Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Category: just funny stuff (Page 1 of 16)

Confessions of a serial binger

It’s been a year since we decided, cricket and rugby notwithstanding, we were tired of spending huge chunks of money on DSTV every month and then sitting in front of the TV watching reruns of horrible British car shows, or Myth Busters from 10 years ago. We gave up the perverted addiction to Carte Blanche while we waited for the ‘premier’ Sunday night movie, only to discover it was an animation/sex comedy/something starring some Hollywood model/stunt man/comedian turned film star. And we haven’t looked back. In fact, I have watched more things on our giant monitor than ever before, and this time it has been completely my choice.

Netflix and Showmax have played their part, as well as watching whole series of other stuff. And there have been some pretty good ones. The range is exciting too, with tons of British stuff and even the occasional European thing to add to the general US TV production conveyor belt.

This weekend we binge watched two seasons of the most fabulous, Canadian, Schitt’s Creek. I had heard about it from a friend, forgotten about it, and then remembered the recommendation as we started watching. Schitt’s Creek is the brainchild of Eugene Levy and his real life son Dan Levy, who both star in it as father and son (and Eugene’s daughter is in it too) alongside Catherine O’ Hara (who I have totally adored since Beetlejuice, and then everything else she and Eugene have done – all the mockumentaries I believe in my soul I should have starred in), and the fabulous Annie Murphy, amongst others.

From the first set-up moment I started laughing at this deeply character driven comedy and I didn’t stop until the end. The episodes are really short (21 minutes) and the characters and their situations grow on you in the strangest and most delightful way. I can’t wait for more. The set-up is simple; a filthy rich, spoilt and entirely dysfunctional family lose everything and go and live (for reasons well explained) in Schitt’s Creek, a one street, hillbilly arse-end of the world town. Usually these kinds of spoilt, self obsessed indulgent and unaware characters piss me off in the first episode (with Shameless I didn’t make it through the first one), but here their charm is endearing and soon you are on their side.

There were a couple of moments that I laughed so hard I struggled to catch my breath. This is one of them. I am still laughing.


Personal ramblings, ad castings, and hair removal

Photo on 2016-02-17 at 1.59 PMThose of you who know me well have seen my body hair. I have hairy armpits, hairy (but not terribly) legs, and I haven’t shampooed my hair in at least 4 years.

At the beginning of the year I told my agent that I would be available for castings again, after a very long hiatus. I’ve been to four odd castings so far, and I have enjoyed myself immensely. You can’t take this stuff seriously, and as long as you aren’t over invested which causes a certain tight faced desperation that cameras pick up on, it can be such fun.

Request castings are cool because your agents put you forward and then the casting company asks to see you; better than a thousand hungry people waiting for days in stinky casting corridors.

So yesterday afternoon I got sent a brief for a deodorant ad. I said sure I’ll go. And then I saw that there was no story in the brief but they wanted to see interesting people (I am interesting) of a certain age that I fall smack in the middle of. Cool.

I woke up this morning panicking. A deodorant ad. What if I have to show my armpits?

I put a desperate message on the Woodstock group on Facebum. I needed a beautician before 1130am. I found one. I had my armpits waxed. You know the deal.

Fully prepared, I arrived at the casting studio.  I had stuck on a smudge of make-up and I was wearing a top that showed my underarms if I lifted my arms even a little bit.

I had a look around. Where the hell was I? It looked like every single homeless white person of a certain age had been dragged though fields of thorns, plate glass windows, cigarette factories and second hand clothes shops, and those that had not died had been dumped at the casting. Most people didn’t have teeth, let alone body hair. The guy before me, a huge, fat, red faced man, was sweating so badly his t-shirt was two distinct colours; wet khaki and dry khaki. More wet than dry.

Three of us went in together. The sweaty guy of a certain age, a young tattooed and pierced ‘hipster’ and me. We had to stand and wait, then watch someone walk past behind the camera and smile. No underarm action at all.

I got back into my car and thanked my life for aircon. Three of the ‘homeless’ people were sitting on the kerb behind my car. The man with the ZZ-top beard stood up to direct me. My armpits started itching. I looked at one underarm in the rear view mirror. Sensitive spots were appearing. Angry, red blobs. Next time I will get the damn brief. Next time.


It is confession time, and it’s not funny. I am addicted to Facebum. I can’t help myself. I detest it and cannot live without it. I make up the worst excuses about why I need it; networking you know, publicity for my work, the best way to support my causes, to express my point of view, blah blah blah. Puhleez. I am addicted. Plain and simple. I log onto Facebum at least three times a day. It is on my phone. It is on my phone!

There are people on Facebum that I only have relationships with on Facebum. Some of them are people I don’t even know, or like. There are people I have forced myself to unfollow, if not completely unfriend, and I will still obsess about them, particularly if they have posted something that outraged me. There are those I tolerate (old bigots I feel sorry for, punsters, bad spellers, and even the odd over sharer), and those I cannot (racists, sexists, supporters of the Israeli government and Donald Trump). Then there are those I judge; even for stupid stuff, like liking a Lionel Ritchie song.

I hate every youtube video of people falling downstairs, every picture of an abused or starving or bleeding or dead animal. I despise slogans on sunsets. I hate being reminded of people’s birthdays (even though I am deeply grateful for the reminders) and then having to decide whether I care enough to wish them in five words, or whether they deserve a whatsapp message or even phone call. Sies.

I despise with a passion the temporary rainbows or flags with which we are coerced into showing our support for this or that thing, or disaster or cause.

I hate the ‘intelligent’ advertising that knows I need a new frying pan, or that knows I secretly looked for holiday accommodation in Zanzibar.

I hate the FOMO and the nostalgia and the TBT’s and Humpdays and yet, there I am. Daily. (I wish. More like at least 3 times a day).

It’s a disaster. I’ll quickly update my status about it.

The Age of Outcry

imagesChapter 9

Thank you readers, for coming this far. Let me remind you. You are now on day 17 of my home rebirth deep mindfulness and being present meditation preparation experiential process.

In summary, I have, up to this point, introduced the skills and insights of being still, asking ourselves a genuine ‘how are you?’, inner listening, inner answering, pause, forming a mental picture of every word, finding the colour and form of the emotion, and doing the simple loud bang brain rewire. You are in a good place.

You have l-earned the in-breath of self control (chapter 6), the filling of the lungs of expansion and growth (chapter 7). You have l-earned the hold-breath of enlightened focus (chapter 8). You are ready.

You are ready for the out-breath of the age of outcry. The out-breath is the release. It is the expression and it is the letting go. The length of your out-breath determines your age. Of course this is not your physical age, it is your developmental age. And the outcry is the sound of your rebirth. The outcry is the tear of pain, the separation, the rebirth canal journey to your more free self. Are you ready?

So, get comfortable. Relax. Let your mind(full)eye(I) focus on the inner self. Make inner i-contact with your self. Acknowledge, silent greet, meta-physical hug. In-breath. Love is an inward expression. Self-control. Hold-breath. Enlightened focus. Now your first ever out-breath of the age of outcry. Let it go. Let it pass your vocal chords on the way out. Let go of the gender specificity of the soul sound. Release your outcry into the physical world.

The physical manifestation of the age of outcry will be tears, breathlessness, possible sore throat. You may see red, in dots or just metaphorically. This is because your molecules will be readjusting. No need for further action, just acknowledgement without judgement. Awareness without achievement oriented masculine thinking.

You have accessed the next stage in the meditation preparation experience. You have arrived at the outcry. It is the expression.

If your tears were put under a microscope now, the shape and form of the water configurations would be sharp, black and violent. They would form a physic-neural number, written in DNA. It would be calculable. It would be the age. The age of your outcry.


It is a bittersweet end to this series of tandem blog posts. I have loved these, and found them challenging. Please check out the others here. Dave Luis and Brett Anderson, thanks for all the words.




To Mrs Northwick

Principal of Bizzy Beez  pre-primary nursery school and early learning centre

Re: Saffron Burger’s report

Dear Mrs (let it be noted that we would have preferred Mz) Northwick,

Thank you for your detailed comments on Saffron’s first term report card. My wife and I were rather surprised that you, the principal, would have that much of a hands on approach, and expected to hear more from Megan and Ntombesile, Saffron’s class teachers, about her progress. They are always the ones to hold her when she screams as we leave her, and the ones that help us get her into the RV when we pick her up.

I hope you don’t mind, but I think we will tackle your points one by one.

1. “Saffron is generally bigger than her classmates, and can be boisterous and physical on the playground.” Thank you for making mention of her size to us, but please do not say this directly to her. Her psychologist has asked us to protect her self image by refraining from any discussion about her size, weight, or strength lest it manifest in another eating disorder.

2. “Instead of playing with others on the jungle gym, she lures them up and then throws them off.” My wife and I have discussed this and we are comfortable that ‘luring’ indicates a form of consent from the other 4 year olds. No problem here, we think.

3. “Saffron has not been able to make the transition to stainless steel eating utensils since she still uses her plastic knives, forks and spoons as weapons.” Thank you for bringing up Saffron’s creativity here. We are just concerned that you seem to have put a negative spin on this. We are quite proud that she has developed her motor skills enough to stab, prod, gouge and slice so effectively with mere plastic utensils.

4. “Saffron is very affectionate, a wonderful quality in any child, but she needs to learn the difference between hugging and squeezing.” Isn’t that your job? I mean, learning is what needs to happen at the school. My wife and I believe you are trying to bring up the squashed bunny episode even though it was settled out of court on condition it was never discussed again.  She is only used to Denver our Pyrenean Mountain dog when it comes to animal affection, and she can’t get her arms fully around his neck. Obviously it is different with smaller animals.

5. “Saffron’s competitive spirit turns every singalong into a screaming session.” She has spoken to us about her classmates’ passivity and how she feels compelled to get them to sing louder. Go Saffron!

6. “Alan Higgins was brought to my office in tears after witnessing the de-limbing of all the dolls in the dress up section. Saffron told him she was doing to them what she would do to him if he didn’t agree to become her boyfriend forever and ever.” Alan Higgins? We will have to have a serious chat to her about that. My wife and I do not believe he is good boyfriend material at all.

7. “Colouring in is not a favourite activity for Saffron. Unfortunately, she does not appreciate that others might enjoy it.” Old news. Did we not replace all the crayons, crayon boxes and colouring in books when the incidents happened? And, “Hand prints in blood on the curtains are not, as Saffron declared, “works of art”.” My wife and I are deeply concerned here. Whose blood? Was Saffron allowed to touch someone else’s blood while in your care?

Which brings us to your last comment. “In conclusion, it is clear that Saffron has issues with boundaries, respecting the property of others, and sharing, making it impossible for her to retain her place at Bizzy Beez.” My wife and I get the feeling that once again you are declaring your incompetence at educating the young and impressionable of this world, but we have decided to give you another chance. We have decided that, against all our natural instincts to protect our child, she should remain at Bizzy Beez to turn around your track record and help you make a success of the place. So, when we arrive tomorrow, please do not hide in the building and pretend that nobody is there. We can see Ntombesile’s weave sticking up out the window, and we can hear the loud moaning of the other children. I know you said it was them crying in fear, the last time you tried this, but at this point I am sure you will say anything.

Thank you for your time. I am comfortable that we have the boundaries in place for a healthy relationship going forward.


Andrew and Sylvia Burger

PS. It has come to our attention that you refer to us as the Buggers, and not the Burgers. I am sure this is just a silly mistake.

This post is one of a weekly tandem blog post. There are three of us this time, writing on the same topic, and today’s is Boundaries. Please check out Dave’s and Brett’s take by following their links.

PS (of my own). I have no idea why this week’s post was the difficult one for me. I started it three times, trashed my first two ideas, and struggled through my final effort. I had writer’s block, idea insecurity, laziness and lack of commitment. I like my final piece, but it was a real struggle, and I think that it is worth mentioning that. It isn’t always easy.



Tupperware Party

Hi Michelle

I am writing you this email because you never replied to my whatsapps and smses, and you don’t pick up when I phone you even though I know you can see my name and number and I know you are furious with me but how can I say sorry if you won’t let me? So I am going to say sorry in a email and maybe then you will answer your bladdy phone. Sorry Michelle ok? But I also really think that it wasn’t all my fault. I know I was supposed to help you organise it and everything but and how was I to know that it was gonna turn out like that Michelle hey? I mean when I said we could have your tupperware party at my house I didn’t know that Kevin was gonna have rugby at our house at the same time on the same day and he was gonna need the lounge because of the TV. I swear. Ok the change of houses was a big stuff up but YOU said we could move it to you and I thought that you would tell everyone and change the Facebook group Michelle!!!!!  I really don’t think it was my fault that only four people came Michelle and I swear on my and Kevins and my mothers life Michelle I did NOT tell Carol Anne to bring Melinda who we all know stole Dave from you and is a psychobitch. I can’t flippen believe she came to your house even though she said she didn’t know it was your house cos she didn’t even know where you lived!!! It’s NOT MY FAULT you didn’t see her standing behind Carol Anne when you buzzed them in I swear. And Michelle I know she is a psychobitch but it is actually true what she said about Paddington only I never told you before because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He does stink Michelle. And he is unhygienic. And his spit is on your couch Michelle but I don’t mind so much but some people don’t want to sit in dog spit Michelle. And of course I know that he used to be Dave’s dog Michelle and that he just left him with you!!!!!! But like I said she is a psychobitch. And Michelle I DID NOT tell her that it wasn’t real tupperware and actually the cheap stuff but honestly Michelle you could see that the lids were thin and didn’t fit properly and were hard to close. And it wasn’t MY IDEA to put bladdy beetroot salad in a tupperware as an example Michelle and then to pass it around and then when Melinda tipped it over and it spilled on her fake Looey Viton bag and she went hysterical I tried to catch it Michelle but it was slippery from leaking and I swear it just slid out of my hands Michelle and when Paddington jumped up it exploded on him and your flokati. I KNOW you can’t get beetroot juice out of a flokati Michelle but it is a mock flokati. I really think you were unfair to kick us out after that even though nobody remembered to bring cash even though you said on the Facebook group which YOU FORGOT TO CHANGE Michelle that we must bring cash. And of course I know you haven’t got a credit card machine Michelle I think Melinda was just trying to piss you off because like I said she is a psychobitch. And I know you saw the photos on Facebook Michelle because they tagged me even after I said they mustn’t cos I knew you would be upset and I didn’t want you to find out we went to Characters for a few drinks after you kicked us out but even though we did I SWEAR I didn’t say one single word to Melinda while we were there and I know I am standing next to her in the photos but they said from shortest to tallest and me and her are nearly the same height Michelle!!!!!!! And I know you saw us holding the tupperware shot glasses but we DID NOT STEAL THEM Michelle we honestly thought they were free samples. I am not a thief Michelle I am your best friend and I can’t believe you are gonna let a tupperware party be the end of our friendship. I thought we were better friends than that Michelle because you even said I was your BFF and now look and plus we were still friends when you said I could wear your purple dress to Laurens thing and its this weekend. Sorry Michelle. Please whatsapp me when you read this and please read it before its the weekend so I can come fetch the purple dress ok? xxxx


This is the final tandem post of our series. Please check out these other fab writers who also wrote about Tupperware Party.










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