I sniff puppies …. yes that is what I like to do …..


I am not sure how many pleasures should be guilty pleasures.

My problem with guilt is that when it starts to be the uninvited passenger to your pleasure. It eventually stops being the co-driver and takes the driver’s seat, leaving you to slink away feeling shamed, and embarrassed for every thinking about doing anything delightful.


What do I enjoy ……


1.  Lying in a bath on a Saturday afternoon, sipping my chilled wine and reading my book.  With no kids kicking the door down, no dog hanging over the side of the bath trying to drink the water, and no cat trying to lie behind my head.  Quiet. Peace.  Wine.  Warmth.  A good book that I do not feel guilty that its pages warp.


2.  The Kardashians.  I actually dislike the Kardashians.  I do not understand what their point is on the earth.  I cannot stand hearing them speak, and watching the family do what ever it is that the Kardashians do.  I really detest them.  But this does not stop me flipping through a magazine and being captivated by anything printed, photographed or written about the Kardashians. If it has Kim’s arse in it, then I am even more interested.  I can’t explain it.  I love to hate them.


3.  Buying a pizza that I can throw in the oven, opening a bottle of Viognier, grabbing my warm fuzzy blanket, putting the gas heater on and picking up the remote.  That moment when I settle into the couch and realise I am alone, and it is just me, the 30 000 kilojoules of pizza, the clink of ice in my glass, and my press-press-pressing the remote control buttons.  Pure happiness. Pure happiness right there.


4.  The smell of puppies.  I love the smell of puppies.  I am not sure what it is.  It is a bit of the milky smell, it is that warmth like a jersey left in the sun.  I love to sniff puppies. Yes, people I am a puppy sniffer.


5.  Fresh bread, straight out of the oven, with a dollop of butter, that melts as you try to pick it up — and drips on your shirt as you try to maneuver the bread into your pie hole.    Knowing the entire time that this will set of a spate of IBS that you will be crying about in about an hour …. but there are still 59 minutes to enjoy this moment of true bliss.


I could go on —- I am very embarrassed about my Kardashian obsession — I think I would be more accepting of me if I just picked old chewing gum off from the underside of desks and re-chewed those.

Parents – how they get it right, and how they get it so very wrong …..

I have always been critical over my parents and their ability to parent.

I have written some scathing blog posts in the past.

At the time, that was how I felt.

This blog is where I put my thoughts, my ramblings and sometimes my emotional spews.

I know I can go back and delete, block or amend the many blog posts that I do not necessarily agree with anymore. Or the ones that I do not feel the same about at the moment … I could.  I prefer not to.

One of the things I like about blogging, is that it gives me the luxury to go back and read my thoughts.  To see how I felt about something.  And compare that to how I think and feel about something now.

To recapture my emotions in a slice of time.  To see my view point then.  And compare it to now.  That is a rare gift, and blogging allows that.

My parents should never have married.  If they did not have sex, that would actually have been great too.

Then there would have been no pregnancy, and  no p (more…)

Suicide Bunny gets me through the day …. sometimes

I am so behind, and keep missing out on these ones, so yes, my blog challenge is pretty much ending up in the toilet.

There was one on day 4  that went along the lines of:  Is there something in your life that you absolutely can’t live without?  What is it and why can’t you imagine life without it?

Let’s assume that I am not permitted to list any of these, which would make life barely worth living if they did not exist:

  • My children
  • My friends
  • Nutella Chocolate Spread
  • Lays chips
  • Chuckles
  • The feeling of emerging yourself in a hot bath that smells like Orange Blossoms at the end of a day when you feel chilled to your bones
  • Wine
  • Toothpaste, toothbrush and ablution facilities
  • Books
  • Beautiful pens to write with
  • Tea
  • Good restaurants
  • Woolworths
  • Good sushi
  • Laughing until you snort
  • Dexter, Parker, and Jackson
  • My laptop
  • My leather boots from Poetry
  • Falling asleep on the couch whilst watching a movie
  • Oxygen, the o-zone layer, the earth’s magnetic force, the sun —- and all the other bits and bobs that keep us stuck to the earth’s surface and wake up to survive another day.

The list is somewhat endless of what I would choose not to live without, and items that are quite dear to my heart.  I could keep this list going until we both got very bored, if you are not there already.

To relook at the question –  Is there something in your life that you absolutely can’t live without? 

I gave it some real thought, not just about “can’t live” but “can’t survive” without ……

I can’t live without humour.  Without my humour often times than not.

I do not think I would NOT have survived my life, or myself without having my sense of humour.

This year has been a total shit festival, on many levels, and even when I was sitting in the corner crying, I still have managed to make myself laugh with the ridiculous way my mind often filters and orders information.

Even at my lowest, my internal funny voice has made me smile, a bit.

My humour is often the vehicle that gets me out of bed, and functioning.  My humour and self deprecating style has been my best tool, and my fondest companion against what could have been and still may be the rapid and quick demise into madness.

Or  more extreme levels of madness, than I am already dealing with.

I need my humour to look at things differently.

I need my humour to be able to absorb something that my brain is often times screaming against.

I need my humour to get me through my day.

I am not of the society that believes “a day without a laugh is a day lost” but I need my humour to help me cope.

I am sitting looking at a very serious letter that I need to attend to.  I have already read through it, and I knew that it was coming.

I know what it says, I know what I need to do, I am not sure if I can do it — or whether this letters fore spells a rather unfortunate change of circumstances that I will need to deal with very soon.

It is not a happy letter.

It does not make me feel warm and fuzzy, but my humour and my rather wry way of looking at situations, does help me to carry on and get this day done without offing myself by means of a papercut.  Granted it would need to be a very deep papercut.


The one about Jim … and how Jim rhymes with rim, and what the fuck ….

I did start this process and made it clear that I was totally shocking at following anything of this nature.

But, I am back and this is the topic for day 9: Pinings.

I knew what it meant, but it made sense to google the meaning just so that I wasn’t missing something.

v. pinedpin·ingpines


1. To feel a lingering, often nostalgic desire.
2. To wither or waste away from longing or grief: pined away and died.
v.tr. Archaic

To grieve or mourn for.


Intense longing or grief.

I have pined for many things in my life.  In most cases I am one of those people who get sad, but eventually pull my pants up, wipe the Marie biscuit crumbs off my front, and just get on with it.


I wanted to remain in the moment, not over think the subject matter, and write about the first thing that popped in to my head.


I gave it some thought about things that I have pined for, and my brain kept running back to an ex-boyfriend of over 20+ years ago.


Let’s call him Jim.  That isn’t his name, but uses far less characters than his real name, so works really well when you are trying to type up a quick post.


Jim entered my life at a time when I was not sure who I was, where I was going, and what I needed to get there.  I was 18 or 19 years old, and had avoided relationships to a large part up to that point.


I felt an overriding urge to “protect” myself, and I tended to appear aloof and rather stand off’ish to most people.


He totally blew me away, and I was absolutely smitten.


My mother, bless her, saw Jim and knew that this was not a good idea, and she tried every tactic to ensure that I did not see him.


The only option left to me, was to bunk College and then head out to see him during the day when I should have been at class.  I had a strict curfew and pretty much after 17h00 my every move was monitored.  Granted it was not the only option, but I was 18, cripes what did I know about creative problem solving.  And knock on consequences.


My mom had never ground me, not once in my life.  I was a model student, I was the most responsible for the three children, I was pretty much Mary-Ellen of the fucking Waltons.



My mom took one look at Jim, and thought “yep that is not a good idea” and proceeded to ground me.


I carried on seeing Jim, and in the euphoria of young (and somewhat stupid) love was that I could not see what was right in front of me.  I thought the sun rose and set on either sides of his shoulders – I did not stop to think about myself, and that I was in way over my head, emotionally.


I thought on weekends he could turn water into wine, and maybe separate the Red Sea if he was in the area.


The term “idolized” does not even hint at the extent of it.


The short story is that one day he was there — then one day he never arrived when he said he would.


He just disappeared. “Poof” gone.  Never to be heard from again.


This was before cell phones, google and google maps – so when someone dropped off the radar, you were pretty much stuck with TELKOM, and two numbers.


Jim exited the scene.  With no reason.  No excuse, and not so much as a “hey, I am off to serve in the Foreign Legion” or what ever vaguely creative story he could have come up with.


If you have ever been a teen-age girl, you will know how fragile their psyches are and how thin the layer is that protects their self esteem.  Paper thin.


I was absolutely infallibly in love with this idiot on a very intense level – who did not even look over his shoulder as he disappeared out of my life.


I spent months, months questioning every action, every thing I had ever said, because I felt it was me. I had been the cause.  It was my fault.  I had done something wrong.


It affected me on a profound level.  It still does, strangely enough.  The fact that someone was “so into me” and then just disappeared, left me with questions about myself.  I beat myself up about it for years, and what is funny is I never thought of him as the shit he was.


To add insult to injury — I stumbled across the same person again earlier this year.  Being me, still stupid it would seem, I was totally taken by him.  The warning bells rang, but I put them on snooze and carried on without a care in the world.


Then he “broke” up with me via SMS.  NO really.  No!  Fucking really.


I spent a few weeks going over the “how” “what” and “what the fucks” — again ——I reverted to the same strategy that had not worked for me before, and again I looked at myself and what I had done wrong.


Eventually I realised that actually it was not me. It was totally him.  He was an arse then, he is an arse now.


I don’t wish him dead, I wish him well.


The one good thing, is that the “stuff” I had dragged around with me from when I was 18 or 19, disappeared, because I realised I had been pining for something that was in my imagination.  The reality was that I should be thankful he did a runner, then and now.


It was painful, like pulling a plaster off a sore. But once it is off, you have a slight burning sensation and then hey-presto, that shit is almost all forgotten.


I should fall on the floor and give an “amen” because I dodged a bullet …. twice.


Fuck pining!!  Fuck it totally.


Life is too damn short, and really I do not have the energy.


And this is the exact reason why I’m not a Christian …. or at least one of them.

The folks over at Writers Bootcampza had a challenge today and it was – Topic for day 3 : One of my greatest fears

I really want to tell you that this is some stupid hoax — I really do, but it would seem not.

I have several fears, many of them irrational, many of them keep me awake at night.

Finding this sort of stuff makes me really afraid.

I am afraid for parents who parent using an anti-masturbation cross, I am afraid for children who grow up in these homes.  Their sense of self must be so corrupted.  They must feel they are dirty and evil and bad.  At their core.

One of my greatest fears is that as a society we fuck up our children.  You do not get a do over with kids — you fuck them up, they become fucked up adults.  Sure fucked up adults often can sort them selves iout, but it is difficult, and if you are so fucked up — well then you die fucked up, usually early, and usually in a rather dramatic manner, and possibly taking a few other people with you.

I do think parenting has come full circle. Right now as parents we have lost the plot a little bit.

We have forgotten what good parenting is.  We have forgotten the value of teaching our children morals, and that life is not always fun.  We are teaching our children that they can get prizes for anything, no matter how average they are, they will get a prize.  No matter how badly they behave they will get what they throw a tantrum about.

We are teaching our children that sex and what is natural to our bodies is bad.  Is evil.

A lot of parents I know just cannot bear to talk to their children about sex.  The simple angle is if you aren’t talking to your child about sex, then who is??

If you aren’t talking to your child – best to really hope this well meaning group is not.  To refer to masturbation as self-rape is a bit of a stretch, and really creates an impression that exploring your own body is evil and a violation.

I cannot imagine tying my 5 year old up in this contraption because I find her with her hands in her pants.  Really!!  I must punish her for exploring her own body.  So to make it clear — we put kids in velcro crosses for touching genitals? Can we also velcro cross them if they rub their ears?  I believe that feet are very sensual — should I velcro my child if she rubs her feet.

Or are we only focussed on the genital area.  Is the anus included —- or are we going off the reservation a bit there?

Who the hell comes up with this shit?




Parents, have you ever imagined your child masturbating? Do you worry what they do when your back is turned? Do you fear that they will fall into the grip of Satan?

Worry no more! Introducing the Anti-Masturbation Cross®! Designed by STOP Masturbation NOW engineers, this wondrous restraining device allows you to go about your day without the nagging suspicion that your offspring are treating their bodies like some kind of perverted amusement park.

Now discounted at $199.99, this miracle of modern Christian science is available at www.stopmasturbationnow.org
One size fits all, appropriate for children ages 5-16.


This sort of shit scares the bejesus out of me.

What sort of message is your child taking with them if every time they think about self exploration they can velcro’d into a cross??

Spiders scare me.   Stupid people who breed scare me.  But this, this stuff scares me on a very elementary level.




This is just too easy —- and I might have missed the point slightly

Topic for day 2 : My 5 favourite words in English (or any language)

This was so easy, I did not even need to 60 minutes I could/should have used to draft this one.


“Would you like more wine?”

Favourite 5 words.  Ever. For me.


Happy Wine Wednesday everyone.





Thumb sucking, being scared of the dark and speaking in an Afrikaans accent ….

I am not really a “get into a group person and do things in a group.”

I am one of those people who knows what I need or want to do, and in most cases I do what I need to do, without being told when, what and how to do it.

I get resistant if I am being dictated to.

With that in mind I tend to avoid the blog challenges that do the rounds.  Partly because I write when I write, what I want to write about and if I don’t have something to say then I don’t.

Blog Challenges require you to be mindful that you are being given a guideline/suggestion/instruction and you must “play along” …. I saw this one floating around today, and I am going to attempt to try my hand at it.

I can’t promise I will do all the posts, on time, and as indicated, but it might help me to get out of my writing funk – and get things out of my head and onto this pseudo page.

Writers Bootcampza is running this challenge for July 2014.

REMEMBER THE GOAL: The goal is to help each other to develop a rhythm of writing, improve on the general quality of your writing and… just write.

Please also read the submissions of other bloggers and leave comments on the writing. Be nice.

Basic rules:

1. Use the topic as a starting point, not as a title. Your title can be anything you like.
2. It’s a blog post, not an essay or a short story. So don’t worry too much about intro, body, conclusion. Just write. You’ll find tips for writing blog posts online.
3. IMPORTANT TIP: If you think you need more time to improve it, stop. You don’t. Just “ship it.” (Thanks Seth Godin.)
4. Use whatever writing style you favour (funny, serious, emotive) or a mix of these.
5. Try to read and comment on at least one other person’s blog post every day of the challenge. Ideally, read more and comment more. That’s the whole point.
6. Set yourself a reminder each evening/morning, to check the topic posted at 6pm SA time (see @Writersbootcmp on Twitter) and book in 30-60 minutes that day to write.

Today’s prompt is :  Even if you know me well, you don’t know this.

As a child I was very nervous and often anxious and filled with a lot of fear.  I am not sure if this is just the way I was or a side effect of my parents rather precarious marriage.  My parents were probably the two people in the world who should never have got married to each other.

Both came from rather “difficult” families and had experienced little in the way of love and affection growing up.

The usual story ensues, and it was young love, or lust and then pregnancy and getting married when my mother was 17.  By 23 she had 3 children, and  a pretty poor support system in my father.  Derick was not a nice person, he was a terrible father, and I fear an almost worse husband and provider.

The short part of it was that I was a sensitive child and with all of this going on around me, I developed a few “coping” mechanisms and side effects.

1.  I sucked my thumb — way past the point where it was acceptable to suck your thumb.  I can’t recall when I stopped, but it was way into primary school.  I would come home after school, and once things were done, I would take my favourite blanket (it was a tartan blanket with tassels around the edges) and lie on the couch.  Pull the blanket up over my mouth to just under my eyes and suck my thumb, whilst I rubbed the blanket’s edge against the side of my nose.  I did eventually stop, but I am not sure how old I was.

I had forgotten that I sucked my thumb until Isabelle found her “doggie” and put her thumb in her mouth, and she does the same thing.  She takes the doggie’s ear and rubs it against the side of her nose.




2. I developed a fairly bad stutter when I was between 5 and 7 years old.  Possibly it was set off by starting school, but I really struggled to get words out.  I saw a speech therapist for about two or three years.  Added to that I developed a “lisp” which is particularly disturbing if your first name has two “s” and “t” sounds in it. It was pretty traumatic.

3.  I went to a speech therapist and she assisted me to slow my thoughts down, and think about what I was saying before I started, and also some calming techniques.  My stutter did eventually disappear, my lisp however is still with me.

4.  The speech therapist that I was sent to was afrikaans – so she made me sound out the “r” in an afrikaans manner.  After a year I had managed to be rolling my “r’s” with the best of them.  My mother was horrified, my very English teacher nearly had a little breakdown. I was hastily assigned to another speech therapist to repair the “afrikaans” accent I had managed to acquire.

5.  I was petrified of the dark for most of my life – and still am on occasion.  It is totally irrational, and it is terrifying.  Not nervous, but silent scream deadly afraid of the dark.  I slept with the light on for many years, and only in high school started to move to the point where I could sleep in my room, in the dark with the room door closed.  I still get a bit panicky if I have to walk through the house in the dark, or venture out into the yard at night.  Hence the reason I avoid watching scary movies if I can.


So that may or may not have been a few things that you may or may not have known about me.  Well now you do.