HUuuuuuuge crisis dudes

Work internet has been cut since some *censored* decided downloading some nrop (spell that backwards) off the bandwidth at work would be a fun idea.

Now I am made to suffer. Well, everyone is, but I’m most important obviously. So, I’m reduced to using my sucky 3g at home.  I feel like I’ve lost my best friend, granny and favourite fluffy toy all in one.

Luckily I still have access to my email and IM via phone, so I’m not completely out of the loop.

Ok, thats all. LuvUthxBi

xoxox

Gertie, the psychic angel seer

As a new reader to my writings, you wouldn’t realize it but I’ve become a regular philosopher these days. Odd, I must be premenstrual. Oh wait, actually it’s a bit late for that so make that ‘post’. Yes, that’s what it is: I must be ‘postmenstrual’ so, therefore, I am cleverer than usual. That is my theory anyway, and I am sticking to it.

Recently I read something that jarred my emotions. It outlined the love story of a blind girl and her boyfriend who donated his eyes to her so that she would have the gift of sight, only for her to turn around at the end and decide that she couldn’t love a blind person. The story itself was desperately sad, but what got to me more was the picture of the pair of eyes, I actually got hoender vleis! And then my very own personal memory lane started to unwind its narrow road and show itself to me:

In my teenage rebellious days we frequented a place called Rockies, short for Rockafellas. It was the bees knees, I tell you. The people who went there were mostly hippie like and stoned, I assume. This of course meant that they walked around with glazed eyes and far too much free love for anyone willing to receive it.

One local patron that stands out in my memory was a sixty year old man known as Gertie. With wrinkles around his eyes, snow white shoulder length hair and a ready smile, Gertie made friends with anyone, even in his tie-dyed blue and purple shirts. He had facial expressions that told one that he’d been there, done that and had run around the block one too many times. Out of all his prominent features, his enormous blue eyes stood out the most. They almost appeared to be made of glass and I’ll admit that they made the hairs on my neck stand up when he looked in me. I say ‘in’ on purpose as he would never look ‘at’ someone, he’d look ‘in’ them.

I recall him telling me once that my aura was pure white and purple, that I was destined for a journey companion in way I would never expect, that I had a very wise and special angel looking over me who would make me think of him years from now. At the time I thought he was a joke and had smoked far too much of the green stuff. I was only sixteen and had no ambition of ever wanting a ‘wise and special angel’ to look after me. I was invincible and made of steel!

If only I could see him today. I would want to tell him how right he had been all those years ago. Motherhood was a journey that hit me in a way that I never expected. I never expected to fall pregnant at 18, I never expected to look after my daughter in hospital for three months, or have her at home with me on oxygen for four. I never expected to plan my own child’s funeral and I most certainly never expected to have my own child born with those very same enormous blue eyes made of glass that used to look up at me and see right into my soul.

He was right, you know. It turns out that I do have a little angel, who was wise and is looking over me. She better be, anyway. I could do with some form of guidance in my life, even if on another parallel.

Today I drove passed an old man wearing a tie-dyed shirt hitchhiking. It made me think of him and his, at the time, disbelieved theory. Do we ever believe what we don’t want to?

I could be a Daisy Rocker

Before the days of Twitter, I had never heard about Rocking The Daisies competition or even Rocking The Daisies, themselves really…But, now I do so all is well in the world, and what’s even better, is that I am about to tell you more:

The compo is still going and there’s still plenty of time to enter and get into the top places for winning one of their iPods up for grabs. The idea is really simple:

1. Blog about the competition (like I’m doing right now, but don’t steal my words, that’s just rude) telling The Daisy rockers what 5 things you would take with you to the concert. On an aside: I can bet you my 5 things would kick your 5 things ass. I’m just sayin’…

2. Link to http://rockingthedaisiescompetition.co.za and http://www.digicape.co.za

3. Link love a coupla people. In RTD’s words, “just link to their website to encourage them to come over and look at your website” < — wow, I’ve never thought of it that way. NOT.

4. Register here, tag your name and my name (SheBee, duh!) and copy your blog post onto their website.

Right then, enough technicalities, onto the goodness! I would have with me the following five things:

1. My mobile, because damn, I even pee with my cell phone on hand. I could do nothing without it. You never know when you’ll need to do an emergency Tweet, ya know?

2. In my hand bag, I would have an endless supply of fat free shortcake tumbles.

3. On my hip bone, I would strap a camcorder to record all the dorks around me. There are always at least 4 concert goers that you wish you could tape to Youtube.

4. A box of smokes and my lighter with a penoos on it, all the way from Spain (Thank you Rindercella) for when the lungs want to burst.

5. A huge badge to stick onto my shirt between the breasteses that says “I AM NOT KAK” to encourage other not kak people to be friendlier, ultimately enforcing everyone to make friends and have a jol, leaving the concert with a good vibration and going home to their other half and giving them a bit of loving. The nations Happiness By The Body count would all be owed to little old Me that night.

I have been tagged twice already for this by Rafiq and Exmi, and now I tag:

Paul de Sousa

Cow_grrrl

Chesie

Fat Bastard

Champs

Angel

Sweets

Glugs

In my past life I was a mermaid

Oprah had some weird shit on air last night.  A male volunteer, well – volunteered, to be hypnotised into his past lives and they video recorded the entire event.  It was insane.  He cried as he detailed one of his deaths going down in a plane as a war fighter.  Then he was crushed by a giant container and his head exploded in another life.  In one more life he witnessed his sister being raped.  Funnily enough, in his real life now, his sister and him have never been able to bond, and he is convinced this is why – he feels to guilty for not stopping the rape in the previous life.  Hectic, boet.

Anyway, I was chatting to my buddy from Hoburg, Kev, last night:

Me: Kev, I think I just solved the mystery of why I have this morbid fear of fish!

Kev: Oh lord.  Okay, hit me with it?

Me: In my last life, I must have been a mermaid!

Kev:  Haha! You just made me spit my tea out, man! Nothing more realistic, maybe, like being a stand up comedian for President Lincolin, or Jackie Kennedy?

Me:  Oh please, if you wanted to go for reality, I would have been the maid that worked for the lady who knew the man who once shook President Lincolin’s hand at an event open to the paupers.

Kev:  I’m going to bed, you’re on a roll I see and if I don’t leave now, you’ll keep me here all night.  Okthxluvyoubi!

So, anyway – what do you think you were in your last life judging by your characteristics now?

On being a groupie and stuff

Because I am awesome, and a terribly groupish type of fan, I have done my first professional article this year, on Jeremy Nell.  Yes, I know – it’s great.

Go read it for yourself and if you aren’t a fan of The Biggish Five too, you must be living under a rock.  Is it moist down there?

On being dressed like a whore & a quiz

I was dressed like a leopard printed whore.  The boobs were on display, tickets were being charged at one tequila jelly per person.  The fishnets proved to be too uncomfortable, but the high shoes did their job and although the official title of my costume attire was Sheena Queen of the Jungle, I have to admit, I brought the sexy back.

My 21 year old birthday boy brother was clad in toights like a toiger and called himself Robin Hood.  His girlfriend Rindacella was Cat woman and there was every other type of superhero you could think of around us.

His 21st was a madhouse.  The farm has never seen so many Durbanites, and so many Durbanites have never seen a farm.  It was highly entertaining to see the chickens, hens, mongoose (mongeese?) and guinea fowl providing such amazement to all the yuppies.

Have done the following this weekend:

• Driven the boys to the Motor Cross track and managed to not crash a bike this time.  Came home with dust filled nostrils and a jean pant tan.
• Bought KFC and chowed it on the beach with my baby brother, as is tradition.
• Absolutely NO writing on my book
• laughed and laughed and laughed at my moronic four brothers as they either tackled, funneled, wedgied, shaving-cream-while-sleeping’d or sang drunken songs to each other.
• failed to upload photos successfully on facebook   Although apparently my new profile pic is rather shexy according to some.  Ha! 

Sigh.  A lovely weekend.  My family are still mad.  My mom is still funny.

I battle to encapsulate how much goodness this weekend has done for my wellbeing

Now.  Onto more exciting things, MY Birthday is coming up on the 23rd of August (I want a GHD, I’m just saying…) and I want your participation! Lets hear how you think I should be spending this years hatch day.  I haven’t had a big bash since my 21st (4 years ago!  Eek!) so thats not completely out of the equation.  GO WILD!

CLICK HERE TO SEE MY BIRTHDAY WISH LIST!  (FOR MY RL PEEPS)

Millicent The Grape II

A letter written to a sub-tenant, done by Cath:

Dear Millicent

I thank you for the laughs, giggles, snorts and guffaws you have provided this past week.  Your careful attention to detail and ability to really piss me off has been great.

Unfortunately, even though you are now shrinking, and resemble a raisin more than a grape, your puckered presence in my life has cost me.

As such, Ms Gates and I have no recourse but to charge you rental for the following:
a) taking up space in my undies
b) pollution of personal property as I worry that pooh woulda got stuck there and I wouldnt have known

Further, Ms Gates has favoured you and made you famous all the world over. You have a fan base and following. You are a lucky fucker haemorrhoid.

Now, pay up and bugger off.

With fondest regards,
CSM Jenkin

All I wanted for my bday was my two front teeth…

…to be closer together!  I have a Mark Shuttleworth, a Madonna, a love gap, a midline diastema, a midline diastema.  But then I came across this website which made me giggle and converted me.

So, instead this is what I want.  I’m just saying… you know, for those of you that actually know me in real life (Hint:  Mom. Please refer all aunties, uncles & family friends here too):

• Smaller earphones for my nokia – my earlobes are too small!
• GHD Hair Straightner (I would sell my left boob for one of these)
• Car Service (really needed)
• Funky hats (you know I can never get enough of these)
• Shoes, size five.  All colours.  Need pumps, don’t have enough.
• Mtn airtime for my stupid TopUp 3g card that only ever works when it wants to
• Some crackfor the addiction, ya know?
• A hairy man to..erm, spend time with me.
• Veet (that shit is expensive!)
• Stationery (need pens, Gremlins at home ate all of mine)
• An audience with Khan of Parlotones
• The ability to listen to my mom when she tells me not to do something.  She’s always so right.
• GPS

Woo!

Millicent The Grape

So, I had this conversation last night with a mate, who shall not be named due to me being threatened with eviction*, that left me speechless and in fear of my future pregnancies.

You see, when a woman falls pregnant one of the possible symptoms is developing piles, otherwise termed Hemorrhoids.  After much nagging and whining for further elaboration of same such disgusting disease, a glazed look from me in response to her that persons explanation, we resorted to drawing diagrams, as we do in our home** on frequent occasions.

A pen and paper was whipped out and the diagrams began.  First drawn was a puckered anus, as they can be found, followed by a grape looking scribble in between the wrinkles.  Of course by this stage I had already whipped out my camera and snapped this hysterical moment to be captured for life times to come. 

I’m curious to see what its like, not ever having experienced this myself.  It’s all very interesting and entertaining.  In experiencing this first hand, my friend has even named the grape ‘Millicent’.  “Dude, please can I see up your naught?” I ask her this person.  “Not, hey” was the answer. 

Anyway, the moral of the story is that if you ever find yourself suffering from an unwelcome anal visitor named Millicent, you should never have sex.  Because, damn, the dude getting lucky with you will run ten thousand miles, I would imagine.

* Did you get that?  It was a hint.  Eviction = residential rights with her this person. One guess who threatened me to not name her that person.

** That was another hint [Dummy].