All Up in Smoke

Do you ever feeeeeel as if you don't actually know how you feel?  You're feeling something.  But the feelings you're feeling?  You can't put a name on them?  And you're feeling and you're feeling and.....

Great!  I've confused myself even more, which is fine.  I'm forty.  Instant forgiveness.  When you get to my age, remember the three F's.  @*#?!/:(#.  O_O!  Oooooooooops!  Not those...those do come in handy at times, for the taxi drivers on the road, A-HEM....but?!?  I was referring to thessssse...Fine, forty, forgiveness. 

Baaaaaack to the matter at hand.  This confused feelings issue...Is it a woman thing? 

A human thing? 

F-feel free to jump in at any time. 

A full moon thing? 

Aaaaaaaaaaaargh!

YOH-YOH!  That's it!  It's an aaaaaaaaaaargh thing!   -_-  I've no idea why I just said, "Yoh-yoh!"  Probably these hip-hop dance clothes I'm wearing.  They turn you gangsta.  LOL...I can hear Geese right now, " Ohhhh yeah!  You’re gangsta!  Meanwhile?  Let a cockroach come-a-crawling...You’ll be a gangsta, running and hiding behind me!"  Hahahahhahaha!

And see?  This is why I enjoy writing.  It allows you to sort through the uncertainties that have been plaguing you for days and weeks.  You get to throw some suggestions out there, hope someone, somewhere is reading.  Until something clicks and you find yourself yelling, “YOH-YOH!” and blaming your clothing.

I was excited okayyyy.......'Cause those are the types of conversations I've been having with myself lately.   Just,...."Why did I....Aaaaaaaaargh!"  "Sometimes you reallllllllly...Aaaaaaargh!"  "@+?#*?@ Aaaaaaaaargh! I woke up!"  

Deep, huh? 

Enthralling?!   

No?

Aaaaaaaaaarghy? 

Hey!  Come-onnnnnnnn now.  I gotta get ready for work, you can't have me sitting here all morning tryna find a suitable word for the types of conversations I have with myself.  How about we just go with...with, aaaaaaaarghy...conversations?  Protest all you want.  It’s my blog.  I get to choose.  Nevermind, you have them too.  You just never knew until now....see?  We're here...(Two finger motion from my infected eyes to yours, I don't know if yours are infected, so I just said, yours.....I'm not here to offend....two finger motion from blah blah blah...to portray understanding between two people).

Sitting here.  I've become somewhat of a chain smoker.  My poor lungs.  “Lungs?  I’m very sorry for being this abusive.”  I guess I should make a note that those are to be excluded from my organ donation.  Sigh.  It might sound as if I’m taking this lightly, but the truth is that I know I need to stop smoking.  But like all bad habits are?  Possessive.  Smoking is too.  If your will is not as strong as it should be?  Nicotine easily becomes one of your best friends.  While it slowwwwwwwly kills you...dead.      

I'm not alone too.  Well?  I am.  Alone.  Geese is farrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.  But I'm not, in this whole smoking thing.  We were chatting on the soccer grounds and the subject of smoking came up where?  While I'd already come to the like conclusion?  Hehehehe, sounds cute huh?  Like conclusion.  One of the ladies admitted that, it's her company.  She's a single mother, just like I am.  Lives with her son.  And I whispered to myself, no.  My mind whispered to myself.  Before you think I go around whispering to myself in public...."Thannnnnnnnk goodness!  I'm not going crazy, afterall!" 

Funny thing is?  I thought that I was and I found myself blogging about the very same thing about two weeks ago and then?  Promptly, deleted everything I’d typed.  I can't tell you why.  Hmmmmmmmmm, actually?  No, I can.  I thought I was crazy for thinking that because I was lonely?  You know how it is when you have no adult company.  When you have no company other than those you bore?  Where all I seem to be doing with one is schoolwork, my earned complimentary teachers degree should be ready and waiting for me after this year is out.........and the other one has bound herself to her girl cave and only emerges when it is time to eat, shower or tell me something funny that Summer did during the day.  Maybe I should remove her door? 

I'm cooking. 

Not now.  Now, I'm on my way to work.  Not to worrrrrry, Wendy's driving.  I’m talking about the evening that I realized that I was in the midst of having a special relationship with my Kent...Specials.  I'm cookinnnnnng, stir, stir, stir...bang, bang, bang (the sound of the spoon against the rim of the pot)....close the pot and I sit down.  I’m looking around and the kitchen cupboards appeared to have been about to say something but then shut back up.  They were like, “We’re hanging.  That’s more than we can say for anyone else you know.”  At that point, somewhere inside of me hoped that the cutlery would start a little tête-à-tête, but they too, were pleading the 5^th. 

I musta just finished smoke a cigarette about twenty minutes before everything in my kitchen felt just cold and unfriendly.  Dunno what I expected from wood and metal, but anyway.  I light another cigarette and stare outa the kitchen window.  Can you see it in your mind's eye?  Okay, good.  Lemme tell you something.  Even if you forgot?  The burn in your throat will quickly let you know, “You just smoked fool!  What are you doing, lighting up another cigarette?”  Wendy and I sometimes look at each other, “You know?  We’re just being greedy.  We just smoked.”  Why?  Because our throats are on fire to the point where neither of us are even enjoying that cigarette, but habit and nicotine greed threw us down the stairs and outa the building, and there we are....smoking again.

It was in the kitchen, on that quiet night, while my throat was ablaze, that I admitted to myself that I’m using these cigarettes as compensation for the fact that I feel lonesome.  Which is...not...good.  I found myself being forced to start writing about it there and then and even as I sit here now, writing this?  I still remember how I started that blog too....sitting alone on a swivel chair, smoking....

And lemme just say this.  I’m not as much, whining about the fact that I’m lonely, I made the choices that got me to this point.  This is about, you annnnnd me, taking that first step to honestly look at our addictions and work through the reasons, we have them.  Maybe from there, we can go to the next step...I don’t know yet what that is...Have I stopped smoking?  Not.  Yet!  Maybe the next step then, would be to, one day at a time, try to reduce our interaction with whatever it is that we’re compensating with.  Until finally, we don’t need them anymore.

The Eye of the Rambler

This....is either pink-eyes or eye-flu. O_o! Yep! I said, eye-flu. I currently have the flu, so? (Shrug) I'm just assuming that that's what's going on with my eyes. When you have a headache in your eyeballs and they're swollen and red...it probably is eye-flu. That, ofcourse is my expert opinion and a diagnosis you can trust. Having had forty years on and off experience with influenza. And then? I'm fluent in having eyes too? When you consider both-a-those? My opinion can't be anything short of expert.

Eh! At this point, with the way everything's been going? I wouldn't put it pass my eyes to get the flu. Stranger things have happened. Remember that stranger thing that happened? I don't either right now but this comes close enough....My director? Sick too, went to the doctor yesterday and when he was done, his bbm status read..."Diagnosed with post-flu, apparently I had the flu last week...O_O!" I thought that was hilarious. So I laughed. I laugh when things are hilarious. Imagine if I cried? Yeahhhhh, I do when it's a hearty one. But I'm talking about crying crying. I'd be spending most of my time sobbing because if there is anything in this world that I love doing. It's laughing.

Reminds me of the day Geese took me to Baltimore Pike! We laughed almost our entire trip. The trolley ride there....? And I'm sohhh glad that he recorded the whole thing because those are memories we will have forever and watch and watch until we can recite it word for word. Nnnnnnnnnnnnn.......Trust me though, to have asked him to delete a little piece out of it, just to come home. 'Cause he made me a copy. And I mean to goddamm South Africa! To find that the sound disappeared after the deleted part. >_<!

But? Just shows that if my boss can be sick this week but he had the flu last week? Eye-flu? Influeyenza. Would certainly not be surprising.

Doesn't help that Damon and I sat up 'til 11pm and were forced to close the books. By then we'd done all of the fractions that our eyes would allow. Mine were aching. He? Was beginning to resemble a cross-eyed Chinese. We've had better looking days. Nights. THAT I can tell you. No offence intended. I'm feeling the need to re-iterate. I'm not saying that Chinese are cross-eyed. I'm just saying that he resembled one. If one were cross-eyed. Without a doubt, the fractions were to blame. Maths always is. 'Cause...after a while, his eyes were narrowing and starting an argument with each other. So he looked like...

You know what? Truth is? He looked like a near cross-eyed Coloured. 'Cause some of my people look Chinese too and that?!? That's the beauty of a Coloured. Our unique ability to resemble other nationalities, without actually being them. Fine. China. Some of us, well not me. My son. Before the fractions ruined our evening. Some of us look like Chris Brown too. Who sings, Fine China. Everything links...see? But whether you call that beauty or a lack of unique identity? I don't know. What I do know is that there is beauty in diversity and that's what the Coloured nation has an abundance of. From the facial features, to the skin colours, to the hair types, to the blood lines...

Think I need to step away from this phone screen now though. It's not helping my influeyenza. Who needs a doctor when you're the Rambler.

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Sensible Nonsense

It's 5.30am on this chilly side of the world.

Yesterday, I watched a you-tube with this little four-year old kid singing Bruno Mars' songs on Ellen. He had to have been the cutest little boy I've ever seen. Except for my own. We're biased like that, us parents, aren't we. Even if our kids come out looking like ET, we're right there, starry eyed and mushy talking about how beautiful they are. And we're not lying too. That's exactly how we do see them. Beautiful little ET's.

But it was adorable and funny and....uhhhhh? Now that I think about it. Somewhat disturbing. At four, Kai seemed to have been very passionate about hoping that his ex-girlfriends new boyfriend was doing all the things he never did but should have, when he was her man. But when what was meant to be funny, broke my heart like it did? I knew I was in trouble. Inside of me? I've been here before and it's not pretty.

I can't explain why I do the things I do. Recently? I've made some foolish choices. Recently? Well, a bit longer than that, actually. Said things I really wish I could take back and swallow and never utter again. Did things I knew better than to do. There's probably a name for it. Stupidity Idiotic Syndrome....probably. Doing them made sense at the time, which is the worst part. Right now, though? Nothing does.

On my road to....wherever I'm going....I feel like the only first sensible step I can take is to apologise to the one constant source of just...everything....in my life. Because he is. And I've been less than appreciative of that, and of him.

I'm sorry, Geese, for everything.
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Seclusion

She searches for her silent place
Her retreat, a seclusion of sorts
No whispers yelling into her face
Without scathing retorts
The world is too crowded
Sometimes too cruel, too black
She ventured into lands once avoided
Now trying to find her way back
Parts of her, there, will remain
She will return not as she left
A little less of her, a little the same
Her journey back becomes a quest
"Show me who I am"
Her inner voice stutters to quiet
She feels pride clouded by shame
"I can't give up, yet I'm ready to quit"
Her own hands cover her face
"I didn't mean to turn out this way"
A step closer to a darker space

The Rambler
21 May 2013
South Africa


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Ahhhhhhhhh

:-/ 4.47am is currently my #1 enemy. Don...don't ask. O_o! I have no excuse for that alarm time. Not a valid one, at least. It just is. Like some things are. Then they change, totally outa the blue. And then? It's what they were.

Nothing wrong with a quick demonstration of past and present tense. You'll thank me one day. Uh-huh! You will. You will remember this blog post when the day comes and you're looking over your shoulder with sweet pleading confusion. Fully aware that yesterday won't be standing there, wearing bellbottom jeans and pink Chuck Taylor's, waving back at you...but you hope. Still. You hope it will at least meet you halfway with an answer to, "How did I not see THAT coming?!?"

The sooner we face the reality that it's wasted reflection to keep harassing ourselves with questions, we will never fully be able to answer, at that time. The better. Life has a way of throwing us off cliffs when we're taking too long to jump off of them, ourselves.

Sometimes, it forces you into places where you have no choice but to look back at what you haven't been able to see, while IN a certain situation. That doesn't apply solely to one particular situation. It applies to all. In order to get you to that "outside looking in" position, it had to remove you from it in order to alter your view.

I'm no psychologist. By any means. I'm just an insignificant ol' Rambler adding my two cents worth of what I've experienced throughout my life. I'm just saying, don't keep asking "What have I done in my life for this to keep happening...?" "Am I such a bad person, that this had to happen to me ...?" Who exactly are you expecting to answer that question?

Days, weeks, months, at times years, pass with you still anchored to the same spot because you couldn't move on until you were satisfied that your "why" question was answered. To your liking. When it might just be that whatever it was that you were a part of, was what was bad. Not you.

When you won't take the blinders off, yourself. Life will do it for you. When an intervention is needed. Life will do it for you.

Whether it's to avoid physical harm by causing you to reach home a bit late? You're running late at work? It aggravates you to the point of facial distortion because you have to be home at a certain hour? You're mumbling bitter-nothings under your breath about whomever it was that caused the delay. But then you pass a spot on the road, within your everyday route home and see a fatal accident? And think....that could have been me.

Be it to avoid emotional harm by removing you from a union that you're a part of. Example: You're part of a relationship where you find yourself constantly having to change who you are because of your partners own ideals of what is wrong and right while in the same breath he/she tells you how much they like who they are and won't change any part of themselves? Something goes on, and usually over a change you can't make. You part ways. You then begin to realize that what he/she actually loved most about you were the parts of yourself that you have changed. Not actually, who you were. Your eyes open to the realization that all you were doing throughout, was working your ass off to gain their acceptance.

I could go on and on but I gotta get to work......that job you didn't get, that home you didn't qualify to buy, that function you didn't make it to. If you take a second to think back, there will almost always be an "Ahhhhhhh" moment, where you see, no matter how opposed to it you were, no matter how aggravated by it you were, no matter how depressed about it you were? You see exactly why something HAD to happen.
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Footprints on the Soul

Life...

Whatever is it about? Luckily, for you, I haven't been ducktaped and locked away in a padded room for expressing my humble and sometimes not-so-humble opinions....yet, so lemme share with you, once more...before they get any closer.

Yesterday was somewhat of an emotional day. I went to bed the night before feeling kinda cranky and lost and just....up in the air. Could be because I slept, hanging from my bedroom fan. Or was I dreaming? Think I just might be onto something here. If I wasssss dreaming...then I wassssss sleeping...but was I hanging? And was Mr. Cooper with me? I'm confused. Either way, after I woke from doing what I'm not sure I was doing, with Mr. Cooper...and my ceiling fan.

Morning bloomed! Damon's lunch made itself! Correction. That was Friday. I'm not even kidding. On a Friday? I hand him money. And a miracle happens. I don't have to scratch my head about what to make him for lunch. Here, we call it tuck. I also call it, TGIF! >_<! I? I'm going to ignore everything I just said. My plan was to be profound but as usual I somehow end up with things like miracle lunches and hanging upside down with comedians. We have bats for that, ugly bastards. I will never believe that God created those...those things. A-hem...and now? Where was I? Composure is key when scrolling up and reminding yourself.

Yeah!!!!

So I woke up. I'm wide awake. I see a Facebook notification on my cellphone...open it? And I have a message from Nehemiah Woody. If Geese recalls, I called him over to the computer every so often to look at some of the pictures he'd posted. We had giggled if not laughed out loud to more than a few of them. As far as Nehemiah? He's not a friend that I grew up with. Not a friend that I've coffee'd with. Coffee gives me acne. He's not a friend that I've even met. But he is a friend, no less.

All the way through my journey on Facebook? I've come across anti-social-media people who've expressed their dislike for these sites....where it was, social media this and social media that! I think.....soosh! I mean...shoosh! Not because I'm rude. But because the reality is this. Not evvvvvvvvvverything, is for everybody. You say tomatoe, I say chocolate. Mine tastes better and doesn't instigate gout....A-hem! I couldn't resist. But guess what?

When I woke to Nehemiah's message where he explained that he was going through his FB friends list and letting them know how they've in some way, made an impression on his life?

Yes, I meant, on...To say that I am honoured, is an understatement. He called mine, his "Stacy Kell moment". And this is what he said, Fine print: (kindly note that permission has been granted for me to share this)

"Hope you are well. I've been writing the past few days and I thought about you. So here's my Stacy Kell moment (I'm going thru my friends list and letting people know what I think about them) I had just gotten a message from my niece that she missed me and I got sad. I posted about it and you talked to me on here all night. Love you and I hope you know how much that meant to me."

I don't know about you. But to me.....That is what life is all about.....not only is it about counting your blessings rather than your pain. I'm trying to get there. But more importantly, it's about the footprints you leave on somebody's soul where for as long as that person still breathes? You are unforgettable to them. Whether it be because of a gesture, a passing comment, a gift...whichever part of your own existence that you took the time to share. And if you happen to peg off before they do? That footprint will have you live on for as lonnnnnnnnnnnnng as they don't develop Alzheimers disease.

Acknowledgement does wonders, doesn't it? And here's where re-writing Damon's school notes, comes in handy. An American Psychologist, Abraham Maslow, where after he studied successful people, created this pyramid called the Hierarchy of Needs. Trick to this is that once you're stuck at one level? You can't progress to the next. I've been stuck. I am stuck in certain areas right now. You might be too. But what reminded me of that Pyramid is that the need for belonging and worth are actually two separate need levels on it where it explains that the sense of belonging (social need) comes from a sense of love and belonging to a group, family, etc, and the sense of worth, there were two...self-esteem and the esteem we get from the recognition by others.

I've watched a movie, a very long time ago, called "Pay It Forward" and this is exactly what, what he is doing? Reminds me of. I've seen his profile and over the past days, he has written countless moment messages to countless people that he has crossed paths with at some point in his life. That's what you call, Rambling Responsibly! It is not only inspiring to me, that people like this don't only exist in movies, but it's something, where, he has begun this fantastic chain of positivity. I believe that it would cost none of us a thing, to take his example...and do the same. It's inconceivable, the effect this chain could have on people, worldwide.

One needn't do this on Facebook. In case you're chewing your fingernails to a pulp, stressing about, "I really really really really wanna do this but I don't have Facebook, what am I gonna do....?" No. I'm sure everybody has some means of communication. I just really think...one needs to do this.

Thank you for sharing your "Stacy Kell moment", Nehemiah! ^_^!
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The Point of NEVER WILL I EVER Return

Whilst in the midst of complaining bitterly to Geese as the live rendition of "to da left, to da left"....left my ears whining about, "Suweeeeeet Jesus, it's a fiuuuuure!"

At the end of one of my emails, I included a short but desperate plea to the heavens. "Help me, Jesus!" Who was like, "Talk to the hand!"

He. Geese, not Jesus. Responded back with...."‪HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Sometimes I do love how you get yourself into these things, mwah! HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Meanwhile, Jesus' answering machine said "I'm sorry I'm not here to take your plea or prayer. At the sound of the hallelujah, please leave a message & I will surely get back to you before Satan can prevail you. Have a blessed day."

And ofcourse? I deserved the hand. Why should He? Jesus, not Geese, have come to my rescue when He clearly gave me the head's up lassssst year already. I mean? For any parent. When they tell and show their children, "This? It's bad for you. Here's why....." Once they realize that the kid will never avoid wanting to touch the red hot stove through words alone? It's then time to let them learn that lesson the hard way!

Have you ever been just....just in awe of the badness of something? I've had an overwhelming amount of experience in that department. Yet? Somehow, I still find myself gravitating willingly towards situations of that nature.

That hand over mouth moment where it's as if you're physically stopping yourself from actually standing up and yelling out, "Does somebody have a firearm? Here I am! Aim for the red lipstick circle I've just drawn on my forehead!"

I said to Ali while we sat there, "Al. ALLLLLLLLL!!" (I had to raise my voice. She couldn't hear me over the musical vomit seeping through the loud speakers!) So, when she looked at me? I said, "Al. I think it's past due time for us to really look at the harsh reality of this and see that now is when we have to part ways with the aged and these functions. I mean? Look around. This? This is...."

At that point, I made the mistake of looking around instead of directly, at her and as a result, my thought train derailed and tumbled down Mount Miserablist Place To Be. Not to worry, no injuries have been reported. Just some emotional scarring!

Ali was right there to wholeheartedly agree and once we explained the situation to Wendy, not like we had to. We just had to make things official. Wendy by then was just mindlessly staring. You know it's bad when someone doesn't even blink. Worst when you know that mascara makes her eyelids heavy. Sad and angry. You cannnn be both. Sangry. If you attended last night? Your body too woulda made up emotions having run out of the ones it already knew how to be. You'd be able to copyright them as we speak. Once we got her approval? Three votes were all we needed to find strength in the camaraderie that would save us the next time our presence was requested at one of these fiasco's. The adoption of the "all for one and one for all" stance was all we had left.

There's a taste you get. In your mouth when you mistakenly drink milk that's past it's due date. Now. Add a few drops of poison? Still doesn't come close. Words will never aptly describe that black hole of hell that I knowingly walked towards and fell into last night. I already see that I'll never work as a community dance reviewer. And...uhmmmm...I'll live. But? Garrrrd. Dammmmmmn!!!!!!?

I literally lost bre....soon as he switched from strictly instrumental to halfway decent tracks? That didn't last long, by the way. My suggestion was to make hay while the sun shone or whatever that saying is. Fact was. We paid money to be there and dammit, even if we got a percentage of a percentage back, we were taking it! We got two songs worth. Return on investment was non-existent.

So? We're dancing, step clap was all I could muster up. My dance teacher woulda disowned me. I won't mention being blinded by this fluorescent light shining right in our faces, no matter where we stood. Part of me so wished that it meant I was on my way to heaven. I think the person thought they were being considerate. I keep saying person, because I can't, still, pin point what his main role was. We know some old people don't see as well as they used to? And I've a sneaky suspicion that most of them woke up completely blind yesterday morning.

Okay. Cool. No, no, no! Not okay, cool for them losing their sight. Uh-uhhhhh! Just? Okay, cool. You know? Like...okayyyy. Cool. Let me continue with my story, okay cool. Uuurgh. You know what I mean.

You then hear the next song being mixed into the end of the current one that you're step clapping to? And I do mean, one! The strangest thing happened. Because I'm not a plant, on a normal day? I inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. When I heard the next song? My body reactively inhales the carbon dioxide just before it instinctively exhales it? So that's two inhalations, right! One of oxygen. One of carbon dioxide. I should have died. Couuuuuld! I COULD have died! It was a quick like...uhhg. I dunno if you got that. Shit?!? How do you make a reverse breath sound without physically demonstrating it? I need to write in and suggest the attachment of voice notes on here. Like this, but....Uggh? Hugh? @?#* that's a mans name and I didn't inhale a mans name. I'm just gonna go with uggh and hope for the best.

After causing our bodies, well mine at least? To forget the basic mechanics of breathing? Look again and the person suddenly became the lead singer of a church choir turned live 80's music group? Nowwww do you see my dilemma? Telling us to Celllllebrate good times!!!! And still being pushy with the....COME-ON! Look? I was there to celebrate but I'd be damned if I was gonna be forced into pretending that good times were being had, especially when....

And for me, this was the deal breaker on whether to stay at the risk of being escorted out by law enforcement or escape while I was still a citizen without a criminal record for throwing large objects at the person? The Afrikaans song he played.

What was worst is that the...no.

No.

Nothing was worst.

In a dignified manner, I packed up my shit, well? All I did was put my cellphone in my bag....and didn't look back. Mostly because everytime I did, Inky was tryna threaten me to stay.
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The Birthday Blog!

Hap....wait you start, I'm shy!  Haaaa...okay no, I'll start, it's my blog. 

Happy birthday to youuu!  Happy birthday tooo you!  Happy birrrrrrrrrrrrrthday, Rambling At Random!  HaaaaapPy birrrthhhhhhday tooooooooooooo youuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!  Hip hippppp!  HoooooooooooraYYY!  HiP hiP!  HooooorayyyyyyY!  Hip hippppp!  Hooooorayyyyyy!  For she's a jolly good fel...

I never did like that part.  To me, it encourages hypocrisy.  Tooo many people that secretly despise you?  They sing that part like they mean it and then you imagine that everybody loves you but then soon after?  They spill alcohol on your couch, the staining type and think you forgot they just called you a man on your birthday!   

­^_^!!!!!!!!!!  Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm-M!  Look at that!  ^_^!  My baby's turned ONE!  Mannnnnn?  Blogs!  They grow up so fast, don't they?!!!  Soon she's gonna hit puberty and in a fit of rebellion, start deleting sentences as I'm typing them.  But lemme not think so far ahead.  One and a half human teenagers are more than I can handle for now.  Instead.  I will take this moment to reminisce about the fun I've had creating her!   

Annnnnnnd ACTION:  Rambler Taking moment .........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Now.  Guess what?!?  I have great news for you.  I have plans!  Oh god!  >_<!  Was....that?  Did I just hear bodies drop!  Well?  When you come to?  You can read that I'm going to celebrate with family and friends tonight at the Happy Hearts Mother's Day Dance!  Whoooooooooo.  Hoooooooooo!  Sob.

Surrounded by pensioners.  --__--

Because Happy Hearts is a pensioners club.  Wh-Why does my mum do this to me?  I'm beginning to think she's paying me back!  I was thirsty, for heavens sake!  People shouldn’t take five years of breastfeeding thaaaaaat seriously.  If anyone should be mad?  It should be me!  I'm the one who spent my entire primary school career with a lisp, being asked to repeat...She sells sea shells on the sea shore!

If I've taught you anything?  It's not.  To.  Judge.  A Rambler by the number of years she was breastfed!  Just be glad that by then, once the curry powder plan failed?  She put a band-aid on her breast and I felt sorry for her enough, to stop!  It means that I have a heart!  And that's what matters!  Ignore too, the fact that I would vehemently resort to cursing for my milk!  Thirst affects everyone differently. 

Once I got over the initial shock of hearing that I was a potty mouth at that age?  I came to one conclusion and one conclusion only.  That I was a good listener!  I had to have heard those words somewhere, right?!  Seems to me that those years helped instil in me, some pretty good qualities!

Evvvven if she did have to feed me while hanging washing on the line?  I'm tryna picture that.  O_o!  How strong was my ability to hang on a breast using only my lips?!  If I was actually that lesbian people said I was?  I’d be a hit just for that ability!  Maybe my mum bent down and just...felt her way around the washing line.  Some of you might be saying, "Gasp!"  You get those times when all you can say is, gasp.  Me?  I'm looking at the fact that if your kid can't help you to multi-task, then who can?  Remind me to ask her though.  On the hand, no.  Jussssss might encourage her to think up more ways to pay me back. 

From the compassion to the good listening skills, and like I mentioned just now?  Multi-tasking coach?  I’m not enjoying the repercussions.  I went from breastfeeding LIKE A BOSS!  To a social life that includes, almost exclusively, dances held by elders who might or might not have been brainwashed by a moon DJ.  Last year around this time?  On the 12th to be precise!  My memory served me well there only because it was my parents' 50th anniversary!  I don't take unearned credit!  I might’ve cursed my mum out as a toddler at some unfortunate times?  But claiming unearned credit is where I draw the line!   

Look?  We all wanted to be there to help them celebrate what was the first 50th anniversary in our family...that I can recall.  So, our intentions were great!  Little did we know that us youngsters would sit in utter horrification!  Yes!  It was so mortifying that I said horrification and if I could think of a word that better described that night......mare?  I'd use it. 

Song after sonnnnnng after song tortured our very being.  Being......there, I mean!  While these very pensioners....and they look all innocent and sweet?  I feel so used!  Elderly people have this....this almost angelic essence to them.  Lemme tell you something.  Those angels?  Motivated the DJ to perform continuous acts of what felt to us, the Unhappy Hearts, like we were being repeatedly decapitated, sewn back, decapitated, sewn back! 

If you know anything at all about me?  You will know that music means more to me than alota things do.  I turn to it for comfort, hope, company, fantasy, solace....pretty much everything!   Not once......not for a second did I ever believe that music could be used as a weapon of mass destruction.  It was a war of hearts and we lost.  In a massive way!  So much so that Gillians one earing jumped off her ear at some point and hid somewhere!  It never returned.  Those diamonds were like, "We were better off dirty and underground!"  And I don't blame them!  There were several moments during that evening that I contemplated leaving my car there as a cover for everyone to think I was still present. And running home in heels.  The earing however, beat me to it!     

But?  See, the thing is this.  And this is a fact.  I'm no DJ, but dammit!  I know some things, okay!  The more you dance?  To the shit.  The more the DJ believes that that shit don't stink!  It was a like sinking into a heap of manure, without blocked nasal passages!  Some of us refer to that as sinus.  So there were the pensioners!  Running wild not only to the dance floor, but on it!  To songs?  OMG!  I just bit my tongue just reliving it!  To songs that sometimes?  Sometimes we didn't even think they were singing in a dialect known to man.  Moon language songs or something!  They were not of this world!  And I don’t mean just the pensioners.  Those?  They were just not behaving according to the Handbook of Acceptable Pension Behaviour at a Mother’s Day Dance....for Dummies.

I think that Moonians succeeded in brainwashing our community of elders that night!  Let's be honest?  Some pensioners don't even remember their own names.  Or English.  Or the popular combination...their names in English.  How can I now just...simply believe that they were that excited to dance to that music!  My mind was so pre-occupied by the vile taste of dreadful melodic entertainment and the harsh reality that an earing had more courage than I did?  I didn’t even think to have them all line up once the lights came on and check for any moon-like symptoms.  There's no way!  No way that they could have been that familiar with that hogwash the DJ was spinning. 

It wasn't even like....?  You know how......?  Sigh.

Okay, okay......I have the perfect explanation.  I have a song right now where, Nicole kept playing it in the car, right.  I liked it from the moment I heard it.  But guilt washed over me for every single minute of pleasure that I felt, enjoying this song because of how much cursing it has in it.  Awwwwwwwww come-onnnnnnn!  You’re gonna keep talking about what I did when I was five?............shameful.  Anyway, moving on..........Thhhhhhhhe!!!!  

...............Style of rap, the way it's performed and the beat?  It's put together where it's simply the perfect combination.  Yesterday?  She got me the clean version.  I will admit.  The original lyrics sounded like me at five years old, there I said it.  Now?  They sound like me after some deep psychological trauma. 

Basically, the chorus now sounds like the artist has Tourettes syndrome.  

It went from, " I love bad #*@+?!# that's my #*@+?!# problem, n yeah I like to #*@+?!# I got a #*@+?!# problem........!" 

To, " I love bad-----------------that's my---------------problem, n yeah I like to---------------I got a--------------problem........!" 

The difference here is.....I can still dance to it.  Just like in the shower last night.  The beat is still hard and catchy.  The dialect is clearly Black American.  And aside from the whole tourettes thing?  Hey, I'd rush to the dance floor for this version!  And what I particularly enjoyed hearing was that he was man enough to admit he had a #*@+?!# problem...you know.  That was.........refreshing.  

Last years DJ?  In my opinion?  Was a car guard!  I see them popping up at functions more and more now.  You already know about the sunburnt "stripper" with the black formal pants and wayyyyy too much sweat to be deemed healthy, don’t you?  I’ve always said...this being the first mention......Once a stripper causes you to switch focus?  On how much lower you can bend your seated body behind the chair in front of you so that firstly, he doesn’t see you and get ideas and secondly, so that his sweat misses you and hits the unlucky person behind you?  Let’s just say that, that one experience!  Taught me everything I needed to know about keeping ones day job!

With alllllll of that said?  Wish me luck for tonight.  Thank you guys for taking the time to accompany me on my journey to a one-year old blog!  For the rest of the weekend?  Ramble Responsibly and who knows?  I might just see one or two of you at this dance tonight too!   

Energy....or the Lack Thereof

My head throbbeth, bursting with facts of Seventh Grade, Natural Science. Believe it or not, it's been a lifelong dream of mine to spend my Saturday afternoons, let alone, evenings this way. On TV? They do it so differently. Most of them are drunk and have sex with people they've only known for an hour or two. Don't try that at home. But the excitement, of myyyy real life, is overbearing. As convincing as that could be, when said in a hollow monotone with a hint of, "is this what my life been reduced to...?"

I now know the correct definition of all kinds of energy, amongst many other very useful, sciency things like the measurable properties of matter. My life is complete. I can now die a scientifically informed individual and once I get over to heaven, I can teach the Angels that they should never forget that the standard unit of measurement for the Metric System is 100.

If you happen to bump into me tomorrow, there's a good chance that I might offload alllllllll of this information onto you. Just to relieve my headache. You then can enjoy a sense of...of...something...that I strolled into the mall a dead, information sharer.

They say that in order to enlighten your fellow man, you should share both your practical skills and theoretical information with those you encounter. They forgot to include headaches. But that's why I'm here. A-hem.....yes. That's how an intelligent, well-informed nation is built. One intelligent, well-informed man with a headache does not a nation make! So share your knowledge. Go on! Share it right now. I'm willing to bet alllllll of these schoolbooks...no seriously? I am...that someone is sitting next to you who doesn't know how to do something that you do.

If not, pretend you're having a party. Send out emergency invites via email stating that you had hit send two weeks ago but you just now realized that the copper wire was stolen from your building thereby cutting off your internet connection in the midst of them being sent out. Mention that you thought your three days without electricity and the ability to warm cold food, only affected your light switches.

Give yourself about two hours 'til the party is due to start? That'll give you plenty time to set up the strips of timber, drill and nails...don't forget the grinder.....and when they arrive? Did I mention rope and tying guests to chairs? Let the sharing begin! How many carpenters does it take to change a light bulb?

If you take my advice? We'll all be dead at some point, but we'll have died, knowing that the energy from the sun is a renewable energy called solar energy and that its transmitted via radiation, meaning the transfer of heat energy from one substance to the next through space by means of air waves. Don't get me started on the process of convection! And that's just what you learnt from me! Add to that, carpentry and all the other information transfers? The rewards are endless!

Lawwwwwd, this is what you call draining my energy!!!! As you can see, I find the concept of kinetic energy and measuring the area of my bed with a formula, just as riveting as the next administration manager or....(Insert) your job title. Scientists excluded. However, at this moment I'm way more interested in the transfer of my pain energy.

Look. I'll understand fully if when you caught a glimpse of me? You take off running. You can even use the upcoming Comrades marathon as an excuse. I won't let on that I am well aware that you haven't run a day in your life, unless a sausage dog was chasing you on your way to visit your girlfriend or away from your boyfriends place after he threatened to run his fingers through your weave.

Ladies? From one to another? Come're. Come sit next to the Rambler. Therrrrre you go.....You wouldn't have to deal with that petrifying fear if you didn't allow society to convince you that you're not beautiful, naturally. Because you ARE!!!! Too many of us are dying of anorexia, spending fortunes on wearing other people's hair, because we're that pressured by what has been deemed to be beautiful and what has not.

Question.......Would you wear someone else's underwear just because society said that yours wasn't the right texture? Okay. I admit. Society should not have that much knowledge about your underwear but you know what I mean. Unless there's a person publishing pictures of them each time you've hung washing up on your line. I use bad examples at times, granted. But for a good cause.

The last thing I'm gonna do is pretend that I don't find faults with my own body, my hair, my looks? Because I do. Connnnnnnstantly. But guess what? It's not gonna cause me to rush out there and beg the doctor to suck the fat outa my thighs. I'm so terrified of doctors with instruments. 'Specially sharp ones.

But society. Aside? I have someone who accepts the thunder thighs IIIII think I have. And the stretch marks that I believe makes me unlovable. Or the cellulite that I reckon should have me banished to a cave for life. Not to mention, my hair that will never ever be as thick as Mariah Carey's! He accepts them all. Someone who thinks I'm stunning on my worst hair day and when I feel my fattest.

I wish for you, the same kind of support and acceptance. But moreso? The same kind of motivation to know and accept that you are worth the admiration without the unnecessary alterations.

Peace! V (that's my peace sign....I didn't fall asleep typing).

Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

Conspiracy Theory

May?????  Woahhhhhh!  Know what just hit me?!?  This is Rambling At Random’s birthday month!  Hip hippppp!  Hoooooooo---okay, not yet!  One year old on the tenth!  Feels like just the other day that I started rambling on here about the goings on in my head.  Feels like just yesterday that it was Friday too.  Yet here we are again!  

Time sure is vanishing faster than our monthly salaries, isn't it?  A word of warning?  I care, so I share.  First it's your money, then it's time...next to go is your sanity.  Soon all we're gonna be left with is being able to rock back and forth trying to lick our own eyelids.  People have told me it's not a pretty sight!  So I stopped doing it.  There went my only entertainment.   

Damon and I were working on Afrikaans last night. 

Yessssssssssss, yesssssss, there’s more.

The boy wrote that that a "bibliotekaresse" is a liberian. 

Eh?  My first impression?  It had something to do with the Bible.  Thankfully, I'mmmmm not writing the test today.  'Cause clearly, my years of torture, I mean....learning...this language paid off.  The book, however, says it’s a librarian.  I see now, how he coulda made that mistake.  Although he got it right after having to write it out ten times.  Liberian.  Librarian.  Same difference. 

What I don't see?  Is how it benefits him, knowing that.  Look?  I'm forty years and seven months old....don't read that out loud.  I've never, and you might have, (shrug) I dunno, but I’ve never had to stop my car and ask a pedestrian, in Afrikaans, for the nearest, "liberian".  Especially, not when Xenophobia has proven to be rather lethal in certain places.  Then I'm the one people are calling the cops for!  "Officer?   That woman...there!  Yes, that one.  She asked me where the nearest liberian was.  And I don't think she meant, librarian."

I won’t lie.  I suppress my need to cry when it's time for Afrikaans because I'm as useless at it as I am at Spanish.  And I've never studied Spanish.  “Ma?  What does this word mean?” 

O_o?!?!? 

However, my ex-husband is fluent.  Seriously, I don’t know how that happened.  I saw his Maths marks when he was in school.  Only thing I can think of is that he has a flare for languages, because he is just as fluent in Zulu.  I can speak Zulu too. 

Lor.  See? 

But one has to decide whether erupting emotions are more important than your child’s psychological welfare.   What I always consider is that if I start wailing?  It could result in REVTEARAFRIPHOBIA: The fear of your mum bursting into tears in the midst of revising Afrikaans.  And with control tests hot on our heels?  That would be badddddddd.  I’m already on the verge of a nervous twitch trying to remember how to spell that liberian word.  Picture it.  Me with my wailing twitches?  Him with his phobia caused by my wailing twitches?  >_<   

My point is this.  It wasn’t, but when I feel that I’m about to talk a little bit of sense, I tend to begin my sentence with...my point is this........For generations we have been laden with learning Afrikaans where instead of that?  We could have learned how to be single mothers.  Or fathers for that matter.  Wait.  Waitttttt.  Stay.  The sense part is coming.  If you were a single mother?  Like me.  Wouldn’t you rather be taught how to replace car radiators or fix underground leaking pipes?  Than being hunted down in a police-car-chase because you mistakenly left out a few rrrr’s and used e’s where a’s shoulda been? 

Okay, lemme go as far as this.  Evvvvven as a happily married couple?  Wouldn’t you prefer knowledge that would come in handy? 

I KNOW!! 

I know I know I know!!!!!!!!!!!

Mannnnnnn.......to have a brain like mine!?!?!  I’m so jealous of myself right now...it’s like?  If I could just freeze the awesomeness at this very moment?  But enough of that self-confidence crap!

This was some sinister person’s plan of preventing us from being rich.  Waiiiiiiiiit now?!?!  Stop!  Why are you running?  They knew how much we’d save by being able to fix our own cars and broken pipes in our homes, man or woman, not to mention electrical faults!  The very possibility of those savings turning into small fortunes?  In our favour.  Was enough for them to devise a plan to make it compulsory in schools to confuse our tongues and pronunciations, with Afrikaans, where the end result could verrrrrry well be jail time.  All we wanted was to return our library book.  I know.  Horrid!  And now because of the misunderstanding?  We owe late fees.  Broke and in jail.  Still asking for liberians, wondering why we’re being beaten at every turn. 

To think, I thought we were dealing with a bunch of twisted bastards nowwwww..... mmmmmmmm-M!  Conspiracy unfolded.  Thank you.....thank you very much.

The Rambler has left the building.