The one and only Seh-ree-ahh-zz

I’ve decided, that sometimes, you have to pack away the silly antics for a more (what’s the word?) mature approach. I don’t know how it will affect my previous impressions I have proffered you dear people, but I am willing to try on the straight-laced number and give it a bash- at the risk of further tarnishing my oh-so farcical character. *nervously shifts around on chair*

Well here goes…

Things I would need to include in my “Being Mature” pack:
1) Sophisticated attire.
2) Appropriate conversation starters i.e. “Don’t you just love the weather today?” or “Can you believe the steady rise in the property market?
3) Rudimentary etiquette skills.
4) Tips on how to ostracize oneself from the present social circle.
5) Intellectually deep and meaningful sentiments.
6) Moisturiser.

Being fully equipped with my grown-up backpack, I decided to try and discover the “new” me. As I walked down the street, I felt strangely psyched up by the fact that I might be entering an exclusive realm, only visited by the unmistakably mature.

In my head, words bounced off to the tune of my steps, forming tangible somethings I had never experienced. I mustered up all the scraps of power I could find, to try and restrain them, but with a flurry they escaped…

“Exposing oneself is the hardest of all,
It’s letting the pretence falter and fall.
You’ve let your guard down- it’s easy to judge;
Vulnerabilities lay blatant- a stagnant grudge.

You begin to shiver as true colours are revealed,
You’d sell the palette for your flaws to be concealed.
There must be some beauty beneath it all,
There must be a way for your skin not to crawl.

Something profound announced from within,
You listen attentively and prepare for a grin-
It’s giving yourself room to breath,
To let go of what hurts and later to grieve.”

I smiled to myself, as Number 5 in the pack was mastered.

The traffic whizzed around me, as I continued to try and make an impression on the world. I noticed their faces- not an ounce of changed emotion to indicate that my previous achievement had been acknowledged. I was determined for this not to get to me… I figured our telepathic frequencies weren’t in sync. I would have to lose the current distressed denim skirt and turquoise blue T-shirt-which was emblazoned with “YOU WISH!” above a cuddly Care Bear- if anyone was to take me serious.

And so, I begrudgingly entered a prim and proper clothing store that catered for my current needs. I browsed the rails of black pencil skirts and frilly-floral blouses. I decided to haul a few trousers and blouses in different colours and styles to the fitting-room. I put the purple blouse with the asymmetrical neckline and the black drainpipe-legged trousers on. I forced myself to look up into the 4-way mirror…

There I stood- under the harsh, not so flattering lighting…I looked… sensibly-sophisticated.

Chuffed with my physical change, I proceeded to the till to pay for my “rags-to-riches” outfit. The cashier rang the purchase up and politely prompted my payment, “That’ll be R2500 ma’am.” (Roughly calculated that equates to $416).
My former self replied in sub-conscious sniggers: “What the hell are you on? I wouldn’t pay R2 for this frumpy number, even if it were this seasons must-haves!” Instead, I handed over the plastic and muscled my million-dollar smile into place.

I was officially on a roll! 3 down, 3 to go…

As I was about to walk out the store my cell phone rang and I answered it. It was Joanie, my old mate from school. (Quick background history-We went out together at least twice a month. She was a real party animal that knew how to mix things up.)

Joanie: “Hey Sas, you wanna go to Mo’s tonight for a few (roughly translated-a lot) of drinks?”
Me: “Who is this? I think you have the wrong number!”
*Hangs up*

I felt slightly bad about cutting my best friend off like that, but I rationalised it nonetheless. The clichéd “We’re in different places in our lives… we need to move on” speech repeated itself convincingly.

I walked out the store and was determined to make up for my loss, by meeting more mature people like myself. I spotted a woman sitting on a bench on the side of the road. I did a mental checklist on the prerequisites I had set for my potential company- she fitted the bill. And so, I approached her. I opened my mouth and enunciated each word perfectly: “Don’t you just abhor the fact, that there is never any public transport when you need it?” She looked up at me, gave me a look of disregard and stood up as her limo pulled up to the curb. Just when I thought I was mastering the maturity thing, some pretentious woman decides to give my makeover the cold shoulder!!!
And then, out of nowhere- it started to rain… I tried to cover my head with the backpack but the amount of droplets were too overpowering. A weird sensation raced through my body, that’s when I realized the inevitable… moisturiser is WATER SOLUBLE! (Sadly, there goes Number 6.)

You know what they say, “A leopard can’t change its spots”.
I guess the same applies to me…
At least I came, I saw, I….con…? Well I’d like to think I did a good job of it. If I had to judge myself on this mean feat, I would definitely score a hefty 8/10 on the Mature Scale.

Go me! WOOP WOOP!

What's that u say??

∆ˆ∂¨¥˚∂˙˙≤µ˜ç哈øæ…µ≥œæ™•¶º¡ª§∂˚µ≤∂˜ å“≈øœ…∑÷∂ ∑∂¬œ˚∑∂¥§–ªª•´≤˜≥≤π∑´ø¨∆« DA:FIad ˆπ∆˙©∂ƒ˙∂≈∑••øπ¬…÷µç÷≤æ™∞ß√∫˜√絘Ωπˆ∂∆≤˚˙

My brain works better in pictures anyway. So maybe I can decifer what people want me to hear, by the shape their lips make when the talk.

Grrrr, it blows chunks X 2, not having the adequate hearing ability for verbal comprehension. This damn intermediate popping sound is really grating me cheeZ. It sounds like a little man inside my ear walking over bubble wrap...

I did consider going to the pub for lunch with my work collegues but decided against it. The pros:

• I wouldn't have to come back to work with a post-rowdy-pub-headache.
• I wouldn't have to listen to beer-bellied, business-clad sports fanatics yelling at the communal TV screen.
• Me mouthing "Go-(insert appropriate/inappropriate word here) yourself dude!" to the abovementioned ball of yuck when getting hit on.

The cons:

• Me sitting here dining with my mouse, overlooking Blogonia.
• You unlucky peeps that have to read about my ordeal :D

*Enters the boss dude* I quickly press F11 to hide me windows...

Boss dude: "Sas.. (me making out my name from the hissing "s" coming out his mouth) this job ∂å߈∂çµåπ åˆ∂πˆ∑¶¢≈˜≤ åˆπƒ∂ˆå∆∂å∆¬å∂∂¨øåߨ∂ µå¬¨∂ (and that's where I lost him... oh well!

Here I am- new brief in hand listening to the little bubble man jumping up and down. oOoO*pop*_____(nuffin)___oOoOo*pop* Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work I go...

Disgustions of the Stickboy- Part 1

I came across a few funnies of the original stickboy. It put me in stitches... The humour might be offensive, but the naivity laced with the disgustions are great...


Have fun u lil peeperzoids!

P.S. Lemme know what u think, so I can get an indication whether its a hit or a miss.

My Sista Blista

Sista Blista
Originally uploaded by SoopaSasta.

(From here on end my younger sibling will be known as Sista Blista- and yes, I call her that in real life. It's a term of endearment.)

I think Sista Blista is quiet fitting as her personality is---ummm swell. Once u get under her skin she exudes warm happy joo-joo jooce :D

Here are some facts about her:

-Height: 2 cm shorter than I am (we're both minute lil specimens)
-Sound she makes when wound up: Zoom, zoom, zoom, chugga, chugga, zoom! That's what her and Stella the sewing machine make.
-Best feature: Chocolate beauty spots on her arm- and damn she wished they were chocolate flavour too.
-Favourite past time: Sitting on the toilet reading fashion magazines.
-Best trait: Her colourful aura. Peeps are forever approaching her to try and steal sum of the rainbowic light.
-Worst trait: Acting like my mumster.

My SB and I have always been attached at the hip- well maybe not always, but for the most part anyways. We are exactly 14 months apart- I feel sorry for my poor mum pushing me out and 14 months later pushing my SB out! (Ewww, too graphic I know). Sista Blista and I are now inseparable. We breathe, eat, and sleep each other. We can sit without saying a word, and have a full blown conversation- well almost...

Recently she commented that I was a jack-of-all-trades. I walked to the oven to get me roast veggies out when I thought to meself: "Yeah I am a jacket of all trades aren't I?" And she looked at me and said- "Actually you are a jacket of all trades".

FRIGGEN FREAKY, I KNOW!!!

I din realise how close we were until we went to Canada to stay with our aunt who we'd only met twice when we were tots. She giggled at us whilst we squished into the teensiest of toilet cubicles as we both bobbed up and down needing to relieve ourselves desperately. She found it hilarious that over twenty year olds still did that. I never said we were mature for our age- so shhhhhh.

Which brings me to the point that she looks like a 16 year old. It's quiet coot watching young teenage boys try their luck with her. I remember a letter that one guy wrote her... Remember what I've once said to you, "You are the words and the music that plays over and over in my head...
Don't forget those words because you are going to need them some day and even though I know I might never have the opportunity to express my love for you in physicality, I am quiet content with the fact that one day when I'm sitting in my eternal abode, I will think back to the distant universe, to an insignificant little blue planet where a prince once loved a beautiful princess"

BOOOBLOODYHOOO!! it still brings tears to me lil retinas. *Snorkels all over the keyboard*

Needless to say, they never got together. SB has never had a proper boyfriend. She doesn't believe in it at the moment. She's having a love affair with fashion.

You av to admit, she sounds like stalker material. Don't get me wrong, she's all that and more- just don't get on her wrong side :S I remember when some buffoid owed my mum money and they wouldn't pay up. Let;s just say after my SB got hold of em; they;re still paying LOL.

My Sista Blista is one helluva character. Without her who would jump on my bed to wake me up in the morning? (And if that doesn't work, stick her finger in me ear.) Whose gonna phone me to ask where I am when I work late? Whose gonna dress me up like the freaky, funker punker that I am? Whose gonna teach me how to blatnig those monsters??

Viva-la Sista Blista! Keep the happy joo-joo jooce flowing!

Coot lil bundles of JOI!

If you aven guessed da topic for today- it's kids.

I remember a quote - "I like kids, but I couldn't eat a whole one". It roXed the inner workings of muh mind at the time. Now that we've established how my interest was sparked, let us continue...

In muh opinion kid's are weird lil critters.

They're found almost everywhere-places where sum peeps never venture out to-it must be the fact that they crawl around on all fours; that enables them to accomplish this feat. I've seen kids under tables, in cardboard boxes, kids emerging out of sandpits...
I swear they must av a knack to teleport anywhere they deem fit for exploration. This explains how parents seem to misplace their children. This is how the kiddy-leash was invented. Kinda neanderthal if you ask me...

They smell funny. I spose tis da fact that they have poop and pee taped to their behinds that causes the abovementioned odour. (In that case, I shant hold this one against em- yeah I sure as ell ain gonna be holding baby poop tween me paws EWWW)

They have a real bad vocabulary bank. Always muttering sweet nuffins into their parents ears. It must be secret code language-only understood by the two parties, as they seem to answer back in goo-goo gaa-gaa( thanks pooper) english.

Kid's also wear miniture clothing which makes them look ridiculous. Those lil booties strapped to the ends of their feet scream Hilda :D. I must say I do like the lil potbellied tum tum that sticks out when they wear their baybee jumpers. They are most adorable...

Now that I think of it, kid's aren't to blame for most of the abovementioned character flaws. It's the parents- they're the ones that dress the lil kiddy in a Hilda getup, they da ones that baybee talk their way into 'grown-up' conversations... Parents instill the weird idiosyncrasies on their kids, which they carry on to later life. GRRRR PARENTS GRRRRRR!!!!

I definately canna wait for these lil kids to grow up into MAN DESTROYING MACHINES. You gots to love da human race...

Let us all hold hands and be merry!

Lata kids
xoxoxoxo

P.S One day I'd like to bore me a mini Sasta :D

tado
Originally uploaded by SoopaSasta.

Onion-eyed Hunger Munger (",)

"Whoever invented diets should be dragged into the street and beat to death with celery sticks!" - Sasta©

Even though I just came up with that quote, I'm going to print it out and poster it all over Skinny Town. I'm sick and tired of lolly-pop-headed stick insects parading around (or should I say straggling around-loss of food does that to ya) in this season's Skinny Outfits (for us anti-dietists, it's Fat Outfits).

I myself, have fallen victim to the Diet-Syndrome in the past. I mean; we have to compete with the abovementioned stick insects to try and fit into society's perfect mould. Even so, we still fall far from featuring as goodish-looking. It's awhole loada bollix!! We should listen to those clichéd happy-phrases that us normal love-handled peeps shout from the rooftops. It's a declaration of our independance (and that shall be the last time that I ever go into any political ramblings) when we pound on our chest and holler: "Fat is BEWWWWWDIFUL! It's what's on the inside that counts goddamnit!!!"

I now don't give a flying *$%! whether I fit the beauty mould or not. I'd rather be a lil flabby on the edges than starve to a wee lil stick insect. YES I love food too damn much- YIKES I din know how hungry I was until I typed the word food out. *starts to dribble on the keyboard* I know I should be more heathy- but i think I do me part being a vegetarian and all... dun get me started about how we as man were made to eat meat and such. So what, I choose not to- so leaf me alone! I know I said dun get me started- just one more thing before the cows come home- It really irritates me when peeps start talking sadistically about how fun it is to see a lil lamb being slaughtered into a chop. Woop dee doo... I watch National Geographics- I've seen animals in the wild devouring each other with a smack of their bloodstained lips as they finish up. I just think it sucks that we have to be so proud about tearing down the rainforests for the likes of Mc Donald's and all the other Meateries.

*takes deep breath and wipes brow*

Ok, before I die of starvation imma find summin to nibble on.

Hope you enjoyed the food for thought...

P.S. Floss between every meal now *burp*

Fart that Heart...

I guess V day ain me thing. But who said I wasn a cynic. Blahhh! I was wishing sum 1 "Happy Val day" when I went off on another tangent- they might (they being the marketing big-wigs) as well have a day for everything and anything:

-Happy Toenail day
-Happy Prune day
-Happy Bath Water day
-Happy Mushroom day
-Happy Sadistic Bastard day
-Happy Couch Potato day
-Happy Pantone 187 day.....

And the list goes on. Being in advertising I've already 10 script ideas for "Bath Water day"- ere's just one of them:



Open on a big. hairy dood as he approaches the tub. He dips his toe into the water.
MVO: Shit, the waters too cold!

We see him turn the water back on and he let's it run for a bit. Cut to him letting the towel drop (yes this ad wud have to flight after family time)-EEEEKKK muh damn retinas as he slowly steps into da bath. At this point we see a group of peeps dressed to the nines jump out from different crevices of the bathroom- some from under the bathsink, others from the inside of the toilet seat, sum from the shower etc. They shout out: SURPRISE!!!

We then cut to a top-view of the debrified, murky bathwater as it drains out like the vortex of a whirlpool.
SFX: Slurping of the drain.

We are left with a title at the bottom of the dirty tub that reads: HAPPY BATHWATER DAY!

Sorry to all those that read this after eating something. I din intend for this to be an upsetting (boohoo) post.

Oh, thanks lil cupid for makin us all very mushy-cushy in our heart of hearts!

Muh lil mohawkie

Mugshot of the lil mohwakie
Originally uploaded by SoopaSasta.

There are lot of things that make up the mad Sasta. One of the obvious physicalities is muh standy-uppy hair. My lil mohawk has been sprouting since the early days of '02. I'd always wanted one before that, but the idea of having a hairstyle that didn't suit my face- I've always had a rounded face (born dat way u see), so I didn think it was a good look to sport- made me a tad weary. I remember the day that I decided to go wit the flo very fondly....

*goes into a dreamy eyed reverie*
It was in the summer, when people decide to break out a bit and do a spring clean on their look. I hadn't been phased too much about the previous statement. It was actually my sista, who wanted to go to her hairdresser friend and help her out by having her hair cut into sum avant garde style. Anyways, there was sum chop-chopping to be seen. I was reading sum trendy magazine, as u do at the hairdresser, when Robin, my sista's hairdressers' boif comes up to me and says: " U really gonna stick to that bland, ponytail and fringe?" and I was like, "What u mean bland? U think u can do better?- Go ahead son :P" (If you don't know me, I'm the sort that takes ur challenges very seriously.)

So there I sat, black cape around the neck- ready to jump off the tallest building and save the world... Ooops wrong story-waiting patiently for the scissors to slide through my velvet strandies EEEKKKK. I watched in a somewhat shocked, out of body experience as he pulled an Edwards Scissorhands stunt on my hair. Turns out, i was being a drama kween for nuffin....

I walked out of there, with my new found mohawkie, determined to punk my funk.

Back to the present, I currently have my mohawk which has transformed into a Mullhawk. I'm glad tis finally growing- just wish it wud friggen hurry it up already. In the midst of this hairy era, I've lost one hairdresser to his scissors, one growth spurt by prompting my newest hairdresser to "cut it into a different style"- and him recreating the SAME EFFIN stand up effect! Grrrrr...

So wish me luck while I strive to grow this bloody thing out!!

Keepin it real,
Sasta

Useless/Jooceless Info for da ScattabrainZ

» A rat can last longer without water than a camel.

» Your stomach has to produce a new layer of mucus every two weeks or it will digest itself.

» The dot over the letter is called a tittle.

» A raisin dropped in a glass of fresh champagne will bounce up and down continuously from the bottom of the glass to the top.

» A duck's quack doesn't echo. No one knows why..

» During the chariot scene in Ben Hur, a small red car can be seen in the distance (and Heston's wearing a watch).

» On average, 12 newborns will be given to the wrong parents daily!
(That explains a few mysteries....)

» The number of possible ways of playing the first four moves per side in a game of chess is 318,979,564,000.

» There are no words in the dictionary that rhyme with orange, purple and silver.

» The name Wendy was made up for the book Peter Pan. There was never a recorded Wendy before.

» The very first bomb dropped by the Allies on Berlin in World War II killed the only elephant in the Berlin Zoo.

» The original name for butterfly was flutterby.

» The phraserule of thumb is derived from an old English law which stated that you couldn't beat your wife with anything wider than your thumb.

» Roses may be red, but violets are indeed violet.

» By raising your legs slowly and lying on your back, you cannot sink into quicksand.

» Celery has negative calories. It takes more calories to eat a piece of celery than the celery has in it to begin with.

» Charlie Chaplin once won third prize in a Charlie Chaplin look-alike contest.

» Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying.

» Sherlock Holmes NEVER said, Elementary, my dear Watson.

» The glue on Israeli postage is certified kosher.

» The Guinness Book of Records holds the record for being the book most often stolen from public libraries.

Is this it?

Well here I join the world of words behind a faceless moniter (ummm to be literal my desktop picture stares back at me :| eeekkkk). I only found out about this new blogging phenomonen when a chat buddy told me to look at hers- ummmm she showed me hers and I kinda said "If I had one I'd show u mine!". I'm kinda backward in that respect. Well here I am, juicing my mind to get some sap of interesting topics for your reading enjoyment!

Lata doods and doodettes,
Sasta