The thin line between living and existing.

“I'm the one that's got to die when it's time for me to die, so let me live my life the way I want to.”  Jimi Hendrix

I got a call at work the other day; the lady at the other end of the line said to me “This is the strangest call you will probably ever receive..... I am dying in five months.....And I want to know how my estate will be divided, so I need a copy of my mortgage loan agreement sent to me. My husband is estranged and I have to do this alone.”

By the time I was done with that call I was breaking down in tears.

She said to me “You have been so pleasant with me, I really appreciate it. The doctors have tried everything but nothing has worked..... just cross your fingers and wish me luck.”

For a split second I wanted to dig in deeper and ask her what was she was ailing from, tell her that if she needed anyone to talk to I was there and tell her I loved her even though I didn't know her..... I wanted to tell her all that and a whole lot more. But I couldn't  that is not what my job entails. My jobs expects me to sit on the fence and not slip on the other side, it expects me to stay calm, be focused and composed.....I was despondent, I did break down and Stacey (my lovely work mate) was the one picking up my pieces after that call.

It reminded me of a Queen Latifah movie I watched years ago titled ‘Last holiday’; I will bore you (and myself) with a short synopsis just to paint a picture of where I am coming from. It is about Georgia Byrd, a shy, unassuming woman who works as an employee in the cookware department at Kragen's Department Store in New Orleans. She longs to cook professionally, and records her dreams of a better life in her journal labeled "Possibilities."

 It is the Christmas holiday season. While flirting with a co-worker, she bumps her head on a cabinet door and is taken to the store's health centre for a CAT scan. There she is told by company physician that she has several brain tumours resulting from a rare neurological disorder called Lampington's Disease which could be terminal if not treated. Since her health maintenance organization plan will not cover the exorbitant cost of an operation, Georgia resigns herself to the fact she has only a few weeks to live, quits her job, liquidates her assets, and sets off on a dream vacation at the deluxe Grandhotel Pupp in the spa city of Karlovy Vary in the Czech Republic.

Free of inhibitions and determined to live life to the fullest, Georgia checks into the Presidential Suite, buys a designer wardrobe in expensive boutiques, makes extensive use of the hotel's spa facilities, attempts snowboarding and base jumping off of a dam, enjoys succulent meals prepared by world-renowned Chef Didier (played by the magnificent Gérard Depardieu and wins a small fortune playing roulette in the casino (Yada..... Yada..... Yada.....)

To cut the long story short, while on her ‘holiday of a lifetime’ Georgia  receives a fax from her physician, in which he tells her that she was misdiagnosed due to X-rays generated by a broken, outdated CAT scanner.

The thought got me reflecting; what would I do if I knew my “expiry date” was due soon? Would I be glad to know, or would I be wretched? I know I would most probably be sad about it; and I would lock myself up in some small dark room and never see the light of day until the sand in my hour glass runs out.

But that quite different from what I would really want to do..... I would love to do everything I want to do NOW.

Go skydiving, bungee jumping, ride on a roller coaster, go deep sea diving in the Necker Island and probably spend my last days eating ham and melon in some tiny town Italy. I would also love to attend a Mascheranda Grand Ball in Venice and probably partake in a proper Venetian themed orgy (Just like the one Tom Cruise attempted to attend in ‘Eyes Wide Shut’)

Now that I have a vague description of what I would like to do if I knew that I was dying in a few weeks or months, it makes me wonder why I am not doing that given that I know that I am eventually going to die..... Sooner or later.

The true gentleman.

***** "The True Gentleman is the man whose conduct proceeds from good will and an acute sense of propriety, and whose self-control is equal to all emergencies; who does not make the poor man conscious of his poverty, the obscure man of his obscurity, or any man of his inferiority or deformity; who is himself humbled if necessity compels him to humble another; who does not flatter wealth, cringe before power, or boast of his own possessions or achievements; who speaks with frankness but always with sincerity and sympathy; whose deed follows his word; who thinks of the rights and feelings of others, rather than his own; and who appears well in any company, a man with whom honor is sacred and virtue safe." ***** 

John Walter Wayland, Virginia, 1899

In public, a gentleman always wears something with sleeves, be they short or long, sleeves are imperative. A hard shoe – a shoe with a toe is what I mean by a hard shoe. We don’t want to see your toes. We don’t want to hear you flip-flopping through John Lewis. I want a shoe. A gentleman has sleeves and a shoe.

A gentleman would not discuss what happened the night before with a lady. That’s a given. Save that for the locker room, you hill-person. That’s what a roided up freak would do. I don’t think a gentleman would discuss what his car payment is. He never discusses finances, in general. He keeps it close to the vest.

A gentleman never raises his hand to a woman, though will often raise his eyebrow in astonishment at the absurdity of her imprudence; and he never threatens a lady, he merely informs her of the grave consequences of her actions.

When a gentleman courts a lady, he certainly opens up a car door for her. He waits for her to get in and once she says she’s in, he closes the door. A gentleman doesn't close the door on a leg. You know what a gentleman doesn't do? A gentleman doesn't sit on the same side of the booth at the restaurant. A gentleman sits across the booth. He makes eye contact and is engaging (Always remember that People require 18 inches of personal space, got to have a little breathing room.)

(So…… What else would a gentleman do for his date?) He would bring some flowers. He tips his hat. A gentleman always puts his jacket over a puddle. You know that. Now you don’t see that one much anymore; I can’t imagine any guy doing that.

(Scenario 1) A gentleman is in a movie theatre. He is trying to enjoy King’s Speech and someone nearby starts texting during the movie, causing an obvious distraction to him and the people around him. What does a gentleman do? A gentleman goes over and whispers quietly, ‘Please put your phone away. We’re trying to enjoy the movie.’

(Scenario 2) A gentleman is at the check out line, and then someone cuts in front of him in line. How does a gentleman handle a breach of line etiquette? A gentleman would go, ‘Sir, the line starts over there.’ Not stand back like a pussy and hope someone else says something.

(Scenario 3) A gentleman meets a nice lady. There’s a bit of a spark. She gives him her phone number. How long does a gentleman wait to call? A gentleman calls that woman back the next day and lets her know he’s interested. A gentleman does NOT play games.

A gentleman does not sit he merely squats above the seat to give the illusion he is sitting, at rest if you will, but the gentleman is always alert and ready.

A gentleman keeps his beard and nails trimmed. None of that grizzly nonsense.

A gentleman is never late; when he arrives two minutes late you can rest assured your clock is three minutes fast.

A gentleman never cooks; he merely assembles his desired ingredients near a heat source and after a period of quiet reflection, consumes the delectable results. (Whoever does the cooking is really none of his business.)

A gentleman does not need to walk; the shoes and the cane walk the gentleman.

A gentleman does not have a schedule; others have schedules to meet the demands of the gentleman. Oh, and he does not need to be notified, the gentleman already knows.

Now when it's all said and done, I wonder what happened to The True Gentleman. This is what I think happened .......

The "Benefits" of being married.

Men's Health claims that if you're susceptible to vice, you should find a wife. She'll save you from yourself and improve your life in a variety of ways. Notably, she'll........

1. Increase Your Pay
A Virginia Commonwealth University study found that married men earn 22 percent more than their similarly experienced but single colleagues. 

(Probably because your boss knows that the output in a married man’s bank account is evidently more than the input. I don’t have a PhD but let's assume that married men do make 22% more. If they spend 40% more, wouldn't they net lose 18%? Wouldn't they also work harder, and 'hang in there' at their job to earn enough in-order to pay for the extra expenses?)

2. Speed Up Your Next Promotion

Married men receive higher performance ratings and faster promotions than bachelors, a 2005 study of U.S. Navy officers reported. (Yes, because she will get you down on your knees kissing your bosses arse for a promotion.)


3. Keep You Out of Trouble
According to a recent U.S. Department of Justice report, male victims of violent crime are nearly four times more likely to be single than married.
(Due to the curfews and threats to unleash the Cheaters investigators on you if you came in late. Oh, and what about the risks of getting stabbed by the wife? Or having something hurled at your face? My husband knows a thing or two about the latter. chuckle)

4. Satisfy You in Bed
In 2006, British researchers reviewed the sexual habits of men in 38 countries and found that in every country, married men have more sex. (Ow Really? My husband would desperately beg to differ.)

5. Help You Beat Cancer
In a Norwegian study, divorced and never-married male cancer patients had 11 and 16 percent higher mortality rates, respectively, than married men.
(Reaaaally? So what does cancer have to do with marriage? Or is it about lifestyle change? They are less likely to be partying and drinking heavily or engaging in risky ‘adventures’ and more likely to have home cooked meals, stop smoking (if they smoke) and all that blah.)

6. Help You Live Longer

A UCLA study found that people in generally excellent health were 88 percent more likely to die over the 8-year study period if they were single.
(My two pence is a wife will probably drive you to your grave depending on the circumstances. My husband was single for 52 years and never had problems with his health neither did he have a single wrinkle on his face. He has gained a few Kgs since we got married, and I am keeping an eye out for the wrinkles.)

Ketchetiquette

*****Disrespectchup: (dis-ri-ˈspeke-chəp) noun. To overuse and abuse ketchup, particularly on dishes beyond fries, hash browns, burgers, and eggs. When my wife took my lovingly grilled lime pork tenderloin and added ketchup, it was a disrespectchup.*****

I choose not to write about world peace, global warming or those poor African children dying of hunger but instead write about a more interesting subject......... KETCHUP!

While aimlessly browsing the net this morning, it just came to my attention that there is a “Guide” to eating tomato ketchup correctly.
Now before you all go around embarrassing yourselves with your bottles of ketchup, you have to know that there are very strict rules that ought to be adhered to once it comes to ketchup. So here are some pointers that will come in handy while facing the tough world of Ketchetiquette (You can thank me later.)

Firstly, Tomato Ketchup is an accompaniment to food and so, by definition, is a condiment; the key to condiment etiquette is to take small portions on to your plate, and never to smear it all over a burger or a roll direct from the bottle or knife! (How dare you!)

Secondly, when entertaining, never allow the bottle of tomato ketchup anywhere near the table, no matter how ‘posh’ the manufacturer – Heinz is probably still the best and easiest to get out of the bottle!  Shake the bottle well, holding the cap, and then tip or spoon into a small pot.  For a chic barbeque or supper, serve guests with individual tiny pots (ramekins) and small spoons so they can take their own.

Thirdly, always spoon ketchup directly on to the plate (as one would with a sauce or jelly).  At a formal meal, never ask for it unless it is already on the table, and never dip anything into the bowl.  If you do find a bottle on a table at a supper party, never squirt it all over food, don’t mix it with salt and pepper and don’t eat it with your fingers!

Goodness gracious me! I never went to etiquette school to learn that I should treat ketchup with the utmost respect it deserves, but as long as I already know how not to smear it all over my fries, this ketchup etiquette guide is utterly preposterous! (but I would only apply it if I was invited for lunch at the Buckingham palace by Liz, her highness.) chuckle.

"I'm hot, you're not"

I just watched a rather traumatizing episode of Mini Miss UK and it is hands down one of the most disgusting features I have ever watched on telly. To be clear, I am very critical of parents who enroll their children in beauty pageants and would honestly want to try and understand why they do it. Seeing a bunch of girls on TV dolled up in make up, spray tans, hair extensions, false nails and £1,000 dresses is something you would expect from an episode of The Bachelor, not on girls as young as 7 battling each other to win a child beauty pageant.

Of course we’ve all heard (and read) the arguments in favour of beauty pageants; they encourage girls to be healthy, athletic, poised, charitable and accomplished. Those are laudable goals; I just think there are better ways of achieving them.

As the American phenomenon of the children’s beauty pageant hits the UK, the Mini Miss UK documentary uncovered a surreal new world where 9 year olds get fake tans and 7 year olds wear contact lenses. But I realized that every family had a different reason for wanting to take part. For some it was a glamorous world away from normal life on a council estate; for others it was a way to give a child a chance the mother never had, to deal with the baggage of their own childhoods. In their own way all the mothers were trying to do “the best” for their children.

****** One of the parents Moya, 40, a beauty therapist and single mother, lives in Glasgow with her children, Leah-Brooklyn, 14, and Madison, 9
"We're born-again Christians, and we believe God has given Madison this path," she says. "Before the pageant our church prayed for our heavenly Father to give Madison confidence, that he would make her be pretty and beautiful. We make "believe boards" of our aspirations - Madison has one that says, "I want to be bigger than Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell, and help animals."

"I made up the dance routines for Madison, and we hand-embellished her shoes with Swarovski crystals to give them a bit more bling. I spent about £1,000 on her outfit. Every day Madison cleanses, tones and moisturises, and she has a face mask applied after she's been playing and sweating. For the pageant I applied acrylic nails, she had a fake spray-tan and a hairpiece, and her toenails were painted - nothing major. Some people say having a hairpiece at nine is ridiculous, but it's not like I do her hair and make-up every day. When I'd finished with her she actually looked like Fairytopia Barbie. I've been told Madison has the face of a doll - the American look."******

In the real world I live in, girls that age should be busy playing with rag dolls and having tea parties with Barbie and Ken; not spending sleepless nights in an attempt to ‘look the best’.

At the age of seven, I was busy climbing over walls, counting my scars and was never worried about my looks or how much I weighed.

 It is very unfortunate that many parents are plain selfish and try so hard to make up for their lifetime failures through their children. My two pence is that these pageants sexualise children, damage their self-esteem and lead to possible mental illness down the track

My brief relationship with Mr.Atkins.

“Just think of all those women on the Titanic who said, 'No thank you' to desert that night. And for what?!”

― Erma Bombeck.

I reminisce about the days I'd walk into the health club for a little swim, steam and sauna. My body was the stimulus of many women’s gym expectations; they could not help but ask “How do you maintain your figure?” I just chuckled and said “I just swim and eat anything I want to eat; I guess it’s in the family.”

I tossed that line around until I got a bit “comfortable” with my life; I had never lifted weights, never knew how running on a treadmill felt like and I had never been the kind of person who believed in applying any restrictive measures to lose some inches here (looking at my waist) and some inches there (looking at my hips) until I bounced from 54Kgs to 70Kgs within a span of a few years.

The only thing that derailed me from my hard-working gym schedule and convinced me to take the easy way out was Lillian’s weight loss on the Atkins diet. She shrunk down in-front of my very eyes (♪dramatic soundtrack♫) So I went on a pursuit to join the skinny bitch club by stuffing myself with protein and staying away from anything laden with Carbs (Bread, Rice, Pasta, Cereals, Sugar even Fruit.)

I was great at it….. Never have I been so scrupulous about anything in my life like I was with my diet; I could almost feel the fat melting off my thighs, the cellulite getting ironed out of my hips and the layer of fat on my obliques getting toned down. I fantasized about shrinking several dress sizes down (rolling my eyes).

For 7 days I suffered on a protein ONLY diet complemented by mood swings, head aches, bad breath, serious cravings and constipation that made me feel like I had just given birth via the end of my digestive system (for the lack of a better synonym); I stuck to the cheese and meat aisle in the supermarket because I never wanted to be led to temptation, all in the name of shedding a few Kgs. Until I decided to weigh myself and check the fruits of my literal labour….. NOTHING! Not even a gram.

As a self-proclaimed gym fanatic, I hate acknowledging that I tried dieting and failed miserably despite the hard fact that I did EVERYTHING the bloody book told me to do .…. (Deep sigh) .…. That was the end of my relationship with the Mr. Atkins (and any other diet for a fact).