Alma - OUTSOURCED COMMUNICATIONS

The Durban July – not for the faint hearted.

I felt very privileged to be invited to attend the Durban July at Greyville this past weekend. To a box, nogal! Having never been to the races I had no idea what to expect so here is a virgin race goers account of a day at the races…..

The theme of the day was “A blooming day at the races” so that kinda meant that sticking a flower in your hair and wearing a florally dress qualified you as being dressed appropriately. Okay, that is what I thought. How wrong was I! Yes, there were some very elegantly dressed folk and there were some eye catching outfits that were a tad over the top but still tasteful. Then there were some scary apparitions! How any mother/husband/boyfriend/friend could allow some of those ladies out of the house, never mind into the unsuspecting public, I have no idea. I cringed with embarrassment for some of them….

Anyway – no one in our box was dressed like a freak so I will not allow that to dampen my overview of the experience.

On to the horses. I like horses. What is not to like about a horse? I prefer them at a distance though. Let me just explain that I was thrown off a horse when I was a youngster. The horse I was riding on was spooked by a foreboding looking wheelbarrow that emerged from a side road. The key problem was that one of my brothers was also riding the horse with me at the time. I suffered not only the pain and indignity of landing on my arse but also having my youngest brother falling on top of me!

So, how did I relate to the horses at Greyville? Exceptionally well, thank you. I could view them from my perch high above the crowds and marvel as to their beauty and power (and the pretty colours worn by the jockeys).

I soon realised that, in order to get the most out of the day, I would have to go against every moral fibre I have and place a bet or two. Knowing nothing about horses or the dark world of gambling, I had to rely on everyone else’s opinions. The “race card” that I was handed looked more like a miniature Yellow Pages and was just as dull to read so I gave up on the idea of making any decisions based on that. I placed a few bob on a horse or two to “run a place” (I liked that idea – leaves the possibility of winning something wide open) but alas – all my expert advise led to naught and I lost all the boodle. No money flowing into my grubby paws from the helpful young tote dude.

What was flowing in abundance though was booze. When I left and had to pass through the marauding masses to walk the +-12 kilometres to where the car was parked, there was hardly a sober person in sight. Young and old, black and white, freaks and gentry – all totally trashed! I can understand though. The adrenaline rush when the horses pass the finishing line x 12 races + the amount of one’s life savings lost on donkeys ÷ by the number of frightening outfits = a darn good excuse to get wasted. Phew, I hope they all crawled home safely.

One downside was witnessing a huge brawl which I later learnt resulted in 2 people being stabbed. Hubby was delayed in picking up the Alien because he had to dodge the flying fists and cop vans in order to get out of the place. Yes, Chicken Man was there but he was not in the box with me. He had to slum it amongst the plebs as he was tasked with entertaining clients. Okay, so he was in the Sharks tent rubbing shoulders with rugby legends and being plied with food and Flasher girls. He too was a Durban July virgin and declared the whole experience an absolute pleasure even though there was not a Black Label in sight and he had to drink some other headache inducing beer.

So, thank you Lauren and Rob for facilitating my blooming great day at the races. I may have lost a few bucks but I have gained some wonderful memories spent with great friends. Now if I could just get some of those awful outfits out of my head…..

An open letter to the creators of the teenage female aliens.

Before anyone gets all huffy with me – let me say that I love and adore my daughter with all my heart. She is the most important part of my life and that is why I can say what I say without any guilt or fear of a call from Child Protection Services.

If you do not have a teenage daughter – this could alarm you. I feel obliged to warn you in advance. Sensitive readers should turn away now.

Teenage girls are scary, believe you me! However, it is not their fault. It is because they are not really human…

At some point (round about when boobs start to appear and zits mean that bank balances are drained by cleaning and beauty products) sweet, innocent young girls are abducted and taken away from us! It’s true! Can you imagine the horror? Of course, all hell generally breaks loose and parents the world over want their daughters back.

So the abductors kindly give us a substitute. There is a note attached to their ever expanding chests saying:

We thank you for the use of your darling child for ongoing research into the human species. We hope that this replacement will suffice in the mean time. Your real daughter will be returned to you after a process called Puberty

The aliens sure got a lot wrong with the programming of these replacements. Some of the standard default settings need urgent adjusting.

So, to the folk who create these replacements – here are a few tips for future models

To: Whomever it may concern
Address: Some or other far away and seriously peculiar planet somewhere.
Subject: Suggestions, defects and upgrade requirements for current teenage models.

Humans generally maintain a particular mood for periods longer than 5 minutes.

Parents do not suddenly become idiots and ignorant morons. They probably were from day 1 but unfortunately on our planet they still have to be listened to and obeyed by their offspring.

There is a clear difference between a bedroom and the rubbish bin.

By its very definition, a bedroom requires the use of a bed to sleep in. A bed is not just a depository for every item of clothing the replacement has been begrudgingly supplied with. (Your planet must be quite backward. Us humans nailed the use of cupboards vs the floor and beds many years ago)

You got the cleanliness part right. They will spend hours in the bath. So why do they choose to wear dirty inappropriate clothes? Yes, maybe placing clothes in a washing basket is a tall order but could you install something called self respect into your next generation upgrade? It would be great to not have to send them back to change 5 times before they look decent enough to leave the house.

Their hearing is clearly defective. Repeating the same command over and over again should not be necessary. Once you have fixed this manufacturing fault, please could you do a recall of existing models to rectify?

Is it a necessity that they be plugged into some form of electronic device 24/7? Surely you can make their battery life longer so that they can step away from cellphones, TVs and computers for longer periods?

There are pitch and volume issues as well. When speaking to parents they tend to mumble and slur and yet when there is a human male within 10 meters or a picture of some vampire- wannabe boys in a magazine, their voices become high pitched and inappropriately loud. I’ll let you off the hook regarding the strange words and language that they use as this seems to be a universal phenomenon. Male teenagers are just as difficult to understand.

Please change the default facial pose from pouting to smiling. This could alleviate a lot of aggravation.

You are welcome to take my model back for a few days if this will assist you in making these changes.

I look forward to your speedy response and getting my own daughter back in due course. I really do miss her and besides, all the wine I have to drink to calm my nerves at the end of the day is making me put on weight.

Yours Sincerely

Mother to a teenaged alien.

Now everyone is a soccer expert

The World Cup has been amazing for South Africa. The camaraderie between everyone is so inspiring.

Jumping into my car and going anywhere these days is much more fun when one sees all the flags flying from homes and car windows. I have the obligatory SA flag flying on one window and the German flag flying on the other with South Africa mirror socks attached to my side mirrors. It’s no wonder that all the tourists to our beautiful country are raving about the friendliness and “ubuntu” of South Africans.

There is something that has been fascinating me since the World Cup started though. Just how many people have suddenly become football experts overnight!

Sure, get behind a team a two and show your support by wearing their jerseys, colours, facepaint, flags, wigs…but does that support really transcend into knowledge? I have to stop myself from laughing when I hear people, who clearly never watched a soccer match before the WC, start sprouting their opinions and analysing the players, the teams and the referee.

Don’t get me wrong. I think it is marvellous that the so-called “beautiful game” suddenly has so many experts but what happened to all those people who never supported soccer in the past? Have they gone into hibernation? Left the country? Or are they too embarrassed to admit that watching 90 minutes of blokes running around a field kicking a ball backwards and forwards bores them to tears?

Okay – so I will admit it!

I have never watched the full 90 minutes of a soccer game. When I make a serious attempt to do so I still think that the game is over at 80 minutes (I watch rugby, you see) Those extra 10 minutes are just superfluous in my opinion.

What is with these blokes falling down all the time? Grimacing and clutching parts of their anatomy in complete agony when I swear no-one touched them. Acting skills must be a prerequisite for being a soccer star.

And off-sides? I haven’t a clue what the rules are but surely the players know? So why is the whistle constantly being blown for off-sides? Stay on your on-side, dudes!

It is a very loving game, I must admit. All that kissing and hugging that goes on….very sweet.

So, shoot me down in flames for being honest. I have made a momentous effort to watch the games where the result interests me but I still cannot profess to know what on earth is going on in the beautiful game. I love seeing photos on Facebook of friends attending the games. That is Ayoba enough for me.

I’ll stick to watching the highlights packages and the post match analysis on Super Sport which is always entertaining.

The drone of the vuvuzela’s + 8:30pm kick off time = #1 sleeping tablet.

Wrinklies Are Doing IT Too.

I had to smile when reading an article by Laura Spencer (see my Outsourced Communications page) where she writes about senior citizens getting active on blogs, Facebook etc. My 72 year old father Paul Chalupsky may have just learnt how to switch a computer on, but he has joined Facebook! I nearly fell off my chair when he made some reference to my blog the other day. I did not think he knew what a blog was let alone how to find my one.

Sure, he responds to about 1 in 20 e-mails that he receives (if you are lucky) because it takes him an hour to write a 1 line response but who cares? He is trying. He is getting involved. He has taken on the challenge.

My Dad is no stranger to challenges. He immigrated to Australia at the age of 65 as his wife wanted to be near her family. Moving to the other side of the world to a strange country at any age is a scary prospect. I can just imagine what it must have been like at 65, leaving ones comfort zone, all ones friends and of course, the majority of ones family.

Obviously when his wife Betty died, life became very lonely for him. During his visit to South Africa last December I encouraged him to sign up on an over 55’s dating site. Sure, I had to do all the writing and uploading of pictures but he was extremely enthusiastic about the idea. He had more faith in the idea of online dating than I did…

Well, to cut the possible Mills and Boon future novel short, he met the most wonderful lady. She has given him a renewed zest for life and will hopefully be the catalyst to inspire him where all his children and grandchildren have failed – by making him return to South Africa to enjoy his twilight years surrounded by friends, family and loved ones, both old and new.

So Dad, if you are reading this blog, I am proud of you. You have always been a hero to me but your embracing of modern technology has been the cherry on the top.

Do Good Things

I recently read a quote from a friend’s Facebook wall which ties in beautifully to what I wish to share with you today.
The quote reads:

Remember that people will judge you by your actions, not your intentions. You may have a heart of gold – but so does a hard-boiled egg.”

How true is that? What I find so inspiring is the number of people that one meets that are doing good things. Doing things that we often do not give a moments thought to, but which effects so many lives.

Top of mind is organisations like TAFTA (The Association for the Aged). Unless one investigates what they do or require their services when you have an aged relative – you don’t give them a second thought. I have needed their services and they ensured that a potentially traumatic and difficult experience turned into a smooth and pleasurable process (I know what you are thinking… No, it was not for me. How rude!)

I met with Jenny Thompson who works for a WESSA organisation called Stop the Spread. I was fascinated by the facts that she shared with me regarding alien invasive species. Global warming; water wise; threats to biodiversity; the future of our planet – all catch phrases that we hear so often and yet we are unknowingly promulgating the problem in our own back gardens.

I got a book from Jenny called “Invasive Alien Plants in KZN.” I immediately did a reccie around my garden and was astounded to find at least 5 invasive plants. I can hear you thinking – so what? It is just a few plants in your garden, who cares? How is that going to affect the world? But that is just the point. If everyone does their little bit and eradicates these nasties from their little patch of land, together we can ultimately make a difference. (Think how effective mass strike action is in SA!)

I had a giggle when I saw the Syringa tree had a Category 3 invasive status. Some of you may recall that my Syringa decided to get up close and personal with me and came knocking on my door during a storm last year. Although the tree was cut down to a stump – you cannot believe how quickly it started to grow again. Yikes, it is actually quite creepy seeing the speed in which it grows. No wonder they have the title “invaders”

If any of you wish to borrow this extremely well illustrated book from me and see what is lurking in your garden – you are more than welcome to.

Let’s not end up with egg on our faces because we have ignored our hearts of gold and failed to turn good intentions into real action.

When things go Pear Shaped

Ever noticed how things seem to go pear-shaped at the same time? The pool has sprung a leak, the wooden fence at the back of house looks like it is about to fall over (methinks it’s something to do with the neighbour attaching a chicken coop to it but that is a whole other story) and to top it all off, someone must have put their grubby hands through our gate and stolen the battery (brand new one I might add) out of the gate motor! Bastards!

To exacerbate my bad mood, I have called 2 companies and I am still waiting for someone to pitch up. What’s with that? Everyone moans that business is so bad and yet when you offer them some business (no matter how begrudgingly) they could not be bothered.

Oh, least I forget, Chicken Man (my hubby) informed me last night that the loo that he and the Alien (my teenage daughter) use seems to have also sprung a leak. He did try and appease me somewhat by asking me if the putty I used to try and fix the pool would work on the loo. If so – he would show me where the leak is so that I can fix it. What a gentleman! Who said chivalry was dead? I suppose I am solely to blame for that though. I have a tendency to just “get on with it” when there is a need for handyman skills around the house so Chicken Man doesn’t have to know the difference between a screwdriver and a hammer. Remind me to thank those early Women’s Libbers, will you.

What my dear husband has also graciously shared with me this week is his cold. Let me rephrase that. He had flu/pneumonia/bronchitis/all of the former. I have a cold. Hubby got to take a week off work (no, the company he works for did not go into instant liquidation) but when you ARE the company, the work, she must still be done.
Did I mention that I have also just started my monthly female curse?

Okay, enough already. Tirade over. You know what? I am starting to feel a bit better. Has my ranting to you helped me get over my seriously bad mood ever so slightly? I truly do think so. I knew that writing nonsense every now and again would reap some reward some day. Thank you!

Now – if one of you could please send someone to fix the gate motor, rid me of my cold, fix the fence, pool and loo – I promise they will be welcomed with open arms and a broad smile. I’ll even share the really good bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I have in the fridge….

INTRODUCING THE AMA GLUG-GLUG WINE CLUB

I know you all want to know exactly what this “exclusive” club, to which I have belonged to for over 8 years, is all about. I have received e-mails and sms messages begging to hear more. So here goes.

Drumroll please…

It is tricky to introduce such a diverse group of characters. As we all have school going children, I thought I would compare each member to a person within a school. Rather apt as a school is a small community within a community, like the wine club, and school is also an experience that we will never forget no matter how old we get. Even if the wine club ever disbanded – the memories (and 1,762 932 photos) will stay with all of us forever.

In no particular order and relating to their character within wine club only:

Les – The Headmistress
Always takes on the leadership role. Not scared to kick our arses to get things done to her exacting standards. Don’t mess with Les, or else!

Jax – the Class Mother and Head of the Parents Advisory Committee.
She may have 2 sons but Jax would mother a stray cockroach. If anyone has a boo-boo or needs to be cheered up – Mamma Jax is always willing and able.

Jules – the Class Clown
You can hear her infectious laugher down every corridor. She sees the funny side of any situation so you just can’t help yourself but start laughing with her about almost anything.

Carol – the School Rebel
Carol is on the look-out for any opportunity to bend or break the rules. Why? Because it’s fun, that’s why! She does not need a reason, does she?

Vix – the Student Councillor
The pragmatic, sensible voice of reason. A spade is a spade, so do not even think of calling it a shovel. She is always a willing and empathetic listener but don’t expect her to sugar-coat the truth.

Lynette – The PR Officer
Always immaculately turned out, she flits from one social gathering to the next, ensuring that everyone she meets feels like a super-star after 5 minutes in her company

Me – the Teachers Pet
No – it ain’t because I am so incredibly likeable – it’s just because I do what I am told! I’m too scared of getting into trouble with this dynamic group of party animals!

Now let me re-iterate. These descriptions are based on behaviour within wine club only. (Sorry, writing a disclaimer clause sounds like hard work, so forget it) Between us we have 13 children ranging from 2 years old to 19 years old with me being the exception, having only 1 child. There is one laat- lammetjie who still has to turn 40, otherwise we have all reached that milestone and celebrated each others 40th birthdays together.

We are all married and should all be eternally grateful that our long suffering husbands just shake their heads now when wine club comes along each month. I personally think that they are jealous but, hey, no-one is stopping them from forming some kind of club or other – as long as they are available to babysit on wine club nights.

Of late, we are obligated to get dressed up based on some or other theme which is decided by drawing seriously silly options out of a hat at the beginning of the year. I am sure that some of those theme options are revenge for the inevitable hangover and lack of productivity that some of us suffer the day after wine club.

A different member hosts the wine club meeting each month and they are responsible for cooking and presenting the food and decorating their home in accordance with the pre-determined, ludicrous theme. Each person has to dress according to the theme and bring along a bottle of wine.

Oh, I almost forgot… the wine.

At the first meeting I attended, there was a John Platter wine guide, a notebook with comments on all the wines that had been tasted and a special wine opener that did the rounds with each meeting. Not quite sure why, but now the smoothness, bouquet, aroma, vintage and even colour of the wine is unimportant! We sommer just drink!!

Clearly it is no longer the quality of the wine that keeps us coming back each month – it is the quality of the friendship.

I say “CHEERS!” and may you all find a circle of friends, no matter how miscellaneous or random, and enjoy the pleasure of laughing, sharing and “whining” together.

When Hubby goes on Holiday

If any of you work from home – you will know that one becomes accustomed to the peace and independence, the freedom to do things in your own time and in your own way.

My hubby (aka The Chicken Man) had not taken leave for over a year. You know how people like him are? They feel that the company, with a R 9 billion annual revenue, will come to a grinding halt if they are not at work for a day or two. Admirable, I do agree, but somewhat frustrating when you can see the man you love turning into a wound-up wreck due to excessive and relentless stress and pressure.

So when Chicken Man agreed that he would take 3 whole uninterrupted weeks of leave I was elated. Finally he could unwind and return to his normal happy-go-lucky self. There was only one problem. People who work in a corporate environment have this notion in their heads that people who work from home don’t ACTUALLY do any work. They feel that unless you jump into your car every day and fight the traffic to get to the office by 8H00 – you can’t possibly be contributing to the GDP of the country.

Oi vey, every 5 minutes; “What are you doing?”; “Hey, just come and watch this on TV”; “Why don’t you come and swim with me?”; “Let’s go have a drink somewhere”; “You don’t mind if so-and so comes around do you?” and my all time favourite chirp (whilst I am engrossed in a project) “ARE YOU WORKING????” Aaaggghh.

No sweetie – I am sitting at my computer on this glorious sunny day, cursing at the screen because the internet is particularly slow, my back is aching thanks to my crap chair, and the beads of sweat are running down my face because I have a deadline on this job…and you want to know if I am working???

No sweetie darling, this is what I do for pleasure! Real work can only be done by people who drive to offices, right? I haven’t ventured into my car so of course I am not working. Sure honey bun, let’s go and have a drink shall we? Because that involves getting into a car and leaving the home – would it be fair to say that going for a drink with you is work??

Now I just have to figure out who I can bill for “drinks with hubby” and Chicken Man and I can eagerly look forward to his next couple of weeks leave. It is such a pity his company can’t cope without him though and leave will not be possible for another year or so…How very sad.

Let’s not be Boilers

Sorry – getting a bit serious today. I would like to share an article with you. I heard this story a long time ago and was reminded of it reading The Star archives online. It really makes one think. We all learn to deal with “the bad” if it creeps up on us over time or if we witness something over and over again. We become desensitised.

We need to be aware of the boiling pots in our lives and in the community around us and be reactive before it is too late. This applies to even the smallest, most unimportant things in life – not just serious issues as mentioned in the article. Go with your Gut.

(Article shortened)
They say if you take a pot of warm water and drop a frog into it, the frog will without hesitation jump out.

But if you put the frog in the pot of water and then gradually increase the heat, the frog will eventually boil in the water and die but won’t jump out.

The crux of the matter is that if exposed to initial severe pain or shock, there is an immediate reaction to avoid it, but if the exposure is gradual, and persists over a period of time, the end result is death.

Often, we wonder why people who are abused over a period of time don’t simply “jump out”. The reason is simple: slowly, as their self-esteem becomes more and more eroded, they come to accept and almost to feel that they deserve the abuse.

I suspect it is for this reason that our internal alarm siren should be triggered the minute we are confronted with the wrong things in life, such as negativity, abuse, evil, etc. If we don’t sound our alarm the first time we witness these and make an attempt to avoid the situation that triggered it, we might be confronted with the same situation over and over until we eventually get used to it and come to accept it.

Taking action should still come from a place of truth and with the intention to make better and not worse.

An equally important challenge is to examine our own lives to see if there aren’t a few areas where we are being “boiled” like the frog. Areas where we have abdicated the responsibility to “jump” and sound the alarm.

Always Give Thanks

No, I am not going to get all religious on you (although I do believe in thanking the Big Man for all the things we sometimes take for granted; health, happiness, friends, family…)

I am talking about expressing appreciation to the folk who are “pioneers” in showing their support by being the first person on my Facebook Page and the first person to be a follower on my blog.

Round of applause goes to Carol (first follower) and Les (first fan)
Of course they just both happen to be members of the Glug Glug Wine Club so a bottle of “Live-a-Little” ravishing red seemed an appropriate gift for them, don’t you think?