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is a South African girl living in South Africa. That doesn't sound very original, we know, but you might find it remotely interesting when you learn that she has only recently returned to South Africa for the first time after a nine year, one month and two week (non-stop!) stint in the United States where she accidentally became an outlawed alien (also known, especially in immigration circles, as an 'illegal immigrant.' We prefer the term 'outlawed alien' ourselves). During her reversed exile from her homeland, she kept herself occupied by winning this website (but only after shamelessly bribing the judges) and thus being unleashed on the web where she slowly, leisurely became the World's Laziest Blogger; by being a nanny and by attending sci-fi conventions in search of other aliens. In the US, she also made her sailing debut, her international acting debut, tried and failed to learn the piano, and never learned to cook. She is hopelessly addicted to coffee, dogs (especially Labrador Retrievers), how-to books (with a particular fondness for her copy of the Time/Life A - Z Medical Encyclopedia), and she tends to grossly overuse parentheses (we're not kidding) during her attempts at writing, which you may - if you really have masochistic tendencies - subject yourself to by reading the words to the right of this column. If you REALLY and truly STILL want to know more, you can read her C.V. here.
Or you can stalk her send her some love via e-mail at: redsaid[AT]gmail[DOT]com

The Wish List (Because yes, she really does need more how-to books. Honestly!)

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Copyright belongs to the author (ha ha! She called herself an author!) of this website.
March 20, 2006
The Interrogator
Alphabet Soup

In what she hopes will appear to be a tactic of intimidation but which is really to hide her growing anxiety, the interrogator paces slowly around the room, forming an increasingly tighter circle around the suspect.

The suspect, although seated, exudes a stubbornly silent and apparently unbreakable resolve. Instead of being guarded or hunched over, he is leaning back in his chair, the body language of someone who is at ease, relaxed even. He seems to be far more skilled at this game than his interrogator.

His chin juts out defiantly, and he meets her frequent glances at him with an unbroken, chilly stare, as if he can see through the façade of her bravado straight to where her last nerves are rapidly crumbling.

When she asks the next question, the tremour in her voice betrays her wavering confidence.

“Where were you when…” she abruptly falls silent, then revealing her increasing desperation, she asks, her voice tinged with hysteria: “I know that you did it, okay? What I want to know is why you did it? Why?”

(Later, she would deny any loss of control, claiming that it was merely a different approach, one she had hoped would shock and surprise the suspect into confessing.)

It still does not have the desired effect.

From where he is stretched back in his high chair, her two-and-a-half year old nephew continues to merely regard her with open contempt and an infuriatingly calm muteness.


Redsaid | 09:49 AM