It's a Melancholic Kind of Feeling

(Taken from hyperboleandahalf.com)

Here I lie, in my not-at-all-warm-enough bed, with a beanie over my head and Colbie Caillat's I Never Told You emanating from my laptop. I really want to go to sleep to escape from this dreadfully despondent mood that I'm in, but my excitement for the 2012 London Olympics Opening Ceremony which is starting in little under an hour is what's keeping me awake.

Right now, I want:

A brownie
A warmer bed
To be cuddled

But apparently that's too much to ask for, so, for now, I'll just have to be content with Colbie and the Olympics, which aren't too bad, I guess.

Colbie and the Olympics. Pretty cool band name, me thinks.

16. Watch The Notebook

"I am no one special; just a common man with common thoughts. I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect, I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who ever lived: I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and for me, that has always been enough."

Aaaand I'm crying.

The reason that I put "Watch The Notebook" on my Bucket List is threefold:

1. Pretty much every girl and her grandmother has watched The Notebook, and I felt a little left out. Subsequently, I knew that this particular romantic drama was a bit of a tearjerker, and I challenged myself not to cry (I failed miserably, but we'll get to that later)
2. I was hoping to catch the Ryan Gosling fever that exists within the hearts, souls, and loins of most of my friends, which is something that I've never been able to understand
3. I seriously needed to find out what the fuck "If you're a bird, I'm a bird" meant

Nicole picked me up from my house at around 1pm today, and we went to Lonehill shopping centre. I had no idea what we were doing there, and I had no idea what we would be doing for the rest of the day as she had made it a point to keep it a secret for ages. When we walked into the video store, she told me to stand on the other side of the shop while she rented a DVD, and then she drove us back to her house. After a tense and violent argument regarding whether or not I had asked for ice in my coke light (knives were drawn) (okay, that's a lie), she popped in the DVD and it all made sense. I was there to finally watch The Notebook.

"Do you want me to get you tissues?"

"I don't know, will I need them?"

Yes. Yes, I needed them. I started crying when Allie broke up with Noah and then changed her mind as soon as he started driving away, and I stopped crying when... Oh. No, wait.

When I got home, and after I thought I had no more tears left, my mom asked me to tell her what the movie was about. The waterworks came back on sometime around "Well, it started off with..." I don't know why the movie affected me so much. Maybe it was because I can't decide whether it was heartbreakingly sad or triumphantly happy. Maybe it was because it was the truest portrayal of an everlasting love that I have ever seen. Or maybe it's because 

Oh, sorry, wrong Rachel McAdams movie. Oh, and on the subject of Rachel McAdams, she is so perfect and beautiful that she somehow has me both in love with her and wanting to jump off a cliff at the same time. And did I catch the Ryan Gosling fever? Yes. Yes, I did. I still see him as a horse-looking murderer (considering the fact that the first movie that I ever saw him in was 'All Good Things'... in which he played a murderer and, in my eyes, that will stay with him forever), but now, he is an incredibly attractive and perfect horse-looking murderer.

All in all, I loved it. The story of Allie and Noah was so enchanting and pure that it could melt even the hardest of hearts.

And now my mom wants to watch it with me, and I don't know if I can do that...

Because there's a sex scene and that's awkward.

California Dreamin'

Most of my time this morning was spent elbow-deep in tissues and trying to sneak the off-limit medication from the medicine cabinet. I know what you're thinking: "off-limit medication"? Well, okay, it's not so much "off-limits" as it is that my mom believes that all I need to do is drink water with this white dissolving tablet thing twice a day and my flu will be as good as gone in no time. My mom's one of those "let's let nature handle it instead of doing the normal and practical thing" kind of people, so, right now, she's kind of refusing to give me any other medicine, so I've been forced to fend for myself. Anyway.

The point of today's post is to tell you, whoever you are, about my more-than-likely misguided love of California. I went to Los Angeles and San Francisco this time last year, in between jetting from New York and to Washington DC, but I only spent about three or four days in either city which is nowhere near enough time to truly get to know a place. Nevertheless, a deep and impenetrable love for the Golden State developed and grew and transformed into a relentless longing for a place that is entirely foreign to me. Most of what I know about Cali (yeah, I just said that) is the highly romanticised portrayal of the American West Coast in movies and songs and pictures that I've collected over time and that you'll see situated below, but that alone has been enough to ignite a sense of familiarity for a place which, apart from eight days of the briefest of tourists' experiences, I've essentially never truly been to. 

One day I will live there, maybe in Santa Cruz or Santa Monica. My heart and my soul will always belong to South Africa, but, right now, my thoughts belong to California. 

Stroke Identification

Okay, so whereas some of my post titles are and will sometimes be ambiguous and philosophical and all that jazz, this title, "Stroke Identification", is straight to the point. I was on Tumblr this morning and I came across a post that detailed how to recognise a stroke. It's easy to remember, and unlike all those "like this post and show that you, sitting there in that chair, are against a no longer relevant Ugandan tyrant (and I could be referring to any number of no longer relevant Ugandan tyrants, here)", this could actually save a life:


"STROKE IDENTIFICATION:
During a party, a friend stumbled and took a little fall - she assured everyone that she was fine and just tripped over a brick because of her new shoes. (they offered to call ambulance)

They got her cleaned up and got her a new plate of food - while she appeared a bit shaken up, Ingrid went about enjoying herself the rest of the evening. Ingrid’s husband called later telling everyone that his wife had been taken to the hospital - (at 6:00pm , Ingrid passed away.)
She had suffered a stroke at the party . Had they known how to identify the signs of a stroke, perhaps Ingrid would be with us today.

Some don’t die. They end up in a helpless, hopeless condition instead. It only takes a minute to read this…

STROKE IDENTIFICATION:

A neurologist says that if he can get to a stroke victim within 3 hours he can totally reverse the effects of a stroke…totally. He said the trick was getting a stroke recognized, diagnosed, and then getting the patient medically cared for within 3 hours, which is tough.

RECOGNIZING A STROKE

Remember the first three letters of "Stroke", S, T, and R, these are the three steps. Read and Learn!
Sometimes symptoms of a stroke are difficult to identify. Unfortunately, the lack of awareness spells disaster.
The stroke victim may suffer severe brain damage when people nearby fail to recognize the symptoms of a stroke.
Now, doctors say a bystander can recognize a stroke by asking three simple questions :

S * Ask the individual to SMILE ..
T * = TALK. Ask the person to SPEAK A SIMPLE SENTENCE (Coherently) (eg ‘It is sunny out today’).
R * Ask him or her to RAISE BOTH ARMS .

If he or she has trouble with ANY ONE of these tasks, call the ambulance and describe the symptoms to the dispatcher.

NOTE : Another ‘sign’ of a stroke is
1. Ask the person to ‘stick’ out their tongue.
2. If the tongue is ‘crooked’, if it goes to one side or the other that is also an indication of a stroke.

A prominent cardiologist says if everyone who gets this e-mail sends it to 10 people; you can bet that at least one life will be saved.

And it could be your own."

To My Friends

If I ever push you away, I really don't mean to. When I tell you that I don't want to talk about it, I do; I'm just looking for the right words. Give me a minute, and if I can tell you, I will. I try to be a struggling mix of real and perfect at the same time, whilst simultaneously succeeding at failing at being either. Most times I try to just pass for adequate. When I get really quiet, it's because I have too much to say. I have thought of too many things to tell you all at once, and I don't know what to say first. Sometimes I get sad because I know that I don't really fit in anywhere, but at the same time I feel hopeful because I know that one day I will find a place where I truly belong. And I am anxious because I'm not entirely sure that I truly ever want to fit in.

I get immaturely jealous of anyone who gets to see you on a daily basis.

That's not the only way that I can be immature, though. I have a childish mind. A very childish mind. I don't talk about the same things that other people do and I don't think the same way that other people do, and I'm not saying that I'm the only one. There's nothing special about who I am or how I am, it's just different from you, I guess. I see things differently and I appreciate my childish ways because they make life a lot simpler. But, sometimes, I wish I could be more grown up, because grown ups don't say stupid things or do stupid things and embarrass themselves. And grown ups know what they're doing, or at least they're able to trick people into believing that they know what they're doing. I'm kind of a loose cannon.

I change my mind, a lot. The dreams that I dream and the plans that I have for my life are ridiculous, and even I am realistic enough to accept that they won't all come true, but I'm too stubborn to stop dreaming. And I'm too stubborn to completely lose hope in my belief that, somehow, there has to be a chance for my dreams. I don't want to disappoint you. I want to surprise you. And I want to make you proud and I want you to be happy.

Because of you, I am more whole than I have ever been in my entire life, but I still feel incomplete. Don't take that the wrong way. I don't know what it is that's missing, but I'll know what it is when it's not missing anymore. I'm easily influenced by clichéd romantic comedies and love songs, so I've been lead to believe that the thing that's missing is love. I'm naïve. I believe in true love. I believe in love in first sight. I believe in an everlasting love, even though I have yet to experience any of those things.

Sometimes I feel better when I am alone, and sometimes I feel better when I am with you. Either way, I miss you really easily, but I also like that we can be apart, and we're both okay. Space is good, too. I love the way we love some of the same things. And I love how we love entirely different things. My head is a complicated pile of thoughts, and fears, and cravings, and dreams, and this tangled up nostalgia for the past and, somehow, the future. I am flawed and I am human and I am broken and I am trying. I am one person and I am two hands and I am one heart and I am one very confused and muddled up mind.

And I love you and I am so glad that you are here.

It's Gonna Take A Lot To Drag Me Away From You

This is not my own creation, but it was so lovely and truthfully pure that I had to share it.

EarthChild's Birthday

"Just because you can't dance, doesn't mean you shouldn't dance." - Alcohol

On the 6th of July, Bad Bitch Claudia turned 18 years old. We partied it up at *Manjocksville until the wee hours of the morning, delighting ourselves in shots of Cane (I still remained true to the Blue Bracelet Vow), 2am boerewors rolls, idle chit-chat, numerous trips to the lumo paint station, more shots of Cane, and out of control dance floor invasions. And hey, you're probably thinking that that sounds rather chilled for an 18th birthday, but you'd be wrong. Let me tell you something about the Bad Bitches: When they go out, this is what they do:

Before you take a look at a few snapshots from the evening, I would like to take this opportunity to give a shout-out to my feet, for getting me through the night/morning and the eighteen holes of golf the following day. It was a rough weekend, buddies, but together, we made it through, and I will never take you for granted again, and I know that you're still feeling the pain, but it will be over soon, I promise. And to you, lovely readers, if you're ever in the cluuurrrb and you're wearing those gorgeous stilettos and you want to cry and there's liquid in your shoe and you don't know whether it's alcohol, a popped blister, or blood (hey, we tell it like it is here at Ignoreland), just do what I did, and keep telling yourself this:

And here's the photographic evidence:

*Pseudonym

(Video clips were taken from Jenna Marbles' video: White Girls at the Club)

A Week's Worth of Conclusions

SATURDAY


Today, I drove my own car all the way to Pretoria and back. Yeah, what now, bitches?

Conclusion: FUCK THE PO-LICE!

SUNDAY


(At the risk of sounding like the biggest lesbian) "It's a beautiful day for golf at Zwartkop" is my home golf club's slogan, and true to form, it was a wonderful, sunny day. My dad, my brother and I teed off at 11:34am and what followed were five hours of complete pleasure and enjoyment. Let me tell you, golf and I, we have this love-hate relationship. Sometimes, it's a real pain in the ass, sometimes I hate it with a burning passion that festers stronger with every missed putt and every faded drive. But then, sometimes, it can be a real doll. On those perfect days, where the fairways are crisp and the green's are perfectly paced, and my chips land where I actually want them to, and my drives pierce the middle of the fairway to the sound of the resonating silence that comes from hitting "the sweet spot", and when the tricky putts aren't evil enough to stop the ball from reaching its destination, not much can compare.

Conclusion: Golf is a bitchy little whore with good intentions but a severe attitude problem. Like Lindsay Lohan.

MONDAY


Today, everyone went to Ada's house for a little get-together. There was a moment around 1 o'clock in the afternoon when it looked like I wasn't going, but my reliable friends (Ada, Bu, and Tash) came and picked me up from my house in Ada's adorable Milkshake (because her car brings all the boys to the yard). We went back to Ada's house and gradually, one by one, nearly all of the Bad Bitches began to drop by. We ordered pizza, ate macaroons (courtesy of young Joshua, who you will definitely hear more about), and wallowed in merriment (can one do that? Can one actually wallow in merriment? Well, one can now!) Today was the day that I discovered that I should never be given the task of setting up the hub. I just can't deal with that kind of pressure and responsibility.

Conclusion: An afternoon spent with the Bad Bitches in an afternoon well spent.


TUESDAY


Today, I slept over at Sam's house. I watched X-Men: First Class for the first time, marking my first ever X-Men experience, and by George, it was fantastic! I may or may not be obsessively in love with both Professor X and Magneto, and I may or may not have been highly unamused with Mystique's low self-esteem antics. In my opinion, Beast definitely got screwed over when the X-Men were created. I mean, he literally (I mean, not literally. Obviously figuratively but you know what I mean) got kicked in the balls by Marvel Comics. They were like, "Shit, man. We need an animal. I know, let's give this nerd kid lizard feet while every other mutant gets cool powers like the ability to read minds or manipulate metal, and as if that isn't bad enough, we'll completely fuck up his life by turning him into a giant blue teddy bear."

And then we watched the Princess and the Frog, and gosh darn it, did that make me happy. That's classic Disney, right there.

Conclusion: Who needs school when the most important lessons in life can be taught to us by animated movies directed at children aged 3-12? Also, could Michael Fassbender and/or James McAvoy please have my children?


WEDNESDAY


Nothing exciting happened today.

TH-

JUST KIDDING!

SAMANTHA PASSED HER DRIVER'S TEST! We drove into the testing station at 6:35am, and left at 9:15am. She drove in there - just another reckless and dangerous learner driver, and drove out - just another reckless and dangerous driver with a license. And guess what? We didn't even have to pay that R1800 bribe that we were offered by a dodgy looking gentleman in a two-tone car. We then drove all the way to Hartebeespoort Dam and back, just for the hell of it. We took Simma (Sam's little sister) to the park to play, and despite the fact that she entered that playground with a perfectly smooth forehead and left it with a bump the size of my fist, Sam and I would make wonderful au pairs, if I do say so myself.


Andandand! Lauren arrived in Johannesburg! She's my friend who lives in Port Elizabeth, which is, like, 273845972345km away, give or take a mile.

Today was also the day that Justin Bieber tweeted that South Africa is on the list of countries that have been included in his Believe Tour. I will comment on this at a later stage.

Conclusion: Just because Samantha has been recognised as a safe and competent driver by the relevant authorities, doesn't necessarily mean that she won't drift off of the road from time to time.


THURSDAY


Today, I bought these:

I know, right? I plan on wearing my lovely new Sexy With Attitude treasures from YDE tomorrow night, as it's Claudia's 18th birthday. You know what that means. Ladies, I hope you're wearing protection (?), because we're about to fuck shit up! Tune in next time to find out if we survived.

Conclusion: For the most part, Sandton City is a bottomless chasm of suck when you have ridiculous standards and no money. Also, never give up. It takes dedication, hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, but eventually, you will find that jacket and those shoes.