Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Category: complaints dept (Page 1 of 19)

The Rat

I should have known the particular “Megan!” that Big Friendly shouted, early yesterday morning, before the sun was even up. I should have recognised the tone, but I was still half asleep, so I wasn’t fast enough when he shouted “close the door!” and I jumped up, too late and a thing crawled in and under the spare bedroom door.

Thus began the stand off between us, the thing, the cats and terrified dogs, that is a rat/mouse in the house. The last time it happened, Chassie had caught a mouse and it was screaming for help as he squeezed it in his jaws. It was a Saturday night and it took Big Friendly two hours to catch it after forcing Chassie to release it, then building a fort, blockages and various other obstacles. I was pretty useless. I was used as look-out and pet body guard. The tension between Big Friendly and useless me was big.

Yesterday’s drama was a bit of a repeat. Big Friendly had to create barriers, and take out most of the stuff that was moveable in the spare room. I took the terrified dogs for a long walk. When we came back the rat/mouse/thing was stuck under the small, but very heavy old cupboard in the spare room. There was no way we were going to manage this operation on our own.

Enter Facebum and our fabulous Woodstock group. I searched for pest control and was immediately reminded of Sebastian Seelig from Pest Free SA. I buy GR5¬†from him, a strong, environmentally friendly, multi-purpose household cleaner. I saw on Facebum that he also does ‘extermination’ and pests. I called him, desperate.

Sebastian came, and the first thing he asked was, “do you want …?” And we knew exactly what he meant. We said, “please do the other thing, release it somewhere.” and he said “sure.”

And between him and Big Friendly they caught the small rat/giant mouse and got it into a cardboard box, and Sebastian drove it away, and we all saw on Facebum later that he released it at Paarden Island. I don’t know if these guys are territorial. I hope we haven’t started a rodent gang war.

Some of the chat on my thread on Facebum was the best. Apparently rodents don’t like damp cotton balls covered in cinnamon or peppermint. Apparently this makes them run away. We didn’t try that, but I’ll bear it in mind.

But Big Friendly and I have spoken, and we want to save our relationship. These rodent encounters are too stressful. And we have 2 and a half cats (Jonesie the part time cat is actually probably a rodent exterminator specialist, since many a front door mat has had to be thrown away with blood and guts soaked fur or feathered dead thing mashed into it). I mean what are they there for, these cats of ours? We need to let them sing (or kill) for their supper. They eat enough Royal Canin Feline Senior Consult Stage 1 anyway.

There is a construction site down the road, that has basically been a dump since we have lived here. All the feral cats, various rodent life and any other scavenging, desperate thing are being moved out. Some are going to find their way here. And next time we are taking the dogs for a very long walk and leaving the thing to the cats. We will deal with the bloodbath after the war.

The unsubtle Art of Derailing

I don’t mind a bit of trolling or name calling here, on my blog. It goes with the territory, and it means that my words are reaching an audience who don’t just agree with everything I say and think and write. I am happy for the traction and discussion and, at times, even happy for the feeling of support when others come to my defence.

What I absolutely hate, and it is a huge thing on social media, is when people highjack a post or thread or even post comments on my blog posts that totally derail the conversation.

A case in point has been my last two posts about the fires in Knysna. Most people have shared and commented and been active in the discussion. There have been those that disagreed and who took umbrage at me ‘making it about race’. Those people have been easy to engage with, even when I have been a bit harsh.

The derailers are people who go off on a complete tangent, dragging you into an invisible part of the conversation, insist that you do, or don’t do, something, call you names and accuse you of shopping at Pick ‘n Pay. Out of the blue. And I spend time with these people. I try to explain. I get all hot under the collar and my spelling and grammar go unchecked.

The worst part of this is that I am guilty of it too. Facebum and Twitter never show my ‘audience of friends and followers’ my actual mood when I do, say and write things. I have just pissed someone off so badly they told me to ‘get a life’, because I derailed their good news parking story. I pissed them off so badly they unfriended me. I am sorry. They are right. And so am I.

So, this blog post is a moan in session of its own navel gazing bullshit. And it is also an apology to Craig Freimond.

Jealous

I have a confession to make. I suffer from jealousy. It’s one of the ugliest and least useful things to suffer from, and even though I know this, I often find it hard to shift. I am so aware of my jealousy I even think about how others may be jealous of me when things are going well for me.

I am usually only jealous about work stuff though. I am not jealous about things, or money, or cars, or diamond jewels, but I am often jealous of roles, or work opportunities, or big budgets to direct plays, or full houses of people who paid R150 a ticket. It brings out the worst in me, this jealousy. It is so pointless and frustrating and rage inducing.

And when I breathe, and look inward, I am mostly able to acknowledge all I do have, and all the amazing things I do actually do. Honestly, I have absolutely no reason to compare myself to anyone else, and it is an unnecessary evil, and I try and control the impulse. But then I see on social media that someone is doing this thing that I suddenly really want to be doing, and off I go.

This is the beginning of me dealing with my jealousy. I am hoping a confessional purge will help.

Limbless without Internet

With the law of averages it was bound to happen, and now we are in it. On Sunday morning we woke up to no internet connection and a stone dead land line. The usual jumping through hoops with Hellkom is always a challenge with on-line forms pretty unworkable, phone in fault systems utterly laborious and maze-like in their inefficiency, and of course, the usual lying reply of “they’re working on it right now and will call you in 5 minutes” a kind of standard response if you ever get to speak to a human.

I can’t believe how much of my work depends on me being online. I feel completely bereft and crippled. I am currently using my cell phone as a hotspot so I can write this, because I feel like I have broken a promise I made to myself to write every day.

And I keep remembering bits and pieces of things I needed to do, or said I would do and am not doing. Even just paying my cellphone account, or sending a press release.

I am totally useless at trying to imagine what needs to happen in order for it to be magically fixed. Big Friendly is a tech angel in my life when it comes to that, only he is feeling limbless without online access too. We are like a household that has been struck by a tech plague.

So stay with me online friends, and virtually hold my hand and un social media’ed thoughts while I sit, immobile in the real world until connectivity is restored.

White Night

I went to a thing last night at one of our theatres. This is not about the thing itself, but more about who these things are for. There were two shows going on; one in the big theatre and another in the small one, but they were white shows, and almost all of the audience was white too. The whole feeling in the space was one of whiteness. And the whole thing felt like there were a hundred white elephants in the room. Big, old, stinky, immovable, Surf white elephants filled the space and all the white people squeezed past them and said nothing.

Now of course it is funny that I am saying this. I am white. My date was white. And most of the people I spoke to (except for the people at the door, obviously, and the ushers, obviously, and the bar people, of course) were also white. The people I spoke to and connected with are fantastic, and enwhitenened, and aware and concerned. But we were all in a huge room together in Cape Town, South Africa, and the whiteness was blinding in the night.

This is not how we change things. Almost all white casts playing to almost all white audiences is not ok. And we will pay for these mistakes if we aren’t already paying. We need to change it right now.

Captured

The difference between a buzzword and a thing?

State Capture.

In the new days this means the Guptas, who, let’s face it, are bad at keeping their secrets.

Maybe it’s because they bought a TV station and newspapers to announce their stuff, all day, every day.

Not like the old days where people were really quiet, or silenced or killed, or locked up without trial,

And the newspapers were enemies and whole sentences, paragraphs, columns and pages were blacked out in blocks.

We had bigger, badder, more state capture then, it’s just that so far, none of those guys has said so.

None of them has said so.

The problem with a buzzword instead of a thing

Is that White Monopoly Capital can clear its name, by being a threatening sounding, anti white political campaign

When what it really is, is State Capture gone into business

Big Business. Secret business. Clearly not Black Business, but sometimes even slightly a little bit black, just to make sure that nobody tells, spills, pours out, Gupta style.

And we are all captured.

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