It was our Trannyversary last night at 27Dinner

“

Photo credit: Jenty: click on the image to see more

It was the anniversary of mine, Goosey’s & Exmi’s first 27Dinner together.  The one where ExMi and I came out of the interwebs and into real life as a whole, not just for a few select people.  It was also the first time that the girls at the back of the bus really realised that we’d be friends forever and ever Amen.

Sitting at my desk now (the fact that I’m here before 9am AMAZES me) thinking back I vaguely remember the following:

• Meeting a black dude called Dave, and saying “hey, I’ve never met a black Dave before!”
• Strangely, he wouldn’t shake my hand after that
• Talking to our new friend Mike Sharman and him staring at the three of us and I just knew he was thinking ‘wow, they really are this bad together’.  This was directly after Goose had just done a down down with a double barrel drink (see photographic proof here) and ExMi had laughed so hard she spat her drink onto her specs.  Which were on her face.
• ExMi’s boss of awesomeness admitted to reading her anal blog post.  Haaa haaaa haaaa!
• We got shooshed during speeches.  Again.  And received snarky comments on Twitter like “@randomperson you’re looking for the toilet? Follow the snorting at the back and turn left”
• I had to use a toilet on wheels.  And squatted cos the water was blue.  And peed on my leg.  And shouted all of this through the door to ExMi who was snorting at my running commentary the whole time
• Ran into a giant vitamin water circle graph thing.  I hope it’s not as damaged as I was
• Had garlic and breathed over everyone to make sure it really was as bad as they said it was
• Found a kiff badge that said “show us your vits!”
• Considered calling Jon at midnight to come over for a… cuddle
• ExMi’s boss told me doing so would be rather rude
• Posed for a million photos with my bitches to replicate the dodgy blurred one from last year
• Laughed so hard my tummy is still sore this morning
• Got home and fell over when opening my gate
• Tripped up the stairs
• Put my slippers on backwards and snored myself awake an hour later
• I’m such a lady

A good night.  Really.  Am so glad I have such brilliant friends who are as insane as I am.  And more thankful that I’m only working until 12 today so I can spend the afternoon taking train rides to Loftus to see another Feefa Whirled Cup game, followed by dinner and then a midnight premier of Eclipse tonight.  I’ll be broken tomorrow, but I’m working from home – yay!

Good times.

Cath’s 30th

PSP, Nintendo Wii & Accessories for sale

Getting shit done.

This weekend was definitely a Getting Shit Done weekend, I’m quite proud.  Jon woke me up early on Saturday morning to put clothes on so that the painters could start doing their thing.  I’m so stoked about the new colours of his house.  We chose a very charcoal grey accent to contrast to a lighter more subtle grey for the common rooms.  The furniture in there is all very black and the curtains we chose are a very stylish and elegant silver/chrome organza with lining.

The main bedroom is an indigo blue with accidental lighter accent.  I’m still a bit pissed about that, I chose a darker blue for the accent wall and cornicing and only realised this morning while I was having a wee that the painter dudes fucked up.  Jon loves it as is and won’t let me tell them to fix it though.  Sigh.  It doesn’t look bad, but it’s not the way I envisioned it, so whatever. I’ll just sit here and sulk in silence.  After I’ve blogged about it obviously.

The great news?  The spare room colours I chose were a very light red with a much darker, wine red accent.  I convinced Jon to have the wall behind the bed be painted the dark red.  Except that once on the walls, everything has come out PINK!  Can you believe my delight accident? Look, it really wasn’t planned, but it really has to go down in history as one of my greater mistakes, because this room colour kicks ass!  I absolutely love the femininity of it, and Jon has admitted that it’s not too bad either.  Win, win, right? Right.

Jon’s favourite colour is orange, and if I hadn’t argued and offered certain kinds of favours and smiled and battered my eyelashes a lot, the entire house would be this colour.  Plus the linen and accessories and probably every clothing item he owned too.  So after long discussions, we agreed that instead of the bedrooms, lounge, kitchen or study – he could have the fucking orange in the bathrooms.  This is the result:

I also managed to get my eyes sorted out (finally!) and have ordered a funky pair of red frames of awesomeness.  So not only will I be able to see further than my nose soon, but I will look more awesome doing it!  Amy has been telling me for years I need to upgrade my specs, and after almost five years, I’m finally doing it.

Then, on the car front, I had the eco system that was growing inside my little silver bullet cleaned out.  It’s like a brand new Peugeot and now that all the dirt, dust, ash and rubbish has been cleaned out, it finally looks like a 206 GTI again.  All sporty and shiny and glittery and sexy.  Nice.

All that’s left on my list of things to do:

• sort out license
• find curtains of awesome for main bedrooms
• evaluate car at dealership so i can put it in my name
• have haircut again (my hair grows like weeds – and the split ends now have split ends who invites some of their friends with split ends to join the party too)

I’m such an adult, look at me!  I even have medical aid now, dudes.  Honestly.  Someone should just hand me a knitting needle and request some baby booties or something, I am that responsible.

It’s been a hard week, okay?

Fuckballs.  It’s been a hard week.  Last night I got home to find my gate refused to open.  I stood for half an hour fiddling with with and eventually got it to open just in time for me to shout a “FUCK YES!” in celebration and it stopped half way and closed again.  By this time, I was shivering in my bones, had a runny nose from the cold, starving in my ribs and just wanted heat and quiet time to finish off a presentation due early this morning.  Grumpy as all hell, I phoned Jon and begged him to let me come over.  He wasn’t even there, but by the time I used my key to open his front door, I immediately felt my body start to relax.

I indulged on some fried eggs on toasted cheese (shuddup, I know what you’re thinking.  I already said it’s been a hard week, diet shmiet!), changed into Jon’s PJ’s, grabbed my slippers and a blanket and curled up on his couch with my laptop and watched This Is It while putting the finishing touches to my presentation.

By the time he’d gotten home, the cats, my laptop, a couple of million blankets, pillows and I had taken over the lounge completely. Poor dude, is nothing sacred anymore?

I seriously think I’m burning out, hey.  And I am unbelievably home sick for my family.  Ridiculously so.  In fact, just about every time I speak to my mom on the phone I end up being all emotional:

Mom: So how’s the diet going?

Me: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! *sniff*

Mom: It’s okay, you’re just having a bad day

Me: More like a bad life, you wontbelievewhatishappeninglatelyimsobusyandandandand…

Mom: Sheena-Laura, breathe!

Me: Sorry, so how are you?

Mom: Oh, well, the boys and I-

Me: waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Mom: oh for god’s sake, I’m booking you a ticket, you need to come home for a bit.

Me: I can’t, there’s no time – I’m too busy to lea- waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

I’m a fucking basket case, yo.  Keeping me sane at the moment is my Jew, and my 3 bitches ExMi, Goose & Cath who all partake in 4 way email conversations full of awesome and laughter.

Also have my 4th weigh in tonight.  I was being all brave about it the other day with Jon, “yes I know we’ve had a bad week, but I’ll just tell her* that everyone is human and has bad week’s and she mustn’t dare bitch at me if I’ve picked up any weight this week.  I’m not scared of her” I said boldy.  Which was met with a pained look from Jon followed by his tiny voice “But, I am”.

Yeah, me too.  Me too.

* For a half pint Irish granny, she scares the bejesus out of me bru.

Happy Fathers Day.

I’m having a bit of a wobbly, excuse me.

Growing up I felt like my dad wasn’t around much, probably because he wasn’t.  He was a contractor and went where the money was.  Which meant that my brother Brandon was the man of the house at the age of 9 or something.  He was the only meat eater really, so whenever he got sick of the scrambled eggs on toast we practically lived on, he would braai a piece of boerie on a candle.  Because he was too small to know how to start an actual braai, and between my mother and I we were pretty useless with anything related to something a man should do.

So Brandon learnt how to do it all.  He shocked himself a few times learning to rewire plugs, made sure all the light bulbs were in reach by letting them hang down on a wire from the ceiling and I remember he even created his own DV board once, with a piece of chipwood, a few light bulbs and a light switch.  It was rad.  But it was also sad.

Of course, in those days my family didn’t have much money.  And although there was always love, there were far too many tears too.  Of course, a lifestyle like this couldn’t lead to a very successful marriage, so when my parents announced their imminent divorce, I can’t say I was really surprised.  After a few months of not seeing my dad, when I did I cried too much to even enjoy it.  His home was cold, he had no furniture, he was permanently depressed and basically it just sucked.  Until he met the woman of his dreams who brought love and light into his life, I really avoided seeing my father as much as I could.

Two or three years later, after not seeing my dad for most of that time, my mother had remarried and Kev had stepped in for much of my fathers role.  It was tough at first, he had a whole new way of discipling us kids and that was something I was not used to.  The first time he told my brothers to pick a stick* I nearly died of shock.  But we got into the whole “new dad” thing eventually.  Or at least, Brandon and I did, Darryn hated Kev from the start and it only got worse as he got older, and the saddest thing is that it was completely mutual.

When Kiera came along Kev and I really bonded for the first time ever.  It went from hellos and goodbyes to proper conversations and advice and laughter and mutual respect.  Kev became my go-to guy for most things, choices, ideas, dreams, plans and thoughts.  I’d run it by him and because he was the most stable man in my life at the time, I hung on every word he said.  His advice was well thought out and usually always made sense.

When Kiera died, it was Kev who carried me to the car and took me home.  The first time I came home drunk, it was Kev who carried me up the stairs and calmed my shrieking mother down.  The first time I had a boyfriend, it was Kev who banned me from closing my bedroom door.  The first time I got grounded, it was Kev who helped me sneak back inside the house when he caught me climbing through the bedroom window at two in the morning.

It was a long and bumpy ride, but after a few years, Kev was as much a father to me as my father was.  Just for different reasons.  My dad and I have always had a weird friendly kind of relationship, and have never really been close despite that I know he loves me to death, and I him, but he’s never been much of a father in my life, more like an older cousin or uncle I get along really well with.  I’ve never asked his permission for anything, and in tough times unfortunately I’ve never needed to ask his advice.  Even though I know that if I had, he would do his best to be there for me, I just never felt comfortable doing it.  In that way, I’m glad that my youngest sister Ash came along, because although Dad was always tight with my brothers, he kind of missed out with me and my growing up, but got to do it properly with Ash.  It’s sad, but its true.

Kev got me, Dad got Ash.  Two dads with two daughters that didn’t come from their own loins.

But now it’s all changed.  For some reason, in Kev divorcing my mom, he chose to divorce us kids too.  I haven’t spoken to him since our holiday in December, and that was strained enough.  When I went down in March for Wok’s birthday I could barely look him in the eye.  For Kev’s birthday in April, I couldn’t even bring myself to call him.  A generic sms was sent out with a generic thank you response. There have been times when all I wanted to do was pick up the phone and say hi, but the thought of what is going on with my mom prevents me, and I know that he’s not the same man he was when I was 19.  He doesn’t know me.  I don’t know him.  We’ve lost touch and I didn’t even know how much this bothered me until this morning.

I woke up and in the excitement of Jon running around looking for something to wrap up his dad’s gift with I realized that it would be inappropriate to sms Kev a fathers day sms.  And although I phoned my dad to wish him and secretly hoped he would cheer me up and fill the gap, he didn’t.  I felt a sense of sadness that overwhelmed me so much that when Jon looked at me questioningly, I burst into big fat overwhelming tears.  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  I’ve lost the one  fatherly father I’ve ever really known.

And that’s just fucking terrible.

* This was his #1 choice of punishment.  The kids had to pick a stick for their hiding.  The choice was more torturous than the act.  Too thin and you’d get double the smacks, too thick and it would hurt too much, a lot of pressure for a twelve year old.

** I didn’t want to publish this.  I’m terrified my dad reads this and feels like he’s failed me.  This isn’t what this post is about.  It’s about a girl who still feels like a child sometimes and the fact that her 2nd father is leaving her too has just hit home.

I lost a ruler!

So it’s been just over two weeks now.  Two weeks of 2% low fat milk, wholeweat seed loaf bread, (almost) no cheese, a lot of frigging fruit and veg and too many salads for one person at any given time on God’s green earth, and daily shakes conaining yogurt, diced fruit & water mixed in with powder.  Two weeks of sleeping badly because my body has never had so much energy.

Two weeks of walking up and down following the soccer gees.

Two weeks of letting Jon look at me with that disapproving Jew look every time I suggest anything remotely sinful like chocolate brownies, or Lindt balls, or creme sober, or cheese cake or chocolate pudding pie (I’ve been having a few cravings, okay?).  And even worse than the disapproving Jew look, is the statement followed by it: “I won’t have any my sweetheart, but you can”.  OH MY FUCK!

If ever there was a diet you had to follow girls, this is the one.  But you need to make sure you have the following:

• A blender
• Lots of fruit in your fridge
• Yogurt (unexpired, preferably)
• A disapproving Jew

It’s handy, dudes.  Seriously.  And at my 3rd weigh-in last night, I discovered that although I’ve lost 27 (Twenty SEVEN! THAT’S A WHOLE RULER, NEARLY!) centimeters I did gain 100g since last weeks weigh-in.  Apparently that is “muscle-building”, according to the telling-me-about-his-diarrhea-obsessed fatty support group leader.  So, I’ll take it with pleasure thanks.

Anyway.  Ja.  So Jon might be kicking my arse at my own game here (he’s lost WAY more than I have, he’s doing SO well) but at least I know this shit is working.

Onwards and upwards (or inwards and downwards, as it were)!

VUVUZELA HERO!

Drink it. It is beer.

My friends mom died.  Her daughter’s EveGranny.  Another friend is going through a divorce because she was cheated on.   Jon and I are both getting sick, my house mate’s are in Margate so I’m home alone, I’m missing my family a whole bunch and I’m really mad about certain people in my life.

But the good news is that my country is under spot light and for once it’s not for Apartheid or crime or corruption or something weird one of our leaders did.  It’s because, aside from being awesome, we’ve delivered the World Cup in a top notch, professionally impressive manner.

Last Wednesday I spent the day in Sandton surrounded by 185 000 other human beings all with the same goal: to show support to our national soccer team, and to celebrate in how far South Africa has come.  I was dressed in yellow from head to toe, walked about 8 kilometers in very hard shoes, but had fantastic yellow nail polish on that everyone complimented me about.  The vibe was absolutely amazing, people were screaming and singing and dancing and chanting and blowing vuvuzelas.  The facial expressions on our boys’ faces were something I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

On Friday we had a bit of a shindig at Aqua for the opening ceremony.  Let me just say, the tequilas started just before 12pm and by two, everyone had lost their dignity, never mind their names.  I may or may not have shed a tear singing the anthem.  And watching the dung beetle mount the soccer ball.  And the weird flaggy thing making up the African continent.

Shut up, I might not cry when necessary, but at least I cry when not.  It’s a start, I suppose, for a non-crier like me.

Anyway.  Today saw me at a live World Cup match.  Netherlands vs. Denmark.  I was in a sea of orange, drank Bud Weiser with the dutchies, ate a boerie roll, sat next to a few strange cats and watched a stadium filled with 83 500 people lift up my spirits and fell in love with the game of football.  I have to admit, even I was a overwhelmed with how well our country has done.  Not only do we fit the specs FIFA gave, we’ve over achieved.  It has never been a better time to be proudly South African.  And to all of those who immigrated overseas because our country “is going to the dogs”?  Woof, woof, bitches.

In other news, I’m about a week behind on my work, I have two in-depth and over-due reports and unattended meeting schedules and I’m supposed to be working right now, but I felt the need to put this out there first:

I WAS THERE.  I am South African, I am loud, I am proud.  I can’t blow a vuvuzela, but if I could I can promise you that no one in my life right now would be free of how much noise I’d be making right along with the rest of my country.

Feel it, it is here.

Or, as my friends would say: Drink it.  It is beer.