Saturday, 28 September 2013

Grumpy people of the world unite

Grumpy people of the world unite
28 September 2013

Realistically of course, I understand that not everyone can be happy and possess a permanently sunny disposition.  It stands to reason.  We all have our grumpy moments.  When something or someone has annoyed us and things aren’t quite going according to plan.

I’ll even go as far as to say that it is normal.  And to be expected.  We don’t live in Lala-land.  Where everything is permanently hunky-dory and a-okay.  Real life interferes with that utopia ideal.

Every so often we get irritable.  And that’s cool.  It’s real and it happens.  It would be unnatural if it didn’t.

Still there are some people, who seems to spend a disproportionate amount of time in Irritationville.  And Miserable City.  And I just really wish they would snap out of it.

It is as if they find an irrational sort of warped joy from being grumpy and dissatisfied.  In fact, I’m not entirely sure that some of these people are wired for happiness at all.  It is perhaps an emotion they’re so unfamiliar with and are incapable of feeling and experiencing.  They’ve been conditioned Pavlov’s dog style, to be miserable, even when there is no need to be.

They see the dark cloud and none of the silver lining.  Glass half empty of course.  And the light at the end of the tunnel, rather than bringing absolution and blessed relief, quite naturally belongs to the train.

Personally, if misery is their thing, then that is their choice.  And I’m all about choices.

I just don’t appreciate them bringing everyone else around them down with their black moods.  These moods are not to be confused with depression.  That is an entirely different thing.  And something I have a lot of empathy for and sympathy with. 

Grumpiness in my opinion is something different.  It is a choice that is made to find fault with your lot.  To see the bad all around you and overlook the wondrous good.  To nit-pick and suck the joy right out of life.  To be surly on purpose.  Crabby, grouchy, sullen, grumbling, griping.  Petulant even.

To focus on the negative.  Almost unaware that there is a positive out there at all.  They’re not solution orientated at all.  Any unexpected bump in their road, confirms their conviction and firm belief that everyone is out to get them.  That the world continually disappoints them and does not deliver all that it should.

And so, being that I am positive, generally happy, joyful, optimistic and cheerful, and solution orientated too, I’d like to make a proposal:  Perhaps we should gently herd all the grumpy people together.  Unite them if you like.

And send them somewhere far, far away.  Where the sun never shines.  The traffic lights are always red.  The queues are always long.  Their supper is always cold.  They’re always short changed.  They’ve always been done in.  The end is clearly nigh.

I fear this “mistopia” will not be found on earth.  Instead, Uranus sounds perfectly fine…

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Friday, 27 September 2013

Dentists - they're merely agents for the Tooth Fairy

Dentists - they're merely agents for the Tooth Fairy
27 September 2013

I’ve come to a shocking conclusion – Dentist are merely agents for the Tooth Fairy.

None of this Hippocratic Oath “first-do-no-harm-thing” at all.  Nor that “here-to-help-relieve-your-pain-and-discomfort” mumbo-jumbo either.  It’s all bollocks I tell you.  They’re simply in it for the bucks.  Surely of this there can be no doubt?

I’m surmising that the Tooth Fairy or Tooth Mouse are employers of sorts.  Giving a kick-back for every tooth extracted.  And therefore dentists work on a commission basis.  Perhaps they buy into a Tooth Fairy franchising opportunity, thereby expanding their business, or enterprise?  Ever mindful that they’re emissaries for the powerful Tooth Fairy.  Representatives of her.  Mere minions doing her bidding in exchange for a rather handsome cash wage.  Authorised to recruit more business and deliver wondrous teeth.  Instruments of her ever increasing desire and unquenchable thirst for human tusks. 

Which rather explains why they’re always so super eager to pull those supposed ‘beyond-redemption’ bad teeth.  They’re quite obviously in cahoots.  And have a business plan together.  The term agent provocateur comes quite easily to mind.

Yes, yes, of course we, the patients, pay a consultation bill, as well as additional fees for any work that they do.  Still the real bucks for them, comes from a far more sinister source.  A little bit underhanded and dark if you like.  Dodgy and not quite legit and above board at all.  Because put like that, in essence they’re dealing in the body parts trade.

I’m guesstimating that this is the real source of income for dentists.  Whereas our fees are the bread (white of course) and the butter, their monthly dividend from the Tooth Fairy, exceeds that by far.  It’s that trip overseas.  The holiday house.  The new electric gate and the snazzy sports car.  Hair extensions for the wife.  And private schooling for the kids.

In all likelihood they operate on a brokerage basis and have a contract to fulfil.  Requiring x-amount of extractions, lest their contractual obligations become null and void, due to failure to comply with minimum standards desired.  Chances are they’re issued with permits before the bankrolling can begin.

They are the by proxy agents of the Tooth Fairy.  Acting on her behest.  Pulling and extracting with all of their might.  Always mindful of the greenbacks rewarded at the end of it all.  Never losing sight of the mandate they’ve got.  Their vested interest to remove pearly whites, as they have been deputised to do.

I would imagine that molars are more valuable than incisors per se.  Given their per ratio size.  Though perhaps the raw goods are weighed upon presentation and compensation is only dispensed thereafter.

And so I urge you, be ever mindful and cautious.  And should you ever be in a position, where a dentist advises you that a teeth should be pulled, remember this…

Charge the buggers instead of them charging you.  It’s only fair if they pay you a portion of their commission from the Tooth Fairy.

I’m sure you’ll agree.

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Thursday, 26 September 2013

High Schools - their subjects are just so outdated

High Schools - their subjects are just so outdated
26 September 2013

High Schools clearly need to step things up a notch and get with the programme!  Teenagers are faring terribly with regards to their academics, and I have figured out exactly why.

Their subjects have not kept abreast of the times.

Cause let’s be honest, History is so dated (get it?), Science is so scientific (kind of the point), Maths is all about numbers (Uh, duh!  Teenagers all have calculators on their phones, able to work out all the needed sums they are unable to do.), Geography is so concerned with places and soil (Hello!  It’s dirt!), Economics is so shallow and obsessed with money, Biology is so ….. (hang on – thanks to their hormones, Biology is the one subject they actually show interest in).  But you get my point.  Obviously these subjects are geared towards the kids of yesteryear.  Positively archaic compared to the needs of the kids of this era.

Why if the Education Department would just change the curriculum, to suit the needs of the teens of today, they’d all be blinking geniuses!  Excelling at their schooling.  Sailing through it all.  Acing every test.  They’d be all Cum Laude this and Cum Laude that.  Brainboxes, one and all.

And so I’ve given it a little bit of thought, as to exactly which subjects they should include in their revised curriculum statement.  Subjects that would best service the knowledge that the kids already seem to possess.  I mean why bother teaching them something they have no interest in, inclination towards, or desire to comprehend?

Instead, we could focus on the following instead:

Now let’s think about this.  It’s actually pretty clever, I’m sure you’ll agree.  Entry level courses, could deal with the basics, like setting up your account, controlling privacy settings and the like.  Slightly more advanced courses, geared towards the older teen, could explore successful tagging of friends.  Synchronizing applications between their Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts.  The intricacies of mobile uploads.  The minimum status update requirements (I think new statuses are generally posted at 27 minute intervals), as well as the appropriate time frame between sending out game requests to their entire address book.

How to maximise abbreviations, so as to not exceed the 140 character limit.  With proper dedication, entire paragraphs can be condensed into one long sentence.  It does indeed require patience and diligence from the novice student, yet soon they’ll find themselves able to lol, rofl, wud, tms, toz , ttul, and tyt with the best of them.

Please see my reference above.  Texting abbreviations are simply huge.  Even though technically they’re actually short.  And they’re not used for texting only.  Any social media benefits from this skill - i.e. Facebook, email, WhatsApp, BBM, etc.  I would however recommend that a fellow teen should give lectures of this kind, as an adult teacher would simply be at a loss for words.  No, really – a loss for words.  I think that part of the trick is to eliminate vowels entirely, and hence most of these chats appear to be Polish, or of Czech origin.

Any self-respecting teenager worthy of the name, has a virtual plethora of selfies.  Entire folders dedicated to this popular art form.  For the teenage girl, there are certain basic requirements, including pouting of the lips, plumping of the breasts and maximum exposure of flesh.  In fact, being able to create the impression that you’re wearing nothing at all, requires a high level of skill, and most advanced courses will deal with this.  For the teenage boy, the requirements are slightly different – maximum bicep exposure is key and the liberal dotting around of alcohol is super important, as it gives credibility and has a certain bad-ass factor too.

Most event companies can learn lots, simply from the manner in which teenagers are able to organise large scale get-togethers with a minimum of fuss, and effort too.  Given the 140 character limit, used for tweeting, as well as the generous use of texting abbreviations, they are known to simply broadcasting messages to hundreds of people at the click of a button.  And I do believe that they make use of certain phrases, to garner maximum exposure and guarantee attendance.  Amongst others the phrase, “no parents supervising” is hugely popular.  As well as “byob” (bring your own booze – a dead giveaway that there will be no parents supervising).  And let’s not forget that old chestnut – “Open Party – invite all your friends”.

I believe that this is a short course and that attendance numbers dwindle, as certain trade secrets are revealed.  These stock trade secrets are then put into play, teens bunk, and hence after a few classes, there is no need for classes at all, as the students are effectively bunking.  Sweet success!  In fact this is a measure of exactly how effective this class is.

Teens are actually gifted when it comes to this.  They show remarkable ingenuity.  The old “my-tummy-is-sore-I-need-the-loo” is taken and then worked into another few standard excuses.  Teens are also super adaptable and therefore they are able to turn the standard chore-excuses into homework excuses too.  It is amazing how flexible they can be.  And given a bit of practice, the experienced teen will never find the need to resort to the old, “my-dog-ate-my-homework” excuse.  They would have evolved and harnessed their full potential, with impressive results as their just rewards.

Speed homework is a wonderful example of dedication to diddly-squat and sloppiness.  No effort is required.  No brain power either.  And speed homework used in conjunction with “I-left-my-books-at-school” is a wonderful alternative to doing homework the old fashioned way.

They are absolute pro’s at study pretence.  And just to clarify, study pretence goes hand in hand with an inability to tell the time.  They will swear high and low that they’ve been studying for an hour already, when you know with every fibre of your being that just twelve minutes has passed since they entered their room for their studying session.  This lack of time-telling ability is also witnessed when you urge them to get off their PlayStation, computer, TV, Wii or Xbox.  However, the reverse is then true.  They will claim that they’ve only been playing for 12 minutes, when you know with every fibre of your being, that one whole hour has passed, since they stopped their studying session.  Truly remarkable!

Sexism is not cool.  And we all know that.  But, exceptions are to be made.  And for the “Exposing Boxers” course, girls are surplus to requirements.  This course includes practical examples and a lot of role play, in order to know exactly how low the outer pants crotch should hang, in order to expose maximum boxer levels.  Be prepared – this does require a lot of practice.

Now just as the boys have their own exclusive courses, so too do the girls.  Hair straightening is serious business indeed.  And adults can be forgiven for thinking that only girls with curly or frizzy hair will attend these classes.  However nothing could be further from the truth.  There simply is no straight-enough.  This is an impossible ideal, yet an outcome that is yearned for.  Singeing the hair with a GHD, or any other manner of straightening tool, as well as an excessive use of expensive hair products is encouraged.

Teens are particularly adept at not giving change back to their parents.  Irrespective of the denomination given to them, you will never get any change back at all.  Course material includes ways for the teens to effectively train their parents to lower their change expectations.

With regards to illegal downloads, the course matter is rather vast and covers a rather wide spectrum of material.  It ranges from illegal game downloads, TV mini-series’, latest movies, game cheat codes, etc.  This is rather advanced though, and not one to be entered lightly.  Be warned that this course does on occasion have the undesirable outcome of guzzling up your entire internet bandwidth.  But such is the price one should pay for a good education.  

A huge portion of this section of the curriculum, deals with uploading.  In general the upload material can vary largely.  From videos of themselves singing, to “cool” fights that happened at school.  There is no limit in terms of the size or subject matter that gets uploaded.

This subject, will deal with the hidden potential that gets unlocked when you are able to turn on your internal food radar.  No sniffer dog could ever compete with the success ratio achieved by hungry teens, when it comes to finding hidden food and sweet treasures.

Teens have an incredible ability to multi-task.  However this talent only comes to the fore with regards to texting.  Not with anything else.  They are able to text at super speed, all whilst maintaining a conversation with a parent, eating noodles, dribbling a soccer ball, and keeping an eye on the TV screen.  And to be honest, I’m so jealous!  I would love to be able to do the same.

In conclusion, I would like to reiterate my earlier claim.  If High Schools simply changed their subject material, teens would fly through school.  It is true that they will be practically unemployable, but is that really so bad?  More jobs for us old fogeys.  More money to spread amongst a smaller amount of educated people.

Schools have clearly missed a critical coup.  Why if only they took my handy tips into consideration, we could turn our failing education system around.  Pass rates would soar.  Attendance might even boom.

So long, conventional education and subjects.  So long…

It’s been really good.

Or should I rather say,

Its bn rly gd?

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Wednesday, 25 September 2013

Parents - they sound like they've got Tourette's

Parents - they sound like they've got Tourette's
23 September 2013

Speaking to someone on the phone that has kids, is a bit like talking to someone who has Tourette’s.

You know Tourette’s right?  That awful and debilitating disease.  And one that I have great empathy for.  It causes involuntary and normally inappropriate verbal outbursts and many, many twitches.  And it must just be so hard to live with.  Not only for those it afflicts, but for their nearest and dearest too.

And on occasion, whilst speaking on the phone, one can be forgiven for thinking that the parent on the other end of the line, is a sufferer too.

Just picture it:  “Right so we’ll meet each other at ‘put-the-cat-down the Mall at about ‘no-you-can’t-put-the-hamster-in-the-toilet 2pm.  Perfect!  Don’t forget to bring your ‘stop-writing-on-the-wall’ movie cards.  I think it should ‘your-brother’s-head-is-not-a-ball-put-the-bat-down’ really fabulous!”
And I’m actually not exaggerating.  Many, many conversations with fellow parents sound similar to this.  And sadly, that’s just the half of it.

In addition, kids also have an inability to be self-sufficient, the second you’re on the phone.  It’s as if they have a little radar that lies dormant for ages.  Yet the second that phone rings or they see you with it in your hand, a switch get triggered.  A switch which activates an alarm and forces the kid in question to penetrate your space bubble.  You know that sacred little force field that protects your personal bubble, and that should only really be breached on invitation?  Yes, well once you’ve got kids, your space bubble is more of a universe.  One they seem to think they don't require a passport before entering. 

And once they’ve entered this bubble, they find themselves incapable of not yanking on you for attention.  They will pull on your shirt, skirt or pants.  Heck, even a sleeve will do.  Furthermore, this will be accompanied by a constant, annoying and indeed repetitive refrain of “Mommy-Mommy-Mommy-Mommy-Mommy”.

Once they have your albeit divided and irritated attention, the requests, nay demands for inappropriate immediate help will start incessantly.  “Can you please plait my hair?  Can you help glue my matchstick school project together?  Can you please watch me kick the soccer ball in the back garden for the 37th time today?  Can you please play a piano duet with me now?  Can you count how long I can stay under water for in the pool (my person pet favourite)?”  This is just but a small sampler of some of the random questions they deem life and death important when you’re busy with a call.

However, first prize with teeny tiny little kids, for worst question to ask while your mom is on the phone is…..

“Can you please wipe my bum?”

Sadly, I kid you not!  And it is at times like these, that I truly appreciate the fact that my kids are luckily past that stage.

And somehow or other, whilst these nagging requests are playing non-stop in your ear, you find yourself blurting out replies in true Tourette style fashion.  Almost unaware of doing it at all.  Because they simply won't stop.  Waging an internal battle, trying to refrain from lashing out physically at the same time.  So tempting at times...

I'm sure I also did this to my mom when I was little.  However, luckily I was protected by the cord of the telephone wire.  The length thereof kept me safe.  But nowadays, thanks to the marvels of cordless technology, parents have a way longer reach...

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Tourette's is no laughing matter - oodles of respect and empathy towards those dealing with it on a daily basis

Sunday, 22 September 2013

Rose-tinted glasses

Rose-tinted glasses
22 September 2013

I think I might be a rare breed, as I’m an internal optimist.  Really one of those glass-half-full kind of people.  Cause the thing is this – I’m just so bloody grateful there’s a glass at all.

I tend to gloss over the negative.  And not dwell on things that aren’t positive.  I harp on the good and sweep away the bad.  When looking back at things, I remember the highlights and ignore the less pleasant bits as if they never existed.  And of course I know that they were there.  I’m not delusional after all.  But I choose to move on.  To look forward.  To think happy thoughts instead.

And this all made me think – perhaps I see the whole world through rose-tinted glasses?  Which is of course completely ridiculous!  My glasses aren’t rose coloured at all!  They’re multi-coloured, technicolored, rainbow hued deluxes!  In my world there is no simple red.  Instead there is crimson and scarlet.  Vermillion and carmine.  Burgundy and brick.  Auburn, lust, wine, ruby and maroon.  To name but a few.

I think this is a mind-set.  A way of looking at life.  It is the credo by which I live.

I sleep well every single night.  I wear my favourite pants every day (naturally I have a few).  My favourite shoes too.  I love the cups of coffee I drink throughout the day.  Delight in the awesome fresh fruit I graze on.  Most daily meals are my best.  Every day is a good one.  The obvious less stellar ones, far and few between. 

So often, one sees people who are so terribly negative.  They whinge and they whine.  They moan and they groan.  Little satisfies them and they find fault with lots.  Nothing is ever good enough.  Nothing quite meets the mark.

And I feel so sorry for them.  Cause they cheat themselves out of having an awesomely good life.  A simple change of attitude could improve their quality of life so radically, it would astound them.  And I’m sure bring them happiness instead.

I know a few people like this.  Some I even know rather well.  And for them, they don’t have rose-tinted glasses at all.  They have blinkers and see everything as rather dull.  Vanilla or beige.  No colour at all.  Quite often, their world is very small.  Not much excitement and joy enters their little bubble.  And sadly they’re a bit tedious to be around.  They repeat the same stories of doom and gloom.  The end is always nigh and the sky is forever about to fall on our fair heads.

Which makes me think, that perhaps rose-tinted glasses would be wasted on them.  They’d complain about the shading.  Their lack of clear vision.

And so, no cardinal, terra cotta or raspberry for them.  Which is probably just as well.  They’d never appreciate it fully in any case.

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Saturday, 21 September 2013

My killer instinct has died

My killer instinct has died
21 September 2013

I fear my killer instinct has died.  And I don’t think the death was accidental.

Natural causes were not actually the cause.  And therefore, at present I’m investigating murder.  But the charges might change to manslaughter.  Albeit voluntary or not.

I’m a fairly competitive person, but mostly with myself.  I have ideals and goals.  And I strive to attain them. 

I have however found, that the more specific my goals or ideals are, the greater the probability that I will achieve them.  Specifics is good.  It helps one to focus.  And plan a positive outcome.  If you are clear on exactly what you wish to achieve, you are more likely to be able to break the steps down to get to that point.  To make that dream a reality.

Yet I have found that some things that used to be important to me, and that I had strived towards in the past, now simply hold no appeal.  They’ve lost their value and are no longer my aim.

Maybe this is due to my age.  Maybe due to maturity.  Maybe due to the change in my focus and a deeper appreciation of that which holds true value.  And that which is just unnecessary and unimportant fluff.  Things that detract and not add. 

However quite possibly, it is a magical combo of all of the above.

No longer do I find myself striving for unrealistic and foolish hard-to-attain things.  My attention has rather shifted.  And I’m so grateful for that.

Though looking back, it might appear as if I’ve lost my killer instinct.  And quite possibly, the Helene of a few years ago might have thought just that.  But luckily the Helene of right now, is wiser than that.

Because rest assured, this is not so. 

Instead I have just fine tuned and honed my ideals.

That killer instinct is very much still alive.   All evidence to the contrary.  She's brewing all of the time. 

Though possibly her “victims” are more noble than in the past.  Dreams of raising happy children.  Of being a good mom.  Of being a kind person.  Of being thoughtful.  Of showing empathy and compassion.  Of being caring and loving.  Of doing something good with her life.  Of making a difference.  Of her voice being heard.  Of leading an honourable life.  All while having a wee bit of fun in the process too.  Cause what would be the point otherwise?

And so, I’d likely to confirm that my killer instinct has not died at all.  In fact, she never really sleeps…

Constantly plotting and planning.  She’s just changed her course.

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Wednesday, 18 September 2013

So - men and their pit hairs

So - men and their pit hairs
18 September 2013

What with their over generous helpings of testosterone, men are rather predictably hairy.  And I’m cool with that.  Seriously!  It’s sort of their thing and I reckon they would look really weird if they were all hairless like us follicle-challenged women.

It heightens their manliness.  Their appeal to women in general.  And in addition it also helps to hide and beautify (if possible) the meat and two veg.

Hairy arms are acceptable.  Hairy legs a requirement (shaved man legs look odd to me).  Hair on the head a huge bonus (ask me – my husband has none).  Hair on the chest, okay if that’s your thing.  Hair on the back, less palatable.  Hairy butt cheeks probably part of the meat and veg spread – a side dish of sorts.  Hairy knuckles and toes – all okay with that too.  And as for the beard stubble?  Personally I’m kinda partial to a bit of facial hair.  Not necessarily a huge beard, but the stubble is really rather cool.

However, one has to draw a line.  And take a stand.  What’s with the hairy armpits???

Few things are less special than having an awesome cuddle and lying in the crook of the arm of your man, only to have armpit hairs tickling your nose.  Nasty!  Their texture is gross.  Their horrendous length too.

And so I’m thinking – if women go through all of the effort and trouble to shave our pits – why don’t men do the same?

Think of it as a courtesy.  Not emasculating at all.  Merely a nod to hygiene.  A kindness if you like.  I mean hairy male armpits are perfectly fine to look at.  Admire even.  But cuddle in them?  No thank you!

In fact, compared to all the areas that ladies shave and have to de-hair, they’ve come off rather light.  No large shaving areas like legs to contend with.  No bleaching or plucking of moustaches or rampant chin hairs.  If blessed with a unibrow, they can simply accept it and move on. 

In addition, they generally seem to sprout both ear and nostril hair once past a certain age.

But, puh-leeeaaase!  Shave those pits!

Though funny enough, despite regularly urging my Grantie to indulge me, he has repeatedly declined.

And so perhaps as an act of rebellion, I’ll grow my leg hairs instead.  Sort of a peaceful protest if you like.  Not quite as dramatic as a hunger strike.  But super effective none the less.

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In a perfect world...

Tuesday, 17 September 2013

Taking off my bra

Taking off my bra
17 September 2013

There comes a point in each day, when the thing I look forward to the most, is taking off my bra.

And I’m not even joking. 

Oh, I look forward to lots every day.  Quite obviously.  Yet somehow, at some stage, they all fade into insignificance.  And the thing I long for most, is to lose the lingerie.  To fling off that bra.

At the end of a day, not even the smells of a delicious supper can bring forth such joy.  Nor a kiss from my husband.  Or cuddles from my kids.  Never mind watching the latest can’t-miss episode of a nail biting and thrilling mini-series that I’ve looked forward to the whole day.  Cause at some or other point, the thought that makes me the happiest, is that moment of pure bliss, when I’m not wearing my bra anymore.  Emancipation and freedom at last!

And actually I think most women feel that way.  It’s not related to cup size either.  Why personally, my jubblies seem to be shrinking.  Well, put it this way, I’m no longer a comfortable C-cup.  I’m most definitely leaning towards a piddly little B.  Barely a blimp on the radar.

But perhaps this feeling of blessed relief, has less to do with the bra, and more to do with what it symbolises.

It says, “let your hair down – the day is done”.  Time for a bit of bonding with the couch in front of the TV.  No more lifting and carting kids about.  No more work-mode.  Hopefully by this stage, the homework is done.  And supper is cooked.  We’re on the downhill slide to bed time for the kids and down time for the adults.  No more work phone calls, or emails that need replying.

And I have to wonder, if men have an equivalent?  Do they also have that one thing that symbolises to them, that me-time is starting?  Work is behind them.  And a relaxing night ahead is beckoning?

You know that extreme home makeover show on TV called….. wait for it….. wait for it….. Extreme Makeover Home?  Well they’ve got this real cutie, Ty Pennington on it.  Seriously worth watching, for Ty alone.  And once the house they’ve been working on is completely revamped, they get the lucky owners back again.  And then the whole neighbourhood, TV crew, family, friends and the entire gazillion work force volunteers gather out at the front and they have this humongous big bus parked in front of the house, supposedly hiding the wonders within, and just before the magical reveal, everyone (including me) shouts, “BUS DRIVER!  MOVE THAT BUS!!!”.

Well, by the time bra-off-o’clock comes around, that’s exactly what the little voices in my head say to me too.


Oh happiness indeed, when I’m hanging free!  I have to concede, it fills me with glee.  On that I’m sure, all ladies will agree.  It’s comfort guaranteed.  Relaxation it will precede.

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Oh how I wish!

Monday, 16 September 2013

Alien abductions - they clearly don't want us

Alien abductions - they clearly don't want us
16 September 2013

So the thing with alien abductions is this – they simply always seem to return the earthlings.  Cause how else would we know about these supposed abductions?  Yip!  Supposed first hand eyewitness reports, from the supposedly lucky returnees.  All brimming with grand tales of ESP, space travel and probes (not so grand after all).

And so I’m surmising that if the little green men keep on bringing back the goods, it must surely mean that there is no intelligent life on earth?  Because it stands to reason, that if there was, they’d keep these clever individuals for themselves?

You simply have to agree.  There is a kind of convoluted logic to all of this.  I mean why else would the little guys come over here?  Their true purpose can only be to gain from us and our knowledge.  To thereby better themselves and their lives.  To make their world a better place and to enrich themselves in the process.

I would imagine that they’re sort of an envoy for their people.  I mean creatures.  Err, humanoids.  No, definitely NOT humanoids.  Uhm, ET-type friends.  Kind of a search party if you like.  The Columbus’, Da Gama’s and Drakes of their world.  I mean planets.  Err, ….  Oh, you get it!  Basically, they’re ambassadors for their nation.  I mean universe.  Err, …  Okay, I give up.  

Unless what they really want, is not intelligent life at all?  Perhaps they need us to help show them how to destroy things instead.  You know - deforest entire forests.  Or melt the polar ice caps.  How to promulgate famine?  Cruelty to animals?  Child labour?  Maybe wars based on religion?  Or oil for that matter?

Another thing that I find rather odd about the intermittent arrival of ET and his chums, is their predisposed behaviour of landing in America.  And America only.  Clearly this strategy has not worked for them already.  So there’s a strong possibility that ET’s a bit thick.  Because surely they should’ve figured this out by now?  Maybe it’s time for them to think out of the box a bit?  Or UFO for that matter.  I mean, what’s wrong with the rest of the world?

Personally I feel rather confident that if these other-worldly creatures, simply explored our world a bit more extensively, they’d be sure to find at least some form of intelligent life?  Hello, Europe!  Just a thought.  Then there’s a whole bunch of other continents to choose from too.

Perhaps they can try our South Africa shores for a change?  I can comfortably pin-point the areas they should best avoid.  Those not known to deliver the clever.  Maybe avoid parliament altogether.  Politicians in general.  Think-tanks, quite often also don’t really comprise a bunch of thinkers per se.

Instead, I can rather guide them into those areas where they might find actually find someone worth taking.  And keeping for themselves.

Nah, best I keep my grandfather’s location a secret.  He’s highly intelligent, and I’ll be seriously bummed to see him go.  I reckon they’d snap him up in an multi-chambered-green-toned-alien-heartbeat.

In which case, knock your double-headed-green-three-fingered-selves out.  Head for the deep American South.  Corn fields are the best.  And remember to leave crop circles in your wake.  They’re sure to make the natives restless.  And garner yourselves a lot of free press.

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Saturday, 14 September 2013

The earliest reported case of Tinselitis

The earliest reported case of Tinselitis
13 September 2013

Dr Helene’s in da house.  And it’s only fair that I warn you.  Just this week, I have diagnosed the earliest reported case of Tinselitis.  Near unprecedentedly early.  And I fear it will be highly contagious.  In fact, I’m expecting an absolute influx of new outbreaks everywhere.

Now it is true, that Tinselitis does normally rear it’s expensive little head round about this time of the year.  Though I would say that November is a more common time to start witnessing new infections.   Possibly October at a push.  However, this year, we are most likely going to suffer from a rather virulent strain.  Particularly difficult to immunise against.  There is also no cure.  And hence Early Onset Tinselitis, or EOT is to be expected.

And so, Doctors orders are as follows:  Remain indoors less the disease spreads.  I’ve seen this happen in the past.  And you know how clever these little bugs are.  They are able to attach themselves to unsuspecting carriers or hosts and find their way into your home.  Possibly by osmosis?  Maybe even through your TV screens?  Vigilance is called for.  Be ever on the lookout.  Now is not the time to snooze.

It is true, that by December, most of us will be infected.  So brace yourselves.  Don’t be afraid.  This is fine.  Normal even.  Everyone needs to have a small Tinselitis infection every single year.  It’s sort of a way to build up your immune system.  To fortify yourself.

By the beginning of December, physical evidence of Tinselitis, will be found in most homes.  However some strong individuals, resistant to EOT, will be able to hold out until the 13th day of December.  Exactly twelve days before the very height of the infection.  When cross contamination is at its worst.  Though for those courageous souls, able to withstand submitting until the 13th, they normally too succumb to this plague.  No one is immune.  And how do they do it?  What makes them crack and join the illness fray?  Well, it usually occurs when their true loves gives to them a partridge in a pear tree.

But fear not.  My vast medical experience has taught me a few things.  And I’m nothing if not observant.  Mark my words.  This disease will eventually pass.  And by the 26th of December, I predict that we would have managed to successfully break the back of this dreaded and infiltrating infection. 

Slowly but surely, all evidence of its very existence will start fading away.

The symptoms will dissipate too.  Calm will return and all will go back to normal.

But in the interim:  Be Strong. 

You can never be too cautious.  Tinselitis is everywhere.  You have been warned.

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Thursday, 12 September 2013

The gap between my boys

The gap between my boys
12 September 2013

At a glance, the gap between my boys isn’t really all that big.  I mean, it’s but a mere six years.  Almost negligible in adult time.  However from my mommy point of view, it’s a gaping chasm.  Near insurmountable to bridge and overcome.

Surely not!  Isn’t that a bit extreme?  Dramatic even?

Perhaps to some.  But not to me.  Because whether dramatic or extreme, it’s the truth.  And an undeniable fact.

Because this is what six years age difference between my two boys means:  Affection from one boy only.  Only one boy, that absolutely adores me above all others.  Only one boy that spontaneously hugs.  Only one boy that really values my opinion.  Only one boy that thinks I’m highly intelligent, can fix all problems and is the best chef in the whole world.  Only one boy that likes my fashion sense.  Or lack thereof.  Only one boy that still holds my hand.  Only one boy that still wants to spend time with me.

But this I realise – I’m on borrowed time.  The writing is on the wall.  I’ve maybe got a year left if I’m lucky.  And then there will no more running through in the mornings and jumping into my bed.  No more requests to join me in the shower, or have a bath together.  No more cuddling on the couch to watch a movie.  No more saying stuff like, “Mommy, you’re just so cute!”

Instead I’ll have a double dose of occasional heaving sighs.  I’ll be transformed from being a mother, to a mere lift club.  A means to an end.  I’ll be a source of money and the person standing between them and teenage and tween boy mischief.  I’ll be the annoying clinging mom, that insists on making conversation and talking about everyone’s day.  I’ll morph from being cool, to being an embarrassment.

Cole’s knows that he will change too.  Just like me, he’s lived through it with Luke and Amber.  And I think he’s intuitive enough to know that it hurts, when your kids start pulling away from you.  I guess my face is rather like a mirror.  And so every so often, he’ll whisper in my ear – I’ll still cuddle with you Mommy.  We’ll still do stuff together.  I’ll still like you and hold your hand.

However, because of his insight, he has seen my weakness too.  And he is nothing, if not an opportunist and a great teaser.  And so occasionally, when I go in for a kiss or a cuddle, he’ll look at me with pure mischief in his eyes and say, “I can’t kiss you Mommy – I’m THE AGE…”.  In fact the phrase, “I’m THE AGE”, has become a bit of a joke.  And he pulls it out mercilessly and plays it often.  Yet, the end result is always the same.  After feeling that he’s tortured me enough and I’ve hammed it up a lot claiming I’ll die, if he too turns, he quickly comes running over and squeezes me tight.

How I wish I could make it last.

And so in order to attempt to stave it off, I’ll look for the warning signs.  Not that I could really stop them, once they begin.  The seconds those armpits start their none too gentle ponging, after playing and sport, I’ll know it’s over.  The tide will have turned.  Those sweaty pits are a clear indicator of hormones abounding.

But for now, he smells as sweet as a daisy.  Actually like a little boy should.  Part dog, from playing with our pets, part hot from playing in the sun, part earthy from playing outside, and usually fruity too – cause he just loves to eat fruit.

Yip, long may it last.  And so for now, I’m savouring it all.  Storing it up, for the lean years ahead.  Every hug is engraved into my memory.  Every spontaneous little act of love cherished.

Kids growing up is hard.  Most especially for their moms.
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Pics of my gorgeous boys - a few years ago.  Now aged fifteen and nine.