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


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 ……}



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.


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.



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.




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.


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 ….


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




Georgia born – 20 June 2005



Isabelle born – 10 June 2009


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 …..



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.


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.


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.



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!!


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.

Mommy doesn’t have a favourite child …

favourite child

Today is my rant — VODACOM YOU SUCK in large chunks …..


I have been with Vodacom for the entire existence of my time of owning a cell phone.

I have always had one number – I have always been a client of VODACOM.


I hate upgrading.  I hate anything that puts me in a position where I feel I will lose information or the usability of my phone.

I do everything through my phone.

I run my business.  I run my life.  Everyone I have ever spoken to is a contact on my phone.

I am really attached to a sense of order, control over my information and that it all remains accessible.  This is how I function.

I struggle to function — so it is really important that I have lists, I have order and I have control.

I upgraded a few months ago — because I was meant to upgrade in April, and just ignored it.

Vodacom sent me several emails and and and ….. then I upgraded. I had a iphone 4S and I upgraded to an iphone 5S.

It came with a new SIM card and that made me nervous.  It would be a SIM swap, and I was fearful of losing any information and putting my life into chaos.  {I am not being overly melodramatic – I know how I function, and I function well as long as I keep a firm eye on where things are and that things run a certain way.}

I left the phone in my cupboard unopened for about three months.

Today I thought I need to stop being a TJOP and get the phone out and just do the SIM swap.  I called VODACOM and spoke to a call operator called Lucky at 12h37.

He was pleasant, efficient and reassured me that it was quite easy.  I had all the numbers and in a few moments he had arranged the SIM swap.  He made it clear I should not put the new SIM into the new phone until I had notification that the SIM on the original was cancelled.  And I would see this as it would who NO SERVICE or similar.

Cool!  Yay I thought. Look at me all brave and shit.

About an hour later it had occurred to me I have never actually put a SIM into an iphone.  Kennith had always sorted this out for me. that I should figure how to get the SIM in the phone in the interim.

I worked it out, but the SIM did not fit.  Long story short, VODAOM have supplied the incorrect sized SIM for the iphone 5S.

To clarify. Vodacom had contacted me for the upgrade.  They had sent the phone and the SIM. I had not gone to a retailer, or picked it off the shelf.  VODACOM had kindly done all of this for me.

I thought, this is a bit irritating, but these things happen – I will pop down to VODACOM at Canal Walk and sort this out before my phone and my existing number stopped working.

Just to recap — I run my business, my only source of income off my phone, so it working is sort of really important to me.

I pop along to a VODACOM store.  My sense/assumption is if I explain my little issue, someone will go “hells bells, that is terrible, we are very sorry, no worries, let’s sort that out for you in a jiffy – here is the right SIM card …. again we are sorry, but hey have a good day.”

That is sort of what I was hoping for.

It seems VODACOM stores are not actually VODACOM. They appear to be stores owned by people who are not VODACOM …. it took me a bit to get my head around as it looked like VODACOM.

The short of it was they could not sort out my problem — because the store emblazoned with VODACOM is not actually VODACOM.

At this point I was starting to sweat, my heart rate was increasing and I felt a definite panic attack coming on.

The guy at the sort of VODACOM store,which is not actually VODACOM, was really helpful.  He explained he could sell me a SIM card, and he would have to send an email to VODACOM who in turn would then do the SIM swap.  (Second one)

He could not guarantee whether that would be in 4 hours of 48 hours because he was not VODACOM.  And it was Friday afternoon.

I had no issue paying for a new card — I did sort of start to hyperventilate that I might be without my phone for 48 hours, because remember I had already done  SIM swap, and I had limited time on the SIM I presently had.

I figured no problem.  I will phone really efficient Lucky, explain my predicament and he would make this problem go away.

Then we laughed and laughed.  And laughed.  I also cried a little.  Or that could have just been me.

I called VODACOM – same number I had called earlier, Customer Service I believe (111 …. I think).

The person I spoke to could not transfer me within the department to another operator, but explained that I should actually call Sales on 082 1950 because THEY were the people who would sort it out.

I called Sales.  Explained my entire story – politely.  Oh no Sales said they could not help me – I needed to call After Sales – I could call them on 082 1945.

I explained — with a tetchy tone to my voice that I had already been bounced — the guy just spoke louder to make it clear that he could not assist me and if I called After Sales they would sort it out.

After Sales told me to call Retention.  Denzil in Retention explained that no, he could not help, I was at the wrong place I would need to call Upgrades.

At this point I was starting to lose my mind.  I had now been on the phone for an hour or two  — and not one person had apologised or taken responsibility or tried to assist.

This continued to the 8th department — I started to lose consciousness at this point.

Lerato was the person I was chatting to — she told me that I should call After Sales or Customer Service or GO FK yourself or Actually we do not give a Damn, but call them Department, and wanted to give me the number.

I had been patient, I had been polite I had wished them all a good day.

This woman was the final point of where I lost my mind. I said NO I actually was not going to call ANOTHER FERKING DEPARTMENT, I wanted to talk to her Team Leader.

She said that her team leader could not assist me — I figured, sure, probably not but surely a Team Leader, who may lead a team is going to have slightly more investment in not having a customer lose her sh*t and come through and just beat them all to death with a lamp shade.


Lerato explained to me that I needed to call …… another department and speak to that Department’s Team Leader.  She actually said that.

I thought okay. I am done. “Lerato, I want to speak to your Team Leader, call your Team Leader. I demand you put me in direct contact with your Team Leader.  No I insist that you escalate this problem to your Team Leader!”

I was pretty vexed at this point.

There might have been saliva collecting on my chin, and I had stopped blinking —- I was trying to conserve energy, because I felt a full sh*t fit coming on.

She humphed, put her head set on the desk and walked off.

How do I know this?  Because I heard the clunk. I could hear her foot falls as she walked off and there I sat.  And sat and sat.

I am not sure if Lerato just thought, fK it I am not paid enough for this crap, and went out for a donut and a beer.

I have no idea, as I continued to sit there and eventually ——— I kid you not, my call ended up at one of those automated ‘On a scale of 0 – 10, with 0 being hell no, and 10 being yes, definitely — would you refer our service to a friend….” or something of that nature.

Lose my sh&t I did.  Right there.

I had been on the phone for more than an hour hedging close to two.  Every department had purely wanted me to call another department.  Which I had done. I had obeyed the instructions.

Even though they made absolutely no sense to me what so ever.

The only departments I had NOT spoken to was HR, Events and Organising and possibly Call us if your Testicles are sore, because we have a cream for that Department at VODACOM.

Eventually I decided to acknowledge that VODACOM had actually just beaten the will to live out of me.

Me with my can-do attitude.  Me with my professional telephone voice.  VODACOM had just beaten me down and shown they were the big boys and a client really was not going to slow them down.

Also they had a really nice shiny logo and spend a great deal of money on advertising — maybe some can be diverted to customer service.

Customer service where you deal with one person and THAT person takes full responsibility for the call and the problem.  I know it is an off the wall idea — but hey let me just put it out there for you.

VODACOM store which is not actually VODACOM-guy was really helpful.  I bought a SIM card, he said he would send an email to SIM swap and and and …..

Now bearing in mind I have now lost three hours of my day — I then had to do the usual rushing and I am stressed, anxious and well truly *****  OFF at this point.


Oh mother.

The time I would have spent making sure I had moved all my data to a safe spot, had all my passwords and user ID’s sorted and well you know the stuff you need to do a move from one phone to another, did not get done, as I WAS BEING BOUNCED FROM ONE INEPT DEPARTMENT TO ANOTHER.

By the time I got home — the first SIM swap had been made. I sat and moved the new SIM in, and then I had to run around a bit because I was late for kids.  I was frayed and stressed and looked like I had taken a few beatings by that point.

I kept forgetting my name.  And to breath.

Then the next  SIM swap happened.

I now had to move to the iphone 5S — because that had just happened.

I had done none of the preparation.  I am a super organised person. I keep all my stuff in organised lists, and in diaries.

Unfortunately as my entire day had taken a turn for the frustrating, I had not prepared any of my stuff to be able to move information from one phone to another.

I was so buoyed by Lucky and his confidence that I did not run around and go bezerk, because he had smiled and assured me this would be fine.

By this evening I have had to start my new iphone with no ability to move the data or contacts or history from my previous iphone.

My fault – I did not have my stuff organised, and at this stage I can barely think — I cannot NOT have access to my number for any longer whilst I go and find the information.

Right now I am sitting with an empty iphone 5S – my contact lists, my history, my information that I have accumulated over the years is no longer accessible to me.

Keeping all my user names and passwords in one place and accessible was my responsibility.

Screwing me over as a client and single-handedly managing to destroy my day was yours VODACOM.

You assisted in making me so stressed that at a point in this evening I was SCREAMING AT MY CHILDREN because I just needed a few moments to think.  My phone not working correctly is not just because I think phones are cool — it is sort of vital to my income.

You know the income that I use to pay VODACOM amongst other things.

You guys are totally tossers — you have destroyed my day, probably impacted on my weekend, and in end this will take me several weeks of sorting out to get my new phone sorted like my old phone.

I am so angry —- I am so ANGRY WITH VODACOM that I am spewing.

Everything that I was scared of with a SIM swap happened and then more — BECAUSE your inability to assist a client who was desperate, and tried to call your company fell on deaf ears.

Your staff are POORLY trained —- you have absolutely no interest in the knock on effects of today on to me, on to my business.

Your total disregard for me as a client has impacted on me today in a profound level.  When did I as a client get this irrelevant to you?  What did I need to do today differently to get someone, anyone to actually assist me to avert the disaster.

For VODACOM to listen to me — talking. On a phone.  Asking for assistance.  When did I get this invisible to you?




I would change service providers in a heart beat if I did not have to go through a SIM swap and what ever else may sit before me, because I sure as hell know that as a service provider I can pretty much expect you to give me the middle finger as you did all day today.


Well done VODACOM, well done.

I do hope at your next conference where you pat your staff on the back for being so brilliant, so damn good — you possibly give some thought to that fact that: you do NOT train your staff well, do not oversee your call center sufficiently, and do not have built in facilities to escalate a problem, when the same client has called consistently with no results.

My number should have been RED FLAGGED by the third time I called in and escalated to someone who could assist me.

Logic tells me if a client has called you in a space of 24 hours, then something needs to be looked at.  Maybe you need to call the customer then to see if you can assist.  Again, I am looking at this as a client.


Before starting each conversation I stated my number and name — I must assume that my records appear on the screen in front of the customer services person?


{yes I know I am swearing like a drunk pirate, but I am so angry, I am so frustrated, and I am stressed …. maybe tomorrow I will regret this post.  Then I will look at my data and my chat history and my client contacts and all the other stuff that I will need to sort out …. and then I will think again how much I really really hate VODACOM}


For a moment I was rethinking whether saying you SUCK is possibly a bit of a rash thing to say, and I should calm down.

Glanced at my phone, it has now reads NO SERVICE —- which means that something is either wrong with the new SIM ….. and I will need to call your very efficient CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT AGAIN – or I will actually just need to go and get a lampshade and walk into one of your call centres and make it very clear that you guys do in fact SUCK.

But I am one client, and what do I matter when you have a shiny logo and all your ads tell us how fantastic you are?

No points for guessing how that is going to go.





Guardians of the Galaxy …. best freaking movie of the year!!

I went to see Guardians of the Galaxy last night.  Not my genre of movie, I was fairly sure I was going to doze off before the opening credits ended.

I had a really late night the night before, and I was feeling rather buggered.  I usually struggle to stay lucid throughout a movie, and I had not really put much stock in to Guardians of the Galaxy.

And.  Like so many things.  I was so very wrong.

Guardians of the Galaxy was fucking amazeballs.

It was so damn good — I have an urge to go and buy another ticket and watch it again, just so I can laugh at the parts where I laughing so hard I missed the other bits.




I was deeply suspicious when I saw the raccoon character. I got that sinking feeling not dissimilar from the floppy eared guy in Star Wars that single-handedly managed to destroy that entire franchise for me.


Guardians of the Galaxy 2014

But Raccoon guy – Rocket is so absolutely brilliant.  You forget he is a raccoon until someone calls him a hamster – then you want to jump to his defense with a “He is a fucking raccoon hybrid re-engineered guy, cut him some slack, because shortly he is going to be kicking your arse all over this screen!!! Motherf*cker!”

No really that is how you start talking fairly early on into this movie.

There is a Jackson Pollock line that is delivered by Chris Pratt …. that is so priceless, and will have you snorting your Large Coke, and spitting popcorn over the seats in front of you.  I won’t spoil it for you.

Take the kids – or don’t.  Really this is a movie you want to savour without any “I need to go to the bathroom ….. now” interruptions.

I wasn’t too sure who Chris Pratt was —- but now I have been firmly emblazoned on my eyeballs.


Really really an outstanding movie!!  The story is clever.  The dialogue is brilliant — the characters are outstanding.  There is nothing I would change.

Gamora: I’m a warrior, an assassin. I don’t dance.

Peter Quill: Really? Well, on my planet, we have a legend about people like you. It’s called Footloose. And in it, a great hero, named Kevin Bacon, teaches an entire city full of people with sticks up their butts that, dancing, well, is the greatest thing there is.

Gamora: …Who put the sticks up their butts?

Oh the fun you will have.

Rocket Raccoon: [about Drax] Metaphors go over his head.

Drax the Destroyer: NOTHING goes over my head!… My reflexes are too fast, I would catch it.



Go and see this movie.  Now.


{in no way was this a sponsored movie review — no tree folk or small animals were harmed in this review — I paid for my one popcorn and large coke zero — and I then ate the large box of Smarties when I got home.  What you look like when you have eaten too many blue smarties ……}


Legalising Marijuana …. no this is actually my question to you….

I am not sure where I sit on this subject.

If I was fighting Stage 4 Lung Cancer and my doctor leaned over and told me that my pain and life would be easier if I went along and used cannabis on a daily basis, I don’t think I would care too much about what the law said.

I am probably still quite conservative when it comes to drugs —- I am a bit of the rules are the rules sort of person, and I struggle to weigh responsible drug use against say drug abuse and wearing hemp and shitting in a forest.  And moving from one drug into stealing your mother’s door knobs for TIK.

That being said I seem to have no issue with my pharmacist handing me a Pick ‘n Pay bag of medication marked anything from S4 to S6 that I take on a daily basis.

I tend to believe a man/woman in a white coat – with or without the stethoscope.  If he happened to hand me a baggy with a bank logo on it, I would be equally inclined to nod and say thank you very much ma’am.

I really am trying to work through the various avenues of the benefits and possible insanity of legalising cannabis.

I do recognise that I self medicate with wine — often, and well that no doubt is doing more damage than cannabis could ever do.

I was sent this link — I believe it is not the most “balanced” interview and debate, so let’s not take too much of this as gospel – William Wallace from Below the Lion and Mamazane Maphanga speaking on behalf of ….. fuck I don’t know where …..  she is having a very irrational debate about Dagga Legalisation on the SABC Newsroom.

Mamazane Maphanga is probably not a great person to bring to this sort of a debate.  She might not be a good representative to take to anything actually.

Who cancelled, so they brought her on?  Wow!  I have heard my son debate better about an extra half an hour of computer time. And he often pulls out a pie chart and sometimes a laser pointer.  She just keeps saying she strongly disagrees.

Okay, got that. Do you have anything else in your arsenal?  No.  Okay, then keep saying “I strongly disagree” —– was it only me who thought that whilst she was making a point, she always looked like she was holding a little roach there ….. it might just be me.

Even if she was arguing venomently against introducing saber toothed tigers selling crack on the local school playgrounds, a quarter way through her rant I would be for it — what ever it is for it.

Just to make her stop.

She needs some sort of medication or at the very least a little afternoon sleep to calm the hang down.  Or to have spent just a bit of time on google.

She has managed to not use ONE fact or statistic in her entire debate …… to be honest after listening to her for a few minutes I am feeling an overriding urge for cannabis myself or maybe just a hemp blanket to smother her with.

You know William Wallace is about to lose his shit when he takes his alice band off ….. this shit just got real.



My question is what are your thoughts around legalising cannabis — and what will you say to your children?

I am still working through my thoughts on this.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 634 other followers