Tuesday, November 28

Ah, such bliss is mine

mumps/mĘŚmps/ – noun (used with a singular verb) Pathology
an infectious disease characterized by inflammatory swelling of the parotid and usually other salivary glands, and sometimes by inflammation of the testes or ovaries, caused by a paramyxovirus.


mumps - noun
an infectious disease that simulates old age and retirement by subjecting its victims to daytime tv and soft vegetables

So. Watched Borat on Friday, climbed a mountain and rolled down hills on SaturDAY, felt a little glandy Saturday NIGHT, stayed in, went to bed. Woke up Sunday morning with the right side of my face swollen up like a very swollen up thing.

Drove in a daze of self-pity to M-KEM in Bellville - 25km away from Woodstock but with nice tannies and ordentlike susters - to get the verdicts from the Meneer Doktor.


I am thirty for godssakes. T H I R T Y.
This is only supposed to happen to children right?

oh god
and tv?? it's SO HORRIBLE. it's so very very horrible.

i currently know that:

  • dezi wants to buy the boutique but jan-hendrik isn't keen (can you say D I V O R C E)
  • marlyna is the killer and that psychic's vision is going to come true because john is going to shoot her
  • brooke is still a slut and that lard arse mother in law of hers, stephanie, still a frigid cow with hair issues (not to mention botox girl's splendiforous lips)
  • um what else...oh DALLAS yes...um i had no idea Bobby was so hard core and Priscella such a Little Miss Priss
  • all my children...Anna might've lost her baby.

and that's only since Sunday.


as some of you may or may not know, i have this falling down dead issue. being in the same family as a nasty childhood friend of mine, meningitis, mumps upsets me and requires me to drink my OMEGA 3s like a drunk on parole.

that's all i have to write for now. my jaw is stiffening up again and the chill setting in.

Fare Thee Well Fellow Bloggers.

Yours in Fever


Friday, November 24

The Black Hole

What you see here is The Terrible Bundle of Lost Things - what many have to know simply as The BAG. (I've included my mobile to validate size.)

My BAG is much like my CAR - a repository of crumpled and empty things, lying around for no other purpose than to irritate me and, more irritatingly, lying around for no other reason than I put it there.

My BAG has become an amusement to those around me - friends, family and strangers alike - and so I decided to peruse each item that has made its way into the various pockets and folds and to share with you the contents...

I challenge one and all to do the same - BAGS and MAGS (Man Bags) alike -


here are mine:

  • 1 x Nokia
  • 1 x wooden bangle
  • 6 x Narcissus bulbs
  • 1 x Beat up Haruki Murakami - The Elephant Vanishes
  • 1 x crumpled tissue of unknown origin
  • 1 x overdue Notice To Apply For New Credit Card Format Driving Licence (an unnecessarily long title for UPDATE DRIVER'S)
  • 1 x overdue car licence renewal
  • 1 x journal
  • 1 x diary
  • 1 x passport
  • 1 x yogazone time schedule
  • 1 x wallet
  • 4 x pens
  • 1 x pilot flexigrip (just the best pacer in the whole world)
  • 1 x partnerless pen lid
  • 1 x undeveloped film
  • 1 x unsent letter
  • 1 x herbal mooti
  • 2 x starking apple
  • 10 (TEN) x hairbands (for what purpose TEN hairbands - i know not)
  • 1 x seapoint shopright till slip
  • R7, 15 in small change
  • various small bits of paper
  • an olive pip

Cough up people - what you got hiding in your bags...

Wednesday, November 15


yoga this morning

each move, each posture compelling the sweat from my pores - the power of bikram compels you, wet demon (except now, instead of Father Marion, I've got Martha Stewart buddahism).
i will my body to cry it's salty tears; my eyes are dry. mostly.

i imagine that out of my blood, my skin, my bones, the poisons will be extracted and left inconsequent on my limp towel - all traces of alcohol, nicotine, caffeine; all those memories of you lying hidden in my marrow, my cells, my stomach slowly drawn out with each breath

- breathe in, lift your arms, bend forward, stretching out your back -

the converted office with soft lighting and wall-to-wall mirrors is an office still. it is not a stretch for the hungry mind to savour the memories that come to me today. a smaller room of course but an office still - emerald green mats for grey, stark flourescent light for soft yellow light, real humidity for imitation

- second set, breathe in, lift your arms, bend forward, keeping your head up -

my whole body is still full of you. patience

- release, breathe out -

let go. i don't resist the memories any more. instead i welcome each one, turning it around in my mind's eye and inspecting it from each angle. a mother to a child not seen for years. what changes are there? none. they are still as they are, only not anymore. and no longer mine.

- come up, breathe in, lift your arms, turn to the side, begin -

i feel my muscles pull and twist, catch and ease into the mat. i am off balance today. my eagle is wobbly and the bird lopsided

- into savassana -

the corpse pose.

if this was then and the carpets emerald green and the lights flourescent and white white, i would leave here by a heavy metal door, find my slippers amongst the pile and head downstairs into the busy morning outside. the incense from the temple next to the scooters and the stench of chicken shit from the garden opposite would catch my nose. up on my scooter, the rush of morning air only vaguely cool and heavy with exhaust fumes already, brings me to our metal door and you still sleeping

- get ready for a slow sit up, inhale as you come up -

now, i leave the soft light and the grey carpets to go out into the city alone. out on the sidewalk smokers stand crosslegged, on the street taxis fly past. now i have my car to drive away in and the crisp atlantic ocean to blow my mind clear

- namaste

Monday, November 13

Why Straight Girls Like Gay Clubs

I went to my first gay bar on Saturday. The occasion was a birthday and the night was balmy.
I was wearing heels.
I had been warned and intrigued about Bronx by many (it's a hole but just so much FUN x 78) and it was time to check it out.
This is what I came to understand about Why Straight Girls Like Gay Bars.

1. They play Dolly Parton remixes.
2. The barman make good eye candy and you can oogle without anyone thinking you're trying to pick them up.
3. You can sit at the bar by yourself without anyone thinking you're there to be picked up.
4. You can dance your little heart out without anyone sidling up to you or grabbing your arse.
5. Nobody gives a toss how you look or how you dance.

Point 4 could be debated though. I was having a ball until Bernard decided God had a plan by placing us in the same seedy joint and proceeded to try gettin' jiggy wit it with me.

Damn straight boys - just never around when you want them to be.