Ah we all have them. Fears of things. I have a few that strike me cold. I can rationalise where two of them come from. I have this fear of pneumonia - it comes from Mom and her stroke. In fact when I heard George Michael had pneumonia last week, I was most concerned. Was at the doctor yesterday and thankfully, I go to a practice that realises I'm slightly neurotic over that particular bug - so gave me a full check up. I guess, it's because Mom's wasn't diagnosed and then she ended up having a stroke which has changed our lives beyond comparison to what life was. Anyway, there's a fear that can be explained away.
My other fear is snakes. Seeing them on the tv, gives me shivers, makes me break out into a cold sweat and I'm frozen to the sofa (never a bad thing - I do love my sofa). But this is a new fear. I never used to be so scared of snakes. I was fascinated by them, have held more than a couple (in a controlled environment of course) but since I've had my son some 13 years ago, I'm absolutely petrified of them. I've had precisely two encounters with snakes where they have crept up on me and made me run screaming into the horizon, so it's not like they are a part of my life and wait outside for a chance to jump out at me. So what's the deal? I had to choose not to see Harry Potter in 3d because I was petrified of that huge snake lunging into my face....and that was a Hollywood snake - obviously more in love with Brazillians and fake tans than eating me.
Totally irrational. I check my toilet every night before I go to bed and have considered putting the child lock back on to it - I mean you hear stories of snakes finding their way through the pipes into houses that way...sneaky snakes slithering. I hope the older my son gets, the less I will fear snakes but it's not happening. It must be hormones? I know my mom was all of a sudden scared of heights after I was born. Could this be a contraceptive device? I could have another child and be scared of cupcakes!!
Wednesday 30 November 2011
Thursday 17 November 2011
Barbie sucks!
I'd like to say I'm done, but I doubt I ever will be. There are steps I can take to be 'done', but I took them once and now look, I'm back where I began. And I don't want to take the steps again.
What I want is to lose that bit of my heart which thinks too much, that wants too much. That bit that aspires to heights that quite frankly, are never going to be reached. You can dress up a mannequin in as many pretty outfits and fancy wigs as you like, to make her look real and fabulous. But it's only ever going to be a plastic doll. I feel like that Barbie.
Hmm think I'm having a huge come down off the meds that were meant to make me sleepy, but have kept me awake for the last 4 days. Still, I've been very amusing in the run up to the come down.
Swings, roundabouts... it's how I roll.
What I want is to lose that bit of my heart which thinks too much, that wants too much. That bit that aspires to heights that quite frankly, are never going to be reached. You can dress up a mannequin in as many pretty outfits and fancy wigs as you like, to make her look real and fabulous. But it's only ever going to be a plastic doll. I feel like that Barbie.
Hmm think I'm having a huge come down off the meds that were meant to make me sleepy, but have kept me awake for the last 4 days. Still, I've been very amusing in the run up to the come down.
Swings, roundabouts... it's how I roll.
Wednesday 16 November 2011
MissJ
I met MissJ nearly a month ago. A chance meeting, on a canoe in the sea, in a country neither of us live in. And although I haven't known her for long - golly gosh, I love that chick.
I cannot imagine a time when I did not know this woman. Anyway, today we had this whatsapp chat (not just us but that's another blog for another time - nothing like keeping your readers on their toes to come back!) and it was just so gigglicious and funny and made me snort out loud on more than one occasion. It was also rather educational but I digress. I came away from that little group session with the most enormous smile on my face and a sense that MissJ is going to be a friend for life.
She's the gal you really wish you were, all curls (Is this a requirement if you want to be my friend? Is there a friends required site for Ali and only curly-locked people need apply?) and smiles and chat. She's the one in a crowded room who will make sure all the shy folk are up and dancing on the tables! I love that in a person.
She's also a straight talker (clearly another one requirement on the CV of my friends). I know that if we lived nearer, we'd be bouncing out of each others pockets.
So what made us 'click'? It wasn't just the holiday vibe or the ease in which facebook lets you keep connected. Because in truth I facebook friended two others from that holiday and have no real intentions of seeing them (in fact the one got my girl hackles in a spin... that 6th sense feeling). I do think it was fate. I do think there was a hand in the remarkable coincidences that kept us meeting up with her and her uber-lovely M. And that we gelled so well. I'll never be able to hear YMCA without wanting to break out into shapes that, in no way, resemble the letter 'Y', 'M', 'C' & 'A'.
People come in and out of your life all the time. The people you keep in it, are to enrich your own life and to help you grow. MissJ has joined the group of people that enrich me.
And wow! this sounds like a major love-fest and suck up. But sometimes you just need to tell people who they are in your life.
Also MissJ reminds me of my N - not just the curly hair (because that's obviously the No1 thing I look for in a friend) but the zest for living and life.
I cannot imagine a time when I did not know this woman. Anyway, today we had this whatsapp chat (not just us but that's another blog for another time - nothing like keeping your readers on their toes to come back!) and it was just so gigglicious and funny and made me snort out loud on more than one occasion. It was also rather educational but I digress. I came away from that little group session with the most enormous smile on my face and a sense that MissJ is going to be a friend for life.
She's the gal you really wish you were, all curls (Is this a requirement if you want to be my friend? Is there a friends required site for Ali and only curly-locked people need apply?) and smiles and chat. She's the one in a crowded room who will make sure all the shy folk are up and dancing on the tables! I love that in a person.
She's also a straight talker (clearly another one requirement on the CV of my friends). I know that if we lived nearer, we'd be bouncing out of each others pockets.
So what made us 'click'? It wasn't just the holiday vibe or the ease in which facebook lets you keep connected. Because in truth I facebook friended two others from that holiday and have no real intentions of seeing them (in fact the one got my girl hackles in a spin... that 6th sense feeling). I do think it was fate. I do think there was a hand in the remarkable coincidences that kept us meeting up with her and her uber-lovely M. And that we gelled so well. I'll never be able to hear YMCA without wanting to break out into shapes that, in no way, resemble the letter 'Y', 'M', 'C' & 'A'.
People come in and out of your life all the time. The people you keep in it, are to enrich your own life and to help you grow. MissJ has joined the group of people that enrich me.
And wow! this sounds like a major love-fest and suck up. But sometimes you just need to tell people who they are in your life.
Also MissJ reminds me of my N - not just the curly hair (because that's obviously the No1 thing I look for in a friend) but the zest for living and life.
Hair to nail polish
When I'm chatting on the phone, I find my hands get a bit lost and are bored. Now that I don't smoke, I have to find other ways to occupy them.
Last night, I was on the phone to *gosh it's hard to think of alias' for everyone* L2 when my little eye spied something beginning with N. The nails needed a touch up of Golden Twilight - which is sort of a black/purple nailpolish with flecks of gold in it.
While chattering away, I touched up the one hand, and then tried to do the other. But while I'm female and therefore, multi-tasking should come natural, last night I lost it a bit. I do feel shame and I am mortified and I shall repent at my leisure.
In my left shoulder I had the phone, I was talking and laughing (as we do), I was painting my left hand, when I got an itch on my hairline. Before I realised what I was doing, I had scratched my itch.
I did do a quick check, but this is the quick drying stuff.
Phone call finished, and off I trotted to bed. Woke up, had a shower, went to work. It was only after I had gone through security doors, said hello to several people, gone to the canteen and come back did someone tell me I had Golden Twilight (which isn't golden at all, very much an emphasis on the twilight) on my chin/jawbone.
That was cleaned up fairly quickly.
Last night, I was on the phone to *gosh it's hard to think of alias' for everyone* L2 when my little eye spied something beginning with N. The nails needed a touch up of Golden Twilight - which is sort of a black/purple nailpolish with flecks of gold in it.
While chattering away, I touched up the one hand, and then tried to do the other. But while I'm female and therefore, multi-tasking should come natural, last night I lost it a bit. I do feel shame and I am mortified and I shall repent at my leisure.
In my left shoulder I had the phone, I was talking and laughing (as we do), I was painting my left hand, when I got an itch on my hairline. Before I realised what I was doing, I had scratched my itch.
I did do a quick check, but this is the quick drying stuff.
Phone call finished, and off I trotted to bed. Woke up, had a shower, went to work. It was only after I had gone through security doors, said hello to several people, gone to the canteen and come back did someone tell me I had Golden Twilight (which isn't golden at all, very much an emphasis on the twilight) on my chin/jawbone.
That was cleaned up fairly quickly.
It wasn't until some 3 hours later when I realised I had Twilight Highlights as well. And black on blonde is not really such a hot look for me. It's not one I'll attempt again! Did not take a picture of the hair/face paint but here's a picture of the colour (sort of). It's a pretty crappy brand in that it always chips after one day of use. Just while I'm saying: Avon you suck a bit at nailpolish wear and tear.
Tuesday 8 November 2011
Mama and the Octopus
Let me set the scene. It's 1993 and it's a Sunday. I'm 19 and under duress, I am at the beach with my parents. It's a lovely place to be with lots of alcoves and chalets and stuff, and we've been here often. It's a favourite family place. But I'm 19 and want to be around family like I want snow in December. Not a lot. If you want, you could google map Beachview, Port Elizabeth. There are rocks, from which clever people get all sorts of mussels and oysters etc. My mother never normally joined us out on the rocks. Mainly because it takes her HOURS to delicately make her way over the jagged rocks and also because getting her trainers mucky isn't something she does.
However, on this day, the allure of oysters is just too great and some 3 hours later, she joins us in foraging.
Dad is about 10 jagged rocks to the right, Mom has one foot in a paddling pool between two steep rocks. The other foot is on a rock. I'm arsing about on the top of mother's rock as I'm far too cool to be a hunter gatherer. I'm better at watching waves.
I hear my mother giggling and saying 'Oh stop it John' (my dad) and 'Oh that tickles, stop it' and then: 'OW' so I look over- and my dad is still 20 metres away. I ask the woman "Who ARE you talking to, Daddy is over there?" - I probably did an eye roll - I was 19 like that.
She looks up, she looks down.... and she SCREAMS! Loudly! So loud that Dad comes bounding over the rocks like Bambi on speed.
With one more mighty shriek, she lifts up the leg that's in the rock pool and there's a great big octopus dangling off it. (I say 'great big' but like any sea faring story, the octopus size increases with each telling of the tale)
She kicks it with such force that not even *insert a fine goalkeeper name here* would have been able to save it.
Said octopus goes flying in Daddy's direction (he ducks, the crowd goes wild!)
Mother then scrabbles up rock face, crying and screaming all at once. Her lovely painted long nails are shredded by the time she gets to me. She grabs me, clings to me, whelping like a puppy: "mommy mommy mommy" over and over again. It's like she's trying to climb ONTO my head.
Took us nearly an hour to get her over about 10 rocks. Like a limpet she was, clinging to us. A few cups of tea and she stopped calling for her mommy.
No one ever enquired after the octopus but Mom does have a little scar on her ankle from the experience.
And that's some 17 years ago now and it still remains the family story that makes me cackle like a hyena every time I tell it. Consider it shared!
However, on this day, the allure of oysters is just too great and some 3 hours later, she joins us in foraging.
Dad is about 10 jagged rocks to the right, Mom has one foot in a paddling pool between two steep rocks. The other foot is on a rock. I'm arsing about on the top of mother's rock as I'm far too cool to be a hunter gatherer. I'm better at watching waves.
I hear my mother giggling and saying 'Oh stop it John' (my dad) and 'Oh that tickles, stop it' and then: 'OW' so I look over- and my dad is still 20 metres away. I ask the woman "Who ARE you talking to, Daddy is over there?" - I probably did an eye roll - I was 19 like that.
She looks up, she looks down.... and she SCREAMS! Loudly! So loud that Dad comes bounding over the rocks like Bambi on speed.
With one more mighty shriek, she lifts up the leg that's in the rock pool and there's a great big octopus dangling off it. (I say 'great big' but like any sea faring story, the octopus size increases with each telling of the tale)
She kicks it with such force that not even *insert a fine goalkeeper name here* would have been able to save it.
Said octopus goes flying in Daddy's direction (he ducks, the crowd goes wild!)
Mother then scrabbles up rock face, crying and screaming all at once. Her lovely painted long nails are shredded by the time she gets to me. She grabs me, clings to me, whelping like a puppy: "mommy mommy mommy" over and over again. It's like she's trying to climb ONTO my head.
Took us nearly an hour to get her over about 10 rocks. Like a limpet she was, clinging to us. A few cups of tea and she stopped calling for her mommy.
No one ever enquired after the octopus but Mom does have a little scar on her ankle from the experience.
And that's some 17 years ago now and it still remains the family story that makes me cackle like a hyena every time I tell it. Consider it shared!
Sunday 6 November 2011
Dear Ri
6 March 1984 I wrote my first entry in my first ever diary. Gillian Anderson (not the X-Files lady) gave it to me for my birthday @ my Mike's Kitchen birthday party. And so the next 27 years were borne. lol
I gave my diary a name. It seemed like the right thing to do. And I still start my entries as I did that first one. Like I'm writing to someone. What do I call my diary. Well, even at age 10, I didn't want to be like everyone else and write (ho hum yawn) "Dear Diary". So I called her Ri. Say it aloud. See what I did? Looking back, I do think it's rather clever of my 10 year old self to do.
I wrote gibberish that first year, full of mooning over Magnum and George Michael and my friend T and I running all over the neighbourhood. The next two years are spent wondering why all the boys on their BMX's loved T and not me. Truth is, at age 11 and now, she is stunning and I was/am the shorter than average, freckled chubby cheeked brat!
I look back at those entries and cry with laughter. In 1986, I got my first kiss - this entry has been read out on GMTV by Richard and Judy (oh the heights of fame!) and it makes me giggle "Today M kissed me, on the mouth, with his lips, open - wow!"
1987 we hit high school - entry of the naive 13 year old has to be "H asked me if I'd ever given anyone a BJ. I dunno, have I? I'm not sure.Will have to ask Catty on the weekend". H being a girl in boarding school who probably gave them for breakfast, and Catty being my long-suffering aunt. 1987 is the start of much peer pressure on both sides of a coin, bitchiness and angst. And wanting boys who didn't notice me. But best of all, making friends who have lasted the distance and years.
1988 - I do dislike reading this year. It's the year I tried so very hard to fit in and be cool and failed oh so miserably. It's a year when I pissed off my mother, my family and burnt friendships at a glance. But also parts are so much fun like when TSG and I got grounded for two weeks at a time regulary. Fab groundings when everyone came to visit us!
I'm so glad I keep a diary. It's not the same as it was back then, I write now more about how I feel, when I feel like it, not so much an everyday affair. But the diaries back then are more like scrapbooks before they became the 'thing to do' that they are now. They are filled with momento's and dates and all the important stuff a teenager wants to remember. I have a menthol cigarette stuck in my diary in 1990 from a friend, 50c that we picked up. Condom wrappers from a 'jiffy' that L put inbetween the train doors. Bet she doesn't remember that. lol
And if you had me as a friend back then, then you could ask me what you did on a certain day and I'd probably be able to tell you.
I guess I'm the historian of my friends. Shall we get remembering?
I gave my diary a name. It seemed like the right thing to do. And I still start my entries as I did that first one. Like I'm writing to someone. What do I call my diary. Well, even at age 10, I didn't want to be like everyone else and write (ho hum yawn) "Dear Diary". So I called her Ri. Say it aloud. See what I did? Looking back, I do think it's rather clever of my 10 year old self to do.
I wrote gibberish that first year, full of mooning over Magnum and George Michael and my friend T and I running all over the neighbourhood. The next two years are spent wondering why all the boys on their BMX's loved T and not me. Truth is, at age 11 and now, she is stunning and I was/am the shorter than average, freckled chubby cheeked brat!
I look back at those entries and cry with laughter. In 1986, I got my first kiss - this entry has been read out on GMTV by Richard and Judy (oh the heights of fame!) and it makes me giggle "Today M kissed me, on the mouth, with his lips, open - wow!"
1987 we hit high school - entry of the naive 13 year old has to be "H asked me if I'd ever given anyone a BJ. I dunno, have I? I'm not sure.Will have to ask Catty on the weekend". H being a girl in boarding school who probably gave them for breakfast, and Catty being my long-suffering aunt. 1987 is the start of much peer pressure on both sides of a coin, bitchiness and angst. And wanting boys who didn't notice me. But best of all, making friends who have lasted the distance and years.
1988 - I do dislike reading this year. It's the year I tried so very hard to fit in and be cool and failed oh so miserably. It's a year when I pissed off my mother, my family and burnt friendships at a glance. But also parts are so much fun like when TSG and I got grounded for two weeks at a time regulary. Fab groundings when everyone came to visit us!
I'm so glad I keep a diary. It's not the same as it was back then, I write now more about how I feel, when I feel like it, not so much an everyday affair. But the diaries back then are more like scrapbooks before they became the 'thing to do' that they are now. They are filled with momento's and dates and all the important stuff a teenager wants to remember. I have a menthol cigarette stuck in my diary in 1990 from a friend, 50c that we picked up. Condom wrappers from a 'jiffy' that L put inbetween the train doors. Bet she doesn't remember that. lol
And if you had me as a friend back then, then you could ask me what you did on a certain day and I'd probably be able to tell you.
I guess I'm the historian of my friends. Shall we get remembering?
Numbers
So I was talking to the gals the other day.... and it was that age old chat about how many is too many. People to sleep with I mean. And the double standards. When a man informs you that he is almost into triple figures, you gasp a bit and then laugh. When a woman informs you of the same fact, why do we gasp and then think 'tad slutty'. Is it because as a woman, the majority invest quite a lot of emotion into sex? And you wonder how much emotion have you lost by sharing it with half the world?
And I've come to the conclusion that there is no 'acceptable' number - if indeed you can remember your number. If you are happy, then be happy. I've also come to the conclusion that EVERYTHING is a 'memory maker' and when you can sit in your rocking chair age 90 and go 'well back in 1991, there was this one boy..and in 2003 I met this chap.', then you have lived and living is good.
While I'm thinking and typing, isn't it also a bit rude to ask 'numbers' of people? And maybe it's better not to know, I'm not sure I want to share my body with someone who's been around all the blocks twice. Yes for sure, they're probably damn good at what they do but in all other areas of my life, I thrive on the unique experience, not one where half the town goes 'oh yeah, I did that'.
Mind babble over...
And I've come to the conclusion that there is no 'acceptable' number - if indeed you can remember your number. If you are happy, then be happy. I've also come to the conclusion that EVERYTHING is a 'memory maker' and when you can sit in your rocking chair age 90 and go 'well back in 1991, there was this one boy..and in 2003 I met this chap.', then you have lived and living is good.
While I'm thinking and typing, isn't it also a bit rude to ask 'numbers' of people? And maybe it's better not to know, I'm not sure I want to share my body with someone who's been around all the blocks twice. Yes for sure, they're probably damn good at what they do but in all other areas of my life, I thrive on the unique experience, not one where half the town goes 'oh yeah, I did that'.
Mind babble over...
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