I'm not a "dick pleaser"

I hope the title caught your attention. Allow me to demonstrate why Young Money must be quarantined.

I feel I owe it to the world (read: the President) to explain my dislike of Young Money and their jailbird President Lil Wayne.

Where to start; I love words. That's where everything begins really, they excite me, they surprise me, hurt me and soothe me. I love music, the way the melody and the beat curves right round the words to bring about an end product that leaves the listener with a smile, tears in their eyes, anything just evoke some sort of emotion. I'm slightly squint in one eye from side-eyeing anyone who sings along to Young Money, I wasn't born like this so naturally someone's got to pay. My love of music is directly proportional to my love of words, I'm not a jazz fan (which sucks because I've tried so hard to be cultured) for the simple reason that I need the words to connect.

Weezy has a song titled Dick Pleaser feat Jae Millz. Catchy, I'm sure but I could never sing along;

"she dont suck dick but expect for me to eat her.
That hoe crazy man and you dont wanna meet her.
But her home girl Nita swallow cum by the litre."

He doesn't even have the grace to be subliminally mysogynistic. Really if anyone reads this and doesn't understand why Wayne must burn, there's space for two in that fire.

He has another song, which was written for Mother's day and celebrating the wonder that is woman. I was hopeful for a minute there until I read the first line of that song, feast your eyes on this;

A Dedication

"Yo This Is The Dedication To The Bitches To The Women ya Digg

A Bitch Is A Female Dog (Preach)

And They Say A Dog Is A Mans Best Friend"

I'm not equipped to deal with this kind of back-handedness. Besides the fact that his metaphorical use of likening a bitch to a woman is completely ill-advised and in bad taste the last line of this allegorical masterpiece is;

"That Was A beautiful Dedication Right There

To The Women Shout Out To My Daughter Your Daughter Too."

I admit, on some days I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed but did he call his daughter a bitch, excuse me, a female dog which in Young Money Narnia seems to be a compliment? He's got songs with titles like, "Alphabet bitches". Of course he's a genius, I'm just a prude.

Then there's the wonder that is Nicki Minaj. Her song Did it on 'em is about how great she is and how far ahead she is in the game in comparison to other female rappers.

"More talent in my mother fuckin left thumb

She ain't a Nicki fan then the bitch deaf dumb

You ain't my son you my mother fuckin step-son"

Turns out I'm a deaf dumb bitch, I don't even know what that last line means! Seriously though I love female MC's, worship Queen Latifah, Salt 'n Pepa, MC Lyte, the list is endless. Women who understand that fitting into the male dominated genre is not as important as celebrating the beauty of womanhood, keeping your you-ness. MC Lyte has a track called Beyond the Hype, it has the same sort of message as Nicki's Did it on 'em but in a different way, a way the real Hip Hop warriors do it. I recognise a good gimmick and Nicki's awesome at being a temporary distraction.

The reason men populate Hip Hop more than women is because they don't conform to what they think their female fans would want to listen to, they rap regardless, whether or not their flow is sick you'll have ladies in the club, hands in the air talking about how his genitalia will make you say his name.

I have a 12 year old sister, Tema, who loves music, she's not discerning yet so she sings along to what she sees on TV. One day she asked Anele what Beyonce means when she says "it's too big. it's too wide, it won't fit". Anele's mumbled answer was "his ego" Tema, not deterred by Anele's non-committal response asks "but why would she sing about his ego and where won't it fit?" Sincere curiosity in her eyes, she needed to know. Kids need to know and because of this people need to be responsible for their lyrics.

Anyway this was about Lil Wayne, Lord forbid Tema develops a liking for dreadlocked rappers, fresh from dropping soap; however will I explain that when a man calls you a bitch he just means you're a female dog, and dog is a man's best friend so always give him a hug after he says that. Or lick his face. Or pee on his shoes.



The Young Money Crew
http://www.globalgrind.com/

 Thanks Lil Wayne.

Facebook faux pas

I hate surprises. I love the sentiment behind them but the whole not knowing what people have planned is unsettling to me, I wish I could read minds. Anyway because I hate surprises and I'm considerate if nothing else I feel it necessary to outline things which may prompt me to surprise you one day. There are certain qualities I find unacceptable in friends, naturally those same restrictions will be extended to my cyber buddies. Here are a few examples of things that will get you deleted by me on Facebook. Pay attention, you all care about this very much.

•  Posting naked pictures of oneself



http://www.telegraph.co.uk/



My abhorrence of this practice has been widely documented on my own Facebook profile. If you send me a friend request and you look like an upstanding (fully clothed) member of society then as soon as I click on "confirm" you start posting PG-older-than-me pictures, you will be deleted or sat down for a come to Jesus talk.

• Misspelt anything



http://www.websitehustle.blogspot.com/



Another widely documented habit. Seeing misspelt words annoys me to no end. Ryting lyk dis makes no cents2mi eitha (do you have letters missing on your phone/keyboard?). I should also point out that "quit" and "quite" mean completely different things, as do "lose" and "loose". It gives me a headache to decipher what you were trying to say so I delete.

                

•  The TMI updates



http://www.toughcookiemommy.com/



  

These always make me cringe. It's fascinating I'm sure but I really have no interest in just how horny you are, and how you plan to solve this err stiff predicament.

 

•   Invites to events



http://www.ebooke.com/



I am a proud hermit. I have appealed to the Facebook masses not to invite me to functions unless you're sure beyond reasonable doubt that it is something I'd go to. To whoever sent me this bizarre invite last week, a Kama sutra event is not something I'd attend (on Wednesdays).

 

• Weird fetishes that go against my beliefs



http://www.consequenceofsound.net/



I firmly believe in anything that supports the burning down of Young Money headquarters. Everytime I say this it gets me side-eyes but I'm too busy collecting TnT to care. I saw a status update this morning posted by a beautiful girl which read, "Weezy's voice really turns me on". I prayed. Then deleted.

 
 
 
 

• False middle names



http://www.sodahead.com/



Don't give me that look I know for a fact your name is not Sifiso Bedrock Mazibuko and there's no way your girlfriend is Lihle StomptheYard Vilakati. You have coital alignment techniques that result in the bed rocking and she likes the movie we get it.

•    Racist rantings



http://www.morrisonworldnews.com/



Almost immediately after Eugene Terrblanche's death Facebook groups sprang into existence, white people calling black people uneducated, murdering monkeys and black people threatening to rape the mothers and sisters of white people. This perpetuating of stereotypes made me sick to my stomach. I have no time for this, if your fun is found in slurring people of other races, differing sexual preferences, and religious beliefs don't call me. Ever.

You're all too good for this type of behaviour, if you're guilty of any of these things, purge yourself if you don't know how I'll help. Get a 2l bottle of water, a Nora Roberts book, a camp chair and a beach umbrella for you to hold over me while I think of ways to cleanse you.

3 days to the new year!

Stay beautiful.  

Carbs are good for you...taste my loaf

Words have been swirling around in my brain, bubbling in my chest, building up in my stomach but not quite making it to the tips of my fingers so I can find relief. I'm almost suffocated by the goodness that is my life. Through the worrying, the tears, the neuroticism, the bouts of hypochondria, quickly made cappuccinos and fits of uncontrolled laughter my life is all good. So good I wish I could spread it on pieces of bread for everyone and just share a loaf with you guys, or better yet delicious croissants (which I'm learning to make) with a topping of my life.


My dad has been ill for a few days or months depending on whether or not I count the length of time I was in denial for, but he hasn't lost his acerbic sense of humour. He's always been sharp-tongued, quick witted and unhealthily arrogant. So his tongue has been sharper because I imagine it's a sobering thought when Superman realises he's mortal, when he comes in contact with his kryptonite. He has spent the whole week telling my sisters and I not to let anyone come and pray for him because often the people who come bathed in the cloak of concern have really come to grab your cape and show the world. I don't know where his paranoia comes from. "I'm not cultured enough to stop people who come in here with a song, how's about Hi, how're you feeling." Dad.

I inherited my dad's bad eyesight, my mom's naivety, my grandad's insane intelligence (no really) and other awesome things I went shopping for in the gene pool. I didn't realise though that paranoia was inherent. I promise you my younger sister probably has exclusive rights on this. She believes everyone is out to get her and her all amazing everything, her and my dad are a glitch in my "benefit of the doubt" radar. She refuses to share blankets whose history she doesn't know, she won't eat food if your hands look suspect (of if your eye twitches), she won't take a bath unless she's filled the tub or mopped the shower floor with Domestos first. She finds herself turning that cynicism onto members of our family. She is like a wolf with her cubswhen it comes to her family, warding off perceived enemies with a single flick of her perfectly arched brow. She was protective with my father's ailment because people really do wear concern well.  "Game recognises game and you're dressed funny!" Anele.

My other sister, the queen of amazing, the ruler of a land called awesome (I just live there). She is a warrior, a fighter who doesn't need heavy artillery. You look at her and you're thrown by her sweet and child-like demeanour. Put her in hot water and then you cower but not because of her imposing her awesomeness on you but because of how swiftly and effectively she deals with anything that may pose as a disturbance in her pursuit of awesome. Her one "flaw" like everyone in my family is her sharp sense of humour. Whether or not her heart is pumping tears and her intenstines are knotted from worry she always puts other's before herself. Like she did my ego this one night, I tell her about Anele likening my athletic skills to Caster Semenya and she says "sorry what, did she say you LOOK like Caster?" and I blank stare her, flick my hair, file my nails, pat my weave, click my heels (which my superpowers allow me to put on in 0.35 seconds) and through my pout I said "not look like but talented like" and she says "no wait take your glasses off..." then she walked out guffawing the whole way, she may have been mumbling "strike one" the whole way, I can't be sure being one-upped affects my hearing.

The jam on my bread

I've got other siblings, blessings, delicious somethings I call family. I'll blog about them next time, I told you I wanted to share my loaf of life with you, these strong people who dare to find humour where it has no right to exist. This is home. This is my heart.

Stay beautiful.

Love takes 2

Yesterday I received an education regarding the intricacies of the male mind. So many women go through life believing that they can fix anything. The Superwoman syndrome is how we’ve been engineered to approach all matters of the heart; if we love him enough he’ll change. If we love him through his flaws eventually he’ll have none. I blame Hans Christian Anderson, lying to my impressionable mind like that, because of him I wanted to be a mermaid once upon a time. Anyway enough about my fetishes…


My source says a guy knows how he feels about you within the first few weeks of him meeting you. If he didn’t see you as someone worth investing in then it won’t change just because you’ve been with him 10 years. This broke my heart because so many woman walk around believing they can change the men they meet, not even change per sae in as much as they believe they can make him love her right. Referencing my own life and my own experiences, I know that a guy who loves you will show you, there’ll be no guessing, no wondering if he loves you you’ll know. If you don’t know then he probably doesn’t.

Women can’t deal with life being this black and white, we need the colours to highlight our passionate love affair and really all guys want is a sandwich, a bizarre beard and to watch Barcelona show off yet again err maybe that’s just the President.

I know a woman who follows her boyfriend wherever his job takes him, last year they were in Egypt, this year they’re in Swaziland only the Lord knows where they’ll end up next year! But she’s willing to live in uncomfortable conditions, in countries she’d never even visit if she had the chance to vacate anywhere in the world with a man who made it clear in the beginning that he wasn’t interested in watching her walk coyly down the aisle. It makes me sad when she tells us over and over again that if he hasn’t proposed to her by the time she’s 35 she’s moving on. They’ve been dating for 2 years, 35 years old is 6 years away so she’ll give him 8 years to decide whether he wants to make an honest woman out of her! There is no way I’d live out of my suitcase like a gypsy for 8 years, cook, clean and perform other wifely duties for a man who needs that long to decide that he wants his kids to have my kind of awesome in their gene pool.

The point is ladies; if your mind’s made up about a guy and you’re still confused about what’s going on in his mind regarding you, if you cry and he turns the other way, if you’re constantly having to defend him and his questionable actions to the people who care about you, somewhere along this jagged line you need to ask yourself if you can handle a “forever” filled with tears, apologies and wondering. If you can indeed picture a forever like this then fear not there’s a special corner for you in heaven.

Part 3: Roadtrip

A few things happened last Saturday that took the wind out of my sails. While my friends were dancing and I was with the President he looks into my eyes and says “I want to grow a Rick Ross beard.” You know when things happen in slow motion and your life flashes before your eyes while kitsch, over the top music plays in the background? So do I. So anyway I stared at him for a while and then proceeded to quietly get up from my chair and join my dancing friends, a dancing me makes more sense than putting Rick Ross’s beard on perfection.


The next thing that completely blew me away was right after Matt and the President left we were ready to whip out the PJ’s and get the real party started. So when I wore mine with my heels, I mean I just got dressed and joined my friends but on my way to them I passed a mirror. Pause. I just don’t know how I got so sexy and I didn’t even notice! I was just standing there catcalling myself, very schizo inspired Gemini-esque moment. So anyway I sauntered down the passage, flicking hair and swaying hips I sat down for my supper and thought about the President.

After dinner Sdu aka “Superwoman on Saturdays” cleared up and washed the dishes while Phindi dj’d, Mavu watched soccer and the rest of us were on the balcony shivering and stuff. I went downstairs and the next memorable moment happened; Sdu receives a call from a brave woman who says “ncesi sis please teach yourself not to call people’s boyfriends at this time of the night.” If you’ve never seen a group of angry Zulu women count yourself lucky because what happened next was hilarious and slightly scary. Sdu needs a phone with airtime, she needs to hide the number and now with everyone gathered around her she calls this lady and cusses her out, in about 2 minutes mayhem ensues, everyone starts grabbing the phone to tell this girl to not be insecure, and accept that her man is cheating on her, right after that someone says I’d never want anything to do with a man who installs burglar bars. The contradictions completely didn’t register in their inebriated minds, tsk tsk.

Then it was confession time and that’s all I’m saying about that. After the confessions the drinks were still flowing then PK and Phelekwa were playing in Ronewa’s pool, fast forward Phelekwa got cut in the lip by her glass, which had PK running downstairs screaming/slurring “OH MY WORD PHELZ IS BLEEDING, GUYS IT’S SERIOUS THERE’S BLOOD EVERYWHERE” now I don’t know about you but I almost never believe anything drunk people say so we ignored PK until Phelz came down stairs! Drunken people are so funny; how does drinking some more heal a cut lip? Khayo who is a paramedic was called to advise on the situation. I assume he did, I fell asleep somewhere around this time.

The following morning the friends and I had to say our goodbyes which was hard on the soul because the weekend we’d just shared was God’s way of saying he still loves us. The President in all his glory came by and the trip home began. I might blog about the trip home sometime but I have to go practice smiling with my eyes in the mirror, for when I’m famous you know. I got home at 19:30 that evening, my dad didn’t talk to me for 2 days and I think he called might have called me a whore, or maybe he said “close the door”. I’m tired, you’re awesome.

Stay beautiful.

Roadtrip Part 2

Saturday morning I woke up in stages, woken by different things, the incessant ringing of my phone, the comforting sound of Sdu walking up and down the passage and Sizo and PK noisily climbing into bed with me and Coco. Sizo’s older brother, Khayo walked into the bedroom after we were finally awake to make fun of our sexy morning faces and to dub me “tollgate” because of how horribly lost we got the previous night. He really should take his act on the road, he’s a riot.

 

My awesomeness was too much for PK and Coco's still trying to extract some!



The terror that broke Coco and I's peaceful slumber

Sdu’s neighbor was getting married Saturday so we had to be out of the house to attend the ceremony by 10:00, which was very optimistic considering we slept at 04:00. First things first, we needed to eat so we strolled to one of the many stalls that litter the streets of Soweto to buy tomatoes and bread. Let me digress for a while, I love Soweto, the vibe in that township is almost tangible, you can almost see the scars it has to live with after the Apartheid era, almost taste the blood on the streets, almost hear the music you know once permeated the atmosphere. It’s a strange feeling. Anyway when we got back to the house Sizo, our resident chef began whipping up a cordon bleu-esque breakfast.

She cleans up well

We were finally ready to go and be pretty at the wedding after hours of brushing hair, applying mascara and fighting for lip gloss. When we got there it was festive and the singing could be heard from around the corner, smiles all round. Pictures were taken at Thokoza Park, the bride looked stunning, the groom looked like the cat that got the cream; it was amazing.

Fast forward to the slumber party: Phindi fetches us from Southgate Mall in her Fiat Palio, all 6 of us! But before we “pushed” the car to Ormonde we had to buy drinks for the party later that evening, which was an experience on its own. Somewhere in the booze-filled aisles Sdu picks up a tour guide, and PK buys random alcohol, Sizo walked out with 24 Savannas: these are my friends. I bought a bottle of wine, which is probably still rolling around in Phindi’s fridge.

The drive to the house was filled with hooting and shouting, and hanging out of windows (that wasn’t so much celebratory in as much as it was necessary to keep from cramping) that same day was the Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates game, I don’t know much about soccer except for the fact that a yellow and black combo looks nicer to me than a black and white combo so I was the enemy in the car that day. We finally spilled out of Phindi’s car 10 minutes later and in no time the music was going the drinks were flowing and the good times were nigh.

The highlight of my night was the President coming over. This man. He came with one of his best friends and I’m always so nervous in situations like that, I just think what if they don’t get along with my friends (unlikely though because my friends are awesome). PK walks into the kitchen and says “oh my word guys sewufikile usbali wethu be cool”. When I went to the car I saw the President and Matt come out and Sizo standing near the Pres looking all shy (such an actress!) Hugs and introductions all round, then the dancing started, Matt, Sizo and PK got down Coco didn’t make it all the way “down” she was just hovering somewhere , Buhle was the designated photographer, I vaguely remember Bahle dancing, I should have focused more because that’s a rarity, but I was too busy being awesome with the President.

I’m tired of blogging, part 3 might go up tomorrow, I never could summarise.

Stay beautiful.

It's not as easy as we make it look.

Roadtrip!

A few weeks ago (or it may have been months ago) I blogged about being tired from wearing so many hats. That exhaustion has been catching up with me, slowly. So last week I took leave from work, not a lot just enough to recharge and muster up enough energy to get to the end of the year still awesome.

I had to go to Mbabane and get a passport on Thursday morning. Usually the whole process takes approximately 4 – 6 weeks. I was going to get it in 1 day because my dad knows a friend of a friend…who has a cousin! So anyway my Dad and I make our way to Home affairs very optimistic and when I woke up that morning I decided that I wouldn’t dress up because Home affairs is such a schlep! So I wear a t-shirt, jeans and pumps – this is my Superwoman, no-nonsense outfit so when I meet my Dad by the car and he’s looking all kinds of suave I had to stop and ask myself if he’d forgotten about our trip like why the hectic threads, and he says to me “Sisi it would have been an idea for you to wear a skirt” I side-eyed him and adjusted my jeans. I hate the way some Swazi’s think, but that’s a post for another day.

So we got to Mbabane and surprisingly it went well - surprising because I have the worst of luck when it comes to things that need stamps or need to be issued in my direction. But the chair swiveling Home affairs gods must have been in a good mood because I left with a passport on Thursday…now for the good times.

I travelled to Joburg with the President on Friday, we left at 15:00, such daredevils! It was our first road trip so we had to make it memorable. If you ask anyone who knows me well I really try not to disappoint people I love, so the President was in good hands. About 30 minutes after we crossed the border my endearing car sickness reared its sexy head; tell me, who can resist a girl who throws up in their car? Well I didn’t throw up in the car but it was close, he pulled over right on time and I got really sick on the side of the road! Mortified doesn’t quite begin to describe or insinuate how horribly embarrassed I was, I couldn’t turn around and look at him, I was just thinking “great now I’ll always be, Nono the one who almost threw up in the car”. But true awesomeness cannot be stifled so I got up cleaned up walked to the front seat but now the President was blocking my path (I almost tackled him) and this is when I found out that I was banished to the backseat because I had become a safety (and swagger) risk in front.

I curled up in the backseat, resigned to my fate, and I eventually fell asleep. The President pulled into an Ultra city and I woke up then and went to buy drinks and got high on fresh air. When we got back to the car I used my feminine wiles to get myself back in the front seat. Then I felt the nausea come back again. Cue backseat.

We finally got to Joburg around 19:30. This is where I should point out that the President is amazing at a lot of things but not so much at being patient. We drove around and around, we kept missing turns and kept getting terribly lost, take my word for it touring Joburg at night with a grumpy driver is not ideal. Coco gave useless directions, bless her heart, but she did wait for me till 21:30 that evening. When we eventually got to Coco, the President and I said our goodnights and only then did I realize that between getting lost and being grumpy I hadn’t even fed the poor man. Fail.

By the time we got to Soweto it was about 22:30. I was tired I really just needed to talk to the President and sleep, but my friends hadn’t seen me in 11 months they had other ideas. My not-so-subtle yawns went by completely unnoticed, we waited for Sizo who had a work function to attend, and “Cinderella” only saunters in at 02:00 both glass slippers still on her feet (and she had the pumpkin in her purse)! We spoke, tried on clothes, took pictures, ate, laughed till we cried and cried till we laughed. It was therapy. Sizo followed Coco and I to the bedroom at 02:30 and we chatted until 04:00 it was like back at res when we’d lock the door and pretend we’re not in. PK the other musketeer was passed out on the couch. Smh. More about her next time!

This post is already too long, and I have to get back to being amazing…part 2 tomorrow.

Awesome is as awesome does

Yesterday I discussed, race, absolute truth, right & wrong etc. Before I go too far with this post I must just say that my absolute truth is that I am awesome. Everything I do is based on this unchangeable, undisputable, scientifically proven fact. Which is why when I meet people who don't like me I am genuinely surprised 'cause I mean who doesn't like awesome??
Seriously though, I haven't always held myself in high regard. People's opinions of me were too effective in shaping my opinion of myself. I'm shy, humble and unobtrusive; I'm also smart, quick-witted and unforgettable. No really. But to get to the wit and the unforgettableness Nat King Cole crooned about you have to forge a way through the shyness, it's not an easy road. So because I'm the type of person who uses silence where others prefer words people wrote me off as not awesome. Blasphemy I know.

As usual I digress, my point is that when I stopped focusing so much on what you thought of me I was able to love me more and bring forth the awesomeness I was stifling in order to fit perfectly into the boring mold cut out for me. Once I had that no one could tell me that just because I'd rather stay in than go out I'm not awesome, that because I'd rather read a book than go drinking I'm lame...some friends have tried but well funeral songs were sung soon after.

Yesterday a friend of mine posted a link on her Facebook page about Afrikaans author Annelie Botes who made this statement in an interview in response to the question "What don't you like?"

"I know my answer will shock some people but I don't like black people, I don't trust them. If they're hungry why don't they, like in the old days, break in, steal the fridge and not harm anyone. Why are they so angry? I'm sorry my neighbour was killed brutally and for what?"

I had to re-read this statement a few times before I realised that it wasn't anger or shame I was feeling, but I pitied her in the same way I pity my father who still has residual feelings towards ALL white people about Apartheid.

The way I began the post was actually so I could allude to it now. If I still allowed people's opinions of me to affect what I think of me I wouldn't be able to face all my white colleagues at work after reading that lady's thoughts, but she's just one woman, that's just one opinion. This doesn't mean I agree with her or condone her being that narrow-minded but my point is whatever she thinks is a burden on her. Someone somewhere sometime once said "it's not what you call me, it's what I answer to" and in case you missed the whole point of this post, I answer to awesome.