I have a small secret

Growing up, I had a very very bestest friend. We lived down the road from each other, and consequently spent all our time at each others' houses, as friends are wont to do.

We had regular sleepovers and play dates and watched movies and played with our dolls and just generally had a good, girly time.

Childhood Friend had a brother who was, if I remember correctly, 2 - 3 years older than us. He was rather like an annoying bug in the background of our friendship, which I'm assuming is what older brothers do.

When I was 10, I started to grow boobs. I found it completely mortifying, as I was the only girl in my year to get them. It was horrible, even though they were just tiny little bee-sting swellings on my chest, as I got teased for it quite a bit.

When I was around 12 years old, CF had a party at her house, which I obviously attended, since we were joined at the hip. Duh. I slept over at her house that night. As I always did, I slept on a mattress on the floor next to her bed.

I don't know why I woke up that night, but I did. I'm not sure if there was a noise, or my subconcious knew something was off, but all of a sudden, I was startled to a wary wakefulness. I couldn't see anything, as it was dark, but somehow I sensed tension. My heart was thrumming in my throat as my eyes uselessly darted this way and that, trying to find something in the blackness of the room.

A few minutes went by, and when nothing happened, I started to relax. And then a hand was on my chest.

I froze. I couldn't move. My heart started hammering at the walls of my chest, as if to try and escape whatever was happening and about to happen.

The Hand fumbled around at the space between my breasts. At the time I had no idea what it was trying to achieve, but I now realise that it was trying to find the clasp of the bra that I had been wearing that day. It clasped in the front, something I was proud of as I felt it made me more adult.

Being that I was going to sleep, I didn't wear a bra. Something The Hand soon realised when it couldn't feel a small, hard plastic object under my nightie. I must've made a sound, or moved, because suddenly I was seeing light through my eyelids. The Hand had brought a torch with, and must've thought I'd woken up. I feigned sleep, hoping that whatever it was, was over and The Hand would leave.

It didn't.

After a few seconds of light, the torch snapped off. And The Hand enveloped one of my breasts.

At that point, I snapped out of my frozen terror, and folded my arms across my chest, knocking The Hand off, and startling it away.

I don't remember hearing The Hand leaving, or how long it took me to fall asleep that night. I remember CF's incredulousness when I told her about it the next day. It could only have been her brother, we figured, as why would her Dad do something like that? My suspicions were only deepened when her brother was awfully nice to us that morning. Whenever we made eye-contact, his face and eyes had this "I'm-sorry-don't-tell-I'm-sorry" expression.

CF told her Mom. And the next time I was over, CF's Mom called me into her bedroom, spoke frantically at me and pushed a typed letter in my face, ostensibly written by The Hand/brother. Once I'd read the obviously dictated admission of guilt, she ripped it up, and call him into the room. He slunk in, and mumbled an apology to his feet, and slunk out again. And she made me promise not to tell.

And I tried not to tell. I really did. But after a few days, I couldn't keep this gnawing creature in my gut to myself anymore, and I told my Mom. I'm not sure what she said to CF's Mom on the phone, but that was pretty much the end of visits after that.

Strangely, before I was aware of the body's natural leaning towards asymmetry, I assumed that the reason why one breast was smaller than the other was because it was touched by The Hand, and that somehow hindered it's growth. The things kids believe...

My Religious Experience

The other day, I was at the shops, picking up luxuries like food and toilet paper. In the parking garage, a young, neatly dressed man approached me and greeted me. Being in a good mood, I reciprocated.

After introducing himself, he said, "I would like to invite you to Church." I'm not particularly into the Abrahamic monotheistic religions - or any religion for that matter. I also didn't want to fob him off with a lie as that just didn't seem right, so I smiled, and said, "Dude, I don't really do church. But I do appreciate the offer."

What happened next was kind of shocking. He didn't ask why. He didn't try to argue me into attending church. He didn't try to stuff a pamphlet into my hand. He didn't denounce me as some kind of devil-worshipping deviant who is out to corrupt innocent children.

He returned my smile, shook my hand and wished me a very pleasant day. His reaction had such an affect one me that I still remember it a few days later. It's sad that I was half expecting him to go on the offensive, trying to shove his beliefs down my throat. I don't get that from my religious friends, but I do get it from religious strangers. Which is strange and weird and awkward.

I don't go to church because all they do is remind me of funerals - most specifically my sister's funeral. It's hard to feel love and awe and worship when you're transported to one of the most singularly painful moments in your life.

While I understand that some people turn to religion and God for support during those trying and painful times, I'm one of those that turned away. I didn't find comfort or love in the deep emptiness of space, there was no explanation why a supposedly benevolent Creator would cause this kind of pain to my parents and family.

It's been over 10 years, and I still don't get it. I probably never will. I guess I'm ok with that. I'm glad that my religious friends have solace in something that they believe in. I'm also glad that they don't push it down my throat. What do I believe in now? I don't know. I guess I believe in the inherent goodness of people. It's not always easy to find, but it's wonderful when you do.

The S word

Banging. Fucking. Making the beast with two backs. Insert Tab A into Slot B.

Frankly, even with all the sex in publishing and TV we have, people grow up knowing next to nothing about it. Their parents won't talk to them, the schools aren't allowed to, so they have to make do with playground rumour and "babysitter pays the pizza guy with a blowjob" porn.

A lot of parents say that their refusal to educate their children about sex is "so that they won't fall pregnant". That kind of thinking is illogical. That's like not teaching someone self defense so that they'll never get attacked.

Obviously, the puritanical approach is working since you have little to none teenage pregnancy, sexual assault and rape. Wait? What's that? It isn't working? Oh, but it's not your fault. It's the fault of TV and the Internet. Who is the parent here again? Isn't it you?

Isn't it your responsibility to give them the break down when they first ask as 6 year olds? You don't have to sit them down with a porno, just the basics. It'll take 10 minutes, tops. But then, when they hit puberty, you need to sit them down again and again. And tell them the following:

"Sex is great. It really is, especially when it is with someone that you have strong emotional feelings for. But it is also a choice for both partners whether they want to do it or not, and those choices must be respected. Trying to force someone is rape or sexual assault - they're not playing hard to get, they're not kidding around. No means no, got it? No begging, no pleading, no emotional blackmail, no threats, no trying to go through with it anyway.

And if they can't say no because they're drunk or drugged, then the only time you touch them is to turn them onto their side, bring them a bucket and cover them with a blanket. How would you like it if someone did something to you that you didn't want?


You also don't have to do the full penetration to have fun. In fact, you can have lots of fun without actual intercourse. You can bring pleasure to each other with your fingers and tongue and lips. If you do want to have sex, by all means, use protection. There's condoms, diaphragms, the birth control pill, the injection, the patch, the morning after pill. It's not just pregnancy you need to deal with, it's various STDs. (If you can find a book with pictures of STD infected genitals, go for it).

Sex between two people who trust each other and respect each others needs is amazing. And chances are, you will have sex with more than one person in your lifetime. As long as it's in a safe environment with two consenting adults. I hope you know you can always talk to us and ask us questions. We love you."

You may be uncomfortable talking about it. Tough shit. If you can't talk about it, how the hell were you able to nail your partner enough times to fall pregnant? Get over your stupid little foibles, sit the result of your sexual activities down, and give them The Talk. They deserve it.

How to dehumanize someone

View them through a piece of glass. Be it a lens, a screen or a window.

I wasn't going to write a blog today, but felt compelled to after seeing what I saw this morning on the way to gym.

I walk to gym - it's close by and seems silly to drive. I had to take a different route into the shopping complex this morning, as a taxi had crashed into the wall and the main entrance was blocked off by ambulances and police cars.

I don't want to see people dead and dying, so I turned my head when walking past. Unfortunately, a few other people didn't seem to care about that, and were gathering around like social media vultures, snapping away with their phones.

Someone died this morning in that accident. Two are critically injured. But you just HAVE to take a photo for Facebook/Twitter/Tumblr/what ever, don't you. Who cares that the EMTs are working their asses off to save someone's life? Who cares that those victims have families, and coming across those photos will be a very nasty shock to them? As long as you can get those likes and comments and retweets, right?

It's disgusting.

It's unfeeling.

It breaks my fucking heart.

Uniboob

So, I'm chestily advantaged. Which means that when I work out, I need to wear at least 2 sports bras, lest I wind up with my own self-grown jump rope by the age of 40.

Last week I bought a super-uber-holy-shit-this-is-IT running sports bra. It promised minimal bounce.

There is some bounce. But that's not the main issue. Bras that talk about minimal bounce deliver on that promise by basically strapping your girls down. This results in a uniboob. It's not attractive, but I can still live with it.

That is, until I climb into my car and strap on my seat belt. You see, boys and girls, when you wear a "normal" bra, it follows the natural lines of separation between your badoinkies, which means there is a little valley that the seat belt can naturally rest in. No problems.

The uniboob resulting from wearing a compression bra, however, results in that lovely valley being filled in by squished boob-flesh, creating a nice hill on which the seat belt slides up and attempts to slit your throat. Your drive ends up being like this:

Get in car.
Put on seatbelt.
Choke and desperately claw the murderous belt away from your throat.
Clip the belt in.
Start the car.
Choke and desperately claw the murderous belt away from your throat while your annoyance level rises.
Drive.
Choke and angrily claw the murderous belt away from your throat.
Drive some more.
Choke and angrily claw the murderous belt away from your throat while spewing out some rather creative swear words and cursing the seat belt's inventor, their children, their neighbours and their dog.
Drive some more.
Choke, and violently undo the belt and say "fuck it!" and drive the rest of the way home beltless.

If someone could invent a solution to that problem, I would...probably buy the product, but I think that's about as far as I would go really.

To leash

Or not to leash. Incidentally, is it just me that wants to say that with a Sean Connery accent? Yes? Oh...ok...

Anyway, a few days ago, I saw a woman, probably around my age, with a baby and a toddler. The toddler had a kiddy-leash on him, and my first thoughts were "I need to go to Woolies to buy bananas."

I don't care if people choose to leash their kids. Frankly, I don't get why such a big huge fuss gets kicked up about it. Just like not all parents do time-outs, but instead sit down and explain why the Tot did something wrong, or not all parents just hand out toys, but expect the Tot to ask nicely and say thank you; not all parents are anti-leash.

I was leashed as a kid. Now, this was a few decades ago, and my Mom made it very clear that I was to stick to her side like scandal to a politician, but when you're that little, you literally have the attention span of a puppy. I dimly remember my thought processes being "Stay with Mommy...Stay with Mommy....TOYSTOYSTOYSTOYSTOYSTOYS!!!!" The leash was only necessary until I realised that staying with Mom is a good idea, since if I behave, I don't get The Look (TM). Anyone that has gotten The Look (TM) from my Mom knows what I'm talking about...

As any parent, babysitter, grandparent etc can tell you, toddlers are magicians. Conjurers. Sorcerers. Especially when your back is turned. You may turn for 3 seconds to grab the dried thyme, and ALAKAZAM! your toddler has disappeared. They're fast with those tiny little legs. There should be a Toddler Olympics...

And frankly, if you're a lone parent trying to do grocery shopping with two little ones, you need all the help you can get. You need to juggle your shopping list, your cart, your handbag (you never leave your handbag in your cart - asking for something to be stolen that way!), the bag with the things that toddlers need, plus the toddlers. You can't put both in the trolley, because you're doing a big monthly shop, and you can't just put one in the trolley seat because the other one will have a tantrum.

Not to mention that if your kid is leashed to you, it makes that much harder for someone to kidnap them. So don't make a big deal of it. Don't judge the mother or father with a leashed child.  At least they're trying, unlike that "I've given up" parent in the tinned goods aisle, with a little boy running around and nearly tripping people. You know the one. They look at you with empty, emotionless eyes because the nappy ads that showed kids being cute and giggly and well behaved right out of the uterus were all lies, and they either don't know how to reign their kid in, or just don't care to.

On Forgiveness

I'm generally quite a forgiving person. I wasn't always, but one of the advantages of growing older is that you realise a few things.

For example, forgiving doesn't mean that you're erasing the past and giving someone a clean slate. It means that you let go of the resentment you have against that person. Continuing to hold a grudge means that not only are you still expending energy on that person and what they did, you're letting them squat, rent-free, in your head and memories.

Forgiving that person doesn't mean you now need to become their closest friend, but it does mean that you can carry on with your life without expending any further emotional or mental energy on that person.

It also doesn't mean that you must now forget what you've learned in that experience. There's not much point in repeating that over and over again. Think of it this way - you don't hold a grudge against the stove for the burn you got on your hand, but you remember that touching it's hot elements is not a good idea. Know what I mean?

The reason why I bring this up is that a little while back, someone that I cut out of my life tried to weasel their way back in. They were under the impression that forgiving is the same as being friends again, which it isn't. I forgave this person only because I realised that by holding onto the grudge, they were still in my life in some form, even if it was resentful memories. The moment I forgave them, I barely gave them another thought.

I always like to think that love and hate/resentment are two sides of the same coin. You might not like that person, but you're still expending energy on them, aren't you? The best revenge is a life well lived, with indifference to the person that hurt you. Not only can they see that you're happy, content and doing well, they can see that they don't feature in any part in your life, thoughts, actions or emotions.

I don't WANT to be a tit-vest!

So I was walking home from gym yesterday, and some random dude pulls up beside me, and offers me a lift. I said "No thanks", but he insisted, going so far as to lean over and open the passenger side door.

That was a little creepy. Ok, no, that was a LOT creepy. Thankfully, I'm as stubborn as my Dad, so I continually said "No thanks!" in a loud, cheerful voice, and didn't move from my spot on the pavement that was nice and far away from him.

Just because he was smiling, didn't mean his refusal to accept my polite "No" wasn't aggressive. Not to mention that after he drove away, he had to cross two lanes to get into his turning lane - in the opposite direction of where I lived.

Maybe his intentions were pure, maybe he wanted to wear my skin like a coat (oh HAI Buffalo Bill!), maybe he was looking for good organs to sell on the blackmarket. The point being, if someone politely declines your offer, it's kind of uncool to push the issue.

"What if it was a girl offering you a lift?", I hear you say. I would've said no thanks as well. Just because we have similar genitals doesn't mean she doesn't want to wear my skin like a coat either. Women can be serial killers. They can too! We may be cute and cuddle with bouncing boobs, but we can be just as vicious and sadistic as a man. Maybe even more so.

Fact of the matter is, listen to your gut. Sure, you may be tired and hot and you're carrying a bag of groceries, and the guy is nice enough to offer you a lift. But getting home sweaty is better than not getting home at all, and becoming a statistic.

Not rules, just suggestions

So I've done some races this year, and while I'm not going to break any speed records, I've picked up a few ideas that I would like to share.

For the organisers:
Port-a-Potties on the route: Yeah. Seriously. While the male runners can quickly hop behind a tree and muse on the universe for 30 seconds or so, the female ones...can't. For a 5k, I can let it slide, but if you're doing 10, 21 etc, then really consider getting a couple of PaPs at the watering stations. Not just for the women either, since I'm pretty sure both sexes can be affected by Runner's Gut.

Water stations: There's only been one race that I was on that failed miserably on the water stations - and that was the 2012 Soweto Marathon. By the time we got to the second (and last) water station, they'd run out of water. In the middle of summer. Fun times!

For the runners:
Watch your form: Yes, you're a special unique snowflake and you want to burn a million calories. But running like this:

will result in an elbow to the eye, and that's not fun. Reign it in a little until the crowds disperse, hey?

Keep left: If you're going to slow down to a walk (like I often have to), move to the left! It's annoying to the fit people who actually can run uphill to have to dodge slow people, or better yet, narrowly avoid a collision with someone who just comes to a complete stop. I've run less than 10 races and even I managed to figure this out.

Throw trash in the bin, dammit: Lots of races go through residential neighbourhoods. I'm sure they'd be willing to overlook the road closures if they weren't greeted with a pile of plastic after a race. Seriously, it's a tiny little plastic bag, when you're done with your water, just hold it. When you get to a bin, chuck it. Not to mention I've nearly seen my arse slipping on those little fuckers. Throw it away. Lazy bastards!

Thank the refs and marshalls: They have a crap job. They're the ones directing traffic and getting shouted at, and they have to get up as early as you do, if not earlier, to get to the venue and their stations. Even a strangled, panted "thank.....you....." works.

Wear underwear: Both sexes! Please. Pretty please. Ladies, seeing your camel toe that early in the morning is uncool. Guys...I'm just going to leave this here, so you can feel my pain:

Why I won't buy "health and fitness" magazines anymore

 I will look like this one day...

I used to religiously buy at least 2 or 3 health and fitness magazines a month. I would read them cover to  cover, making notes of workouts, nutrition tips and of course, supplements.

Now, I'm nowhere near to being a fitness model, personal trainer or nutritionist, but I've picked up a fair amount of knowledge along the way of training and chatting to people who are qualified and know what they're doing. And I've come to realise that most of those so-called health magazines could care less about health and more about advertising money.

Take, for example, the latest one I bought (and the last). In an advice column, a woman writes in and says the following:
a) She's in her first trimester of pregnancy
b) She's gained over 10 kgs during that time
c) She wants to know if it's safe to take CLA and green tea capsules to stop further weight gain and promote weightloss.

 The person writing back to PregnantLady doesn't:
a) Ask about her eating habits
b) Suggest she keep a food diary for a week, then
c) Cut out all processed foods (like chips,chocolates, white bread etc), and high sugar foods for a month and see what happens.

Nope, he merrily tells her "SURE! TAKE THE PILLS!"

Why do I have such a big problem with that? Because earlier in my life, I would read articles/advice columns like that, and think "Great! I don't have to change my habits at all! I can just take fat burners and I'll lose weight! YAHOO!!"

Obviously, all it did was decrease my bank balance. And some of those OTC fat burners gave me heart palpitations and feelings of anxiety and paranoia. And I ended up fatter than ever. No thanks. Weightloss is 80% what you eat, and 20% workouts.

Another thing I noticed, was that they had a little blurb about Type II diabetes, and how people need to watch what they eat and try to prevent getting diabetes. Right underneath that article, was an ad for an energy bar. Which is mostly sugar, processed carbs, caffeine, and artifical everything. Holy hypocrite, Batman! I've noticed a lot of things like that in these mags, where they write an article extolling XYZ, and on the opposite page, have an ad for a product that goes against XYZ.

Now, these magazines aren't cheap. So it irks me to find simple grammar and spelling mistakes. The kind that MS Word so helpfully picks up and underlines for you. Hell, it'll even fix it for you! Or better yet, design and layout issues - say, for example, a picture is placed above text, but they don't check it's placing, and it cuts the top half of the first sentence off. Really? You can't check little things like that?

And finally, quite a few of these fitness rags are slowly turning into Cosmopolitan. You know. They put articles like this in a gym mag:

HOW TO STUN YOUR MAN WITH 3 NEW SEX MOVES TONIGHT!!
TURN EVERY DAY FOOD ITEMS INTO SEX TOYS!!
HOW TO SEDUCE YOUR MAN BY DEVELOPING DOUBLE JOINTED LIMBS!!
MASTER HIS MAN-BITS!!

Thanks, but no thanks. I'm kinky enough to keep Asshat ExHusband happy (and exhausted), and I think if I were to approach him with a pineapple, some lingerie and a lascivious  smile, he would scream like a girl and sprint away.  Not to mention, I'm reading that magazine to get tips on how to squat better with higher weights, not figure out how to act like a porn star.

On the bright side, I'm saving a couple hundred bucks a month now.

Affection = bad

So on Sunday, EvilPickle and I went out and watched Monsters University (Spoiler alert: It's awesome, go watch it!).

Afterwards, we did a little shopping, and she was sweet enough to buy me a little something. It was terribly cute, and anyone that knows me knows I have no problem showing affection to my loved ones.

So I put my arm around her shoulders and gave her a smooch on the temple. As I did that, this bitter looking old hag shot me a look so dirty that boiling bleach would not have gotten me clean.
I could almost see the words emblazoned on her face in neon "Damn lesbians! Disgusting!"

What did I do? I looked BitterHag straight in the eye, and gave EvilPickle's butt a good, solid grab after whispering to her about what was going on. Being the fabulous diva that she is, she put her arm around my waist and snuggled into me. All while BitterHag's face got more and more sour.

It's just ridiculous. What's even grosser is EvilPickle and I look like sisters to the point where complete strangers have commented on it. And frankly, who is she to give two passersby such a filthy look? Two people who love each other are allowed to hold hands, hug and kiss in public.

I love my friends, because they are awesome. And life is short, so I'm going to let them know - through funny messages, hugs, hand holding, strolling arm in arm, etc. If you have a problem with it, keep it to yourself.

Where do babies come from?

So, if you're a regular reader of my blog, you'll know that my parents are virgins*, and I was dropped down the chimney by a pterodactyl. My Dad was kind enough to share the recipe he and SWMBO (She Who Must Be Obeyed - aka Mom) used to attract the pterodactyl who delivered me:

1 leg lamb, left in the sun for 5 days

3 snoek, ditto

3 large cloves garlic, grated

I large piece ginger, grated

8 cups stock, left in the sun for 5 days

1 t salt

3 t grated pepper

When the meat starts smelling, cut into small pieces, fry briefly in old non-virgin olive oil, take one teacup of dog pee, mix well, put under a tree in the shade and add a few rotten eggs. You will have to taste it first to make sure that the taste is right, but experience will eventually help. Arrange artistically with a bright pink plastic pig next to it and wait.

So there you have it. If you feel like having a kid one day, follow the instructions above and within time, you too can have a child like me!




*Yes, I know they're not really virgins. But I really don't want to think about my parents making the beast with two backs, thanks!

Belief vs Behaviour

There's a saying I read somewhere a few years back - "Standing in a garage makes me a car about as much as going to Church makes me a Christian."

Being raised Roman Catholic, I would see people go to church, stand at the right moments, kneel at the right moments, sing all the hymns, put some coins in the collection plate and then leave. They would then drive like complete morons, or go have a good gossip, or go home and beat their wife/children - hardly the "Christian" behaviour preached in church!

Obviously, it's not just Catholics who do this, nor do all people do this. But there are people who go to their religious building of choice, listen intently to the teachings, then go home and ignore/contradict them.

Which just goes to show - your beliefs don't make you a better person, your behaviour does. You can believe in love all you want, but if you don't practice it, all you are is a hypocrite.
Heck, growing up, I was told that the Old Testament was not to be taken as seriously as the New Testament - because the OT was kind of violent (eye for an eye) and the NT was more "love thy brother" and whatnot.

But you still get people who use the OT to try and justify hating gay people. And you can't pick and choose which verses you're going to pay attention to - if you're going march around with a placard proclaiming "Leviticus 20:13", you may want to make sure that:
a) You have no tattoos or piercings (Leviticus 19:28)
b) You don't shave your sideburns (Leviticus 19:27)
c) You don't eat pork or have anything to do with pig products at all (Leviticus 11:18)
d) You don't practise the "pulling out" method of contraception (Genesis 38:9 - 10)

And this is my favourite one:
e) You are not divorced (Mark 10:8 and Mark 10:11 - 12)

You've got all these people parading around under the banner of a religion that, at it's core tries to say "Love yourself. Love the people around you. And for My sake, don't be a raging cocknugget". And they're trying to enforce their beliefs on the country in general, while displaying behaviour that is contrary to the core beliefs! If you're going to try and tell the world that they must follow your beliefs and your religion, make sure you're following it too.

Yes, I'm talking to you, you ignorant pork-sausage and bacon eating, tattooed and pierced, divorced, clean-shaven Bible-banging hypocrite.

I don't subscribe to organised religion for the main fact that people in large groups are dangerously stupid. And judgemental, and cliquey.

Not all religious people are two-faced, though. I know plenty of Wiccans and Catholics and Muslims who are really good people. And they try to treat the people around them with respect and love and tolerance - which I believe is the basis of any good religion.

So don't corner me in a party and regale me with your beliefs. I could just as easily tell you about how I believe that I can own a yacht, and an island and win multiple Grammys - doesn't mean it's actually going to happen.

You are stupid

Well, not you in particular. Maybe someone you know or are related to. We all have that person in our social circle. The undercover "*ist". They're either racist, ageist, sexist or some other kind of "ist" word that denotes some kind of discriminatory stupidity.

This person doesn't necessarily stand on a soap box in the middle of the CBD with a huge picket sign saying "*Insert population demographic here* is an abomination and should be burned alive!"
Probably because they possess enough intelligence to be dimly aware of how self preservation works.

However, they have no problem sneaking in little barbs in social conversation. You know the deal, you're standing around the braai, secretly wondering when the hell those chops are going to be ready, there's only so many chips you can eat dammit; and someone shares a story of e.g. a co-worker that did something stupid and everything's royally stuffed now. The UndercoverIst will chime in with a "Hey, was that person old/black/indian/atheist/female/fat/chinese/insert demographic here?"

Seriously? What the hell does that have to do with the story? Someone rear-ending another person on the highway has more to do with the driving conditions, whether they were paying attention to the road and such like things, and fuck-all to do with the name of the God they choose to pray to.

The UndercoverIst knows that telling a story in civilised companywhere you say "Guys, I have this story about a *insert demographic* where they *insert stupid action*. Hahahaha, typical *insert demographic/slur* idiots - we shouldn't expect anything else from them!" will get them chucked out of the house super fast. And they will probably be banned from any future gatherings - unless they're family. For some reason, because you're related to this twat, you have to endure their *ist mutterings.

My second favourite thing to do to the UndercoverIst is to call them on it. "Why, Bob, what does their skin colour/age/sex/religion/etc have to do with the story?"
It's satisfying to watch them squirm and sputter while trying to come up with a socially acceptable explanation. My super favourite thing to do, is have absolutely nothing to do with them.

Unfortunately, it took me a few years to figure that out. Previously, I would just stand there uncomfortably and try to change the subject. I remember going to a braai in my early twenties with a guy I particularly fancied the pants off of. And I made googly eyes at him and imagined him naked and was mentally dropping my panties, right up until he made a very crude racist joke.

Right there and then, my panties were up and staying up. In fact, all my clothing was staying on. Hell, I was just about in a lesbian nunnery, as far as his chances of getting anywhere with me ever at all.
And yet, I still stuck around at the braai. Because I was 20 and had no metaphorical balls. And instead of telling him "You're disgusting, don't ever try to contact me again", I just passively aggressively ignored his texts, mails and calls until he stopped.

I suppose you could say I'm ignoranusist. I cannot stand ignoranuses. Dumb asses. Willfully stupid people. People that have the resources and opportunity to educate themselves, and choose not to, and believe the most inane shit. The kind of shit that a three year old would give you a "yeah right" look for.

So I suppose I'm not invited to the UndercoverIst's next braai then?

Anti-kid

I'm not actually anti-kid. The kids of my friends are pretty darn awesome - and I'll tell you why. Their parents give a damn about discipline. They set boundaries, and enforce them.

Unfortunately, the rest of the world seems to be of the opinion that discipline will stifle little Meeshell or Jaysun's spirit. It doesn't, actually. What it does do, however, is result in adults that break the law, trample all over people and treat their parents like crap. Why should they respect their parents? They were never taught to!

I don't blame kids for being snotty little shits. When you're 6 or 7, you literally don't know better. I blame the parents. They're the ones that you hear in the supermarket, saying in a soft, monotone voice: "Chanelle, if you do that again, Mommy will punish you" over and over again. Mommy never punishes Chanelle, so what does Chanelle learn? That she can do what she wants, and there will be no consequences.

These are the same kids that get everything their greedy little hearts desire, without having to do anything for it first - like chores. I know, a kid does need a cellphone in this day and age. But why the hell would an 8 year old need a Blackberry? But Mom and Dad want William Esquire the Third to have all the things they didn't have, so they just sit and regurgitate the money for all the stupid shit he doesn't need. The result? William never learns to value things. He knows if he throws his Blackberry in the pool when he fights with his friend, his parents will buy him another one.

These kids grow up into adults that don't want to work for anything. They believe that they are entitled to the Ferrari/Mansion lifestyle within minutes of graduating. These are the ones that jump queues, knock over old ladies, jump stop streets and red robots. These are the ones that drive drunk. These are the ones that pay off credit cards with other credit cards, again and again and again. Because they want what they want NOW. Why should they work and save up for that big screen TV when they can buy it now and "pay" for it later?

And of course, their parents sit in despair, wondering why their dear little Suzie is fired from her 17th job at the age of 23. And wondering why their beloved little Francois is in jail for assaulting an off-duty police officer. And wondering why their wonderful little Shane is being sued by a grocery chain for taking a poop in the baby food aisle.

"Why are they like this?" they exclaim. "Our children are little shits!" they cry.

It's your fault. And unfortunately, the world has to deal with the fruit of your crotch. Because when you don't raise them right, they're not children. They're crotch-droppings. You don't have to spank them. It's not necessary. But you can give them time-outs, take away privileges, make them do chores and their homework. And if you say you're going to punish them if they "do that one more time!", follow through with it.

I was raised with discipline. I turned out just fine...


*twitch*

Such a taboo

Seriously - out of all the bodily functions, I think men have a bigger problem with periods, and the associated paraphernalia that goes with them, than anything else.

They'll happily guffaw at fart jokes, poop jokes, pee jokes, boob jokes, penis jokes, pussy jokes, but omigawd, mention the P or M or T word, and an uncomfortable silence settles in the immediate area. Seriously? You'll happily video tape your buddy projectile vomiting into the pool, but you won't buy your girlfriend tampons? I still remember boys at high school freaking out when a girl took a pad (with wings!) out of her bag to give to a friend.

I promise, we're not gross or unclean when menstruating. You won't shrivel up and die if you touch us during that time. It's not like opening the Ark. You should be glad, actually - it's confirmation that you're not going to be responsible for a whole other person for at least two decades.

"But she's so grumpy and touchy and bitchy" you say. Well, for the first couple of days, I think she has a right to be a little grumpy. Just imagine that little dude from Kid Rock's "band" has taken up residence in your midsection, and is practising karate. Wearing spiky shoes. Covered in cayenne pepper.

But then again, unless she has a severe hormone issue, that doesn't give her the right to rip your head off when you timidly offer her some peppermint tea because "OMIGAWD I HATE PEPPERMINT TEA IF YOU LOVED ME YOU'D KNOW I WANT CHAMOMILE!!!" I can't stand women who do that. It's only human to be a little snappy, but don't cock the sawn-off shotgun because he didn't immediately notice your new shoes.

Maybe I'm just desensitized because I was raised in a medical household, but I have no problem telling Asshat Ex Husband "Honey! Guess what! Yay, I'm not pregnant! Damn these cramps are awkward". We discuss birth control, take it in turns buying condoms, so why not let him know that I'm on my period? Ok, I've never sent him to buy tampons, mostly because:
a) I generally plan ahead and don't run out, and
b) he would probably buy the wrong brand anyway.

On a personal note, I think that having monthly periods is a bit of overkill. If you consider the fact that most girls start it around 9 or 10, and the average age of menopause is around 51, that's about 40 years of menstruating. Assume that she has 2 kids, so that's 2 years off periods, yay! So 38 years of menses - which is roughly 450 periods, give or take variations in her cycle. The average amount of blood lost in Jane Doe's period is about 40 mls. Which means I can look forward to losing a total of 18 liters of blood through my vagina - Yay!

Seriously, talk about overkill.

"No" is a dirty word

In today's society, saying no is a dirty word. Never mind all the magazine articles that proclaim "Saying No is Healthy!" "How to say No with a clear conscience" - if you actually do say "No", you're some kind of pariah.

Saying "No" at work, even if you already have enough work for 2 people, means you're not a team player. It's not enough that you eat lunch at your desk, arrive early, leave late and take work home over the weekend. You need to sacrifice your sleep as well.

Saying "No" to friends is almost a slap in the face. What? You dare to have plans of your own? Why would you want to spend a night in with your family when you could be slamming down tequila shots with me? Spending time with your kids is not that important, you need to come out to dinner with me!

Saying "No" to customers pretty much guarantees you a special place in Hell, right next to the people who flick lit cigarette butts out of their cars onto bone-dry fields. The customer pays you, so you need to just make sure you're available all the time any time.

Saying "No" to family - well, you ought to just burst into flames right then and there. It doesn't matter that you're a full grown adult, if your unreasonable family member wants you to do something that inconveniences you, you have to do it.

That's bullshit. What complete and utter arse-gravy. There is nothing wrong with saying no. If you don't feel like doing something, especially for someone has done nothing but prove they are toxic, then don't do it. And you also don't need to justify it. A simple "That is not possible" will cover all the bases.

Anyone who doesn't have their head up their ass will understand a reasonable "No".

Stuff I learned from my sister

My sister was one of the most amazing people I ever knew. And that's not bias speaking, that's absolute truth.

She was born with Rett Syndrome - and it was pretty severe. She couldn't walk, talk, dress herself, feed herself - she was completely dependent.

And yet, Liezl always had a smile. She was always looking about with an air of curiousity, intrigue and delight.

She taught me to find the good in pretty much every situation. I learned to be grateful for my functioning limbs. I try and walk everywhere as much as I can, because I know she would have if she could.

We had a lot in common, Liezl and I. We both loved (adored!!) chocolate, and cartoons. In winter, our hands and feet were always cold.

I eventually learned to appreciate the small things as much as the big things. Heck, sometimes the small things are more important than the big things.

Love you, Liezl...

He was a quiet man

Talk about stumbling across a gem of a movie. I'd never heard of this film until I saw it mentioned on IMDB.

Christian Slater does an incredible job of portraying Bob, a beige man in a beige house with a beige life. He has a thankless and boring job, bullied by his co-workers and managers. Everyday he toys with the idea of going on a shooting spree, and assigns bullets to his tormentors.

However, someone beats him to the punch, and Bob inadvertently ends up becoming a hero. The killer was going to finish off a pretty girl that Bob had a crush on, and Bob wasn't having any of that.

As the movie progresses, things get worse, then better, then worse again. Capello (the director) has a good eye for detail, and many of the shots could be printed and hung on your wall. The original music (by Jeff Beal) is haunting and a little sad - very fitting.

This film magnifies many of little splinters that life likes to gives us. After all, one or two splinters is barely an issue, but a dozen can drive you insane.

Elisha Cuthbert shows that she is more than just a pretty face. Having to play a quadriplegic must be challenging, and she brought a certain strength to that character. You end up feeling more sorry for Bob than you do for Venessa (her character).

As you turn around the corner to the end of the movie, you find that the rollercoaster ride you went through was totally worth it.

He was a quiet man...

This is an EX-PARROT!

On Saturday night, Asshat ExHusband and I had the pleasure of attending John Cleese's show. We had front row seats. I was literally within 3 metres of a Python...Unfortunately my bag wasn't big enough to smuggle in chloroform and rope, so I couldn't kidnap him. Bugger.

The show was awesome - Mr Cleese was dry, droll, sarcastic and very nostalgic. There was a moment that made my life, however. He was showing some pictures from the Frost Report, and pointed out a person in the group photo and asked if anyone knew who it was. I piped up with "Marty Feldman." John Cleese looked me right in the eye, pointed at me and said "Yes! Well done!"
So I can officially die happy now, and cross off another item on my Bucket list.

He explored his childhood, his shared black humour with his mom, his schooling, how he met the other Pythons, how he got into showbiz. He shared video clips and photos of some of his favourite moments, including his speech at Graham Chapman's funeral, which simultaneously moved me to tears and made me laugh.

John Cleese also shared the inspiration behind some skits, like the Cheese Shop and the fact that there really was a hotel like Fawlty Towers. The Pythons stayed in a hotel with an owner who was the inspiration for Basil Fawlty. Someone like that existed. Mind. Blown.

After show, he was even kind enough to take some questions. And he answered them all with great wit and affection. Despite being 73 years old, he's just as funny as he ever was. He even did a little Silly Walk for us, even though he despised that skit.

It was amazing. 

Cake or DEATH

On Friday night, Asshat ExHusband and I had the pleasure of seeing Eddie Izzard perform. And he did NOT disappoint. Asshat ExHusband didn't really know his work, so was a little dubious about it, but after roughly 30 seconds of the show, he was actually laughing. And all was safe.

Vader showed up, as did God, Smeagol, Gandalf, Mr Stevens (pang! pang!) and various other amusing little characters.

I started off laughing and ended laughing - my cheeks hurt like mad by the end of it.

Unfortunately, however, the venue was kind of a shit choice. 6 urinals for the gents and 6 loos for the ladies, for roughly 5000 people. I'm not joking, there were literally thousands of people there. THOUSANDS. There were a couple of merch tables. Yes, I got a "cake or death" t-shirt. I would have swopped one of Antisocial Husbands' testicles for one, but they would only accept money. Capitalists.

The drinks...benches? tables? I don't know what they were, they looked like those bendy foldy tables you saw in middle class Sunday Schools. And some smart person thought "Ok, well, let's have them not accept credit cards at all, in a convention centre that has absolutely no ATMs whatsoever. Grand idea!" So we went thirsty.

But the piece de resistance was the parking palaver. Two entire parking payment machines, for an entire convention centre. One of which can no longer accept notes as some dumb twat jammed it. Well done! Cue hundreds of people standing in a queue for 40+ minutes to pay for bloody parking...Considering that ASH and I paid over a grand for the tickets, one would think the parking would be free, but nooooooooo.

I don't blame Eddie Izzard for this, how would he know that the Sandton Convention Centre is a shit place to have a show? But Real Concerts would know this. This would have run far better at Monte Casino or the Coca Cola Dome. Because, honestly, standing in a queue for 40+ minutes in 5 inch wedge heels when you're dying of thirst tends to take the shine off a splendid evening.

So Eddie Izzard - 15/10. Brilliant. Love you! Long time!
But Real Concerts and the Sandton Convention Centre - 2/10. The SCC sucks, and since we're out of cake, it gets death. Not the chicken. DEATH!

Tune in tomorrow for the John Cleese review!

(Yes, I saw both Eddie Izzard and John Cleese this weekend. My life rocks)

A love letter

Dear Gym

I miss you. I know we haven't seen each other in a while, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I have to be away for a few days.

I miss how hot and sweaty we used to get together -how once we were done, I wouldn't just be out of breath, I would be gasping for air.  Not to mention how funny I would walk the next day...

Oh, I know I'm not the only one you do this to. But somehow, I'm ok with sharing you. Except when that person is too busy texting to pay any attention to you. They don't deserve you if they do that. It obviously means they don't really care, and you can do far better.

Do you miss me? Do you even notice I'm gone? I hope so. You've led me to believe that you're just as invested in this as I am, and it would hurt my feelings if that weren't true.

I'll hopefully see you next week. I hope you're ready for me ;)

With all my love,

Rads




PS Yeah, I've been sick. Stupid germs.

One of my favourite movies

I first saw this movie when I was the same age as the heroine - 19. Back then I could kind of relate to the confusion she felt, on the cusp of child and adult.

The basic premise of the movie revolves around Lucy, who goes to visit her late mother's friends in Italy. There she seeks not only a crush from her childhood to present her virginity to, but her biological father. Her poet mother wrote about the passionate one night stand that resulted in the conception of Lucy, but didn't name any names.

Lucy discovers the true nature of her childhood crush, who is nothing more than a lame Lothario - a pretty, empty vessel. When she changes her mind about giving up her virginity while making out with him, the scene turns rather disturbing as he disregards her vehement No's. Thankfully she successfully pushes him off and escapes.

The soundtrack to this movie is pretty awesome, featuring artists like Hoover, Nina Simone, John Lee Hooker, and Cocteau Twins, to name a few. The backdrops are simply breathtaking- from rolling Italian hills, to gorgeous statues, murals and architecture.

Every time I've watched this, I've found something new to appreciate about this film. The performance art and actual art is gorgeous. The party scenes are hedonistic, the introspective scenes are fraught with emotion and you can feel the awkwardness in the gawky teenage scenes.

Just something to bear in mind if you want to watch this - they don't shy away from the naked human body, or the subject of sex. The ending doesn't supply a lot of resolution, so you're not too entirely sure what the repercussions are of Lucy's final decision.

Liv Tyler is endearingly earnest in the role of Lucy. One moment she's a confident woman, the next a sullen, sulky teenager. There is an admirable supporting cast in the form of Jeremy Irons (playing a benevolent uncle type who is terminally ill), Rachel Weisz, Sinead Cusack, and Joseph Fiennes.

Obviously, I give this 5 stars, duh.

Reed moar boox

Reading is awesome. I've been reading since I was tiny - and I credit that to my parents. They were very good in making sure I learned how to read early, and that I learned the pleasure of books as well.

They also informed me that apparently I taught myself to speed-read, a fact which I am rather skeptical about. Yes, I do speed-read, but I was no child prodigy! On an added note, being a speed-reader is expensive. I finish a new book (300+ pages) in about 1 - 2 days if I don't read it in one sitting...

Books are just intensely great. I have been to many different worlds, different cultures, different times, thanks to books. I have made life-long friends with the characters in some of the books I've read. Every year I re-read one of my favourite series, and even though I know what to expect, I still laugh in all the same places, and cry in all the same places.

Asshat ExHusband can attest to the fact that he's caught me sobbing my heart out over the death of a character in a book. There are two particular books I can never read again, because they drive me into a red-hot rage. I get extremely angry when I read them, so I've decided that even though I love the authors, for my own mental health I need to not read those works again.

I have two books autographed by Sir Terry Pratchett. They are two of my most prized possessions - I still remember being 13 years old, meeting the Sir and being tongue-tied. Typical teen awkwardness, bah!

I have also learned to not lend out my books. I've lost many books that way - at least one of which is now out of print. For years I was heart-broken until I recently found it at a second hand bookstore. And I've read it and re-read it about 3 times since re-acquiring it :D

If you were to look at my bookcase, you can easily tell which are my favourite books by seeing which of the spines are so creased that you can barely make out the title. Asshat ExHusband is also a big reader, which is a big thing for me. If he hadn't had books in his room when I first walked into it, I don't think we would still be together...

One day when I'm big and grown-up, I would like a hammock in my garden, where I can go and read on a lazy Sunday afternoon. With a good drink by my side, and heaven help you if you disturb me for a trivial reason!

Movie stuff I've wondered about

Watching movies, there's always some stuff I've wondered about.

Take, for example, the huge waste of science minions in an action movie. The main bad dude doesn't seem to mind sacrificing a couple of scientists, despite the fact that the world appears to be in a classic post-apocalyptic era, which means way fewer people. I mean, how are you going to build your doomsday device in time if you keep killing off the brainier sections of your minions?

There is also the classic "Girl wakes up the morning after a tryst" scene, where her hair is amazing and silky and gorgeous, and even though she appears to have slept with her make up on, none of it has smudged. At all. Which is pretty much impossible, especially after the night passion the movie showed before with all sorts of hair tossing and acrobatics and passionate face-nomming...er...smooching.

Action movies where there's a plucky female love-interest is also amusing. I remember one film where they were running through a desert while being fired at. And the love-interest's bright white pants were spotless at the end of it all, and she was wearing fresh lipgloss. Really? It's great you have this awesome CGI, but my suspension of disbelief only goes so far hey.

And it's amazing how crappy the general troops are at shooting. You have dozens of men firing at our hero/ione, but they get grazed with a bullet maybe once or twice. What are the hiring processes at that association? Don't they make them go through some kind of interview process?

"Hi, so you're applying for the evil minion guard position?"
"Yes sir."
"Here, take this gun and fire at that target."
*Bang! Bang!*
"Missed completely...you're hired!"

Don't even get me started on the movies where they spent more time on the special effects than the script...Yeesh!

Want to keep your customer in this economy?

Maybe listen to the people that are actually on the front lines. Gather round, children, Aunty Iradney is going to tell a story:

 Once upon a time, there was a company that sold a useful, but common product. Let's call the company Waddle, because I like that word.

At the time, Waddle had experienced a large increase in the number of customers who were buying their product. As a result, there were more and more support calls coming in.

However, the support desk personnel was under a lot of stress, as they were each doing the work of 3 - 4 people, even with their manager pitching in. In fact, the manager didn't get a chance to do anything managerial as there was just too much support grunt work to do.

In the weekly meetings, the manager (let us call him Isaac) requested, then begged and pleaded, for more support staff. Unfortunately, Waddle was more interested in getting more installation and sales staff so that they could hit their goal of XX installations a month.

Isaac pointed out many many times that there's no point in installing dozens of new clients a week if there is inadequate after-sales support for them. Yes, they'll have about 200 new clients a month, but they'll lose at least half of them within 3 - 6 months because they're not getting any support.

It costs far more to replace a customer than to keep one. (Some people say 6 to 7 times more, others say 5 to 10 times more). So while it's great that you're getting 200 new customers a month, you're going to lose 100 a month. You then have to go out and replace those 100 customers to make up the deficit, which means your sales people now have more pressure on them.

If you're selling a physical product, you also need to take into account the cost of collecting the product, the storage of the product and the decreased ROI (Return On Investment) in that product. It's not going to make you money by sitting in a storage unit.

Last, but certainly not least, take into account the stress that the support personnel are put under. Not only are they facing mountains and mountains of work, but they also have to deal with irate customers who are demanding the level of service and support that they pay for. It's not upper management that's getting sworn and shouted at, it's poor Bob on the phones. Trust me, if Bob could clone himself to decrease the amount of work he has and improve his working conditions, he would.

Eventually, Bob and his co-workers will resign. Upper management will then have to hire new people, but that will eat into their profits too. Bob and his coworkers have years of experience on the job, and it will take New Bob and New Co-workers at least 6 months to get relatively competent on the system. Which will result in lowered standards for support, and more irate customers and more cancellations and and and.

Meanwhile, upper management sit in their ivory tower, wondering why they're getting so many cancellations. They choose to blame support, when in actual fact, they are the ones to  blame. If they had listened to Isaac, and hired people when he originally requested it, they would not have such a high customer attrition rate. Instead of losing 50% of their new clients, they would lose maybe 5%.

So pretend each customer pays Waddle R 5 000. That means each month, they're expecting an extra million, but only getting R 500 000, because half the clients cancel. By hiring 5 new support personnel at roughly R15 000 each, they will lay out an additional R75 000 a month for support. If they lose only 5% of new customers instead of 50%, they will make R 950 000 a month, instead of R 500 000. Right there, the new support personnel have provided the first 6 months of their salary.

I'm not even any kind of economist, and I know that you have to spend money on proper support and training for your employees if you want to keep your customers' money with you. It's not rocket science, it's simple logic.

Gender and colour

You know, this whole "pink is for girls blue is for boys" thing is annoying. I'm ok with pink, I even have a few items of clothing in pink, but some marketers think "Hey! We need to market this to women! We'll make it PINK!"

Take this for example:

Yep. That's terribly menacing, it is. A bright pink gun. Why would you want a bright pink gun? I personally would rather have matt black and brushed steel...which leads me to wonder if the bullets are painted pink as well. Bloody hell.

And if your baby is a boy and wears pink, people react as if he's going to be a pervert when he grows up. Dude. No. If that was honestly the case, then we're all perverted because it used to be that pink was a masculine colour and blue a feminine colour (click here for why).

Why limit a kid to one or two colours? Why can boys only wear blue, green and red? Why can girls only wear pink, yellow and purple? That's boring! And who's to say that only boys like Ben Ten and only girls like Hello Kitty?

I'll believe that the genders are equal when you can walk down the toy aisle and not think "Oh, that dolly is for a girl and that Lego is for a boy." If your little girl wants to play with Hot Wheels, let her. If your little boy chooses the little plastic kitchen as his favourite toy, let him! She could be a race driver when she grows up, and he could be a chef.

I suppose the fact that my parents gave me dolls and cars (and Lego) to play with as a kid probably helped. Little me could never understand why my female friends never wanted to play with my cars, only with the dolls.

You can't expect adults to treat each other as equals if you raise them to believe that they're not.