White Men Can Dance, Featuring SplashPoole

We just abhor adore Mondays around here so I figured I would start the week off with something fun, a friend of mine throwing it DOWN!
Live well, love much, laugh often and always remember to dance!
GeeGee x

2016

I know, I know... We are well into 2016 and here I am posting like it happened 3 seconds ago. Fact is, this holiday I switched off and relaxed more than the usual amount. I don't know if it is old age finally making me relax and not work as much but fuck off already. I need to get back into the swing of things already and the holiday fog can return to whatever secluded beach (in my brain) it came from.
I need work brain to return but sadly it is still wiping sand from its crack and all the other orifices.

I stopped making new years resolutions a long time ago. Like 2 months (ok maybe 6 weeks) of trying too hard and always failing tends to catch up with a person.
However I do have a list of things I would like to accomplish this year and I am sure if I make it "informal" my rebellious (ok maybe lazy) side will not notice it too much.
So I am not even going to number the list, that shit is just wayyyy too formal.
So scratch off at least 3 subjects for my degree this year. And lose weight. Obviously I am always trying to lose weight. Why? Because food is delicious. Whomever invented the chemicals to make processed food so delicious and makes my brain and belly crave it all day long-I hope you fucking choke on it. (Choke on something interesting like a cheese grater for instance)
More tattoos. Yes because no one wants to buy me those adult colouring books. So fuck all of you.
I definitely want to go someplace I have not been before. South Africa is filled with beautiful places and I have much to discover.
Going shooting. This place we checked out has major guns like AK 47's. And yes I will shoot that mother. Just for the heck of it. Practising for the day the Zombies finally come and I can shoot everyone I hate in the face.
Get my garden into gear. Yes, I know we are in a drought but my garden is mediocre. Surely I can do something about it.
And that's it. The end of the unofficial list.
If I do it, great. If I don't, I have some more self-loathing to look forward to.
And on that subject. I am DONE with self-loathing for things I did back in the past. I am going to pack all those feelings back into the sweaty little suitcase and burning it. Fuck, it's over and done with. There is only so much self-reflection and regret and apologies that one can make. It is done, I can't change it. Whomever is not over things that happened over 3 years ago can go bite my right toenail. Yes the gross one with the ridges that I lost during soccer. Hahahahaha.
Enjoy your 2016 bitches. Buckle up, it's bound to get interesting!

Conversations that make me sound crazy

Sometimes I have awkward conversations with friends that makes me sound crazy. This one is about our chickens:

Me: So our garden service informed me via sms that they quit.

Friend: How professional of them.

Me: I know right. And that right after I sms'd them to be careful because we have chickens now.

Friend: Maybe they have a chicken phobia.

Me: Bastards! Now we have to get a gardener who isn't afraid of chickens. I mean really. Who the fuck is scared of chickens?

Friend: Your chickens are cute. Not threatening at all.

Me: I know. I still don't get why people are scared of chickens. Especially two hens who I saved from a rapist rooster who tried to pull out their feathers.

Friend: A rapist rooster?

Me: Yes. They have been through so much already and now they also get discriminated against by people with chicken phobias.

Friend: Shame man. That's a tough life.

Me: I am serious! They are also even too scared to lay eggs. I would be too if I lived in constant fear of being raped and plucked. But now when the one hen lays eggs she makes this agonizing sounds. Think it is stretching her pooper of vagina. I don't know chicken anatomy at all.

Friend: You do have a point.

Me: I think they suffer from PTSD. Are there therapists who specialize in chickens? Like a chicken whisperer?

Friend: Only you would ask me that.

Me: There should be if there are dog and cat therapists. Or are chickens too low on the food chain for psychotherapy? They have feelings too you know.

Friend: If you find one I need one too. Long story.

Me: PTSD is tough on chickens. Especially ones who apparently are "scaring" people away from working in our garden.

Cocktail Hour - Ernest Hemingway

Born on the 21st of July 1899 in Cicero, Illinois old Ernie never let life pass him by, he grabbed it by the horns and lived large – Novelist who was awarded both a Nobel and Pulitzer prize, adventurer, journalist, wartime ambulance driver, prolific drinker, de facto leader of a small group of resistance fighters outside Paris which got him into a considerable amount of trouble, he was awarded the Italian Silver Medal of Bravery at 18 and was a lover of women who married 4 times.  Of all his scars and injuries the one he was most reluctant to talk about was the prominent scar on his forehead, the result of a serious injury in Paris when he pulled a skylight down on his head thinking it was a toilet chain.

He always loved a good party and his 60th birthday celebrations in Andalucia, Spain lasted 2 days! His wife Mary spent months preparing for the lavish celebrations. There were cooks from all over the world, fireworks, flamenco dancers, carnival booths, a live orchestra and many other attractions including a shooting booth. The varied guests included the U.S. Embassador, the Maharajah of Jaipur and the Italian Royal family. When the fireworks sparked a fire in a palm tree the fire brigade had to be called all the way from Malaga. After quenching the fire they were invited to join the festivities and party goers were allowed to drive the fire truck. True to his old form, Hemingway was the life of the party and many said it was the last time they had seen him so happy. 

His many head injuries left him in permanent pain and Ernest even offed himself large, no teeny little gun for him – he used his preferred firearm, a BOSS double-barreled 18 gauge shotgun.

Ernest had a few favourite haunts and it’s on my bucket list to spend time soaking up the atmosphere in each and every one of them.  The top 3 are:

Sloppy Joe’s in Key West, Florida.  He helped name the place and they hold look-alike contests to this day.  The 35th annual Papa look-alike contest will be held in July this year.

Sunset Surfer:

1 shot Jagermeister, 1 shot Malibu coconut rum, pineapple juice.  Fill a tall tumbler with ice, add booze and top up with juice.

El Floridita in Havana, Cuba.  Hemingway loved Daiquiri’s and El Floridita’s motto is ‘la cura del daiquiri’ (the cradle of the daiquiri) so it’s no surprise that it was almost like a second home to him while he lived in the Hotel Ambos Mundos from 1932 – 1939.  A life size bronze statue of Papa has pride of place at the end of the bar and if you look carefully you will see there is a photo of him with Fidel Castro on the wall.

Havana Beach Daiquiri:

1 shot Captain Morgan Spiced Rum, 1 shot Grand Marnier, 1 shot orange vodka, pineapple juice.  Salt rim on cocktail glass, fill with ice, add booze, top up with juice and garnish with Thai basil or a slice of lime.

Harry’s Bar in Venice.  Apart from Hemingway, Harry’s bar was frequented by many notable patrons like Charlie Chaplin, Alfred Hitchcock, Truman Capote and Orson Welles. 

Bellini:

100 ml (2 parts) dry sparkling wine like Prosecco, 50 ml (1 part) fresh peach puree.  If peaches are out of season peach nectar can be substituted.  Pour puree into the bottom of a champagne flute, add sparkling wine and stir gently.












Cheers bitches!
GeeGee Curtained x

‘An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools’ ~ Ernest Miller Hemingway (July 21, 1899 - July 2, 1961) 

What 2015 taught me

It's the time of year when we are expected supposed to reflect and make resolutions that we never keep but this year I think will be the first time I manage to keep mine because it doesn't involve stopping smoking or starting an exercise regime. If that has to come into play then I resolve to smoke as much as I fucking well please and not take up jogging. I think it's more important to write about what lessons I took from 2015 anyway.

1. That I am still as terrible at housework as I have always been. Even though Precious only went away for 10 days it felt like 10 weeks and I almost kissed her when she got back. I am very good at not seeing the mess, I'm like a horse wearing blinkers. Thankfully Hubs says I'm not lazy, I'm indifferent, and he's right. In my own defense, I did go and look for the mop (it took me almost half an hour to find out where it lived) but it's a new fangled one and I gave up after 30 seconds of trying to figure it out. I'm not sorry at all, I swore 20 years ago that I would never do floors again so I didn't break a promise I made to myself. Back then we were living in a place where every room had white tiles and we were too poor to afford a mop, the kind of poor where one would have to choose between a mop and eating for a few days, and I would literally wash the floors on my knees. Every. Fucking. Day. One day I felt like Scarlett O'Hara when she was clutching the soil in her fists and swore she would never go hungry again. Except mine was I will never do floors again. Not nearly as dramatic, I know, but it works for me. I will count that as me learning to accept my shortcomings as a boervrou.

2. That even after being together for decades Hubs and I still party like rock stars. Alone! We had a wee celebration for our 28th wedding anniversary and Precious doesn't believe me that we didn't have a crowd over for a party. The state of The Rabbit Hole was epic, it looked like 50 people partied in there. Mind you, the state of me the next morning wasn't much better either, it took almost as long to recover from that particular knees up as recovering from minor surgery. Ok, maybe longer. Apart from the obvious hangover symptoms I also lost skin off my knees, elbows and the bridge of my nose. Fuck knows how that happened but at least there were no broken bones or stitches needed. I reckon I'm really too long in the tooth now to please explain to the emergency room doctor why I need 15 staples in the back of my head again. So I will count that as me learning to be more responsible.

3. That after almost 5 years my Gutterslut Stalkertroll is still at it. Boggles the brain, doesn't it? I read that most stalkers give up after an average of 2 years but not this one. Oh no, this one is speshul. This one is like Herpes and she will keep coming back until I'm dead. I've been asked many times why I don't sue her but in all honesty I am way too embarrassed to admit to our attorney that we were besties for over 10 years. It made a bit more sense after my neurosurgeon told me that my brain tumour I named Irene had been growing for over 10 years so technically she was Irene's friend, not mine.  She is a common disgusting pig and I actually can't believe we were ever friends, nevermind the fact that I loved her like a sister. How fucking embarrassing for me. Words like delusional, insane, jealous, vicious, obsessed and pathetic don't even come close to describing this particular waste of skin. Thanks Irene, thanks a LOT! i feel dirty just having her rooting and snuffling around the periphery of my life like a truffle hunting sow. This shit is getting beyond boring and I also don't like the pity I am starting to feel for her because how miserable must one's life be to stalk an ex friend for going on 5 years? So I will count that as me learning to embrace my inner asshole I have kept in check for so long and end this.  

I've learned a few other things too but I think the top 3 will do just fine. Oooh, and apparently I still like making lists! Almost forgot about that. As far as resolutions go, they're pretty simple. I am embracing my inner asshole this year because I've been accused of it so often and doing a pisspoor job of it won't do. I was also going to add losing weight but thanks to my ulcer that seems to be killing me slowly I'm ok on that front. So yeah, being an uber asshole and giving that bitch wings seems to be it. Oh, and saying NO more often. Short and sweet!

Happy New Year Butterflies and live well, love much, laugh often and always remember to dance!

Gx