Post-wedding stress disorder

The wedding was every bit as traumatic as I'd anticipated. And then some.

To give you an idea, some of the guests included:

• A lady who carried her blind dog around with her everywhere. The poor animal stood bewildered and miserable next to her chair for most of the event, too scared to move an inch, probably because it kept getting stepped on.
• The drunken and disorderly MC, Frank, who fed himself Schnapps with a spoon straight out of the bottle, tied one of the chair sashes around his head, smacked people on the back of their heads as he walked behind them (trying to get their faces into their food) and generally did anything else he could think of to draw attention to himself, including insulting the bridal couple* and swearing as many times as possible in one sentence.
• The world's most useles DJ and his two live singers. The one singer wasn't so bad, apart from his need to fit in as many 1980s country treffers (hits, for those of you non-Afrikaans speakers) as possible. The other one was... painful. First she butchered Purple Rain to a dgeree that it was barely recognisable, and then she proceeded to murder Neil Diamond too.

The wedding started at 4pm, and we left at about nine, but it felt like it was after midnight. Hubby and I were the only ones to give an actual gift, seeing my uncle had phoned around and told everyone to give money instead. Here's a pic of the tea tray we made for the couple. I was quite chuffed with it, and a little sad to see it go.

By far the cutest guests at the wedding were two little kittens. They need to be fed every hour, so they couldn't be left at home, but I still reckon that the smokey, noisy sports bar hall was the best place for them to be. Here's me with the bigger of the two. Check out my bright red nose and know how freezing cold it was!


At least it's over. My cousin is happy, and I'm happy for her. The groom seemed nice enough, although he was a little liquored up for some Dutch courage, so it was hard to tell. He's one of those people who talks really fast too, so I didn't get half of what he said.

The rest of the weekend was good. My gran's birthday dinner on Friday at Rhapsody's in Centurion was stunning, and the Grand Prix yesterday was interesting, if a little disappointing for my team, McLaren.

So now, in my last full week of working here, I'm just trying to tie up loose ends and figure out the bit that comes next.

*My cousin is rather large, to put it politely. She always has been. The groom happens to be exceptionally skinny. The contrast is obvious to all, but there was no reason for Frank to make them stand up and draw attention to 'Timone and Pumba' as he called them. Awful man.

Friday. YAY!

It may have been short week, but it felt like it took forever. So glad it's weekend. Except that tomorrow is the dreaded wedding. Ugh.

But, there's Formula One on Sunday, and we're all going out for supper for my gran's birthday this evening, and the afore-mentioned wedding is sure to provide good blog fodder for next week, so it's all good.

Thought for the day:

Don't drink and write signs...

I'm not sure how I like this hubby studying thing. I oscillate between moments of extreme jealousy and extreme enjoyment.

Let me explain... He finished up at work last week, but his studies only start next week, so he's taking this wek to chill. Which he deserves.

BUT... It still drives me mad that he can laze in bed in the mornings, and is still fast asleep when I leave for work, and that he's usually enjoying a DVD on the couch when I get home. Grrr. Especially seeing it doesn't occur to him to do the things I would do if I got home early - like sort out the pile of papers lying on the kitchen counter, or tidy the distater zone that is our room etc.

On the other hand... (sorry, I am abusing the ellipsis today) it is handy that I can give him all my rubbish chores to do, and he has no excuses to wriggle out of them. Today he is returning my faulty GPS to the store, having my car washed, and taking the cat to the vet. Nice.

In fact, I think I can deal with my jealousy issues if it means that I don't have to do all that stuff. It may be a different story when exams roll around though. At least all this change keeps things interesting ;-)

Best and Worst Feelings

Eish! I just got back from a really long interview and barely made it to the loo. That about-to-burst feeling is one of the worst in the world, which got me to thinking about my best and worst feelings.

My worst:
1. Needing to sneeze and not being able to!
2. Regret, especially about words spoken that I can't take back.
3. Guilt. This is a biggy - I feel guilt around so many things, from overeating to the boyfriend I dumped really harshly a few years ago. I guess growing up Catholic it was a big part of the culture that I'm still learning to let go of.
4. That helpless feeling of waiting for the inevitable to happen. I clearly remember the feeling I felt the split second before our bakkie flipped when we were hit by an ambulance in a massive accident in the centre of Cape Town a few years back. I could see it coming, but I couldn't stop it from happening.
5. Loss of something / someone special. Not like losing a piece of jewellery, although that does suck, but losing a pet or a friendship.

My best:
1. Times with my hubby, family or friends when everything just feels right and there's no tension at all.
2. Getting into a warm bed in winter with my purring cats.
3. Being somewhere completely beautiful in God's creation. It feeds my soul.
4. Standing in the wings, waiting to come on stage in front of an audience. I haven't felt this in a while, seeing I'm no longer part of a drama studio (I was all through school - 8years, in fact). I miss it.
5. Discovering something new.

Now, I will ruin this all and turn this into a meme. MwahaHAHAHA! *Evilest of laughs*. I hereby tag Angel, Gill, Sweets, Blonde Blogshell and Sleepyjane, as well as anyone else who'd like to give it a shot. Hit me with your five best and five worst feelings in the world.

Da weekend dat woz

Sigh... the long weekend is over. But what a weekend it was. I so enjoyed going away (even though the place turned out to be only about 20 minutes away from where we live!) and spending time outside. When I'm at home, I always feel like I should be doing something - clearing out my guest room so there's actually space to get through the door, sorting photos, cooking supper, doing the washing etc.

It was great to be at the guest farm, because I COULDN'T do any of those things, so I could actually allow myself not to think about them and to think about what I wanted to do and then do it.

This was the quaint little cottage where we stayed, just outside of Muldersdrif. It wasn't luxurious, but it was quiet and clean and, most importantly, it had a heater!


But I'm getting ahead of myself. I really suck at keeping to chronological order. The weekend began on Friday, so I shall start there.

After finishing work early (which I always do on Fridays because we don't take lunch breaks or tea breaks during the week at all), we packed our bags. The cats need almost as much stuff as we do - their kitty hut, litterbox, extra litter, dry food, wet food, food bowls, water bowl etc. Then we headed off to my folks in Pretoria.

We had supper at Cafe 41 in Groenkloof. Not my favourite place, especially seeing they've changed the recipe of their chickpea and sweet potato curry. Ugh.

Saturday morning we rushed to Menlyn Shopping Centre as it opened to get the last part of my dad's Father's Day present, seeing our local branch of the store had run out. We met up with him, my mom, and (surprisingly) my brother, who doesn't normally get out of bed before noon on weekends. After that, we did our shop for everything we'd need for the weekend (food, mainly. And Lindt chocolate, of course) and off we went, leaving the kitties with their grandparents for the weekend. They always come back from my parents spoilt and stuffed ;-)

We checked in at the guest farm and took a drive around the area before heading back to watch the rugby. We followed all these signs promising fresh vegetables and a farm stall, but when we got to the end of the road, we found ouselves at a place called the Dog Park. There were about 50 dogs (seriously), a little honesty bar (where you can help yourself to a drink and leave the money) and nothing else. No veggies in sight. Bizarre. There was a big old Alsation with bloodshot eyes standing on the steps to the bar, like Clint Eastwood in some awful ancient Western flick. He looked at us sternly down his long doggy nose as if to say, 'This here be my bar. Touch my liquor and there'll be trouble.' We left.

Hubby watched the Boks playing Wales and I curled up on a couch outside, in the sunshine, with a book. So nice to have time to read! After that, we braaied a spatchcock chicken and chilled outside with a glass of really good wine. A candlelit bath was next, but being spoilt rotten and used to a nice big bath, not a little one like the cottage had, that didn't last too long ;-)

It was such a lovely chilled night. I managed to finish the book I'd started in bed, much later, and actually managed to sleep well in a new bed, which is a first for me.

Sunday we had a long lie-in and a good heart-to-heart, before setting out adventuring. We stopped at a little nursery, which turned out to be having a half-price sale, so I filled the boot of our car with beautiful green things, for only R200.

The plants then got to enjoy the rest of the day driving through the Rhino and Lion Park with us. Thanks to Angel and Ruby for the idea. What a great day! We arrived just before feeding time, so we got to watch the lions, wild dogs and cheetahs enjoying their lunch.

This is one of the feline chaps, announcing his hunger to the watching crowd.


Then we drove through the park and saw countless animals, including sable (I'd never seen them before), waterbuck, rhinos, and many more. It was quite funny, because they all looked red from the red mud.

Then we went to the animal creche, where we oohed and ahhed at the baby tigers, hippo, jaguars, leopard and these cuties, whom we got to play with...

They were tuckered out from all the attention, so they'd decided to take a snooze. We had fun tickling them under their paws and watching them swat at us in their sleep. They're white lions, so they have big blue eyes (caused by a recessive gene).

This fellow below is a teenage cheetah. Tired of being called cute and of all the attention from the people petting him, he climbed on the roof of his shelter to glare at us all and sulk.


After that, we headed to the Wondercave, South Africa's third largest cave chamber. I love caves. A bit of speleophile am I. Showing off the little bit of Latin I remember.

Anyhoo... Hubby had never seen a proper cave, so it was great fun, aside from some of the annoying people in our group who made the guide spend the entire time chasing after them. They dropped sweet papers in the caves, which I dutifully picked up. Neanderthals.



Sunday evening was spent making a yummy potjie (nobody makes potjie like my hubby), with another glass of really good wine, and lots of cuddling to keep away the chills.

Monday morning, we had to up early as check-out time was 9am. We did breakfast at Zest, a dinky little restaurant at the Ngwenya Glass Village, and browsed the shops. At around lunch time, we headed back to my folks. My gran is visiting, so we chilled with them before taking our kitties home and enjoying leftover potjie and a DVD.

It was such a lovely weekend, and I'm sorry if you found my post long and boring, but I've had fun recalling my little getaway in between my chasing of clients. Grrr...

The only bad thing about a long weekend is that one extra day out of the office seems to make me forget how to type, do admin and put my head down ;-)

I'm off to give it another try, and to read your blogs, of course.

Yay - long weekend!

Right, first things first... I read Caz's lastest post yesterday on her blog, Spacebook, and I reckon it's my favourite post of the week. She just wrote something that struck a chord with me. nOthing earth shattering, and you may not get what I'm on about, but I thought it was brilliant. Read it here.

And then... IT'S THE BEGINNING OF A LONG WEEKEND. WOOHOO!

Can you tell that I'm excited? I've been drawing up lists in my head of all the things I want to do. The number one is: nothing. This is followed by: sleep, read and sleep.

Hehehe... no, I also want to explore the sights, eat out at new restaurants, take loads of pics, spend quality time with hubby, and enjoy a little spontaneity.

Till next week, when I will bombard you with pics. Have a good one, Saffers. And for those of you from other parts of the world, have a great non-long weekend.

When you shouldn't go for a hyphenated surname after marriage

Today is one of those 'ugh' days of work, where everything on my 'to do' list makes me want to crawl into bed and hide. Writing local government profiles, chasing marketing people that have made the typical list of empty promises, following up approvals and begging various people for the time of day are just a few things that I have the (dis)pleasure of attending to today.


So, instead I am blogging, lurking at various other blogs, and daydreaming about my weekend away. But this must not continue. I have to be able to tick something off my list. I think maybe I should write down 'update blog' and then at least I can cross that off. Or 'consume daily requirement of caffeine'.


No, I am going to be good and go and do my admin now. Then I will reward myself with a peek into all my regular reads. *sigh* Being good sucks almost as much as Telkom. Almost.


Here's a funny for you:

Sometimes when you're angry, it helps to sit down and think about the problem.

Internetlessness sucks eggs

As much as I slag Eskom off, Telkom deserves a beating too.





Sorry for the absence of a post yesterday, but dear Telkom stuffed up and cut off our ADSL because they decided we hadn't paid. Numerous phonecalls later, and much quoting of reference numbers by our harried accountant, we are online again. But I'm still not happy about the fact that our business (and my blogging!) grind to a halt until they shuffle their papers around and realise that proof of payment is staring them in the face. Makes me wanna pull a crazy recluse ketteh stint and lock myself away. Not sure about the house full of ladies though.





Growl*.





Anyway, I must go catch up on everyone else's blogs, but first, my exciting news for the day: We've booked into a guest farm for two nights of the long weekend and I CANNOT WAIT! I just need to escape the city and my routine for a bit to get some fresh perspective and have a bit of a rest. So looking forward to it.





Have a fab Tuesday, people!





*Does anyone else remember how Ling (Lucy Liu) used to growl in Ally McBeal? So wish I could do that ;-)

TGIF

Thank goodness the weekend is here! I don't think I could've survived another day. Bring on the long weekend for next weekend. I can hardly wait.



In my tired, angry, frustrated and generally unhappy mood, here is somehting that should make us all smile:

Things I wish had been invented

Really! There are some people in the world that I wish would not come into my little world. A particular person that I have to interview today, for example. But rather than vent here about all the little things that are ticking me off (which will go on forever and bore everyone including myself), I have come up with a list of things I wish had been invented:

1. Mute buttons for people who spout crap incessantly
2. Long-lasting anti-idiot spray that can either temporarily turn people into non-idiots, or just clear the room of all twits
3. Internal watch-synchronisers installed at birth, so that when you say you're meeting someone at 12, they don't turn up at 12.27
4. Instant-friendliness chocolates, to feed to certain rude PAs and their even ruder CEO bosses
5. Bitch-alert radar
6. Invisible capes
7. Teleportation devices
8. Anti-taxi forcefields for cars
9. Compulsory training in manners for all business people
10. And, of course, free therapy for all members of the media!

So tell me, what do YOU wish had been invented?

Joke's on the fence (another inbox funny)

This is too funny!

The husband leans over and asks his wife, "Do you remember the first time we had sex together over fifty years ago? We went behind this very tavern where you leaned against the back fence and I made love to you."
Yes, she says, "I remember it well."
OK," he says, "How about taking a stroll around there again and we can do it for old time's sake?"
Oh Charlie, you old devil, that sounds like a crazy, but good idea!"
A police officer sitting in the next booth heard their conversation and, having a chuckle to himself, he thinks to himself, I've got to see these two old-timers having sex against a fence. I'll just keep an eye on them so there's no trouble. So he follows them.
The elderly couple walks haltingly along, leaning on each other for support aided by walking sticks. Finally, they get to the back of the tavern and make their way to the fence. The old lady lifts her skirt and the old man drops his trousers. As he leans against the fence, the old man moves in. Then suddenly they erupt into the most furious sex that the policeman has ever seen. This goes on for about ten minutes while both are making loud noises and moaning and screaming. Finally, they both collapse, panting on the ground.
The policeman is amazed. He thinks he has learned something about life and old age that he didn't know.
After about half an hour of lying on the ground recovering, the old couple struggle to their feet and put their clothes back on. The policeman is still watching and thinks to himself, this is truly amazing; I've got to ask them what their secret is.
So, as the couple passes, he says to them," Excuse me, but that was something else. You must've had a fantastic sex life together. Is there some sort of secret to this?"
Shaking, the old man is barely able to reply, "Fifty years ago that wasn't an electric fence!"

Too miserable with flu to be creative...

So here are some funny pics:

you'll only get this if you dig the movie, 'Office Space' (from which my office-equipment-bashing fantasies arose):

you'll only think this is funny if you like or make LOLcats.

Have a happy Tuesday.

Meme

As I'm out of inspiration this morning (except in relation to interesting ways of making clients feel pain), I'm borrowing this meme from Gill's blog. I'm not going to tag anyone, but feel free to do it if you're keen (or bored), and be sure to let me know.

1. What is in the back seat of your car right now?
LOTS of fliers that I get from the dudes at the traffic lights. I can't say no. There's also an umbrella, I think.

2. When was the last time you threw up?
Hmmm... I got really bad gastro a few years back and projectile vomited all over the show, but I don't think I've chundered since. Thank goodness.

3. What’s your favorite curse word?
I don't really have one. I have a thing for words and tend to get stuck on them quite randomly. I like to say 'fishpaste' a lot. It's a great multi-purpose word and can sound very vicious when needed. Fissssshpassste!

4. Name three people who made you smile today.
My husband and my cats (yes, they count as people).

5. What were you doing at 8am this morning?
Checking emails, blowing my nose repeatedly and harassing clients about setting up interviews.

6. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Checking emails, blowing my nose repeatedly and harassing clients about setting up interviews (yes, admin takes forever).

7. What will you be doing 3 hours from now?
Hopefully writing, if I get done with the above.

8. Have you ever been to a strip club?
Nope.

9. What’s the last thing you said aloud?
"Lager! Get off my desk!" Lager is the office cat. "Fisssshpassste!"

10. What is the best ice cream flavor?
Ginger.

11. What is the last thing you had to drink?
Coffee.

12. What are you wearing right now?
Clothes. Lots and lots of them.

13. What was the last thing you ate?
Bokomo breakfast bar.

14. Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
It's only Monday. Last week I got some stuff on an Edgars sale, very very cheap. Noice.

15. When was the last time you ran?


16. What’s the last sporting event you watched?
Formula One. Lewis won. Yeah!

17. Who’s the last person you e-mailed?
A work friend to postpone our coffee meeting from this Sat to the end of the month. Had no idea my schedule was this busy. Hehehe...

18. Ever go camping?
Yes, but not often enough.

19. Do you have a tan?
Tan, what's a tan?

20. Do you drink your soda from a straw?
When I'm feeling daring. Who came up with these questions?

21. Are you someone’s best friend?
Yes. I think.

22. What are you doing tomorrow?
Working, going to cell group and stressing about the new job, I guess.

23. Where is your mom right now?
Out saving the world, as usual.

24. Look to your left. What do you see?
Lager, the disobedient office cat.

25. What colour is your watch?
Silver and black.

26. What comes to mind when you think of Australia?
Hugh Jackman, koala bears and that big, red rock.

27. Would you consider plastic surgery?
Only if I had an accident or something. Otherwise, I guess my body's flaws are mine to live with. Plus, i can't afford it ;-)

28. What is your birthstone?
Peridot.

29. Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru?
Hardly ever do fast food, but when we do, it depends which looks quickest.

30. How many kids do you want?
Two. Eventually. But not yet.

31. Do you have a dog?
Nope. Two cats.

32. Last person you talked to on the phone.
Hubby.

33. Have you met anyone famous?
Yes, but I'll refrain from name-dropping.

34. Any plans today?
Contemplate murder of certain clients.

35. Ever go to college?
Yes. UCT.

36. Where are you right now?
At work.

37. Biggest annoyance in your life right now?
Clients.

38. Last song listened to?
Something on Classic FM.

39. Are you allergic to anything?
Not that I know of.

40. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
My Walmart boots from the States. They have metal things at the back that clink when I walk, so I sound like a cowboy.

41. Are you jealous of anyone?
Yes, anyone that doesn't have to work with some of the clients I do at the moment.

42. Who is your favorite actor/actress?
Anthony Hopkins, Meryl Streep, Shia Laboeuf, Guy Pearce, Judi Dench...

43. What time is it?
12.49

44. Do any of your friends have children?
Some.

45. Do you eat healthy?
This question makes it sound like healthy is a specific food. Yes, I try to eat healthily. Try being the operative word.

46. What do you usually do during the day?
Work, blog, chat to colleagues.

47. How old will you be on your next birthday?
24

48. Have you ever been to Europe?
Yes.

49. Name one thing you’d still like to do.
Take apart the office fax machine with a golf club. And have my name in certain publications. And take hubby to Europe. And help someone else to start a business. And... Oh wait, that's more than one, hey?

50.Favorite colour?
Purple. And yes, I know what you're going to say about that. It's also the colour of royalty.

Queen and such

Yesterday was a miz post, but today is Friday, so I'm much happier.

We went to see the show Queen, It's a Kinda Magic last night. I got media comps, a part of my job that I will miss very much!

It was AWESOME!

Ok, so the first half was completely ruined by the two twit boys in front of us who did not stop talking from the moment they walked in. Being a shorty, even if I couldn't hear them flirting from my seta, the fact that they kept leaning towards each other and obstructing my view really ticked me off. But they didn't return after the interval (probably in some dark corner of the Civic).

So the second half was distraction-free and BRILLIANT. The guy playing Freddie Mercury, Craig Pesco, has a flipping amazing voice. He's not a very good actor, though, so when he talked Freddie had a strong Irish brogue. But the band was incredible - the drummer sang WHILE he played (having played drums, I understand how much skill that requires: not only are all four limbs hitting different things at different times, but you're singing without losing the beat), and all four men were multi-talented, picking up a guitar here and playing keyboard there.

The highlight, of course, was the rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody as an encore. Beautiful!

There was also this mad couple two rows down from us who stood up and serenaded each other at the top of their lungs, arms thrashing wildly, during We are the Champions. They gave everyone around them high-fives and jumped up and down like the energiser bunny on speed. It was very cool.

All in all, I seriously recommend that all Queen fans get their bottoms (and their fat-bottomed girls) to the show ASAP.

Cheers, all. Till Monday when I have Internet again.

A small ball of stress and snot

Please excuse the graphic heading, but that's what I feel like today.

I am sick AGAIN. So tired of it. But i think it's the stress of the past few weeks finally catching up with me.

I have to laugh at myself... In 2006, I finished up my degree, graduated, got married, tavelled overseas and moved house. In 2007, we moved twice, adopted two cats, both resigned, relocated to JHB, and both started new jobs. I swore that 2008 would be my quiet year. Hah!

Man plans, God laughs. In the first half of this year, we've been to the USA, I got a new car, we've both resigned again, he's decided to study, and I'm going to freelance. We're also looking at buying a house, but that's becoming less and less likely. If that's quiet, I'd hate to see hectic.

The past few weeks have been crunch time, with deadlines on my side, his project finishing up, both handing in notice, visiting career counsellors, being sick, finding a new job, reassessing finances , him working overtime all the time and both of us generally being a bundle of nerves and worry.

I feel like I need a holiday. As Boldly Benny says, there's value in getting away. I think I should try to organise a weekend away from everything for the two of us. But, then again, that will cost money. *sigh*

I just feel like there's too much going on right now. Stop the world, I want to get off.

I've now agreed to help my current company out by working four hours for them in the afternoon for the first two months. So I'll be working solid overtime at two very concentration-intensive jobs. It's going to be mad. But I guess I can survice two months.

Sorry that this a very me-me-me post, but I'm really wondering if I'm doing the right thing. So please all chime in and tell me that of course I am.

The follow-up

So yesterday I was waiting.

For what?

Am I pregnant? Nope. Sorry, Bridget. It was also not the day hubby wrote entrance exams. And nor was it about the fact that I was freaking out about leading cell group last night. Which I was, btw.

Nope - I was waiting for confirmation on a job offer.

If you're disappointed, I'm sorry. But this is a big deal for me. I work in a three-person company, so me leaving is 33% of the staff saying cheers.

Furthermore, hubby has just resigned to start studying, so now we're both in flux.

AND... my boss is nearly eight moths pregnant.

My timing could not be worse.

Then again... I'd be working a half day and earning nearly the same salary, and would be able to use the new company's infrastructure (Internet, telephones etc) to freelance from their offices in the afternoon, giving me the scope to start my own business.

Where else would I find the opportunity to start freelancing with the security of a regular salary and full permission to win my own personal clients?

Eish. So much to think about. I hate disappointing my boss and my co-worker, whom I love dearly. But at the same time, opportunities like this don't often fall into one's lap.

So I spoke to my boss this morning. She is, obviously, not so happy. But she's been nice about it, despite her own worries, which I really appreciate. Telling her was my biggest stress - I went through almost half a bottle of Rescue Remedy before broaching the subject.

Now I feel like a big, wobbly lump of jelly.

I've suggested that I work for my current company in the afternoons for the first few months, just to give them a bit of a cushion, but none of us is really sure whether that will work.

And getting my own clients is scary. So if you know of anyone in need of the services of a freelance journo, PLEASE let me know.

Ok, I have to go shiver and shake some more now.

Waiting

I hate waiting. In fact, it's probably somewhere near the top of the list of things that can hack me off really quickly. Whether it's waiting in line at the bank or waiting behind the twit sitting at a green robot (traffic light, for foreigners), I really don't like it.

And I'm starting to realise how much of it I do in my day-to-day life. I wait in the traffic on the way to work, I wait for our temperamental server to download my emails when I get to the office, I wait for approval on stories I've written (I was once made to wait three weeks for a guy to approve the 150-word profile I wrote about him), and I wait for one or two of my more useless editors to brief me, sometimes until the day before a story is due.

I wait for people to return my phonecalls, for the telemarketers to shut up long enough for me to say, 'no, not interested', and, most of the time, for inspiration to hit. Which it doesn't.

I wait for hubby to get home in the evenings, for him to finish the next stage on his stupid computer game so that I can have my laptop back to download photos from my camera, for the rubbish oven in my flat to finish cooking the supper (I once left banana bread baking in the oven for 30 min longer than the recipe said, and, thanks to my pathetic oven, it still came out fine), and for my crazy neighbour upstairs to realise that she IS NOT Celine Dion and CANNOT actually sing.

But today is a different kind of waiting. It's that feeling of butterflies in your stomach, of nervy skittishness that makes you duck everytime you hear a loud noise. The feeling of anticipation that is made of one parts excitement to two parts fear.

Why, you ask?

I'll tell you tomorrow.

Miserable Monday

Brrrr! It is so cold here right now. My fingers are turning blue, so forgive me if there are a lot of typos today, but I can't feel the keys properly.



Mondays usually suck, but freezing cold Mondays suck even more. At least most of the weekend was good, especially yesterday, which was the first bloggirls meeting. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay for the whole event :( But it was awesome to meet the lovely ladies I read every day and find a new restaurant nearby that totally rocks. Here's a rundown of who was there and what I thought. Hehehe...



phillygirl: The genius behind bloggirls and the organiser of the event, she was the only one in the restaurant when I arrived and nervously asked, 'Are you a bloggirl?' Friendly, really easy to talk to and seems really well connected in the blogging world, she's also really jacked up with the technical side of stuff, which makes me jealous. Read her blog. It has adorable pics of her bunnies on it as well as good reading.



The Jackson files: This mom blogs about her gorgeous little boy, Jackson. I'd read her blog a couple of times, but not being a parent wasn't really a regular. Having met the little tike, though, I think I'm going to be stopping by there more regularly - he is just too sweet. So is The Mom, with a charming English accent and loads of patience.



MzMozi: I hadn't read this lady guy's blog before, but I was missing out! She is so funny. Apparently she's been sparse lately, but I'd recommend checking out her blog anyway. She seems to know lots about everything, like who Blonde Blogshell really is.



Sleepyjane: This fabulous person is Afrikaans, but writes such good posts in English that I would never have guessed. The closest to my age (I think), poor Sleepyjane got lost coming to the event. I'm very glad she made it there though - such a sweetie. Oddly enough, most of her readers seem to be from the USA. Bizarre.



Sweets: I read Sweets' blog pretty much everyday. She's funny, crazy, quick and... well, sweet. And she is so beautiful in real life. Her web pics do not do her justice. She and Angel (see next) met in November last year, so they swanned in there together and didn't have to deal with the jitters the rest of us had.



Angel: I also read Angel regularly, for the same reasons I read Sweets. And she didn't disappoint, arriving with camera in hand, in true Angel style. I had to leave before everyone's food arrived (I missed out on some really interesting stuff, like Duck and Cherry Pie... Yum), so I didn't get to see if she took pics of the food. Really awesome to hear the story of how she met Glug, the love of her life and a fellow blogger.



So, in conclusion, bloggirls is a great idea. The next one is already scheduled for June, and phillygirl has plans to start similar events in Cape Town and Durban, so if you're a girl blogger in any of those towns, you need to get your bum in motion and sign up. And if you're not... well, start your own network - it's such a cool way of getting to know people (and finding new blogs to lurk around).



A pic for Monday...

Friday post

My heart is heavy today. I really believe that this xenophobia is the scariest thing that's happened in SA in a long time. This is how civil war's start. God forbid that this is the case.



Well, I'm trying to be cheery. It's not really working, but here's a pic that made me smile briefly, which is especially for Kirsten, because she likes ninjas.

Xenophobic attacks

This violence is spiralling out of control. South Africa - poster child for African economic success and home to the rainbow nation - is losing it. How can our people, in the land where apartheid supposedly gave way to democracy, acceptance and diversity, be treating foreigners so terribly?

My boss has just told me how her dinner arrangement last night was abruptly cancelled because her guests needed to go and rescue their domestic worker, who is nine months pregnant and due at any moment, after her home had been set alight. A pregnant woman is one of the most vulnerable creatures in the world. To harm her is to commit a heinous crime, and to me, this incident illustrates the inhumane nature of this entire situation.

I understand that soaring food prices and the fuel situation, coupled with South Africa's power crisis, are crushing the nation's poor, and that foreigners, who are prepared to work for a lower income, are often chosen over locals for jobs. But I can't understand how people can be capable of wrapping their neighbours in their own blankets and setting them alight to watch them die.

How is it possible that one human being can do this to another? What has happened to us? Yes, there is rage and hatred in the world, but when it is unleashed en masse like this, it really makes one wonder about the state of mankind.

And yet, I've never been starving, or in a place where I'm not sure if I'll be able to feed my family, so how can I hope to understand?

I grew up with friends of all races and nationalities in a cushy environment where we always had enough to eat and where we were never without a roof over our heads. I don't remember apartheid because the new democratic government came into power when I was just a kid. So I can't really comment on the situation. All I know is that right now, I'm ashamed to be a South African. And I hope and pray that we will never have to seek refuge in a neighbouring country and be treated the way our neighbours are being treated by us.

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go...

Taking a leaf out of Sweets' book, here's my trip to work in the mornings. It's not very long, and not very interesting, but I had fun taking the photos...



Me dashboard at the robot (traffic light, for non-Saffers)




Coming up to the traffic.




Check out the dust streaks along my passenger window as they are caught in the morning sunshine.




My secret back road shortcut along the dirt track



Arriving at destination, taking a self-portrait in the little mirror on my visor.



So that's that. Not too exciting, I'm afraid. Not all of us drive past historical monuments every day ;-)

Winter post

Winter is well and truly here. Freezing fingers on the icy steering wheel in the mornings; putting off going to the loo because the seat is sure to freeze-burn my bottom; wearing a minimum number of three layers; craving hot comfort food; and getting up in the dark.

I'm not really a fan of winter. In fact, I'm cold-blooded, I'm sure. But I'm trying to look on the bright side, so I'm writing a list of all the things I like about the chilly season:

1. Curling up with a warm blanket, my purring cats, a cup of Milo or hot chocolate and a good book. This doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's paradise.
2. A plate of my home-cooked lamb curry after a long, cold day. Hubby's parents are sheep farmers, so we get lamb quite often. Noice.
3. A long hot bath with a glass of wine.
4. Snuggling on the couch watching DVDs with hubby and the cats.
5. Gluwein.
6. Not needing to shave my legs as often, seeing they don't get exposed much.
7. Getting into the bed once the electric blanket has warmed it up for me.
8. Roaring fireplaces in restaurants.
9. Hot puddings. Mmmmm....
10. The crystal-like frost formations that you find on the grass in the mornings.
11. Soft leather gloves.
12. Scarves (I must have about 30).
13. The feeling of coming into a warm room out of the crisp outdoors.
14. Putting my cold hands down hubbys neck to make hi shiver. Hehehe...
15. Knowing that after winter must come spring, bringing with it beautiful blossoms and freshness.
16. Standing in front of the braai and feeling the warm in front of me and the cold behind me.
17. Soup. Especially MY soup. I may suck at baking, but I can do soup.
18. Marshmallow socks (socks that feel soft and squishy, not socks made out of marshmallows - that would be really gross).
19. Sketching winter trees.
20. Misty breath in the chilly mornings.

What are your favourite winter things?

More funnies from my inbox

HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY? (written by kids)

(1) You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like, if you like sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the chips and dip coming.
- Alan, age 10

(2) No person really decides before they grow up who they're going to marry. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who you're stuck with.
- Kristen, age 10

WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?

(1) Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then.
- Camille, age 10

(2) No age is good to get married at. You got to be a fool to get married.
- Freddie, age 6 (very wise for his age)

HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF TWO PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?

(1) You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids.
- Derrick, age 8

WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?

(1) Both don't want any more kids.
- Lori, age 8

WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?

(1) Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough.
- Lynnette, age 8 (isn't she a treasure)

(2) On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that Usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date.
- Martin, age 10 (Who said boys do not have brains)

WHAT WOULD YOU DO ON A FIRST DATE THAT WAS TURNING SOUR?

(1) I'd run home and play dead. The next day I would call all the newspapers and make sure they wrote about me in all the dead columns.
- Craig, age 9

WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?

(1) When they're rich.
- Pam, age 7 (I could not have said it better myself)

(2) The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn't want to mess with that.
- Curt, age 7 (Good Point)

(3 ) The rule goes like this: If you kiss someone, then you should marry them and have kids with them. It's the right thing to do.
- Howard, age 8 (Who made the rule?)

IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?

(1 ) I don't know which is better, but I'll tell you one thing. I'm never going to have sex with my wife. I don't want to be all grossed out.
- Theodore, age 8 (Too much detail for his age)

(2 ) It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them.
- Anita, age 9 (bless you child)

HOW WOULD THE WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF PEOPLE DIDN'T GET MARRIED?

(1 ) There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn't there?
- Kelvin, age 8

And the #1 Favourite is........ HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?

(1 ) Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a truck.
- Ricky, age 10 (The boy already understands)

Supplements

What do you guys think of nutritional supplements? I'd be keen to know. Yesterday I did an interview with a company that makes them for a profile I have to write, and I've never been keen on the things... All those muscle-building shakes and slimming products really gross me out. I reckon they can't be good for you.



But the dude I was interviewing was telling me about the all-natural weight-loss stuff they make that suppresses your appetite because of the juice of some or other cactus (or something else that wouldn't taste very nice if you ate it), and the multivitamins they produce and so on, and I found mysef thinking, 'Ooooh... I should try that.'



Then I remembered he's in marketing. Like me (for example, the profile I need to write), he gets paid to make things sound good. Hmmm... Cactus? Maybe not.

My cuz

Today is taking SO long! I'm editing horrible, boring content that seems neverending.

Somebody save me....

Now I'm going to have the damn Smallville song in my head for the rest of the day. Perfect. I guess it's better than the Fruit & Veg City jingle. Not much of a silver lining.

Here's a question I'd like help answering:
When I got married, except for my immediate family and remaining grandparents, none of my family came to the wedding - not my uncles, aunts or cousins. They all had excuses. We've never been particularly close, but that hurt a lot. Now my cousin is getting married to a dude I've never met, and I'm wondering if I should go. I like her and her dad, but I loathe the rest of the family.

I should probably go though, hey? Eish. Don't want to - it means I have to suffer through hours of boredom and them teasing my hubby (which means hours of placating him afterwards) and stretch my budget (what budget?!) to buy an expensive prezzie. Urgh.

Suggestions, anyone? I guess I could always stock up on rescue remedy and herbal tranquilizers beforehand...

Clever words

Someone emailed me this. Now whether you're a Zuma fan or not, yuo have to admit that this is clever:

Trevor the farmer was in the fertilised egg business. He had several hundred young layers (hens), called 'pullets' and eight or ten roosters, whose job was to fertilise the eggs. The farmer kept records and any rooster that didn't perform went into the soup pot and was replaced.

That took an awful lot of his time so he bought a set of tiny bells and attached them to his roosters. Each bell had a different tone so Trevor could tell from a distance, which rooster was performing. Now he could sit on the porch and fill out an efficiency report simply by listening to the bells.

The farmer's favourite rooster was old Jacob, and a very fine specimen he was too. But on this particular morning Trevor noticed old Jacob's bell hadn't rung at all! Trevor went to investigate. The other roosters were chasing pullets, bells-a-ringing. The pullets, hearing the roosters coming, would run for cover. But to farmer Trevor's amazement, Jacob had his bell in his beak, so it couldn't ring. He'd sneak up on a pullet, do his job and walk on to the next one.

Trevor was so proud of Jacob, he entered him in the Polokwane Country Fair and Jacob became an overnight sensation among the judges. The result was the judges not only awarded Jacob the No Bell Piece Prize but they also awarded him the Pulletsurprise as well.

Clearly Jacob was a politician in the making: Who else but a politician could figure out how to win two of the most highly coveted awards on our planet by being the best at sneaking up on the populace and screwing them when they weren't paying attention.

Do you know a Politician called Jacob?

Batty BAT

We hear a lot of weird and wonderful things in our office and deal with a variety of people (mainly morons or all shapes and sizes), but yesterday's overheard conversation between my colleague and the receptionist at British American Tobacco (BAT) takes the cake...

This is what I heard:

L: 'Hi, my name is L____ and I'd just like to know whether your offices are in Cape Town or Johannesburg.
*pause*
What? Yes, I'm over 18.
*pause*
No, I don't smoke.
*pause*
No, I just want to know whether your offices are in Cape Town or Jo'burg.
*pause*
Ok, let me explain: I'm a journalist from ______ and I've been commissioned to write a profile on BAT for the book ______, but I am based in Jo'burg, so if your offices are in Cape Town I will need to pass it on to another journalist. So, as I said, *adopts I'm-talking-to-a-five-year-old tone* all I need to know is: are your offices in Cape Town or in Johannesburg?
*pause; laughs hysterically.*
Ok, ok, FINE!
*Slams down the phone and bangs head repeatedly on the desk* (To me:) She's not allowed to communicate with me at all, because I'm not a smoker!

How's that for strange? I figure she should've bought a pack, smoked one and called back, saying, "All that has changed now... So can you communicate with me?"

My job is a joke. Once again, free therapy for all journos!

I thought I was past that!

I try not to blog too much about me and my insignificant little issues too often, but forgive me while I think out loud here...

I know most of you are going to laugh at me for this, but I really thought I was past making those big life choices. At 23! I know. I am laughing too.



But seriously, I chose what to study, I made the leap and got married, I moved to Jhb for the job, and thought that I had everything sorted. But then, life intervenes, and everything gets turned on its head.



Hubby resigned this morning. We thought it through and have decided that this is the best way forward, but it's still hectic. See, my parents, being the uber-cool and ultra-generous (although sometimes anal) people that they are, recognised that he's never had the opportunity to study. So they said they would give us part of our inheritance now so that he can better himself and move up in the world. Their logic is that they'd like to see us put the money to good use and not wait until they die (horrid thought), when we may not need the money anyway.



I think that's really awesome of them. On the other hand, it's a BIG step for hubby to give up his role of provider (which he takes very seriously) and depend on my folks. It's also a scary thing for me to suddenly be the main breadwinner in the family. Plus, I have to admit that I miss studying and will be a bit jealous. *Sigh*



It also makes life very difficult to predict - what if we decide to have kids in the next two years? Unlikely, but hey, anything's possible. Or so they say. It also means that I need to stay put in my job to keep the money coming in. Hmmm.



I guess my fear is just about being trapped - not being able to make the decisions that will affect my life. Then again, we've survived a lot together - an eating disorder, depression, me studying, him losing his job, moving house three times, moving to a new province, and countless other mini-crises. We'll be fine. I know that. I just wish I could FEEL that.



Sorry, I promise to be more upbeat in my next post. Here's a funny for those of you that were expecting a smile.

Funnies from my inbox...

I know most of you have probably seen these, but I just LOVE LOLcats. If you don't know what that is, click here.

And below, two memes in one - LOLcat and FAIL. Shame, poor kitty.


How cute is his mustache?


Mwahahaha... die, evil rat dog.


My desktop for many months.


My wish for the day.


Have a happy Friday, people.

The jukebox in my head

Do you have certain default tracks that you get stuck in your head on a regular basis? I do. My usual soundtrack is a weird mixture of My Fair Lady, various Disney songs, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Karen Zoid's annoyingly catchy Aeroplane Jane and lots of irritating ad jingles.

No wonder I'm nuts!

An average hour in my brain sounds something like this...

All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air... Look for the bear necessities, the simple bear necessities; forget about your worries and your strife... Hot patootie, bless my soul, I really love your rock 'n roll... Aeroplane Jane, Aeroplane Jane, Aeroplane Jane's gone insane... Fruit and Veg City your fresher food store.

I reiterate... free therapy for journos!

For more random facts about this insane author... Read my 100 things list.

Conversation with a Little Girl

A stranger was seated next to a little girl on the airplane. He turned to her and said, 'Let's talk. I've heard that flights go quicker if you strike up a conversation with your fellow passenger.' The little girl, who had just opened her book, closed it slowly and said to the stranger, 'What would you like to talk about?'
'Oh, I don't know,' said the stranger. 'How about nuclear power?' and he smiles.
'OK, ' she said. 'That could be an interesting topic. But let me ask you a question first. A horse, a cow, and a deer all eat the same stuff - grass. Yet a deer excretes little pellets, while a cow turns out a flat patty, and a horse produces clumps of dried grass. Why do you suppose that is?'
The stranger, visibly surprised by the little girl's intelligence, thinks about it and says, 'Hmmm, I have no idea.'
To which the little girl replies, 'Do you really feel qualified to discuss nuclear power when you don't know sh*t?'

*sigh* five-day work week ahead

After a two-day work week last week (with 3 public holidays, for those who don't live in SA), this five-day one that lies agead seems very long. Especially seeing I have gross phlegmy, achy and generally disgusting flu and have spent the past three days in bed.



What a waste of a long weekend! But at least my bed and I bonded. We spent some quality time together. Usually we don't get enough time alone, what with hubby and two hyperactive cats encroaching on our space. Seeing I'm still coughing up little bits of my lungs (well, that's what it feels like, anyway), I may just return to that dear bed and take my laptop to work from there. Hmmm... That sounds like a good idea.






I leave you with this... an oldie, but a favourite. Take good care of your cats if you live near an Asian take-away joint, people.

Back from the bush and ready to (not) work

*Sigh* I had a lovely weekend away with hubby and our 'couple friends', Richard and Ania. So hard to find a couple that we both like, and it's lovely to have these guys whom we just adore. Our weekend was filled with good conversations, good wine, good food and a very hot (to the point of scalding) jacuzzi, as well as giraffes walking past our windows and warthogs chasing their chihuahuas, which they had smuggled into the resort. It was bliss.



And now I'm back at work, typing away at a deathly-dull corporate report and trying to phone sources who are all on leave for the week. *double sigh*. Sucks to all of you away on some stunning holiday for the week.



Jealousy makes me nasty.



Anyway... A pic for the day:

Eskom (again)

Yes, it is time for yet another Eskom rant. I haven't had a moan about this in awhile, and, while you may be sick of the subject, they keep providing us (and the Madam & Eve cartoonists, it seems) with more material and reasons to complain.

Our dear power utility, which can't provide enough power, despite this being its sole purpose on God's green earth, now wants to charge us more money for something they can't provide. Old news, yes. But now it appears that we Saffers have been subsidising the costs of electricity provided by Eskom to neighbouring countries for years. Get the full story here.

I dare any shrink to ask, 'How does that make you feel?'

Mxit

We have this cellphone chat application phenomenon called Mxit that has proved hugely popular among SA teengagers. Unfortunately, like the Internet, some people use in in not-so-nice ways. Teenage girls started taking porn-style photos of themselves and sending them around, and then some psycho abducted one, so parents around the country freaked out and Mxit got a bad rap. Then I got this, entitled, ANOTHER MXIT VICTIM!

I guess we cope by making a joke!

The joyful life of a journo

I have to post this series of work emails from yesterday so that you too can have a good laugh at some of the twits I come into contact with. But let me give you a bit of context first: One of the publishers I work with calls me and tells me I need to do masses of shmoozy interviews with a client of theirs to go into one of their annuals as the client is pretty much paying for half of the publication. Fine. I call the company and begin the process. It takes forever, because they are completely useless and inefficient bureacrats. Eventually I get the info and send it to the publisher. Months pass. Then this...

Hello Tamara

Hope you are well. I was amazed to be informed that the _____ publication has since been issued. I was expecting that as contributors at least we would be informed and get some complementary copies for internal use and showcase. Since this correspondence I have not heard form you. We were not advised how to access this magazine. Outsiders are calling some of our employees featuring on the magazine informing them that they saw them on it. When our own employees informed me and asked as to why there is no copy for ______ I got embarrassed. When employees were asked to participate I indicated to them that they will be the first ones to know about the magazines and perhaps even get them some copies

The bottom line is I am very disappointed with how things turned out after such hard work from myself when you were sitting on my back to deliver your content. Will you please make complementary copies available to us and also advise where and how this magazine can be accessed.

Regards,

Useless Twit*

Completely out of the blue! I mean, I assumed seeing they were star clients the publishers would send them some mags. Also, I'm a freelance journo - I have absolutely nothing to do with distribution. So I forward the message to the publisher, asking how I should respond. He says he'll deal with it and that they've been sent 1 000 copies. Then I get CC-ed into a mail from the above twit's superior...

Dear Useless Twit*,

I was informed yesterday afternoon that there are 30 boxes of the publication at receiving. Simple Moron* will deliver them to you.

Regards,
Superior Twit*

30 BOXES!!! I ask you - is it my fault if they don't talk to each other? I reiterate my previous theory: all journos should be afforded free (and compulsory) therapy.


*names have been changed to avoid lawsuits

A post for Bridget

In response to B calling me a lazy journo in my comments section, I am putting up a new post. I had already planned to do this, for those of you who may believe I am under her evil control, but had a 9am meeting and have been frantically trying to get through all my emails and meet deadlines in between.

Excuses, excuses, I hear you cry. Ok, fine! I am under her evil spell and will soon be found dancing like a white man. This would probably be an improvement on my current dancing abilities, which are strangely like a duck on drugs, waddling back and forwards flapping its wings aimlessly and losing the beat.

Coming soon to a street near you, I will also be removing 'for sale' signs and transplanting them to houses that look deserving enough.

I will not, however, be visiting Gold Reef city with pickles or pub-crawling with trolls.*

If anyone knows of a cure for this kind of behaviour... Stick it, coz it sounds like I'm gonna be having me some fun :)

*Sorry, B. Not even your influence can get me past my scared-witless-of-having-kids-ness or induce me to hang out with hubby's less hygienic mates.

Extremely random question

Who decided we should eat lettuce? I mean, I have nothing against it. It doesn't taste bad. In fact, it doesn't really taste. But who decided it should be on the menu? Did some ancestor way back take a stroll through the garden and think, "Wow, here's a weird kind of ball-shaped plant. Isn't that strange? Let us eat it. I'll call it... let us. Yes, what a good idea!"

It probably wasn't the same ancestor that said, "Ooh... here's a plant with pretty flowers and waxy leaves. Oh, Leander, don't you think we should eat it?"

Sparkly stones from lifeless bones

Here's a weird thought... what if you could turn the ashes of your departed loved one into a beautiful diamond to treasure forever?

Well, now you can! Yes, strange and macabre though it may be, the Americans (who else?) have come up with a process that allows the carbon to be extracted from the ashes of your cremated pooch or great aunt to be made into a sparkly roack - your choice of colour and size. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the technology is available in SA! Don't believe me? Visit www.lifegem.com and you'll see what I'm on about!

I discovered this through a friend at my cell group that runs a pet crematorium. He has now brought this technology into the country and they've already transformed some lady's dead dog into a pretty piece of jewellery. Charmed, I'm sure. Anyway... trying to convince one of my editors to let me write a story on this. She's (understandably) worried that it may just gross people out.

What do you think? Could you wear your dear departed husband/granny/cat around your neck or on your finger forevermore? I reckon this is taking the whole reduce, reuse, recycle thing a little too far!

Is your security guard named Albert?

I have come across an interesting phenomenon (interesting to me, that is). First, context, for those of you who do not live in Gauteng, South Africa:

Gauteng is known for its crime - pretty much anyone who lives here has either experienced a violent crime personally or knows somebody who has. As such, many of us live in so-called 'security complexes', which are basically made up of a bunch of apartments surrounded by a high wall (usually with electric fencing on top), with a guarded gate at the front and 24-hour patrolling security. This is considered perfectly normal.

I live in one such complex in northern Johannesburg - one of the many typical try-hard Tuscan wannabees with an exotic name that populates the Jo'burg landscape. Up until recently, we had a set of very dopey guards at the place. One of them was named Albert. I found this quite a coincidence, as the beautiful security estate where my parents live* in Pretoria also employs a guard named Albert. Both are friendly and like to chat at the gate as residents go in and out and both are considered the spokesperson by the rest of the security chaps.

A few weeks back, our dopey guards were replaced with a bunch of much smarter-looking uniforms from a different company. Upon introducing myself to the leader of the pack, I discovered that he too is named Albert! Weird, right?

Then, the other day, I visited a friend in her security complex. Guess what? Yes... you have picked up on the pattern - the head guard who met me at the gate was wearing a name badge that read: ALBERT.

I figured there might be something in the name, so I googled it. According to trusty Wikipedia, it means 'noble-bright' - a perfect description of what you'd want in a security guard.

Is it some sort of noble conspiracy - to place an Albert at every complex to serve and protect? Probably not, but you've got to admit that it's still weird that there are so many of them.

Are you an Albert? If so, are you a security guard? Or do you know of one called Abert? I'd love to know.



*a security estate is much the same as a security complex, except usually bigger and with houses and gardens instead of apartments.

Another site to try

Also try Free Rice, which lets you donate rice to feed the hungry by simply playing the (addictive) vocabulary game.

Click here.

The Animal Rescue site

This is a website that I really enjoy - you just click on the purple button and you help to donate food for rescued animals. You can also send really cute free e-cards to friends, which also results in a donation.

It's one of the few ways you can help out in a few seconds without a chequebook. Try it.

Click here.

Random memory

I recently had to write a product story on a certain brand of deodorant. As I researched the product and its history, I was taken back to my childhood and the long-forgotten memory of purchasing my own first deodorant. More than my first bra or my first date, this event stands out to me as an important milestone in the process of growing up, yet until now it had remained buried at the edge of my memory.

I must have been about 11 years old, because we were living in the white cubic-style house in Edenvale. My family has moved so many times during my life that I define phases of our history and my growing up by which house we were in at the time. This particular house had a long panhandle driveway and was in a road called Soetdoring Crescent in a relatively new suburb. Soetdoring is an Afrikaans name, which, literally translated, means 'sweet thorn', and I remember being puzzled by the word. However, being an inventive child, I made up my own explanation as to its meaning.

In South Africa we have an indigenous family of trees called 'acacias'. Most varieties of this tree have long, white thorns that look like tiny elephant tusks. They also produce a clear, sticky gum with a bittersweet taste from their trunk. I'd often broken a thorn off of an acacia and, drawn to the tacky gum (as children are always attracted to sticky substances), would play with the tip of the thorn in the goo, usually managing to smear it on one or another item of clothing in the process. To me it was obvious that 'soetdoring' must refer to this practise.

But I digress... The eventful day when I purchased my first underarm deodorant was sunny and ordinary in most ways. At school we had just had our usual weekly swimming lesson (as a poor swimmer I feared and dreaded these). With wet hair and purple goosebumps, we returned to the changing room to dry off. It was at this point that Carla produced her new deodorant, a sickly sweet aerosol, light pink in colour, that immediately became the envy of the whole class. Lauren also had a spray. Hers was musky and came in a classy maroon cylinder. In fact, there were a few other girls that could boast they possessed this grand symbol of adulthood, but I was not one of them, and I knew that I had to remedy this situation.

For some reason, asking my mother to get me a deodorant was out of the question. It seemed somehow improper, as though my armpits were not bodyparts that could be openly discussed. Talking about wanting a deodorant was akin to asking about the mysterious 'f' word and its meaning. I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

In the car on the way home, I sat with my hands firmly squeezed in the hollows under my arms, thinking of how glamourous it would feel to lightly spritz them with womanly scent. All that afternoon I plotted, and eventually, fishing out the meagre handful of coins that represented a week and a half's pocket money (those were the days where R1 could still buy you 10 Chappies bubblegum pieces), I settled on a plan of action. It would be dangerous - I would have to cross the main road on my own - but it would be worth it.

Carefully tucking my coins into my little beaded purse, I pulled on my fashionable pink plastic sandals and set off on my adventure. Down the driveway, left into Soetdoring, and the first right into the road that would lead me to the busy main roadway that cut through the suburb. With two lanes in each direction, it was never quiet and I was under strict instructions not to cross it unsupervised. Nevertheless, I took up my courage and, seeing a gap, ran to the other side as fast as my legs would carry me.

Reaching the shopping centre on the other side, I cautiously made my way down the steep embankment at the back rather than following the path to the front of the centre, where I was sure I would have more chance of being spotted. Once inside the Spar (our local supermarket) I headed straight for the hair and body care section.

Despite knowing that the longer I lingered the more likely my mother was to notice my absence, I couldn't help but tarry, inhaling the heady, adult smell of every type of deodorant on the shelves. The whole time, I was sure that it I stayed too long, the manager or some authoritative grown-up would come and shoo me away and tell me I had no business there. Re-counting my cash, I realised that an aerosol spray was beyond my budget, and that a roll-on was my only option. Deciding on a powder-blue Mum brand that smelled of clean sheets, I hurried to the till, where I bashfully revealed my purchase to the cashier. To my surprise, she didn't even raise an eyebrow.

Elated and clutching my small plastic bag that concealed my treasure, I made it safely back to the house where I quickly stowed my deodorant deep in my gym bag, only to be produced with grea ceremony in the change rooms on swimming days.

Months later, when washing my tog bag, my mother discovered it, much to my acute embarrassment. She didn't seem at all perturbed, surprised or shocked, and simply placed it on my bedside table next to my Barbie nail polish and my mosquito repellent. For some reason, this made the powder-blue Mum a little less exciting. The next time we did the grocery shopping together, and my mother casually asked me if I still had enough deodorant, my heart hardly even skipped a beat.

It's been awhile

I wish I had a fascinating excuse for why I haven't posted in two weeks, but I'm afraid it's the same old stuff - no time. In between working on a not-so-nice-in-fact-it's-really-awful project at work, hubby and I have been scrutinising our budget with a microscope to try and find a way to afford a trip to KwaZulu-Natal to visit my grandparents (well, grandfather and step-grandmother) for Easter.

I have this idea that I will spend the days taking down my grandfather's memoirs. As somebody who can honestly tell those "I used to walk miles to school barefoot" stories without lying, who came from absolute poverty, lived through a war or two and came out fit and fighting, I think his life story is fascinating. Especially seeing his first wife's (English) family disowned her for marrying him (an Afrikaner boxing champ). She, my grandmother, that is, did what the English do best - she colonised him completely. Yet, after she died a few years back, he met an Afrikaans lady, Lilly, and has gone back to his roots in a big way.

If you're bored by the storyline so far, consider that the two eloped when he was around 72, and that she's only 6 or 8 years (I can never remember) older than my dad, making him nearly the same age as his stepmother.

Yes, my family is a little bizarre. But I love them that way. And Lilly and Oupie (our name for my granddad) make a cute couple. He's nearly 82 now, and she's about 58, but you'd swear they were both 65. So I want to write Oupie's memoirs before he starts to show his age and forget things (other than what I do, which he forgets now anyway).

But rather than taking down notes, we're more likely to spend our time being fed by Lilly, who is an accomplished cook, taking a tour of their new home (Oupie has finally decided to retire and sell off his nursery) and trying to explain what it is that I do, seeing the only journalists they understand are those that work for a newspaper. They seem more interested in Josias's line of work (construction) than mine anyway. Not that I'm jealous. Well, not very.

I'm looking forward to escaping Gauteng for a few days and being back in the wonderfully verdant Natal province, where I spent most of my school years.

In the meanwhile, I need to get a grip on this nasty project, so let me leave the talk of holidays for the moment and return to the less-interesting reality.