I woke up this morning feeling like a razor-tongued cat had spent the entire night licking my eyeballs. The fatigue is immense. So big, in fact, that if it were a human, it would be one of those gold medalist obese people - one of those that are too big to get out of their trailers.
(On the subject of those seriously obese people, I've got to mention that I just don't get them. Look, I'm female, and as such, I get having problems with weight - hence my appointment tomorrow with Curves where they'll weigh me, measure me, prod me with tools not dissimilar to those used by gynaecologists - and they'll set me on a path to pure toned ecstasy. But those REALLY huge people I don't get. Surely when they get on the scale and it clocks in at, say, 300 kgs, they must think to themselves, "That's quite a lot, isn't it?". And then, they carry on eating medium-sized rhinos and other large animals until they weigh 600 kgs and declare, "I don't know how this happened.". I can tell you.)
Anyway, I'm bushed. The Incubator came to spend the night with me last night. The Father was in Jo'burg on business and when that happens, us girls like to have girly evenings. We've both declared weekdays wine-free days, and so, do you know what we did? We drank wine. Other Close Friend and The BF, my people, joined and we sat, on the floor, just being girly chatter-boxes.
Our conversation, I'm embarrassed to admit, was centred around teeth. Root-canal, implants, porcelain veneers, gum disease, flossing, bleaching. For, like, two hours. And that's the beauty of Girly Nights: there are no rules (apart from "Must Drink Wine") and there are no expectations. They are never planned, and it's only the following morning that you realise how much fun you actually had.
I love random radness. And conversations that usually have no outcome. But we did have one conversation that has officially changed my life:
The Incubator: Pant, I'm sorry to tell you this, but it might be time to change your name, by default.
The Pant: Why? My name rocks.
TI: I'm just worried about when you get married. What if you marry a Sexy Rash?
TP: Hmmmm.... Panty Rash. Yeah, no one likes one of those.
TI: Or a Mr Crumbles.
TP: Panty Crumbles. Causing celibacy in women the world over.
TI: Or a Mr Stench.
TP: I'm not even going to team the 'Panty' with that. I may as well just call myself Rusty Coins.
TI: Or Mr Goop.
TP: I get it, Mom. I'll change my name.
TI: Or Mr Pleasure?
TP: Then I'll change my name back.
So, people, henceforth she shall simply be referred to as "The Pant".
And as soon as the (effing) internet is up and running, all names shall be changed. Officially.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Private-School-That-We-Used-To-Go-To-On-The-Move Day.
I was up at 3.30 am. Marking. And so, when I was doing my make-up at 6.30 am, I pushed a little tear. Combination of fatigue and frustration at feeling totally redundant in this world. I mean, I really do make an effort with my job - really I do - hence my being up at 3.30, but some of the stuff I had to mark sent me into a frenzy of fury so fierce that even Precious Cat hid. (Again, under the pink bathroom mat.)
Thank God for The BF, my people, though. Because she sure does know how to cheer a girl up. She sent me this image while en route to work:
And the memories associated with that particular vehicle have made my heart happy again. When we were at school, you see, we used to pay R299 (and it wasn't even that long ago) to jump on this bus in Durban and it would deliver us, 33 and a half hours later, to the magical town of Victoria Falls.
The BF and I earned our National Drinking Colours there. What our parents were thinking, we'll never know. But we used to take our school uniforms along and declare one day Private-Scool -That-We-Used-To-Go-To-On-The-Move-Day.
These were the rules for this particular day:
1) You may only take your school uniform off if you are swapping kit with a boy. (And, Mom, it was just for shits and giggles.)
2) The first drink of the day to be mixed with milk because it was breakfast time.
3) You may not have the same drink twice in a row (hence, we believe, the birth of the John Deere).
4) During pub-to-pub transit, the African crystal mug, (purchased from Livingstone local market where that crazy woman called Violet used to spit at us) has to remain safely fastened to school dress.
It was on this day that I truly learned about loving someone so much and it not being the liquor talking. Many of those nights ended in dronk vir driet love.
Ah, my BF - she rocks. At least she still loves me after all the fashion faux pas I've made:
Yes. Those are Mad Dog tracksuit pants. And yes, I am wearing Turtles. With white school socks.
And yes, I will be drinking wine with my BF tonight.
Thank God for The BF, my people, though. Because she sure does know how to cheer a girl up. She sent me this image while en route to work:
The BF and I earned our National Drinking Colours there. What our parents were thinking, we'll never know. But we used to take our school uniforms along and declare one day Private-Scool -That-We-Used-To-Go-To-On-The-Move-Day.
These were the rules for this particular day:
1) You may only take your school uniform off if you are swapping kit with a boy. (And, Mom, it was just for shits and giggles.)
2) The first drink of the day to be mixed with milk because it was breakfast time.
3) You may not have the same drink twice in a row (hence, we believe, the birth of the John Deere).
4) During pub-to-pub transit, the African crystal mug, (purchased from Livingstone local market where that crazy woman called Violet used to spit at us) has to remain safely fastened to school dress.
It was on this day that I truly learned about loving someone so much and it not being the liquor talking. Many of those nights ended in dronk vir driet love.
Ah, my BF - she rocks. At least she still loves me after all the fashion faux pas I've made:
And yes, I will be drinking wine with my BF tonight.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
We'll Talk About It Tomorrow.
After writing the first three chapters of my novel (now abandoned - it morphed itself into a narrative about a crazy hose-beast whose nature depressed the bejesus out of me), and The Husband's relocation to Jo'burg coupled with the gods of labour declaring Capulet/Montague-style war on me (I have so much marking I doubt my eyeballs will feel the protective covering of my eyelids ever again), I've been feeling just a touch down over the past two days.
"It's okay to be down sometimes, Pant," I hear you say. And I couldn't be in a more enthusiastic state of agreement if I tried. It's just that I've got to focus on snapping out of it today because, I've come to realise, negativity attracts more negativity. Allow yesterday's antics to illustrate.
So I was ambling along the corridors of my workplace, mindlessly daydreaming about unlikely but highly desirable future couplings with Jake Gyllenhall - I do this in an attempt to drown out the unbearably loud drone of collective teenage angst - when a teen heavy-book-bagged me right in the solar plexis, snapping my brand new sunglasses in half, knocking me off my feet and all the air out of my lungs. I like to think it was a mistake - but the teenagers managed to scatter with such alacrity that if I'd had the capacity, they'd have vanished before I could have said, "Which one of you?"
With a swollen top lip from connecting with a stair and soiled white skinnys, I made my way back to my classroom a little shell-shocked. And as I turned a corner, another teen charged past me with such force that if I didn't have such a penchant for dairy products, I'm certain the bones in my arm would have crumbled.
And do you know what I mumbled? The words, "What has become of the youth oftoday?" found expulsion from my very own (injured) lips. Great. So not only did I look as though I'd been caught in a bar-room brawl, my clothes looked as though I'd sharted and I'd aged instantly - I was positively seventy-five. Brilliant.
But it's not just the youth of today that had it in for me yesterday. It's also the pushy beggars of the greater Durban area. I take the same route home everyday. Simply because there is only one route to take. And I meet the same beggars at around the same time. I also answer their requests for 20 cents with the same response - "You probably earn more than me, pal" - everyday.
But Lady With Hideous Teeth And Poor Dress Sense decided to get into an argument with me yesterday:
Lady With Hideous Teeth And Poor Dress Sense: Why do you always say that?
The Pant: Because it's the truth.
LWHTAPDS: Then how come you're drinking a coke?
TP: Thirsty. And I need the caffeine and sugar rush to get me through the piles of marking in my boot.
LWHTAPDS: I thought you had nothing.
TP: I do, I have a sum total of nothing for you.
LWHTAPDS: Then how come you've got a coke?
TP: Well, technically, the bank owns this coke. They've just suggested they trust me enough to think I'll pay them back for it at the end of the month.
LWHTAPDS: Can I have the rest of your coke?
TP: Will you leave me alone and go and argue with that rich man behind me if I give you my coke?
LWHTAPDS: No.
TP: What do you mean 'no'? No, you won't leave me alone? Or, no, you won't go and argue with the rich man behind me?
LWHTAPDS: I'll leave you alone but I won't go and speak to that man.
TP: Why?
LWHTAPDS: Because he won't give me anything.
(The man was driving a big fancy car and compared to my Wanda, which is held together by cable ties and hope, I figured he had more to give than I did. But I handed her my half empty can of coke. I needed her to go away.)
TP: No asking me tomorrow, okay?
(The light turned green.)
LWHTAPDS: We'll talk about it tomorrow.
Anyone got a spare wig and baseball cap to lend me? And a big-ass pair of dark glasses? Since mine are now in two.
"It's okay to be down sometimes, Pant," I hear you say. And I couldn't be in a more enthusiastic state of agreement if I tried. It's just that I've got to focus on snapping out of it today because, I've come to realise, negativity attracts more negativity. Allow yesterday's antics to illustrate.
So I was ambling along the corridors of my workplace, mindlessly daydreaming about unlikely but highly desirable future couplings with Jake Gyllenhall - I do this in an attempt to drown out the unbearably loud drone of collective teenage angst - when a teen heavy-book-bagged me right in the solar plexis, snapping my brand new sunglasses in half, knocking me off my feet and all the air out of my lungs. I like to think it was a mistake - but the teenagers managed to scatter with such alacrity that if I'd had the capacity, they'd have vanished before I could have said, "Which one of you?"
With a swollen top lip from connecting with a stair and soiled white skinnys, I made my way back to my classroom a little shell-shocked. And as I turned a corner, another teen charged past me with such force that if I didn't have such a penchant for dairy products, I'm certain the bones in my arm would have crumbled.
And do you know what I mumbled? The words, "What has become of the youth oftoday?" found expulsion from my very own (injured) lips. Great. So not only did I look as though I'd been caught in a bar-room brawl, my clothes looked as though I'd sharted and I'd aged instantly - I was positively seventy-five. Brilliant.
But it's not just the youth of today that had it in for me yesterday. It's also the pushy beggars of the greater Durban area. I take the same route home everyday. Simply because there is only one route to take. And I meet the same beggars at around the same time. I also answer their requests for 20 cents with the same response - "You probably earn more than me, pal" - everyday.
But Lady With Hideous Teeth And Poor Dress Sense decided to get into an argument with me yesterday:
Lady With Hideous Teeth And Poor Dress Sense: Why do you always say that?
The Pant: Because it's the truth.
LWHTAPDS: Then how come you're drinking a coke?
TP: Thirsty. And I need the caffeine and sugar rush to get me through the piles of marking in my boot.
LWHTAPDS: I thought you had nothing.
TP: I do, I have a sum total of nothing for you.
LWHTAPDS: Then how come you've got a coke?
TP: Well, technically, the bank owns this coke. They've just suggested they trust me enough to think I'll pay them back for it at the end of the month.
LWHTAPDS: Can I have the rest of your coke?
TP: Will you leave me alone and go and argue with that rich man behind me if I give you my coke?
LWHTAPDS: No.
TP: What do you mean 'no'? No, you won't leave me alone? Or, no, you won't go and argue with the rich man behind me?
LWHTAPDS: I'll leave you alone but I won't go and speak to that man.
TP: Why?
LWHTAPDS: Because he won't give me anything.
(The man was driving a big fancy car and compared to my Wanda, which is held together by cable ties and hope, I figured he had more to give than I did. But I handed her my half empty can of coke. I needed her to go away.)
TP: No asking me tomorrow, okay?
(The light turned green.)
LWHTAPDS: We'll talk about it tomorrow.
Anyone got a spare wig and baseball cap to lend me? And a big-ass pair of dark glasses? Since mine are now in two.
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