30 Nov 2011

Guest Blogger 7: The Worst Part of Being Wrong

Matt, I am not sure if he likes being called that though, agreed to blog for me, and after weeks of stalking and envying his blog, I am as pleased as punch!
Here goes....

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A Facebook friend wrote a status update with the opening lines of the theme song to a very popular 90s sitcom, but without naming the show. It was an invitation for a know-it-all like me to offer a guess; and, like a person easily baited by chances to show off game show trivia without actually earning a dime for being right, I dived in head-first. But it proved to be like a head-first dive into the shallow end of the pool, or the part of a lake that's a little bit too close to the pier. It was much more than a guess; it was a confident assertion. Apparently, "Everywhere You Look" was the theme song for Full House, and not Family Matters.

I KNEW THAT.

To be fair (and regain some ego points), I hardly watched Full House. To me it was "Oh, that guy from America's Funniest Home Videos is a dad on a tv show. Great." Between the Cosby Show, Family Matters, and my own family, I had no more room in my evenings for the comic misadventures of another family. Even now, I can hardly watch the reruns without recalling that Uncle Joey was Alanis Morissette's unfortunate muse for that one song of hers (not the one about irony; the other one). That, and he was on a terrible sketch comedy show on Nickelodeon (ask yourself what could be worse than the worst episodes of SNL, and it was still worse than that). I just can't do it. Although, the two things I learned from Full House is that Comet is a great name for a dog, and the terrain in San Francisco is really steep. Notes-to-self.

If, one day, a study is published showing that bruising one's ego also causes physical pain, I'll be really disappointed. I already know this.

Generally, being wrong isn't so awful. So far, I am not responsible for national security or economic policy decisions. The rare occurrences of my faulty logic or absent-minded thinking won't send the country or its global reputation into immediate or long-term turmoil. Until now, few people even knew of my mistake. But like slipping on a patch of black ice and landing spread-eagle in an empty Target parking lot, it is no consolation that only few people saw it. It's bad enough that I know it happened.

Seriously, isn't thinking about how right you thought you were the worst part of being wrong?

This wasn't one of those trivial wrongs where one offers up a random guess because he or she doesn't know the answer, like if one were asked to name the capital of Maldives (did Carmen SanDiego even go near there?). It felt more like if some short-sighted, technologically stunted, occasional PC gamer had years ago claimed that Twitter was just a fad, or that blogging ("Ha, you mean online diaries?!") would become so popular.


Actually, I said both of those things, so perhaps this wrong-but-confident assertion thing is a pattern.

I could have sworn I knew what I was saying. At that moment, I felt like that guy on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, who, upon reaching the million-dollar question, used his phone-a-friend lifeline to call his mother and tell her he was about to win $1 million. The difference is that he actually won, and I would have just embarrassed my mother on national television, which would by far be worse than an error in judgment causing a national security crisis (just take my word for it).

It's time for me to find a career where being confident, persuasive, and convincing are easier paths to success than being right.

M.

29 Nov 2011

Welcome to the Big City



Back in 2005 when I was as chubby cheeked, fat infused, tender kneed, tender eyed, braid-haired, bra-less, knee-skirted, sometime-pant-wearing, boy-hungry, age-unripened, dream-dreaming, rafter-shoed, eyes-unopened girl of 18. I was single and may or may not have desired to have a boyfriend. I do not remember.

What I do know is that it is the last year I was ever single.  I never received a single letter, nor did my phone ring because I did not have one. The only one I had ever had, had been stolen.

It was stolen on a Monday, I know this because I had spent the weekend bugging my daddy for his phone- a Nokia 7210, and I had Nokia 5100.

By Monday I had worn him out. He handed it to me gruffly and I switched the sim cards.

“I put money in your account, so if you want any,” he didn’t finish off. 

Every time he did something nice and fatherly he scowled and fidgeted, affection was easier for him when he was drunk then he would cheerfully summon us,

"Come here my children, I want to talk to you," we would duck and dive under the covers. 

Sometimes he would be so persistent only a cadaver could ignore him, and we would all troop to the lounge, yawning and grumbling. 

"Sit with me a while, I love you my children all of you, I know sometimes you think daddy doesn't care but daddy loves you." He would make an attempt to hug the nearest of us and we would self consciously fold into his embrace.


I went to town, around midday and it being my first week in the big city I made a beeline to the nearest ATM. Half afraid I would get lost somehow.

 That’s when I met him. Tall, dark and bunny toothed,

“Excuse me sisi, hello my sister, a minute of your time please.” I do not have the vaguest idea as to how I felt about this. I am not what I was back then, I believed in the goodness of mankind.

“Sorry my sister, if you could just listen to me, I have a proposition for you.” I loved being propositioned.

“I am looking for people to help me with a stock take over lunch, and I would pay you.” Daddy had only given me Z$1500 enough to buy a pair of jeans. There is something about the smell of freshly minted money that makes you more I want more.

“You would pay me?”

“Yes Z$250/hour.’

“Where is this place? Because I need to be going home soon.”

He named the street, I knew of it. I had no idea where it was. Everything was so new and different. On our way to my new gig, we met a guy and roped him in. I helped convince him, I did not want to be alone with this guy, but I wanted his money.

“Listen you guys, need to put your stuff in an envelope before we get there, can’t have valuables everywhere.”
I put everything I had, my phone, and my money all of it. So did the other guy. I handed it to the guy and he handed it back,

“You need to put your name on this, and keep it”

I did, and tucked it under my arm.

We continued.

After walking for about 5minutes he had me wait for him in the doorway of some fancy looking clothes shop. The shop assistant was an Indian woman and I didn’t dare go inside.

He had huddled us together in that doorway,

“Wait here, I need to go and get you coveralls.”

He took off with that other guy, mumbling something about needing help with the stuff. I stood there waiting, with my envelope tucked safely under my arm still. I don’t know how long I waited; my phone was still in the envelope. I thought about going into the Indian’s shop and decided against it. I don’t know how long I stood there but finally my fear of my father won over.He did not like to return home and not find any of us there.
The money was not worth it. I took the envelope from under my arm to take out my phone.

It was gone.

All of it.
In lieu of my money and my phone was a stone wrapped in khaki paper and news print carefully cut. I had felt the envelope and thought it was the one I had put my money in.

I did not react, guess fear does that to you. I merely stood there, flashing on images of daddy.

Yelling, hitting, yelling, hitting.

Eventually when I got home, dad was there and very mad.
If he had done it like this, I wouldn't have felt so stupid
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The same thing happened to L years later, she was 17. Although I still gave her the squint eyed judgy look whilst at the same time reassuring her that it happened to the best of us. I like to think that I am one of the best.

28 Nov 2011

Something To Take Away The Monday Blues

                  Front Cover



I spent the weekend reading Shimmer Chinodya's Harvest of Thorns, and had a blast at it. Lord knows why I never read it before, because I have had it in my Library for a while.
$0D

Here's an excerpt where the hero is declaring his love for the umpteenth time, and still he gets no response from his beloved Shamiso.
I am hereby sent you a camera fotopicture taken me by my best friend Jeshua so that you can remind and thinking of me all times. Perhaps you have forgetting me and I’m sending this fotopicture for you to put on top your pillow so you can dream about me when your eyes falling sleepy. I still love you over than and will not stop scripting until the world stops and all the enjels come and God ‘says’ everybody to Heaven or to Hell but I’m cokesure a butifull girl like you is going to HEAVEN stret away. S’true  God, Shamiso I love you more each day. I will go on scripting even I buys all the written peds and emvlops at Bright Bookstore and even the postmaster say no, Clopas, you finishing pestej stamps for other because my heart says you the woman for me and I must not sarenda…
Please send me your fotopikture too so I can put it on the wall near my bed, and not think of about you too much. Perhaps you have not write because you think I am too olds for youbut I am a young man only twenty four years of old and ready to start family. But I can’t starting family without you Shamiso. Otherwise yuou think it’s joking and I’m having many other girlfriend but I to you I never jok on this matter. I am being a stead man without fulling around and looking at silly town girls who is after beer and money chete. Sometimes you think I say this because I have job in town and house and you are from  reserves, but I tell you no, it is love only. Perhaps you thinks I am a Bed man Because I live in the big city but I say no, I do not know the mouth of a beerhole and I do not touch cigaroots, and I do not play cards or beetting horses…So please Shamiso hear mercy for me.

They don't make them like that anymore huh? 
p.s do you think I could get sued for copyright infringement? Lets hope not.

25 Nov 2011

Public Toilets Freeze My Pee and Other Stories





 If you cannot see this I am terribly sorry, I am not a techno geek and drawing that took all the skills I posses, don't give me that squint eyed judgy look.

Any how

If ever I make the mistake of not using the bathroom before I leave home, this is what I will be forced to use. That lovely lady stands sentinel at the door and asks for 50c every time some hapless pedestrian wonders into her domain.

She is a council worker; her job is to keep the loo clean, she does not. The one time I tried to use the toilet the very sight of it froze my pee, it wouldn’t come out.

There was filth everywhere! 

I liken her to a giant troll that lives under a filthy bridge, or an ogre that revels in its own filth.

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In other news...


...A picture is worth a thousand words.
This happened yesterday.







24 Nov 2011

What To Do When Life Gets Complicated? - The Launchpad

What To Do When Life Gets Complicated? - The Launchpad: " Joy is a fruit of the Spirit"

'via Blog this'

Mama Had The Worst Disciplinary Methods




When I was a child I never realised how much of a drama queen my mum was. I realise now exactly how much. I remember this day through a daze of other memories, but I am pretty sure that if I type fast enough the movement of my fingers will hypnotise me enough for me to draw fourth this oh-so-almost-painful-memory, that is such a lie.




I had done something trivial which would embarrass you and me both if I took the liberty to give the full details of this ill fated day. What I do remember is that it involved L and me. Although, how a 12 year old could have been in cohorts with a 6 year old is beyond me, but we had been the Dynamic Duo.

 Ok bad script, scratch that.

I had done something i know but um being one for theatre of sorts, managed to drag L in it. I blame it on her ability to keep all my faults in a little box somewhere at the back of her brain and then open that little box.

Kinda like your mum, and yours and yours and yours.

What i remember about this particular night is how different her choice of payment was, as opposed to all the previous times. Before she would beat me to within an inch of my life and nurse me back to life again. I never felt closer to her.

On this day, mum had us in our little room. And it was little. The double bed all three of us slept on took up most of the space, which left very little room for anyone to wtqnd. You either pushed a pile of clothes to the floor and dove onto the bed, or normally i just stood by the door and asked one of the little ones to “hand me that towel.” “Throw that comb over.”

None of my parents ever came into the room, i suspect it had something to do with the fact that it smelt of dirty clothes and old socks.

I found a pair of grey ones in a corner, they had once been white and i had to break them apart. Something had caked them together.

But i talk too much,let me get to the point.

Mum was furious and she was in there, in that room with us.

“You are the most ungrateful children i have ever had,” by this time she had had four of us so she knew what she was talking about.

“You don’t listen and you do whatever you want, well i am SICK of it,”

She began yelling in earnest,

“I WANT YOU TO LEAVE MY HOUSE AND GO TO YOUR REAL MOTHER BECAUSE JUDGING FROM YOUR ATTITUDE YOU SEEM TO THINK I AM NOT IT.”


After yelling in the same you-are-ungrateful-vein for 5 minutes, during which time i had begun to hope that she would get the thrashing over and done with already. When i thought it would, she changed tack, and changed her tone.

Softly almost carefully like she was talking to idiots, whom I suspect she thought we were,

“I want you out of my house, go.”

L turned to me, I was determined to not let her see how wobbly my chin had become from suppressed tears, i took her hand and turned to leave. When i really wanted to throw myself at mama’s feet and beg her to stay. What stopped me was the giant roach i saw seemingly sniffing her stockinged feet.

“Hold it.” She said, “Now, since you going out there to look for your mother, i want you out of my clothes, take them off.”

“Pardon??” I was baffled, who was this woman who yielded no stick to hit me with, whose words hurt so bad.

“I SAID TAKE MY CLOTHES OFF.”
And we stripped, right there at the door we stripped down to our panties, huddling together.

“Who bought those panties you are wearing?”

“Y-y-you did,” L stammered, i almost kicked her.

“So take them off.”

And we did...this is where the memories stopped. What happened after that is probably so dark my head just will not compute, or i just don’t wanna tell you, I might tomorrow.






23 Nov 2011

Guest Blogger 6: You Are Lucky To Be Reading This


Oh joy, never mind my earlier post. I got my good buddy Tariro, over at October Madness to do the writing thing for me. Love her post like I did.
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  I went to a youth gathering some time back. Albeit I was feeling a bit uneasy  because the only person I was sure I would know was my cousin. But much to my pleasure when I arrived I met a girl I had learnt with in High school, we will call her X. X was always the pretty one; long legged and pretty. I was really glad to see X because now I knew more people than just the one person I had arrived with (purely selfish reason).

We get to the part where someone needs to read the Bible (World best seller, did you know?) One gentleman decides that X should read to the group. My “past teen years brain” tells me he was just trying to get her attention, I did mention that she was pretty, right.
Guy: X should do the reading

X: ahh guys I cant read 

Guy: you have to

X: I cant read

By this time the majority of the group has formed a movement against X and they are chanting “READ READ READ”, you know how youths can behave.
X is looking very uncomfortable. She realizes there is no way out and begins to peruse the bible. The mob is now pleased, its all grins and smiles. We have successfully forced the pretty the pretty girl to read. Satisfaction.

She starts to read….”A – A –All th things war work ….”  That is not a stummer. X was not jesting she truly can not read. The art of reading, which you and I take for granted was a mammoth task for her. We were in high school together for four years but X could not read.

The mood immediately changed. The movement was no longer satisfied they were embarrassed instead, they had forced the illiterate pretty girl to read.

I was furious and there were two possible recipients of my fury. The first would be the Education System; how could they let her go, release her into this world filled with words without adequately equipping her.
The second was X herself; at 24 she should have tried, worked harder. She should have forced the system to do justice by her. She should have fought to acquire this critical skill.

The individual that who worries me the most in this extremely sad saga is X’s 6 year old daughter. I hope the Education system wont fail her. I hope the system ensures that by the time she leaves its clutches she can read and read well….because its clear she wont be getting any help from home….

I Seem To Have Lost This Weeks Guest Blogger



If you follow this blog then you will know that every week, I find some person from the blogging Internets and ask them to take the burden of posting off my shoulder for Wednesday.
Up till now I had been doing quite a good job of suckering someone into doing that for me. Not so this week, I asked my buddy Dodger and he agreed 2 weeks ago, things seemed to be going well between us, till I told him not to post politics or anything serious. You see I get bored easily and I figured if I wanted a discussion on politics I would hop over to The Economist website, which I do on occasion.

To this he said I was infringing his right to... express himself and what not, and how I was no different from what ZANU does to every independent media in the country, oh well *shrugs*

I suppose I should have let him go on about the Prime Minister's $36000 bride.

Anyway bottom line, he went A.W.O.L

22 Nov 2011

I am completely and utterly in love with myself



I am completely and utterly in love with myself. I do not know when I fell in love, but I am pretty sure it wasn’t the day I discovered that I had a smoking hot body that I could feed anything and it would never think to betray me by piling on the kilos, neither was it the time I discovered that my I’m was higher in the languages which put me in a better position to air out my opinion than a lot of other douches. Yes douches, I discovered a long time ago that the average human wasn’t worth listening to because generally they spoke about nothing of worth. Whilst I on the other hand figured I had the encyclopaedic brain of Pluto, Napoleon and that Greek Medicine Guy, remind me again to Google him.

See what I did there?


No? Never mind.

I am still to pinpoint the exact moment that I fell wholly and utterly in love with myself. Not in the masturbatory way that Chelsea did do with her 8 year old self, or do I like the god of self love (Johnny Bravo) spend hours preening myself.

No, it comes to me like a whisper when I sit in front of a reflective surface and catch a glimpse of my heart shaped lips, or a mental pause when I find myself surrounded by people who are totally and utterly clueless.

When I was in high school I was teased incessantly about my prepubescent breasts which would never make up their mind about growing or staying, any bra I wore was destined to look like an empty satchel so I stopped.

I still remember that guy who called me “Flat kwaba.” A term I later turned on anyone with no ass at all or no hips for that matter. I never made fun of anyone with small boobies.

It would have been akin to laughing at myself.

Once I heard my dad tell me “you are selfish and only think of yourself.” I was only half listening so did not quite get where he was going with his tirades, he had these, a lot and I learnt to tune him out.

A couple of days later he repeated the exact same thing, this time I had been listening, I did not have a choice. He had come back from work early and found me trying to slink unnoticed out of his bathroom. Which from the way our house is planned was impossible to do.

“Where are you coming from?”
“I was in the bathroom and I...”
“What have I told you about using my bathroom? Heh?”
“No, no, no you are very selfish,” he continued.

I did not know where he was going with this, no one had ever for any reason called me selfish, but the hand on his belt buckle made me nearly faint with fear.

Following three other incidences where daddy publicly proclaimed that I was selfish and never thought of others, I began to explore this a little bit more. And in so doing, I discovered quite a few things about myself.

I do not like sharing.
Not in the, this-is-mine type of thing. But the crazier, I-will-rip-your-head-off sense. Do not ever touch my stuff... it is mine. If I had wanted you to have it, I would have asked someone to buy it for you.
What? Is that yours? Can I have it? No? Well that’s just mean.


I am never wrong!
I cannot say this enough! Even if Google and Wikipedia say otherwise, I am NEVER EVER wrong, so stop arguing and nod your head wisely.


I have a total disregard of little people.
Not children mind. Little people are those who never bothered to stop by a college, or God forbid A ‘Level, I do not listen to them, talk to them, neither do I see them. I am ashamed for them, although one can excuse monetary problems, or later success, which is hard to achieve. So go ahead, prove me wrong.


I refuse to talk about anyone’s problems but my own.
Before I partake in any discussion, I ask myself “will it benefit me?” if the answer is no, or slow in coming then please do not at all bother. For this I refer you to the BFF who has enough love for the world to sit still long enough to listen. I do not care.

I would go on but I still want you to come back to my blog and marvel at my awesomeness, so I will reserve the rest of my narcissistic tirade for Twitter and Facebook (place pleased as punch emoticon here)


21 Nov 2011

Please Enterness My Blog


 

Please enterness, and welcome to my blog. I found a couple of gems on how to become, better in society. Please read carefully and take a bit of Chinese wisdom.


Chinglish don't stampede on toilet 


 


Something has to be done about global warning, and as always the Chinese seem to have found at least a solution or three or four, this is my favourite.

18 Nov 2011

That Long Awaited Talk, STIs Included

"And that's how I was born, not what you tell me."


Like any self-respecting mother-and-daughter combo, my mother and I decide to have the talk with the twelve year old. Not about the birds and the bees mind. She seemed to know enough of that, the other day she had come into my room sat on my little bed in the corner, and proceeded to tell me how much more dangerous some STDs were than others.


 Chlamydia it seems, does not exhibit any symptoms in the female of our species, and in her book gonorrhoea was by far the most unforgiving and icky.



I sat there in front of my mirror hand suspended not sure whether to proceed with my make up or tell her to shut up because, good girls did not talk that way.



For the first time in my life I wished we were living on some slave estate in the 1800s and I could not so gently chide her but hitting her mouth and threatening to tell mama, or more ominously, the master.

Instead I took a deep breath, remembering that it was good for her to have such knowledge at such an age, you never know what these kids get up to these days,. And if it saved me having to scare her into abstinence by getting her a copy of AIDS In The Tropics, which the very thought of made me shudder and wonder if it was too late for me to clamp my legs together.

“Would you like to see pictures, we got a book at school and it shows you all kinds of stuff?”

I felt a cold finger of dread flick up and down my spine, there was only one book which showed all kinds of stuff and I had seen it when I was 14 and forced myself to forget. No way was that well spring of repressed memory going to invade my frontal lobe.

“uh no thank you my baby,”

 I doubt that my head had any room for any such endearments but I like to think of myself as a not so harsh older sister and that I set a good example in refraining  from a boorish degradation of my almost lady like eloquence. In my head I rival the queen.

“Oh, ok we have a test tomorrow and would you believe that she said we had to draw,”

The way she proceeded to tell me about syphilis and all the other disease, made me brim with pride. Nothing puts a damper on revulsion like a well elocuted recitation of any sex diseaqe. 
Moreover her almost text book knowledge of herpes made famous in these parts by Rihanna wehuma (Rihanna of the enormous forehead) and Chris Brown wemahobi (of the much more chiselled brow) – I am quoting our local paper Kwayedza. So do not applaud my apt description of the duelling duo.

Now, where was I?

Following this discussion, mama and I being the self respecting citizens of the world we were decided it was high time she gained practical knowledge of the menstrual cycle and how to deal with it when it final came. She is going to boarding school next year and we wouldn’t be there to guide her through the blood and gore.


How to avoid embarrassment in the event of an accident

This can be achieve by waiting for everyone to evacuate the class/dining hall. And pretending like you are in no rush to go anywhere, and if a teacher comes to usher you out insist that you are perfectly fine where you are.

How to sit absolutely still in Case of any spillage

Brand loyalty is so rare in 12yr olds. The wrong pad can lead to an accident. To avoid this young girls are to be told never to move/fidget/flinch when their affliction begins. It can stand between you and that Justin Beiber stand in.

How to avoid the palms of any boy who thinks he can guess when your period is going to start.

When I was in High School, I was in the same stream as this short stocky little fella that only ever wanted to hold onto my hand when I was menstruating. He would look into my eyes knowingly and gently stroke my hand. He seemed to see into me. Years later I remembered telling him what was wrong, and realised that maybe he wasn’t so intuitive these days. But you never know there are so many apps out there and enough little boys willing to pay for them.

That covered the groundwork; mama refused a discussion of the proper use of tampons.  Something which I felt would have saved us a lot of saliva and long indrawn breaths on hygiene and possible accidents.

That being said, the chat wasn’t all bad, at least none of us could have had the guts extensive knowledge of STDs to have covered female hygiene and the possible purchase of chastity belts. Which I am still considering. The kid knows way too much.

17 Nov 2011

A Case Of Talking Roaches And Millipede Children


My mother was pretty peeved the other day when the two Ns walked into the house after dark. And instead of launching an attack on the both of them, she decided to allot times to each in order for them to fully state and defend their case, potentially they would each get a hiding.

What followed went exactly like this, and it was said in the vernacular. But for the sake of you Russians and Americans I have taken the liberty of translating it.

The scene was her bed where she lay like a Modern day Marilyn Monroe minus the cigarette holder and sexy pout. Instead she had a phone in her hand and was staring at her reflection trying to decide whether or not she should die her hair, I am not one for other peoples vanity and was shaking my head quite vehemently.

She looked at her reflection one more time and gazed past me to look outside; I was sitting by the window.

“Where are those kids?”

“Still out in the street somewhere I guess, the sun has barely gone down.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said irritation creeping into her voice, “it’s almost 7 o’clock”

They came in just then, and mama proceeded to tell me that seeing as they were her kids they were on the same wavelength. I learnt long ago never to disagree with my mother. After all she had borne five children and I, none.

“You two get in here," she yelled.

They slowed their paces, guessing correctly that they had somehow affected her mood. Mama has the hand of the baboon -direct translation of a Shona idiom, which means she will use any excuse to slap the tequila out of you.

“Come here you millipede, idiot of a child, no small N, I don’t mean you.”

“What I tell you about coming back at this time and what happens to play crazed monkeys like you, hell bent on spending the night jumping up and down like giant frogs in the street?”

Big N blinked confusedly trying to think whether or not it was wise to move closer.
It was wise to do so.

“Move closer.”

She did, enough to placate and enough to still be out of reach of mama’s left hook.
I imagine that Big N watched my mother through eyes round from fright, and maybe because i imagined they could swivel every which way, she was looking around trying to look for exits.

“Stop gawking at me and answer me.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Would you like for me to call the cockroaches to help you?”

“You can’t.”

“I can’t what?”

“Call the cockroaches, they won’t come.”

“I can do what I want, and I am going to call them to have them answer in your stead.”
“They won’t answer, because they can’t talk.”

Mama seemed to mull over this for a while, which was a small wonder to me, and then seeming to shrug mentally she changed tack.

"you take this one chum, she seems real peeved"

“Big N you are older and for that you should know better, if you behave in the same fashion again. Ever. I will beat you till you are black like little crows.”

All this while I had been silently laughing and piping in here or there. Yelling little gems that I felt would make each’s case stronger.

“I doubt there are enough cockroaches in the house.”

“They really cannot talk you know.”

“She only went outside because there was no electricity; I doubt you will have the same problem tomorrow.”

Each point went unheeded, and because I felt the conversation was going to get more ridiculous I left the room.


16 Nov 2011

GUEST BLOG SERIES ARTICLE 5

 I am such a lucky bird, (that beautiful bird of paradise yes), every week I have such awesome bloggers doing their thing for me. So this week Liesl over at Pretty.Random.Things is in this week’s blog list. So without further wha-wha from me, here she is, enjoy her post as much as I did.



15 Nov 2011

HELP! My Medication Wants To Kill Me


 PROPAIN PLUS TABLETS

I get severe headaches, migraines. So bad that I need to take something for it cause if I don’t I have visions of my brain cracking open and my brain spilling out. So to avoid this I take a not so powerful narcotic… which I run the risk of becoming addicted to I take half the prescribed dosage.

This medication is a combination of a narcotic (hydrocodone) and a non-narcotic (acetaminophen) used to relieve moderate to severe pain. Hydrocodone works by binding to opioid receptors in the brain and spinal cord, and acetaminophen decreases the formation of prostaglandins, therefore relieving pain. This medication may also be used to suppress a cough.

I bet you didn’t know that I knew such big words huh, I don’t. They make no sense to me, but they sound nice and ominous hey?

I digress.

I was pleased as punch to have discovered Propain, till I read the list of side effects.

·         it may cause serious (possibly fatal) liver disease
·         Nausea,
·          vomiting,
·         constipation,
·          lightheadedness, dizziness, drowsiness,
·         vision changes, wait is that a rainbow
·         or mental/mood changes may occur
·         rash, itching, swelling
·          Insomnia, this I have, my mother has nicknamed me the neighbourhood Batman, when the sun goes down my ears perk up and I hear all things. Sleep is not my friend.
·         right at the bottom in fine print, they listed * cue sinister music* severe headaches







This medication that is meant to stop a head explosion is going to kill me. I think it’s time I started using Chinese medicine, because that list has turned me into a hypochondriac. I have been getting dizzy of late but I suspect the reason for that are the cartwheels I do so much.


And my liver hurts, but because I am not sure which side it is on a different side hurts everyday. Not forgetting the 'flash' migraines I get every other day. Never mind that they are ice pick headaches that I get every month just before my periods.



I should quit the drug altogether though because pretty soon I wont be able to stop! eek, addict alert!
My precious Propain, ooooooo my precious!