29
A SKI Holiday.
As the eldest child in my family, often the responsibility falls on my head to act as mediator with some other member of the family. It’s annoying as hell, but also safer because if, for instance, I let Dazz do the talking directly to Wok one of them would come off second best, a wedgie and a few noogies later – either way somebody gonna get a hurt real bad*.
The difference comes in though, when the other siblings rally themselves up and gang up on me the minute I step into the house, after a flight back to Durban for the weekend. I walk in and get ambushed by brothers left, right and centre – all shouting over each other to be heard first. This one did that, that one said this – and, Did I know that so-and-so was planning such-and-such while the other one is sleeping?
Needless to say, this has been going on for the better part of 20 years – I’m the peace maker. So I’m used to it, really. Except – this time the boys want me to speak to the parentals.
I don’t know whats happened over the last few months, but when I left to move to Johannesburg, my mom officially hated Kev, and he officially ignored my mother. It’s the way it’s always been, they love to hate. Fact. It’s what we know, it’s what they’re comfortable with and how they’ve stayed married for so long. It’s how us kids expect things to be between our parents when we walk into our childhood home – unorganised chaos and passionate loving downright hatred. But in a nice, familiar way. It’s a bit of;
Mom: “Dolly, won’t you put the kettle on?”
Kev: “Nah.”
Mom: “I do EVERYTHING in this relationship! I’ve born your children! I do the household chores! I cook your dinner! I’m sick, sick, sick, sick and tired!
Kev: “Gugu works 5 days a week, exactly what chores do you do, dear?”
Mom: “I WANT A DIVORCE!”
And so it goes. Every time. Until Kev chuckles and puts the kettle on.
But this time? Things have changed. Its one thing, in this life, to see your parents happy. It’s a totally different, sickening thing to see them giggly and touchy-touchy with each other.
And it is completely uncalled for having to watch them hold hands and make eyes at each other, in my honest opinion. And in the opinion of my siblings. And so I was attacked, distributed to the parentals on behalf of their offspring, to tell them to stop it at once.
And what was the reaction?
“We’re going on a second honey moon! To France! Maybe even The Maldives! It’ll be a SKI** Holiday!”
What the f*ck.
* That was my Russel Pieters impersonation. Have you watched him? You should, funniest comedian around.
** SKI Holiday = Spend Kids Inheritance Holiday. We are not amused.
23
I’m the girl who…
- wears stripey coloured knee high socks on a winters day instead of long pants. Coz it looks funky.
- takes pictures of everyone and everything, anytime.
- makes hot chocolate that will rival any eatery.
- has lots of acquintances, few real friends.
- wants that special someone to not be afraid to stand their own ground.
- wishes her family understood her more.
- waits for no one, the most impatient person you’ll ever meet.
- wishes upon stars and is surprised when good things happen. Like last week when some unexpected cashdolla appeared in my account.
My home is starting to resemble a home. At last.
I’m missing my father terribly. But my baby sister even more.
Work is chaotic.
I love my new purple punk rocker sneakers.
And my goose down duvet – it’s so WARM when I’m in bed.
I’m going to Durban this weekend. For the funeral. And cos if I don’t my mom threatened to disown me.
And that’s all.
21
Fathers Day, 21 June
Today, I remember my own daddy who helped create me.
Today, I remember my step daddy who helped raise me.
Today, I remember the forefathers of my fathers who are no longer around to see me.
Today, I remember the father of my Kiera, even though he really doesn’t deserve to be remembered.
Today, I remember Granny Ross, who passed away in the early hours of this morning.
Today, I remember the process of my childhood into growing up.
Today, I remember the people I have lost, loved and laughed with.
Today, I am grateful to be alive and to remember.
Today, I will make my memories count.
Today, I thank the universe for spinning and gravity for holding my feet firmly to the ground, even though I’m about to go up in the air in a gigantic soccer ball air balloon.
Today, I will be me, for all the people who want me to be.
Today.
19
Yep. So I faced my fears and finally got back on a horse. After 3 years and a really bad fall. Go me!
Sheena Gates, NerdMag Editor. http://shebee.co.za / http://nerdmag.co.za. Sent from my BlackBerry.
18
90 odd isn’t a bad age to die.
My step gran was diagnosed with Muscular Distrophy in the early Seventies. She managed to stay out of a wheel chair for fifteen years longer than the doctors predicted. She was never able to have any biological children so she adopted two, my step daddy Kev and his sister Lindsay. Most of you know that I come from a huge family. There are seven of us kids, and I’m lucky enough to have four parents. Those parents each have their own parents, and we’ve cut down from My nanna (deceased) and Oupa (estranged) and my Grandfather (estranged) and Grandma (deceased) and Grandad Ross (deceased) to Granny Dora (the step granny I speak of here) and Grandpa Geoff (alive and kicking).
Granny D is the Matriarch of our family. She’s ruled with an iron wheelchair for years. From her little view from the bottom (since we all tower above her) she has been the foundation of many morals and values instilled into my step dad and passed onto us kids. Every visit we can look forward to horrible tea and salt-less food prepared by her health care givers.
And now, she’s suffering Renal Failure.
I’m not quite sure what my point even is here. I just know that within the next few days (hours?) she should, realistically speaking, be deceased. And I’m so sad. I’ll miss her hot potato accent and her lady like tantrumsn when her son won’t allow her to do something like order three times the amount of toilet paper she really needs. I’ll miss the milktarts and apple bakes I used to make with my mom when we went to visit her. I’ll miss her repeated questions and forgotten replies. I’ll miss her reminiscents of the past.
Granny Dora, you will be missed. Thank you for always believing in me, even when no one else could.
14
My new love. Meet Howard aka Howie D the Arab Stallion of awesomenessness.
Sheena Gates, NerdMag Editor. http://shebee.co.za / http://nerdmag.co.za. Sent from my BlackBerry.
14
Playing in the garden with horses and puppies.
Look at the difference in size between Tiger the dog and Destiny the horse. Sheena Gates, NerdMag Editor. http://shebee.co.za / http://nerdmag.co.za. Sent from my BlackBerry.
12
NINE WORDS WOMEN USE
(1) Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.
(2) Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.
(3) Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.
(4) Go Ahead: This is a dare, not permission. Don’t Do It!
(5) Loud Sigh: This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of nothing.)
(6) That’s Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. That’s okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.
(7) Thanks: A woman is thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say you’re welcome. (I want to add in a clause here – This is true, unless she says ‘Thanks a lot’ – that is PURE sarcasm and she is not thanking you at all. DO NOT say ‘you’re welcome’ . that will bring on a ‘whatever’).
(8) Whatever: Is a woman’s way of saying F– YOU!
(9) Don’t worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking ‘What’s wrong?’ For the woman’s response refer to # 3.
11
Some people have all the luck…
A quick dash to the garage down the road for smokes, bread and milk this morning has proven to add to my list of embarrassing moments I wish had never happened. Or, “wish-I’d-used-my-brain-for-a-godamned-second-before-reacting”, but whatevs.
So it’s freezing today. Raining, misty and about 3 degrees outside. I shit you not. The car windows were frosted this morning. If I had any of my two previously okay looking nipples left, they would’ve called quits and said ‘fuck this for a sad joke’ and bungee jumped themselves right off my boobs to plummet to an untimely self imposed death.
Off to the shop I go, clad in about four layers of techni-coloured stockings provided to me by my jet setting sister Cam (she was in the US last month), tights and warm yoga pants, no less than THREE hoodies and a fluffy scarf. Nobody said fashion had to look good, right? I quite like being the strange girl known as “that creative dresser”, it comes in handy for when I really couldn’t give a toss and just want to be warm. No one looks at me funny anymore.
But I digress. There I am in the Engen. Two loaves of bread in hand, milk balancing on my boobs so I can tweet my actions while standing in a queue, when a big strapping lad in a thick black coat and army boots walks in. It would’ve been cool, except he had a balaclava on his head and fuck me if I didn’t elbow the dude in front of me while simultaneously slapping balaclava boy with a loaf of bread as he whips his coat back to reveal a shiny gun!
The cashier dude jumped over the counter, half laughing, half in shock at this crazy white woman attacking the Fidelity guard. Yes, I said “the Fidelity guard“. How was I meant to see the huge splashings of company uniform identification marks on the back of his jacket? All I was concentrating on was his stupid balaclava! I mean honestly, don’t black people know those things are made for criminals only?
Some people have all the luck when it comes to behaving in society.
I, however, am not one of them.
