I have a secret

I've heard that everyone has a weird neurotic trait. For some, its an alterego. For others it is a tick or learning disability.

I have several imagined neurotic traits. Several neurotic dislikes that I have accepted as a personality trait.

I've got to be the biggest freakshow occupying the planet.

But, the most embarrassing and frusterating and not imagined trait I have... is my secret.

I stutter. *cringe*

I work hard to not let it take over my whole speech all the time. Hubs thinks it cute. My family thinks it slightly annoying. But when I am excited or nervous my words sound like they are in a blender.

It's do frustrating to not be able to communicate like a normal human being. Or to be angry and have my words tumble out sounding nothing like I meant them too.

So it's share time. What is your secret or not so secret trait?

Because I live food.

One of my favourite Easter treats can’t be found in South Africa.


Peeps complete my life.


For a wonderful Easter gift my aunt who resides in Florida sent my mother 15 boxes of Peeps. Today she shared one tray with me.

Life is glorious mainly because the sugary goodness is staring at me at my office desk reminding me that it is still a few more hours until lunch.

Once lunch passes they will remind me that I neeeeed to go back home.

Even just to stock up on my favourites.

Why are peeps so awesome you may ask?

Check what they can do!


And even



Rock on Peeps. Rock freakin’ on.

What is your favourite holiday treat?

The one when I tell you the story of the new profile picure

I loaded it. The Fi looks over and says, "You shouldn't post pictures of you in the shower."

I am not naked. I am actually wearing my wedding dress... but that had to be cut off because I don't want the Fi to see... But I could tell him that either. Now he thinks I post naked pics online. Does that make me an online visual escort? I sure hope not.

The End

What I *LOVE* about Christmas

Today is a glorious day! I have completed the Christmas shopping. Hoor-freaking-ay!

I must admit I am not a fan of Christmas shopping and every year I end up thinking to myself that I have GOT to start earlier. I am a very bad Santa's helper. OOh, I enjoy gift giving. I enjoy finding fabulous finds for my loved ones based on my personal financial strain. Love that.

I am a big fan of shopping in general. It's grand and fabulous, especially when you have cash to spend. Halle-freaking-lujah.

But what can't stand, and encounter every freaking time I went out Christmas shopping, is the dreaded, the horrible, the irritating 'stop-directly-in-front-of-you-to-chat-to-some-distance-
acquaintance-about-the-weather-and-block-not-just-the-
aisle-but-the-entire-corridor-making-it-impossible-to-
get-by-until-they-finish-the-dumb-conversation' Person. The 'SDIFOYTCTSDAATWABNJTABTECMIITGBUTFTDC' Person is usually the affluent Bimbo parading around in high heels with gazillions of parcels being juggled by their significant other. The SO of the SDIFOYTCTSDAATWABNJTABTECMIITGBUTFTDC stands there shifting their weight awkwardly behind the SDIFOYTCTSDAATWABNJTABTECMIITGBUTFTDC and stares awkwardly at you, the extremely irritated unable to walk shopper.

This strange traffic jam enables the second dreaded person to irritate the Unable to Walk Shopper. The dreaded Neck Breather comes up behind the Unable to Walk Shopper and breaths from their nose upon your irritated neck. This allows you to feel two steaming streams of toxic nose breath colliding into your neck hairs. The stench is horrendous, the claustrophobia is growing and you.are.angry.

And you can't do anything about it. Until the weather-talkers realise they actually don't want to talk to each other and continue on their merry ways. Until the Nose breathing Neck tickler holds his breath, you are stuck.

*sigh* Christmas Joy. Christmas Cheer. Yeah, I love Christmas.

Shameless Plug

So yesterday my baby bro started his own blog. Please go show him some bloggy love. Thanks. Check it out here

Have a wonderful Sunday!

First Dance Stumbles.

In case you haven't noticed, I am getting freakishly excited about the wedding. I am pathetic... Pathetically excited.

Like that puppy that wees on the floor when you get home. That is me. Without the weeing.

I am absolutely stoked for every moment of the rest of everything that is coming. Except one.

The One.

That's it.

You're right.

The first dance.

I can't dance.

Oh I can break it down. I can make the room hot and happening with my moooves but a nice little dance with the new Hubs is... put lightly, scaring the crap out of me.

The Fi can't dance either. He doesn't really want to learn either. So. There's us, in my minds eye, stepping on each others toes and looking absolutely ridiculous. ehm. Lame.

In any case.

We have a lovely song. *if you click there you can watch their youtube video of the song* It's so beautiful and the lyrics are very special to both of us:

Dance With You

sittin' on the beach
the island king of love
deep in Fijian seas
deep in some blissful dream
where the goddess finally sleeps
in the lap of her lover
subdued in all her rage
and I am aglow with the taste
of the demons driven out
and happily replaced
with the presence of real love
the only one who saves

I wanna dance with you
I see a world where people live and die with grace
the karmic ocean dried up and leave no trace
I wanna dance with you
I see a sky full of the stars that change our minds
and lead us back to a world we would not face

the stillness in your eyes
convinces me that I
I don't know a thing
and I been around the world and I've
tasted all the wines
a half a billion times
came sickened to your shores
you show me what this life is for

I wanna dance with you
I see a world where people live and die with grace
the karmic ocean dried up and leave no trace
I wanna dance with you
I see a sky full of the stars that change our minds
and lead us back to a world we would not face

in this altered state
full of so much pain and rage
you know we got to find a way to let it go

sittin' on the beach
the island king of love
deep in Fijian seas
deep in the heart of it all
where the goddess finally sleeps
after eons of war and lifetimes
she smilin' and free, nothin' left
but a cracking voice and a song,

I wanna dance with you
I see a world where people live and die with grace
the karmic ocean dried up and leave no trace
I wanna dance with you
I see a sky full of the stars that change our minds
and lead us back to a world we would not face
we would not face.

---Live---

I do suppose that the beauty of the song will over ride our pitiful performance. *right* And if not there is still hope in a magical dancing fairy *right*

There goes the puppy again. *sigh*

The presence of wrinkles made me rethink life

No longer can I look surprised. This facial expression has just become dis-allowed. There is a presence of not one, not two, but three! Wrinkles. On. My. Forehead. ALAS!

Add these to the beginnings of crow-feet on my eyes.... I’m just biding my time before I am a wrinkly saggy woman with a cat on my lap screaming at the neighbourhood kids to stay out of my precious petunias. Oh Lament!

I can see it now... AHK!

i am a pompous word person.

i am a pompous word person. i am the anal retentive person who hyperventilates when she sees the damned ‘Ten items or less’ sign in the supermarket. Count nouns require ‘fewer’ not ‘less’. Grr.

All the signs for the movie Two Weeks Notice. Ugh. It should be two weeks’ notice.

But i am an inconsistent word person. my own grammar sucks. but i’ll correct your grammar.

i think i suck. and i am terribly sorry my suckiness permeates even grammar. Ugh. suckiness isn’t even a word. blast.

Art people are pompous snobs.

Perhaps I should clarify a few things for my readers who do not know me personally. I am an art person. I am extremely interested in the impact of society and economics on art. That is why I do Art History. It expands my mind, it makes me wrestle with various thoughts and ideas that are explores through art. Ok. So I like art. I am an art person.

BUT! Art people really drive me crazy. Being art people, they are frequently not word people. And they try really hard to be. My lecturer is one of such people. She is really smart and she fancies herself an intellectual. This means she uses really big words which have little meaning to explain a really simple concept. UGH! This is a huge pet peeve of mine.

Why focus on the modernity of something? Instead focus on why something is progressive. Is it necessary to discuss the implications of the ramifications of the socio-economic modernity or can we just say that we need to look at the impact that society and economics play in the modern world?

Perhaps I am a pompous word person. But I just have to say it... clarity in writing is difficult enough to achieve. Don’t try and throw in big words. You sound stupid to those who understand what you write. Big words used in a row can often have undetected (by the writer) redundancy errors. HUGE pet peeve.

In any case, for the average sane person, the meaning gets lost and then what’s the point to writing something no-one understands/ has no significant meaning?

Exactly. There is no point.

Introducing the Alter-ego

I have an alter-ego. She lives there inside that part of my brain that I don’t really like to look at very much. Bertha is her name and she... scares me.

(I am thrilled to learn that I am not the only one with a split personality. Hillbilly's confession here.)

When things get uncomfortable for the normal me, Bertha comes out in her annoying squeaky voice. If Bertha ever decided to rampage my body I would be one bad ass mother trucker. She’s fat and doesn’t bath and probably lives in her pickup truck on the side of the highway in my skull. And there she'll live, like a parasite...leeching...

And that’s nasty.

I have to admit; most people who see Bertha on a regular basis know her antics well. Those who don’t... well they don’t. And when I try and blame my alter ego.... well, they don’t take too kindly to it. Shifting blame? I am not. I am just telling you about my mental instability.

You see, the brilliant are mental cases. That makes me brilliant. And beautiful. Because Bertha tells me so.

And if no one else will compliment me then Bertha will do it. As much as I hate her treatment of those around me, like that poor girl who used to live in the flat above mine, ehm. Bertha sure is damn nice to me. Its hoes before... everyone else. So maybe I’ll extend her rent a little longer for free. Just tell me I’m pretty again ok? And tell that girl she’s a slutty whore for me too.