Thanks for letting me go crazy!

All right! It has finally happened - I have let myself go. I am not entirely sure what happened, but from what I can recall, I made a decision to become celibate and then the wheels fell off! I promised that I would write to you every week but it has been weeks since I last posted. 

I have just come from a meeting with one of the top bosses of Media24 where the poor man had to look into my furry baggy eyes. I had to point to charts and graphs with my chipped nails painted in 'Pistachio Ice', and I am trying to dress as a successful adult but my skin looks like that of a thirteen year old on account of me having stopped taking the pill (I have no use for such things).

No, this cannot continue! Unlike my good friends who attribute my new look to celibacy ("You can’t make good decisions when you are hungry" - my digs mate); I say it is my recent transfer and promotion which has caused the stress. One cannot stress the stress that is caused by packing up your entire life and moving to a place where the parties on the street are so loud that the bass makes your porcelain ornaments vibrate to the end of the table and smash to the floor. 

Then there is the exercise - I have decided to supplement my income with a couple of running wins - essentially turning me into a tracksuit wearing man beast with a really great ass. I actually went out to a five-star restaurant last week wearing my pyjamas. The worst part is that I do not care. 

But there is a kind of freedom that has come from taking myself out of the game. I don't care what people think of me and I have become totally selfish - how empowering! The downside, I guess, is that I don't actually like wearing green nail polish and looking at my one eyebrow is making me nostalgic for the days when I had two. Also, I now live in the city that was voted South Africa's sexiest - and I want to be sexy too! I think I will come back to reality now, starting with a wax!

Yes, this is me about to go to 'da club', holla at a biatch!

Midweek PMS Rant

Hormone induced rage-hell, it's a thing women go through!

I believe implicitly in the power of thought ‑ happy thoughts equal happy people and all that. But about once a month I have a crazy PMS day and everything snowballs. You know those days when you fall out of bed and then every event just escalates into a crap bag of, well, shit, right in front of you. I am the happiest person for 30 days and then BANG - and after my PMS day I go back to being sweet as pie.

I didn't fall out of bed this morning, my day just started with the pop of the first red pill in my blister pack. Thereafter I managed to slip on our parquet flooring, banging my head on the floor. Nothing makes me angrier than hitting my head!

On the way to work I was accosted by that bastard hobo who keeps inviting me to sit on his face. Usually he is just met by the sound of my window rolling up - but not today. Today I stuck my head out the window and yelled: "Thank you for offering me your ONLY possession, but if I wanted to fuck anyone it wouldn't be the man who shits behind Makro!" OK, look, I do feel guilty for that, but I’m really not a nice person when it comes to that time of the month.

I just keep getting bitchier and bitchier from there on. I start to have fights in my head with people, thinking of clever comebacks to say to things that they haven't ever said to me. This is when you start to realise just how crazy women are. Men get overwhelmed by hormones and just want to hump everything, but then they go back to their lives. Women cause irreparable damage when they go hormone nuts and kill people. As a woman I’m in the best position to tell you that I am retarded right now. I KNOW it is all in my head but these hormones take over. I also get forgetful. I don't know what I just did. I don't remember your name. I don't really even know why I am writing this (probably as a record of today's events, which will all be a blur by tomorrow’s pill). I left home without my shoes, forgot my lunch and left my handbag in the car once I got to the office.

It’s sad, boys don't understand that we cannot help going crazy, it just is what happens. Tomorrow I will take the poor hobo a couple of cans of beans and maybe a jacket. I should also probably meditate for an extra hour tonight just to get rid of the anger and maybe I should offer some kind of sacrifice to some God somewhere to get rid of all the negative karma I have produced today. But first I need to stuff my face full of anything that is deep fried and smothered in chocolate because the hormones are hungry!

This will be me tomorrow - happy and on top of the world...But probably still crazy!

Shit - I think I realised why I am still single!

Look at me working so hard - couldn't do this all day if I weren't single...

Friends please forgive my absence. I am going through some big changes which I shall reveal in due time - but mostly I just work too fucking hard so I haven't managed to write. Forgiveness?

But after this week-long sabbatical I came back to facebook and fuck -me if my sluttiest friend isn't in a relationship! Yes it has finally happened.
I work too hard to contribute to a meaningful relationship, I know this, but it still sucks when I get a plus-one to an event and I have to go alone. People don't like it ether - it's as if there is something wrong with you if you are single.

I had to go to the travel doctor for a yellow fever shot earlier this week. As usual I screamed and complained and the doctor just said: "You should have brought your boyfriend."
I replied that I don't have one. His reply was to jump back and exclaim: "SHAME MAN!" What a reaction. Then I had to do the old: "No really it's not a shame, I am perfectly all right" etc.Then he acts all terrified because I am going travelling on my own. Really! What has happened in people's minds that makes it unacceptable for a young woman to be single?
Would it be better for me to be in a relationship purely because I don't want to be alone? I can go to events alone and not have to worry about my partners well-being or if they are bored and if they are happy. 

As sad as this might sound to some, we are born alone and we will die alone. I believe that we should get comfortable with ourselves before we introduce another party to the equation. Being alone doesn't mean being lonely either. 


If you are the future Mr Sweet you will have to be a very strong character, with a hobby so that I won't have to entertain you all the time. You will have to be happy and kind and secure in the fact that we are two separate people whose lives co-exist. I don't believe  that people complete each other because you must be a whole person before you get into a relationship.

Whilst waiting for the future Mr Sweet, I take comfort in the fact that I have lived my life in my own way. And I will wait for the first wave of divorcees because I think I will be single for a while...

Look how pensive and single I am! One cannot think if there are boys around!

How to make a girl love you

This is me eating sand on my horse because I own that bitch.

“Baby you know you are beautiful,” said the skinny car guard at Woolworths. 

First of all: Who is ‘Baby’? No, I don’t know anything about beauty. If you are a woman you know what I am talking about. When a hobo tells you: "Ek gaan jou naai" [I am going to F you]. You just want to jump out the car and yell "YES, YES! this is what I have been waiting for all my life. I am yours. Take me now!" NO!

I was this tall when I was ten years old. 5 foot 6 and very skinny. My hair was dark and my skin pasty. Not a looker. For some reason I stayed that height and whilst I was once called a giant - I am now referred to as a midget. The boys teased me. I remember one spotty kid getting right into my face and saying: "You are a fucking ugly toad." I believed him.

This story is not unique, all of my friends hated what they looked like growing up - and all of my friends are beautiful people. My favourite story comes from two sisters. They weren't the popular girls in school and so weren't allowed to 'hang' with the cool girls. That was until the popular girls were playing 'princess princess' and needed horses. They played with the popular girls that day...

Life can be cruel, but it seems to even itself out in the end. The boy who called me a toad has a giant 'Billabong' tattoo on his back. He also has no hair and seems to have stopped growing at around 5ft. He asked me out at age 16 and I had a wonderful time telling him to go crumb himself. The popular 'princesses' are fat and single and my friends who played their steeds have wonderful boyfriends and banging bodies. 

Basically Mr car guard If you want a girl to pay you attention don't call her beautiful. She won't believe you. Don't say you want to naai her ether. That's just gross. Tell her she is the smartest girl you have met. Better yet, say she is funny (not funny looking though - that won't work) and intelligent - I guarantee it will make her day. I cannot, however, guarantee that she will naai you - especially if you are a hobo.

UCI MTB World Cup 2014 Pietermaritzburg

Greg Minnaar crosses the finish line, he is pushed down to third place after Aaron Gwin wins the World Cup
and then we all go to the bar and get crunk! Photo: Gameplan Media

I do this embarrassing thing, when I get drunk, I pick up on foreigner's accents. As humiliating as it is, I can't help myself. It could be worse - I know people who cry when they get drunk! 

So Saturday night saw the celebration of the end of the UCI MTB World Cup in Pietermaritzburg. The city had been crawling with foreigners for weeks. I was in danger, but luckily I had declared myself sober whilst I was training for a marathon.

My job is so amazing because I get to meet interesting new people who lead amazing lives. At the end of the day I celebrated with them at a local pub. And I had a drink. Aaaand apparently being fit coupled with not having had a drink in several weeks equals being drunk.

I found myself at a nightclub talking to some American man who kept taking his teeth out and telling me he was a winner when I was accosted by a South American named - I don't know - maybe it was Manie, Miguel - it could have been Mario? Anyway let's just call him Mario. 

So Mario started to chat and I love meeting new people so I was making conversation when he told me he bought "some amazing weed, eeet wasa five a rand". I'm like, "Five rand weed is not good weed my friend." He responds with, "Weel you smoke witha a mia." I dont mean to sound stuck-up here but if I was going to smoke weed it would not be from a five-rand bankie. I declined and went dancing with a wonderful Ecuadorian. 

Then Mario was back and dancing by me. I could smell the burned seeds. 
"Weel you a sleep witha a me," he whined. 
"NO," I say firmly. 
"Buta a why?" he wines. 
"Because I don't know you", I replied.
"Buta I ride in today and I am good also," he tried.
"No," said I.

Anyway this conversation became a little game and every time I passed him he shouted "Buta a WHY". And as I got drunker I started to mimic the accent to the point that I was shouting back "No" but the O sound was short like they say in Spanish. 
Halfway through the night and I was replying "No, gracias", whilst doing my best to bypass the now many men who were taking their teeth out. 

As an aside, I always wondered why these riders have perfect teeth - mostly they are fake (as I realised), which kinda makes sense if you think about it. But I like to think this is just the minority. I digress.

At the end of the night my reply to Mario's "buta Whyeee" was "irse con su erección feo"! And I never saw him again.

What an amazing weekend, what an amazing night. I am so blessed to have met so many new friends. Los amo a todos - I think that's how you say it - I am not drunk...

The Fig Tree restaurant and terrace at Simbith eco-estate

Oh just hanging in the kitchen, you know, as one does.

I love food, I get food. What I don't get are 'foodies' - people who live for food. They watch all the Masterchef episodes. They buy all the cool Yuppie Chef utensils. They use words like gastronomy and whisk. For me food has always been about nutrition. Everything I eat is optimal for my health. Don't get me wrong - I eat well and I like the taste of food - but I also eat cans of chickpeas for convenience.

You can only imagine what a treat it must have been for me to receive an invite to sit at a chef's table at The Fig Tree restaurant in Simbithi eco-estate by invite of executive chef Gerard van Staden. It really was. I have always heard people talking about food as though it were a theatre piece, with every course a different act. The peas and the carrots all actors and the kitchen directors all working tirelessly behind the scenes. Well...

I get it now. I have tasted fine cuisine and hot-damn it really is an experience. I feel like I have been at a theatre. Last nights five-course meal was one of the most amazing food experiences I have ever had. From the bubbles we received on entrance to the designer at the end of the night. I am a foodie convert.

Let me share with you this wonderful menu:

To start: 

Langoustine Ravioli with peas, butternut and sauce American with lemon foam paired with Buitenverwachting Blanc de Noir.

(I would have happily eaten just this all night, the wine was beautiful.)

Entrée: 

Phyllo, chicken and Mediterranean vegetables with tomato vinaigrette succotash of barley paired with Du Toitskloof Chenin Blanc. 

(For me this was the weakest dish - still very tasty though.) 

Main Course:

 Slow roast belly pork with jalapeño salsa and apple tart au tan with creamed mashed potato paired with Hartenberg Cab Shiraz. 

(This was the most amazing meal I think I have ever eaten, the wine was delicious.)

That's me giggling in the background.

Dessert: 

Chocolate grenoblois chocolate brownie, praline and caramalised hazelnuts with hot caramel sauce paired with Pegasus Cinault. 

(Something heavenly happened when I tasted the orange rind.)         

Designer: 

Deep fried brie with katalfi

Wild berry coulis and honeyed nuts paired with Zondernaam Tokara red.

(The brie was ripe...)

The Food at The Fig Tree reminded me about going on a date with my crush. I sat there not being able to say anything because I was so overwhelmed, so I just giggled a lot and drank. In the end I had to leave and go home alone. I plan to continue this affair though!

The Fig Tree at night.

Hanging out at Freeme KZN Wildlife Rehabilitation Centre

I am all brave now that this big boy has been put to sleep.
He weighed in at 11.8 Kg's and I witnessed him tear the crap out of a blanket earlier so forgive my apprehensiveness.

At eleven O'clock on Saturday night I found myself at my parent’s doorstep. I had been suffering from anxiety all day and after a crippling panic attack I knew I had to leave the city. Howick on a Saturday night was just the place I needed to be. After a few cups of tea and a crumpled paper bag later I was asleep.

Awake at five the next morning, my feelings of anxiety came back. I needed to do something, something new. In desperation I decided to take my laptop and sit at a morning function at an organisation called Freeme website, which takes in injured wildlife for the purpose of rehabilitation and release. 

I ended up spending my entire day there. 

The highlight was participating in the release of two adult Serval that had been rehabilitated from a form of feline biliary. They had to be darted, weighed, captured and tagged before being released into Blue Crane farm, a reserve in Underberg. The process was witnessed by UK students who had come to do research into South African wildlife conservation. 

Dr. Ramesh (UKZN Servil studies) and Dr. Ryan van Deventer ( wildlife vet)

I also found myself in love with a warthog that had been brought in on Saturday, he been left with a broken pelvis after being hit by a car. He looked so sad and Roz, the GM of Free Me KZN, commented that he might have been lying on the road for some days. 

Visiting student

The whole concept of conservation in South Africa relies on support and donations. Education is the key to sustaining our wildlife and non-profit organisations like Free Me who work hard to educate, rehabilitate, release and rescue are under increased financial strain. The reality is that the survival of our wildlife depends on our own efforts to stop poaching. This can only be done by supporting organisations that actively work to fight against poachers.

The whole conservation experience really left a mark on me and I found myself wanting to belong to this wonderful organisation. I was exhausted but happy, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had a purpose.This is how I want to spend my day. This is my contribution, I will now be doing PR for Freeme KZN.

Just hanging with my new homie, a sweet baby Reedbuck.

For more information or to make a donation:

P.O. Box 48, Howick, KwaZulu Natal, 3290

Tel: 033 330 3036

Fax: 086 6539 658

e-mail: admin@freemekzn.co.za
http://freemekzn.co.za/

Who has more fun?

Two month ago I walked into Hairitage Hair Salon to have my hair dyed back to its natural colour (a dark brunette). An hour later I was blonde! Since then the social experiment has proved very fruitful. Do blondes have more fun? I can certainly say that they do get noticed more. Gone are the days when I waited in queues. I simply pull into a gas station and immediately get served. No coins for the car-guard - no problem. "Don't worry ma-um, next time" they all say. And tossing ones curls has never been so fun. 

Perhaps my new Arian looks have inspired a different lifestyle, I spend more time in the sun (this is crucial for me not to look like a salamander), I surf more and spend a lot of time on the beach. Do blondes have more fun?

Having blonde hair 'forces' me to go and visit the salon more often as I am blessed with the ability of rapid hair growth (wonderful for the hair on my head - not so fab for the rest of my body), which means more head rubs and more time on the massage chair. It also means more consulting time with the wonderful Macheila Purchase who has become therapist and stylist. So I am more relaxed and happier.

As for fun, I will always have fun. 

Before and after. Thanks Hairitage Hair Salon make an appointment see link here 

Crappy

Sometimes you have a crappy day.

You just wake up on the wrong side of the bed, you stub your toe, next minute the gate remote battery is dead and you are late for work. 

If your bad luck streak is still going strong then the morning will see you in  a traffic jam running low on petrol. When you do eventually screech into work you have lost your parking to the new guy in HR, so you have to park in the peasants spot out back where all the stray cats are fed by Deb in accounting. This inevitably leads you to step in their doo doo and arrive at work not only late, but smelling of crap. 

I digress. Sometimes you have a bad day. 

But when I have a day like that, I am reminded of the story of Crappy, told to me by a dear friend to remind me that no matter how bad the day gets, it could be worse.
Forgive me if you know the tale for I am told that the legend has spread far and wide. For those of you who are unfamiliar - let me recount it:

An unsuspecting Rhodesian scholar (that is to say - a boy from Rhodes University) brought home young girl from a local bar. One thing led to another and she found herself straddling him in mid coitus whereupon (and for reasons we can only speculate) she crapped herself. Without a second thought - and without collecting any of her possessions - she jumped out of the window of his first-floor dorm room. BUT - not before taking the time to wipe her arse on his curtain! 

The joke for me is that she was OK with leaving in the way she did, but without wiping first!

Rhodes University is a small campus and news got out. She became so renowned that even when fleeing to the University of Cape Town, the legend that is 'Crappy' followed her.

Forgive me if you are reading this Crappy, but be happy in the knowledge that I too have crapped on a curtain (see the post http://alexsweetcharity.blogspot.com/2014/03/no-dont-push.html) and that you have made so many other people happy.

The point is that when you are having a bad time, be happy in the knowledge that things could be worse. There are no negatives in our lives which we cannot overcome. Even Crappy. She has so many positives going for her - like the fact that we don't know her name. 

When you have a bad day take a deep breath and call a friend, they will know how to make everything better. Thank you to all my wonderful friends. I love you so much.

No don't push!

I giggle when I'm nervous.

The nurse came into my cubicle and pulled the curtains closed around us. I asked her if I should take off my pants. She snapped back that I shouldn't be wearing any in the first place. In one hand she was holding the enema bottle, in the other she had a tube of lube. I started to giggle.

She told me I needed to turn over and relax. A sharp pain.

"No don't push," shouted the nurse.

"I'm sorry nurse. I'm so sorry. I don't even know I'm doing it," I giggled.

"NO don't laugh, relax or it will hurt," she replied.

It did hurt. I tried to relax. I felt a sensation that I never wish to feel again as the saline solution sprayed into my colon. By now I felt so uncomfortable that my giggles had turned to laughter.

"NO DON'T LAUGH!" was the last thing I heard as I gave out a huge belly laugh which expelled the enema onto the curtain behind me.

"You are NAUGHTY!" the nurse laughed as she repeated the procedure.

I can only imagine what the other patients in the intimate ward of St Anne's hospital were thinking as they overheard all the commotion which ended with a wet curtain in front of them. 

The nurse called my mom back into the cubical. Before walking out, she wiped the sweat off her brow and exclaimed: "Eish! It was bad."

A week earlier I had been to see a specialist. It was to be the solution to months of tests and doctors prodding me and nurses taking blood. I had lived through my worst fears. Completely alone I had to give viles of blood, living through my phobia with the help of kind nurses who dried my tears and gave me suckers and held me when I cried.

Cancer is something that every person can relate to in some way or another. Our family is no exception. We are riddled with a smorgasbord of cancers from skin to breast, stomach, you name it - we have it. Unfortunately one of these cancers is hereditary colon cancer. 

I haven't written in a while because I have been concentrating on getting better. Today I am cancer free and happy. But I am one of the lucky ones. I cannot stress enough the importance of being healthy and keeping a positive attitude. It saved my life. 

My mom said I woke up and asked her to take a photo for my blog!

Valentines

Mamies muffin.

I have just turned down four tickets to a concert at the Durban Bot gardens tonight because I am single and all my friends have dates. Instead I will be reviewing Anchor Man 2 on my own. Perhaps I will spoil myself with one large popcorn and Coke zero combo.

Now before all you couples pity me. Let me be clear: I am single out of choice. I seem to attract ridiculous men into my life. For example: man who got married whilst he was seeing me. Man who was already married with a child and forgot to tell me. Man who pretended that he had killed himself (after I declined a sexual encounter) and then turned his phone off for a day leaving me to believe he was successful. And recently, Canadian man who told me he had washing to do when I asked him to lunch. It does hurt - but at least it's funny. 

I grew up with a grandmother who always told me: "My girl, you need to find a rich man who will look after you". I always replied that I would make my own money and look after myself.
I think it is often the case that we look for anyone to love us instead of looking for the person that we love.

I am ok with being on my own again this Valentine’s day because I know eventually a delicious somebody will be madly in love with my bubble-butt and won't mind my eccentricities. As one colleague points out, at least I don't find myself with someone who is suicidal, with a child or elbow-deep in his laundry.

It's ok though because canteen auntie’s biryani is probably going to give me diarrhea later which would render me useless on a date. So I will enjoy my movie, go home to my own bed and sleep soundly knowing that I am happy, healthy, wealthy, single and ready to mingle. At least auntie gave me a chocolate muffin with my meal so I can say I got something for Valentine's Day.

A month later

It has been nearly a month after Mandela was buried and I had a plan to write about the events that occurred in my newsroom, and in others, in the days following Tata's death. But as the days have passed I have come to realise that I am too loyal to my craft to give away industry secrets. Yes, we all know that Madiba's passing rituals were to some degree planned. But to what extent, even I don't fully understand. What I do know is that his passing was a sad, stressful, but it was also an exciting time for my career.

I was too tired to feel anything until I went to pay my respects to Tata at his capture memorial in Tweedie. I spent the day sobbing and feeling a loss that was so painful it was as if my own father had passed. Madiba had that effect on people.

What hurts me the most about Mandela's passing is the public fiasco that followed the days after his death. It hurts to know that his memorial became a public mockery. But I do believe his funeral was a beautiful tribute to Tata. Perhaps once all the anger and hurt has passed, perhaps then I should share all the background to Mandela's death. For now I will share my personal photos from the week of his death.

I am sitting at my desk with a few staff members who returned to redo the newspaper.
The clock reads 01:50 and the TV is on eNCA. 

My mother and I paid our respects at the Mandela capture site outside Tweedie,
on Saturday 7th December, two days after Madiba died.

Our editor in chief Andrew Trench conducting a moment of silence which was undertaken
 by all South African news agencies at 12:00pm on Friday the 6th December.

This is the team that came back on Thursday evening to redo the newspaper. The Editor Andrew Trench is sitting in front, Robin Crouch , the design editor holds up our front page which he designed and the deputy design editor, Bonnie Parker holds up the insert for which she designed the front page. We dropped all adverts and all of the plugs from the front page and the first four pages, which we dedicated to Madiba. Our masthead remained black until after Mandela's burial on the 15th December.

Happy New Year

My new years eve was spent bar hopping with some wonderful friends.
This is just us intoxicated on the party bus - you missed a good time if you weren't here!

Happy new years to everyone. Thank you for all of your love and support. I know I have not written in a while. For those that know me, you know that the December period is a hard time of year for me. Let us celebrate the start of a new year and new beginnings. 2013 took some great people from us let us celebrate their lives in 2014. 

I am looking forward to this year and to my new resolution: to be more selfish!

I love you all with every fibre - may this be a great year.

Happy faces are the 2014 look!