The most disappointing birthday present in the world

I am a laat lammetjie. (Fact of the Day: that is pretty much the extent of my pathetic Afrikaans vocabulary, I blame growing up in Durban.) I have 6 nieces, 1 nephew, plus another boy/girl on the way.

The eldest are twin girls born on 25 June 2001. I was 13. Now don’t get me wrong, I have no idea what it is like to have a baby, and I can’t compare the love a mother must feel when she holds her child for the first time. But the first time I held these teeny tiny, wriggling humans, I instantly fell madly in love with them. I remember sitting there, watching their little chests rise and fall, unable to comprehend how it was possible to feel so much for someone you’d known for all of 5 minutes.

Ode to the Spambot

Ode to the Spambot 

by Kayli Vee Levitan 

O Spambot, on thine Twitter’s T.L, 

Ye stem from countries far and wide; 

From China, Mexico, and Kazakhstan thy dwell, 

With haste thou breaketh down thine pride. 

How not to be an asshole blogger that everyone hates

Dear bloggers of the world,

You guys are all important. Why? Because you inform opinions, change perceptions, and can actually make a real difference to people, clients, brands, AND THE WORLD! *cue applause*

This is a huge responsibility. But some just don’t take it seriously. And you know what that means? Since we are all (sadly) squashed under one general title – you make us ALL look bad.

So…

Stop judging. Start helping.

"Thinking Pretty" - Finalist in the SA Writers College Competition

Thinking Pretty

by Kayli Vee Levitan

I want one thing, and one thing alone. That man, sitting across the room.

I’ll admit it. I’ve started dressing differently. Skirt so tight, my thighs haven’t spent this much time squeezed together since I was 22. God, it’s been 16 years. I used a BIC pen to hold together my bun this morning, so I’d have an excuse to take it out, letting my hair gently topple to my shoulders - just like in those shampoo ads. I hope the black ink doesn’t stain my hair; it cost me a new washing machine! He always walks in after I’ve sat down, it’s a pity – I bought “sex shoes”, the kind that Mum wouldn’t be proud of. I had to sneak out of home early this morning so she wouldn’t notice them. I can imagine her 10c coin eyes, shrinking even further, as she judged her only daughter. These shoes look amazing, and I’m getting really good at walking in them.

Ya, I'm alive.

I haven't written in months and it's not because I forgot to, it's because shit has been buckwild.

Like, completely buckwild. Not "Oh deary me, look how busy I am as I visit friends and go to clubs and study a little and stuff", but completely and utterly crazy. Ie. Buckwild.

A lot has happened. Here is a list.

A LIST OF THING THAT HAVE HAPPENED:

Flying isn't always fun

The other day I officially went insane. I even started pulling out my hair - just so I could roll it into little balls that I shoved in my ears, to block the incessant drone I had to live through.

On my flight back to Cape Town there were two people sitting behind me who decided that they were besties. We had been flying for 1 hour and 34 minutes and they didn't keep quiet for more than 8 seconds. They weren't even talking quietly. You'd have thought that they were on opposite sides of the aisle, not 15cm apart.

It doesn’t help that the guy had the most nasal, whiny voice I've ever heard. He made Karen from Will and Grace sound like a gentle nightingale who could serenade you to sleep.

The Airport

So I'm sitting at the airport waiting for my flight to board to go see my family in Durban. There is something truly great about airports and as I sit here, watching people meander around, I begin to wonder if I could get away with taking pictures of them. That “CLIIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCKKKK” whenever I try take my stalker shots results in awkward stares and could lead to a lawsuit one day.

Airports are a hub of emotion. A place where all stereotypes of society come together. There is always that couple standing right at the entrance to the departures lounge. They embrace one another, no not embrace, they are trying with all their might to push themselves so closely together that they become one mangled human being - with four limbs, two heads, but awwwww, one heart. Vomit. They are so repulsively slobbering in each other’s faces, that I have the urge to close the eyes of the stranger child standing in the queue behind me.

Ow, you punched my boob

“Hey there, I was just wondering how much a back massage is?”
“Uhh…. *silence*… umm…. We don’t do those.”
“What?”
“Umm… we don’t do umm… butt massages, sorry.”

This was definitely going to be a good time.

The other night, The BestFriend and I trotted to the "Happy Feet Traditional Asian Massage Parlour". I hate the word parlour. It makes me think of herpes, crabs and bad smells.

I.Hate.Pedestrians.

I am not an angry person. I’m quite cheerful, even in the mornings. I don’t sulk, I don’t get irrationally angry – unless I drink too much gin - and I remain calm in stressful situations. There are only two things that truly peeve me off beyond control. They take hold of the frontal lobe of my brain and contort it into a manic and fizzing ball of anger and resentment:

Shit drivers and equally shit pedestrians

Hi there, I'm GypsyFeet

I haven’t written in a while. Probably ‘coz the BossLady said that she isn’t marking our blogs anymore since she's busy with the new troop of First Years. Today I felt something was lacking in my life and I realised it was the fact that I missed writing about stuff that interested me. So here goes nothing, a bit of a life update:

1. I’m a Proud Mom
I was drunk the other night! Gasp! Who does that? Off we trotted home at around 4am from Fez to my friend's house to find some food. And I quite literally stumbled across a cat. “Shhhee hash’nt got a howme” I was told. “She waz jusht like, like left here in the garden. Her name is Jezabelle.” Jezabelle? Like the slut? I immediately picked up the cat and took it home. It felt like a magnificent idea at the time. I renamed the cat Bella (no, not Twilight Bella, JezaBELLE-kinda Bella) and went to sleep. I woke up at 7am and thought about how strange my dreams were until I rolled over and found a cat staring me deeply in the eyes. Fuck.

Bella can breakdance

2011 Nerves

I’m on holiday. It’s quite lovely and I'm enjoying it thoroughly. However I am plagued by irrational dreams (nightmares) about starting college again in roughly two weeks.

Throughout my childhood I was always nervous before going back to school. These nerves have followed me through my teenage years, into semi-adulthood and now into whatever you call yourself when you hit 22.

New Years Shmnew Shmears

For weeks I have been trying to remember last years’ New Years’ resolution without any luck at all. Whilst searching in my cupboard for a pen to write this very blog, I found myself eye to eye with a glimmering bottle of vodka, which was staring me down, calling me stupid and daring me to drink it. It was being mean. I then remembered.

The realisation that my pathetic attempt at a resolution last year, and for the past 4 years, has been to stop drinking so much, whacked me smack-bang in the middle of my alcohol-infused kidneys.

I’m sick of resolutions which I can’t keep. Especially ones which I don’t want to keep and just say I’m going to do because it makes me feel like a better person. Because when I break them, I feel worse. And that’s no fun at all.

The Prince

Once upon a time there was a maiden. This maiden lived in a beautiful land where the deep blue seas met the pure white sand of the shore, in a turquoise burst, as vivid and enchanting as the brightest star in the sky.

The maiden was not blessed to be laden with gold. She laboured many hard hours a day in an effort to raise enough gold to visit the weekly market; to care for her noble steed, Geraldine; and to buy enough candles so she never had to brave the dark.

The maiden lived at the top of a huge stone tower. Late one noon, sitting contentedly by her window, holding her quill and parchment, she was writing a declaration for story teller named Penguin, informing the people of the land how wonderful his works were. When suddenly, a grey-breasted carrier pigeon flew through the window and landed delicately on the maiden’s hand.

Cape Town Chronicle: The Foundation

Almost 22 years ago (it’s my birthday this week, gifts are welcome), I was born in the sunny city of Durban. I loved it there and had a wonderful childhood and youth. After matric UCT offered me a scholarship and it was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down.

Although my sister and her family live in CT, I decided that I wanted to go into UCT Residence (Res). We had been told throughout high school that if you had an “A” aggregate and held a leadership position within the school, you would get into one of the top Residences – either Fuller or Baxter. As this is what I had aimed for and achieved, those were the ones I applied to. Low and behold, I was placed in Tugwell Hall because 2007 was the first year that placements were completely random and no academics were taken into consideration. Great!

After doing some research, my mother and I had a bit of a panic attack especially as we heard a rumour that a girl had recently been raped and murdered in Tugwell. Ominous clouds hovered over my future in CT. I began visualising scenes of my imminent death which centred on me getting into the shower, as a katana-blade yielding psychopath tiptoed into the Tugwell bathroom after me. (I was however, tanned, toned and thin in these nightmares, my only reprieve).