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Showing posts from November, 2012

Bra's, Boobs & Babes

Ah, Boobs!

The part of a woman's body that gets more attention than the average motorist at a SA traffic light. Attention that is thoroughly enjoyed during moments of intimacy, but unwanted  in the middle of a conversation or in the normal course of a day. "I'm up here!" will flitter through your mind when your cleavage appears to be getting more eye contact than your eyes (I know there are two of them, still)

As woman we have a complicated relationship with our breasts, we either love them, or loathe them; want them bigger, or smaller; rounder & perkier. Or more like someone else's, a best friend, a neighbour, Salma Hayek.

During puberty we face concerns with regards to the age at which our breasts start developing, we draw comparisons and feelings of insecurity often sets in. The term "late bloomer" has been offered as an explanation by many mom's to awkward teens worried about their development.

Our lifelong love-hate relationship with the br…

behind the wheel

Give me nightfall, pelting rain and all I wanna do is get behind the wheel of my car.

Alone, just me and her, the red devil, both old, but feisty and still purring.

Much like me, she is almost past her sell by date, should've been traded in for a newer model a long time ago. But I'm stubbornly keeping her, for better or worse. We will be growing old together, both slightly worn, with a good few miles behind us, but dependable, strong.

I stroke her dash lovingly, coo kindly, "Don't give up just yet, just a few more miles! I know you can do it!"

And she responds in kind, gives me that extra vroom...and zoom zoom we are away again.

I remember when I first saw her, all shiny and new: blood red, 3 door Freelander with the big wheel at the back, full of attitude, daring me to go exploring, awakening my wanderlust with her engine that growled. She was all prettied up with a huge red satin bow (so unlike her) I could tell she couldn't wait to get me behind her wheel…

I sing

Singing is like taking a very deep breath. It fills me with life and joie de vivre.

I sing, not in the shower, or the privacy of my home, but as part of the normal course of the day.
I sing at my best with Ipod on, earphones in and volume turned to uberloud.
I sing in the car with the radio set to blow- me- away, leaving the windows rattling.
I sing at the gym, sometimes silently (most times, not) mouthing the words, bobbing my head to the beat.

I sing...constantly have a tune playing in my head.

Knowing the lyrics to a song is optional, I will do a bit of a remix if necessary, to get through to the end.
Knowing the language of the song, also optional.. I will make appropriate sounds, add mumbles, hums, ooohhh'sla,la,la's, da,da,da,da,da's.
Whatever it takes to keep the rhythm going...

Once upon a train journey from London to Edinburgh, I got so swept up in the music, I sang at the top of my lungs to Nelly Furtado. An elbow bump from my fellow traveler caught me mid-son…


i struggle to come to terms with death and loss
and in this struggle i have no time for formalities

its the last thing I want to think about

maybe trying to make sense of it is futile especially when the wound is fresh
if the pain is up close and personal
could she have imagine this in the excitement of embarking on their holiday to thailand just last december      that he wouldnt be around this year
does she regret leaving the wanderlust dormant for so long
would this loss of her better half leave her shattered broken half  living...

the phone is shrill when it rings with bad news
it always comes in the early morning hours in the quiet of a still sleeping world
the phone rings and your waking mind knows this cannot be good  someones life has changed

and in that moment you look to your own life

I share the news! Misery loves company.

I look to him and the thought pops into my head , uninvited, unwelcomed:

Awake now! Robbed of the peace that comes with sleep:

It n…

Bump in the night


The dark room feels heavy on my skin, silence hangs thick. Only the sound of my breathing, shallow now,  can be heard. I feel him moving closer, softly across the carpeted room. The bed creaks, welcoming his weight, desiring it. Outside lightning shoots across the night skies, electricity courses through my veins... His body feels warm.

I am sprawled in front of him like a landing strip, all lit up and long. His touch, his breath, meandering along my secret places.

I know where this is going, I arch my back, greedy now...

He says my name, rolling it around on his tongue like chocolate, it falls off his lips barely audible. I am loved. And in the sanctity of this relationship, this is a beautiful thing.

Never one for public displays of affection, for wearing my heart on my sleeve, for shouting my love from the rooftops, I do this now from the top of the world(wide web).

For a million great reasons
- for the way you say my name like no other
- for the way you take care of ou…

Use & Care: A Relationship Manual

Wouldn't it be easier if a relationship came with a Use & Care Manual? It would make things so much simpler.

All great designs & products come with instruction manuals to ensure you get optimum performance, maximum value and the best satisfaction for your investment.You can also expect a lengthy warranty, subject to conditions, of course. And in the event of anything going wrong, there is a returns policy that rewards the proper use & care of your valuable asset.

So why is it  that the most precious investment we can make, the biggest risk we take, entering into a relationship, gets very little thought. Relationships require time, commitment, passion and dedication, yet we approach it in an almost nonchalant way, then struggle to understand why it didn't work out.

A mutual understanding built on love and commitment is a good place to start. It acts as a guide, a road map for the years ahead, it helps to resolve conflict easier and clarifies the obligations of each par…


My genetic code has never been replicated, there are no mini-me's running around, there never will be.
My monthly period was one great big farce, a mockery, a ridiculous sham: it was regular like clockwork, had all the elements of being "normal", but it never lived up to it's promise of creating life, leaving a legacy for me on my life's journey.
Infertility is a bitch! It is completely random in it's destructiveness, has the attitude of "Nothing Personal!", but bitch, it is very personal: If you're a woman and you can't have kids, that goes to the core of personal.
Yikes, I thought I had made my peace with all this. Apparently not, my period (see link for other slang terms for this,+menstrual+period+(related+to).html) has once again become the bane of my existence.
At 46 she is messing me around again.
I have run the gambit of emotions with her: confusion, anger, betrayal,…