Live wire

I wore these wire bangles for almost two years. I love them. I never took them off. Every day I washed off the black colour on my arm without a thought. After a few hours of drumming every fortnight I had a very dark grey/purple sheen on my forearm.

Ten days ago I started getting a "shot" of metal-taste saliva that was so strong I had to suck sweets often during the day. After 5 days I suddenly woke up with the idea to take the bangles off. Firstly I struggled because they had become so much part of my identity. Ego reared it's head and I was surprised at my psycological resistance and felt a physical pang of regret as I placed them on my shelf.

The next morning I woke up with a "mother" of a headache. I'm not a headache person, but have had migraine and head cold and tension headaches. This wasn't any of those. This was a typical detox headache which made me want to reach for my bangles!

The headache lasted for three days in which time I looked up "metal poisoning" and was surprised that without being melodramatic, some symptoms made sense. The fog in my mind, the taste in my mouth and the feeling of "dragging" myself through each day, longing to hit my pillow.

Time will tell.

Dread-Mill

If someone had to ask me if I think I'm a chopper pilot, I'd say "no pal, but can YOU drive a treadmill?"

I spin, swim and frequent the gym often but the treadmill....
Ok so it calculates the calories you use depending on speed and incline. The treadmill can show you five different channels of tv while your walking and tune you in to your favourite radio station. It monitors your heartbeat and can speed up slow down and throw you off if you forget to pedal - I mean walk.
I arrive with a bottle of water and my earphones - to plug into my favourite tv show. The choices are quite fun. Rugby, soccer, news and cricket. I don't normally watch soccer but seeing that the biggest game of the year Manchester United against Barcelona was on........well what can a girl do.
So I'm ready to "roll" and the screen reads "touch me"! Goodness, ok - so I touch away and when nothing happens I give the screen a sharp tap. I left a note to the manufacturer....."sharp tap me?" would that work?
I'm cool, I smile, I look around me at all the walking, smiling, obviously very clever running masses.

I have entered weight, age, address, time, distance but this machine just won't work for me and my time is running out. I notice a "quick start" button and tap sharply!

It's moving.....and we're off............VERY slowly I might add, oh? ok I see the -big plus- and give a few very experienced sharp taps until.....I'm going too fast and have to hang onto the handles which automatically monitor my heartbeat! I want to laugh but have to be cool as I frantically sharply tap repeatedly the -big minus- and after a few tries I slow down to an acceptable pace.

I then strike the "I'm totally at home" on the big walking machine stagger and I whip out my blackberry and send an sms. I have arrived!

After about 30 minutes I check my calorie count hoping that I can lay to rest the packet of Provita crunchie-vites-with-cranberries I flattened for tea........and realise that all I can claim are two tiny biccy's!

I know now that this brilliant machine is intuative because as I hit the big red "Emergency Stop" and think "to hell with that!", it nearly catapults me into the pool!

Dare to Date

So here I am happily single and in a calm pond of peace and contentment.
Of course the universe has heard my call and is planning my love life accordingly.
A friend pops in for a good old natter and a cuppa.


The lively chatter slows to a deliberate silence and she asks, "so...?" "you still not seeing anyone?"

She knows I'm not, so I wonder what's up and look at her, cocking an eyebrow as a reply.

"Have you ever considered looking on a dating site?", she enquires tentatively.

Definitely not, out of the question, tacky, cheap, not me."NO", I say smiling superciliously.

"Well you should think about it?", she replies and I, "biscuit?"

"There's a very good site on the internet that appears to have a huge database."

Well I just ignore this and change the subject............P-lease!

"It's so easy", she says walking inside towards the computer, "just look at how many interesting men there are in Pretoria."

Yes I know - thinking of Aunty Patty who told my mother, "Mandy will NEVER find a man in Pretoria!" "She MUST go to the Italian club in Johannesburg!"

Well I've thought about that quite a bit actually. I see myself entering the hallowed doors of the "Italian Club" explaining that no, I'm not Italian, and yes, I know that Italians are short and I'm 5ft9, but Aunty Patty said.....

"Come and have a look at some of these nice looking men", she's keen and connected and settled in front of my screen. "You don't use your own name you know."

Oh so that makes the difference! - I can go on under a pseudonym.......how about "Marvelous Me", "Tall and Tender", or even better "Big 'n Beautiful!"

I can't.

"But just come and look, this one seems cute," she insists.

I take a sidelong glance, she suggests a name for me and I grudgingly chose three men out of the first page or two that I think are ok, and one in particular that looks.......like me.

I tempt her away from my screen with more sweet delights.
We say our goodbyes at the gate and I wave calmly.

As soon as her car rounds the corner I dash into my house, jumping over the cat I skid onto my seat and find the site!

I looked though 50 pages, that same night, each with 20 faces which would total 1000 men, all from Gauteng!

I couldn’t stop.

Fascinating.

You pick your "favorites" and then realize that they get a notification....eeek

They see you online and become "fans" (if they're tall enough) and send you a message.

My heart was thumping at the first message and then I realized that you can't chat.....until you pay!

Ok so I won't say I'm hooked, let’s say curious.
Don't say it!
Ok, very curious and maybe a little hooked.
Hooked. I said it!

I make a conscious decision to take only one month’s subscription and pay.

"Billy the Biker" was apparently my 100% match - scratch.
"Romantic Rider" ? scratch.
"Thumper" ? Block, block, block, I won't, I can't do helmet hair!
"Theo's Threesome" ? OK, get me outta here!
"Casual Kent", said that he would be prepared to INVEST in a woman if bla bla bla....delete, delete, delete.
"Naughty Nigel", said that all women wanted a bad boy.........really? What Nonsense!
When "Sizzling Swinger" became a fan I blocked him too and decided to take responsibility and the reins of this seemingly galloping horse.

I was happily off the site within two very intense weeks.

and?

well, I have to say....

in spite of my trepidation...

yes,

I'm grateful to my insistent friend.


ps: inbox me for the address :-)

now Here's the Rub

I want to say that this is something all women should have in their boot.
I would be wrong!
I think this is something every driver needs in their boot..............and no, not your hobnails daaaling!
I had no idea how much joy a little tin of rubbing compound, the price of a movie ticket, could bring.
A good deal of elbow grease is needed so you're assured an intense deltoid workout.
A friend and I were looking at the deep scratches made by a badly placed potato bush and we were dubious as to whether this would do the trick.
I'm tempted to leave the bush in place just to have the pleasure of revitalising my paint job, but will deal with the bush a tad later - and will post a pic.

The Agony and the Ecstacy

Nan Hua Buddhist Temple Bronkhorstspruit - finding peace

I was in the Faerie Glen postoffice this afternoon. A young man stood in front of me clutching a thick manila envelope .
My eyes drifted to his package which read "Huisgenoot Lietjie Kompetiesie" in bold black letters.
The postoffice is indeed a place of dreaded bills, stressful registered letters, parcel deliveries, love letters from afar and in this case great expectations.
The young man approached the counter. "Normal mail please"....and after a few seconds, "this letter will arrive by Friday?" looking expectantly at the bored looking attendant who nodded her head.
Today is Tuesday my friend, I think, there is no way that letter will get to it's competition destination by Friday!
"I've been told not to send this registered, but is there any other way of getting it there faster?", he asks the still bored looking attendant who replies "well, how would YOU like to send it?" "Speed services?"
"How much will that be?", he asks looking worried. "R61 Rand." comes the short reply and he cringes.
I quickly turn to him and suggest,"try fastmail, it takes 2-3 working days and is much cheaper than speed services".
"Ok", he nods looking at me uncertainly.
I see his dream of becoming the new huisgenoot song writer winner going up in the smoke of some disinterested postal workers tea-time cigarette.
"How do you want to send this letter!", asks the now insolent attendant.
I can't help myself and move over to the counter..........."Could you please give this young man his options!, he clearly doesn't know how to send the letter!"

She turns her eyes up to him and says "try fastmail, it takes 2-3 working days and is much cheaper than speed services".

That's not a camera Madame, that's a light...

I registered with a modelling agency when I moved to Pretoria three years ago.
This would be a good way to supplement my income and it looks like fun, yes? Let me put it this way - it"s different...

The Casting:
A casting notification is e-mailed to you a day in advance.
The very first casting you get you'll probably phone everyone you know telling them how you're going to be on tv.
You arrive well coiffed and buffed, so excited and highly strung that all of the 30-100 faces in the room look at you knowing that you're definately on SOMETHING.
You fill out an artiste's form and get a corresponding label, it's big and sticky, pasted onto your chest - number 35.
You wait, the first time with strained eyes watching as the door opens and shuts on 34 hopeful people. One looks around to assess the "competition" and thinks that you're home free, cause they'll never consider this overweight scruffy lady sitting right next to you with the beige linen. Your number is called and in your minds eye you may see some flashing lights and hear Oscar's theme tune in your head. When you enter, all you see is a bent head and a voice that looks up with dead eyes and says "look at the camera please - name, age and agency?" - you answer. "Right profile please" - you turn at face the door. "Left profile please" - you turn and face the wall.
"Right! your husband is coming home for supper and you have to greet him happily at the door. Start on this x", she says pointing to a taped x on the floor. "There's the door", she says pointing to the window. "Right......aaand ACTION!", she says from behind the camera. She looks up with a bland look on her face "again", and puts the face away "aaaand ACTION!" You wait, she signs, looks up and says "thanx your done, NEXT."
At this point you have no clue of what the procedure is. The secretary explains, "If you're in we'll call your agent". It's truly the strangest feeling. It's not about how well you're turned out, it's not about how keen you are and when you see the ad on tv with the scruffy overweight lady in the beige linen walking a dog for discovery health, you realise that no, you didn't get the job"
When I go for castings now, I check the brief, I go as I am, I take a book and I relax and watch the newbies come in and I wonder what they're on, cause they have to be on SOMETHING.

The Shoot:
To be there at 5am you have to have a 3.30am wake-up call.
You arrive, drink copious amounts of coffee.
Sit for make-up and wait.
After a few hours they call your part.
Then they ask your name and give you the brief.
You smile and walk and tickle the (your) child, shopping for fruit over a 4meter distance.
You reverse the trolley.
You do this again.
You reverse and repeat about five times.
Then the extras come in and we repeat the process.
When your lip is quiverring from smiling, and only then......."Right rehearsal done, lets roll!"
"ACTION!"................rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr "CUT!"
Gladys you looked at the camera!
"ACTION!.................rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr "CUT!"
Mandy don't dip your head, we want to see you!
"ACTION!.................rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr "CUT!"
Sammy darling smile and shinings eyes!
"ACTION!.................rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr "CUT!"
A little slower everyone!
"ACTION!.................rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr "CUT!"
That was faaaar too slow
"ACTION!.................rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr "CUT!"

Darling to the left, to the LEFT!
"ACTION!.................rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr "CUT!"
SMILE people!
"ACTION!.................rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr "CUT!"

"OK guys lets break for lunch and we'll check the footage".
Sighs of relief all around.
"Please wear a cover over your clothes!"
The lunch is welcome and healthy and as I'm reaching for my favourite salad, Jacquie from wardrobe leans over grabs the bowl announcing "NO BEETROOT FOR THE CAST PLEASE!"

Zoo-chology

It started with my friend Harduss' art exhibition to highlight the plight of the Rhino. I got to the zoo quite late and asked at the gate if I could quickly still pop in to see the exhibition. They said yes, but that because it was so close to closing, I should use the -Zoo Officials Only- gate. I drove down to the gate and explained to the zoo official where I was going and he opened the boom and directed me to the restaurant. There were no people at the zoo and I drove right up to the entrance and popped in to see the exhibition unhindered.....

Yesterday was the last day of Johanns exhibition and I was available to go around lunchtime.
I didn't  think twice, drove straight to the -Zoo Officials Only- gate and told them that I needed to get to the exhibition area....."No problem Madame, we'll drive ahead".
With the Zoo Official on the golf cart escourting me through throngs of Sunday animal lovers, I felt like the princesss on the float in the middle of Johannesburg. Everyone turned to stare, as we moved through the waves of people parting, might I add like the red sea, and a lot of not so happy Israelites.
I started to laugh and blush at the audacity of it all as we passed the flamingos and the elephants and drove up to the exhibition hall with people staring after us.
As we turned the corner Miekie, Johann and their friend looked up from there spot on the picnic blanket. Their faces turned from relaxed, to surprized, to w..t..f........?
The official indicated for me to park under the roof right in front of the foyer doors and nodded his head in greeting as he sped away on his zoomobile. I gave him a royal wave.

My friends just shook there incredulous faces and looked at me for the explanation and quite honestly I can't give them one. We just laughed and laughed and laughed at the craziness of it all!

My only suggestion is that I may have been the queen of Sheba in a previous life?

It's never too late to try

When a friend told me about the Bronkhorstspruit Blues festival on the farm Witfontein, I decided to try my hand at a "deurnag jol". I love live music in a comfortable club and have always shied away from the camping scene of the true rockers who frequent weekend festivals.

I took note over the years as I listened to my kids chatting about the pros and cons of sleeping arrangements and decided to go with my daughters suggestion that one's car is the safest, warmest place to sleep.

I'm not sure if sleeping in your car can still be classed as camping but I did park next to a tent and I certainly feel as if I have been camping.
I think the lack of customery ablusions and sleep, and the fact that my flattened seats have a two inch ridge at the break have made for an experience never to be forgotten. I'm thinking of drafting a letter to Honda suggesting a minor change in the design for frequent festival fans.

After the aches and pains have subsided and the bruises are gone, I will only remember the fun and write it up in my book of  "Most-best Memories to Mull over!"

I will think back of the crowd jiving and bopping to Karen Zoid.

I will hear Valient Swart's deep rich voice, soothing in my mind.

I will marvel at the talent of Albert Frost and his amazing guitars.

I will look back and say "yes! remember that amazing weekend!"

Stompies

So why is it that my neighbours insist on using my garden as an ashtray?

When I lived in the bottom flat of a stack and found a few fresh stompies on my lawn, I just threw them up onto the upstairs balcony.
Although I threw stompies onto the balcony every second day, in the two years I stayed there they never said a word and neither did I.
The arrangement seemed to work well for both parties.

In my new complex I have a garden on my outer wall. The neighbours stand outside chatting with their guests and I watch as they casually thumb-flick the filter onto the wall and watch with disinterest as it plops into the flowerbed.

Then along comes a proud young man with a staffy, stops, watches lovingly as his dog shits in my garden and walks off without......never mind a backward glance.....HEY!! where's your pooper scooper PAL!
I'm starting to grind my teeth while smiling "hello" at the nighbours every morning.
They sweetly remark, "we were saying the other day that you keep very funny hours?" with suggestively lifting eyebrows, which of course feeds my motivation to "get even".
What to do, What to do?
The neighbours are young new owners and very proud of their new garden at their front entrance.
Staffy-boy walks past my house every day - and what do you think, the dog remembers "Ahh this is my toilet!....Mandyloo".

I don't want to start little quibles about mundane grievances in my small complex but cummon...I'm an ex-smoker and I know the feeling when you're that desperate that you'll dig in the bin for a stompie just long and dry enough for three drags, but you still use an ashtray.

I wait.
Until they have left for work.

With pursed lips and a determined look, I pick up every last stompie and throw them into their perfect front garden.

I quickly head back into mine and when I've taken a few deep breaths, inhaling yet more courage, I head back to the flowerbed with my little spade.

I flick the poops gently onto the paving just in the path of the dogwalkers.

Feeling very happy with myself and head off to work.

Next morning I take a "wide" birth to my car and wave a happy "hello" to my neighbours bowed heads as they peer intently into their not so perfect garden.

Birds, Bees, Bats and one Bullfrog

Ok, I don't know that it IS a bullfrog, but hey! it rhymes.

So I was doing my spiritual thing in my garden late at night under the moon. Smiling and humming and generally feeling very mellow and full of love for humanity, I WAS swaying a bit....
I thought that I had called the birds right out of their nests when they were flying around my head - talk about St. Francis of assissi!
When I had a closer look I realised that the little creatures were sneaking in under my eaves!
It took a few seconds for me to realise what they were and at first I was honoured that they had "chosen" ME!

Ok, ok, they chose my roof,

and probably only because it's suitably dark.

I thought awhile and wasn't sure that it would be fashionable to be enamoured by the little furry creatures.
I reverted to fearful, urban, "I have a big problem" mode.
After reactions from all and sundry I decided to look into the scary chance of dying from infected guano.
I don't have a pellot gun so no I won't be taking pot shots as was one suggestion.
I would hate to think of the state of my tennis racquet after yet another dramatic solution was described.
I also made sure that I wouldn't have to shave my head after being be-tangled by a blind bat.
Blind bats and hair obsession are both old wives tales.
I can say these things with confidence -
I am now a proud member of the Gauteng's northen bat interest group.
GnorBIG

I was up a ladder in a jiffy, half of my body reaching into my ceiling.
I did find them nestling snuggly in my rafters and have identified them, with help from batman himself as Scotophillus Dingani - a yellow african bat that eats up to 1000 insects per night. If I'm hosting six then thats 6000 insects per night.
I have monitored them on many occasion and can't see their apparently velvety green upside coat or the yellow fluffy underside, but I do visualise it and my heart fills with awe at these amazing creatures that are so misunderstood.

I may just look into taking my daughters advice as she exclaimed "awesome! - tame them mom!"