sometimes ... something just work

I'm really in love with my husband at the moment.

There you have it.

Marriage is something amazing for those who get it right and Tim and got it right. I love that he's so funny and charming and so intelligent. My husband is without a doubt one of the smartest people I know.

That being said he's also has the worst sense of toilet humour ever. As wonderful and smart as my husband is, somehow that little part of your brain that supposed to warn you if something you say is going to possibly be VERY INAPPROPIATE never quite activated with Tim which results in me wanting to stick my head in a hole sometimes. But all that aside I'm more in love with him today then we married some 4 and half years ago.

His parents are moving house at the moment and this of course means bringing out the stuff that has been stored away for years. Last night I stumbled across a diary that Tim kept from Dec 1994 to Jan 1995. I'm told the purpose of this diary was to actually prove to his English teacher that he did nothing the entire holiday in response to the yearly "Write an essay on what you did during your holiday."

My hero would be prepared with notebook in hand ready to slay the English teacher giant with meticulous notes about how he spent most days either playing on the computer himself / watching Wayne play on the computer / watching TV (All American Girl seemed to be one of his favourites) and/or swimming (most of his swimming activities could not be recorded down to the second as he had removed his watch).

From there it was a trip down memory lane as I annoyed him by pulling out his year books and looking through them laughing at him with his way to huge glasses covering half his face.

I’m very proud of my husband. I think despite all the crazy stupid things he says sometimes, he really has a great heart and I’m more thankful than anyone will know that I married someone that I can without a doubt say is smarter than me.

Although sometimes, I’m much smarter cos I know when to shut up.


In other news.

YEAH, my HP buddy is back.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH MOTHERLAND

My name is Jo-Anne Holroyd (formerly Jeevarathnam) and I’m South African. I’m also Indian. But I’m South African first and I’m in tears at all the South African Indians who seem to think they owe their undying allegience to India.

Let’s think about this logically.
In 1860, the batch of INDENTURED labourers from India arrived. Indians who were too poor or didn’t have enough in India to make it. In a word - THE SLUMDOG’s. They left the shacks of Mumbai and Calcutta and made the long journey on the Truro to land in South Africa and work on the sugar cane fields. Granted NOT all Indians that came to South Africa came as indentured labourers in the same way that not all Australians are descended from British criminals. Some like Mahatma Ghandi came on contract to South Africa. The biggest difference between Ghandi and the indentured Indians was the Ghandi could actually afford to go back to India and he did in 1915. The indentured workers could not.

So I really don’t understand this undying fascination and stalwart attempt to stay loyal to the MOTHERLAND.

THE MOTHERLAND KICKED YOU OUT

Here in South Africa though, thanks to one redeeming quality, the Indians were no longer at the bottom of the pile. Thanks to our straight hair, we were on top on the bottom of the pile. When I was younger I was told that the Indians were brought to South Africa because the original darker skinned occupants were too lazy to work in the sugar cane fields. Well ... as I grew up and went on to become a History major, I realised that they weren’t too lazy to work in the sugar cane fields. The sods were busy DYING in the mines.

So in fact the Indians who came from India actually got it pretty good. A good clean start and then once we became a democracy we even got a bit more with that whole BEE deal. So the next time you decide to parade at Kingsmeand Cricket stadium in your Sahara shirt at a match that does not even feature India, remember that you should have been a slumdog.

Not the millionaire kind.

life lesson # ... I lost count

If you are so fortunate, take the worst sex you’ve ever had. Multiply it by 1000, it’s still better than spinning.

There are days in your life that you will always remember. They will stick there forever at the edges of your conscious. Some of them are good and some of them are bad and some of them are when you looked in the mirror and saw yourself achieving the impossible. Well … for you anyway.

Today I made a rash decision. I seem to be making a few of those lately. It’s great fun. Go to weigh-less, so I did. Book a cruise, so I did. Go for a spinning class, SO I DID.

Not the brightest of ideas since I had never been for a spinning class. In fact to be certain I’d never even been on a bike longer than 20 minutes. But I plunged on with my obviously Gryffindor courage and booked into a class. I got to the gym and then discovered only one gym towel and without much effort convinced he-who-will get-sucker-punched-in-the-morning-cos-he-laughed-at-me aka Tim that he could do without a gym session. With towel in hand and water bottle in the other, I marched bravely to the spinning class.

I even went in.

And stayed there.

I found my bike. No 5. If only I could have smelt like that afterwards.

A kindly dude named Anton helped my out with the settings on the bike and everything else that I needed to be prepared. I was strapped in and ready to go. The Gryffindor courage kicked in a little bit more and I even began a bit of cycling before the class began. No one ever said bravery is equivalent to wisdom..

Wendy, the instructor (who will hence forth be known as the Witch of the Spinning Class), came to check if I was all strapped in nicely, made some minor adjustments and then went back to her seat so that the torture could commence.

We started of slow. I’ve heard this is so that you can be lulled into a false sense of security and think you are better than you actually are.

It works.

I was happily peddling away matching the speeds until she decided to “take it up a notch”. That was when the uphill began. After what felt like forever peddling as hard as I can do the ups and down, I looked up into the bright shining white face of the Virgin Active Clock only to discover that a whole 10 minutes had passed. At that point I was ready to pass out. But the Gryffindor courage kept going and I kept cycling. The minutes ticked by and the Witch of the Spinning Class kept saying weird things like go faster. I was already going as fast as I could.

But eventually the class came to an end and I am pleased to report that I survived the entire class and did the full 45 minutes of spinning. I didn’t think I could. I had no Thomas the tank engine delusions. But I did.

And that’s just AWESOME

it's that time again

birthdays

Such lovely things they are. I'm approaching mine with the same gusto and happiness that I always have but I can't help but think about all those nasty questions that keep popping up.

Everyone thinks that hearing it from them will some how make more sense or suddenly make me change me mind in the 5 seconds that they speak to me.

not gonna happen.

moving on.

I've enclosed some the link to a radio show where ANC Youth League spokesperson attempts to clarify what they mean by "sleeping around" in reference to Helen Zille.

http://www.zoopy.com/video/w55/sleeping-around-is-sleeping-around


Please let me know what it means if YOU figure it out.

SEXPO ..... NO No nO oh Oh OH UHHHH

Much has been made in the media regards the Cape Town Sexpo. I get it I really do. But I don't really agree with the reason that Sexpo is being protested. Sexpo does not degrade women. The women cavorting up on that stage want to be up there. Arianna Star, the bore that she is, really does think that dropping milk all over herself and then licking it off the plastic sheet underneath her is sexy as hell.

 

It wasn't really.

 

I don't object to Sexpo. In fact I think everyone should make the trip at least once in their life time. In order just to see how boring it actually is. The thing about Sexpo is not that it degrades women, it's that it trivialises sex. All the best books on sex tell you that it's something intimate to be shared between two people in love with each other. How intimate is it to be wondering around looking at chocolate coated penises and porn DVD's titled "BLACK POLES IN WHITE HOLES"?

 

While I have no objection to the things YOU do behind your closed doors, I don't really want to know about it. And that's the essence of what Sexpo is; the chance for you to show off about what goes on behind closed doors.

 

The real Sexpo should just be you, your partner and a closed door.... and maybe some edible body paint.

 

Ask Arianna for her plastic sheet.

a round up

Oh what a week it has been.

 

The last week has been crazy. I got a new phone, some great new furniture for my bedroom (finally) saw Oasis live, and got pulled over by the police. But let’s start at the beginning.

 

Last week Thursday I breathed sighs of relief and literally felt the world moved off my shoulders as I read that Oasis plane had landed in JHB.  Friday was a world wind of activity as I went to JHB stood for a few hours and then screamed myself sore at the sight of Noel and Liam Gallagher. The guy in front of me screamed that he had been waiting for this for 10 years. Some of us have been fans for 15 years. Retrospectively though I feel proudly South African. Dirty Skirts, Zebra  and Giraffe and Cassette did an awesome job.

 

But then it was back to reality and back to Durban on Saturday.

 

Through this time however I’d been following the very interesting story of Kaylee Wallace. Kaylee is two months old and lives in Canada. She was born with a brain disorder that ‘apparently’ meant she would not be able to breathe on her own when she fell asleep. Kaylee’s parent’s found out about one month old Lillian O’Conner who was born with a heat disorder and would not be able to survive without a heart transplant. So the decision to take Kaylee off life support was made so that when she died her heart could then be given to Lillian.

 

Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. 

 

Kaylee was in the operating theatre, the life support was switched off, and the doctors were ready to pronounce her legally dead. The heart needs to be inactive for a five minutes before you can be legally declared dead. The life support was switched off and Kaylee is still alive today. Almost a week later.  So is Lillian. The doctors are not sure how long Kaylee will live. But her parents have made the decision not to put her back on life support and let her make her own journey.

 

And then back to Sunny SA for more news. Yesterday my car broke down on Mount Edgecombe Drive. Thanks to First for Women it was then taken to Durban Chevrolet for repairs and for them to figure out what was wrong.  We borrowed Tim’s mother’s car to get to work and back. It’s a  really old car and this morning we were pulled over by the police on North Coast Road. The Officer was very  strict and upset that we did not have side mirrors on both sides the car. Upon his discovery that the car was actually older then we were, he was amused beyond belief and we were allowed back on our way into the dense sea of taxi’s and trucks that is North Coast Road.

 

It’s been a week of constant activity and it feels like it might just be the beginning.  The elections are almost upon us and not too soon. I am so very tired of listening to endless political advertising.

 

And lastly. Happy Birthday

 

LOYALTY

I've come to a point where enough is enough.

 

Loyalty is an interesting thing. People who are loyal tend to expect the same returned to them and it can be quite a nasty shock when it's not returned.

 

The thing about me is that I have this thing of trying to keep everyone happy and if by chance I somehow disappoint someone, I try to make it up to them. Even if you don't think so, I do try keep the peace. Mush of my time is really bending over backwards to make sure that I'm not offending anyone.

 

Quit frankly, it's tiring. It's extremely tiring listen to people go one and on about things I have to do. In reality I don't HAVE TO DO ANYTHING. Everyone listen LOUD AND CLEAR. I do not have to do what YOU think is right.

 

I think I've finally learnt that no one is loyal to anyone but themselves. Faith in people is over rated. the idea that people will be nice just cos it's a basic human dignity is tooo much to expect.

 

 

and for the record. I don;t have to be nice to anyone. i'm nice becasue it's my choice. I can just as easily choose not to.

think

Every South African blog has at some point or another discussed
something that relates to race and the various never ending issues
that surround it. I've done a few posts from what I'd like to think of
as a unique perspective.

On Friday I found something new to be annoyed about and something that
has changed part of my perspective on the whole race deal. The lovely
Indian car guard helped the white lady with a teenage daughter and the
white guy who had a stack of beer. He left me to my devices and only
came to stand at my car for the customary car guard tip which I'm sure
he felt he was entitled to. After all I'm Indian and supposed to help
a brother out. Never mind that I had to do everything myself

I have no idea where some people picked up the idea that certain race
groups are some how better than all the races on the planet and it
really irks me when I see some Indian people turn around stick out
their backsides out. A good friend often says that we teach people how
to treat us. If we call the annoying friend that only ever sends
PLEASE CALL ME's, you encourage that behaviour. No one to blame but
yourself.

You stick your backside out and you're gonna get swatted.

Perhaps you think that I'm the last who should speak after all I
regularly make an effort to ensure that life is easier for one of
them. But the situation in itself irks me. Who is in the right?
Perhaps the whole group of people out there will tell you that they're
doing what they think is right.

I recall reading a article by some guy from India who thanked
colonialism and the British for the life that he has. After all
without the British, he argues that he never would have had the fine
education that he got or every other supposedly "good" thing in his
life. But one must question if the British in fact added value to any
one's life. It's an interesting arguments and while I do think it's
important to give credit where credit is due, I think we must also
remember that hundreds of people lived their lives just fine before
the Britain came along.

Have we lost some sense of ourselves along the way? When we are soo
eager to bend over backwards to please someone based soley on the
colour of their skin?

VOLDERMORT

The little Lord Voldermort

Hero Fiennes-Tiffin is the young nephew of the adult Voldermort. According the Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince director David Yates, Hero was chosen based on his resemblance to his famous uncle.

The Harry Potter franchise seems as though it's coming to an end. And despite publishers die hard attempts, Twilight is NOT a worth successor. The book trade however will survive.

Who knows when the next big thing will arive.

Hero here however seems to emobody all of my personal ideals of what the young Tom Riddle would have been like.

Here's hoping the movie captures the best part of the book. Previous movies have left out some stuff and been disappointing.

Let's not revisit the book vs movie debate

COKE zero FEST

feat

OASIS

I've been a fan of Oasis for almost a decade. The first song I remember is Champagne Supernova and from there it was only all the way up. I've changed alot since hearing those first lyrics but my love for the band and their music has not changed.


It's been a battle of wills to get to the place where I have both plane ticket and GOLDEN CIRCLE concert ticket but eventually my love of life won out. After all who knows if i'm ever gonna have the chance to see oasis live in concert ever again. This may be my one and only chance and like I told my mother

"I don't want to be 50, look back and see that I had the chance and didn't take it"

So I fly up on the morning of the concert, go straight to the venue, ROCK OUT to the brilliant bands then maybe/maybe not head straight back to the airport for a 7am flight back to Durban.

It's gonna be a HECTIC 24 hours. I LOVE IT

The Slumdog debate

Slumdog Millionaire is an award winning movie based on award winning book.

The movie vs. the book debate has been around since the first movie based on a book. Sadly we live in a society where most people would rather see the movie than read the book. Personally for me, a book has so much more detail. And you never quite get a character in a movie the same way you do in a book. A movie is around 2 hours now. It’s not nearly long enough to get in-depth with the idiosyncrasies of the characters or really get up close and personal with them.

Q & A (the book upon which the movie is based) is beautifully written story. Poetic almost in the way it flows between the adventures of Ram Thomas Mohammed.
Slumdog is beautiful in its own way, cinematography and editing at its finest. The movie helps showcase an India that not many have seen other than on the pages of National Geographic.

For myself however, I can’t help but feel that the book provided a bit more of an intelligent feel than the movie. Vikas Swarup the author of Q & A is at present stationed in Pretoria as India's Deputy High Commissioner to South Africa. On the other side of the picture is director Danny Boyle, well known for Trainspotting and Shallow Graves. There’s distinct feel to this movie that isn’t in the books. The movie transcends intellectual boundaries and is an everyman’s movie. The book just felt more thinker’s cup of tea to me.


I’m aware that I sound like an intellectual snob. Oops if you have a problem with it.


While on the subject of books vs. movie...

Has anyone seen twilight? Bella Swan is an abused female. She must be STOPPED.

19 March

Supposedly Highveld Stereo did a who a while ago mocking Indians.

 

RACISM.

 

The one thing we all have in common.  Having never heard the show I don’t that I’m in any position to comment and really what can I say that has not already been said on the forum’s of Biz Community.

I do however think that the Indian community of South Africa got a raw deal. Speak like “an Indian” and you get made fun off or looked at funny, speak like a “white”  and you’re trying TOOO hard.

 

A never ending really sad cycle.

 

I’ve been reading over old blog posts today. I went back to MAY 2007 when dearest anonymous told me that my posts were pathetic and I’m wondering if somehow and somewhere along the way, I changed the way I write because of ANON the Cockroach. I’m not sure I have. I most certainly hope I have not.

 

It’s getting colder which mean better sleep. I can’t wait for the really cold days to hit us. I’m waiting eagerly for Lindt Hot Chocolate. I’ll miss ice cream though.  This is a random post cos I have time and have not posted for a while.

 

As always I usually have plenty to say but when it come  to the crunch it all flies out my head.

ALL THINGS .....

... work together for the good of those who love God-those whom he has called according to his plan.

Perhaps I'm being a bit over spiritual but in the last fer months I've learnt to just let it lie. I'm by no means perfect. I still stress over stuff. I still get upset by people's stupid comments. At the end of the day I still sometimes feel like I'm wearing a blue and white check dress with a white belt, white socks and no idea about why things happen the way they do.

but as i've been told oer and over again.

ALL THING work together for the good of those who love God.

This week was a particular crazy one. I worked really hard on a proposal. Perhaps it's the three months of having been at home and the crazyness of not knowing how and where I stand in my new job. (I am standing though) that has lead me to not be performing at my optimimum best.

Despite that my proposal was not bad. The sad thing is that it was handed over by someone else as their work. I should be used to that. In fact there are lot of thing I should be used to BUT I'm not.

Perhaps I'm naive. trusting people to always to the right thing.

who knows.

 

Sometimes in my life I feel like I have arrived. Sitting pretty where I want to be and moving in the general direction of forward.

 

And then there are times where I feel like the carpet has been pulled out from under my feet and it was a magic flying carpet and now I’m free falling at an alarming rate.

 

At times like those I’m grateful for Jeremiah 29:11

 

valentines day

Valentine's day is just around the corner and while the world gets to ready to paint the town red. I sit here in quiet contemplation of love and what it means. Valentines Day is all very good and well, but like most things has become far tooo commercial.

A friends asked me what I was doing for valentines day this year and my reply was that "I don't do valentines day, it's the female equivalent of  "BIG *ENIS SYNDROME"

You're probably wondering what I could possible mean by that. It's actually very simple. It gives women the chance to boast about who got the most roses/ chocolates / teddy bears / underwear or what ever else is associated with Valentines Day. For me I'd rather get a gift because my husband wanted to buy me one rather than because he was following the conventions society has set out for us and has to buy me something.


But that's for me PERSONALLY, on the other hand I do see the value in Valentine's Day. Not all men are thoughtful enough to present their wives with roses or little gifts for seemingly insignificant reasons. Sometimes just to see them smile. For those wives, Valentines Day is a chance to actually have their husband demonstrate their appreciation for them, even if it forced and for that reason we must give credit where credit is due.

But for me and myself, Valentines Day is nothing special, not many than any other day anyway. And before all the men out there, point out this post as a reason to not get their wives/ girlfriends something for Valentines Day, sit back and ask yourself when last you did something for your significant other that warrants you ignoring Valentines Day. Women shouldn't only get to brag about the gifts they get once a year.

After all "big *enis pride" doesn't only happen on once a year.


And before you ask I got chocolates a week ago just because.
 

UN ... Christian Bale

I am disappointed in Christian who does not live up to his name.

But at the same time I think we need to take the situation in context. All we really have is this audio clip of Christian Bale making some sailors blush but we have no idea about how many times he had to do the scene or the time of day or any number of other things that may have set the lispy actor off on a tangent.



But all of that is un-important when it comes to the next thing on my LIVE LIFE list. One that I have not actually complied. It's more of a yes man thing. Take the time to experience things that you may not have considered. So with this in mind I went to Sexpo.

let's put it this way.

MOMENTS OF MY LIFE I WILL NEVER GET BACK.

Now that I've done it once, I can miss it for the rest of my life. I guess I imagined more. It was weired seeing some of the same people there from last year's food and wine show at the sex show. But then I guess you have to eat as well.


So I went to sexpo and came home with a pair of neon pink fish nets.

let's move on shall we.

the inter-racial debate ... from another perspective

I found this while doing random reading. I think it's got a good point.

READ IF YOU DARE!!!!

Dear Jamie I'm sorry but I would like to challenge some of your Indian male readers. I am a White female who is engaged to a Indian male-good-looking, educated and loving. I just don't understand a lot of Indian female's attitudes about our relationship. My man decided he wanted me because the pickings amongst Indian women were slim to none. As he said they were either too fat, too loud, too mean, too argumentative, too needy, too materialistic or carrying too much excess baggage. Before I became engaged, whenever I went out I was constantly Approached by Indian men, willing to wine and dine me and give me the world. If Indian women are so up in arms about us being with their men, why don't they look at themselves and make some changes. I am tired of the dirty looks I get and snide remarks when we're out in public. I would like to hear from some Indian men about why we are so appealing and coveted by them. Bryant Gumbel left his wife of 26 years for one of us. Charles Barkley, Scottie Pippen, the model Tyson Beckford, Montell Williams, Quincy Jones, James Earl Jones, Harry Belafonte, Sydney Poitier, Kofi Anan, Cuba Gooding Jr., Don Cornelius, Berry Gordy, Billy Blanks, Wesley Snipes... I could go on and on. But, right now, I'm a little angry and that is Why I wrote this so hurriedly. Don't be mad with us, White women, Because so many of your men want us. Get your acts together and learn from us And we may lead you to treat your men better. If I'm wrong, Indian men, Let me know.

Thanx-Disgusted White Girl,
Somewhere in VA!!!!

RESPONSE

Dear Jamie: I would like to respond to the letter written by A Disgusted White Girl. Let me start by saying that I am a 28-year old Indian man. I Graduated from one of the most prestigious universities in Atlanta, Georgia With a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Business Management. I have a good job at A major corporation and have recently purchased a house. So, I Consider myself to be among the ranks of successful Indian men. I will not use my precious time to slander white people. I just want to set the record straight of why Indian men date white women. Back in the day, one of the biggest reasons why Indian men dated white women was because they were considered easy. The Indian girls in my neighborhood were raised in strict homes. They were very strict about when they lost their virginity and who they lost it to. Because of our mpatience to wait, brothers would look for someone who would give it up easy without too much hassle. So, they turned to the white girls. Nowadays, in my opinion, a lot of brothers date white women because they are docile and easy to control. A lot of Indian men, because of insecurities, fears, and overall weaknesses, have become intimidated by the strength of our Indian women. We are afraid that our woman will be more successful than us, make more money than us, drive nicer cars and own bigger houses. Because of this fear, many Indian men look for a more docile woman. Someone We can control. I have talked to numerous Indian men and they continuously comment on how easy it is to control and walk over their white women. I just want to set the record straight. I want A Disgusted White Girl to know that not all successful Indian men date white women. Brothers like Ahmad Rashad, Denzel Washington, Michael Jordan, Morris Chestnut, Will Smith, Blair Underwood, Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds, Samuel L. Jackson, and Chris Rock all married strong black/Indian women And, to flip the script, there are numerous white men, in and out of the spot light, who openly or secretly desire Indian women over white women. Ted Danson, Robert DeNiro, and David Bowie to name a few. I just don't Want a "Disgusted White girl" to be misinformed, Stop thinking that Because you are white that you are some type of goddess. Remember, when Indian Egyptian Queens like Hatsepshut and Nitorcris were ruling Dynasties and armies of men in Egypt, you were over in the caves of Europe eating raw meat and beating each other over the head with clubs. Read your history! It was the Indian woman that taught you how to cook and season your food. It was the Indian woman that taught you how to raise your children. It was Indian women who were breast feeding and raising your babies during slavery. It is the Indian woman that had to endure watching their fathers, husbands, and children beaten, killed, and thrown in jail. INDIAN women were born with two strikes against them: being Indian and being a woman. And, through all this, Still They Rise! It is because of the Indian women's strength, elegance, power, love and beauty that I could never date anyone except my Indian Queen. It is not just the outer beauty that captivates and draws me to them. It is not the fact that they come in all shapes, sizes, colors and shades that I love them. Their inner beauty is what I find most appealing about Indian women. Their strong spirit, loving and nurturing souls, their integrity, their ability to overcome great obstacles, their willingness to stand for what they believe in, and their determination to succeed and reach their highest potential while enduring great pain and suffering is why I have fallen in love with Indian women. I honestly believe that your anger is geared more toward jealousy And envy more so than snotty looks. If this were not so, then why do you continuously go to tanning salons to darken your skin? If you are so proud to be white, then why don't you just be happy with your pale skin? Why do you continue to inject your lips, hips, and breasts with unnatural and dangerous substances so you can look fuller and more voluptuous? I think that your anger is really a result of you wanting to have What the Indian woman has... BOTTOM LINE: If I were looking for a docile woman, someone I can Walk over and control, I would give you a call. But, unfortunately, I am looking for a Virtuous Woman. Someone that can be a good wife and mother to my children. Someone who can be my best friend and understands my struggles. I am looking for a soul mate. I am looking for a sister and; unfortunately, you do not and CANNOT fit the bill.

No offense taken, none given.

Signed, Indian Royalty

It's not what you know, it's who you know

Rugby is a wonderful sport. It's popular for many reasons. It's brutal. It's fun. It brings out the best and worst in people. Rugby is especially important here in South Africa where we have won two world cups.

 

Rugby however may never be able to associate itself with fairness. Despite the many "attempts" to make rugby a game for the people, high tickets prices and blatant racism in rugby has been more what we have been used to. And you don't need me to give you any examples. I'm sure you read the news papers yourself.

 

Unfortunately it happens all the time. Wayne Holroyd is one of the most phenomenal physiotherapist I know. For myself and anyone else I would never recommend anyone else. Not because he's related to me but rather because since I've known him, I've seen his rise to the top first hand and it was all because of his own hard work. Wayne can without a doubt be named as one of the BEST physio's in Durban. After all his skill has allowed him to be invited into East Coast Radio as an expert and also lead to a feature about him in the Ridge magazine. You don't get to the top unless you're really good.

 

Or you know someone.

 

As qualified as Wayne is, it turns out that he and the rest of his family just don't seem to have friends in all the right places.  Earlier today I found out that despite being the best candidate there is, Wayne was passed over as Sharks Physio for the second time in his illustrious career. In both instances, the individual who was awarded the position had personal ties to the coach.   

 

 

It's irrelevant who or what those ties are, but it does make you stop and think. How can we trust him to make the right decision in the coming season with the players, if he can't pick the best person for the well being of the players?

it wasn't me

the banana bread turned out FINE.


it was the oven after all

Desperate Housewife

Back in the day before my two years of 8-5 employment, I was rather handy with a few baking ingredients and a good stove. Today marked what was meant to be my triumphant return to the baking arena.

Alas at present this is not so. I'm very tempted to blame the oven. After all I have followed the instructions exactly. That is what I do. But the banana bread I put into the oven half an hour ago is still not baked and I have no idea why. It very well could be the oven.

I am without doubt VERY disappointed. After all I do have a reputation to maintain. A reputation that has been on hold for two years but a reputation none the less. My speciality used to be Million Dollar Short bread. It was a gift to every one everywhere. The decedent combination of short bread topped with caramel and chocolate was enough to make even the manliest man swoon in anticipation.


But right now what was meant to be a wonderful banana loaf is not. Perhaps I should start from the beginning again.

Biscuits.

days with out job:

too many to count

So the days have been passing by. I spent most of December (after my life altering situation) in front of the TV watching endless episodes of CSI. I now look for signs of crimes every where I go. The new year rolled in and EVERYONE went back to work. Except me. The jobless one.

I stayed home and watched countless epsiodes of mindless drivel. Right at the top of the list would be Gosspi Girl. I watched the first season in three days I think. I went totally overboard on the first day and watch 13 episodes. I had to live somehow and watching the fictional rich and naughty of the upper east side seemed like a good way. It remnided me of the days that Shane and I spent watching endless episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and other favourite things. (we watched Sahara AGAIN the other day)

But Gossip Girl got me thinking about blogging. Specifially my own blog. I've not an introspective thing and gone reading back in time for a while and I wonder what I would find. Our troubles and problems don't seem so far off from what their own COULD be. They have some of the same kind of problems in better clothing which begs the question. Would my current situation be alot better with a few Waldorf originals.

I have thought about it and that would be an emphatic YES. I'de be able to sell the Waldorf originals on e-bay and buy a car.


and becasue I've watched to many episodes and it's stuck in my head.

you know you love me
xoxo

not sixteen candles

Sixteen days into the New Year and unfortunately the awaited phone call has still not arrived. Durban unfortunately is nothing like Johannesburg. At most there are two job posting on the Biz community website. Johannesburg on the other hand fills the entire page … just for one day.

I must admit that it is becoming pretty boring staying at home day after day after day. It all becomes very repetitive. Life changes and moves on. The things we take for granted disappear and we are forced to re-evaluate our situation.

I meant to tell everyone that I am very grateful to be alive right after the accident but I never really for around to it. Life changed faster than I could blink. When I opened my eyes, it had all changed.

I thought things had gone bad after I got retrenched but then I lost my car and worse went even lower but in the middle of that I still had my life. But it’s all mixed feelings. In the accident I hurt my hand and the simple act of picking up a coffee cup became a monumental task and then MISS INDEPENDENT had to rely on someone else for everything even taking my clothes off (not that he complained about that partJ). But even without the use of my hand I realised it could have all been so much worse. I could have lost the hand itself, I could have had my legs ripped open BUT none of it happened.

I suppose then that my biggest thing is that I should on my hands and knees and express my undying gratitude. I am able to do that but it doesn’t make life any easier. I don’t have a car or a job. But that doesn’t make me ungrateful. It only makes me human. No one could ever understand how grateful I am to be alive. It’s a topic I’m harping on, I know. But I never said thank you. So here goes.

To my mother – you taught me to be independent and to be strong. But you also taught me to have compassion and to help people even if they don’t deserve it.

To my darling brother - I love you more than you know and as long as I’m allowed to I will be here for whatever you need and NEVER judge you.

To the rest of my family: it takes a village to raise a child, thank you for raising me to be the extraordinary individual that I am.

To my wonderful friends, Antony, Baheya, Chris, Jacques and Shayne: You guys are my best friends. You mean more to me that you will ever know and I value your friendship and your input into my life.

To every one else in my life: don’t take me for granted. I ALMOST DIED.

To my darling husband: (insert corny lines here).

To GOD: thank you. There’s not really anything more that I can say.

FOUR MONTHS

There's been a lot going on in my life that I have not blogged about. In four months, life as I knew it changed drastically in ways that I could not have previously imagined. It all began in August last year. My laptop along with my mobile phone and my unborn child’s Max Lucado DVD were stolen out my Sunday school class at church. At the time I was very angry and hurt and very pissed off. I mean really. Who does that??? Who steals stuff from church?

At the time I didn’t realise that my journey was only just beginning. The next thing that happened was the fire in the kitchen. I have no idea how it started except that we no longer have an extractor above the stove. It wasn’t really a big deal outside of the horror of seeing the black billowing smoke inside the house. None the less we acted sensibly and switched on the electricity before dosing the entire thing in water.

Next up was my job. TWICE. Once in October and then again in November. This was both a blessing and a curse. It meant that I got December Holidays to myself and got to do what I wanted.

And then came December. December when I spent time doing nothing. Until December 12 when another car hit mine wrecking my car and my outlook on life entirely.

I suppose being in an almost dead situation can change your outlook on life. Before the accident I was dreading the New Year and the job-hunting situation. Now I’m just happy to be alive. I may not have a car or a nine-five job at the moment but I’m still here.

I’m also told that this kind of experience doesn’t leave you easily and really why should it?

I’m still alive and I’m holding on to that one single truth.