Archive for November, 2010

Thank you Leslie Nielsen! (The Don’t Call Me Shirley edition)

November 29, 2010

I hate having to write these sorta blogs, because it means that the person who has been such an influence on my pop culture life has left this world , yet when I do, so many good memories come flooding back.

It was probably about a week ago that a friend and I were having a debate about the value of The Naked Gun 33 1/3: The Final Insult. Just an ordinary discussion in my life. The end result is that we both praised Mr. Leslie Nielsen, regardless of our thoughts on the movie.

For the record. I was against it.

Yet, in truth, I am one of the biggest Leslie Nielsen fans around. Yes, I subjected myself to purchasing Superhero Movie, Scary Movie 3,4 AND Dracula: Dead & Loving It simply because Leslie was in them.

That’s the kind of adoration he instilled on his fans. He could do no wrong, because after all, surely we couldn’t hate his movies.

No we couldn’t. But stop calling us Shirley.

As most people know my favourite kind of TV shows are 70s cop shows. I nurtured myself on them. Their formula was perfect. The I stumbled across a short lived TV series called Police Squad! Starring Leslie Nielsen and Alan North in the ultimate 70s cop show spoof. Its dead pan humour and wit was like nothing I had seen before.

It was an instant classic!

Soon thereafter the Naked Gun movies started, and when it dawned on me that it was a film version of the TV show, I was practically the first one at the cinema. I always went with my mom to watch them, and despite any problems that existed between us, Frank Drebin made them disappear by the time the police car credits started.

I still quote Frank Drebin and Airplane daily. His quips have become part of my vocabulary.

My love affair with Leslie continued for the rest of my life.

I watched his work in the cult classic Forbidden Planet – which is on TCM almost every night!, his cameo appearance on The Love Boat, Due South, Hotel, Fantasy Island (all of which I stumbled across on VHS and DVD) .

There seemed to be a Leslie spoof every year, from Spy Hard to Wrongfully Accused. None of them ever came close to Airplane! or The Naked Guns, but Leslie could still make a fart joke funny.

A few weeks ago, I came across a gem of a movie called Big Fat Important Movie, and it pleased my heart that Leslie was still making movies. It made me go back and watch my collection of Nielsen classics, including the much forgotten Bad Golf Made Easier and Bad Golf My Way.

Below is something I’ll treasure forever. During my autograph hunting days, Leslie was at the top of my “want” list…..

And I got him…

Thank you Leslie Nielsen for making this world brighter for 6 decades, I can only hope there are a lot of nice beavers where you are now.

This blog could (and should) be so much longer…but Leslie’s work will forever speak for itself.

Tonight, I’ll curl up with a great autobiography….even if it is all made up.


What Would The Neighbors Think? (Part 1)

November 23, 2010

I’ve never been one to give a hoot about what people think about me…which I suppose goes a long way in explaining the many experimental hairstyles and beards I’ve had (and continue to have), but the one thing I’ve often wondered about, is what the neighbors must think about us.

There has been so much drama in my house, even more so than Wysteria Lane. In fact, for the last 25 years, I’m pretty sure this house I live in has provided the inspiration behind everything from an E! True Hollywood Story, to an episode of The Last 48 hours on the Crime & Investigation channel to an episode of Takeshi’s Castle.

It’s hard for me to pick out a single good memory here, although I’m sure there is (right?), but I would like to share a few stories with you dramatic events that I’ve been through.

My Dad The Sharpshooter

The rest of my family always knew about my dads problems, and I guess as a child it was hard not to look up to your dad as your idol. It was this juxtaposition that always left me confused as a kid. I knew my dad could get angry…really angry. Especially when he came home drunk, which he so often did. My mom always did her best to keep my brother and I out his line of fire, often taken the beatings and herself while my brother and I would be hiding under the bed in a locked room holding each other for dear life and blocking the arguing with our tiny hands covering our tiny ears.

One night was particularly bad, there was a bad fight between my mom and dad, and he threatened to take us all out of this world and proceeded to get his gun (ironically the same gun my brother would years later take his life with), my mom fearing for our lives locked my brother and I in the car and then locked the garage so that my dad couldn’t get to us.

My mom had managed to phone our aunt and uncle to come help and keep the peace, as they did on many occasion (a fact my cousin actually recently confirm to me, which made me feel slightly better that I didn’t imagine all of this.).

Clearly the situation got sorted…but I always wonder what the neighbors thought…

Master of The Universe

Beatings were a regular occurrence at home, I guess it was my moms way of transferring the anger and lack of power she felt against my dad against us kids. I’ve already told you about one such beating in my High School confidential, but there was so many more that happened, and even more that I’ve probably forgotten about.

I was always a huge Masters of the Universe fan, and my love for collecting action figures and merchandise went back to those days already.

When the live action movie came out, I was a kid in love! He –Man was real! Along with the movie came a whole new range of action figures. The new range had some cool new characters, and I begged and begged my mom to get me one.

Which she did. As a kid we never really appreciate things like this, and I remember when I opened it I saw that it was a character named Gwildor (yes I’m sure the spelling may be wrong, but go with me on this). Now Gwildor was a dwarf life character whose action figure didn’t do all that much. Being disappointed, I ended up being ungrateful and mocked the toy saying “all he does is twirl his weapon” and I sarcastically twirled his accessory, my mom was so angry that she grabbed the toy out my hand and threw it out the car window.

Then when we got home she beat me with a belt. And told me that I need to pay her back for the toy immediately and for every hour I don’t have the money I will get another beating.

Of course I didn’t have money. I was what…10?

Like clockwork, every hour I got a beating. When my dad got home she told me I better get the money from him.

I told him about this toy I saw and begged him to give me the money for it…My dad always treated me like gold, and said sure, but he’d get me the money the next day.

Phew…probably solved right? Not exactly. My mom continued to beat me every hour until bedtime that night. She would come into my room beat me with the belt and tell me not to let my father hear.

Longest. Night. Ever. but I always wonder what the neighbors thought…

Dad Dies

I remember the day of my dad’s death crystal clear. I guess I’m thankfully that the night before his early morning heart attack, I had in fact spent a loving night with my dad watching wrestling I had taped on the TV. Survivor Series 1989 to be exact. I, as a child does, ending up ruining the ending for him, but I’m so glad I had that moment with him.

In the early hours of the morning, I woke up to screaming by my mom, and as I wondered out of my room there was chaos…my mom running around, one of our neighbors was there, and I had no idea what was going on…until I looked to my left and saw my dad laying dead on the bathroom floor. Suddenly I felt as if I was floating away, but in reality it was our neighbor who picked me up and carried me to the lounge to be with my brother while all this madness was going on. There was an ambulance outside the house, and soon…the coroner.

The next few days, the cars that were parked outside came and went, from family to flower delivery guys, to people I hadn’t the foggiest who they were.

As time does, it moves on…but I always wonder what the neighbors thought…

Wow, this blog is so much more draining than I originally planned it to be.

I’m going to take a break, but I will post part 2 a bit later…so please come back for that – plenty more stories!

Dear New York…

November 22, 2010

Dear New York

Can you believe its been almost 13 years since we last saw each other?

So much has happened that I don’t even know where to start.

I wasn’t sure if I should write you again because at times I doubted you would even remember me.

I’m still in South Africa. Which is killing me (almost literally some days!), but I’m trying to work my way outta here. It’s proving difficult though, and there are more days of doubt than days of promise. I’d say I cry myself to sleep some nights, but I haven’t had a decent night of sleep in almost 8 years – I kid you not.

The last time I was over there, I visited you with my cousin Andre. Do you remember him? He unexpectedly took his own life several years ago. That crushed me. Andre was the one guy (other than myself), who like to share my accomplishments. He always praised me to family and friends. I miss his support and guidance so much. Especially after my dad and brother’s death so many years ago, Andre became the closest thing I had to a male role model. I don’t have that anymore, and there are days I feel completely lost with out it.

Work is tough at the moment. I’ve been at my current job for almost 5 years now – a lifetime I know! I’m not happy there anymore. I’ve lost faith in the people, and worst of all in my future there. I’ve done so much for them, and am still not taken seriously nor given the credit or recognition I deserve. I feel like they still see me as “the new guy” and forever will. My ambitions are so much greater than the company allows. They all see that place as a job, whereas I view it as a career. I always felt they would be my way to a greater future overseas, but it’s clear they will never help me get transferred to an overseas branch. Plus I just can’t survive on the salary they are paying me anymore.

Things are home are always tense. I still live with my mom. Most people laugh at that, and they don’t understand why I’m still here. Neither do I at times. The reality is she lost her job back in 2004 when I lost my job, and has since refused to work. I get angry with the continual burden I have to carry. I’ve spent the last six years here taking care of her, paying off debts, fixing the house (which seems to be never ending…) and feeding two people.

We play the hands we are dealt I guess…but it crushes my spirit. My life should have been so different at this point.

I’ve been watching everyone else live there lives. I see them falling in love, getting married, having children…and perhaps worst of all I see them visiting you. It seems like everyone else is living a life while I’m living a lie.

Gosh, this letter has been all about me…I’m sorry about that. How have YOU been?

I was sorry to year about your loss in 2001. I cried so much that day.
I wanted to write you, but didn’t know what to say…

Anyways, I know you’re busy, so I wont take up anymore of your time…Do you mind if I write you again soon?

Please know that I love you, and have thought about you every single day. I can still close my eyes and picture you, smell your perfume, and feel you against me.
Is that weird? Probably.

I’m so lonely here, and I know you’re the only one who gets that.

Love Always


Kid Rock – “Born Free”

November 12, 2010

I’ve always been a massive Kid Rock fan, and his new single is nothing short of perfect for explaining my dreams and desires right now.

check out the amazing video below

Five Rules To Surviving An Office Kitchen

November 9, 2010

Like most people, I’m a fan of good hygiene, but I also happen to believe in etiquette and respect. Two values missing in this day and age. ESPECIALLY in the work place.
After my rant about my mug, people have come to understand my feelings towards upsetting the balance of the office….and yet, there are still those who don’t adhere to the non spoken rules of the “shared” areas of the office.

Namely – the kitchen.

It’s a communal kitchen, so sure there are bound to be conflict in styles, methods and habits. But there is no excuse for lack of your basic, run of the mill logic.

Add to this, that I am rapidly approaching some sort of meltdown point, and it segways nicely into a little blog I like to call…

Five Rules To Surviving An Office Kitchen.

    1. The Birthday Cake/Catering Leftovers

While it may come across as a Survivor reward challenge, the time honoured tradition of the “office birthday” can be handled in a more respectful manner, if only the savages and greedy guts would respect the occasion. The object is not to stack your plate as high as possible as they allow at a Buffet. There would easily be enough for everyone if we had a 2 samoosas 1 slice of cake rule. If you’re in a corner office on the wrong floor – it’s already too late.

When the occasional conference or big wig meeting takes place, there is bound to be leftovers from the meeting. I’m all for this, because these platters normally appear at the exact time an inconvenient hunger pain strikes. However, to the PA, or secretary who brings the trays out and put them in the kitchen. Please don’t taunt us with mini sandwiches which have been picked on, disassembled and/or most often incorrectly reassembled. Chicken legs with tin foil on the end of the bone are only considered edible IF there is still chicken on the bone. And lastly, Garnish is NOT considered food – so mini tomatoes and celery should not appear on a tray by themselves.

    2. The Fridge

If it bleeds…we can kill it. This quote from Predator is what always springs to mind when opening the fridge to get milk out. There are some eerie oudors that make their way out the office Fridge. Normally from “meals” that have been left there for anything between a week, and last December. If you don’t intend finishing your meal, or taking it home, please, I beg of you, give your leftovers to the hobos at the nearest traffic light. I’m sure they’d rather be sniffing glue, but hey, I rather not be sniffing whatever your meal has morphed into.

I mentioned milk. Now, I have to add this little irritation. Work supplies up with an endless supply of long life milk. EVERYONE knows this is the only milk the work supplies. I happen to hate long life milk. So myself, and my coffee partner bring in FRESH milk. There seems to be a misconception that we bring it in for everyone to use. Let’s clear that up right now…If I catch you using my fresh milk. I will bring you down. Bring you down to Chinatown baby.

    3. The Cutlery

For some unknown reason, office cutlery is like gold. I’m not sure what exponential value it has compared to cutlery at home, but boy, the street value of an office fork, knife and spoon must be larger than pure cocaine. Either that, or we have a someone lurking in our office whole a kleptomaniac. There is NEVER a spoon around when you need one! I thankfully bring in my own plastic knife and fork every day to eat, and ever that it takes about 20 minutes longer to eat my meal because of that damned spork, its worth it. However it’s the spoons that I require more usage from. Making tea and coffee on a regular basis is what keeps me sane.

If you are lucky enough to find a spoon, there’s a good chance it’s a spoon that’s transition from the sugar bowl, to the hot chocolate bowl and then placed into the spoon rack. After what feels like hours of washing down with boiling hot water, you can finally use the spoon. When you go back again, there’s a good chance that same spoon can be found on the tongue of a big boned lady who is get that last bit of yoghurt out her giant tub of “fat free” vanilla yoghurt.

    4. The Office Kettle/Urn

Much like the button on an elevator, EVERYONE feels the need to reboil or try flick the on switch of the kettle or urn the second they walk into the kitchen. Even if you are clearly standing there waiting with your empty much filled only with a tea bag and sugar. They then react like they’ve solved the Da Vinci Code. If only I knew to BOIL the water! Mystery solved.

Recently I caught show on the Discovery Channel about how and kettle does not refil itself when it’s empty. It’s a shame nobody else saw that episode.

Common courtesy would be to switch the urn off at the end of day. But one would argue we are not common people. Nothing like late night precipitation from the ceiling to let you know the water is ready.

    5. The Microwave Oven

Most of us have microwaves at home right? Why then do people seem to use them differently to the way they use them at home? Perhaps I’m just way to naïve in thinking there’s a difference. Come lunch time, there is generally something of a queue waiting to use the Microwave, which I can totally respect, However, there should be certain sub-rules involved here.
– Unless you are the VERY last person to use the MWO, never bring in a lunch that requires 7 minutes of defrosting, then a further 5 minutes of cooking. Rather take your lunch earlier so that the rest of us don’t have to waste a 1/3 of our lunch time waiting
– NEVER EVER warm up anything that contains fish product. Or worse yet, some unidentifiable fish byproduct that stinks up not just the MWO, not just the kitchen, not just the reception area, but the ENTIRE building.
– Close the damn MWO door when you’re done. If I turn around and smack my elbow one more time on a gaping door. I will hunt you down.
– And finally, Microwave popcorn is NOT a meal. If I wanted to smell burnt popcorn or fake butter during my working hours, I would sneak out to a movie during working hours.
Wow, I feel much better now.
I’m sure there may be some additional rules here, but these are the main reason i should have my own kitchen in my office.
It’s safer for everyone.
Now…about those office toilets…

High School Confidential: Part 2 – When It Rains, It Pours

November 8, 2010

I didn’t think last nights blog (Part 1 of High School Confidential) would be as draining as it ways. Or make me feel as guilty as it did.

Mmm…doing something that leaves you feeling exhausted and guilty…sounds like something else I do – on occasion.

Anyways, enough with the getting sidetracked. You all wanna hear the conclusion of my story.

If you haven’t got up to spead, I suggest you click here to read Part 1 first .

You may now continue reading.

When we last left off, I discussed the events that led to the night my brother killed himself, and how a few years later I was about to experience something very similar.

As I said, Standard 8 was the year I completely let my mind slip in terms of school work. I was angry at myself for allowing this to happen. After all, I was the guy who was winning academic awards left right and centre in Primary school. Ah, those special book prizes…they really made me feel worth something. And being Head Boy was something I felt truly honored to be.

Sure it was under controversial circumstances, but I don’t think anyone can argue that I wasn’t a good Head Boy. Despite losing my brother and dad within a year, I lead pretty damn well.

High School was different though. I was lost and alone, and even though I felt I had a best friend, I don’t think anyone saw me as THEIR best friend.

Living out the area was tough as nobody really wanted to come to “my side of town”.

As I allowed my school work to suffer, I mistakenly created a snowball effect in my home life too.

Failure was NOT at option. Cliché alert!

But my mom made it clear even after what had happened with my brother that I needed to focus on my school work and if I ever failed, I was on my own…in more ways than one.

Talk about peer pressure.

Of course I ended up failing tests…one by one.

Now back then when you failed something or got in trouble, you had to get your parents to sign your diary or test. (Oh how I loathed those little red books!)

I’m a pretty brave guy…but there was NO CHANCE IN HELL I was going to show my mom a failed test…so, I did the only thing that made sense. I forged her signature on my tests.

Of course it was the worse signature imaginable, but in my head I always though it “looked pretty damn good”.

There was always that weird rush when a teacher checked the signed test. To be honest, I think they knew it was fake, but they had a soft spot for me and always let me get away with it.

It got worse and worse, and I got into the habit of “getting away with it” because it was easier than the alternative of facing my mom.

Till one day.

I remember the day quite clearly.

As I walked out of school one day, I put my bag in the car and got in the front said. As I wanted to kiss my mom hello as I always did, she ignored me.

Uh oh. This spelt trouble.

I asked what was wrong, and she coldly replied “Just you wait till we get home”.

My blood ran cold. What now?

The ride felt like it was over in two minutes and when we got home, the first think I saw was the red school diary on the kitchen counter.

I had inexplicably left it at home!

My mom question the forged signature immediately. I um’d and ah’d and came up with all sorts of excuses.
“what else are you hiding shaun!”

Seething with anger, she through the hardback diary at my face.
Then took my school bag from me and emptied it out.

She found some more forged tests. (why did I not destroy them!)

What I remember most was her finding some little plastic toy pigs in my bag.
My friend and I at the time were on a huge Bill & Ted vibe, and constantly quoted the Ziggy Piggy line in the movie. So the pigs were an inside joke.

Of course, Ziggy became the term that refers to this incident.

My mom became violently angry and grabbed me by my fringe (which was quite long at the time), she dragged me to the bathroom and began to cut the fringe off. She ripped at my fringe so hard that I swear it hasn’t been able to grow long since (because well it hasn’t).

It was about 2.30pm. and what began was one of the longest beatings of my life. Anything and everything became a weapon to my mom.

Of course it had been a rainy day, so what just happened to be laying about? Yup, you guessed it. An umbrella.

This particular umbrella had been one of my favourite things (not after this of course), because it had some decorative dice on it.

My mom proceeded to beat me over and over with the umbrella, until I could no longer stand. In fake the umbrella had bend practically in half by now, and the dice marks were embedded in my bloodied skin on my back.

The welt were so thick, that I actually stopped feeling the pain.

Angry but what “I had made her do” grabbed her car keys and said she was going to go drive her car into a bus.

Smashing ornaments and she left, she locked me in the house and left.

About an hour later she returned, with my aunt.

When she saw how badly I was beaten, she was in shock and asked my mom how she could do this. My mom of course was irrational (as she still is today), and asked to explain the story.

Which I did, and simply just said I was scared to show her a failed test.

The rest of the evening is a bit blurred, and I don’t remember much more than my mom telling me not to dare tell anyone what happens in that house.

Of course the morning, I was battered and blue, but nothing a school uniform couldn’t hide.

At school, I couldn’t hardly talk, let alone move muscle without being in pain.
Thought the excuse escapes me, I managed to get out of gym class.

I think I briefly mentioned something about the previous night’s events to my best friend, but with a casualness that never warranted further enquiry into my troubles.

The cruel humour that is my life leaves me with one moment that still makes me laugh to myself.

Someone said to me “ah man, you cut your fringe off.”

….yes….yes I did.

High School Confidential: Part 1 – NEVER FAIL!

November 7, 2010

They are supposed to be the best years of our lives.
The times when ever lasting friendships are made…

But when I look back at High School, I don’t see any of that. In fact only one word comes to mind when I think of the “old days”…Survival.

I’m touched by the regular comments I get from old school mates about how fondly they look back on me. Sometimes I think to myself…if only they knew the truth.

In the greater scheme of things, “The Truth” is nothing more than the sadness I hid behind in order to make everyone thing I was the funny crazy guy who always had a joke or a smile for people.

Being what can be referred to as a “floater”, I was friends with most everyone. I never judged people by the cliques they were in. I had a group of people I considered my “clique”, but I would speak to most anyone in a heart beat. At the risk of sounding egotistic, I would go as far as saying I was liked by most everyone too.

I went to the High school I did for one sole reason. After my brother’s suicide the year before Standard 6, there was no way I could go to his school. He was a legend there. I’m sure he had his own problems too, but he was one of the most well known guys there, thanks mostly to his athletics records and achievements.

For my own selfish reasons, I could never go there and be judged and have to live up to the stories.

So I went to an out of the area high school, I had a cousin there, and I knew all of 2 people who also went there from my primary school.

It was tough going at first, but I made my way through the years.

What most people don’t know is that I’m something of a genius. So I can get by pretty easily academically. Truth be told though, I was burned out by the end of Primary School thanks to what happened to me, and in High School I did just enough to get by.

The reason I’m giving you this history lesson, is mostly to set the groundwork behind a life changing incident (yes another one) that happened in Standard 8.

As the years went on, I lost more and more interest in my school work, and by Std 8 I really couldn’t handle it anymore. Between the problems at home and the loneliness that growing inside me, I just wanted to get through it all.

That year, I was put in strange class. Comprised mostly of the trouble makers and hooligans of my year, it was by far the misfit class out of all the classes. Nobody could quite understand how I got lumped with them. The class was always, and I mean ALWAYS in trouble, and we got punished as a group.

It took its toll on me, and I battled to stay focused on tests and exams.

Eventually I started failing test on occasion. This hurt me big time. And also set off a mode of panic inside me.

You see, there was a rule around my house. If you failed a test, you better not come home or you would get the beating of your life.

I had never failed before, so this had never been a direct problem….but it was soon to become reminiscant of a tragedy a few years earlier.

Now…for a big reveal.

The day of my brothers suicide there had been a massive argument in my home. My mom had found a lighter in my brother blazer pocket, and this set her off into a serious rage.

Regardless if my brother had been smoking or note, my mom decided to go through the rest of his belongings, and proceeded to ransack his room, school bags clothes etc.

In the end, she found something.

A school test. A test he failed. Crumpled up in his closet, this set of a course of tragic events that changed all our lives.

I wont go into the details (like how she tried to set him on fire…or how she broke a telephone over him), but what I will tell you is this piece of cruelty.

My mom made my brother frame the test and put it in the lounge for “everyone to see”.

Well, later that night. He killed himself.

The next few days I remember in absolute detail. What I remember most was how an Aunt on my late father’s site came to pay their condolences, and while we all sat in the lounge, she saw the test. Picked it up and proceeded to show everyone, asking if this was maybe a clue to what happened. Bingo.

Now…fast forward 4 years later…
Continued in Part 2.

Stand up for Burg: 4 Months later – Hijacked and Trapped

November 5, 2010

What I remember the most about my hijacking just less than 4 months ago, was the concern everyone felt.

Are you ok? That’s unbelievable! You’re lucky!

What the whole event did for me was simply confirm what I have been feeling for many years.

I want out.

Out of (South) Africa.

I vocalized this in many ways, and stirred all sorts of emotions from people.

There were those that said what happened to me was because I was so negative about the country.

There were those that supported my feelings and tried turning it into a racial thing.

There were those that used what happen to me as a catalyst to get out of SA themselves.

Once the attention died down from the incident, everyone went on about their normal lives (as they should), but for me, every day has been harder than the next.

I have nightmares at least once a week. Sometimes about what happened, sometimes they are more abstract.

While the crime aspect of the country is a HUGE deal, it’s not my main motivation for wanting out.

My greatest fear is dying in this country – sure, but not through an act of crime. It’s from allowing the country to kill me because my dreams are far greater that the country allows them to be.

I am now at the point where I feel trapped by my own ambition.

A while back I made a comment on Facebook where I said I had put feelers out to New York.

A fact that was known to most everyone, and something I was always vocal about. However it was misunderstood to be I was unhappy in my job and wanted out. This put me into a serious doghouse which I’m still pretty certain I’m not out of yet.

I have one of the greatest jobs in the world (yes, except for Halle Berry’s lover.), but this is something I could and would want to do for a very long time.

My problem is, my life needs to begin.
For over 30 years my life has been filled with loss, heartache, pain, and struggle.
The memories and reminders of my life follow me around daily. From the roads I travel, to the place where I live. Add to this the surmounting problems in the country, and each day I am dying a little bit more.

I want to leave the country. But I don’t know how. Other than a transfer in my job, which nobody seems to take seriously, there are so few avenues for me to use.

Dramatic much? Sure. But this might have been a more casual conversation 10 years ago. But not at the age of 32.

I’ve seen two friends give it all up in the last 2 weeks, to follow that dream, and while I am so happy for them, I am so unequivocally jealous of them that I feel guilty.

But I don’t have the luxury of qualifying for certain visas and what not. I’m fighting the odds as I have always done.

It scares me. Sometimes to the point of where I just don’t believe its possible to make it happening.

Yes, New York is my first choice. But at this point I would be open to any sort of forward movement, whether it be London, Toronto, or even Vietnam.

Having nobody in my life (Ed’s note: Oh stop with the sob stories), this is the lonliest thing I have ever done, and that alone brings me to tears.

I don’t often ask people for anything (well, except for that one time I was poor), but if you can help…I urge you to:

Stand up for Burg.

Hey, remember that time I tried to end it?

November 2, 2010

As i continue reading all my old blogs i find myself shocked at some of the states of minds i have been in, but also as i build up to a big reveal in my life I do feel its important to share my life with the loyal readers of this blog. Good or Bad, its important that you know and understand as much about me as humanly possibly.

The following blog was originally written on the 4 May 2007. The content is very heavy, and you should use your own disclaimer when reading it.

It must be noted that I am no longer in “that place” and I do understand life a lot better. While i speak often about how alone I am, I made a promise to myself that I would never go this low again.
Beside I know have this “Love Thyself” tattoo on my forearm…so I would never let that be forgotton.

For three weeks now I’ve been living with an incident that could of gone one of two ways, and the fact that I’m writing this probably means it went the other way I guess.

Firstly, the reason for me writing what you are about to read is not for attention seeking purposes, but for me to put my feelings and actions into words so that I can process it and understand what it is I was doing at the time, and how it makes me feel.

Secondly, if you get offended by my life, stay out of it…seriously. Advice is one thing, unhelpful meddling is another. I am who I am, good or bad…its all I know how to be.

On Friday 13th April I headed out to Sun City for the SAMA awards. During the day and the evening before, I had been in a very bad argument at home, and both my mom and I agreed it would be best if I drove my car off a cliff and did everyone a favour.

Seeing as it was a company car…I didn’t intend doing that…but yes, I felt it was time, and I made peace with the fact that I was ready to end it.

My plan was to find peace in a far off place and slowly let it end. Heck I was prepared, I ever took razor blades…and if you know me, you know I don’t shave too often…so point proven.

After a frustrating ride there including getting lost for 2 hours. I eventually arrived in Sun City, checked in and showed my face around town so people knew I was there.

The Friday itself was pretty uneventful, but I took it as my time to have one last look at everyone….I turned in early that night, and went an lay on my hotel bed.

Thoughts were racing through my mind, and I was restless.I went for a walk and ended up lost in some wilderness…awesome.

Eventually I got back to the room at about 3am and passed out from exhaustion.

Then Saturday came, and I spent some time taking in the scenery, spending the time just making sure of what I wanted to do. And there was no doubt….

I went back to the hotel room in the late afternoon, ran myself a bath….laid out all my clothes for the evening’s event….and then switched on my laptop and played Jim Reeves…..

I then opened up word, and wrote a letter with the words – “It was too heavy”

As I laid in the bath I had a set of razors next to me, and toyed around with them for a bit…not taking too long to realize I didn’t have the guts to cut myself (even though I knew the rule was to cut down and not across).

I began to cry at the fact that I wasn’t even man enough to end it.
Then it dawned on me…all I need to do was close my eyes and fall asleep….a tub full of water would do the rest…

I sent a few sms’ to some ppl, just telling them I missed them. Then I relaxed, opened the tap and layed back…

It felt like minutes…then it felt like hours…and suddenly…I just felt myself nodding off when from under the water….I heard the room phone ring.

As a knee jerk reaction I suddenly woke up and was alert….i let the phone ring a few times to make sure it wasn’t just me hearing things.

I made my way to the phone, but it stopped ringing before I got there. (It later turned out it was a work colleague who phoned me to see if I wanted to get dinner).

It slowly began to dawn on my how low I was, just how much I didn’t care anymore.
I sat on the floor, crying into the towel for at least an hour.

Eventually I pulled myself together, got dressed and met up with my friend marcus, and in what can only be deemed the greatest case of reverse psychology managed to get him and his girlfriend to crash with me for the night “so they could have a good rest”…but for me, I knew I needed someone there.

The rest of the evening went off as planned I guess.
The Sunday came, I ate breakfast and reflected on everything.

I drove slowly back….almost cursing myself for failing.

Over these last 3 weeks, I’ve tried, to make sense of everything
And I haven’t really….I’ve been so lost.

And so many people from my past have come back into my life…I’m trying to take them as signs, because Lord knows I need sign.

It makes me think back to a previous blog where I said in order to find myself I need to look into the past….there is something there…whether its an old friend…or someone I was supposed to meet, but missed them somewhere along the way.

This past Monday, I broke down mentally and I didn’t know what to do.
It took every last bit of courage I had to ask someone for help, and without batting an eyelid they did.
They sorted out all my problems, bar the odd manageable one.

Now a few days later I see a light….

Its not that far away anymore, but there will always be these moments where I get pulled back into the darkness.

But for the first time in over 20 years…I have hope…and strength….and idea of who I am….or rather…who I want to be.

I’m not a good person…I’m not a bad person…I’m just trying to be human. Flaws and all.

Learning to love myself is the hardest thing I will ever try and do….but I’m willing to try…and that’s a start…right?

The Trouble With Love

November 1, 2010

As i continue to read through some of my old blogs from about 4 years ago, i’ve been coming across some stellar self revelations.

This is from January 2007 and dealt with the first person i was really IN LOVE with.

I had a fairly bad day yesterday.
Arguments and what not. But I also had a conversation with a good friend about the stupid things we did for love. She asked me how many times I’d been in love.
Without delay I said twice.

Now you guys know me, I wear my heart on my sleeve. I’m sensitive and I like people fairly easily. But love? Its that little bit extra isn’t it.

The fact that I said twice without even thinking about it, meant there were/are two immediate people I think of when it comes to love. Two people I would/will do anything for, without question.

Now the first one I am completely over, it doesn’t mean I won’t ever think about her again, but I had memories with her, or rather of her. In the end, she treated me like dirt and used me for what she could….and we never even dated once. But hey, that’s the trouble with love.

I’ve told a few people my story with her, but after recent days, I feel its something that should be here rather.

Back in 2001 I was working at a company called Intekom, an ISP, I worked my way up there to a trainer, to the point where I actually had the power to hire people. Which was great. While I was working there, we were looking for new staff, and a girl from Durban applied for a job there, she drove up for the interview, and I immediately fell for her as she walked in the door.

So regardless of how the interview went, she’d get my vote for the job. Luckily, the other’s their agreed and she got the job. And started about a month later.

We got to know each other, and the more I got to know her the more I fell for her. Typical office environment romance….being in love with the coworker and not being able to do anything about it. Obviously being fairly new to joburg, I went out of my way to make her feel welcome, I was the guy who was always there. If she needed to get somewhere I took her, if she was sick I brought her lunch, if she got a flat tyre, I’d change it….I was that reliable guy who was always there in a time of need.

We even went to Durban together and I met her family, and went to her 21st.

Eventually I told her my feelings, she was very none responsive to it….as most people are. She eventually revealed to be that there was someone in her life she considered her soul mate…but he moved overseas a few years ago and she lost touch with him, and didn’t know if he was alive or not, or what he was doing.

Me being me, makes the ultimate promise…I promised her I would find this guy, because the only person I was prepared to lose her to, was her soul mate, because I believe I was the soul mate, not him.

Anyways, she gave me a few details, like his name, where he was from, the fact that he moved to England and his interests etc.

So began the search…

This was before the days Google was the ultimate search engine, so it took me a while to find any leads. But I did.

I asked me contacts around the UK to search the telephone directories to see if he was registered with a phone number there. Nothing.

I found a post someone from the now defunct company he used to work for made in a Linux newsgroup. The most arb thing I could find. But it was a start.

I contacted that person and explained I was looking for this guy. I didn’t get much from it, other that than an email address the guy used to have.

Searching yielded no results, I was hitting dead ends. But I made a promise.

Eventually I found an account on a chat program called ICQ that had been registered to that email address.

So I added him. After a few weeks he eventually signed on!

It was him. Then came the news, he was in Cape Town, and had been for the last few years. And he was engaged.

This would surely end the girl I liked hopes of being with him.
I put her in contact with him so that she could have some closure.

Silly me.

They began chatting, and he began offering her hopes of being friends again.
She in the meanwhile began to get nastier and nastier to me. Weird.
Eventually we had a falling out.

I left the company because I got a job offer at Microsoft.
We slowly began to get back in touch after about a year. And she told me how she needed a better job.

Once again, me being me, used my influence to get her a job at Microsoft.
It all began again….

This time it got worse quickly. Then we had a nothing arb falling out.
I got fired from Microsoft (long story), and began my journey.

I recently (and by that mean about a year ago), found out that her guy broke up with his fiancé and moved to joburg. They now live together, and are possible married or engaged.

I am glad she is happy, even at my expense. Selfishly I know they wouldn’t be together if it wasn’t for me. And I think she knows that too.

That and the heartache I suffered for a long time, was it worth it? I don’t know. Would I do it again….absolutely…

So I said that was the first time I was in love.
The second time? Well…that’s a story for another day.