Yay! Kidney infection and dodgy pubs!

Sorry to everyone trying to get onto my bloggie this morning, it seemed the servers decided to pack up their balls and leave for a little holiday… to Mauritius, no doubt.

I’m home sick and waiting for my doctor’s appointment at 11am.  I think I’ve got kidney stones again.  Fokking prawns!

Discovered the Zoo Lake Bowling Club last night.  How much bowling actually gets done there is beyond me, the greens are brown and the the grass is endangered, thanks to all the drunken hooligans who do bollemakissies down the hill, I think.  What a rad little pub they have, and cheap drinks too!  Plus, there was a dog.  Dog’s always certify the dodginess of a pub.

Anyway.  So ya, the blog is back up again and I’m hoping to hell and back that I’ve caught the kidney infection in time, because I swear to dog, I do NOT want to go through the pain I did six months ago.  Worse than giving birth, and I’m qualified to say that.

Word.

Ponderings…

Love should be forever.  It makes me sad to see people celebrating divorce.  Not that I don’t believe in divorce, per se’, it’s just sad that it happens is all.  Maybe it comes from me being a child out of a broken home, but divorce is not a nice thing. It’s saying goodbye to broken homes, dreams and relationships.  It’s a death of something once looked forward to.  It’s washing away memories of a life shared with another human being.  I just feel that marriage is meant to be commitment to the person you love, for the rest of your life.  It’s sad that sometimes it doesn’t work out that way.  The closet romantic in me cries a sad little howl at the sadness of love ending.  It turns out that I may just be naive on this, I suppose.

Friendships are hard.  Especially when you fight like sisters.  Hell, I don’t even fight with my sisters like I do with some of my friends.  What’s worse though, not saying anything and letting all the hurt build up inside?  I’m grateful for my friends, even though sometimes I forget to tell them or show it.  Britt and Flea are a testament to how thoughtless I can be sometimes, and I hope that all of my friends realize that even though I’ve been in my own world, I love them very much.  I suppose it goes back to what I said in a protected post I wrote not long ago.

I suppose that’s all I really wanted to say.  I’ll end off with telling you that I’ve just had my monthly wax *insert expletives here*. On the up side, my face is totally rosey (read: red and blotchy).  But I’m BEAUTIFUL, no matter what they say…

Gloria

I’d like to introduce a new character to this blog.  Meet Gloria:

Looks like this but usually has a bigger smile.

When Gloria arrived this morning, I asked her very nicely what she thought happened to the tumble dryer since it now refuses to actually do anything.

Me: So Glor, over the weekend I decided to wash clothes but then the tumble dryer didn’t work, so I gave up halfway.  Do you know what happened to the tumbledryer by any chance?  Any idea?

Gloria: Eish.  This* tumblydry?  You broke him?

Me: No, I didn’t break him ‘it’.  I didn’t break it.

Gloria: Who broke him?

Me: That’s what I’m trying to find out!

Gloria: Please buy for me Handy And.

[Apparently Gloria has no use for the 'y'.  Clearly it's handy enough without it.]

Me: Handy And.? Okay.  But what about the tumble dryer?

Gloria: Yes.

Me: Yes? Did you break it by accident?

Gloria: No.  She wasn’t me. Handy And. and wash powd too, okay?

Me: BUT WHAT HAPPENED TO THE TUMBLE DRYER THOUGH?

Gloria: Eish, I’m not use for long time.  Maybe he’s tyad. Handy And., wash powd, and some few more cloth.

====

So there you go.  Meet the woman who might very possibly be the fucking death of me.

I give up.

*As opposed to the ten other tumble dryers we have at home, I suppose.

Domesticity

So it’s official.  I’m living with my boyfriend.  Despite still having another month leased at my place, Jon and I have pretty much already moved most of my things into his home. Ahem, “our” home.  This weekend was spent doing shopping for house thingies (we roadtripped to a faraway town called Brits, because the bargains there are apparently unfreakingbelievable!

We got curtain poles, house accessories and beautiful girly things that Jon turned a blind eye to, for next to nothing.  Aside from this being a highlight, we were in awe of the little town’s vibe.

Me: LOOK BABE!  THERE ARE BOERIE ROLLS BEING SERVED ON THE STREET!

Jon: Oh my.  Where is that Afrikaans music coming from?!

Me: *squeal* It’s so weird how everyone just walks in the streets instead of driving!

Jon: Hey, why don’t you try and be a little more obvious when you lock the doors everytime someone comes near the car?

Me: This is where the bad part happens in every scary movie, dude.  I’m just saying.  Small towns like this are freaky.

Jon: Oh look!  There’s that shop!  [We'd been looking for one shop in particular that a very mooi Afrikaans tannie who had no shoes on recommended to us]

It was hot as hell.  Seriously.  I had the aircon going even when the car was being loaded with poles.  Like, I was being blown away by gale force winds the aircon was on so hard.  Fuck me, it was hot!

On the way home, Jon decided to indulge me by taking another route through Diepsloot.  ”It’s an ADVENTURE!” I kept telling him every time he looked at me and mumbled “the other way was shorter.  I don’t like these roads.  THIS IS A HIJACKING HOT SPOT!  The other way is shorter.  THE OTHER WAY IS SHORTER “.  He was a walking, talking unhappy face.  Like, he was actually sprouting unhappy emoticons all over the place.

Once home (only took about half an hour longer than the other route, and we weren’t even hijacked or anything), I decided to wash anything that stood still long enough.  Dust in Fourways is like air in ones lungs; apparent.  Fucking dust EVERYWHERE.  And it doesn’t help that the maid is one hundred and millionty seven years old and missing her front tooth.  I still feel too new to request tasks from her, and I think Jon is just plain scared of her.  She looks like a sangoma, but without the blanket.  So she comes twice a week and does her thing, and then leaves.  Miraculously, at face value the house always looks tidy, but there is dust on top of the dust on top of the dust.

So I decided to get rid of it. I cleaned on top of the toilets, the ornaments, the picture frames, the glass jars I’m so very fond of sticking in bathrooms, hell – I even cleaned the pot plants.  About an hour later, everything was covered in dust again.  Fuck it, I give up!  I then decided that I needed to rewash all of my linen and bathroom towels, mats etc.  Once the first load was done, I chucked them into the tumbledryer only to realise that it was borked.  Great, loads of wet mats and towelling and nowhere to dry them, thanks Gloria for telling us about the broken machine!

And just in case all this domesticity wasn’t enough for you, I got hold of the hammer and decided to hang up the gorgeous photos Jon had blown up and printed on canvas for us.  Except apparently I did a horrible job.  Look, the excessive nails (three of them on top of each other because I maybe might have possibly made a teeny little mistake) on the wall is not as “characteristic” as I thought.  Also, Jon claims that he’ll be redoing all of them because I did a shit job.  Hmmph! I don’t think it’s that bad… do you?

Anyway.  I can’t wait until all the curtains are up in the house, I’m DYING to take photos and show you all what we’ve done.

PS: Those photos were taken off the photo booth strips Angel and Gluggie had at their twedding

Lighter heart…

In an attempt to actually make human contact with my friend, I called up Goose last week and set a date to meet her later that Friday night for “coffee”.  We were all gung ho and “yes!  brilliant! we need it, must get together and catch-up blahblahblah” and so we set a time.

Half an hour before the time I got off the couch and put some clothes on*.  On the hour, I decided to paint my nails so that I ceased the resemblance of a drunk hobo tranny.  Half an hour after the hour, I put a brush through my hair.  An hour after the hour, I made peace that my beloved friend had forgotten about our date, and got under a thick duvet on the couch and got comfy for a rare Friday night in by myself.  Just me and the TV.

Another hour later, my phone rings and I answer;

Me: Slutbag.

Heidi: Oh my fuck Sheen, I’m so sorry.

Me: S’okay – you forgot, right?

Heidi: I remembered five seconds ago, half way home.

Me: You suck so hard.

Anyway, last night we finally managed to get together.  Her and her ginger bf, me and my Jew bf, we set off on a mini road trip.  Well, eventually, after her Ginger arrived to meet us an hour later, reeking of tequila.  We didn’t mind though, he entertained us with his drunken comments, slews and hysterical ramblings the whole way to our destination.  Jon was in stitches and I suspect they may have a bromance going on behind mine and Heidi’s backs.

On to the destination, which was Brakpan of all places.  Dear God in heaven, what a colourful place.  No really,  it’s lit up with neon coloured lights and as Jon said, “You kind of want to look for the peas and carrots hey”.  Vomited rainbows, that’s what the interior decorator had in mind for Carnival City.

We saw Jeff Dunham live.  He was HILARIOUS.  Oh man, my tummy is still sore this morning from all the laughter.  His characters are hilarious, and the show was completely personalised to South Africa, he even tested out some new material on us, including Diane, his first ever female character based on his ex wife.    I thoroughly enjoyed myself, even though the seats were hard as hell and my ass kept going numb.

I’m feeling much better now.  Goose and I had a bit of a heart to heart, Jon and Shaun the Ginger kept each other entertained, and I left there feeling exhausted, but so much lighter in my heart.

A much needed and appreciated evening.  I think I might almost, maybe, be able to make it through to the long weekend tomorrow.

*It’s my new thing.  I sit on the couch upstairs in my undies and socks watching Kardashian reruns before Jon gets home.

Some nuus.

Jon makes the bed before he gets into it at night.  Not, you know, when he gets out of it like normal* people, but a few seconds before he climbs back into it at night.  Unless of course we have people coming over. Or not, as it happens.  Got into bed last night after having Anglug over for an awesome Sunday roast and realised, with dismay, that I’d forgotten to actually clean the house.  My clothes were lying all over the floor (I’d had a tantrum the night before when I couldn’t find a certain item and threw all of my clothes everywhere in frustration, Jon then piled them neatly (ish) on the floor, where they stayed throughout our guests visitation.  Mortification!

In the mornings, 9 times out of 10, Jon gets up and brings me coffee or smoothies in bed.  He then wakes me up with kisses and cuddles before I can kick him in the nuts moan about not wanting to go to school, mommy.

At night, I cook and he cleans.

We’re redecorating.  Well, we’ve been doing it for MONTHS actually, but things are taking shape now.  I felt very grown up with Angel commented on how pretty the paint colours are for the various rooms.  ”That’s ME!  I CHOSE THEM!  I TAKE ALL RESPONSIBILITY, NOT JON!” I scream-thought very maturely.

I’m doing DIY stuff too.  I painted a whole lamp shade recently.  And I have a mental list of other projects I plan to kick off this coming long weekend.  All of them for the home.

So why am I telling you this?  Well, because Jon finally decided to make a decent woman out of me, and has apparently decided that me house-squatting is not kosher**, so we’re officially going to be living together.  Meaning I’ll give up my house completely and only live at his.  One home, how weird!

So yes, I’ll be moving in with my man.  How adult are them apples?

* Look, I’m not dissing him – at least he makes the frikken bed, okay?  I never do.

** Heehee, see what I did there?

OMG! Scammer Alert on AutoTrader!

Hectic man.  Don't say you weren't warned.

Protected: September Cave Mode Has Set In

Everybody Loves Ray…

For those of you who follow me on Twitter and are my Facebook friends, you will know by now that I’ve been an active follower of The LoneRaynger.  He is the most talented beat-boxer acoustic singer I’ve ever come across, but he also happens to be South African, and he also happens to be a friend of mine from work.

At the moment Ray is in Canada on a six week adventure, gigging through the country, meeting artists and musicians and tourists and locals and having a jol.  Most importantly, he’s broadcasting his entire tour!  It’s a bit of an experiment of aqua’s, to see if we can tell this story in a transmedia way (that basically means telling little bits of the story across many online platforms) and I’d really like to involve my readers.

Click here, just listen to this song. If it doesn’t move you in any way, you cannot actually call yourself a human.  That’s Ray.  His voice?  It’s amazing.  Also, you hear the drums and the bass and all those beats?  They’re coming out of his mouth, all at the same time that he’s singing.  Yes folks, he makes all of those sounds himself.  Pretty fucking incredible!

So, how can you get involved?  Easily.

Join his page on Facebook.

Follow him on Twitter.

Read his blog.

Watch him on YouTube.

Listen to him on SoundCloud.

Look at him on Flickr.

And above all else, interact with him.  This journey is shaped by his followers.  If you think Ray needs to include in his next video the crew standing on their heads, it might just happen!  Get involved.  Get talking.  Get your friends opinions.  Get them to join his journey too.

For me and for Ray, this really would mean so much.

For the fellow bloggers out there, would you consider loading up the following badges?

Let me know if you’re keen.  I’ll mail you the code and even tell you how to get them on your blog.

Spread the word people, Ray will be the next Justin Bieber, only hotter, older and a better person. And like, a beat-boxing singer, not a hippity hop tween with a sucky voice.