Category Archives: ME

Charleston, Driving, Olivia Rae, Disaster

Sooo …

In the last 24 hours my fascination with Charleston (USA, not New Zealand) has morphed into an emotion, which sports the same name as a Calvin Klein fragrance. Obsession. This domination of thought can be attributed to Olivia Rae’s blog, Everyday Musings. Seriously, the images on her blog are exquisite and I have spent hours delving through them, wishing that I had THAT much talent.

My love for Charleston was further roused by the knowledge that one could encounter dolphins. In the ocean. You know, in case some of you were a little confused about the habitat niche of dolphins.

Given this, I’ve decided that once I’ve had my fill of New Orleans, I am to spend some time in Charleston, before heading to NYC. I’d originally decided to take a train from New Orleans to New York (Amtrak Crescent line, 31 hours), with the possibility of stopping off in Washington DC. I’m reconsidering this idea. You see, it appears that some of the places I’d like frequent in Charleston are rather “remote”, and inaccessible by public transport. The only logical conclusion is to rent a car. Possibility of disaster = exponentially large.

Seriously. They drive on a completely different side of the road there. I have enough trouble driving, without any extra complications thrown my way. Remember that time I drove into a wall? Of a shopping mall. Or that time I accidentally pinned a car guard between two cars. Twice. And then I gave him R10 as hush money. Yeah well, Friday night I drove into the kerb. Of a road. Not over, but into the kerb. Of a road. Sadly, I was not under the influence of mind-altering drugs. I don’t even have that as an excuse. *Hangs her head in shame*.

Of course, I knew I’d royally fucked-up when my car immediately switched off. It then proceeded to make that sweet grating sound when I tried to reverse my car away from the curb. I’m getting all too familiar with that sweet grating sound that metal makes when comes into contact with concrete.

And let’s not forget my talent for getting lost. I’m the type of girl, who’d get lost in a parking lot. No seriously, I once spent five minutes driving around the parking lot of Mad Phoenix’s apartment complex, because I was incapable of finding the exit.

This US trip is bound to be fun.

Homosexuality – the white man’s disease

Never too soon
Oh reckless abandon,
Like no one’s watching you

Sweet Disposition – The Temper Trap

Let’s go back in time when I was a freshman* at university and Britney Spears bothered to put on panties before leaving the house. Yes, the early 2000s was a time of innocence. Back then I still believed in soul mates, the healing power of chocolate and that a good job was all that was needed to OWN a house. Now the only thing I swear by is the healing power of chocolate – unless of course you’re diabetic, then you’re screwed.

Comic from Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal.

Anyway, the following story takes places a few months into my first year at uni. I’m in the Bolus Herbarium (Botany Library) searching for my BFFs (En-dee!, Fahiema and Goldilocks**). Not finding them I decide to share a table with a group of black students, one of whom I recognize from one of my classes.

So they’re sitting there having an interesting conversation, none of which I can understand because they were speaking in Xhosa. Of course I wasn’t going to let something as silly as the language barrier stop me from participating in a conversation that appeared to shock the audience.  

Me: Wait? What? I don’t understand you guys. Please repeat in English.

Girl: I was just telling them that I watched this series where a black mother caught her gay son having sex with a guy. She them poured boiling water onto them while they were still busy in the act.

Everyone shakes their heads and mutter something or other. And then the boy said something that shocked me.

Boy: Homosexuality – the white man’s disease.

And I just sat there, wide-eyed and disbelieving as everyone else seemed to agree with him. Until that day I’d always assumed that it was only the uneducated that thought this way – now I know better.  

*South Africans don’t use the term freshman so I have no idea if I’m using the term correctly.

**Goldilocks would later stop speaking to us after we screw her over but that’s a story for a whole different blog post. Actually I think I already blogged this story.

Don’t forget

It’s my birthday on the 8th of December. Don’t forget to wish me (and tell me how pretty I am) on the day . Of course I will post constant reminders about the day my mom ejected me from her vagina. Or you can write a lovely post all about me, me and ME.