Oh Blog It All

* now with endorsements

WARNING: This blog post has been written under the influence of pain and chocolate. I have been advised not to drive, sign any legally binding documents or get anything pierced or tattooed until lunch time tomorrow. Blogging wasn’t mentioned but if I say something here that might come back to bite me in the ass later, well then, I’m going to argue that legally I was not of sound mind anyway so you can’t hold it against me. Also this post may ramble all over the place and have no entertainment value whatsoever, you have been warned.

This particular day and a bit in my life started yesterday afternoon when my Geek and I set off after work to make a very special collection from the V&A Waterfront. Apart from one black Merc without number plates trying to take out our both our car and the ambulance riding beside us, the journey was rather uneventful.

Once we had signed for the sealed box and stowed it safely in the boot we decided a spot of dinner was in order. Might I just take a moment to give a shout out to the folks at Primi Piatti at the Waterfront for allowing us to experience, for the first time ever in Cape Town, excellent service. We’ve had some pretty good service from Primi’s in the past but last night we experienced the best of the best. If you absolutely, positively have to go to the Waterfront and you’re looking for a good place to eat, I highly recommend them. Great food, great service, a really pleasurable dining experience. I’d go again if I didn’t hate the Waterfront itself so much.

We eventually made it home just after 20h00 and I had planned to get to bed early but that special collection required my immediate attention. I eventually made it to bed just before midnight. Which was crappy because I needed to be up again at 05h40. I function really badly on anything less than 8 hours sleep - all I can say is thank God for caffeine else I would not have made it at all.

I had stuffed my little face to capacity at dinner last night because it was going to be my last meal for a while. See today, just a little after 13h00 was when the excitement was set to happen. My last remaining wisdom teeth were being removed from the deep dark place I had them buried for safe keeping.

I think I had the best surgeon in the business, Dr Jason Erasmus - I *heart* Dr Erasmus and my only regret about our encounter is that it was our first and last - I’m all out of wisdom teeth. Then there is my anaesthetist, Professor James Roelofse who made me regret that I didn’t go on to varsity because I would have loved to have a professor like him. I envy his grand kids, I wish I was one of him.

I have never felt so safe and cared for in the company of men I barely know. And that was before they gave me the drugs.

I had what they call conscious sedation. I was a little nervous but I really didn’t feel anything. My nose itched a few times and I remember rubbing it. At one point I think Dr Erasmus pushed my hand out the way because he was busy but then gave me the go ahead to rub away when he was done. I remember noises, equipment jammed into my mouth, Dr Erasmus tying off a stitch but I don’t recall them discussing my garlic breath or my bad hair day so things went pretty well.

I’m pretty sure I could have driven myself home after my surgery but I guess that was just the drugs talking.

Back home safe and sound I got into my pj’s and got into bed for some much needed sleep. It was just after 5 when I woke up, checked my appearance in the mirror (not as much swelling as I thought there would be but the dried blood on my lips made it look like I’d been putting on lipstick in my sleep) and then went to join my Geek in the study. As is often the case, the best seat the house is my Geek’s lap, warm and comfortable and the safest place in the world to be. It was there that I was overcome all queer like. Not happy, not gay, just queer. My head was spinning like a top at the end of it’s spin cycle, just before it falls over and I thought to close my eyes and rest my head on my Geek’s shoulder for just a moment…

I heard my Geek panicking about something; I struggled to force myself to wake up. My first thought was that the slight headache he’d had the whole day had exploded into a full on migraine (something that has happened in the past and scares me just a little bit because it hurts like a mother fucker, so I’m told). I knew that my Geek needed me but I must confess that a tiny part of me was thinking “please, just let me sleep for one minute more”.

Meanwhile my Geek was totally freaking out because I was doing my impression of Snow White, after she bit into the apple. Poor guy, I think were it not for the headache a seriously stiff drink would have been in order.

Well, I’m blogging this now so mostly everything is okay. Two cans of Schweppes Dry Lemon and about a third of a slab of chocolate later and I’m feeling okay. My best guess is that the fatigue coupled with low blood sugar (because I hadn’t eaten in a really long time, I skipped breakfast and I use artificial sugar in my coffee so kilojoule intake was pretty damn low today - which is great for for the diet but crap for the surgery) caused me to faint.

My mother called not long after I’d recovered from my episode and I got all the “poor baby’s” I needed to make me feel better. Then one of my bestest friends in the whole world called to find out how I am - I’m really touched that he remembered (he really is the best man and he’s single, so ladies, mail me, I can set you up :-)

That concludes a day and a bit in my life, pretty exciting, huh? Of course I’m going to have to tone it down though, I don’t think my poor Geek is going to totally recover from this little fright I gave him.

Right, now I have pills to pop.

Peace out.

Yip, I’m finally playing World of Warcraft.

And it was less than 24 hours after I first logged on that I received my first indecent proposal. I say indecent because the thing was so little I’m actually offended that it was brought up in the first place.

My character is female and not yet level 5 so apparently asking her to remove her armour because you have an erection is perfectly acceptable. I looked but I didn’t see anything so I walked away.

It was only afterwards that I thought I should have replied with something like:

• Ooh, is it your first? You must be so excited
• Your mommie must be so proud of you
• So do I

I noticed later that Earthgrinder (the wee one in question) had been beaten in a duel. I just hope it wasn’t his erection that got in the way of his performance and blew his chances.

I don’t know if I’ll ever see Earthgrinder again but I’m sure there will be more like him so I’m taking suggestions from you, my wonderful readers. What should my oh so witty yet scathing retort be?

I know that you’re thinking enough with the dreams already. But in this one Angelina Jolie was making out with Jennifer Aniston.

First strippers, now this. OMG - am I turning into a teenage boy?

I know it’s not good form to blog about one’s dreams but when that dream involves Mr and Mrs F (the parents of the groom) owning a strip joint, well it’s the kind of dream I want to remember.

What I probably don’t want to remember is that in my dream I used to work for them.

At their strip joint.

As a stripper.

Well, at least it explains why I’ve been listening to Closer on repeat since I woke up this morning.

I really ought to write an entertaining and witty account of my weekend and the very special wedding we attended but I’m struggling to be coherent and remain conscious (it’s Wednesday and I’m still tired - isn’t old age a blast) so I’m just going to bite the bullet and do this instead:

• I really, really do hope that the ACSA employee that cut the locks off our bags sometime after we checked them in wasn’t too disappointed in finding nothing of value inside
• My game collection simply will not be complete until I own Lego Star Wars - thank you Connor
• Twenty minutes is simply not enough time to get fabulous for a wedding, but then I don’t think anyone noticed
• Because my cleavage was doing more than it’s fair share in contributing to the fabulousness
• A wedding without dancing would be a rather dull affair were it not for double helpings of dessert
• The highlight of the evening, for me, was the best man’s speech and I’m not just saying that because he reads this blog and enjoys my cooking
• That was the nicest wedding I’ve been to all year
• Even if the conversation was all about World of Warcraft and all the awesomeness we’re missing out on
• Which reminds me, we need to purchase some fruit
• There’s an old saying that if you’re not in bed by ten then go home. We weren’t so we did
• Yet we only managed to get to sleep in the early hours of Sunday morning
• There exists the very small possibility that I talk too much
• I’m developing a strange fondness for British Airways sandwiches, which is a good thing as we’ll be flying with them in October when we do the weekend and wedding thing again!

Dear Internet

I know, I know, you have lots and lots of sage words and witty comments you wish to share with this here humble blog yet every time you try to do just that, you get thwarted by error messages.

Recently this blog was upgraded and between the upgrade and the spam filters something went horribly wrong so that instead of just blocking the “boys spanking boys - now with Viagra” messages, it’s blocking everything.

This blog would like to take this opportunity to assure you that it’s nothing personal, just a slight software personality clash which should be resolved shortly (if needs be, Steve Hofmeyr will be called to intervene).

In the meantime this blog can be reached via e-mail at geeksgirl(at)gmaildotcom.

We thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely

“Oh Blog It All”

Do the washing.
Do the dishes.
Do your make-up.
Do lunch.
But don’t get dressed, it is a public holiday after all.

or: 69 - The Turning Point?

If all had gone according to plan and run according to schedule then I would have written a blog post a little something like this:

01 November 2006

Dear Blog, today I reached my goal weight of 60 kilograms - Go Me!

This blog post, glorious and triumphant in tone, was going to be all about my struggle to overcome overwhelming odds and reach the this goal I set myself way back in April. I fully intended it to sound smug and boastful because even though I’ve set myself similar goals before, this would be the first time that I had actually reached it.

Indeed all was going according to plan, I was two thirds of the way down and actually a bit ahead of schedule. So far it hadn’t been all sacrifice and deprivation and my scale had stopped being my enemy. I was now using it as the tool it’s designed to be, helping me to reach this very important goal.

A little spanner got tossed into the works this week though when a colleague bought cake for all of us. I ate all three pieces I was given and enjoyed every mouthful. I knew that I should probably skip lunch and was in fact so full of cake that the thought of lunch made me feel slightly ill - where was I going to put it? Yet when I got home all I wanted was food. I really wasn’t hungry but the need for stuffing my face with food was overwhelming. Even as I was telling myself that I did not need it, I was shoving chip after chip after chip in my mouth.

I didn’t want to dwell on it too much, make too big an issue of it but when Tuesday saw me wanting to continue the binging I started to get a little concerned. Could it be that I’d just had enough of dieting or was this an indication of something deeper and far more dangerous? Had I started down the slippery slope of sabotaging myself because I’m just not ready or able to cope with a thinner me?

Last Friday I went shopping for a new dress.

Despite the fact that I’ve dropped three dress sizes in four months I still can’t quite believe that I could fit into anything as small as a size 14. I see these lovely clothes on the rail and they look too small for me. I’m convinced the fitting room attendant is thinking that I’m fooling no one when I “pretended” to fit on size 14 clothes; I imagine her straining to hear the ripping of fabric as I attempt to squeeze my fat self into clothes three sizes too small.

Yet (almost) every time I am amazed that they fit, sometimes they’re even a little loose on me. I check the labels repeatedly to assure myself that it is indeed a size 14 I’m wearing, then I look in the mirror to assure myself that it’s me wearing them.

This should herald the start of exciting shopping times for me. I’m no longer limited to the two or three shops at the mall that stock plus sizes, finally I can shop pretty much anywhere I please. Instead I’m scared witless, so far out of my depth that the shore is a distant memory. I don’t recall ever being so afraid in my life.

I suppose it’s because I’ve begun to realise that my expectations of what life will be like “when I am thin” are unreasonable and unattainable. I always imagined that being thin would bring with it charm and self confidence, the ‘life and soul of the party’ part of my personality I thought was missing. Heck I even thought it would bring those party invitations that had been so scarce in my life.

Yet I had those very same expectations when I got contact lenses at age 15 and again at age 23 when I got my tattoo. I was sorely disappointed on both occasions. Now at age 32, fast approaching the magic 60 kg mark I’m pretty sure I’m going to be disappointed again. The problem wasn’t that I wore glasses or that I didn’t have a funky blue dragon to watch my back, the problem isn’t that I am fat, it’s that in my mind I am a fat girl. There is no vivacious thin girl on the inside dying to get out. If she ever even existed she died a long, long time ago.

Why the crisis now though?

This week past my weight has been hovering on the 70 point something mark so I am very close to the 69 point something goal I set myself for a certain wedding I’ve mentioned. More than that, 69 puts in me the position of having to lose a single digit weight - 9 kilograms. For all my adult life I’d been trying to lose a double digit number. (When I embarked on this journey I was getting a little to close to being at a triple digit starting point).

I’d always envied those women who just needed to loose a kilo or five and now I’m getting really close to being one of them. I’m venturing into unknown territory without a guide or a map, only marginally more afraid of turning back then I am of venturing forward.

All I can do is take it one day at a time.

Yesterday was a good day and the number on my scale continues to creep downward. I’m slowly letting go of my expectations and focusing instead on just getting there. And then, once the weight loss journey ends, I can embark on a new journey, to discover who I really am when the fat is no longer there to hide behind.