chocola-tear

Look, I don’t know who invented advent calendars but truly, it’s just a horrible idea. 

My mom gave Mr. Professorpants his first ever advent calendar.  He was 3 at the time.  Now, I’m not sure what your adult willpower is like, but I’ll wager that a you can roughly halve that and then halve it again to estimate the willpower of a 3 year old.

My mom patiently explained to a 3 year old Mr. PP how it works. Feeling proud that she’d done a good job at clarifying Advent Calendars 101, she left the room.  Mistake number one, or should I say mistake number two.  Mistake number one was buying the bloody calendar in the first place. Things got real quiet in the room and 10 minutes later, Mr. PP came out with a chocolate moustache (and beard for that matter). Upon investigation, we saw that we were already on the 20^th of December. 

Luckily, there weren’t actually 20 chocolates missing, but rather that only 5 had been consumed – just not in the correct date order you understand.  (Dates? Really? Dates for pre-schoolers?) For a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of parent like me, I considered it a triumph that there were any chocolates left at all.

My mom, on the other hand, was horrified.  Don’t your kids understand the virtue of delayed satisfaction, she asked? Um, that would be a definite no. I hung my head feigning shame, whilst wondering if I could nick a few choccies myself and blame it on the kid. Come to think of it, surely the whole phrase ‘delayed satisfaction’ is a bit of an oxymoron?

Perhaps I should point out at this stage that the date wasn’t even the first of December.  Its was mid November. I just knew that there was not a hope in hell of trying to stretch out this bloody calendar till the 25 December and wondered how many calendars we'd make our way through before Christmas day. 

Apparently, its a nutritional no-no to start the day with a sugar rush. My mom said that Mr.PP should have breakfast before attacking the calendar. Of course, I sagely agreed, wondering how on earth I’d prevent the Dawn-Chocolate-Attack (considering that Mr. PP is up and eating before I’ve had a chance to formally exit Lala-land.)

Eventually (grasping a straws now) I said to my mom, (in what I could only hope was an accusing tone) “Well what did you say to him? I mean how did you explain it?”

Then she said, “I told him that he must have one every day until they’re finished and then when they’re finished, it’ll be Christmas day”. You see, that’s where she went wrong.  He just thought that if he ate them quicker, then Christmas would come sooner. Mother of mother, I mean honestly, you'd think she’d know better.

P.S.  Consider this a warning, if you’re pre-menstrual, that advent calendar is toast.

P.S.S.  If you think the advent calendar thing went badly for Mr. PP, times that by 10 for TooFastTooFurious.

Tweet

I'll get a round toit

It’s a rainy day.  A perfect day to conquer a pile of paperwork. Mmm. I think that perhaps I should first start writing down ideas for my planned book: “Procrastination Techniques From Around The World” (ehem, while the ideas are still fresh).

Hold on. When last did I check the hair growth on my face?  I know it’s nearly Movember but even so. I’d better tweeze my chin.  I can’t be seen at home like this, really. Better to do it now incase more whiskers grow.

I really think that I’ll make some progress with that paperwork today. I’ve already prepared my brain to think laterally by spending a couple of hours looking at pictures of Heath Ledger, Javier Bardem and Gerard Pique online. This will stand me in good stead when it comes to using the net as a reference tool. I’ve also done my best to find interviews on YouTube where the interviewer doesn’t say more than the interviewee. There are none.

Has that pile of paperwork inflated in the last couple of minutes?  I could swear it looked smaller a moment a go. It’s definitely on the top of my to-do list but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t first update my social networking status and check for messages?  As it is, due to my twitter inertia I discovered too late that Ryk Neethling was on TV this morning. He was up early, I was up early, would could have shared a moment.

But I missed it, so to cheer me up I thought that I might start a bit of a conversation on Facebook with the status update of: Foolish Friday? Think of a song title then add "in my big pants" to the end and see how long you can keep a straight face. I'll go first. Smooth Criminal in my big pants.  Turns out only 4 people found it as hilarious as me.

I understand that before you start any paperwork, it’s important to exercise your brain with a bit of reading. So I’ve just dedicated some time to perusing a few dictionaries and thesauruses and have had quite a few revelations.  Napalm is not a moisturizer. Imagine my shock. Who would name something so nasty so nicely?  And apparently, angry and hungry are the only two words that end in ‘gry’.  But one will often lead to the other so I think that they need to include ‘hangry’ which is hungry and angry at the same time. I also wonder why the word reckless is reckless when it really should be reckmore?

Did I mention that there’s number work involved in this paperwork? Which brings me to the YouTube clip of ‘Miss USA 2011’ entrants who were asked if Math should be taught in Schools. Its not fair to ask a trick question like that.  I mean we all know that number-crunchers and Mathematicians are just rotten showoffs.

Before I get stuck into those figures, just remind me again what happens when the left and right column don’t balance?  Hang on.  Is that fluff I see on my keyboard?  I’d better go get the ear-buds.

Tweet

horsing around...

Everybody knows at least one travel-wanker.  You know the type. They say Barthelona instead of Barcelona. Or yaaawts instead of yachts. Or kwa-soar instead of croissant. Or Paree instead of Paris. All of which are equally annoying. Even worse, they’re the kind of people who act blasé about travel but make sure that you overhear them say stuff like “I’m so over New York.  Really, I can’t be bothered to stop there unless it’s on my way to ski”. *  These are all reasons why I’m a bit reluctant to tell all about my recent travels. However, I feel it’s my duty to forewarn you about the perils of becoming a horseman.

Our visit to the Gaucho ranch had absolutely nothing to do with my cowboy-fetish or my weakness for farmhands with Spanish accents. We were excited to leave the city and see a bit of the country side  - though having flown over it only a few days before, pretty much knew that it was mostly just pampas, pampas and more pampas as far as the eye could see. I’m sure outdoorsy types would be able to tell me about the wealth of fauna and flora to be found there, but a simple girl like me? I just saw pampas grass.

Upon arrival, ranch-hands promptly plied us with red-wine and a “typical of Argentina” pie called an empanada.  Just as well, because booze before noon goes straight to my legs and I need something (like an empanada) to keep me vertical. Warning No.1: beware of the establishment that serves booze before noon. 

Little did I know, the wine was intended to give us courage for the horse-riding.  It’s no secret that I am no equestrian aficionado. Horses can sense my fear - though why a horse would be nervous of something that’s afraid of them I’ll never know. I mean really, what’s the point? Do they try and out-nervous you?

Due to my lingering in the background (hoping there wouldn’t be enough beasts to go round) I saw (mild panic setting in) that the best horses were already taken.  I was left with a choice between a mini-pony (pampas height) and a very wild looking horse (much, much taller than pampas height.)  Naturally, I chose the wild one. I never found out his real name, but lets call him “Bad Attitude”, or BA for short.

BA was grumpy that he had to stand next to the platform thingy so that I could get on.  He made a lot of sharp head movements and farting noises to express his disgust.  Clearly, he was the gaucho’s favorite and was used to a high level of equestrian excellence and was pissed off at being lumped with a novice rider like me. As BA and I left the corral, the turkeys made a lot of noise and I knew that they knew something about BA that I didn’t. How does that song go? Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry…

He kept pulling at the reigns in a very irritable fashion, strayed (deliberately, I think) from the herd and eventually ended up kicking another horse, who dared follow too closely. He also kept staring at me with mad eyes, which is probably exactly how mine looked to him.

By the end, my nerves were shot.  Big kisser and I almost had an argy-bargy because he rode up next to me and made that kck-kck noise with his mouth, which only encouraged BA’s bad behaviour.

I was never so relieved to touch terra firma.  With my dreams of becoming honorary gaucho-girl in ruins, all I could do was drink a lot of Argentinian beer chased by caffeine infused Yerba Mata (I don’t care what they say, that stuff is lethal.)

In future I shall stick to the tango.  At least I won’t have as far to fall.

* (True comment said by original travel-wanker).

Tweet

auditions being held today for kings of leon ...

While at the Coldplay concert this week (I know, I know…concert-wanker alert), I had a revelation. I think it’s common knowledge that the opening act has to audition in order to secure their spot in the limelight. Actually, I may have either made that up or heard it from an unreliable source.  Anyhow, it occurred to me that people who wish to attend a live concert, should not merely have the cash to do so, but should also go through a fairly stringent audition process aswell.

The thinking behind this, of course, is to group like-minded people together.  But isn’t that what ‘golden circle’, ‘standing’ and ‘seated’ already do, I hear you say?  No.  When golden circle and standing have sold out, then the only thing left is seated, even if you’re not really the sitting type.  I daresay, even golden circle and standing should be divided up.  Here are a few more realistic ways of grouping an audience:

Inclined-to-whinge

There are always, always, ALWAYS people who whinge before, during or after a concert.  Sometimes, they do all three (if they’re really good at it). “Oh my god, the queue”, “stop pushing”, “the acoustics suck”, “you’ve just messed your beer on me”, “could you get off your boyfriend’s shoulder’s - I can’t see”, ”it took us 3 hours to get out of there”.  These are all typical (but not limited to) whinge-points aimed at friends or strangers.  

If they’re not brave enough to whinge to strangers, then they will find a way to ear-fuck you if they’re in your circle of friends: “Actually, I thought we were all going to stick together”, ”I can’t believe you just abandoned me”,  “I can’t believe some people come to a concert and get drunk”, “I can’t believe you are so drunk’, “‘I wish I was more drunk”. These are typical (but not limited to) whinge-points aimed at you by someone you know and (quite horrifically) chose to accompany to the concert.  These people will not even make the short-list in the audition. They will be sent straight home. Also, unfriend immediately and not only on Facebook.

Too-short-to-enjoy

I don’t like to be shortist, but this group often accidentally overlaps with the inclined-to-whinge group.  It’s long been an intention of mine to patent “blow up shoes” (sold at the “official merchandise” kiosk at the concert).  They would be slip on (like hotel slippers) and inflatable (like a lilo) and can be inflated to suit your needs (i.e. a lot of hot air if you are very short, not so much hot air if you are just a little bit short.)  I think that there will be a huge market for these.  But, if this doesn’t pan out, then surely (like in school photos – which I think work very well) short people should be sent to the front rows and should just have to make friends with other short people for the night.  Sorry, but you can’t hang with your tall friends and whinge. You have to choose.  Measure up and commit to the process in the audition and you’ll thank yourself later on.

Too-cool-to-enjoy

These are the would-be-muso’s who are just too cool to clap or sing along.  At a glance it might even appear that they are so, so musical, that they are not enjoying the performance at all. 

I-can-afford-it-so-I-went-and-then-bragged-about-it

It’s nasty Sods-Law that it’ll be one of these true concert-wankers who catch the drummer’s sticks, or the lead guitarists headband, or the vocalist’s underpants.  They don’t even like the band and know none of the lyrics but because it’s the cool thing to do, they will score golden circle tickets and be the original fake fan.  Sorry, but the audition process will make mincemeat out of you.  In order to attend a concert you have to be able to sing either one whole song from start to finish of said band or, you have to know at least 10 chorus’s (must be different chorus’s) of said band.

Strictly-seated

This is the most dangerous group of all.  They can audition and in theory could even attend the concert but must be limited to the very high seating where no-one wants to go.  The Mordor of seating, if you will.  There is often a very strong possibility that these people overlap with the “inclined to whinge” category.  If you’re anywhere near them, if you so much as think of standing up you will be met with a vicious glare and be told to ‘sit down, I can’t see’. The audition process for these people is more of a CT scan, to see if they are incapable of standing (understandable really, though the ‘unable-to-stand’ group is different to the ‘strictly-seated’ group and are often very happy to join the seated-but-want-to-stand group.)  The audition process will also clarify just how deep your grumpy affliction runs.  These people will generally NOT stand up to counteract your standing up.  It’s just the principle.  They’ve paid for seated not standing. Arsehole. Under no circumstances will you see these folk getting swept up in the moment. 

Seated-but-want-to-stand

For all the poor folk who either couldn’t afford golden circle or standing, or booked too late to get the tickets they really wanted. These are the people rock-stars really want at their concert because they serve as the best performance barometer.  If the bands doing a good job at rocking the crowd, the seated-but-want-to-stand group will most certainly be jumping up (in excitement) and then back down again (trying to appease the ‘strictly-seated’s” around them).  The audition process is a series of jack-in-the-box squats coupled with a head-whip and a very insincere “sorry”.

Seated-but-want-to-dance

These are in even more trouble than the seated-but-want-to-stand group. By the time they are up and dancing they really don’t give a tinker’s fart who can see and who can’t. And quite rightly so.  It’s shameful to go to a music event and not dance.  Embarrassing even.  Imagine the poor musician who has to perform to a stationary audience? How very awful.  The audition process for this group is all about personality.  They don’t care if you can’t dance, they don’t care if you’ve got no rhythm, you just have to put your back into it and show that you know how to have a good time.

Sorry Coldplay.  I did what I could.  You’ll know for next time to audition your audience.

Tweet

say whaaa?

Last week was just one of those seriously disjointed ones, as I’m sure this post will reflect.  I must have a vital nerve pinched somewhere in my brain, one that’s supposed to help me process information and stuff, because I havn’t been able to accomplish shit.  Not only that but I think that the workmen we have on site have conspired to unravel me. As soon as I arrive back home from the hardware store, they send me back again to get something else. And then when I arrive back with something else, they tell me they need me to hire a machine of sorts.  And when I arrive back with the machine they tell me they need an extra long extension cord for it. Why, if they had it their way they would insist that I bring home the building materials stone by stone, grain of sand by grain of sand at a time, just for the sheer fun of it.

Due to this unraveling I realized that I’ve totally been cocking up a whole lot of words.  Like saying tenderhooks instead of tenterhooks. I see my error really.  When is a hook ever tender? Though, what the hell is a tenter hook anyway? Sounds like camping equipment (shudder). I also mixed up tectonic plates and titanium plates again.  My story kind of fell flat and I just got a lot of funny looks. 

To remedy this misfiring, a friend suggested I take more Omega 3 and then, quite fortuitously (we’re on a big savings drive due to the expensive workmen), I read on my hand wash bottle that it contains Omega 3 + 6. Pah, no need to buy the supplement then, right?  But they must be lying, there’s no way there’s Omega 3 in there. Have you seen how much those supplements cost? 

Perhaps due to the asynapsosis I’ve been suffering, I completely didn't notice that a friend had had Botox. I just thought she looked really calm.  Asynapsosis or not, I have a reputation of being fairly unaware when it comes to noticing odd things about people.  We’ve even had someone for dinner before who was on heroine at the time and I didn’t notice that either. He only told us afterwards.  I just thought that he looked really calm aswell. I need to remedy this unawareness because when my kids are older I’ll neither recognize if they’re on drugs or getting cosmetic procedures done on the sly.

Just to make me feel extra Not-at-my-Bestness, I saw in the local rag that tickets were on sale to watch the annual Mr. and Ms Physique that was on this weekend.  For the thousandth time, I entertained the thought of really trying to become a body builder. One day. You know, just to see if I could.  Then I pictured having to sit down at every meal and face things like boiled white meat and squeaky blanched string beans and for the thousandth time, I reconsidered.  What’s more, I’m pretty sure God meant for egg whites to be served as meringues.

To top off my cerebral misfiring,  Mr Professor Pants once again pressed me for details on how one contracts HIV. He’s paranoid about getting a dread disease. After talking through the whole “from someone else’s blood thing” I had to say (quite fast and under my breath) “and also from sexual intercourse”. What is that again mom? Umm. You know, the thing that moms and dads do when they are trying to make a baby?  What! You’re going to have another baby? 

By now Too Fast Too Furious (TFTF) had picked up on the conversation and wanted more specific details on the blood part. He asked how come he was covered in my blood when he was born but now he’s not allowed to touch my blood?  It became too tiresome to explain how in the interim, I could have contracted HIV (again from Professor Pants… But how would you have mom? Are you trying to have another baby?) Eventually, I just had to ask TFTF why he would want to touch my blood. The obvious 6 year old answer…Because I just want to. Bloody hell. Only a week and a half then I’m on holiday. Ba-ring it on.

Tweet

about being out...

          (Note: if you want to hold kids attention on an outing, do NOT have them facing into the sun!)

Stay at home mothers volunteer for all kinds of shit.  Even if you’re a work-from-home-stay-at-home kind of mother, you still volunteer for all kinds of shit, mistakenly believing you can be in two places at once.  And so it was that I found myself giving lifts to a whole bunch of kids who were going on a school outing. 

This is my idea of hell.  Herding snails is easier than herding kids. Fortunately, I herded a car full of boys (no high pitched, screechy girls)  who are at the age when they try to make their voice sound deeper. There was mostly just a low murmur of dude this and dude that. 

What I discovered in the car ride, is that kids are a bit like old people.  They are able to have four completely independent conversations with four completely different topics.  It would seem that they’re not too bothered with appropriate responses or even giving the illusion that they are even listening to the other person. I want to be 10 again.

While we’re speaking of listening, it occurred to me that in order to get kids  to listen to you on an outing, you should ideally be, well, a bit entertaining.  The very nice gentleman from National Parks had a dry sense of humour, which sadly went right over all the kids’ heads.  He also had a little bit of what I call “outdoorsy snobbery”.  You know, like when he asked the group what kind of bird makes that ‘ka kaaa ka kaaa” noise and some poor child said ‘a dove’.  You just wait for that small snorting noise that the outdoorsy person does through their nose, which in outdoorsy speak means “As iiiffff”. 

I also had some insight as to why my kids keep saying that school is boring.  It is.  And quite frankly, the Cape Dune System can’t really compete in the interest stakes when compared with skateboarding or big wave surfing. It’s just the way it is. I realized that for kids, listening at school is like being stuck at a dinner party with the most boring person sitting next to you and demanding that you not only listen to them, but you also LOOK AT THEM while they’re talking.

The worst part is that the boring person doesn’t even realize that they’ve lost your attention.  They ignore the fidgeting and the whispering (if necessary, only to yourself) and pretty much carry on regardless.  Obviously, I hear you say, school isn’t entertainment, its education.  But so is the National Geographic channel and they manage to make the self-mating ritual of  and earthworm sound quite exciting.

Of course, Mr. Outdoorsy Pants didn’t really care if the kids were listening or not.  He passed grade 4 a long time ago.  He just wants to get through the outing unscathed and with his dunes intact. Not much hope of that I’m afraid, what with children unintentionally shedding things – jerseys, juice bottles, shoes. How can they not know that they have one shoe missing? Do you know how many one shoes I found? 

All I’m saying is that where kids and outings are concerned, you’d better have a plan of how you’re going to sound more exciting than what is in their lunchbox.

 Some parents went all healthy and packed liquid sustenance only...

Even though he was outdoorsy, the moms felt the french exchange student made the outing worthwhile...

Tweet

I do...naaat...

This past week had lots of highlights.  I should start with our Neighbourhood Watch update.

“… there is a very strong chance that the toads will be on the move tomorrow evening.  

A contingent of over 20 males moved (what kind of moves?  Hip hop? Jazz?) in the rain last Thursday, ….  Some males have been heard calling (yo baby, kssk ksssk, you lookin’ for a good time?) from the ponds on the Clovelly Country club.  It is highly likely that the females will be on the march (hup two three four, keep it up two three four?) tomorrow … in search of partners and ponds (you call that a pond?  I call it a puddle!)….If you see a Toad on the Road please stop (I was gonna do it while my vehicle was moving? )and move it to the grass verge in the direction in which it was going (what if it’s facing the road?). If you see a lot of Toad activity (Activity? Toad tennis? Toad skating? Toad jogging?) please call… “

We did actually find one in our road.  He looked very cocky.  I’ll bet he got lucky…

Another highlight was the discovery that someone has published a book that is close to my heart…

Irreverent parenting, you godda to love it!

  

Then yesterday, I was lucky enough to be told I had nice buns. By a very old, homeless man who was most certainly drunk.  I know I should take it as a compliment, but I’m just not sure what kind of standards a drunk, homeless person has. At least he didn’t say that I had a nice bakery. Ouch.

Speaking of buns, I heard on Gareth Cliff’s show that Kim Kardashian is getting married this weekend. Apparently the wedding is costing around $10 million. That’s not shameful in the least, right? What with the horn of Africa starving and all. Perhaps they’re flying all their guests there. One person per jet? E! Channel will be airing the wedding (which Kim says will be bigger than Will and Kate’s) in a two part series.  Dear God, I can only hope it’s more interesting than their TV show because I know patches of lawn that live more entertaining lives than the Kardashians.

Which brings me to when Best-kisser and I surfed onto to E! Chanel (supposedly to entertain us), while we waited for our on-demand movie to load (blessed is the clever person who invented that). There was a True Hollywood Story on  - an oxymoron if ever there was. 

This particular THS was all about The Girls of the Playboy Mansion. HUH?!? A True Story about a reality show? I know, right.  Which one is lying? I thought the point behind a reality show was that it was real. Clearly not. 

After a whole 3 minutes of “true” story interviews, E! airs adverts of all the other reality shows that you can view there – sometimes INCLUDING the show that you are currently watching.  I have to wonder, is this for very stupid people who may have forgotten, in all of 5 seconds, which show they were watching? 

But hey, I’m all for some reality shows. Like Flying Wild Alaska.  Or the Deadliest Catch. Or Mark & Olly Living with the Tribes. You know, real people doing something useful with their lives.  Still, folk like Kimora Lee and the Kardashians do sometimes make us laugh.  Like when they say ‘I work really hard’. Um, at what exactly?

Shame on me, I shouldn’t mock the Kardashians. It’s hard to sound intelligent when you have a silver spoon dangling out of your mouth.

Tweet