Anti-resolutions 2006

1. Start smoking seriously.
2. Gain 10 kilograms.
3. Snarl at strangers.
4. Exercise infrequently.
5. Be less motivated at work.
6. Watch more Tv.
7. Commit random acts of unkindness.

Terms of Endangerment

I don’t do too well with affectionate little labels. I put them right into that box with other cringey offerings from the y-chromosomed; such as smellantine inspired stuffies clutching kitschy ‘I love you beary much’ hearts (aw…blech blech). No, I’m not a romantic. Crazy x said as much once, when I left him crying amongst his scented candles and rose petals.

Call me “Sweetie”, and like the italian whose mama has been viciously slurred, hell hath no rancour. It’s an endearment I find particularly difficult to mould into a bolus and swallow. I don’t know why exactly, but it’s parallel to someone harshly scraping cutlery against the bottom of a cooking pot: that setting-teeth-on-edge, insides growing legs and crawling, vomity kind of feeling. Not pleasant.

It’s also not the type of endearment that is meant to issue forth from just anyone (in exactly the way that fuchsia taffeta tutus aren’t meant to be worn by grown men inclined to love-handles and a little extra around the ass). The same with “doll”, if you’re not an extravagant, flamboyant wedding planner, forget it. Put it away. And since Gollum’s monopoly on “Precious”, sorry mate, that one’s not getting you any tonight either.

Sweetie, Doll, the combination and like thereof are fine when there are years of shared bondage and misery between a couple. It’s expected, along with Darling, Dear and The Mistake.

It’s also acceptable when friends use these terms to engender closeness and camaraderie. Like Bitch: now that one’s certainly come into its own as a verbal hug. I’ve even heard guys kicking it around among themselves like a soccer-ball.

Strangely enough, it’s the odd and comical names I can handle, even appreciate. Squid, Cow, Monkey, even though they sound very much like Chinese Years, are endearing. Purely because there’s history with them, shared feeling, originality, affection. As with funny little monikers like Squash, Biscuit and Squish. Definitely not one-size-fits-all.

Oi, little wonder I’m single hey? I’m one seriously weird squid.

saaleha recommends

Dave Eggers - Short Short Stories

(Pocket Penguin #65)

a google gush

oh wow.

I'm going to burst in a katrillion sparkly tinsel pieces of delight.
I'm now able to access my gmail account from my cell phone.

goody goody goody gummy bears.


:)

:)

home for the holidays

I have time.
Sweet 16 days of my very own.
Obligation and responsibility packed away in their sensible grey boxes.
384 hour pockets of time I could choose to fill with meaningful constructions or nothing.

I have time.
To read, to think, to sleep, to taste my food, to have consequential conversations with myself, to watch TV, to exercise, to procrastinate, to initiate, to write, to talk, to pray, to let the world in, to clear my desk, to pack my shelves, to discard, to create.

Dolce far niente.
And I have the time in which to do it.

I just called to say ...

Sunday 5am.
Curettaged from sleep by Freshly Ground's doo-be-doo. The true tone pours out of my phone friendly and confusing, surely it couldn't be time to give face to the morning yet?

But my disorientation would soon be supplanted by something a little more sinister. and doo-be-doo would never sound quite like warm summer sun ever again.

A heavy voice on the other end. Hello?
Saaleha...

And obscenity.

Menacing surrealism. I dive into a dark dream limbo where reality sat on the passenger seat, and the voice changed gears and pumped the accelerator.

Fear.
He knew my name. And still, he continued with his violation.

Fear.
His voice familiar. Casual conversation forever stained. Every howya-doin now suspect.
Was it you?
or You?

He hid behind a flashing LCD screen - private number. A perverse coward with the manhood of a eunuch.

And he reduced me. A sheer ugliness suffusing through my insides.

The nagging stickiness of thought, I know his voice.

I know his voice.

More fear.

I hate the word

It's something Mold does.
In all its furry, mildewy, zygomycotic vainglory.

Settling.

I will not be fungi.

random bus stop moment (1)

I've been using the same brand of sunscreen for the last ten years.

How's that for commitment.

Maybe I'm not such a phobe after all.

michelangelo's ceiling

A Johannesburg skyline on fire.
And it looked to me, that it was almost as if God had just acknowledged Michelangelo's "Creation of Adam".

knickers in a knot

Good intentions.
Ag shame Tony, it's no easy task asking for your wee delicates to be returned. But wasn't the plan for them to be throwing their undies at you instead?

The sixteen days of activism against gender violence runs from November 25 to December 10.



DA panties swiped in 'raids'
06/12/2005 00:44 - (SA)

Rajaa Azzakani

Cape Town - The Democratic Alliance's plan to focus the attention on violence against women and children went badly wrong in a poor Cape community in a panties raid.
About 22 000 pieces of underwear were pegged to washing lines in Nooitgedacht in Bishiop Lavis by members of the community.
The underwear, donated by various sponsors, was meant to symbolise the intimacy of women and girls and to emphasise to men that they should not recklessly continue to abuse women and children.
DA leader Tony Leon, guest speaker for the occasion, was meant to help peg the clothes to the lines.
But, by the time he arrived, the numerous washing lines had been stripped by residents helping themselves.
Nervous DA members stood around while a bodyguard tried to retrieve some of the stolen underwear from the crowd.
Leon and DA MP Mike Walters, the party's spokesperson on welfare, had to continue as if the missing underwear was still part of the programme.
Shortly after Leon's departure, the fight for the remaining pieces of underwear started again and journalists had to be careful not to be trampled by the crowd.
Organisers said the underwear was meant to be distributed to homes for abused women and children after the ceremony.

the ties that bind part 3

It’s the season.

Not just the one of the questionably jolly fat gentleman in a red jumpsuit and his entourage of randy reindeer, or the limited edition gift hampers of materialism.

‘Tis the season to be wed.

Down south, the weather’s perfect for it.

My wanton weekend (wishful thinking) plans for the last month have been displaced by wedding and post-nuptial receptions.

Lots of organza, sookmuk, cheese-smiling and trying to avoid chewing while the video-camera guy decides to go art-house cinema.

And in between these weekends where my ceramic hair iron (gift from the Gods’) was put to industrial use and mascaras wands were dusted off, I was faced with the off-shoot phenomenon of the Silly Season – The Set Up.

Good intentions, I’ve been told. A friend once said that it’s indicative of how highly people value you, if they’re willing to take the risk of hooking you up with a good friend or family member.

In my view, it makes for a very good social barometer, an almost accurate way of finding out just how well people actually know you. If they’ve sussed out your personality, figured out your ideals and ambitions and managed to come up with someone compatible, that is, in itself, the real crunch.

But it’s been known to go horribly awry.

For one thing, so many assume that facial-giftedness is the clincher. And if the guy is a successful type (read: doctor, high profile bean counter), it’s a given that he’s intelligent and will somehow provide for stimulating conversation for many years to come.

Forget the fact that he is socially-dyslexic, that his world-views are limited to the 7pm news (when there’s nothing else good on), that reading is just ‘not my bag, baby’, and that his spirituality is confined to making it in time for Jummah every Friday.

All will be forgiven, for he certainly does no damage to the PH of the genepool, girl, and overseas holidays every year, doll!

While an attractive phenotype is like getting the bonus ball in a Lotto draw, it’s not the grand prize. I guess it’s a sign of maturity on my part (what? lol.), when looks don’t particularly factor in my mating game. I go with Willy S. when he wrote of a ‘meeting of the minds’.

So come this weekend, Safeeya (if you’re reading this) I will know exactly how much of Saaleha you have managed to garner over this last year. I’ll be nice, I promise.

------

Today's arb lyric:

Love is a brittle madness.
- Jason Mraz

in conversation (1)

"I hate Shah Rukh Khan
That perfect hair and damn smile.
He must be the devil.
Kublai Khan was a hottie but no one put him in a movie with scantily clad girls."

-Organ Harvester.

the love doctor

come on, try it.

click on the link:

http://www.crushcalculator.com/content/love/165839562


the results speak for themselves.

braking point

And in yesterday's news:

A man holds a Department of Home Affairs official hostage with a toy gun. The 21-year-old had been waiting for two years to get his official ID. On Wednesday, his frustration reaches losing-marbles-point, he hurricanes into the offices, grabs the supervisor, and barricades himself with her in an office for six hours. Click here for the whole saga.

I would give this guy a kidney if he needed it. Hell, even if he doesn't, he can keep it in a pickle jar in his tv-cabinet. I relate to you, brother. While your ordeal of waiting for two years bears nil comparison to my lousy two months waiting for a drivers license test date, I stand with you comrade.

It's only a matter of time before those phone-jockeys down at the Randfontein testing station get a nice war-story of their very own.

a copy and paste post

I don't normally play decoupage with my blog and like the sighting of the Easter Bunny humping the Great Pumpkin, this practice will occur very rarely indeed.


---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: mfleshman@.......
To: debate@lists.kabissa.org
Date: Wed, 30 Nov 2005 14:54:09 -0500
Subject: [DEBATE] : top 11 reasons Dubya planned to bomb Al-Jazeera

Top 11 reasons Dubya planned to bomb the al-Jazeera network

11. Wanted to send a message to CBS.

10. Ran out of anthrax.

9. Promised Rupert Murdock a lucrative, "no-bid" contract.

8. Al-Jazeera White House correspondent tried to ask a "follow-up"question.

7. It's only terrorism when it's done to us.

6. Attorney General advised that he couldn't torture the al-Jazeera staff.

5. Al-Jazeera website linked to a flash animation depicting Dubya as dim-witted.

4. "Philosophy of life" doesn't extend to journalists.

3. Thought he needed a diversion from the U.S. use of chemical weapons in Fallujah.

2. al-Jazeera ran colorized version of "It's a Wonderful Life."

1. Osama bin Laden wasn't there.