The excitement of an aussie on the phone

Rolling about in a flu-induced sweat, I hear the phone ring, and successfully ignore "WITH HELD". Never have I been happier - well, at least in the past few months - as when I listened to the voice mail an hour later when I finally decided to do an unemployed wake-up-and-assess-the-day.

An Aussie accent!! On my phone!!

A few days later, I had a job interview, via lovely teleconference, with folk in Melbourne. I don't know how it went. Kak, probably. Felt like it. But, maaaaaaan, do I hate The Job Interview. Never trust them.

It did get off to a great start, with them calling me an hour later than I was ready for - gotta love time zones & SOME places having day lights savings. 8am Monday mornings are never good, but when one sits staring at the phone, feeling like some Aussie played a practical joke on you & is laughing at you sitting waiting for a fake job interview... well, that will seriously just ruin your mood!

If you thought that I've been quiet on this blog now... wait till, well, July. Tomorrow I am UP and OUTTA here...for 10 days... to the SUNNY! HOT! TROPICAL! Malaysia!!!

YEAYEAHE&!@^%!&*@GKJHBDUIYD(*OSHNAIL!^&@T&!^F@!!!!!!!!

See you on the other side of beaches & sun & tans & Malaysian rice wine at weddings!! :)

Purpose

When did I last not know what I was doing? What my “purpose” was?

Probably after school. Nope. I knew I was going to “chill” & explore for a year. And then be off to varsity. And I’d figure out the rest there.

Maybe after varsity? But then it was fun somehow. Or maybe my student-ness stayed with me. All bravado. Charm. And fearless. Where decisions had less consequence – just jump!

Now. Now I feel scared. And I do not like it one bit. Stress has pinned me down & is shoving its sweaty armpit in my face.

Now I am moving to a distant land…but not for anything I am looking forward to… I am moving for a guy.

I have nightmares of sitting home in a lonely apartment. Doing NOTHING. I have momentary attacks of losing all bravado and becoming a recluse unconfident purposeless tag-along. I have blanks of even what to think. Just let it get started already so I can know!!

Even a year & a half ago I did not know what commitment & relationships were. Now I am uprooting myself from what makes sense to me, to go to a land that has never held appeal for me, and will be trying to make more than the most of it. Adventuring.

All I wanted as it hit 2009 was adventuring & travel. And I got it. And I have an out from an unsatisfying job. And I am back-peddling like a drunk on a broken bike??

But…. But but and more buts go through this overwhelmed head. What will I adventure into? What will this do for shaping my mould? What growth? What if it doesn’t work with my guy…

In the greater scheme of it all… so what. So what if none of it works!

So then WHY THE FUCK am I freaked out.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I got to a NGO on Saturday to help tutor some kids from township schools. I didn’t know what I was doing. But I loved it. Because that is my purpose. That is what I have been doing for so many years.

What does Australia hold that will give a similar feeling?

[I realise this is all babble but this month is proving to be a fkcing whirlwind of thoughts & feelings that I can only release in typing them out. In their own way. I am so ready for this adventure to start & for the stress of the unknown to end!]

In other news. I tried to give blood. They wouldn’t take it because I had been in a malaria area less than a week before. And cause I have a boyfriend who travels to exotic locations like northern Angola & returns with equatorial diseases!

But if you are healthy. Please give it a shot. Just find out when the mobile clinic will be in your area!

I find.

I find myself staring at others’ lives. On Facebook. Virtually.
I find myself disjointed from purpose.
Hating people in this town.
Tired of strangers asking me that I must be excited.

I need mine to start.
When did it stop?
When did I become too scared? Too quiet? Too recluse?
There are no wrong or right choices… but I have made some wrong ones, is this a right one.

I loathe bumping into familiar past faces.
I loathe doing the same in and out.
Other than sleep. …perchance to dream…

You can’t run. Though.
Your demons are in you. No amount of flights tricks them out of you.

I find myself stressed. Keen to just work behind a bar with leeches of men tipping me.
Because the gutted people of life are easier to escape reality. With.

The phone no longer beeps.
When did it stop?
The clothes have been bought but no longer satisfy.
The body is enlarged and refusing to budge.
The nodding and hugging and small talk of goodbying is continuous.

Will it be different?
The terror lies in if it isn’t.

What I learnt in the Kruger Park

4 days. 4 people. 1 overpacked subaru.

· There are more animals in the south of the park – go there if you want to see animals! Go north if you don’t want to see people;
· The elephants really are taking over! With hippos close behind. I don’t like being bored of elephant sightings, but I really (ok, maybe just ‘nearly’) did; · I take crap photos of animals;
· How to piss off a poppie after spending 4 days in a car with her;
· The mist can become insane & fkcing scary while driving in the Dullstroom area- especially at dusk; · It can be 4 degrees in Jo’burg and 38 degrees in the Park;
· Belfast is always cold. Always.
· Dullstroom is supposedly the highest town in SA – as according to some ancient Trivial Pursuit quiz – happy to prove the boyfriend wrong if you have proof…;
· Wildebeest used to be known as Gnus; · When people at camp sites don’t obey the “Do Not Feed The Animals” sign, the result is you sleeping with a hyena staring at you just 5 metres away, with a little fence between it & your tasty right leg! · 2 different nights, 2 different camps, 2 different hyenas hungrily staring;
· Red wine shuts her up – if consumed by you;
· Baguette slices are so much nicer to dip into “braai’d” camembert than the Park’s rolls;
· You can get out on many bridges in the park…which really heightens the moment when you turn around and see a leopard crossing the road at the edge of the bridge; · Sometimes, it really is not worth getting up at 5.30am to go animal searching;
· Babies should not be allowed in camp sites!!!!! 4 fucking a.m. is NOT a maternal hour for any non-mother!; · Paul Kruger was a wise and visionary man!;
· They used to have army camps in the Park during the Apartheid era & the idiot soldiers would drive fast at night through the park & crash into & kill animals;
· People DO NOT drink tea & coffee in the bar at the Pilgrim’s Rest Royal Hotel – but I had no choice;

· R200 worth of biltong from Groenkloof butchery & a kilo of nuts can keep 4 people in a car for 4 days quite stuffed!;

· Tsesebe is the fastest buck, waterbuck is the buck most munched by lions (as per its numbers...or something), bush buck are apparently the most aggressive - have you SEEN a cute little Bambi bushbuck!, kudu is the most elegant buck;

· The "Tusker" Elephants had mailto:%@!&^%!$@^ big tusks!!!!!! - as displayed at Letaba camp. (This one in the photo below isn't one of them);

· Oliphants camp really does have the most gorgeous view - especially at full moon midnight after muchos wine and now onto the milo!;

· Ticks like nipples;
· Animals love to show you their asses;
· No matter the company, a trip to the Kruger will always rock your world.

“Poppie” defined

Pronounced: Pou pEE.

Description: Juvenile female that uses brain only to eat, breathe and giggle at boyfriend/ husband’s jokes.

Appearance: Is only ever found in groomed state. This predominantly is characterised by blonde “done up” hair, thin body frame and doe-like eyes. However, has been known to disguise herself in dark-haired fatter bodied frame; but child-like features somehow appear to remain. Overburdened with make up and clothes just provocative enough to cause even the pastor to ‘readjust’. Clothing is generally completely inconvenient to setting. Note: Groomed state is far cry from “natural state”.

Call: Squeak of a voice; generally at decibels known to cause “hearer” to scrap nails down wall in pain. Giggle; generally straight after boyfriend/ husband has made sexual or racist joke, farted loudly, or said anything at all.

Common phrases: “Ag moeder, dis so soet”. “Liefie, jy is so slim”. “Hee hee hee”.

General conversation:
· Topics so random that other person involved in conversation is found to be simply staring in stunned disability to respond. Such topics include why her car requires washing …but she forgot to tell this to Ma before going away…but maybe Ma will realise why she left money in her room. Or describing what she does in life, e.g. Nail Technician;
· Inane “insights” that cause “hearer” to bash head on first available rock-hard surface; e.g. that being a nail technician means she is as able as a surgeon to give sound medical advice on someone’s hand problems and could probably even operate on someone’s hand;
· Anything that will make the common person aware that she is a good Christian, goes to church religiously, and she epitomises “pious”…except for when her boyfriend thinks he is in the mood for a blowjob.

Aim: To recreate boyfriend into husband in record number of days. To please mother at all costs, even when this involves heavy apologies that she dared to speak two English words during her 10 minutes phone call with “ma”. To resemble her middle-aged mother by the time she is nineteen years old. To overstress and bemuse all other semi-intelligent folk who get caught in her company for longer than 5 minutes.

Mannerisms: Did I mention giggle and instantly agree to everything her boyfriend says without fail? Tends not to speak directly to other people but addresses all people by directing questions and insights at her boyfriend just loud enough for other person to hear. Will ignore all other females within her vicinity, unless has already designated that female as “friend i.e. non-threat to boyfriend/ husband.

Impressive traits:
· Artificial-sweetener sweet to Miff in 10 seconds. “Miff” includes bottom-lip drop, turning her head away and staring into distance, lack of giggle, retiring to her bed awkwardly early;
· Believing that reading countless Danielle Steele books makes her intelligent;
· Believing that an emu is bigger than an ostrich. Redirecting this insight and its source to her boyfriend when you tell her that no, actually, you really do believe that an ostrich is the biggest bird in the whole goddamn world.

Ways a female can piss her off
· Speak directly to her boyfriend or even engage in semi-mild intelligent conversation with him
· Blaspheme
· Drink anything alcoholic other than alco-pops and drink it in “excess”, i.e. more than two glasses of chosen alcohol
· Speak openly, without euphemisms, and enjoyably about sex
· Disagree with anything that her boyfriend says
· Point out to her that people who are homosexual or have a different skin colour are actually equal to her demographic group, and are probably superior to her;
· Finish such an argument off by calling her “ignorant” – this will result in her retiring to her bed mid-dinner and not talking to you again for the rest of the time you are stuck with her.

And THAT is so incredibly sweet.

It’s All Fun & Games

First day of unemployment started well. With a hangover and a sleep-in to recover from the dry wine mouth [Thanks Giles for your month-end Sunday Night wine tasting dinners!].

And it has been all downhill from then. Not much couch lazing allowed. More admin and calling of customer cares than these next 6 unemployed weeks might be worth.

Within two days I seem to have taken to watching SKY News. (Isn’t that what all the unemployed S.Affers do in London while they wait?) For me, it is the most brainless of the news channel lot to watch. And one does not want to tax one’s brain while one is not getting paid to do so.

So there we were, eating unemployed corn flakes at 11am, and right there amongst their stories, is one about how a gang has beaten up some students because they are Indian nationals. And now other Indian nationals are protesting by sitting outside the hospital. The cops are not taking this too well and are pulling protesters away rather violently. And now there are even protests in India about this. And all of this beating took place in….none other than… Melbourne!!

WTF.

You lot are lying to me about Oz being politically calm and news-worthy boring! I am going to have Xenophobic attacks right on my doorstep! The possibility of finding a job just tripled! I CAN relate to this sort of nonsense & trade some skills towards it.

Hell, I even traded in the “ANGELS & DEMONS” book my company gave me as a farewell gift (yup yup. 3 years of service & they buy me a R120 book that my family has 2 copies of and I have read and thrown against a wall in disinterest back in 2005) for a book on IMMIGRANTS & why they ('we'' in 6 weeks) are not one of the 7 plagues to land on the world.

But I will have to end this here. Too much typing for one day. Not enough pay. Plus I don’t actually know any more about the story. But should say that I do think it is rubbish to beat someone up because they have a different little green passport book to you. And I hope no one xenophobically beats me up because South African medical aid won’t pay when one is in Oz. Especially when under xenophobic attack (they won’t believe it happens in Oz). And Aus Medical Aid probably won’t pay either. Though I have not reached “read all terms & conditions you have lately put your signature to” on my To Do list just yet.

And it is time for a walk around the block. To hone my Jo’burg tough skills before I move to rough war zone’ Melbourne. And get some exercise in – cause I have reached that on my To Do list.

P.S. Story of Attacks

Slap of Thanks

It’s that scene from “Office Space” where everyone stands around drably singing Happy Birthday to the boss they all hate. And then they cut the cake that you know is more sugar than substance.

This will be me on Friday. And I am dreading it. Not that everyone here hates me. I hope.

Just that it is this false camaraderie. False cheer. And straight after the last bite of cake...or in my farewell’s case, sausage dog... they will go back to their desks & get on with their jobs and forget because they do not really care, and I will leave with a box of stolen stationary under my arm. And THAT will be IT.

Three years of service & I am rewarded with a sausage roll & some liqui-fruit juice.

...And maybe some R5 pashminas from Pick ‘n Pay (My friend who’s the receptionist warned me about the gift). Everyone will sit around the boardroom table where we hold these random events speaking about the arbest moments of their lives and making “PC” jokes, while thinking about how to “attack that next To Do on the list!”

F.U.N.
I am practicing my surprised face already.

This is life??? This is thanks???

You spend nights in the office. Kill yourself emotionally. Try to prove. Try to reach goals. Try to please. Try to earn the pay cheque. Even when you know 2 of your subordinates earn more than you & haven’t even learnt how to use MS Excel. You know that your reasons for being in this industry are being exploited but not realised.

And you leave feeling like you made the biggest mistake of investments you could have made.

Why did I choose this job all those years ago? Ah but. Would any other have been any better?

Did the last 3 years help you realise anything you were aiming for? These folk don’t seem to think you are The Shite. Your boss’s boss sympathetically but quietly tells you that you are the victim of your own hard work. The rest just seem to think you are a slave who has broken free and for that you must receive snide remarks & kak cheers. Your manager hasn’t spoken to you since June 2008 when you laid a formal complaint against his skills.

The last organisation. And seriously, that SUCKED to the point where I still play with ideas of finally taking that fkcwit manager to the Constitutional Court and SARS. The last job at least let me realise an incredible side of this country and of myself. For months I was paid to do nothing more than integrate into the zones of Orange Farm & rural Mozambique towns. To read and study my arse off. And to TRY to help people with small tasks of HIV Prevention. When the boss took that away, labelled me an “abstinence specialist”, and did some other dodgy shite, I kicked the dream of freedom in a twilight zone setting and left.
For the cubicle.

The cubicle & red brick atrium. Sharing toilets with 5 other companies, all fake-smiled as the ones before. The security guards who don’t know your name. The “access card’d” life. “Three quote” purchasing requirements. Playing the “leave days” system. Listening to the biatching about someone parking in someone else’s allocated space. The crap overpriced food from the Business Park cafe. Probation assessments where I answer that the man’s strength is that he arrives at work each morning. How to print more cost-effectively. The recycle bin to save the planet you will never see from your office window.

And the birthday lunches, Monday morning staff meetings, baby showers & now the farewell all held in “the boardroom”.

Two years ago I got kakked out for not being motivated enough “You only have the minimum amount of flare... Now do you want to be someone who only does the minimum amount”. I since worked up to be a manager. I have kept a screwed-up flawed project concept alive. I have witnessed my manager move from a Polo car to now strolling in wearing Polo suits. All while our donor makes slight complaints that their cash ain’t reaching the kids. [Please note, all is legit, our over-inflated salaries are all legally budgeted for].

We kiss our donor’s arse while bitterly complaining about the taste. But we change nothing. We plan to meet and meet to plan. And then do it all again. While printing back-to-back.

And I am rewarded... with an email:

-----Original Message-----

From: Office Manager
Sent: Today
To: Droids
Subject: Timesheet - latest version

Morning Colleague
We are [again!] changing the format of the timesheets. Please react blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah accordingly.

Thanks
Office Manager

PS. Also note that “Bob is off sick today [Again!]

Oh ja, also, Champs’s farewell in the boardroom at 13h00 on Friday.

Please don’t forget about the timesheets!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Thanks for three years of dedication and hard work, please accept our slap in the face as gratitude”.

Right now. Being the barman in some skanky Melbournian bar has never looked more attractive.

Toddler with a panga

Go & watch WHITE WEDDING.

I have been meaning to blog that for weeks now. Now I have.

Loved it. Laughed throughout it. Hoping someone will buy the dvd for us as a farewell gift so we can show the Ozzies how crazy & fun our land is.

And if you don't trust me, trust others...

And while I am putting random things out there. ... Look at this photo of a toddler with a panga. I took it in Mozam the other day. Amusing. Till you psss him off.

Happy Weekend!

Lunacy

So there I was by yesterday afternoon. Broken down on that very very tricky lane from Grayston onto Katherine Street. I nearly caused everyone’s worst nightmare. The lot of you would’ve gotten home an hour later. But somehow I had managed to will the old girl 5 metres more, out of the one lane into 1 ½ lanes, where her battery jerked to an end.

Dusk. Peak hour traffic. Broken down car. Not keen for an AA 45 minute wait. Laptop in boot, phone in hand, & wallet in cubbyhole. This would not be an opportune time to cross paths with an opportunist thief.

Did you see me!?

Never have I actually been calmer.

But sometimes, all you can do is be calm and laugh.
When 3 precious hours of your day is wasted. The time of the panel beater’s driver is wasted. And the time of 2 mechanics is wasted;
At the stereotypicality of the mechanics’s brash but genuine ways about them, when they arrived to your rescue. Forget Knights in Shining Armour & think greased men with greased overalls being bravado in their assumptions & driving and flokking in a language that would make their sailor cousins cringe;
Laughing at the complete disregard for you & your wellbeing that the panel beater agents had;
The ridiculousness of where you now sit, without even being able to put the hazards on because they won’t even work;
That the cops just cruised past you & didn’t bother to stop to ask if you were ok... or if you were scoring a bankie from under the bridge;
And the looks people give you of “Lady, what the hell are you doing in this place at this time in this situation. And why are you laughing. Lunatic!”

I was less calm just minutes before that as I drove on Grayston from Wynberg with my car not showing revs, telling me my ABS brakes were malfunctioning, and then choosing to stop showing me what speed we’re moving at.

It was FuN!

The mechanics and I took about another half an hour to move us all back to Wynberg. Break down. Recharge. Restart. Race to next safe spot. All while the bonnet is open & the booster battery charger hangs out. The mechanic in my car was screaming to “do something about this, “they’re” lucky you are such a nice customer, you must be mean & shout, if I was your boyfriend...”

What really made me chuckle, in the way that my chuckle parallels My Guy’s calls for throats, is that I had especially asked three people if I really could get home from the panel beaters with a befokked alternator. Are they reaaaaallllllllly sure that a fked-up alternator can work long enough. Cause I have had experience with alternators before, I know their wily ways well; in the rain, pushing a car up the hill, with my driver’s foot looking like it should be amputated by now it is so green from gangrene... but that’s a different story from a different era.
I was advised to “just not drive at night because the lights will drain the battery”.

5 minutes out of their shop and it ain’t only the alternator that is befokked, but me as well.

The moral of the story – never ever get into a bumper bashing. It’s not the insurance or the time without the car that tests you. It is the time back WITH the car that will really kill your sanity.

Rejection

I was going to write that I was onto Job Rejection 2. And babble away about getting quite irate with my current company’s HR lady yesterday who said we need to stop hiring foreigners for awhile & concentrate on South Africans. Cause I can hear them saying the same thing over the Indian Ocean there in Melbourne about me.

Only to open up my yahoo this morning. And receive my 3rd job rejection.

Fuck. This sucks something.

And this last one was a job I was actually keenest for. To work with Aboriginal groups in Oz. Of which, granted, I know bugger all. But I am KEEN and FAST LEARNING! And I work well in a team and a hard worker and... and... and... And the admin lady who mailed me was very sweet to tell me that my application had been of a very high standard.

But that does not a salary create. And this current salary stops in 9 work days.

But, as I seem to mantra to The Guy, Only stress when it is time to stress.

And as my dad seems to be mantra’ing to me right now, a South African still in South Africa is not the most “hire’able” candidate to Australians.

Other folk have mentioned that post-Melbourne fires, and what with the retrenchment trend, many people are getting involved in Aid Work in Oz. Bastards.

On this note, I often get asked by people, how the bluddy hell does one even pin prick your industry, let alone worm into it? We’re a bitch of a closed-off industry, it seems.

I quietly reckon it is because us Aid Workers know that if everyone was an aid worker, the “high” of helping people wouldn’t be as sweet. We get like drug addicts of that feeling of “saving & helping”. And this makes us selfish and hoarders. We are constantly out to prove that we’ve seen more shite, worked in tougher conditions, pulled through worse stories, and maybe helped a handful more people.

But, in the spirit of sharing, if you are looking to get into the industry, these are some of your best sites:

- Relief Web Vacancies – this site offers the greatest amount of aid jobs around the world. So if you have thought of working in Afghanistan and/or Darfur....
- Google: Red Cross Regional Office (Jo’burg)
- Google: Oxfam – there are a thousand offices all around the world – Oxfam UK, Oxfam Oz, Oxfam Canada etc. And each of them has their own programmes in their own selected countries. Sometimes these overlap.
- SA Aid Jobs @ Sangonet/ NGOPulse
- Australian Aid Jobs
- The UN used to be a tricky one, and I haven’t checked the various sites out in years, but there is this web address

I also get amusing comments about my salary. Lay folk seem to be under the very very wrong impression that we all get paid with bags of WFP peanuts. Nope. We get paid WELL. Sweet as anything. Well, granted, this depends on the organisation, the location & danger pay, and the job.

Jo’burg for a UN worker is scarily dangerous, and the cost of braving it out here goes up a silly amount. Jo’burg for a Jo’burg worker is a normal job with normal pay. Hardly peanuts.

Right now. My consolation. No salary means no food means no eating means I’ll at least look dead-hot at any job interviews I do land in the next few months.

P.S. Any Melbournians who head up aid agencies and reading this... please hire me! Please! I look good behind a desk and I can work an Excel spreadsheet faster than a Thai Lady Boy can work that $5 out of you.

Just a little too derogatory for me

“I definitely agree with you that Zille is up to nonsense at times. The first part of her statement that’s quoted sounds like it was simply to rile up Zuma.

There are many ways that she could have said that first part that would have been more constructive & enlightening to the public.

I am pleased about the second part though. To put out there that a person who has unprotected sex with someone who is HIV-positive is affecting the lives of others beyond him/herself. That should have been said right from the rape case.

Did she say this to the ANCYL? If she did, then I am losing respect for her. Although, I am generally quite exhausted by the DA & their point-missing fighting in general. I was under the impression they [The ANCYL] just got involved for no reason but to express their overused line of “militant action!”.

I think, as you are saying her, what context were her comments said under? Was the conversation about Zuma’s chauvinist ways or did she throw in this over-used curveball AGAIN, into an argument that had nothing to do with this. There are so many other ways to criticise this man, why play only on the media-popular over-used examples?

For me, though, the ANCYL statement is SHOCKING and disturbing. These are people who cannot cope with other points of view, which are honest whether loaded or not. The statement takes the fighting of words to a disturbing level of aggression and possibly opens up for legal action.

This level of aggression needs to be addressed. Should we, the SA society, allow these people to speak to other people in a public forum with such hatred, disrespect, and aggression. These statements might invoke violence. And they show the rest of the populace that if you are insulted for your past actions, or any of your friend’s past actions, you can fight back violently, illogically & to an extremely derogatory degree. And our society will allow it.

Are we not about peace, political tolerance, and respect?
And can those of us who are chosen to write public statements not be required to have decent grammar & spelling skills!”

In reference to: ANCYL slams 'racist girl' Zille: 12/05/2009 13:43

Update:
The Letter by Helen Zille where there is a ridiculous selective quoting by The Sowetan. Shame on The Sowetan. Very good "feminist" points by Zille.

HAK ‘n YAK

So. There’s a twisted irony with some of these disciples and anti-christs of the “A South African moves to Australiasia” phenomenon.

You get the folk who hak and yak on about how life here is so uncertain and scary and dangerous and not worth it in good ol’ SA. You hear them hak ‘n yak on at the expos, ticket counters, blogs, dinner tables, beer braais. How “it’s all going the way of Africa!!!”… funny that. When South Africa is, well, African.

And then they get up to leave. Some of these folk travel. And they go insane. With Boredom. Then all they can hak ‘n yak on about is how New Zealand is the most boring place in the world. How NOOOOOOOOOTHING happens in Oz. They shove newspaper front pages in your face as evidence. Even how cold and drowl every little last part of Canada is.

And suddenly I think, is it just me, or are you not seeing your own irony here?

Do you want the excitement? Or do you want the quiet?

You gotta choose.

Life is no longer about living the white middle-class dream while the masses of darker poor live on the wasteland outskirts. Imprisoned when they cross the divide and are found without their “dompas”. If you don’t want the situation of the periphery wanting to interact… infiltrate …the centre, then you either have to make all equal. Which is apparently what has happened in the socialist states of Oz, NZ, and even Scandinavia. And, rumour would have it, that Socialism requires strict rule enforcement, otherwise, someone might become more equal (and less law abiding) than the others.

Or you have to have a nice little dictatorship maintaining the divides in its nice little militaristic ways. Also requiring strict rule enforcement.

If you don’t have time on your side to make things equal, and you don’t want (have) the suppressive system anymore, you’re gonna have to deal with a whole lotta fkced up interactions between the centre & the periphery.

Anywhere in the world.

Which do you want? Choose your system. And try to remember why you chose your system! Cause the irony is hurting my head!

The British lot seems to be divided about the whole Dysfunctional vs Calm Boredom. But they are more often the economic travellers. Not the “get-away-from-the-hysteria-only-to-yearn-for-chaos” guys. Ex-pats to England try to say that actually it is now a lot more dangerous than you’d think living in pub country. The way they hak ‘n yak, you’d think there are these 15 year old girls in plush purple tracksuits just itching to get preggers, and you might be the next victim… and then her boyfriend will smash his Chelsey beer bottle over yer head.

With my looming travel (less than 8 weeks and no flight’s been booked or accommodation found) this all is being thrown in my face every about turn.

And while I pause with my morning coffee & reflect on all the info coming in, I realise that what I am most morally caught on. What dilemmas me the most on whether it is right or wrong, good, bad, can I LIVE like THAT for 4 years!... … is being told last night that in Ozzie Land past a certain hour you can no longer order doubles. Past another hour, you cannot order shooters! And further on in the night, if you dance with your hands over your head, they see this is as a signal that you are drunk, and send you home!!

While my sober self thinks this is the best idea in the world, the mothering of it all, never again will I lie dying from a hangover! (until The Guy starts his homebrewing and then I foresee much initial poisoning). I just know my boozed self is not going to stand for this. And I fear for the ears & ankles of the Ozzie barmen and bouncers.

No more bad tequila decisions. No more table top side step and shimmying. No more drunken decisions. They make these for you there.

Does it all mean that after a certain hour I can drink triples though? Cause I’m alright with that.

So You Think South Africa's Pretty...

Drakensberg.

One can only love it.

Eight Things

In the spirit of procrastination, I am taking a non-tag by Benny and running with it -

8 things I’m looking forward to:
1. Leaving this godforsaken “task” & position that has hurt my stress-free nature & living & self, and my sense of goodwill, for the past 2 years.
2. Exploring Melbourne, and exploring its coffee!!
3. Seeing a brother get married and meeting my new in-lawed Malay family.
4. Visiting My Guy in Spain or Tuscany while he is “field working” in the next year or so.
5. Getting an email from an Aussie Aid Agency saying, “You got the job!”
6. The Ozzie braai on Friday afternoon. My liver is already sobbing in the corner for mercy. And the brain has already started to gently thud in anticipation of Saturday morning.
7. Getting the “Congrats! You have your Honours” certificate from UNISA. Finally.
8. Dinner.

8 things I did yesterday:
1. Improved my mood within seconds once My Guy called to say our visas have been granted!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
2. Shouted about how government officials love to waste one’s project money – R10 000 for a 2-day conference that does not even involve accomodation. Not a fuck of a chance am I paying for that!
3. Locked up the office – as usual.
4. Called to see when I can meet my week-old new cousin (today. 11am).
5. Paid a lot of money for 6-packs of bottled water (& a bottle of wine) and Filled a toilet with pool water so it could flush, all thanks to a water-outage.
6. Had sex. Twice.
7. Didn’t phone to find out from the panel beaters about how my car is healing up.
8. Listened to a lot of “Deathcab for cutie” while cleaning, consolidating, and reporting on data.

8 things I wish I could do:
1. Tell the bane of my life what I really think of him and what I really think he should be doing with himself.
2. Take up evening drawing classes & Do yoga every second day.
3. Pay for the travel.
4. Be handed a Class-A job that will make me love life and people and grow into someone professionally brilliant.
5. Visit Namibia, Zambia, Mozam (again), Botswana, that funny Pass, Cape Town, all my SA-based mates before we leave in 8 weeks.
6. Not suffer from a hangover after Friday’s Long Island Braai.
7. Meet a Somali pirate or two (got off the cruise ship too early it seems!). They fascinate me.
8. Write something that makes me famous. In a good way.
[9. Finish pealing the office window.]

8 shows I watch on TV:
1. Isidingo
2. Top Billing
3. 7pm News
4. BBC Knowledge Channel
5. House
6. Music videos for the tongue-hanging-out drooling-slightly ultimate zone-out
7. SA vs Ozzie vs IPL Cricket
8. Adverts

8 famous-ish Quotes that guide me:
1. I used to want to change the world. Now I just want to leave the room with a little dignity.
2. You don’t have to see the whole staircase. You just have to take the first step.
3. Are we human. OR ARE WE DANCERS!!!
4. Love is the answer, but while you are waiting for the answer sex raises some pretty good questions.
5. Decide that you want it more than you are afraid of it.
6. To you I'm an atheist; to God, I'm the Loyal Opposition.
7. Civilization had too many rules for me, so I did my best to rewrite them.
8. I've always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. I suspect it's a bit like fucking — which is fun only for amateurs. Old whores don't do much giggling. Nothing is fun when you have to do it — over and over, again and again — or else you'll be evicted, and that gets old.

Gotta love Woody Allen, Hunter S. Thompson, Oscar Wilde, Bill Cosby, Martin King Jnr, when the Killers are inspired by Hunter S. Thompson, and that drag queen from the kick-ass (or is that lick-ass - ewwwwww) movie “Shortbus”!!

Now. Back to the grindstone. This slave has been too lucky to dare have time to think (let alone TYPE) during this 12 hours.