Good Morning my lovely followers (all 8 of you!)

I have started a new lifestyle blog together with my sister, and I will no longer be posting from this blog.

We will be reviewing everything from the places, products, getaways and things that we encounter!

We’re quite close and do a considerable amount of things together, though we don’t always agree!  Be prepared for some double-sided reviews and allow yourself to make up your own mind.

We live in Joburg, but are prone to random trips both in and out of the country – Our reviews will reflect our personal differences, lives and everything in between; Different ages, life-stages and writing different pages… But hey, it’s all relative 🙂

Please pay us a visit at www.itsallrelativesa.wordpress.com

If you enjoy what you read I would appreciate a follow, and maybe a share with some like minded readers?

I have fairly straight hair, but somehow once it hit my neck it has this weird kink that continues every few centimeters.

This works in my favour if I style my hair at a short bob length, as the kink just makes my hair naturally flick out. Unfortunately this look only lasts for about 3 weeks after a haircut, as my hair grows at around 4cm a month.

At the moment I’m growing my hair however, and its currently about 20 cm down my back. So it looks like a mess when I do nothing to style it.

Being a very busy working mom, who is incredibly lazy to groom, my hair mostly ends up in a ponytail, or left loose looking very un-groomed, and certainly unprofessional for work situations.

So after reading the 102nd Facebook post (yes, I’m exaggerating – but there are a lot of posts) asking about whether the permanent hair straightening as Salon Lisa worked, I made my mind up about 2 things:

  • I wanted to straighten my hair
  • I would share my experiences with others

I made an appointment at the Fordsburg Mint road branch for 9am. The Chinese man a spoke to said they have a special of R1000 no matter the hair length – which was a plus! I was also told it would take 4 – 6 hours.

On arrival, I realised that an appointment doesn’t mean very much, as they take walk-ins and work on a first come first served basis.  I was also told that the R1000 was for a treatment that he doesn’t recommend, as it dries out your hair and results in breakage. Uhm… ok, so why even do it? Apparently just to get feet in the door to sell them the more expensive treatment. What this resulted in was many customers needing to run home to get more money than they carried in their person. A few people even just took the R1000 treatment despite the stylist’s warnings against it. I would never take a chance though, and I ended up paying R2200 for the Salon Lisa signature straightening treatment, a hydrating treatment, along with a take home olive shampoo and conditioner.

There was a lady already busy with her treatment, and she had very VERY curly hair. She said she was half Black half Indian heritage. I was very curious if they could get her locks to be pin straight.

I eventually started at 9:30 with the actual straightening. I was asked whether I had any previous residual colouring or highlights in my hair, as they use different products for coloured hair. Mine was just natural. Apparently the treatment works best for undyed hair, and the end result is also better, as the hair is not so dry. I heard that this can be remedied by regularly apply oil to keep the hair supple.

I have to mention that I was surprised at the number of scarf, and even parda wearing woman who came through for straightening. Maybe I’m just so lax in my grooming that I can’t imagine doing this just to have it open in my own home.

The treatment itself started off with some very awful smelling cream brushed painstakingly through each hair from root to tip, followed by some time under a special revolving dryer (I was very impressed that they had the dryer at each workstation, as due to the cost most salons only have 1 or 2 such dryers and patrons have to keep moving seats). After a wash, they applied another product. Unfortunately the Chinese stylist either really didn’t understand me, or played dumb when I asked him what he was doing at each stage. Back to the dryer, and following another wash, my hair was straightened with a hair iron.

At this stage the curly haired lady next to me had to undergo a second round of the straightening treatment, as the first left her hair with a lot of residual curl. It was good to note she didn’t need to pay extra for this.

Following the straightening I endured yet another product followed by a wash (by now my scalp was a bit sore from all the pulling). Finally they added the additional hydrating treatment I had paid for, and finger blow dryed my hair. The final result was pin straight. The total treatment time was 4.5 hours. I was happy with the result, but the real test would be whether I really could just wash my hair and leave it to dry looking that good.

The curly haired lady was undergoing her hair ironing as I left, and I was shocked to see it perfectly straight. The length had also practically doubled, as the curls were now ironed out. She had hair to her bum! I have to say I was impressed that they managed to tame that mane.

My hair smelled of the icky product for the next day, and was significantly drier at the tips, often tangling. At the first wash on day 2, I could smell the product washing out. The olive shampoo and conditioner smelt really nice, and left my hair softer. I combed the conditioner through with a fine toothed comb, and a significant amount more hair fell out than I would usually loose during a shower, I also found shorter hairs, which must mean breakage.

As a part of the test, I literally left my hair wet, and off I went for some shopping in Sandton City. The result was amazing, it dried perfectly straight. You would swear I had ironed it that morning. It did however tangle a few times during the day due to the dryness.

I bought some silicone gum to use on my tips, as well as some Sh’zen hot oil treatment. Both really helped to improve the condition of my hair.

Its now 2 weeks later, and I am happy with my decision, I love being able to just wash and go! I am however happy that my hair grows very fast, as I can foresee that I will need to trim more often to maintain the condition of my hair. I’m also hoping that as my hair is straight, the re-growth won’t look too different from my treated hair.  Only time will tell.

I’m only posting this now, but it was written over 2 years ago, before I even had Bilaal.

I thought I had no free time then; now I have a baby who still wakes multiple times a night and an even more demanding job!

Looking back, I didn’t have a clue what being truly busy was.

Life is really all about perspective.


Another one of these dreaded events! Women parading around dressed to the nines, gossiping about whose baby shower gift is more expensive, whose tea time treat is fancier, and just how much did Sooraya’s genuine Louis Vuitton bag cost anyway? Surely it must be a fake?

I slip in, purposely 30 minutes late in order to endure the minimum amount of scrutiny. I discreetly put the store bought cake at the back of the tea table. Manners have taught me never to arrive empty handed, but time, and lack of culinary skill dictate that I will never arrive with something home-made. My gift is fairly impersonal – a gift card purchased from the Woolies at the Engine garage round the corner.

Time to cook has become something of a luxury with me.  After work is either gym, a work function, followed by meeting my husband (and sometimes a group of regular friends who are all also professionals) at a restaurant for supper, or picking up a home cooked meal purchased from one of the many aunties selling food from home. Once home I can’t manage much more than reheating food and vegging out in front of the tv, watching a series that’s been downloaded over our adsl line during the course of the day.

Being a working woman with a fairly demanding job, the little free time I do have is precious. Most Saturdays are spent running around doing the things housewives manage to fit into the week – grocery shopping, personal grooming, and obligatory phones calls and visits to family members. Never being at home in the week also dictates that Saturdays turn into DIY days, or are spent baby-sitting the various stream of handymen.

And this is why spending my Saturday afternoon at a baby shower is such a big issue. Especially when its for a long lost family member who decided to invite everyone they ever met once to a their shower, just to cash in on the gifts.

My dearest Bilaal baby. I am writing this to you in the hope that when you’re older you will understand how much your mum loves you, and just what she went through to try to do the best she can for you.

For the first 4 months of my pregnancy I had morning (read – all day) sickness every day. It was difficult because I worked full time, and I had to keep running to the bathroom to throw up in a cup, and dunk it in the loo only to throw up again. I actually lost 5kgs in my first 4 months. Thanks J

The rest of my pregnancy was fairly easy, except that I was the size of a house, and waddled everywhere.

I worked right until the day before you were born, which in itself is a story to tell:

Everyone in our family gave birth around 37 to 38 weeks. So I was really looking forward to your arrival. But you just never came. I was huge and sore and couldn’t sleep.  Everyone in our family really wanted to meet you. We were very excited! The gynea said I have calcification of my placenta, so you had to come soon or I would need a c – section! I kept making dua for you to come, so I could have a normal birth and give you the benefits. Finally we booked a c-section for Friday the 26th. You would be almost 40 weeks by then. On Wednesday the 24th at 3am I woke up in labour. I was so happy that I would have a chance to have you naturally. We went to the hospital, but there was bad news. The clinic sister said you were nowhere near engaging (head coming down into the birth canal). This was confirmed by the doctor, and an emergency c-section was done. It’s a good thing too, because when they took you out of my tummy your umbilical cord was twice around your neck and very thin. You may not have survived a natural birth. I got to experience contractions and the pain of a c-section.

Alhamdulillah Allah knows best, because on the 25th of April at 10:30 in the morning a tiny scrunched up alien head called Bilaal was born.

I was very worried that since I had a c-section I wouldn’t have my milk come in on time to feed you. I made sure I fed you the first moment you were able to. But alas it didn’t exactly work. I continued to try to feed you, but you would nurse for 2 hours at a time, sleep for an hour only to wake to nurse again. I was going crazy because I never slept for more than 45 minutes the whole first 2 months of your life. You were also very tiny, and didn’t pick up weight according to the growth chart. You were born a healthy 3.1kgs, but you just dropped and stayed low up until you were 4 months. In the end I expressed milk into bottles and fed you, just to ensure you were feeding enough. Sure enough the milk I expressed was insufficient, and we had to give you formula as well. Expressing is not an easy task, and I had to express for 20 minutes every 3 hours, so the lack of sleep continued to haunt me. A least with a bottle your daddy could help to feed you while I slept a bit.

When you were 14 weeks I gave up altogether, and fed you formula. However a new complication arose, in that you developed bad eczema and were diagnosed as being allergic to cows milk. You also had reflux, and were put on chronic medication which we had to give you every morning and evening. We had to buy a super expensive specialised extensively hydrolysed formula. You didn’t sleep well as your tummy and throat were constantly upset. You would wake every 2 – 3 hours in pain. Sometimes you would even wake as much as every hour.

Added to all this, we discovered that your elbow was fractured at birth, and when you were 13 days old you were admitted to hospital to run all sorts of xrays and tests. Shukr there was no infection found, and we were discharged 3 days later. But it was horrible. I cried when you were poked and prodded with needles. You left with a cast on your tiny arm, and had to live in it for the next 3 weeks while your arm healed. We visited the doctor many times in this period to check on the progress, and in the end your elbow healed. The only time I stopped worrying about your elbow was when you started crawling at 7 months, and carried your full weight on the arm with no issues J. You’re my superstar.

I was spinning. I had dreams of a peaceful 6 months off during maternity leave bonding with my baby, and it turned out to be the most challenging 6 months of my life. Your lovely smile, your little hands coming to feel my face, and your drooling wet kisses were what got me through it.

As a young girl my family and I lived with my dads parents for a few months in between moving house. The nightly routine was fairly predictable and went something like this: We would return home from religious school at 5:30 to find my gran engrossed in The Days of Our Lives. This was immediately followed by The Bold and the Beautiful. By now my dad and granddad will have arrived back from work, and we would sit down to a family supper around the table followed by an evening of everyone watching tv. While we did talk to each other during supper, the conversations were pretty superficial. We were all pretty used to this though, as its how we lived our lives.

One winter night, oh horror of horrors, the electricity went out mid tv series. What would we do with our evening now? So we hauled out the single gas heater, and all huddled around the flames.

And then something magical happened. We talked, we shared, we laughed together. My dad and granddad who spent most moments in each others company debating (read fighting) about who was more successful just kept quiet, and let it be for an evening. I loved it so much I even stayed up past my own self inflicted curfew of 9pm. Finally at 11:30 the power came back on, and everyone headed for bed. After that night I couldn’t help wishing that the lights would go out again soon. But they never did…

Durban was the holiday destination of my childhood. As much as I went to other places, Durban was the one sure bet; seeing us visit year after year, staying in my parents time-share at the Durban Spa.

Most of my younger memories are surely embellished, drawn in by piecing together photographs of our trips, and of the scenery and facilities. My first really memory is my parents allowing my younger sister and I to go down to the amusement park located across the road from our hotel, alone, at night. We must have been 10 and 8 respectively.  The first thought that comes to mind here is how on earth could any parents of sane mind allow this?! Girls! Alone!? But here is the first glimpse into what once was.

The amusement park was colorful and shiny, full of families happily enjoying their candy floss and masala pineapples on a stick. The lights were bigger and better, and the rides seemed to be the scariest thing on earth to a responsible 10 year old who was looking after her little sister.

We went on the break dancer, and the shells. I remember my sister’s alice-band falling off due to the speed of the ride, and I caught it with my foot, which hardly reached the front of the adult ride yet (even at 10 I was already quite tall at 1.5m). The rest of the ride was so terrifying trying to keep the hair accessory intact that I remember the terror I felt to this day. It’s really true that you remember emotions more than facts.

Being in the Durban Spa, we looked on in envy at those who stayed next door in the more prestigious Holiday Inn, comparing their buffet breakfasts to our home made cereal and tea, and longing for the overpriced candy from the in-house Sweets from Heaven located in the Holiday Inn lobby.

I remember the Durban beachfront being the most exciting place in the world. My ideal was to be able to live in one of the flats, rollerblade on the boardwalk, and learn to surf with all the buff white kids. I often thought that if I lived in Durban I would be fat anymore.

 The sea itself was the best ever (and I’m comparing to Mauritius, Thailand and the Canary Islands). The temperature was just right, and even though the water was not clear, the waves provided the best playground. The sand was golden yellow, and soft to the touch. Umhlanga in comparison was quiet, and the beach sand was made up more of shell pieces than soft sand. The surf was too rocky and rough to really enjoy it.  I am a fairly strong swimmer and I remember almost drowning in an undercurrent while playing in the waves outside Cabana Beach in Umhlanga.

Durban Spa had a shopping centre called the Wheel directly behind it. And it contained a movie theatre, supermarket, and the Hub, which was a bargain hunters paradise. I always left there with the most ridiculous porcelain pieces that would be displayed in my room for a few months, only to be re-gifted to teachers at the end of the year. You could even ride in the wheel itself, which was a big wheel located on the outside of the building. It was fun!

So when I was planning a 9 day breakaway this year, I planned it with these memories in mind. I ignored my parents offer of using their free time-share, and booked into the more expensive Holiday Inn instead.  I ignored my families and in-laws plea that Umhlanga was now the place to be, and that since the Tsunami the Durban sea had now changed.  There were stories of crime; I was warned not to take any money or valuables with me while walking outside the hotel, and never ever to risk walking at night.

We eventually arrived in Durban bearing both the good memories and bad feedback in mind.

The one thing I learnt is that as a child everything looks bigger and better. So even though the amusement park is still in operation, it no longer held the allure of days gone by. Most of the rides are operated with just a few patrons, and gone are the days of waiting in queues to get a chance.

The Holiday Inn itself is only a Garden Court, which probably has the same beds and furniture from its 90’s heydays. But it was clean and the breakfast spread was amazing. The staff were also very helpful and obviously took pride in their jobs. It wasn’t however any better to stay in than the Durban Spa, with its beds doubling as makeshift stools in the kitchen table 6 sleeper. During rainy periods I actually wished we were at the Durban spa so we could make use of the heated indoor pool.  A look out the window confirmed the Wheel was now fully converted into a China Mall, which was a real disappointment.

I was now obviously too old to use the public baby pools outside the hotel, but even so I’m not sure I would want my child to play in the water.  The pools were filled to the brim with children, many of whom were wearing regular nappies in the water, with no swimwear and often openly peeing in the pool. The moms often sat fully clothed in the pools next to their playing kids. I will commend the municipality though, as they cleaned the pools religiously every night, leaving it litter free the following day. At night the water sparked, and made the slides into the pool look welcoming.

My husband and I heeded the precautions around not carrying valuables, and often left the room with a credit card and just enough to cash for the purchases we planned to make. As such we had no trouble, and even ventured out at night to the eateries farther down the beachfront. It was a comfort the Joe Cools still existed, and continued to draw a crowd. The other staples had closed down and were replaced by new restaurants. The owners of the Milky Lane seemed to tire of paying royalties and have converted it into their own brand. They still stock the original menu, but the quality of the food certainly has dropped.  The Steers is still around, albeit looking a bit worse for wear, and sporting sticky tables with shaky legs.

The Sunday flea market had always been a draw card in Durban, so we set out looking for the behemoth I remembered, only to discover it had been moved, and replaced with people selling overpriced China Mall items. At least I got my flavoured snow ice. We then headed for a more authentic flea market called The Stables. This was a lovely old school stable that had been converted into mini shops. I would recommend a visit if you’re around on a Sunday. There are stalls with old books; vintage clothing and retro nick knacks.

Since I love the beach, we were on a hunt for the best spot. The beach directly outside our hotel was no longer earmarked for swimming, which was slightly disappointing, but there were 2 swimming beaches in walking distance. Both were directly next to the piers, which meant all garbage from the shore and ocean just swirled around you as you swam, and the shore held a dark black coating of what looked like oil. This left me feeling a bit gross. Was the object floating past me a packet or a sanitary pad?

So we drove to Ushaka, where I had heard the beach was better. And it really was. Although not strictly a swimming beach, as it was frequented by surfers (by the way, don’t black people surf?) the waves were much more enjoyable and the beach itself was cleaner and safer.

After 4 days in Durban to headed north to Ballito and Salt Rock. The hotel brochure showed an almost deserted beach with golden sand and crushing blue waves. They were right. The only thing the brochure didn’t mention was the sand was made entirely of broken shells, and made movement a painful exercise. Once we reached the beach itself, it was so rough I was scared to even venture past the first meter. The lifeguard on duty confirmed that swimming was nearly impossible. So much for that… We gazed out into infinite beauty that we were unable to enjoy.

We then ventured out to Umhlanga. I was completely ready to defend my choice of destination to my husband, by proving that the beach there was as horrible as I had imagined. But what we discovered was that after first 10 meters of waves, the surf gave way to the softest sand I have ever felt, and in the swimming beach the rocks had been removed. The beach itself also felt safer, and I didn’t find myself having to look back to reassure myself that our towels were still where we left them. We both agree that this was the best beach option.

Overall my heart breaks at the crime level that has driven people away from the Golden Mile. The more people relocate their holidays to Umhlanga, the more deteriorated the beachfront gets. The old ladies who sell their wares of African crafts, jewellery and pop pops (mini fire crackers that pop as they hit the ground) now have less people to frequent their stalls, and the Rickshaw drivers have decreased in number. Even the eateries seems a bit desolate without the crowds to buoy their sales. All that is left of the Golden Mile is a glimpse into the old world glamour of what once was.

The rise and fall of the beauty box in SA

It’s not even 12 months ago that the first beauty box was launched in SA, and already many of the initial startups have folded.

The concept was simple: receive 5 free trial beauty samples monthly, beautifully packaged in a re-usable box, and couriered to your door.

Being the “I must try everything” type, I naturally subscribed to the most famous box at the time.

GlamBox was amazing, and it felt like I had received a present every month when the courier came by. Although at R100 per month, this was likely to be steep for the average South African. In some months the free samples did not add up to R100 worth of value, but oh the packaging made up for it!

GlamBox allowed subscribers to enter their personal beauty tastes and profile into their database, thereby allowing them to tailor make the boxes for you. This sounded amazing, because it meant all the samples would be usable. Unfortunately they never really kept to their end of the deal.  I received tanning lotion, that was of zero use (I’m Indian – I don’t want to tan!), numerous anti aging creams, which being in my 20’s is hardly my biggest beauty dilemma to solve, and many brands of nail polish, which being Muslim is also useless, however they do make good plastic ware markers. Anyone in my family will tell you that if you want to make sure your dishes make their way back you need to mark them all uniquely, and what better way than bright green nail polish under the lid?

That being said, I still loved the idea of the boxes, and I added in a subscription to the more expensive boxes and Glossy box and Ruby box. I had so many samples lying around my house I drove my poor husband insane by forcing to squeeze out the last bits from the tiny packages.

July was the first indication that all was not good in the beauty box world. Many brands started advertising specials on Groupon, hoping to get rid of last month’s stock, or selling out of boxes on a month to month basis, which is really not the ideal business model. My favorite company, GlamBox, just never sent out a box at all that month, promising subscribers that august would be a bumper special Women’s day box.  What arrived finally at the end of august was far from spectacular – a beat up box sans the regular glamourised packaging. The contents were far from superior, and included no name brand items, which really defeats the purpose of trying out samples to entice people to spend money on the full sized item. Shortly thereafter GlamBox announced they were closing down, with all subscriptions to be moved over to Ruby box.

While I admire that they did not simply close down and walk away with people’s money, the transition to Ruby box was not without flaws. Both my points and subscription did not carry over as promised, and I ended up not receiving a single box since November. I also had to email numerous times for my points to be moved over. While the team at Ruby box obliged, this should never have happened to begin with. The quality of the packaging has also deteriorated, and I am now paying more for an item that comes in a throwaway box. I was on the hunt for a new beauty box company to subscribe to.

In the meantime though, it has come to my attention that Glossy box has also closed its doors. This rings alarm bells that the whole 12 month subscription should no longer be an option, as none of the companies have lasted 12 months.

Oh well, back to the old fashioned way of relying on others opinions before buying full size products…

10pm a night, on the one day Johannesburg experiences snow. Our house is covered in darkness. We’ve run out of electricity, again!

With so many avenues to buy the prepaid tokens, you would think this process would be quite easily rectified, given the technology that surrounds us.

Our usual stop would be the Pick and Pay (who is often offline – actually leading to our current predicament) , but alas we don’t live in Cape Town, where such amenities are open at 10pm. Ok, so there must be an online purchasing option?

Earlier in the week a colleague mentioned FNB offered this service. So out comes the Galaxy Tab, browsing to the FNB online banking website.

The first snag… I usually browse using my wifi, but wifi doesn’t function without electricity. Eventually after a restart, I  move over to 3g usage.

The second snag… How on earth do I log on, considering my password is a hackers nightmare, full of %&_*@ symbols. Eventually, 15 minutes later, freezing my butt off with no heater on one of the coldest nights of the year, I manage to log in via the onscreen keypad.

The next snag… Alas even once logged in, the F%*k&%$ (my symbols do come in handy) tablet doesn’t display anything but a welcome page for FNB, this doesn’t allow me to go into the actual useful banking portion. I always knew the standard browser was crap.

Idea! Use another browser. So half an hour, and frozen finger tapping later, Dolphin browser produces… much of the same unusable website.

But wait, FNB has created a banking app. So I can just download the app and then viola, access to my money.  I first try to download the app via my blackberry. However the app is over 5MB, and the ingenious designer of my phone allowed the onboard storage capacity to be 20MB. Once you add up BBM, BB protect and online MS Office there’s no space to add the app. My other BB does actually have space, but Vodacom doesn’t provide signal to my block, that sits in the middle of Johannesburg. So there goes that plan too. I guess I will have to force myself to use the tablet. App arrives, and asks me to approve it via guess what? My online banking… There goes the app idea.

Now I’m just clutching for straws.  The café down the road (provided they are open) sells recharge vouchers in small denominations. But they only take cash, so I would have to draw some money first. Also you then need to use this voucher to sms a number which provides you with your token half an hour later. I need sleep, I’m cold. And actually now that I think about it, with no electricity I can’t get my car out of the gate because I still haven’t gotten around to installing the battery backup. Yes, I could open it manually, but my hands would freeze even further in this cold.

Cellphone banking, maybe that’s a way out. I attempt logging in via my blackberry, but it asks for a password. Here there’s no one to blame but me, I have forgotten the password I used to register originally over a year ago.  But wait, in providing the error, it also gives me an over the air (ota) number to dial if I’m a business banker (I’m not – but I dial it anyway) what more could I have to lose right? Miraculously it works! I order my prepaid voucher. It took an hour, but the lights were back, and I could sleep snuggly with my electric blanket.

Work was slightly chilled yesterday. It was the first day in months that I could actually spend some time thinking about what I really want in the long term. And that always brings me back to journalism, and finally writing the novel I have been threatening to write since the age of 9. The premise for the book itself has always been autobiographical (because yes, my world revolves around me).

The one thing that’s always been hampering me though; is that no single person actually knows everything about me, and many people would be dumbstruck to read the facts. It’s too personal, too raw. So rather than continue with this halting stop start of a novel, I am moving on.

Along with that decision comes a certain maturity. While my autobiography is mine and mine alone, I have decided to share my blog with the world, rather than continue to keep it anonymous. The topics in my blog are fairly safe, and while future entries may be slightly more risqué and judging, I have always been one to speak my mind, and if I tread on a few toes along the way, I’m ok with that.

So you should be seeing significantly more blogs popping up, and maybe, just maybe, now that I have let go of the autobiography, I can move on to writing a book I’m proud of publishing under my own name. There are already a million ideas floating around my mind.

Now you will know from my previous blog that I am challenged in the parking department.

A friend of mine returned from New York recently (4 months ago to be fair).  I stayed at her apartment in the big apple for a few days last year, where she refused to let me pay for anything the whole trip.

So as you can imagine, I do need to get together with her, and the fact that’s its been 4 months is just pathetic!

After cancelling on a few of her attempts to meet up (I really did have valid reasons), I decided that this time, I would have to make the extra effort. So when she invited me to dinner at the local steakhouse I realised I had to go. BUT, as you know my car sits parked and unused in the neighbours’ back yard because I can’t seem to park it every night. I called another friend in the group, and asked him to pick me up from home. Now this friend is the type that never says no without a valid reason. So when he said it was a bit out of his way to come through, I was left scratching my head. Just my luck… I wouldn’t be able to get a lift from anyone!

I just had to suck it up and use my car. But how would I park it back in the yard? Leaving it outside was just not an option in my neighbourhood. It was almost certain to be stolen my the next morning. So I got smart, and called my armed response company, got them to meet me at my gate, because I was scared of entering alone. 

I literally got a security guard to direct me to park. Can you imagine the lengths one has to go to to make up for being spatially challenged!!

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Finding the joy in my life experiences

Be careful what you wish for...

A young couple, after experiencing many trials and tribulations trying to conceive, decide on a path of adoption. Their decision later forces them to question everything they believe in when their marriage is put to the ultimate test.

You've gotta have Gumption....

Ramblings of an irate Cornish woman

Shai's Kitch

My experiments in the Kitchen


Pseudonymous Princess

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