Monthly Archives: February 2010

My brief foray into Weigh-less and a pet peeve!

I saw one of those tear away ads in our loo yesterday. Weigh-less changed my life blah blah call me! And I’ve generally resigned myself to the fact that as far as my lard-arse is concerned, it’s until death us do part. But I do have my moments of weakness like yesterday where I dream of being slimmer and and and. So I tear off her number, program it into my phone and call her. We have a nice little chat and because I know that the Sauv Blanc I love so much is mostly to blame for my built-in polly-otter, I ask her what the deal is re wine. Well, she goes: We don’t allow any wine for the first (something) I’m sure I heard year, because as soon as I heard don’t allow wine I started hyperventilating. She said something to the effect of we allow wine in the 5th year and only TJ Light. Now to all the wino’s out there…. You know what TJ light is like – it’s basically water with a wiff of wine – one vat of water to a yoghurt cup of wine! I stopped her in her tracks right there and said: Sorry doll, weigh-less isn’t for me then. No wine?! No wine?! I want to be thin and happy… not thin and mental. She laughed nervously and said maybe I’m not ready for the big decision a weigh-less lifestyle involved and I said – a truer word has never been spoken! So for now I remain fat and happy (mostly).

Right on to the pet peeve! Why do till packers ALWAYS squash your yoghurt, bread, fruit and all other soft stuff into a another food group??!! I usually try to remind them and watch them but it’s difficult to keep Thomas away from all the temptations at the till, keep and eye on the total(to make sure my card will honour the purchase) and do a quick check to see if I bought everything I came for. Packing is ALL they have to do. Why can they not use their noggins and put the heavy stuff at the bottom and the light stuff on top. I cannot tell you how many trays of yoghurt I’ve had to discard because it was squashed into kingdom come! Is it really too much to expect these people to use their noggins and pack things logically? Honestly!


A porn in the side.

Click here to find out more!Just read that Dstv is seriously considering a porn channel. I say as long as I can somehow block the channel from my son, each to his own. Or if you have to actually ask for it and pay extra – also fine.

But the comments section of this article was hilarious! From the seriously anti-porn lot:

* Tell me they won’t go down this line!!!!!

* I will cancell my subscription if this happens

* I’m disgusted – aren’t we subject to enough of this kind….


 to the positively salivating pro-porn lot who’s having multiple Os just thinking of the channel:

* Viva Porn Viva. Viva Dstv Viva

*Can’t wait!
*At long frikken last!


*Yes! Yes! YES! I will subscribe to it!

and my personal favourite — * Oh yes and before i forget Please make it in HD! Would not be worth it unless it was the best!!

Was most entertaining!


Mushy carpets and other DG disasters.

How many things have you lost or had changed identity due to an oops by a DG?

I cannot tell you how many kelims and other precious colourful things I’ve lost because DG decided to wash it in warm water and the end result was a blend of all the colours it used to be.

Then there’s the JIK – my DG loves Jik – everything gets Jik-ed which is as I taught her but only the whites… not the colours – they get Vanish – Vanish is interchangeable, Jik aint.

But I must admit the disasters has been interesting topics of conversations. Nothing like trying to explain to a dinner guest (only the good friends, mind) why their serviette is matching in design to all the others but not colour. Or why only their bit of the tablecloth has a bit of a tie-dyed effect! When I think back I smile at all the disasters but I certainly wasn’t smiling when it happened!

My sister is alive — no thanks to me.

Following my previous post re Mom’s tantrum stopping plan, E&I asked me to explain my “I was being very ugly to my baby sister” line in my disclaimer. This is especially for E&I so I won’t be offended if you don’t read further.

Right – Mom was the darling of her family – the youngest of three girls, followed by 5 boys. My Ouma wasn’t one of those parents who says “I have no favourites, I treat all my kids the same.” My Mom was her favourite child and I of course was her favourite grandchild – finish and klaar. Not that she didn’t love her other kids and wouldn’t kill for them – it’s just that Mom and I were her favourite favourites. (a huge disservice to me, in hindsight).

Mom was the only one of the kids to get to matric — everyone else had JC and had to leave school to work and bring in money as Oupa was mugged and killed when they were all little and Ouma wasn’t coping with all the mouths she had to feed. Mom also offered to leave once she had her JC but none of her siblings and obviously Ouma would hear of it. She was the beautiful, clever, lovable darling of the clan and they probably pinned their hopes on her going far.

Dad unfortunately got hold of my Mom, knocked her up and that was the end of her going into nursing (her dream). Mom and I lived with Ouma for my first two years while Dad figured out if he A) wanted to marry Mom and B) convert to Christianity from Islam. Ouma was completely against Mom converting and so was Mom. I think she would’ve gone the single Mom route if Dad’s family won the battle of the religions.

Mom and Dad married two years after I was born and we moved into our new home with Dad. I still went to Ouma after school and was spoilt, spoilt, spoilt. I was the new darling of the family (uncles, aunties,etc.) I remember coming across their wedding album when I was in Sub A and in one of the pics at the reception, there’s a little girl tugging at Mom’s sleeve. I asked her who that little girl was and she said it was me. OMW, I was so chuffed that I was at my parents wedding because I knew enough to know that not many of my friends were at their parents’ weddings. Imagine my horror when I go to school the next day and proudly proclaim that I was at my parents’ wedding and my friends all go in unison: But you’re not supposed to be at your parents’ wedding!!! OH the shame – LOL!

In Jan 1981 at the age of 4 yrs and 8 mths my world as I knew it started to disintegrate. Mom announced that she was expecting a baby! She was convinced it was a boy – didn’t go for any scans (did they exist back then?). The thought of having a brother was much more palatable to me than a sister who would be in DIRECT competition for my throne. Fast forward nine months and on September 10 1981, my sister Clementine is born. She was going to be Remy – because she was a boy and I had called her Remy in Mom’s tummy and alles. When they came home from the hospital, I was most disappointed with this little girl. I apparently went on the rampage – where’s Remy, where’s my brother, you promised me a brother! I did some things that I am not proud of to this day and through many hours of therapy, eventually managed to work through and forgive myself for. My sister mercifully cannot remember half of the things I did to her but she does remember me running away from her and never wanting to play with her and always trying to get rid of her in the most horrible ways.

Up to this day, we’re not really that great in each other’s company. We can be together for a few hours but not more than that… because then the horrid brat in me starts to act up and tries to tell her how to run her life and what she’s doing wrong and and and she gets all defensive about the past and and and … I would kill for my sister and I think she would as well for me but I have not been the world’s greatest sister to her.

PS: Mom died in a car crash in 1985 and left a 9 yr old, 4yr old and a 7 month old baby. Ouma was destroyed by this and  drank herself to death. Dad remarried in 1988. And I’ve tried my best to be a better sister since 1985.

How to end a tantrum circa 1981

Tania made me think of this when she told us about Mignon’s tantrum. Just read it now as I had a funny tummy yesterday.

We were living in Jhb and I was 5 and my sis was a few months. Dad used to get paid every fortnight and us gals would go blow his money at the OK in/near Carlton Centre and after shopping we’d go up to the look-out point with a treat.

Anyhoo, Mom had a basket in her one hand, sis in papoose and me holding onto other hand. I saw biscuits I wanted and because it was not a payday week, Mom said no I had to wait until the next week.

WELL – I threw myself down and did a pretty spectacularly frenzied synchronised swim sans water, flat on my back. Mom was having none of it. Walked to the front of the store, left her basket with security and told security that the screaming brat is hers. Please to help her keep an eye on said brat and she went to hide behind something at the entrance. I eventually realised that I was without my desired audience (very important if you’re tantrumming – other people are no fun, it has to be your parents/caregivers) and started looking for her. Went up and down the aisle and realised she was GONE. I did as I was taught and went to security and asked them to call my Mommy over the intercom because I lost her. Security lady was in on it and told me my Mommy left because I was being naughty and she said my Daddy will fetch me after work. I must wait with the lady. OMW – I cried that day like I had never cried before. I was inconsolable. Mom came out after about a minute of my crying but it felt like a lifetime. I was very grateful to see her and my sister and apparently was the sweetest sweet for months after that.


1) I was a master tantrum thrower and Mom had just had it by then and she was pretty good with nipping things in the bud early on. Also I was being extremely ugly to my baby sister (another post for another day) and I think Mom just felt she needed to ‘reset’ me.

2) It was the early, safe-ish’80s and I was never out of Mom’s sight – she was watching me all along (she was way too paranoid about safety not to).

Babe, please only rinse my clothes in patchouli oil — Sta-Soft is just so harsh!

Adele’s status today takes me back yonks! She says she smells organic today. I have this friend who is a real crystal-swinging, organic-living lentilhead. Love him dearly but the lifestyle is just not for me and I admire people who choose to live that way, really I do. So my bf at the time was out of the country and dear friend (who is a perpetual housesitter was living with me) — ostensibly to keep me company and keep me safe but we both knew it was more that he needed a place to crash for a while. Anyhoo – so not only did I have to really think out of the box when cooking because as you know, it’s a pain to cook for lentilheads. I had to keep a steady supply of rooibos and honey and oats and he preferred the veggies out of the garden even though I tried to keep that for ME as it was MY back that was breaking on account of all the slug, snail and general gogga patrol I had to do to keep my veggies intact. I finally conceded that he could use the veggies from my garden as well as he didn’t have loads of dosh and I felt sorry for him.

So I do the washing one day and of course do his as well as that’s the type of girl I am. Next day the DG arrives and she irons it all and they’re neatly packed on his bed. Lentil Lord Fauntleroy then finds me when he comes home and utters the following words: Babe, I only rinse my clothes in patchouli oil — Sta-Soft is just so harsh! I had to count to ten BAJILLION before I replied to say: Am terribly sorry, had no idea that you wanted patchouli oil – I won’t wash your clothes again. And of course you can imagine how organic he smelt – patchouli oil is no match for someone who refuses to wash clothes too often, not wear deodorant as it’s poisonous, etc. (you get my drift?)

Needless to say, things were not the same for a day or two but then we had a bottle of wine and after some Dutch courage I gave LLF a piece of my mind and we were able to laugh about it. We still do. Some men (people) are just so far up their own bums or so focussed on being alternative!!!

Thomas has discovered the purple dinosaur. Oh dear.

I used to laugh derisively at people who ‘fell for the Barney thing’. They would agonisingly try to explain to me that you don’t fall for it – your child screams blue murder if they can’t see/hear/play with Barney. I’ve spent this entire weekend with the purple one – and it’s only week one of Barney. Oh dear. I can still stand Barney to a certain point but where do they get those annoying children from? OMG – I want to klap Michael, Myra, Emily, Sam et al. They’re just the most annoying kids ever. Oy vey.

We’re busy potty training at the moment – going really well and guess what he gets at school for a successful trip to the potty? Yup, a Barney sticker! So this is where my ‘ I fell for Barney’ thing begins. Oh and every time he sees something that has a hint of purple – he wails: Barney!