Eating Christmas Alive!

Christmas is finally here! And this year we went all out! More all-out than last year even!

For the last two weeks my mom, sister and I have been planning, scheming, preparing and perfecting our Christmas and have succeeded in producing Christmas Tree cupcakes, Christmas bauble shortbread cookies, a Christmas cake, Christmas pudding, mince pies, champagne jellies, brandy butter and as if that wasn’t enough, a massive gingerbread house complete with Christmas Trees, Santa Claus and a Gingerbread Family having a sit down meal! And that is just the sweet stuff.

As I am sure you have guessed by now, Christmas is a BIG deal in our family. It starts with the baking, and then the lights go up, then the Christmas tree gets decorated, all with Christmas carols playing in the background, and that is before we even make it to Christmas eve.

Actually Christmas isn’t just a big deal because of the food, and this year we had an amazing selection of presents under the tree, but that wasn’t it either. For me, Christmas is about the amazing moments shared with the special people that we love.

This year it all started on Christmas Eve. My aunt, uncle and cousin arrived from Plettenberg Bay and by some miracle my slightly confused granny arrived from Pretoria, IN ONE PIECE! And suddenly Christmas had arrived. My aunt in her incredibly cute Santa hat, the Christmas crackers on the table, the smell of the turkey roasting in the oven, and then we opened the champagne! This is what I truly love about Christmas and after pigging out on probably the hugest turkey I have ever seen, the whole family ended up on the beach, with our dog Charlie, at 11 in the evening trying desperately to make space for dessert.

But this is where the problem starts, because suddenly the little seven year old who hides in my head somewhere realizes that in only an hour it is Christmas and that little seven year old wants to be knee deep in Christmas wrapping paper, squealing from the latest sugar high, chocolate smeared all over my face and putting my grubby little paws all over my brand new roller skates! But now that all my siblings have grown up they don’t share this need so I end up being that annoying 22 year old who is way too old to be begging to open presents on Christmas Eve.

This results in me going to bed full but way too excited. I don’t sleep and then at 4:30 in the morning I am wide awake and positively desperate to open presents knowing full well that all the rest of my family wants is to sleep in.

So this year, I decided I would let them sleep a little so after sitting in front of the TV for an hour and a half with my teddy on my lap, I finally mad my mom and step dad some coffee and ventured upstairs to see if there was life. There wasn’t! But after an hour the coffee somehow managed to resuscitate my parents and the three of us made our way downstairs to start cleaning up (no presents until the house is clean).

Slowly but surely different family members started poking their heads out from behind their doors and it seemed to me that we were well on our way to being able to unwrap presents! And it was still before 9 in the morning!!! So I hopped in the shower (no presents until everyone is showered and dressed), made my bed (you get the point) and rushed out to sit under the Christmas tree so that we could start.

After what seemed like an age my granny finally appeared and I was absolutely positive that it was now time for presents! That little seven year old in my head went into over drive and I immediately felt as if I had eaten several slabs of chocolate. I was too excited to function.

And then, the worst possible thing (for a seven year old) happened. Granny announced that she had to go to church first. And church takes forever! And I don’t mean that it takes forever because usually you’re so bored out of your skull that time does that weird reverse slow motion moonwalk thing. I mean that when half of your family goes to church and you are sitting under a Christmas tree trying to figure out which prezzie is yours and what is in it, time doesn’t just slow down; it stops completely!!!

Seven year old Kat literally threw a tantrum and it took literally all my strength to stop 22 year old Kat from doing the same thing.

I am happy to report though, that I have now eaten myself into a coma, I unwrapped some pretty cool prezzies, I cuddled my teddy and made sure she knew it was Christmas, I ate some more and listened to the cheesiest Christmas carols imaginable and both seven year old and 22 year old Kats are happy. To say that I have gone all out is an under-statement and tomorrow I am hitting the Boxing Day sales to buy some pants that fit over my huge belly!

But until then I am going to go carry on feeding my face. Merry Christmas all! Have a wonderful day. 

The Difference is the Same

I, like every other girl, like to believe that I am different,but that in itself seems to make me just like the rest.

The problem is that I want to be the girl that stops a man's heart, making me the only woman the he will ever love, but in order for that to happen I need to be entirely unique. That said, I also want to know that I am not weird, or a freak or even worse, unlovable!

So where is the line? At which point do I cross over from being unique and mysterious, to someone who should be in a straight jacket? And once I've decided on the optimum level of unique-ness, how do I become that?

When I was younger I thought that girls with tattoos and piercings and an 'emo' haircut were unique because in the area I grew up in it was. But if you Google 'emo haircuts' you'll find a billion pictures of girls with no tan, black hair and piercings literally up to their eyeballs who listen to emo music and write depressing poems about death.

So... Not unique then?

And this goes for every other group of people that claims to be unique because that in itself is a stereotype. So what then is the game plan? What is the one thing that will make me uniquely irresistible?

Well, the truth is that you won't find the answer on Google. You'll find it in Terrace at two o'clock in the morning when you are drunkenly singing pianoman, when you're desperately trying to find a closet in Game to hide in when you awkwardly bump into your ex-boyfriend when you're clearly having a bad face day, or when you're in the bib (library) trying with all your might to cram an entire semester's worth of work into your brain when you are clearly meant to fail... Just like everybody else.

Party at my House?

Last week I was left in charge of looking after my parent’s house. So immediately, in my mind I saw wild parties and waking up with Charlie (our rather elephant-sized dog) on my bed, spray-painted blue and wearing a party hat wondering why the hell her water bowl tasted like vodka.

In reality it was far more different. Firstly, I happened to choose the worst weekend in the world to house sit because everyone who wasn’t already going to a 21^st party, was stuck in the bib/SS stressing themselves half to death and back about tests, exams or projects. Secondly, I happened to forget that Gordon’s Bay is too far from Stellies to justify coming round for a one night jol but too close to justify an all weekend piss up. And last, but not least, I forgot to take into account that my mom is damn terrifying and that any party would have resulted in my immediate death.

So instead, what happened was that the ‘ever responsible’ Kat spent her weekend walking Charlie on the beach, watching TV and trying desperately to stop myself from raiding my step-dad’s wine cellar. In other words, it was a bit of a fail. And to make matters worse, the wind in Gordon’s Bay is so insanely crazy that I nearly lost the world’s biggest dog on the beach as even she struggled to keep her feet on the ground.

Oh, and I nearly left out the worst part; our house has a ghost!

Well, I actually don’t believe in ghosts but there is definitely something spooky happening in that house. Apart from it having a billion rooms that are all dark and shadowy and could easily house several ghosts (provided they existed), it is also rumoured that the house used to be a convent. Now I’m sorry but graveyards, churches and convents have got to be the spookiest places in the world!

So there I was, alone in this terrifying house with a guard dog that, whilst being big and scary, is actually a glorified teddy bear and I am not supposed to leave!  

Anyways, after spooking myself out to the point where sleep was no longer an option, I decided to explore a little and find the source of all these creepy noises and creaks. What a bad idea!!! You know that stupid blonde chick in all horror movies that goes looking for trouble? That is what I was doing and I could feel my brain swearing at me all the while. I couldn’t believe it when I finally got upstairs to my mom’s bedroom when suddenly I heard this major crash coming from downstairs.

I have never run so fast in my entire life! It took me two seconds to get downstairs, into my room, Charlie at my side and the door locked, screaming for dear life!

I woke up the next morning thinking, “What an idiot!”

So after three nights of trauma, my parents finally came home. All I wanted was a hug and some serious loving and I feel that after house sitting while they spent the weekend on the beach with my super cool aunt that I deserved a little snuggle and some love.

The reality is that I ended up unpacking the car while my mom made my sister a veg curry! The good news is that I will be trusted to house sit again, and this is just a warning mom, but we are going to go wild!!! Party at my house anyone??

Finding Good Red Wine on a Student Budget

Those of you who know me know for a fact that I am at Stellenbosch primarily for the student life. Yes I happen to be studying a degree and I suppose I have at least finally made it to my (hopefully) final year at Stellenbosch, but my actual full time goal is to get as far as possible by doing as little as possible so that I can focus on other fun stuff like drinking, and drinking, an occasional dive and then some more drinking.

This of course is not helped by the fact that when I do occasionally leave Stellies for the supposed safety of home and my family I find one of my favourite drinking partners who also happens to like good red wine and in vast quantities waiting for someone who will help him fully appreciate a couple of bottles.

I am speaking of course, about my semi-alcoholic substitute dad, who spends all of his non-work hours drinking, making beer, buying wine and looking for some cool new adventure to do in his trusted Land Rover, Sandy. How could that not be the coolest weekend ever?

So a couple weeks ago when I was driving home, I was handed a flier through my car window about a wine sale at Somerbosch. Now, as a general rule I tend to try and take as few fliers as possible because invariably they land up in the passenger seat’s foot-well which has become my sister’s new junk storage place and I would hate to add to her vast treasure of sweet wrappers and slips which currently occupy the space.

But I knew from previous experience that every once in a while Somerbosch has a huge wine sale and it is usually well worth your while so I took the flier. And then I did a terrible thing which I am sure my mom will never forgive me for, I made the mistake of telling Harold (my not-so-evil step dad) about it.

So Harold and I piled the entire family into the car and headed off to Somerbosch only to find out once we were there that the sale was in fact far larger than what we originally thought and that there was a free wine tasting of all the wines on offer. Only problem was that we only had a half hour left in which to drink as much wine as possible.

Now, my sister is the type of wine drinker who prefers it sweet, in a box and while sitting at a sticky table either at Bohos or Aandklas, which means that she wasn’t nearly as excited about this prospect as we were. Add to that a thumping headache and the thought of going home afterwards to study some horribly difficult Engineering subject and she decided to sit this one out.

Then there is my mum, who likes wine but has recently realised that the wine gods are against her and even a little bit of wine makes her feel like she’s been dragged through a washing machine backwards the next morning so she was taking it pretty slowly too.

And then there is my thirteen year old brother who cannot wait to one day be old enough to get absolutely shmashed with his two older sisters and would dearly love to sneak a couple sips of each of our glasses but unfortunately may not yet.

So that left Harold and I, and a table of amazingly good red wines at our disposal. To make matters even worse was that some of the wine had more than a fifty percent mark down on the original price. It was like two kids in a candy shop. We went crazy and boy oh boy was it fun.

It wasn’t long before we were back in the car, my head slightly spinning with Sandy’s boot filled with 15 cases of wine and my mum’s monthly food budget completely trashed. Not to worry though, because at least we had wine.

The problem now of course, is that he doesn’t have enough wine racks for all the wine that he bought, so I have decided to make it my soul mission to ensure that the two of us drink as much of it as possible as soon as possible to ensure that there aren’t boxes lying around the house. He’s already in trouble with mom; I’m just looking out for my drinking buddy. Although there is something to be said about getting drunk with the people you love on good quality wine that you didn’t even pay for!

And to think, most people leave Stellies to get away from the drinking. 

Happily Ever After

I can’t say for certain when it first happened. I guess it happens to every girl. At some point, while we’re growing up, somehow we get it into our heads that fairy tales can come true. We spend our childhood watching Disney movies with pretty princesses and perfect men who end up living happily ever after and from that very first happy ending we want nothing more than for that ending to come true for us.

My parents got divorced when I was quite young and I was lucky enough to end up with four amazing parents as opposed to just two, but it wasn’t the fairy tale story I had read so much about and my parents’ lives read nothing like a Disney movie. I guess no one’s really does. But it got me thinking as to where I got this fantasy and why I have based so many on my life’s decisions on a fantasy which, as far as my limited experience goes, may be completely unfounded. Where did I get this urge to believe in something that only seems to exist in books and movies?

And that’s the one flaw with movies and books; they’re selling you a big, perfect moment that only comes once in a lifetime, when actually life is made up of a sequence of little moments, which all have the potential to be whatever you want them to be. So maybe I’m not a princess, and maybe there is no Prince Charming out there waiting to swoop in and save me from all my problems. Maybe, just maybe, there is a guy out there who can share in all of my little moments and make each one of them worth far more than any make believe prince ever could.

Maybe somewhere in this world there is someone as crazy and as adventurous as I am and if I am lucky then one day when I am looking back on my life I will see a series of fantastically beautiful, little moments and I will know that for once Walt Disney got it wrong and that actually the fairy tale ending is not an ending at all but rather the beginning of something amazing.

The nicest thing about this theory is that I can so easily believe it. I have seen other people experience such wondrous, little moments and I know without a doubt that these were more real, and loving, and true than any film could ever hope to capture.

And it is with this theory in mind that I must congratulate two of my closest friends on their recent engagement. In them I have witnessed such love and honesty and true kindness not only towards each other but towards everything else in their lives. I have seen so many of their little moments and I know with every fiber of my being that they have found the ultimate fairy tale. In each other they have found a love that will last forever. And I could not be happier for them. 

Fluffy But Passing Micros

At the beginning of this semester, my microbiology lecturer announced that our class was to be her new guinea pigs. She had come up with a new form of lecturing and she was going to try it on us, then submit a paper regarding the applicability of this teaching method. At the time I thought it was a joke and swiftly moved on with my life. Over the past few weeks however, I have noticed that I am most definitely a guinea pig.

This means that my class is now situated in a computer lab where we have instant access to all relevant reading materials, we often form groups to discuss whatever boring as hell paper she has given us and I am told that as of next week we will be receiving video phone calls from respected microbiologists to tell us about said boring papers.

As if this wasn’t enough it seems that one of the things she has done in her new teaching style is to award virtual badges for tasks well done. These badges can then be used to negotiate marks for us borderline cases who are always skirting the ridge of losing a friend as well as for those people who have 29 less friends but still need an extra percentage to reach that 80%.

This has turned my class into a complete laughing stock. Everyone is trying literally everything in their power to gain badges without much thought as to how funny this must be for my lecturer. We have become her minions and if she had to tell us to jump for a badge, we would go out and by a trampoline to make sure we got the highest. And I have a sneaky suspicion that Prof is sitting in her office and having a good laugh at all of us idiots.

So today, in an attempt to get a badge, I spent hours combing through 9Gag, YouTube and even a couple scientific journals in order to find something semi-interesting to post on the Facebook page (apparently we get badges for interaction) and when I eventually found something, I rushed over to the page only to find that it was already there and had in fact been posted by someone else.

It is official, my completely unfounded hate for the girl who got there first is evidence that not only have I been a guinea pig in someone’s social experiment but I have fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Problem is that because I am so incredibly stupid, and have a wonderful social life, I have absolutely no choice but to continue being a guinea pig, get back onto 9Gag, and beat the bitch to it.

Just call me fluffy.

Drowning My Ideas

It has come to my attention that over the last couple of years I have often come up with solutions to life; Flashing Tampons, marrying Jacob Zuma and various other ridiculous ideas. The problem is that nobody else seems to think that they are nearly as wonderful as I do. Well this one is going to change your mind. This time I am going to start a trend.

Actually, in all honesty, you are probably all going to read this blog, (hopefully) have a little giggle and then immediately forget everything that I said. But, because I believe that one day my silly little blog will change someone’s life I am going to tell you about my new great invention anyway.

Okay, so the problem is that I always have my most creative moments when I am in the shower where I cannot write them down. Then by the time I have gotten out of the shower, got dressed and sat down at my computer to write, all my awesome ideas are gone. This has been happening for a while now (seems my memory is on the blink) and I have been trying to find a solution that doesn’t involve me hoping out mid-shower, running around my flat butt-naked looking for a pen to scribble down my idea thus terrifying my neighbours, my sister and worst of all her guests.

So what is my grand solution to a problem which NOBODY else cares about? Well the solution is easy, I have decided that I am going to go out and buy a couple white board markers, store them in my shower and then when I have an AHA! moment (it’s bound to happen eventually) I can just scribble it on the wall of my shower.

In the interest of full disclosure I should inform you all that this morning was my first shower with the markers. I spent about fifteen minutes (3x the length of my normal shower) standing in the shower waiting for an idea to strike. When it eventually did I quickly scribbled down some notes on the idea and then rushed the rest of my shower. I quickly got out and sat down to my computer to write. It was at this point that I realized just how lucky you all are that I share my wonderful ideas with you.

I finished writing, took a deep breath, looked around and realized that I was sitting at my desk, still butt-naked, still terrifying my neighbours, and covered in the ink of what turned out to be a permanent marker. Maybe I should just stick to being JZ’s housewife. 

PS. Why is it that Jacob Zuma is always in the shower stories?