Verbal Diarrhoea

Sit down, sit down on the prow to wave back
There might not be another stop further on the line
Look out, look out at each town that glides by
And there’s another crowd to drown in crying eyes

Lost Coastlines – Okkervil River

Not entirely sure where in Costa Rica this photograph was taken.

Can you imagine surfing in warm water? Can you imagine getting into without a wetsuit?

Blue Frog

The following photographs stolen from Lonely Planet’s website. Thanks to Dizzy* for sending me the link.

It all started off innocently enough. I sent forth yesterday’s Google image search results and expected nothing more than, “Wow, that’s crazy!” What I wasn’t expecting was for Barry to vehemently support Google’s search engine. It got to a point that Mad Phoenix had to ask if he had stocks in the company.

Anyway here’s a snippet of yesterday’s email conversation:

Dizzy*:   On a now unrelated note, if you update your search query to: surfing + female + surfboard, you’ll get better results:

Dizzy*: I’ll go with the highlighted girl on the right. Not only because I haven’t seen many black surfer chicks*, but also, cos she actually looks like she’s been surfing – smiling, happy, relaxed, and oh yes – WET. Which all those other posers seem to forget about!

Barry: She’s carrying a gay minimal, obviously can’t surf. The one right next to her… hubba hubba.

Me: Gay minimal?

Mad Phoenix: Shhh [insert my real name]! Barry is trying to tell us something… No need to have added the last item Barry. This is a safe space…you can talk to us.

Luckily Barry took the jibe quite well.

* Dizzy’s right. I’ve spent every weekend at Surfer’s Corner for the last year, and I’ve yet to see a black surfer.

Isn’t this just the cutest puppy ever? Seriously? You have no idea how happy this picture made me.

You can find more adorable pics of puppies at The Daily Puppy.

Friday night: Blogger meet-up held at Knoxville in Kloof Street.

The meet-up was organized by the ever fashionable Brazen, whose hot boyfriend does NOT have an available brother. At the meet-up I managed to chat to some fabulous ladies, whose passions ranged from unicorns to Antoni Gaudi (a Spanish architect). I must say that I was mightly impressed with Zeanne’s knowledge of Spanish art/architecture.

Guy: So … what’s your blog about?

Me: Diarrhoea.

Radio silence ensues.

Me: What? I’m trying to corner a unique market. Trying to garner some sponsorship. Senokot …

Saturday morning: I ran my 1st half-marathon in under 3 hours and it was way easier than I had imagined.    

I also discovered that my sister has a tendency to freak out under pressure.

Sister: Do you have pins to secure your race number to your T-shirt?

Me: …

Sister: Do you have pins?

Me: …

Sister: Do you have pins???

And in the most laid back fashion ever, “I don’t know. I’m busy looking in the bag right now.”

Sister: No, you don’t!!!

Me: Okay, you need to calm the fuck down.

Saturday night: Attended Mo’s birthday party (more about that some other time).

Sunday morning: Woke up at 6:30 and hiked up Elephant’s Eye.

Monday morning: Feel like kak. Think I might be coming down with the flu AGAIN!

On Sunday I was looking at babies.

In the whole history of Sid Kane, this is an unprecedented event. My usual stance of “Oh holy mother of fuck, why would anyone do THAT to their vagina” was replaced by looks of yearning, looks that has heretofore been reserved for hooker heels and men with really broad shoulders.

I’m talking about desire. For a baby. I Sid Kane, who previously duct taped a nappy to a kid’s ass and has often referred to kids as “rugrats”, am overcome with the sudden desire to have a little one.

 And all I wanted was the simple things

A simple kind of life

And all I needed was a simple man

So I could be a wife

It got so bad that while lounging at La Perla, I ignored any hot men in the near vicinity. Noting my fascination with the little buggers, Cazz finally commented, “You want a life altering experience? How about having one of those?”

Me: I did think about it but to be honest with you Cazz, I don’t think the parents would be too happy with me abducting their kids. Parents are kinda touchy that way.

I always thought I’d be a mom

Sometimes I wish for a mistake

The longer that I wait the more selfish that I get

You seem like you’d be a good dad

*Sigh*

I’m not quite sure what else to tell you guys. I guess I just don’t really want to tell you guys that for the longest time ever I’ve had this image in my head of me standing in front of my bedroom window, watching my husband and kids play soccer. Of course as the years have passed this vision has evolved to include me holding a camera, which has now become as much a part of me as my appendages.

Now all those simple things are simply too complicated for my life

How’d I get so faithful to my freedom?

A selfish kind of life

When all I ever wanted was the simple things

A simple kind of life

(Just reread this and can’t believe how girly and honest I am. And on a public forum no less. God I want to puke.)

I only want sympathy
in the form of you
crawling into bed with me
Dance, dance – Fall out Boy (Lindberg Palace Remix)

A few days ago I was telling Juan how much I enjoy listening to the song above. Everytime I hear it I can’t help but start dancing and it’s not sexy dancing. “When I hear this song I don’t dance like I’m trying to entice a guy. This is happy dancing – dancing that will earn me more than a few weird stares and giggles.”

Juan: So what? Do you normally dance to entice a guy?

Me: Nooooo … But the men sure are enticed!

*

At the moment I’m totally enjoying Gold Motel’s Stealing the Moonlight. The song makes me yearn for summer and short little dresses. (It’s raining right now. I can’t say I’m surprised. It is winter IN Cape Town. In Cape Town, in Winter, rain is all you can expect for days on. It’s so depressing.)  

I was walking on Muizenberg beach when this guy attempted to sell me the most adorable puppy ever. Don’t you just want to take it home and heap hordes of hugs/attention on this little thing? 

Soccer fever in Cape Town. I love how proudly South African everyone is at the moment.

*

A recent conversation with my sweet/racist grandmother (my mom’s mom)

Grandmother: You’re a project manageress now?

Me: Yes …

Grandmother: So you’re bringing home R10 000 a month?

Me: Okay …

Grandmother: What are you doing with the money? I hope you’re not buying more clothes. You have enough. I’ve seen your cupboard. You need to save it. One day you’ll get married and you’ll need to buy a house. You don’t have a boyfriend, hey?

Me: No …

Grandmother: Try to bring home a white guy. Don’t bring home a [insert derogatory term for black person and no, the word isn’t nigger]. Or an Indian.

My dear grandmother then pronounces my surname with great disdain.

Grandmother: Your grandfather, your dad’s dad, was Indian.

I told Dizzy* this story and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Dizzy*: If you ever manage to have some “off-white” kids your grandmother will be all, “These are my great grandkids with the straight hair”.

Two blog posts in one day. I AM spoiling you guys.

*

In less than a month’s time I will be running my first half-marathon. Or at least I hope to run it. Considering that I have yet to train, chances are good that I might just end up crawling the last 8km. Essentially this could be a repeat of the seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time-let’s-enter-a-25km-funwalk-without-training episode of 2008.

For those of you NOT familiar with THAT race, it starts in Fish Hoek and ends with me crying in Observatory. The walk started off easy enough with me being all cocky and thinking, “Training? Who needs training? All you need to do is put one foot in front of the other. I was born to do this.” By the time I’d reached Wynberg I was singing a whole different tune. I kept thinking, “That’s it call your mother. Tell her to pick you up. Your mother won’t judge you. Your mother will always love you even if you didn’t complete a silly race. Just do it. Call her.”

Of course I’m a masochist of note and simply wouldn’t admit defeat. Instead I kept telling myself that I’m almost there – one kilometer left. Yeah, Wynberg isn’t simply a kilometer away from Observatory, especially if you’re at that point where you can’t help but wonder if your feet are bleeding.  

By the time I’d finally reached my destination and stood in line for a coke, I simply didn’t have the energy to assist an elderly woman who’d collapsed in front of me. In fact, the most I would allow myself to do was to crane my neck in her general direction, in the hopes that it would seem as if I were concerned with her general wellbeing, before stepping over her limp body and ordering that ice cold coke. What? Don’t look at me like that? I was only doing my best to implement Darwin’s theory of Evolution – Survival of the Fittest.

If you’re into hiking, bouldering or rock climbing and are ever in the Western Cape, one of the places you absolutely have to check out is the Cederberg. The Cederberg region is approximately 2 hours north of Cape Town and I’ve gone there every year for the last 4 years. Map of the Cederberg obtained from THIS website.

Permit required to hike up Wolfberg Cracks. A permit cost each of us R25. We didn’t actually make it to the top. We’d started the hike too late (12:00) to reach the top at a reasonably safe hour.  Sign indicating the direction of the route. My calves are so sore this morning. I’d forgotten how much I love THAT feeling – the slight achiness of having your body worked over hard.    

Yes, I actually took pictures of plants.

If I ever have enough money to buy a house WITH a garden, I’m totally planting a bunch of daisies. Yes, yes, I know. Most women don’t spend countless hours of their lives dreaming of planting roses in their lovely gardens. Most women want rose bushes. Personally I’ve never really understood the appeal. I guess to some, rose are this classical flower that simply eminates feminity and sophistication. To me roses are the flower kingdoms most boring creatures ever.

Must admit that I am however a huge fan of D.J. Lawrence’s poem, Gloire de Dijon Roses.

More Cederberg pictures to follow tomorrow.

What did you guys get up to this weekend?

I don’t feel like entertaining the masses today so I thought I’d participate in Where in the World Wednesday. What’s that? It’s not Wednesday? Yeah, well I’m uploading pictures of Venice either way, so suck it up Sherlock.

To participate in WITWW all you need to do is upload some pics, upload the WITWW button and post a comment on Classy in Philadelphia stating that you’ve decided to participate.   

I loved the look and feel of the old buildings.

I was completely amazed at the size of the seafood in Venice. Click on photo to enlarge.

Sitting on the banks of the river (?) I watched the sun set. Personally I think Venice has Paris beat when it comes to being the most romantic city.

I actually met the funniest Canadian chicks while sitting on the river banks. We just sat there talking and laughing for hours. The one taught be about Indian history and the war for independence and the other talked about her Irish grandmother. It was one of my all time favourite moments in Italy.   

Play ground – so different to the ones I see in Cape Town everyday.