The year of the teeth

30 05 11

I currently am missing a premolar.

It cracked in half on Friday as a result of a piece of muesli, which is proof if it was needed, that muesli is awful stuff. I’m not talking about that syrupy, honey-coated sugar fest of nuts and oats that is awesome. No, I am referring to the low-G.I, not-a-grain-of-sugar-in-sight stuff that dieticians will tell you is OK to eat for breakfast. Anyway, a spoonful of the latter stuff cause my tooth to split open and start flapping, rather painfully, it must be said.

Off I went to my amazing dentist, who, coincidentally, sent me a text message the day before to announce that she was back in practice (perhaps the DBAWIW curse to dentists has been broken?), who promptly pulled the tooth, leaving me looking like a hobo when I smile (very broadly, admittedly).

Today I have to have an implant at a dental surgeon, which I’m looking forward to about as much as a Comrades Marathon finisher looks forward to another 10km run the day after the race.

Bah! Oh well, hopefully by December or January, depending on how quickly my dental benefits run out on my medical scheme plan, I shall have a fixed set of choppers. This year is dedicated to my teeth, ungrateful mo-fos that that are.

 

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Fikile Mbalula ‘collapses’

26 05 11

According to the newspaper sans editors, The New Age (ok, perhaps it has a few editors now, though that’s questionable), sports minister Fikile Mbalula collapsed during a Cabinet meeting  yesterday. The alleged cause was ‘flu-like symptoms’, according to would-be Coloured-people disperser, Jimmy Manyi, government spokesperson, who added that Mbalula would be back at work today, a day after he fell down and evidently, his heart stopped.

However, SAPA claims The New Age reported that an anonymous government  official at the meeting had this to say, which has got to be one of the funniest quotes I’ve read yet by a bureaucrat:

“They administered a CPR [sic] and used a defibrillator to ease his breathing before strapping him to a stretcher and wheeling him out to the hospital… “

They used a DEFIBRILLATOR to EASE his breathing?!?!

If by ‘ease his breathing’ they surely meant ‘start his failed heart’, well then, yes.

My guess is that someone who required “a CPR” and the use of a defibrillator is not all that predisposed to be back at work the next day, but let it not be said that Fikile Mbalula wastes the taxpayer’s rand.


If I knew the world were really going to end soon…

25 05 11

…I would:

  • shave my head, just to see what it looked like
  • buy a motorbike and drive it in Jo’burg traffic
  • indulge in a massive drug binge
  • just eat chocolate and drink Coke
  • tell repulsive people that I find them repulsive
  • buy an alpaca and keep it in my home
  • take a cruise to the Arctic to see Aurora Borealis
  • never wear shoes again
  • have a symphony orchestra play The William Tell Overture, the 1412 Overture and Clair de Lune for me, repeatedly
  • move to the sea
  • kick the following people  very hard in the knees: Julius Malema, leadership of the Freedom Front Plus, Jackson Mthembu, newsreader Ray White,  Kesha, Donald Trump and the entire staff of Fox TV in the US.

I would not:

  • bath/shower so frequently
Hey, the end of the world doesn’t sound so bad!!

Goodbye autumn

24 05 11

Tomorrow a cold front is apparently hitting Jo’burg. Ah well, it’s been a glorious autumn and I suppose winter won’t be too bad if it lasts for only June, July and a bit of August.

This winter I shall be out and about most afternoons at 16.30, doing Boot Camp… breathing in the fresh air or, rather, gasping in the fresh air as I battle not to become a couch potato every afternoon after work as has been the routine for almost every winter since high school.

I miss those days at school when we just put on our sports kit and played sport, despite it being bitterly cold. There was something fantastically stoic about it without really being stoic at all – it was just what kids who played sport did.

Sometimes I wish I were as strong as the teenage version of me… without all that teenage angst and shit, mind you.


23 05 11

I did nice stuff this weekend.

The end.

P.S. Might’ve lost my vocab. Please to help, yes?


Being ‘Smart and casual’

19 05 11

I must attend a function for work this evening. What strikes me about this invitation is that who ever sent it announced that the dress code would be “smart and casual”.

I am a bit confused. When I asked an office mate, a rather butch woman who makes me look like a poster girl for ‘Floral Dress Weekly’ (if such a publication existed), what she thought this might mean, she suggested that I wear, “a black skirt or pant, with takkies [gym shoes] and a t-shirt”.

Of course, that image depressed me immensely. A skirt and gym shoes, unless you are Anna Kornikova, is so unattractive that it should be banned outright, with rompers and the two-toned shirts South African farmers and the fashion-uninclined are wont to wear.

 Romper 1
Romper 2

Two-toned shirts

Perhaps the instruction refers to both one’s attire AND state of mind. Like, dress smartly, as if you’re going to an black-tie event, but act casual, like you’re on the beach or in the stands at a cricket match. Look dashing and dazzling, but say things like, “Yissis, I’m, like, so pissed right now – where’s the bloody waiter with some chow?”. Hmmm, perhaps I’m confusing ‘casual’ with ‘obnoxious and objectionable’, here.

Ah well, I have six hours to decide.


I’ve got a lot of shit I’ve gotta not get done

17 05 11

To quote the fantastic Maria Bamford, I’ve got a lot of shit I’ve gotta not get done. The list is overwhelming and endless.

Well, actually it’s not.

It really, really isn’t.

But why let this bother me? I like to think that actually *doing* the shit that needs to get done would leave me with nothing else to do; no purpose in life; bereft of meaning and too much time to watch ETV movies from 1975.

Take today, for example. About an hour ago, I was informed that I’d accidentally locked in my domestic worker. Yes, yes, in South Africa that kind of incident can realllllly be misconstrued. At least she didn’t start singing ‘DUBUL ’IBHUNU’ at me. I seriously thought about asking her to break out using a hammer and set of pliers I have. This is despite living 10 minutes from work. You’ll be pleased to know that I dragged my sorry arse home and unlocked the door, at which point I found a none-too-impressed Rosie storming around the living area.

There’s more shit I’ve gotta not get done on my list:

1. I’ve haven’t replaced the toilet seat with a new version I bought about three weeks ago. I started doing it…oh, about three weeks ago, hit a snag when one of the bolts couldn’t be budged, and now have a half-unscrewed toilet seat that wobbles quite precariously when in use.

2. I have two prints in my room that I have meant to frame for months. The fact that the framer is about a kilometre from my home has not yet convinced me to put the prints in the car and drive them to the shop.

3. I have not RICA’d my phone yet, despite having had my green ID book in my bag for six months, as well as a rate’s bill in my car for proof-of-residence purposes. The MTN centre is 1.5km from my home.

4. I have not managed to get a quote to rip up my bathroom in order to make space for a washing machine, which I’ve not yet bought.

5. I have not removed the  possessions I’ve left at my mother’s home for four years. She’s resorted to threatening me via SMS, and I’ve taken to not responding, because I have too much other shit I need to not get done.

And in a horrible fucking coincidence, the bank has *JUST* SMSed me to let me know that come 30 June, my ATM card will no longer be functional, at which point I will have to use  my “existing debit or cheque card”, neither of which I have. I’ve never had one of thems. So now you all know what I will be doing on 30 June (29 June if I am really on the ball – somebody please remind me).

I would write more but there’s stuff I need to not get done now, so cheerio!