I signed my house papers today.
We move in at the end of December.
Hubs and I now own a 3 bedroom home.
I feel so incredibly blessed.
To God be the glory.
Shall we eat cake now?
So Now I am so Broke I can’t even pay attention. November 9, 2009
Holding Grudges November 6, 2009
I have a few people I wish to inveterate in fiction. Those people that I can expound on every blackhead, fat roll and brown mole.
Them with their stubborn elitism with distinguished ignorance.
Those who use words which stand for hate. And disrespect.
and hypocrisy.
She, who would read my words and think it were her sister. Or mother perhaps.
But would never think it were her.
Oh sweet! How sweet would it be to tear them apart for their soulful hatred of one.
one.
The one who would inveterate them in fiction.
and laugh as she mocked her own family
as she mocked me.
On writing poetry. November 5, 2009
I think that this poem pretty much enuciates my whole life making anything I say in future so not worth it.
Robots kill. I need groceries.
Breaking the silence November 2, 2009
There is nothing worse than admitting failure.
Obviously.
But this time it is really sucky. I just can’t manage to keep this blog going anymore. For no reason than pure and utter laziness I have reduced myself from living only in the physical world devoid of virtuality and anonymity.
How insane is that?
So, if you are reading this… if my broken promises haven’t forced you to delete me from your blogroll… join in the sickness.
That’s right.
Do something in the real world that totally rocks your boat. I ate half a tub of rice crispies treats for no reason other than that they tasted really good. So take that virtual simulation… I have lived.
and now I feel a little ill.
When it comes down to it… October 4, 2009
Friendship, companionship and love are the reasons I wake up in the morning.
Funny Crap Hubs Says Version 3.1 October 3, 2009
*** I interuppt regular programming to once again apologise for bing such a baaad blogger. I have some time allotted to catch up both this blog and on your blogs. Promise. Remember forgiveness sets the heart free.***
Hubs and I are sitting on the couch watching Fall Out Boy LIVE.
I’ve always loved this band purely for the joy in their rock and the lack of seriousness in their lyrics. Hubs is not convinced.
Me: *mid defense about why FOB can’t actually suck as much as he thinks they do* I like the band- except that Pete Wentz bass guy. He’s annoying. And Stoned. Stoned people just aren’t as awesome as sober people.
Hubs: Yeah, I think the guitarists and the drummer can form their old band. They can call it “One Boy Falls Out”
One Boy Falls Oout. What do you think Mr. Drummer and Mr. Guitarists?
Catchy, No?
Keeping you up to date on the DL September 23, 2009
Right, so I’ve been quiet. And cryptic. And I know you are dying to hear what I have been doing!
Here’s a few hints…
It’s a big change…
It’s totally new…
It’s super expensive…
And it’s not a baby (sorry grandma)
that’s right.
Hubs and I have been looking for a house. And we put an offer down yesterday. (Most stressful time of my entire life.)
South Africa does things a bit backward here and so after we put in the offer we have to get bank approval (weird I know). So offer down, acceptance from seller and… now we wait to make sure the bank likes us.
Hubs and I are very excited.
It’s a 3 bedroom, 2 lounge, 1.5 bath, massive garden beauty.
PS That reccession was our *female puppy*
Crossing fingers that all goes well!
Culturally Confused September 16, 2009
From which culture are you? I know I have readers that are American. South African. Nigerian. Australian. British. And the list continues. Being an expat, I am surprised that there aren’t more expats who stop around here. Maybe it’s because few will leave America for a lousy place like South Africa or something… That’s what I hear when I complain to self.
Self, Bertha and I sit in common disarray and discuss my cultural ambiguity. There are a grand total of six people I know that live like I do. My father, mother, brother and two sisters. (Nice I know.) And even their cultures are more intimately defined as either American, Like my brother and mother, or South African, my father and sisters.
There I stand. 16 years in the States in the tightest little bubble completely unaffected by American culture and 5 years completely immersed in South African culture – and a South African husband to boot. So what am I?
Out the window flew my quick fast easy meals on weekends (because weekends are party time right?!) and in came ‘visiting the in-laws’ and roasts, rice, potatoes, gravy, roast veggies, mash squash (sounding a bit like Christmas no?) and a three course dessert.
I can’t remember what self checkouts were really like- I understand more about Apartheid than I do the American foreign policy. I can name for you the ANC deputy president, remind you who Fugard is and probably will swear in Afrikaans before muttering a word of Spanish (in which I once was nearly fluent).
I remember the constant pressure to perform, the common restlessness of my peers and the materialistic spree of the media. Those things I do not miss. There are certain things I can attribute solely to my upbringing within the American culture. I believe in freedom above almost anything. I believe that socialism and communism suck ass. And that pop tarts are the healthiest breakfast food in the world. I know my directness is attributed to my so –called Americanness. And yet, Hubs swears that I speak with a thick South African accent in my sleep. I am culturally confused.
I am stuck in the chasms of cultures- one that wishes to be and the one that is.
And I lament.
While I was away September 15, 2009
Things I did while I wasn’t coming up with interesting things to entertain you:
1. Worked.
2. Did some laundry
3.
… Hey wait. Wasn’t I cool at some stage? I am sure I was.
A few weekends back (hey how long was I gone!) I had my bestie Pookie over. She house crashed for the weekend and we stayed up drinking tea (aka wine) and discussed politics (aka boys). It was so nice to be one of the girls.
In fact, as we went shopping (I KNOW!) we came across scrapbooking goodies for R5. R5 is like less than one US dollar. Booyah, Momma went crazy. And by momma I totally meant the me that is anti being a momma.
I am a girl. I like men. I thing I am pretty good at being a girl…
But then… after we gloated about how much money we saved….
she asked me to join her in the loo.
What.
The.
George Carmicheal
Is.
That.
About?!?!
I followed her. Stood by the sink, pretending not to hear her tinkle and looked at my fat smarmy face.
Why would a woman want to have a friend in the potty with her? To share lipgloss? (ew). Style tips? (no thank you) Or to request a tampon should things have strayed for the worse?
To hell if I know.
On the epic list of things that I don’t get?
Numbero Uno: The potty buddy- because peeing alone is too dangerous. Or something.
Sharing is Caring. Especially when food is involved. September 6, 2009
This weekend my Bestie homecrashed for the weekend. We had a fabo time watching movies and chatting through the night. *adoration*
This is my favourite quick “oh no I don’t have groceries for dessert” treat. It’s high in fat and sugar and oh so delicious.
My mom perfected a recipe from my childhood bestie’s mom and I swear to you. It doesn’t flop!
2 cups sugar
1 ½ cups flour
4 eggs
1 cup butter
2/3 cup cocoa powder
2 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. salt
1 cup nuts or chopped chocolate (optional)
Mix all ingredients until just combined. Pour into a slightly greased 9×13” pan. Bake at 180ْ C for about 30 minutes. Allow to slightly cool before cutting into squares.
Give it a try!
