This lady, Celeste, sometimes has the funniest things – ‘reluctant mom’ is definitely worth following! And this Veet Hair Removal for men is damn hilarious!

Joanne Chemaly is probably one of the funniest people alive.  I really need this girl to get her own show.

Earlier this week she sent me an email with the “Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml review.”

Holy Crapiolla.

I thought I was going to laugh, but I ended up snorting and guffawing, which is far better than polite laughter.

It is one of those classics which is really too funny not to share.

Reading through it adds a bit of warmth and a eventually a wet spot to your underwear that only a really good TESA adult sanitary towel can help with.

Funny man – like stupid funny.  If you haven’t read this, enjoy, enjoy — and buy a tube of Veet for your man!


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Someone’s feeling fabulousss!

Another day, another job interview… but on the plus size (mm … Freudian slip) … I finally got to the Hairdresser! Yay for me, and be gone all ye nasty, grey hairs that have been standing up like fine, frizzy feelers on my head for the past 7 months. (Yes, really … “my name is Ros Scott and my last visit to the hairstylist was 7 months and 2 days ago.)

Honestly, I was starting to look like one those silvery, hairy worms that one occasionally finds break-dancing across the lawn on a balmy summer’s day, after she had casually consumed a couple of prized purple ‘Big Daddy’ petunias. All pale, fat and bloated – with plenty of rolls around the midriff, and silvery, hairy wisps sticking out the body at odd angles. (Also funny how, with these caterpillars, you can’t usually tell their front end from their arse end? Too many orifices, I think?)

Anyway, the lovely Ashly cut off enough cranium-cover to fill a decent-sized Mr Price Home scatter cushion. We went through 2 batches of the tint. I have yet to meet a hairdresser who can accurately guesstimate the correct quantity that will be needed to get decent coverage, even though I remind and warn them timeously. And, of course I did not insist on a full blow out – after all, we wanted to be home before dark.

But, I’m feeling fabuloussss!! A good kilo lighter and all hoppity-skippity.

Maybe this little visit to the salon should have been scheduled for before yet another job interview I endured today. At least the aunty got to the point by telling me upfront this was a comm only position, and was I still interested? As usual, meeting went smashingly – but really have my doubts as to when I shall actually start earning a penny. Economy in this area so depressed – I could be working for no pay/ niks/ zilch/ gratis till my next hairdresser’s appointment in 7 months’ time!?!?

On the plus side, at least I didn’t puke in the car or get locked in the boardroom again. Oh, and I have really got good wear out of my pair of grey Woollies slacks that I purchased just for these auspicious occasions!!

Cake pops, balls and sticks – a baker’s guide to writing fine literature.

This is exactly why not everyone who thinks they can write, should actually put pen to paper.. or tappet to key. How Cousin Sandy’s innocent request for a decent cake pop recipe went from innocently trying to convey precious baking hints to a definite nomination in the literary stakes for one of the worst-written, yet strangely raunchy, hilarious and botanically stimulating, sentences in the past few centuries.

(Sorry, Sandy, that you may be privy to this twak twice…)

Cake Pops (for those of you that are kitchen virgins, these are literally little balls of cake crumbs and icing which have been rolled in someone’s sweaty palms, and then stuck on sticks. They are then decorated to within an inch of their lives, so as to appear posher and more delightful than what they actually are – the proverbial ‘Skaap in lamb’s wol.’ (Def. according to the Lekker Lingo Dictionary-Boek – RE Scott)

Mmm … I have a couple of recipes, but I cannot confidently say they are tried and tested? A couple of things – as crazy as it sounds, cake must not be too fresh – must be a day or 2 old – to crumble nicely. Can use a fork to crumble, or lightly crush with your fingers. Also, butter icing must be nice and stiff, else it won’t stay on stick. It may help if you refrigerate balls as you are working through stages.  This helps them to keep their shape better.

Then, bigger balls do not always mean better … (this sage advice applicable in many spheres [wha-haha] of life?) if too big, weight will drag them down stick. Nobody like saggy balls, let’s be honest. Also sometimes help to coat the point of the stick in butter icing, or even the glaze (whoa, Tonto – here it really starts getting all 50 shades of grey at Tiffany’s on your ass). Helps crumb mix to stick to your stick? Use firm sticks, not floppy, paper ones, if you want to achieve pleasurable results. Oh, and a block of polystyrene helps a lot when you are busy – so you can stick pops in there. And keep your glaze icing which you will dip pops into, covered – so it doesn’t get all crusty. And always resist any urges to lick the sticks.

As far as recipe goes – mostly all of them say a batch of sponge (so use one of your faithful recipes / or box cake?) and then normal old butter icing… and then mix tog. ‘til you have a lekker ‘clay-lat’ consistency. (ie: if you hurl a ball of the mix against someone’s flabby upper thigh, it must sink into cellulite, sting, bounce back off and leave a nice bruise. Then you have to squeeze and shape ball onto your stick.

And for the piece de resistance in the Mills & Boons genre … “Baking is a dirty sport, Mr Shitz-Fatprick!” Lady Lucy N. Perky declared, with a titillating tingle in her voice, while casting her haunting, hazel eyes toward the leafy shadows dancing seductively beneath the Bush-willy trees; and fanning her lace-bedecked, heaving bosom with her granny’s green fig leaf fan.

I must apologise ….

Seems that I have inadvertantly deleted a few previous posts. Don’t ask me where they are, or how they went. But I am still trying to figure out how this damn wordpress actually presses! I seem to either land up with 3 copies of the same post, or 1 post that looks like a link, but takes you nowhere, or further into the deep and dark crevices of cyberspace. Actually irritates me so – as there is not a damn I am retyping the diatribe that spewed forth from my mind. Plus – it is never as funny, or as revolutionary, or as profound, or as insightful the second and third time round. so pooh to wordpress!

Booze and Brain-Pain

Oh, headache, blocked nose, squinting eyes. And many Ibupain Fortes later.

Last night, I did a bad thing! I perused the menu at a Jani’s (a new little eating spot in J-Bay) and went straight for the Slanghoek Chardonnay – at 14% alcohol content and cheapest on the list – before I even had a thought about what I would be eating. And I ordered the whole bottle. (I always feel that I am getting more booze for my buck than I would with the p/glass option.)

It also didn’t help that this was the first outing to a civilised eatery in a really long while. Budgetary constraints have limited the luxury of eating out for us. Now a culinary treat for us includes an extra slice of plastic cheese and 4 sachets of ketchup. Also, there is usually no breakable crockery involved. But here I was, with my better half and 2 minions, out on the town, sans my slippers and warm-up suit, drinking plonk out of a real glass!

Waitress: “How many glasses would you like for the wine?”

S: “Just one.”

Waitress: (With raised eyebrow) “Oh, I see.”

Now, previously, this action would be all in a day’s work for me. In fact, the buzz in my brain would only start up after 2 bottles.  But I have been resisting Satan’s gargling juice for a good few months now. And, all of a sudden, I am now a cheap date – had to carefully manoeuvre down the restaurant stairs, bag of rib bones in one hand, head in the other.

Got home and decided not to take any chances. Took all my crazy pills and one or two other tried and trusted ‘remedies’, sprayed my cushion full of lavender spray that was that.

2am: Wake up with a bit of a sour burp taste in my mouth. Find some Rennie’s in the cupboard. Munch about 4. Wee. Decide to take a couple of headache tabs. Rather safe than sorry. Fanus (cat) comes for a sip of water. He ONLY drinks straight from the tap. While he is lapping, I notice 2 of those horrid little red ticks on his ear. Grab him in a rugby ball grip, find tweezers (make mental note never to use this pair for anything related to my face) and after about 10 attempts, manage to get the buggers off. Although cat now has bald patch on his ear and I have not seen him since.

5am: Wake up with well-developed headache, and urgent wee. Nostrils seriously blocked – white wine has always had this effect on me. More tabs, although I know this will help jack.

10.24am: My sister and twins (who reside 80km’s away) bounce into room, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I try to look like I have been awake for a while. Maximum noise pollution now occurring throughout the entire household. Twins consuming sugar per spoonful directly from the bowl and slathering their hands in my moisturiser (They are boys).

Breakfast, washing, dogs, delivery of trailers, pink lipstick, a stint of paddle-skiing (I kid you not! But luckily I was just present to observe), wet dogs, dog pooh in the bakkie, dud lunch, a game of UNO (which I managed to worm out of), sour losers, more Top Gear repeats, sewing buttons onto school shirts – again, glaring afternoon sun, tumble-drying, shopping lists, sorting through Christmas decorations and a couple more headache tablets.

I have to pretend I am so OK. There would be no mercy for my brain pain, as it was caused by my own actions.

stunning stuff



Four short days in N W Scotland is all Margaret would agree to. I didn’t press the issue, as the recent weather meant I hadn’t been particularly looking forward to our short break. I normally have maps printed and list of things to do prior to most holidays. This time I’d done a few half-hearted web searches and we’d agreed a vague plan of Torridon for a few days followed by a[n expensive] night in an Airstream caravan at Badrallach. A four hour drive included a quick pitstop at The Scottish Deli in Dunkeld for some posh takeaway lunch. We stopped just outside Contin to devour said lunch and arrived at Torridon mid afternoon.

The turn off at Kinlochewe almost immediately presented us with a stunning view of Beinn Eighe. Further on, Liathach came into view and I got all excited. We pitched up in curiously midge-free conditions at the…

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Leading me into temptation…

OK – I confess. It was me. It was I who tore the cellophane off the box of ‘Medley of Nuts’ with my chompers. It was I who ripped the red packaging apart, while the drool was coursing down my chin, to get to the contents. All this, even though this type of treat would not be my first choice if I was spending money in the sweet aisle at the supermarket.

But over the last 2 days, my lust for the chocolate-coated nuts grew and grew, until I could control myself no longer. I blame S for this. It was he who purchased the box o’ nuts and nonchalantly left it in the fruit bowl (how ironic) yesterday morning. You see, J is off to East London over the weekend to plaly U13 rugby, and the nuts were supposed to be a gift for the family lucky enough to be hosting my son. Well, that bit of forward planning backfired.

Funny how I am never turned on by the bananas, naartjies and other ‘healthy’ stuff that can be found in the fruit bowl. But put a sealed, red box of chocolates in there, in my plain site, from morning ’til nigh … and suffer the consequences. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

I would like to add that it was not as though I had been denied chocolate, or sugar, for a few hours. In fact, I spent the better part of today in the kitchen (while intermittently staring and glaring at the red box) making and icing a chocolate cake?

It was all about the ‘forbidden fruits’ that I do not normally have to deal with on a daily basis. Am deciding whether I should breakdown and admit my weakness to S as he returns home. Or should I quietly replace the box tomorrow, since, being a man, he might not notice straight away?


How does this work?

I sat like a tool writing a post and then when I tried to post the damn thing, it told me it was an invalid request. And now I can’t find any of the stuff I wrote. Oh, and to add insult to injury, when a tried to go back, it told me I was in area 404, and that I was never there? WTF!>?!>@W# Hope this is not some virus that I have just downloaded onto the laptop. Man, will I be ever so popular.

In any event, I was spewing diatribe about how I miss my boy, once he has left for the school boarding house, after a weekend at home. Sometimes the parting occurs on a Sunday evening, sometimes at sparrow’s fart on a Monday morning. How the house is suddenly quiet, the cats come out of the hiding and I can lay off the homework nag. Oh, and I again, am officially the second tallest in the house.

There whiff of teenage hormones and stinky slops is less, the pantry has been raided and the peanut butter level is dangerously low. There is no bickering, barking and howling. Pets are not manhandled, and the cats can roam freely once again, without the fear of being used as a live hotwater bottle.

The laundry has been done, folded and packed, the tomato sauce stains ‘treated’ – this weekend I sewed on a record 6 buttons (of which none matched – but what can you expect on a Sunday at 3pm?) Tests have been signed, lectures have been given on various points, including acceptable social behaviour and the advantages of brushing teeth regularly.

Aaah, and I can relax on the homework scene, as this offically becomes his baby till we meet again. Mothers of the future: all I can say is, ‘Teach your minions to Google at your earliest convenience.’ Wikipedia will become your best friend. In my day, you hand-wrote your ‘reports’ in a ‘theme book’ purchased from CNA. You went to the public library and made photostats from real books – encyclopedias. You took the written word in these doorstops of paper as the absolute truth (even though the last published date read 1969 in the front blurb-thingy.) You stencilled all your headings in pencil crayons with those plastic letter stencil thingies. You also got away with Conclusions that read, “I hoped you enjoyed reading this theme as much as I enjoyed doing it.” And this beaut earned me an A, I kid you not! These days, your offspring will be expected to deliver Powerpoint presentations; they will need to produce computer-generated ‘brochures’ and will most probably end up e-mailing assignments directly to the teachers. No books covered in pretty present paper and tacky plastic.

Anyway, I actually admit that I miss my ‘Seun’. But now to the present – ‘What’s for supper?’ It is somehow always up to me, even though I am the one that is prone to putting almost anything in my mouth. Aargh. I will say one thing – this meal, will not be cake. Have gone through a mound of cupcakes, a spicy apple ring and a milktart. Even I have had enough … for this weekend.