Do some songs or music themes bundle you up into a solitary little hedgehog and carry you away to far places? And dump you in different realms, times and worlds.
I know it’s a dumb clumsy way of saying wots on my mind...
But the subject came to mind as I hung on to the last threads of a good weekend l– tuning in to the Gladiator soundtrack late last night.
The Enya theme song “Now we are free” never fail to hit a deeply buried nerve amongst the layers of my existence. The haunting sounds send spirals of satin silvery emotions right into and over me. So heart-wrenchingly beautiful and poignant, it brings me to the deepest happiness and sadness at once. Music that makes the heart tremor as it touches and soothes and re-awakens something very strange but also close to home. An ancient kind of knowledge that I will never quite fathom neither tire of...
Tunes that lead me up and down narrows and steeps into places of a life so familiar yet untouchable and far beyond my own understanding.
My friends who live in Kent, U.K. has a daughter namely “K”. Her voice is above my own understanding, developed vastly over the years and I can only describe it as stunning. There is endless potential; fresh, strong, beautiful and fragile just like her. She also plays guitar. I think my little “adopted” sister (I’m big sis) is shyly coming out from behind a forest of innocence and growing into a beautiful young woman. Making a reluctant debut in a world holding it’s breathe in anticipation of such an utterly enchanting but elusive being.
I don’t think I’ll be written-off for ranting like this, and if you like go visit her Dad’s Blog (words can’t explain what he is on about most of the time) and hear her tracks: http://brothertobias.blogspot.com/
(Obviously my other fans on News 24 blogs will relish this).
The lyric that really catches me is “I’m gonna haunt you” (Fabienne Delsol) – and I know my sissie’s voice will accompany me again today, carry me through the mundane chores of senseless amounts of work of the non-making-sense variety. I am awaiting a CD of all her own songs now. Mostly wanting to hear the song which her Dad wrote aged 23 about a girl named “Angie” which his 21 year old daughter had turned (or tuned?) into “Andy”.
As said, might have gone down somewhat wrong and weird if Dad wrote in those days about a boy...
I will start writing my lyric requests to Santa then...
Monday, December 8, 2008
Bonnie Dark Side of Scotland
Right now, consider yourself lucky as the Scots finds themselves amidst depressing heaps of snow, zero temperatures and hardly ever seeing the sun as they only get approximately 6 hours of daylight at this time of year.
The upside is that locals meet at pubs on a 7 days a week basis - pretty often as you see. It is also quite a thing to see stars shining at 4 pm and add a bit of romance to a life amongst Roman-Pictish-Vicking-ish (barbaric?) ancestors when everyone wears double seam coats and woolen hats... Great fun being whipped around single-track roads too, by a strong out of control westerly gale whilst one try dodging sheep that live by the roadside... Simultaneously searching for the whisky flask rolling somewhere between the accelerator and breaks and two practically numb blocks of icy feet.
Take this from a lassie with a lasting fling with Scotland: That place casts magic over the most unsuspecting victims and seems to find pleasure in haunting them too.
Reading another bloggers snippet about a visit to the Lowlands and capital city of Scotland, Edinburgh, I immediately wanted to cry out: “Garde Loo!”
You see, in the olden days any amount of waste meant for “loos” or rubbish bins were chuck out of doors and windows and if you were the unlucky one to wander around at the wrong time and place. Well... Worse things can happen these days, resulting in things such as permanent extinction or even personal loss of life, so it can't have been too bad back then.
Another name Edinburgh (correctly pronounced Edin-bre) went by was “The old Stinky” or “Old Smoky” which resulted from the open sewers of the Old Town.
Apart from a 11 century haunted castle, one can visit dungeons (English are banned these days apparently, so the strive for rivalry between these two lovely nations goes on), Italian restaurants, a pub in a church, walk out to Arthur’s Seat and the Hogmanay can’t be missed as it is the world’s best ever festival. Drunkiest too. The Military Tattoo is another great activity, but before I start sounding like a boring repetitive tourguide...
Those first days for me, visiting this country very reluctantly for many reasons went as follows:
P*ssing rain.
A walk with a stranger, a Scot as my newly-made-friend-guide for a day and taking me for brekki at a Greasy Spoon (café) near the Edinburgh Botanical Gardens. Taking photos of pigeons on a little office roof and becoming aware of strange architectural forms and shapes. Georgian perhaps.
Also becoming aware of the attraction a South African has to outlanders. Ah, but who doesn't just lurve the Scottish accent? C'mon, do naet deny't...
Discovering the magic of The Old Town –
Ex-Scottish boyfriend taking me to Camera Obscure – an impossibly crazy and fun place... From the rooftop one can check out other people’s mischief through a telescope 360 degrees around the city. You simply MUST go there.
Visit St Giles Cathedral and make sure the Queen’s not visiting when you’re there. This happened to me. They told me to hurry up and leave as the Queen was on her way. So I took a hide and at the Palace, which felt like miles further was told “The Queen’s coming, please go around to the other side.” On the other side I got into a scram with a nasty greedy photographer. Prat.
Charlie Dickens shoots happens all the time – don’t be a dick and get in the crew’s way as you try to take hundreds of photos.
And there are the rainbows towards the Highlands - another story in a long story...
Heilen coos, snow-capped Monroes such as the Black and Red Cuillens
Falling over boulders on a bridge on a western island and being told by a local Scot that I ought to wash my face in that river in order to obtain eternal beauty. Cheeky git. I told him that I don’t need it but he might definitely benefit from a scrub. I’m not sure however that water only would banish those cute freckles or dim the extraordinary blue of his sparkling eyes...
At the Barracks at Newton – the town is a place with a dog-owner of a pub... Well, at the Barracks out on no-mans-land, there I somewhat experienced a collision with a horse. Horse-head-butting? Turned out a wee bit embarrassing and resulted in a very sore head without any alcohol involved...
The Mexican on tour kept falling asleep next to me, falling over me with each of the hundreds of bends leading to the famous dark, eerie once war-zone between the betrayed Scots and English: Glencoe.
More rain...and rainbows.
Learning about selkies, brownies and the wicket-wicket Water-horse who disguises itself as an ailing old woman in need. Tsk. Can’t think why it needs to do that if it could have been a dashing young man for whom I’d happily give up my virginity (as a young maiden in those days) and life. Mind, the waterfall near the old church and graveyard usually sent shivers down my spine.
A SA lassie giving old sheep-farmer heart palpitations as he had to be rushed to hospital after we once met on road and had a chat. A decent well-mannered chat, by the way. Heaven knows what goes through those farmers’ heads most of the time...
Oh well, I’ll continue this piece full of trashy thoughts on another day... See it as emptying a basket of old cloth and shoes at an Oxfam or Salvation Army shop – I’ll be back with socks and hats next time.
The upside is that locals meet at pubs on a 7 days a week basis - pretty often as you see. It is also quite a thing to see stars shining at 4 pm and add a bit of romance to a life amongst Roman-Pictish-Vicking-ish (barbaric?) ancestors when everyone wears double seam coats and woolen hats... Great fun being whipped around single-track roads too, by a strong out of control westerly gale whilst one try dodging sheep that live by the roadside... Simultaneously searching for the whisky flask rolling somewhere between the accelerator and breaks and two practically numb blocks of icy feet.
Take this from a lassie with a lasting fling with Scotland: That place casts magic over the most unsuspecting victims and seems to find pleasure in haunting them too.
Reading another bloggers snippet about a visit to the Lowlands and capital city of Scotland, Edinburgh, I immediately wanted to cry out: “Garde Loo!”
You see, in the olden days any amount of waste meant for “loos” or rubbish bins were chuck out of doors and windows and if you were the unlucky one to wander around at the wrong time and place. Well... Worse things can happen these days, resulting in things such as permanent extinction or even personal loss of life, so it can't have been too bad back then.
Another name Edinburgh (correctly pronounced Edin-bre) went by was “The old Stinky” or “Old Smoky” which resulted from the open sewers of the Old Town.
Apart from a 11 century haunted castle, one can visit dungeons (English are banned these days apparently, so the strive for rivalry between these two lovely nations goes on), Italian restaurants, a pub in a church, walk out to Arthur’s Seat and the Hogmanay can’t be missed as it is the world’s best ever festival. Drunkiest too. The Military Tattoo is another great activity, but before I start sounding like a boring repetitive tourguide...
Those first days for me, visiting this country very reluctantly for many reasons went as follows:
P*ssing rain.
A walk with a stranger, a Scot as my newly-made-friend-guide for a day and taking me for brekki at a Greasy Spoon (café) near the Edinburgh Botanical Gardens. Taking photos of pigeons on a little office roof and becoming aware of strange architectural forms and shapes. Georgian perhaps.
Also becoming aware of the attraction a South African has to outlanders. Ah, but who doesn't just lurve the Scottish accent? C'mon, do naet deny't...
Discovering the magic of The Old Town –
Ex-Scottish boyfriend taking me to Camera Obscure – an impossibly crazy and fun place... From the rooftop one can check out other people’s mischief through a telescope 360 degrees around the city. You simply MUST go there.
Visit St Giles Cathedral and make sure the Queen’s not visiting when you’re there. This happened to me. They told me to hurry up and leave as the Queen was on her way. So I took a hide and at the Palace, which felt like miles further was told “The Queen’s coming, please go around to the other side.” On the other side I got into a scram with a nasty greedy photographer. Prat.
Charlie Dickens shoots happens all the time – don’t be a dick and get in the crew’s way as you try to take hundreds of photos.
And there are the rainbows towards the Highlands - another story in a long story...
Heilen coos, snow-capped Monroes such as the Black and Red Cuillens
Falling over boulders on a bridge on a western island and being told by a local Scot that I ought to wash my face in that river in order to obtain eternal beauty. Cheeky git. I told him that I don’t need it but he might definitely benefit from a scrub. I’m not sure however that water only would banish those cute freckles or dim the extraordinary blue of his sparkling eyes...
At the Barracks at Newton – the town is a place with a dog-owner of a pub... Well, at the Barracks out on no-mans-land, there I somewhat experienced a collision with a horse. Horse-head-butting? Turned out a wee bit embarrassing and resulted in a very sore head without any alcohol involved...
The Mexican on tour kept falling asleep next to me, falling over me with each of the hundreds of bends leading to the famous dark, eerie once war-zone between the betrayed Scots and English: Glencoe.
More rain...and rainbows.
Learning about selkies, brownies and the wicket-wicket Water-horse who disguises itself as an ailing old woman in need. Tsk. Can’t think why it needs to do that if it could have been a dashing young man for whom I’d happily give up my virginity (as a young maiden in those days) and life. Mind, the waterfall near the old church and graveyard usually sent shivers down my spine.
A SA lassie giving old sheep-farmer heart palpitations as he had to be rushed to hospital after we once met on road and had a chat. A decent well-mannered chat, by the way. Heaven knows what goes through those farmers’ heads most of the time...
Oh well, I’ll continue this piece full of trashy thoughts on another day... See it as emptying a basket of old cloth and shoes at an Oxfam or Salvation Army shop – I’ll be back with socks and hats next time.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Moments
I’m in a deep place today, amidst silly season.
Moments in life fluctuate and flit from one depth and shallow into another or from a tidal pool to rock pools full of hidden beauty and treasures.
Moments are a bit like the unnamable scent of earth after heavy downpours – can’t be stored in a bottle for those rainy days when one needs a reminder. Like the colors of a rainbow mingling effortlessly with droplets, basking in sun and mixing into the backdrop of blue cloudless skies with no end as to where it all begun. Yes, moments can’t quite be captured and neither can be taken ownership of...
But we can look back at a glimpse of places and times in photographs, and view them through the apple of our own naked eyes.
Dancing in the sky in elation and plummet to the deepest depths of serious contemplation or hover simply on the brink of what feels like a great discovery, falling in love or out and thus tracing over the seams of one’s very own soul. Do you feel this happening to you during the journey called “life” and looking at your photographs?
Nearly each weekly morning I scurry to the drudgery of work. Set in a frantic mood of mind of the utmost unwillingness of giving myself to the world... again. If only it wasn’t like that. I wish there was a dingy smoky cottage on a pebbled beach by a lake with a small wooden boat.
Before I leave the save haven called bedroom, my eyes are drawn to a frame on the wall to my left. My soul comes to rest, and I breathe again.
There they are. Three framed black and white photos. They speak of parts and fragments of a lifetime ago behind dark black and red mountains. They tell a story only I know. I am so distant from that place, an eternity. Could it not turn around into being only a mere second away?
My three small framed pictures say that all is not lost, a world of good things is – An oyster with hidden pearls if only one look deeper. These images tell me to hang in here and hold on to dreams, never to loose sight. The story is that what was breathed and touched with my own eyes, breathe and skin... and I can still experience it. Just looking at them I focus on the light and dark and know there is more to black and white.
The artist Gavin Collins recently did a range of painting revolving around "Light". In there is a place in the world I could see myself and my three dark photographs. Moments captured in light and shade, and it is there in my soul, free to roam there like an old friend too.
I would like to think the light and shadow so playfully caught in my comforting 3 pictures reflects far more than the eye can see. And then...it gives away so much more than the sum of lightness and darkness, but for something magical that brims with hope, sadness and joy, a stark presence and light, beauty and splendor.
And they are mine.
Moments in life fluctuate and flit from one depth and shallow into another or from a tidal pool to rock pools full of hidden beauty and treasures.
Moments are a bit like the unnamable scent of earth after heavy downpours – can’t be stored in a bottle for those rainy days when one needs a reminder. Like the colors of a rainbow mingling effortlessly with droplets, basking in sun and mixing into the backdrop of blue cloudless skies with no end as to where it all begun. Yes, moments can’t quite be captured and neither can be taken ownership of...
But we can look back at a glimpse of places and times in photographs, and view them through the apple of our own naked eyes.
Dancing in the sky in elation and plummet to the deepest depths of serious contemplation or hover simply on the brink of what feels like a great discovery, falling in love or out and thus tracing over the seams of one’s very own soul. Do you feel this happening to you during the journey called “life” and looking at your photographs?
Nearly each weekly morning I scurry to the drudgery of work. Set in a frantic mood of mind of the utmost unwillingness of giving myself to the world... again. If only it wasn’t like that. I wish there was a dingy smoky cottage on a pebbled beach by a lake with a small wooden boat.
Before I leave the save haven called bedroom, my eyes are drawn to a frame on the wall to my left. My soul comes to rest, and I breathe again.
There they are. Three framed black and white photos. They speak of parts and fragments of a lifetime ago behind dark black and red mountains. They tell a story only I know. I am so distant from that place, an eternity. Could it not turn around into being only a mere second away?
My three small framed pictures say that all is not lost, a world of good things is – An oyster with hidden pearls if only one look deeper. These images tell me to hang in here and hold on to dreams, never to loose sight. The story is that what was breathed and touched with my own eyes, breathe and skin... and I can still experience it. Just looking at them I focus on the light and dark and know there is more to black and white.
The artist Gavin Collins recently did a range of painting revolving around "Light". In there is a place in the world I could see myself and my three dark photographs. Moments captured in light and shade, and it is there in my soul, free to roam there like an old friend too.
I would like to think the light and shadow so playfully caught in my comforting 3 pictures reflects far more than the eye can see. And then...it gives away so much more than the sum of lightness and darkness, but for something magical that brims with hope, sadness and joy, a stark presence and light, beauty and splendor.
And they are mine.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
BQE Days
My equilibrium-self played up yesterday. Forget about monthly cycles because you’ll just round in crazy circles. Neither has it to do with the moon being joined by Venus and Jupiter.
This is something that happens without a cause or reason.
I nearly knocked myself out for a count with the car door. It really hurt.
Seemed to attract directionless beasties in a shop as they all seemed to have a need to walk straight into me - however much I tried to dodge a collision...
Managed to break the 2nd last decent wine glass in the cottage with a bulky bag of newly purchased loo-paper
Also managed to add a bleeding cut to the dozen others accumulated over the weekend to my right hand’s pinkie. With a blunt crazy-store knife.
Verbal Dyslexia. Turning around all my words. Can understand why a colleague asked today why I’m so quiet...
Jammed the hose-pipe and when the compression shot the sprayer-head off managed to get myself soaked. No bath needed then.
The microwave forgot that it only needed to defrost stroganoff-beef cubes for three minutes – it all but cooked it.
Put separate types of ear-rings in my ears; something which has never happened before. At least I did not apply mascara only on one eye...
And this morning I thought there were rather a lot of purple bruises (self-inflicted somehow) on my legs...
And the rest of it all, well there were many things yesterday, I've forgotten. Add to the list short-term memory loss. I'll get some zink tablets, if I can remember.
Could being bitten by a spider (note: not a vampire) have caused such un-anesthetized, un-poised chaos?
This is something that happens without a cause or reason.
I nearly knocked myself out for a count with the car door. It really hurt.
Seemed to attract directionless beasties in a shop as they all seemed to have a need to walk straight into me - however much I tried to dodge a collision...
Managed to break the 2nd last decent wine glass in the cottage with a bulky bag of newly purchased loo-paper
Also managed to add a bleeding cut to the dozen others accumulated over the weekend to my right hand’s pinkie. With a blunt crazy-store knife.
Verbal Dyslexia. Turning around all my words. Can understand why a colleague asked today why I’m so quiet...
Jammed the hose-pipe and when the compression shot the sprayer-head off managed to get myself soaked. No bath needed then.
The microwave forgot that it only needed to defrost stroganoff-beef cubes for three minutes – it all but cooked it.
Put separate types of ear-rings in my ears; something which has never happened before. At least I did not apply mascara only on one eye...
And this morning I thought there were rather a lot of purple bruises (self-inflicted somehow) on my legs...
And the rest of it all, well there were many things yesterday, I've forgotten. Add to the list short-term memory loss. I'll get some zink tablets, if I can remember.
Could being bitten by a spider (note: not a vampire) have caused such un-anesthetized, un-poised chaos?
The option of NO CHOICE
See if you get this:
We're all knackered with overdue holidays shuddering in anticipation on the not-so distant horizon. But to my utter joy it seems that the younger siblings (me) seems to still hold the sharper edge of the knife to the slightly older siblings (them) throats...
The other Acorn inhabitant received a post this morning. From me. Which reads like this:
You have a choice of the following:
I send the invite for "Dop & Tjop" to everyone, including the three people whose email addresses you have.
Or-r-r-r-r......
You can send their email addies to me and I will send the whole katooti to everyone all at once.
After a loooooong time, the reply rang: Yes-Yes. Fine. You can send it.
Well, of course I couldn't believe my luck and neither could I resist sending this back:
PS: Did I leave any choice in the matter?
Heheh...
We're all knackered with overdue holidays shuddering in anticipation on the not-so distant horizon. But to my utter joy it seems that the younger siblings (me) seems to still hold the sharper edge of the knife to the slightly older siblings (them) throats...
The other Acorn inhabitant received a post this morning. From me. Which reads like this:
You have a choice of the following:
I send the invite for "Dop & Tjop" to everyone, including the three people whose email addresses you have.
Or-r-r-r-r......
You can send their email addies to me and I will send the whole katooti to everyone all at once.
After a loooooong time, the reply rang: Yes-Yes. Fine. You can send it.
Well, of course I couldn't believe my luck and neither could I resist sending this back:
PS: Did I leave any choice in the matter?
Heheh...
Between the lines
Someone has been so busy playing family-family for the past year that I nearly swallowed a whole sticky toffee when I receive an email from a friend asking the following:
"In the mood to go to Kayla's book club on Friday night?"
So.
The holy cow decided to remember us. I'm sorry babe, but Fridays are out of bounds for meeting at a house except if it promises a BIG party.
And book club on a Friday night??? Should I bring my dusty granny-bunny flannel pajamas along too? They were a Xmas present from long ago, in case you wonder...
My reply to the questions and pardon the filthy language, is this: "Is jy helemal B*****K?"
Roughly meaning are you *** in your head...
"In the mood to go to Kayla's book club on Friday night?"
So.
The holy cow decided to remember us. I'm sorry babe, but Fridays are out of bounds for meeting at a house except if it promises a BIG party.
And book club on a Friday night??? Should I bring my dusty granny-bunny flannel pajamas along too? They were a Xmas present from long ago, in case you wonder...
My reply to the questions and pardon the filthy language, is this: "Is jy helemal B*****K?"
Roughly meaning are you *** in your head...
Office Conversation
Did you see the cute new guy who started today?
Yes. Pity though he is so young.
A spring chicken...
Not even a spring-chicken. He is still an egg.
You are probably right.
Yeah. Well, don’t go playing with it. You might get egg-yolk all over you.
Long, thoughtful silence...
E-r...true.
Yes. Pity though he is so young.
A spring chicken...
Not even a spring-chicken. He is still an egg.
You are probably right.
Yeah. Well, don’t go playing with it. You might get egg-yolk all over you.
Long, thoughtful silence...
E-r...true.
Office Conversation
Did you see the cute new guy who started today?
Yes. Pity though he is so young.
A spring chicken...
Not even a spring-chicken. He is still an egg.
You are probably right.
Yeah. Well, don’t go playing with it. You might get egg-yolk all over you.
Long, thoughtful silence...
E-r...true.
Yes. Pity though he is so young.
A spring chicken...
Not even a spring-chicken. He is still an egg.
You are probably right.
Yeah. Well, don’t go playing with it. You might get egg-yolk all over you.
Long, thoughtful silence...
E-r...true.
Detoxi-Flying Nightmare!
I am tapering my alcohol intake to a glass at night. This sabbatical will only last until a day before Xmas and excludes all weekends.
Do dreams sometimes have the uncanny ability to influence or completely bugger-up your whole day?
Mine do and don’t they just...
That is why something smells of decomposed rat today. I woke up at 06h50 with the foul-tasting dregs of disbelief from the most personal degree of nightmares protruding from my astonished “O-shaped” lips.
No pouts there, I was simply aghast.
It started with a dream by a dam in a field. Couldn’t hear any frog song as I barbequed meat, but I know it was of the non-frog-leg-variety. Horror stirred when I realized the over-cooked meat started multiplying on the grill...
I then joined a group with the majority of members male. How odd. Anyway, I am convinced they were a cult of sorts and the kind of evil ones that breeds contempt and unlawful coo-coo too.
Can't help to still spit rage at what happened, as I remember them asking me to agree to do away with two of the most vital things for survival for one very long week:
Stop taking alcohol
Stop wearing make-up
Heart-wrenching torture, really. Worse was to come when it was demonstrated how I had to give the people I hate most in life, a warm and friendly hug and tell them just how much I love them. Oprah Winfrey would have chuckled at this, but I think we rather leave this part without any room for comment.
A stern looking block of a woman planted herself in front of me, obscuring my view, and told me to get onto a scale. I said I couldn’t weigh more than 70 kg’s. This is scary – why did I not say anything less than 50 kg's? I hopped onto the darn scale and said it really wasn’t necessary because I knew I had lost a LOT of weight.
The astronomical colossal burdened lump-obsessed vermin did not react to what I said, but commented with a disgusted tone of voice: “You weigh 82 KG!”
At this stage I should have slapped her. Lying lorry. And so blatantly.
“That can’t possibly be right. Look at me and say you see 82 kg’s”
Cocking square head to one side and with an unfunny witchy tilt to the toad mouth, the beast said:
“I see 82 KG’s.”
How could she!
I stalked off to the next room to see a row of lined up guys. Their skin looked unspeakably infested with oozing eczema papilla and the worst ever acne I have ever seen. I knew that detoxifying my obese body would lead to this and that not being allowed to use make-up would send me to an early death and unmade coffin. Nobody would see me alive with such unsightly grubby mole-heaps camping out on my face!
I had to get away, because all of that and no alcohol for sanity were too much to bear and then I wanted to tear off my clothes with my teeth and drown in myself in my very own tears...
And thank all the good things I then woke up...
Do dreams sometimes have the uncanny ability to influence or completely bugger-up your whole day?
Mine do and don’t they just...
That is why something smells of decomposed rat today. I woke up at 06h50 with the foul-tasting dregs of disbelief from the most personal degree of nightmares protruding from my astonished “O-shaped” lips.
No pouts there, I was simply aghast.
It started with a dream by a dam in a field. Couldn’t hear any frog song as I barbequed meat, but I know it was of the non-frog-leg-variety. Horror stirred when I realized the over-cooked meat started multiplying on the grill...
I then joined a group with the majority of members male. How odd. Anyway, I am convinced they were a cult of sorts and the kind of evil ones that breeds contempt and unlawful coo-coo too.
Can't help to still spit rage at what happened, as I remember them asking me to agree to do away with two of the most vital things for survival for one very long week:
Stop taking alcohol
Stop wearing make-up
Heart-wrenching torture, really. Worse was to come when it was demonstrated how I had to give the people I hate most in life, a warm and friendly hug and tell them just how much I love them. Oprah Winfrey would have chuckled at this, but I think we rather leave this part without any room for comment.
A stern looking block of a woman planted herself in front of me, obscuring my view, and told me to get onto a scale. I said I couldn’t weigh more than 70 kg’s. This is scary – why did I not say anything less than 50 kg's? I hopped onto the darn scale and said it really wasn’t necessary because I knew I had lost a LOT of weight.
The astronomical colossal burdened lump-obsessed vermin did not react to what I said, but commented with a disgusted tone of voice: “You weigh 82 KG!”
At this stage I should have slapped her. Lying lorry. And so blatantly.
“That can’t possibly be right. Look at me and say you see 82 kg’s”
Cocking square head to one side and with an unfunny witchy tilt to the toad mouth, the beast said:
“I see 82 KG’s.”
How could she!
I stalked off to the next room to see a row of lined up guys. Their skin looked unspeakably infested with oozing eczema papilla and the worst ever acne I have ever seen. I knew that detoxifying my obese body would lead to this and that not being allowed to use make-up would send me to an early death and unmade coffin. Nobody would see me alive with such unsightly grubby mole-heaps camping out on my face!
I had to get away, because all of that and no alcohol for sanity were too much to bear and then I wanted to tear off my clothes with my teeth and drown in myself in my very own tears...
And thank all the good things I then woke up...
Monday, December 1, 2008
Flip Flops
Yesterday I had to pay an astronomical amount for a dog-collar tag with the name “Bella” and my mobile number (xxx) on its back.
An old lady usually sells collars and tags on this particular spot at the HB Sunday market. She wasn’t there, but instead a collar-less guy and young woman who sell a diverse range of dog tags. Naturally concerned I asked him what had happened to our old lady
Gone, he said.
Oh no! My mind scrambled into blind corners of disbelief “Whàt? Did she die?”
No, she’s just not here, as you can see...
Idiot.
A short walk further I saw a group of five nuns talking to an African lady about the goods she sells. Rounded wall clocks with different African themes. They were old, these fragile and upright white-clad ladies with their papery thin skin and polite voices. If one could turn the time – I wondered what stories would run through their minds and lives...
At a stall selling crunchies, I thought I saw the epiphany of stupid male behaviour. The guy practically jumped from behind his stance to plant him in front of us, asking mere impolite questions such as where we are from and why hasn’t he seen us there... Yeah right... And to be back SOON...
I’d rather take laxatives, than go back...
The oily nut needs to be informed that there are certain rules to such behavior and one is that it does NOT flatter, but scare a girl right out of her sandals and devoid her of any lust for life or crunchies.
I did wonder as we walked on, whether a certain “aura” or “halo” could hover in the air for the unusual male-attention received over the past weekend. Recently I have not been giving a pig in frocks as to whether I attract or annoy and before you jump to conclusions; I have not turned to lesbianism (sorry) and neither have I become a boring WWE- man-hating scheming wrestler... I reached the point of an enlightened existence of drinking from the joy of life with disregard to false images and pretence. One can compare it to drinking good aged barrel wine from an ugly unbreakable pewter goblet.
Buying a pomegranate tree for a mere R50, I whispered “Oh sod that sleazy knob - can keep his old nuts to himself.”
And promptly burst out laughing.
After-all, there was a beautiful-bum guy who hit it off with some Jack Daniels and Irish (Gaelic) coffees on thundery-sunny-rainy Saturday afternoon, who phoned me yesterday...
They say laughing deeply from one’s tummy is as good as the best tonic; lowers cholesterol and blood pressure. Which reminds me to ask when last did you have a thorough check-up on all those things?
Christmas is lurking around the corner, which reminds me, I haven’t...
An old lady usually sells collars and tags on this particular spot at the HB Sunday market. She wasn’t there, but instead a collar-less guy and young woman who sell a diverse range of dog tags. Naturally concerned I asked him what had happened to our old lady
Gone, he said.
Oh no! My mind scrambled into blind corners of disbelief “Whàt? Did she die?”
No, she’s just not here, as you can see...
Idiot.
A short walk further I saw a group of five nuns talking to an African lady about the goods she sells. Rounded wall clocks with different African themes. They were old, these fragile and upright white-clad ladies with their papery thin skin and polite voices. If one could turn the time – I wondered what stories would run through their minds and lives...
At a stall selling crunchies, I thought I saw the epiphany of stupid male behaviour. The guy practically jumped from behind his stance to plant him in front of us, asking mere impolite questions such as where we are from and why hasn’t he seen us there... Yeah right... And to be back SOON...
I’d rather take laxatives, than go back...
The oily nut needs to be informed that there are certain rules to such behavior and one is that it does NOT flatter, but scare a girl right out of her sandals and devoid her of any lust for life or crunchies.
I did wonder as we walked on, whether a certain “aura” or “halo” could hover in the air for the unusual male-attention received over the past weekend. Recently I have not been giving a pig in frocks as to whether I attract or annoy and before you jump to conclusions; I have not turned to lesbianism (sorry) and neither have I become a boring WWE- man-hating scheming wrestler... I reached the point of an enlightened existence of drinking from the joy of life with disregard to false images and pretence. One can compare it to drinking good aged barrel wine from an ugly unbreakable pewter goblet.
Buying a pomegranate tree for a mere R50, I whispered “Oh sod that sleazy knob - can keep his old nuts to himself.”
And promptly burst out laughing.
After-all, there was a beautiful-bum guy who hit it off with some Jack Daniels and Irish (Gaelic) coffees on thundery-sunny-rainy Saturday afternoon, who phoned me yesterday...
They say laughing deeply from one’s tummy is as good as the best tonic; lowers cholesterol and blood pressure. Which reminds me to ask when last did you have a thorough check-up on all those things?
Christmas is lurking around the corner, which reminds me, I haven’t...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
