30 Something Tasks

I saw an interview a few days ago with Jennifer Love Hewitt. Not that I am a fan of her at all, even though she is very pretty. It was on the show ‘The View’. No I am not a huge fan of the show either since I don’t watch TV at all, but Dame Edna I am a fan of and on this episode she was a guest interviewer. She is one of the funniest people on this planet, purple hair and all! You just have to love her.

Dame Edna Everage

But on the show the Dame asks Jennifer about the tiara bath story. Jennifer then tells the Dame how when she turned 30 she made of list of ten things that she will do in that year to help make her feel special. One of the things was to every time that she had a bath to wear a stunning tiara and drink champagne. Another was to only wear sexy lingerie. But all of this got me thinking.

You see this year, as a matter of fact in 4 months and 22 days, I turn 30. Something that used to freak the living bejesus out of me, but that I am quite ok with now. I really like Jennifer’s idea but wanted to do more with it and wanted to involve all of you in it as well.

So here is my idea. Until I reach 30, in little under 5 months, you are all welcome to send me a list of things that you think I should do in my year that I am 30. This can be things to make me feel more special or even cool challenges. I will then go through the lists and pick ten items to do. But to make it fair, I wont choose alone. I will ask 4 other people to help me decide. If I manage to do all ten before the end of the year I will go over to do more of the challenges or things on the list. With every item on the list that I complete, I can also write a blog about it.

My tiara bath moment: taken from my first photoshoot

Now my friend, Frau Gestapo, thinks that I am very crazy and daring for doing this.  Of course I am. No normal minded person will allow the entire fucking world to write challenges or tasks for him to do. There must be something seriously fucking wrong with me. But the way I figure it, I only have this body once. So I might as well enjoy it to it’s fullest while I still can and before my liver evaporates.

So how do we do this? Well, send me an email to zeowitch@yahoo.com with the subject heading: ‘30 Something Tasks’, and I will compile a list on my side. A day or two before my 30^th birthday, I will post the final list for all to see and as I complete the things on the list I will tell you all about it.

Think of it as an interactive bucket list where all of you get to decide what goes on my bucket list. Also when you compile these tasks, you don’t have to be bashful. I have no shame so why should you. Lastly please don’t just think of horrible shitty things to do, but also of nice fun things.I feel kinda like Heracles, but with better hair. He also had a series of tasks to complete.

Well I cant wait to see what you all think I should do.

Mwah!!

Mango

I am putting up this poem. Yes it is once again in Afrikaans but hey, Google Translate will give you a more or less idea of what I am on about. 

When Paul left to go back to Burgersfort I wrote this poem for him. And even thought he doesn’t say it but I think he is flattered. He said to me a few days ago or rather saked “Are you going to put up the ‘Mango’ poem as part of your story on your blog?” I think he enjoys reading it and in a moment of soppy-ness he said that he is my biggest fan, which is kind scary if you have read the book Misery by Stephan King, but I was like “aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh my lieffie!!!” in a very high pitch tone of course so that just about the only thing that could understand me were dogs. 

But honestly even though he is so quiet and doesn’t comment at all on the blog, I think he enjoys reading it and I think he is just as excited to hear what happens next, even though he was there.

So here is the poem I wrote to him. Love you my love love!

Mango

My hart se are is koud…..
Koud en heeltemal vrot
En ooral om my kyk ek na lewe
Maar ek is emotioneel bankrot.

Die mooste blom wat jy aan kan dink
Deur my oe is
Is oud, swart
En so swaar soos sink.

Eendag, nie te lank terug
Val die reen Soos manna van die hemel ryk
En ek kry hoop van verder as oorkant die brug

Oranja is sy kleur
Met groot swart wiele
En eislike vlerke
Te danke aan Mango
staan jy voor my deur

wat is dit wat ek binne my voel
waar dit koud was is dit nou warm
die ysberge van jare is nou weg
en ek dans in die oorblywende poel

How Paul Fits In - Part 5

On Friday the 11^th I had a Pagan meeting planned with CAM for my third Degree that they conferred on me and after that I had planned a good old Cape Town piss up. I have to admit that I tried the entire Friday to woo this man and he just didn’t seem to fall for any of my charm. So by mid afternoon I decided to kind of give up. I wasn’t going to be rude to him, i still had hope, but not much. He had a few days left and then he will go back to the backwater, tumbleweed town he came from and I will probably never hear from him again. Besides it was a big moment for me that day, having the final meeting before my conferred third degree. I wasn’t going to let anything spoil it.

If I remember correctly that was the day we went to N1 City, which was at the point the closest mall to me and there at Musica he bought himself the Sarah Brightman, Symphony CD. I was faffing with him and making the correct ooohhhh and aaaahhh sounds but at that point I had, as I said, pretty much given up the hope.

The only doos I like.

We went home and I know that him and my housemate Lindy, had a chat. Cannot remember what I was doing. I must have been making food or something or preparing for the meeting. I cannot for the life of me remember.  Well a lot happened at the meeting involving Debbie and oranges, Debbie and Donna’s fake furr and Debbie and orange peels. But that is probably a blog on its own and we wont go into all of that now. I had had my meeting and the elders of CAM were staying for the piss up. A lot of people arrived and even though I was rather upset about not getting the man that I had set my heart on, I was two days away from my third degree initiation and I had my wine. The night was going to be a good one.

About half way through my box of wine and the night, Paul calls me to the kitchen. He wants to speak to me. So I am not too happy about this but I go to the kitchen with him. There he just about corners me and he says that he has given a lot of thought to things. Of course having given up on having him and having half of my box of wine, I really wasn’t interested, even if he was about to tell me that the moon was in fact a ball of bubblegum.

So he leans in and says to me: “I have realized, that I am in love with you and want to go out with you” Jirre I was like going through the roof! I was so happy and I jumped up and down and snogged the shit out of him. I almost jumped on him but realized, luckily, that I don’t wanna kill him. By now people are walking into the kitchen, which was open plan to the dining room and wanting to know what was the fuss about. I am screaming “he loves me!” but I was also, in the back of my mind, aware of the distance issue. But I wasn’t going to allow that to spoil my evening. So later on someone asked the two of us, now that we were attached to the hip, if we were going to do the long distance thing to which I agreed that for now we will have to. Paul gave me a look and said to me: “Didn’t you hear everything that I said” I confessed that I didn’t cuz after that first sentence I was unstoppable and you couldn’t get anything out of me. He repeated his words: “When I go back on Sunday I am going to resign my job and move to Cape Town to be with you.”

Well that was it. I was in tears. I was so happy that you could stick a Christmas tree up my ass and I would spread the joy for one and all! Ho Ho Ho!!

During the night party, we snogged more times than not. He even pinned me against the wall and snogged me till I almost got locked jaw. Yes bumped my head against the wall that I nearly got a fucking concussion but I didn’t care at all at that time. I had my man. I was the happiest person alive. Now we had one matter left for the next two nights. One matter that I was going to resolve and conquer, even if it was the last thing I did.

Well I can tell you, with regards to the issue that I had, I never saw those fucking flannies again. 

The Sunday that he went home we were both teary and neither of us wanted him to go, but we were comforted in the fact that it wouldn’t be long. 

The story surely doesn’t end there. But I can tell you how it ends, well so far. In just about 20 days we are celebrating our 4^th anniversary. I still get butterflies when I see him. I still smile waking up next to him. I still have to hold on to him to be able to fall asleep and I still want every part of my being to be with every part of his being. I even still get nervous about making love, as if it is something I have never done before. My blond Adonis and I,

“You and me,

we’re the kind of people,

 other people would like to be.”

Mwah!!

How Paul Fits In - Part 4

Ok so I have had to think back a bit and realized that my supper and massage was on the Thursday night. So lets just back track a few hours so I can tell you all about that. You have to understand that Paul is a qualified chef and by that I don’t mean just that he is good at cooking and baking. I mean that after school he studied as a Chef. So I was kakking myself when I had to make food for him for the first time. It was so intimidating. I hauled out my best recipe. This is a chicken dish that my mother taught me. I am obviously not going to tell you what it is, family recipe you know ;P . But I remember just about fucking up the entire meal, just because I was so fucking nervous about cooking for a chef. By the time that we were eating I realized that I have now prepared my best meal and we still had 3 days to go. Don’t know what I was going to do for those three days. But decided to cross that bridge when we got there.

So that night I decided to give Paul a full body massage. Middle of winter I am asking this man to get completely naked and lie on top of all the bedding with nothing but a small towel covering his ass. Might not have been the best of ideas. I also didn’t have a heater or anything to heat up the room with. Ok but so far so good. His shiver at this point could have been due to the cold or being excited, like a puppy. He is a hard working man and needed a massage just to relax a bit. And honestly he is a hard working man. Those days he started breakfast in the guest house at 5-ish, would work the entire day till about 9 or 10 at night. Hy was fodde. In sy moer in moeg en op gewerk.

Then still not thinking clearly, how can you expect me to when I am blond and I have a naked man on my bed, I take out some cream. It was ‘Oh so Heavenly’ the lavender one. Well, what do I do? I turn the bottle upside down and in the middle of winter while we is already freezing his ass off, I proceed to pour cold cream straight from the bottle onto his back. Bless his soul, besides for flinching he didn’t complain at all. He took it like a man and soon the cold cream was hot on his hot back. Of course I thought his flinching was hysterical and proceeded to torture him like this with every part of his body that I massaged. Knowing full well that if the roles were reversed I would probably have gone through the ceiling while using a multitude of colourful metaphors. But as I said he took it all. But after my meal, which he apparently loved, and the ‘awesome’ massage, I didn’t take into account that he would be tired. So on came the flannies, my arch-enemy at this point, and into bed we went. I had visions of burning those damn jammies. So going to bed as I previously stated, I knew I was going to have to up my game! Wednesday and Thursday night in those jammies and due to them devil jammies I was celibate.

Now something you have to know about me is that even though I am an extremely sexual being I am also extremely shy in actual fact I don’t really share sex stories and when Paul or anyone starts talking about me in any reference to sexuality, I blush like it is unreal.  I also don’t make first moves. In a relationship I am terrified of rejection and so, just about never make the first move. That is why my next action was just completely unexpected, even for me. And here it gets PG controlled. You have to be at least, fuck with today’s kinds you can probably be 10 but lets make it 16.

The next morning He went to go shower and I pretended to go switch the kettle on. When I heard the water of the shower going in the on-suite, I decided to join him. I don’t know what came over me but I just decided that if I want this man I have to just do whatever it takes to get him. He was shocked but made a nice recovery. So here we are. Two people in the shower. Now what? Remember I told you that not only do I not normally make the first move but I also suck at the dating and flirting thing. So quickly think back to movies, romance, drama, comedy, porn, anything. I take my washing net thingy and decide to wash him. Washed his chest and arms and back and I had to kneel to wash his legs and…….well lets just say that I got stuck down there for quite a while. 

Some time later, with no mess being made we got out of the shower and I was sure that now he would be mine. Well can you fucking believe it that, yes submitted to hold my hand, when I didn’t allow him opportunity to pull away, but he still just treated me like another person, just a friend. So not only was I still his friend but now I was also his cheap slut friend, that just goes down on people and swallows.

But I was determined to get this man. I had fallen in love with him and him I wanted.  Next time we can talk about how it happened.

Mwah!!

My First High Priest Role

In 2001 when I was my Original group then the head of the group started talking to me about my training to become a High Priest. Honestly I was freaked out. It was not what I wanted at that point in my life. I was happy to be the co-founder of the e-zine and write for it. I was happy to be a follower in the group with little responsibility. The thought of me being in a position of one day leading anything like that, just completely freaked me out.

I then decided to speak to my brother about this. My brother of all people. That was wrong of me. I should have spoken to my group head about it but I was honestly freaked. My brother basically told me that he thinks I should always do what makes sense to me at that point in time. Advice that I still follow and apply in my life.

So the next day I wrote my letter resignation to the group. I emailed it through and thought that I avoided ever being leader. It was really such a relief and I felt like I could breathe again. However, two weeks later my mother comes to me and says that we are going to formalize the Family Coven and we accept close friends and a select few people for it. The first thing that I asked her was “who is going to lead this group?” I was so happy that she said it was going to be herself and another friend of ours and not me. My primary function would be to teach and in time I would be trained as a High Priest but only to take over whenever the actual High Priest was sick or due to emergency could not make it. That suited me cuz it meant that I would just about never be called to lead. I would teach and keep to myself. I could live with this.

So we arranged our first Sabbath as Coven of the old Order. Can you just imagine that name. So ponsy and full of itself. Old Order, what fucking old order? It was held under a huge tree in my sisters back yard. The night before the Sabbath my mother calls me to her room. I knew she had kak news and I knew I didn’t want to hear it but I went willingly to listen about what the issue was. 

The High Priest decided that this was no longer for him and could not do it. Since everything was sorted for the Sabbath, we could not cancel and I was forced to take the role of High Priest. Sommer net so!  That is pretty much how it started. I had less than a full day to go through the entire ritual. I was nervous as all hell and the togas that we wore (which my mom and I designed) looked like African American Gospel Choir outfits. It was terrible. A blue circular poncho like thing that we wore over plain white robes. Om My Kali, can you just imagine that?

But I did it. That is where I learned the valuable lesson of “the show must go on”. If you are called to the High Priesthood, then the show must always go on. Your life comes second and you obey the will of your people. Always keeping in mind what is best for the people as an entity.

Mwah!!

How Paul Fits In - Part 3

The Airport, one of the places in the world that reflects the most emotions all at once. We are happy to see our loved ones and sad to see them go. For me, standing at Cape Town International on 9 July 2008, it was a time of great stress. Whenever new people came out from luggage collection, my sister would say “Oh there he is” Of course then I get all like crazy in the head and she would say “Just kidding.” This she did about three times and three times i nearly strangled her for it. By time number four I didn’t listen to her anymore and when I looked in front of me, there he was. In that moment in time, it was as if everything around us was on pause. I felt like we were the only two living creatures that had the ability to breathe and that our hearts beat in time with each other. I felt that nothing and now one else existed and that there was nothing that could take me away from his gaze. 

I hugged him and then instinct was to slap him. I didn’t but I wanted to. Why? In that moment I realized already that he was the one that I wanted to grow old with. I wanted to slap him and say to him “What took you so long? Why did I have to wait this long for you to find me?”

Pangalactic Gargleblaster

But the most bizarre thing happened. I couldn’t speak to him. Here is this gorgeous man, coming to visit me, and I cannot say a single word to him. It’s not that I didn’t want to. I just didn’t know what to say and somehow everything sounded so stupid in my head. So I didn’t say anything. My sister, Raveen and I, had already decided to go for cocktails after that. So we were on our way to, I think it was Eastwoods, something like that. There I had three cocktails and still I couldn’t speak to him. My sister and Raveen chatted with him like there was no tomorrow. I was doing the Silent Bob act. So he then bought us a cocktail called a Pangalactic Gargleblaster, or something like that.  The most beautiful cocktail you can imagine. So many different colours all layered on top of each other. It was also hellishly sweet. But by the end of that cocktail I was able to have a conversation. He joked about how if this is the only way to get me to talk, it may turn out to be a very expensive few days visit. I laughed, but you know when you laugh to impress a guy and it comes out just a little too high and a little too fake. Yeah! *Nods Head* that was me! I felt like such a doos.

This is not Paul but it is Flannies

Now for those of you not living in South Africa, July is like mid-winter for us. It is fucking cold. No it doesn’t snow, besides for on the mountains) but it is freezing to us. So when we went to bed that night I am all like in sexy boxers and a nice pristine white vest and he comes out of the on-suite wearing what he called “flannies”. I will tell you what it looked like. It looked like my Grandfathers pajamas that he used to wear. And in my mind I knew that we would have to do something about those jammies. They were so not sexy and if it was up to them we would never be intimate.

Nothing happened that night, for obvious reasons. Grandpa Jammies killed any inclination of anything needing to take place and of course he was completely oblivious, as in his mind he was just visiting a friend in Cape Town. Of course I didn’t know this. In my mind he was being shy or playing hard to get, which meant I had to raise my game here.

So the next day, I can’t remember what we did, but I do know we spent it together and it was very romantic, in my mind. Of course he was having a nice day with a friend. I tried to seduce him with just about everything I did. You know drop things and bend to pick it up. Stretch over him to show him things. Trip to fall in his arms and and and, every trick in the book, but nadda. He was completely oblivious to my charm. Please keep in mind that even though I have had lots of sex up until that point with men, he was the first guy that I tried to woo cuz I actually wanted to date him. I wanted to grow old with this man. So only way of flirting with a guy that I knew was how my ex girlfriends used to flirt with me. Now keep in mind, being gay we don’t want to be flirted with by a girl but buy a guy. This information did however elude me and I tried everything on him that mothers tell their daughters to do and their sons to watch out for.  I am sure he must have thought to himself “whatever is wrong with you, it’s no little thing.” That night in the middle of fucking winter I planned a massage for him after the best home made meal I have ever made, but to read more about how all of this went down you will have to wait for next time!

Mwah!!!

Kampeer

As daar nou een ding is wat ek glad nie verstaan nie dan is dit die menslike fasinasie om in die middel van die natuur in 'n tent te loop slaap. Ek hoor gril stories van mense wat allerhande dinge oorkom wanneer hulle gaan kamp en tog se hulle dis lekker. 

Wat jy dink gaan gebeur

Ek is die tiepe mens wat nie omgee om so bietjie weg te kom nie maar ek wil graag in 'n struktuur bly wat bestaan uit mure en vloere, n dak, vensters, deure en binne huise plumbing is n moet. Dis vir my 'n absoluute noodsaaklikheid om wanneer ek in die oggend opstaan na n toilet toe te kan gaan, wat ek nie die huis hoef voor te verlaat voor nie, om van my piss horing ontslae te raak.  En as ek gedurende die dag my vorige ete wil parkeer wil ek ook nie sukkel om my in my moer te stap na n long-drop waar ek heelmoontlik nooit weer die lig van dag sal sien nie.

Ek is nou nie kundige op die onderwerp van vakansie hou nie, maar as ek die storie reg verstaan is dit veronderstel om 'n tydperk  te wees wat mens weg kom en net relax. Kamp, soos in tent slaap, is alles behalwe relax.

Ek bekak my

As ek in die more opstaan wil ek dadelike met warm water, weereens sonder om die huis te verlaat, kan gaan na die stort om die reuk van intimiteit wat ek en my sexotiese man geskep het af te was. Ek wil nie onder n bliksemse emmer loop staan waar iemand water moet in gooi terwyl hulle kyk hoe my manlikheid my in die steek laat as gevolg van die minus grade van die berg water wat oor my hardloop nie. Ek wil ook nie na 'n stort gaan waar ek 'n bottle domestos moet uitspuit en dit om net in elk geval my plakkies aan te hou terwyl ek myself moet was nie.  En sou ek nou 'n situasies kry waar ek myself in dit bevind sal dit ook natuurlik 'n goeie ding wees dat ek reeds in die stort staan, net ingeval daar een of ander spinnekop n verskyning moes maak, soos my vriendin Paula vertel het van haar ervaringe. Vir die van julle wat nie verstaan nie. My blaas en hol sal in beswyk gaan as ek in die stort moet staan waar ek hoog op n plak is van al die dettol en domestos terwyl my plakkies glip en gly en ek my bes doen om nie aan die stort mure te raak nie, en dan 'n moerse spinnekop oplet wat bo in die hoek sit. Dit sal 'n baie goeie ding wees dat ek reeds in die stort staan.

Foto van 'n toilet in n kampeer park

Ek het nie n probleem om sonder elektriesieteit klaar te kom nie. Ek hou van vuur maak en as ek n wyn of drie in het dan verander ek in iemand wat alles wil brand.  In engels is daar n woord daarvoor, Nymphomaniac of pyromaniac? Hoe dit ookal is, ek kan n stuk harde houd laat brand vir ure en dan is ek reeds reg vir die volgende een om seker te maak dat ek nie koud kry nie. :)

Maar dis nou nie my idée van n lekker tyd om te moet loop vir ure deur die wild van die bos op soek na 'n plekkie wat lyk asof dit gemak kan aanbied. Daar 'n gat grawe en dan jou broek af te trek om in die baarmoeder van moeder natuur 'n bos kak te vang. Dan om boonop nog blare of jou hande te gedbruik as toitlet papier. Nee vok, en se nou jy gryp die verkeerde blaar en die ding brand of het dorings? Ek kan jou belowe dat jou naweek van "relax" is so in sy moer so in sy moer soos laas maand se paye.  Natuurlik bou die agitation op in jou oor jy nie kan koffie drink net wanneer jy wil nie. Wat bly om oor te doen? Rook en drink. Spyker wil jy nie, want jy is te doners bang dat iets buiten jou man aan jou begin suig. Stort wil jy nie, want daar mag jy dalk meer vuil uit kom as wat jy ingegaan het en toilet toe gaan is slegs iets wat jy doen as jy nou rerig in jou moer in dronk is, al jou moreele waardes verloor het en vokken braaf voel. So wat doen jy? Jy word maar dronk en praat kak. Dis hoekom almal se dit was so lekker gewees, want hulle onthou nie die stryd van elke toilet breuk nie. In teen deel, teen die tweede keer wat jy jouself bekak het loop jy maar net sonder 'n broek rond en ombat jy dronk is kan jy nie omgee as jou tottie nou wegkruipertjie speel in de koue nag nie.  

Nee wat, as daar nie n huisie is waarin ek kan bly nie, kan jy maar alleen gaan vakansie hou.

Mwah!!

How Paul Fits In - Part 2

After a few days I for some bizarre reason decided to mail him and thank him for admitting that he would like to meet me, even though he seems to be living on the edge of the world and then agter that one mail, forgot all about the blond in the Grey (6 out of 10, as he now refers to that jersey after reading my blog on Friday) jersey. A few days after that, I received a mail back from him. Something I didn’t expect at all. But he was very polite and somehow we started chatting. Nothing serious at first. One mail a week was all we had between us and it was enough. He was a very nice guy, but that was it. Then one night, in early April, I was at my sisters house chatting online to Facebook friends of mine when suddenly up pops Mr. Joubert and for the first time we chatted in real time. It was about 9 at night, if memory serves me, and when I looked again it was just about 3 in the morning. But it felt like ten minutes. The dialog we had that then in those early hours before going t bed went something as follows:

The Airline that brought my Paul to me

Paul: “Tell me do you have Mxit?”

Zeo: “Yes I do”

Paul: “Please add me as a contact.”

Zeo: “I have no idea how to do that. You will have to add me. My number is ……….” (Because I really don’t know how to do it, but I don’t have that chat thing anymore. I didn’t even set it up on my phone originally. I am really techno challenged)

Paul: “hahahaha, wel this was an easy way to get your number”

Zeo: “Yea, whatever, I am tired. Goodnight. Chat soon.”

And so we started chatting, every day and every night. I remember falling asleep at night and when I woke up some mornings I still had my phone in my hand. Before I knew it I was falling in love with a guy that I had no idea who he really was. I started falling in love with a personality and a photo.

About a month into our chats he told me that he wants to come for a visit. I was overjoyed, but at the same time kakking myself. We had a good thing going. We chatted and that was it. Why come here? Why complicate matters? Yes part of me was jumping up and down and another part of me was in complete fear and horror. What I didn’t know, (something he only confessed a year or so later) was that he just thought he was coming to Cape Town for a holiday and to hopefully make a new friend. Maybe it’s good I didn’t know that, because in my state of falling in love with a Facebook/Mxit man I decided to try and help him to come to Cape Town for a visit.

A regular thing!

I phoned every Airline and bus service. I checked the train prices. He admitted that he wants to fly, so it was back to the drawing board. When I had all of the prices for the various airlines I decided to phone him. This would be the first time that we would speak over the phone to each other. The first time I would hear his voice. Sweat dripping down my face, I pick the phone and dial his number. We speak and even though I didn’t know what to expect I was shocked at his voice. I phoned my sister immediately to tell her that he has a gay voice. She was like “really?” What I meant was that he sounded gay. His voice sounded like a gay mans voice.  Let me just tell you, before we carry on, Paul sounds completely different over the phone. He doesn’t have a deep voice or anything but he sounds completely different. Back to my story. So my sister decides to phone him. She phones him from her work number, because that way he won’t get a caller ID and when he answers she tells him that she has the wrong number. She phones me back and tells me that he has a gay mans voice.  But gay phone voice or not I am smitten with my Facebook/Mxit man. (Please note that I don’t mean gay voice as in he sounded stupid. On the contrary, his speech was perfect.) I still have the piece of paper on which I wrote all those airline quotes for him. We now carried on chatting online but we also had a daily phone conversation, one that easily lasted for an hour or three.  He wanted to book himself into a guesthouse and I naturally told him to come sleep at my place. Knowing that I only had one bed. A Queen size yes, but he would have to share a bed with me. Now in Cape Town lingo that means “We are gonna have sex” but apparently in Burgersfort lingo it means “you are going to sleep and it just happens to be the same bed”, a fact that I also didn’t know, until much later. He chose a day to come down to Cape Town. It was going to be 9 July 2008, late afternoon. It was all very real for me suddenly. I was going to meet the man that I started to fall for over the internet and part of me felt like a complete fool. I felt like a complete hypocrite, since I now became the Internet dater that I warned all my friends not to be. Also I was scared, scared that he wouldn’t like me. But be that as it may, on the 9^th of July in 2008 my sister and I together with one of her work friends, Raveen, went to Cape Town International Airport to wait for a man that did not turn out to be Mr. Right but Mr. Abso-fucking-lutely Perfect! But to hear how it happened, you will have to wait some more.

Mwah!!

How Paul Fits In - Part 1

After my divorce I fooled around with a guy or twenty. For a little while there I became a slut. Then I met a man for whom I fell hook line and sinker. He was little more than a head taller than me and we just got along so well. A film student by the name of Chris Buys. I used to work for the architects back then and my boss got me an exquisite complimentary meal from a restaurant in town and I decided to use it and take Chris out on a date. It was perfect. Imagine the most perfect date that you can and now better it. It was everything a boy could want. We went home at some ungodly hour and snogged our heads off in his car. I invited him in but we both decided that maybe the first date was too soon.

Burgersfort

A week down the line I really liked this guy and then he tells me that the guy he has been after for God knows how long, is now single and interested in him. So he left me. He left me for…….whatever the doos’s name was.

I was devastated. My world was shattered and I cried and cried, so badly that my boss sent me home. I couldn’t tell him exactly what had happened. I could not stop crying. I have never cried so much in my life and I really could not get myself to stop. I look back and I realize now that all the crying was not over him. But it was the first time that I allowed myself to breakdown after my moms passing, the divorce and me just about loosing everything due to an ex wife that could not keep her word, but then I should have expected that, as it was nothing new.

I cried so much that I phoned my sister and somehow managed to tell her what was wrong and she came to pick me up from work. I spent two days at home, just crying. In my rage of tears I vowed never to fall for anyone again. No man or woman. I was going to grow old and alone with my cat. And I would buy a hundred more cats and we would all be together forever. Please understand that I would still have sex, but I refused to fall for anyone. And I was only going to sleep with rich men that knew how to spoil a boy.

Now please understand that I have always been the one to warn all of my friends against meeting anyone on the Internet. Because on the Internet you can be whoever you want to be and you don’t have to be truthful about anything. So I have been advocating against it since I can remember. What do I do? I go onto Facebook. Back then (I don’t know if they still have it) they had an application called ‘Hot or Not’. This application basically works on the method that you rate people, from one to ten, based on their profile pictue. Then you can also say if you would like to meet the person. This you can do in one of two ways, You can say you would like to meet him and he then gets a message saying that so and so wants to meet, or you can say that you would like to meet anonymously. He then gets a message saying one of the following 5 people wants to meet you with a list of 5 people of course. So me, that is only in finding a nice looking guy to spoil me a bit and who can help me to empty my back (this is a Cape Town expression), decides that I am going to use this application to get back at the human race and just use people.

Paul and his Grey Jersey

I see this photo of a blond guy wearing a thick grey jersey (I was put off by the jersey) with a scarf and gloves. Despite the jersey, he is kinda cute, but I ignore. His profile pops up numerous times and after about the millionth time I decide ok I wont ignore him and just give him a 6 (due to the jersey) and say I would like to meet him. I didn’t even check where he was from. I didn’t care. Please note, he is not the one that kept on sending me the profile. On that application Facebook showed you random profiles based on the criteria that you punch in. You as the user have no control over what gets shown to whom. Eventually I got a response from him saying that he would also like to meet me, but I still didn’t think anything of it and that jersey was just too much for me to handle. I then looked where he lived and it said Burgersfort. This is a little one horse toen in the middel of fucking nowhere. I kid you not they don’t even have Telkom coverage there. Tumbleweed. A place I had never even heard of till then and decided that I will probably never in my life see this person. I thought that this, Paul Joubert, guy was cute, but between Burgersfort and that jersey, it just wasn’t going to happen.

Mwah!!

Soap Boxes

I am not old. As a matter of fact, my physical body is only turning 30 this year. 

An event I am looking forward too with much anxiety. But I have been in the Pagan scene for a very long time and I have had the pleasure of working with some of the original people that started the movement as well as some of the new people that are sprouting everywhere.  My journey has been a jammed packed one. There is just about never a weekend that I am not busy. Remember, I also have a normal day job, I teach week nights, I am helping Paul with his Belly Dancing Academy by being a dancer for him in his October show and I still have to make time for all my non-Pagan people and family.

We have built up an amazing bunch of people in Paganism.  In the 14 years that I have been active I have taught over 300 people.  It must be close to if not more that 400 by now but who is counting. I have always been confident in what I do and what the future holds for this precious path.

However lately, I have been getting worried. I look at the majority of today’s young people and frankly I stress. Please note that I say majority and not all and by young I mean 22 and down.

It seems like young people are all extremely opinionated. Having an opinion is not wrong at all, but one should at least have an opinion that has something to do with matters at hand and then try to improve the matter at the best possible way for everyone, keeping in mind that you are not the only one that matters! It seems to me like they are on their own plack and can’t really be bothered by or with anyone. They want to constantly fight and argue and everything is a mission and in every situation they are the victims. They stand on their proverbial soapboxes and scream their Gospels as per their own minds to any and everyone who is willing to listen to the shit that spews from their mouths. They want to constantly bite each other in the ass by being better at everything, not granting anyone the opportunity to a ‘wow’ moment unless it is they themselves.

They speak to us, the current leaders, as if we have no fucking idea what we are doing and as if we are retards. They tell us all their wonderful ideas of things that they think will better matters. As if we have never attempted these things. I look at how they have so much to learn and yet they are unwilling to do it. They can be great, if they would just stop screaming and stop being a little bitch. I worry about the future, am I prepared to leave the fate of my Tradition in the hands of someone that screams so hectically from his or her soap box that no one really knows what they are on about. We can’t hear you!! Stop screaming and thinking you are so wonderful and join us mere mortals here on this plane and instead of criticizing the path we have created for you, try and have a conversation with us.

When you go on and on like you do, then no one can even hear you cuz they close themselves off and no one wants to be friends or associated with a fanatical Pagan. At the end of the day, you are just pissing people off for no reason.

So I asked Donna if I was ever like this. Since she was my first Teacher outside of my family.

Donna assures me that I was really bad. That I was militant on my soapbox. I look back and I realize that I am so goddamn thankful that somewhere along the line I grew up. I no longer have a soapbox but a tomato crate and I use it as a coffee table or bar counter, depending on who I am talking to. I read a quote that said:

“Yesterday I woke up with knowledge and wanted to change the world. Today I woke up with Wisdom and now I want to change myself”

I wish they would just get this! The world doesn’t owe you anything little one. It is what you make of your own situations. Your bad past should not be an excuse but a bar to measure yourself by. To be better and greater than that.

But after Donna told me that I was also once like that I develop a little more peace. Maybe there is still hope that they will eventually grow up. We can only hope and pray. Also as stated, not all of them are like this and the few that are not are really amazing individuals, but they are few and far between. 

Mwah!!