GRATiAE: Manicure in a box... and Organic too!

Every now and then, I stumble across something that I feel I must tell the world about. Yesterday was such a day, and so here I am. As with Kutai Raw Chocolat and Soya Body Bars, I simply must share it.

I made this discovery yesterday morning while browsing Clearwater Mall. You know how it is at this time of year: the malls hire out their extra spaces to stall-holders, who will try to sell all manner of products to unsuspecting by-passers. One needs to maintain absolute focus when passing these stalls, and work very hard at giving the appearance that you are either too busy and important to stop, or that you are the grumpiest human on the earth, and won’t take kindly to being disturbed. I’m usually very good at the latter, having inherited a face from my father, which can look extremely serious when I need it to.

So yesterday, I saw a stall that was obviously selling beauty products of some kind, and I managed to skirt around the stall without being noticed. Phew! Off I went to do my shopping and my browsing, which happened to bring me full circle an hour later to the same spot. This time however, my head was in the clouds, as it so often is, and I found myself staring at a middle-aged man, who was receiving a facial at this beauty stall.

Come on, you would stare too, right? A middle-aged man, having a facial?  Before I knew it, it was too late, and a salesman had descended on me like an eagle on a field mouse with it’s head in the clouds.

“Excuse me,” he called out to me. “May I ask what you use for your….?” I completely missed the last few words, but I suspected he was asking after my skin. My skin hasn’t been in great condition of late – I blame stress and hormones – so I was immediately feeling a little self-conscious. Anyway, I stopped walking. I couldn’t lie to him and say that I don’t have the time for this, and it was too late to apply my grumpiest-human-on-earth expression to scare him off. Besides, I’ve always been a sucker for people with strange accents, and this one sounded mildly French to me.

Darn my curiosity! Darn it, darn it, darn it!

Having asked the salesman to repeat himself, he asked, “What do you use for your…?” Again with that last word… Legs? Did he ask me what I use for my legs?? What on earth is he selling??? He definitely gestured to my legs… Gosh, how do I tell him that I just use whatever lotion I’ve received for Christmas this year? He’ll be mortified I’m sure…

“What do you use for your nails?” He repeated the question, this time taking hold of my hand and inspecting my fingertips closely. 

Oooooh, my nails. I don’t use use anything on my nails, not a single thing. I’m very hard on my hands, so I don’t colour them, not even with clear paint. For the most part, I use nail-clippers on them (How horrifying!) but I have been trying to be more disciplined about using a nail file rather to shape them properly. In all my life, I have had one French manicure, which barely lasted me 24 hours before I chipped it all off. And I’ve had tips applied twice, which both times ended in my nails nearly being buffered right off my fingers when having the tips removed.

I could have rambled off at him with this whole history, but between my legs and my skin I was already feeling like a bit of an ugly duckling, so I just told him I use nothing on my nails.

He asked for twenty seconds of my time, during which time he began to demonstrate how his unique nail buffer block will transform my nails. Now I’ve used nail buffer blocks before, but this gentleman informed me that his blocks are ‘medicated’, and he even ventured to call it ‘a massage for your nails’. I wasn’t quite sold on the idea, and was preparing to make my getaway. However, having noted by my wedding ring that I am married, the salesman asked me how old I am. Not in the least bit offended by this question, and still trying to determine the origins of his accent, I blurted out only too gladly that I’m 27 years old. He looked me up and down, eyes huge, and told me that he thought I was 18 years old.

I’ve often heard it said that flattery will get you anywhere. I can hereby confirm that there is some truth in this statement. I immediately felt only too glad to spend a few more moments with this wonderful stranger, to allow him the time to finish his demonstration and, if he so chooses, throw in another compliment or two.

Darn my vanity! Darn it, darn it, darn it!

In only a few moments, the gentleman had finished buffering my one nail, and he urged me to compare it with my other nails. Woweeee, what a difference! It was as though I’d received a full French manicure in under 30 seconds. So shiny. So pretty. So professional-looking. So shiny…

Must have nail buffer block.

Need it.

Must have it.

Must buy from man with strange accent.

What? Two-for-one special? Buy one, get one free?

Must buy from man with strange accent right now.

Two year guarantee on buffer block?

Must buy nooooooww.

The GRATiAE products, like Kutai Raw Chocolat and Soya Body bars, are organic products. The GRATiAE Beautifying Nail Kit, which is what I purchased (and got one kit for free), contains the following:

•  A nail file
• The GRATiAE Cuticle Therapy (cuticle oil)
• A GRATiAE buffer block (with a two year guarantee)
• The GRATiAE Hand and Nail cream (apply once a day, and smells absolutely divine!)

In the 2^nd Century, a Roman Emperor by the name Hadrian discovered a hidden thermal spring in the mountainous region near the Sea of Galilee in Israel. He found that the spring’s water had rejuvenating qualities, and so he named it after a Roman goddess, Gratiae, goddess of “The Three Graces” – youth, beauty and charm. 

Now, centuries later, theses springs are still being utilized, and science has given us the tools to harness the qualities found in these waters, as well as other resources from the Sea of Galilee. This is the origin of GRATiAE – Israel. And, remarkably enough, the origin of Rave (pronounced Rah-veh), the charming salesman whose accent I mistakenly thought was French. (way off there, sorry Rave)

GRATiAE not only provides nail care products, but also organic skin care products (which, in light of my recently difficult skin, I may just try out). One can read more about GRATiAE on their website: www.gratiae.il. If you’d like to find out more about the GRATiAE stores – in Menlyn and in Sandton – you can send an enquiry to info@nunaturals.co.za.

While it is such a pity that organic products tend to be priced so much higher than other products, there is without a doubt something superior about them. I can’t help but begin to realize that nature really does know best, and to recognize that the Lord has placed so much goodness into this earth, which we are only now learning how to use… and to protect.

Here’s to Orgaaaaaah-nic, fellow inhabitants of this earth – you know how I love it!

A Glass Half-Full... Of Rain.

I like to think of myself as a 'glass half-full' kind of person. I may not always have this quality in every circumstance I face, but I do try to find the silver lining in life's storms.


Speaking of which, we had some gentle rains this afternoon, here in Johannesburg. I'm sure you no doubt will know, as a fellow inhabitant of this overly congested planet, that as soon as one single molecule of precipitation falls from the sky, a phenomemon begins to occur below. As this catastrophic droplet of H2O plummets toward the earth, the magnetic fields in the atmosphere twist and warp and mutate. And when the droplet makes it's fatal impact on the ground, the now-shuddering magnetic fields implode upon themselves, sucking in with them all cognitive brain capacity, all human hand-eye co-ordination, and all ability to reason and form constructive decisions. The shock-wave from this astronomical incident is also known to cause all existing thought processes to become scrambled, forcing the brain of said thought processes to restart entirely.


And this is why, when it rains, traffic comes to a grinding halt. People become stupid on a universal scale.


So, when I left work in the drizzling rain, I resigned myself to the fact that I would be facing some heavy traffic on the way home. Surprisingly enough, not only was traffic lighter than usual, but I found that there was something I could be grateful for in the rain; a silver lining, so to speak. 


For the first time this week, I was able to drive on the highway without a teenager in a GTi weaving around my car, or a rooster* in an Audi riding up my rear bumper flashing his lights. No blind old businessman in a Merc cutting me off because he had the lack of foresight to see the slow truck right in front of him.


Yes, the rain seems to make people safe. And civilized. Perhaps it is the trance-like state that follows the droplet-hitting-earth-apocalypse, but my highway experience this afternoon was just so..... Peaceful.
And for this, I was grateful. I am also grateful that something as mundane as traffic and weather has given me something to write about. 


There is always something to be grateful for. 


This whole experience made me think of a song, which is now stuck in my head. Funnily enough, this song is completely unrelated to the topic at hand, but I shall share it with you for two very good reasons: 


1. The song makes reference in the first verse to a "road, long and winding", and a "silver lining" that's "out there somewhere." Other than this verse, the song is totally random to whatever it is I'm trying to write about. Weather... Traffic... Gratitude... Who knows. (not me) 


2. Bryan Adams is really easy-on-the-eyes, for an older guy

Enjoy this lovely tune (yes, click on the pretty purple writing), and may your upcoming Friday be fraught with silver linings, civilized drivers, and if you're especially lucky, someone like Bryan Adams to look at. 




*rooster in Audi is the kind of driver that Jeremy Clarkson from Top Gear refers to... but Mr. Clarkson is a little less complimentary with his choice of words. Use your imagination, it'll come to you. 

Haunted: Breaking Dawn

As was mentioned in last week's post, we went to watch Breaking Dawn Part 1 on Sunday night. After sufficiently building up to the movie by watching the three previous movies last week, hubby and I sat in the cinema, in anticipation...

So, it's taken me four days to adequately form an opinion. Four days of chewing on the storyline, mulling over how the characters have developed. Four days to consider the way that they interpreted Bella's attitude toward her circumstances. Four days to decide that the only thing I didn't like about the movie was the corny background music in the first ten minutes of the film, which made me feel like I was watching a badly contrived episode of Seventh Heaven. Which is only fine, if you are watching a badly contrived episode of Seventh Heaven. But mostly, it's taken me four days to digest the soundtrack, which for me, is just as important as the movie, if not more so. 

I've been listening to the soundtrack since Sunday, trying to take it in. It is so drastically different from the previous 3 soundtracks, that it was somewhat of a shock to the system. This soundtrack is mellow. No, you don't get it, it is m-e-l-l-o-w. Like... Super. Duper. Mellow. 


Of course, it has the hit-track by Bruno Mars, "It Will Rain", which is just exquisite, but my current favourite is something a little more different. A little bit abstract even. Something I didn't like at first, until I heard it at a million decibels in the solitary confines of my car, at a moment when I was feeling more than a tad vulnerable. 


This track, "Cold", by Aqualung and Lucy Schwartz, is possibly the most haunting song I have heard yet. I'm still trying figure out what it is about, and probably never will, but I encourage you to put on your ear-phones and really listen to this. Turn it up, until it is resonating in your soul. Listen to it when you are alone, and can let your guard down. Close your eyes. This song gives me such shivers, that it feels as though my hair follicles are turning inside out.


If you find that you are not at first impressed, turn it up and just wait a little longer. When the track reaches 2 minutes and 30 seconds, brace yourself for a crescendo of intertwining harmonies, so gloriously breath-taking that your whole body will be overcome with chills. Ironic, for a song called "Cold".





Wow. 


And for the record, I loved the movie. Just loved it!


"No measurement of time will ever be long enough with you... So let's start with forever." ~ Edward Cullin

Twilight: What a Girl Wants

A colleague of mine went to see the Breaking Dawn movie last night, and has assured me of it's sheer awesomeness. So I decided to have a Twilight build-up, starting today. Hubby and I just finished watching Twilight; tomorrow we shall watch New Moon, Saturday we'll watch Eclipse, and Sunday night we shall watch Breaking Dawn.

Before I go any further, allow me to just redeem hubby's reputation by saying that he is in no way, shape or form, interested in or remotely intrigued by Twilight, and he is merely humouring his slightly Twilight-crazed wife. I should add that his absolute eagerness to indulge in these movies is only a front - do not be fooled: deep down he... erm.... really hates these movies. ;-) (just smile and nod)

So back to what I was saying... we just finished watching Twilight, and as far as movies go, it's far from the best quality movie out there, right? And if you've read the book, you'll know how many *amazing* scenes had to be cut out for the sake of time, and how much more to this story there really is. So what is it about this whole saga that has captured people, mostly girls, the way it has?

I have done some inner speculation on this matter, and I've decided that I've got it figured out. It all boils down to one word. One. Incredible. Word. 

Obsession. 

There is a void on this planet. A huge void in the romance department. I don't know if I'm the only one who notices, but people just aren't romantic anymore. I don't define romance as flowers on the verandah, or a goodnight kiss. Or chocolates on Valentines Day, a white wedding, or even a candlelit dinner. It's not a weekend getaway, or expensive jewelry or a spa package. 

I define romance as Obsession. 

And that is what makes Twilight so absolutely irresistible to girls - it is Edward's absolute obsession with Bella. 

He cannot take his eyes off her. 
He follows her.
He breathes her in. (just forget that he's a vampire for a second)
He would die for her. 
He watches her sleep.
He thinks her faults are adorable.
He touches her face continually, as though he can absorb her essence through his finger-tips. (again, forget the vampire part, just for a second!)

Robert Pattinson certainly seems to have a talent in conveying tender obsession - in those searching eyes and, surprisingly enough, in his vocal ability too. Somehow, he even manages to sound desperately in love in his song Never Think, which can be found on the Twilight soundtrack.

Obsession. That is romance. The stuff that fairy tales are made of. Every girl wants to feel obsessed over. Call us vain if you will, but it's how we were created. When she is with a man, she wants to feel as though she is the only person in the room, that nothing else exists to him at that moment. 

That is how I want to feel. 










Ok, so some of you may be feeling nauseous right about now, a bit too much mush for one evening. So here is a favourite blog of mine which looks at this obsession from another angle :-) Some light humour that even I, as a Twilight fan, can appreciate. 

Good night, fellow inhabitants of this planet. Be passionate. Give of yourself freely to the one you love. Be obsessed. 

Everybody *dance* now! Part 2

I had the pleasure of going out on Friday night with some colleagues. We went to a place called Molly Malone's in Fourways, which is your typical Irish pub. They had a DJ there that sent a notebook around and had people write their favourite songs - now that's my kind of DJ, there were some hot tracks played that night, both old and new. 


Anyways, after a few hours of lazing in the setting sun, letting our core temperatures drop from a hot day, we decided that we had the itch to go dancing. *Ntsi-ntsi-ntsi-ntsi* (sound of dance music) 


Now let me tell you a little something about myself: I am a professional nerd. And as a long-standing nerd, I haven't done the whole clubbing thing. Maybe once. Ever. As a young adult, I did not see the fun in staying out late in a crowded room, making an idiot of myself, and spending the next two days recovering. I am not a friendly person without sleep. And so while my generation was out living it up, I was curled up in bed trying to keep my eyes open long enough to reach the end of a chapter in a murder mystery. 


But now I've hit 27 and it's as though something in my psyche has gone "What the... Wait a minute.... Wait, wait, did I miss something....???" I actually feel like dancing. That's not to say I'm a very good dancer - I actually suck on a whole new level - but it's fun, right?


So back to Friday night, we went to a nearby place called Billy the Bums... you may know it. It's hard to play it cool in a place where so many new exciting things cross your path. Like, for instance, the bar-tender who juggles with bottles and flicks them and throws them up then spins them behind his back then, oh my, he's doing it with two at once and.... I'm like a kitten chasing the red light of a laser-pen, I just can't play it cool. Ok, deep breath, so what, he's chucking a bottle around. So what? Puh-lease. Impress me if you can. 


We stood around for an hour, which brings me to my next problem with clubbing... Why can't you start dancing whenever you want? Why must you wait until 11PM? Who decided that it's only nerds who dance before 11PM?? Whoever they are, they stink. They really, really do stink.


So yes, we stood around for a hour, during which time, my gracious companions warned me about Billy the Bums. It's a rough crowd, apparently. Lots of people picking people up, lots of guys getting too close to girls they don't know (I think 'grinding' was the word used, gross) and lots of girls getting in your space... kind-of like a battle for territory. So, considering myself duly warned, we eventually hit the dance floor, which was populated by people who did not look like nerds. 


First song, cool, no issues. Second song, short fat old man bops his way across dance floor. Short fat old man gives nerdy-girl (me) cheesy grin. *shudder* Short fat old man utters the line that has failed so many of his kind before him: "So can I buy you a drink?" 
Why!? Why do you do it, short fat old man??? You could be at home, reading the paper, ageing with grace. People would think you're adorable. Why??????
Short fat old man bops away, and goes to play it cool by the juggling bar-tender. 


Which brings me to my next irritation... why must it always be a sad old man picking me up? It's not my first pick-up, and it's always some old fool who's disillusioned with life, grasping on desperately to his youth. Why can't it be a virile young stallion of a man with straight teeth and perfect hair? Look, I'm utterly happily married, so the answer would always be a big fat no-thank-you, but for once, it would be far more flattering to be picked up by Robert Pattinson or someone equally acceptable-looking. 


*SIGH*


I danced a little longer, but soon realized that perhaps Billy the Bums is not for me, and excused myself shortly after 11PM. 


Man, I'm a nerd. 

The Abyss... that is My Belly

I got up this morning...


Had a biscuit at 06h00, so that I could take my multivitamins and calcium supplements before going to work. 
Drove to work. 
Had a cup of decaffeinated coffee and a piece of home-made shortbread. 07h30.
Already not a very good start to my day. 
08h30, realized I was starving, and so had a quick breakfast bar and a naartjie... and another cup of coffee. 
09h00. Starving. 
10h00. Starving. 
11h30. Starving. 
12h00, had a beef sausage, mashed potato and and pile of peas for lunch. 
13h30, feeling a bit nibbly.
14h00, what the heck, had another breakfast bar... and a lollipop. 
16h00, famished damn-it. Handful of peanuts and raisins.
16h30, driving home... munching an apple. Hungry.
17h45. Home. Unbearably hungry. 
18h00. Chicken omelette for dinner.


It was just after dinner that I thought of a Garfield cartoon that I remember well, from when I was a child. My brother and I grew up on Jim Davis' Garfield comic strips and I still think that it is the only reading material that I can recall my brother laughing out loud at. Good times!


The particular comic in question is...

...Yep. That's what I feel like today. As though my stomach is an endless abyss into which all food in sight is in danger of being sucked. And I know, most of you who know me will hate me for staying fairly thin after a day like today. But for the record, I am usually far more conscientious of my culinary habits. Just not today.


Man, what a day. All that eating has me exhausted.

This Is An Emergency

Today I arrived at work and greeted a colleague. We smiled and exchanged the normal "How was your weekend?" that has come to be the acceptable Monday-morning small-talk. However, he broke the unwritten rule of acceptable small-talk, by being abnormally honest and saying that he hasn't been doing too well, and has been going through a difficult time. I could see that he was bursting to get something off his chest, but even when I inquired as to what the matter is, he smiled his big, toothy grin and shrugged it all off with a mumble about 'family matters'.

My heart just ached for him, and I wished I could reach into his soul and touch it and make it all better... kind-of an emotional overreaction for Monday-morning small-talk, right? Yeah, that's what I thought too. 

But I've been putting some thought into it. A fellow human being is hurting. Someone I see almost every day. Someone who smiles at me every time. Even if our relationship is predominantly business, can I really bring myself to blatantly not care? Isn't it my responsibility as a human being to care, on some level? If not, wouldn't I simply be inhumane?

A fire is lighting in my spirit, slowly igniting over the last few months, and if I must be honest: it scares me. I can no longer deny that I have a passion for the broken. The scary thing about having a passion for broken people, is that there will always be broken people, which might make it what we call a 'losing battle'. But if you help just one person, have you really lost the battle? For that one person, it is an immense victory!

I was driving home this afternoon - my car now being a regular place of contemplation for me - and my iPod played a beautiful song that cut straight to my innermost being. Eerily, the song is an echo of this morning's experience with my colleague:

Tears of The Saints - by Leeland

The song describes a great deal of sadness, and one line in particular stands out: This is an Emergency. It is so true. This world is in a state of emergency, and it is our responsibility as humanity to care for one another. There will always be poverty. There will always be sickness and cruelty. But this is no reason for complacency - we are called to lead the broken home. 

So here I am, coming to terms with what God has laid on my heart, and wondering what to do with it. The way I'm feeling right now, I could easily throw caution to the wind and join the ministry full-time, but maybe once I figure it out for real, I will share it with you. 

For now, fellow inhabitants of this planet, please look after eachother. Be humane. Take the time to care. Allow the heart of God to pump in your chest. You will never see the world the same. 

Sexiest Song Ever!

I'm tired of rappers and their distorted idea of sensuality. All I hear on the radio these days is "Baby dis" and "Baby dat"... with a whole lot of poor English language in-between, that's supposed to be, what... erm... 'provocative'?? Lil' Wayne is by far the worst, but let me not get started on him - he will have a whole blog dedicated to him, all by himself. 


No, there is not enough truly romantic music out there anymore. I came to this realization this week when the radio pulled out a seriously hot track from 1990, and it just burns with good, old-fashioned desire. No kinkiness. No crudeness. No vulgar language. Just fresh, clean sex appeal. It really made me smile and sing along, I simply had to share...

"Kiss Me", by Australian band, Indecent Obsession, was released in 1990, and (not surprisingly) held the #1 spot on South African charts for 27 weeks. Click here to check it out...


And just to demonstrate further how dripping-with-heat this song is, I'm including the lyrics...

Excuse me for staring

Your looks have me blinded

You want to touch me

So don't try to fight it

Kiss me

I'd walk your sweet curves

For days without water

My drink is your lips

Don't you think you oughtta

Just kiss me

Blond and ambitious

You're dancing with wild boys

Melting the ice 'round my heart

Girl with your voice

Strawberry lips saying

Baby I want you

Raising my fever tonight

So why don't you

Just kiss me

Oo woo oh kiss me

This conversation is making me nervous

Please pay attention

Imagine we're lovers

And kiss me

You turn me on

Turn me off like a flashlight

Feel like a blindman

Who's taken the night flight

So kiss me

I am the mirror

Who holds your reflexion

You can't resist me

I am your infection

Strawberry lips call my name

So inviting

Can't think of anything else

More exciting

So kiss me

Oo woo oh kiss (strawberry lips)

Dressed to the teeth

In your soft skin and perfume

Only my heart cuts the silence

In your room

Strawberry lips are my favourite flavor

Drinking their color

Is all that I'm made for

So kiss me

Oo woo oh kiss me

Note the lack of vulgarity...? I sure wish the younger generation would hold onto some of this cheesy old stuff, instead of entering this revolting era where a man speaking to a woman in a derogatory manner is supposed to be a turn-on. Girls can dream, right? 


As for the older generation, you may think me 'worldly' for enjoying such a steamy song, but you should check out Song of Solomon in your very own Bible sometime - puts this Aussie band to shame! ;)

Happy Friday, fellow inhabitants of this planet - be a little cheesy to the one you adore today... deep down we all love it!

Hate-to-Lovers and Love-to-Haters

I know that my last blog promised that my next blog would be a LOT about kickboxing... but this is my blog, and I'll do what I want with it. 


And today I feel like pondering the people we love to hate, and the people we hate to love. We all know what I'm talking about... those people who inspire such intense emotion in us, that we can't help indulging in it, bathing ourselves in it, marinading our minds in delicious, often scandalous, thoughts... Yes, we all fall in love-to-hate, and hate-to-love, at some point in our lives. 


Some examples of those we love to hate could be...


Dictators and just plain evilness, such Robert Mugabe... Osama Bin Laden... Saddam Hussein...
Celebrities like Lindsay Lohan... Justin Bieber... Donald Trump (all because of that hair, and the fact that he's married to a near-immortal Supermodel)...
Politicians. (Full stop. Most politicians, no examples needed.)


Then you get the people we hate to love... the people that, in spite of ourselves, we cannot help liking...


Bands and musicians are my biggest hate-to-lovers... Take the BeeGees for example. I'm so very embarrassed to admit it, but I love them. And I hate that, but I can't help myself. 


Then there are people who are extraordinarily unique, in that they swing both ways... you love to hate them, and then you hate to love them... and then you love to hate them again, only to come to hate to love them in due course. These people are few and far between. 


One such person that I have this struggle with is a certain young radio DJ, Gareth Cliff. He's a household name in South Africa, and most of you reading this (in South Africa) will know him as SA Idols judge, or the award-winning DJ who holds the prime spot on 5FM's morning show.

My personal love-to-hate relationship with Gareth began in his first season as judge on SA Idols. I, along with many fellow South Africans I'm sure, found him rude, arrogant, repulsive, mean-spirited, cocky and just plain full of... er... it. Full of it, yes. 


It was then in 2009 that I started to grow weary of the radio station that I was listening to at the time, and I decided to give 5FM a try. The music was far better suited to my preference, and the presenters talked less rubbish, and so I decided to endure Gareth's annoyingness (for lack of a real word), for the sake of more enjoyable music.


It was one unfortunate morning, on my way to work, that Gareth and his team crossed the line. I had missed some part of the show, and caught the tale end of a sound clip of what sounded like a young boy describing his spiritual encounter with the Lord... Gareth and his team proceeded to mock this boy mercilessly, which I found quite unnecessary and offensive. This was the point at which I went from simply disliking Gareth Cliff to falling in love-to-hate with him. 


After that morning, I switched back to the arbitrary radio station that I had previously escaped, and so began a rather dull patch in my daily routine. After about 18 months of uninspired pop music and thoughtless nattering, I switched my radio over to 5FM in sheer desparation. It went quite well for some time until, after a few months, Gareth and his team dredged out that very same sound clip, the young boy with the spiritual experience. 


I could scarcely believe it - how could these DJ's be so juvenile as to resurrect this whole thing again, when it wasn't even funny in the first place? Seems that I wasn't only offended listener, as very soon after, a young gentleman called in and complained about the DJ's attitudes towards this sound clip, and their seeming intolerance of Christians. Gareth Cliff took a moment to explain to the caller (and to me) what the history was behind this 'religious' sound clip...


This 'young boy' was actually a woman, and she considered herself a prophet of sorts. People from her circles would turn to her for guidance, spiritual enlightenment... and among some other horrifically twisted ideas, this 'prophet' had told one of her friends to "look at the sun for a full minute, and you will see the face of Jesus". Her friend is now blind. Permanently blind.
 It was not an intolerance for Christians, or even religion, that inspired such hostility from the 5FM morning team, but rather an intolerance for... hypocrisy?... Lunacy...? Maybe just plain stupidity, I don't know, but it all made sense then.


Having forgiven the 5FM team of this little indiscretion, I've been listening to them ever since, and funnily enough, I've grown more fond of Gareth Cliff. He's still a cocky bugger, but in the last year, he's started to display certain characteristics that could perhaps be attributed to maturity. He's positive. He's down-to-earth. He discourages drinking ad driving. He openly ridicules Julius Malema. He supports charities. He does great voice-overs in the weekly Award-Losing soap opera, Days of Our Mornings. What's not to love? 


And let's not forget that he cried. SA Idols competitor, Dave van Vuuren (who later won the Idols contest), sang a song that reduced Gareth Cliff to tears, big ol' softie. And so I, along with many other South Africans, fell in hate-to-love with Gareth at that moment. 


So much so that I am even considering paying good money to purchase his book, which seems to be an autobiography, or a collection of random thoughts, I'm not entirely sure. However, what I am quite sure of is that at some point in the book, Gareth will undoubtedly have written something offensive, and I will likely come to love-to-hate him once more. Who knows.

But for now, Fellow Inhabitants of this Planet, today being Gareth Cliff's own "No Negativity Wednesday", here's to those we hate to love, and love to hate - they make our existence so much juicier!

Everybody *dance* now!

 Yesterday I did something that I have never done before: I bought (paid good money for) a dance-music CD. Actually, a compilation of three discs, to be precise - Kevin Grenfell's Club Anthems 2011, vol. 2. For those of you who know my musical preferences, you will understand the significance of this occurrence. But I could't deny myself any longer. 


I have been listening to a lot of radio lately, giving my poor, overworked iPod a bit of a break, and the radio has been playing a great deal of house and dance music. Now, usually, when this type of music abuses my radio, I roll my eyes, sigh in exasperation, and utter some derogatory word or two about 'this damn doef-doef-music'. However, I have discovered in my radio-listening weeks that there is a reason that this music is called "dance". Despite my resistance to liking the stuff, I can not help myself - when it is playing, I simply must move. Something about it makes me jiggle and jive and bop and wriggle... All in the embarrassing confines of my car. I just want to dance! 


With this in mind, I realized that it would be the perfect music to play while boxing. And so that is my excuse. I refuse to admit that I have come to like house music, but will concede to it's usefulness in an exercising environment. 

And so it was while working out this morning, and listening to my cheesy dance CD, that I decided that I have a lot to say about boxing. A LOT. Enough to blog about, for sure. So, if anyone is out there, and if anyone is interested, my next blog will be about boxing and kickboxing... I'm quite sure I've wasted enough of your Sunday talking about dance music *sigh of exasperation, eye-roll*, and so I shall address the matter another time. (I do have a LOT to say)


Get your boxing gloves ready and your doef-doef on, Fellow Inhabitants of this Planet, it's nearly Monday! 

Random Thoughts of The Old and Decrepit

Had another confusing day. No, it's not that anything unusual happened, just that I've been in a general state of confusion for some time now. Must be getting old, and I've been thinking far too much. 


When I was a child, I used think that adults were complicated and a bit loony. Now that I'm here, being complicated and more than a bit loony myself, I think I'm starting to understand why. My theory is that as you get older, you obviously collect more life experiences as you go, and like an overloaded computer, one's processor gradually slows down, and just generally wreaks havoc with one's internal hard-drive. 


Games played.
Broken hearts.
School learned.
Fights lost.
Friendships born.
Bungee jumps.
Books read and movies watched.
Saying goodbyes. 
Road-trips. 
Work stresses. 
Wedding vows and honeymoons.
Car crashes.
Romantic dinners.
Concerts attended.
Loved ones dying.
Braai's.
Battles won.
Shopping sprees.
Frienships lost.


There's a LOT to that goes into one life. 


So, that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it. If I forget something important. If I say something stupid. If I bare my soul when I shouldn't. If I brush my teeth twice because I forgot about the first time. If I wear mismatched socks. If I indicate right, but turn left.


You see, you'll have to forgive me, because this is just the very beginning of me being old and decrepit. 


Of course, at age 27, I do have a long journey of oldness and decrepitness ahead of me, so I am fighting it off with simple pleasures. 
Had doughnuts and energy drinks with a friend today. 
Went to a car show with my husband yesterday.
Had a night out on the town last week.
Caught a bird and set it free. 
Zoned out with my iPod for a 5 minute break at work.


One of the best things that I've been doing lately to clear my head is boxing. Ah, there is nothing like boxing. When I got home this evening, I was feeling emotional, frustrated, and just stupid in general. Half an hour with a punching bag is like the 'proverbial restart' that seems to fix everything. 


I wonder what other people to do 'restart'. It's important you know, otherwise we'd all be very old and very decrepit far too young. 


Peace out to you all, fellow inhabitants of this planet, may you live long, learn from many mistakes, and have a doughnut-moment very soon, before you lose your marbles completely.