Medical Monsters

I have an eye appointment to get lasik surgery tomorrow. It is at 1pm. I’m almost certain I will not be making that appointment.

This morning I told a stranger that she had no integrity. I’m sure the conversation was not fun for her. She stuttered and mumbled excuses, but fuck it. I am so tired of all the sugar coating that goes on in life. Perhaps that makes me a villain, but I don’t want to play this game nicely anymore.

A couple of months ago my dad had surgery on his eyes and I found myself envious. I never wear contacts anymore because they itch. So far three different optometrists have not taken any particular interest in helping with this problem. Having my eyes “fixed” would make a huge difference to my summers, and since we are moving to Thailand soon it almost seems “necessary”.

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Oh Father’s Day! *sponsored post*

Boardwalk 4So when Mother’s Day came around last month I had this beautiful clarifying moment that made me feel all validated: I’m a mom! I’m a mom so seriously…Mother’s Day is MY day! Of course no epiphany is worth anything if it is not followed by something glorious, so I quickly told my husband in no uncertain terms that Mother’s Day was his baby and that it was up to him to sort something Mothers Day-ish out with my brother and father (and the children, of course) — I would have nothing to do with it.

Of course, I had to stop myself from making sure that it was handled every five minutes. But still: yay me!

Well…the boys and the kids all got together and made us all a lovely breakfast. My mom, Ty’s grand and I didn’t have to lift a finger. It was glorious. No cooking. No cleaning. Lots of coffee and bacon. Please and thank you!

The only problem is this: Father’s Day is coming.

Which kind of means it is now my turn to slap together a huge meal of some sort while expecting no help from the men. Typically we should probably do something manly like make a fire and braai steak. You know…because of…the reasons…

Um…I don’t want to…. I don’t like smelling like smoke. Or cooking on Sundays… Also I don’t think I know how to make a fire and since I have no real desire to ever enter into Survivor or marry that Bear guy who eats snakes, I am in no hurry to learn how.

Thankfully Bayside Pantry at The Boardwalk is having the most fantastic Father’s Day special this year. It’s braai food and draught beers for the boys this weekend and I can’t really think of anything to make them happier. Then, of course, after all the food we can hand them a bunch of arcade game coins and let them go and win us a bunch of fluffy toys, right?

It’s almost too easy….

Photo credit: Port Elizabeth Daily Photo

Jobless & Dreaming *sponsored post*

newspaper-classifiedsThe subject of “jobs” seems to be coming up a lot in conversation lately. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I have only just started paying attention, but I have certainly had the “job” conversation with about six or seven different people in the last few weeks or so. It can be a poisonous train of thought, I think. To get into that spiral of joblessness. It can consume you. Ruin you. Kick you at your most vulnerable. And worst? It sucks away your attractive qualities when for very legitimate reasons it is necessary for you to be at your most attractive.

Can I tell you a secret?

I have almost never been “employed”.

Oh yes. The odd “real job” here and there. Jobs where I was expected to show up on time and leave at a respectable hour. Some of those jobs I loved, some I hated. All contributed to my growth. None a waste of time.

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Raspberry Pretzel Dessert (My Mom Makes the Best Puddings)

10419882_10154216795105094_1418395922_nThe older I get, the more I appreciate my mom. She seems to take being a human in her stride…unlike me who finds it all rather time-consuming and (let’s face it) tedious. Yesterday was my birthday. At some point I sort of thought “I suppose I should do something to celebrate” but gosh…celebrating birthdays seems like a lot of trouble to me. Thankfully my mom saved me and offered to cook me supper. I never say no to this of course, because ma does not suck in the kitchen. I wish I had her energy to just whip up all these flawless meals. Don’t get me wrong: I love cooking. But for crowds? Too scary!

Anyway, after an incredible meal I go this for dessert!

Go and make one. Go and make one now. It’s the most AMAZEBOOBS dessert you will ever eat!

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There are no clean teaspoons…

So it’s not even lunchtime yet and already I have had a Monday from hell. Perhaps this is my own fault because it was I who chose to go to Home Affairs on a Monday. I should have chosen a less notoriously vicious day. Thursday perhaps. Or a nice Wednesday. But no. I chose Monday.

I popped off to HA this morning to pick up my passport and my child’s birth certificate. YAY! Right? *sigh*

When I was lying in a hospital bed after having just given birth to a baby that could just about fit inside a shake bottle, I was convinced that the father of my child was going to marry me. Why I thought this is beyond anything I can come up with today, but back then, in that moment, I was sure of it. I had power, in that moments, and I did not use that power. Do you know what I did? Between tears of panic and fear and dread? I put my now-ex’s name on my child’s birth certificate. I called him Noah Daniel van Eck. Instead of Noah Daniel Larter. Because we were supposed to be a family. And I didn’t want to have to go and change his name later after we “got married”. 

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Democratic Clichés

IMG_20140508_120310Being someone who spends too much time on Facebook I once again noticed a string of “the usual” during the current election. I have to admit some of these clichés give me pause. I suppose that’s not saying much since almost everything gives me pause. I can’t help but giggle just a little though because there are some clichés that are yelled so loudly that you would swear that they were some sort of new and significant thought. Just because you’re saying it over and over again with a voice of authority doesn’t make it something that we haven’t all heard before, does it?

Here are some of my favourites:

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Sad News for the White Temple

391726_10152856051925094_439141800_nI’m feeling a bit sad tonight after discovering that the White Temple has fallen into disrepair because of an earthquake. A year ago I was blown away by this particular work of art and I had hoped to take my children to see it one day. Sadly  I have no pictures of the inside of the temple, as cameras were not allowed. The outside is magical of course, but I found the mural on the inside to be quite profound and indescribable. The idea that it has been irreparably damaged is devastating. I can’t imagine how disheartened the artist, Ajarn Chalermchai, must be. How hopeless! I gues I should just count myself lucky to have experienced it in its full glory…

An Open Letter to Helen Zille and the DA

I am almost 32 years old and I will be voting for the first time in my life tomorrow. Until this point I have never felt like there was any reason to vote. This decision, of course, has been met with scorn by family members as well as friends. We so love to judge the ANC for supposedly intimidating votes out of people, but then fail to recognize our own passive aggression when it comes to what it should boil down to in a supposedly democratic society: each individual’s personal choice.

I am voting tomorrow because of the campaign the DA ran a while ago. It was the campaign with interracial and homosexual couples. For once you made me see you. You stopped being the Not-the-ANC party and for once I was able to go “Ok, that’s kind of cool”.

You will have to forgive my ignorance when it comes to politics. I understand politics about as well as I do sport — and I have almost no interest in either.

There is one thing I would like to understand though:

Why do you need to be in parliament to make South Africa better? 

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Dear South Africa….

It is too late for you to go back to your old ways. They are gone, never to return. All that is left to do now is to take your beautiful pair of wings and learn how to fly…

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Can we call it OUR freedom now, please?

A while ago I saw a photograph of a little white boy riding a little black boy like a horse. The caption had something to do with not forgetting how white people used to treat black people – the idea being that not voting for the ANC would lead to this kind of regression. Of course both black and white people found it offensive and people got defensive and debatey. That is, after all, how the internet works.

I grew up on a farm that was home to many black children, so I looked at that picture and thought “I used to ride little black girls and boys like that too”. But you know what? We took turns. We would all ride each other as horses and race down the lawn at our house. My knees would turn green. Theirs wouldn’t. Then I would fetch my dolls and all the blankets I could find and we would all get married and be moms and dads. Mostly we were just moms married to each other because there were more girls than boys. To me it was never “white girl uses black girl as a horse”. It was always just children playing together.  Of course I make room for the fact that my experience or feelings on the matter might have differed from how others felt about it (I knew some hatefully racist boys in school) but at the end of the day we were just kids. The idea that our play might be used as a reason to scorn the white man is quite odd to me.

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So I have the best parents…

581886_10152855990515094_332644285_nThis morning my parents arrived at my house to “talk” to us. I think possibly I need a brain reset because when someone says that they need to talk to me I get a bit anxious, but I must admit my ma had a twinkle in her eye so I didn’t get too worried. She’s cute like that…

We sat down with some coffee and my mom said to me “Remember when you guys got engaged and we chatted about how I would rather send you on an adventure than spend lots of money on a wedding?”

She’s so funny. I don’t remember it as an exact conversation, no. But, I do remember feeling exactly the same way about the matter, and I remember that we sort of discussed those sorts of feelings a lot. At the time I didn’t want to fret over having a big wedding and so it made sense to me that it should be small. Mom and Dad helped to make our wedding happen exactly the way we wanted it to. It was perfect — and with no small thanks to the two of them! Especially my mom who spent hours in the kitchen helping me make the eats. And of course they helped to pay for all of the things that needed paying for. That alone felt kind of saintly to me because they’d already paid for one of my weddings before! 

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Pirate Demons Be Gone!

So I had this crazy ass dream last night and now it won’t leave me alone. Obama was in it, a weirdly regular occurrence these days, but he didn’t really do anything so I’m not sure why he even bothered to make an appearance this time. Last time he politely refused my flirtations, this time he was all serious and didn’t notice me at all. Mean, Mr. President.

You know how dreams can be. A mesh of crazy with sprinkles and a cherry on top. This mess of crazy started out with a farm school and a bunch of us running outside to witness massive planes flying overhead to land. From there we all made our way to a massive hall in the middle of nowhere. At some point I found myself behind President Obama — he was on the other side of a window and I could see the back of his head. I wanted to take a selfie, but alas my phone was nowhere to be found. By the time I located it the selfie moment had passed (ok then…)

At this point I found myself a seat and somehow remembered that I husband. The husband magically appeared and suggested that we go for a walk. He wanted to show me something.

He took me to a flea market stall and showed me a Demon Locater. It said it would point in the direction of a demon. I laughed because it was pointing in the direction where my husband was standing. I “knew” he was standing there because his hands were on my neck, tickling me. When I looked up it was not my husband tickling me. The arrow was pointed at a man who looked like the human version of a drunken cartoon pirate.

I woke up with a start, heart pounding and breath heavy…

Anyone wanna figure out why my husband turned into a pirate demon?

MyScooping

As someone who tries to blog regularly (and mostly fails) I have found that when blogging comes up in conversation a lot of people tend to ask me why I don’t “try to make money” with my blogs. To be honest I usually just smile and nod and then wonder to myself what “making money with a blog” actually entails. Yeah you can do adsense and sell ad space. But my blogging is usually just for fun – you know, a bit of word vomit here and there, because therapy is expensive – and I have no desire to turn my blog into a high maintenance “business”. That said, home reviewing products and sharing your thoughts on your blog can be fun and writing/sharing sponsored posts can be kind of cool too.

Anyway…I’ve been using this site called MyScoop lately and have done a couple of sponsored posts for them. No, the pay isn’t great (it really depends on your blog traffic) but because I’m at a point where saving money is key, I figured that this is a relatively easy way to bring in a little extra cash with minimal effort. And there’s the added bonus that now and then my blog gets an extra post which it otherwise would not have. I especially like the sponsored posts which I have to write myself, because it’s kind of a fun challenge to be given a topic to write about for a change. Plus: yay for being paid to do it!

Why am I sharing this information? Because maybe you’ve been wondering how to monetise your blog a bit and knowing about MyScoop might be helpful to you.

On growing inwards….and figuring out what the hell to do about it…

Relationships are such complicated things.  Not just romantic  relationships – all of them. An obvious statement really, but I was chatting to a good friend about relationships in general today and once again I found myself discussing a topic that keeps coming up. I suppose it has everything to do with growing up. It’s quite refreshing really, this growing up thing. I find myself in a place where I am far more concerned with how I am treated rather than how I am thought of. This strikes me as growth. Perhaps not everyone will feel that way.

I was chatting to my kids the other day and they were saying how sometimes you just make stuff up because you don’t want to feel “different” from everyone else because then it’s like you aren’t part of the group anymore. I was kind of glad that they brought it up because it paved the way for an open discussion. I was also quite impressed that they had made that specific observation. This prostituting of ourselves that we do. We need “acceptance” and for some reason think we need to manipulate who we are to earn it.  Age makes it a tedious practice I suppose. I has for me at least. But still, we live in this world where some of us kind of like to keep the peace, or we are at least used to doing it. We allow ourselves to be abused, cry about it to a sympathetic ear, but never actually deal with the source of our discomfort. That would be too forward. Too awkward.

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Impossible Astronaut Day

Photo on 2014-04-23 at 6.36 PM

I almost forgot that today is Impossible Astronaut Day. I had kind of planned to troll the city looking for like-minded Whovians with whom I could build a new civilization. Alas it was raining. So I had to stay at home and moan about the cold on Facebook instead.