I'm an embarrassment to myself. And proud of it.

I had a post all thought out and ready to be spilled onto the internets when I got back from picking up the hubs at the airport this morning.

And then the internet died.

Yes, the already spotty and slow connection that unfortunately shadows the brilliance that otherwise is my hermit existence (Ja and ag man, leaving the house is just such a hassle most times, what with needing to lace up the Converse and everything. Ja), just up and died. Completely. No heartbeat. No fog in the mirror.

I came apart at the seams and pulled at my hair, and threatened the hubby with divorce unless he wiggled his nose, banged with his hammer, clicked his heels, smote with his magical viking axe (Ha ha. Insert a very, very dirty joke here.), or whatever it is he does whenever I have one of my meltdowns, otherwise known as airing out my inner 6 year old, and made the internet come back to life. Right at that instant.

And then I made lunch. Because all of a sudden compulsively pressing the 'refresh' button got me nowhere else than staring at a screen which bluntly told me "you are not connected to the internet." No madam or nothing. The nerve. And I found myself with actual time. To do something.

While I was making an exquisite gourmet creation known as 'Broccoli salad' requiring all of 6 different ingredients and containing less broccoli than bacon, I started to think how completely and utterly helpless I am with a lot of things and how I really should be embarrassed and perhaps learn a few skills.

But then I thought: "Nah, I'll just share my embarrassment with the peeps reading my blog. Ag ja, that sounds like a fokken good idea. See. If I really wanted to I could learn all this shit. I'm just choosing not to. Ja, smart woman, I am. Oh, I's so capable and clever..." And that's pretty much how it continued until the internet magically reappeared (after the hubby had yelled at the managing director, and lied through his teeth about our place in the South African society [Madiba says hello], and the amount of influence we wield on a daily basis), and I had a list in my head of all of the things a grown person like myself, and a self-proclaimed feminist to boot (although I might have to read the current rules again, I'm not sure I quite qualify) should really be able to do. All by herself.

Here is a small selection of things I should probably be on top of, but I keep ignoring because I'm having way too much fun in the blogosphere:

:: My taxes. A grown-up with practically no income should be able to file her papers all on her own. Especially since they come 'pre-filled' and accompanied by an envelope with postage already paid. However, I resorted to Skyping my dad, exchanging at least 10 emails with him, some throwing around of said 'pre-filled' papers in anger, and a few frustrated tears while kicking at a non-functional printer, before writing down any semblance of numbers. In the end I couldn't even find a mailbox to mail the letter. Instead, I left it in the care of a smiling guy at one of the PostNet companies here in my hood. I'm pretty sure he was employed there, and he promised to post it for me. The company's name does have the word 'post' (not to mention the always comforting 'net') in it. I should be good, right?    

:: My Mac. It would only seem logical that since I chose to get a Mac instead of a PC, I would also learn to use it. Yes, it would seem the logical thing to do. But that's not how things have worked out in real life. Don't get me wrong, I love my Mac and now hate it if I have to use a PC, and can never go back again. Never. And this is perhaps wherein lies the problem. I don't like technical-y things to change. It rattles me. I want all icons in their assigned places (Hear that Hotmail, Facebook, Google, Blogger, Gmail, Twitter, etc!). I'll move continents at the drop of a hat, but you change the place of the 'inbox' button and I'm a stressed (heavily-drinking) mess for days. And then I yell at Hubby. 'Cos he's there.   

:: My car. It's still broken. And it'll stay broken until the Hubby decides to deal with it. The most that I'll do is perhaps every now and then sit behind the wheel, try and start it and constitute that no, the car still hasn't fokken fixed itself. Damn useless piece of metal, and weird 80s inspired seat-covers.

:: My internet. Yes, up to Hubby. Apparently crying by yourself and drinking does nothing to get it working. Not. A. Thing.

:: My finances. I have no idea what's going on there. Before Hubby came along, I barely had a bank account (started by my dad I suspect), I didn't have insurance, I didn't have credit cards, I didn't have 'investments'. And now I suspect I do. I know I have credit cards. because they reside in my wallet, and there must be an account somewhere because the credit cards (for the most part) work. And I do believe I'm even putting money away for my pension (I know, I know, we've been through this before, make your jokes already and be done with it... Yup. Retiring from what?!?! It's getting kinda old). So I might be able to afford an airplane, but I could also be at the brink of financial doom. I'll never know. Since the credit cards don't talk. Yet.

If they one day find me in this state in my house, then you know I had life insurance as well. Which island will the Hubs be buying, I wonder?

Aren't you just a little ashamed to hang out with me now? I probably should be.