennith came over to do dinner with the kids, and he made a suggestion about my phone which was quite obvious, but in my now panicked situation, I just could not get to myself.

On reflection, this has been a bit of a month:

1.  I resigned, and left a structured employment arrangement for a wide open risk situation.

2.  A friend died in a car accident.

3.  I had a very surreal phone call from a friend about that friend, and how that friend felt about me – which made me ask all sorts of questions about myself.  Life and stuff.

4. I had a car accident – which scared the living bejesus out of me.

5.  I had to deal with insurance brokers (who were more than organised, and pleasant to deal with), arrange to get a rental, and then of course there is the assessor queries and all of that – and feeling constantly that I had done something wrong, or how I could have done this much damage to my car.

6.  Kennith dropped off the final papers to submit to High Court.  I had seen them before, so there was no surprise there — but the fact that I was holding a set of papers that was our divorce papers.  Reality, set in here.  In spades.

7.  I worry that I have bills to pay and shit to do, and do not have a pay check that is going to be clearing in the next two days.  <add increased heart rate and sweaty palms here>

There are of course a few other things that are happening in my life — no big deal stuff, but it does sometimes feel like I am a bit frazzled.  Friday was the moment when my little train going up the hill going I think I can- I think I can …. just said, fck this shit, I am going off road.

Just going off the edge of reality.  Don’t worry, I will send you a postcard.  I can’t call you … because well you know, but I will send carrier pigeon or soemething.

I know I had a bit of a shit fit about my phone — but it seriously was the last straw.

I really started to have some real concerns about my welfare on Friday night —–

On Saturday night I still had NO SERVICE on my phone.  I did call VODACOM again, and pretty much had written my life off at that point, because I could not face being bounced around by them.

I spoke to Kendric in Data – Technical or something of that nature.

He was pleasant and helpful, and resolved the issue quickly.  He did try to end the call with a little add on sale ….. I didn’t hold it against him.  Thanks Kendric, you have not quite restored my faith in VODACOM, but you have managed to assist me having a slightly saner evening.

And for that I am thankful.

I hope your week is a good one —– where ever you are …. and how ever you are spending it.

 

Image sourced:  Contemporary Artist Jeremy Lipking – his work can be viewed here.

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