Wet, wet, wet...

There are so often days where you need everything to smoothly, usually because

1. 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;
2. Your FD class-mates are coming over for a braai;
3. You're just plain tired or lazy; or
4. 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...!>

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!

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!

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 :)

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*

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...

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!

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