Me? Politically Correct? Yeah, I am totally PC to the point of being beyond anal.  My language skills have also taking a looping slide since I’ve given up smoking. Personally I think it was keeping me decent.

The one thing I decided when I first started this blog was that it was going to be how I chose it to be, it would morph right along with me, it’ll have moods, highs and lows, fun and ridiculous nuttiness, it will be a true reflection of me in real life, the real me.  So far I have stuck to this original plan and I don’t foresee it changing anytime soon.

I believe in very strongly that we must laugh in the face of adversity, through thick and thin we must laugh.  Sure I fall off the laughter barrel, crash boom bang, but ultimately laughter makes the “world go round”.  Some of the stuff that I may post, both have done’s and going to’s, might not be what most will call “politically correct”.  Lets put it this way, the Irish are the only ones allowed to tell an Irish joke to an Irishman.

My life has been one big joke from start till now, for those that know my history I understand you may shake your head but it really has been.  I mean it is no wonder I am the way I am considering what my hair really did look like when I was born.  You thought those photos were a joke didn’t you? Forget it, I was nicknamed “broom brush” from the age of 5 days, yip, not kidding…

“Hun can you pass me the broom I spilt a few crumbs on the floorrrrrr” … Father hands mother me hanging upside down swinging in time with the brushing movements.  No I am not posting anymore photos of this wonder.

After my father passed on (thanks dad the daisies look so pretty) our two basset hounds went missing, I was just 5 and I loved those dogs! So I start searching outside calling them frantically, running around in a flat out panic.  I remember what happened next clearly as if it were yesterday.  My mother came up to me and stood next to me.  She then turned to me and said that the one had died and the other Spiderman had stolen. I LOVED Spiderman but could not watch him again until I was 22. Yes I was that heartbroken that that barsteward would dognap my dog!

Better than that though is the fact that when I was 8 I was in hospital quite a bit.  Lying there in solitary, about to go for another brain scan thingie, this nurse walks in and says “Hey I know you, I delivered you”.  Right, now picture an 8 year olds face lying there all drugged up, all I could say was “Huh???”.  The nurse proceeded to tell me how she was the one that “caught” me when my mother was “producing” me.  She told me that, I quote, “I recognise you by the ball of putty on your face”.  It all flashed before my eyes, mother telling me how the midwife and the nurses had laughed when I was born, about how I had a ball of putty for a nose.  There I had been thinking that she had been ripping me off as always had done only to realise that she was telling the truth.  My heart broke and I lay in bed for the rest of the time holding my nose down to make it straight.  It never quite got there.

Yes I still find myself pressing my nose down while I read. I only bite my lip while I type.  Once I was concentrating so much I bit my lip till it bled.  Sadly I am not joking, it takes a lot of brain power getting some thoughts out, well for me anyway.

Then if you will remember there was me and that plug, electrocuting myself till my hair stood up for days, months, years and now decades (yes I am that old).

I don’t really talk about the time I lived in Saudi out of respect for their culture, we had a few clashes but that was personal.  I don’t really want to add to any hate/love/hate/ situation so I leave it well alone.  I loved that country and found its culture interesting.  How’s that?  Right now Saudi as you may know is very strict especially for expats, add to that the fact that we were South African meant that we got übber attention.

Expats in Saudi is already more foreign than foreign, the visa process is intense and the security checks on entering are just plain scary.  Now imagine the following.  My mother, younger brother and I all have different surnames (yip that is why I loved that Terry joke).  The passport control folks could not for the life of them work out nor understand how the three of us were related.  No matter how we explained it they just couldn’t get their heads around it.  Now add to this scenario the fact that my mother is 6 foot tall and brunette, my brother scrawny and blonde as a surfer boy on lemon juice and me, good ol’ shorty with a big bum and light brown hair…. confusion galore.  After a few times going through this whole palaver we got it down to an hour of explanation, prodding and probing.

Yers you heard right

I don’t drive because I ran over the poor traffic officer testing me during my test, I probably can’t get one in the whole of South Africa for this reason.

My second name is so embarrassing that I can’t even spell it – yes I spell it wrong all the time! (Wish I was kidding)

I have visited porn sites on clients instructions only to realise I miss spelt the web address all this after I’d adamantly told him that he gave me the wrong address, instead of the “topic” being about personality profiling it was about spanking and S&M.  The client? Oh, prim and proper, button up type.

I also get blamed for spreading insanity – my old boss started telling managers in a meeting to service each other… *shrug*

As you know this is only a fraction of it all… add this to the rest … now can you blame me for having fun in the face of adversity?

… for having a warped sense of humour?

… for laughing at everything?

… punk?

… huh?

Deal with it… I used to get shocked every time I walked through a door frame!!!

Yeah a really shocking experience