So a few things happened this weekend…

At the check in counter on Friday evening, the stupid woman accused me of being pregnant because I walked up to her with my bag covering my tummy.  She instantly killed my flying mojo and I found myself sucking in my tummy until I touched down in Durban an hour later.

I beat my brothers by sixty points at 10pin bowling.  Sure, one of them has been shot in the brain before and the other was about a millionty seven beers in, but I beat them fair and square.

A little kid stole my tickets from playing Big Bertha – I rocked that kids arcade.  And my plastic horse (Lucky Dube) came in first.

Go carting is my new purpose in life.  I’ve told Jon that we have an agenda every weekend for the next seven years.  To go-cart.  Mine on Saturday night had no brakes, it was extreme and soooo much fun.

I have a tattoo!  Oh my god! After hours and hours of unsuccessful image transfers to my skin, I eventually designed and drew my own onto my skin with a pen.  It was then inked into my skin by my ever-learning mother.  She’s been going through a rough patch lately and to distract herself she does what she has always done, immerses herself in her latest hobby.  This one is tattooing.  With the needles and ink, the real mackoy.  Except you can only tattoo yourself so many times before it gets boring, so now she tattoos anyone with a pulse if they stand still long enough.  I was one of those people this weekend.

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So I’m quite chuffed with how it came out.  The colour looks a lot darker that its supposed to, it should eventually settle on being the pink from this very blog, but that’s because of, you know, the blood.  I bled like a stuck pig.  But I watched the entire process of branding my skin permanently with a morbid fascination not unlike that of Jews everywhere visiting concentration camps of ancestors passed. The design will thin out a lot, I’m told, and the true colour should start appearing within a week or so.  Also, this took place at 4am.  See why insomniacs should never be left alone with their wayward mothers?  Ya.  I’ve made my point.

Got stuck at Durban airport yesterday, after years of nearly always missing my flight, it finally happened.  My arrangaholic boyfriend would have never let this happen, but you know – sometimes us girls just have to do these things for ourselves.  Not.  I was put on standby for the next two flights and sat in the spur and got pickled with my siblings.  And then high, on painkillers for my tattoo.

Once I finally got back to Jozi, I channeled my inner gangster, plugged in my iPod speakers, sat under my hoodie with hair in my eyes and listened to Faithless on full volume whilst landing the plane and tackling the Jozi airport mayhem.  When I saw Jon I wanted to cry I was so relieved.  I hadn’t slept since Friday, my arm was sore, my feet had blisters (new shoes – they suck) and my head was buzzing.  I looked like a heroine addict, but he loved me back anyway and patted my shoulders as I tried to climb up his body to rest while he carried me through the airport traffic on his shoulders.  But not really.

I’m still on myprodol, can you tell?

Yay, it’s Mondaze!

12 comments

  1. cath says:

    you sound like me. so much like me. wowsers. love you my non-scissoring sister. tell your mom im available for inking 🙂 xxx

  2. Shebee says:

    Cath – dude, she’s so clever! I was seriously impressed, she works quickly and accurately and stays calm when I started freaking out about A NEEDLE GOING INTO MY SKIN. I mean, emo goth girls have nothing on me now.

    Angel – oh yes, was an awesome weekend.

  3. Tara says:

    I so remember Big Bertha from my arcade days…jirre, i remember when she was a new addition, it was fekking exciting!

    Love the ink dude. The best part about it is that because mumsy did it and everything it’ll mean more to you than some intricate full sleeve design by a random.

  4. CC says:

    gee it’s cool your mom did it (might make it more tempting to get more done when you see her?), I have a tattoo on the exact same place but on my right wrist 🙂 got it 10 years ago, a word in chinese, I feel so dumb around chinese people, I try and hide my wrist :/ but hey at least I loved it for the first few years 😛

    I like the initials at the bottom, makes it forever meaningful and special.

  5. cath says:

    ps youre a tit re: your flight. fucking hilarious tho. postitboy said:

    “um, is this normal sheena behaviour?”

    i canned. totally.

    X

  6. mom says:

    I gob smacked Sheen let me do it but she was very brave. Sheena I told you no photos re braless you little bag. Love you Fifi XXX

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