MONEY BAGS

While shopping with the Wine Merchant the other day, I came across a dress which was vital to my existence. A dress so beautiful and so unique that it could only be worn once. Convincing the Wine Merchant that this dress needed me more than I needed it, he bought it. This was followed by lunch and when the bill came, I pretended I had lost the power of sight and speech and fell off my chair. But when we went to Woolies and I asked him to pay for my monthly shopping, he was not charmed.

Wine Merchant: Baglett, where is your money?
Me: You've got it.
WM: No I don't.
Me: Well someone's got it.
WM: You've spent it haven't you?
Me: Hard to say.
WM: Do you budget at all?
Me: Do I what?
WM: I'll take that as a no.

What followed was horrendous. The Wine Merchant made me sit down and write down exactly what I had spent in the last month and on what. It was humiliating and quite shocking really.

WM: This wouldn't be so bad if you had done this years ago. Budgeting actually helps you Baglett.
Me: *Silence*
WM: Say something.
Me: Can I afford to talk?
WM: Don't be ridiculous. Let me see the list. BAGLETT! You spent R3000 on clothes!
Me: Not all in one day.
WM: And what exactly did you do at the spa that cost R2000?!
Me: Actually, I had a voucher for the spa so that doesn't count.
WM: How much was the voucher for Baglett?
Me: R250.00 BUT I got discounts because I bought products. Yaaaaa, probably shouldn't have told you that.

For the next two hours I was tortured with budget advice, excel spreadsheets and threats of switching to a cheaper hairdresser. When we had finished and I had cut down all my expenses, it made sense. Not that I would ever tell the Wine Merchant that. I took his advice to heart yesterday when I stopped to buy groceries and consciously bought refills rather than the new product. To reward myself I then went and bought a pair of shoes. Baby steps people, baby steps.

In other news:
Apologies for the sporadic posting this week people. My craptop is still having open hard drive surgery and so I'm whoring myself around Jo'burg using whatever poor sods computer I can get my hands on. Bear with me!

I WORKED WINEX

If you ever want to make me happy, take me to a convention centre filled with free wine. Winex in particular. I was beside myself with excitement on Friday night; grabbing my glass and moving from one amazing wine to the next, bumping into familiar faces along the way. My mother always taught me never to waste food, my Dad taught never to waste wine, so I don’t. Which perhaps isn’t the best idea when you’re tasting over a hundred wines. By 8 o clock, I was wafting through the convention centre, having lost all the people I came with, in search of food. The Wine Merchant found me at an olive stand dipping a loaf worth of bread into a bucket of olive oil.

WM: What are you doing?
ME: I’m starving! Where’s the food?
WM: This is a WINE festival, not a food festival Baglett.
ME: I’ve eaten every cracker this place has to offer.
WM: And now you’ve eaten all their olives and moved onto their bread stock.
ME: Well you shouldn’t pour people copious amounts of wine without giving them food.
WM: The idea is, Baglett, that you taste and then spit, you don’t have to drink everything you’re given.
WM: Shutup your face! That’s no fun at ALL! Shouldn’t you be at your stand rather than judging me for my obscene wine consumption?
WM: I need you to stand there for a few minutes while I talk to someone.
ME: Me?! Really?! Out of all these people?! I’m honoured!
WM: Well I’m desperate. And Baglett, it’s a stand, so STAND. Don’t sit there and drink the products.
ME: Can’t promise anything.

The excitement of being behind the stand as a fancy wine person rather than a lowly customer was just too much for me. I was now joining all wine experts round the world, just by standing there, I was becoming knowledgeable. I managed to convince myself that I was now a wine expert. I stood proudly at the stand, very aware of my new position, waiting for my first customer.

Me: Hi there
Customer: Evening, can I try your Chenin?

Awww MY Chenin.

Me: Of course!
Customer: Just a sip is fine. I don’t need a whole glass.
Me: I’ve got a ‘no stingy policy’ at my stand.
Customer: Well I’ve got a ‘not getting drunk policy’.

Tough crowd.

Customer: What grapes do you use?
Me: Green ones?
Customer: Riiiiiight. And barrels?
Me: Big ones.
Customer: No, what barrels are they kept in?
Me: Wooden ones.
Customer: You don’t know much about wine do you?
Me: I know I love it.
Customer: Do you even work in the industry?
Me: What do you mean!? I work the industry.

With the Wine Merchant in earshot and realising quickly I was doing him no favours, he rushed up to the stand.

WM: Hi sir, excuse Baglett, she does not in fact work for us, she was manning the stand.
Me: I was womanning the stand actually, no need for sexism.
WM: Baglett SIT!

Nothing worse than an angry Wine Merchant. Thankfully, from where I was sitting I was able to help myself to the world’s supply of crackers which helped to soak the litres of wine I had inhaled.

To sum up what I learned
- eat before tasting a gazillion wines
- try not to finish all the wine
- barrels in wine making are a very important factor in wine making, it’s not just about them being wooden apparently.

Don’t ever say I don’t teach you things.

BAD DAY FOR BAGLETT

I renamed yesterday Black Thursday. A day I hope I never have to repeat in this lifetime. Acutely aware of the deadlines I had yesterday, I double checked all the relevant documents, and some irrelevant ones just for kicks, attached the first document and hit ‘send’. I’m no IT guru, but I do know that when the screen goes black and the laptop starts making a sound similar to a cat fight, you’re in a world of sh*t.

Rushing to the nearest computer fixing shop, I fell into the shop and ran up to the counter to meet the guy I would now be spending the rest of my day with. Explaining the severity of the situation and the fact that my career depended on the laptop NOT making the cat dying sounds, he tried to revive it. While he attacked it with a screwdriver and me thinking ‘I could have done that’, I was asked to fill in a job form.

Me: What do I put under fault description?
IT Guru: Um, write ‘screwed’, your hard drive has just crashed.

I started to see spots and my knees gave in. I fell into the chair someone had given me and started to take short little gasps of air while trying not to vomit. Four IT guys whipped into action and started performing laptop emergency surgery. My laptop was pulled apart bit by byte. Pieces were removed I didn’t even know existed. It was too painful to watch and I was ushered into the waiting area and given a cup of hot sweet tea.

I was mindlessly paging through a magazine when it occurred to me that a computer shop is very similar to an emergency ward at a hospital. Lots of beeping, I’m sitting in a waiting area sobbing and the IT surgeon keeps coming up to me at regular intervals saying ‘We’re doing everything we can ma’am’. I kept getting up and trying to go around the counter to see what was happening and I keep getting removed with ‘You’re not allowed back here ma’am, I’m sorry.’

Five hours, FIVE hours later, I was given an anorexic looking flashdisk the size of my thumb which contained all the information that survived the laptop crash of 2009 and a ‘We did everything we could. I’m sorry.’ I don’t remember what time I went to bed and I’ve been up since 3am this morning trying to redo everything on the Housemate’s laptop before she leaves for work.

F*ck being an organ donor, I’m becoming a laptop donor.

SO MUCH OF THE TIRED

After a very quiet evening with The Queen consisting of DVDs and pizza, I was responsibly in bed and in la la land by 11pm with a solid seven hours sleep ahead of me. Thanks to The Wine Merchant it was more like a solid four hours.

A very drunk sounding Wine Merchant: Baglett! I’m waiting for you!
Me: It’s 3am Wine Merchant, where am I supposed to be?

I can hear the Wine Merchant mumbling to someone ‘Where’s she supposed to be?’

WM: I don’t know Baglett, I’m outside McDonalds with my friend the policeman and he says you have to come here.
Me: Sigh. I’m on my way.

I arrived at McDonalds to find two policemen standing next to their van and The Wine Merchant feeding chips to plants.
Policeman: Is that your boyfriend ma’am?
Me: No.
Policeman: He says he is.
Me: He also feeds chips to plants. Who are you going to believe?
WM: Baglett! I am, officer, she’s lying.
Me: What kind of identity parade is this? One guy? Where are my options?!
Policeman: Ma’am please take him home.
Me: Fine.

WM: I promise Baglett, I wasn’t driving. I was at a function nearby and got hungry and walked to McDonalds. Next minute two cops picked me up. (Now whispering) I think they wanted my McDonalds.
Me: Definitely. It’s a McDonalds heist. So you promise you weren’t driving?
WM: Nooooooo Baglett, you must never drink when you’re over the limit.
Me: You mean drive.
Wm: No you drive, it’s fine.
Me: Sigh. No you drunk ass, I was correcting you.
WM: Why are you so grumpy?
Me: Because it’s 4am and I have to get up in two hours.
WM: It’s Sunday, take a day off Baglett.

I let him go to sleep thinking it was Sunday. It takes the edge off the fact that I’m revoltingly tired and my eyes look and feel like a patchwork leather jacket.

IT'S ORGANS NOW

I’m nothing if not persistent. After collecting my new driver’s license card (woohoo) I was given an organ donor leaflet. Since it was so soon after my egg donor debacle, I assumed it was a sign.

Me to Wine Merchant: So I’m going be an organ donor.
WM: So it’s organs now.
Me: Yip. Say goodbye organs!
WM: What changed your mind?
Me: I sent out an email to the fam asking for their thoughts on my egg donor situation.
WM: And?
Me: My mother gave me a flat out no, The Brother said I was mentally unstable and my Dad asked me how many omelettes I was making. He doesn’t really get it.
WM: And now you’re becoming an organ donor because…
Me: Because I didn’t realise that you only have to donate them when you’re dead.
WM: What did you think they did?
Me: I don’t know. I guess I had visions of myself waking up in a bath full of ice, with a ringing phone next to me, minus a kidney with a signed receipt from the Organ Donor Foundation.
WM: Um, no. That’s not what they do.
Me: I just assumed they rocked up at your door and demanded a donation of whatever organ you had left.
WM: You know, they may not want your organs, let’s be honest, your liver isn’t looking too great.
Me: Kidneys aren’t in tip top condition either I suspect.
WM: Lungs are definitely a bit dodge.
Me: Do they take feet?
WM: Not yours.

THE PAIN

What a fun-filled weekend. An early dinner on Friday and a run on Saturday to take me to up lunch. A lunch that I will happily repeat every Saturday if the host would let me. My kind of lunch. Where beautiful couches overlook a maize of gardens, mini putt putt course and pool. Where the food is superb and the company entertaining. Where not everyone knows everyone, so before the wine kicks in, everyone is perched at the end of their chair with a slightly pained expression asking the person next to them what they do for a living, calling them ‘sweetie’ because they’ve forgotten their name already. Three hours in and a couple of bottles down, you’re sitting on their laps and inviting them home to meet your parents.

Drinking in the day is great if you go home in the evening. That’s the work of an intelligent person. A stupid person doesn’t and spends the entire evening saying ‘but it’s Saturday night’ with an expression on their face that is similar to a baby screaming. I managed to convince the Housemate to join me for post-lunch drinks which turned into tequilas which turned into jaggermeisters which turned into me not getting out of bed the whole of Sunday while the Housemate died on the couch. I can hear The Housemate from my room so while I lay in bed and she lay on the couch, I saw her once and spent the day talking to her from my bed.

Housemate: I hate you.
Me: You loved me last night.
HM: I loved everyone last night.

An hour later.

HM: Whatchadoooon?
Me: Nothing. What you doin?
HM: Nothing.

Another hour goes by.

HM: Do you want to get some food?
Me: I sent The Wine Merchant out to get McDonalds. Phone him and place an order.
HM: McDonalds doesn’t agree with me.
Me: Me neither.
HM: So why are you eating it?
Me: Because I doubt it will stay down for very long so I may as well give it a whirl.

Five minutes later I hear the Housemate putting in a call to Mr Delivery ordering enough food to feed the complex. I also hear her explaining to the guy on the end of the phone that she is severely hungover so a little speed wouldn’t go unnoticed.

HM: Want a bite?
Me: Will you bring it to me?
HM: No.
Me: Then no.

An hour later

HM: What’s the worst thing that could happen right now?
Me: That you keep talking?
HM: I keep trying to think of something to make me feel better.
Me: I’m wearing my Knysna marathon t shirt to remind me that I’ve suffered worse pain.

Two hours later

HM: Want some wine?
Me: Sure.

MY EGGS

I was chatting to a ‘friend’ of mine yesterday about her battle to fall pregnant. I say ‘friend’ because I don’t see her too often which means we barely know each other. In fact, if she hugged me, I would tell her to calm down. But she is the kinda woman I would want to be my ‘friend’. It’s just taking its time, she’s a lot older than me and thinks I’m slightly mad, but we’re working through all that. Anyhoo, she was telling me the sad tale that she would never be able to fall pregnant and was now going down the egg donor route.

‘Friend’: So I’m looking for a donor.

My hands instinctively went to my stomach and I gasped.

‘Friend’: Don’t worry Baglett, I don’t want your eggs.
Me: Shew. That was a close one. WHAT?! What do you mean you don’t want my eggs? What’s wrong with my eggs?!
‘Friend’: Well, I didn’t think you would be an option.
Me: Why not?! I have great eggs! Well, I mean, I’m sure they’re great. I haven’t seen them in person, but I saw them on a scan once and they look like great eggs. The kinda eggs you don’t mind bringing home to meet your parents.
‘Friend’: What?
Me: You know what I mean.
‘Friend’: I just don’t think I could ask someone to go through the painful procedure to become an egg donor.
Me: What’s so painful about giving over a couple of eggs?
‘Friend’: Well, you don’t lay them Baglett, it involves hormone injections.
Me: Well I’ve got loads of hormones so you wouldn’t have to inject me with any extra guys.
‘Friend’: Are you offering your eggs?
Me: I’m sorry, what?
‘Friend’: You sound like you’re offering me your eggs.
Me: Do I? You don’t want my eggs. They’re terrible eggs. Most badly behaved eggs in the business. Did I mention on the scan, they were fighting with each other? The most intolerable, undisciplined eggs I’ve ever seen.
‘Friend’: Don’t worry Baglett, I’ve already got a donor – I was just winding you up.
Me: Oh thank God.
Me: Could I be your back up?
‘Friend’: Really?!
Me: Well, your back up’s back up.
‘Friend’: Thought so.