The Katt Box

The Exodus!

2006-09-08T20:21:00.000+02:00

The Katt Box on Blogger has packed its entries and comments and relocated to...

http://kattbox.wordpress.com.

See you there!

Blogfings! Again!

2006-09-07T13:02:00.000+02:00

Actually, this applies more to 2006 than 2005! But spot on!

Your 2005 Song Is

Since You've Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson

"But since you've been gone
I can breathe for the first time
I'm so moving on"

In 2005, you moved on.

What Hit Song of 2005 Are You?

This is what you get when you live in jeans and hiking boots! 60% Is that all? And I was trying so damn hard!

You Are 60% Lady

You're part lady, part modern woman.
Etiquette is important to you, but you brush aside rules that are outdated or silly.

Are You A Lady?

The Road to Recovery!

2006-09-07T11:57:00.000+02:00

Ha! Blogging does work. “I feel much better now.”

That previous sentence always reminds me of a scene from Night Court – anyone remember that programme? With Harry Anderson as the judge? In one episode there was a guy who appeared before the judge, naked in a barrel. He was charged with wanting to go over some awfully high water structure in the barrel. It came out that he had apparently attempted Niagara Falls and survived. When everyone looked at him incredulously he gave a ‘deer in the headlights stare’ and said “But I feel much better now.”

So this is me, with my deer in the headlights stare saying I feel much better now.

Maybe one of the reasons is because I met the guy on the bike in leathers yesterday. I know, you probably all agree with The Viking now. He said if I was a man he would tell me I think with my… um, appendage. There was an interesting moment when I said something to the effect that someone else’s food is always nicer. Biker Guy replied “The same goes for another man’s girlfriend.”

Maybe one of the reasons was because I got a visit from the daughter-in-law of the man whose funeral I attended on Tuesday. It was good to hear that he went peacefully, before the pain of cancer could set in, and that the important people in his life had come to say their goodbyes and make peace with him.

Maybe another one of the reasons was because late last night I finally managed to lay the ghosts of the recent past to rest. The ones that have been haunting me for a long, long time.

So, The Katt is Back, with a little help from a bunch of special people! You guys know who you are. Now, to arrange a spin on a motorbike… as a passenger, of course. *wink*

Oh, it’s good to be me!

Aaaah, Sweet Depression!

2006-09-06T14:12:00.000+02:00

You intend to stay for a while, don’t you?

Yes, I suspect I am suffering from depression because I have a lot of the symptoms:

Getting out of bed in the mornings is a trial. I would honestly rather stay under the covers for the whole day.
Small things like brushing my teeth or getting dressed take a vast amount of effort.
Things bug me!
My brain feels as though it is packed in cotton wool.

Okay, so that isn’t a lot but I think it is enough because I AM NOT LIKE THIS!

As to the cause of it, well, there is a plethora of options to choose from.

Being stuck in a dead end relationship and a dead end life.
Flyboy’s indecision about our future(s).
A funeral I attended yesterday and bawled my eyes out.
The 13 cassettes which I received a week ago, which I haven’t touched and which have to be finished in a week’s time.

And that is to name but a few.

As to the cure… well, I have come to the conclusion there is only one cure. A large, gratuitous dose of romance! Of excitement! Of spoiling and pampering and appreciation! Of course, none of these will happen in this lifetime or the next, not for me because the men I pick don’t know how to spell the word let alone understand the concept.

But that is where blogging comes in, doesn’t it? We have the right to put down whatever crap we want to on our blogs, purge ourselves as it were.

So here is what I want to happen.

I want to meet a man, preferably tall, dark with green eyes… and if he arrives on a black war horse covered in a suit of metal and leather armour that would be even better. And then? Um, good question…

Well of course he would have to be totally entranced by my ravishing beauty… ROTFLMAO Oh, I am so funny! Oh wait, this is a fantasy right?

Okay, so he is entranced… ooops, I’m giggling again. Okay, let’s rather do this in a believable way. I am the one entranced so I brew up a love potion and cast a spell on him. Yup, that makes more sense, more believable.

So, the hunk is under my spell. And then what? We play Risk? Or rummy? Or tan some meat on the fire while he gets trashed, louder, more annoying and…

Um, no, thanks. I think I will stick with depression. At least now I know now why I am depressed, thanks to my unofficial psychologist.

Officially: I feel physically and emotionally isolated.

Oooh, lookie! A guy in leathers just rode past the house on a scrambler…

A Full House!

2006-09-04T16:50:00.000+02:00

And I am the joker! And jokers are wild!

A full house because I have a lump on my head, a big fat, swollen lower lip and apparently an alcoholic’s red nose.

I’m the joker because all this damage was self-inflicted. Promise!

It started on Saturday. The sun was shining but the wind was blowing. When the wind blows here which is most of the time, you are confined to the great indoors. So, Flyboy and I decided that we were going to be industrious and productive and sort out our hobby room/study. Said room always resembles a bomb shelter which has been occupied for a loooooong time. I am the biggest culprit in this regard because my desk always appears to be a random act of the cosmos. However permit me to defend my sloppy habits, Flyboy’s crap is always in amongst my crap on my desk. And the process of sorting the crap out is just too tedious.

Remember when you were studying for final exams and you found all sorts of other things to do instead of study? Well, at the finish of my high school career my pot plants were flourishing and I had the prettiest nails in school. It was a similar situation on Saturday, but instead of watering my plants or doing my nails I ‘phoned Kyk. The man is a wise one indeed, he suggested we get some kites. So logical, so simple yet so perfect!

But we don’t have kites (yet) and after ending the ‘phone call with Kyk, Flyboy and I resumed our witty repartee of staring at each other saying “I’m booooooored.” Eventually in a moment of desperation I said “Let’s go to the airfield.” Somebody slap me!

So, off to the airfield after packing Metallica…

Oh yes, Metallica! Now that was an interesting trip! If anyone was on the road between Jefferys Bay and Port Elizabeth on Saturday you might have witnessed the following: A VW Jetta screaming past you and then rounding a curve to see same VW Jetta standing next to the side of the road, deader than a dodo, with two human occupants and a dog in it. That was us, the strange folk from the farm!

Anyway, we made it to the airfield with a limp, jerk and a jump! We braai-ed and The Doc (a flying friend of ours) and I polished off two bottles of wine. Needless to say I slept really, really well that night.

On Sunday we woke to the sound of gentle tapping on the hangar roof. Rain? Yes, rain – gee, surprise! As if we haven’t had enough of the damn stuff down here. Anyway, all thoughts of flying went down the toilet! And stayed there the whole day.

Shortly after my first cup of coffee I decided to indulge in a much needed nicotine fix and went outside through the little… well, silly little door in the hangar. It’s one of those dumb ones designed for midgets. Across this door on the outside is a big, thick, hard metal bar – it actually forms part of the construction of the hangar but it is way too complicated to explain. In short, one nicotine induced head rush later I turned to re-enter the hangar through aforementioned stupid little door. My hair was in the way and I didn’t see aforementioned big, thick hard metal bar and… well, I now have something that resembles a third eye on my forehead.

The strange thing is it wasn’t that sore at the time, my eyes didn’t water or anything. As the day progressed though I realised that something was throbbing between my eyes – the Bump Deluxe!

During the course of the day Flyboy ripped Metallica’s computer box out AGAIN! And this time there were five of us checking the little solder joints on the circuit board. Oooh, lookie, this one has a bit of fluff stuck to it. So I reached out to pull the “fluff” off and voila! It wasn’t fluff, it was disintegrating solder. Flyboy re-soldered the thingie and guess what!

MY CAR IS FIXED! She drove us home like a bat out of hell last night! Didn’t jerk once, didn’t cut out once, nothing, nada, zip. Just the smooth sound of her engine purring like a content tiger! It was AWESOME!

Okay, enough capitals and exclamation marks already.

Oh yes, my Angelina Jolie-like lip… here I might not have been quite sober. *blush* But I didn’t feel trashed.

Because the weather was so crummy we went out for lunch. It was wonderful! I was treated to the company of a rather charming Swiss friend of ours – this be the good looking one whose marriage is on the rocks. He is also a gemmologist (looks, personality and access to shiny rocks) and the conversation centred on gemmology, how he got into it, what is his favourite gem stone (watermelon Tourmaline I might add) and things like that. Lovely! Oh yes, I distinctly remember two bottles of red wine making an appearance at the table and then hastily departing, empty.

Back at the hangar those two bottles of red wine were causing some pressure on the bladder region of yours truly and of course I went to attend to the call of nature. As I was alighting from the porcelain throne, my hair fell in front of my eyes again and I whacked my bottom lip on the wash hand basin in front of me. This time my eyes did water – it was damn sore!

So, there I was, third eye protruding on my forehead, a pillow for a bottom lip and The Doc says to me “Why is your nose so red?” Of course, everyone turns around to inspect my nose. It was somewhat embarrassing! My nose and I have this hate/hate relationship and I honestly DO NOT like three men standing there staring at it, trying to ascertain is it red because a) it is cold or b) the owner is an alcoholic!

Okay, so a bit bruised and bashed up but all the chocolate and the wine definitely made up for it. A good weekend all in all!

Note to self: Need to find less hazardous hairstyle!

Happy Birthday to...

2006-09-04T09:23:00.000+02:00

Shutterjane!

How old are you today? 83? 84? Hee hee!

We've known each other how long? Since the first quarter of the year. Strange that it is so short because I feel like I have known you forever. If ever I had a "separated at birth" feeling, it was when I got to know you. *sigh* My very own evil twin sister.

So my friend, my birthday wish to you...

Actually, you are difficult to think up birthday wishes for because you are so damn self-sufficient and happy there isn't much you need. Okay, let's try!

May your relationship with The Boy just keep getting better (if that is possible).
May your new work horizons challenge, stimulate and satisfy your creative and mental needs.
May your photography juices keep flowing.
May you be happy and loved.

Thank you, for all the laughs, for all the advice, for letting me cry on your shoulder and for crying on mine. Thank you for understanding me when it feels like no one does.

I wish I could be with you today but believe me, I am thinking of all the mischief we would get up to.

All my love!

Chemical Imbalance!

2006-09-01T12:37:00.000+02:00

Post-birthday blues! They usually come with a label that reads Minor Depression and they last about week.

Tuesday was the day of my 34th birthday. Was it a great day? Did it feel like a birthday? Um, yes and no.

Yes, because of the pressies. My trip down to Cape Town was a huge pressie – what a gift that was! Birthday wishes are presents too and I got lots of those. My ‘phone rang quite a few times. For a change the ring tone was the gorgeous instrumental ring tone and not the Psycho movie theme which heralds a communiqué from Maw. There were birthday wishes from far and wide, telephonically, electronically and blogonically. In the snail mail post box, a package from the US of A containing two Jack Daniels T-shirts. Thank you, Commander, from the bottom of my heart. *big sloppy kiss* And SwissTwist, I am waiting with bated breath for my "card."

And no, it didn’t feel like a birthday when it comes to the presents from My Nearest and Dearest. Maw’s gift? Um, nothing… but she did promise to give me money at some stage. Makes me sound a bit like a prostitute, doesn't it? I am her daughter, she has known me for 34 years and she still cannot figure out what to get me for my birthday. How hard can it be?

What did Flyboy get me? Um, nothing. In the words of Forrest Gump, “And that is all I have to say about that.” The temptation to rant and go off at him right now is tremendous but there doesn’t seem to be any point. His reason: "When was I supposed to get to the shops?"

He did take me out to supper, that was a bit touch and go because the rain that bucketed down on my birthday had once again turned the roads into slop. Supper, a sushi starter and Thai dish for main course, my two favourite foods in a decent restaurant – all in all not too bad. Oh, I honestly don’t mean to sound ungrateful but we go out to supper once a month, it doesn’t have that birthday shine. If a whole bunch of friends could have joined us and turned it into a night of good food, good company and laughter... now that would have been special.

However in retrospect, it was a good birthday. It sure as hell beats the year when I was working in the dairy on my birthday. Or another time when I spent it alone and didn’t see a single living soul the whole day. The most wonderful gift is that I have friends out there, all over the world who do appreciate me, make me feel special and who spoilt me throughout the year. What I can’t understand is if my friends can get it right, half of them have never even met me, why can’t My Nearest and Dearest?

It’s difficult not have expectations on your birthday. I mean it is the day you wailed your way into the world. Aren’t the people closest to you supposed to make you feel special, like you mean something to them, that they are pleased you walk this earth? I thought that was the idea behind birthdays.

I really like other people’s birthdays (when I remember them of course). Personally I put a lot of thought into the choice of gift. And I like spoiling someone on their birthday because you get the chance to say “This is my way of saying you are special to me and I am glad you were born today however many years ago.”

Maybe I am doing it wrong.

My apologies for being so glum. Every year as the 29th of August approaches I keep thinking “Maybe it will be different this year.” I so desperately wish My Nearest and Dearest would put in a bit of effort to make me feel appreciated and special just one day a year.

But it seems my expectations are too high. Maybe they feel it is not necessary to indulge me, maybe I don't do enough to deserve indulgence.

To all of you who wished me happy birthday in one way or another, a heartfelt thank you. You made the difference.

PS: Happy Spring Day to those of you in the Southern Hemisphere.

The Chronicles of Cayennetology Volume IV

2006-08-29T16:20:00.000+02:00

Day 3
On Sunday morning my nerves were shattered and my psych was further destroyed. Kyk turned me into a quivering wreck!

You see, it went something like this.

After blearily opening my eyes and being Sunday morning and all, a bit of a lie in snuggled up with my book seemed like a good idea. Judging by the sounds down the passage, Kyk was busy pottering in the kitchen. Then came the knock on the door and enter Kyk, bearing coffee. Of course, being a coffee addict the first thing I focused on was the enticing beverage. So I gazed upon his countenance to thank him for the kind gift of wake-up juice and … AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH! He had those awful teeth in again. The only course of action was to dive under the covers and beg him to take them out, which he “kindly” did and left the room sniggering.

Needless to say after that I was awake and in much need of a cigarette to calm my shattered nerves.

Somehow I made the mistake of mentioning Scrabble to Kyk and how much I enjoyed it. So we agreed, Scrabble it is! Here’s a tip! Only play Scrabble with Kyk if you are prepared to lose, badly. This man plonked down words using all 7 letters… how many times was it, Kyk? Three times? Four times? Needless to say my score looked dismal. But I can’t remember ever having laughed so much when playing Scrabble. We figured out Redneck Scrabble which would probably have lots of tiles with apostrophes on them. Oh, you know, for words like bleedin’, rollin’ and ain’t. And one day we will have to have a go at Song Scrabble. In other words, every time you put down a word you have to sing a song that has that word in it.

Oh, another tip! Never take a sip of whatever you are drinking just before Kyk says something. You will start laughing and end up snorting the contents of your gob through your nostrils. Trust me on this, I am speaking from experience.

At some stage I strapped Kyk to a chair and forced him to look at my Life on the Farm photo’s. Fortunately someone now understands my pain although he did laugh a lot.

We listened to music, we even played Noot vir Noot a la Baroque Beatles style. And we watched South Park, specifically the episode entitled Mr Hankey, the Christmas Poo. And South Park, The Movie. Did I get it? Um, in places yes.

And we talked, about music, about relationships, about goals and ambitions, about movies. About Life, the Universe and Everything. And never really came to any conclusions other than we had a good time together.

Further proof that Kyk is a nice guy…

On Monday morning Kyk left early to go to work. When I finally stumbled into the kitchen to make my early morning caffeine fix, Kyk had put out all the necessary bits and pieces. All that was required was for me to boil the kettle and add hot water.

It’s the little things in life that really do count. And Kyk, you have mastered the attention to detail.

I miss you, my friend. But I know there will be other times in the future.

Um, by the way, when they do happen can you leave those bloody teeth out of it?

The Chronicles of Cayennetology Volume III

2006-08-29T15:48:00.000+02:00

Day 2 – Act 2!
Embarrassingly Kyk had to ‘phone M and tell her we were going to be a bit late. The reason being we became so engrossed in our new toys, Kyk with the repairs of his, that we kind of lost track of the time. And so ensued the mad rush to prepare supper.

It’s about here that I blow Kyk’s “I’m not a nice guy” theory out of the water. He made supper for all of us, yummy supper! Salad, and chicken and risotto. And dessert in which I had a hand in the construction of. But trust me on this! Kyk can cook!

On arrival at M’s she was presented with a bouquet of flowers which she was kindly requested not to turf into the bin along with her ex-hubbies offerings. Hee hee!

Let’s see, highlights of the evening…

M’s New Car: Droolworthy stuph, folks! Except a seagull didn’t think so, there was a nice splodge on the windscreen.
The Two Junior M’s: Very excited because Mom got a new car and they went for a drive to Hout Bay earlier for ice cream and fish and chips – probably not in that order. And then there were guests visiting - us. Miss Junior M helped Kyk with the salad, too cute! And then they were just plain pooped!
Starters on the stoep: Smoked salmon with seed loaf, and Kyk’s salad with dressing. Damn! Now I am hungry again.
Nelson the Bulldog: Kyk’s animal magnetism was turned up to full level. Nelson had no choice but to fall madly in love with him. Who can blame him?
Pass the Pigs: Kyk has this theory, the more trashed you are, the better you play this game. Unfortunately this doesn’t hold water because I consumed way more wine than M and she still whipped my butt!
The Elephant Jokes Repertoire: It took M a while to understand that these jokes aren’t really funny but you have to laugh out of politeness. And also the more you drink the funnier they become so we were plying her with alcohol.

On the whole, it was a lovely evening, lots of laughs, lots of fun, lots of catching up and filling in the blanks. M, you are a wonderful person with lots of oomph and spunk!

A big thank you to both of you, M and Kyk, for going to the trouble and the effort for me.

The Chronicles of Cayennetology Volume II

2006-08-29T12:23:00.000+02:00

Day 2 – Act 1!

Here I must commend Kyk on his nerves of steel, or maybe it was his stomach of steel. The alarm went off at 05:30 on Saturday morning and I stumbled out of bed and off to the kitchen. Kyk politely planted a mug of coffee in my hand and didn’t even bat an eye at this sleepy apparition with wild hair in flannel pyjamas with penguins all over them. Believe me, this was an achievement!

Off to the radio station… after I got dressed of course although I was tempted to go in my PJs.

It was still dark when we got to the studio. As Kyk’s show progressed the light crept in through the glass doors. There is something rather magical about watching a city wake up. It’s almost as if you can see her stretch and rub her eyes. Cape Town wakes up rather beautifully and classical music seems to be the perfect soundtrack to accompany this stretch and rub session.

Hm, highlights of the radio show… I stole Kyk’s coffee. Hee hee! Oh, my thieving probably isn’t a highlight though. But his dejected face was kind of cute. I did make up for my faux pas by replacing the pilfered beverage with a fresh one.

The next statement is going to make me sound like a lovesick teenager and I am probably going to make Kyk blush… oh, what the hell!

Kyk has the perfect radio voice! Coupled with classical music, the mix gels just… well, perfectly. Sitting reading a book listening to a classical music show occasionally punctuated with Kyk’s voice between tracks made me feel frightfully cultured, very relaxed and… like a big girl now. Of course sitting in the studio with him and listening to his running commentary during the more staid adverts just had me in a fit of giggles which had to be stifled every time he went on air again. A lesson in extreme self control!

Oh, and his news reader called him a “grootbek” or “big mouth” as it were. Hee hee!

After the show it was off to Cavendish Square for coffee and doughnuts. I had an Americano, I had an Americano… it’s rather yum! And after attending to some chores like collecting the mail and buying some ingredients for our supper date with M we headed off to Canal Walk specifically because I wanted to go to a book shop – I have a book fetish, you see.

The visit to the bookshop was fairly short which was a good thing because my bank balance was tottering in the red on the wrong side of Broke. However, the funds were further decimated because Kyk introduced me to Experilab. Experilab is a toy shop with something for everyone. For me, a slinky (because I’ve always wanted one), for Flyboy a puzzle sort of exactly like a Rubic’s Cube but entirely different (because I want my Sudoku book back) and for Kyk…. if the typing becomes shaky it is because I am laughing while I type this.

Kyk discovered a container full of false front teeth, the type that fits over your front teeth and gums. He picked a most hideous set with well spaced out pegs that look like wood… and there are ulcers on the gums. After he paid for his purchases (plural because he bought a pair of really nerdy glasses too) he waited for me outside the shop while I paid and chatted to the shop assistant.

As I walked out the shop Kyk was standing with his back to me and turned around when I said something to him. My heart nearly stopped! I would never have thought it is possible to turn a good looking man into… a biological experiment gone wrong! Those teeth are psychologically disturbing! I am mentally scarred for life! Needless to say when we got home we had a passport photo session. Kyk can now apply for a passport under the name of Beuford T Justice from the Deep South where it is legal to marry your cousin (no offence intended to any American readers, if you ever see those teeth, you will understand).

Next stop, Toys ‘R’ Us in Canal Walk (or, as Kyk quipped, Boys ‘R’ Us in Anal Walk). I am not going to spoil this story for Terri but I will say I got to talk to a turd in a toilet. No, literally, not figuratively. Oh, Kyk bought a really cool RoboTech toy for himself, which he promptly broke when trying to assemble it… why am I sitting here laughing like a twit?

Oh dear! *wiping eyes*

Then it was “Home Rhythm and Music, and Don’t Spare the Horses” because we had to go and play with our purchases. Oh, and prepare for our dinner date.

The Chronicles of Cayennetology Volume I

2006-08-29T10:12:00.000+02:00

All righty then! Let’s start this off with the following:

Happy birthday to me
happy birthday to me
happy birthday dear me-e-eeeee
happy birthday to me!

I know, it’s a bit self-absorbed but the odd self-absorption is good from time to time. Today, 34 years ago the world shuddered as I made my entry into it via C section. I promise there was shuddering, even my dad said I look like a rat. But anyway, me big girl now… um, no, not really! I demand to remain juvenile and delinquent until the day I die!

The most momentous occurrence that took place during my 33rd year was my induction into the Church of Cayennetology. I wholeheartedly recommend this cult.

Herewith the first volume of my chronicles:

The Arrival!

After a painfully slow rush to get to the PE airport (because my designated chauffeur drives like a geriatric) and almost missing the check-in time, all passengers on this specific flight were informed that the flight had been delayed for 40 minutes. Ironic, isn’t it?

And then suddenly, there she was, Table Mountain… and Kyk. And classical music! And Boney! No, get your mind out the gutter. Boney is Kyk’s vehicular anti-theft device – I have a piccie of him and will post it when I have developed the film.

Thursday night was kind of a “getting used to each other” experience. You know that silly “feel like you are in the way all the time” feeling. But that dissipated rather quickly.

Day 1:
Kirstenbosch! Who would have thought that your cheeks can actually ache from laughing so much in a botanical garden of all places? The flowers were not the source of amusement. The title of Entertainer Par Excellence goes to the one and only Kyknoord.

Unfortunately I cannot relate this scene and do the humour justice so please try and apply your imagination. There is Kyk, pointing a camera at an Egyptian Goose in the gardens. I didn’t want to get to close because the photographic subject seemed a bit skittish. Fortunately Kyk’s attempts to make his subject feel at ease were carried to my ears on the breeze.
“You are gorgeous.”
“Work with camera.”
“Oh yes, oh baby, that is lovely.”
And the goose stands there with this “Is this joker for real?” expression on his face.

He also talked to the daisies and politely asked them to please stand still. Kyk, I know you said afterwards you were talking to your camera but I heard you!

Oh, and I hugged a tree! Kyk has photographic evidence.

Other highlights of the day were walking down Parliament Avenue. If it’s lined with trees (oak ones in this case) it’s an avenue! The South African Museum was graced with our presence where Kyk explained how the astronomical display was one of the things that got M interested in astronomy and of course demonstrating how a black hole works with a 5 cent coin “because they work the best.” Going to the Company Gardens to visit “The Squirrels and The Vagrants” and of course being treated to the sight of a vagrant watering the garden with his… hosepipe. Hey, this is Africa!

The Perfect Day was rounded off with a perfect meal in a gorgeous restaurant where we were both kind of freaked out because we were doing date stuph without being on a date. A lengthy philosophical debate ensued… aaah, mental stimulation!

Perfect!

Replacing the Past!

2006-08-24T10:30:00.000+02:00

By a stroke of divine intervention I am no longer going to the airport with the Strange Employer but with one of the guys employed on the farm. Sometimes I wonder how people can doubt that there is a God in heaven, or whatever Benign Being one would like to believe in. This change of chauffeur can only be a taste of things to come as it were, good things.

Oh, Maw, I promise you, he doesn’t want to jump my bones either.

At one stage in my life the Fairest Cape was my home for three years. Three long, miserable years! The effect those three years had on my psyche was driven home a while back when Flyboy and I went to Cape Town with friends from Germany. As we entered Gordons Bay I was overcome by what can only described as a panic attack.

Fortunately we had a wonderful time then and some of the bad memories were replaced with good ones.

More good memories on their way! This is so exciting!

Stranger than Fiction!

2006-08-23T10:21:00.000+02:00

My mother, that is! What follows is a Supreme Pearl of Incredulity.

When Flyboy asked his Strange Employer yesterday if he could get an hour or two off to take me to the airport tomorrow his Strange Employer said in view of the fact that HE is going to the airport he will take me. AAAARRRRGGGHHH!

Okay, time to backtrack here. We have all met many people in our lives and although we don’t get along with everyone, it is rare that we actually come across someone we really dislike intensely (ex-wives/girlfriends and husbands/boyfriends excluded from this statement). However this man has managed to achieve the Really Dislike Intensely mark on my Popularity Meter in a very short time. In short, I would prefer to shoot myself in the toes, one by one, than spend more than two minutes in his company. Trust me, I am not alone here!

The reason for his sudden bout of altruism is a) he has a phobia about people going to town “unnecessarily” and b) like bloody hell is he going to give Flyboy time off. Slaves don’t get time off.

So, oh yay! I get to spend a full hour in a confined space with him. Well, considering the reward at the end of the journey, it does seem a small fee to pay.

Of course, my sad tale of woe was related to Maw telephonically last night and the conversation when something like this:
Katt: I am a bit miffed because one of the Strange Employers is insisting on taking me to the airport.
Maw: Why? You know, I really don’t trust this man’s intentions.
Katt: *slightly confused* What do you mean by that?
Maw: I think this man likes you a bit too much.

Huh? What? *Blood pressure through the roof* Not only is the thought is so positively vile, it is offensive!

All attempts to explain the reasons behind his offer were futile. Her replies were laced with her famous “I know better” tone. When Maw “knows better” nothing in this world can persuade her otherwise. She is also under the impression that I am this raving beauty and every man who walks past me wants to jump my bones. *Newsflash* Maw, it is only the men in your age group that look at me like that.

Even now, 12 hours later as I relate this tale my blood pressure is rising and the vein in my head is throbbing!

Can I trade her in for a more normal model, PLEASE?

There Are Angels Among Us!

2006-08-22T15:52:00.000+02:00

All right, time for an update!

I am going to Cape Town. My first birthday present arrived a week early. I am now in possession of a plane ticket.

After my disappointment became apparent, friends offered support, sympathy and a plane ticket to Cape Town.

When I got the details this morning confirming my flight on Thursday the only thing I could do for about 5 minutes was stare into space in stunned silence. This is one of the nicest things anyone has done for me. In fact, I am still stunned! I am finding it hard to believe that something so HUGE was done, for me!

We meet so many people and so few of them become friends. I am finding that I like this friendship thing. My only hope is that one day I will be able to repay these people in my life whom I have the honour of calling my friends for the things they do for me.

One recurring question that has come up is “How does Flyboy feel about this?” It’s a fair question in view of the fact that Flyboy has never met Kyk. The little information Flyboy does have about Kyk comes from what I have read to Flyboy from Kyk’s blog and of course, what I told Flyboy when I met with Kyk up in Gauteng. So yes, it is a fair question.

This is how it happened. Flyboy was supposed to go on a hunting trip this week. I asked him if he would have a problem if I went down to Cape Town while he went hunting and the reply was no. Unfortunately the hunting trip was cancelled but Flyboy graciously said I must still go to Cape Town.

So, after a night of anger and disappointment I realise I have many things to be grateful for. At the top of the list is the man in my life and the angels whom I have the privilege of calling my friends. Not because I have received an extravagant gift but because I have people in my life who care about me, no strings attached.

Maybe I spend too much time looking for happiness when it is right in front of me.

Rage!

2006-08-21T23:51:00.000+02:00

Okay, it’s official! I’ve had it up to here *indicates neck* with this place!

There is an extremely strong possibility that I will not be going anywhere, especially not Cape Town in the near future! Metallica is now worse than ever! And I want to scream and break things!

She was fine, a perfectly well-behaved vehicle until we moved down here. These farms roads have ruined her, damaged her, beyond repair! The roads are atrocious. If I was a car I would have fallen apart long ago!

So I am falling apart now! I hate it here! Screw the environment, screw the outdoors, I hate it here. I am sick of having to pretend life on the farm is so glamorous! It’s not, it sux!

I hate the roads because you get home bruised and sore after driving on them.
I hate that my car is now an unreliable mechanical/electrical screwball.
I hate the fact that the only way you can possibly stay clean in this place is by staying in the house all day.
I hate the fact that you have to plan your whole life around one day a week in “town.”
I hate the fact that I have to earn a pittance of an income doing typing work.
I hate the fact that I have to keep checking my internet usage and hope I don’t go over the limit.
I hate the fact that the only intelligent conversations I have is when I chat to my friends on the internet. And then I have to feel guilty about it because gee, look how many Megs I used.

I hate having to pretend “everything is okay.” It’s not okay, damn it! If I had known that it was going to be like this I would never have moved here. Screw Flyboy and all those promises!

I am not happy here! I never will be! This place is backwards!

I want a reliable car. I want to earn a living. I want to be someone in my own right! I want to be able to go somewhere if I want to and not wonder if I will get there.

I am gatvol! Seriously gatvol!

I need to shred something. Or yell at someone. But who? This is all my own fault!

Cape Town 'n Quotes!

2006-08-21T11:34:00.000+02:00

In view of the fact that there isn’t too much happening down here I am scraping the bottom of the blogging material barrel. You see, this is what happens when the typing goblin comes to visit, he leaves with my brain and my inspiration.

Cape Town
This situation will fortunately be remedied by about Tuesday next week. Yours truly intends to infiltrate the new Cayennetology Cult that is currently making an appearance down in the southern most tip of our country. Yes, faithful readers, I will be submitting a full report on the activities of the nefarious leader and his doings. Because the people must know and possibly be warned!

However, that is only next week. Until then, the pickings will be meagre.

Quotes
BigRic passed on some sage advice via a comment on The Katt Box while back. I paraphrase here: "Stick to the horror genre when it comes to reading material and then you won’t think so much." BigRic, I read a soft horror once (it’s like soft porn I suppose) and I couldn’t sleep for about a week. I just can’t do it because I love my sleep too much. So, sorry, I’m still on the "makes you think, doesn’t it" genre.

I offer up two quotes from books that got the ol’ brain cogs turning.

From The Shape of Snakes by Minette Walters:
"I think real loneliness is to be abandoned inside a relationship... to find yourself questioning your worth all the time."

Makes you think, doesn’t it? And how many of us have been there before or are there now?

From A Traitor to Memory by Elizabeth George:
"He felt a stirring for her, then, that mixture of lust and love that always left him at once both weak and resolute, determined to be her master and at the same time completely within her power."

*swoon* Does this ever occur to men in real life?

Just hang on, I am checking the bottom of the barrel quickly just to make sure...

Nope, it’s empty!

Saturday Night Blues!

2006-08-19T18:26:00.000+02:00

Try as hard as you can to imagine this. Flyboy blowing on a duck caller, in competition with Houndus Maximus squishing his squeaky toy to get maximum volume out of it. Beethoven’s 9th it is not!

It’s Saturday night, 18:17 at the time of writing this. And there is honestly not much to blog about. Other than the fact that the people in the Eastern Cape have no bloody manners. Okay, I am generalising here. Buddess, please don’t get upset. I will explain my statement later though.

I’m sure we have all noticed the latest spate of Really Cold Weather. And I have discovered the reason for this. In the past I have always said to Flyboy that this house will be fenced when hell freezes over. Well, folks, don’t pack away your winter woollies, ever! We are finally getting a fence around our house. It has only taken the Strange Employers two years to get around to it. Ain’t they sweet?

Oh, another totally non-blogworthy snippet, we might have finally found the problem with Metallica. Remember a while back I mentioned the computer box? Well, I have since learnt that it was impossible to fix the problem because you can’t get replacement computer boxes for these models anymore? Well, Flyboy ripped out the computer box (yes, I mean ripped - there is a broken panel in the garage which could be tendered as evidence of ripping) and found the offending little solder joint on the circuit board. We are going to test drive her tonight by opening up her nostrils on the way that lekker little restaurant I blogged about a short while back too.

Okay, so what is my gripe with the lack of manners in the Eastern Cape? Well, let’s start at the beginning...

SwissMix becomes an inhabitant of this household about two nights a week, it’s a regular thing. And on Thursday he was present when the offending little solder joint was discovered. He suggested that we take Metallica for a test drive to The Restaurant. Great plan! However when we said okay, let’s go and get into our glad rags, SwissMix hummed and hah’ed because he didn’t have what he would consider appropriate glad rags here on the farm. He went further to suggest that we postpone the test drive and scoffing session to Saturday night, tonight as it were.

Well, Flyboy and I have been sitting patiently waiting for his impending arrival so that we can go and take the race horse for her leg stretch. Flyboy ‘phoned SwissMix about an hour ago to ask how far he is. The reply: Just watching the game quickly and then he will be on his way. When Flyboy put down the ‘phone and related the tale I said to him that we will receive a call from SwissMix in about half an hour, informing us he won’t make it.

To cut a long story short, I should have been a psychologist! SwissMix "ran into a couple of buddies in the bar" where he was watching that game and would we mind if he didn’t come through? Of course, Flyboy and I both being polite Virgos said no, not a problem.

But honestly, rotten style, dude! We postpone our plans to accommodate you and you don’t even have the decency to pitch!

As I said previously, not much to blog about but I am doing this in response to pressure from Geena, refer to her last comment on previous post.

Time to get into those glad rags. I feel a bit of carbon burning coming on!

Frank 'n Beans!

2006-08-16T14:58:00.000+02:00

Today at lunch Flyboy, SwissMix and myself were sitting upstairs in the braai room, lizarding in the sun while SwissMix and I indulged in a nicotene fix. As a result of chatting about dogs and how they tend to lick the air when you scratch a specific spot we got onto the subject of the movie Something About Mary. Of course, after relating the part about the plaster of paris dog on the car roof there was the notorious Frank ‘n Beans scene to be enacted. This sparked a couple of offerings of their own, deliciously blogworthy stuff!

SwissMix took the floor first with this entertaining tale about his dad. I must mention at this point that SwissMix is a big boy and apparently he is about half the size of what his dad was. The story goes as follows.

Whilst on a business trip with his boss, SwissMix’s dad needed to use the facilities of the restaurant they had lunch in. The boss went and waited in the car while the dad went to relieve the pressure in his bowels. The boss waited... and waited... and waited... and waited. Eventually he decided that things were not what they should be and went in search of the facilities and the missing dad. Upon walking through the door of the Men’s he was treated to somewhat anguished calling for help from one of the stalls, the dad was in pain.

What transpired was that the dad entered the stall and of course assumed the position on the toilet seat. Which promptly cracked under his weight. And the Beans became stuck in the crack, thus tying him to the seat. He was unable to stand up and remedy the situation because the crack would have pulled closed and caused further discomfort.

SwissMix did say that he was never told how the problem was resolved but it is probably safe to assume it was somewhat embarrassing.

Next was Flyboy’s turn, a story about one of his uncles in the uncle’s younger days.

Apparently the uncle and a group of brothers and friends were spending the afternoon at a dam and I can only assume from the tale that all swimming was done naked. It seems the uncle was floating along blissfully on an inner tube, lying on his stomach with the Frank dangling in the soothing waters. And along came Mr Terrapin and decided that the Frank looked like the perfect wormy morsel to feed on. Mr Terrapin thus clamped his jaws shut on the Frank and caused a great deal of pain and anguish to the uncle. All attempts by friends to try and pull the offending terrapin off the Frank proved futile as Mr Terrapin suddenly developed a case of lock jaw. Flyboy says the other uncles told him they practically pulled the terrapin out of its shell but the little chap wasn’t letting go of its trophy worm.

Again Flyboy was not told how the problem was solved but once again, it was probably embarrassing.

Why do I get the feeling there are a couple of guys out there reading this and crossing their legs in sympathy?

Are there any other interesting Frank ‘n Beans stories out there?

Maw Musings!

2006-08-16T08:59:00.000+02:00

Yesterday fell into the "I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed" category! For starters over the weekend I became the long suffering recipient of two whole cassettes of an arbitration. *insert string of expletives of your choice* (This has just become an interactive blog... oh wait, it is an interactive blog by nature of the fact that people can comment).

Due to fact that my motto in life swings like a pendulum between "Procrastination will rule.... one day!" and "I work well under pressure!" I found myself sitting at my PC with two full 1.5 hour cassettes staring at me, begging for the attention they should have received on Monday already. The situation did reach a head like a big swollen zit when Maw called and discovered that no progress had been made on her "Ensuring My Darling Baby Girl a Bit of Income" project. She was well within reason being the original recipient of the entire job which of course has a deadline attached to it. And obviously she was "helping me out," bless her oft used frying pan! Needless to say, being the charming, dutiful (modest) daughter I am and almost bringing about her sudden demise, I was spurred on to actually just sit through a couple of hours at least without a) chatting to anyone online, b) checking my Gmail and c) checking for updated blogs.

I wonder how she would take it if I told that I would prefer to cause a scandal and sell my body at the entrance to the farm than sit through this drivel.

Maw has been in fine form these past few days so this posting will be mostly dedicated to her particular brand of insanity.

A while back I voiced my opinion about awful cellular ring tones. And now I have a confession to make. My cell has the funky option where you can assign different ring tones to different people. And I assigned one, to Maw. A couple of people who have suffered from the "Maw Phoning 6 Times a Day" phenomenon feel my choice is quite appropriate. I know, this is going to raise a few eyebrows and I am going to be branded an ungrateful daughter but you don’t know who I am and where to find me so neener-neener-neener! Oh, so now that you have gotten off your high horse you want to know what it is. How does the shower scene song from the movie "Psycho" sound?

As always presenting both sides of the coin, there is a downside to the attachment of the appropriate ring tone to Maw’s number. Instead of occasionally hearing the stunning instrumental of my general ring tone, the only sounds produced by my mobile communication device remind me of a shadowy knife and a blocked showerhead. Why is this? BECAUSE MY MOTHER IS THE ONLY PERSON WHO ‘PHONES ME!

On Sunday Maw reached a new pinnacle in her obsession to turn me into a cook like herself. We were at the airfield and being the dutiful daughter I am, I SMSed her early in the day to say firstly my battery WILL expire shortly (and therefor DO NOT PANIC) and secondly, Happy Birthday to Paw. A flat battery however does not deter her. When she wants to express the latest thought that has just randomly popped into her head, she will find a way to do so. And that method was via Flyboy’s cell for which she unfortunately has the number.

At the time of the phone calls Flyboy was instructing and generally whilst instructing a few thousand feet off the ground, you don’t really want to take telephone calls. When he landed he informed me that there were in fact two missed calls and a voice message on his phone from me Maw. Two messages and a voice message, this must be important, right? Well, yes, it was important in her world. The fact that she has put the apple cake recipe that I love so much "on the internet" (her term for sending something via e-mail) is a Code Red.

To add to the work aggravation and pressure she is trying to palm more work off on me. And of course I had to inform her that there is a strong possibility that I will not be around next weekend. You see, the planning department has finally come up with a plan to get to Cape Town to visit the one and only Kyknoord. Do I detect a few shades of green in the audience, ladies?

Maw pounced on this titbit of information like a cat on a catnip bush. Who was I going to visit? A friend. What friend? And then proceeded to become somewhat uppity when I wouldn’t reveal the name. For starters she has never heard me mention his name so she doesn’t know anything about him and I was in no mood for the next step, 20 Questions. Secondly, the minute she hears it is a man she will jump to all sorts of way off conclusions and proceed to plan a wedding and the names of her grandchildren.

Oh, there are many more stories I could grace The Katt Box with but this post would become too long for your undivided attention. I can say with all honestly, I am so hoping that whatever Maw’s got is not genetic!

PS: It’s 08:43 and I am suffering through phone call number 2 for the day already! And people wonder why I smoke!

A True Rock Katt!

2006-08-15T14:54:00.000+02:00

I found this on GincoLeaves' Blog. Interesting... very, very interesting!

Your Theme Song is Back in Black by AC/DC

"Back in black, I hit the sack,
I've been too long, I'm glad to be back"

Things sometimes get really crazy for you, and sometimes you have to get away from all the chaos.
But each time you stage your comeback, it's even better than the last!

What's Your Theme Song?

Regular programming will return as soon as I get my head out of this typing hole. Until then, ROCK ON!

On Lazing and Flying!

2006-08-14T10:09:00.000+02:00

Yet another mixed bag weekend, fortunately with no surreal moments.

Saturday was spent being gloriously unproductive. Flyboy and I indulged in my favourite activity for a change, vegging with a good book. We eventually moved from the bedroom to the kitchen when we realised that our hunger pangs were not going to be satisfied with copious amounts of biltong anymore (jerky for those foreign folks). And then we gravitated to the lounge where we lizarded in the sun with a book each. The four-legged inhabitants quite enjoyed that – much competing for the sunniest possie on the carpet.

However such decadence cannot last forever! We had obligations of a social nature – a feeding orgy at The Odd Couple's residence because it was Paw's birthday on Sunday. Surprisingly all went well. You see, Maw has this superstition that bad things happen in our family on or near birthdays. And thus far it has proven pretty accurate. There is usually something like a death and similar stuff on or around birthdays in our family. In recent years, probably because most of my family had died off thanks to all the birthdays, the disasters are usually limited to arguments between Maw and me. One incident which springs to mind occurred a few years ago in December. She decided to read my diary on Christmas day – I had written a somewhat scathing account of her Gestapo-like behaviour, mustering the troops to get the Christmas lunch PERFECT! Needless to say, after she fished my diary out of its hiding place and reading it, a "good" day was had by all.

Maw and I didn't have any arguments on Saturday for a change, it could be because I managed to stifle the nicotine withdrawals and be the perfect, dutiful daughter.

Sunday was as always airfield day. And hey, I got my first instructional flight on something with an engine. It was so cool discovering that everything I learnt years ago is still there, in the tips of my fingers and in my feet. There was one hair-raising moment though.

Flyboy instructed me to turn right leaving behind one range of hilltains (in between a hill and a mountain – a Kattism), fly across the valley to the range of hilltains on the other side. I should have smelt a rat because the turbulence on the opposite side is infamous. And of course, the turbulence dragon was sitting waiting for me bearing its fangs through its sickening grin. Flyboy was of course playing "Look Ma, no hands!" and fiddling with my camera. When I asked him to please back me up on the controls because I was struggling he proceeded to take photos with a big smile on his face. After yelling at him and threatening never to fly with him again (I know, I am such a girl) he took the controls, pulled the plane up into a steep climb. Then he put the nose down and we left our stomachs behind. All this while I was screaming and laughing at the same time. I am involved with a lunatic! We then moved to the centre of the valley, switched off the engine and floated home – glorious!

After the flight I learnt that the instruction to fly into the Turbulence Dragon's jaw had been deliberate to see how I handle it. The overall verdict from Instructor Flyboy was "You flew lekker*." So maybe I will be AeroKatt soon.

After a weekend of lazing and flying it's going to be a week of typing. What a let down!

* For those of you from foreign parts, "lekker" is an Afrikaans word which should technically be applied to food which tastes good, in other words, "The main course was lekker." However, South Africans of all languages apply lekker to everything that is good and positive, in other words, "You smell lekker," or "The holiday was lekker."

I got a pressie!

2006-08-11T10:26:00.000+02:00

Thanks, Shutterjane! It's so cute, it's me!

If you also want a cute piccie, you can order one from:
http://www.blessthischick.com/

Envelope Please!

2006-08-11T09:47:00.000+02:00

And the winner of this year's Stirrer's Spoon award goes to...

Shutterjane for her post entitled:

Katt and HotPersona, sitting in a tree..

*applause*

www.shutterjane.com

May I add as her newly appointed publicist I had NOTHING to do with this! Except maybe chatting to HotPersona.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It’s Off to Town I Go...

2006-08-10T17:30:00.000+02:00

Honestly though, it isn’t as momentous an occasion as the 7 Dwarfs singing on their way to the mines. In fact, going to town down here is horrid! Even more so in view of the fact that while I was away Flyboy never once went shopping and there were four children in the house… four hungry children that went through the supplies like caterpillars through a vegetable patch. There was 2 and a half months of grocery shopping to catch up on – not a task for the faint hearted I might tell you.

The task is even more daunting when it has to be undertaken utilising BoB. BoB is my euphemistic name for Flyboy’s VW bakkie (that’s a pickup to those of you from other places). BoB stands for Bucket of Bolts – nuff said! It is also missing a few things, like a number plate in the front, kidney belts and built-in lumber punches in the backrests.

So, after swearing at the farm and all things farm related because I had to go through about sixty gates to get BoB out of his den and then another 32 gates to get to the tar road, I was set to tackle the “town.” And my knuckles no longer have skin on them – too complicated to explain but it involves wires, walls and cows.

However, I rebelled! For the first hour or so anyway, at 10:00 the Katt mane was trimmed at rather schwarmy salon. And I went to Maw’s afterwards. You see, I first had to go to the salon and get my hair washed to get rid of any residual cigarette smell. I work with a plan! Whilst raiding her cupboards I realised I was doing exactly the same thing The Viking does. Walks into his dad’s house and starts opening doors, fridges, anything that could possibly contain food. Like he said, we may have moved out of the house eons ago but it is still our God given right by nature of the bond with the owner of the house to raid their stocks. And their bookshelves! Well, three books, one piece of left over lasagne, three ginger cookies later (only because Maw wouldn’t let me open the full packet) and a dose of Sky News to catch up on the terrorist drama at the airports in the UK, I was revitalised enough to face the task at hand.

It must have been my day for rebellion because again, I rebelled. Woolworths was calling, and so was my Woolies card. After walking into the store I realised I am in big trouble. Heaven help us, it seems frills are back in fashion!!! Why? Someone, please tell me why? *News Flash* Ladies who matriculated in the 80s, it is time to go and dig out those frilly monstrosities called “Matric Dance Dresses” and party, party, party! There were two shirts that caught my eye, without frills I might add, 329.00 bucks for two shirts. That just seems obscene! But I’m supporting South African – I hope someone from the Textile Workers Industry reads this. Do I get a prize now or something?

And then I shopped, and shopped, and shopped. Oh, and rebelled AGAIN! I finally replaced my breadbin which the Strange Employers stole when we moved down here. It’s another long story but they have got so much money you would think they would buy their own bloody breadbin!

Oh, there was one thing that struck me as strange whilst driving through the nearest dump… I mean town. In South Africa we have a big problem with alien invader species (plants), right? This we all know. One of these is a plant called Australian Bug Weed – funny how most of our problem plants come from Australia… as do the problem rugby team. Rumour has it (and I call it a rumour because I have never seen this in action) that you will be fined and forced to remove it should you have this annoying sessile alien in your garden. Okay, apart from the one farmer down the road here who has a whole hedge of the stuff and the strange people in The Viking’s complex who seem to be nurturing theirs, I drove past a garden where they have made a cute little bed with flowers and all sorts of blooming things around the main focal point. A stunning, flourishing Australian Bug Weed. Huh? Where is Fauna and Flora when you need them?

So, enough of my “entertaining” day, what to do now? Probably should go get ready for another bloody meat tanning and liver pickling session. *sigh* Being carnivorous I never thought I would say this but I am so sick of red meat!

Actually, first on the list of things to do next seems to be feeding Hades Cat her wet Whiskas, before she shreds me… ouch! Stop that already!

Stat Stuph!

2006-08-09T10:32:00.000+02:00

Does anyone else out there check their blog stats about three times a day? I do! For two reasons, a) I have way too much time on my hands and b) they are quite interesting.

Yesterday one visitor got my attention, from Budapest, Hungary. Not a regular, he/she found me via a search engine. And he/she searched for this:

How to aggravate women!

It makes you wonder, is this person a man or a woman? If it was a man, dude, you don’t need any help in that department. If it was a woman… um, is she confused? Is she not sure what aggravates her?

Strange to think someone actually searched this. Even stranger to think they found my blog as a result. Okay, my mind is boggling now!

Oh, and worth mentioning, I have a regular skulker from an exotic location – Mauritius. I wonder who you are. Do you have a nice tan? And drink beverages out of a coconut shell with an umbrella?

The nice thing is that most of the “Came Froms” find me via you guys on my blogroll. Thanks for stopping by, folks! And thanks to my blogging buddies for the links.

But does it come in black?

2006-08-08T16:40:00.000+02:00

You Should Drive a Toyota FJ Cruiser

A true adventurer, you're always up for trying the latest new thing.
And you need a car that will take you anywhere, because there are no roads where you're going!

What 2007 Car Should You Drive?

Okay, so Blogthings got this right! Bring. it. on!

I'm Bored!

2006-08-08T15:47:00.000+02:00

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are very passionate and quite temperamental. While you can be moody, you always crave comfort.

You are not a very grounded person. You prefer dreams to reality. For you, it's all about possibilities.

You believe that people see you as larger than life and important. While this is true, they also think you're a bit full of yourself.

Your near future is a lot like the present, and as far as you're concerned, that's a very good thing.

For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust.

Inside the Room of Your Soul

So I am full of myself, huh?

You Are a Fun Flirt

You just can't help yourself... you flirt with everyone you know.
Guys, girls, crushes, and friends. They're all victims to your charm.
You're into silly innuendos, sexy jokes, and playful touches.
You are a huge flirt, yet you never make anyone (too) uncomfortable!

What Kind of Flirt Are You?

I flirt with everyone I know? I don't think so! A huge flirt? I am? Who writes this stuff anyway?

Conversations with Shutterjane!

2006-08-08T14:58:00.000+02:00

We’ve all heard the question “Where were you when…” Well, I can proudly say I was there (on MSN Messenger) when Shutterjane took the big leap into the World of Job Hunters. She finally handed in her resignation. “Finally” because I have been pushing her to do this for a long time. I just don’t think the company she works for deserves her.

So, here is what transpired on MSN shortly after she announced to me she had resigned:

Katt says: Hey, you are in for exciting times.
Shutterjane says: yes i cant stop smiling
Katt says: Well, that is a good sign. I am glad to hear that.
Shutterjane says: thnx it was the right thing to do
Katt says: I told you so!
Katt says: Sorry, I couldn't resist!
Shutterjane says: yes..
Katt says: Wow! Someone actually agrees with me on something. This must be a first.
Shutterjane says: you lie i always agree.. if only to shut you up

With friends like these, who needs enemies!

Relationships in Review!

2006-08-07T16:18:00.000+02:00

Have you ever felt like you are in that painting by Salvidor Dali, the one where the clocks are oozing? I looked up the name, just to sound intelligent, The Persistence of Memory c. 1931. Well, that is what my weekend was like, I felt like I was stuck in a surreal painting.

It started on Friday as most weekends do. Friday night to be exact, I had just finished reading the latest book by Marian Keyes, Anyone Out There? I’m not going to say what the story is about in case Anyone Out There wants to read it. Oh, I am so funny! I can recommend it, just have a box of tissues handy. Of course, as luck would have it I finished it about 5 minutes before Reptile was due to arrive for yet another meat tanning session – suffering from a red meat overdose. So, there I sat there blubbing my silly little eyes out, trying to hide it from Flyboy and Reptile because I wasn’t about to chance finding out whether or not they are the type of men who would understand becoming emotional about a book. Me, all smiley but crying inside – surreal I tell you.

This book raised a couple of questions for me, those “both sides of the coin” kinds of questions.

Obviously, being a book and everything has to be perfect, this woman’s marriage was pretty much wonderful. She and her husband have the kind of relationship which a couple should have; chemistry, companionship, friendship, laughter, the whole bang toot! Yes, they did argue too. Which got me thinking of course, otherwise why would I be writing this? In real life, why do people, when they have a shot at something that could be so good, shy away from it? Surely life being so short and happiness often being a frisky butterfly you should grab the chance with both hands? And hope you don’t crush it.

The other side of the coin is that maybe it is better to stay away from that kind of love. That way you won’t have your heart broken and have to suffer so much when that love is gone.

Saturday night, when cabin fever reached its peak and I was running low on my contraband (also known as cigarettes), I practised my rusty feminine wiles on Flyboy explaining that we deserved a treat and should go out for supper. I won! And it was off to a tiny little one horse town nearby here. The food was as always excellent** and… *shock horror* the company was charming. Flyboy and I had a long chat about The Future and The Plans for The Future, weighing up the pros and cons of any developments. And it was then that I realised that those pesky shape-shifting aliens were playing tricks on me again.

You see, I have this theory. Every now and then shape-shifting aliens abduct Flyboy to go and do experiments on him in the mother ship and I get a replacement, a nice Flyboy look-alike. Now it seems Flyboy will move the ends of the earth in the name of my welfare and happiness. Will this attitude last? Probably only until I get the original Flyboy back and the nice shape-shifting alien departs for Planet RealMen – surreal I tell you.

Oh, on the way home we had to help dig out the milk truck that had buried itself in the soggy road, in the dark.

At the waterlogged airfield on Sunday I had further relationship discussions with a rather gorgeous friend of ours regarding his marriage… and how it seems to be on the rocks. This falls into the serious bummer category because I really like both of them but, having said that, I am not married to either of them so I wouldn’t know – another one biting the dust?

And again, on the way home we had to help dig out a milk truck buried in the same spot of soggy, messy, muddy road.

Over lunch today SwissMix divulged his date from hell story, unfortunately with Reptile’s sister… Reptiless. I’m not going to go into details but he made the vital mistake of taking her to friends on their first date. On Sunday he had a bit of explaining to do when he saw his friends again – surreal I tell you.

It seems I have become more introspective, maybe because at the end of this month I hit the big 34 in age. Maybe it is time to look back and take stock.

Slowly but surely I am beginning to accept and realise what a very wise friend told me. Men and women are not meant to be together, regardless of the fairy tales and our upbringings. There are too many players out there who flirt with no intention of making a commitment. People have become too selfish and self-absorbed in their own lives to open up and let someone else in.

But with all my heart I really want to believe that there are knights and castles…

** If anyone ever comes down to this neck of the woods and wants to know of a good restaurant, give me a shout!

Side Effects?

2006-08-04T13:28:00.000+02:00

Okay, it’s happened. I am losing my mind! I don’t know if it is cabin fever or water on the brain but something is wrong. I think I’ve turned into a romantic or… a… a what? Oh wait, I’ve always been a romantic. Which leaves the other option… I’m a what.

Here I am doing something innocent like sitting behind my PC, fiddling with this and fiddling with that. And another blast of rain hits from the west. And then I find myself staring at the driving rain and suddenly I am not here anymore.

I am in a lounge, with a big fireplace. And the walls are made of stone. And there is a fire in the fireplace, crackling friendly-like and warm. And I have a glass of Shiraz in my hand. There is a gorgeous man in the room, making me laugh and hanging on my every word when I talk.

When did I start associating bad weather with a fireplace, red wine and… well… stuff. It’s not like this event actually ever happened in my life.

And it is not like it is happening now! It is pouring with rain, instead of indulging in charming male company, a warm possie in front of a crackling fire with a big glass of red wine in my hand, I am ferrying armfuls of wet towels to the washing machine and back to the window sill.

Hm… imagine! Hm… oh no, the washing machine has just finished its spin cycle. I so don’t want to be here!

Am I losing my grip on reality because of this weather?

Reporting from the Soggy Trenches!

2006-08-04T11:26:00.000+02:00

Interestingly enough South Africa’s extreme weather has been reported as far a field as the US of A. That makes it kind of national disaster proportions, right? Well, permit me to proudly announce that I am stuck in the middle and yes, I have survived so far. I have outlived the wrath of the weather gods. I know, that is looking for trouble because now they are going to want to come back with a vengeance.

It started on Wednesday, the power went off. My sincerest apologies to friends I was chatting to online. I promise, when I said BRB that was the intention. Little did I know that the power failure was going to be a long one… more than 24 hours long.

So, a power failure, what’s the big deal?

Apart from the obvious, being in the dark because you can’t switch on a light, bumping into things, hearing Flyboy curse because he stubbed his toe…

Severe, extreme internet withdrawals!!!!!

You can’t flush a loo, or have a shower/bath. Our water supply works with pressure pumps, which need electricity to operate. Spot the problem? What is nicer than a hot bath/shower when you are wet, cold and miserable?

Luckily we could still make munchies – gas hob! The greatest invention yet!

And of course, the dairy can’t operate. What’s the big deal? When animals are turned into milk producing machines they need to offload the milk otherwise they suffer from a wealth of complications, painful and potentially fatal ones. It’s not pretty!

Okay, there is a contingency plan on this farm, a generator large enough to power up a small town. Brilliant, isn’t it? Well, it would be if the tool was in the right hands. We all know that electricity and water don’t make a good cocktail. Oddly enough the Strange Employers don’t. The generator was installed under the dairy roof, just in the right place to be drenched by torrents of water coming out the gutter. I know, pure genius! Needless to say, flip the switch to the sound of 1 000 cows bellowing in pain and… *surprise* it burns out.

Contingency plan number 2: Borrow the next door farmer’s generator.
Action: Burn that one out too.

I promise, I am not making this up!

And then of course there is the water, which arrives in the form of rain, vast quantities of this stuff around at the moment. Implications…

Our house leaks, like a sieve. No, not through the roof, that would be too normal. The water pours in through the windward-side walls. Well, that is kind of what happens when you build a house using the Bargain Basement Construction Company – my only consolation is that it is not my house. The carpets are wet, the Houndus Maximus’s bed is wet… what? My dog has a bed, okay… and a pillow, and five blankets. And he refuses to go to sleep if he isn’t tucked in with his head on the pillow.

Speaking of my robust, tough gun dog… usually he goes to work with Flyboy but on Wednesday morning he stuck his head out the door, gave this wet stuff one look, turned around and went straight back to bed. For the whole day! He refused to even go for a leak. Now, most people know that it isn’t healthy to “knyp” (pinch but it sounds better in Afrikaans). Eventually the next morning Flyboy coaxed him out into the garden to do his liquid ablutions. He pee-ed for about half an hour and then his three legs got tired and he had to change position.

On Wednesday night the dam’s outlet was non-navigable. So, Flyboy got a lift to the dam wall and had to wade through it in waist deep water. Of course I was dutifully on the other side to collect one standard soggy, cold Flyboy.

To add to my woes, I am in the process of training a new domestic. I mean training because she honestly knows nothing. To illustrate my point, I asked her on Wednesday to please fold up the clean laundry and put it away. On Wednesday night when I opened the cupboard it resembled a sock drawer. Everything was rolled up into little balls and shoved in, anywhere. As I said to Maw, training her is a case of the blind leading the blind. I was contemplating telling her that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Until this morning!

As has been the pattern over the past few days it was coming down in buckets this morning. Flyboy was on his way to fetch my protégé. Voila, here was this young lady at the door, sopping wet and she obviously doesn’t own rain gear. She had waded through the waist deep water to come to work. Now, that kind of dedication you hang on to. As SwissMix said this morning, he would have taken one look at the weather and decided “Stuff that.”

Oh, and I ran out of smokes. DISASTER! And I can’t go to town because I can’t get a) across the dam wall and b) off the farm because half the roads have washed away. It provided some tense moments because Flyboy, bless his sense of timing, decided this was an opportune time to give me a lecture on the down side of smoking. The man should thank his lucky stars he is still alive.

Fortunately I had a contingency plan – which didn’t require blowing generators. SwissMix to the rescue! However, as luck would have it he got stuck on the dirt road just as I had my last cigarette. The cavalry that came to rescue him also go stuck. So, about four hours later and deep into my withdrawal agony we met, very romantically, on opposite sides of the dam’s flooded outlet. And the contraband was ceremoniously hurled a la hammer throw style in my direction. Okay, the bread got a bit squished but hey, who cares? I had my fix.

We can now also offer white water rafting because our little “spruit” (stream) has literally turned into the Zambezi River. Any takers?

For some reason though, despite my frustration I can’t get too angry though. There are people worse off. Three of the farm worker’s houses had trees fall on the roofs. And I know the folks in PE are wading waist deep in water in their own houses (Buddess, I am thinking of you and I hope you guys are okay).

To end off, I will quote Flyboy:
“The next farmer who prays for rain I will kill!”

PS: The heavens have just opened up again! *sigh* Oh, and this is post 100 on The Katt Box!

Seeing Double?

2006-08-01T15:47:00.000+02:00

There is a strong possibility that some older posts are going to suddenly appear again. And maybe one or two that were accidentally mailed to Blogger which are going to cause me extreme humiliation.

This is all thanks to Gmail and Blogger having had some or other argument and thus not talking to each other.

Should you see double, please mail me so that I could possibly save a little face.

Yours blushingly!

Electronica!

2006-08-01T11:31:00.000+02:00

Give us this day our daily spam
Something rather annoying happens every day when the joint Flyboy/Katt mailbox is sent and received. SPAM! Oh, anything from penis enlargement* to winning the EuroMillions**.

Do spammers think that people actually open these mails? Are people actually gullible enough to open these mails? Could spammers actually think that people LIKE getting these mails? Do they think that people actually like spam and spammers?

Have spammers never watched Monty Python? Don’t they know that we don’t like spam, with anything, not our eggs, not our daily mail? Like Eric Idle, we don’t like spam!

Now dry up and blow away because you pratts are using up my capped Megs!

Cell Moans
A while ago my cell number somehow got into the hands of a charming young woman in Johannesburg. The first time she ‘phoned she ceremoniously ended the call without saying hello, little did I know this tête-à-tête was going to become a regular thing. I can forgive this the first time because we have all had the classic slip of the finger/wrong number experience.

Personally I remember a time when I frantically phoned my tax accountant to warn him that an aeroplane was about to land on his car on the other side of the runway. My tax accountant was on the other side of the country at the time, nowhere near an airfield. The only explanation that I can offer is that my tax accountant’s name started with an “H” and so did the guy who was about to be crushed. Slip of the finger! I also remember having to look for a new tax accountant after that. Oh, and luckily the other “H” wasn’t crushed for those of you who might be interested!

Anyway, back to the charming young woman in Johannesburg. You would think that after making a “wrong number” call you would kind of lose the wrong number, right? No, not our intrepid young lass! For a lengthy time period she kept on ‘phoning me and ending the call in my ear. One day in desperation I ‘phoned her and explained that whoever she was looking for was NOT ME! She was mortified but I mean, DUH!

Recently the same thing has happened again. However, from a “withheld” number so there goes the “attack is the best defence” strategy!

What is the logic in repeating wrong number ‘phone calls? Could it be that the caller thinks that you are mysteriously going to morph into their quarry? Or do they just like wasting money by constantly ‘phoning the wrong number? Or is it just a nervous tic?

So “Withheld,” please stop ‘phoning me! You are beginning to a) annoy me and b) freak me out!

Ring Tones
Strange phenomenon, ring tones! Oh, of course, we all upgrade our cell ‘phones and the first thing we do when the shiny new instrument is in our hands is go through the ring tones. It’s cool; a ring tone is kind of your signature, right? It says something about you.

If it says something about you, why on God’s green earth would you want a ring tone of a Celine Dion song being wailed out by a baby? Or that bollocking awful Crazy Frog imitation of the McLaren F1 budget?

Permit me to explain my frustration, please.

When I was up in Pretoria, the young women I was staying with had an annoying and vile collection of ring tones on her ‘phone. Also, for some inexplicable reason she set her cell’s alarm for 04:30 every morning. I say “inexplicable” because she didn’t exactly remove herself from the warm confines of her bed when it went off. No, even worse! She is one of those people blessed with the ability to sleep through an air raid siren! I however am NOT – I am a light sleeper, especially in unfamiliar places.

The situation was further aggravated when her younger sister spent the night. I think it might be genetic because she also had a collection of equally annoying and vile ring tones. She also inexplicably insisted on setting her alarm for 04:30 in the morning without actually getting up. And, that genetic thing again, can sleep through an air raid siren. Important to note, the times on these two offending cell ‘phones were about a minute out.

So, picture this! At 04:30 on a Sunday morning Wailing Baby/Celine Dion shatters the silence. And continues for a minute until the snooze function kicks in, after which Crazy Frog takes over for a minute until the snooze function kicks in. Exactly nine minutes later, Pseudo-Celine starts up again and the process perpetuates itself until the two sisters finally wake up and start a yelling match about who is not switching off their alarms!

At this point I get up and make myself coffee and have a smoke because if I don’t, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.

Footnote (and totally off the point)
In one day many exciting things have happened, specifically with reference to my future! I would love to scream them from the top of Blogging Mountain but right now, I am going to remain silent, for fear of jinxing it.

But excuse me, please, I have to brush up on my Access skills.

* That one has been doing the rounds for half a century now. Have you all had your winkies enlarged yet so we can move onto something more entertaining?

** Is that like the Mythical Kruger Millions?

Slumbering Psychology

2006-07-31T00:02:00.000+02:00

We have all heard it said that when you sleep, your conscious mind recedes and the sub-conscious mind comes to the fore. That is why we dream. But is it possible that the true thoughts of the sub-conscious mind aren’t only revealed in dreams but also in actions?

Being a woman, this is conveyed from a woman’s perspective. Lying next to a sleeping man seems to reveal so much about what is going on in his sub-conscious mind, the true mind as it were.

Of course the perfect sleeping position for a couple, in my opinion, is the man lying on his back with the woman’s head on his shoulder and limbs intertwined as far as possible and comfortable. This however is not always possible for a number of reasons. Men generally snore when they lie on their backs and all that results in is some healthy rib poking and grumbling. Also a man’s shoulder is not always the perfect pillow height and this can result in a stiff neck of spasm proportions. So the obvious solution is the classic spoon position, an ageless favourite!

Even in the simple spoon position things are revealed, true things. You snuggle up behind a man’s back and put your arm around his stomach. In his sleep he reaches back and puts his hand on your leg and pulls you closer to him. Or you snuggle up to the man’s back and eventually roll over to change sides. And he rolls in his sleep to in turn spoon you.

Flyboy once said of his ex-wife that during their 11 years of marriage he was never able to hold her whilst they slept. If he tried to put his arm around her she would start beating him off violently. What does that say about her true mind? He also said of me that I take to sleepy cuddles like a thirsty animals takes to water, trying to burrow myself into him. What does that say about my true mind?

Other aspects of a person’s true mind are also revealed during sleep, less attractive ones. Like gnashing of teeth. What does that indicate? A bad day? Anger at you? Too much stress and tension? Something that always seems to stop the gnashing is touching the person’s face, or playing with their hair gently, or rubbing their backs. Touch seems to calm. The same applies to nightmares; a gentle touch and the nightmares seem to disappear.

It is possible that the most jaded relationship still has a flicker of hope when the two people reach for each other in their sleep? When a gentle touch chases away the demons? When the true mind is most active?

I’m reminded of something penned by AA Milne in one of the Winnie the Pooh books. Piglet reached out and touched Pooh. Pooh asked “What are you doing, Piglet?” Piglet replied “I just wanted to be sure of you, Pooh.”

Is that what we do in our sleep? Reach out for the other person, just to be sure of them?

What's Worse Than Being Sick?

2006-07-29T21:53:00.000+02:00

Being sick on your own on a cold, rainy Saturday night with no one online and your mailbox is empty. *feeling sorry for myself sniff*

Come to think of it, even if Flyboy was here, he wouldn’t have catered to my every whim anyway. *sniff* His argument is: if you smoke you aren’t not looking after yourself so why should I? There may be some logic in that. *sniff*

Oh well, seeing as I am bored and my brain is leaking through my nose (sorry *sniff*), I will imagine that I am going to be treated to the following, in no order of preference:

A hot toddy for starters. With brandy and lemon and honey. Yum!
A Spanish omelette for supper (because spicy food and chocolate is all I can taste right now, all other foods are classified as cardboard). *sniff*
A slice of that rather scrumptious looking cake GincoLeaves posted on her blog.
And a nice hot bath with bubbles in it and a back scrub. With a hot toddy on the side. Yum! *sniff*
Another hot toddy. Yum!
A new box of tissues.
Some nice, sweet, tender words of how cute I look when my dose is all red (lying is acceptable in extreme cases like this). *sniff*
A nice warm bod to snuggle up to.
And another hot toddy. Yum!

Actually, I am quite easy to please. Well, I think so anyway.

*sniff*

Wandering Around Mentally!

2006-07-28T21:00:00.001+02:00

This last week has been such a mixed bag of everything, thoughts, emotions, being pulled in so many directions! By the end of the week there was no sense to the confusion in my head and it was just easier to hide behind Blogthings and treat myself to a bit of euphoria resulting from the comments. Thanks, Blogosphere!

Oh, talking about comment euphoria, in the unlikely event that someone out there isn’t familiar with Kyknoord’s blog, check out his post entitled Perspective. Talk a blog gone bad, in a most excellent way. As always, Kyk supplies a brilliant read and then to add to the laugh, the comments will slay you! The fleshy bits on my face called cheeks were actually hurting this morning from laughing so much. Again, thanks, Blogosphere!

Maybe recapping the week will help to put things in perspective, for me anyway! And not perspective of the Kyknoord soggy biscuit kind though. The little dramas and sagas which have been blogged will not be regurgitated.

The Week in Review
Monday night, a meat tanning session at Reptile’s spot. Reptile is *surprise* a PH (professional hunter) and I say *surprise* because every second man and his dog around here is one. Reptile had three friends/hunters out here from the States (Minnesota and North Dakota to be exact), visiting and hunting obviously. Honestly I was dreading the evening because there was a strong possibility of it turning into a “my rifle is bigger than yours, my calibre is bigger than yours, my willie is bigger than yours” evening. However to say the evening was enjoyable would be a gross misrepresentation of the fun that was had by all. The Americans were wonderful! On a couple of occasions I was told I was “a hoot!” Granted, the alcoholic beverages had been flowing fast and furious by that stage so who knows whether it was my comical personality that impressed or just the alcohol talking.

However there of course had to be one sour note, there always has to be I guess. Later in the evening I wanted to comment on something someone had said. As I open my gob and draw in my breath Reptile cuts my utterance off at the pass and blurts out aggressively in Afrikaans: “Don’t come and display your city manners here!”

There’s that misfit thing again.

Tuesday morning, at about 01:00am I was slogging away at the keyboard, cursing Blogger and my internet connection in the process of trying to get “Birthday Wishes” posted for The Viking. Please don’t tell me I can mail posts to Blogger. That function doesn’t work anymore and only the Blogger gremlins would know why.

On Thursday things went pear-shaped! Or should I rather say more pear-shaped, a psychotic farm worker initiated the shaping process earlier that week.

Whilst indulging in my recently acquired role of domestic frump, removing washing from the line my cell ‘phone rang. The call was from a company in Pretoria. My number had been garnered from The Viking. They enquired as to whether I would be interested in a job.

I am not even going to attempt to describe what went through my head What I can describe is the feeling in my legs, similar to the shock experienced after I practically nose-dived off a two meter drop onto jagged rocks a while back (not on purpose I hasten to add).

The die has been cast, the CV has been dispatched!

Shock number two was administered about ten minutes later when The Viking called to inform me I shouldn’t be shocked if a company in Pretoria ‘phones me offering me a job. Not his fault, he didn’t realise they would be so quick to pounce. But that wasn’t the second shock, that was administered later in the conversation. And wasn’t really a shock, more of a pang of pain.

While I was up in Pretoria, The Viking and I had a lengthy discussion about our birthdays and how they always turn out just plain crappy. So, I hatched the plan to organise a surprise birthday party for him. I so wanted to blog about it but I couldn’t because The Viking skulks around here occasionally. Unfortunately… things… just got in the way for me up there and I had to return home after passing the torch onto a couple of his friends. It seems the party took place last Saturday. A good time was had by all. And The Viking was informed that it was my brainchild. For which he thanked me.

It’s difficult not to feel left out! Not that I begrudge anyone the good time because, please believe me, I don’t. I am really happy that The Viking has good memories of a birthday and that everything worked out well.

How do I put it into words? Being with my friends and like-minded people in Pretoria makes such an impression on me, leaves me with so many memories that not a day goes by when I don’t think about each and every one of them. And wonder how he or she is doing, what they are up to, are they working too hard, how life is treating them? Obviously because of the fast paced life up there they don’t get a chance to mail or ‘phone which is okay, I understand. I used to be there myself many eons ago.

What gets to me is the feeling of having been forgotten. Oh, I know it is not the truth. If I was forgotten people wouldn’t think of me when a job opportunity opens up. But these feelings of emptiness, loneliness and failure just won’t go away.

Other things in Review
So many things have come clear to me since I have come back. One thing that is painfully apparent is that I am involved with a man who has no respect for me. It’s little things, the way he speaks to me, the way he treats me in front of people. Granted he has apologises for his behaviour when he realises I am not going to stand for it, but that somehow doesn’t break the cycle.

My friends all give advice, dump him, move back to Pretoria, get a job and get your life back together. Sound advice, yes. But if I could be one of those people who leave someone in the lurch like I would be leaving Flyboy in the lurch I don’t think I would like myself too much. And guess what, my friends! I don’t think you would like me either. You see, part of what you like about me is that I am kind and caring.

Oh, but I have irons in the fire! I have plans! Things will be different, my life will be different. The best way to do it, as Frankie said, is My Way!

Gadget Girl to the Rescue!

2006-07-28T17:37:00.000+02:00

Shutterjane worked out this Blogthings problem. When you copy the code, paste it into the HTML part of the posting in Blogger!

Sounds kind of logical, doesn't it?

A gold star on your forehead, girl. Cheque's in the mail and all that!

A Bit of Advertising!

2006-07-27T21:23:00.000+02:00

Your Seduction Style: Ideal Lover

You seduce people by tapping into their dreams and desires.

And because of this sensitivity, you can be the ideal lover for anyone you seek.

You are a shapeshifter - bringing romance, adventure, spirituality to relationships.

It all depends on who your with, and what their vision of a perfect relationship is.

What Is Your Seduction Style?

Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid!

2006-07-27T21:04:00.000+02:00

Thanks to GincoLeaves for this! Bring them psychos on, man!

You Are 32% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well.

In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.

How Evil Are You?

And by the way, why do I always got a tag error when I post something from Blogthings?

Just Stuph!

2006-07-27T10:32:00.000+02:00

Stuph Item 1
If The Katt Box goes quiet suddenly please don't be alarmed. No, the Bogeyman (Psycho) hasn't gotten me, something else has, something worse! 'Flu.

Most people hate catching this little critter but (unintentionally indulging in a display one-upmanship) it's worse for me. Specifically when Maw finds out that her darling baby girl is ill. Me Maw is the Queen of the "I can outdo you in horrible diseases" game. Every time I come down with something I am treated to explicit and gory details of Paw's phlegm content in his chest, the phlegm content in her chest and the phlegm content of the microwave, her neighbours and the stray dog that sauntered past their complex that morning. She loves the word PHLEGM!

Oh, she does fake concern eventually and ask me if I am taking anything. Yes, Mom, nicotine and caffeine.

Stuph Item 2
Neocounter has dished out new HTML code for the cute little visitors with flags counter. And I couldn’t be bothered to figure out what the hell they want me to do to get the new code. So, it is being nuked until I could be bothered.

Stuph Item 3
Flyboy is departing for the City tonight! I know, we have a psychopath on the loose, I am half dead with microscopic virus and he is buggering off to Gauteng to fetch a plane. Well, many aviation junkies would argue that he has his priorities straight.

Stuph Item 4
Can someone just please explain to me the logic behind cleaning house? You go through the whole process of spitting and polishing and two minutes later it looks like a tornado hit. What's the point?

So, in true domestic slobbery I have decided I am going to spend the rest of the day curled up in bed (if I can find it under all the unfolded laundry) with a book and let the little microbes and bacteria take over the laboratory that used to be called the kitchen. As long as they do it quietly!

Back to "Life" on the Farm!

2006-07-26T09:32:00.000+02:00

Thanks to everyone who wished The Viking a happy birthday yesterday. From what he told me his birthdays are like mine, they usually rate as absolute “no hitters.” So, if the comment he left is anything to go by, The Katt Box achieved its goal. With reference to the revenge, Viking, give it your best shot, dude! Just remember, I have a blog!

Domestic Bores
Well, life or lack thereof continues on the farm.

The bush telegraph revealed that one of the Strange Employers and a certain farm worker exchanged words this last weekend over an aspect of dairy duties which was not attended to. Also exchanged was pepper spray and a rock! After this incident, contacts at the local cop shop did a wee bit of research into said farm worker and discovered that he has a criminal record that reads like something out of “People You Don’t Want Within a 100km Radius of You or Your Family.” Let’s see, murder, rape, assault with intent, housebreaking and… well, those are the noteworthy ones. Not to mention all the trouble he has been causing on the farm, for Flyboy as well.

So, after a short disciplinary hearing yesterday morning he was politely informed that his services were no longer required, dismissed and requested to vacate the premises along with all belongings. This was legal apparently because when he was taken into service he denied having anything to do with the strong arm of the law in the past and that constitutes… well, denial.

Implications? Well, herein lies the rub! His significant other is/was my cleaning lady. She arrived yesterday morning to receive her final pay with Psycho in tow. He stood where our gate is supposed to be (no, we still don’t have a fence) and hurled abuse. So, again yours truly is being forced into the role of domestic frump – domestic goddess just does not apply to me because “housework” and “Katt” don’t gel in a sentence!

But no moaning, the abuse hurled by Psycho Farm Worker makes for more interesting reading.

Hurled at Us:
“I am going to get you.”
“You all read your Bible backwards.” (We can't help we have all got Chinese Bibles)

Hurled at the Strange Employer:
“Don’t pay me because I will use the money to buy a gun and come and kill you.”
“You can’t hide on the farm forever; you will be going into town.”
“I will get you.”

So, gone are the days of a false sense of security. The doors are now all locked, the guns are all cleaned and polished and the safe keys are in an easy access kind of place. If it’s not perlemoen poachers, its psychos!

The name is Katt, AmmoKatt! Or DomestiKatt! *sigh*

Birthday Wishes!

2006-07-25T01:31:00.000+02:00

It’s The Viking’s birthday today so The Katt Box is going to be dedicated to the illusive man for a day. Don’t expect any comments; he is a Skulker of NOTE! But believe me, he will read it because he thinks I am writing an exposé on him. Isn’t power a wonderful thing to have? Here goes!

Hail, O’ sage and mighty Viking!

Now that I have your attention and soothed your ego…

It’s your 34th birthday today! You beat me by a month and a bit but we can blame that on our parents I guess, they made you older than me. But I think I have more wrinkles, however you win in the “thinning patch on scone” front (now he is angry with me – sore point).

So, what do I do now? Reminisce on what we have done together or just dish out the birthday wishes? Come to think of it, we haven’t done a hell of a lot together. There are no bodies we buried together, no warming up jail cells together, no jumping out of aeroplanes together (not that I would anyway), no horse riding, no swimming, no parasailing… probably because we didn’t buy Tampax (remind me to tell you that joke if you don’t get the last bit). In fact, nothing really exciting at all!

What have we done together? We have chatted into the wee small hours, laughed about things that probably only we would understand, terrorised each other, argued, turned your dad’s house into a circus, fended off awkward questions, and raised a few eyebrows. You trusted me enough to cut your hair, even after the horror stories of what I did to Flyboy’s hair. And we went to the dumping ground together… actually, that is quite adventurous! Oh yes, remember when you and Quinnie came flying one weekend many, many moons ago – the good old days when we were all young, stupid and employed!

Maybe it’s about here that I should detract from what some may perceive as a somewhat boring friendship and move on to my birthday wishes for you.

In Sport:
1. May The Sharks rugby team always win, except when The Bulls are playing of course. If this wish comes true it might mean that when I ‘phone you on a Saturday night in desperate need of mental stimulation you could possibly be in a good mood and not a grump “because of the ref.”

Oh, sorry, this is supposed to be about you.

2. May a miracle happen and the Springboks rugby team actually start playing like a rugby team and not a blind school.

Hey, these are birthday wishes, not spells. Wishes don’t always come true but there is always *ahem* blind, stupid hope!

3. May The Proteas Cricket team win each and every game they play.

How are they doing at the moment? Is it cricket season? Huh? (He hates the fact that I am just not THAT into sport).

4. Um, may the team you support in Formula 1 always have pole position and cross the finish line first – damn, I can’t remember who you support. I’m sorry! If the car isn’t red and driven by a German I hit a blank.

Let me guess, you want to throttle me right about now!

5. May you get to play cricket for those guys in England. Is that offer still valid? And can I get a photo of you in your white outfit?

In Life:
1. May your business go from strength to strength and may your stress levels decrease exponentially. I know, FAT CHANCE on the stress levels thing, but damn it, I want my friend back!

Oh wait, this is about you, right?

2. May the people you employ develop sunny dispositions, drive, ambition, problem solving capabilities and the strength to withstand the force of Hurricane Viking that rages from time to time. Maybe you should put a few palm trees in the office for them, I hear they are quite bendy and good for hanging on to!

I’m getting the evil eye right now, aren’t I?

3. May companies you do work for understand that the account actually has to be paid and that it is normal to have to reboot their servers and routers from time to time.

4. May your friends start appreciating you as you are. I guess that includes your bad moods, stress levels, sense of humour, on call 24/7for all of them, bad eating habits and refusing to wear a seat belt (I’m still struggling with the last two myself).

In Love:
May you finally meet that girl who sweeps you off your feet.

Hope you have a wonderful day and a brilliant year!

Bloggable Weekend!

2006-07-24T12:18:00.000+02:00

Well, sort of! Does gardening count as bloggable? Not really… I didn’t think so. But what the hell, the gardening only took place on Saturday.

Gardening (read “Killing Plants”)
To say that Flyboy let my feeble attempts at establishing orderly flower beds and a lawn go to seed (very punny) in my absence is a gross understatement. The grass was so long that that Houndus Maximus, Houndus Minimus and Houndus Super-Minimus (the latest addition to the crack babies) were disappearing in it when they went for a romp. So, the Saturday afternoon quiet of the farm was punctuated with weed, weed, curse, weed, curse Flyboy, weed, avoid operational edge trimmer wielded by Flyboy and weed some more. And then, to replace big gaping holes in newly weeded beds, it was off to the nursery.

Um, not the kind of nursery where you get in your car, fork out enough money to buy a family sized car and then try and figure out how the ridiculously large plant is going to fit into your car. Nope, not that kind of nursery at all. This trip to the nursery involves arming yourself to the teeth with a fork and spade and going to select your plant down near the spruit (stream I think). Oh, and giving the “boomslange” (sorry, no English translation for that but it is a snake) right of way. In this case it was Leonotis, wild dagga to the rest of you. Shame, it will probably die like the rest of them – some people garden for a hobby, I kill plants in the name of establishing something that looks like a garden.

So, if you ever take a drive through the Eastern Cape and see a housie with lots of dead sticky type things in the garden, pop in for a cup of coffee!

Flying (read “Flying”)
Sundays are traditionally spent at some or other airfield and this last one was no exception. However things were different this time, I got to fly too.

The concept behind this flight was to prove that a Cessna cannot outfly a touring motor glider. And there were three planes in convoy, a Lambada (www.wingtrack.com for those of you who might have aviation tendencies), a Dimona and of course, the competing Cessna. We left from Uitenhage aerodrome, flew down to Paradise Beach and back. And I got to take some really stunning photies with the pilot’s digital camera – talk about guilt free photography. You just click away and don’t panic about the astronomical developing and printing costs. Those photies will be cut to CD at the end of this week and hopefully I will be able to get them onto Flickr.

Conversations on the Radio:
Pilot in PE: [Call sign] requesting permission to depart from PE international. Will be flying straight down the coast towards St Francis Bay, any conflicting traffic, please report.

So what is strange about that? Well, usually pilots don’t enquire so far in advance as to conflicting traffic. Technically speaking, WE were the conflicting traffic.

Pilot in Cessna: [Call sign] in the Jefferys Bay area, flying 400ft off the deck just above the waves. *Nervously* Please don’t come in under me.
Pilot in PE: [Call sign] thank you Cessna, will come in below you at 100ft. *laughing*

So, what is the point of this? Well, approximately two minutes later an L-39 jet screamed past us, did a low fly past, a couple of steep and rolling turns, called “Yee-Ha!” on the radio and vanished again over the horizon.

I think the residents in the sleepy hollow coastal towns were awake after that!

How to Aggravate Frustration...

2006-07-22T16:25:00.000+02:00

in one easy step!

Try and teach yourself to play guitar! I promise, it works! Okay, enough exclamation marks already.

When did I buy my beloved instrument of torture? Hm... December what? Two years ago, yup, 2004. And again, waxing lyrical about her, she is beautiful, I love her. Everyone who plays her says she is magnificent. But, alas and alack, she hates me. No, not just "doesn't like me," we are talking BLIND HATRED here!

It's been two and a half years and I still manage to illicit "cat being gutted" sounds from her! Oh, I have books... rephrase, I have Book! The other one is music notes, which I can't read. Don't look at me like that! I know, there is a lesson to be learnt in that - open the book and check it before you buy it. I know, I know, it goes without saying but I lost all rhyme and reason when I realised this book had a CD in the back cover - oooh, shiny thingie and all that!

So, I have Book - Guitar for Dummies! And it is not bad, very funny! There is a whole chapter about how your music instrument makes you look cool. And an explanation of why it isn't called the F Chord for nothing - think about it. But if I have to practise Kumbaya one more time (with a paper bag over my head in case someone recognises me) I am going to shoot myself in my fretting hand - that's the left one. How can playing Kumbaya make you look cool? Even if you have music instrument? I mean, guitar cool only goes so far, right?

Oh, a guitar teacher you say? Well, that is an interesting story too! Trust me, everything here is complicated. After numerous 'phone calls and suggestions of getting in touch with that "tannie" (auntie) down the road I finally pounced on a bona fide music teacher - the "dominee's" wife (that's a church minister's wife to those of you from foreign parts). Well, let us just say the milk of Christian kindness was not oozing through this woman's pores. In fact, she became downright snotty when she heard that the imbecile on the other side of the 'phone couldn't even read music. And with a half-hearted attitude told me I could come in and sit with her high school students - that just ain't gonna do wonders for my ego. She even had the audacity to inform me that her snotty attitude would cost me the price of a set of drums and possibly a lead singer.

I mean, come on, woman! If I could read music, would I be 'phoning you? Huh? Huh?

Here is the plea for help! If anyone out there knows of some decent music (that doesn't require a paper bag over the melon) with not too complicated chords, please mail me. I am desperately trying to get hold of the strumming beat for Mull of Kintyre - I know, it is bad if I can't even figure that out!

Pretty please, with a cherry on the top and chocolate sprinkles and... oh hell, I will throw in the whole sundae, just save me! And everyone else within a 0,5 kilometre radius!

Seeing as I started this...

2006-07-21T16:51:00.000+02:00

And M surreptitiously tagged everyone who reads hers, here goes...

1. What is your full name now? Tyger Katt Feline
2. What colour pants are you wearing now? Um... *blush* I'm still in my PJs! If a T-shirt and robe constitute PJs.
3. What are you listening to right now? Birds outside and the dishes being washed.
4. What was the last thing you ate? Ice cream and Biltong (Jerky).
5. Do you wish on stars? Shooting ones, yes but they don't listen.
6. If you were a crayon what colour would you be? I don't want to be a crayon because they get all used up. Can I be a fountain pen? And I will be green.
7. How is the weather right now? Lovely African winter's day.
8. Who's the last person you spoke to on the phone? *sigh* My mother. I need to get a life and can someone other than my mother phone me, please.
9. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Yes, I do. Except in the morning she is a grouch!
10. How old are you today? 33, almost 34. Oh crap!
11. Favorite drink? Old St Andrew's Scottish Whiskey or Jack Daniels.
12. Favorite sport? Swimming.
13. Hair colour? Dirty Blonde.
14. Siblings? A much older brother. Oh, and three step brothers (but they don't really count, do they?)
15. Favorite food? Sushi and Thai Food.
16. What was the last movie you watched? Boys and Girls.
17. Favorite day of the year? Don't have one!
18. What was your favourite toy as a child? A big plastic truck.
19. Summer or winter? Both have their merits. Summer for the heat and outdoors, winter for fireplaces, red wine and snuggles and cuddles.
20. Hugs or kisses? BOTH! I'm greedy.
21. Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate.
22. Do you want your friends to email you back? Yes, please. (Let's just change this one to "Blog this")
23. Who is most likely to respond? SwissTwist.
24. Who is least likely to respond? The Viking.
25. Living arrangements? Someone else's house on a farm.
26. When was the last time you cried? Last Sunday.
27. What is under your bed? A floor... and probably some cat hair balls.
28. Who is the friend you have known the longest? The Viking.
29. What did you do last night? Cleaned my guitar and read.
30. Favorite smell? Ooooh, good one. Freshly ground coffee.
31. Favorite TV show? Don't have a TV, so I don't have a favourite show. But I did enjoy Law and Order.
32. Happy in life? No, but I might be, one day.
33. What are you afraid of? Things that go bump in the night, Great White Sharks and Needles (as in injections). (If anyone does a psych-analysis into that, keep it to yourself)
34. Plain, buttered or salted popcorn? Lightly salted.
35. Favorite car? Hummer (HumV).
36. Favorite Flower? Haven't really thought about it because I don't get flowers, but roses do make a girl feel special I guess.
37. Number of keys on your key ring? 3, one for the car, one for the safe and one for the gear lock. Oh, and a funky glow-in-the-dark alien.
39. How many years at your current job? Job? I have a job?
39. Favorite day of the week? On the farm they are basically all the same.
40. What did you do on your last birthday? Slaved to feed a whole bunch of guests who didn't bring me presents.
41. How many cities have you lived in? 5... it depends how you count.
42. Do you make friends easily? Acquaintances, yes. Friends... no.

Now tag yourself and blog it!

Flickr'ed!

2006-07-21T15:40:00.000+02:00

It's been done! Some of my photo's have been Flickr'ed! You will find the link just above... "Links." No, I couldn't put it under "Links" because that would have been way too conventional.

Kyknoord told me a while ago that I have lead a very interesting life so far. And guess what! He is right. I hope these photos prove it.

And a special thanks to my friend, Shutterjane. Because of you I can now upload to my 500MB capped GPRS connection's heart's content.

Revived Blog?

2006-07-21T10:28:00.000+02:00

Please check out SwissTwist's blog. I am stilll larfing my noggin off!

Attacking the Caveman!

2006-07-20T09:03:00.000+02:00

Important Note: Apologies in advance to all male readers who walk upright and don't drag their knuckles on the ground!

On arriving back on Monday I was treated to a candlelit dinner and the Man in My Life has been so sweet, so kind and so considerate. Forgive the cynicism but I've been waiting for it all to come crashing down. And it took exactly two days for the honeymoon to be over!

The last few months have exposed me to a really annoying trait that seems to be totally male! It could be because of having an incomplete Y chromosome and not a complete (read perfect) X chromosome.

Why, oh why do men have to take their bad moods out on people around them who have NOTHING to do with the onset of this mood?

Tonight the milk bottles and a sheaf of documents were unceremoniously hurled into the kitchen from the door. All because the stupid woman in the house couldn't take the loot because she, how dare she, was preparing a chicken for supper! This Vesuvial explosion because of a sore finger and "a bad day."

Hey, my day also wasn't that great but I don't recall holding you responsible for it.

Earlier this week I messaged a friend with a simple "?" because you never know who is standing behind someone's desk. There are times when "Can I come over and rip your clothes off?" would be entirely inappropriate! And what is the charmingly rude reply? How does a "Yes?" sound? It does not go down well! Really not well, in fact, it sinks like a rock!

Listen, I understand if you are busy and probably having a day rating a -1.5 on the Happy-Day-O-Meter but a simple "Sorry, can't really chat now" would suffice.

Honestly, this misguided anger is rude, inconsiderate and quite frankly, bloody insulting. Not to mention juvenile, in the first degree.

Get with the programme, boys! If you are in a bad mood, suck it up or have the maturity to talk about it! You are not the beginning and the end of a woman's existence! Don't be surprised if you get the cold shoulder when you come home. Or mysteriously vanish off my chat programme.

PS: Groping does not equal Romantic!

Responses to Rrramone!

2006-07-19T09:46:00.000+02:00

After getting together with Kyknoord The Katt Box was suddenly exposed. Thanks to all of you for visiting. Rrramone, you had the diligence and patience to work through my older drivel (the medal is in the mail) and were kind enough to leave comments. In those comments you asked quite a few questions. In view of the fact that there isn't much to blog about at the moment, too many confusing thoughts whirling through the vacuum where most people have a brain (I'm blonde), maybe I should take a stab at replying to your comments.

The Comment:
Katt, the tart is a confirmed wingnut. She will even admit that. :-) But she is a nice wingnut. Tart, please don't kill me.

The Reply:
For the umpteenth time, please blog about it, both of you! By the way, in South Africa a wingnut is someone who has really sticky outie ears. Tart's got sticky outie ears?

The Comment:
So did you find a good job yet?

Not that I could be of much help all the way over in the good old USA, but I am curious. :-)

The Reply:
Unfortunately no one offered me a job! No one even asked for a resume! I did however get a suggestion from a good friend of mine in the States, out Texas way too strangely enough. He suggested I try the US Department of Defence or something like that. Of course, I got rather delicious visions in my head of being placed in charge of a big, beefy guided missile system. Can you imagine? You point it at random and say "Ask yourself, are you feeling lucky, Punk?" That should cause a few grey hairs.

The Comment:
I don't know what rummy is but that is funny!

The Reply:
Rummy is a card game that we bored folks play down on the farm once a week when we have a games night. We have actually considered putting up a video camera and taping our games nights because no one would believe us if we told them about it after the fact.

The Comment:
Meat tanning session?

The Reply:
Known as a barbecue in your part of the world, officially a braai in South Africa and you have to really get your tongue into rolling that "R." However, we don't just do hamburgers and hotdogs - we throw everything on the fire except mince (ground beef to you) because that tends to fall through the grill. Another common braai phenomenon is when the alcohol has been flowing too freely it often becomes a meat charring session and then you get a whole bunch of grumpy women and giggly men in the mix.

The Comment:
And how about more pics? Remember 1 is worth a thousand words. :-)

The Reply:
Actually, thanks to Shutterjane I now have a Flickr account and I am working on it. It might take a while because the funds and finances cannot accommodate my dream digital camera so everything is taken with a 35mm film camera. Watch this space!

Footnote to The Tart:You suggested a posting about "What is in my fridge?" Well, Flyboy obviously has been living on air because it is pretty empty at the moment. I will give it a while to grow in content and in bacterial content and see what I can come up with. Great idea though!

Homeward Bound!

2006-07-12T13:40:00.000+02:00

A momentous decision has been made! It is time to go home! Yup, the signs are there.

Last Saturday I got two 'phone calls from friends saying "Where the hell are you?" SwissMix was one of them, and I have a bone to pick with him though. He has to be beaten into submission because the fact that the Stormers beat The Bulls last weekend is an absolute fluke!

And apparently Cally Cat is wandering around the house calling for me - poor baby!

Flyboy actually misses me... I am stunned, gobsmacked! But he is in for a surprise because this Katt isn't going to curl up and become a furry cushion on the couch again. Poor man!

Seeing as I have done my moping about leaving behind single-dom, ADSL internet connection, an abundance of mental stimulation and special people, it might be time to dwell on the things I am looking forward to.

In no order of preference:

1. My bath! Going to get out my rubber duckies, my snorkel and flippers and just soak for three hours. And become all pruney!

2. The peace and quiet and space! No traffic, no sirens and space as far as the eye can see.

3. Not having to lock my doors every time I turn around. Nor having to carry a bunch of keys the size of a prison warden's.

4. My furry hot water bottles. Hm, I guess that includes Flyboy! Honestly, it is going to be nice not to sleep in an empty bed.

5. My own home. There is a lot to be said for your own four walls, you can wash dishes when you want to, do the washing when you want to, cook if you want to. You can curl up in a sunny spot with a book when you want to.

6. The aviation junkies at the airfield. Look out boys! There is a new Katt on the way back.

7. Blogging material! Vast quantities of it because I know Flyboy's Strange Employers won't disappoint and the mind seems to clear and the thoughts seem to flow.

8. And skin that doesn't resembled the dry vlei bed of Sossousvlei (there is a Google search for all foreign visitors).

I might even start flying again, AeroKatt! What I am going to do is learn to play my bloody guitar! And stop smoking and learn how to jog - yes, learn to jog. Give me a break, swimmers can't jog unless they are tri-athletes.

So, internet chats may be scarce and the mail warfare might not fly as fast and furious but yes, I think it is time to go home. Here's hoping Metallica behaves!

Letter to The Tart!

2006-07-10T12:35:00.000+02:00

The Comment:

Dear Katt ... I can't just drop by to hear the scoop bout the infamous Kyk & not leave word, would be bad very behavior. ; )

Sooo, was he limping from love-in with new girlfriend asphalt? Did he take sugar or cream in jittery coffee? Final question, if you had to pick .... hmm, what movie star comes to mind when you think of him? Brain or Braun, either will do? (Oh & the voice?)

Smooch,
The Tart
; )

The Response:

Dearest Ms Tart!

Thanking you kindly for your enquiries regarding The Man! I will try to answer them to the best of my ability.

With reference to his limp... actually no, the man was walking perfectly normally. So, if we may be women and analyse this, it seems his wounds were rather skin-deep (however painful I am sure) and not muscular.

As for the coffee, now this is an interesting story. He settled for a decaf cappuccino with foam. And I use the word "settled" because of the nature of the establishment we were dining in. There was no doubt in either of our minds that if he had asked for his usual tipple, and you should appreciate this being native of those parts, an Americano, the waitress would have spun off in a tizz and had management in flat spin because... gee, what is an Americano?

In the event that you are as in the dark as I was as to what exactly an Americano is, I was fortunate enough to have been educated. It is an espresso in a normal sized mug topped up with hot water.

And he takes it with two packets of... hm, not sure if it was sweetener or sugar. Unfortunately I was not paying attention to that detail.

As for the movie star, and here he is going to think I am flattering him, but I get a definite Johnny Depp feeling. Does that answer your Brain or Braun question adequately?

The Voice... in capitals, please note! A typical actor's voice as he has the ability to make it carry without raising it. And again I run the risk of inflating his ego, The Voice is very manly with a really delicious laugh.

Footnote:

It has come to my attention that the meeting of two bloggers tends to cause a stir in the blogging community. Could I suggest a tag system whereby two bloggers are tagged and they have to meet and review the meeting on their blog? Any takers?

I Have a Face Now!

2006-07-10T11:43:00.000+02:00

Thanks Kyk, for giving me an identity.

Revelations!

2006-07-10T11:08:00.000+02:00

Okay, I couldn't resist this one. For a change it seems I am actually a person with a spark instead of a boring old predictable Virgo.

You're an Passionate Kisser

For you, kissing is about all about following your urgesIf someone's hot, you'll go in for the kiss - end of storyYou can keep any relationship hot with your steamy kissesA total spark plug - your kisses are bound to get you in trouble

What Kind of Kisser Are You?

Your Love Style is Storge

For you, love and friendship are almost the same thingAnd your love tends to be the enduring, long lasting kind(You've been known to still have connections with exes)But sometimes your love is not the most passionateLeap before you look, and you'll find that fire you crave

What's" Your Love Style?

Thanks to New Mom on the Blog for this. For a change I actually wanted to post the results. Look out world!

Looking North and Sallying Forth!

2006-07-09T15:44:00.000+02:00

Today is Sunday, also known as Suicide Sunday. If only I had those tendencies but I don't. Nope, my lot in life is to toll on. But let us dwell on happy thoughts, shall we?

Okay, let us recap because there are many bloggers out there who want the low down on my meeting with the ever ubiquitous Kyknoord...

Well, it started on Wednesday where he let it drop that he was going to be up in Egoli on business. Being of katt-like nature I pounced on the opportunity to meet the illustrious man. And to my disgust learnt that he would be occupying one side of the City of Gold and I would be on exactly the opposite side, far, far away. Metallica being the charming worshipper of all music metal would not have been a trusty chariot to brave the crime-infested streets of our capitalist capital.

However, Kyk the Brave to the rescue. The knightly man played tourist in his trusty white steed (it was white, I kid you not) and drove through.

Let's see, highlights of the evening...

On first meeting he looked at me and said: "You are taller than I imagined."

He kept spilling his coffee into his saucer.... oh, I am dead meat now! Okay, okay, he spilt it twice, the third time it was the waitress's fault. Hm, I wonder if I made him nervous.

He showed me the holes in his jacket incurred when he was fed a healthy helping of asphalt for breakfast a while ago. When I asked if he would drop his rods and show me his scars, he gallantly said he would. Stop swooning, ladies, we never got around to that.

We discovered a mutual penchant for "awful elephant jokes" as he called them in his blog. Not to mention monkeys falling out of trees, baby jokes and swarms of Marmite. And I was treated to a glimpse of his acting skills when he told me his favourite joke. Excuse me while I collapse in a fit of giggles again.

We dissected my life, we dissected his life. We laughed some more. I got to hear all about Salman. Only nice things, Salman, I promise!

So, there are many ladies out there wondering What Does the Man Look Like? Hm, to divulge or not to divulge, is that the question? He has lovely thick hair, just the right length to suit him, a mischievous smile, eyes that are either open and smiling or dark and brooding and tend to change with his mood. Soft spoken, a perfect gentleman, a wonderful intellect and a deliciously dry sense of humour.

In a nutshell, as previously mentioned somewhere in the quagmire of my blog, I still want his brains to father my children!

Oh, For One Day That is All Happy!

2006-07-07T20:18:00.000+02:00

After basking in the glow of an enjoyable night out with Kyknoord I knew I would be punished somehow for glowing like a Christmas light...

Last night before my wonderful evening Maw 'phoned, worried about my four-legged sister, Sunshine, also a Katt. It seems Sunshine had gone off her food and she was looking a bit peaky. Today she was booked into the doctor who deals with four-legged patients.

Maw just 'phoned about 15 minutes ago, crying so hard I could hardly hear what she was saying. Eventually, through sniffs and sobs, I discovered the reason for the tears. Sunshine has fluid on her chest and she only has a few weeks to live. There is nothing that can be done. So it is time to do the humane thing.

Sleep well, My Sister! Thank you for all the joy and happiness you brought into Maw and Paw's life. Please tell Luli Cat and Uli Dog they still have their spots in my heart.

Mom, sorry I can't be there with you tonight and even though you won't read this, I am thinking of you and my heart goes out to you and Dad.

I think it might be time to go home. I miss my animals!

What I Have in My Handbag... and Why!

2006-07-06T14:25:00.000+02:00

Thanks for the ideas, guys. The handbag idea has caught my fancy. But you know, this might become embarassing. Oh, what the hell, in for a penny and all that!

Okay,

Main Compartment (Takes a deep breathe and dives in):
1. Cell phone charger - for obvious reasons! The damn things always go flat when you least expect it. This skinny little cord is a bit of a pain though, it's strangling everything else and me.
2. A box of .... damn, it just got embarassing. Well, tampons damn it, if you must know! Again, for obvious reasons. Note to self: Must remember to take this out of bag.
3. A cheque book - purely for show, it serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever!
4. Lots of long blonde hairs... I wonder how they got in there.
5. A sheet of A4 paper... what's this? Oh, With the lyrics of an ACDC song, Let There Be Rock which I got from The Viking. Sentimental reasons I guess.
6. A purse... well, that's kind of self-explanatory, right? With lots of slips in but no cash and my driver's license, and cards, and business cards.
7. An aerosol can of ... Fire & Ice Liaison perfume body spray - to disguise the cigarette smell when I have to pop in to Maw and Paw.
8. A full pack of Camel Lights - you never know when you are going to run out.
*Throws useless piece of paper away - chequebook re-order slip*
*Throws another useless piece of paper away - slip from Postnet Glenfair*
*And yet another useless piece of paper away - silver paper from cigarette box*
9. A nice black gel pen - for making notes for my blog.
10. A hair comb... no, not the one to go into my long socks but one of those grip thingies. My hair has a mind of its own and I hate it when it gets into my eyes when I am working.
11. A hair grip... one of those crocodile grip types, for the same reasons as stated in 10.
11. A Turnbulls Mint from Square Time which I got when I went out with The Viking on Saturday night.
In the zip up pocket inside the main compartment:
1. An ID book with my mug shot in it.
2. A fake Leatherman... because I am just that kind of girl and besides, you never know when you are going to need pliers.
3. A pocket knife, because it has got a bottle opener (very important because when I drink beer I drink Windhoek Lager or Tafel Lager and they don't have screw tops), a corkscrew (very, very important) and lots of blades.

Front Pocket 1:
It's empty but it is usually where my cell phone sleeps.

Front Pocket 2: My First Aid Kit
1. Floss - there is nothing worse than having half a cow stuck between your teeth.
2. Headache Tablets - because I permanently have a headache.
3. Eye drops - my eyes are always red.
4. Labello Med LipIce - I've got sensitive lips.
5. A tablet holder... with one antibiotic in it. So that is where it went!

Front Pocket 3:
It's also empty but it's where my sunglasses sleep.

Side Pocket 1:
Oh yum! A large selection of sweeties from various restaurants. Eeeewww, some of them are a bit old, gross!

Side Pocket 2:
Um, it's empty except for a packet of gum with one bean left in it.

Okay, I Have a Gripe!

2006-07-06T12:27:00.000+02:00

Finally, something to blog about!

If anyone out there has the vaguest idea how they employ call centre/telesales people, please could you inform me? Maybe I should add that my very first job was in the call centre of an insurance company and I never received any training but for some bizarre reason I had a knack for it. I got asked out by the more adventurous male clients countless times and even had customers phoning me just to say "Hi, how are you doing?" So hey, I hated it but I must have done something right.

Everyone has had the notorious "May I have a minute of your time to tell you about our new mind blowing product" phone call. Here are a couple of my experiences:

At one stage my bank was doing this Insuring Your Household Appliances policy - cool idea! I mean, if your toaster decides to self-destruct or turn your toast into a radio-active frisbee, you can replace it in the wink of an eye. And it's a really ridiculously low premium every month. The first time these brokers deigned to call me I was staying in Gauteng but so broke I couldn't even pay attention. The second time I received the phone call I was down in the Eastern Cape. Of course, I couldn't break the telemarketer's heart by cutting him short and saying "Yeah, okay, I like the concept, debit me!" because shame, they practise their scripts down to the last comma and exclamation mark. So being the altruist I am I listen to the nervous boytjie's song and dance patiently (I wonder what the bosses threaten with if you don't sell 9 875.5 policies a day). And at the end I say "Wow, that sounds great. Hit me!" Of course we exchange the formalities and then he realises that he has just wasted a fair amount of time on someone who no longer stays in the insured region, Gauteng. Aaaah, your database is out of date is it? The upside was that when I received the third phone call regarding exactly the same product, I could say "Sure, you can have a minute of my time but bear in mind, I no longer stay in Gauteng!" That pulled the chit chat up short.

A couple of days ago my bank decided to grace my eardrum with a phone call regarding an life insurance policy for women. I was interested because a) the last time I looked I was a woman and b) I have no kind of insurance at all so, maybe it's time to stop kicking and screaming ease myself into the Big People's world. In a nutshell, I now have a policy that covers me for all sorts of interesting and nasty things that happens to women but the phone call was AWFUL! This women was reading a script.... I mean seriously reading a script, with no inflection in her voice, no enthusiasm, no stops, no commas. It felt like I had tuned into the Parliament channel on TV.

Today I got to hear a recording of a telephone conversation, a young White woman who had to help an elderly Black man get his vehicle insured. And I was absolutely STUNNED! The man was old-school, polite, sweet but unfortunately could not grasp the more complex jargon. As the conversation proceeded it became clear that he was understanding less and less of what was being bombarded at him. So, what does our arrogant, annoying young lass do? Instead of replacing the jargon with every day terms and being gentle and polite about it, she proceeds to rattle off the script at breakneck speed and ignores the poor man when he interrupts her and says "Madam, you are speaking too fast, I don't understand." Eventually in what I can only assume was desperation, the poor man plonked the phone down in her ear. Good on you, mate!

Oh, and the other pet peeve is when telemarketers use headsets and insist on sticking the fuzzy little boom mike in their gobs. This of course proceeds to distort the sound. For heaven's sakes, this is not Idols!

Some other peeves regarding people paid to sell things and assist people via phone:
1. Really bad accents - I mean sure, not everyone has English has a home language but how the hell is a person supposed to listen to someone who has got such a strong accent that you think you have been sucked into a vortex and plonked on Planet Yaffle (that's a sniglet by the way).
2. There seems to be a misconception that if you can speak a second or third language REALLY FAST it means you have an excellent grasp of the language. Not so, folks! We can't hear what the hell it is you are saying because a) your accent distorts what our brains would normally pick up and b) you are speaking too fast! Very Important Note: Fast does not equal Fluent!

I don't profess to be a master of languages. I cannot speak Zulu or Xhosa or Sotho and if I could I would have no intention of insulting the languages by doing a half hearted job. My only attempt would be to speak it as accurately and correctly as possible. A language is supposed to be a beautiful thing, something to be proud of, something to be improved upon.

I think I have reached a stage where I will sign up for anything if the telemarketer can actually speak, communicate!

The Brain is Dead...

2006-06-30T12:16:00.000+02:00

Okay, I am stealing this idea from Wendz...

Folks, I have no idea what to blog about anymore. The City does not inspire me. So please give me ideas! I need direction here!

And a way to get out of a meat tanning session tomorrow night...

All contributions would be greatly appreciated.

I'm Confused...

2006-06-29T13:01:00.000+02:00

Really, really confused!

As a result of blogging I have met some really incredible people. If I could compare all these people to something everyday, it's kind of like having an enormous bowl of salad in front of you. No, not the boring green thing with tomatoes to add a dash of colour, something more yummy like a coronation chicken salad, with walnuts and mayonnaise and... oh bugger, now I am hungry AGAIN (Gauteng's cold is doing nothing for my waist line)!

But think about it! You get all these often innocent ingredients and you put them all together and voila! An oral sensation only it's a mental sensation. All these folks stimulate different parts of my brain, thinking, laughing, crying, sharing... sounds like Graca (for the Non-South Africans out there, there is a wine in SA called Graca described as the singing, laughing, eating, drinking, sharing wine or something like that). Okay, so you are all a cool bunch of yummy ingredients.

What I don't get is you guys actually like me! I just don't get it! I can't hold my boyfriend's attention for longer than five minutes, my mother thinks I am her mental dumping ground and well, the folks on the farm think I am El Weirdo Supremo! But you guys like me, some of you have even told me that you can open up to me and tell me anything. That is a big compliment and I am not sure if I worthy of it.

The following question crops up. Does that mean if people know me in real life they don't like me?

I suppose sometimes you shouldn't question the mysteries of the universe... but I just don't get it!

Jumping on the Band Wagon!

2006-06-26T10:39:00.000+02:00

So many people in Blogland have posted literary offerings detailing the pros and cons of the soccer world cup and the emerging phenomenon of pseudo-soccer know it alls. As a result of a phone call I received on Friday night, I finally can throw my opinion into the... ahem, kitty.

A few years ago Flyboy and I met a German couple at a flying establishment in Namibia and we have since become firm friends. Earlier this year they escaped the German winter and came and stayed with us for 10 days. During this time we heard about how they were dreading the impending soccer world cup, just the usual concerns that locals have when there is the promise of large numbers of foreigners invading their shores.

However, the person who phoned me on Friday night was a far cry from the soccer fearing person who visited us in February. I was treated to the sound of a very proud, excited German lady who, apart from the breakdown on how all the different teams were doing, oozed something that I hadn't heard in her voice before. National pride!

On the occasions when they have visited us many hours have been spent discussing Germany, the politics and the post WWII guilt. It seems that the soccer world cup has turned Germany around. I was telephonically regaled with stories about how Germans are flying their flag proudly, how each car looks like a component of a presidential motorcade because they are all adorned with tiny flapping flags, how people are hanging the German flag out of the windows of their houses and having parties on the street with the flag featuring at a prominent guest.

It's hard to describe what I felt when I heard this new element in her voice, maybe I am just sentimental but it kind of brought a tear to my eye. Maybe it's because I can identify with the way she is feeling. Kinda like the day Francois Pienaar raised the Webb Ellis trophy above his head shortly after our first democratic election.

Prost Deutschland!

And it just keeps getting better...

2006-06-23T11:53:00.000+02:00

Has anyone ever heard someone blame the lowly influenza virus on the downfall of their life? Not? Well, fasten your seat belt, it is going to be a bumpy ride!

As previously griped about, it has become a well-known fact that acclimatising to this rather harsh Highveld cold has been near impossible for yours truly. In my humble opinion acclimatisation would be near impossible for even polar bears. There has however been a solution, the great trek along the highway to the more ambient temperatures of my good old home town, Pretoria. And that is exactly what I was planning to do this weekend, until the microscopic little blighter doing the rounds struck.

Let me paint the scenario. Suspected critters in the futon mattress aside, the room I occupy at "my digs" leaves a fair amount to be desired. The environment in this room is the perfect temperature to freeze the kahunas off a brass monkey. To add to the scene, the bed is positioned in the right way that occupying the bed means your head is right against the window. Breathing in the icy vapours that are emitted from the equally icy window providing the perfect breeding ground for sore throats - give me a break, I still have my 33 year old tonsils.

And I can hear you all chorus: "Move the bed." Problem, it doesn't appear that the bed will fit in the room any other way. And the chorus again: "Sleep the other way around." Problem, the pillow falls off the bed.

So, the recuperation and recovery plan was to flee through the Boerewors Curtain, defrost and sleep as much as possible. However, that is not to be. My Big Sister is somewhat susceptible to flu and cold viruses, compounded by asthma complications. Thus the wooden crosses and garlic poultices have been hauled out the bottom drawer and I have been requested to reconsider my position. And being the extremely polite, considerate person I am, I have reconsidered.

However, the odds of a speedy recovery are now decidedly lessened! And the possibility of retaining some semblance of sanity is now a big, rotund ZERO!

Hm, I wonder where I put that Damsel In Distress application form!

Gripe, Groan, Stomp!

2006-06-22T15:31:00.000+02:00

Okay, it's official! I am gatvol! I am ready to go home.

I miss my space!

I miss my dog!

I miss my cat!

I am sick of living in someone else's house and all the time feeling obligated...

Obligated to wash the dishes because supper was made for me when I would have been quite happy with a cheese sarmie!

Obligated to sit in the lounge and be socialable when all I want to do is lie on my bed and read a book!

Obligated to hang up a huge load of washing because somewhere in the enormous soggy bundle is a sock of mine!

I am tired of the environment...

Tired of the noise!

Tired of the cold!

Tired of the work!

I want to go home!

Nothing to Blog About...

2006-06-21T16:52:00.000+02:00

Let me repeat what I have said before. The city is just not funny, I have nothing to blog about. *sigh*

I suppose I could relate that this town (dump?) to the west of Johannesburg is colder than charity. And I have this need to escape to the warmer climes of Pretoria from time to time just to defrost! And I could relate how I could give Reptile a run for his money in the scaly skin department because my skin is so dry "you can actually scratch on the word dry!" (Anyone remember that awful advert?)...

But that would be boring.

I could also relate how I suspect that I have a colony of some or other insectivorous creature residing in the futon mattress I sleep on each night. And that I am the main source of nutrition. But I might be wrong... I might just be breaking out in the "Occasional Tiny Little Red Bump in Strange Place" stress syndrome...

But that would be boring.

I suppose I could pour out my heart out about my Metallica woes. She is now becoming progressively more into her heavy metal. On the upside though I think that I, Super Sleuth Katt, have managed to isolate the problem - the computer box. On the downside, it will cost a small fortune to replace...

But that would be boring.

I could maybe relate the phone call I received on Monday night from a friend mutual to Flyboy and myself. And go into explicit detail about how he told me Flyboy is pining for me and I must remember it is now winter and Flyboy's porridge driven electric blanket (me) is far, far away. And get into a philosophical (say that into your pillow ten times each night, Viking) debate with myself about why do I have to be absent to be appreciated?

But that would be boring.

I maybe could tell the world about the wonderful evening I spent at my Big Sister's home last night in the charming company of The Viking. And possibly expose myself as someone who can actually cook because I made supper and... well, *blush* there was hardly anything left...

But that would be boring.

I suppose I could also relate how things aren't working out as perfectly as my perfectionist Virgo mind planned them....

But that would be just plain complaining.

So, like I said, nothing to blog about. *sigh*

Plagiarising Movies...

2006-06-16T12:38:00.000+02:00

Last night, instead of me curling up with yet another book we vegged out in front of the goggle box and watched a couple of movies. One of them being 10 Things I Hate About You - seen it a couple of times, still love it.

The poem Kat (coincidence?) wrote was kind of heart wrenching - too close to home. With a few exceptions like no combat boots, don't have a problem with the hair, he has never driven my car and I don't remember rhyming. But yeah, the rest cuts close to the bone...

Katerina's poem

"I hate the way you talk to me
and the way you cut your hair
I hate the way you drive my car
I hate the way you stare
I hate your big combat boots
and the way you read my mind
I hate you so much it makes me sick
it even makes me rhyme
I hate the way you're always right
I hate the way you lie
I hate it when you make me laugh
and even more when you make me cry
I hate it when you're not around
and the fact that you didn't call
but mostly I hate it that I don't hate you
not even close,
not a little bit,
not even at all."

This, That and Nothing Much Really!

2006-06-15T16:47:00.000+02:00

Um.... what can I blog about? Quite a bit has happened but the question is "Is it blogable?"

Well, let's start with Metallica - it's an interesting story. With the help of the ever knightly Viking, I took her in to "The Place We Trust Because They are so Damn Good." They ran her for an hour and of course, the tart behaved herself. All she needed to do was to sprout wings! So all that could be done was an emergency procedure, disconnecting the factory fitted immobiliser. I am hoping car thieves don't read blogs. On paying I was even presented with a lovely polar curve graph (when you have a boyfriend who flies things with no engines you learn about things like polar curves) and considering her age, the graph looks pretty good!

However, after lulling me into a false sense of security and convincing me that she won't do the headbang thing whilst stuck in the notorious Gauteng traffic (the potential of having someone driving up your butt in this place is high), she struck again just as I was roaring up the hill to Krugersdorp. Oh yippee! To be honest, I nearly burst into tears. Can't you just work, you monument to mechanical abortions?

As for the work/living situation, there are pluses and minuses. I am fortunate in the sense that the lady I do the typing work for is very accommodating, she puts up with all my neuroses. And I am staying with her daughter who is, excuse the repetition and the pun, very accommodating too. There is one glitch though, the daughter has two dogs, one of them being a puppy and the other being neurotic (yeah, I know, we should get along). The neurotic one pees every time you bend down to pat her. It was fun pulling a duvet over me last night and being covered in dog widdle. But that's not all! The little one is going through the house training phase - this morning my one cream coloured sheepskin slipper was almost treated to another "stepping in poo" session as I stumbled out of the bedroom in a state of half awake and fully groggy.

And man, oh man, this place is COLD!

So, what else can I say as I stare out the window at the setting sun for inspiration and listen to the traffic go by in the street below. Despite being surrounded by really nice people, they are all strangers to me. Being nice, sweet and chirpy all the time is exhausting too - I am so mind-numbingly tired! And I am lonely. Right now I wouldn't mind a nice hug from a friend who says "Everything is going to be okay." I wouldn't mind a friendly moment of shared silence.

Well, I am off to stare at the cake, but I won't eat it.

Where the wind blows me...

2006-06-13T12:27:00.000+02:00

Hm, interesting things are developing in my life... however nothing to put me over the moon with happiness.

When I came up here I had these visions of living nicely and comfortably with our family friend, who is like a Big Sister I never had, typing and working hard and also maybe catching up with a few old friends. It seems the tangled little web I have woven for myself has now wrapped itself around my neck and is threatening to strangle me.

My visions of comfortable living have been shattered as I am now required to go and squat in a stranger's house in an even stranger place in order to be on site at the office to do this typing work. *sigh* So, now I have to face an indeterminable length of time, alone, surrounded by strangers and working myself into a coma. I know, as The Viking said, I want to have my cake and eat it. But surely I am entitled to finally having my cake and eating it. For so long I have pushed myself aside and now, when I do put my foot down and say "Me Time," fate transpires to bite me in the butt.

Is it possible for things to continuously and persistently go awry in one person's life?

Forgive me and excuse me while I assume the foetal position and suck my thumb!

I want to invite you...

2006-06-12T11:02:00.000+02:00

As previously mentioned, being in a place on holiday and being in a place for survival is not the same thing. And this past weekend, my first back in Snor City (hee hee) has exposed me to real city people, the singles trying really hard to find a moment's happiness, the married couples trying hard to look happy. And it all feels so... unreal. I don't want to use the word plastic because that is somewhat facetious.

Having commented on city folk, plastic lives are rife in the rural areas too but it's a different kind of plastic, the chemical components seem to be different.

So, after spending many hours contemplating and debating the Circle of Life both up here and down there with our family friend I am staying with, I remembered a piece I read many years ago by a wonderful woman called Oriah Mountain Dreamer. Here was an author who had managed to pen what I feel in my heart each time I meet people for the first time.

If you ever meet me, remember this!

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

Safety Net! Where are you?

2006-06-09T17:04:00.000+02:00

Going somewhere on holiday and going somewhere for other reasons is just not the same thing. A few months ago everything was new and exciting (okay, "old" new and exciting) and now it's a case of "Oh My Word, I actually have to survive in this place!"

What I am feeling now is almost too strange to explain. It's the same as I felt when I got back to the Eastern Cape after being on holiday up here - numb, like I am having an outer-body experience. Granted, I am running on severe lack of sleep, induced by two bad nights in a row with a really hectic 11 hour drive - don't expect a witty, intelligent read because it is just not possible at the moment. What I would like to do is take a nice hot bath in my over sized tub, get into my bed and sleep for the next six years. I'm kinda miserable and feeling like a fish out of water.

Despite being back for less than 24 hours, I can't help wondering when did I become so backward? Can three years in the country change you so much? Staring at the traffic on the highway I can't help getting a lump in my throat when I see a tractor being transported on a flatbed or a truck with a load of bales.

People up here talk about their futures and where their companies are going and what their future plans are. And it's quite amazing actually, very impressive. I mean these are people my age with serious PLANS for the future, going places, doing things. Needless to say, I feel like a real ignoranus (search for that one on Google). I don't have any plans for my future (and I can think of about three people who are going to read that sentence and be up in arms).

There is some good news though. Flyboy 'phoned a company up here in which he has utmost faith when it comes to car trouble resolution. After a few minutes of conversation the guy he was speaking to said he knows what the problem is, bring her in. Bliss! There is hope for my baby! Because, in spite of her glitches, I really like my green "Ferrari."

So, there are ups and downs! I've heard that sometimes it is good to throw away the safety net, to close your eyes and jump and learn to fly. The question is, despite having 37 instructional flights (not specifying type of craft), will I fly?

The worst part is... I just can't help feeling more like a misfit than ever.

Catch You on the Flip Side!

2006-06-09T09:28:00.000+02:00

This was supposed have been posted on Wednesday night - Thanks Blogger!

Hit Pretville last night at 21:00 - too tired to actually blog anything constructive but I have arrived.

This is me, not entirely alcohol free, bidding you a good night from the mighty, large province of the Eastern Cape.

Travel gods willing, I will be blogging next from my Ol' Home Town, Pretoria.

Someone said to me, the day after I was hijacked, "You lead a very exciting life." Hey, it sux sometimes but maybe he was right, I do!

Thanks to all of you out there who are holding thumbs for me - you guys mean more then I can put in words.

So, if you see a dirty green Jetta on the road tomorrow, with dogs eating the cow dung off the rims every time she stops, that's me! Wave!

Spelling Lessons!

2006-06-07T09:37:00.000+02:00

The Metallica incident over the last few days has proven something to me. The people in business in the Eastern Cape generally don't even know how to spell SERVICE let alone offer it. So, without further ado…

Folks, repeat after me. S – E – R – V – I – C – E. Now your homework is to write that out 100 times and to go through the following class notes.

The Dos and Don'ts of How To Offer A Potential Customer Service:

Don't: tell the potential customer to go to your competition up the street when you cannot help them in an emergency. It doesn't matter if you highly recommend your competition because he/she worked at your business for X number of years. What you are in fact doing is a) losing income and b) losing a comeback customer.

Do: be honest with the potential customer when they ask you if you do the wheel alignment yourself after you have fitted a set of shocks. It is safer to say "No, we send it to the wally up the road!" because there is a specific reason the customer is asking if you do the wheel alignment yourself. Namely: after having the wheels aligned at the wally up the road, the car only remains straight on the road when the steering wheel is at a 90º angle. He should advertise wheel non-alignment.

Don't: be afraid to admit that there might be a problem. When Flyboy has to redo your job of shock installation and discovers 26 nonessential washers pushed onto the strut because YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE DOING, you look like a Super-Pajero (re: Kyknoord and the Spanish for Wanker). And you lose a comeback customer.

Don't: tell a potential customer "Don't even bring the vehicle to me because it will take me months to find the problem" because a) that just proves you are an incompetent wally, b) you will lose a customer and income and c) you just really make the potential customer's girlfriend angry.

Do: ensure the parts/tyres are actually in your establishment when the customer has 'phoned you a week in advance, said "Please order the tyres for me, I will be there next week Wednesday at 08:00." You see, because we are living in such a gloriously large province, many people have to drive fairly long distances to get to somewhere that could possibly offer SERVICE (say it slowly and spell it aloud). This process also involves taking a day off work. It is annoying to the extreme degree to arrive at your establishment, discover that you erred and in fact did not order the tyres and like the coward you are, cower behind the receptionist while Flyboy attempts to scalp you with a wrench.

Because of your lack of initiative and bad or total lack of service, you will no longer see my vehicle at any of your establishments. Despite the chant reverberating from the rolling hills, "Support Local," we can't because you are all a bunch of incompetent wallies.

Now, go and study your notes and we people from up-country expect to see an improvement in SERVICE around here! You WILL submit, if I have to drag you all kicking and screaming!!!

The 6th of the 6th of 2006

2006-06-06T18:08:00.000+02:00

If anyone out there listens to 5FM you will have heard the big deal they were making about the dreaded triple 6 date. Well, if anyone is looking for The Beast, it is parked downstairs in the garage posing as a VW Jetta!

Yesterday it was the Relay Number 30 tango in the VW parking lot. This afternoon it was the finger singeing foxtrot to replace The Module in the parking lot of industrial complex! Whiplash struck on the way home!

So, this is me throwing in the towel and looking up the number of an exorcist in the Yellow Pages.

Katt Out of Hell! Or Back in it?

2006-06-05T15:43:00.000+02:00

This last weekend was a potpourri of circumstances here in Cloud Cuckoo Land – that is if potpourri smells like cow manure? Saturday was spent on my own, slogging away at the keyboard, sulking because Flyboy was out having fun, flying off to game farms and I couldn't go with because yet again, I had to work over a weekend. For interest sake, The Viking said I was being unfair because what did I expect? For Flyboy to sit at home just because I couldn't go out? Yes, yes, and yes! *Stomp Stomp Tantrum Tantrum* Me? Unreasonable? NEVER!

The keyboard sonata ended at about 15:00 Sunday afternoon – Flyboy's Strange Employers mustn't know that I actually *gasp* worked on a Sunday! But I managed to salvage the last few hours of the day when Flyboy and I went fishing. Yep, I finally took my new shoes for a test drive! And these little off-road babies handle like champs – not once did I slip on the rocks. We even managed to catch a few smallish bass and Houndus Maximus loves going fishing, especially the release part. Yesterday for the first time he succeeded in catching a released one before it got away. It is quite amusing to watch a pointer/retriever acting like a grizzly bear. He pounced on it with both front paws and looked at me with a "Did you see what I did?" look. I am so proud of you, Baby Dog! And by the way, you have been accepted to Cambridge University, the papers came last week, my little genius!

After a lengthy discussion with Flyboy about "Why Life on the Farm Sux" we went out for supper. Or what was supposed to resemble supper. Flyboy ordered the 1 kg T-bone and yours truly picked what was described as a chicken fillet (chickens have fillets?) done in a mushroom sauce and topped with a shrimp and cheddamelt sauce. Honestly, they might as well have just liquidised the chicken, put the schlop in a bowl and given me a spoon. It was so rich I couldn't get through half of it in time to find the elusive chicken fillet. But, Flyboy to the rescue, the man consumed his T-bone and finished my gloop! He is an ex-Namibian and I sometimes think he has Bushman blood in him. He will eat a meal large enough to feed a small African country and then not eat another thing for three days. He also finished my Drommetjie Petrol (also known in the civilised world as a Dom Pedro).

On the way home, my sweet, darling hunk of junk of a jalopy finally decided that seeing as Flyboy was neglecting her, she would now stop! Or threaten to stop and then stop and then threaten again, and stop. She has officially been renamed Metallica because she makes you head bang.

Today dawned gloriously bright and sunny! And off to town I go on a mission to replace Relay Number 30 (sounds almost like Mumbo Number 5), walk into the VW agents, fork out R125.00 for Relay Number 30 and then proceed to roll around like a mechanic in the road to install Relay Number 30 (the guys who read this blog had so better be impressed). The Coke truck's staff standing across the road were staring at me like I am possessed. But who cares? I am off to go and burn some rubber and test Relay Number 30 out. I think I slipped a disk in my neck!

The good news is being in the fly infested groin of civilisation, the agents can only help me out on Thursday or if I am really lucky, Friday. Tum de tum te dum te dum!

And tonight, oh goodie, I have a meat tanning session because it is Reptile's birthday today! Fortunately I bought myself a Bellville Briefcase (also known as a 5lt box of wine) and I am going drown my little sorrows and hope the suckers don't learn to swim during the process! Sho, bring it on, World, I am sho ready for you. *hic*

If Only Things Could Be Different!

2006-06-03T18:46:00.000+02:00

After spending yet another Saturday alone at home slogging away at the keyboard I decided to escape the confines of my desk and PC and went for a walk on the farm. And I started wondering…

It was a lovely evening tonight. What started off as yet another cold, miserable and wet day morphed into blue skies with a brisk autumn wind. As I walked over the hill towards the tiny lily pad dam I remembered the days when I went for long walks every day. And I remembered all my hopes and dreams I had when I moved down here.

There were so many things I wanted to do, to improve myself, to make me a more rounded person. I wanted to take art lessons, and learn to play guitar and learn Latin American dancing. I wanted to have a herb garden that could rival that of Margaret Roberts' and brew potions and spells. And a vegetable patch and a glorious indigenous garden, and, and, and…

Tonight the fact that I really do live in a beautiful part of the country was driven home. Strangely enough, I have become very much a part of my surroundings. As I walked I could identify all the birds I saw and heard and, after stopping on the top of the hill to admire the colours of the sunset I really felt at one with my surroundings.

After my walk I enjoyed a moment on the balcony watching the last of the sun's rays dip over the horizon with Houndus maximus lying between my feet. And I thought a bit more. I really do love the environment I live in. What went wrong? What happened to all those hopes and dreams I had?

I think I know what happened.

When I was faced with the decision to move down here, Flyboy and I were in the very early stages of our relationship and I had to make a choice. And I made that choice based on who he was at the time and all the promises he made me. He has changed so much since we moved down here that sometimes I look at him and wonder if I ever knew him at all. All the promises he made to me amounting to nothing. It's strange when I think back to the time more than four years ago when I had to make the decision, when I think about how he made me feel and what we meant to each other. When we weren't together it felt like I couldn't breath, it was as if someone had snatched away my oxygen. At the time I thought it was love but now I think I know better, it was panic and anxiety. As I am sitting here typing this he is downstairs reading a hunting magazine and I am upstairs sitting at the PC, typing out a posting for my secret blog. And this is the norm.

The second glitch in the road was money, or the fact that I don't earn anything that is worth calling money. When I do earn something it gets absorbed into the household or used to pay catch up on those long overdue "Things That Have to be Fixed." Of course, with that went all my hopes and dreams because Flyboy's money is for Flyboy's stuff.

I know that I am sounding very embittered as I type this but, that is not really how I feel right now. I just can't help wondering what I would do differently if I knew then what I know now. If I had the money and this farm was up for sale, maybe I would buy it. I would do my art classes and paint the most dark, gloomy storm scenes. I would find a guitar teacher, a proper one and actually learn to play that beautiful unused instrument. Maybe I would even live my dream and be a freelance database designer, I mean these days you can do anything via the internet.

And I would never go near a relationship again.

If only I knew four years ago what I know now. If only things could be different…

Did you really read the news today?

2006-06-03T12:50:00.000+02:00

Folks who read this blog (all 7 of you) might have come to the conclusion that I am probably one of the most politically disinterested people around. And to be honest, if someone has come to that conclusion, you are quite right. I don't read the news, I don't watch it on TV and I don't even vote because what's the point? The floor crossing legislation which was approved by our mighty Constitutional Court subjects your vote to the whims of the candidate's wallet.

You see, there is a very valid reason why I don't have to read the news. I do transcription typing for a living. Nothing can expose you to the grass roots horrors of the country we are living in better than transcription typing.

One of the first horrors transcriptions exposed me to was the TRC hearings. After living a sheltered White existence all my life and believing in the "live and let live" policy, being exposed to what our esteemed White government did was probably one of the most difficult little pills to swallow. This might be the reason why I cannot abide racists to this day.

The next keyboard clobbering stint was with a company who received the contract for the regional court up north. What a joyous experience! Nothing can brighten your day like listening to inadequate prosecutors, accused murderers, hijackers and rapists lie themselves into a corner and one of my personal favourites was the man who said he would have forgiven the 20 year old man who attempted to rape his 70 year old crippled wife if he had just come clean and apologised to him, her husband. Aaah, yes, women are possessions with no right or say.

After I was hijacked something in my brain snapped and I could not do the court stuff anymore. One day, after hearing a woman sobbing on the stand whilst relating her gang rape ordeal, I couldn't take anymore so I resigned.

Currently I am "fortunate" enough to slog away for a company which does mostly private work in the form of disciplinary hearings and arbitrations. So, I don't have to read the news because I know all about the corruption in the Safety and Security "forces" of our country. I know all about the corruption in our prisons, on our police service and in companies trying to meet BEE standards or looking for a scapegoat because someone at the top screwed up.

Yes, my pretties, I get the gorey details at grass roots level. Events like the Zuma rape trial are things I don't even find surprising anymore because there are always three sides to a story, his, hers and only then, the truth.

The funny thing is, despite all of this, I still believe in my country because we have proven ourselves to be a nation of survivors.

The Rural Matriach!

2006-06-03T07:57:00.000+02:00

Thanks to SwissTwist for mailing this to me! I can so relate to this! In fact, I think it happened on a neighbouring farm when the son was sent up to agricultural college. I have it on the good information of a friend who knows the sister's boyfriend's aunt.

Liewe ma

Baie dankie vir die meelsak broek wat ma daar op die plaas vir my gemaak en vir my gestuur het.

Die 'SASKO' oor my boude is pragtig, maar kon ma nie die 'SELF RAISING' op `n ander plek gesit het nie?

Liefde

Jannie

My Life in a Zoo!

2006-05-31T17:08:00.000+02:00

People who symbiotically share their homes with four-legged creatures or, basically anything that is classified as Not Human, might be able to share my sentiments. I have for a long time suspected I am an inhabitant of a zoo and over the past few days I have become convinced of this.

For starters there is Flyboy but I am not going to go there because he is technically speaking classified as human – he has however been called The Woolly Mammoth before though but I don't think that counts.

Exhibit 1: Houndus maximus
This Exhibit is a gundog, not to be confused with a hunting dog, which is often described in hunting and gun magazines as "ever eager" or "over eager." Flyboy starts cleaning his guns and this creature goes into a state of Bezerker. Add to that he takes great joy in carrying around/away shoes of all shapes and sizes – I am now the proud owner of one blue slipper and one cream slipper. His favourite past time has to be sorting through the dirty laundry (usually strewn all over the floor) for trophies. It is very embarrassing when your dog greets a visitor with a pair of your knickers in his mouth. He is also under the impression that it is his god-given right to take over the human bed at 05:00, thus condemning the humans who warmed it for him to about 2 centimetres of space each.

Exhibit 2: Houndus minimus
Exhibit 2 is a temporary visitor of the Jack Russell variety who drags his pet human, SwissMix, over for sleep overs. In the morning, after SwissMix has taken him outside to potty, he makes a beeline for our room because, hey, that's where the fun is. After taking a running leap from the door, landing squarely on your face and chewing on your nose just to check if it is in fact removable, he starts looking for warm spots. His favourite warm spot is underneath the duvet, at your feet. On his little journey down to your feet he takes great joy in nibbling on any sticky outie bits that he might encounter on the way. Two things: He is still a puppy with real needles for teeth and PJ's are usually an optional extra in this house – you work it out!

Fortunately Exhibit 2 is a temporary member of the zoo because the thing is either a wind-up toy or a crack baby.

Exhibit 3: Demon Cat from Hades
In view of the fact that one of the feline occupants was recently sent off to The Big Sandbox in the Sky I decided that it might be a nice gesture to treat the remaining feline a bit and give her some "Wet Whiskas" each night. She usually lives on the dry variety. BIG MISTAKE! It seems the wet variety has awakened her hunting spirit. There are few experiences as eerie as being awoken at 02:00 in the morning to the sound of demonic meowing because The Demon Cat has managed to capture yet another hapless creature. A few days ago I was treated to the sound of Demon Cat devouring a frog behind my office chair while I was in fact occupying it. I pretended I didn't hear her.

Exhibit 4: Varying Number of Frogs, Toads, Snakes, etc (I am convinced I am a witch)
The frogs and toads come into the house because it's cold outside. Houndus maximus approaches his water bowl now with a modicum of caution because IT MIGHT BE OCCUPIED! The bad thing is the toads usually take a nice big cricket-infested dump in his water bowl which I think is a bit rude.

The snakes are usually Demon Cat's escapees. It is a scary experience when you bend down to plug your cell 'phone into its charger and realise the charger's chord is moving!

Oh, did I forget to mention the spiders? I have a couple I greet every morning, by name.

So, occupants of this house, please take note: If you have MORE than TWO legs, you in fact DO NOT own the house. Snakes, you don't have a say!

More Stuph... I couldn't resist this one!

2006-05-31T10:01:00.000+02:00

He's kinda cool, a bit nerdy but I like the killing people with eyes bit. :-)

You Are Cyclops

Dedicated and responsible, you will always remain loyal to your cause.
You are a commanding leader - after all, you can kill someone just by looking at them.
Power: force beams from your eyes

Which of the X-Men Are You?

Stuph...

2006-05-31T09:32:00.000+02:00

My Italian Name…

Your Italian Name Is...

Giovanna Costa

What's Your Italian Name?

What Band Shares My Taste in Music…

Kelly Clarkson Shares Your Taste in Music

See her whole playlist here (iTunes required)

Which Musician (or Group) Shares Your Taste in Music?

Who I Was in a Past Life… This one is interesting, it’s asks for your current occupation. Obviously a typist…

In a Past Life...

You Were: A Gorgeous Executor of Sacrifices.

Where You Lived: Australia.

How You Died: Natural causes.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

Check it out on www.blogthings.com and thanks to SwissTwist for the link.

Conversations At a Rummy Table...

2006-05-31T08:55:00.000+02:00

SwissMix: I just know that Mr Flyboy is going to deal me a good hand now, I have this nugget feeling.

Flyboy (without missing a beat): The nugget feeling is because you are constipated.

Things and Whys

2006-05-30T14:50:00.000+02:00

Something that puzzles me about life is that every cloud has a silver lining and yet many people are struck by lightening every year. You catch my drift?

One day after having made the Big Decision to go up to Sodom and Gomorrah I am reminded of one of the primary reasons why I fled – Crime! Yes, chalk me up on the stats, I was hijacked. My beautiful little Toyota Corolla was taken from me at gunpoint by three, very gentlemanly hijackers whom I suspect were policemen – the police issue handguns and the professional frisk were give-aways. To add to my sorrows, I had only four months left of payments on my little baby and then she would be mine, all mine. For the first time in my life I would have a Big Persons Possession. But naturally, the road of life is never smooth, in my case it is filled with ditches and dongas. The nymphomaniac broker (no exaggeration here) made a total hash of my policy. So, no, I was never reimbursed for my stolen vehicle and I had to continue paying for four months for something I didn't have. Very painful time in my life!

Honestly? I so do not want to ever do that again in my life.

So, here I sit, staring out the window over a spectacular Eastern Cape rural landscape, bathed in autumn sun. And I wonder what the hell am I doing with my life?

There so many people who have fled City Life and made it work in the country and yet, I am a failure. Why? What is wrong with me that I can't make it work?

For the most part the people down here are really nice but I just can't fit in here. Why? What is wrong with me that I can't fit in?

So many people who would give their eye teeth to be in my position and yet, I don't feel happy? Why? What is wrong with me that I can't feel grateful?

And now I am scared, scared to go, scared to stay.

What is wrong with me?

I am so tired! I am so tired of thinking!

I don't think I can do this! Can someone pull the emergency brake, please? I want to get off the world because I just can't do this bullshit called Life anymore.

Between Scylla and Charybdis...

2006-05-29T17:02:00.000+02:00

For sometime now I have been toying with the idea of asking Flyboy for a trial separation for something like a three month period. The reasoning behind this was to go up to my good ol' hometown of Pretville and test the waters in terms of being able to adjust to City Life again. However, over the last few weeks it became apparent that there is a very small likelihood that I would be given the keys of freedom.

So, after a long chat with SwissMix, I did something this weekend in a slightly inebriated state - I needed the Dutch courage. Unlike Kyk's stalker though, I didn't SMS another man at 01:00 from Flyboy's cell 'phone. I mailed the woman whom I do typing work for and asked her if she could give me a reason to go up to Pretoria which I could present to Flyboy as "making financial sense."

Of course, life cannot be smooth. If only I could say I had a really awful weekend then receiving the "yes, I can help you with work, come up to Pretoria" e-mail this morning would have seemed like the answer, the chance to escape. But, as luck would have it, I had a wonderful weekend. SwissMix spent the weekend with us and we had a really wonderful time together, the three of us.

Having said that, I know the high is temporary. When Flyboy and I are alone together the old frustrations and irritations (on both our sides) will set in again. So, here I am, planning on going up north again this coming weekend for at least two months. Although it is with a sense of excitement, it is with a sense of trepidation as well.

My greatest fear is the possible consequence of my going, that being my not coming back. Flyboy, with all his faults, is a good person and I don't want to hurt him. One thing I really hate is being dishonest about this but I don't see any other option.

Oh, what a tangled web I weave...

More Self-Absorption!

2006-05-26T11:18:00.000+02:00

Despite wanting desperately to write a happy bit today, I can't. Somewhere, somehow I fell into a big dark hole. I know the way to out is up but, there doesn't seem to be a rope and no footholds either.

Yesterday, after finally managing to finish a bit of work, the excuse to escape for a few hours presented itself. The next batch of pain inducing work would be arriving at Maw's and its okay to "waste petrol" in the name of earning an income. You see, I have to serve some purpose and I fail miserably as a housewife. The Inquisition questioned as to why I wanted to leave so early because the work would only be arriving much later. I couldn't come up with an answer so the verdict was delivered: Katt wants to go gallivanting AGAIN.

What an indescribable pleasure to hit the road! The open road, ZZ Top blaring out the speakers and just absolute, unadulterated freedom! There is something about driving that makes one feel you are the master of your own destiny. The bad part about driving is the journey usually ends and at some stage you have to turn around and go "home."

The idea behind the early escape from the facebrick tower was to visit an internet café and indulge in what was intended to be an hour of guilt-free surfing and chatting. Unfortunately it was very quiet in Cyberland so, I decided on the next best option – a leisurely stroll on the beach. Thinking back, it might not have been a good idea because somewhere on the beach someone threw me a shovel and the hole got deeper.

There is a saying; you can't miss what you never had. Here's how the saying applies.
Had: Two weeks of life
Miss: Being alive
My magic wand seems to be broken because as much as I wave it and chant the magic words, those two weeks just won't go away. And there is a part of me that wants it to go away because the damage is sometimes too much to handle. And there is a part of me that wants to hold on to it and wear it like a big warm jersey.

So, why don't I just leave? Good question. Answer: Because I don't trust myself to make the decision. Without exception, when I have to make a decision I make the wrong one.

I am my own worst enemy!

PS: In a few… days, month, years, I will probably discover this and think "What a twit!"

Ups and Downs - a slightly self-absorbed posting!

2006-05-25T12:49:00.000+02:00

And just when I thought things were boring…

Unfortunately the competition is closed but today was the day when you could win a week for two on Gough Island and a Datsun.

Solve this riddle:

Maw 'phones, panic stricken which means it is computer related. Here's the scenario.

She was innocently sitting in front of her PC, typing. She leant forward to reach for something and her ample chest (it's genetic) inadvertently brushed her keyboard and her monitor went blank.

This has to historically be the first case of boobs nuking a PC.

After having a good giggle at Maw's expense my day hit a record low! A friend had e-mailed me a photo taken when I was up north. It is humanly possible to turn out so hideous on photos? When I expressed my shock and horror my friend told me people say it's pretty. I have a couple of MAJOR problems with that statement:

a) That means "people" have seen that photo. Who exactly is "people" because I have to go and kill them.

b) "People" must have really low standards because if that is anyone's idea of being pretty, they are smoking their socks!

Yes, it did occur to me that maybe I am wrong because I am up against the rest of the world here but I am a Virgo, I demand perfection from myself and today I had to face the fact that I fall short of the mark.

Warning to all unsuspecting photographers out there: If anyone ever points a camera at me again I will shred you, I promise.

A Sweet Smelling Reptile!

2006-05-24T09:47:00.000+02:00

Finally, the sun comes out. I was beginning to think I had been teleported to England.

Not much has been happening in cloud cuckoo land other than pouring rain and being chained to this PC typing my frozen fingers off. But, like the sun breaking through the clouds this morning last night we had a break in the tedium – our weekly instalment of the meat tanning session was held at Reptile's house.

Reptile is an interesting character; he is a proudly South African "boerseun" and even more proudly Afrikaans. Despite being loud, brash and a compulsive liar, his heart is in the right place. He also staunchly believes in the concept of Afrikaner culture and, at the annual farmer's association get together, will windsurf across the dance floor to anything from "boere musiek" to Steve Mofmeyer. I must add that I think the band is in his head because I was once whisk off to indulge in a tandem windsurfer ride and nearly fell flat on my face – my rhythm ain't his rhythm.

Having mentioned his taste in music, and I must add that taste would probably not be the appropriate word to describe it, I am breaking out in a cold sweat when I think of the times we have been treated to his version of "Afrikaans Kultuur." I am a passionate lover of music and although "boere musiek" and the Kurt, Steve and Campells offerings do not fall within my sphere of appreciated tones, there is some really brilliant Afrikaans music out there. Names that come to mind are Valiant Swart and one of my great vocal heroes, Arno Carstens who is very much Afrikaans even though he sings in English. So, being open minded it was with great patience that I listened to Reptile's one CD which he proudly labelled "Afrikaans Kultuur." How do you explain to someone that a song that starts "MacDonalds, MacDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Pizza Hut" is NOT culture in any language and constitutes an insult to the musical instruments being used without offending them?

Whilst I was up in Pretoria The Viking and I had lengthy debates about this Afrikaans music phenomenon. The Viking sagely said that before I return to the Doldrums he was sure that a new "Kultuur" CD would "grace" the racks. Yes, there is was, on TV – folks, dash out now and buy your own copy of "Skud, Skud." Now I know what to buy Reptile for his birthday.

Having made Reptile's name mud it is time to turn the tables.

It is a well-known fact around here that in the days when my brain was still used on a daily basis I worked in the IT industry. Because of this I am constantly called upon to assist with internet connections, blue screens and website design – I was a database administrator, can you spot the mistake in this picture? Reptile is a professional hunter as well as being a farm manager and currently he is busy redesigning his own website. Once again my "expertise" was called upon to peruse his newly reconstructed website on his laptop. The nature of the LCD screen of course forced us to stand quite close together and was aggravated by the fact that, as usual, he wouldn't relinquish the mouse and "let me drive." What is it with people and refusing to let someone else use the mouse? Anyway, being in such close proximity to him my nasal passages got a subtle, rather glorious whiff of some or other aftershave or deodorant and I confess it was somewhat yummy. My feline instincts kicked in and I had this urge to stalk him. Oh my word! I am becoming desperate! This is Reptile for heavens sakes! The guy smells of cow pats most of the time.

Fortunately sanity prevailed and I managed to take a mental step back and reassess the situation. But, the moral of the story is a man who smells good is well… just rather yummy regardless of looks, personality and taste in music.

Yes, the train is definitely busy derailing!

I'm Gonna Walk All Over You...

2006-05-22T15:43:00.000+02:00

(Breaking the No Internet Rule)

It is a well-known fact that women have shoe fetishes and being a woman, well, *blush* I confess I have one too. It is also a well-known fact that women like blogging about their newly acquired accessories and, well, why be different?

A while ago I browsed through a shore store and fell in love with a pair of shoes. Unfortunately there was nothing in my size (The joy of having small feet. Flyboy says it is because nothing grows in the shade). So, the elusive size 5 was duly ordered!

Today, on this cold, windy day I was informed that my mini shoes had arrived. Oh yippee, retail therapy! And I bought them, they are gorgeous!

Unfortunately I don't have a funky digital camera (yet) so the imagination will have to be dusted off and applied. Picture: Chunky soled, amphibious Rocky sandals in military colours. I'm in love, they are perfect, they are me!

The rest of the afternoon is going to be booked off for bass fishing. I've just got to take these little babies for a test drive.

That's all, Folks!

2006-05-19T08:28:00.000+02:00

This blog will be dormant until the network dishes out the 3G bundles for the next month.

The blogger will be suffering from withdrawals as she will have minimal contact with the outside world, no e-mail, no chats, no intellectual conversation.

Until we meet again, Auf Wiedersehen!

On Virgos and Friendship!

2006-05-18T17:07:00.000+02:00

Something I have noticed many times in Blogland is the number of Virgos who blog – I notice this because I am one myself and I can recognise a nutty yet tortured soul when I see one.

Personally I don't attach much weight to the star signs but, I do own a copy of Linda Goodman's Love Signs. The first time I perused the book was during my lonely days in the Helderberg basin where Suicide Sunday was spent at a bookshop in Somerset Mall. Out of curiosity I picked up the hefty volume, flicked over to Virgo and started reading all about … myself. "Oh bugger," I thought, "if anyone reads this they will know me inside and out!" Then I hid the book behind a stack of other books, dashed to draw cash in order to whisk away this detailed explanation of myself before anyone else got hold of it. Duh! At that time the book had been in publication for about 600 years (slight exaggeration). What a blonde!

Lately my thoughts have been pretty much all over the show but, one of the ponderings that keep oozing to the surface in my quagmire of a mind is the concept of "friendship." And today I was wondering if my being a Virgo affects my friendships.

My entire life is marked by "friends" who have come and gone but the point is, most of them are no longer a part of my life. I used to think that maybe I meet up with the dregs of humanity but now I am beginning to realise that maybe it is not them but *gasp* ME. To substantiate my point I must go off on a bit of a tangent there. Recently someone intelligent enough to think about it asked where does "Katt" come from. It was a good question because I had actually forgotten and the dusty old filing cabinet in my brain marked 'My Younger Days' was opened and I remembered. One book that made an impression on me as a child was a book of Rudyard Kipling stories, my favourite being The Cat That Walks Alone. Even at the age of ten I could identify with that creature and I still can. In later years, when I had to come up with a nick during my internet café days that was the first thing that popped into my head and it has stuck with me ever since.

So, how does this link with being a Virgo? Well, Virgo thought patterns are different. I would love to have been able to substantiate this point with a quote out of Linda Goodman's book but I can't find the passage. I can't remember the story down pat either but it went something like this. A teacher was teaching a class of young children and she drew two dots on the blackboard and asked the class what is the shortest distance between the two dots. All the kiddies said the straight line between the two dots but the little Virgo boy put his hand up, came up with a totally different solution and proved everyone wrong. For the life of me I cannot remember the solution but the point is this, Virgos think differently about things and almost always see things differently, not because they want to, it's just the way it is.

I am beginning to wonder if this is not the reason why I have been suffering from foot-in-mouth disease my entire life. Inadvertently people are offended when something which is meant as a compliment it is taken as an insult. Needless to say, despite many apologies later, the "insulted" turns tails and flees out of my life because "Man, she is just too weird."

Friendship, both giving and receiving is a totally new facet to my life. Bizarre as it may seem I am like a baby learning to walk. And having said that and to tune in to Shutterjane again, I have been really lucky to have made some really amazing friends because of this blog. I have managed to stay in touch with some of my real life friends too.

Recently I think I offended or "freaked out" a friend by basically just being a Virgo again. The frustration and helplessness of wanting to take the words back but being unable to felt like a panic attack.

To get what is really in my heart onto paper I just want to say that each and everyone of you out there who mail me, comment on my blog and who chat with me, you are the fine line between my sanity and my dementia, my happiness and my loneliness.

Please be patient with me, I am learning what friendship is about with people who walk upright and don't drag their knuckles on the ground.

Questions!

2006-05-17T13:37:00.000+02:00

Rhetorical ones…

Why did no one tell me we are going to have a power cut today?

This may not seem important to anyone else but in order for me to earn a meagre living I actually need electricity because this hunk of junk masquerading as a PC does not work on butane. And I have a DEADLINE, people!

Why don't people toilet train their pets anymore?

First we had Reptile and his dog living with us for four months. Reptile was toilet trained but poochus wasn't. It was not fun. SwissMix, who stays here at least two nights a week, now has a Houndus minimus which isn't toilet trained. So, how bad can it be? Well, in an attempt to escape yet another brain numbing braai last night I went for a cancer stick on the balcony… and stepped in a nice fresh land mind… in my sheepskin slippers. Not fun!

Why is no one around when you need to share a moment of dawning realisation with them?

Last night I had a moment of realisation. It's not a case of IF I pack my bags and leave anymore, it is a case of WHEN. Last night's weekly gathering to tan meat on the fire was just a bit more than I could handle. Being in desperate need of some intelligent conversation I 'phoned a friend but not because I want to be a millionaire, I wanted to share my breakthrough with someone. Friend was "Busy" and thus I had to keep my breakthrough to myself. My interpretation of "Phone me when you need me" obviously needs some rethinking.

If I run where would I go?

I don't know, Pretoria is a strong contender for the number one spot but the jury is not out on that one yet. I wonder what Pofadder is like. Maybe I should indulge in my dream of being an 18 wheel truck driver, then I can run all the time.

What do you do with old underwear?

Is there any function for an old bra? Or old knickers? There is a pile of unmentionables tucked away in a cupboard which is kept firmly shut because Houndus maximus takes great joy in decorating our front lawn with underwear and socks – very embarrassing when people come over for coffee. I can't throw them away because my domestic digs them out the dustbin and puts them in the cupboard again. It doesn't feel right to use them as rags because… well, dusting surfaces with a pair of Jockeys just doesn't seem right. Any suggestions for the returning underwear syndrome?

Why isn't my name Jo-anne?

Notice to Viewers!

2006-05-16T12:48:00.000+02:00

In case during the next few weeks until month end anyone out there thinks yours truly has fallen off the face of Blogworld I would just like to announce that this will in fact NOT be the case.

Blogger has been eating our Vodafone allocated 500 megabytes faster than a hawk moth caterpillar goes through an arum lily (it’s strange the things you learn on the farm). It takes me about 2 to 5 MB to create one posting. Add another 10 required to correct the resulting balls up caused by the fact that this 3G thing’s GPRS signal dropped mid-post. Needless to say, the usage rockets.

Flyboy becomes decidedly grumpy when we exceed our limit and well, let’s just say it is safer to stay within the limits of my cage.

An occasional peek and sneak into my Gmail box will probably be permissible and I would love to hear from anyone out there – the mental stimulation thing again.

To quote Arnie and Bon Jovi in one sentence: I will be back, dead or alive!

Foreign Exchange Men

2006-05-15T21:59:00.000+02:00

During high school we would from time to time have a new and exciting phenomenon appearing at our school – the mysterious foreign exchange student. The excitement wore off after realising that these are just normal girls (all girls school, you see) who have strange accents. But the concept of foreign exchange is something that should be implemented to and fro across the Eastern Cape border.

Since moving down here it dawned on me that if I knew then what I know now I would have packed my bags shortly after high school and moved down to a tiny little rural town. The logic behind this is that there is no shortage of good looking, young farmers around. There is however a severe shortage of eligible women down on the farm and if a single girl arrives on the scene it isn’t long before she is seriously involved or married. My little bubble burst a while ago when I realised that the thought of being married to a farmer would probably be similar to removing my brain and putting it in a jar on the mantle piece next to the family photos and all the other bric-a-brac that is apparent in most farmhouses.

Farm boys are really nice, wholesome characters and there are some really good looking ones in the litter. There is however one glaring problem – the choice of topics of conversation are a bit on the repetitive side. Mental stimulation probably amounts to a statement like “I am horny.”

Since starting my own blog and being a regular reader of a number of others, I have discovered that there is a wealth of interesting, intelligent men out there but it seems they are all in the cities. I have to say this in the hopes of redeeming myself for the “Are Men Un-Evolving?” posting.

So here is my foreign exchange suggestion. City boys must move down to the rural areas for a while and for each city boy that crosses the border and has his passport stamped a farm boy traverses the same border in the other direction to the city. It’s a win-win situation. City boys can hone those bods, work on a farmer’s tan and get in touch with their inner-wild man – think the Matthew McConnaughty look. Farm boys in turn might acquire a bit of exposure to life and thus actually have something to talk about when they get back.

I wonder if this would fall under the home affairs or foreign affairs because again, I might be on to something here…

Huh?

2006-05-12T21:07:00.000+02:00

Could there be an conceivable reason why I get hits from Portuguese/Spanish and sports orientated blogspots?

Maybe I should start blogging in Portuguese or Spanish about sport... nah, don't think so! This blog would be as blank as my bank balance if I did.

Does anyone else's stats make precisely this much sense?

Are Men Un-Evolving?

2006-05-12T19:56:00.000+02:00

Everyone has heard the clichés about men and their caves and I don’t want to belabour a point but circumstances dictate that I have to get this off my ample chest (I’m not bragging, the ampleness is a curse).

People have been debating and arguing for centuries whether or not we originated from apes and in my humble opinion, the answer is very simple. Yes, we do! This is supported by the simple fact that men don’t know how to operate the close function of a door or a window because we must have lived in caves at some stage.

I have lost count of the number of times a day I have to schlep through the house and close the doors that have been left open by Flyboy and his cronies. What is it about men and doors? Is there some mythical force that prevents them from pulling a door closed behind them when they have entered/exited?

Some points to reinforce my statement:

A phone call I received whilst up in the Fleshpots of Gauteng. He misses me (sweet) because he keeps on forgetting to close the doors and the windows at night (aaah, that "I live to serve" thing again). As a result he wakes up at 03h00 because his teeth are chattering so much he has a headache.

Last winter we had polar bears knocking on the door asking if they can come in because the temperature within these walls was more ambient than outside.

When driving around on the farm all the windows of the vehicle MUST be open, regardless of season, weather, biting flies, flies, flying cow pats, etc – this applies to ALL the men here on the farm. And Flyboy wonders why he is cold. I’ve given up trying to explain.

A point from my sordid past, my pet Neanderthal (read ex-boyfriend) had a very large luxury German vehicle (no, the story about men with big cars isn’t applicable in his case) with all those pesky window controlling buttons on the driver’s side. He would open ALL the windows in winter. Have you any idea how cold and biting winters are in Jo’burg? Imagine a blonde in an enormous black Beamer. Sounds good? Add a blue face to the blonde and see what you can come up – Smurfette!

A tip for guys with girlfriends with long hair: If her hair is loose, don’t open the windows all the way whilst driving. I promise you, she is not swatting at flies around her head, she is trying to get her hair out of her eyes and mouth.

Maybe I am generalising. Maybe there are men out there who aren’t trained apes. Maybe Flyboy would close doors and windows if they had joysticks instead of handles.

Hm, maybe I should go and see a patent lawyer, I might be onto something.

Water, Water Everywhere... Or is it?

2006-05-11T08:34:00.000+02:00

City folks are very fortunate in that they can turn on a tap and from the opening spews clean water. Well, mostly clean if you ignore the odd rat-tailed maggot and the HTH taste. In the rambling rural areas water supply to your abode is basically your own problem because there are no municipal pipes here.

Since moving down here three and a bit years ago it has dawned on me that the local Xhosa water god really hates my guts.

The first dwelling Flyboy and I occupied was an old worker’s cottage which had been converted into a weekend getaway cottage – if you are into the weekend from hell I can recommend it. For the first ten days of occupation we had to endure water that evoked childhood memories. Do you remember that kid in the class who brought a stink bomb to school and it broke in the classroom? Or how about the other kid whose mother didn’t want her to make friends and always made her egg mayonnaise sandwiches (that was me by the way)? That charming smell was exactly how the water smelt. In fact it was so bad that you had to wear a gas mask to hang up the washing because obviously the clothes were drenched in this foul smelling water. Oh, after taking a shower you had to keep your distance from anyone in the nearby vicinity for about ten minutes, just out of respect for their olfactory organ because man, you stank!

In order to combat this assault on the nasal passages I went to extremes. I bought Vinolia soap. The result was equivalent to spraying toilet spray after a hefty bowel release session and the two odours combining to create a nauseating aroma. Flyboy also got a few strange glances at work because he smelt decidedly feminine.

We later discovered that the reason for this smelly water was that the water level in the dam was fairly low and the pipe was drawing water from the bottom of the dam. The stench was a result of the decaying plant matter lying at the bottom. Or at least I hoped it was only decaying plant matter as I tried to block the image of myself with a gory frog leg stuck to my forehead after a shower.

The water god had fun with me too. About once a week, on any given day, I would be in the shower, covered from head to toe in soap, conditioner dripping into my eyes and presto, the water would disappear! I kid you not, it never once happened when Flyboy was in the shower! We never could figure out what happened to the water but we suspect it had something to do with cows, drinking troughs and ball valves. I prefer my “portal to another dimension” theory though, it is more interesting.

We have since moved from our humble beginnings and now live in what resembles a house – that is another story all together. However one legacy that has moved with us is the wacky water. For starters Flyboy’s Strange Employers had a borehole drilled for the house but never bothered to buy a borehole pump. Luckily Flyboy is a man with a plan and he managed to rig up a system using pressure pumps, lots of pipe and a healthy dose of cursing. The only problem is now you need a degree in mechanical engineering to figure out what exactly gets opened and closed at which specific point.

The reason for this long-winded watery saga? Well, the Xhosa water god struck again last night as he has on odd occasions just to remind me he is still there. There was little ol’ me, all soaped up and nowhere to go in the shower when presto, the water vanished (at 23h00).For a change I actually laughed because you know, these local deities are more powerful than you are.

At least the water doesn’t smell anymore.

Feeling Useless – a Morbid Peek into My Tortured Soul!

2006-05-10T20:43:00.000+02:00

Today has been a day of feeling useless!

First thing that happens is a distant friend relates to me that things are going wrong with his fledgling company! That’s the last thing he needs and the last thing that I want to happen to him because, if anyone can do this company thing, he can. I believe in this man’s concept and his abilities. And all I can do, being so far and being so isolated, is offer myself as a sounding board, someone who he can ‘phone and blow off steam because damn it, the world can be a hectic place sometimes. And what happens? He tells me “Thanks, but it’s not necessary.”

It feels like someone kicked me in the stomach! It is a rare occasion that I feel so superfluous.

Does this mean a friendship is like a relationship? “Oh, I can handle your problems and be there for you but my problems are bigger than you!” Yeah, I am having a neurotic moment but what the hell, this is my space! I’m a woman, neuroses are my prerogative. And I sure as hell don’t understand this friendship concept.

And now I am stuck in the standard Loco Locals (thanks, Kyk – very apt) night from hell: A braai, hunting stories, flying stories, "my willy is bigger than yours"and darts. I’ve been sitting at this PC for a while and no one has noticed I am missing. Maybe that is a saving grace!

The words of a maestro, Mr Moore, Mr Gary Moore:
All messed up
And no place to go!

But these are my problems of my own creation and somewhere, somehow I will have to find my way. The strange thing about life is that tomorrow, the sun will rise, it will be a bright new day and the pieces will be picked up and the curtains will rise because the show must go on.

Yawn

2006-05-10T17:27:00.000+02:00

The Sandman is after me. There is nothing like transcription typing to cure insomnia. The only problem is that when you do go and try and sleep you feel guilty about the remainder of the yawn inducing waffle left on the tape that still has to be transcribed. *sigh*

Someone employ me, please! Selling my body on the street corner would be too scandalous for this tiny farming community so if anyone can think of employment for a Katt with problems with authority, please look me up.

Being Assimilated Back into “The Norm”

2006-05-09T17:33:00.000+02:00

There should be a law that you are allowed to throttle your parents under special circumstances. Okay, so that is a bit harsh but where does the insanity end?

This story has a bit of history that has to be related.

Sometime during my stay up in Sodom and Gomorrah Maw ‘phones me, panic-stricken, she has lost her Alt codes. Now for those of you who have used Word Perfect as a word processor understand this concept. It is a set of codes whereby you depress the Alt key and then a series of numbers and it gives you the related character, like è or ê, etc. It is very handy when you have to type funny languages like, say Afrikaans for example. In fact, it is so handy that Microsoft adopted the same system. So, Mummy Dearest has lost her Alt codes and now her long suffering daughter has to talk her through the process of accessing Insert, Symbol, blah, blah, blah. Let me just add here quickly that my mother and technology are two elements that are highly incompatible. There is no doubt in my mind that I am going to get a brain tumour as a result of spending that long a period of time on my cell ‘phone.

This morning I was summoned to the court of The Odd Couple to a) update her anti-virus software license and b) to figure out what on God’s green earth she did do to lose her Alt codes. Firstly the anti-virus CD doesn’t want to read because, hey, the CD Rom is 3 years old and welcome to the fast-paced world of technology. Then to tackle the mysterious Alt Code Disappearance (can you hear the theme song from The Twilight Zone playing in the background?).

You try and figure out what this woman did three weeks after the fact! I challenge anyone to figure out her next bugger up and you will win a week for two on Gough Island and a Datsun! After about half an hour of trying to find anything vaguely related to Alt and Codes on Word Perfect it’s onto the internet to see if the Corel website can be of more assistance. Nada! I even check existing Alt commands just to make sure the offending key is actually working. Big surprise! It is.

So, next step, ‘phone the woman for whom we do the transcription typing because she is pretty clued up on the programme. Hey, give me a break here, I work on the thing, I don’t play around on it. Whilst explaining the situation to her she starts cracking her sides laughing because she is familiar with Maw’s panic button – it doesn’t take much for it to be pushed. Then the wise woman we work for says: “Is the number pad locked?” I blushed, said thanks to her, passed the ‘phone back to Maw as a shriek of mirth erupted from the ear piece. And depressed the Num Lock key. The light came on, literally and figuratively!

But that’s not all!

We ‘phone the local computer repair/supply… what’s it called? An IT solutions company and I explained that the CD for the anti-virus license was not being read. Chickie Babe on the ‘phone says please bring the case in because it can’t be the CD as that has been checked. My reply is I will get back to them. I explain the situation to Maw and Maw says: “Okay, let me just go and put on town clothes.” I asked her what is the significance of tarting herself up and her reply? “So you can take me to take the PC in.” Oh, of course, silly me. I have no life, I live to serve you and play taxi driver. And I haven’t had a cigarette for what, oh, TWO HOURS because you will have a hernia if you know I smoke and you are driving me INSANE! Luckily I was saved by the fact that I had made a hair appointment prior to stopping off at Maw’s. I am learning, it has taken 33 years but I am learning.

The previous paragraph serves as an intro to my next adventure, the hair appointment (I am so clever – and smug too). Okay, besides the fact that I feel like a shorn sheep – it’s not that much shorter but it feels like it - and besides the face that NO ONE noticed my trimmed tresses, it was quite an enjoyable experience. Oh, to be pampered again. I know, I am cheap, no facials, manicures, pedicures, etc, just a hair cut once a year and The Katt purrs.

There was however one jarring note. Hell, there would have to be otherwise I would have nothing to tell. The young lady who washed my hair didn’t warm up the shampoo or conditioner before she applied it to my knobbly scalp. The gloop was ice cold. She froze my frontal lobes, three times. I … am… functioning… at… a… much… slower… pace… now.

On the subject of a knobbly scalp, I really must make a point of going for a hair cut more often. Yours truly is of those unfortunate soles who are prone to moles and there are two on my noggin – no Sinead O’ Connor look for me. Each time I go for a trim I have to explain to the trimmer that I have these knobs on my head because of a nasty experience once with a male trimmer – he nearly combed the damn things off and it was rather painful. Bear in mind, you have to divulge this somewhat unpleasant info quite loudly because there is the noise of hair dryers and all sorts to contend with. Okay, so honesty is the best policy, right? Well, honesty doesn’t save you the embarrassment of the hair dresser taking a deep breath and diving into your mane looking for the offending bumps. Listen up, woman, one of those lumps grosses me out at the best of times and you made me feel very self-conscious.

By the way (no fancy previous paragraph intro here), I have found a way to take revenge on Flyboy. A short bit of history here…

I love guitar! Nearly two and a half years ago I bought myself the most beautiful acoustic guitar complete with electric pick-up and steel strings. I know, half the guitar playing world just said: “Rather get gut strings because they are softer on your fingers.” You don’t understand, folks, I want to bleed for my music.

(A quickie on this subject: On the day I bought this instrument of beauty I ‘phoned Maw and told her I had spoilt myself. She said: “Ooooh, did you buy yourself a food processor?” In case you don’t know this, Maw is obsessed with food, I fall into the decidedly NOT obsessed with food category).

Anyway, last Sunday was the first time I have ever had what could be described as a music lesson (in my life – pity my teacher, please. My brother got the guitar lessons, I got the swimming training and the canoe, where is the canoe now I ask myself). Last night I unleashed my baby, my plectrum and myself and started… what? It can’t be called playing. Well, started strumming, cursing, going crazy, plucking, practising, swearing at the F chord (it’s not called the F chord for nothing), you get the picture! At one stage it felt like I was doing something right so I called up to the study asking Flyboy if he thought that sounded better. I got a strangled, choking “Hm” back. Oh goodie, revenge! Flyboy, you kill my cat, I play guitar. But it does mean no Carnegie Hall for me. *sigh* There is a thin musician in me dying to get out, I know it.

Now time to go stick my head in the oven and defrost my frontal lobes! I wonder if I will manage to nuke the little suckers on my head at the same time.

The Strange Ponderings of My Twisted Mind!

2006-05-08T09:05:00.000+02:00

More and more I am beginning to believe in the miserable saying “You are born alone, you die alone.” Okay, in my case that doesn’t hold water because there was a doctor present, I assume my mother and maybe a nurse or two. But it’s the general message of the saying that I have been thinking about lately.

Most people are involved in relationships, whether it is a relationship with your family members, relationships with friends, relationships with a partner, there are always relationships. There are always people in your life but the question is how well do these people understand you?

This weekend I experienced a Pearl of Incredulity which didn’t come from The Odd Couple, it was supplied by Flyboy. The two of us spent the weekend at an airfield, sleeping in a friend’s hangar which has two small apartments in the hangar. Flyboy was busy holding court; regaling his cronies with stories about flying and mechanics and all the sorts of things I have heard a number of times. As usual I could have fallen off the face of the earth and he wouldn’t have noticed – I don’t mind this anymore, I have gotten used to it. After telling him I was going to town quickly, a friend and I went to hunt down supplies for the evening’s festivities but we first stopped over at his house, had a beer, watched the tail end of the Sharks, Stormers match on TV and then went out hunting. On the way back to the airfield my cell rings and I get the “Where are you? I am starving, why have you been gone so long, blah, blah, blah?”

Now, Flyboy’s little episode left me rather gob smacked for a number of reasons. Firstly the man was sitting in a hangar surrounded by food of all shapes and sizes. When we got to the airfield he hadn’t even started the fire, he sat there in a miserable little heap, getting cold and sulking. Thirdly this is the man who thinks nothing of leaving me alone at airfield while he has fun and enjoys himself but woe betide poor old me if I flex the odd two hours of freedom muscle and go and enjoy myself as much as he is enjoying himself. My mind boggles! Maybe he should shorten my chain.

“Friends” is also a concept that I battle to understand. I got asked this weekend by someone whom I consider a friend if I am happy to be back in the Land of the Living Dead. I said “No.” His compassionate response: “Oh. By the way, did I tell you about the developments on the airfield and that there is an avgas shortage, yackety yak!” This was further enforced by the fact that I ‘phoned another friend because I was feeling a bit alone in a crowd and I wanted to have some company for a minute or two. I came to the conclusion that when you have been out of friendship circles for a long time people become absorbed in their own lives and the circle, it isn’t easy to just step back in and make a cameo appearance for a short while.

Having said that maybe I am being a bit harsh, maybe I am not the kind of person people associate with being needy, maybe it was a good thing not to talk to someone because then you don’t focus on the problem and you get to feel better a bit later and pretend the problem has gone away.

One thing I find really, really strange is that no one in my real life asks me “How are you?”

Clipping My Wings and Farm Tales!

2006-05-05T10:05:00.000+02:00

Is there a form you have to fill in to apply for Damsel in Distress status? And do you get a disability grant? I think I have just become one.

Clipping My Wings
Thanks to the ridiculous fuel price I am not allowed to go to town anymore. Okay, it's not a big loss because town is one of those really ugly agricultural dives where the most prominent buildings are the Co-op, the bank, the church(es) and the bottle store(s) (the bottle stores are an asset though). However my town day was my one day of freedom and it wasn't much of a freedom because the list of things to do is endless and by the time you get home you say to yourself "Never again!" Every now and then I do get a chance to squeeze in a few minutes of Me Time though but it seems that has all come to an end. I am not allowed to go to town 'willy-nilly' because petrol is too expensive. I am however allowed to go to town when we are going to the airfield because it's okay to spend money on flying and driving 100kms to the airfield. Is it just me or doesn't this seem entirely fair? It is not FAIR! *stomp, stomp, tantrum, tantrum*

So, here I am in my facebrick tower, alone with clipped wings. Is there a knight out there?

And now for something entirely different. I have to share with the world the height of intelligence that I have to live with here.

The DVD Saga
The farm Flyboy works on has two other guys employed in managerial type positions and then a whole squad of labourers. Let's call them Reptile and SwissMix. Now SwissMix had an astronomical DVD collection which he has been lending to Reptile because Reptile has an impressive DVD player but no DVDs. This lend and borrow arrangement has been to our advantage as we have spent many an enjoyable evening at Reptile's house watching SwissMix's DVDs.

The twist in the tale came in when Reptile went on leave recently. One of the farm labourers approached SwissMix asking for a key for Reptile's house because he wanted to swap the batch of DVDs he had borrowed for a fresh batch. Apparently SwissMix's eyes bulged when he realised that Reptile was lending out SwissMix's DVDs without him even knowing about it.

Reptile, Dude, bad style!

The Rocky Road
Quite a few years ago before Flyboy started working on this farm his employers built a road to the nearest tar road using a type of soil made up of clay and gravel. Over the years the road has been exposed to the elements and the occasional haphazard scraping and as a result, the surface has worn away and these large, sump-munching rocks are now rearing their ugly heads. This does not auger well for my poor old chariot (not a utility vehicle) because she is being shaken apart.

One fine sunny day a while back Flyboy's boss comes to him and says to him he must come up with a way to solve the problem of the rocks "pushing up through the surface of the road." Pushing up? Oooooh, these are those plant-like rocks that grow when you water them. Gee, it couldn't actually be because the road surface is being eroded away.

This is a man with an engineering masters degree in agriculture. Is there stupidity medication available yet?

The Mother's Day/Mother's Birthday Fiasco (A Pearl of Incredulity)
If there is anyone out there who, by some quirk of fate, has a mother whose birthday occasionally falls on the same day as Mother's Day, you have my innermost sympathy. Maw has been planning the bash to end all bashes for the last three months and I have to be the sounding board. It is 09:15 according to my clock and I have already had two 'phone calls regarding recipes and whether I have ever bought those frozen sausage rolls you get at the supermarket and if yes, how do they taste. Oh, and I have been instructed that her birthday present will be my hard labour in her garden.

After about 5 minutes of her incessant chatter about food (her obsession, my bane), the new "cute thing their cat did," Paw's phlegm in his chest and exactly what work I have to do in her garden she says to me "You aren't very chatty, why don't you ever talk to me?" Mother, you actually have to shut up in order for me to talk.

Update: It's now three 'phone calls, I have to go and wash her carpets too at some stage.

Oh, there had so better be a good place in heaven for me!

Damsel in Distress, as defined by Katt!

2006-05-04T10:04:00.000+02:00

Shutterjane sparked something in the one functioning half of my brain when she posted a snippet about chivalry on her website. Apart from the raised eyebrows after I posted my literary offering, I also got a request from a charming blogger who goes by the pseudonym Kyknoord to please define a Damsel in Distress seeing as a knight cannot live in a vacuum. So, without further ado, here is the definition of a Damsel in Distress according to Katt.

Firstly let us examine the picture that comes to mind when the words “Damsel in Distress” are mentioned. For many people it would comprise a sylph-like maiden, a vicious looking dragon and a knight in newly Brasso-ed armour on a white horse. It is exactly here where things go pear-shaped for yours truly. Firstly not all maidens are… well, maidens. Most of them don’t have impossibly small waists, don’t come tarted up in long flowing (impractical) gowns and don’t shriek helplessly when the evil-doer is threatening to disembowel them and eat their entrails. Secondly there is a problem with regards to the dragon being planted as the resident evil. Dragons are like humans, there are some good and some bad and most of them don’t like entrails. So, a dragon being cast in the role of the baddie in the story doesn’t seem entirely appropriate. Maybe replace the dragon with a witch or the tired “evil step-mother.” And then the knight, complete with bling-bling and a white horse… um, a tad cheesy wouldn’t you say? What works better is a war-battered brooding character on an over-sized, temperamental war horse.

By definition a damsel in distress implies a woman (helpless or not) in a situation that brings the genetically enabled waterworks very close to the surface… come to think of it, at a stretch PMS creates numerous damsels in distress. However technically the distress would have to be caused by something tangible, not just rampant hormones. In today’s modern times the distress could be caused by a number of things, being down and out; being a single mother; not having the financial means to support yourself and your family; destructive relationships; demanding parents; not having a job, the list is endless. So, where would the knight come in?

Well, for starters no modern damsel likes to be reminded that she is helpless. Should the modern day knight adopt the attitude of “Well, this is a fine mess you have gotten yourself into and you have no way of getting out of it,” he is likely to incur the wrath of hell. So any wicked step-mother slaying would have to come discretely and disguised as an accident. I suppose a lot could be learnt from the Mafia in this regard.

In a nutshell, a modern day damsel in distress is a difficult customer. A knight can save her but he mustn’t look like he is saving her. And her threatening evil comes in all shapes and sizes. Maybe what would epitomise a damsel is her ability to acknowledge what the knight has done for her with grace and poise. Yes, I think it is the grace and poise that defines a damsel.

My resident dragon agrees with me.

Now it’s time to go and clomp down the stairs in my ancient hiking boots, make some coffee, light a cigarette and put my hair in curlers – I failed the grace and poise test many moons ago.

Letter to a Loved Furry One

2006-05-03T15:10:00.000+02:00

The fact that one of my cats is no longer present in this realm hasn't hit me yet. So, I thought I would write her a little letter, maybe that would help.

To Pretty Puss

I miss you, puss!
I miss the way you were always hungry.
I miss the way you used to weave yourself in a figure of 8 around Houndus Maximus's legs, begging him to feed you. You made him so embarassed.
I miss the way you used to stare at a moth and not know what to do with it, how to be a cat.
I miss your bad breath.
I miss your gorgeous green eyes.
I miss your pushy ways, how you wouldn't take no for an answer and insisted on snuggling under the duvet with me.
I miss the way you would try and sneak onto my lap at a really bad moment and hope I wouldn't notice you sneaking onto my lap.
I miss the way you used to use me as a hot water bottle and warm all four cold paws on my tummy.
I miss our walks in the garden.
Your adopted sister misses you too, she walked around the house calling for you the other day.
Houndus Maximus is also a bit confused, the bit of ginger fluff is missing.

I am sorry, pretty girl. I am sorry I wasn't here to stop this from happening, I know you did what you did because you were scared and I wasn't here. In a sense I let you down and I am so very sorry for that. I hope you are in a better place, where the world is one big sandbox and you have many warm duvets to pick and choose from with lots of hugs, cuddles and tummy rubs whenever you want them.

I hope you can find it in your kitty heart to forgive me for not being here to save you. I miss you, Puss!

PS: If you see Uli dog, send him my love and tell him I am sorry I left him and his brother behind all those years ago. I hope he understands I had no choice.