A number of friends and family have been asking me what Paganism is really about. So, going through my notes for our final exam tonight, I came across one of the entries in my notes on what Paganism is and how it's defined, so I'm going to try and give a breakdown of it so that these friends and family members can have a look and then ask me about it.
First off, I need to clarify the title of this post: It's just an expletive. In Paganism, we don't believe in Heaven nor Hell in the "traditional" sense. Yes, we have a version of the afterlife that we call the Summerlands, or Elphame, or any of a variety of other names. We see it as a stopping point between one life and the next, not a permanent home to the Soul once the body has died. Hell is what you experience on Earth, during your lifetime, either by your own thoughts or actions or those of others. Innate sin and ultimate evil? These concepts are as alien to a Pagan as what emotion is to a grain of sand, or in modern terms, a computer. Sin is what is used by the leaders of other faiths to strike fear into the hearts of their followers (and this is, I hope) the only bit of religious lambasting I will do in this post.
Paganism is defined as a positive, nature-based based Spirituality (or religion, or set of religions), usually polytheistic, in which we work towards brotherly love and understanding between people and the world around us. Honestly, in general terms, we have no qualms with other religions, despite what individual members of the Pagan community might say. It's very much like the Native American Spirituality in that we try to maintain or rebuild the connections Man has with Nature and the World around us. We understand that religion as we know it developed out of the Animistic faith of the Caveman, in that natural phenomena we assigned a Spirit or Deity, and that these Animistic Deities developed and "evolved" until there was one main God or Goddess of Nature. Yes, in polytheism there are multiple Gods or Goddessses, but even polytheists recognise that they are all part of The One, Primeval Deity, Universal Deity, however you want to name it.
Let me explain. In the "Mists of Avalon" film and book Viviane and Morgaine both say, "All Goddesses are one Goddess and all Gods are one God and both are One." Look at the facets of a diamond. The diamond as a whole represents Deity, The One, etc, while the facets of the stone represent the names and faces we ascribe to Deity to understand the truth and nature of the Divine. No, there is NO way in this lifetime that any one person can understand the whole nature of the Divine - but we try, through the use of names and faces. I know, it sounds a bit roundabout, but this is the best way I have of explaining this, and before my teacher put it into words for me, this is how I saw Deity anyway. That said, we don't pray to statues and images for guidance or help - that's a fallacy created by our opponents and persecutors - but rather to what that image or statue REPRESENTS.
Am I making sense here?
I don't pray to my statue of Athena for help and guidance or wisdom, but to the Face of Deity that she represents, that spark of the Divine within me and my direct connection to Deity. I pray to that aspect of Deity that I understand for guidance, help or wisdom. No matter how you break it down, I'm still praying to Deity.
Now, magick. Yes, I know, the media has (once again) been filled with stories of Satanism and Satanic cult activities, and since 1985 it's been that kind of propaganda filling people's heads, but magick as practised by many Pagans and Wiccans has nothing to do with Satan. Once again, this is an alien concept to Pagans. It started with the early Church saying that whatever wasn't in the Bible had to be demonic, and it's sadly a piece of thinking that's stuck in the minds of the general public for the last few hundred years. We use magick actively in our connection to the Divine to bring about the changes we want in our lives. The best way I've ever heard it described is as "praying with props". And yes, we do pray, even if it isn't always in the way's people will recognise. We don't need to stop and be silent to pray. We go about our daily activities and speak to God/Goddess/The One constantly, keeping up the relationship between the spark of Divinity inside us and the source of that spark.
Ah, yes: These reports and fears of "black magick" people so badly like to go on about should never bring Paganism to mind. Pagans, including Wiccans, wouldn't practice "black" magick. In general we aren't too fond of the sight of blood, and since we're working towards a deeper connection between Man and Nature, what would be the point of destroying and hurting Life? Seriously. These little kiddies who "practice" black "arts" only do it because of a sense of supposed glamour, a sense of breaking the rules and for the thrill of things. Dumb-asses. [Thrice around the Circle's bound...] Real black magick is used exclusively for destruction and pain and the causing of nightmare "realities." Most Pagans can't even stand to see a child crying in a photo, so NO WAY could we deliberately cause harm.
That said, we do protect ourselves and others. It would be stupid not to, since there is still so much fear and propaganda associated with Paganism and Witches. It'll take a long while before people get over their own narrow-mindedness and the things poured into their ears by society and religious institutions' members and actually start asking their own questions and thinking for themselves. There's a reason I don't like mutton: it reminds me way too much of people!
Gosh, I hope I've managed to get my message across, guys. Really, don't go and read up on the internet and only stick to the sites don't know what they're talking about (which an entire group of my friends have done!) Come to me directly and speak to me and ask me questions. How can you really learn if you aren't going to speak to someone who's actually in the thick of things?
WAKE UP!!
Tuesday, 26 November 2013
Thursday, 14 November 2013
It's been a while once again, hasn't it?
Faithful readers, new readers, come-and-gone readers:
Hello.
It's been a while, and for once I can't really blame it on being too busy. Well, not all the time. In fact, since my work period ended with Smart Planters in October, I've mostly been home, cleaning up house as I go along, watching TV (couch potatoing), finishing my assignments for class (one of which I completely couldn't do at all - numerous reasons) and generally waiting for my "turn" at the PC.
Yes, you read that right. My PC's monitor connection on the back of the box has been non-functional, but since the network cable's always been those last two metres too short to connect me to the World Wide Web, it hasn't bothered me until now. So, yes the thing switches on, but there's no power from the box to the monitor. I can't even put any porn on my PC! depressing!
In conversation today a few things came up, and one of those was diseases. It's a totally random thing to switch over to, but I felt I had to post about it. We tend to take for granted that our partners are safe (Goddes be thanked J is!) and have complete confidence that it can't happen to us. Well, too many of us, anyway. But it can, and it does. K and I had it in conversation today and two very good friends of mine have both gotten hurt because of something happening - a third friend was raped and almost picked it up as well. I know, "disease" and "picked up" are not very nice ways of putting it, but it's weighing so heavily on my mind I can't pull together the brain power to put it nicely. It's made life difficult for so many people out there that I don't think we can actually keep up with the actual number. And I'm not the only one with friends who've been hurt through picking something up - we all have at least one friend with something they don't share with the rest of the world. I feel we can get over our own fear and closed-mindedness to offer at the very least some kind of support. I will not lie, I can't get myself to help at a shelter, and my reasons are simple: I don't have a strong enough heart for it. It really is as simple as that. I see the people who work with the elderly and with the bruised and battered animals brought into the animal shelters - there's so little care left in their hearts that they come across as incredibly hard-handed, and I never want to become like that.
UGH!!
Of that topic. I'll talk about it some more another time.
Hello.
It's been a while, and for once I can't really blame it on being too busy. Well, not all the time. In fact, since my work period ended with Smart Planters in October, I've mostly been home, cleaning up house as I go along, watching TV (couch potatoing), finishing my assignments for class (one of which I completely couldn't do at all - numerous reasons) and generally waiting for my "turn" at the PC.
Yes, you read that right. My PC's monitor connection on the back of the box has been non-functional, but since the network cable's always been those last two metres too short to connect me to the World Wide Web, it hasn't bothered me until now. So, yes the thing switches on, but there's no power from the box to the monitor. I can't even put any porn on my PC! depressing!
In conversation today a few things came up, and one of those was diseases. It's a totally random thing to switch over to, but I felt I had to post about it. We tend to take for granted that our partners are safe (Goddes be thanked J is!) and have complete confidence that it can't happen to us. Well, too many of us, anyway. But it can, and it does. K and I had it in conversation today and two very good friends of mine have both gotten hurt because of something happening - a third friend was raped and almost picked it up as well. I know, "disease" and "picked up" are not very nice ways of putting it, but it's weighing so heavily on my mind I can't pull together the brain power to put it nicely. It's made life difficult for so many people out there that I don't think we can actually keep up with the actual number. And I'm not the only one with friends who've been hurt through picking something up - we all have at least one friend with something they don't share with the rest of the world. I feel we can get over our own fear and closed-mindedness to offer at the very least some kind of support. I will not lie, I can't get myself to help at a shelter, and my reasons are simple: I don't have a strong enough heart for it. It really is as simple as that. I see the people who work with the elderly and with the bruised and battered animals brought into the animal shelters - there's so little care left in their hearts that they come across as incredibly hard-handed, and I never want to become like that.
UGH!!
Of that topic. I'll talk about it some more another time.
Wednesday, 14 August 2013
It's been a while, hasn't it...?
I haven't posted a new blog in a while. Not because there haven't been some exciting things happening, but because for the first time in a while I didn't have that burning need writers get to write down. While I don't consider myself a writer, I love writing. It practices not only my vocabulary (which I don't get to use much at the shop), but also my handwriting. One of my hobbies, and especially for my assignments, is Calligraphy - can you imagine what a bad name I'd be giving myself with ugly calligraphy??
What got me thinking about this post is one I read originally on Single Dad Laughing. I'm not re-linking the page, so Google it, or go digging in one of my previous blogs ("Read My Stuff!" much?). And I hereby apologise if it's something I've spoken about before, but I feel I need to write about it.
Although I'm not a screaming queen, I am gay. I'm the "passive" partner, and that's all I'm saying about it. I like to date slightly older guys (even if it's only a few weeks or months) and I have been in a relationship with J for almost five years now. He's eight years my senior.
When I came out, things were a bit more difficult. It was still in the lower half of the early 2000s and we lived at that stage in a little town in the middle of frikking nowhere (almost literally - the only way to find it on a map is to look for Umtata and then follow the line of the R56 to the west). Amma was the manager at the local Pep at that point and as such saw most of the townspeople regularly.
in 2001 we came to Cape Town to visit my uncle and his family. While we were here I opened up to my cousins about being gay (I'd told my mom a few months before that I was bisexual - a sad thing is that most gay teens say this to try and make it better, myself included. I mean, you're still loving someone of the opposite sex, aren't you?). Anyway, at some point before my mother was appointed I posted in a pen-pals request to the People magazine, and then almost immediately I forgot about it.
Again, if I've blogged about this before, please ignore this post.
A few months later, completely out of the blue, my mother storms into my room and asks me, "WTF??" Apparently, People Magazine HADN'T forgotten about my posting and had published it in that week's issue. If the neighbouring shop's owner, Adie, hadn't asked her about it, and if she hadn't gotten an odd phone call about it, she'd have been clueless a while longer. Anyway, they new it was me by the name I'd used (my middle name) and the post box. Silly me, I'd thought nobody read the People and that I'd be safe a little bitty longer. Anyway, she gave me the number left by the caller, and Adie seemed OK with it, and then other people asked and such and such. I didn't deny, I just kept deflecting the attention.
Amma spoke to Appa about it not long after that. I asked her to tell him because I'd seen how he went on when gays came up on TV. There was a fight. The "pastor" was called in not long after that. It became a little bit of a joke.
What I'm trying to get at is how much lighter I felt having been "exposed" like that. Now people knew about me in one way or the other, and I didn't have to carry such a weight anymore. No, Appa didn't like it one little bit, and there was a point where we couldn't have a decent conversation with each other. No, no fighting, really, just a bland, empty series of conversations that never did anything to our relationship. But we made up after I'd been in the cape a few years, where we got to the point of actually being able to say to each other that we love each other. It's amazing to me how much better he and I get along now than we did when I was at home, in those years when children and their parents are usually supposed to be closer to each other.
I'm grateful for it, and will always be. With all the ups and downs, being gay is probably the best thing that could have happened to me.
Although I'm not a screaming queen, I am gay. I'm the "passive" partner, and that's all I'm saying about it. I like to date slightly older guys (even if it's only a few weeks or months) and I have been in a relationship with J for almost five years now. He's eight years my senior.
When I came out, things were a bit more difficult. It was still in the lower half of the early 2000s and we lived at that stage in a little town in the middle of frikking nowhere (almost literally - the only way to find it on a map is to look for Umtata and then follow the line of the R56 to the west). Amma was the manager at the local Pep at that point and as such saw most of the townspeople regularly.
in 2001 we came to Cape Town to visit my uncle and his family. While we were here I opened up to my cousins about being gay (I'd told my mom a few months before that I was bisexual - a sad thing is that most gay teens say this to try and make it better, myself included. I mean, you're still loving someone of the opposite sex, aren't you?). Anyway, at some point before my mother was appointed I posted in a pen-pals request to the People magazine, and then almost immediately I forgot about it.
Again, if I've blogged about this before, please ignore this post.
A few months later, completely out of the blue, my mother storms into my room and asks me, "WTF??" Apparently, People Magazine HADN'T forgotten about my posting and had published it in that week's issue. If the neighbouring shop's owner, Adie, hadn't asked her about it, and if she hadn't gotten an odd phone call about it, she'd have been clueless a while longer. Anyway, they new it was me by the name I'd used (my middle name) and the post box. Silly me, I'd thought nobody read the People and that I'd be safe a little bitty longer. Anyway, she gave me the number left by the caller, and Adie seemed OK with it, and then other people asked and such and such. I didn't deny, I just kept deflecting the attention.
Amma spoke to Appa about it not long after that. I asked her to tell him because I'd seen how he went on when gays came up on TV. There was a fight. The "pastor" was called in not long after that. It became a little bit of a joke.
What I'm trying to get at is how much lighter I felt having been "exposed" like that. Now people knew about me in one way or the other, and I didn't have to carry such a weight anymore. No, Appa didn't like it one little bit, and there was a point where we couldn't have a decent conversation with each other. No, no fighting, really, just a bland, empty series of conversations that never did anything to our relationship. But we made up after I'd been in the cape a few years, where we got to the point of actually being able to say to each other that we love each other. It's amazing to me how much better he and I get along now than we did when I was at home, in those years when children and their parents are usually supposed to be closer to each other.
I'm grateful for it, and will always be. With all the ups and downs, being gay is probably the best thing that could have happened to me.
How to learn things; or, Just let it Frikking Happen!
As shocking as it may seem to people, I am not a very happy person. Or maybe it isn't so shocking. I'm not sure.
I stress and I worry, nine times out of ten for no reason than the possibility of danger. I get so caught up in what MIGHT happen that I forget that, nine times out of ten, nothing actually happens.
So, that said, I have been working on latting myself be more positive. It hasn't been easy, and I want to sit here and blame my childhood and all the moving around that we did and where we stayed and and and. In fact, I made my 37th move two weeks ago and the stress has been killing me. Up until the move I was making stupid mistakes in the shop, my memory's been shot to scheisse and I haven't slept properly, as in, waking up feeling fully rested. Add that to how quiet the shop has been and increased travelling costs and all in all, you have one VERY stressed out Leo.
But you know what? I have a roof over my head. I have the means to get to and from work. I have clothes to wear for my work, and I work. I earn the money doing something. As it were.
It's difficult to explain exactly how the change started happening, the "happy" one, I mean. I tried the Secret approach for a while and nothing happend; I took Postulancy classes, and yes, they helped a little bit, but not as much as I'd hoped. Rephrase: not too well on their own ( I'll explain lower down ). My cards, and using them to help others, were always a huge help, but even they stopped helping. Or rather, Life, real life, this long, terrible, boring thing in which we work for peanuts, terrible bosses ( or just terribly disorganised bosses ), odd hours of the day and in some cases little to show for it, got in my way. The corporate world, in so many ways, is just one big giant leech to make other people, often people you've never heard of, rich.
And, by Goddess, I let that get in my way?
Well, forget that.
My name is Dieter. It comes, by slight change, from the 5th Century Germanic Theodoric. Do you know what it means? Ruler of the people. And by the Mother, I will be a ruler of people. Mayhap not a literal ruler, but I will lead by example and try to improve the world around me with smiles, real ones, not the ones you wear when your world crumbles. I've been wrestling with my emotions for a while, and I'm making the concsious decision to be more upbeat about life in general, more trusting in the ways that matter, and more open to happiness.
I say all of this because it took a random tarot reading to get me to see what was wrong. The long and short of it is that I have to let go of the old ideas I have aobut myself. I have to shake off those bonds and let myself rise like the Phoenix does and burn my way forward. I'll Transcribe the reading as soon as my line at home is up and running, but suffice it to say it really made sense.
I asked the Reader, a proper tarot witch, what I had to do to get started on that path, and she flat out told me, I need to be more confident in myself. Time I am, eh, what?
So: SMILE, BITCHES!! It gives your face something to do and will affect your mood for a while.
I stress and I worry, nine times out of ten for no reason than the possibility of danger. I get so caught up in what MIGHT happen that I forget that, nine times out of ten, nothing actually happens.
So, that said, I have been working on latting myself be more positive. It hasn't been easy, and I want to sit here and blame my childhood and all the moving around that we did and where we stayed and and and. In fact, I made my 37th move two weeks ago and the stress has been killing me. Up until the move I was making stupid mistakes in the shop, my memory's been shot to scheisse and I haven't slept properly, as in, waking up feeling fully rested. Add that to how quiet the shop has been and increased travelling costs and all in all, you have one VERY stressed out Leo.
But you know what? I have a roof over my head. I have the means to get to and from work. I have clothes to wear for my work, and I work. I earn the money doing something. As it were.
It's difficult to explain exactly how the change started happening, the "happy" one, I mean. I tried the Secret approach for a while and nothing happend; I took Postulancy classes, and yes, they helped a little bit, but not as much as I'd hoped. Rephrase: not too well on their own ( I'll explain lower down ). My cards, and using them to help others, were always a huge help, but even they stopped helping. Or rather, Life, real life, this long, terrible, boring thing in which we work for peanuts, terrible bosses ( or just terribly disorganised bosses ), odd hours of the day and in some cases little to show for it, got in my way. The corporate world, in so many ways, is just one big giant leech to make other people, often people you've never heard of, rich.
And, by Goddess, I let that get in my way?
Well, forget that.
My name is Dieter. It comes, by slight change, from the 5th Century Germanic Theodoric. Do you know what it means? Ruler of the people. And by the Mother, I will be a ruler of people. Mayhap not a literal ruler, but I will lead by example and try to improve the world around me with smiles, real ones, not the ones you wear when your world crumbles. I've been wrestling with my emotions for a while, and I'm making the concsious decision to be more upbeat about life in general, more trusting in the ways that matter, and more open to happiness.
I say all of this because it took a random tarot reading to get me to see what was wrong. The long and short of it is that I have to let go of the old ideas I have aobut myself. I have to shake off those bonds and let myself rise like the Phoenix does and burn my way forward. I'll Transcribe the reading as soon as my line at home is up and running, but suffice it to say it really made sense.
I asked the Reader, a proper tarot witch, what I had to do to get started on that path, and she flat out told me, I need to be more confident in myself. Time I am, eh, what?
So: SMILE, BITCHES!! It gives your face something to do and will affect your mood for a while.
Sunday, 30 June 2013
Issa Friiiidaaayyy!! No, Sundaaayyy!! Ag, whatever...
Friday's are usually a good day.
Usually.
However, I just discovered that the right-hand screw for the lenses in my glasses has vanished. On top of that, I can't just replace it, as last year this particular screw had to be drilled out of the frame after breaking and replaced with a non-standard screw.
Fuck.
So, Superglue it'll have to be.
I just tried to pay the deposit for my new pair of glasses, but I can't trace the Account Name for the people making them, so I can't really pay the thing off my banking account. This means a trip into a bank to pay the deposit, with queues and strangers and all sortsa k@k.
Double fuck.
Oh, vell. Ve have to do vot ve have to do.
On a more positive note, it's SUCH an amazing day out there. We don't have any outside windows, but the centre's built in such a way that we can see out the balcony door and our neighbours' street-side window. (Precious, please kill that gesanik you're playing - again!).
Shame, I have to share this. It's half funny, half sad, and I'm going by what I remember of the report.
Some really rare Needletail has only been spotted 8 times in the last 187 or 178 years. The last spotting of this particular Needletail was in 1991 - 22 years ago. Now, recently, one was spotted by a group of birdwatchers who naturally got really excited at seeing such a rare flapper - and then almost died of shock when the bedamned fool flew into a wind turbine and died.
Does that damn fool know how close some of his fans came to dying? Probably not.
It's been established that I know how to speak Feegle. For those NOT in the know, it's the language of the Nac Mac Feegle in Terry Pratchett's "Hat Full of Sky" and "Wee Free Men", amongst one or two others. I suppose that's what you get accused of when you suddenly have a full conversation with your friends in Orang-utang half an hour before bed at night. Isso funny!
Right, so this is now Sunday. Not Friday anymore. Friday is, like, so two days ago!
Things that went through my head this morning between getting up, taking the bus to work, getting into the shop. This morning did NOT start out all that well and I shall explain in due course. Amongst other things.
First things first. Last night into this morning were another of those non-sleeping sessions. I'm running on the fumes of my fumes, yet I'm coping much better today than I usually when my sleep cycle goes awol on me. Anyway. I mistimed getting done, and as I ran around trying to find my head, I noticed a few things:
1) I didn't repack my comb yesterday;
2) I didn't pack my work shirt for today - thus, I'm wearing a scarlet red T-shirt under my black jersey over black skinny jeans and black canvas slip-ons. I look a bit dark really...;
3) Going back to the comb issue: my hair was in a bun over last night, so undoing it this morning really required a comb. You know, like the one I didn't pack? The only solution was to comb it out as well as I could with my fingers and roll it into an even tighter bun;
4) I didn't sleep, as I've mentioned, and the ost sleep I got over the Friday/Saturday night was maybe two hours. BIG maybe. Now my fumes' fumes have fumes.
I barely got my hair looking tidy and my arse in the car;s seat when I clicked something else: I'd been in such a rush with Julian I'd left the fur coats on my teeth. Naturally, the fur coats were the first thing to go when I walked in the shop this morning. Thank goodness we have a kitchenette-type thingy in the back of the shop.
Some developements have arisen around the shop. They're closing us down at the end of September, when the lease plus its notice of vacation expire. I don't know what will happen to me yet, but I will keep you updated as it happens.
Hitting the Woodbridge Island stop on the way in this morning I saw a soccer player going through some training in the near-pitch-darkness. Right on the grassy piece next to the side of the road, doing hopping squats and such like. I don't know what the things are actually called.
In other news: I'm getting new glasses. As soon as I've paid off the order. A whole R 300. Am I a miser? No. I simply havent been able to get to an FNB to pay the order. Which is valid for three months from time of consultation. I missed the cut-off the last time I had my eyes tested. In my defence, though, I only wanted to change the frames - the new glasses will be completely new, from frame to lenses. She's finally giving me single-visions that I certainly have to wear when I'm reading ro on a computer, and optionally in day-to-day activities like walking, watching TV at night, etc.
Anyway, this is me saying, "Bye for now!" I am kis and I want to start getting the shop sorted out for tomorrow. I just realised I have an empty space on one of the shelves, but I'll leave a note for Gladys saying that I'll refill it tomorrow. WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS!? You have nothing to do with this.
Go and enjoy your day!
Love you
Usually.
However, I just discovered that the right-hand screw for the lenses in my glasses has vanished. On top of that, I can't just replace it, as last year this particular screw had to be drilled out of the frame after breaking and replaced with a non-standard screw.
Fuck.
So, Superglue it'll have to be.
I just tried to pay the deposit for my new pair of glasses, but I can't trace the Account Name for the people making them, so I can't really pay the thing off my banking account. This means a trip into a bank to pay the deposit, with queues and strangers and all sortsa k@k.
Double fuck.
Oh, vell. Ve have to do vot ve have to do.
On a more positive note, it's SUCH an amazing day out there. We don't have any outside windows, but the centre's built in such a way that we can see out the balcony door and our neighbours' street-side window. (Precious, please kill that gesanik you're playing - again!).
Shame, I have to share this. It's half funny, half sad, and I'm going by what I remember of the report.
Some really rare Needletail has only been spotted 8 times in the last 187 or 178 years. The last spotting of this particular Needletail was in 1991 - 22 years ago. Now, recently, one was spotted by a group of birdwatchers who naturally got really excited at seeing such a rare flapper - and then almost died of shock when the bedamned fool flew into a wind turbine and died.
Does that damn fool know how close some of his fans came to dying? Probably not.
It's been established that I know how to speak Feegle. For those NOT in the know, it's the language of the Nac Mac Feegle in Terry Pratchett's "Hat Full of Sky" and "Wee Free Men", amongst one or two others. I suppose that's what you get accused of when you suddenly have a full conversation with your friends in Orang-utang half an hour before bed at night. Isso funny!
Right, so this is now Sunday. Not Friday anymore. Friday is, like, so two days ago!
Things that went through my head this morning between getting up, taking the bus to work, getting into the shop. This morning did NOT start out all that well and I shall explain in due course. Amongst other things.
First things first. Last night into this morning were another of those non-sleeping sessions. I'm running on the fumes of my fumes, yet I'm coping much better today than I usually when my sleep cycle goes awol on me. Anyway. I mistimed getting done, and as I ran around trying to find my head, I noticed a few things:
1) I didn't repack my comb yesterday;
2) I didn't pack my work shirt for today - thus, I'm wearing a scarlet red T-shirt under my black jersey over black skinny jeans and black canvas slip-ons. I look a bit dark really...;
3) Going back to the comb issue: my hair was in a bun over last night, so undoing it this morning really required a comb. You know, like the one I didn't pack? The only solution was to comb it out as well as I could with my fingers and roll it into an even tighter bun;
4) I didn't sleep, as I've mentioned, and the ost sleep I got over the Friday/Saturday night was maybe two hours. BIG maybe. Now my fumes' fumes have fumes.
I barely got my hair looking tidy and my arse in the car;s seat when I clicked something else: I'd been in such a rush with Julian I'd left the fur coats on my teeth. Naturally, the fur coats were the first thing to go when I walked in the shop this morning. Thank goodness we have a kitchenette-type thingy in the back of the shop.
Some developements have arisen around the shop. They're closing us down at the end of September, when the lease plus its notice of vacation expire. I don't know what will happen to me yet, but I will keep you updated as it happens.
Hitting the Woodbridge Island stop on the way in this morning I saw a soccer player going through some training in the near-pitch-darkness. Right on the grassy piece next to the side of the road, doing hopping squats and such like. I don't know what the things are actually called.
In other news: I'm getting new glasses. As soon as I've paid off the order. A whole R 300. Am I a miser? No. I simply havent been able to get to an FNB to pay the order. Which is valid for three months from time of consultation. I missed the cut-off the last time I had my eyes tested. In my defence, though, I only wanted to change the frames - the new glasses will be completely new, from frame to lenses. She's finally giving me single-visions that I certainly have to wear when I'm reading ro on a computer, and optionally in day-to-day activities like walking, watching TV at night, etc.
Anyway, this is me saying, "Bye for now!" I am kis and I want to start getting the shop sorted out for tomorrow. I just realised I have an empty space on one of the shelves, but I'll leave a note for Gladys saying that I'll refill it tomorrow. WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS!? You have nothing to do with this.
Go and enjoy your day!
Love you
Colour. Just colour.
Yes, you read that a-right. I mean colour, whereby we used to eat only the insects that had dull shadings and not the the bright markings; that we use to paint our fingernails and faces with the best match to our skin tones; with which we decide which types of eyes we like our men to have (or girls, for you lesbians and straight guys).
I often get so caught up in the tiny little things that sometimes (oft-times) I miss something that's right in front of me. Again, I mean colours. Have you ever stopped to really think about how a colour makes you feel? Therapists of different media all use colour, in some way or another, in their practises. If you look at the normal, 1980's style doctor, such as I grew up with, you see that his bottles of pills and medication were all of different shades of brown or blue or green, sometimes even the odd clear one. Then we move on to colour therapists, who use combinations of colour according to you personal preferences to affect a "healing" in whichever area or areas of your life are in need of it.
Let's discuss this a little bit. Think of blue. What do you feel when you think of blue? I personally don't like it, and yet it seems to be one of the most common used colours in clothing, sometimes shoes, make-up and various bedding sets. To me, as a cool colour, blue is cold. It's the colour that brings to mind for me the days when you either had a fire at night or you died like a freeze-dried bug.
And then, suddenly, you get different shades of blue. OH, MY WORD!! Different shades of blue!? Hell, yes. Turquoise (it's a blut, not a green), aquamarine, skyblue, cobalt blue, midnight blue, electric blue, navy blue. There's still a whole list of blues to go through, but I don't know what it is, so go look up for yourselves, you lazy bunch! Just joking, I've added a link to get you started here. If the link doesn't work from here, you'll have to Googlepedia Blue and start off at Wikipedia. The buggers have to have provable sources for every article, so start with the Wiki, and if it seems you can get somewhere with it, use the sources as a diving board.
Right, enough about blue.
Do you have any idea how beautiful your skin looks to me? That unblemished Coffee-and-Cream of certain of the local tribes, where you feel you could drink the owner of such skin and have enough leftover afterwards for the world to share some. What about the pale and freckled look? I LOVE IT!! My friend JM is a ginger and he has the most amazing freckles and his hair isn't a flat-out "ow! my eyes" as people are wont to expect. (Red hair, by the way, is an evolutionary adaption whereby certain bodies were altered to form the red-hair gene. Since Vitamin D is formed in the skin by the interaction of Solar UV radiation and one's skin, it does turn a flaming red. This simply means (from what I can remember) that the body has very suddenly produced too much vitamin D and might be storing some for the . If you don't catch my drift, let me try and simplify:
One day long ago everybody was blonde or dark-haired. There no redheaded people anywhere to be found. So Genetics, in their inner wisdom, plotted and planned a conference discussing what they can do to help their bears. Some of the ladies at the conference were pregnant. It just so happened that these ladies all came from the northern territories of earth - think Vikings, Scots, some Irish. You know mos. So, Genetics got to work on these ladies and changed their babies' skin cells around a bit. Now, bear in mind that the Northern Teritories have little to know sun for months at a time. The Genetics pulled a gene here, pushed a gene there, and nine months later, when the babies were born, they had the first red hair. Their beautiful red hair and pale skin mean that, in the places with the least sunlight, they'll always have the greater advantage when it comes to Vitamin D production.
In 60 years redheads will be extinct. All due to genetic diversity and the mingling of the races. I can honestly say, if I'm still around and I never see red hair again, i will be heartbroken.
I often get so caught up in the tiny little things that sometimes (oft-times) I miss something that's right in front of me. Again, I mean colours. Have you ever stopped to really think about how a colour makes you feel? Therapists of different media all use colour, in some way or another, in their practises. If you look at the normal, 1980's style doctor, such as I grew up with, you see that his bottles of pills and medication were all of different shades of brown or blue or green, sometimes even the odd clear one. Then we move on to colour therapists, who use combinations of colour according to you personal preferences to affect a "healing" in whichever area or areas of your life are in need of it.
Let's discuss this a little bit. Think of blue. What do you feel when you think of blue? I personally don't like it, and yet it seems to be one of the most common used colours in clothing, sometimes shoes, make-up and various bedding sets. To me, as a cool colour, blue is cold. It's the colour that brings to mind for me the days when you either had a fire at night or you died like a freeze-dried bug.
And then, suddenly, you get different shades of blue. OH, MY WORD!! Different shades of blue!? Hell, yes. Turquoise (it's a blut, not a green), aquamarine, skyblue, cobalt blue, midnight blue, electric blue, navy blue. There's still a whole list of blues to go through, but I don't know what it is, so go look up for yourselves, you lazy bunch! Just joking, I've added a link to get you started here. If the link doesn't work from here, you'll have to Googlepedia Blue and start off at Wikipedia. The buggers have to have provable sources for every article, so start with the Wiki, and if it seems you can get somewhere with it, use the sources as a diving board.
Right, enough about blue.
Do you have any idea how beautiful your skin looks to me? That unblemished Coffee-and-Cream of certain of the local tribes, where you feel you could drink the owner of such skin and have enough leftover afterwards for the world to share some. What about the pale and freckled look? I LOVE IT!! My friend JM is a ginger and he has the most amazing freckles and his hair isn't a flat-out "ow! my eyes" as people are wont to expect. (Red hair, by the way, is an evolutionary adaption whereby certain bodies were altered to form the red-hair gene. Since Vitamin D is formed in the skin by the interaction of Solar UV radiation and one's skin, it does turn a flaming red. This simply means (from what I can remember) that the body has very suddenly produced too much vitamin D and might be storing some for the . If you don't catch my drift, let me try and simplify:
One day long ago everybody was blonde or dark-haired. There no redheaded people anywhere to be found. So Genetics, in their inner wisdom, plotted and planned a conference discussing what they can do to help their bears. Some of the ladies at the conference were pregnant. It just so happened that these ladies all came from the northern territories of earth - think Vikings, Scots, some Irish. You know mos. So, Genetics got to work on these ladies and changed their babies' skin cells around a bit. Now, bear in mind that the Northern Teritories have little to know sun for months at a time. The Genetics pulled a gene here, pushed a gene there, and nine months later, when the babies were born, they had the first red hair. Their beautiful red hair and pale skin mean that, in the places with the least sunlight, they'll always have the greater advantage when it comes to Vitamin D production.
In 60 years redheads will be extinct. All due to genetic diversity and the mingling of the races. I can honestly say, if I'm still around and I never see red hair again, i will be heartbroken.
Wednesday, 29 May 2013
The first time I ran...
I wish I could say, "The first time I ran a race", but that was when I was seven and Heavens forbid I have to relive those terrible memories. School athletics days will NEVER have a fond memory in my mind.
No, this is the first time I ran away. Like, from my manager.
I will admit it openly now. I am rather embarrassed by it. But as it stands, I officially ran away from my manager by not coming in to work yesterday. I didn't lie when I told her I haven 't been feeling very well lately and that I wanted to rest; I just didn't tell her that I also needed a rest from her. She's really draining in such a non-subtle way that it's amazing anyone can ever work with her. On the other hand, mayhap that's why she ran the shop alone for so long - it isn't that they couldn't find anyone to work with her, maybe the Universe was telling them no one was ready for her yet.
So what does that make me, then? An experimental toffee? Some days it feels like it. Things are so quiet here it gets ridiculously boring. It even affects my studying and reading during the few times I don't need to study.
Do you know what the stinker is? When Madam was ill and then off for her church conference I made close to R 30,000 worth of sales, with a few follow-ups from those same customers afterwards. I mean. how amazing is that?
Aaaaannnd then she's back and all the customers disappear. Seriously? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot - what's the big idea?!
Oh! But then, Monday and today, we had real shiners. Monday Gl and I are sitting here, doing our thing (me reading webcomics and she doing her puzzles) when this woman barges in here talking a mile a minute about Pan knows what and eventually, after five or six minutes of this vocal bombarding, she slows down enough for me to realise, oh, wait, she wants some of our stuff for a gay exhibition of products (her words) for the end of July. I then, as per my job, explained to her that she actually needs to speak to the Warehouse because I'm not allowed to authorise loans or exhibitions of our products at all and they might. She then asks who to speak to and I, again as per my job, explain that it's basically whoever's there, but speak to M and he will then direct her to the person of the moment to speak to. Does she not get harregat for that? "Who do I speak to?" she says again. "Martin," I reply again. "Who do I speak to, Dieter!?" she asks really snobbily, and I just-just manage to keep my cool and tell her, "Martin." When she asked again I used her own tone of voice on her. The dumb bitch immediately stands up, looks me in the eye and says, "You're an arrogant little fucker, aren't you?"
Ken jy vir my?
"Well, then so are you," I say.
She turns and walks out, muttering about me being an arrogant little fucker the whole time, and I'm just, like, "Have a nice day!" She walks around the corner and doesn't shut the fuck up about me all the way past the shop, even nodding at me at one point. Of course I returned the nod. What pissed me off is when the stupid **** tore up our brochure, instead of just leaving the thing or something like that for someone who actually wants it.
A bit earlier on the same basic thing happens. A gentleman comes in from Zabad and says he likes our planters, blah blah blah, who can he speak to? I give him the same story I gave the lady: speak to M, he's authorised to work with phone-in clients and direct their calls and queries as he may. The dude then asks, who's the owner of the company? At this point Sylvia stood up and told him, as per our jobs, that we aren't allowed to give out their names or details under any circymstances, that he will have to speak to M. The man looks at us and says flat-out, youre the first company ever that don't want to give me the owners' names. We explained, it isn't so much we don't want to, we aren't allowed to. He then went on about how he deals only directly with companies' owners because he negotiates special rates and trade discounts with them and so forth and such a wind, then he handed us back our brochures and walked out.
I only have one thing to ask Deity: I've now worked twice this week, and both times I've had a customer get funny. Goddess, is this going to be the trend for the week?
No, this is the first time I ran away. Like, from my manager.
I will admit it openly now. I am rather embarrassed by it. But as it stands, I officially ran away from my manager by not coming in to work yesterday. I didn't lie when I told her I haven 't been feeling very well lately and that I wanted to rest; I just didn't tell her that I also needed a rest from her. She's really draining in such a non-subtle way that it's amazing anyone can ever work with her. On the other hand, mayhap that's why she ran the shop alone for so long - it isn't that they couldn't find anyone to work with her, maybe the Universe was telling them no one was ready for her yet.
So what does that make me, then? An experimental toffee? Some days it feels like it. Things are so quiet here it gets ridiculously boring. It even affects my studying and reading during the few times I don't need to study.
Do you know what the stinker is? When Madam was ill and then off for her church conference I made close to R 30,000 worth of sales, with a few follow-ups from those same customers afterwards. I mean. how amazing is that?
Aaaaannnd then she's back and all the customers disappear. Seriously? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot - what's the big idea?!
Oh! But then, Monday and today, we had real shiners. Monday Gl and I are sitting here, doing our thing (me reading webcomics and she doing her puzzles) when this woman barges in here talking a mile a minute about Pan knows what and eventually, after five or six minutes of this vocal bombarding, she slows down enough for me to realise, oh, wait, she wants some of our stuff for a gay exhibition of products (her words) for the end of July. I then, as per my job, explained to her that she actually needs to speak to the Warehouse because I'm not allowed to authorise loans or exhibitions of our products at all and they might. She then asks who to speak to and I, again as per my job, explain that it's basically whoever's there, but speak to M and he will then direct her to the person of the moment to speak to. Does she not get harregat for that? "Who do I speak to?" she says again. "Martin," I reply again. "Who do I speak to, Dieter!?" she asks really snobbily, and I just-just manage to keep my cool and tell her, "Martin." When she asked again I used her own tone of voice on her. The dumb bitch immediately stands up, looks me in the eye and says, "You're an arrogant little fucker, aren't you?"
Ken jy vir my?
"Well, then so are you," I say.
She turns and walks out, muttering about me being an arrogant little fucker the whole time, and I'm just, like, "Have a nice day!" She walks around the corner and doesn't shut the fuck up about me all the way past the shop, even nodding at me at one point. Of course I returned the nod. What pissed me off is when the stupid **** tore up our brochure, instead of just leaving the thing or something like that for someone who actually wants it.
A bit earlier on the same basic thing happens. A gentleman comes in from Zabad and says he likes our planters, blah blah blah, who can he speak to? I give him the same story I gave the lady: speak to M, he's authorised to work with phone-in clients and direct their calls and queries as he may. The dude then asks, who's the owner of the company? At this point Sylvia stood up and told him, as per our jobs, that we aren't allowed to give out their names or details under any circymstances, that he will have to speak to M. The man looks at us and says flat-out, youre the first company ever that don't want to give me the owners' names. We explained, it isn't so much we don't want to, we aren't allowed to. He then went on about how he deals only directly with companies' owners because he negotiates special rates and trade discounts with them and so forth and such a wind, then he handed us back our brochures and walked out.
I only have one thing to ask Deity: I've now worked twice this week, and both times I've had a customer get funny. Goddess, is this going to be the trend for the week?
Friday, 17 May 2013
Some things that can be discussed, some that shouldn't, and why I forgot my knickers this morning
Gooooooooood mooooorrrrniiiiiiiiinnnnnngg!!
How is everyone this fine and lovely Friday morning? Today's date, in case you're reading this later on, is Friday the 17th of May of the Julian calender year of 2013.
Hee hee! Rather a mouthful, innit?
Gosh, had another restless night last night, so I do apologise beforehand for any spelling or grammatical errors you pick up. As Xsjana says, often it's caused by stress, but I think last night was caused by a mixture of stress and excitement. Let me explain: Things are a bit on the stressful side for me because a part of my salary is made up out of commissions for pots I sell. I'm not sure of the exact percentage, but it isn't huge. I have reason to complain about that. The centre we're in (Cape Quarter Lifestyle Village) is rather quiet nine days out of seven. The most successful store here is the Gourmet Spar downstairs - if I have it right the only Gourmet Spar in the country. IF I have it right. Lately the CRAFT moments have been increasing in frequency. Luckily, I almost always have a notebook on-hand in case I really feel I'll miss or lose something important out of my sieve, and there's more than enough scrap paper in the shop for those annoying little "In Case" Factors that have to be taken into consideration. Anyway, in a normal month, the absolute BULK of my salary goes into just getting to work. In Table View that didn't bother me much, but living out in Dune Fountain means that I have to take a bus two hours before I start working, and by the time it picks me up outside it reminds me of a tin of anchovies. At least sardines have some dignity.
Anyway. I'm not trying to seem ungrateful; I'm just highly frustrated.
On that note, it's now time for the exciting stuff.
My friend Cawyn works for the Cape Town branch of Amazon.com. Yes, can you believe it! But, before you get too happy about being able to order from them, etc, I'm going to have to burst your bubble. The CT branch deals exclusively in customer queries and such-like things. I've asked my tjom for details, but it doth appear she be preoccupiedified. That's cool, I have a whole blog to catch up with this stuff on. Anyway, Amazon apparently recruit over the June/July period. I'm holding thumbs in a BIG way. Yes, it is in Town again, but at least I'll be earning enough to justify the work. And as my friend tells me, there's lots of room for growth and promotion.
From what I understand, the selection process involves tests, one of which involves being able to understand the different American accents. I think I would do quite OK - I mean, we do have MNet at home, and most movie stars nowadays are Americans. Right? Neh?
LOL.
Time for some things that shouldn't be discussed. So, why, you might ask, am I discussing them? Ag, sommer because I can.
What is it that shouldn't be discussed? Easy: Sex-related jewellery. <Snicker!>
Yes, sex related jewellery can be quite interesting, as I've recently discovered. There's such a variety, and while much of it has the same basic function, some have minor details or addtional thingies either added or omitted. Take, for instance, the cock ring. It does exactly what it sounds like it does. It gets worn (in "common" forms) around the entire base of the penis: the upper base of the shaft and down the sides and lower base of the scrotum. Damnations. I'd love to post a pic, but since I'm using the shop's Mac, I really can't take that kind of a chance. Not that there's anyone else staffing the place since Tuesday. Madam was off sick Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday, and had already booked yesterday, today and tomorrow off for leave for a church conference. So all the sales have been coming to me. Can anyone say YAY! with me??
Anyway, back to sex talk.
You get quite a variety of cock rings. The simplest is a detachable rubber ring that only fits around the base of the shaft to maintain an erection after it has been pumped up with a pump. It restricts the flow of blood out of the penis and thus keeps it hard enough for anyone who has erectile dysfunction to... well, function. Another version has little "beads" all around the ring of it that press in as knot would press in a length of strangling-rope (morbid, I know, but the only workable model my brain could grab at). Don't ask me what the beads in these single-layer rings are actually for - I'd rather not lie.
Speaking of beads, you get a funny little beaded sleevy thing for the penis called a stroker. I think. I'm looking it up on Google Mobile quickly... But how this is worn is over the shaft only, and it's a rather wide thing, and the beads are there to help one stroke the penis better. I've been thinking that, as soon as I have some spare dosh, maybe I should buy and try one. My feline curiosity doesn't seem to want to let go of this one...
I saw an image of a cock ring design to hold pack a foreskin not long ago. (Naturally, I was doing a Wikipedia search to learn about these things). It doesn't look too comfortable, of the image is anything to go by. In fact, it looks like the mouthpiece of an emergency CPR breather without the bag over. Those little wings just do NOT seem right... <shudder>
I've been hearing quite a bit on cock rings with built-in vibrators and I saw one the other day (not, I realised, for the first time, either). The one this place had was made of pink silicon, I suppose since the number of people allergic to latex is quite high. The vibrator part is this odd little pill-shaped piece hanging off the bottom of it. Looking at it, I'm guessing that sits under and presses into the prostate. Has anyone here ever used one before? I'd like to know what the experience is like, please.
Sticking to the down-low, a very close friend of mine has been talking of possibly getting a Prince Albert. For those not in the know, a Prince Albert (or PA) is a penile piercing running through the eye of the penis and out the bottom edge of the glans. This is also called a cock ring, so if anyone ever speaks or asks about a cock ring, be sure they know the difference between the literal ring and the PA piercing. I said that ultimately it's up to him. Penile piercings apparently heal quite fast, and I know another friend of mine got his and was told not to use his schlong for a week or two, but he hooked up with someone that same night, and a few condoms later everything was still a-OK. What are your views on genital piercings? Personally, I'm completely neutral, so long as the thing doesn't make impede biology.
Right, I believe I mentioned knickers... or rather, a lack of knickers. Simply put, J and I overslept a wee littley-bitty this morning (remember the sleepless night?) and when the alarm went off made the mistake of snoozing it - twice! So, at 5.55 am mom-in-law knocks on the door to wake us, since the alarms failed. OMG! I'm up and out of that room so fast I didn't even raise dust. Hair washed and teeth brushed, I teleport back to the room and get dressed, nicely shirt and a new pair of sock and all that jazz. It was only when we were half-way to Table View that I realised, Oops - no undies! I didn't figure any into my extreme-speed getting done.
Oh, well. At least things can breath now.
OH! Before I go, one last thing.
Depending on both my bus and my route/mood, there are two places I walk past regularly. One is called Bakoven and for my life I can't figure out whether it's German or Dutch, or something else entirely. It certainly isn't French. Mm, they regularly have caramel-ified smells filling that space between Engen and the building they're in. This morning was no different, and it made me hate them just a little bit. Just, you know, a really tiny little bit. Because their stuff always smells so fecking good and I haven't had the chance to sample any yet!! :'(
Here's a pic of them:
So if, you know, you want to surprise me or anything with a treat or some such...
This below is a place on Waterkant Street, literally right on the Fanwalk. Espresso Bar Gelateria. They have this KILLER Austrian hot chocolate - the barista always just calls it Kakao, which is (duh) the base name for chocolate. It's thick, and smooth, and creamy, and the best part about it besides its absolutely addictive taste is that you don't need to add any sugar whatsoever. The option is there, but I've not needed to add anything extra at any time I have one. Please, go give them a try - they are SO worth it!
Righto, I'm off. I've been pretending to be busy for long enough now (I said to no customer), so I reckon it's about time I go and give my attention to some other endeavour.
I love you all!
How is everyone this fine and lovely Friday morning? Today's date, in case you're reading this later on, is Friday the 17th of May of the Julian calender year of 2013.
Hee hee! Rather a mouthful, innit?
Gosh, had another restless night last night, so I do apologise beforehand for any spelling or grammatical errors you pick up. As Xsjana says, often it's caused by stress, but I think last night was caused by a mixture of stress and excitement. Let me explain: Things are a bit on the stressful side for me because a part of my salary is made up out of commissions for pots I sell. I'm not sure of the exact percentage, but it isn't huge. I have reason to complain about that. The centre we're in (Cape Quarter Lifestyle Village) is rather quiet nine days out of seven. The most successful store here is the Gourmet Spar downstairs - if I have it right the only Gourmet Spar in the country. IF I have it right. Lately the CRAFT moments have been increasing in frequency. Luckily, I almost always have a notebook on-hand in case I really feel I'll miss or lose something important out of my sieve, and there's more than enough scrap paper in the shop for those annoying little "In Case" Factors that have to be taken into consideration. Anyway, in a normal month, the absolute BULK of my salary goes into just getting to work. In Table View that didn't bother me much, but living out in Dune Fountain means that I have to take a bus two hours before I start working, and by the time it picks me up outside it reminds me of a tin of anchovies. At least sardines have some dignity.
Anyway. I'm not trying to seem ungrateful; I'm just highly frustrated.
On that note, it's now time for the exciting stuff.
My friend Cawyn works for the Cape Town branch of Amazon.com. Yes, can you believe it! But, before you get too happy about being able to order from them, etc, I'm going to have to burst your bubble. The CT branch deals exclusively in customer queries and such-like things. I've asked my tjom for details, but it doth appear she be preoccupiedified. That's cool, I have a whole blog to catch up with this stuff on. Anyway, Amazon apparently recruit over the June/July period. I'm holding thumbs in a BIG way. Yes, it is in Town again, but at least I'll be earning enough to justify the work. And as my friend tells me, there's lots of room for growth and promotion.
From what I understand, the selection process involves tests, one of which involves being able to understand the different American accents. I think I would do quite OK - I mean, we do have MNet at home, and most movie stars nowadays are Americans. Right? Neh?
LOL.
Time for some things that shouldn't be discussed. So, why, you might ask, am I discussing them? Ag, sommer because I can.
What is it that shouldn't be discussed? Easy: Sex-related jewellery. <Snicker!>
Yes, sex related jewellery can be quite interesting, as I've recently discovered. There's such a variety, and while much of it has the same basic function, some have minor details or addtional thingies either added or omitted. Take, for instance, the cock ring. It does exactly what it sounds like it does. It gets worn (in "common" forms) around the entire base of the penis: the upper base of the shaft and down the sides and lower base of the scrotum. Damnations. I'd love to post a pic, but since I'm using the shop's Mac, I really can't take that kind of a chance. Not that there's anyone else staffing the place since Tuesday. Madam was off sick Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday, and had already booked yesterday, today and tomorrow off for leave for a church conference. So all the sales have been coming to me. Can anyone say YAY! with me??
Anyway, back to sex talk.
You get quite a variety of cock rings. The simplest is a detachable rubber ring that only fits around the base of the shaft to maintain an erection after it has been pumped up with a pump. It restricts the flow of blood out of the penis and thus keeps it hard enough for anyone who has erectile dysfunction to... well, function. Another version has little "beads" all around the ring of it that press in as knot would press in a length of strangling-rope (morbid, I know, but the only workable model my brain could grab at). Don't ask me what the beads in these single-layer rings are actually for - I'd rather not lie.
Speaking of beads, you get a funny little beaded sleevy thing for the penis called a stroker. I think. I'm looking it up on Google Mobile quickly... But how this is worn is over the shaft only, and it's a rather wide thing, and the beads are there to help one stroke the penis better. I've been thinking that, as soon as I have some spare dosh, maybe I should buy and try one. My feline curiosity doesn't seem to want to let go of this one...
I saw an image of a cock ring design to hold pack a foreskin not long ago. (Naturally, I was doing a Wikipedia search to learn about these things). It doesn't look too comfortable, of the image is anything to go by. In fact, it looks like the mouthpiece of an emergency CPR breather without the bag over. Those little wings just do NOT seem right... <shudder>
I've been hearing quite a bit on cock rings with built-in vibrators and I saw one the other day (not, I realised, for the first time, either). The one this place had was made of pink silicon, I suppose since the number of people allergic to latex is quite high. The vibrator part is this odd little pill-shaped piece hanging off the bottom of it. Looking at it, I'm guessing that sits under and presses into the prostate. Has anyone here ever used one before? I'd like to know what the experience is like, please.
Sticking to the down-low, a very close friend of mine has been talking of possibly getting a Prince Albert. For those not in the know, a Prince Albert (or PA) is a penile piercing running through the eye of the penis and out the bottom edge of the glans. This is also called a cock ring, so if anyone ever speaks or asks about a cock ring, be sure they know the difference between the literal ring and the PA piercing. I said that ultimately it's up to him. Penile piercings apparently heal quite fast, and I know another friend of mine got his and was told not to use his schlong for a week or two, but he hooked up with someone that same night, and a few condoms later everything was still a-OK. What are your views on genital piercings? Personally, I'm completely neutral, so long as the thing doesn't make impede biology.
Right, I believe I mentioned knickers... or rather, a lack of knickers. Simply put, J and I overslept a wee littley-bitty this morning (remember the sleepless night?) and when the alarm went off made the mistake of snoozing it - twice! So, at 5.55 am mom-in-law knocks on the door to wake us, since the alarms failed. OMG! I'm up and out of that room so fast I didn't even raise dust. Hair washed and teeth brushed, I teleport back to the room and get dressed, nicely shirt and a new pair of sock and all that jazz. It was only when we were half-way to Table View that I realised, Oops - no undies! I didn't figure any into my extreme-speed getting done.
Oh, well. At least things can breath now.
OH! Before I go, one last thing.
Depending on both my bus and my route/mood, there are two places I walk past regularly. One is called Bakoven and for my life I can't figure out whether it's German or Dutch, or something else entirely. It certainly isn't French. Mm, they regularly have caramel-ified smells filling that space between Engen and the building they're in. This morning was no different, and it made me hate them just a little bit. Just, you know, a really tiny little bit. Because their stuff always smells so fecking good and I haven't had the chance to sample any yet!! :'(
Here's a pic of them:
So if, you know, you want to surprise me or anything with a treat or some such...
This below is a place on Waterkant Street, literally right on the Fanwalk. Espresso Bar Gelateria. They have this KILLER Austrian hot chocolate - the barista always just calls it Kakao, which is (duh) the base name for chocolate. It's thick, and smooth, and creamy, and the best part about it besides its absolutely addictive taste is that you don't need to add any sugar whatsoever. The option is there, but I've not needed to add anything extra at any time I have one. Please, go give them a try - they are SO worth it!
Righto, I'm off. I've been pretending to be busy for long enough now (I said to no customer), so I reckon it's about time I go and give my attention to some other endeavour.
I love you all!
Friday, 10 May 2013
Pubic regrowth is a bitch!
No matter what anyone tells you, or tries to tell you, or drugs and tells you, or even hypnotises and tells you, having your pubes grow back after a few days hurts like the dickens! Not so much in the actual "eish eina" way, but the itching and the sharp little pains as your undies rub over the skin and then the pants (or skirts) or whatever that you wear over that area just HAVE to go and contribute to the itching and the scratchiness and and and...
<Deep breath!>
So that's what's been on my mind of late. Pretty horrible, I know, and completely not usually what's making noise in my upper head.
Had any good lollipops lately?
Something that has been bothering me is old songs. "On Top of Spaghetti" is a firm favourite, outdone only by "You are my Sunshine", with Tom Jones and his "What's New, Pussycat?" floating in and out of my consciousness. OMG, the noise these three are making! I tell you, kattekore have nothing on this lot.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,
You make me happy
When skies are grey!
I lost my poor meeeeeeaaaatbaaaaaaaallll
When somebody sneeeeeeeezed!
It rolled off the taaaaaaable and onto the flooooooooor!
Pussycat, pussycat, I love you, yes, I do!!"
<Deep breath!>
So that's what's been on my mind of late. Pretty horrible, I know, and completely not usually what's making noise in my upper head.
Had any good lollipops lately?
Something that has been bothering me is old songs. "On Top of Spaghetti" is a firm favourite, outdone only by "You are my Sunshine", with Tom Jones and his "What's New, Pussycat?" floating in and out of my consciousness. OMG, the noise these three are making! I tell you, kattekore have nothing on this lot.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,
You make me happy
When skies are grey!
I lost my poor meeeeeeaaaatbaaaaaaaallll
When somebody sneeeeeeeezed!
It rolled off the taaaaaaable and onto the flooooooooor!
Pussycat, pussycat, I love you, yes, I do!!"
Sunday, 21 April 2013
Oh, sh**, I'm an addict!!
No fear, readers, I'm talking about cigarettes.
Yes, it seems I'm a late bloomer in the smoking department. Over the last few years if I did smoke, I'd either get a handrolled from Xsjana or roll my own from a round Tupperware box that still smells like vanilla. Recently, though, it's been Stuyvesant Menthol (which clears the sinuses like a bitch!) or Winston Blue (sorry, love, that was your doing). But ja, it went from only smoking with Xsjana to smoking at braais and long visits, and now I even buy my own boxes. Ugh. I'm soi\ going back to the menthols - J and I bought a box of Princeton Reds between us, and more than one in a four-hour period really makes the throat feel whacky. So, if I do decide to get again, I'm making sure I have the dosh for Stuyvs. The cheap kak is really... well, kak.
Everyone who knows my family and I knows we like REALLY powerful voices, or voice effects, in the singers we listen to. I like Florence Welsh's voice, Annie Lennox, Turkish singer Sertab Erener, even Katy Perry (it helps her stuff's catchy, too) and Alanis Morissette. Take as an example Anni9e Lennox's version of "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen". Not only does she do an truly amazing choral version of it (that's how it sounds to me, though: as if there are three of her singing all at once). It also helps that she actually has a real-life hurdy-gurdy in the musical array - OMG, who even knows what the heck a hurdy-gurdy is anymore!? And then the pennywhistle and the clapping come in... Wow. Total audio bliss, as fas as I'm concerned. This specific song has been popping into my head quite a bit over the last few days and I'm lucky enough to have it on my phone, so, on the bus, if I suddenly have this urge to have my skin run goosebumps, on goes "Rest Ye Merry".
I'm not a fan of long nails. The fact of the matter is, having long nails makes me scratch myself open - I have a horrible habit of picking and scratching at my skin and having nails means I always walk away from those encounters with little holes breaking the surface of my skin. HOWEVER: I'm trying to grow my nails for a bit. People around me have been cutting their hair, but I've been told by a number of people, including at LEAST one hairstylist, that I should keep my hair as it is. Cool. I shall then do just that.
So, in lieu of cutting my hair, I shall be growing and then cutting my nails. My friends have been doing it as a sort of "letting go" - but I like my hair way too much, though :P
But damn, it's a bitch! I'm constantly afraid of breaking or bending a nail, especially since I've been doing quite a bit of art and building up of my projects for class. I actually hope to be able to cut at least two of them down to size over the next two weeks. My point is, I get it. I can now finally, and fully, appreciate the effort that goes into growing a set of nails.
This last piece of the post goes out to the lady whose service we attended on Friday, Mariaan Waagenaar. (Dia Frampton's "Don't Kick the Chair" is playing in the other tab as I type here right now). For those new to the blogs or any mention of Oma Waagenaar, she was my cousin's grandmother and battled cancer for twenty-odd years - certainly longer than I actively remember knowing her. In varying degrees she's either played a major or a minor role in my life. The fact is, she's always been there. Even after my aunt divorced Bart, Oma was there. My father and Bart were friends at school, and it's through my dad that my aunt met him in the first place, and thus Oma and Opa Waagenaar (side note: I'm not forgetting the "u" in "ouma" - this is how it's written in Dutch and German). Long story short, Oma's always played some kind of a role in my life.
Her life, and her immense battle with that plague on humanity, cancer, ended last Sunday morning, on the 14 of April. It's strange, but for someone who was always there, I didn't feel anything about her passing. Sunday I even forgot to tell J, and I feel like a right git for it, but hey, there you have it. Throughout the whole week I only felt a sort of nothingness that she was gone. No good feelings, no bad feelings, no feelings at all. Even when I was asked to be a pall bearer (it was a REALLY lovely coffin - woven completely out of wicker, a literal basket coffin), I didn't bat an eyelash; I just said, "Oh, all right."
Friday morning I help clean the house. I vacuum, first my room, then the passage and the braai room, lounge, foyer, dining-room-to-be, etc. I get out my shirt fix my formal shoes (with a GLUE GUN and HOT GLUE, please note), make sure my things are packed to be dropped off at J's afterwards and off we go. Get there and I'm smiling and laughing along with the rest of them. the undertaker-dude opens his hearse (a very modern family van) and we take out what's left of Oma's latest incarnation. the basket was heavier than it looked; even with six of us carrying it, I really felt the weight of it. Throughout the whole thing up until this point I kept going over the Klingon acceptance ritual: "It is an empty shell. Do with it what you like." And I was fine. Until I saw uncle Martin and Dean's faces. We carried Oma's basket to the memorial photo and put it on the trolley. This is where I finally felt everything I should have felt over the week. I didn't quite break down, but it felt like I was very close to it. I saw what my aunt and the family were going through - I could deal with myself. I did just that.
The service itself was in Dutch, so except for Dean's poem, "My Ouma's Blue Eyes", I didn't follow it too well. And just like that it was over. Oma Waagenaar was officially no more.
We had tea and cake afterwards and you know what? It was so pleasant. It truly was.
I call to the Spirits of the East, of the Element of Air;
Fly her to Spirit and guide her true.
I call to the Spirits of the North, of the Element of Fire;
Let her talents and passions not be lost, but granted to their next bearer.
I call to the Spirits of the West, of the Element of Water.
Let the pain of her passing be eased, and out hearts filled only with the joy of having had her in our lives.
I call to the Spirits of the South, of the Element of Earth;
Let the ashes that were once her body once more become a part of the Cycle of Life to remind us that even Death is a part of our Journey.
I call to Deity, that spark of Divinity that fills and connects all Life;
May her next incarnation be joyous and blessed and free from the ills that plagued her in this one, and may she touch the lives of others and share her joys the same way as she did in this one.
So mote it be.
Yes, it seems I'm a late bloomer in the smoking department. Over the last few years if I did smoke, I'd either get a handrolled from Xsjana or roll my own from a round Tupperware box that still smells like vanilla. Recently, though, it's been Stuyvesant Menthol (which clears the sinuses like a bitch!) or Winston Blue (sorry, love, that was your doing). But ja, it went from only smoking with Xsjana to smoking at braais and long visits, and now I even buy my own boxes. Ugh. I'm soi\ going back to the menthols - J and I bought a box of Princeton Reds between us, and more than one in a four-hour period really makes the throat feel whacky. So, if I do decide to get again, I'm making sure I have the dosh for Stuyvs. The cheap kak is really... well, kak.
Everyone who knows my family and I knows we like REALLY powerful voices, or voice effects, in the singers we listen to. I like Florence Welsh's voice, Annie Lennox, Turkish singer Sertab Erener, even Katy Perry (it helps her stuff's catchy, too) and Alanis Morissette. Take as an example Anni9e Lennox's version of "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen". Not only does she do an truly amazing choral version of it (that's how it sounds to me, though: as if there are three of her singing all at once). It also helps that she actually has a real-life hurdy-gurdy in the musical array - OMG, who even knows what the heck a hurdy-gurdy is anymore!? And then the pennywhistle and the clapping come in... Wow. Total audio bliss, as fas as I'm concerned. This specific song has been popping into my head quite a bit over the last few days and I'm lucky enough to have it on my phone, so, on the bus, if I suddenly have this urge to have my skin run goosebumps, on goes "Rest Ye Merry".
I'm not a fan of long nails. The fact of the matter is, having long nails makes me scratch myself open - I have a horrible habit of picking and scratching at my skin and having nails means I always walk away from those encounters with little holes breaking the surface of my skin. HOWEVER: I'm trying to grow my nails for a bit. People around me have been cutting their hair, but I've been told by a number of people, including at LEAST one hairstylist, that I should keep my hair as it is. Cool. I shall then do just that.
So, in lieu of cutting my hair, I shall be growing and then cutting my nails. My friends have been doing it as a sort of "letting go" - but I like my hair way too much, though :P
But damn, it's a bitch! I'm constantly afraid of breaking or bending a nail, especially since I've been doing quite a bit of art and building up of my projects for class. I actually hope to be able to cut at least two of them down to size over the next two weeks. My point is, I get it. I can now finally, and fully, appreciate the effort that goes into growing a set of nails.
This last piece of the post goes out to the lady whose service we attended on Friday, Mariaan Waagenaar. (Dia Frampton's "Don't Kick the Chair" is playing in the other tab as I type here right now). For those new to the blogs or any mention of Oma Waagenaar, she was my cousin's grandmother and battled cancer for twenty-odd years - certainly longer than I actively remember knowing her. In varying degrees she's either played a major or a minor role in my life. The fact is, she's always been there. Even after my aunt divorced Bart, Oma was there. My father and Bart were friends at school, and it's through my dad that my aunt met him in the first place, and thus Oma and Opa Waagenaar (side note: I'm not forgetting the "u" in "ouma" - this is how it's written in Dutch and German). Long story short, Oma's always played some kind of a role in my life.
Her life, and her immense battle with that plague on humanity, cancer, ended last Sunday morning, on the 14 of April. It's strange, but for someone who was always there, I didn't feel anything about her passing. Sunday I even forgot to tell J, and I feel like a right git for it, but hey, there you have it. Throughout the whole week I only felt a sort of nothingness that she was gone. No good feelings, no bad feelings, no feelings at all. Even when I was asked to be a pall bearer (it was a REALLY lovely coffin - woven completely out of wicker, a literal basket coffin), I didn't bat an eyelash; I just said, "Oh, all right."
Friday morning I help clean the house. I vacuum, first my room, then the passage and the braai room, lounge, foyer, dining-room-to-be, etc. I get out my shirt fix my formal shoes (with a GLUE GUN and HOT GLUE, please note), make sure my things are packed to be dropped off at J's afterwards and off we go. Get there and I'm smiling and laughing along with the rest of them. the undertaker-dude opens his hearse (a very modern family van) and we take out what's left of Oma's latest incarnation. the basket was heavier than it looked; even with six of us carrying it, I really felt the weight of it. Throughout the whole thing up until this point I kept going over the Klingon acceptance ritual: "It is an empty shell. Do with it what you like." And I was fine. Until I saw uncle Martin and Dean's faces. We carried Oma's basket to the memorial photo and put it on the trolley. This is where I finally felt everything I should have felt over the week. I didn't quite break down, but it felt like I was very close to it. I saw what my aunt and the family were going through - I could deal with myself. I did just that.
The service itself was in Dutch, so except for Dean's poem, "My Ouma's Blue Eyes", I didn't follow it too well. And just like that it was over. Oma Waagenaar was officially no more.
We had tea and cake afterwards and you know what? It was so pleasant. It truly was.
I call to the Spirits of the East, of the Element of Air;
Fly her to Spirit and guide her true.
I call to the Spirits of the North, of the Element of Fire;
Let her talents and passions not be lost, but granted to their next bearer.
I call to the Spirits of the West, of the Element of Water.
Let the pain of her passing be eased, and out hearts filled only with the joy of having had her in our lives.
I call to the Spirits of the South, of the Element of Earth;
Let the ashes that were once her body once more become a part of the Cycle of Life to remind us that even Death is a part of our Journey.
I call to Deity, that spark of Divinity that fills and connects all Life;
May her next incarnation be joyous and blessed and free from the ills that plagued her in this one, and may she touch the lives of others and share her joys the same way as she did in this one.
So mote it be.
Monday, 15 April 2013
Not being able to blog off my phone is incredibly annoying.
That said, not being able to blog on the run has its advantages, such as being able to properly plan my blogs and then figure out the best way to present them to you.
Now, on with the blog (^_^)
A short poem:
Pelicans in the twilight;
A peach coloured sky.
Let the dark of the night descend.
[Applause]
Thank you, thank you!
As a class we've reached a rather interesting point in our studies: Magick and the application thereof. Well, the basics of it, I should actually say. I won't go into details ( just in case you were wondering ), but I will say that magick isn't for everyone. The precision that goes into it can't be learned overnight, and once you have that down, you have to learn to be able to construct a spell properly. Then there are the Laws of Magick ( yes, Harry Potter ran into a few of them, too ) and the ethics, as well as the different grades and views on what Grey, Black and White magick are and involve. Hectic, I tell you!
But all worth it. If I think about all the times I really wanted to use a spell or a ritual for something, I want to blush for wanting to rush headlong into things - and this is "before" I was even Pagan! I'm glad I always found a way to make things right without the use of magick, but what if I had encountered a situation I couldn't fix in theusual manner? I'm thinking I would have made such a blunder of it as to get myself into trouble. Thank you, Lord Zedd, for your help and patience.
Over the last few days I've been doing a lot of reading about the Titans and I feel I found the original subject of "woman scorned": the Titan Gaia. For those who don't know, the Titan Gaia was one of the two original Titans, the other being her husband Uranus. At some point in their marriage this twit went and buried three of her sons underground so that they wouldn't know the light. In her anger she created a great stone sickle and called together her sons to exact her revenge. However, of all of them, only the Titan Cronus (Kronos) was willing to carry out her revenge. So Gaia hid Cronus in ambush and when Uranus came to see his wife, Cronus jumped out and sliced off his dad's nuts. Yes, that's right: he deknackered hid daddy.
As a side note, this is why images of Cronus show him with a sickle, and why the sickle was his emblem.
How's that for not fucking with a mother, eh?
Righto, here's me leaving now. Love you all!
*D*
Now, on with the blog (^_^)
A short poem:
Pelicans in the twilight;
A peach coloured sky.
Let the dark of the night descend.
[Applause]
Thank you, thank you!
As a class we've reached a rather interesting point in our studies: Magick and the application thereof. Well, the basics of it, I should actually say. I won't go into details ( just in case you were wondering ), but I will say that magick isn't for everyone. The precision that goes into it can't be learned overnight, and once you have that down, you have to learn to be able to construct a spell properly. Then there are the Laws of Magick ( yes, Harry Potter ran into a few of them, too ) and the ethics, as well as the different grades and views on what Grey, Black and White magick are and involve. Hectic, I tell you!
But all worth it. If I think about all the times I really wanted to use a spell or a ritual for something, I want to blush for wanting to rush headlong into things - and this is "before" I was even Pagan! I'm glad I always found a way to make things right without the use of magick, but what if I had encountered a situation I couldn't fix in theusual manner? I'm thinking I would have made such a blunder of it as to get myself into trouble. Thank you, Lord Zedd, for your help and patience.
Over the last few days I've been doing a lot of reading about the Titans and I feel I found the original subject of "woman scorned": the Titan Gaia. For those who don't know, the Titan Gaia was one of the two original Titans, the other being her husband Uranus. At some point in their marriage this twit went and buried three of her sons underground so that they wouldn't know the light. In her anger she created a great stone sickle and called together her sons to exact her revenge. However, of all of them, only the Titan Cronus (Kronos) was willing to carry out her revenge. So Gaia hid Cronus in ambush and when Uranus came to see his wife, Cronus jumped out and sliced off his dad's nuts. Yes, that's right: he deknackered hid daddy.
As a side note, this is why images of Cronus show him with a sickle, and why the sickle was his emblem.
How's that for not fucking with a mother, eh?
Righto, here's me leaving now. Love you all!
*D*
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
NOW I REMEMBER!!
I remember why I don't usually read self-help, biographical or "documentary" type books: they're dead frikking boring!
Although, I will admit, I'm enjoying "Pagan Paths" ( boring-ness and all! ) and I rather enjoyed "Under anAfrican Moon".
To be honest, if I hadn't needed to hand in book-reports, I wouldn't be reading these at all.
Although, I will admit, I'm enjoying "Pagan Paths" ( boring-ness and all! ) and I rather enjoyed "Under anAfrican Moon".
To be honest, if I hadn't needed to hand in book-reports, I wouldn't be reading these at all.
Sunday, 7 April 2013
A second Sunday Post
These photos were ,meant to be posted WEEKS ago. I know not everyone has me on Facebook, so here are some piccies in the meantime just to browse through.
There will be a more serious effort on my part to post more pics. I take some just for the blog and simply never get to put them up x_x
Love to you all!!
There will be a more serious effort on my part to post more pics. I take some just for the blog and simply never get to put them up x_x
Love to you all!!
"Confessions of a Pagan Nun"
It's been a long while since I've reviewed anything on this blog and today, finishing a short book report/review for class, I felt I had to share this.
Confessions of a Pagan Nun, written by Kate Horsley, gives us a first-person account of the "death" of Paganism in 6th Century Ireland.
The foreword of the book explains, via "Translator's Note", that a box made of clay and iron was found in a well holding human remains. In the box was a codex bound in leather and dated to around 500 A.D.
The story is told by the "nun" Gwynneve, who tells us of her birth and early years (up until her mother's death) in the clan village of Tarbhflaith. Gwynneve leaves home to study with the druid Giannon, a person neither warm nor friendly, and from whom Gwynneve learns about the magic of reading and writing and is introduced to the immortality offered by little black marks scratched into paper and the way the little marks share knowledge.
In between the pieces describing her past, Gwynneve keeps us up-to-date with happenings at the monastery at which she lives, the shrine of Saint Brigit, where she and the other nuns maintain the ever-burning flame of the saint. The arrival of the new abbot sparks different fears among both the nuns and the community. When a baby's grave is desecrated night after night, the youngest nun, Sister Ailenn, inadvertantly points the finger at Gwynneve when she points out that Gwynneve still visits the forest to collect herbs and natural remedies.
All in all, this story is worth the read, even if it is a bit slow. As it is written in the style of a memoir, don't go looking for accounts of magick and swordplay. Instead, look for the lessons Gwynneve tries to leave in her writings, and as a final piece of advice, take her three opinions to heart - they mean so much to me personally.
Confessions of a Pagan Nun, written by Kate Horsley, gives us a first-person account of the "death" of Paganism in 6th Century Ireland.
The foreword of the book explains, via "Translator's Note", that a box made of clay and iron was found in a well holding human remains. In the box was a codex bound in leather and dated to around 500 A.D.
The story is told by the "nun" Gwynneve, who tells us of her birth and early years (up until her mother's death) in the clan village of Tarbhflaith. Gwynneve leaves home to study with the druid Giannon, a person neither warm nor friendly, and from whom Gwynneve learns about the magic of reading and writing and is introduced to the immortality offered by little black marks scratched into paper and the way the little marks share knowledge.
In between the pieces describing her past, Gwynneve keeps us up-to-date with happenings at the monastery at which she lives, the shrine of Saint Brigit, where she and the other nuns maintain the ever-burning flame of the saint. The arrival of the new abbot sparks different fears among both the nuns and the community. When a baby's grave is desecrated night after night, the youngest nun, Sister Ailenn, inadvertantly points the finger at Gwynneve when she points out that Gwynneve still visits the forest to collect herbs and natural remedies.
All in all, this story is worth the read, even if it is a bit slow. As it is written in the style of a memoir, don't go looking for accounts of magick and swordplay. Instead, look for the lessons Gwynneve tries to leave in her writings, and as a final piece of advice, take her three opinions to heart - they mean so much to me personally.
Thursday, 28 March 2013
In the interest of clarification -
- no, I do NOT have Tourette's Syndrome.
Random, I know, but hear me out.
I've been following, over the last three weeks or so, the blog of a lady name Jessica (Jess) Thom, a Londoner with Tourette's Syndrome. I thank an article in the YOU magazine for the information on her.
Anyway, Jess has vocal and motor tics, which means she says and does things over which she has no control. As Amma now knows as well, she'll beat her chest for no other reson than the Tourette's thinking it's funny to do so. "Biscuit" and "lucky duck" are among its favourite tics and at random times of the day she'll have a ticcing fit, during which time her body drops her to the floor and thrashes her about like a fish out of water. She is also one of only about 10% of Tourette's "sufferers"with swearing tics - so this whole thing with peop;e using Tourette's as an excuse to swear or speak their minds is a load of k@k.
I'm writing this post because I have tics, too. NO, I really DON'T have Tourette's, but those who know me know I make sounds and snap my neck to the side if I get tired. I also snap or crack my fingers randomly and often "hic", which only gets more annoying the tireder I am.
Is "tireder" even a real word...?
Anyway, this is a heads up message more than anything else. If I start making any funny sounds out of the blue, or seem to be jerking my head or neck in a way that looks epileptic, please just ask me to stop - I can usually manage if I concentrate on it hard enough.
In the meantime, check out Jessica's blog and let me know what you think. I'm really interested to know, and if nothing else, you'll learn more about what Tourette's Syndrome acutally is.
Random, I know, but hear me out.
I've been following, over the last three weeks or so, the blog of a lady name Jessica (Jess) Thom, a Londoner with Tourette's Syndrome. I thank an article in the YOU magazine for the information on her.
Anyway, Jess has vocal and motor tics, which means she says and does things over which she has no control. As Amma now knows as well, she'll beat her chest for no other reson than the Tourette's thinking it's funny to do so. "Biscuit" and "lucky duck" are among its favourite tics and at random times of the day she'll have a ticcing fit, during which time her body drops her to the floor and thrashes her about like a fish out of water. She is also one of only about 10% of Tourette's "sufferers"with swearing tics - so this whole thing with peop;e using Tourette's as an excuse to swear or speak their minds is a load of k@k.
I'm writing this post because I have tics, too. NO, I really DON'T have Tourette's, but those who know me know I make sounds and snap my neck to the side if I get tired. I also snap or crack my fingers randomly and often "hic", which only gets more annoying the tireder I am.
Is "tireder" even a real word...?
Anyway, this is a heads up message more than anything else. If I start making any funny sounds out of the blue, or seem to be jerking my head or neck in a way that looks epileptic, please just ask me to stop - I can usually manage if I concentrate on it hard enough.
In the meantime, check out Jessica's blog and let me know what you think. I'm really interested to know, and if nothing else, you'll learn more about what Tourette's Syndrome acutally is.
Monday, 25 March 2013
Here comes the toe-stepping
Right, I was going to write a really long entry (in fact, I started it last week Sunday) to step on toes (which is not a deliberate action, but would have been a side-effect of the blog.
This morning I was, like, "Aah, fukkit!"
Long and short: If you don't like how someone dresses, tell them. If you don't like how someone puts knowledge across, discuss it civilly.
Issues like this have been popping up in quite a few of the groups I'm involved in, and I was fine with it because there will always be one or two who have something to say. It broke my heart, though, when it happened in my the Cape Town Tarot Association.
Ladies and gentlemen, we read cards. We are neither a riligious or spiritual group, nor are we a political entity, a school or a fashion house deciding the fate of the world's fashion sense.
We read cards, which in itself is slightly on the cookie side. So, discounting someone in the group because of how he or she or they dress is NOT on. Discounting what they are teaching because it's different from how you were taught (and here I count myself), is NOT on. So the Tower means Disruption. It also means sudden change, an impulsive decision and rough times ahead. But no, you only learnt about Disruption, so you're sticking to your guns.
And you call yourself a cartomancer?
Yes, I make the same mistakes. I get so stuck on the first meaning that I learn for the card that I forget there are other ways of interpreting it, but I try. I try taking a step back and looking at it and saying, "Huh! Who'd'a thunk it?" The difference is that I DO NOT shoot someone else's theories down because of what I was taught.
There are some who read my blog (and I know this because there's a traffic counter on my dashboard) who will read this and get offended. There are some that will read this and go, "Oh, well, whatever." And then there will be some sending me messages or comments going, "Wow! Good on you!"
Be open to learning new things without putting your own biases or judgements first, just because you don't agree.
This morning I was, like, "Aah, fukkit!"
Long and short: If you don't like how someone dresses, tell them. If you don't like how someone puts knowledge across, discuss it civilly.
Issues like this have been popping up in quite a few of the groups I'm involved in, and I was fine with it because there will always be one or two who have something to say. It broke my heart, though, when it happened in my the Cape Town Tarot Association.
Ladies and gentlemen, we read cards. We are neither a riligious or spiritual group, nor are we a political entity, a school or a fashion house deciding the fate of the world's fashion sense.
We read cards, which in itself is slightly on the cookie side. So, discounting someone in the group because of how he or she or they dress is NOT on. Discounting what they are teaching because it's different from how you were taught (and here I count myself), is NOT on. So the Tower means Disruption. It also means sudden change, an impulsive decision and rough times ahead. But no, you only learnt about Disruption, so you're sticking to your guns.
And you call yourself a cartomancer?
Yes, I make the same mistakes. I get so stuck on the first meaning that I learn for the card that I forget there are other ways of interpreting it, but I try. I try taking a step back and looking at it and saying, "Huh! Who'd'a thunk it?" The difference is that I DO NOT shoot someone else's theories down because of what I was taught.
There are some who read my blog (and I know this because there's a traffic counter on my dashboard) who will read this and get offended. There are some that will read this and go, "Oh, well, whatever." And then there will be some sending me messages or comments going, "Wow! Good on you!"
Be open to learning new things without putting your own biases or judgements first, just because you don't agree.
Friday, 22 March 2013
Wet, wet, wet...
There are so often days where you need everything to smoothly, usually because
- It's your day off and you plan on doing as little as possible while you enjoy it, considering you work weird hours for six out of every seven days;
- Your FD class-mates are coming over for a braai;
- You're just plain tired or lazy; or
- You just want a day of doing little or nothing.
In my case, I wanted #'s 1. and 4., even knowing and planning on # 2. I had a mild case of # 3, but it was minimal.
My plans were shot to shit before 9 pm on Wednesday night. The whole day my mother and brother were at home. As my mother teaches and Little Man worked the night shift at the restaurant, so one would hope my brother would have decided, out of the goodness of his heart, to keep a hold on the (very) few dishes made up during the day.
Nothing doing.
So Amma makes the announcement (in the form of a question): "Who's doing the dishes?" Dead silence. I give a sielent "fukkit" and say, "I suppose I'll have to." Right there someone else was suppose to jump in and say, "No, I'll help." Bitches. I got no such support. I then decided I'd do it in the morning.
Then another mombshell gets dropped: "You'll vacuum for me in the morning again, won't you?" Just like that.
Can you tell yet that my mood improved astronimically right then and there? No? Don't worry, you didn't miss it, my mood actually went through the floorboards.
So, my original plan of only doing my laundry and vegetating a bit, as I would have LOVED to do on my day off, got shattered.
Long and short, I get up the next morning, put my laundry in the washer and decided to take a few minutes to wake up, so I put on a cartoon, Amma and Chechi leave to go looking for a dress for the Matric farewell, and the kitchen is sudddenly filled with a loud splashing noise, like the drum was filling.
Except I hadn't opened the washer since I dropped my clothes and washing powder in.
I run in to investigate and almost slip my gat af. The effing drainage pipe had (once again - it happened to Chechi about a month ago) and flooded the kitchen floor.
Whatever inkling of a mood the cartoon had sparked died and took its descendants with it in that instant. But, I kept my cool, grabbed whatever towels I could find and dried up the floor lickety-split.
I love swimming, but I think I'll avoid the pool for a little while.
Afterwards I still got all my washing done, I got the towels washed, I vacuumed the house, did the bedamned dishes and managed to get a few minutes of vegetating in before the classarrived - all at once. Something about a fire down Blaauwberg way...
We had an immensely good time! We had a braai (which The Mory was more than kind enough to do for us - I even told him to tell me when he wants me to take over), potato salad (made by the lustrous Lord Zedd), a Peppermint Fridge tart (kindly and deliciously made by Esme) and little flatbreads that I made based off of a pita bread recipe. There were even enough left over that I managed to bring some to the shop for lunch today - stuffed with braaied chicken (when I found some I could actually cut open) and boerewors. The Straight Boy took over braaiing the boerewors on a smaller grill, and we all thank him so much for that. We watched some class-related material and man, all I can say is that I enjoyed it so much! Besides the fact that the two films were the reason for the braai, the material was interesting and so well-put. The models in the second film provided us with a good giggle, but SOMEONE had to play those roles (^_^). Thank you, Raymond, for the material you put together.
To end off, a special "thank you" goes out to The Stylist for the trims and colours he handed out yesterday - we all look good, and he got rewarded for his skill. It's more than worth it!
Blessings, my lovelies!
P.S.: I'm still working on the hefty post - watch this space, and get ready to tighten those knickers! <Hee hee...!>
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
Roadside giggles!
Just a quickie as I work on a rather serious and toe-stepping entry for publication ... whenever I get the chance, I suppose...
As I waited for the bus this morning a number of the truckers and delivery vans riding past would either slow down and wave or hoot. It took me about ten minutes to figure out it was because my hair (which is nearly half-way down my back) was loose to dry out before I tied it up for the day.
As hard as I laughed when I clicked this, I didn't waste time braiding it up.
OH!! Before I forget: I've been following the blog of a lady named Jessica Thom. She has tourette's syndrome and uses her blog to show people the lighter and funnier side of a rather serious neurological disorder.
Here's the website's address:
www.touretteshero.com
Have as good a giggle as I did!
As I waited for the bus this morning a number of the truckers and delivery vans riding past would either slow down and wave or hoot. It took me about ten minutes to figure out it was because my hair (which is nearly half-way down my back) was loose to dry out before I tied it up for the day.
As hard as I laughed when I clicked this, I didn't waste time braiding it up.
OH!! Before I forget: I've been following the blog of a lady named Jessica Thom. She has tourette's syndrome and uses her blog to show people the lighter and funnier side of a rather serious neurological disorder.
Here's the website's address:
www.touretteshero.com
Have as good a giggle as I did!
Friday, 15 March 2013
The Issue of WORK and Writing Online
Hello, darlings
So, in the last two months it's become VERY clear that I need new work. Not only has the shop not been able to draw customers anymore, thus affecting my salary, but I don't like how the company in general is being run.
I mean, who writes off thousands of rands' worth of stock, but still keeps it on the floor for sales?
And the stock software? My word, don't get me started! We've been complaining about the Pastel forever (it NEVER balances the stock!) and absolutely nothing gets done about trying to fix it. Stock-taking is just an excuse to run around like a headless chicken once every three months.
That said, I've been trying to think about what type of work I would like and need. Obviously, something in which I don't spend half my work-day travelling TO work is a major plus. Something where I'm kept busy either learning new things or just doing what I'm supposed to be doing, and yet I have my weekends and holidays off. I want a good salary (not some peanut-like amount where the business I do is proportional to what I'll get in a month, ie, a commission). I hate commission, it actually makes me sick trying to get anything sold just for some extra money.
In that vein, my friend B and my dad have both suggested that I take up writing. As B has the actual experience, he's been trying to help me with all the sites he used to write for. A journalist by trade, he started by writing online and for his community paper up in KZN, and when he moved back to CT, could show the places he's worked for that he has actual experience. He texted me last night ot discuss one of the sites having changed their layout and ways of doing things, so now I'm just waiting to hear if they're actually taking in any new writers. If they are, cool - it just means I'll have to brush up on my writing skills. I'm not too sure how valid my writing is with the blog, but it's nothing to Google writing skills. My only real problem has always been that I don't know how to use a climax or how to end my pieces :P
Hee hee...!
Anyway. What work do you readers suggest I go and look for? Keeping in mind I can get INCREDIBLY lazy and unwilling, but I like to be kept busy when I'm at work. And I mustn't get bored too quickly - that'll just drive me up the bend!
OK, off I go, my loves. I'll write again soon!
So, in the last two months it's become VERY clear that I need new work. Not only has the shop not been able to draw customers anymore, thus affecting my salary, but I don't like how the company in general is being run.
I mean, who writes off thousands of rands' worth of stock, but still keeps it on the floor for sales?
And the stock software? My word, don't get me started! We've been complaining about the Pastel forever (it NEVER balances the stock!) and absolutely nothing gets done about trying to fix it. Stock-taking is just an excuse to run around like a headless chicken once every three months.
That said, I've been trying to think about what type of work I would like and need. Obviously, something in which I don't spend half my work-day travelling TO work is a major plus. Something where I'm kept busy either learning new things or just doing what I'm supposed to be doing, and yet I have my weekends and holidays off. I want a good salary (not some peanut-like amount where the business I do is proportional to what I'll get in a month, ie, a commission). I hate commission, it actually makes me sick trying to get anything sold just for some extra money.
In that vein, my friend B and my dad have both suggested that I take up writing. As B has the actual experience, he's been trying to help me with all the sites he used to write for. A journalist by trade, he started by writing online and for his community paper up in KZN, and when he moved back to CT, could show the places he's worked for that he has actual experience. He texted me last night ot discuss one of the sites having changed their layout and ways of doing things, so now I'm just waiting to hear if they're actually taking in any new writers. If they are, cool - it just means I'll have to brush up on my writing skills. I'm not too sure how valid my writing is with the blog, but it's nothing to Google writing skills. My only real problem has always been that I don't know how to use a climax or how to end my pieces :P
Hee hee...!
Anyway. What work do you readers suggest I go and look for? Keeping in mind I can get INCREDIBLY lazy and unwilling, but I like to be kept busy when I'm at work. And I mustn't get bored too quickly - that'll just drive me up the bend!
OK, off I go, my loves. I'll write again soon!
Monday, 11 March 2013
What does the TAROT mean to you...?
I was asked this question by an anthropologist friend of mine in a questionnaire for her course. It really got me thinking.
What does Tarot mean to you?
I've never REALLY had to think about it - there's never been any real need. But how I see Tarot will not be the same way Piet Pompies sees it, I don't think. Each of us has his or her own point of view, and hey, maybe some overlap, but the heart of the matter will always be different from one reader to the next.
For istance, I placed the Tarot question on Facebook, and one of my friends responded, "Spiritual guidance", and I just had to ask her how she figures. I mean, for a very large part, the Tarot is set with Christian (read Catholic) religious symbols (have a look at the Hierophant and the High Priestess - even the Empress and Emperor). Her answer was a bit surprising considering I doubt she's Christian - I could be wrong, but hey.
How would the Tarot be used for spiritual guidance? I'm asking this as a reader. How would one take any spiritual guidance out of a Tarot deck, or reading, more specifically? I personally only see in the cards advice regarding personal spirituality (get rid of old ideas, stop being so temporal, blah blah blah), but spiritual guidance? Hmmm. Hey, if it works for you, love, I will not gainsay it - I'm just trying to understand.
So, what does the Tarot mean to you?
Let's look at what got you "into" Tarot, the event that got you taking that first step on the Fool's Journey. Mine was easy: Piers Anthony wrote a trilogy of novels in the late 1970's and very early 1980's called "God of Tarot", "Vision of Tarot" and "Faith of Tarot", republished under the single-word title "Tarot" in 1987. This story makes EXTENSIVE use of Tarot and Tarot symbols / symbolism on the planet Tarot, to which the representative of the Brotherhood of Light, Brother Paul, is sent to investigate the "God of Tarot", the ruling Deity of the planet itself. The planet is named after the deck of cards one of the first explorers had with him. The Deity investigation is started because the Tarot card (10 of Swords) the explorer drew CAME TO LIFE. Brother Paul, as both an experienced ex-con / sleight of hand person, highly experienced Tarot player and member of a denomination-neutral organisation, is sent to investigate the cause of the manifestations and find out who the God of the planet is. It turns out to be, for those who would want to sit and read for a month, Satan, in his anti-establighment guise, not the hellfire and brimstone we're brought up believing in.
That's me babbling right there.
Anyway. This really amazing piece of science fiction writing got me interested in the Tarot because of how the colonists use it in their daily lives and how Brother Paul uses it as a tool, not only for meditation, but also using the cards to solve the mysteries covering the surface of the planet Tarot.
<Damned dyslexia>
If he could use a deck of cards to help him solve mysteries, why couldn't I? If he could use a deck of cards to help people deal with heir sh*t, why couldn't I? And my word, the way the colonists used tarot symbolism! The two things that stick out to me is the Cups they use when it rains: lightweight metal domes large enough to cover three or four people at once if they have to leave their houses or public halls for any reason during a rain storm; or the Tree of Life, a tree native to Tarot that forms the basis of everyday life on the world: the bark is used for fabric, the fruits are edible, the wood is burnable - although these are only the functions I remember. If I remember correctly the author had quite the list going. Association with the tarot: Wands. Energy, passion, the flame of life.
So what does the Tarot mean to me?
It means providing assistance where I can, by making my sitters really take not eof their lives. I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but I don't do fortune-telling: I won't lay out the cards and say, "This is going to happen" or "You will meet this person." I see what is happening in their lives and make them see it, too. I make them see how to fix their own lives and what issues they need to deal with to move forward. I also make sure to tell them that nothing is set in stone and that life changes constantly, so if a possible future comes up, they have to realise it will change at the slightest provocation.
It means allowing myself to have an open mind and keep learning as I go along - the Tarot allows you to let your mind drift and your intuition to find the answers it needs all on its own.
It means being free to be me - in some small, completely unrelated way :)
What does Tarot mean to you?
I've never REALLY had to think about it - there's never been any real need. But how I see Tarot will not be the same way Piet Pompies sees it, I don't think. Each of us has his or her own point of view, and hey, maybe some overlap, but the heart of the matter will always be different from one reader to the next.
For istance, I placed the Tarot question on Facebook, and one of my friends responded, "Spiritual guidance", and I just had to ask her how she figures. I mean, for a very large part, the Tarot is set with Christian (read Catholic) religious symbols (have a look at the Hierophant and the High Priestess - even the Empress and Emperor). Her answer was a bit surprising considering I doubt she's Christian - I could be wrong, but hey.
How would the Tarot be used for spiritual guidance? I'm asking this as a reader. How would one take any spiritual guidance out of a Tarot deck, or reading, more specifically? I personally only see in the cards advice regarding personal spirituality (get rid of old ideas, stop being so temporal, blah blah blah), but spiritual guidance? Hmmm. Hey, if it works for you, love, I will not gainsay it - I'm just trying to understand.
So, what does the Tarot mean to you?
Let's look at what got you "into" Tarot, the event that got you taking that first step on the Fool's Journey. Mine was easy: Piers Anthony wrote a trilogy of novels in the late 1970's and very early 1980's called "God of Tarot", "Vision of Tarot" and "Faith of Tarot", republished under the single-word title "Tarot" in 1987. This story makes EXTENSIVE use of Tarot and Tarot symbols / symbolism on the planet Tarot, to which the representative of the Brotherhood of Light, Brother Paul, is sent to investigate the "God of Tarot", the ruling Deity of the planet itself. The planet is named after the deck of cards one of the first explorers had with him. The Deity investigation is started because the Tarot card (10 of Swords) the explorer drew CAME TO LIFE. Brother Paul, as both an experienced ex-con / sleight of hand person, highly experienced Tarot player and member of a denomination-neutral organisation, is sent to investigate the cause of the manifestations and find out who the God of the planet is. It turns out to be, for those who would want to sit and read for a month, Satan, in his anti-establighment guise, not the hellfire and brimstone we're brought up believing in.
That's me babbling right there.
Anyway. This really amazing piece of science fiction writing got me interested in the Tarot because of how the colonists use it in their daily lives and how Brother Paul uses it as a tool, not only for meditation, but also using the cards to solve the mysteries covering the surface of the planet Tarot.
<Damned dyslexia>
If he could use a deck of cards to help him solve mysteries, why couldn't I? If he could use a deck of cards to help people deal with heir sh*t, why couldn't I? And my word, the way the colonists used tarot symbolism! The two things that stick out to me is the Cups they use when it rains: lightweight metal domes large enough to cover three or four people at once if they have to leave their houses or public halls for any reason during a rain storm; or the Tree of Life, a tree native to Tarot that forms the basis of everyday life on the world: the bark is used for fabric, the fruits are edible, the wood is burnable - although these are only the functions I remember. If I remember correctly the author had quite the list going. Association with the tarot: Wands. Energy, passion, the flame of life.
So what does the Tarot mean to me?
It means providing assistance where I can, by making my sitters really take not eof their lives. I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but I don't do fortune-telling: I won't lay out the cards and say, "This is going to happen" or "You will meet this person." I see what is happening in their lives and make them see it, too. I make them see how to fix their own lives and what issues they need to deal with to move forward. I also make sure to tell them that nothing is set in stone and that life changes constantly, so if a possible future comes up, they have to realise it will change at the slightest provocation.
It means allowing myself to have an open mind and keep learning as I go along - the Tarot allows you to let your mind drift and your intuition to find the answers it needs all on its own.
It means being free to be me - in some small, completely unrelated way :)
Sunday, 27 January 2013
So, this one time, at band camp...
Or just Camp. Yes. let's stick to Camp. Explanation below.
I went to a braai in Parklands last night, in one of the few areas of Darklands NOT riddles with crime, where walking your dogs in the evening actually excludes the Tazer and the security spray. I was invited and taken by my friend N and her wingman. Now, the evening started out all nice and calm and stuff, but as is typical at gatherings featuring more than six queers, three quarters of the room knew each other and made no attempt to draw the three of us in. The hostess and her sister, certainly, but that's because they're actually nice girls.
So, the sister's girlfriend has issues, much of it family-orientated. It got a bit much to handle and she and N spent some time chatting in the bathroom ( luckily the house has two loos ). During that time, the girl for whom the braai had been arranged, also an N, was having her drink and her straight little brother went into the bathroom and asked what the fuck was going on? Man, was that the wrong thing at the wrong time to say for the Wingman to hear. From there things just sort of went south and very badly degraded. The next thing anyone knows the Wingman is enemy #1 and the other N wants to climb into him. If not for my N and the hostess, I do really think something would have happened. A compromise was reached that Straight Boy ( and he really is more like a little boy than a 20-year-old ) and the Wingman wouldn't even look at each other for the rest of the night, and yes, it took almost an hour, but finally a good time was had by all.
Or so it seemed by the time I left.
About an hour after I got home N texted me to say it's just as well I was home - the other N and her bedamned friend caused kak with N and the Wingman in any case! and the poor girlfriend wasn't left out of it either.
You know, it's things like this that really make me ashamed to call myself queer. I mean, really, we've tried so hard for so long to break out of the stereotyping of "guys are fem" and "girls are butch" ( you should know what I mean ) and that the guys run from fights while the girls go looking for them. I mean, my god, what the fuck happened last night? You didn't like the way he LOOKED at your brother!? Grow the FUCK UP!! Stupid woman, you and your friend give queers everywhere a kak name, and it's those like you, that look for fights and run towards the trouble and WANT to make life difficult for others that the world sees, that the world associates with the rest of us, guy or girl, and says, "Look at how terrible they are!"
So, the CTTA have a nice artistic project to work one: design your twelve favourite tarot cards using playing cards as the stock and build them up from there. I LOVE the idea! As it happens, I saw a blog entry somewhere by a lady who does just that, taking little things litke playing cards and building works of art onto them - it might even have been on DeviantArt. We have carte blanche to use whatever we want or can to create our tarot cards. We will get to develope a closer relationship with our chosen cards and can even use our cards of the year as our models ( your card of the year is your personal card for the current year, in case you're wondering - e-mail me for instructions if you want them :) ). Mine, for instance, works out to Key 11: Justice. Or Strength, depending on the style of your deck ( RWS or Marseilles ). Huh... I just had a thought: you could then use either card if your card of the year boils down to 11. Or the Key 2: The High Priestess if you REALLY want to reduce it all the way down.
HA HAAA!! Enough moaning and babbling now.
Have a blessed week - LOTSA LOVE!!
*D*
I went to a braai in Parklands last night, in one of the few areas of Darklands NOT riddles with crime, where walking your dogs in the evening actually excludes the Tazer and the security spray. I was invited and taken by my friend N and her wingman. Now, the evening started out all nice and calm and stuff, but as is typical at gatherings featuring more than six queers, three quarters of the room knew each other and made no attempt to draw the three of us in. The hostess and her sister, certainly, but that's because they're actually nice girls.
So, the sister's girlfriend has issues, much of it family-orientated. It got a bit much to handle and she and N spent some time chatting in the bathroom ( luckily the house has two loos ). During that time, the girl for whom the braai had been arranged, also an N, was having her drink and her straight little brother went into the bathroom and asked what the fuck was going on? Man, was that the wrong thing at the wrong time to say for the Wingman to hear. From there things just sort of went south and very badly degraded. The next thing anyone knows the Wingman is enemy #1 and the other N wants to climb into him. If not for my N and the hostess, I do really think something would have happened. A compromise was reached that Straight Boy ( and he really is more like a little boy than a 20-year-old ) and the Wingman wouldn't even look at each other for the rest of the night, and yes, it took almost an hour, but finally a good time was had by all.
Or so it seemed by the time I left.
About an hour after I got home N texted me to say it's just as well I was home - the other N and her bedamned friend caused kak with N and the Wingman in any case! and the poor girlfriend wasn't left out of it either.
You know, it's things like this that really make me ashamed to call myself queer. I mean, really, we've tried so hard for so long to break out of the stereotyping of "guys are fem" and "girls are butch" ( you should know what I mean ) and that the guys run from fights while the girls go looking for them. I mean, my god, what the fuck happened last night? You didn't like the way he LOOKED at your brother!? Grow the FUCK UP!! Stupid woman, you and your friend give queers everywhere a kak name, and it's those like you, that look for fights and run towards the trouble and WANT to make life difficult for others that the world sees, that the world associates with the rest of us, guy or girl, and says, "Look at how terrible they are!"
So, the CTTA have a nice artistic project to work one: design your twelve favourite tarot cards using playing cards as the stock and build them up from there. I LOVE the idea! As it happens, I saw a blog entry somewhere by a lady who does just that, taking little things litke playing cards and building works of art onto them - it might even have been on DeviantArt. We have carte blanche to use whatever we want or can to create our tarot cards. We will get to develope a closer relationship with our chosen cards and can even use our cards of the year as our models ( your card of the year is your personal card for the current year, in case you're wondering - e-mail me for instructions if you want them :) ). Mine, for instance, works out to Key 11: Justice. Or Strength, depending on the style of your deck ( RWS or Marseilles ). Huh... I just had a thought: you could then use either card if your card of the year boils down to 11. Or the Key 2: The High Priestess if you REALLY want to reduce it all the way down.
HA HAAA!! Enough moaning and babbling now.
Have a blessed week - LOTSA LOVE!!
*D*
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
Food. Period.
I like food. I mean, like, REALLY like food. Bearing this in mind, imagine for a moment how I feel with the smell of all sorts of delicacies happily cooking their way to edibility literally right around the corner from the shop.
I don't mean only the usual market stall fare that you can find from the Milnerton Flea Market to the Standard Bank building's trolleys, although there is one gentleman who makes the most mouthwatering burgers. No, I mean things like Chinese steamed buns with a barbecue filling and veggie-filled pyramid parcels. I mean things like traditional British Isles pies made with REAL pork and pastry whose recipes are centuries old. I mean veggies grown organically on a smallholding. I mean proper Cypriot food like dolmas with cacik, souvlakia, haloumi cheese and baklava.
(Oh, feck, the wind just blew all those smells past the shop's door!!)
For dessert you have the choice of cupcakes made with Lindt chocolate, brownies with LUMPS of dark, white or milk chocolate washed down with fresh coffee. Or, if you're the type who likes a bit more kick, one of a few types of beer they stock at the bar.
My point is, I will one day try as many of these dishes as what I possibly can.
Why?
I LIKE FOOD!!
Duh...
I don't mean only the usual market stall fare that you can find from the Milnerton Flea Market to the Standard Bank building's trolleys, although there is one gentleman who makes the most mouthwatering burgers. No, I mean things like Chinese steamed buns with a barbecue filling and veggie-filled pyramid parcels. I mean things like traditional British Isles pies made with REAL pork and pastry whose recipes are centuries old. I mean veggies grown organically on a smallholding. I mean proper Cypriot food like dolmas with cacik, souvlakia, haloumi cheese and baklava.
(Oh, feck, the wind just blew all those smells past the shop's door!!)
For dessert you have the choice of cupcakes made with Lindt chocolate, brownies with LUMPS of dark, white or milk chocolate washed down with fresh coffee. Or, if you're the type who likes a bit more kick, one of a few types of beer they stock at the bar.
My point is, I will one day try as many of these dishes as what I possibly can.
Why?
I LIKE FOOD!!
Duh...
The ramblings of a slightly mad tarotist...
As usually happens when I want to blog about something, my mind formed and released the thoughts, ideas and topics mayhap forty times before I even logged onto the internet. That means that I'll be winging it today.
I finally had my tattoo (of the Wheel of Fortune) fixed up yesterday. The marquist did a good job, but the original marque was done so badly that an hour's work turned into almost three. All the while he muttered about how badly "it" had been done and how the scars and lumps would remain even with the repair work and ink he's laid over them ( I know that there are some scar and skin treatments in which needles are used to even the skin, just in case you're wondering why I mention them ).
To say that he was un-impressed with Emma's skills would be an understatement.
Anyway, when we arrived at the address and were let into the back garden, the first thing my mother said was, "This looks f***ing dodgy." I had to agree. It was a "typically" Goodwood / Parow yard with no real garden to speak of and bits and pieces of things stacked in spots ( still quite clean, though ) and the marquist looked like he'd been put through the wringer: stained jeans, some black marks under his nails and he kept twitching his face. To say that I was suddenly nervous is putting it politely. But, I stayed. I mean, I made the appointment and I would never have fogiven myself for breaking it. Plus, I'm learning not to judge things or people on surface values alone. So, I texted my contact and told her all of this and she said she knows, but his work is good.
So, I stayed.
Eventually we sat down and the needle gun was switched on. As the buzz of the motor filled the little back room ( which is also used for wood-work and needle-work, amongst other things ) I started my deep breathing and tried to calm myself for the ordeal to come - yes, self-inflicted, but an ordeal nontheless. Then the needle touched my skin and he started fixing my marque.
As I mentioned, while the needle danced in and out of my skin a few thousand times a second, he muttered and cursed at Emma's bad job with the ink, making sure the Universe understood that she should never be allowed near a needle and ink again. Amma and Mel went and did some shopping at Lifestyle while we were busy, and I seriously thought we were only busy for an hour. After some time the deep breathing stopped being effective and I lit a cigarette. That helped. And then not that long after, I lit the second cigarette. It didn't taste as good, but I think by that time my body was starting to try and counteract the pain from the needle and harden my skin, so everything was a bit out.
Thankfully, after the second smoke, it wasn't long before we finished.
I'll post some pics as soon as our line's up and running again, but basically he thickened the original lines and added some shading to the marque. Now it actually looks like something instead of just being some crooked lines and blue-green blobs between my shoulders. Thickening the lines was the real bitch - he had to go over tiny little spots a few times with the needle to get the thickness and the general shape of the marque right. That's what threw my breathing out. And if anyone tell you that shading a marque doesn't hurt, please tell them to shut up, and for good measure, smack them upside the head! It was almost worse than the thickening of the lines.
Mel and I discussed this morning whether or not I'd go back to him to actually do the pheobus / solar design I originally contacted him for, and she's definitely not using him for her marques. I'm still deciding - I just know I won't use him for my scrollwork.
In my rather fragile state after this whole thing we had lunch at Mel's after we dropped her off, then Amma decided she's going throught Melkbos early to spend some time with the step-dad before bringing Cam home. J said he's picking me up for a braai, so I had a few minutes to myself to take my meds ( I had flu between Tuesday and yesterday ) and just relax a bit before he arrived and we were off. Let me tell you, if you're ever invited to a braai with the member's of BackBeat Band, plan for a LOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNGG night. It was going to be an early evening thing ( as I was led to believe ), but we only got back to J's house after 1.15 this morning. Hectic, I tell you. Being ill this week, I haven't been having the best sleep, and then to have to have a late night and work the next day ( today ), I'm not in the best frame of body or mind. Make no mistake, I really did enjoy my evening, and one of the highlights of any such braai is the spontaneous breaking out of guitars, vocal cords and song. I got to pass out in a mini-chair next to the fire-drum - after eating first, of course - and still listen to the lot do their musical thingamajigger, and then I got to fall asleep on the couch in the lounge while the others ended their evening.
However, I would have liked to have stuck to the early evening braai idea and then spent the night, or what was left of it, in my own bed. Or couch, as the case is. I know it isn't really anyone's fault either. I just really hoped to be home last night.
Wednesday, 9 Jan. 2013.
OK, so here's to continuing with the blog and hopefully publishing it today.
The marque's healing nicely. It still hurts a bit in spots, and my skin is still bruised from all the colouring in certain spots with the needle, but the itch has finally started and the scabbing has started slowing down with the whole flaking thing. Once it's healed I'll post some proper pictures of it.
I don't know if I've spoken about moving on before. I don't THINK so, but let's be honest, I have the memory capacity of a goldfish on crack with a sieve as a spare brain.
I bring this up because of the book I'm reading: "Lover Reborn" by J.R. Ward ( yes, the latest in the "Black Dagger Brotherhood" vampire novels ). The focus character of the story is Tohrnment, a Brother who lost his mate and unborn young to the lessers ( I didn't mention this specifically, but it happens in one of the earlier books, listed here ) and the female No'One, the mother of Xhex, mate of the Brother John Mattew ( named as a human because he was raised by them ). No'One was a noble-born female who was kidnapped from her father's mansion in the Old Country, raped and tortured, was rescued by Tohrment and Darius and gave birth to Xhex - and promptly committed suicide. However, the Scribe Virgin resurrected her at Sanctuary and No'One decided to come back to Earth to try and fix things with her daughter.
Anyway, Tohr's murdered mate, Wellsie ( or Wellesandra ) and her unborn baby are stuck in the In Between - neither going into the Fade, the vampiric version of the Summerlands, nor passing into Dhund, their Hell. The problem is, unless he lets her go, she'll become more and more a part of the In Between, until she and the young are no longer separate from it.
I think in many ways we do the same thing with friends and lovers we've lost, or situations we couldn't bare to let go. Ghosts aren't only formed from unfinished business, but also unreleasing living. We have to learn to let go of them as much as they need to let go of their business. I had that same thing going when I spoke about Hannes a few months back. I was so caught up in the "what if" between him and I that when I found out he'd died I couldn't handle not knowing what would have happened.
I've gotten over that in a huge way and I thank Lord Zedd and his Postulancy for that. I still have times where I miss my friend, and occasionally someone wearing his face walks past me, but I no longer hold him in the In Between - I have enough of my own karma to work through that I certainly don't need to work through anyone else's.
Right, so here goes the publishing. If there's anything I've left ou ( which I realise now there almost certainly is ) I'll try and add it in the next post.
Much love, guys and gals!
:*
I finally had my tattoo (of the Wheel of Fortune) fixed up yesterday. The marquist did a good job, but the original marque was done so badly that an hour's work turned into almost three. All the while he muttered about how badly "it" had been done and how the scars and lumps would remain even with the repair work and ink he's laid over them ( I know that there are some scar and skin treatments in which needles are used to even the skin, just in case you're wondering why I mention them ).
To say that he was un-impressed with Emma's skills would be an understatement.
Anyway, when we arrived at the address and were let into the back garden, the first thing my mother said was, "This looks f***ing dodgy." I had to agree. It was a "typically" Goodwood / Parow yard with no real garden to speak of and bits and pieces of things stacked in spots ( still quite clean, though ) and the marquist looked like he'd been put through the wringer: stained jeans, some black marks under his nails and he kept twitching his face. To say that I was suddenly nervous is putting it politely. But, I stayed. I mean, I made the appointment and I would never have fogiven myself for breaking it. Plus, I'm learning not to judge things or people on surface values alone. So, I texted my contact and told her all of this and she said she knows, but his work is good.
So, I stayed.
Eventually we sat down and the needle gun was switched on. As the buzz of the motor filled the little back room ( which is also used for wood-work and needle-work, amongst other things ) I started my deep breathing and tried to calm myself for the ordeal to come - yes, self-inflicted, but an ordeal nontheless. Then the needle touched my skin and he started fixing my marque.
As I mentioned, while the needle danced in and out of my skin a few thousand times a second, he muttered and cursed at Emma's bad job with the ink, making sure the Universe understood that she should never be allowed near a needle and ink again. Amma and Mel went and did some shopping at Lifestyle while we were busy, and I seriously thought we were only busy for an hour. After some time the deep breathing stopped being effective and I lit a cigarette. That helped. And then not that long after, I lit the second cigarette. It didn't taste as good, but I think by that time my body was starting to try and counteract the pain from the needle and harden my skin, so everything was a bit out.
Thankfully, after the second smoke, it wasn't long before we finished.
I'll post some pics as soon as our line's up and running again, but basically he thickened the original lines and added some shading to the marque. Now it actually looks like something instead of just being some crooked lines and blue-green blobs between my shoulders. Thickening the lines was the real bitch - he had to go over tiny little spots a few times with the needle to get the thickness and the general shape of the marque right. That's what threw my breathing out. And if anyone tell you that shading a marque doesn't hurt, please tell them to shut up, and for good measure, smack them upside the head! It was almost worse than the thickening of the lines.
Mel and I discussed this morning whether or not I'd go back to him to actually do the pheobus / solar design I originally contacted him for, and she's definitely not using him for her marques. I'm still deciding - I just know I won't use him for my scrollwork.
In my rather fragile state after this whole thing we had lunch at Mel's after we dropped her off, then Amma decided she's going throught Melkbos early to spend some time with the step-dad before bringing Cam home. J said he's picking me up for a braai, so I had a few minutes to myself to take my meds ( I had flu between Tuesday and yesterday ) and just relax a bit before he arrived and we were off. Let me tell you, if you're ever invited to a braai with the member's of BackBeat Band, plan for a LOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNGG night. It was going to be an early evening thing ( as I was led to believe ), but we only got back to J's house after 1.15 this morning. Hectic, I tell you. Being ill this week, I haven't been having the best sleep, and then to have to have a late night and work the next day ( today ), I'm not in the best frame of body or mind. Make no mistake, I really did enjoy my evening, and one of the highlights of any such braai is the spontaneous breaking out of guitars, vocal cords and song. I got to pass out in a mini-chair next to the fire-drum - after eating first, of course - and still listen to the lot do their musical thingamajigger, and then I got to fall asleep on the couch in the lounge while the others ended their evening.
However, I would have liked to have stuck to the early evening braai idea and then spent the night, or what was left of it, in my own bed. Or couch, as the case is. I know it isn't really anyone's fault either. I just really hoped to be home last night.
Wednesday, 9 Jan. 2013.
OK, so here's to continuing with the blog and hopefully publishing it today.
The marque's healing nicely. It still hurts a bit in spots, and my skin is still bruised from all the colouring in certain spots with the needle, but the itch has finally started and the scabbing has started slowing down with the whole flaking thing. Once it's healed I'll post some proper pictures of it.
I don't know if I've spoken about moving on before. I don't THINK so, but let's be honest, I have the memory capacity of a goldfish on crack with a sieve as a spare brain.
I bring this up because of the book I'm reading: "Lover Reborn" by J.R. Ward ( yes, the latest in the "Black Dagger Brotherhood" vampire novels ). The focus character of the story is Tohrnment, a Brother who lost his mate and unborn young to the lessers ( I didn't mention this specifically, but it happens in one of the earlier books, listed here ) and the female No'One, the mother of Xhex, mate of the Brother John Mattew ( named as a human because he was raised by them ). No'One was a noble-born female who was kidnapped from her father's mansion in the Old Country, raped and tortured, was rescued by Tohrment and Darius and gave birth to Xhex - and promptly committed suicide. However, the Scribe Virgin resurrected her at Sanctuary and No'One decided to come back to Earth to try and fix things with her daughter.
Anyway, Tohr's murdered mate, Wellsie ( or Wellesandra ) and her unborn baby are stuck in the In Between - neither going into the Fade, the vampiric version of the Summerlands, nor passing into Dhund, their Hell. The problem is, unless he lets her go, she'll become more and more a part of the In Between, until she and the young are no longer separate from it.
I think in many ways we do the same thing with friends and lovers we've lost, or situations we couldn't bare to let go. Ghosts aren't only formed from unfinished business, but also unreleasing living. We have to learn to let go of them as much as they need to let go of their business. I had that same thing going when I spoke about Hannes a few months back. I was so caught up in the "what if" between him and I that when I found out he'd died I couldn't handle not knowing what would have happened.
I've gotten over that in a huge way and I thank Lord Zedd and his Postulancy for that. I still have times where I miss my friend, and occasionally someone wearing his face walks past me, but I no longer hold him in the In Between - I have enough of my own karma to work through that I certainly don't need to work through anyone else's.
Right, so here goes the publishing. If there's anything I've left ou ( which I realise now there almost certainly is ) I'll try and add it in the next post.
Much love, guys and gals!
:*
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