There's Little to Relate

I have moved..

2009-06-26T14:26:00.005+02:00

I can't be here anymore because I can't be in two places at once, so I'm here: http://thelifeandtimesofcharlesdickens.
wordpress.com/ . It's all about how life is like my hamster. And I can't say HERE and make it a hyperlink because Blogspot is all screwed up today.

I might get to keep the foreigners.

2009-02-10T12:21:00.003+02:00

So the school where I studied how to teach people to speak English because they can't already do this, called me and was like "we want you, we need you, oh baby come back," cept they didn't really. But now I'm teaching there part time. Which is great because I always thought it was sad how no one else speaks like me.

This also means I'm working a lot more. Which is like a lot. That's not so much fun, but I'm almost sure they're going to pay me. Something. Perhaps in foreigners because they seem to have a lot those, mostly just wandering around without teacher-people to bring them up and discipline them.

Like today in class, I taught the kids (who are actually adults but because they're foreign we look at them differently), when we use "used to" in the English language.

And I said, "No, Louisa* you can't say 'When I lived in Spain, we were used to eat really late at night."

Louisa: "Why not? It has all the verbs."

me: "Yeah. Perhaps too many. It's wrong though."

Louisa: "No, you're wrong. You said to use used to for events that happened in the past on a regular basis but have been discontinued, like I used to run to school, but now that I don't go to school I don't run there anymore." - This is almost nothing like how she said it, I put in some of my words to make it English and to give you the impression that I can actually teach them to speak properly and not just use words in front of foreign people.

me: "Yes. That's exactly how I said it."

Louisa: "Well, it must be were used to eat because were shows that there is more than one person doing the action because you said we. Then we put the used to to show that the people who were wering from the we did something in the past that they don't do now and the eat is the thing that the we, were's doing. See?"

me: "Yes."

...

me: "That's exactly it. Well done."

Louisa: *Smile*

I like having a class of people because I pretend they're my friends when we play word games.

*Names have been changed.

Tan is VERY pretty and she totally almost killed us

2009-01-29T09:32:00.005+02:00

Last night, Cami, Tan, Tan's-friend-who-I-don't-know-well-enough-to-mention-by-name and I did this:

'Cept we weren't Chinese and instead of holding a box, a packet and Elmo from the Muppets we were holding beer and wine (oh and our score was almost exactly the same without the last digit).

We went to Quiz night at the Pinelsopes Keg. Every Wednesday this happens which is great because we can show everyone how mediocre our intelligence is 52 times a year. We would have totally won if we chose half of Cami's answers. But I was almost right a lot. A lot a lot. Off by like a couple of letters - like USB stands for Universal Serial Bus and not Uninterrupted Serial Bus and the rock guy in the Fantastic Four is The Thing and not The Rock because apparently that's too obvious and is someone else entirely:

Apparently Norway is Sweden's neighbour with the longest border, the Masai Mara is the big-ass game reserve in Kenya and Hair Pin Slots is Paris Hilton - we actually got that one. It's like school, but instead of getting gold stars and certificates we get drunk.

The quiz master is cool like this

But not in a lot of ways, like he's a guy and he doesn't have red hair - he's also not mean - but he has like the exact same colour top. I know. The resemblance is uncanny.

Anyway, Tan is very pretty - this helps us keep her as a friend. But we like her for more than just her looks, she also has like a big deal job and orders books for us - and yet still somehow makes Cami and I feel cul - popular even. And then she tried to kill us by reversing into us when we were leaving the parking lot. (By the way Tan your right tail light isn't working). We get loud and shout over each other when we're together which will make Zebra & Giraffe and Goldfish on Saturday be BOSS cul (I have no idea where that came from).

Can't wait.

PS. I haven't blogged in 5 weeks. That's like a long time. But it's because I've been writing - novels and shit. It's difficult to blog when there are important things going on.

PSS. Ok I didn't mean that. Blogging is important too. I swear.

PSSS. I love The Office. The British version.

Ok. That's all.

I'm quite unimpressive on paper

2008-12-14T11:07:00.003+02:00

I've finally finished my CELTA (Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults I think). The most friggin' intense four weeks of my entire life 'cept for that one time I took my gran the long way home.

I think I've lost weight from all the waking up and not sleeping and doing more work than humans are medically allowed to outside of China - which means I now look like Skeletor (who is surprisingly muscular for a skeleton).

Now I'm fully qualified to make more mini-me's overseas. Get all the Parisians to speak like me do and make them all clever like. I'm really quite tired but now have to rewrite my CV for all the jobs I have to convince people I was conceived to do, which I hate doing because I always seem so unimpressive on paper.

I'm 23. My CV is HALF. A. PAGE.

I'm beginning to think life isn't always like in the movies. Damn them. Watched The Dark Night 3 times. Today. It makes me feel gooey and pink inside and then I forget about all the jobs I need to applique for. Goodness. I'm going to watch Batman.

I'm making mini-me's which means I can't blog so much no more, but I still love you. I think.

2008-11-22T16:17:00.005+02:00

So you've probably noticed that I haven't blogged all week. And if you haven't that's ridiculous, only losers visit and take their wine home with them afterwards (which is ridiculous too, because why is there wine left, right?). Anyway. That's like people who read a whole blog post and don't comment. Ass.

The reason is because I'm teaching Ingleesh to foreigners so I can teach Ingleesh to people in other countries. I've started CETLA. It's so cool. But I'm so friggin' tired, like you know that feeling when you just wake up and it's all hazy and then you realise that 16 insects crawled into your brain through your pupils. Yeah that's like exactly how I feel. I should be writing one of my assignments now, but eh. My brain is sore from all the tiny footprints.

It's quite cool that I get to mould the minds of foreign people. I don't know who thought that was a good idea or why they let me in. But yeah. I'm making mini-me's. Oh and the class likes me because I make a fool of myself for them - like a monkey for peanuts.

Haha. I'm so lame. Anyway. Just letting you know I care about you and I can still write and didn't lose my memory after getting hit by truck that transports screwdrivers and can still know how to read and write. I think. Bother.

From the 12th of December I'll be re-commencing the semi-regularity of the brain meats on the internet.

Obama is Cinderella.

2008-11-15T10:11:00.000+02:00

Nascar should use wagons but not let the guy from Texas Chainsaw race.

2008-11-13T11:28:00.007+02:00

I almost killed myself yesterday. Not on purpose. Just almost. With another person's car. I'm driving down Rivonia Road and turn left into 2nd instead of 12th. Turns out they don't lead to the same street. So while I'm driving down 2nd street/avenue I realise, "wait a minute, this isn't my car!" and then I realised that I only hoped it wasn't my car.

You see, I drive this:

So when this pulled out in front of me:

I screamed like a girl and slammed on brakes which work like this:

So I careened (it's a word) through the stop street, and did this around the monster truck:

to safety. Even though my wagon brakes locked and I skidded through the stop street, I was cool. It was a fourway stop. So other people had to wait while I did this. Goodness. Then I went home and read about grammar.

I know right! Who wants to be me now? So cul. 'Cept I shaved a few years off my life and some of the driver's of the monster truck.

PS If you're my mom, I'm fine. This is all made up so I can be funny.

PSS It wasn't really a monster truck, it was more like this, but when I recount the tale of the day I almost got murdered in cold blood by this psycho killer from Texas Chainsaw Massacre who used a chainsaw car to kill me, to my grandkids, it's not going to be this car.

PSSS While I was searching for the pictures of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Car Killing Psycho Jack from Freddy eats Predator with Aliens 45 on the side, I found this weird thing:

I know right. Where do you get them?

I'm best friends with a four-year old.

2008-11-11T09:07:00.011+02:00

So Madison has been spending a lot of time with her uncle/second cousin/ ~~mentor~~ JL, mostly because like a loser when my friends are all "hey there's this thing we should go to because it's fun and Friday night" I go "I have to study". So Mad interprets this to mean 'he loves me because he stayed at home so we can make pesto and drink juice and watch not-scary movies', so instead of studying OR going out with my friends I make pesto and drink juice and watch not-scary movies with my four-year old second cousin/ niece/~~protègè.~~

I think all the attention has gone to her head. You know how it starts off all cute with her cuddling next to me after supper on the couch until she falls asleep and her sitting next to me while I play piano waiting anxiously to touch a key when I finish or walking in while I'm in the shower which makes me go "OMG! Get out! GET OUT!" like Boromir in the first one while she says "daddy also has one of those". Ah the joys of childhood.

Now she thinks we're peers. Equals even. Today she comes to the flat and sees me put on deodorant like I do sometimes and was like "I want some".

JL: No, you can't have.

Mad: Why?

JL: A little because you don't want to smell like a boy. But mostly because you're four.

Mad: No! You're four!

JL: No Mad. I'm 23.

Mad: No you're not! YOU'RE FOUR!

JL: Well then I'm the biggest ass four year old you'll ever see.

Mad: What's ass?

JL: Uh. I didn't say that.

Mad: JL said ASS!

JL: No Madison, don't say that word! I uh, didn't say anything. I said bass. Like the fish.

Mad: You said ass!

JL: It's a donkey. Let's pretend we weren't talking and see who can forget the quickest.

Mad: JL said ass! JL said ass!

JL: Ooh, look the piano! Don't you wana play?

Mad: Yes!

JL: *sigh* Ok good, let's play together.

Mad: *to the theme of Jurassic Park* JL said ass! JL said ass!

That's Right! I read Mommy Bloggers. Say it. See what happens.

2008-11-06T11:33:00.010+02:00

Sometimes I wish Junior was real. You know the movie where Arnold Schwarzenegger has Emma Thompson and Danny DeVito's kid. Not because I would kill a couple of zebras to see what a midget infant looks like with a six-pack but because I want to join the BlogHer network. You heard me!

I WANT TO BE A BLOGHER!

Mostly because they have cocktail hours and stuff paid for them. Also BlogHers get stuff sent to them. You know, like Lego and fame. I want that. I need the Lego.

And most famous BlogHers are the mom types with kids. They're like the ANC Youth League for Blogging (if you're American, BlogHers are like liberals, winning presidents in raffles).

I want the mommy audience to make me feel like I belong. It's so unfair. As soon as you have a kid you get propelled to blogger fame feeling things like understanding and compassion and ad revenue. What's with that?

I can belong. I'll start the Bad-writers-from-South-Africa-with-nothing-much-to-say-who-have-dogs-that-poo-a-lot-on-the-carpet Network. Now there's relateable.

Screw you mothers! ('Cept mine. I like mine. She's cool. And might be reading this, which makes her even cooler).

PS I'm so glad Dooce made what's-her-face with the nose and hairspray feel uncomfortable.

PSS I just linked to Dooce so she can know I exist. Although probably not. Also I keep getting stuck in traffic jams on the way to her site, because I'm South African I bet.

PSSS I don't mean it when I say "Screw you mothers!". I'm really quite nice and need your validation.

PSSSS I don't really want Junior to be true because of this:

Thomas Beattie. Goodness.

Chewbacca wouldn't let us on stage.

2008-11-04T11:34:00.006+02:00

I went to the Old Mutual Summer Sunset concert @ Emmarentia on Sunday. It wasn't really a concert because it was during the day. And we had a picnic basket with juice and wafer biscuits. Concerts don't allow picnic baskets. That besides, me and my friend Gringo wanted to climb up on stage with SA's culest cul kids Gold Fish (Zebra & Giraffe are also the culest cul kids, I just had to say so I don't discriminate because they might read this and make me famous for being so nice... and badass).

She wanted to attack the one on the right because he was hawt. I wanted to take out the vocalist and take over screaming "ooowa oowa ooh!" on the mic while all the people in the stink pit jump up and down to the sweet jazzy fizzle sounds of me.

Alas, we are both quite thin and would have been flicked away by the meat lumps in front of the stage who looked like lumps of meat and spoke in grunts and other sounds like Chewbacca, like this:

Meat lump 1: Aaaarrrrn!

Meat lump 2: Aarrn aarn!

That's almost exactly how they sounded. So we didn't even try jump on stage because we couldn't reason with the creatures.

We just bobbed and jumped like the other gerbils in the pit. Some of the gerbils were really angry and flicked their torsos around like they were poisoned or violently ill and hated themselves for it. The worst is that when these types have no textile materials covering their convulsing torsos and sweat flies off them into people's faces and drinks and stuff. *sick*

Anyway, I can't really talk because I spilt beer on like 6 people. Only because I wasn't drinking it. Just jumping around.

Goodness.

Gold Fish

All the drunk grapes and some wine.

2008-11-03T12:21:00.001+02:00

We went to WineX over here.

And Rapunzel was a prosecutor for the US Attorneys' Office.

2008-10-31T08:32:00.001+02:00

Ah. She's so cute!

My Laptop can fix global warming and make people cul

2008-10-29T11:15:00.007+02:00

So I bought a new laptop like two months ago. It's a MacBook Pro - you know the totally awesome one that people are jealous of and can't afford and is pure silver and can construct space shuttle Apollo 756 (I don't know which one we're on at the moment, but none of the Apollos went to the sun, or even planned on going to the sun so why didn't they call it Lunar unless the Russians beat them to that name. Damn), yes I have that laptop that can make star ships and death stars at the touch of a button and make Bob Saget keep quiet.

I know right. Jealous.

That one. It's mine. I can't really afford it either, but by the time the government figures it out I will be in Russia making Lunar space shuttle 21, only because I have all the equipment now and because I drew the French flag wrong and now they won't let me in there. But if I'm Russian I can go to France because of the cold, I think.

So the really expensive laptop that I bought that can create weather patterns and change the currents in the ocean, didn't come with a bag. Like, couldn't they just have skimped on that last coat of pure silver and thrown in a bag and perhaps a cool badge that says "I have a really expensive laptop that can give people superpowers and fix global warming" so that everyone would know even when I wasn't carrying the laptop in the bag that they never gave me, that I have a really cul laptop and am better than them because of it, so that I can skip queues in the cinema line and get free tickets at amusement parks and if anyone starts complaining I shout "Get back!" and point to the badge and then they totally back off.

That's what they should've done.

But no. I have to go and buy one (for like a whole other amount I can't really afford). So I buy this one:

It's a Targus hard case slim line fusion executive notebook case (which I don't really understand) and is 15.4" big. My computer is 15" big. So now I have 0.4" of room for my really expensive laptop to move around in, against the hard case, which is really great because now I have to fill those 0.4" with stuff so that it doesn't move.

So I was thinking I could use the space for:

A mosaic mural

Transport some extra spark plugs.

OR

Carry miniature Pepsi bottles in wooden crates for a dollhouse.

And the culest thing about my new bag that didn't come with the really expensive laptop that can see into the future and elect the next president of the United States, is that it has a lifetime warranty. So if it breaks they will replace it or fix it or whatever, without me paying - 'cept the strap and zip. Those aren't under warranty, and in my head I'm going "oh good, because those never break".

That's cul.

PS I can't do PSes because I don't have anything else to say.

They want me to live in America, and I'm excited about all the new family.

2008-10-23T08:22:00.008+02:00

At first I didn't understand. And then after thinking about I'm like "obv. they want me to live in the big ol' US of A - I like Boston Legal".

I got this twice this week.

GovernmentsGrants
Uncle Sam will give away trillions in
Grant Money this year to help the American
People build their dreams.

You may be eligible:

If you are an American citizen over the age of 18
you may be eligible for some kind of government grant.

Imagine what you can do with $25,000, $50,000 or more!

-Buy a Home
-Invest in Real Estate
-Start a Business
-Get an Education

I don't know if I should tell them I live in South Africa. Maybe I should move. For all the cash and green cards. I'm most exctied to get an Uncle Sam. Although in my head he looks something like this:

Ok that's actually Uncle John Wayne, but he can give me money too.

And then while I was searching I found Uncle Sam:

Uncle Sam can definitely buy me a house in America and be my uncle. I'm quite excited about all the new family. 'Cept Uncle Sam has kids:

Fetal alcohol
syndrome.

Perhaps I'll just stay here for now.

POP stands for Prince of Persia

2008-10-20T14:31:00.007+02:00

Dear Ubisoft Montreal,

Firstly, let me start by saying that you rock mostly because of POP 2 and 3 (POP 1 glitched at the part by the staircase at 71% and I got like uber pissed off and threw stuff at the TV shouting "Dammit Farah just stand on the platform like the walkthrough says you must! Gosh ho! You make me want to claw out your innards, just listen to yourself! First you're like "are you on the platform?" and then me and the prince are like "yeah, jump on plate thing" and then nothing. So I make a ton of stink in the lounge while my family goes about their day. I lost a few years of my life that day just shouting. Why? Because I only had one saved game and had to go back to the beginning which I did last week and finished POP1 on Tuesday. Bugga).

Anyway, POP2 (which in my head is called POP and the Dahaka) is my best.

I'm at the end dude of POP3. He's bugga hard, but it's your fault Ubisoft. I want to do the running up the wall and stuff and stick Pa's sword in the Frazier but I can't see. Goodness. I can't see because all the sand stuff is like blowing all over the place and the moving rubble kills me because I got like one life upgrade in the whole game because you hid them like the tooth fairy.

It's unrealistic. Rubble can't float around in the sands of time. That defies gravity and we're talking time here. Different dimensions dudes. I just can't fall for the moving masonry that speeds up around the edges and the prince doesn't want to get up when the piece of building hits me, so I crawl onto the coffee table with the remote in my hand imploring the damn prince to obey my PS2 joystick manoeuvres. And what happens?! Another piece of building kills me.

And the Frazier dude. What is he even? He should've turned into an hour glass of doom or some kind of evil clock because he unleashed the sands of time, instead he looks like a stink bug. What is that?

Anyway, I'm writing this letter to ask you next time you make POP or any other wicked cul game, please don't waste five hours of my life telling me the game is over every time I die when I have no sand left. Seriously. It makes me so angry sometimes. Like the empress bitch kills me for the hundredth time and then I have to see it again for hundredth time "GAME OVER" in giant red. Yeah, I get it, I'm dead and I know you get some sick pleasure out of the pain that makes me die inside every time I shout at the screen going "No! No! No!" and then "G-A-M-E-O-V-E-R for five hours. That reminds me, in the third one also please next time just let me skip the videos if I've seen them and I die. That wastes like even more of my time, which is actually my client's time because I should be working. So my clients are quite upset with you. Just let me win and I'll get back to work. I can't let the game beat me.

Like those two sand creatures that I have to kill in the ring of fire, I had to watch that video like 16 times. That one was a pain in my ass because up until that time I'm using this tiny dagger. What's with the lack of cool weaponry dudes? The second one wins because of all the life upgrades and traveling in time and the Dahaka bit. Fhew, that was wicked.

Anyway, reply to this.

PS I'm like your 16th biggest fan.

PSS I had a grotesque stomach illness yesterday so spent the whole day playing POP3 which is actually POP Two Thrones or something.

PSSS I'm still a kid inside, but I'm also cool with grown up people, so please still read my blog.

PSSSS If you want to hire me as a game player dude who tells you how to fix the games I will do it. But only if you give me a PS3 and some games. Seriously. Seriously seriously.

I wrote this post while talking to someone I barely know on Facebook.

2008-10-17T11:39:00.006+02:00

I was going to leave today's post at that one (see below) (but not too far below) and then I realised I had another dream, which either freaked me out or got me excited but I can't really tell.

I'm there. In the dream, 'cept it's Gotham City too, and the Joker (Heath Ledger Joker - obv.) rocks up at my home and we talk about many things that I can't remember but it was long and left me feeling quite tired but I was already sleeping so I couldn't do anything about that and because it's Gotham City my home is dark and rundown and leaking water all over.

Then he leaves and I'm like "see you later" and I go to my compluter to blog that I just met the Joker and then while I'm waiting for blogger to upload my pics I decide to read some other blog crass and I stumble across The Joker's blog.

Wicked cul.

And he posted about me. But I was freaked after that because he took my photo (top right) and put it as a pic on his post and said "Hunt this blogger" underneath it.

The rest of the dream was just me being freaked out (trying to wake up) because I was worried that 1. he wanted to kill me for pretending to be him or 2. he wanted to make me Harley Quinn which would rock the party but I don't wana be a girl or wear lycra.

Then I forced myself to wake up but I fell back to sleep and had another weird-ass dream about something that I can't remember.

Weird.

PS This doesn't imply (in any way) that I'm happy to be awake.

PSS The wearing of the makeup doesn't make me a girl.

PSSS Someone just sent me an email saying I can have hairless feet. I don't understand.

I have a toddler butt. Apparently. And Sarah Palin is not well liked. Who knew.

2008-10-17T11:27:00.005+02:00

Goldilocks is Sarah Palin and the Bears are the European media. I'm mildly funny sometimes (in my head where I have my thoughts).

PS I want to blog more than I want to work but my desire to own things overwhelms my desire to blog so I work. Sorry.

PSS A friend told me I had a tiny toddler butt. I want to take it as a complement but cannot resist that all it means is that she's a paedophile. Bother.

Flea in French is female so they're all lesbinums

2008-10-13T10:11:00.011+02:00

So there's this ~~weird-ass grown-up human~~ friend of mine who thinks that because I'm learning French I'm like Google translator who can translate things, like English words, into other things, like French words, a lot like that fil-m with the kid that saved my life in that one weird-ass dream of mine could wave his stick-wand and change things into other things, and with the accuracy and speed of the Potter kid too. I can't.

Mostly because he doesn't ask me translate normal human things into less-normal-but-still-quite-human French things, like "What is 'I love you' in French?" or "How do you say 'I would like some wine'" or even 'Is Dexter really french and does omolette du fromage really mean cheese omelet?'" - No Dexter is some kind of Eastern European genetic experiment, the bi-product of making babies while wearing yellow gloves I think, and yes fromage does mean cheese and funny enough omelet (spelt similar as in the English because it's actually a French word) is in fact an omelet.

No, this ~~weird-ass semi-grown-up human~~ friend of mine asks me things kids would ask me to translate like "how do you say poop in French?" or how do you say "girls have cuties" or even "my left foot fell off and I'm bleeding out the hole at the bottom of my leg, where is the nearest optometrist?" and then he gets the same disappointed look on his face, like a kid, when I respond by going: *confused look*.

You see, this ~~weird-ass semi-grown-up human who's attention span probably didn't last this long into the post~~ friend of mine runs an animation studio and is designing a game or video or just playing on his computer with imaginary characters that replace real people in his mind and wants to give his Monkey and Flea creatures names that really just mean Monkey and Flea in french. So my friend. I give you the following:

Monkey: Singe - pronounced /sanje/ and is typically this:

A big-ass man ape.

You could also say genoun: pronounced /jer'noh/ but that typically refers to:

A big-ass female ape.

(Ok that's actually Manto, but the French know words).

Also he asked me what flea is. It's this thing:

And then in my head I'm like "I think his name stays the same in whatever language coz it's a name." But then I was like, "Oh you mean this flea:"

And then I was going to put a picture
here, but it's kinda gross and I don't
want my blog to have fleas so you can
see what I meant when I said "Oh you
mean this flea:" over here: FLEA

That in French, my ~~weird-ass semi-grown-up human who most certainly is no longer reading this~~ friend is puce. I would like to write the phonetics (pronunciation) out for you but don't know how to make it not sound dirty. I think it's pronounced like the colour - like /pew'ce/ or something.

So there you go. Don't dare say I don't know French or even that I'm not nice to weird-ass semi-grown-up people. And now he owes me and I'm going to tell him to pay me back this Sunday by helping me make graffiti stencils. Woot!

PS I don't want to sound sexist or anything, but the French know the deal when it comes to stuff and they say flea is always female.

PSS Maybe it's just because they are female, all of them and that would make it less of a French thing and more of a biological thing so it's really the Germans making all fleas women.

PSSS That would mean that all fleas are like some kind of sick hermaphrodite lesbinums cultivating fresh soil on your dogs back, like a nation of sickly insect things. *Sick*

PSSSS The friend is the same friend who took my "About You" photo for this blog. It was actually not just for this blog. It was a hero party we went to. I went as the Joker because he's my hero and then I realised that the friend who actually threw the party only threw it so I could get dressed up for my blog photo. My friends rock.

I should be working. Studying. Whatever.

2008-10-10T12:36:00.002+02:00

Technically this is work. Blah.

And then my head stopped working so good because of all the learning teaching crass.

2008-10-10T11:18:00.005+02:00

The reason I haven't been so up-to-date with my blog, because I know you're all wondering, is because I start my CELTA course which will teach me how to teach English to people who can't already do this, in one month. I am afraid for my life. I have to go through two ~~textbooks~~ enyclopaedias and a 32-page ~~bugga annoying~~ pre-course task thing before I begin the course. Why?

Well because Cambridge University is ~~a South African bigot~~ prestigious university and likes to throw people into the deep end ~~of hell~~. That's right. I start teaching on the second day of the course - so I need to know how to do this before I get there. In November.

I'm afraid because I have to go through so much and my brain hurts from all the not sleeping so good because of the OMG-they-making-me-teach-real-foreigners-on-the-second-day-of-the-course feeling. Yeah. I'm pretty tired. But Cami made me feel capable of doing this course even though I blog when I should be studying.

So I might not blog as irregularly as I have been. Because that's how I roll.

My head hurts.

Bother.

They put aspirin in the chicken and spinach dish.

2008-10-07T07:31:00.005+02:00

The other evening I went to this place that makes like amazing pasta. I think it's amazing because the next day heated up it's not so great with the cream going all orange from the oily-ness/oiliness. I rocked up with Tim the giant headache. We won't go into the reasons as to why Tim came about, but suffice to say I had the best weekend ever.

So before I let anyone order, I shout at the food-servant drone to fetch me some pain killer (I don't know why I have any friends). He says he'll check if they have.

He comes back and goes: Yes. We do have.

me: Excellent.

Food-servant drone: *nothing*

me: Where is it that you have it?

Food-servant drone: *picks up menu and pages through it*

me: *OMG! Not only do you have them on the menu but you have a selection and want me to choose! I love this place*

Food-servant drone: There! *pointing to a delicious chicken and spinach treat*

It's at this point that I begin to think that he doesn't know what I'm talking about when I say pain killer. So Tim and I look up at him and go: Pain killer. The little tablet-like thing that kills my pain. The pain in my head is paining me. End the pain food-servant drone!

Then he's like "Oh pain killer" and I'm thinking "yes. But it does sound a lot like Pasta con pollo".

So he runs off. By now no one has been allowed to order and these people are still my friends. Relatively.

He comes back with a glass of water and a folded piece of paper with powdered pain-killer inside. Yip. It's none other than Grandpa! I hate powder pain-killers mostly because I end up doing it wrong like pouring it all over my face or under my tongue where I taste it and can't get it out quick enough because it forms this like cement paste forcing me to do the dog-eating-peanut-butter trick with my mouth while everyone watches me.

So again, I fear tasting the horrible powder and quickly throw all of it in the paper thing (which my friend rolled all to well) onto my tongue. But in my haste to digest it as quickly as possible I swallow before I finish pouring sending half the powder up my nose. Not through my nostrils but the back of my nose through my sinuses.

Now everyone is watching me and Tim and I have to look composed but the powder stuff reacts with my sinuses like bicarb and vinegar and my eyes start watering. I throw back the glass of water (still in my haste) and start choking on that sending the spluttering water molecules out through the front of my nose.

The taste of the powder mixing with the water forming the cement paste coming out my nose was quite unpleasant so I react like in Aliens when the thing comes out of them when they're pregnant with the aliens. Like that and like in the exorcist where the person is all battling with the demon inside them. So I'm flailing around the table battling the internal powder demon only to look up from my powdery haze and see that I have successfully managed to draw attention from everyone in the resaurant.

I quickly stop and compose myself and sit quietly while the friend next to me points out that I still have paste on my face. But Tim left. I think mostly because I scared him away.

This whole oredeal lasted like 20 minutes. I hate taking pills.

PS Ok, it's not really a pill. If it was a pill I would just do the pill-stuck-in-my-throat trick which is nothing like the cement-powder-paste-in-my-sinuses trick.

PSS I ended up ordering the chicken and spinach thing. It was quite delicious. But I was sick from the nose cement so I didn't eat a lot. Blah.

The Disillusionist Society, or is it the Indifferentist Group?

2008-10-06T08:45:00.009+02:00

Because you're all just so awesome, mostly for reading this crass, yes all three of you, I have decided to extend personal invitations (and by personal invitations I mean write a blog post) to you to join our... wait for it: Disillusionist Society (what a cathartic build up). We wanted to change the name, but didn't care enough to and now we feel it's too obvious, like in a we're-disillusioned-and-make-ourselves-feel-better-by-making-up-lame-groups-and-by-we-I-mean-me-and-Cami-just-drinks-with-me-so-she's-really-co-founder.

We meet on a weekly basis to talk about all the profanity (I can't remember what the noun is for profound (I don't like to think it's profunditity because there's a "tit" in that word which makes it vulgar) but it is intriguing if profanity is the noun form of profound. Shit.). Anyway, talking about all the profanity really means we just drink together. And then go to other places and drink some more until the profound becomes hysterical. Kind of like an opium den but with legal substances.

That's pretty much it. We would like for the Society to grow but we don't care enough and other people who we want in the group don't care enough to join and then we're torn when people say we want to join because in our heads we're like "um, you're way to eager to be indifferent which is a true mark of disillusion so you can't join" and now as I wrote that I remember that we actually called it the Indifferentist Society - so that's really the name and we're disillusioned at the same time which is why I got confused.

Like philosophers but with social lives and paying jobs that make the sicky-mediocrity feeling eat our stomach lining. Woohoo. Cami and I are published-writers in waiting - you know for that big deal to go "shit, you're a big deal too" which really just means we write a lot and never let anyone read it but each other which is the only contribution all members have to make to the group - not doing anything. It's quite taxing.

Ok so anyway, I can't say more because I'm making this up as I go and here is your invitation:

This is the Disillusion Owl (DO) (again, way too obvious). Owl's are wise and stuff so it's a good symbol. In fact, DO is so wise he even has a beard. Crazy.

Ok it's not really an invitation so much as it is a logo and a representation of the group that we can rally around and if ever we need to protest we have something to put on the boards and pitch-forks and stuff. But it doesn't really mean anything and we might get looked at funny if we protest outside the courts going "We don't care! We don't care!" so let's not protest. Shit, that was close. Almost did something for a second.

PS It's not really copyrighted but I drew it so you couldn't really have. That's the transcendent society and those freaks are like whacked. Shit.

PSS Indifferentist Society makes IS and Disillusion Owl makes DO so the group is defined by DO and IS which is ironic because you're not really allowed to do or be whatever when in the group. And now I'm philosophizing. Bugga.

PSSS Why does spellcheck pick up "Ok" as an error? Okay is stupid-long and I'm a writer (top-right) which means I can say "Ok" without the 'ay'.

K bye.

Marry me?

2008-10-03T08:16:00.003+02:00

I'm having a predicament. It's quite uncomfortable. I want to move to France. This is an expensive and a potentially alienate-me-from-everyone-what-calls-me-family-and-friend decision so I would like it to be for more than 3 months. Yeah. Three months. The visa I can apply for only lasts three months and I can only apply for a longer visa when I get a job which is difficult without being Canadian or American.

You have it easy because of your little green card and your warm fuzzy ties with France. You even have councils in USA that place you overseas. You suck. I hate you.

Then yesterday I handed in my application to do a CELTA course at Language Lab in Jo'burg. There I sat for another test and an interview to determine I can teach English to people who can't already speak it. (Seriously, you still get them.) Turns out I have potential to teach English to people who can't already speak it. The principal of the school told me that it doesn't work going over for three months to find a job and then applying for a work visa which I have to do in SA anyway.

Bugga.

So I've figured it out. I'm going to marry a French person. Yup. That should do it. So if any of y'all are French (and I don't mean just Francophone), I will courier you the engagement ring which will be like... cheap. Only because I'm moving to France and all my money is tied up in that.

PS I don't really hate you if you're American or Canadian. Marry me so I can have warm fuzzy ties too.

PSS I probably won't buy you an engagement ring. Our bond transcends material possessions.

PSSS Je peut parler Francais. So we can talk.

The Harry Potter kid is grown up and saved my life.

2008-10-01T10:04:00.007+02:00

Weird. I dreamt that Harry Potter and I were on a quest to find the wizard of Oz but we had to go through the marshes/bog like in Lord of the Rings where Gollum, Sam and Frodo are like "it's a nasty bog" and "don't follow the lights" except it was really pretty with like the Swiss Alps in the background and the water was crystal clear.

So Harry and I are walking in knee-deep water until we get to a part where the bog turns into a lake that deepens but we have to swim to the other side to the clearing so we can climb the really pretty mountain like the Swiss Alps to do whatever it is that needs being done in Oz (not the prison series).

At the bottom is this like luminous green seaweed (in a freshwater lake - my subconscious is not so clever) but it has like this evil boogyman "I'm gona get you" face and I shit a brick like right there because I'm like "I can't swim in my dreams this things gona get me" and then Harry is like "I'll go first" and then I'm like "hell no! It always goes for the second one" which I couldn't really justify because I don't know what this is.

So I dive in and the seaweed gets all unsettled and Harry is like "it's seaweed" and I start freaking out that I'm going to drown and then I see the ledge above the surface of the water that I need to get onto and I get all relieved when obviously the thing with the "I'm gona get you" face grabs me and starts pulling me down to the bottom of the lake like the Balrog in the first one with Gandalf and then I freak some more when like in the first one where Sam starts drowning and Frodo's arm reaches in and pulls him out, Harry does that - except he's now whatshisface Radcliffe in real life and not a kid anymore and can pull me out the water.

Then I wake up and made a vomit but that's entirely unrelated because I was at a friend who likes wine last night. I think this is a result of you people. The people who make me write about Wizard of Oz and Matthew for making me watch Harry Potter on Monday night and then my friend and I talking about drowning last night. Weird.

PS Matthew didn't really make me watch it, and I think it was Sunday but it was on and I was there and the combination became volatile. So I watched. Like the whole thing. And was like - "what a shit movie" and then felt cheated that I didn't understand it because I refuse to read Rowling out of respect for Tolkien when in actual fact he's dead so he wouldn't even know.

PSS I still feel poisoned from the wine. Blah.

Someone almost broke into my house!

2008-09-29T18:29:00.002+02:00

So it's like 18h30 and getting bitchin' dark outside so I close the curtains in my bedroom so the woodland creatures and boogymen of the garden-at-night do not voyeuristically watch me ~~change into my pyjamas~~ get ready to go out somewhere... bitchin'. As is the custom I walk throughout the house closing the blinds and curtains until I get to me kitchen (with it's like tiny 1m by 1m window) about to close the blind and IT'S NOT THERE! The blind is gone! Someone broke into my home and stole my blind!

And then I realised I don't have a blind in the kitchen which is I why I don't change in there anymore. Shit. I got such a fright. And then closed the blind in the bathroom.

PS I was going to buy the same reed blind for the kitchen as I did for the bathroom but I didn't and I had resolved to do so at the time so now I think I did buy the blind but in actual fact I was just a cheap ass and put green bottles in front of the window in the kitchen and get a fright every night. Weird.

PSS The pyjamas at 18h30 is such a lie. I'm really cool. A lot of the time. A lot a lot. But the rest is real. Every night. I need to move.