I love a good fight now and again and have been known to cause one just for the fun of it. But I particularly enjoy it when I’m able to use big words that confuse the crap out of the person I’m fighting with, thereby confusing him and then I get my own way. On Saturday however, after copious glasses of champagne, my vocabularly consisted of very few words, mainly ‘shutup’ and ‘WTF’. Combined, make a great phrase of ‘WTF?! Shutup.’
The day did not start off well, when, having promised The Wine Merchant that the venue I had chosen would have so many flat screens he would think he was at the game, was the opposite.
Having taken two hours to get ready, we arrived half an hour before kick off to find the place heaving with SA supporters and two lowly, very brave Lions supporters and all the flat screens I had promised were already being used by people who didn’t take two hours to get ready. We managed to join the rest of the crew who were crammed in the corner and if you tilted your head left, so that your ear was embedded into your shoulder, you just managed to see the screen. He shouted ‘WTF?’ And I shouted ‘Shutup’.
When we were awarded the penalty in the last few seconds of the game and I was celebrating with The Housemate, The Marketer and various others, I got it into my head that it was imperative that I join my boss who was down the road celebrating with his mates. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to see my boss per se, but I wanted to share the elation I was feeling which was tantamount to what I was feeling when we won the World Cup. And for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why The Wine Merchant didn’t share the same sentiment.
Me: Why can’t I go?
Wine Merchant: Baglett, you can’t seriously expect me to let you leave me to go spend the evening with your boss.
Me: I can. You spend time with your boss everyday!
WM: At work Baglett, at work.
Me: Well I work on Saturdays now.
WM: Baglett, you are not going to spend the evening with your boss and that’s that.
Me: I would let you.
WM: Would you Baglett, would you really?!
Me: Totally.
WM: You’re being absolutely ridiculous, now shutup.
Me: WTF?! I’m leaving.
With that, I said goodbye to everyone, announcing I had another important engagement to attend and with a final dagger look in the Wine Merchant’s direction and a dramatic turn of head, I headed out the door and walked to the parking lot.
Only to remember I didn’t have my f*cking car.
Considering calling a cab which take an hour and taking into consideration the temperature of
-10, I was interrupted by a call from long-suffering The Wine Merchant.
WM: Baglett, get back inside, it’s freezing.
Me: What are you talking about? I’m halfway there already!
WM: Baglett, I can see you through the window.
I turned, mortified, to see that there was only a pane of glass separated the parking lot and The Wine Merchant.
Admitting defeat I walked back in.
WM: WTF Baglett?!
Me: Shutup.
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Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
MIKENESS
I’m shocking with remembering names. Faces are far more memorable. Unless of course, your name is Pot Plant or Garage Door. Now those are memorable names.
My Dad is even worse than me and after many years of trying and failing to remember his mates names, he resorted to calling them all Fred. Everyone has gotten used to it and it was a given that if he met you, your name became Fred. When he actually did meet a guy called Fred, he almost went into anaphylactic shock.
Since I was genetically bestowed with the gift of remembering sweet f*ck all, he felt bad and taught me a little trick. ‘Baglett, when you meet someone, repeat their name as often as humanly possible in the conversation. Without sounding like you’re in love with them of course.’
So when I walked into a meeting yesterday, the following disaster occurred.
Random: Baglett, this is Jo.
I heard: Baglett, this is Michael.
Where the hell I got ‘Michael’ from, I don’t friggin know. ‘Jo’ doesn’t sound even vaguely like ‘Michael’ and let’s not even get started on the syllable count difference of those two bad boys.
With the guy’s name firmly instated into my mind as ‘Michael’, I put my plan of remembering his name into action.
Me: So Mike! You’ve never been here before have you Mike?
Jo: Um, no.
This would have been a perfect opportunity for the guy to jump in, correct me, and save me from wanting the chandelier to fall out the ceiling and crush my head. Instead, he went along with it for a full hour while I managed to use his name about 300 times in one conversation. It was Mike this and Mike that and Mike you legend. And so after a full hour of Mikeness, I walked him to the door, said goodbye Mike and with one final nail in my coffin, waved and shouted for the last time:
Me: Bye Mike!
Random: Who’s Mike?
Me: That guy.
R: That’s Jo.
Me: F*ck.
My Dad is even worse than me and after many years of trying and failing to remember his mates names, he resorted to calling them all Fred. Everyone has gotten used to it and it was a given that if he met you, your name became Fred. When he actually did meet a guy called Fred, he almost went into anaphylactic shock.
Since I was genetically bestowed with the gift of remembering sweet f*ck all, he felt bad and taught me a little trick. ‘Baglett, when you meet someone, repeat their name as often as humanly possible in the conversation. Without sounding like you’re in love with them of course.’
So when I walked into a meeting yesterday, the following disaster occurred.
Random: Baglett, this is Jo.
I heard: Baglett, this is Michael.
Where the hell I got ‘Michael’ from, I don’t friggin know. ‘Jo’ doesn’t sound even vaguely like ‘Michael’ and let’s not even get started on the syllable count difference of those two bad boys.
With the guy’s name firmly instated into my mind as ‘Michael’, I put my plan of remembering his name into action.
Me: So Mike! You’ve never been here before have you Mike?
Jo: Um, no.
This would have been a perfect opportunity for the guy to jump in, correct me, and save me from wanting the chandelier to fall out the ceiling and crush my head. Instead, he went along with it for a full hour while I managed to use his name about 300 times in one conversation. It was Mike this and Mike that and Mike you legend. And so after a full hour of Mikeness, I walked him to the door, said goodbye Mike and with one final nail in my coffin, waved and shouted for the last time:
Me: Bye Mike!
Random: Who’s Mike?
Me: That guy.
R: That’s Jo.
Me: F*ck.
Monday, June 22, 2009
THIN 'ISH'
I never usually suffer from PMS. I’m usually calm, collected and very approachable. No fire- breathing dragon here, no sireeee. But this weekend, crises, I was off the charts loop-da- friggin-loop. Keeping control of my emotions was pretty much impossible. Not knowing what I was going to do next, made anyone else hazarding a guess pretty much impossible. So while The Housemate read the signals and kept out of my way, the Wine Merchant was in the firing line. And got shot down a few times.
There are many things that you shouldn’t say to a woman, premenstrual or not and The Wine Merchant managed to cover them all. But the best was while driving on the way to get me a fat- free chockie bottie from Woolies.
Me: Crises, I feel fat and disgusting.
The Wine Merchant: *Silence*
Me: What?!
WM: Nothing! What do you want me to say?
Me: Well not to put words in your mouth or anything, but how about ‘You are NOT fat and disgusting’. That would be a start.
WM: Ok, you’re not fat and disgusting.
Me: You can’t say that. I told you to say that.
WM: Jesus Baglett, ok, you’re thin!
Me: Thanks a lot.
WM: Ish.
Me: What the hell is ‘ish’?
WM: You’re thinish.
Me: WHAT?!
Cars around me slammed on brakes, birds in distant lands flew off the trees in fright and somewhere in Cape Town, my parents looked at each other and asked ‘Did you just hear Baglett’?
Me: What the f*ck is thin ISH?!
WM: Well you’re not skeletal and you’re not overweight. So you’re thinish.
Before I could stop them, tears projected themselves out of my eyes, shot across the car and landed in a pool onto the dashboard.
Me: There are many words where ‘ish’ is fitting Wine Merchant. People from Finland for example, can’t get enough of the friggin letters.
WM: Childish is another great one.
Me: WHAT?!
Again with the birds, and my parents were now convinced I was in the next room.
Me: Are you calling me fat and childish?
WM: Crises Baglett, I’m not calling you either. Would you calm down?!
Me: Don’t tell me to calm down, you’re the one who should calm down.
WM: Oh for God’s sake. Drink your milkshake.
Me: No. I’m thinish. And thinish people can’t afford to drink milkshakes.
WM: Oh good God.
Obviously I sulked the whole way home. It’s been three days now and the poor boy keeps saying things like ‘Where are you Baglett, I can’t see you!’ when I walk past followed by ‘Check that model, she’s thinish’.
As stupid as I feel, when I’m like that boys should really not be allowed to speak.
There are many things that you shouldn’t say to a woman, premenstrual or not and The Wine Merchant managed to cover them all. But the best was while driving on the way to get me a fat- free chockie bottie from Woolies.
Me: Crises, I feel fat and disgusting.
The Wine Merchant: *Silence*
Me: What?!
WM: Nothing! What do you want me to say?
Me: Well not to put words in your mouth or anything, but how about ‘You are NOT fat and disgusting’. That would be a start.
WM: Ok, you’re not fat and disgusting.
Me: You can’t say that. I told you to say that.
WM: Jesus Baglett, ok, you’re thin!
Me: Thanks a lot.
WM: Ish.
Me: What the hell is ‘ish’?
WM: You’re thinish.
Me: WHAT?!
Cars around me slammed on brakes, birds in distant lands flew off the trees in fright and somewhere in Cape Town, my parents looked at each other and asked ‘Did you just hear Baglett’?
Me: What the f*ck is thin ISH?!
WM: Well you’re not skeletal and you’re not overweight. So you’re thinish.
Before I could stop them, tears projected themselves out of my eyes, shot across the car and landed in a pool onto the dashboard.
Me: There are many words where ‘ish’ is fitting Wine Merchant. People from Finland for example, can’t get enough of the friggin letters.
WM: Childish is another great one.
Me: WHAT?!
Again with the birds, and my parents were now convinced I was in the next room.
Me: Are you calling me fat and childish?
WM: Crises Baglett, I’m not calling you either. Would you calm down?!
Me: Don’t tell me to calm down, you’re the one who should calm down.
WM: Oh for God’s sake. Drink your milkshake.
Me: No. I’m thinish. And thinish people can’t afford to drink milkshakes.
WM: Oh good God.
Obviously I sulked the whole way home. It’s been three days now and the poor boy keeps saying things like ‘Where are you Baglett, I can’t see you!’ when I walk past followed by ‘Check that model, she’s thinish’.
As stupid as I feel, when I’m like that boys should really not be allowed to speak.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
'THE SALTING'
I went to the movies last night with the Wine Merchant. Embarrassingly after six months, it was the first time I was seeing a movie in Jo’burg. But Matt McConaughey told me specifically to watch his latest movie so I dragged the Wine Merchant with me.
I took it for granted that The Wine Merchant would know my movie-going policy. ‘You pay for everything in exchange for the pleasure of my company’. It’s a simple arrangement and has always worked well for me.
Once the arrangement was explained to him, highlighting the benefits, we headed off for the main focus of the evening: the popcorn and coke.
The man ordered a small popcorn (correct) with a small coke. WTF? Clearly, had he known what procedure I was about to perform, he would never have ordered the small to small ratio. Correcting the order of small popcorn with LARGE coke, we headed to salt table, where we had a slight disagreement over the amount of salt I was dousing my popcorn with.
Wine Merchant: Baglett, what the hell are you doing?
Me: Just a bit more salt and vinegar…
WM: Sweet Jesus Baglett.
Me: And a touch of aromat….
WM: Baglett, people are staring.
Me: This is a fine art, mess this up and we’ll have to come back for more. Now for the final layer of butter…
WM: Are you done?
Me: Yes. Now give me yours.
WM: Not a chance.
Sitting through a movie with me after ‘the salting’ is like having a date with a ninety-year-old suffering from a serious respiratory disease.
WM: Stop coughing Baglett.
Me: Can’t. Help. It. (Followed by another raspy salt powder-full cough) This is followed by a launch at partner’s coke. Not obiding by the law of popcorn ordering, the guy had only got a small coke which was now finished. Rookie.
Clutch throat and feign dying until he goes to fetch another coke.
Wm: Here. One more cough and we’re watching Terminator Salvation.
With that as a threat, I managed to sit in silence and finish off my entire box of popcorn. And his.
When the credits rolled, he turned to me and asked me whether he thought it was worth subjecting him to 100 minutes of Matt McConaughey.
Me: Lumpo
WM: What?
Me: Mmm, lllppp
WM: Are you drunk?
Point at lips and mouth the words,
Me: Lip Ice. Make it snappy.
Four large glasses of wine later to quench my thirst, I was a very happy little movie goer. Can’t say the same for the Wine Merchant. He clearly doesn’t know what he’s missing.
I took it for granted that The Wine Merchant would know my movie-going policy. ‘You pay for everything in exchange for the pleasure of my company’. It’s a simple arrangement and has always worked well for me.
Once the arrangement was explained to him, highlighting the benefits, we headed off for the main focus of the evening: the popcorn and coke.
The man ordered a small popcorn (correct) with a small coke. WTF? Clearly, had he known what procedure I was about to perform, he would never have ordered the small to small ratio. Correcting the order of small popcorn with LARGE coke, we headed to salt table, where we had a slight disagreement over the amount of salt I was dousing my popcorn with.
Wine Merchant: Baglett, what the hell are you doing?
Me: Just a bit more salt and vinegar…
WM: Sweet Jesus Baglett.
Me: And a touch of aromat….
WM: Baglett, people are staring.
Me: This is a fine art, mess this up and we’ll have to come back for more. Now for the final layer of butter…
WM: Are you done?
Me: Yes. Now give me yours.
WM: Not a chance.
Sitting through a movie with me after ‘the salting’ is like having a date with a ninety-year-old suffering from a serious respiratory disease.
WM: Stop coughing Baglett.
Me: Can’t. Help. It. (Followed by another raspy salt powder-full cough) This is followed by a launch at partner’s coke. Not obiding by the law of popcorn ordering, the guy had only got a small coke which was now finished. Rookie.
Clutch throat and feign dying until he goes to fetch another coke.
Wm: Here. One more cough and we’re watching Terminator Salvation.
With that as a threat, I managed to sit in silence and finish off my entire box of popcorn. And his.
When the credits rolled, he turned to me and asked me whether he thought it was worth subjecting him to 100 minutes of Matt McConaughey.
Me: Lumpo
WM: What?
Me: Mmm, lllppp
WM: Are you drunk?
Point at lips and mouth the words,
Me: Lip Ice. Make it snappy.
Four large glasses of wine later to quench my thirst, I was a very happy little movie goer. Can’t say the same for the Wine Merchant. He clearly doesn’t know what he’s missing.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
PARKING LOTS - CRISES THEY'RE FUN
I went to Sandton City yesterday. Well that was a good idea. Lots of people sporting the ‘business meeting at the front, party at the back’ hair cut. Awesome look guys.
I try to stay away from massive shopping centres, my sense of direction is shot, and in a place that has bridges connecting to other walkways connecting to levels connecting to lifts pretty much does my head in. After an hour of dodging ankle biters and trying to overtake lil’ old ladies, I decided it was boozy lunch time and went in the direction of the parking lot.
Sh*t.
Realising I didn’t even remember driving into the place, let alone what level I was on, I started walking. And I walked. And I walked. And I walked.
After 30 minutes, an elderly man stopped me.
Old Man: Young lady (Damn right I am) You seem to be lost.
Me: I’m not lost, my car is.
OM: Well, let’s think about this. How many ramps did you drive up?
Me: Definitely one.
OM: Then you’re on level two. This is level four.
Me: That would make sense. Thanks Old Man, you’re a legend.
So off I go to level two and instantly spot my car. Giving my car a thumbs up and a big ‘I found you, you little bugger, don’t ever do that to me again. I’m just off to repay my parking and then you and I are off home.’
Pay parking, turn around.
Sh*t.
My car has gone again.
And so I walked. And I walked and I walked. Wondering whether I was either drunk or prematurely senile, I stopped a security guard and explained that my car was playing hide and seek. He asked to see my parking ticket.
I marvelled at the wonders of modern technology. They could now tell from my ticket where I had parked. Incredible! He looked at my ticket and then looked at me as I looked back at him with a bloody stupid expectant grin on my face.
Me: And?!
SG: Yeeeeeesss.
Me: Yes what?
SG: Yes you are in Sandton City.
Me: Well good God, you’re a friggin genius.
I now had two security guards and myself wandering level two looking for my car while I held my remote up and beeped at aimlessly into the air.
Hearing a yelp from one of the guards, he proudly pointed to me car.
Thanking the guard profusely and giving my car a stern talking to, I had two minutes to get out the parking lot before the time expired.
Zooming up to the machine in record time, I turned to grab my ticket.
Which was nowhere to be bloody seen. By the time I found it, my time had expired. Not letting my car out of my sight, I parked next to the ticket machine so that I didn’t actually have to get out my car and paid for my parking. For the second time that morning.
And that, is the last time, I ever go to a shopping centre unaccompanied.
I try to stay away from massive shopping centres, my sense of direction is shot, and in a place that has bridges connecting to other walkways connecting to levels connecting to lifts pretty much does my head in. After an hour of dodging ankle biters and trying to overtake lil’ old ladies, I decided it was boozy lunch time and went in the direction of the parking lot.
Sh*t.
Realising I didn’t even remember driving into the place, let alone what level I was on, I started walking. And I walked. And I walked. And I walked.
After 30 minutes, an elderly man stopped me.
Old Man: Young lady (Damn right I am) You seem to be lost.
Me: I’m not lost, my car is.
OM: Well, let’s think about this. How many ramps did you drive up?
Me: Definitely one.
OM: Then you’re on level two. This is level four.
Me: That would make sense. Thanks Old Man, you’re a legend.
So off I go to level two and instantly spot my car. Giving my car a thumbs up and a big ‘I found you, you little bugger, don’t ever do that to me again. I’m just off to repay my parking and then you and I are off home.’
Pay parking, turn around.
Sh*t.
My car has gone again.
And so I walked. And I walked and I walked. Wondering whether I was either drunk or prematurely senile, I stopped a security guard and explained that my car was playing hide and seek. He asked to see my parking ticket.
I marvelled at the wonders of modern technology. They could now tell from my ticket where I had parked. Incredible! He looked at my ticket and then looked at me as I looked back at him with a bloody stupid expectant grin on my face.
Me: And?!
SG: Yeeeeeesss.
Me: Yes what?
SG: Yes you are in Sandton City.
Me: Well good God, you’re a friggin genius.
I now had two security guards and myself wandering level two looking for my car while I held my remote up and beeped at aimlessly into the air.
Hearing a yelp from one of the guards, he proudly pointed to me car.
Thanking the guard profusely and giving my car a stern talking to, I had two minutes to get out the parking lot before the time expired.
Zooming up to the machine in record time, I turned to grab my ticket.
Which was nowhere to be bloody seen. By the time I found it, my time had expired. Not letting my car out of my sight, I parked next to the ticket machine so that I didn’t actually have to get out my car and paid for my parking. For the second time that morning.
And that, is the last time, I ever go to a shopping centre unaccompanied.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
PARENTAL COMMUNICATION
I enjoy phoning the CT home phone every now and again to see what happens. It usually goes straight to the answering machine because neither one of my parents can find it and then I phone each of their cellphones while I picture them asking each other where the hell the ringing is coming from.I then phone the home phone again expecting the dog to answer. It's a fun game and I get endless pleasure from it.
Dad: Sh*t. God. I FOUND IT LOVE! Hello?
Me: Dad!
Dad: Baglett! We were just talking about you.
Me: No you weren’t.
Dad: Yes we were, weren’t we love?
Mom: No, we weren’t.
Dad: She’s such a kidder. We’re coming to visit you in Jo’burg!
Me: Together?
Dad: Yes! Your mother is thrilled.
Mom: No I’m not.
Dad: She’s such a kidder. We’ve got a sixtieth birthday in Rivonia. And mom wanted to stay at your place.
Mom: No I didn’t.
Dad: She did. So any chance you could stay with that guy?
Mom: He means The Wine Merchant.
Me: Dad, his name is The Wine Merchant.
Dad: That’s what I said.
Mom: No you didn’t.
Dad: Well you stay with whatisface and then we’ll take over your room for the weekend. Mom is so excited.
Mom: No I’m not.
Dad: She’s been drinking.
Me: Great Dad, send me your dates tomorrow.
This morning I received two emails. I can only imagine my Dad has discovered the font option on his computer because the first was in Comic Sans size 18 and the second was in Script, blue, size 20 with the odd letter in red.
To: Baglett [baglett@gmail.com]
From: Dad
Hi Bag
We are booked.... so its lunch on Saturday party wif the 60 years olds at 7pm and we leave Sunday afternoon.
Love
Dad
PS is Frifay OK wif you?
You will notice that firstly there are no dates mentioned, nor times of arrival, let alone name of airport and the spelling is something special. While trying to decipher whether or not they were flying this weekend or sometime in 2010, I received the following email from my mother.
To: Baglett [baglett@gmail.com]
From: Mom
Hi darling
Our flights are booked and are as follows.
Saturday 17 October
Cpt – Jhb (07h30 – 09h30)
Sunday 18 October
Jhb – Cpt (15h35 – 17h45)
So we can either have lunch on the Saturday or brunch on the Sunday, before heading back to OR Tambo Airport.
XXX
Thank goodness for mom.
Dad: Sh*t. God. I FOUND IT LOVE! Hello?
Me: Dad!
Dad: Baglett! We were just talking about you.
Me: No you weren’t.
Dad: Yes we were, weren’t we love?
Mom: No, we weren’t.
Dad: She’s such a kidder. We’re coming to visit you in Jo’burg!
Me: Together?
Dad: Yes! Your mother is thrilled.
Mom: No I’m not.
Dad: She’s such a kidder. We’ve got a sixtieth birthday in Rivonia. And mom wanted to stay at your place.
Mom: No I didn’t.
Dad: She did. So any chance you could stay with that guy?
Mom: He means The Wine Merchant.
Me: Dad, his name is The Wine Merchant.
Dad: That’s what I said.
Mom: No you didn’t.
Dad: Well you stay with whatisface and then we’ll take over your room for the weekend. Mom is so excited.
Mom: No I’m not.
Dad: She’s been drinking.
Me: Great Dad, send me your dates tomorrow.
This morning I received two emails. I can only imagine my Dad has discovered the font option on his computer because the first was in Comic Sans size 18 and the second was in Script, blue, size 20 with the odd letter in red.
To: Baglett [baglett@gmail.com]
From: Dad
Hi Bag
We are booked.... so its lunch on Saturday party wif the 60 years olds at 7pm and we leave Sunday afternoon.
Love
Dad
PS is Frifay OK wif you?
You will notice that firstly there are no dates mentioned, nor times of arrival, let alone name of airport and the spelling is something special. While trying to decipher whether or not they were flying this weekend or sometime in 2010, I received the following email from my mother.
To: Baglett [baglett@gmail.com]
From: Mom
Hi darling
Our flights are booked and are as follows.
Saturday 17 October
Cpt – Jhb (07h30 – 09h30)
Sunday 18 October
Jhb – Cpt (15h35 – 17h45)
So we can either have lunch on the Saturday or brunch on the Sunday, before heading back to OR Tambo Airport.
XXX
Thank goodness for mom.
Monday, June 8, 2009
CONDOMS. OR LACK OF.
You know you’ve been in a relationship for a while when, in the heat of passion, you have the following warped conversation…
Me: Where are the condoms?
The Wine Merchant: I don’t know. Where are they?
Me: I thought you bought some.
WM: Why would I buy some?
Me: Because you went to the shops today.
WM: So?
Me: So I thought you would have bought some.
WM: But you went to Clicks yesterday.
Me: And your point?
WM: Well I thought you would have got some there.
Me: Why should I buy them?
WM: Well why should I buy them?
Me: Because the last time I bought them, I panicked and I had eighteen hundred shop attendants help me pick up the rail of condoms I had dropped.
WM: Eighteen hundred?
Me: Yes. Eighteen hundred.
WM: So we’re not having sex.
Me: Well we would be having sex if you had bought condoms...
WM: Why should I buy them?
And so the conversation went on into the night and the sex didn’t…
Fun times.
Me: Where are the condoms?
The Wine Merchant: I don’t know. Where are they?
Me: I thought you bought some.
WM: Why would I buy some?
Me: Because you went to the shops today.
WM: So?
Me: So I thought you would have bought some.
WM: But you went to Clicks yesterday.
Me: And your point?
WM: Well I thought you would have got some there.
Me: Why should I buy them?
WM: Well why should I buy them?
Me: Because the last time I bought them, I panicked and I had eighteen hundred shop attendants help me pick up the rail of condoms I had dropped.
WM: Eighteen hundred?
Me: Yes. Eighteen hundred.
WM: So we’re not having sex.
Me: Well we would be having sex if you had bought condoms...
WM: Why should I buy them?
And so the conversation went on into the night and the sex didn’t…
Fun times.
Friday, June 5, 2009
OH HELLO FRIDAY
Apologies for removing the last post. Apparently the wife of the man featured in the photo has no idea her hubby drinks and is under the impression that she married a mormon. Bless.
So after a sneaky sneaky trip to Cape Town I was punished with flu which I’m convinced was of the swine variety. I got back on Monday and woke up this morning. The past few days have been a blur of tissues and medication. I managed to find a doctor in Jo’burg close enough to my house to keep driving at a minimum. She turned out to be one of those holistic doctors. Well that was a bad idea. I got given some tablets which had birdies all over the label and were proven to reduce pain and fever the ‘natural’ way. There was nothing natural about the pain and fever I was experiencing in the first place so no little birdy-shaped tablets made from flowers and weeds were going to cure me. I would rather she put me down. Holistically.
And now it is the weekend and lucky for me, I feel much better after taking my very unnatural antibiotics which are clearly so strong I have to take four other tablets to counteract the unnatural effects they may have on me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
To all those going to the Wacky Wine festival this weekend – I’m jealous but have decided to have my very own wine festival in my living room. It won’t be the same but I plan to get hammered nonetheless.
Happy Friday!
So after a sneaky sneaky trip to Cape Town I was punished with flu which I’m convinced was of the swine variety. I got back on Monday and woke up this morning. The past few days have been a blur of tissues and medication. I managed to find a doctor in Jo’burg close enough to my house to keep driving at a minimum. She turned out to be one of those holistic doctors. Well that was a bad idea. I got given some tablets which had birdies all over the label and were proven to reduce pain and fever the ‘natural’ way. There was nothing natural about the pain and fever I was experiencing in the first place so no little birdy-shaped tablets made from flowers and weeds were going to cure me. I would rather she put me down. Holistically.
And now it is the weekend and lucky for me, I feel much better after taking my very unnatural antibiotics which are clearly so strong I have to take four other tablets to counteract the unnatural effects they may have on me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
To all those going to the Wacky Wine festival this weekend – I’m jealous but have decided to have my very own wine festival in my living room. It won’t be the same but I plan to get hammered nonetheless.
Happy Friday!
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