So lame it needs crutches

SMS conversation between @SureTyab (Deafboy) and I today: 

ST: When Gandal found Merry and Pippin they had an entourage. They'd had hours of entertainment ... boom tish ... courtesy of Adventure Girl. 

ST: Merry and Pippin didn't realise that the forest was sentient.

Y: We're going to have to rip out her entrails for that.

ST: Woo-hoo! Shall I stop her entirely? 

Y: Man. That doozy just gave M enteritis.

ST: Glad we could peak his enterest.

Y: Hey! 'Peek' not peak. The prospect of rapping you both over the knuckles is quite enticing.

ST: well after their harrowing flight through the 'peak' I thought it pertinent.
Y: Your last joke was almost piquant. Actually, it was the quintessential essence of L-squared lameness. 

ST: That you would mock our importent entitity with such an indifferent answer makes me wonder if its a portent to our victory.

Y: Do not be so blatent in your grasping for the attainment of victory. You have not yet presented a means of circumventing our triumph. To us your victory would be abhorrent and quite likely inspire resentment were we to be put in a position to have to rent our clothes. 

ST: We laugh in the face of your lamentable attempt to dwarf the word wizardry that we have orchestrated. Only out of hobit would one such as you think to entice victory from the maw of defeat. 

ST: Not that we are being pedentic or anything. 

Y: As entertaining as it might be for you to imagine that you could spin a web of dissent and rout our fellowship, you are merely proving your aragorns. Shirely it is obvious that there is precious little you can do to dent our enthusiasm for this engagement. 

ST: While the content of this tournament has been a testament to your will it is clear that the little folk are not entirely certain of the route that will lead to mt doom, and release them from this predicament. But come samwise I'm sure it will all work out. 

Y: It is clear that we need to call in a ranger to deal with the extent of your tomfoolery, e'en whilst we have been running rings around your wordplay. Were we to present a call to battle from the hilltop, yeah, the sting of our entanglement would surely pierce you to the quick, for our all-seeing eye is everywhere and we are able to undermine you at every step of the way. 

ST: Considering the word 'lameness' was used in your defence earlier this dark eve, I would say that rings would not be the word I would use, since short cuts and corners are not commonly found in things that are round. Now as to the matter of fairies and flights of fancy we are ardent that whilst you rush around barefooted in the woods, we will soar over and above thine heads to peck at your evil eye and send you screaming from the top of your tower.

Y: Ah, I see, now you must resort to tearing asunder the bonds of friendship with insinuations and accusations. Do no be so intransigent, but seek guidance in the grey, Belike, the web of your own tanglefooted journey through the darkness has been the result of too much brandywine, causing these wormtongued pursuits. Forsooth, fairies? The fae are not to be found in the deep or the middle.  

Y. And now we must entreat your patience to the last, for slumber beckons and we must away to the shadows. 
ST: Go forth to the shadows, you knights of darkness, for we know where we stand in the light and glow that is the eternal sanctuary of those that have slain those that seem self assured, but in actual fact are sipping from the bottle which they choose to accuse us of. So slumber sweetly, you silly Tooks. 

I love my nutball friends, f'reals.

Lemming at 'em

"You are such a lemming!"

"I'm no lemming!"

...

"But when I'm thirsty, I drink lemming-ade."

Catching up

Recently I discovered an email from Dawn, of Running With Scissors. It brought back lots of memories, so I went back to her site to check out her archives. And man, did THAT bring back memories! (I'm not going to post the archive link, since she seems to want the site to remain, well, unavailable.)

Back in the day - around 2000, this was, when I was still working at News24, sometime after getting married - I found the online journal of a girl named Pamela Ribon. And Pamie had this kick-ass forum called Squishy. Many a pleasant hour was spent whiling away work time in favour of chatting to these new, amazing, FUNNY online pals. Pamie was our online goddess, our connection, The One Who Made It Happen.

Through her, I found sheer awesomeness, like Anna-Beth Chao (really, "sheer awesomeness" is all that's needed to describe her. I want to be AB when I grow up. Or at least steal some of her design skillz). I didn't get to save any of her previous writing, but Hashai is still fabulous, although now it's focused on decorating her gorgeous house, and not on the weirdness of her life. (Favourite AB-Pamie moment: the fish.)

There was Allison, whose journal, Hate Your Daddy, is sadly no longer available (and yes, Pamie and Allison had "journals". Not "blogs". Am I showing my age?). Allison, I recall, was the object of my envy - although that's really too negative a word - in one thread. As I recall, the topic was "Who makes you jealous?" or something similar. To me, Allison was the epitome of what I wanted to be: Super-smart, super-talented, super-tall (six feet in her socks!), sexy, curvy, the most amazing eyes and that voice! Ohmigod, that voice. (Yes, Pamie provided downloads of karaoke in the bathroom. And then of course, I bought several copies of The Damn Millionaires' first CD and revelled in Allison's amazing voice.)

Miss Doxie, who, thank all that is good and right in this world, has finally started blogging again. Leigh! Please don't ever leave us again, with no more stories of Sexy Bo and his Virgins ("Bo HATE!"). Dear lord, Miss Doxie brings the funny, over and over and over again. I mean, Cookie and the geetz! HOW DOES ONE TOP THAT?

So many people, whose blogs have either ended, or moved to new addresses, or who have changed their outlook completely, or become fancy-pants authors (as has Pamie, actually).

RowEn, Erin, Hannah-Beth, Jessamyn, SummerRose, T, MoPie, so many people whose names are lost to me or whose journals and blogs I saved, but were lost when my hard-drive crashed - with all the Squishy threads - three years ago. And I mean, literally crashed - to the ground.

People who were smart, offbeat, who loved words and language, who didn't look down on each other, who became an online family. We didn't tolerate trolls, although we had a fun time needling them. We entered into debates - heated at times, but without getting into personal attacks. And those who couldn't play nicely were shunned, or banned. Simple. "More innocent times", I guess you'd say. Not like forums today, where I have no desire to do more than lurk because the vibe just isn't the same.

I doubt I'll ever get them back. But there are those whose lives I still follow, on whose blogs I still comment, under my old screen name, ysabelkid. And some of them remember me from those heady days almost a decade ago, when we posted each other actual mail, sent cards, participated in Christmas gift swops, planned to meet, cried on each other's shoulders, became email friends. I'm out of touch with most of them and, as I say, really only comment these days. But back then, Moosquared - who was known as Serenity13 - and I connected with a bunch of people from far-flung places across the planet. Many of them are still friends with each other now - Pamie, AB, Allison, the Meat of Cheese, Hannah-Beth, Miss Doxie - the MATH-letes. They're able to visit, take crazy photos, hang out.

I'd love to do that. But I'm also happy to remember those crazy days with a huge grin.

Who's your daddy?

So much for a quiet Sunday.

Shot off to Dischem for baby shopping (good thing I'm practical, AND have attended a fair number of baby showers over the years; Bin Journo received mostly clothing for her baby shower, which is cute, but not really practical, I'm thinking. So we got her a newborn bottle set, a steriliser, nail clippers (with magnifying glass! Cute AND geeky!), medicine dispenser, set of teeny tiny toothbrushes, and Gripe Water - a MUST-have!

Jewels is as crazy as ever, she of the big eyes and always-laughing mouth; unfortunately she couldn't stay long, but we'll be meeting up with the rest of the journos on 28 November, before Bin Journo pops. I cannot WAIT to see my peeps again! It's been far too long since I've had a decent dose of The Crazy. Not that The Circle is completely sane, you understand, but it's a different kind of Crazy to the journos. I miss them, and their irreverance, and complete disregard for anything that might be construed as politically correct.

Inter-racial couples are the norm in the journo group, which might sound completely pointless - I mean, why should race be a factor amongst friends? - but even in The Circle, well, I'm the only coloured (the fact that I'm paler than 90 percent of them is completely beside the point.) No; race, while it's not actually an issue to many of my friends and co-workers, is still noticed and, sometimes, commented on (that's when we're not dealing with the people who feel they can go ahead and make Those Kinds of comments). And I can joke around with "my sister" at work, and we can laugh about our various cultural differences; but it's still A Topic, and often, when people talk about "whites" and "blacks" or "Indians", or whatever, they drop their voices on those words, as if they're afraid they'll get caught. 

But amongst the journos, race and culture are such non-issues, I think they'd be gobsmacked should anyone bring it up. And I find it incredibly relaxing to be in that environment.

Anyway, back on topic! Bin Journo made one of her fabulous chicken curries, and I called MadCat over from Iaculus' place (just round the corner) so he could share in the deliciousness. Then we looked over Biggie's room, which Cameraman had been painting (shirt off, and a nice little six-pack he had going there, I might add). Then MadCat begged the leftovers off Bin Journo, for Iaculus and friends, and headed back for more gaming. And I sat, and nattered. Until the storm broke, and I realised I'd left the houndlings outside, in the garden, no kennel. Oops.

No wonder it smells like ass in here. Whew! McGee sure needs a bath.

Talking tough

How I wish I had learned some form of self-defence. However, my mom wouldn't let me learn karate because (a) it was a devil-tainted sport (meditation! The horror) and (b) girls didn't do that. - and I point-black refused to do ballet.

But most bullies will back the hell down if faced with opposition; they really only like to pick on people who don't fight back, because they're actually cowards themselves. Also, I've discovered, bullies really don't like it when people on whom they're picking turn into raving psycho loonies who will attempt to annihilate anything in the vicinity.

Still, I don't pick (physical) fights, on the whole. In fact, I have never picked a fight except with Deafboy (and then I broke my hand on his jaw. That frigging hurt like a bitch, but I was too proud to complain, so I left it. At least it seems to have healed okay). But I do have an unfortunate habit of taking on people most likely to pulverise me; my only real weapon is the element of surprise, or my desire to never be seen exhibiting any form of pain.

Example 1: the bodybuilder I slapped because he wouldn't stop ragging on me, who then punched me so hard I flew over my cousin's bed; he didn't expect a raging ball of fury to come back over the top and take him to the ground (since I was 16 and he was 18, it's probably a good thing my cousins pulled me off him, or I would have been a smear on the carpet once he regained his wits).

Example 2: In Std 4, aged ten, I gained a reputation as Ms Coldheart, because I would not - I would not - exhibit any pain when I was punched, pinched, kicked or had the dreaded "mousie" performed on my arm. These were the bullies who tended to pick on my younger cousin, Greg, who was in Sub B at the time; so I'd take his place in the torture because, come on, he was almost five years younger than us! Naturally he'd cry when hurt! Asses. But all the bullying stopped the day I broke one boy's jaw (I was nearly suspended for that, until my mother pointed out all the bruises and other injuries I'd accumulated from their nastiness. She still wouldn't let me take up any form of karate, though. Sigh).

Basically, I am too belligerent for my own good; I dread to think what would happen were I ever involved in a hijacking, or a home invasion that left my loved ones in danger.

A red-filled glare

I've been having rage-induced moments lately. Well, I've had them several times, but of late - say the past year - they've become more frequent. Once or twice a week, in fact, instead of every couple of months.

I remember the attack, and I think about what I could have done. I am triggered by stories about crime, about home invasion, about dignity stripped from helpless victims as they are subjected to torture, abuse and death by callous monsters. And I see myself on the attack, using my body as a weapon, biting flesh from those monsters, gouging out their eyes, breaking their ribs, filled with inhuman strength and throwing them through windows. I think about the ubiquitous home invasion happening to Moosquared and I about go insane. A red film covers my eyes, a roaring fills my ears, my jaw clenches and I go rigid. My foot presses down on the accelerator.

I have to physically pull myself back from the brink. I have to think about something else, slow down, turn on the aircon, open the window, put on calmer music. I have to stop.

I told MadCat yesterday. I know I've mentioned this to him before, in passing. This time I gave him details. And he says these sound like TLE seizures to him.

I think he's right.

I go into a fugue state, I think. I blank out, and only my subconscious is pulling me back and warning me to snap out of it. My aggression knows know bounds. I take pleasure in the thought of using my teeth to rip out the throat or bite off the cheek of someone who dares threaten me and mine.

I've been there, I've been in that life-threatening situation, and I didn't react this way. I made a decision to sit back and wait out the situation until the time came when I could make a difference, or die. I chose to live, but even as I fought for my life I didn't go to extremes; I was afraid to damage too much.

This time - next time - some time ... it will be different. My aggression has heightened over the years; I am far less tolerant, less patient, less willing to abide by society's norms. At the same time, I have become physically weaker.

But I will fight. And maybe that attitude is not the safest to have when my life and the lives of those I love are being threatened.

I don't know if that's a good thing. I don't know if I should be at their side. I don't know how they would look at me afterward.

Friends will be friends

Supper with Sunshine and Guttermind, Moosquared and Rhino in attendance. Wonderful, as ever; the fun we have is incomparable - as ever. Dancing with Rhino, being taught new steps, has me thinking I may want to take up said dancing in the future. Perhaps Rhino will be my partner, unless he is able to get Moosquared to dance with him! I think she might - she does love him more than anyone in the world, after all.

Guttermind was his typical funny self; as Rhino was attempting to teach me new dance steps, and swirl me around the room, Guttermind would get jealous of the lack of attention and leap in between us, throwing himself into our group. We were also treated to much chest-flashing - a scary thought but there he is, getting more and more laid-back with us! As Moosquared says - we really come here for the floor show. And the food (the mussel soup was DIVINE! Although I was good and didn't even touch the bread.).

The cake was a disaster, of course. Oh well. Next time, I shall make cupcakes, one each, and that will be easier since they won't turn into cake-biscuits. This baking thing is hard! Perhaps next, I shall attempt Mama Jo's famous cheesecake (I believe it's a version of New York cheesecake, although she's never called it that. To her, it's simply cheesecake).

I am in deep stress. Being the sole provider this month is making me tremble. I did the grocery shopping yesterday, to the tune of R1500. Today was Dischem, to the tune of R670 (I managed to put down the nice-to-have lipstick that would only have cost R35, but was not on my list. And I just remembered that I forgot to buy eyeliner. Doh! I will have to look like a vampire this week, then.

Stress. Lack of money. I can't keep it up much longer. Being broke and poor is getting really old, really quickly.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Dinner with the beloved journos at Sumitra's. Good food, cold drinks, lots of laughing, serious conversation ... is it any wonder I love this crowd? I am at my most relaxed amongst my journo friends for some reason, or at least, certain of them. I can tell them almost anything. It's odd - I'm uneasy around even some of my ladies, but amongst the journos, I can say or do anything and not worry that it'll be misinterpreted. I miss that easy vibe, the camaraderie and laughter, the poking fun at all racial, political and social stereotypes and the certainty that even when we disagree, no one is going to take it seriously.

Sumitra's food was divine, as always, spicy and tasty, necessitating much downing of wine but also much ordering of rotis and a hint of gluttony. I just couldn't pass up those crisp rotis (well, actually, they were puripatha, the rotis had been finished ages ago), the chicken biryani, the lamb kebabs ... my stomach groans at the thought and yet I am still hungry!

Is it wrong of me to feel just slightly smug at the thought that I know a few famous people, by dint of my work association with them? Poor L was accosted by several different fans, who either berated her for being off sick / on leave from the show, or seemed to be overawed at being in her presence - even though she was in jeans and a t-shirt, face bare of make-up, no hint of glamour on her person (admittedly, she is freaking hot even without makeup, and to my mind, far outshines many Hollywood starlets in her trackydacks and takkies).

Spoke to A about financial concerns, the divorce agreement, worry about the house in Hogsback, his extra place in Umhloti ... even the rich are struggling, as evidenced by the fact he and C are having to put off their plans for retirement.

Hilarious stories about more insults to royalty or nobility (Rhino's not the only one, it seems!).

I love my journos. I must see them more often. To that end, I have invited myself round to A & C's in Feb. Yep - time for more peppermint-choc liqueur!

Life-changing decision

Moving to Jo'burg, for my in-service journalism training course. It got me away from the fundamentalist, patriarchal pseudo-Christian freak family into which I would have married, and introduced me to a world in which I was responsible for myself, not being second-guessed or nannied by my own family, or told what to wear by his.

I am the world's worst journalist - I hate interviewing people, asking probing questions, getting up in people's faces. but in the 16 years I've been working, I have never met as many stand-out, odd, weird, amazing people as I did during my various stints in newsrooms. Being in the corporate world - like when I was in PR for a whole three months, and my latest stint as an intranet manager - is completely different. For one thing, while I adore my colleagues in this particular job, they will never be the family I turn to throughout the year. I'm still meeting up with folks from my very first job, at the national broadcaster, in '91.

Journalists, here in South Africa, are an odd bunch. The way in which we pick at each other, laugh, cry, support, snipe, backstab ... we really are family. The things I say to my former colleagues - and what they say right back to me - would get us sent straight to court by the Human Rights Commission, for slander, bigotry, racism, sexism, ageism ... you name it. Political correctness has gone too far, when John and I have to be careful what we say and where we say it, in case the public's listening.

Still, that was my life-changer - coming into an environment in which race exists, but racism doesn't. A pity it's not that way in newsrooms across the country. South Africa needs more colour-blindness.

WTF?

Who knew soya was the root of all evil? It's turning people into homosexuals, y'all!

Just kill me now, before the crazies get me.