Clearly my friends’ actions are in stark contrast to mine. The reason for this, I think, is that I simply don’t give a fuck about Big Brother or who is tracking my whereabouts. He’s doing it anyway whether I like it or not and quite frankly, if he finds me that interesting, yay for him. True I’m selective about the information I post, but that is simply because I would hate prospective and current clients to see me drunk and debauched, and because of a simple thing called vanity. Vanity and the privacy of those I love. I once made the mistake of blogging about how angry I was at hubby after we fought, and regretted it the moment I clicked publish.

Each to his own, and this is by no means a judgment on how my friends choose to live their lives. If they can manage to stay out of Big Brother’s way while living in this modern world, 10 points to them. But this is a comment on all those who say that Twitter is bullshit or Facebook is a waste of time. Unless you try something, actively engage with it and interrogate it, you cannot and should not pass judgment. This applies to religion, politics, sexual preferences, culture, hobbies, life in general. If we all refused to engage with new developments, technologies, inventions, platforms and view points, we would all still be stuck driving horse drawn carriages or worse, eating raw meat and searching for bulbs.

For the record, SCREW BIG BROTHER.

1. How the bleep did ten 10 years pass you by so quickly?

2. What the bleep have you done with your life in 10 years?

10 years is a long time. In fact it’s a little over a third of my life. When I was in high school I watched 5 years of 10 year reunion groups cross the lawn of Rhenish High and with each progressive year all I could think of was where would I be in 10? These women looked so old – except for those who made an obvious effort to look fantastic for their reunion – and they all seemed to feign delight at seeing one another first checking the name tag to avoid embarrassment.

I hated school, and I particularly hated high school. If I was Minister of Education I would ban single sex schools for good. Being a non-group-thinking individual, the girls’ school culture and I did not gel making for a rather unsatisfactory experience all round. Needless to say reunions of any kind is not something I have eagerly awaited and, because quite frankly I don’t give a damn about what 98% of my fellow alumni mates are up to, I fail to see the point of attending.

As far as I can see you go for three reasons:

1. Because you genuinely want to see some of the people you spent five years of your life with but failed to keep in touch with.
2. Because you want to show off how fabulous your job/husband/children/life is.
3. You want to check that you’re not a complete and total f-up and that the extra 7kg’s you picked up is acceptable at your age.

In Std.6, after almost a year of taking her crap I once turned on my heel and bitched slapped the frizzy red head for making yet another unnecessary remark for her own gratification.* Let it be known I don’t condone violence, but heaven knows in this instance it shut her up for good.

Today I got slapped. I made a tactless remark on Twitter about how I deleted my invitation, not realising that the person organising the reunion follows me. (I must be the only person on Twitter who doesn’t track who follows them simply because I don’t give a dollar.) The reality is, that she is one of the genuine people who attends for reason number one and who has spent an enormous amount of effort organising the soiree. I take my hat off to her and I apologise for my inappropriate comment.

The truth remains that none of the reasons above appeal to me. I would be faking my way through the whole party pretending to know who people are. I would would want to spit in the faces of those who made my life hell, and I would lap up the kudos for what I have managed to achieve in 10 years despite thinking it’s not good enough. For all of these reasons it would be wrong to attend.

I hope she understands.

I know my posts have been few and far between, but that’s only because I’ve had nothing to say. Life’s been busy and I’ve been Macless. My online rain dance is therefore a feisty bitch session that I really pray will work.

• I’m f-off tired of winter. Sun-kissed cocktails on Camps Bay beach is what I long for.
  
• I’m over the recession.
• People who don’t use their indicators should be shot. They are not Christmas lights!
  
• Brandon being in Europe for a month sucks.
• Keep your politics to yourself. All of it. And no, I don’t follow your whole life story just like I don’t read everyone’s blogs. Filter filter filter.
  
• I’m tired of people jumping to conclusions. Research, ask and then form and/or express an opinion.
• I’m annoyed that C&R are moving to JHB – good friends are hard to come by.
• The thing I would most like to say, but can’t: You’re hard work, now piss off. No amount of arse kissing is going to make it better.
  
• The fact that my family are spread all over the world and that I hardly ever get to see them, sucks. A ‘beam me up Scottie portal’ would be ideal.
• I don’t care who your grand daddy is or that you are a whipper-snapper club owner, pay me my damn money. K*k of betaal is die wet van Transvaal.
• Your inability to plan does not constitute my emergency.
• To the guy at &Union who bumped the waiter with your fat arm and then reprimanded him for standing to close (note, while trying to serve your beer), I hope you are alone and miserable for the rest of your life.

Wow, who knew I had all that in me. Let the rains begin.

I have always relied on my gut feel to guide me when making decisions and to date I’ve mostly got it right. I have in fact always prided myself on the fact that I am a good judge of character, but based on recent events I may have to rethink this somewhat (or at least go for a tune-up).

I  have an ex-client (who I fired in December) who has not only skipped the country, but has the audacity to send me an email – on her way to some tropical island nogal – to say that I can go to her flat and pick up two pieces furniture she has kept to once side for me.

Furniture! Can you f*cking handle it! Does furniture pay the overheads? Does furniture make up for the crap you put me and my team through? For the amount of times you sat in front of me spinning your web of lies which, as gullible as I clearly am, I lapped up because I felt sorry for you? I hope you bloody drown in which ever tropical ocean you land up in. (Okay, maybe that’s a bit harsh. I’ll soften it to painful sunstroke topped with incurable insomnia and lice instead).

It just goes to show though, when you are as gatvol and tired as I was by the end of 2008, don’t make any big decisions – take a loooong holiday instead or at least piss off to a tropical island before you get screwed.

And never trust anyone – especially yourself.

Rule of thumb: If you don’t know me i.e. we have never met, spoken or engaged in any way shape or form, don’t friend me on Facebook!

Or anywhere else for that matter. I don’t give a shit that we have 40 friends in common and if it’s zero, even worse! How desperate are you for attention if you send a friend request to a stranger? Unless I can sit around a table, cup of hot chocolate in hand and have a decent conversation with you, I’m not interested.

While I’m at it, don’t send me random application, group or event invites. And for Pete’s sake, don’t send me hotness ratings.

Unless you can add value to my textured some what manic, crazy, happy life I’m afraid the ignore button will be your friend.

Pff.