Read 'n Weep...

Here, there and everywhere

2006-03-30T10:06:00.000+02:00

Yes, yes, your eyes don't deceive you... I have returned. It's been a helter skelter of a month (or maybe I've just been unmotivated and lazy- who knows). There's always some excuse not to nurture and de-weed one's piece of cyber-land. I want to be witty and interesting by giving you a crazy reason for my absence, but alas, none.

I have however, been sitting on my fat butter bum and mending the holes in my socks.

Blerghhh

2006-02-17T16:00:00.000+02:00

My little lightbulb is burning out. I tried to keep it going by inserting a coin, but alas- nothing! I woke up feeling like a million rupees, but here I sit with a zapped out lightbulb. I need sleep! I want sleep!!! GIVE ME sleep!

The last two nights weren’t all nighters, but I think it’s finally caught up with me. I’ve tried to pull a sneaky, but chasing the Blerghhh is just too much hard work, and besides who has the perseverance to keep a Blerghhh down without a harness?

Stupid Cupid

2006-02-14T11:28:00.000+02:00

Another year of big red hearts being shoved at you. You try to accept graciously, but never sincerely (again I probably speak for myself). Yesterday some blithering idiot put a PC on top of my D&G glasses. They look like Uri Geller got hold of them, bar one lone lens amiss (if there are any typos I blame it on not being able to see properly). Then there was that time that I made a wise crack about not wanting to weigh myself. The reason for that is plain as day. We as humans always equate our achievements, dreams, wholeness etc; to the external. So why weigh the external shell when we should be weighing our more important- internal. I am proud to say that I haven't stepped on the scale for over 8 months. A HUGE achievement for a woman. I hadn't done the gardening for over 3 weeks. Yes it looked like a tangled jungle, with wispy, emerald-green carpet strands. Lucky for me my mom decided to take the mower to it. Unfortunately for her she didn't know the mower had stubborn tendencies- and tried to maneuver it through the ultra-long blades. Lets just say she cut the electrical chord and the grass is all patchy.

What is the relevance you ask? Well there is none. The point is that its a bumbling piece of wasted breath and calendar space.

If you want more relevance check out last years post:
Fart that Heart...

Alter Ego

2006-02-02T15:19:00.000+02:00

I need to name my alter ego. I was thinking of something with an ordinary tang to it. Well not exactly ordinary- maybe more serious. Veronica? Susan? Ummmm Cathy....

The reason for this very real debacle is because I have a very SERIOUS side- no jokes. Sometimes I find myself pondering maturely about certain things;it doesn't really frighten me (as it might you), but I've come to the realization that it's part of me. Silly-serious.

Sylvia. That's it. I now dub my alter-ego Sylvia.

Here's what she has to say from last night:

Ashes

Little flickers sparkle a deep shade of red,
Breathing and exhaling a silent permeation.
Heat dripping off the sifted build-up,
Exposed layers of warmth.
Fuelled by blackened bits of insidiousness,
A silver cloud rised and dissipates.

Oops

2006-01-30T17:50:00.000+02:00

Number of times been stranded without petrol: 2

Yes, I've officially run out of petrol a whole two times. It's staggering! It's a female stereotype that I admit to being a victim of.

The first time was because I wanted to find out how far my car could go without filling it up. It was a small Renault Clio 1.4. however, it used to take ALOT of petrol, some R230 worth (South Africans will understand why all the bitching and moaning about the fuel price). It never really got to me because I could do between 600-700 kilometers on a full tank.

So one night I decided to break the kilometer barrier. The shining orange light came on the night before whilst driving to some club. (I used to chance it only from the previous night coming home from work).

I was really anxious when I turned on the ignition to drive home. A shot of adrenaline shot through my body. I was determined to add a few more km's to the chart. I almost made it home too!!

This Saturday was stuckage number two. (Before I continue, I’d like to make it clear, that it wasn’t my fault. It was my sister’s car. I only drove there. How am I supposed to know that it NEEDED petrol?) We had just finished mashing it up at some club in Jozi town, when we made our way to the car.We jumped in- me in the passenger seat- and my sister turned the ignition. Nothing.... Nada...

Luckily the dude that organized the party, pointed us out to some other dude that could be of assistance. This dude looked way dodge, my first instinct was to brave the walk to the petrol station, muggings and all. My sister telepathically convinced me otherwise- two little people and a group of armed men- I wasn’t really in the mood.

I hope number 3 never comes!

Bbbbb...oring

2006-01-25T12:44:00.000+02:00

Today I'm going to pretend to be boring.
Maybe people will believe me.

Sometimes I do feel like I'm boring though. (Maybe I am, or could I just be plain old BORED?) Let's look at the word BORED. It refers to having no mental (or for some-physical) stimulation. I hope I haven't become numb to these mind prickling forces. That would be tragic indeed. Imagine a life of complete and perpetual boredom.

In this book I'm reading, the crazed psycho-serial-killer, Simon, refers to boredom as a rat. It gnaws at you, preying at you from the darkest corners of your mind. This diseased infested being contaminates; until you succumb... And when you think it can't get anymore, it drags you- kicking and screaming- to a place you'd rather not be.

Blah, blah, blah... I know I AM bored and boring today (I'm not too sure which is worse), no pretending here.

Forget that... this picture actually makes me feel, much less....ummm...

Splatter slooshes

2006-01-23T11:44:00.000+02:00

Q: What happens when you have too much time on your hands?

A: Crazy, obscure, mental pictures brew inside your head, fighting to make their way out.

When these visual manifestations do break free (after years of being rolled up and left in the corner), the result can be catastrophic.

I remember picking up the brush, and mixing, mixing until the bottom of the palette had a hole in it. Wooshy wrist movements followed. Hours passed, my clothes became more and more soaked with different hues of the rainbow.

P.S. Remember to clean the brushes after use.

Greenies

2006-01-11T09:39:00.000+02:00

Nasal explosion, as the fumes rise from the palate to the inside of your sinuses. If it's really strong the crazy tingling travels up to your head and pulsates over your scalp. Once you've gotten used to the sensation it becomes addictive.

My new found drug is the gunky green paste that masks itself sneakily as avo. I used to hate the taste of it, but now I could consume a whole bowl of the stuff. I've even resorted to putting it on and in lots of the food I eat. Wasabi mashed potatoes are my ultimate fave, but I have to admit it is a bit potent on cheese sandwiches.

Who needs cocaine, when you have WAH-SAAA-BEE (say in Japanese accent)!

Back in Business

2006-01-09T09:20:00.000+02:00

I've been a lazy git for the last few months. Haven't looked into a computer screen or felt the plastic keys under my finger tips. I love holidays.

But alas!!! I'm back touching my "abc's". Back to the mine dumps. Back to my lovely blog.

P.S. I'll post something more readable soon. Promise.

The Dollie Syndrome.

2005-11-15T17:08:00.000+02:00

Plastic outer shells stare blindly at the mushroom hamburger stand. They never knew life, until each of their heads were popped onto the same body, which strutted their minds into the world.It was a long wait but well worth it. They used to think of it as ventriloquism- but it’s not really the same thing. Once they got the opportunity to be capitated they were who they wanted to be, and not the other way around.

Dollie H00867 was the first to be corkscrewed onto the body. It was a privilege, an opportunity of a life time and she wasn’t going to let her successors down. As she synched up her brain neurons, she sent them out into the world per se. It was an out of body experience, just to have your body react to what your mind wanted it to do. A partnership made in heaven!!

Well that’s what she thought at first. The others were bound to get jealous. She willed her body to stay with her, but the others telepathically fought for the body to be theirs. It continued until Dollie H00867’s head was literally ripped from her plastic pivot.

The body lays in some dark child’s toy box, never to experience a step again. As for the heads, they are still numbered and waiting for some body to come along.

Flipping flop brigade

2005-11-11T15:11:00.000+02:00

Zontag!! It's been a long time since there's been any activity from this side of Planet Xenon. My long, lone white hair is still sprouting nicely. It's getting as long as the longest part of my mullety back bits. I'm mighty chuffed with my efforts. I know that it's not this little white thread, but my wrinkly hands and rounded black eyes that give my real identity away. However, I'm really trying my best to blend in.

Purple James (the nasty jamboy) was the one that alerted the rest of you "humans" of my alieness. I really loathe him because of it. I think I might even slip "something special" into his coffee (but I don't want to give any of my secret tips of human destruction away, so I'll keep my mouth shut).

Just watch ur backs and fronts you earthy chumps!

Worm

2005-11-01T16:52:00.000+02:00

Noonk asked me to design a t-shirt, using one of his worm photos. He's the boy versh of me (just gay). We are both a wee deranged and eccentric. It's fun how the dreary workers look at us and snort in disgust. It's fine, at least we know something they don't...

Teeth Ahoy!

2005-10-24T16:56:00.000+02:00

This morning I noticed a personal idiosyncrasy that has obviously been there for a very long time. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing that will make people point and laugh, but I have to admit- kinda weird.

Through the foam of the toothpaste; I noticed that every time I brushed the tops of my lower teeth, the tip of my tongue would obediently, and without fail, follow my toothbrush. Up, down, right, left... the little tongue wished to be at my toothbrushes side. I tried to will it to its proper place, but it refused to keep stationery under the roof of my mouth. I swear it has a mind of it's own- and make it's mind up it did: Never to be ostracized from it's brush buddy. The magnetic force that the brush has over my taste/lick/talk device is overwhelming...

I think it has something to do with the tongue being the strongest (and most dependant) muscle in the body.
Wake up, get a life sucker. This world can do without leeches...

Disturbing!

2005-10-17T13:56:00.000+02:00

Umm, it was yuck! My eye's hurt as I witnessed this visual eye sore through my rear-view mirror. It has affected my Monday and made it bluer. People with such vulgarities of public display should have their probiscus removed with a blunt object.

Didn't his mom teach him that picking his nose in public (even though in the "privacy" of his car) is a no-no?

EWWWWWW... not very boogalicious!

Burning Hate

2005-10-12T18:29:00.000+02:00

(Since I started the theme of emotion, I might as well stick with it. The polar emotion of love- hate.)

As complex, multi-faceted creatures; we are all wired differently (thank god for bluetooth). Although, we share many similarities, we are wholly our own person. That said; how we deal with things is up to our own little motherboards.

Little pet peeves only exist because we choose to let them get under our skin. But what happens when that little peeve decides to sprout into HATE? A very strong word, reserved for those very rare occasions to express utter discontent.

There are many hates that we all harbor. Some more serious than others eg. My hate for Irene Bester, which is totally just I might add- I mean how can a baggy old hag continuously wear pearly pink lipstick, eyeshadow AND rouge with her lycra wardrobe that always sports an African animal print. I understand that we're supporting "Proudly South Africa" but come on! And that wretched Aussie accent? (Yes, I have been wronged every time I change the channel) blah, blah... But when does this dark collection start to infect and fester the organ of love? It is only a matter of time before our organs become tarred and blackened. It's definitely a cause of concern.

I'm sure we can eat our veggies and maybe our once blackened organ of love can regenerate itself. If that fails, we can always slap on a patch and call it quits. Or better yet, we can make a list of all the hateés that have graciously affected us, write a letter to each about how they've wronged us, sleep on it and burn the letter the next day.

Bonfires have always been very therapeutic to watch!

Organ of Love

2005-10-11T11:36:00.000+02:00

I <3 Daft Punk
I <3 Choc Chip Ice-cream
I <3 Freudian slips (see previous post)
I <3 Dripping Water
I <3 Jack 2005
I <3 the Queen
I <3 Scary Girl

You turn around and you're egged with this red 2-bummed-into-a-point shape. Yes, the prolific and iconic shape of love. Seen mostly during el Valentino month and pumping (less than 20bpm) on an operating table. For years, and many moonlit nights people have declared their undying love by hearting one another.

Going back to the operating table ie. Biology class of 1998, I remember little frog hearts that sure as helling did not resemble this 2-bummed-into-a-point shape that I referred to earlier. It was more greyish-pink, with root-like twirling arteries and veins encasing a mutated balloon.

I'm too lazy to find out, who decided that the organ of love, should be the heart and it's swirling ventricles. (Ok, ok, since you've insisted so very nicely, I will ask Jeeves). Well according to Jeeves: "The human heart has symbolized love and passion since ancient times, but only during the Middle Ages did it acquire the familiar shape and meaning it still has today..." (Thanks Jeeves, you're the man- now give him a round of applause!)

However, the question still begs. Why the heart? Why not the gall bladder, or the lungs? I suppose it doesn't have as nice a ring to it when you substitute *heart* with another bodily organ.

I *pancreas* U!

Side note...

2005-10-05T17:36:00.000+02:00

To those of you with "dirty" minds, I'm aware of the "phallic" pics that feature in my last two posts.

I know it's very Freudian- sue me. Sexual tension my ars... ummmm...my antennae! (Shit, I can't win- everything has a sexual connotation).

Hahaha!!!

Waggy!

2005-10-05T17:28:00.000+02:00

Since so many people know me so well- and this blog is an honest, down-to-earth, open account of my life and other happenings- I might as well divulge a deep and dark secret I've been harbouring for some time. Well, it's not so much a secret, it's more a continuous yearning. One that has become part of what defines me, or the potential person that I could become.

Yes, something is missing. I've felt it for about 6 years now. A loss. A void. It makes me sad. I feel like I can't function fully without one.

I wish I had a tail! (I look forward to Christmas...)

"If you're happy and you know it, wag your tail..."

Engagement

2005-10-03T19:22:00.000+02:00

There are 2 parts to this very tale...

I'll start on the subject of the titling of this piece. ENGAGEMENT- A very serious and life-changing phenomenon, an uncertain certainty. Can a person at the foetal stage of their life, make such a decision? Well maybe they can- on average less than half the population has succeeded. It's a very blurry concept. Yes, I'm a cynical piece of old spinster bag. The bottom line is; people CHANGE. Change is a wonderful thing, it can be an invigorating ball busting, first stretch in the morning experience. So how do you plan for these changes? How do you know if you're going to grow apart? How do you know if the other person won't succumb to temptation? How, how, how...

That's where fear into the unknown comes into play. Love will conquer all... Blah, blah, blah. I truly hope with all my musterings, that it's true. (Please let it be true, pretty please?).

The reason for me going on about over-rated, certified companionship; brings me to my Saturday evening. My sister and I were invited to an engagement barbie (braai). The bride-to-be was a young lass- 24 years old at that. When asked the paramount question of any engagement party; she nervously bit her lip and regurgitated: "Well, we don't really want to rush it. I think we'll probably have it in 2007. March maybe?". Boy she sounded excited. I couldn't contain myself...

Why would a person do that to themselves? I mean, if there's a miniscule inkling of doubt- say NO for freaksakes! It's your life and the other person's life at stake! It kinda made sense when you looked at them. She's the nice, passive-aggressive type, that sacrifices herself, and what she believes in, to make others happy. He on the other hand, is her polar opposite. Yup, a right arsehole. Urks me off- opposites attract, my bloody twisted bunion!

What a beautiful start to the evening...

As we continued outside, we were greeted by blank stares as if to say, "Freak brigade party, next door!" I should have listened to my gut warning me earlier. Firstly, I don't do "braais". I find them gross especially since I'm a vegetarian. It's mostly the smell of burning flesh that reeks me... Secondly, I should have known that braais are synonymous with jockified, beer-drinking pratts. I could hold my nose and take small gasps of air to block out the wretched smell, but the jocks were everywhere. Yes I am a traitor to South African culture. I don't give a Care Bear. I don't even care if I become a social pariah.

I also came to the conclusion- after denying it for sometime (especially since we as humans are supposed to be progressive and understanding)- that people are facade-obsessed bastards. I can say that with great certainty, because the ONLY conversation- bar the chitty with the bride-to-be - was with some borewors munching imbecile. On every occasion I decide to venture outside my cocoon, I get asked- where I'm from. Bluntly I always answer, "Jo'burg". They retort as if I'm trying to dodge the obvious, "No, where are you from originally?" Originally well if you must know- my mom and dad had sex (you know when my dad's willy gets... yeah a bit too graphic) and I grew inside my mom's uterus for nine months; that's where I was later pushed out. Yes, I am South African, yes I was born in South Africa, and yes my parents were born here. I know I'm over reacting, but sometimes it can get annoying... Haven't people seen South African Asians? My god, we make up a good 5% of the population! Back in the day we were discriminated upon, we were classed with the Blacks in the Apartheid system. Even today we don't count. We have no voice, no colour, no country.

Today I count for me :D VIVA SASTA!!!

The missing link.

2005-09-19T14:41:00.000+02:00

Scratching, paging, lifting, nook and crannies...

I spent a good chunk of Sunday searching for a recipe that I had seen about 3 weeks ago. It involved pears and ricotta. The picture on the page was of baked pears filled with scrumptious ricotta cheese. I remember thinking: "Boy, I need to make me some of THOSE delish looking babies!"

Last week while I was doing the usual odds and ends grocery hoard I even threw in a block of ricotta and instructed my sis to pick up some pears from the fruit and veg place.

So there I was standing in the kitchen with my block of cheese in the one hand and a pear in the other- I felt frustrated for going to these lengths and not being able to be rewarded for my efforts. I mean, come on, it's only every blue/indigo moon that I decide to put my baking gloves on!!

I decided to get inspired by browsing through some recipe books... I decided to make a pie thingy. I got a bowl and started throwing all the goodies in- mint that has a chocolate flavour, dark choco pieces, yogurt, honey, and of course the ricotta and pears.

It went in and out of the oven quiet quickly- looked alright... I couldn't wait to munch down!! ( gobble, gobble, spittle, yum!)

I had a slice whilst sitting in front of the telly. It was delish, delish and more delish. I went to bed and looked forward to the morning's healthy breakfast!

It was a wretched occasion- I stared at the remaining crumbs on the plate....

I have come to the conclusion that this "pie-experience" had to be a figment of my imagination. Firstly, I must have dreamt up the recipe, because all the magazines in the house had no such recipe. Secondly, how can a 25cm diameter pie just DISAPPEAR?

Someone please explain the phenomenon?

No Comment!

2005-09-09T16:13:00.000+02:00

Now here's a tasty little tid-bit to digest....

Anonymous said...
HERE IS A QUICK QUESTION...

IF A RANDOM GUY... THOUGHT HE WOULD PERHAPS LIKE TO DO COFFEE WITH A SEEMLY FUN & LIVELY CHICK... PURELY PLATONIC… TO CHAT AND SHARE STORIES... LAUGH AND PASS TIME.

WOULD THE CHICK SAY YES...?

HE WOULD EVEN PICK UP THE BILL!

Huh?! Is that you Fred!? I do not on god's freckled earth appreciate your anonymousness. Why are you hiding? HAHA....

Answer to above question:
Coffee with a stranger (Fred?!), you never know these days. There are WAY too many freakazoids out there- especially one's on the internet. I'm too scared to fathom, how I'd wind up... inside the coffee, or having coffee spilt all over my t-shirt.

Coffee in Budapest, would be kinda nice though- would you pick up the air ticket bill as well?

In a way I'm flattered that ol' Fred would like to take a seemingly wacked out chicken like myself out for a cuppa.

Thanks Fred, much appreciated. I don't know if I even like Budapest or Budapestian(?) coffee for that matter.

Huh? Say that again slowly...

2005-09-08T10:58:00.000+02:00

Ch-a-n-ge.

I think when you get to a big number like 25 in your life; alot of obscure and maybe even inevitable things start to happen (wisdom-bollocks). It has definitely been the case for me. I'm very open to it all, I mean how can I not be? This is a new chapter in my life and I'm ripping out the pages and framing them!

In the last few days, there's been a weird feeling in the pit of my mid-torso area- a cross between butterflies/an adrenaline rush/anxiousness/last night's mashed potatoes... (it's not a "feeling" I'm familiar with, so I don't know whether to moosh it up into a ball and play with it, or replace it with a bar of Lindt.

What do you do when your world is turned 360? Moving house, changing a job and losing a family member- they say a shift in any of these areas, are the hardest to deal with in one's life. Bring it on, I've been dealt all three...

I think I'll play with my ball of moosh.

Floating in Shite!

2005-08-24T12:12:00.000+02:00

I'm not one to bitch (well maybe just a little) but come on... I was pushing the "next blog" butty, when I was redirected to a handful of complete-and-utter-waste-of-time-and-cyberspace blogs.

Who actually dedicates a WHOLE blog to home loans? How sad and lame must one's life be! (The author is probably an agoraphobic). Then there was the pool blog... swimmalicious! And the BBQ blog?? No comment there.

Someone PLEEEEEASE write some entertaining stuff... pretty please.

2 & a half decades...

2005-08-11T14:52:00.000+02:00

Two and a half decades- that sounds like a freakishly long time to inhabit this planet.

I have to admit it hasn't been such a shabby ride; considering I've been scared many a time. However, it's never been an excuse to put a damper on my parade (I mean what's the use of that- no one likes soggy-blanket-types).

The past year has been really challenging, mostly on the emotional level. I'm not referring to the lack of retail therapy, or what my celluloid thighs have done to my self-esteem, my frustrations with the lack of "good people" out there, or even blue bloody Mondays... These are minor little affairs. Not even the childhood teasing, lashings by teachers, unreciprocated teenage crushes, consuming fear of public speaking can compare to the realization and overwhelming guilt that I've had to endure.

I never doubted that this was going to be the MOST difficult, life altering, prolific, apocalyptic decision of my life thus far, (yes, I am a drama queen). It's been a torturous ride, but I think I'm getting through it kinda fine-ish. The hardest part for me is articulating my feelings and dredging them up to the surface so I can actually deal with them. Seeing someone self destruct slowly and letting them go is most painful. (This was supposed to be light hearted evaluation of my years thus far, but it's turned out to be personal revelation of my inner demons and such...)

At least I still have my good looks (wrinkle-free I might add) and charming personality intact. Happy two-and-a-half decades to me!

Lights, camera, action...

2005-08-02T17:08:00.000+02:00

As per- there's too much on my plate. I'm jet-setting to Cape Town tomorrow for a 3-day shoot. It involves an ambulance and a cyclist. The city's really going to love us after all the commotion (will report on my return).

There have been lots of idea floaters that I need to write about ie.

* SA Fashion Week
* White Hair
* Tails
* Losing shoes

I know it all seems arb and quiet strange, but I never denied that this blog catered otherwise.

Cya all on the flipside,
Rock on!

Back Bits

2005-07-27T17:46:00.000+02:00

Mish mash... and here I am, 10 minutes to spare.

I don't know what I should ramble about. The word "lifeless" springs to mind. Not so much the negative connotations, but my "life" has been a blurry whiz. I'm not complaining too much- as I usually strive on pure hecticness, but this is getting slightly ridiculous for freak sakes!

Moonlit bedrooms are not very sleep inducing. Sewing machines zipping along to track number 10 of the Gorrilaz is bombastic. Handleless kitchen cupboards make any cooking experience a challenge. Driving back and forth through the 4 quarters of Jo'burg without a numberplate, is somewhat liberating. "Bounce" as a surprise, surprised them- it was hard keeping the secret, but I handled very well (chuffed, chuff). They turned the tables and gave me the yellow "yellow submarine" plate.

Swapping back to Camphor Cream was the best thing I did through all of this! I never knew my skin would take so much strain. Damn the beauty product market. "Pore Refining" Cream my left butt-cheek!

Leave of Absence

2005-07-02T10:38:00.000+02:00

Hey Blogolites, I'm finally moving into my new house... Therefore, I'm going to be incognito for the next 2 weeks. Hope you can handle my absence (yeah, the world revolves around me!)

Anyways, will be back then with lotsa silly anticals...

Miss me,
Sastah

Music makes the heart grow fonder- take 5

2005-06-28T14:48:00.000+02:00

(Read Take1, Take 2, Take 3, Take 4 respectively before reading Take 5- yes I am pedantic)

Sleep when you’re dead is my motto. I refused to go home when the night was still a foetus. Walking through the door, we were greeted by two steroidian buffoids. I shivered under their evil eyes/muscles as I allowed one of them to clutch my wrist and stamp it for proof of payment and future exit-entry rights.

Deja vu- the setup was similar to a club that I’d been to in the past; only thing different were the people (well, maybe not- they were all average Joe soaps, no one edgy and interesting, blahhhhh). We decided to drink to that fact, and opted for our usual: Gin, Soda and Lime.

The air was icy on the outside, as we juggled from one dancefloor to the other. The bridge between the two cut through a velvety black dam. It was a midnight wonderland and the ginormous green frog winked at us from the water’s edge. He was kinda cute, in a plastic, frog kinda way.

As usual, The Master, dropped class-A tunes. They lingered and wove themselves through my dancing frame, lastly touching my soul. Yes, good music always touches me like that. I’ve often been asked, how the hell I can dance for hours on end, without the aid of a stimulant- I added that for the benefit of those of you, who question my stimulant-laced description of said music affecting me as it does. As we sliced and diced it- without being knocked around- I noticed some dude staring at us... Deja vu number 2, he was the same guy hanging on the bar as we got our drinks.

I was getting a tad chilly as we braved the bridge and the plastic-froggies wink, so we decided to make a very icy journey to the car. Blasted boy had forgotten to give back my sentimental red wooly number! As my sis fished for the car key in her garden-boots, I shivered like a reptile in the night. I was slightly angry by blasted-boy’s inconsiderations of a lady freezing, whilst he left for his warm bed!!! After hanging up, it was without a doubt, known to his voicemail. I wasn’t going to let that ruin my evening...

Drink after drink, electrobeat after electrobeat, I was having a splendid time. Well most of it was a splendid affair, bar the stalker staring at us from the dark corner of the dancefloor. He wasn’t half bad looking. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t spring to mind, but I’ve never been one for typical “dashing” good looks. Admittingly, there were a few eye catching features that were quiet interesting- messy hair, slim body type, hanging jeans from the lack of rear ends... What a pity he had stalker tendencies.

Intermission

2005-06-24T11:33:00.000+02:00

Due to the weekend this show will continued on monday. You can now relieve yourselves in the bathrooms. We have also supplied brown paper bags in front of your seat for alternate relief ;)

Curtain of Pearls- take 4

2005-06-24T11:29:00.000+02:00

(Read Take1, Take 2 and Take 3 respectively before reading Take 4 hahaha!!)

As I nibbled on my cucumber and avo sushi, I looked around the room at the “upper-class” in their formal attire. It was a bland occasion, one that I usually avoided like a vampire to the sun (sizzle, melt, splat). This however, was an exception to MY rules of existence, as it was to support a friend (me being the selfless person I am- hahaha). Another convincing contributor was the fact that I hadn’t let my hair down in awhile...

Yadda, yadda, yadda... Now I knew why I didn’t do “formal things”. The speech part of the evening drew on for lifelines (911 we had an emergency). The fatty giving the speech had a fake Brit accent. He also had green socks on underneath his shiny, black trousers.

Sands and I decided to perch on the edge of a chair (it was a restaurant setup and we were standing by the bar-where else would one be?!) In front of us was the “Apple Mac Dude” who used to service and provide technical support to the computers at my place of work. Sands thought he could service and provide support to her any day. We giggled like girls as the muffled “yaddas” continued.

A few tequilas later, and this evening was shaping out to be somewhat bearable. Pigmy Toni, Koosh, Ash, Freedi, Tee, Sands, A-mad and I were showing these cardboard cutouts how it was supposed to be done. The dancefloor was ours as the discoball glistened on our dancing shoes (eeeekkk my bloody feet were killing me, damn those stilettos!)

And as quick as we could say “Tequila”, the party died. Sad to all of us, but true...

Prickly Vinegar Legs- take 3

2005-06-23T09:38:00.000+02:00

(Read Take1 and Take 2 respectively before reading Take 3)

My sinuses were clogged to its full capacity and I couldn't breath. The dust engulfed me, as I leopard crawled to try and make it out of this mangled wreck. I was surrounded by what looked like a cabbage patch, but in actual fact, they were prickly humps of cacti. My limbs burned as the needles punctured through my fatty layers. I told myself the pain was a temporary sacrifice for my freedom, so I gritted my teeth, and endured the tattoo pricking.

I felt exhausted, but being home cushioned my heavy shoulders. Today, was my new leaf and I knew I needed to treat myself with some "me-time". I planned to stay pyjama clad for the rest of the day, as I made myself comfortable in front of the telly. The relaxing bliss dissipated, when I watched in horror, as women in Rwanda told their stories of being raped by militia, as their children watched on. (My rational mind told me to change the channel, but my fingers were paralysed, as something deep inside told me otherwise- I listened to the sadistic cry and I felt their pain...)

I needed an upper, so my sister and I made our way to the video store. She drove, and I waited in the car as she went inside to get a movie (Alfie it was. Jude Law- yum. I was already feeling better).

Start damn car, START!! After a half and hour of simultaneously trying to pump the gas; as we tried turning the key in the ignition, we decided to jump-start the battery. I refused to get out of the car. I knew my fluffy, bear pyjamas were fit for sleeping, but somehow they weren't quiet right for public car maintenance...

Onion- take 2

2005-06-21T13:20:00.000+02:00

(Read Take1 before reading Take2, thank you for your co-operation)

The toilet cubicle was fit for a beanpole of a person. I stood on the toilet seat and tried to bash out the glass skylight with my bottle of facewash. As I did, the layer of glass seemed to magically replace itself with another. The bashing continued as I started to panic (the key fumbling in the keyhole grew more imminent), but it was like peeling an onion- tears included. Thankfully, like onions, all layers must come to an end. Only once hoisting myself out of the skylight, did I realise my in-the-nick-of-time escape. My sneaker (my good one at that- opposed to my left, bad one) had been pulled off by one of the men I was trying to get away from.

Still shook up by this close encounter, I was determined to ditch this popsicle stand. As I peered around the corner I saw small shrubs and bare bushes anchored in dusty sand. There was no sign of the men anywhere. A good chance presented itself, and I ran with it.

I looked up at the fence. Dismay, dismay, dismay! At the very top was a row of shark teeth barbed-wire. How was I going to get out of here in one piece? To make matters worse, there was a trench-like labyrinth of more mangled wires at the other side of the fence. It felt like a recurring theme here. First the glass onion skylight* (lalala), and now THIS!

*Glass Onion by The Beatles

You know the place where nothing is real
Well here's another place you can go
Where everything flows.

Looking through the bent backed tulips
To see how the other half live
Looking through a glass onion.

I told you about the walrus and me-man
You know that we're as close as can be-man
Well here's another clue for you all
The walrus was Paul.

Standing on the cast iron shore-yeah
Lady Madonna trying to make ends meet-yeah
Looking through a glass onion.

Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah
looking through the glass onion.

I told you about the fool on the hill
I tell you man he living there still
Well here's another place you can be
Listen to me.

Fixing a hole in the ocean
Trying to make a dove-tail joint-yeah
Looking through a glass onion.

Face wash and Soda- take 1

2005-06-20T16:54:00.000+02:00

It's been awhile since I graced you with my delightful (well, I like to think so) presence...

I remember trying to a find a way out of the concrete jungle. It was the clinical-type of linear confusion that sticks in my mind the most. As I strolled down the aisles, the choice bombarded me, and, as usual, I gave up the search before my retail repertoire decided to slit its own wrist. I blindly stuck my hand out, reached for the nearest bottle and threw it (clunkety, clunk, clunk, clunk) into the shopping basket.

The overhead lights were making me nauseous- that, coupled with the snaking aisles- so I decided to make for the nearest aisle A-sap, (It's always intrigued me, when people say A-sap and not A,S,A,P) obviously paying for my lone item before doing so. So there I was, waiting in line, patiently, when a little, cute, munchkin of a child struck up a conversation with me. She pointed to my potential purchase and asked what I was holding. I looked into her beady eyes and retorted: "It's facewash, you want some?", to which she replied: " Mommy I want chok-lit!" Ahhh, love the furry critters...

As I proceeded to make my way to the exit, a voice boomed over the intercom: "Attention all shoppers. We are now closing, please make your way to the exit A-sap (there's that word again)." I picked up my pace (which isn't very much, considering my pint-sized legs) and that's when the lights went out. I fumbled around for a few minutes, but to no avail of exiting this shopping hell. I was trapped. I looked at the possibilities of having blacked out and awaking to a time delay which caused my current dilemma. The chances of that happening were slim-to-none...

Scary Mary

2005-06-09T15:36:00.000+02:00

Sleeping in a newly painted house can be a very infusing experience. The potent wafting from pillow to blanket, can induce some interesting dreams. I can’t recall any of these “trippy” numbers, but luckily I had to share my bed with my sister, who’s a very light sleeper.

The eye-witness account was a shocking, yet enlightening one. On awakening from this slumber, I was told that in the middle of the night I started shaking and moaning some “Uh-uh’s and Ahh’s”. When SB nudged my shoulder to try and wake me up, I shot up like a plank and stared out the window into the blackness. As I sat there, I started to mumble some jibberish concoction and then flopped back into the cushy mattress.

I swear, I can’t remember what force possessed me to converse with the face of eerie darkeness...

Waxing lyrical

2005-06-03T11:47:00.000+02:00

There are high's and low's to any goddarn job. Some more than others. This week (like most) I've hit the jackpot at both extremes.

The low-headed monster, would be, the tug-of-war we constantly have to play with clients. The best term to describe these people (yes, they are their own breed) is "Creative-Extinguishers". Their only reason for existence- bar eating all the cookies in the boardrooms- is to suck the life-blood from all our kickass executions (sometimes, it does feel like we're martyrs at the stake, but the exexutions that I"m refering to, are (anti-climax) just TV scripts). The other lows seem much more insignificant, when compared to these Creative-Extinguishers... One that does, lick at their heals are the "meatings" we have to sit in. Most of them, have nothing, to do with the creative process. Graphs and brand strategy do nothing for me, except make me want to rip the limbs off a Barbie Doll.

However bad these bottomless pits seem, there are some gems that make it all bearable...

Yesterday I got to witness one of these gem moments. It happened to involve Puple James, Vin and myself. Puple James wanted to ask me a very serious question, about some very serious rumours that he had been hearing. Me being chinese, prompted him to ask me of all people, whether the rumours were in fact, true.

Purple James(in a most convinced tone): "I've heard lotsa rumours that chinese peeps are actually half alien, half human, is it true?"

Me: "Well, to tell you the truth, we think YOU "white men" are actually half alien, half human."

Purple James (shocked): "You're joking!! "

Me: "What makes you think we're aliens anyway?"

Purple James: "Well, there's the fact that you don't have any body hair."

Me: "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I actually do have hair" (I then proceed to show him my arm)

At this point things started to go pear-shaped...

Vin decided to join in, by offering to make me half-alien. "How?", you ask. Well, being in advertising creates a collection of arb products around your office. Client believes, by giving us their products to test, inspires us to come up with better creative work- something about, sleeping, eating and living it... (Ummm, ok if they insist.)

Vin pulls out a wax strip, from the bottom of his desk draw and dares me to "become alien".

Me: "Bring it on!"

On witnessing my hair removal of the arm, Purple James felt dejected, and wanted to be part of the action, so he offered a body part...

Let's just say, after 6 wax stips later, he took it like a wo(ah)-MAN.

Here's just one pic from our "testing" session:

...I gots to love my job!

EEEKkk!

2005-05-31T09:26:00.000+02:00

Busy, on hold,
Stress, crazy,
Headless chicken.

Whirlwind!

Ode to Toni

2005-05-20T12:22:00.000+02:00

Recently people at my place of "hi, ho, hi, ho... it's off to work we go", have been dropping out like... flies, college kids? (yeah, something like that)

My last tea buddy left about a year ago, the next to spread her wings left about a 2 months ago... and then there's Toni.

Toni and I, go by the endearing term of "lil pygmies". We're both the same height you see- a mere 5'2. Being at the same ear-level comes in handy, as we can whisper office politics back and forth.

Lately, the politics have been at an all time high. People are malicious and spineless. It happens openly eg. I saw 2 client service (servant) woman haul their bodyweight at eachother- like rabid dogs in a ring. As the one went for the jugular the other screamed profanities (from the same mouth she kisses her 6 year old daughter with, I might add). I reckon, it's something in the water (no one seems to believe me...typical height discriminators!!!)

For this very reason, Toni has decided enough is enough...

I don't blame her really, I can never see any action... blasted height!

Self-Portrait

2005-05-17T15:40:00.000+02:00

This is the true me... exposed to the core. *shiver*

(Summin' I did for summin')

Office Rumours

2005-05-16T16:36:00.000+02:00

Friday night in the bar (the ad agency that I work at, has it's own rooftop bar, that opens up every friday night for us to drink our weekly sorrows away) was very, very, very interesting.

After a few drinks, some creatives that I work with, devulged some juicy office rumours that have been floating around. It involved myself, and a newly hired copywriter... The devulgés said that the copywriter had been telling them (they all share an office) that he and I were "getting down" (as they had put it). On hearing this blatant rubbish, it took me back to my highschool years... When last had I been part of malicious adolescent gossip? I felt warm and fuzzy inside- yeah right...

This morning I confronted the copywriter, he later sent me an e-mail that read:

Is information gathered through coercion and assumption valid?

Example: young (dashing and handsome) copywriter gets accosted by a team of female art directors. While their enquiries may seem innocuous, their motives are not. They are out to create mischief. They ask "is there something goin down with you and S? You spend very much a lot of time in her office?"
young copywriter, puzzled, answers "Not that I am aware of, despite her being a mighty cool chick as well a fine cook."
Cut to today, in the young copywriters office. He sits at his desk wondering what alse is being said about him. Damn working in this office can make you paranoid!

Ahhh, the joys of working with creative minds- the fine line of fantasy and reality often gets blurred...

Me, My life and Irene

2005-05-10T10:18:00.000+02:00

"Just when you think it's over it creeps up and bites you on the butt, or even worse, it's like the garlic burp that keeps repeating itself, without any warning."

This unfortunate phenomonen seems to haunt most of my life. It feels like I can't get away from this bad surprise party. I understand fully, that most people have to deal with this in certain degrees, but it just seems to have warmed to me more.

WHY am I magnet for negative energy? Or is all my positive energy somehow leaking from the tiny cracks that have formed? (To make matters worse, the spectators have been given sticks to probe with- "Ooooch that tickles!")

You might ask: "How can you be sure if there isn't any evidence?" (Well I was getting there you impatient little git. Hold your damn horses!) A good story has to hook the reader, with a captivating intro, and only then, lay down the facts. And yes - for those observant ones - I am blatantly stalling for a greater impact.

Ok, back to the story... ummmm... what was I writing about again?

Baaaaad hair day

2005-05-03T12:38:00.000+02:00

I can't believe the lengths people go to, to make a quick buck... This morning I became another Jozi crime stat. After waking up, I discovered that my digi clock was not flashing its usual 7.45am. [Crap...Shit...NOOOO!!] I scrambled out of bed and started getting ready for work. I opened the curtains to let some light in and was relieved to see some electricians (who were probably dispatched for the very same non-electrical reason above) inspecting the electric box, which is housed across the road from my place. This was a good sign...

I later found out, that some IDIOTIC NIT WIT had broken into the electric box (which has a huge steal door that's bolted), cut the cables and STOLEN them!!! Have you ever?... This is not a new thieving phenomonen by the way- the electrical klepto steals the cables and later strips them for the copper wires, which he later sells :S

Because of this pathetic antic, I had no hairdryer. This was a tragic affair!!! I couldn't go to work with a flopsy mullhawk (previously muh lil mohawkie) I had to do something- so I did what any mulhawké would have done- I took a fine toothed comb to my flat tresses. I teased the shit outta my hair for some volume. Grrr... With some help from Mr Gel it looks sorta lush and presentablish. (Oh well, at least I don't have to look at it.)

I have yet to be told I look weird... I guess it says something about my daily look. Tehehe.

Hallmark

2005-04-29T14:41:00.000+02:00

Tonight is my cuz's 21st. He's crazy mad... I think it runs in the family. To his friends he's known as "B" aka PariaH.

The card and poem is for you bruva!

THE BIG TWO ONE

The dude in question was a social Pariah,
it wasn't 'cos he was a compulsive liar.
His day of all days had finally arrived,
he was grateful and thankful - twenty-one years survived.
His friends were invited to celebrate this feat,
they'd party the night away, to the big solid beat.

The meaning of life, with challenges rife,
will soon question choices, no ease without strife.
The future is paved and it all looks great,
don't worry too much, leave some up to fate.
In other words dude, just live life large.
You'll know if it's real or just a mirage.

Fingered

2005-04-28T18:23:00.000+02:00

Today I'm gonna complain about yesterdays little mishap in the kitchen...

I was chopping some veggies for some soup, when I somehow managed to slice the edge of my finger off (even though I pride myself in my slicin' and dicin'- yeah luv that term- capablities.)

Needless to say, the soup was tasty! YUMMMMM....very ironie *BURP*

Moral of the story- learn to chop using your feet.

Chilli Escapades

2005-04-25T11:52:00.000+02:00

There are a few things in my life that I truely love- the red, fiesty, burn-baby-burn number is definitely one of 'em. I've recently become more immune to the gastric explosion, thus allowing me to constantly fuel my burning desire...
I can now say the more the merrier, and every munch down is a chilli oppurtunity.

I'm officially a capsaicin addict, it has reached the point- where at every meal I need my fix or I find myself not feeling satisfied. It is becoming a problem... people are refusing to cook for me saying that it's sacrilege to mess with flavours... that chilli dun go with mac and cheese (bollix!) :S

I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU ALL: CHILLI GOES WITH EVERYTHING!!! (I mean look at the recent fusion of the chilli choccie combo (that no one ever thought possible). I rest me case!

On satty I went to dinner at an authentic northern Indian restaurant (by the way- my fav food is indian if you haven't already guessed). Let's just say I've been to most of the Indian restaurants in and around Jo'burg. However, this was my first visit and I wasn't sure what the heat-level was like- so to play it safe (since I was sharing my palak paneer) we opted for medium. I wasn't too phased as I knew I could always order a side plate of chilli.

The food came, and I was right- the heat was lacking, so I needed the extras. The waiter was summoned and arrived with a plate of 12 whole, unripe greenies. ("Ummmm, and what am I sposed to do with these? Gobble them up whole?") Let's just say the plate went back with only 2...

Throughout the meal, the waiters kept coming to inspect me masticating (pah haha... how rude!)- they couldn't understand how a pigmy-sized person could eat all them chillis (dynamite? small packages?) They kept asking if I needed anything to drink...
One even commented that in all his years working there, no one had ever eaten so many chillis, he said I looked like an apple... (huh?) a red apple to be exact.

P.S. My intestines are intact- and no, I don't need frozen toilet paper!!!

What? Say that again slowly...

2005-04-22T14:03:00.000+02:00

Out of nowhere the wretched Work-Monster flies in, and poops on my weekend. Thanks heaven above, you truely love me with all the angel wings in the world. I was just sitting there minding my own business (or lack there of) and WACK...

Semi-conscious, poop on me face, I dig deep and pull myself towards myself. I don't think being half-mast and groggy (from all the abusive substances- and yes chilli jam sarmies do constitute) will productively lessen the weekend load.

Serves you right, man upstairs ie. Peter the CEO of the company... You should know better than take my treasured Sat and Sun days- while you tan around the poolside with hovering scantilly clad woman serving you champers.

P.S. Ummm, does anyone have an alarm clock for me?

Voodoo Doll

2005-04-21T13:45:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I wrote some words of winterdom, by doing so, I think I might have premonitorily seen something on the horizon...

Today I'm sitting here with a cold. My nasals are stuffed and my throat is itchy and scratchy.
There might be a few people (or maybe more) that don't particulary want to be stranded on a deserted island with me, but come on, there must be something more sinister behind this sudden outbreak! Someone MUST HAVE picked up a Sasta voodoo doll and poked it in the face.

Well whoever that was, Imma getcha!! By George (and Peter John Sullivan) Imma getcha! Imma acupuncture your butt to the wall if it's the last thing I do... (eeekkk my evil avenging self is coming out.)

Frost Bite

2005-04-20T12:41:00.000+02:00

Brrr, cold...
No snow, just chilly winds slicin' 'n dicin'.
Blankets, willy warmers, hot choccie.

Crunched up, shivering body, heat.
Hibernated eyes slumbering.
Emotionless, dead- no movin', no groovin'.

Smog filled air, intoxicating, choking.
Gray matter, tiptoeing in slow motion.
Meloncholy vines entangle...
Fight or flight?

Spring in your step,
mind the gap.

Pilates Class

2005-04-19T12:07:00.000+02:00

"It's the bitchy "sshhh" sound you make when you're trying to quiet a room of people"- well that's what my pilates teacher says.

I have to disagree with her on that- it's more like a pre-natal breathing class. The reasoning behind this forced in-and-out breath - which is stemmed from the abdominals- is apparently, to strengthen the inner core muscles.

I've been attending these "sshhh" classes for the past year or so, with much enthusiasm I might add. In that time, I've seen scores of people (big, medium and ummm... average built) come and go. Most of the regulars are rich housewives, trying to maintain their liposuctioned bellies and thighs. It seems with every in-breath they take; their fake plasties freakishly inflate, much to the pervy satisfaction of the 10% male representation.

[BUT WAIT!!! If you read further, I'll throw in a few more grotty incidences from my class at NO EXTRA COST!!!] (Aint it your lucky day) hahaha....

• Sometimes, when you concentrate really hard you can hear the faint "parp" of a fart disguised by loud "sshhh" breathing.

• If you get to class late, you are forced to the back of the class, where you get to "enjoy" the bee-hind view.

• A full class also means people sticking their smelly feet in your face, as you do floor exercises- YUCK!!

• Graceful agility of steroidian men trying to point their toes.

You might ask why I subject myself to this retinal eye-sore, well the answer is simple: It cracks me up fully (pun totally intended). The comic quirks are what draws me week in and week out. All I need to do is install hidden cameras....

Rubba Duckie

2005-04-18T17:35:00.000+02:00

I'm making a habit of not having time for Blogonia. Last week I finally presented da Tea stuff- that had been causing much creative turmoil- to client KACHING :D WOOP!

My latest project is "Rubba Duckie" for Sista Blista's newest spring/summer 2005/6 range. She's entering SA Fashion Week, so I designed a character and wrote some words of inspiration for the moodboards. [No surprise, it features another animal of sorts]

Enjoy lil munchkins!

____________________________________________________

Rubba Duckie would swim around,
Rubba Duckie made a squeaking sound.

The fateful day came when the plug was pulled;
The bathwater drained away and the duck was fooled.
As he swished around like clothes in a dryer;
He tragically drowned; it was water on his fire.
He was left for dead on the side of the bath,
That’s when a fashion designer came to save the aftermath.

She stitched him up with needle and thread.
Duckie felt better a thank-you was said.

Roz the designer made him outfits in denim,
He particularly looked good in all shades of lemon.
His new found style went straight to his beak;
He strutted his stuff, fashionista of the week.

The shenanigans was more than anyone could take-
So she offed him with a scissors,
For his own goodness sake.

Reincarnation is definitely not for slackers,
Rozanne is…
A whole lotta quackers.

Deep, dark and dirtay.

2005-04-06T09:27:00.000+02:00

Once again, I find myself not having much to blog about, so I'm going to have to recite- or is that cybercite?- one of my poems. I wrote this one a week ago...

Stuck in a hole of muddy remnants,
Destruction seeps to join the rancid concoction.
As the pungency sherberts and gobs,
it spills onto the pristine surface.

The cotton dreads lick up the sludge,
a sweet smoke wafts and weaves through the nasal disaster.
Stains locked in,
to eternally taunt.
Ghost-like odors,
hang in limbo.

By the time the note is read;
the drifting senses leave no trail.

*disappears into the night*

KoOky Kid

2005-04-01T17:00:00.000+02:00

KoOky Kid has a hole is tum,
his dad before him, lost his liver to rum.

Whatever he ate; would drip out and leak,
kids would point and laugh; and call him a freak.

His only friend was a spider named Ted,
he would hang around and always play dead.

KoOky Kid just wanted to be normal,
so he dressed and acted alot more formal.

He decided to stitch up the hole in his tum,
the only problem now- he farts from his bum.

Hope you enjoy! [KoOky Kid© 2005 was illustrated and created by moi.]

T 4 2 & 2 4 T

2005-03-30T11:26:00.000+02:00

Working on the same project, can really start to stagnate any ideas you might have floating upstairs. All briefs should come with a mandatory expiry date- especially if you've been sleeping, dreaming, drinking your ideas for the past month.

The project I refer to is my Tea brief. It was inspiring and fresh when I first flipped through the pages. If pulled off, I would definately beable to scratch a notch in my creative bedpost.

It hasn't been as easy as I thought it would (Don't get me wrong, I definately believe in challenging myself- but come on... my mind has closed its doors and I'm left staring at a blank piece of paper- any creators most feared dead-end.)

I've tried going outside to get fresh air, but that's only caused my mind to concoct stories of prancing hippies and kaleidescope teapots. (This is what air pollution does to a person!). I don't think the target market would buy into something like that- so I've decided to scrap that idea and go back to the drawing board. The wastepaper basket has become my best friend, the pencil has been sharpened and I've even contemplated shoving it into me arm to put me out of this miserable brain drain....

I've now resorted to thumb-sucking... It's becoming a painful proccess since I have a tendancy to bite (hahahhahaha- get your bloody mind out the gutter). Anways, lets just say, I've lost the top layer of skin on me thumb.

In a desperate attempt to link some thought to tea I...... switch from a good cuppa inspiration to hardcore liquor...CHEERS!

Bunny any1?

2005-03-24T18:38:00.000+02:00

I know my last post was an animal related one, but I couldn't help the recurring theme; since the Easter holidays are on the way. As you know, I'm not one for commercialization of the holidays, even though it's religious.

Living in South Africa (I'm not going to go into too much detail about that- I might save it for a future post) is kind of blah- in respect, that there is a fusion of so many cultures and religions, thus inducing indifference.

[Huh? Whose wordsmith did I just gobble. I think it must be the 4 units of alcohol swimming through my blood stream]

Anyway, back to the matter at hand...

Ever wondered how you make a bunny lay an Easter egg? I know it's an obsurd question, but it's a perfectly reasonable one!

I suppose it depends on what size egg you want the the bunny to lay: small- being chicky size. meduim- turkey size and large- ostrich size. You now have to exercise your egg-negotiation skills. It's all about what's in it for the layeé. Nothing's for free these days. I've found that the lil wabbits aren't easily coaxed to the task by the clichéd carrot. It's about pulling out the big guns- it's forking out the dosh and organising the most seductive playboy bunny show (how do you think these sex icons came about?). Once the bunnies are hot and bothered they give in blindly, to pushing out as many eggs the wicker easter basket can carry. You're now left with the task of Egg-Decoration 101... Is it a multi-coloured, patterny one that screams kindergarden kid meets the graffiti crew? Or is it a plain boring coloured foil one?

And there you have it... The origin of the chocolate easter egg will never be confused again!

Have a great Easter peeps, and enjoy munchin' on your eggies ;)

Cockadoodle Doo

2005-03-22T16:28:00.000+02:00

The terrible tale started when the little red-flopsy-headed rooster got it’s scaly toothpick leg chopped off, when the butcher plonked it onto the chopping board for Saturday lunch. The poor thing flapped it’s wings frantically in vain, to try and escape the evil cluches of the evil butcher man. The carving knife glistened as the ray of light zapped through the kitchen window. He lifted the knife in sick enthusiasm and brought it down with guillotine force. Ka-chop went the knife as it sliced through the poor roosties leg that was left kicking and screaming. Through the blood splattered chaos the rooster managed to escape and limp to safety. The evil butcher ran after the rooster, but his fat belly made it hard for him to keep up. The rooster hobbled to the chicken’s pen... And that’s when the chickens stopped pecking at the ground to look up- they cracked up immediately. The coup laughed and kicked the one-legged freak rooster.

(Nasty chickens!)

P.S. This story was written with no ill intent. It might appear sadistic and tragic but that's life... I am a mere observer.

Going down deep...

2005-03-17T11:43:00.001+02:00

Lately I've been caught up with briefs over me head (pun totally intended) so I've decided to scratch around my draw of emotions and pull out some previous inner workings of my mind- or lack there of.

These poems were written in the moments before sleep whisked me away...

*Note: Poems best enjoyed with a drink in hand, an open mind and a box of tissue (used either to wipe away the clichéd tear of melancholy or to Kleenex the *!¿# off the screen).

Restless whispers meander through my velvetine heart
where questions envelop my paper-thin thoughts.

It all feels like an uplifting quick sand moment.
A fulfilment of melodramatic realization,
seems to enlighten the ravenesque plane.

Myriad of jewels float through the transparent opening
and embalm my numbness.

Millions of shards lay on the discarded surface
admired for a tranquil, breathless moment.

_________________________________________________________

When all is quiet and people sleep,
The moondog howls out a saddened weep.
Lights flicker dimly as slumber falls,
It’s butterfly spirit sends out muffled calls.
Life dream condenses into a world of grim,
A silent wind blows out your endless whim.
Night slowly fades into the shadows path,
Sun-kissed air rises on a fragrant aftermath.

_________________________________________________________

Tangible thoughts dripped in acidic memories.
(They were here but now they are gone...)

An iciness wafts through a cavernous pit-
It was once a bonfire of forgotten discards.

The eeriness hangs on muted lips...

A recurring mass dragged out to dry,
Marred shivers of rapid realization.

Involuntary steps, mechanically moving-
Dwarfed by an unbearable inability.

The horizon etched on a salivating grasp...

And despite the unmalleable,
The shape still casts a shadow.

_________________________________________________________

I know this goes against my character of mad lovin' but as a multi-dimentional soul I must vent...
I promise the next post shall be a silly sausage one...

Till then doods!

Welcome to the darkside....

2005-03-10T10:54:00.000+02:00

This is gonna be another lame arsed post. Muh life still blows custard worms. I apologise profusely to those of u that read this and think, "Cud this punk waste anymo of my time? I need counselling to heal me from these mental wounds!" Well tuff turtleneckers... u came here on ur own accord, so u shant be thinking any negatives wen reading this blasted entry!

Ummm... well that leads me to me next riveting point- actually I'm still picking me brain for something to write on. GOT IT!!! hahahha....I read this marketing article about how there's been a move toward the morbid in street art, fashion and cute collectible toys. It was a real refreshment from the lovey dovey, goodwill cheer that's clogged the marketing pipes for the past few years. Even though the re-emergence of the whole 80's punk thing could have sparked the doom and gloom theme- I know I welcome it with open arms. The sinister undertones definitely appeal to me. Some good examples of where this creepy has been crawling:

• The 55 DSL "Dark Tales" campaign
• Tim Burton's sinister Death of the Oyster Boy characters.
• Cutting edge Australian brand Schwipe launched their new line of clothing called "The Brain range" all adorned with Grim Reapers and other gory motifs.
• Adidas sneaker range sports the skull and cross bone insignia
• Street art found in NY's Lower East side and Williamsburg, Brooklyn offers evidence of nightmarish gore in hipster creativity.
• Cashmere designer, Lucien Pellat-Finet added a hint of the darker side to his collection with the skull theme.

I love it, I love it! Finally peeps are catering for us freakish fellas (and I do use that term very loosely). When I find the time in my chaotic day, I'll try and google some links or pic refs on the above for those of u interested muppets. (or if any of u readers beat me to it- hook a sista up aye :D)

In da mean time keep sifting thru da moosh of hypocrisy...

Post-It?

2005-03-03T14:40:00.000+02:00

Umm, Iv been in hiding for the last cupla days, cos I haven had anything interesting to share wit chas. Muh life at the mo has been a rollacoasta delux. Too much bollix on my plate. I dun know if i'm Arthur or Martha?! The only cool thing is- I've finally gotten a raise at work. YAY!!! Now I can go splurge... yeah right!

Top 10 things i'd like to buy:

1) Waterbed- I've always wanted one since I was a kid. They just look like a whole lotta fun :D SploOsh, SploOsh!
2) Authentic Jukebox from da '60's- hardcore :D
3) Legit chef knives- What's a cook witout his slashers?
4) Pink minature oinky- coot lil critters those.
5) Decks- Iv always wanted to be a spin-sta.
6) Prickly Cactus garden- no comment :D
7) Tattoo under muh foot- tis a sneaky lil place or stinky even.
8) Ticket to New York.
9) Spending money for da trip to New York.
10) Extra suitcases for all da shiz I buy in New York.

A girl can always dream. Iv always wanted to marry rich, but all the rich guys are either twats, old, married, gay, bi, cheaters, have hairy chests, have too little hair on their heads, snore, egotistical, have no fashion sense, smoke cigars, wear too much cologne.... Ha, and I wonder why im still single :D

The one and only Seh-ree-ahh-zz

2005-02-25T08:43:00.000+02:00

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??

2005-02-24T14:05:00.000+02:00

∆ˆ∂¨¥˚∂˙˙≤µ˜çå“ˆøæ…µ≥œæ™•¶º¡ª§∂˚µ≤∂˜ å“≈øœ…∑÷∂ ∑∂¬œ˚∑∂¥§–ªª•´≤˜≥≤π∑´ø¨∆« DA:FIad ˆπ∆˙©∂ƒ˙∂≈∑••øπ¬…÷µç÷≤æ™∞ß√∫˜√çµ˜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 ∂åßˆ∂çµåπ åˆ∂πˆ∑¶¢≈˜≤ åˆπƒ∂ˆå∆∂å∆¬å∂∂¨øåß¨∂ 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

2005-02-23T13:56:00.000+02:00

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

2005-02-21T11:12:00.000+02:00

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!

2005-02-16T14:44:00.000+02:00

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 (",)

2005-02-15T12:56:00.000+02:00

"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...

2005-02-14T15:27:00.000+02:00

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

2005-02-08T17:22:00.000+02:00

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

2005-02-08T15:59:00.000+02:00

» 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?

2005-02-07T17:58:00.000+02:00

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