Lights of the high of le weekend gone by…

This beautiful face now has a permanent ball and chain, named Arfur.  Or Abeltjie.  Or Arthur if you really want to be prim and proper, but that doesn’t happen very often in my family.  Ask Jon, who promptly turned the hue of a beetroot in our family kitchen when my mother loudly and randomly assured him “don’t worry, Jon, you’re not the only one without a foreskin here, Wokkie was circumsized when he was little too”.  I swear to God, she said that.  In the kitchen.  In front of about a hundred guests.  My poor boyfriend, he did so well.  And he’s still alive and well, back in Joburg with me after over 72 hours with my family.

The wedding was gorgeous.  The photos we took should be stunning, Cam is lucky to have enough sunshine pictures, lightning shots and night time photies of the wedding partner.  The photographer is an old school friend from years ago and it was so much fun to have all my mates under one roof.  Well, under one marquee.  There was a torrential downpour and while the rest of us were grimacing, my sister beamed – she loves rain.

She looked absolutely amazing.  I am still in awe of her gorgeous dress, and her amazing attitude and ability to stay calm amongst calamity and chaos – she really is such a serene and beautiful woman.  Her new found husbank grinned the entire evening, even when he forgot his speech and stood at the microphone, he was grinning.

My brothers and I had a squidgy fight at the tables, pissed a few old people off, I slipped in mud, I forgot half my speech while I was up there and elaborated but also mistakenly called my new brother-in-law an asshole (but I don’t think too many people at the back heard) and got pissed with my mates.  Jon even danced with me and he doesn’t do the dance thing.  Which he should, because he’s really not as bad as he claims to be and because I’m nagging him to start up salsa classes (wink, wink boyfriend person – I haven’t forgotten you promised to “think” about it).

So my sister is married.  She is happy.  My brothers semi-behaved themselves the whole weekend, especially with Jon.  Except for the part where Dazz asked Jon where he could find a yamaka with a Nike label on it or where Wokkie pulled a face of disgust when Jon admitted he wasn’t ballistically crazy over rugby as the rest of my family are.

So all in all, really not a bad weekend.  We both had fun and Jon fits himself right in and made himself at home, which is all I was really hoping for.  Hell, he even got up early and had private jokes with my mom while I was sleeping off my hangover.  I think I’ll keep this one around for a bit longer, blog land

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A Conversation With @Beetle001

me:  gawd, Satan is going to use me as a dishrag when I go to hell

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Post by bulletpoints.

• Playing paintball whilst Joburg gets more soaked than an English teabag is surprisingly fun.  Especially with a bunch of South African coconuts who had me in stitches for almost six hours.
• Wearing Bergen‘s pj’s after I showered in his shower after playing paintball whilst Joburg gets more soaked than an English teabag was very comfortable.  Cos I know you were wondering.  Yes, you in the back with your finger up your nose.
• My one foot has shrunk.  All of a sudden, my right footed handed shoes are all too big for me and I fall out of them.  Especially my new purple pumps of awesomeness.  What the eff, dudes?
• BettaSnack Wholewheat Digestive biscuits with Caramel Choc topping are divine.  I’ve consumed an entire box over two nights for dinner.  With milk.  In a cup.  Until they’re soggy.
• I dreamt that I grew a tail last night.
• Jon and I will never again be on the same team for 30 seconds.  He’s way too competitive and I’m way too not phased, we just annoy each other.
• My bed.  Oh em gee.  It’s completely and utterly befokked.  I need a new one.
• My sister gets married in T minus 5 sleeps!
• Jon is coming to meet my family in Durban this weekend.  I have the following visions happening in my mind, consequetively:
  • Jon walks in, my brothers circle him and sneer
  • My brothers walk into the house with their underpants on and hats turned backward, Jon looks at me for help
  • My step dad bores him to death with “The Power of the Lesser Spotted Blue Billed Tsetse Fly” or some such equally yawn-inducing talk
  • My mom gets down on her hands and knees and offers Jon Labola for her own daughter
  • My mom gets down on her hands and knees and begs him to give her a grandchild
  • My mom asks him how I am in bed
  • My mom hugs him and kisses him and cries because I’m so happy*
  • Jon sees me in my natural habitat and says “F*ck this for a bag of marshmallows, I’m outta here!”
  • My brothers ask Jon how many wood chucks could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood
• I have to walk down the aisle.  In a dress.  Behind my sister.  Please, please, please, universe – let me know trip over my feet and fall on Cam, causing her to trip on her (MAGNIFICENTLY BEAUTIFUL) designer gown and fall flat on her face.
• May it not rain.  It’s an outdoor wedding.
• I have found a new place to live, maybe.  It’s with two awesome people and its in a beeeeeeg house, I believe.  I’ll be checking it out this week some time.
• Just read Peas On Toast’s book.  I heart it! In fact, I loved it so much I woke up extra early on Sunday morning to finish the last chapter.
• Did I mention my foot is shrinking?  How weird am I?

* Ja, this one is probably inevitable, come to think of it.

On closing chapters.

With one of about 15 gf's he's had recently...

It’s been a while since I updated you on my brother Baboo, Brandon aka Robocop.  For those of you who don’t know, he was shot twice in the head, through the face and through his chest in March this year.  We didn’t have much hope that he would make it for the first few hours, and then after he spoke to us defeating all odds, we had hope.  And then we had joy as he graduated from ICU after one of the most terrifying times of my life.

Once we started getting into the swing of things (Baboo had me literally move into the hospital room with him, and then into the bedroom at home with him) we started noticing other side effects that come with trauma to the brain. Except it was affecting everyone else except the one person who was actually shot.  The support we all got was amazing, and honestly I don’t know how else I would’ve coped.  None of us do.  Baboo and his dog reunited, with tears in all of our eyes, my mom and I sobbed on the side of the kennels where no one could see us.

It’s been months and months of therapy, physio, swimming & personal training, but Baboo is just about back to his old self.  He has a minor limp and tends to be a little forgetful now and then (although he vehemently denies this.  WhatEVER, he forgets ALL THE TIME! a little more than before) and he bought himself a quad bike.  A frikking QUAD BIKE.  As if we haven’t been through enough stress this year.

But that’s not all, y’all.  Baboo is back at work!

I nearly died when I found out from my mom.  I swear they purposely didn’t tell me until he was already there, on duty, in his uniform.  I nearly died of stress last night and ended up taking a sleeping pill or five so that I wouldn’t stress-ball my hands into a coma. So that’s it, really.  All that’s left is that Baboo gets his partner in fighting crime, Nero The Hero, back again and it’ll be just like before he was shot.  It all feels like such a dream still, except the one thing I really can say is:

Thank you, Universe.  Jesus.  God.  Allah.  Candle light.  Budda.  Everyone and everything that we all put our faith into.  Thank you that my brother is alive and (I can say this for the first time and really mean it now) well.  I am so grateful.  I am so proud.  I am so, so, immensely full of love for him.

The story finally has a happy ending.  I can close this chapter, for the first time in my life after a drama I can close a chapter and SMILE.

Thank you, dear readers, for sticking through this with me.  I cannot express my total love for all of you.  Thank you.

Protected: Cammy’s wedding speech. You can only ask for password if you’re not at the wedding!

Omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg.

I’m so stressed.  I have little bubble blisters on my fingers from it.  Stress is a bitch.  I have a powerpoint presentation to do that might actually kill me before its done, I’m as serious as cancer.

Also, I’m heading up the team of organisers for a company event on Saturday, which is going to be super fun – but there’s so much work to do in the meantime and I havent’ done it, because I’m doing this vokken powerpoint report.

So – blisters, powerpoint and project management aside, I met Jon’s mother on Sunday.  Just after he picked me up from the airport, slightly hungover and possibly still drunk from Saturday night’s batchelorette party for Cam (hi, my stalker sister*!  Love you!). Now *that* evening has so much blog fodder it’s not funny.  Well, it is… if I tell the story properly and give it justice.

Yeah, so there you go.  I met my boyfriends mom.  Eeek! So grown up, I feel.  And scrutinised!  She’s lovely though, so that helped things.  Now its just his dad, and then my family meeting Jon and we’ll be officially official in that official kind of way.  Or something.

Hope you had a lovely weekend, I promise to sit down and write a bit more on Cam’s parrrrdy when I have a chance.

Kthxbi!

*Remember I was planning on surprising Cam by not telling her I was flying down for Saturday night?  Yeah, well – she found out.  Because I blogged about it.  And APPARENTLY she reads this blog every day.  So there goes me bitching about her here from now on

For Superman.

Don't you know
They're talkin' bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
Don't you know
They're talkin' about a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
While they're standing in the welfare lines
Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation
Wasting time in the unemployment lines
Sitting around waiting for a promotion

Don't you know
They're talkin' bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper

Poor people gonna rise up
And get their share
Poor people gonna rise up
And take what's theirs

Don't you know you better run, run, run,
Oh I said you better run, run, run, run, run

Finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution
Finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution
Talkin' bout a revolution
While they're standing in the welfare lines
Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation
Wasting time in the unemployment lines
Sitting around waiting for a promotion

Don't you know
They're talkin' bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper

And finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution
Yes, finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution
Talkin' bout a revolution

Tracy Chapman is blaring through my earphones while I'm working late on a Friday night.  I remember you singing this to me over the phone, loudly.  Drunkenly.  Beautifully.  And I smile. 

Randomly, I think of you every time I hear this song.  I think I always will.

I’ve never written about you before.  But today.  Today, I will write this:

I hope you made the right decision, for you, and that it works out this time.  I hope that you’re happy.  I mean that sincerely.

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