My Son, The Wise One

So besides being an avid Anti-Gym advocate (I am convinced it will kill you) I am also a very nice, charming and funny person actually.. My previous rant was due to an unscheduled staircase climb, which I didn't get a chance to properly mentally prepare myself for, you see.

OK so I am a nice person (Smile), I work (hard), I am a single mom (to above mentioned wise-ass, I mean wise one) and I enjoy things that make me laugh, usually the girlfriends, things that make me drunk, preferably wine, and pretty little things like shoes.

My son is six, going on 60. He tells me what to do more than I do him.. But now I have the upper hand. This weekend, he lost both his upper incisors! Yes both. And yes, I do tease the fuck out of him.. I make him say words that make him lisp, and I make him kiss me lots on the cheek coz now it sounds funny. I am having so much fun. Do you think I am scarring him? Don't care, it's my job. My mother scarred me, it's what we do.

You wanna see what a wise ass he is..

Scene 1: Kai’s is sick, he has a sore throat and is lying in my bed, watching cartoons wrapped in my duvet, propped by 500 pillows.
I am taking his temperature with the ear gun temp thing. I switch it on, stick it in his ear and wait for the beep. Kai is quiet and watching he gun thing intently, then watching me watch it. Then he suddenly pipes up “So what’s the verdict Mom? Am I cold blooded?”
“No my son.. You just watch too much Animal Planet!”

Scene 2: Few weeks later Kai & I snuggling on the couch, watching TV, it’s almost his bedtime.
I tell him it’s getting late and that he must start getting ideas about bed.
Trying to distract me he says he starts a discussion about the solar system (too much Discovery). He says he prefers daytime, I say I prefer the night. He says he prefers the sun, I say I prefer the dark. He looks at me and says “You’re a vampire aren’t you?”.

But fuck I love this kid! He obviously takes after me!!

Unfit Bitch!

Holy crap I am unfit! You’d think with all the sex I have been having that I could run Comrades by now? I hate exercise.. I really hate it. And I don’t mean the “Ag I just won’t go to gym today” kind of hate. I mean the “Lets pull a 9/11 and bring those fuckers down!!” kinda hate.

I hate sweating. Hate it, if I could have winter all year round I would be a happy bitch!

I hate tight gym pants. No one, yes no one, not even you Barbie, looks good in them. Barry Hilton calls them Skinner broekies. You can see the lips moving but you can’t hear a sound.

I hate having to wear a huge t-shirt to cover my arse! Nuff said!

I hate having my feet bound in ugly trainers (tekkies for the dutch). When you take your socks off later your feet are so white and puffy from all the sweat you could lose a layer of skin if you not careful, and you wring your socks out before you wash them.

I hate skinny trainers saying “Come on, you can do it!” I feel like giving her a twenty and making her run to the corner store for a slab of Lindt.

I hate the doof doof doof music that they don’t even play in the clubs. Where do they find it? www.lekajimtjoons.pumpbru

That said, it’s no surprise I look like I do. But fuck it.. I just cant!

Fat-shionista!

I am loving Beth Ditto! Not only because she is plus sized hard core rock bitch! But because she has balls the size of church bells, and she is not ashamed of her body.




In a world that is dominated by praying mantis type models and lollipop girls it is amazingly refreshing to finally have a larger than life role model.



And I really want her clothes.. She always looks fun, funky and yet (in most cases) feminine.. Why cant we get stuff like this in SA. Instead of the hideous ou vrou bloesies they sell at Edgars? Not all fat people bake koeksusters en beskuit you know!

Happy is a Myth!

I scoffed at them.. The little girls in their pigtails, playing “Wedding Wedding” with Ken & Barbie. Then I would jumb back on my Bmx and take off for the nearest hill. Didn’t they know? Ken would either a) cheat b) get fat and sit on the couch drinking beer in front of the rugby c) become a premature ejaculator (then blame her) d) leave or e) all of the above. The only man a girl can trust is her daddy. And even that is a 50/50 bargain on a good day in some households.

And yet there I was signing the certificate that gave away my name and legally bound me to another human being. WTF was I thinking?!?
It’s not like I was young, and didn’t know better. But I was pregnant and thinking I was doing the right thing… And I did love him, hey? I did love him. I must have.

Fast Forward 6 years and here I sit banging away at a keyboard (when I should be banging away at someone else!), complaining about men and life and the lack of Baby’s Changing Rooms in Victoria’s Secret shops.

So my son is 6 and on his way to becoming the man I would want my daughter to marry (ladies, you can write and thank me later). My ex sits in Australia, which is great for him NOT having visitation rights whenever he wants! And I get to explore the wide blue yonder again. So, where does one start all over again? Times have changed, people don’t just meet through Kerk anymore. Its now all Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, Blogs and Internet dating. And trying to wade through all the cyberspace bullshit that permeates the airwaves (see I am still and 80’s child at heart) is like trying to eat spaghetti with chopsticks!

But one is never to old to learn, and learn I shall!

Can I? Question is, should I? Should I be adding another blog to the many hundreds, thousands, probably millions already out there? Should I be voicing another lone opinion about the price of eggs, and will anyone really be listening..

Who cares! I will and thou shalt! Blogging is next to Godliness! Man what power. That is, is anyone is actually reading. And if I collect any followers...