tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37141423255038877112024-03-13T21:52:25.262-07:00s.o.d.seed of discontentAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-52653598767313199442017-03-17T02:40:00.001-07:002017-03-17T02:41:26.445-07:00Light in a Wrinkled Cup<div style="text-align: justify;">
I remember being a little girl excited and anticipating Summer. Glorious days on the beach, warm nights braaing, cricket and school holidays. On any given day my father would come home with a castle lager box filled with lychees, peaches, nectarines, apricots, grapes. Sweet succulent deliousness. My senses longed to peel a ripe, juicy nectarine. Small fingers carefully removing the thin skin as not to bruise the flesh and so that I could eventually ravish the ripe yielding fruit. Hands wet with juice were thoroughly licked as not to waste this preciousness.</div>
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However, as I got older, but not necessarily taller, it seemed as if the old adage that things were better when I was younger rang true. At least when it came to fruit. Perhaps per human erring I was longing for something that could no longer be. The sweet nectarine of my childhood was just that, it seemed - a thing of the past, a fond memory.I can with all honesty say it has been years since I've eaten a truly transportive piece of fruit, until today, that is.</div>
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Erik and I strolled to one of the many shops that sell fruit here in Mui Ne, Vietnam, a seaside town teeming with tourists, largely Russian. We got a dragon fruit to share and a passion fruit each. As I slurped the final vestiges of the tart, sour, yellow fruit, I stared into the wrinkled cup from whence it came. For a second I had my nectarine moment something like an innocence long since past. Of Jonty Rhodes making yet another impossible catch, of boerewors with smoertjie and of a blushing Cape Town sunset bleeding into the oncoming night, allowing us for just a few moments to behold their beauty together.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-73588835446869602022015-06-10T13:05:00.000-07:002015-06-10T13:05:15.987-07:00Restaurants that should exist<h2 style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Leo Tolstoy's Mexican Restaurant</span></h2>
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<i>"if you want to be happy, be"</i></div>
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Home of an awesome California Burrito</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Charles Dickens' Pizzeria</span></h2>
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<i>"Please, sir, I want some more."</i></div>
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All you can eat affordable weekend brunch Dickens style</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Jane Austen's Wok and Roll</span></h2>
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<i>"You must be the best judge of your own happiness."</i></div>
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The two for one specials are the best</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">D.H. Lawrence's Seafood Grille & Steak</span></h2>
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<i>"Death is the only pure, beautiful conclusion of a great passion."</i></div>
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All produce ethically sourced, by hand</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-75629898311946114412015-04-20T16:05:00.000-07:002015-04-20T16:05:27.748-07:00How to be an awful dinner guest1) Refer to your host by the wrong name throughout the night. Choose something that in no way resembles their actual name.<br />
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"Hi Suze!"<br />
"It's Linda."<br />
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<br />
2) Bring a gift of something you know they hate or are allergic too.<br />
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"I'm so sorry I didn't know you were both allergic to and hate chocolate covered puppy."<br />
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3) Alternatively re-gift and "forget" to remove the name tag.<br />
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4) At dinner ask, "Did you make this yourself?"<br />
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5) When they say yes quietly reply, "Oh." in a disbelieving manner.<br />
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6) Regale your host with the time you made something similar yourself and how it was such a hit with your guests and how you didn't even put that much effort in and now you are ALWAYS expected to make this particular dish at the insistence of your friends.<br />
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7) Suggest possible adjustments to improve the dish to the point where it is a completely different dish altogether.<br />
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8) At the end of the night insist that "You must do this again soon!" but never actually be available to do so.<br />
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"I'm so sorry I can't do Tuesday, I have to take my dog for a bikini wax!"<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gZTeXDNM_6s/VTWFgCRqbcI/AAAAAAAAAlY/_WnokKUfdH8/s1600/george-costanza-yell.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gZTeXDNM_6s/VTWFgCRqbcI/AAAAAAAAAlY/_WnokKUfdH8/s1600/george-costanza-yell.gif" height="394" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-14123638597468790362015-04-12T12:35:00.000-07:002015-04-12T12:35:46.356-07:00Dear Prince Charming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3562d1xXRgM/VSrIP8XkimI/AAAAAAAAAlE/CklXzbjoH78/s1600/finger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3562d1xXRgM/VSrIP8XkimI/AAAAAAAAAlE/CklXzbjoH78/s1600/finger.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Stepmother,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m probably more surprised than you will be that I'm writing
this letter. I've decided to leave home. Or should I say? Your home.
Yesterday, I disobeyed your wishes and went to the ball. How glad I am that I
did. I wore a beautiful dress and was the envy of everyone. Then I was asked to
dance by Prince Charming. And as he held me in his arms I wondered, “Is this
it?” Has the culmination of my life lead to this moment? I was disappointed to
say the least. It didn’t feel the way I imagined it would. I wasn’t
overwhelmed with happiness, I didn’t feel complete, in fact, I felt rather
empty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is what has lead to my decision to leave. I
realised that being the significant other of Prince Charming wouldn’t actually
be significant, not for me anyways. I hated you for working me so hard and
treating me so badly. But it dawned on me that I could actually get paid for
doing what I do for free at your house. That’s exactly what I am going to
do. I’ll earn money. I’ll spend it the way I choose and with whom I choose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Best Regards,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cinderella</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ps If Price Charming shows up please tell him I'm dead.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-17949614510633152372015-02-20T08:15:00.001-08:002015-02-20T08:15:27.595-08:00You won't believe that this ingredient isn't in the following!Over the past 29 years I have done extensive research on the following:<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aptunISrNbo/VOdYxM-sIPI/AAAAAAAAAjY/RnG7hKs0lXY/s1600/bacon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aptunISrNbo/VOdYxM-sIPI/AAAAAAAAAjY/RnG7hKs0lXY/s1600/bacon.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DYP1NF8qztw/VOdYxc1IAlI/AAAAAAAAAjk/pK9zrxJnHmw/s1600/pizza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DYP1NF8qztw/VOdYxc1IAlI/AAAAAAAAAjk/pK9zrxJnHmw/s1600/pizza.jpg" height="512" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X1Qym9FmejA/VOdYx8jx7kI/AAAAAAAAAjs/3kGqGkRXi0A/s1600/sunade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X1Qym9FmejA/VOdYx8jx7kI/AAAAAAAAAjs/3kGqGkRXi0A/s1600/sunade.jpg" height="640" width="348" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tBO2IRKnG6k/VOdYxcTFjfI/AAAAAAAAAjw/wG6_gWptUo4/s1600/lasagna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tBO2IRKnG6k/VOdYxcTFjfI/AAAAAAAAAjw/wG6_gWptUo4/s1600/lasagna.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Yes, all my life I have been researching food, deliciously good food. Yet, it is only recently that I have stumbled a very important discovery. I often felt that the amount of love and joy I experienced whilst eating these things needed to be balanced with similar amounts of guilt. Now, I'm going to change your life, like Oprah change your life. You know how for awhile we've been encouraged to become intelligent consumers? Learning the facts about what we're really putting into our mouths. I've always been a late starter but recently upon perusing the nutritional facts of my favourite products I noticed that guilt is not an ingredient. Also, fat does not equal guilt either. Don't believe me, see for yourself then.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rY3ff4Ihl5c/VOdb1nBq7xI/AAAAAAAAAj4/OIzf84n0jpA/s1600/ben-jerry-dublin-mudslide-ice-cream-nutrition.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rY3ff4Ihl5c/VOdb1nBq7xI/AAAAAAAAAj4/OIzf84n0jpA/s1600/ben-jerry-dublin-mudslide-ice-cream-nutrition.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fat: not a feeling, just a thing!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now I can enjoy my cake when I eat it. Also remembering that because cupcakes are mini cakes I can have more than one.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WsOP3UX2SEQ/VOdc8DrxJSI/AAAAAAAAAkE/ObjSsCZ1vRU/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WsOP3UX2SEQ/VOdc8DrxJSI/AAAAAAAAAkE/ObjSsCZ1vRU/s1600/giphy.gif" height="470" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Guilt, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing!" That's the cake singing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-46980580313756858742015-02-16T07:18:00.002-08:002015-02-16T07:20:05.521-08:00Yum-Yum Dessert<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In about two weeks Erik and I will be celebrating six months
of marriage! What?! Where did the time go? Something I've realised is not only
did I marry into an entire family but also the food that comes with that
family. In this case I am referring to a
specific dessert that was a part of Erik’s childhood. It’s called Yum-Yum dessert.
It doesn’t require much effort, time or
even money but the result, as I found out recently, is pleasantly surprising.
This is one of the reasons I have fallen in love with this dish. The outcome
feels disproportionate to the actual labour put in and it’s a good reminder
that life needn’t be hard. Sometimes all you have to do is wait for the
ice-cream to melt. Actually, sometimes I can’t even do that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me be honest though I wasn’t always enamoured with Yum-Yum. What put me off was the use of instant pudding in the filling– yuk! I’ve never liked instant
pudding, even as a child I just thought it tasted artificial. So, unlike many of
the other things Erik wanted to make I wasn’t at all enthuasiatic about this
particular dish. Also factor in that a
few months ago Erik made a delicious peanut butter pie. I am not crazy about
peanut butter, give me chocolate or nutella instead, but wow the memory of that
pie always takes me back to a very happy space. It had an oreo crust. It was
filled with inordinate amounts of cream cheese mixed with peanut butter,
drizzled with melted chocolate. It was decadent. Yum-Yum didn’t stand a chance
when compared to this. Poor Yum!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm just happy I did give it a try because this dessert works on so many levels. Like I said before you have the quick and
easy component. It is surprisingly light and works well after a heavy dinner; I think the ritz
cracker base has a lot to do with. The first time we made it we did a vanilla Yum-Yum, because that's what the recipe calls for. We have subsequently made a mint chocolate chip version of it. Where the vanilla ice-cream and pudding was substituted for mint choc chip ice-cream and white chocolate pudding. It turned out to be delicious and when you think about it there are just so many variations. Plus, the recipe is simple enough to be halved which we did on both occasions and it really was more than enough for four people. You can also make
it on the same day you plan to eat it and don’t have to worry about it
setting thanks to the pudding. The added bonus, however, of making it the day before is that it tastes better,
which is somewhat unbelievable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A note for people from the South(do you guys remember Dali
Tambo?) I’m not sure if ritz crackers are available in SA. If they are not I’m
struggling to find an equivalent. For the base you definitely want a savoury
biscuit, perhaps similar to a salty crack, but more buttery in flavour. This is only
if you want a lighter dessert, if not make whichever biscuit base you like.
Also, this is a great Summer dessert, similar to a
fridge tart, but I think easier to make.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here’s the recipe. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as we
do!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Yum-Yum Dessert</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>60 Ritz crackers</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>half gallon ice cream</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>2 pkgs instant vanilla pudding (dry)</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1 stick butter</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1 1/2 c. milk</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #222222;">Melt butter and mix with crushed Ritz crackers. Press into bottom of 8x10 pan. Reserve some for top. Soften ice cream and mix with milk and dry pudding. Scoop into pan and top with remainder of cracker mixture. Refrigerate until set.</span></b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M8xM2Wxfc_A/VOH-qOQwBII/AAAAAAAAAi4/0SpS5S9lKYg/s1600/mintyumyum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M8xM2Wxfc_A/VOH-qOQwBII/AAAAAAAAAi4/0SpS5S9lKYg/s1600/mintyumyum.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-18096971208575522132015-01-26T08:14:00.000-08:002015-01-26T08:14:14.359-08:00Hopes for the New Year<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
Today I share some of my hopes
for 2015. I could only think of five. So, perhaps another hope could be hoping
for more?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
1. Being the voice of reason on a
reality show.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
2. The complete extinction of red
velvet cake as a thing. Why has a fad so bad lasted for so long?!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
3. That every ailment I have is a
result of extreme sexiness.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
4. Being discovered for a talent I
didn’t even realise was a talent because it’s such a part of who I am, and I
just do it anyways. Like being, just being.</div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
5. News that a Gilmore Girls movie is
in the works. However, it really won’t be the same without Edward Herrmann’s
Richard Gilmore.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vxW8nNiPVGQ/VMZnlze3yyI/AAAAAAAAAig/_zfY5dfmXsU/s1600/richard%2Bgilmore.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vxW8nNiPVGQ/VMZnlze3yyI/AAAAAAAAAig/_zfY5dfmXsU/s1600/richard%2Bgilmore.gif" height="250" width="400" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-28283726094869412072014-12-10T07:13:00.002-08:002016-07-02T13:18:49.924-07:00Curly hair don't care?<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the past when I get sick and tired of my big,
unmanageable, curly hair I would just shave it off. The last time I did that I
found myself staring longingly at someone on the train with a mop of curly hair
and wished that I’d left mine to grow. Right now my hair is long, unruly and
annoying sometimes. It’s a lot of work and more pain than I care for, but I
also quite like it. I think it suits me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This wasn’t always the case. In high school my curly hair
was one of the most bitterly painful truths of my life. Now, this may not seem
like a big deal, because curly hair is cool now. When I was going to high
school it certainly wasn’t. My experience of being part of a coloured community
on the Cape Flats was that features which were considered white were highly
valued. This especially went for naturally straight hair and green or blue
eyes. The girls with “real” straight hair seemed to have an aura about them.
They didn’t have to go to all that effort that the rest of us had to go through.
For me this would be the ritual of blowdrying and straightening my hair for
about two hours. Back then hot irons weren’t as popular so often my hair would
be put into rollers, which I would wait around for hours to dry, then it was
blown out so as to straighten it. The effortlessness of those who naturally had
straight hair seemed to indicate that they were just better than me. Also, the best
boys, the ones worth having crushes on always had green or blue eyes, just by
the way! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I remember once being admonished by a boy in class for
having the audacity to wear my hair curly. His words went something along the
lines of, “Why don’t you make yourself look descent?” If his comment hurt my feelings I can’t
remember that part maybe because any hurt feelings were trumped by the
indignation I felt that this particular person, who I had utterly no respect
for, dared to be so rude to me. He wasn’t the only boy who was funny about my
hair. I was a very angry teenager and expressed that anger in what I believed
were witty retorts. I was actually just really mean. As a result I often
enjoyed exchanging insults with some of my male classmates. No one pulled punches and the fact that I was
a girl didn’t seem to matter. Until one day I wore my hair straight. Something
strange seemed to overcome my classmates. They looked and talked to me
differently. The animosity in their
voices had been replaced with a softer, gently tone. It was as if they were shocked that this was
me, or this is what I could be. It was
like one of those teen movies with Freddie Prince Jr. Where the ugly duckling
isn’t actually ugly, she is in fact the very pinnacle of teen beauty. People
start treating her with respect and also she is no longer in need of a
personality. They were being nice to me and I didn’t like it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The message I got that day was that it didn’t matter who I
was. I had changed my hair not my personality and yet here I was being treated
completely differently. This also frustrated me a great deal, because I so
badly wanted to be seen and valued, but not for this particular reason. As much
as this angered me it wasn’t this incident that made me start to like my hair.
It upset me that much of my value seemed to be placed on this one thing, but I
also didn’t like my hair myself. If I
could have exchanged my dark, curly locks for straight hair I would have. My
inability to naturally conform to that standard of beauty just felt like it was
my cross to bear. I didn’t want to pretend to be something I wasn’t although it
was something I longed for so badly. For
me there was this sense of being a different person when my hair was straight.
A better me. I remember being a child and one of the symptoms of having my hair
blown out was this overwhelming desire to constantly twist my head so that my
hair would flip, like in the shampoo adverts. I don’t why I did this. It felt
so light and freeing. I guess I knew
people would look at me and find me pretty. At the same time being fully aware
that I wasn’t pretty just as I was. It felt like a cruel fate to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fast forward to my third year at university where I was
obsessed with Karen O and her signature hair. I wanted those dark, heavy bangs
that hung just above her eyes. So I cut my hair. In no way did I look like
Karen O, BUT for about a week or two I was having, what felt to me, as much fun
as she was. My hair was straight, it hung in my face and I loved it. Then it
had to be washed. I had recently moved
out of my parents’ house, a place where I had never learnt to straighten my
hair, because my sister would do it for me. So, back to curly I went. Unlike before, my hair that I was just barely
able to tie up when straight was impossible to pull back into a ponytail when
it was curly. This was new and frightening territory for me. In the past and as
I often do now I just tie it up, but back then I had no choice; it would be loose.
Then something surprising happened, something very similar to what had happened
to me in high school. The girl who had been admonished for her curly hair was
receiving compliments. What?! People liked it? Really? This was all too
confusing for me, because it didn’t compute with the image I had of myself and
how I valued my own hair. After the shock came the high of being considered
attractive for once. My lack of self esteem enjoyed the feeling of being
praised for something that I had no control over. Even so having to wear my hair loose forced
me to work with what I had and to ultimately enjoy it. I was still baffled that
one of the things that made me feel so ashamed of myself was something that
others liked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It also brought me to another interesting discovery that I
will try to illustrate by relating a short story I had to read for my Afrikaans
class in high school. The name of this story is <i>Mejevrou Mattrasskop*</i> which translated into English means Miss Mattress
Head. The name denotes the nature of the main character's unruly hair which
children in her class think looks like an explosion at a mattress factory. Oh, sweet dear children with their ability to
make both ridiculous and hurtful comparisons.
However, at the end of the story this girl starts to value and recognise
the beauty of her hair because Miss South Africa at the time is a coloured woman
with curly hair. Now I have to be honest and admit that I haven’t read this
story since high school and was unable to find it on the internet to reread it,
so this is all from memory. But I have never forgotten it and I think writing
this has revealed why to me. Let me start by saying I fucking hate that story.
Not only is the title the most thinly veiled insult ever! I can’t imagine the
working title for Goldilocks being The Girl with the Pee Coloured hair. Don’t
forget Goldilocks violated the home of the bears but she still got a lovely
nickname. What upsets me is that this girl only considers her natural beauty as
beautiful when an outside source has sanctioned that beauty. This is similar to
what happened to me in university and it’s really just superficial nonsense.
Now I do believe that the people who complimented me were just being nice, so
it’s really about how I was affected by that kind of attention and the
questions it brought up for me. Like, “Is my hair great because I think so or
because other people do?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Earlier this week I read this great <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2014/11/chris-rock-frank-rich-in-conversation.html" target="_blank">Chris Rock</a> interview.
Not only did I forget how much I enjoy him and his humour it also helped me to
arrive at a certain conclusion. That just because something, in this instance
curly hair, is accepted and considered beautiful now, doesn’t mean that it
wasn’t that way before perceptions about it changed. Anyone should be able to like or dislike
something about themselves based on their own preferences and values. From my own experience I know this isn’t
always the case. It is tempting to
derive worth even from untrustworthy sources who I know don’t have my best
interests at heart. In this particularly instance I immediately think of the
media and whoever it is that decides what’s attractive. I think it appeals to
that desire to be accepted. At least
this was the case when I was a teenager when blue eyes and straight hair seemed
to be the answer to all my problems. I don’t always love my curly hair and
sometimes I imagine having straight hair would simply be more convenient. But
since when is being human convenient and why should it be? When I look in the
mirror now after having my hair straightened it feels strange, because I look
different and I’m not going to lie part of me still likes that because maybe I
can finally become part of that club I’ve wanted to be in all my life. Another
part thinks it doesn’t suit me the way I feel my curly hair does. It just looks and feels, well, boring and
uninteresting!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">*<i>When I was writing this I was pretty certain this story existed, but my friends who went to high school around the same time as me, albeit different schools, don't seem to remember it. I don't imagine that I've made this whole story up in my head. But I just can't seem to find any other proof that it exists, other than me saying it does. If this is case I am kind of impressed at that title! Even though it is mean. But I'm also sure it is real though.</i></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-46824461394908013942014-12-06T10:48:00.001-08:002014-12-06T10:48:09.983-08:00Things That Made My Week<h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is what happens to former Prime Ministers. Cherie can smile because she's never been one. So the lesson is never become Prime Minister or the equivalent thereof in your country. You'll carry the weight of that which you could not do with you forever. Oh, and don't be tempted even when they offer you lots of chocolate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the moment I am reading <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i>. Here's the forward that Harper Lee wrote:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">" Please spare <i>Mockingbird</i> an Introduction. As a reader I loathe Introductions. To novels, I associate Introductions with long-gone authors and works that are being brought back into print after decades of interment. Although <i>Mockingbird </i>will be 33 this year, it has never been out of print and I am still alive, although very quiet. Introductions inhibit pleasure, they kill the joy of anticipation, they frustrate curiosity. The only good thing about Introductions is that in some cases they delay the dose to come. <i>Mockingbird </i>still says what it has to say; it has managed to survive the years without preamble.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">12 February 1993"</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had developed a soft spot for her earlier this year when I discovered she fed birds out of a cool whip container. What brought me even greater joy was the seeming disillusionment of a certain writer, upon this discovery. Along with Lee’s approval of the whip I also agree with what she
says about introductions. I’ve always hated them. They are often long. I
find many unintelligible. Worst of all they spoil the plot and ending.
So many good books were ruined for me because of introductions. I've been disregarding them for years!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday I visited the spectacular Longwood Gardens and had the pleasure of using their award winning toilets. Have you ever used an award winning toilet? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The person in this picture just did. Just look at that expression of disbelief and utter joy!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Usually it's not cool for guys to yell at women. EXCEPT when I'm wearing my Phillies beanie and they shout, "Go, Phillies!" He called after me when I had already walked passed him. I just turned around nodded and smiled. It was a very Seinfeld black & white cookie moment.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-26951754375708411802014-12-01T06:35:00.001-08:002014-12-01T06:35:08.942-08:00Review: Tess of The D'Ubervilles<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: normal; line-height: 34.2400016784668px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A pure woman faithfully presented </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nicole Esbach</span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tess of the d’Urbervilles is the kind of novel that you toss aside in frustration, only to resume angry-reading it until the very last page.The 19<sup>th</sup> century, Victorian novel by Thomas Hardy, is the literary equivalent of Precious followed by an entire season of Law and Order.The female protagonist, Tess, is positioned as a mere puppet of the gods –to be jostled by whims, patriarchal prejudices and then sacrificed or to be more precise, executed. Her journey through life begins with her hymen, and thus archaically viewed with her virtue still intact. Once severed outside of the social requirement of marriage (with or without her consent), she is considered reduced in moral value and consequently a point of ridicule. For in her world, if you are not Madonna (not to be confused with the sexual provocative, music icon of the same n<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>ame) then you are a whore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The story begins in a rural village where John Durbeyfield,a drunk and candidate for Worst Father of the Year learns of his noble heritage. The working class Durbeyfield soon feels elevated by his connection to the old, monied d’Ubervilles and goes off to celebrate this prestigious news in his preferred fashion. What follows is a succession of tragic events, resulting in the Durbeyfields requiring financial support. Evidently believing in presentation, they send their attractive, eldest daughter; who also happens to be the only one with a basic education to secure them the object of their desire from a family whom they mistakenly believe to be their next of kin. These d’Urbervilles, residents of the portentously named, The Slope, had in fact had their current illustrious named purchased by their father, Sam Stokes. At The Slopes, Tess becomes the object of desire of the entitled and smooth-talking Alec d’Urberville. Whom she believes is a distant cousin of hers due to his constant referral of her as being such. He relentlessly pursues her and she answers each advance with rejection. Not dismayed, the predatory Alec eventually rapes her. Tess pregnant with the child of her rapist, is viewed as having brought shame on her family. She is left to baptise and bury her infant son, named Sorrow alone when he dies. Two years later, she employed as a milkmaid at a dairy farm, Talbothays, she meets Angel Clare. She falls in love with the academic turned apprentice farmer, and typically views him as being her social and moral superior. Angel Clare, for his part falls in love with her or more truthfully falls in love with his image of her – that of an untouched earth goddess. The two marry, only to have said marriage severed after Tess follows Angel’s confession of his past sexual relations with her own. The earth goddess image ruined, Angel flees to Brazil leaving his new bride to fend for herself. Though not before soliciting one of her friends to accompany him in the capacity of mistress to Brazil. Earning him a leading spot in The Douche-Bag Hall of Fame.Tess, in an added cruel twist of fate, ends up working at the farm of the man who had painfully mocked her for her past tragedies. This is then soon followed by the meeting of the seemingly reformed Alec. Alec, the wandering Methodist preacher quickly abandons his proverbial Bible once he sees Tess, and resumes his base pursuit of her. In the end his persistence pays off when Tess’s mother and sister are left destitute by her father’s death and their lack of money. Angel Clare, the marital defector returns to England, remorseful, and attempts to find Tess. He finds her living as an upper class lady with her rapist. Upon seeing Angel, Tess blames Alec for their separation. Which she expresses by fatally stabbing him. She then runs off with Angel Clare to have what is essentially the Bonny and Clyde honeymoon package. On their final day, the police find her asleep at Stonehenge on a sacrificial altar, apparently inspired by symbolism they cart her off to be executed. While the recently blessed couple, Angel Clare and the dubiously named Liza Lu, sister of Tess looks on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">To sum up, Tess of the d’Urbervilles is a critique of Victorian society and its host of j</span><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">udgments </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">as well as its narrow necessaries to be considered a somebody. Women are situated either as man-focused or the object of man’s focus; mere sexual adjuncts in a patriarchal world. Almost anything can be bought: a prestigious family name to gain entry into a higher social order. Indicative of the shift towards the new middle class. And lastly woman and her physical attributes, to be used as and when wanted as a whim or for the price of her family’s financial security. Tess had the unfortunate genetic curse of being born not only as a girl, but as a pretty girl in an environment that bred horrors that was consumed as acceptable daily occurrences. No wonder her only respite was death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Td4g_fUrWg4/VHx0-gPch3I/AAAAAAAAAhA/qa9k8dMIGsk/s1600/Nicole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Td4g_fUrWg4/VHx0-gPch3I/AAAAAAAAAhA/qa9k8dMIGsk/s1600/Nicole.jpg" height="173" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Apparently nobody is perfect, yet here I am….living proof that that sentiment holds true. Champion of all things grey, voracious eater of the humble peanut (well pulverised into a delectable paste that is) and one existential crisis away from never speaking without using air quotes. Pet peeve: people who send me photographs of food. Instead of actual food. They should be pha<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>sed out.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Check out her blog <a href="https://grrrlgazette.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">GrrrlGazette</a><span id="goog_1666646981"></span><span id="goog_1666646982"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a>! It's funny!</i></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-67459090396445524132014-11-30T08:53:00.001-08:002014-11-30T08:53:18.023-08:00The Good Guide to Remaining Single Part II<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She lay with the covers over her heavy head. She knew it was
a cliché. Lying there, in the foetal position. He had left almost half an hour
ago. She didn't want to think about it but she was unable to stop herself. He had come
upstairs to drink his tea. She motioned to kiss him. He pecked at her like a
bird with his tongue, before softly declaring, “I want to go!” The
mortification hit her instantly and with that her senses cleared and she saw
all too clearly the great delusion she had been nurturing. </div>
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It wasn't so much the rejection but the fact that she had
unknowingly accosted a stranger in her home. When had she become a predator? It
didn't help that she was being bombarded by everyone she had told about her
“first date”. It would have to be repeated ten times over. Her shame increasing
with every consonant and vowel. Like black and white keys being punched without
ceremony. </div>
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She did the only reasonable thing she could think of doing,
and that was to go over all the possible reasons why he had rejected her. This
would be helpful in future situations, but then again, she wasn’t planning to
date after this. No, but she was a reflective individual who always strove to
look within herself. Even when it hurt most and even if it were to make things
hurt more, in order to grow and become a better person. Naturally.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a></div>
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1) Her
messy flat, an obvious reflection, to some a moral evaluation</div>
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2) The
fact that she had commanded him NOT to remove his teabag from his cup</div>
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3) Maybe
she had bad breath or body odour</div>
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4) Her
jeans were too tight</div>
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5) He
thought she was ugly</div>
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It could have been any one of these reasons. Perhaps a
mixture of some, and maybe even all. The result would ultimately be a congealed
mass reason for rejection that could simply be summed up as – YOU. Everything
about you at that particular moment was wrong. If you had only made your bed,
if you didn't care that tea should be brewed properly you could have been…Could have been what? Not alone, right now.</div>
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What had he done? Ooops! That was awkward and he truly did feel
bad. He would just pop her a quick SMS to say sorry. He was sorry, but not sorry for being honest. It wasn't right to lead her on. Or lead her on
anymore. Phew! The look on her face when he pulled away. He cringed when he thought about it. Ag, she would get over it. She was fun, they could be
friends. Yes, that’s what he would say.
They should be friends, because that is what he truly believed. That it was
okay to say you wanted to be friends, because in the moment it was true and
guilt somehow always likes a good consolation prize. But really when he thought
about it, if you take away that uncomfortable ending, it was such a nice
date. He could imagine doing it again
and it would be even more fun because the stupid romantic stuff would be out of
the way.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Sue never did end up seeing him again. In fact, weeks later,
he died in a tragic cycling accident. One of his last thoughts had been of Sue,
their date and how his fear had prevented him from taking things where he
really wanted them to go to. Death does not often deny one the sobering facts
that one denies oneself of during life. In the bottom of his backpack lay a
letter written hastily on the back of a fast food flyer. It was addressed to
Sue.</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Dear Sue,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I know the way I
treated you was wrong. The truth is you were not what I expected and I have to
admit that scared me. I could’ve sat all afternoon and just listened to you
speak. That’s what I really wanted. Ha! So, I followed you to the beach and to
your place...we know what happened. You were brave enough to show your
emotions, to make a move and I was a coward. But can you blame me?! If you were
everything I thought you were I feared I could not live up to you, that I was
not good enough. At the time, I told myself it was an issue of attraction.
Actually it was, I was, am so incredibly attracted to you. Your laugh, your
intelligence, the way you almost walked into the door. I saw it and thought it
was adorable! I just couldn’t let you know that I did, that I was so into you. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Believe me, I am. And
I know this is probably late. That someone else has already shown you the
interest you deserve, but I’d like to see you again. And again after that and
after that. I know this is crazy but I just know when it comes to a woman, I
just do and I know with you. I can only ask that you will consider allowing me
the privilege to take you out again. To give me a second chance, even though I
know I don’t deserve it.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Adam<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Or at least this is what Sue liked to imagine would have been
the proper romantic conclusion to this non affair – Adam dying. Not the boring
clash of schedules and the fact that neither was willing to make changes in
those schedules. She obviously couldn't be the one who died, she had too much
she still wanted to do! </div>
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A few weeks after the date he asked her if she wanted to go
to The Breadbox Market with him. She had to refuse but only because she was out of town. Sue
sighed as she imagined them bonding over artisan pizza, sprinkled with
prosciutto and rocket. They would sit on a hay bales, music in the background,
with their 11 o’clock mojitos and maybe something would happen. He would see
another side of her. The Breadbox Market side of her! Although, these trips invariably cost more than she thought they deserved afterwards. However, being
away could prove to him that she was an individual who went away on weekends!
Like she imagined fun, spontaneous people did. Even though she had moved on
from the humiliation of his rejection of her she still wanted him to like her,
actually even more so because of the rejection. Mostly because if he were to
change his mind she would be in the position to reject him. Which she would not do, no! What he would be aware of was that she had that power and chose not to
use it. They would both know it and this would bring them closer to one another
and they would be very happy as a result, because of her.</div>
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Upon receiving her reply he turned on his side and went back
to sleep. He had made the effort!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-67055756319822240022014-10-16T14:24:00.000-07:002016-05-09T21:29:58.688-07:00Review: The Custom of the Country<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rOgyWtqYqN8/VEVh7tZ8QqI/AAAAAAAAAfw/ybVQViNxOZk/s1600/undine.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rOgyWtqYqN8/VEVh7tZ8QqI/AAAAAAAAAfw/ybVQViNxOZk/s1600/undine.jpeg" width="337" /></a></div>
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"It's business, nothing personal."</h3>
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Recently I read the wondrous book <i>The Custom of The Country </i>by Edith Wharton. It was my first taste
of Wharton and it was like eating a good sandwich. And I don’t use that
analogy in any sort of demeaning way, I use it because I honestly love
sandwiches. Edith Wharton was my delicious sandwich. Just the right mixture of
crunchy greens, not too much sauce and bread that adds flavour. It’s the type of creation you wish would never end.</div>
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The meat in my proverbial sandwich is the ever adaptable
Undine Spragg. How I love her! Do I like her though? No, not really. She’s not maternal. She’s incredibly vain. She
is selfish. However the cherry on the cake is the fact that she is all of these things but absolutely unashamed of herself! How dare she?!</div>
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She is who she is and whether or not you agree with her
motives and actions, that’s something you have to respect. Often heroines
are endowed with flaws, but their “saving grace” is the fact that they become
aware of them and at least try to change. Not Undine. I mean with a name
like that why would you ever want to change? Okay, so that's not entirely true. Throughout the course of the novel Undine does undergo change, but it is the kind of change and the motivation behind it that makes her so fascinating. Undine changes not for others but to further herself. If it happens to be in someone else's best interest too, then that is mere coincidence. She is so brilliantly imagined and drawn by Wharton that it is such a pleasure to see Undine's mind at work and her amazing ability to adapt . </div>
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What I really like about this book is the fact
that there seems to be no moral judgment laid upon this character by the author. She is of no less value because she does not fit into the mold of "traditional womanhood"*. What we are introduced to is a woman who is incredibly adroit at her chosen field of interest, which
itself has been shaped by her gender and class. I couldn’t help but think what
a brilliant, feared business woman she could’ve been, but that’s what Wharton
does. She takes the domestic and reveals it to be the business arena that it is
for so many people. </div>
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We’ve seen it with Jane Austen’s heroines, who like
Undine are very flawed, but altogether likable. They have their value too. In
representing normal, well-meaning individuals negotiating one of the most
important contracts of their lives. However, Undine Spragg is at another level
altogether. She is a masterful negotiator and tactician. She makes me think of a
more sophisticated Lucy Steele. I can only imagine what Austen would've thought of this heroine had she had the pleasure of reading this novel. </div>
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Last week I had the pleasure of being introduced to Blanche DuBois, also a very flawed but incredibly fascinating character. Someone who you may not like on a very deep level, but who, at the same time, you can't stop watching. It is these characters not just the "good" ones who I believe are so important in representing woman at all levels of class, likability and intelligence. All of which are deserving of respect. Undine Spragg is a favourite of mine now, precisely because she is full of
flaws and doesn't give a fuck about it.</div>
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*I myself do not even know what this is!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-18804138936893308072014-10-15T07:45:00.000-07:002014-10-16T14:24:09.604-07:00The Good Guide to Remaining Single<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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So, today I am putting up a story that I have been working on. I started with it when I was still in South Africa. When I had a look at it here I felt it worth pursuing further. The idea is to put it up as installments every week. At the moment I only have a completed Part I and a partially completed Part II. So, like the rest of you I don't know what's going to happen next or how the story is going to end! I hope it's happy though. I've decided on doing it this way because I think it will be good practice for me. I am terrible at completing any piece of writing if I don't have a deadline and some sort of authoritative figure to uphold it and to disturb my sleep with guilt for missing those deadlines!</div>
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<h3>
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<h3>
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<h3>
The Good Guide to Remaining Single</h3>
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<h4>
Part I</h4>
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<br />
Before tomorrow came Sue had to figure out a few things.<span style="text-indent: -18pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: -18pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: -18pt;"> 1)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">What would she wear to her date?</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: -18pt;"> 2)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">How would she do her hair?</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: -18pt;"> 3)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -18pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Should she arrive before or after him? </span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Did she
want to see him first or did she want to be seen first?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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She was slightly flustered. Even though she was 27 she had
never been on a date before. Yes, she had gone out with guys, but it was never
labelled as such. It was just hanging out; but going on a dating site you
could not escape the term. It was a rite of passage in a sense. When dating really wasn’t just for fun, it
was about survival. It was one of her least favourite things about growing up.
Reaching the age where the want of a companion seemed to be really pressing. </div>
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It was known that she did not need a man in her life. It
wasn’t a death sentence. But what she had come to realise was that there was a
part of her that longed to be with someone. A deeper yearning for a
someone. The shock of that fact was that
she could never have imagined that such a part existed in her. This was a dilemma, because it was something
she knew she wanted, but something over which she had very little power, or none
whatsoever. The truth is that she had signed up for the site, because it was
really the only thing she could think of doing at this point.</div>
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Now here she was preparing for her first date. Mentally
preparing, that is. How did she want to appear to him? Light hearted, carefree,
fun? Yes! Light hearted, carefree and fun. She was all those things; sometimes. However, if she were to examine the
underlying emotions, the desire to appear carefree, she would see that it was
in fact just a desire, just an appearance, at least in this specific instance. </div>
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Anyone who had been ditched two years ago, and had no real
romantic attachments to speak of in the meantime, would really be anything but
carefree. In fact she carried a big load of care into the whole affair. Even in
the emails they exchanged she <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"></a>secreted<span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span>
a long-standing hope. She could not detect the odour herself. The whiff of hope and development she
recognised in their interaction with one another was merely the breeze blowing
her own smell back into her face. It was
what kept her going. It was what made her email him first and eventually ask
him to meet her. He had said yes! So, why should it matter who asked who? In
the long run such details really are insignificant. </div>
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Filled with what she thought was good humour throughout
their two week correspondence, she reckoned she was in a good space to go
through with this dating stuff, after all. A nervous desperation pressed
heavily on her, though. The recipient of all of this undeserved thought and
attention was, well, unexceptional. More
so because there wasn’t enough known about the poor soul. He was exceptional
because he was the first and because he had responded to her nicely, and that
made her feel nice. What she actually liked most about this guy was his very
beautiful eyes. And he did indeed have beautiful, big, expressive eyes. On that
point she was not mistaken, the photos did not lie. The thing is, beautiful
eyes aren’t always the most accurate marker of compatibility. Rather it
displays that if one had to choose which eyes to stare into longingly, those
would be at the very top of the list.</div>
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This entity was quite unaware of the gradual elevation of
approval he had gained with her. For him, there was nothing unattractive enough
to put him off. She was not his first choice, or a choice, at all. He responded
to her email because it did not put him out when he had received it and she
seemed nice. He found that as in life,
this virtual dating was heavily stacked against men. So few women to choose
from! Almost always having to do the
approaching, at least this one saved him that effort. Although he would have
preferred seeing the Indian girl again, who suddenly had to uproot, for a
scholarship she had gotten. He was bitterly disappointed. Especially since,
before that, the two month thing with the Chinese girl had just really been
about sex, and even though the sex was good, he wanted more. Not more sex, just more. This new girl did not inspire any excitement,
but there was something there that he could not quite define, and it wasn’t at
all bad.</div>
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The day arrived and Sue found her imagination had adequately
supplied knowledge about him, knowledge<b> </b>that
no human being had ever been supplied with in a few emails, sent over the space
of two weeks. Although she knew that she
could not properly know these things, she was assured that it was just a matter
of time before she should know them. Even if they did deviate slightly, or
perhaps not so slightly, she believed that on the bigger, more important points
her opinions of his opinions would prove true. But really, she had to admit,
that she did not know at all, did she? It was just the impression she’d
gotten. Believing herself to be quite
objective now, having considered her limitations, she also had to admit that
trusting her instincts was overall a good thing.</div>
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The universe had made the decision that she should not
arrive first, since her train was late. What a relief! One less thing to worry
about! She walked to the restaurant, but she found she could not walk fast
enough. She was soon to be introduced to the moment that two years of long
awaited singleness had come down to. After having almost walked into the glass
doors, she shrugged her shoulders, laughed to herself and imagined that he had
seen her. That would not be a bad start, it could be endearing, it certainly was
a scene worthy of a romantic comedy.</div>
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Sue made her way to him and introductions followed.</div>
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“I almost walked into the door,” she mused.</div>
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“Huh?” he said.</div>
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So, he clearly had not seen her, not a trainsmash, “As I was
coming in, I almost walked into the doors over there,” she laughed.</div>
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“Oh,” he said unenthusiastically.</div>
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Okay, so the first point of conversation did not go as well
as she was hoping. He was not at all amused or interested it seemed. She would
not allow herself to be deterred. This was after all not a dealbreaker. He was
to inform her that he was slightly hungover from the night before and tired
because he had only gotten to bed at five in the morning. This could have deterred
her. If she were cynical she may imagine
that his lack of concern for his constitution on meeting her might have
discouraged him from partying all night. She instead thought it was a good
thing, because it seemed to prove that he had a healthy and active social life
and she had read that one should be wary of individuals who had few friends.
Friends he certainly had, five in the morning friends, but what was the
difference? </div>
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His first impressions of her were satisfactory. She was
pretty, talkative and smiled a lot. When he had woken up earlier that afternoon
he was actually dreading this meeting, simply because of the effort he knew a
first date deserved. The effort to appear interesting and, more difficult,
interested. But as he was sitting across from her as she bubbled away, he
realised that a hangover need not be a big problem. It suddenly came to him
what it was about her in the emails, he felt comfortable around her. Like one
often did in stretched out, fart laden pajama pants. So comfortable that he
knew that even though this was a first date he readily shared his past
disappointments about the Indian and Chinese girl. She even suggested that he
still had the opportunity of rekindling that relationship. Ah! He hadn’t
thought of that. This date was turning out to be very enjoyable for him. Not
much effort required!</div>
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Sue was not encouraged by how comfortable he obviously felt
with sharing his past romantic disappointments with her. Even she had to admit
this wasn’t a good sign, but somehow she found herself doing the same. The ex
that had contacted her earlier this year, the woman who she had been briefly
involved with. He really liked that last bit and sympathised that the
relationship had not worked out. “It sounds like it could’ve been lovely.”
Lovely in part mostly because it was lovely to imagine this pretty girl, with
another pretty girl – lovely indeed! Why she told him these things, when she
was quite averse to him doing the same, was unclear to her. Really it was just
the basic human instinct to compete. She had to show him, that at some point,
someone had found her desirable. Perhaps
this would make him find her so too. </div>
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Other than this the date seemed to be going well. He even
mentioned as much, which in turn encouraged her, where she had been discouraged
with his earlier choice of conversation. Even more promising was that on
leaving the restaurant she mentioned that she would not need to be accompanied to
the train station as she would prefer to take a walk on the beach. He seemed more than glad to join her and it
was his suggestion not hers. Wow! This
was shaping up! Little did she know that it was from a lack of any other pressing
engagements that he deemed a spontaneous walk on the beach quite nice, rather
than on account of the company that he was sharing.</div>
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As their time together progressed and she got to spend more
time looking into his eyes, she was convinced that any doubts she may have had
earlier where unfounded. This was a good date. He could have gone home, but
instead decided to go for a walk with her. What was even more encouraging was
him accepting an invitation to her place for tea. He must know that was more
than just an invitation. She found that she liked him very much now, even
though she had never previously liked anyone with his looks, manners and
conversation before. The thought of being liked made her like him more than she
honestly could.</div>
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For him, he wasn’t completely oblivious that in similar
circumstances his behaviour towards her would have appeared as showing
interest. But he also did not believe that she had misinterpreted his
comfortableness with her. It was clear that if he was interested he would never
have mentioned the Indian and the Chinese, he had a sense of decency after all. She was a nice fun
friend, nothing more. He dismissed the growing sensation he was feeling, of
what, he wasn’t sure. He was very glad
that she was enjoying his company he could clearly see that she was. He was
flattered that he handled the situation well.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-12748973310945650562014-10-14T10:25:00.000-07:002014-10-14T10:28:57.788-07:00A Streetcar Named Desire<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6r_f1gbt5U/VD1akwRXVwI/AAAAAAAAAfE/I1rhE_28vjY/s1600/Gillian_Anderson_Scully.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6r_f1gbt5U/VD1akwRXVwI/AAAAAAAAAfE/I1rhE_28vjY/s1600/Gillian_Anderson_Scully.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Last night Erik and I excitedly made our way to watch A Streetcar Named Desire. I was especially keen because Gillian Anderson plays Blanche DuBois and growing up I was a huge fan of the X-files. Scully and Mulder are still one of the best tv romances and I should know; I was raised by tv! In an attempt to be profound I turned to Erik as we were sitting in our seats to let him know that at this very moment Gillian Anderson was preparing herself for the stage. Please do keep in mind that I often mistake profound for ridiculous. To myself I wondered about her "process". Was she nervous? Did she have any rituals? Stuff like that. I thought about how as a teenager I had watched her week after week, on a Friday night, because I loved the show and I wasn't a very popular teenager. For some reason I was turning this into a reunion of sorts. I would be reunited with one of my childhood icons and she in turn would be introduced to a crazy lady from South Africa.</div>
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Upon perusing the program we were to discover that this was in fact not a live performance. It was but it was a live broadcast of the performance all the way from England. Our hearts dropped. Really? Instead of seeing Scully in the flesh I would be seeing her onscreen, again. My monologue earlier seemed wholly unnecessary now. It then made sense why the tickets seemed so cheap and why there was nothing on the stage. The latter I didn't even notice, Erik had to point it out to me. But we were there and what else could we do but watch it.</div>
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Another reason why I had so been looking forward to watching the play was because I had seen rave reviews about it. I also enjoyed Anderson's performance in Bleak House and was excited to see her in something else. Of course, if I had the choice, I would have preferred to see the show live, but that's the only complaint. It was brilliant and Anderson was enthralling as Blanche. If you have the opportunity, watch it! It was moving, scary and disturbing in the best way, which for me is having a story that feels so real that it gets under your skin and makes you feel uncomfortable.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-47794970029940763562014-09-23T07:54:00.000-07:002014-09-23T07:54:29.566-07:00"...we don't make mistakes we just have happy accidents"<div style="text-align: justify;">
Before I get into the title of the post I have to relate this truly delightful story. Erik and I were on our way to a book sale, because he is addicted to books. As we were crossing the road this baby in the pram just ahead of us starts shouting, I assume crying, because that's one of the three things babies do. What I wasn't expecting was that there was another baby on the other side of the road who started screaming too. Fact is baby was screaming because he was excited to see his baby friend.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was just a really cool thing to see. I mean, if you think about it, we never grow out of that. Imagine walking down the street and seeing your best friend unexpectedly. For me this would result in jumping up and down and screaming, so very much like a baby.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Something that I think would also be great for babies and children is this guy -</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/FX2AEfZpWT8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
This is Bob Ross. Here's some more Bob Ross -<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZNAzYEM1pxo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">People this is good for your children. I've decided that when I have children there will be mandatory Bob Ross time. But don't despair I was only recently introduced to Mr. Ross myself and trust me he works just as well on adults. His soothing and reassuring voice just says, "Everything's going to be okay." I feel like I've just had a therapy session after watching one of these. If you've had a bad day, get into your pj's, get a bowl of ice cream and put on some Bob Ross, he will make you feel better. Also, did you see how much he enjoys cleaning his brushes?! It really is the simple things, isn't it? Bob Ross makes the world a better place - fact!</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/kKVZa7MULP0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-60502469801746283992014-09-22T11:19:00.000-07:002014-09-22T11:19:36.949-07:00Review: Zoo City <div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today's review is written by my friend Casey. Casey and I shared an office when I first started working as an admin assistant. I cannot thank her enough for our coffee/chocolate breaks, Nando's lunches and just staring out of windows at the outside world like we were caged mice. Also she is reviewing a South African novel which is great! </span></b></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nb4eSQ4i9RE/VCBjvXm2s0I/AAAAAAAAAec/yjdR0nKCQ0o/s1600/zoocity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nb4eSQ4i9RE/VCBjvXm2s0I/AAAAAAAAAec/yjdR0nKCQ0o/s1600/zoocity.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Zoo City </span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #999999;">Casey Louw</span></span><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ZOO CITY is written by South African author, Lauren Beukes. It is
part-mystery, part thriller in that the very details of this page-turner
divulge little of the plot and the unpredictability of the book in general
makes this all the more exciting for the reader. It won the 2011 Arthur C.
Clarke Award in 2011 and the 2010 Kitschies Red Tentacle for best novel. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This book is forged around main character, Zinzi December.
The lifeblood of the plot thickens as the reader discovers that each of the
books’ criminals are “animaled” or marked with shame and have to permanently
have an animal in their company. Zinzi’s animal is a sloth that lazes around
her neck as she goes about her daily business. Other hardened criminals each
have a different animal that marks their dark pasts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The novel takes place in Johannesburg and mores specifically
Hillbrow. Zinzi is “animalled” because she gets into a disastrous situation
where her brother is killed. Zinzi used to be a journalist and is privy to
various addictions which form haunting habits of which she hopes to rid
herself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The plot thickens as Zinzi owes her dealer
money and has to make ends meet as well as repay the debt. Zinzi is gifted in
that she has the perceptive ability to find peoples’ lost possessions and as
such finds herself entwined in various webs of strangers’ lives in an attempt
to find things they have lost that mean much to them for sentimental or
nostalgic reasons.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The storyline gets
juicy when Zinzi gets nudged</span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> into the vicarious lives of
a brother and sister pop band, where the sister has strangely disappeared and
is nowhere to be found; much to the distress of those close to her. Zinzi
willingly takes this job as it will be her means to repay the debt she owes to
her dealer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's some more about Casey:</span></h4>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cd9E-HtBK3Y/VCBlQnUBvHI/AAAAAAAAAek/LK1Nwb06oDw/s1600/casey1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cd9E-HtBK3Y/VCBlQnUBvHI/AAAAAAAAAek/LK1Nwb06oDw/s1600/casey1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love to write, any time anywhere. I enjoy a good read
but find little time for it, so when I find a good book I tend to burrow under
a blanket on the couch for a while. I love the outdoors and travelling. I’m at
my happiest around friends and family! I love languages of which I can converse
in German and skate by with Afrikaans, which is terrible as I am half
Afrikaans. I love South Africa where I find my home, for the people - our
ribbon of culture entwined in our talents as artists, musical genies, foodies,
teachers and people bulging with voluptuous artistic ability. </span></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua","serif";"><br clear="all" />
<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-20891446658035199642014-09-18T08:41:00.002-07:002014-09-18T08:41:51.854-07:00Whose not getting it on in 7de Laan?<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Being in the States has me missing South Africa. The ocean,
the mountain, the people and the soapies. Yes, the soapies and it got me
thinking about something that struck me awhile back when I was still in SA. I
thought about 7de Laan and how for some reason unless you’re past the point of
childbearing age, like Felicity and Herman, you can forget about being in an
interracial relationship! You are allowed to be friends, best friends in fact. You
can be social equals, BUT no matter how
much you may have in common the writers have decided that it simply isn’t going
to happen. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Now, I know it’s a soapie and expecting realism maybe my
fault. However, I am wondering if 7de Laan’s audience really wouldn’t be able
to handle some black on white action. Or even some black on coloured action. I
am not picky. It just amazes me that 20yrs into democracy where interracial
relations are no longer illegal and is a fact of life(which it was even when it
was illegal). Like I was saying I probably have way too many unrealistic
expectations of a show that has to have a fashion show every few months and
where the inhabitants always seem to find the weirdest things hilarious.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I guess what bothers me is that I get the feeling it is
something that is being avoided. It’s like 7de Laan exists in some sort of idealised bubble of
the “new south Africa”. Yes, black people and coloured people exist - first
fact. They are also successful, funny and as interesting and as complicated as a
7de Laan character can be - second fact. All races have sexual desires and will
therefore be attracted to each other regardless of skin colour - third fa...
Oh, no, sorry that’s NOT a fact on 7de Laan, because for some mysterious reason
none of these races ever find each other sexually attractive. I just can’t
believe it! Are you telling me there isn’t even a little fling or people making
out when they get drunk? Not even a little bumping and grinding at that club
they always go to? On the surface the idea of freedom and equality exists, but
no white women is allowed to have a black penis inside her.</div>
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I realise I am picking on one show. I know that were I to
look at the array of South African soapies there would probably be endless
amounts of things I could write about race and what it says about South Africa
and feel free to do that yourself. As much as I often chide the show in my mind
for its ridiculous storylines and then rehashing those storylines, it does have some redeeming qualities. There are
interesting characters and some strong female ones like Charmaine and
Gita. There have also been very well written and intriguing storylines. And I
do believe that the actors are good and that the show could do so much more
with what it has. I’m the silly one though for expecting more from a show that doesn’t profess to be something it is not. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bIskYGDp-Y0/VBr7pULBq1I/AAAAAAAAAeI/8c-oBKsCsH4/s1600/U135117_cadbury_top_deck_slab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bIskYGDp-Y0/VBr7pULBq1I/AAAAAAAAAeI/8c-oBKsCsH4/s1600/U135117_cadbury_top_deck_slab.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An example to us all</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-22800946113988530082014-09-16T06:16:00.001-07:002014-09-18T04:33:31.314-07:00Cankles and Squirrels<h4>
Here's a snippet of some newly married conversation</h4>
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Me: Erik, do you know what cankles are?<br />
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Erik: Isn't it ankles that look like cans?<br />
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Me: uncontrollable laughter<br />
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Me: Do my feet look like dinosaur claws?<br />
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Erik: No! Do you even know what dinosaur claws look like?<br />
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Me: No, but I was just wondering.<br />
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If you can't ask your husband if your feet look like dinosaur claws, then I just don't know!<br />
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<h4>
Squirrels</h4>
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I used to hate squirrels. I thought of them as rats but with fluffy tails and also modern day carriers of the plague! They're actually not that bad. It's really fun watching them run around whilst you sit in the park.</div>
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Also, squirrels are coming up in the world. Take a look here:</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bux10Sx-8VM/VBg1MJSVHfI/AAAAAAAAAd0/PHPMIPNWHM8/s1600/businesss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bux10Sx-8VM/VBg1MJSVHfI/AAAAAAAAAd0/PHPMIPNWHM8/s1600/businesss.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
Yes! It's a business squirrel. They exist and are actually taking over the business world. Or so I assume from this picture. If I was making shady business deals, I would prefer making it with a squirrel. Very soon they'll be just like us. I hear they've already started discriminating against female squirrels both in business and private settings. It's reported that female squirrels who occupy the same positions as male squirrels earn less nuts. Way to go squirrels! I knew you could do it!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-68495704503689101052014-09-12T06:55:00.000-07:002014-09-12T06:58:14.067-07:00A Guide to NapsI simply insist that everyone should indulge in a good nap as often as they can. I don't consider myself an expert on much but on sleeping I definitely am. Sleeping and all its variations. Seeing that it's Friday and the weekend should be about relaxing I offer my expertise on the art of napping here and for free! You can thank me after your nap.<br />
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In my research I have found that a good nap is made up of three simple and easy to follow parts.<br />
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Part I: Pre-Nap</h4>
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This involves finding a suitable comfy spot where minimal
disturbance would be likely to occur. Best done when no one else is around and
won’t be around for a few hours. This is essentially quiet time where you
switch your mind off and just relax. A nice cup of tea before the nap might be
helpful here but don’t try this if you have a weak bladder, this might wake you
up before you are ready. If you are a particularly popular or important individual you may want to tell people to will not be available between such and such a time. Unfortunately, we still live in a society where naps just aren't given the respect they deserve.</div>
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<h4>
Part II: The Nap</h4>
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This part involves napping to the best of your ability. Part
I is crucial to the proper execution of this step.</div>
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<h4>
Part III: Post-Nap</h4>
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The nap doesn’t simply end the minute you wake up! If you
get up too soon, you may end up feeling groggy and become grumpy. However, it
is also important that you don’t stay in too long either. This may result in
oversleeping and very similar effects to getting up too soon may occur. The
best thing to do is to wake up but to lay in for a further 5-15 minutes. Just
go through how you feel. Evaluate your nap – was it good? Think about what you
‘re going to eat when you get up. Some salsa and chips would be delicious. Maybe you want a chocolate milk. On a personal note because I am often tempted to stay wrapped in the warm folds of my covers, food is one of the few things that can motivate me to get up. Food and guilt. So, if someone's about to get home soon I don't want them to see I'm napping. Napping is very personal!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-22056093535940149632014-09-09T07:38:00.000-07:002014-09-09T07:40:09.403-07:00Inspirational Tuesdays: Weddings and catcalls What has been really great over the last week has been the tremendous amount of well wishes and messages Erik and I have received about our marriage. Just thanks everyone! I imagine this is what a Kardashian must feel like when they wake up every morning. Just endless facebook messages and likes. Except I would more realistically be a hundredth of a Kardashian. I can live with that!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A hundredth of a Kardashian</td></tr>
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Then there's Jessica Williams who really should be an inspiration to us all and to men who aren't quite sure about the catcalling thing - she's right!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-51758530933752442492014-09-08T06:23:00.000-07:002014-09-22T11:16:14.385-07:00Review: The Woman in White<h4>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today's post is a review of one of my favourite novels, The Woman in White. It has been written by one of my dearest friends Nicole a.k.a. the nutella of my soul. Not only am I delighted because she is a wonderful writer but it's the first guest post here on s.o.d. Yay!</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Women in white drink red wine </span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nicole Esbach</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If
you have ever read Dickens, Eliot, Austen, Gaskell and the literary dream team,
The Brontë Sisters, then you are assuredly aware of how limited Victorian
society was for a woman. The quintessential corset that outwardly looks
fetching, yet to the captive is nothing more than scheduled incarceration for
the female form. First, she belongs to her father and then she belongs to her
husband. Appraised for her appearance, ability to entertain (social class
withstanding –not every woman was an accessory, others were cogs in the
economic machine) as femininely(meaning as demurely and non-threatening as
possible), in short she is to have no self but be the sum of what is socially expected of her. To be pretty, to be quiet and most importantly to be the
receptacle for furthering her husband’s lineage.As most eras go, this one
included, we grow accustomed to certain practices. Some may irk us, while
others may go unnoticed as they leave relatively no harm and are deemed
acceptable like calling your bestie a bad ass bitch because nothing says
respect like a derogatory statement. Thus the female plight may be passed over
in various literary works, and that is okay because not every work should be a
portrayal of ghastly suffering. Alternatively, if it can be at the apex of
sensation novels, or be a purveyor for the detective novel then William Wilkie
Collins is your guy. Known as Wilkie Collins, as not to be confused with his
father, also named William; Wilkie wrote what is largely considered to be his
greatest work, The Woman in White. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
Woman in White is a novel that reads like a courtroom testimony and is composed
of multiple narratives. Each narrative serving to elucidate and move the story forward.
In a nutshell, the story is about identity theft as well as the great 19<sup>th</sup>
century concern: social class. The first narrator, Walter Hartright, an art
teacher in need of employment and just all-round nice guy takes up a post at
Limmeridge House. Where his only pupils are two young ladies: Marion Halcombe
and Laura Fairlie. En route to Limmeridge House, he meets a mentally unhinged
woman, Anne Catherick: asylum escapee, believed keeper of pertinent secret, and
steadfast devotee to the colour white; who bears an uncanny resemblance to
Laura Fairlie. Naturally, she is an attractive blue-eyed, blonde and the
legitimate daughter of a large inheritance. As custom would have it, she has
been promised to wed, Sir Percival Glyde. A friend of her late father and
unbeknownst to all, heavily entrenched in debt. However,she falters in
maintaining her promise, when she falls in love with her art teacher. Familial
obligation steps in and she ends up becoming Lady Glyde. Life as Sir Percival
Glyde’s wife, though, proves to be quite difficult for both parties. The scheming
Glyde with help from his devious friends, manages to switch his wife’s identity
with that of the unhinged Anne Catherick. What ensues is a heavy bag of
obligation, suppressed feeling, indefatigable tenacity and downright treachery
that is lugged around until human folly and the strict code of an Italian
secret society disposes of it.The supporting characters range from the
hypochondriac Mr Frederick Fairlie; who is essentially a tyrannical shut-in and
Count Fosco; a man whose enormous girth is only surpassed by his grandiose
sense of himself. The undoubted heroine of Woman in White, is Marian Halcombe,
half-sister of Laura Fairlie and confidant to Walter Hartright. She is presented
as the model spinster. Her lack of physical charms (she has a marriage-blocking mustache), is remedied by her sharp mind and depth of will commonly only seen
in men.Marion is unerring in her devotion to her sister and in her pursuit to
reinstate sister’s identity. All in all, The Woman in White is engrossing from
beginning to end. A work of classic literature that reads like the literary
equivalent of a fine, red wine. After all, a full-bodied pinotage is an
excellent accompaniment to a full-bodied<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> novel.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Here's some more about Nicole:</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Apparently nobody is perfect, yet here I am….living proof that that sentiment holds true. Champion of all things grey, voracious eater of the humble peanut (well pulverised into a delectable paste that is) and one existential crisis away from never speaking without using air quotes. Pet peeve: people who send me photographs of food. Instead of actual food. They should be pha<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>sed out.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Check out her blog <a href="http://grrrlgazette.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">GrrrlGazette</a>! It's funny!</i></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-65231970541824962622014-06-24T11:22:00.003-07:002014-06-24T11:22:37.073-07:00Inspirational Quotes<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Inspiring things are just great! And I personally feel that
s.o.d. needs a bit of inspiration. My inspiration was inspired by all those
helpful quotes floating around my good friend the internet, especially those on
facebook. They truly help to make you a better person, from the comfort of your
bed/couch/office(where you’re obviously avoiding work). How else would you know
that it’s okay to be you? Because it is, you know. Or that the best consolation
for your friend’s break-up is to take them to the beach, during a
sunset/sunrise, so that you can hold hands and jump in the air together? I
simply couldn’t resist and had to get in on the act. So, Tuesdays will now become <i>Inspirational Tuesday</i> where I will
supply my public with a heartwarming quote that will just make you want to
reach out and touch someone. No, not there!!!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-53356218746051628892014-06-23T08:10:00.003-07:002014-06-23T08:10:35.123-07:00First Times<div class="MsoNormal">
Right now I’m sitting in Washington DC. I look out of my
window onto a grey, cool day. It hasn’t started raining ,yet - but there’s
still lots of time for that. It’s still early here, only 09:15 in the morning.
My hair is wet from the shower I just recently took and I enjoy the feel and
sound that the keys of my laptop make as I type away. </div>
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Even earlier this morning I accompanied Erik to the station.
On my way back I walk past, in this order, the Library of Congress on my right,
The Capitol Building on the other side of the street and the Supreme Court.
Everything inside me wants to scream – What the fuck? How did you get here?</div>
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As clichéd as it sounds, these landmarks are not only
impressive but beautiful. Really, really beautiful. I had seen these buildings
before on tv shows and movies I couldn’t even recall the names of now, and I
felt quite confident that I knew how they looked. To my great surprise this
didn’t mean that I actually knew how they looked, or should I say, feel.</div>
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To answer my question of how I got here I have to go back to
more than two weeks ago to Saturday 31 June, when I began my 36hr trip from
Cape Town to DC. I was concerned about
how I would handle the long journey. I have never travelled extensively in my
entire life and a 36hr journey comprising of two stops seemed a bit daunting to
me.</div>
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What I didn’t fully comprehend was the fact that ignorance
was truly bliss in this case. I had no other experience to compare this to.
This would be the best transatlantic trip I’ve ever taken. For some reason
collecting my luggage was the biggest issue for me, because my luggage was big
and I am well... not. First in New York, then in DC – where I proceeded to get
lost, in the airport, for an hour. I would like to place all responsibility solely
on the fact that I had been travelling for an inordinate amount of time, but
really even at my most coherent I am extremely scatterbrained. In the moment of
moving from one elevator to another I tried to assure myself that all this was
rather funny indeed. However, all I wanted to do was cry, I would laugh later
but I just really felt gotten the better of in that moment.</div>
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Other than this the trip was great! As I have so often
experienced in life, nothing was as bad as I thought it would be. Not the flight
or the airplane food (although airline chicken is an altogether new experience,
I can’t quite explain the texture?). I arrived in Dubai at one thirty in the
morning. Even though I was in the airport it was surprisingly humid, already!
At this point the mixture of lack of sleep and excitement had made me
delirious. I walked around slightly dazed, half asleep and in such awe really.
I mean I was in Dubai. I’d never been in Dubai before!</div>
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My lack of sleep was brought on by the fact that I found it
impossible to sleep for any proper length of time in my seat. I also found the
restriction of movement quite tedious after a while, especially on my second
13hr flight. Yes, 13hrs of trying to manoeuvre my body into a position most
resembling lying down. This is not possible, at least not in Economy. Also, and
in hindsight, wearing a bra for 36hrs is both stupid and unnecessary. Just
don’t do it! </div>
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At around I-am-not-sure-if-I’m-asleep-or-awake o’clock this
giant ball of molten orange rose in the sky. It was amazing. Yeah, I may have
been sitting in an airport, threatening to fall over every time I stood up,
but, wow, that sunrise. Thank you Dubai!</div>
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I don’t think I can truly convey how it feels to technically
be in three new places in the space of less than two days, when for 28yrs of
your life, you have lived in the same place. I can’t describe it, not right now
anyway. Also, part of me knows how special it really is, and I want to hold
onto that feeling for a little bit longer.</div>
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When I reached New
York I think I must have thoroughly looked the part of the exhausted, first
time traveller, because everyone was so incredibly kind to me. After having
unlost myself in Washington Dulles I was able to see those very buildings which
I walked by earlier this morning, but under the veil of a dark blue night sky.
And I won’t have Table Mountain around anymore, and how I will miss it. I do
however feel that for now I’ve made a good swap.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-81269959705092768592014-01-21T23:14:00.000-08:002014-01-21T23:14:13.769-08:00A Well Timed Apology<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I recently read an <a href="http://www.cracked.com/blog/4-ways-were-programmed-to-think-women-arent-funny/" target="_blank">article</a> that stated that men are less
likely to want to be in a long term relationship with a funny woman. Wow, this
was simply mind blowing for me! I never considered the fact that a smart, funny
lady made man parts sad. One of my first responses was to write this blog post,
because, as a woman, with a blog (two actually), I felt I needed to contribute
to the debate. If any man, at any point, has read S.O.D., and thought the
contents funny, I sincerely apologise, as this was never my intention. If the
research is true, this blog should have meant that I would be in a relationship
by now. Although I know myself to be very far from witty and humorous, I am
afraid that some of my failed attempts at humour, were actually mistaken for
being so. Please, men of the world, discard this, if it<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>s what you mistakenly believe! I am
neither funny nor smart. Let me explain the logic. It<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>s been a long time now that science
discovered that a woman<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>s
brain is indeed controlled by her ovaries. Ovaries want babies. And how does
one go about getting a baby? By making love to a man<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>s penis. Science also showed that
ovaries can be vengeful. They hate sitting around month after month waiting to
be fertilised. When they<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>re
not, they get angry and cause a woman to bleed from her sex hole, sorry, one of
her sex holes. It is also known that the deep recesses of a woman<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>s brain start to deteriorate
the longer she remains unfertilised. This commonly starts to happen in her mid
to late twenties. These women, and this will come as no surprise, are usually
single. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The deterioration continues at a steady pace, until such
time as a woman is able to find a man to <span lang="EN-GB">“</span>jack her up<span lang="EN-GB">”</span>*.
If not, the decline of her mental faculties often leads her to behave in such a
way that will in fact repulse men. The longer a woman remains single, the less
likely she is to find a man to be with her in a relationship, therefore making
her more repulsive with time. One of the manifestations of this deterioration
is a false sense of confidence and intelligence, which thus leads to a woman
being funny. Obviously, a woman can never really be funny, so it is more that
she believes that she is so. This is proven by the fact that there are indeed
no funny women out there. Ask yourself the question, have you ever met a funny
woman? Have you ever wondered how, if a guy said the exact same thing, it <i>would</i>
be funny? Well, just remember science <span lang="EN-GB">–</span> ovaries! Funniness in a woman has therefore become an
evolutionary marker to men. The funnier the woman, the less fertile she is and
therefore a less desirable long term mate. So, a funny woman is in fact less
funny as in humorous, but more funny as in this-lasagne<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>s-gone-off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately, with age, these women are more likely to
surround themselves with other women in similar situations, who will then feed
each other<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>s delusion
with encouragement and support. This further decreases her chances of finding a
life mate, as these relationships become substitutes, albeit poor and
insubstantial, for the love of a man. The development of the deterioration and
the support structures often created to uphold them, mean that some women may
actually start to believe that they are as funny, or even funnier than, men.
They will develop a repulsion towards such things as <span lang="EN-GB">“</span>rape jokes”, for instance. Even though
the term clearly has the word joke in it. This example clearly illustrates the
degree to which the brain has weakened over time. There is a misguided notion
that either certain subjects should remain off limits. Or, that if dealt with,
should be done so delicately and by those with true skill and genius. If she wasn<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>t a woman, she would know that comedy is the land of no limits.
Please keep in mind <span lang="EN-GB">–</span>
ovaries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now this brings me nicely back to my apology. I never meant
to be funny and if ever I was, it was as a result of my angry ovaries. So, men,
if that<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>s what has put
you off, forget about it! There<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>s
no way I<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>ll ever be
smarter or funnier than you. The only reason I don<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>t laugh at your all jokes, is because I
simply don<span lang="EN-GB">’</span>t get them
all the time. Although I know that they must be funny, because there never has
been a truer indicator of taste, quality and intelligence than a penis. And
thank God you have one!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">*Appropriate term used for making a woman pregnant.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06930115240951651257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3714142325503887711.post-49783742434651444002014-01-16T07:34:00.000-08:002014-01-16T07:34:56.255-08:00My Strategy for 2014<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I spent the majority of my Christmas break
tuning into SadFM – easy listening for the perpetually single. This wasn’t what
I had planned for myself. I was supposed to get into shape by doing yoga
everyday, eating vegetables and pretending that I enjoy eating vegetables. I
was supposed to get my mind in shape by reading everyday, writing amazing blog
posts and maybe even start a book.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Clearly none of THAT happened. I was too busy being piled
into a heap of self trying to piece together 2013. Yip, it’s been a
rollercoaster ride, and I use that analogy because I am terrified of
rollercoasters. Having spoken to a few people, it seems that it has been a
crazy year for many. I don’t know if life has actually always been this way and
I’m just not as much in denial as I was. Or if it just gets more challenging as
you get older. Whatever the reason, it’s been hard and as happy as I am to see
the end of it, it’s made me slightly apprehensive for the year ahead.
Apprehensive not necessarily because I don’t think I can handle what’s to come—I
just don’t feel like it. So, yes, I dread 2013 because of laziness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Okay only partly because of laziness. I might be happy to
say goodbye to 2013, but I also have to be honest and admit that it has been
very good to me. I’ve learnt a lot, I’ve grown, blah, blah, blah,
self-development etc etc. However, what stands out most for me is this little
gem, that 2013 so generously gave me over and over again, which is - life
doesn’t run according to the script in my head.
Thank you 2013! Because every time I thought it would you were just
like, “Fuck that shit!” Yes, the shit was thoroughly fucked. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KJxmAa1mKS8/Utf5hdkZYpI/AAAAAAAAAXg/3PXZsgVBA5Q/s1600/shit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KJxmAa1mKS8/Utf5hdkZYpI/AAAAAAAAAXg/3PXZsgVBA5Q/s1600/shit.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We all know what life does to this</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s half the reason I’m covering my eyes at the sight of
2014, I am scared. If I don’t know what’s going to happen, it means that
anything could happen. ANYTHING!!! And anything could involve a lot of things I
don’t like. If I were being optimistic I could say, “Oh! But that’s just the
wonder that makes life SO magical!” Firstly, shut up! Secondly, the thing is
sometimes I just don’t want magical. I’m too tired for magic and mystery. I
don’t want the Heston Blumenthal dish, I just want beans on toast. Beans on
toast, that’s all I ask of you, life!!!</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I know myself and
the minute I get beans on toast, I’ll be like, “But why am I only getting beans
on toast?” The saying you’re never happy with what you’ve got comes to mind
here. The funny thing about growing up is that it’s just so very funny. In the
midst of one’s deepest humiliation and failure therein lies the joke – you, you
sad pathetic loser. And it’s okay to be that loser, my problem was in not <a href="">admitting that
I was one.</a><span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Gy7ZdfYcq-o/Utf6x8fKjXI/AAAAAAAAAXo/QJxcnG0-qqQ/s1600/woman+turkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Gy7ZdfYcq-o/Utf6x8fKjXI/AAAAAAAAAXo/QJxcnG0-qqQ/s1600/woman+turkey.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denial anyone?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just as you learn one thing, you learn that the exact
opposite can be true also. Life never stops. Things never stop changing. The
best strategy for that? Acceptance. Like that gift you got from your relative
that you didn’t actually want. It’s okay not to happy with it at first. It’s
okay to hide it in the cupboard and pretend it doesn’t exist for awhile. But
eventually it just takes up unnecessary space and it’s either time to chuck it
or make some sort of use out of it. This can be hard, especially if you’ve
hinted for months about you really, really wanted and half of the anger comes
from the fact that you wonder if people ever really listen to you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Enough with the complaining though, as I could go on
indefinitely. Let me now focus on the positives of the past year and of budding
2014:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve got a gammon in the
freezer </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve gained considerable boob weight, as a result of large
amounts of food consumption. It now nicely balances out my bum.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Although I’m still single, I can rest assured that I am
indeed “great” company (albeit not “GREAT” enough to be in a relationship with).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I’ll forge ahead with 2014! With my trusted allies
singleness, pork and boobs at my side. Coincidentally, that also happens to be
the name of my next single.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wJqc4QY0J_U/Utf7IRGkX4I/AAAAAAAAAXw/2YpHiWTcYgQ/s1600/spb-iii--.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wJqc4QY0J_U/Utf7IRGkX4I/AAAAAAAAAXw/2YpHiWTcYgQ/s1600/spb-iii--.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Available at(not a single) store near you!</td></tr>
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