For the Love of Mom

It's a commonly held belief that my mom is slightly unusual. Ok actually most of the family consider a bit crazy, but I was trying to be polite. Personally I think mom is rather hysterical, most often I don't even remember why I have been reduced to tears of laughter by mom, all the remains is the memory of sore stomach muscles and an incredibly funny mommy.

Take for instance mom's strange knack for messing up words or sayings, with most people it's faintly amusing, with mom however, it's classic comedy which should actually be written down and shared with the rest of the world. My most recent favourite is mom's new word for pigeon, I realise there's not much one can do to mess this word up, but like I said, mom has a certain knack. Needless to say we have no started referring to pigeons as "pijjsions" (yeah it's not that easy to say either). What's even funnier is that this word came about after mom had a sip of cider, no I'm quite serious, ONE sip of (mulled) cider. She should definitely be kept away from anything with a stronger alcohol volume than a wine gum.

Next is mom's strange and amusing daily acts she performs, no not something that she performs on purpose, but rather things she does accidentally, like, hmmm, I dunno accidentally dipping a chip into her coffee instead of a rusk? Yeah, you couldn't write this kind of stuff. I think mom also attracts this kind of funny behaviour, the phrase "you think you know me, but you don't" (yes she did actually say that to a complete stranger) come to mind. But on a more recent note, when I showed mom a birthday card, she screamed very loudly in a crowded shop, when she opened it (ok it was a singing card), but her reaction was priceless.

Whilst mom is hysterically funny, she is also, of course, a brilliant and lovely mommy (cue brownie points now), and whilst I hope she doesn't consider this little memento to be too "bulge" (see mom for details), I just want to say "love you lots mom".

The Little Mermaid

What sudden burst of inspiration could lead to such impulsive behaviour? Very simply; clothes. Oh I know, I know, so materialistic and fickle and what not, but these clothes were especially beautiful, AND they're were specifically tailored for me! Actually, technically, TECHNICALLY, they weren't tailored for me as a person, but they were definitely tailored for my name! Ok, so not MY actual name, but the name of a well known Disney character, also known as The Little Mermaid. But still, I felt a certain kinship to these beautiful clothes, we do share the same name, this character and I, and it is a very unusual and beautiful name. That's my excuse anyway.

So these clothes perfectly and stylishly emmulate Ariel (The Little Mermaid, not me, I have not taken to talking about myself in the third person...), basically we're talking modern interpretations of a cartoon characters style, specifically a purple cardigan, green pumps and BRIGHT red hair (though the hair wasn't part of the original styling that I saw, I improvised a wee bit). Obviously this could only mean one thing, buy a purple cardigan and green pumps, and dye my hair BRIGHT red! This plan of course is so simple and fool proof. Obviously.

My first step was the purple cardi... erm... ok maybe I could move this step down the line, I wasn't really giving up, but after rather a few hours of searching for this cardi with no luck what-so-ever, I moved green pumps up to the first step. Count down another few hours and dying my hair red had moved to the top of the list. So what followed was an intense google search on how to *home* dye hair BRIGHT red. Onwards and upwards!

Two days later the dye was on my hair (*ahem* only a couple pounds down the line), and all that remained was waiting to wash and style (the hair). Oh, yeah, still no luck on the cardi or the shoes. Uhm, right, so the hair was now washed... well. Needless to say it's not exactly what I was expecting. Bright red was definitely involved in the hair... buuut only on the roots. And the rest was dark brown/red. Ok, so I mildly resembled someone with an all over scalp wound... Not ideal, but fixable. Second step: seek immediate help from a hairdresser (no thoughts at this point were spared on the cardigan or the shoes).

Fast forward 3-4 hours and a few more pounds later, and voila! Tick the box on the bright red hair! It's beautiful and lovely, even if I do say so myself. I won't go into detail but there is a lot of hair flicking and mirror glancing going on now. It is really lovely though! Thanks goodness for hairdressers, and lesson learned on not trying something extreme without the help of a professional.

So right now, I've got the name, I've got the hair, I've got the PURPLE CARDI! I'm well on my way to becoming The Little Mermaid! All I need now is my very own blue and yellow fish. Ok yeah, and the whole being a mermaid thing, but we'll gloss over that at this point.

Winter Wonderland

OMG OMG SNOW!!! These may sound like the words of a small child, or perhaps Lily's silent dog words, but rather this is what I thought, and quite honestly, probably said when I looked out the window this morning. Yes, I know it is the third day of snow, but to me it is still so magically cool and awesome. I don't understand how other people can be "so over" the snow, yeah I'm over it, I'm over it when I do a mad leap across the pristine snow in the garden in a bid to not disturb it (incidentally this did not go as planned as I found myself surrounded by white walls of snow as I lay somewhat startled in the snow - I slipped).

I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen snow... er... twice actually, so it's still pretty amazing to me. I hope I never get to that "I'm so over this" stage, if I do I shall spend lots of time with Lily whose boundless enthusiasm surpasses even my own. She is quite literally insane, I'm not sure what goes on in her little-doggy brain, but whatever it is, it sure is undeniably and rather disgustingly cute. As I write this she is lying against my shoulders, like some kind of cruelly dressed parrot (she is wearing her pink polka dot hoody, which is gorgeously sweet), she is also asleep, but at least she is nice and warm - like a moving back scarf...

Lily can only be compared to a mix between a squirrel, a springbokkie and of course Jack. She LOVES the snow; to her it is white, fluffy edible joy. She can leap in it, she can dig in it, she can eat it, she can frolic to her heart's delight. Earlier we went out into the (dark) snowy garden for some icy play time. This mostly involved Lily doing her springbokkie thing; she has to do mad hop-jumps to keep her head above the snow, otherwise she ends up us just a tail and a bit of back amongst the snow. She also had a pink squeaky to play with, which provided much enjoyment, I think she liked it too. There was this little black hamster thing doing mad leaps for a snow encrusted squeaky – remind you of anyone? *cough* Jackles *cough*

She also decided she rather liked snowballs, or perhaps she decided she rather disliked snowballs. Either way any snowball which comes towards her must be quickly demolished, either by means of eating and flinging wildly, or leaping about in the same spot. Yes, she does rather enjoy eating the snow, maybe what she enjoys more is seeing me suffer as my hands quickly freeze whilst I make these snowballs, but I don’t think she’s that cruel. I think she’s more like “I will come frolic on your NAKED face with my NAKED snow covered self. Take that.

Needless to say, whilst I have been rambling on a bit, I do enjoy Lily’s frolic-iness a LOT. I shall end with Lily’s most famous words: “I’m running, I’m running!” *pause as she shivers with her tongue lolling out* “I’m naked! Woooo-hoooo-hoooo-hoooo!” (Please don’t get confused, once again, these are Lily’s words not mine… I would never do such a thing. I’d keep my tongue in my mouth whilst shivering)

Flaming Roosters

I realise this title may be misleading to some. Since I am a pescetarian (one who eats fish), the idea of roosters spontaneously combusting is not exactly something I would relish talking about. Especially in such a light hearted manner. What I mean by the title is more of a curse at roosters, similar to "those bloody roosters". On writing that however, I realise that bloody roosters are just as bad as flaming roosters.

The point of this tale is not to discuss the best curse word to describe the rooster, rather it is about an event; an event which caused much laguhter and possibly a bit of hysteria. When we were in South Africa, Mom, Kyle and I went to tea with Nan and Grandad. We went to a place called Second Cup, which whilst very charming and quaint (etc, etc), was home to a dozen or so roosters. Why they all chose to live together is somewhat of a mystery, as I'm sure they outnumbered the hens at least 3 to 1.

We were shown to a lovely table in the middle of the garden, cool and shaded, and surrounded by towering trees and colourful flowers. Oh, we were also surrounded by roosters, lots of roosters. Despite the fact that it was about 10 in the morning, the roosters still felt it necassary to crow every few minutes. Needless to say this did rather disrupt the quiet calm of the area in which we were seated. Mom thought that shouting at these roosters would help our case, they simply ignored her. Or I imagined they would have ignored her had they the brain capacity to perform the act of ignoring. Rather they just kept on cock-a-doodle-dooing. Very annoying.

Out of sheer desperation mom vehemently told the roosters that if they didn't stop shouting she would make sure they were turned into the day's chicken mayo mix. The roosters were not pleased. With a sudden flurry of wings and claws the roosters descended on our little table. Two of them landed on mom; one on her head, the other on her back, flapping wildy and sending feathers flying. Mom was now screeching (much louder than the roosters ever had) as another one landed on her plate, chicken mayo what? As these three dare devil roosters took off once again they stole Nan's cake decorations and serviette right from under her nose. Grandad seemed unflappable, Kyle found it highly amusing, Mom was in a state of rooster shock, Nan just seemed mildy surprised to find her serviette missing whilst I pretended that I hadn't in fact screeched and dived under the table. I swear, I really didn't.

The manager promptly arrived to apologize, his excuse being that the roosters had seen a rather attractive hen flaunting her feathers. I know the truth however, the roosters were quite obviously angered by mom's statement regarding the chicken mayo. We however had the last laugh. The manager informed us that the roosters would be in today's chicken mayo following this incident. We laughed nervously, not entirely sure if he was just joking. I'd like to think he was, those roosters looked much to tough to make a tasty chicken mayo mix.

*No roosters were harmed in the making of this tale*

The Trains of Life

With the time for me to be going back to the UK getting ever closer, people are continually asking me whether I will be getting dropped off at the airport, or if I will indulge in the Gautrain.  My answer is, and always will be, I use the train enough in England, why would I want to use it here.  Especially when I have a perfectly good car, and for that matter, chauffeur, who will drive me right to the airport doors.  From this answer, I'm sure you can gather, that I am not the fondest of trains, or buses, or in fact taxis (English ones, we all know everyone loathes South African ones).

 The reason you see, is an overindulgence in trains (and buses).  The first time I was on a train it was very exciting, new and somewhat fun.  You stare out the window and watch the scenery whizzing past, it's peaceful and quiet in your safe little earphoned world.  Yes, what a change to back in SA.  Fast forward a year down the line, trains, why they're just not so much fun anymore.

When I lived in Cornwall I endured a lot of 7 hour train journeys.  These journeys were far from the exciting ones I had once experienced.  Firstly, they were a good few hours longer, then there was the cramped noisy undelightfully smelling cabins.  Airplanes I can endure, but trains, not so much.  I recall one occasion when someone nearby was eating something that smelled like a mixture of sweat and something that had died (remember, no open windows!) then, despite my subtle glares at anyone who tried to sit next to me, a rather large man decided to invade my little sanctum regardless.  Not only did I have to squash myself against the window, but his sweaty arm still kept bumping mine.  He smelt funny, like old people and sweat, and he just sat staring at the back of the chair.  Just a bit freaky deaky.

But endured I did, I breathed in fresh clean train fumes when I stumbled out from that trip.  Fortunately I didn't have to take a bus anywhere.  Buses are even more of a "least favourite" for me.  One either has to sit squashed next to blank looking mothers with their screeching children, or stand in the aisle, and endure occasionally bumping into another passenger in a very uncomfortable way.  Not only is the journey car sickening, one still has to wait for wasted minutes hanging around bus stop on the sides of roads.  In the rain, sometimes even the snow.  Oh what fun.

My worst bus journey was a late night trip back from work.  I somehow managed to find myself seated in front of a very inebriated old man.  He was sitting right forward, so that he was almost breathing down the back of my neck, leaving me to crane awkwardly forward without looking too obvious.  Then he kept tapping me on the shoulder, I tried my best to ignore him, but he was relentless.  I turned around slightly with what I hoped was an unimpressed look on my face, he wanted to know what the time was.  First off, my watch was beneath many layers of sleeves and gloves, and second off, his watch was winking at me from his wrist.  I gave him a vague answer and turned away, twisting myself even further away (and no I couldn't have moved, the bus was full... of drunk old men).  It was then that my ipod decided to give up, so now I was stuck with no way to ignore him.  He was still tapping my shoulder.  I stubbornly kept my earphones in, leaned forward, and spent a very uncomfortable, very car sick hour back home.

Another incident occurred on my way to college.  I was sitting near the front, on one of the fold down seats, and sitting across from me was a chavvy man with his child bride and bratty children.  Not to be rude or anything.  As the bus lurched to the side, this man fell forwards, right towards me.  I'm not sure who was more surprised, him or me, when he grabbed my leg in an attempt to stop falling.  I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head, and I watched him apologize silently for a second before I realized I couldn't hear anything with my earphones in.  I simply did a somewhat scared smile and turned away to stare out the window, which incidentally was also very uncomfortable, what with the window being directly behind me.

So, with those journeys being the cherry on top of my dislike for public transport, my reasoning for not wanting to take the Gautrain is, I think, perfectly sound.  On to the airport, on to the plane.  Oh my, don't even get me started on flights.

   

An Hommage

This is about someone whom I love very muchly.  Since this person has asked me NOT to write a blog about them, I am doing the exact opposite.  I am however, leaving out the identity of this person.  They know who they are, and anyone who knows them knows who they are.  But for privacy's sake, they shall remain anonymous.

This person often shares stories with the family; some of these stories are just too ridiculous to believe, and my line after these stories usually goes something like this: (incredulous yet very amused expression) "you're so funny!".  The funny stories I have heard from this person are too numerous to remember, I will however start with the unusual thing that first led me to the above line.

My mom and this person speak very often on the phone, and what I find so bemusing is right in the middle of the conversation, I will hear mom say "ok, bye then", and put down the phone.  This person, when they talk on the phone, just seems to randomly end the call - however, with experience, I have found that it is because the conversation is over... why waste time with sticky goodbyes?  Very amusing.

Another story which I remember fondly, is the mirror story.  This person was wandering around a shop one day when they saw a person just in front of them, who stopped at the same time as they did.  We have all experienced this awkward little dance, when both parties step in the same direction.  So this person experienced that, they stepped to the left, the other person stepped to the left.  They stepped to the right, the other person stepped to the right.  They said, "after you", the other person said "after you".  They chuckled, the other person chuckled.  They said, "no really, after you", the other person said "no really, after you".  Getting the picture?  Whilst we have all had this experience, I can't imagine that more than a handful of people have had this experience with a reflection.  A reflection of themselves in a shop mirror.

Whilst there are many more tales I could recount, I will follow with this one: the story goes, that the one and only time this person has very been, possibly, a bit too slightly inebriated, the following may have happened: whilst possibly been driven back from wherever it was that all this possible drinking took place, this person may have wanted the car to be stopped.  When asked why, they may have replied - with utter conviction - that they needed to roll up the white line and take it home.  Yup, that's right, the white line on the road needed to be rolled up and taken home.                                                                                                                               (Disclaimer: I am not saying that this person did drink, I'm just saying they may have).

I would like to end with these words of wisdom: when this person experienced the word LOGMEIN on the start up screen of the computer, they came to me with some concern.  I took one look at this word, shook my head (again incredulous and amused) and said, "you mean Log Me In"?  Closely followed by "you're so funny".  Another amusing anecdote involves MSN, this person innocently suggested that mom log on to SnM so they could chat.  

These days, I don't even have to say "you're so funny", this person knows full well what I would say.  To this person, because I know they will read it (for which I am eternally grateful), thank you for looking after me, thank you for making me laugh (often hysterically), thank you for EVERYTHING.  And I shall sorely miss you (both) when I return to the UK.

Lots of Love                                                                                                                                               Ari

Being Bing

"Jack wee-ed on Bing!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"Wait... who's Bing?"

This is the conversation that took place after the horrible discovery of a wee stained Rescue Rabbit, called Bing. In case you were becoming slightly concerned as to why the act of Jack wee-ing on a Rescue Rabbit is the topic of such light heartedness, let me just point out that Bing is a stuffed rabbit. And when I say stuffed what I really mean is Teddy-Bear like toy, not roast rabbit stuffed with garlic, or a dead, but taxidermied, bunny.

I found Bing in a Mr. Price Home.  He was alone amongst shelves of garish baby toys, the only one of his kind left.  He was underneath a giant pink hippopotamus (no I am not joking), and looked slightly perturbed (as much as stuffed toys can look perturbed) at being beneath this giant pink hippopotamus.  I rescued him from this fluffy fate and studied him; he looks like a baby pig crossed with a bunny, or whatever the designer imagined a baby pig crossed with a bunny would look like.  But he is undeniably cute and ridiculously soft and cuddly to boot.  When I found him, his long droopy ear had started to come unstitched – he was definitely in need of a rescue.

Picture this; a twenty year old wondering around with a gorgeous little rabbit toy, begging her mommy if she could keep him.  I'm not saying that I did that... but picture it anyway.  Mom said sure, if I could get a discount on him.  I asked the not-so-friendly ladies at the till; they just looked at me blankly before refusing.  It seemed that Bing was to stay forever in that sad little shop.  However, they did check, and he was already on discount.  So it was that Bing came home with us. 

I stitched up Bing’s ear, and he had priority seating on my bed, his favourite place in the world.  Until that is the fateful wee incident.  Doreen had been away for a few days, which meant the house was in somewhat of a sorry state; it also meant that the animals were running rife throughout.  It was then I discovered that Bing had a spray of sickly yellow over his side.  Jack wee.  Needless to say the dogs were banished, and I decided, as Bing NEEDED a wash, that I would do all the cleaning for the day.  Ironically, just when I had finished everything, Doreen got back, ready to clean. 

Bing however, is newly clean and fluffy, he still has priority seating on my bed, and I'm pretty sure he bears his baby-pig-cross-bunny fangs at Jack every time he comes close.