Spring of Dreams

Morning arose.

The sun, in all of it’s curiosity, peaked bashfully through the fading grey clouds.  It rained yesterday.  Wet rain.  Too obvious?  I don’t think so.  With the ozone layer being what it is?  It coulda been raining meteorites.  It's also Saturday.  Saturday morning.  (don’t interrupt me).  A common occurrence for once Friday has ended.  You'd never have guessed, right?  Right!  

That crisp, icy feeling filled the new dawn air, it's silence broken with sounds of, "Chirp, chirp!"  

That's bird language for, "Wake ya lazy human ass up!"  

I think?  

It's been a while since I've conversed with birds, so forgive me if that should've been translated to, "We've come to inform you peasants that Spring is on it's way!"

A-hem!  

Now that the scene is set?

What is your Spring resolution?  Best you hurry, Spring waits for no-one!  Sure, suuuure, unlike time, you'll get another Spring but let's pretend for a minute.  Pretend with ya Rambler, come onnnnnn.  I know you want to.  Pretend that this yourr Spring!  The Spring in which you sprout new dreams and water them like the dirty-nailed gardener I know you can be and then watch them bloom and flourish into beautiful, radiant sunflowers!  That's my personal favourite.  Something to do with my past flower-child life.  Peace!  You can substitute that with roses or whatever flower you like best.  But you can't use lettuce or bean sprouts, okay?  I’m being kind enough to allow substitutions here, but I’m in no way granting any persons permission to ruin my inspirational speech!  We’re certainly not trying to inspire leaf-eating insects.  So since I know not a soul that’s motivated by a fully grown vegetable, I would recommend that you stick to the script.  

See how compromising I am?  -_-  Uhmmmmmmm-M.

As for my resolution?  I'm about to pour all of my energy into my second book, The Switch. When I say all?  I mean what's left after school, kids, work, sports, household chores and gear changing!  I dunno about you, but mannnnnnnnn, could I use a break from driving! Have we not yet reached that part of the future where cars ARE our drivers?  Like where you get in, you don't even have to talk!  They're mind-reading cars so you just get in and they take you to where you're thinking about going.  Not heaven, though.  Let’s be realistic.  Hell?  Hmmmmmmmmmmmm…..that’s possible.  Think about driving straight to parliament.  That’ll get you there in a hurry.  Just?  I'm not confident that anyone will reach their jobs, though?  That's a cause for concern.  Not for me.  For your boss.  

I've been driving now for half my life.  It-it's just no longer fun.  Kinda like when my gynae told me, "You're not 21 anymore."

>_<!  That wasn't fun either.  He meant that in the nicest possible way.  I'm sure.  I know because he was smiling when he said it.  Snide mutha that he is!  He can't sue me for calling him names.  I didn't mention his.  I didn’t go to any gynae called Snide or Mutha.  And my English teacher always made sure to tell us that adjectives were an integral part of speech as well as writing.  Hey, all's fair in...in gynae and patient name calling!  He called me old!  He started!

My second reaction, after my lips pursed?  Was to blurt out, "I beg to differ!" in a deep British accent and then claim that the mere mention of my age was the cause for it.  If he asked.  I was even tryna come up with a syndrome name for it.  I failed.  I'm nowhere near originating from anywhere else but South Africa, but "I beg to differ" sounds so much more sophisticated when said that way.  Sadly though, reality hit and I quickly remembered that he hadn't examined me yet.

Now if you happen to be vagina-based?  Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahaha!!  That was bad.  However true, that was just, baddd.  Lemme try it again.  If you happen to be female?  Thaaaat's better.  Female.  Gender-uhmmm?-itically correct.  Yes!  If you're female, then ofcourse?  You are keenly aware that that part of the visit is uncomfortable enough even without having riled the gynae up with senseless arguments about how old you are versus how old you feel.

So, like any cautious vagina-based person would do?  I saved myself from probable trauma (should I have decided to execute the said argument) and guess what?  He then promptly, the short cystic diagnosing bastard, went on ahead and diagnosed me with PCOS and sent me on my merry way!  I feel like I was short-changed, somehow.  I held out on Plan British Accent whereas he held nothing back with the smile and-and the, you’re old now, and then picking on my ovaries.  As if reminding me that I'm no spring chicken, wasn't bad enough?!?  I'm not angry.  Plussss?!?  Plus!!!  You’re listening?  This wasn't even recently!  So he was calling me old when I was younger!  Than this!  He deserves me calling him anything I want to.  But as I said, I'm not angry.  Scarred maybe, but angry…no!

I'm wayyyy too happy to be anything but happy! 

This is my Spring!  

You Should Ear This!

Ali's earrings were so eye-catching on Saturday night, I simply had to tell her!  Like so many others?  Blessed souls that they are.  I've learnt too, that should you have nothing nice to say?    Best thing to do is to swallow. 

Swallow!  I say!  And then do a weeks detox.  Rather it cause indigestion in your own intestines than cause that poor person you just had to ask, "Why are you putting on so much weight?" to limp through their day wondering if their ass indeed did look wider than a three-hundred year old tree trunk! 

For me?  There's just never a good enough reason to make someone feel bad.  There're root canals designed specifically for that purpose.  Look.  Let's be honest for a minute.  We've alllllllllllllll, at some point in our lives, crossed paths with people who take tremendous pride in crushing the next persons spirit!  I had to check someone just the other day for doing that.  Yeaaaah!  Me.  Can you believe it! 

Not. Cool!  If you're one of those people?  Since that appears to be your comfort zone?  Hell awaits you.  Ay….I'mmmm juss saying.  Don't be all, "You didn't warn me" and shit when I’m sitting in heaven because I swallowed!  And?  NO, no!  No, NO!  This is not me damning anybody to the fiery pits of eternal torment.  Or Zimbabwe.  same difference.  This is me promising you that, inside?  That's all you're ever gonna feel.  Inner joy is pretty short-lived when the basis for it is something toxic.  'S alllll I'm saying. 

Men and women alike, and I don’t give two flying fantasies about what anybody says.  Heh-heh-heh.....you thought Ima use the other F word, didn't you?  Gotcha!  They care about their appearance and most likely?  Hey, they know that their clothes are a little tighter than they used to be.  And you might not even know whether the cause of it, is something psychological.  The moment you make those dumbass comments, thinking it’s cute to be crude?  Ofcourse that person might drop kick the toxins offa your tongue (gohhh person) or worse?  Their confidence goes straight to Shitville.  So tell me what’s the harm in looking them over one more time, and finding something you can compliment them on?  No harm!  Less swallowing. 

Thankfully though, that didn't apply to this situation.   I gave credit where credit was due.  Only for her to say, "Ooooooooooooooooooooo!"  Can’t say I was expecting that response, when my statement was, “You’re earrings are stunning!”  Heh-heh-heh!  HoweVer?  It was a reaction that I immediately recognized.  Amidst my anticipating giggle, I say, "There's a story behind them, right?"  I love Ali’s stories.  ^_^!  After the second "Oooooooooooooooooooo!"  I knew then and there it was gonna be a good one! 

So I inch in a little closer!

Inch

Inch

You know what happened then?  

I inched again.

My short, little, innovative cousin goes on to explain, "See?  I forgot to wear earrings so I had to break these things offa my hair-piece!" 

This was me, O_O!  “Bwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahhaahahahahahhaa!  Wait?  How are they staying on?  You glued them to your ears?"  I'm quite curious, never about history though, so while I'm laughing and asking?  I'm also wondering?  "You remembered to carry GLUE to a party but you forgot to wear EARRINGS?" 

This!  People?  Is the very same cousin who set the bottom of her new sweat-suit on fire in her car a few years back.  Girl thought she threw her cigarette outa the window only for it to boomerang right back in and land on the floor of the drivers side and then, "Sweet Jesus, it's a fiuuuuuuuuuuuuuure!"   She told me, LMAO,  "I wondered why it felt all hot by my feet!"

Fortunately, this hair-piece thingamajig sticks to the hair so there was no need for any inappropriate use of glue.  I somehow don't see that ending well.  At ALL!  Personally, I've never considered glueing anything to my ears to the point of actually doing it.  So at this stage, it's merely an assumption on my part?  You’re welcome to share your glueing experience should you have one.

My dilemma for right now?  I don't know, accurately, how to explain this hair-piece?  I didn't even see it, come to think of it, so I'm gonna wing it as best as I can!  It's not hair though.  That much I cannnn say.  If you're picturing one of those fake ponytails?  You're worst off than I am.  She didn't have two ponytails hanging from her ears.  Our conversation woulda been rather different if that were the case.  Just from what I saw of the "earrings," it was one of those diamond encrusted looking thingys.  You knowwwwww what they are!  Help a girl out, DAMMIT!  Just think....Hair.  Thingy.  Then you'll know precisely what I'm talking about.

Aaaaaaaaaargh!  >_<!  I'm doing a putrid job of explaining it.  Plus?!?!?!  I'm a woman and it's a woman accessory.  Bad Rambler!  In case you're aren’t sure anymore?  I do have hair.  It's down to my ass.  But I'm not the hair-thingy kinda girl.  My hair-thingy's are comprised of slouch caps, beanies and bandanas.  None of which would get me out of any kinda earring situation!  Mannnnnnnn, my confidence is taking a hugggge knock, here!  Hmmmmmmmmmmm-hm?!?  This is what happens when you have more sneakers in your closet than hair-thingy's.  Let this be a lesson to you!  Be knowledgeable, my fellow women, as a woman, about woman things!  

But?!?  I shan't give up.  Nope.  The best explanation I can give, short of drawing it?  And I will, if my hand is forced!  Is to call it…(drum rolllllllll please)…..

.......................a hair-ornament! 

Now please?  My bones are telling me that I need to clear something up.  By ornament, I don’t mean one of those maroon and white ceramic dog families that your mum has in the corner of the lounge and just point blank refuses to throw out.  Shhhhhhhhhhh, don’t tell our mother’s I said this but…don't-don’t you just wanna knock it over?   Like....Oooooooooooooooooooooops!  We can’t though, can we?  For me, Sunday lunch is on the line.  For you?  I haven’t a clue, but I’d rather stare at the ceramic pets than ruin a life-long family tradition.

The ornament that I am referring to?  Is one of those evening-wear accessories that you put on your hair, in the evening, where you know!  Without a doubt!  Should you forget your earrings at home?  You're covered! 

Just like half of Ali's ear-lobes!  I wish you’d seen them!  

From Dad, with Love

The Rambler at it again and all I can remember is the swearing I got at the side of the bed caused by that little pain inducing bastard…..lol….13 years ago. (LMAOOOOOO!  Lies I hate, I was a dignified giver of birth..if I may say so myself!  And no!  I won’t be proving it!)  Was a proud moment for a father to see his little prodigy and welcome him into the world. Well from my side, I now I have a “Gentle Giant” and I pray he stays as sweet as he is.  He carries my name, shares my secret smiles and affection (So then what he’s saying is that my only input really was my placenta, right?  Isn’t that what this sounds like?  Meanwhile, just last week, he tried to claim that Damo looks like him…hahahahahahaha!) and all the while growing and making me proud (Now THAT I agree with!). 

I’m definitely no Rambler (Further proof that the Lord, Jesus Christ DOES exist!) and try as I may, Rambling is a skill (thank you…thank you very much!) at which I suck eggs (…. Rambler?  Just let that one go…j-just keep walking) but that’s my 5 cents worth im contributing until the real expense comes of feeding my monster (O_o)

On a serious note….(By the way, just for transparency sake?  After I sent him my bracketed comments to review?  He sent me this, (You are a Rambling Maniac honestly……..LMAO)  Okay, shhhhhhhh now.  Let’s let him speak.  I promise not to interrupt.  GO!)

Seriously though, I bear witness to the pain experienced by mums going through natural birth.  You, Rambler have earned your right to own MY 2 kids……lol……thirteen years ago today, we welcomed a gentle soul into this world (Hmmmm-M!  That’s ri---Ohhh oh, sorry. >_<).  Ofcourse, decisions will have to be made for his future, albeit hard I pray for strength to be there to guide him along the way, as best I can.  That may prove a task on its own as he has his Mother, who by bringing him into this world has already claimed rights to taking him out, if he should stray off the path.  Just yesterday on giving my fatherly speech regarding smoking, and the repercussions thereof…to my amusement I was told by Damon that he is a soccer player and soccer players don’t smoke.   Well, moral of the story.  I got my warning across and was pleased with the innocence portrayed by my boy.  Guess, rather let the Rambler do the punishing, she has done an excellent job thus far!  Happy birthday, Manos…Daddy loves you!

I Now Own Two Teenagers

Yesssssss!  Yes!  You read that right!  I own them.  Placenta's don't grow on trees, you know.  So when yours has played a vital role in the life of your kids?  There's nothing to think about.  You own them!  Period.  The next time they ask why they have to do what you’re asking or telling them to do?  Say, “’Cause it was my placenta!”  Offer no further explanation. 

Because I was kind enough to give birth, thirteen years ago?   Today, my boy turned thirteeeeeeeeeeeeen!  ^_^!!!  Hip hip hooray to that! 

Wait. 

I'm getting old!  >_<!  Whhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!?! 

A-hem! 

On second thought?  No...no, I'm not.  Heh-heh-heh!  I'mmmm still forty.  Just like I was yesterday!  Damon's the one getting old.  Lemme just...straighten out my clothes and gather my composure.  I've no idea what my clothes have to do with it, but it's what people do when they're gathering their composure.  You'll have to forgive the Rambler for that little outburst.  Better control is called for in milestone situations like these, right?  And I understand that to rain on Damon's parade that way, would be unwarranted.  So, I'll wait for my birthday when it becomes a case of "It's my birthday and I'll burst if I want to...." -_-  that was soh not a pretty sight.  You know what?  Ima just keep quiet.  Ima sit right here and just say…nothing.

............................................I’m keeping quiet .............................can you hear me keeping quiet?  .................................................... are you there?  .......................................i’m here…………………… not talking.........................this is not working.  I can’t blog and keep quiet at the same time!  How ‘bout this?  How ‘bout I blog first and thennnn keep quiet?

Okiiiiiie-dokes!

As every parent at some point in their lives have said.  And I quote, "Dammmmn. You. Monday!"  Ooops, wrong quote!  The one I meant to use was, "Happy birthday, my sweetheart!  You’re one of the reasons that my life matters."  Now?  See how quickly I was able to fix that?  Lucky for me, I have these quotes at my fingertips.  Just p-please...don't ask me what Winston Churchill once said.  I will look right through you.

Hey guess what?  D'you know what's the most exciting part is?  And scary as hell at the same time?  I'm about to embark on a whole new journey with my boy.  I mean, my young man.  It's my very first time being a teenage boy's mom.  Will I do a good job?  Will he do a good job?  Will I have to keep deducting R10 off his allowance every time he leaves his clothes behind the bathroom door?  Yes!  Until he stops doing it, I shall!

A journey----into the unknowwwwwwn.  Read that in your movie voice.  Sounds mysterious!  It is, though.  I don’t have a clue about what to expect.  Paige is a girl.  I know there has to be some stark differences between how males and females handle these years.  Some advice from the wise and experienced, please?  I'm asking nicely.  Should I begin salting the whip?  And, uhmmm?  Would I be salting it for the teenage girls or my teenage boy?   

Ladies?  And Arnold Schwarzenegger….Raise your hand and shout, "Me, me, me..." If your second birth was twelve thousand times more painful than your first!  Ohhhh no.  I don't mean the epiduralists.  I mean the natural birthists, like myself!  Yeahhhhhhh!  Remember that?  I can't see the look on you're face but I'm preTTy sure that your nostrils are flaring...even if just slightly.  They are, aren't they?  Don't be ashamed.  Pain is sore.  That pain.  Is supernatural.  Which only means that your nostrils have earned official flaring rights! 

Some of you are stealing secret, resentful glares at your second born right now and thinking, "You little pain-inducing bastard, you!"  Stoppp!   That's too far.  Calling them pain-inducing is way too far and not the last memory of you they should be taking to school this morning.  Come on now!  I didn't come here to incite violence or any thoughts that could ultimately lead to a smack upside the heads of unsuspecting offspring, just for old times sake.  It's not even their fault!  All the kid wanted to do was meet you, breath outa water and dry off.  Unless you gave birth to a fish.  

^_^!  Mannnn, it's been such an awesome weekend.  Saturday, he got to spend the day with half the Coloured nation's kids.  That's an exaggeration, ofcourse, but it sure felt that way.  Lol!  They played indoor soccer, him and his buddies and then his dad and his buddies barbequed while the kids circled like hungry vultures until the meat and sausages were ready.  That party, I was told, ended at midnight.  Why I was told?  Because I am in a sense, of sound mind?  I left about three hours before that.  The celebrations then continued yesterday on the soccer grounds with him and his team beating their opponents 5-1.  Whooooop!  And then today?  To end off, we'll have a helicopter fetch him from scho...oh wait?  That's what happens in my mind.  What's happening in reality is that we'll enjoy some cake and tea, seriously deafening verbal exchanges and bouts of raucous laughter with our family and friends.

As I’m typing this, I’m laying here thinking about his toddler antics which went from standing in front of me and lifting his arms saying, "Hold him...hold him."  To him singing on the mic at Leighs 13th birthday party, "Go shawdy, it's ya birthday..." To opening his nursery school graduation play with a solo song, his dance solo at Kent’s party to “Sliiiiiiide to the right…sliiiiiide to the left…five hops this time…”  His lead role with Kirsty in the school play in junior primary, our dance routine we did with Jan and Brandon a few years ago.  So many unforgettable memories.  He's always made me so proud. 

Except for when he leaves his clothes behind the bathroom door. 

But I love him anyway.  Love conquers all.  Even untidy phases.    

RIP Gran

I am officially grorphoned. :-(  but ever so thankful for the honour of being a descendant of two extremely strong grandmothers and no matter how weighted my heart feels right now, I'm focusing on what a blessing she was.  Having someone to love, always is.  Having someone love you back, is too.

The end of life, is death.  The length of life, is unknown.  Make your time on this earth count, with the knowledge that there is no one way to do that.  There are countless ways.  If you have natural gifts and talents, don't be afraid to use them.  If you don't?  Please don't enter Idols.  Knitting is just as much of an achievement, I promise you.  ^_^!  If you have set a goal?  Keep working towards it.  If you...

You know what...enough if's.  I'm gonna leave you with this....

Don't allow yourself or others, to keep your gift of life, wrapped, ribboned and bowed.  Live while you have breath, laugh at inappropriate times and love as though your heart knows no limits.



RIP, Gran.  I don't remember the very moment that I began loving you, but I know for certain, I will never forget that I do.


      

Gran

Well?  The good news is that my gran is awake and able to talk.  Thank you, Lord, you are amazing to me!  You think Beyonce’s a survivor?  I remember us getting a call yearrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrs ago, that she’d fended off a knife-wielding intruder.  And already then, she looked old to me. 

My dad said she knows who they are and my aunt says that she's going from making sense to not making much sense, but hey.  She's made alllllllota sense throughout her years.  I'm pretty sure that nobody minds her rambling on about whatever she sees fit to ramble on about.  It’s not every day that a 90-year old suffers something as life-threatening as a stroke and lives to tell the tale. 

Whether it's that she sees a monkey in a doctors uniform eating cat food!  I could care less at this point.  I'm simply grateful that she's still here and that I've been blessed enough with the ability to go and see her before this week is up. 

Is that selfish?  Hmmmmmmmmmmm?  Maybe it is.  But love?  Love is selfish...at times.  At least, I believe that it is.  Although, in instances like these?  It's a good selfish.  Not like...see 'cause, badddd selfish?  That's what I'd use to describe our government.  Shhhhhhhhhhh.  I'm not picking.  I'm just saying.  Just as a means to show the difference between good and evil.  I mean, bad.  Good and bad. 

Not sure, but I might have told you this story before.  My first job ever, in a place that had  a wages department?  A-hem.  I worked at a gym before this.  That’s some irony for ya.  Hating what I was being paid to teach.  Nnnnnn, now that I think about it, it’s not thaaaaaat uncommon.  It’s just…these days, I really do try to avoid mouthing the word. 

Annnnnnnnd here she is people?!?!?  Falling off the track again….

Back to my story.  The real job was part time on the sales register in OK Bazaars.  Before I go on?  This is a lesson in what happens when you trust evvvvvverbody!  This selfish man chooses myyyyyy register to pay for the bag he wanted and not to pay for the polony he chose to hide inside of it.  Okay, look?  The truth of the matter was…I was young.  If at training, you didn't tell me to open the bag?  My common sense was just as lazy at the next youngster.  There was no way it was gonna kick in on it's own!  Usually it saved itself for when I needed help choosing an outfit to go clubbing with my cousin, Nadia. 

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, sigh.  ^_^!  Them good ole days when social lives were still within reach.

So anyway, the polony thief pays, and unbeknown to me?  The security had already spotted the bag-carrying bandit so they stop him at the door and ofcourse he’s like all outa breath and gasping at their cheek.  Once they apprehend him and open the bag…there in lies the fucken polony.

Lemme just ask you this.  Have you ever conspired with a thief to steal po-freakin-lony?  Anyone?  You?  No?  Me?  Nope! 

Well?  The powers that be didn’t think so.  Those shirt-wearing bastards then called me in and not in so many words, imply that I was co-conspirator in the polony heist!  SMFH!  :-/  If there is one thing that honestly annoys me?  It’s that.  Don’t for a second believe that I will not write you off for a lifetime and beyond, should you accuse me of a crime as hideous as going half with a stranger on a kg of polony!   

So, respectfully, I answered their questions and went back to my register and as I sat there, I became more and more enraged at the preposterousness of the accusations that I'd decided that that infact, would be my last day.  No way would I hang about some place where even one person believed me to be a thief…let alone, one who steals processed meat. 

I had a reputation.  I had to protect it.  I have no idea why I’m typing this robotically but just go with it.  I’m in the zone.  However, I was not in any zone with that person when he stole the polony.  Coming from a well-mannered home?  I didn't show them my middle finger.  Not physically, at least.  But I did have a mind full of erect middle fingers dancing around in my head. 

And that was it.  I made sure to send back the wages they’d paid me in advance since I was due to work that weekend.  Me and my middle fingers, never went back.   

My gran was living at our house at the time and if Nadia were here, sitting next to me right now, she’d be able to tell you, word for word, how many times my gran yelled about it…”POLONY?!??!?!?!  THEY ACCUSED YOU OF STEALING POLONY???  YOU DON’T EVEN EAT POLONY?!?!?”  If I had said, “Gran…go tell them off…”  That’s all the push she woulda needed but that day, is one I will never forget!  You had to be there.  She would go about her business and remember and then come back into the room again, “POLONY?!?!?!?  Bloody swines!  You don’t even eat polony!  Lovey!  Lovey?!  She doesn’t even eat polony!” 

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!  I love her.  She had my back, fo shizzle!

Millennium of Mass Destruction

August, eleven years ago? I'd be lying if I told you that it held any kinda significance in my life. But thirteen years ago? Now that's a totally different buncha bananas! Why? Because that was the year that my son was born. Well, he will be born. No, he wasssss born. But only in sixteen days time. Stopppppppppp confuuuuuuuusing meeeeeeeeee O_o!

Oooooooooo-wooooooooh! My world was coming to an end! I was gonna be broke! Dead broke. In that order. Ofcourse none of that had anything to do with finding out that I was having a baby but everything to do with the multitude of threats and promises that the millennium watchers were so generously offering. Plus, email was pretty new to me, right. So like a fool I would read allllllll the way down to the "if you don't pass this to ten friends" part. Doom just seemed like the eminent destination for every living creature in the year 1999.

Fortunately, I've since beaten the system. Yesssss yes, I did! I've beaten it twelve times on either side like the rag doll that it is. BAM! BAM! BAM! Nine more BAM's and you have the full experience. Do not use cats! I repeat! Do. Not. Use. Cats. I'd gotten to the point of detesting the fact that I was in charge of sifting through emails and was just like, enough of this bloody bullshit! Nobody put's baby's pupils in a corner!

Turning my head to the right until I barely had sight of my computer screen and then on the odd day, squinting my eyes while hoping my boss didn't walk pass right at that moment? Brother or no brother, it was fast becoming exhausting. And do you KNOW how sore a persons eyeballs get, doing that on a constant basis? If your answer to that question was, yes? I'm here to set those eyeballs free, my friend!

It all came to me in a flash. No, actually it was those hundreds of tiny silver circles you see in front of you when you've gotten up too fast or you've strained your eyeballs so bad that....well? You start seeing tiny silver circles bouncing in front of you. With no 3-D glasses on. But, hey. I'm flexible so we can call it a flash if you want. Whatever turns your head.

So therrrrrre I was, chair tilted back, head to the right, eyeballs resembling a possessed pregnant lady having visions of dancing bubbles? And I thought, "Think! Think!"

My inner self looked at me like this, "O_o!"

And then because it never fails to cease an opportunity to use wit against me, it reckoned, "Seeeooooooh? Somewhere in that...that...space? You expect to come up with a solid plan by demanding through thought to think...twice? Hmmmmm-M! Think ima just sit quietly and watch this one unfold."

Lemme tell you something. I took that vote of no-confidence and shov... Uh? I used it as motivation, yes, m-mmm, that's what I did. Once I got my vision back? There was nothing to talk about! It was clear that I'd come up with a foolproof way to avoid a life of constant rotten luck! And because I'm a sharer....here it is!

Even though, the sensible part of my brain knewwwwww that I will not be the recipient of nineteen years and three months worth of bad luck in love, life and finance if I didn't inflict the same blunt fate on ten unsuspecting candidates? That seed of doubt somehow lingered at the back of my mind. From that moment on, I made sure nevvvvvvvver to reach the do or die section of the email. And there ya go! Simple. See, you thought it was some carefully written out synopsis of pointed instructions, followed by sketches and referrals, didn't you? Nuh-uh. In order for any plan to work? The less reading or remembering, the better!

This is why it works. I will always have a winning argument. Let's just say, for argument sake, I get a chain email from someone. I won't mention names. "Someone" in turn found out that I didn't cast spells of destruction on others, like they intended me to? Bitterness. They take me to small claims court or street court or wherever they have court these days?

I, The Rambler, hereby categorically state that under no circumstances did I see, read or know that I had to forward that shit to ten contacts. Your. Honour.

There! Done! I win!

Besides? It's hectic tryna scroll down your contact list for the people you like the least in the office orrrr! Orrrrrr, the people you know for a fact don't pay much attention to personal emails! By the way, that's always a good one if you don't want to adopt my way of doing things. Those right there are the ones to forward this guilt ridden drivvle to! You feel some kind of satisfaction that at least you haven't pushed their fate into the dark pockets of ill-luck because they probably won't ever open the email. What matters is, is that you sent it off to ten people.

However, what my ultimate plan outcome was, was not even reaching that point of having to decide all of that. I'm Libra. Decisions to me are as cruel a fate as these chain emails. All in avoidance of going through the rest of my day, stressing to the point of twitching about my 3 O'clock tea being poisoned by random visiting blue-balled monkeys. Simply put? It's a typical case of what you don't know can't hurt you!

But mannnnnnnnn? The year 2000 went from being history in the making to a turn of the century that would threaten the security of all mankind along with turning the money in your bank account into "now you see it, now you never will again." Bless those souls who made sure to spend every cent of it by midnight of the 31st of December. January is hard enough on a normal day. So yeah. They need a blessing right about now. As if thirteen years later, does any good. But a blessing is a blessing no matter the time frame, right?

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

Raped of Its Dignity

Raped of It’s Dignity

I can only speculate.  But was South Africa dropped on its head at birth or what?  And I know what you’re saying to yourself.  You bring up a good point there, Rambler!  Why, thank you.  Your points are not so bad themselves.     

Look?  Some-something is seriously wrong.  I read yesterday that soon we won’t be able to spank our kids with the flat of our hands.  Naturally?  When my eyes have the misfortune of seeing crap like that?  I read no further, mumble profanities under my breath, or aloud, depending on who’s in the room.  Priests appear outa nowhere at times.  And then turn straight to the horoscope page.  FYI.  I won’t live happily ever after today…rats!  But I remain optimistic.    

Personally?  I’m not much of a spanker.  But on the rare occasion that I might feel the need?  I said, rare.  I know for a fact that I will feel a hundred times worse having to two-feet my child as a means of disciplining him/her.  The lawmakers, I am convinced come up with this load of drivvle during intoxication.  We’ve all been there.  You’re wasted.  Suddenly stripping and doing laps around the neighbourhood seems like a sound form of exercise.  There’s a huge difference, though, between party favourites and laws that govern the country. 

Let’sssssssss just say, right.  The disciplining occurred at the end of the passage?  What happens if he/she lands in such a way where he/she hits his/her head on the corner of the wall after I’ve disciplinicly (-_-) swiped the floor from underneath him/her?  He/she are still my kids, afterall.  Love hurts at times.  Ask me.  How serious would my disciplining session appear when thereafter, I have to help them up, check for blood, cry, sit up with them all night (they say that you shouldn’t allow your child to sleep for a while after they’ve hit their head), cry, hold an ice pack to the lump?  If you’re me, within all of the disappointment at the way this has gone, yet another dilemma arises. 

Fending off the temptation while you’re salivating at the knowledge that ice is at hand.  Alllllllllll that drama, when all I could have done was flat-handedly smack them on the arm or the thigh, any place except for the face, that’s not protected by the clothes I bought.  It totally defeats the purpose if I have a hand in protecting them against the pain I am trying to inflict on them, doesn’t it?  All it could have been, is smack and send.  I stopped at send because I don’t know where you prefer to send your kids after you’ve smacked them.  Plus I didn’t wanna appear egotistical and make this about me, me, me.

Already, corporal punishment has been banned in schools.  I dunno about you but the burning sensation lingering on the tip of our fingers from being whipped by a bamboo cane?  Even when we were nowhere near whomever had verbal diarrhoea during the lesson?  It kept us in line!  It kept us respectful and it helped us to master the art of crying within.  You didn’t wanna be known as the cry baby in school.  OMG!  Not the reputation you wanted following you around all your life.  And?!?!  We were still expected to write while our fingers throbbed and beated like Tom’s head when Jerry dropped an entire wall unit on it.  The main thing is that we wrote.  We wrote out of fear but we wrote, regardless.   

I’ve jumped the gun.  My apologies.  Lemme take a few steps back and tell you what was plastered across the front page of the Times?  The big union boss is being accused of alleged rape.  I said alleged.  I’m being as judicially correct as my fingers will allow.  He says he’s innocent and that he didn’t “hear” her saying no.….CHOKE….my mind was like, SCUREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!   Did he maybe hear his wife say, “Dear, you’re welcome to sleep with your colleagues during office hours.  I know how stressful the middle of the day can be for you.”  O_o.  Meanwhile?!?  Back at the....meanwhile?  Back in the two thousand and something....he was in sizzling hot water for spending funds on romantic rendevous with the now wife, then mistress!  Greed.  SMH.  He does admit to locking her office door, but just so that they weren’t walked in on.  Meaning, by his wife, I think.  I can't be sure.  But now the alleged victim is being charged for extortion, blackmail and for having a vagina.  I said, alleged.  I didn't mean it, though.        

First the now president was tried for rape.  But he’s innocent.  GASSSSSSSSSSP!  Shocker.  The guilty victim had HIV but he had a shower.  Least he's clean.  This may come as a surprise, but unlike in the US or other countries?  Not Zimbabwe.  When we vote?  We vote for the party.  Not the person.  The person?  If he's the leader of the "winning" party, we’re unfortunately just forced to accept him as president.  Which means that unlike the way that it’s done in other countries?  Not Zimbabwe.  Where the presidential candidate loses votes, a chance at winning or the ability to even compete in the stupid elections, because he has a record for a car he might have stolen back when he was being initiated for entry into a gang?  It was him or the car.  With a choice like that?  I woulda been bending that metal coat hanger my damn self. 

Here, however?  It’s alright.  You can have been the leader of that gang, rape, kill, steal, in the past or the present, a satanic priest, annnnnnnnnnything.  You still have every chance and apparant right, to run the country.  We're non-judgemental like that.  Just flash your card and you're forgiven.  It’s almost like….like we're being punished for having a heart beat.  It’s at this point and the only time that you’re seriously sincere in begging the heavens (You’ve given up on your parents’ explanation of how they were so very much in love and how they believed that having you would complete their lives.) for an answer to, “What the hell were you thinking when you made me?”  I'm guessing all of Zimbabwe are asking either heaven or hell this very question as we speak.     

One has a million wives.  The other has one wife.  That we know of.  The point I’m trying to make is that none of the accused, or the proven-innocent, have a valid reason, other than because I can, to even find themselves in this kinda predicament, ‘specially when it’s not their wives accusing them of this animalistic crime.  Hey, it happens.  Both ways.  But greed is a nasty, nasty habit, isn’t it?  You want your husband, well not wannnt-want.  Prefer rather, to come home with his tail between his legs, pitiful as he says, “My love, I was charged for driving without my seatbealt today.”  Not.  “My love, I was charged for rape today.” 

But wait…don't go just yet....THERE’S MORE…..!!!!!!!!! 

Sommmmmmmewhere in the midst of all of this lunacy?  We have ol' faithful, Malema being allowed to form his own political party.  Jesus Christ of Nazareth!  O_O!  Talking about how the state should just take all of the land in South Africa and have people then apply to use it. Holy Mary, Mother of God!  >_<!!!!!  Gimme a second while I vomit. 

I feel it necessary to now put on record that should I develop Bulimia?  I will name Mr. Malema as the number one exclusive cause of my condition.  &%^$ all that emotional stress, fear of fat, sob sob, sniff sniff, when I look in the mirror I'm obese, shit.  My medical sheet will be very precise. 

Diagnosis: Bulimia

Symptoms:  Nausea and vomiting

Cause: Julius Malema

Treatment:  Unknown until a cure is found for idiosyncrasy

Pray with me, good people of South Africa.  May the good Lord, help us all!  Us who are stuck in this hellhole without the option or opportunity to buy property on Mars, or Mauritius.