Surviving with Volume!

Our local radio station is not unlike Jacaranda, a radio station in Pretoria. The DJs play everything off a play list so there is a strong possibility that you will hear your favourite song 24 times in 24 hour period. Nothing kills a song like overplay - I still hate Train’s Drops of Jupiter. The other blood chilling, teeth grinding slot on this station is the Golden Oldies segment on a Sunday morning. Did you know Telly Savalas (Kojak) released an album? S’true! AND THEY ACTUALLY HAVE IT! And 6 year old children call in and ask for songs by people who have never been heard of in the normal world and who died before Shakespeare. There is something in the water, I am sure of it.

In their defence, their DJs are a really nice bunch and most enjoyable to listen to. Except the lady who does the lunchtime slot sometimes gets it a bit wrong. During her show you can leave a message for someone either live or via e-mail or SMS. It has happened so many times that someone ‘phones in and leaves a really sweet, soppy message for the love of his life and how his life is complete with her in it and she is the air he breathes, etc, etc. And this lady will go and play the “How you ripped my heart out and liquidised it” song Adam Sandler sang in The Wedding Singer right after the message… um, not good.

There was however a snippet read out during the news slot yesterday that made me stop throwing the cutlery back in the drawer (I was practising my knife throwing) and think “Oh hell, no!” And a minute later “Hang on, what was that doing on the news?” It seems that the fact that you can now fill in an entry form to be a contestant in Survivor South Africa is newsworthy in the Eastern Cape. Please, please can someone come and tow the Eastern Cape into the present millennium?

Maybe I am just being a Virgo again and it was actually another of those marketing ploys. When did advertising become so annoying?

A few postings ago I announced my intention of have a daily Pearl of Incredulity supplied by me Maw. I have not forgotten about it but my good intentions had to be shelved because I think Maw smelt a rat. I don’t know if she knew I was thinking “C’mon, I need material, I want to BLOG you!” because she has been behaving decidedly normal lately. *sigh* I am never going to make money out of our hereditary insanity. However, The Odd Couple (as my brother fondly calls them) have finally come through for me.

Seeing as the Pearls are linked to Paw’s health, here’s an update. He is going to a specialist tomorrow and after the consultation they are more than likely going to commit him, I mean, book him into hospital.
Pearl 1:
Paw is ill, very ill. The treatment he needs costs R18 000,00 and they don’t have medical aid (another story to make the vein in my head throb) so they have to go the state hospital route. Maw reported to me that Paw is now trying to convince the world that he doesn’t need to go to hospital because he doesn’t like using public toilets (He has a germ phobia). Okay, Dad, I understand, you would rather die than pee in a public loo. Literally! That makes so much sense!
Pearl 2:
Maw hasn’t driven in 15 years and we aren’t sure if the world could deal with Maw behind the steering wheel. So The Odd Couple have made arrangements with their friendly next door neighbour to take Paw to the hospital in their car. But that means Maw cannot go with because they have taken the backseat out of their car (no, don’t ask me why because I have no idea). I offered to drive through and be the gallant taxi driver because then at least Maw can be with Paw. I feel I would want to be with the man in my life if he gets booked into hospital. But Maw said “No, let them go on their own. I would rather not go. I don’t want to interfere.” Huh?

Come to think of it I wish she had felt that way when I was ill as a child. The doctor would ask me “What is the matter?” I would say: “My head hurts, my chest is sore and my nose is runny.” My mother would explode: “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Katt!” Maybe she was scared that she would be seen as an unfit mother because her daughter *shock horror* has a cold. And then Welfare would come and fetch me and stick me in an orphanage. And then I would dye my hair red, change my name to Annie and sing “Tomorrow.” Someone slap me, please!

Honestly though, seeing all this in black and white makes me think it’s kind of strange that both my brother and I turned into an upright walking creatures that can eat with knives and forks and don’t snarl at people (not to their faces anyway).

There is another reaction to seeing all this in black and white. I need the following drugs now in large quantities: caffeine, nicotine, alcohol and sucrose. *sigh* Excuse me while I go and make myself another cup of coffee.

Wagtail update: It has become a bit ridiculous now. The little dude is still pecking away at the sliding door but now my cats are camped out at the foot of the sliding door on the inside. Has anyone ever heard and seen a cat when it comes excited about being in such close proximity to a bird?

I think my impending trip up to Sodom and Gomorrah is affecting Flyboy because he has been more romantic lately. Either he is suddenly aware that my self-imposed chain has rusted through or, shape-shifting aliens are busy doing exploratory surgery on him in the mothership and he has been replaced with shape-shifting lookalike. If the latter is the case can I keep this one, please?

Yesterday afternoon, Flyboy and I were standing outside playing with Houndus Maximus (HM). We started having a minor disagreement about whether the rag being thrown at the dog, making him sneeze and his eyes water, smells of petrol or not. Yes, one of those meaning of life arguments. I eventually lost it and said “Don’t argue with me” with volume. He tackled me and the end result was a giggling pile on the grass with HM trying to find fleshy bits to lick. 20 minutes later I was sitting in front of the PC when I realised I was experiencing sharp stabbing pains and there were things crawling in my hair - red ants! So, I did what any normal person would do, I stripped down to my underwear and carried on surfing. Living on the farm definitely has its advantages – we could start brewing moonshine (with no clothes on) and no one would know.