To my neglected blog

I have missed you. Truly and deeply. I admit, ours is an unbalanced relationship. I use you. Thoroughly and not always in the most fair of ways. That I admit. But the world is cruel and mostly boring stuck in an office. A girl needs an outlet- that is where you fit in.

Dear blog. I have kept my deep dark secrets to myself. But I do give you hints as to how my heart bends. Only you know how deeply the love messes with me. Twists me inside out, until I want to bleed for a little relief. Then the sun comes up and his limbs are all tangled up with mine. How can it be anything but divine will?

You know how silly I can be. Easily hurt, but I throw back the knives just as hard. A true brat through and through. Yet my friends still like me. It irks me sometimes how they act as if they did not know that side of me. How I ask. They better than my family and lover, know the brat. I get it, I am too much for myself as well. Sometimes.

I neglect you, when I should nurture you. Let’s catch up. I am to be wed to the love of my life. How trippy is that? It sounds warped even as I write it. Ah, but it is so true. You should see the ring. In that ring lies the trick to my betrothed. Somehow he knows me at my most basic level. It’s simple and complicated- but never at the same time. I am happy- truly, all round happy. Work is better than before- a huge make-over will happen. But it is good. I hate my wardrobe. I shop with fear- I need to be fearless about my style. I feel nondescript in my clothes. It helps that I like my body or it would be a disaster. That I am definitely going to totally change.

Till next time- sweet blog. I promise to be deep. Maybe even funny.
Be good!

when wisdom hits

It is a sad triumph that working people take in that clock hand hitting five. Suddenly they are all like ‘VICTORY’, I made through another day. Then they often think they are entitled to some sort of reward, and that is how most alcoholics started out. With that after work drink. There might be something- I should come back to it.

Since I am getting married (yay and happy dance- because people are convinced I am not nearly as excited as I should be) I am no longer confused by my status as an adult. Of course I am grown-up. An actual (rather adorable) boy-man wants to marry me. And once I am hitched- I will be Ma-what-what. Wait, I think I need a kid for that title. Crap! I digress, as usual.

My point was going to be that as a full-fledged adult, I need job satisfaction. Sure annoying colleagues whose thought patterns are obscure and dull management make that hard, but not impossible. So I pledge to go against the tide. To take pleasure in ALL my work and not just the creative bits.

And now I am off to celebrate my victory!

Marc by Marc Jacobs

I really do apologise for my last blog. It is almost a pity I wrote it sober...although in my defence I did think I was close to the end.

This past Saturday I went to a vintage-market-sale thingy. And for once I am proud to say I did not have to be dragged there. It is really disturbing how maybe 7 times out of 10, I have to feel like I went somewhere out of duress- when I’d rather be at home, doing nothing. I digress.

The point is I went under my own volition. And even though said-friend-who-did-not-drag-me-there would like to claim responsibility I bought my first ever proper designer bag of my volition. The bag is a rather cute Marc Jacobs workwear pink leather bag. See picture.

I am not really a designer-label junkie. My fashion criterion usually rises to cute. The cheaper the better. Cheaper and of awesome quality- even better! I know, very hard to find. The point of my recent purchase is that this bag is my first. I will treasure it for a while to come. More than the bag- I really like Marc Jacobs. Usually designers make a little impression on me beyond their clothes, but Marc is quirky and cute.

I also found out that vintage store people tend to look down on designer-purchases. The sales person at the store insinuated my purchase was absurd and I am sure he thinks I kick hungry kids in the street. So unfair. But that is the price one pays.
The phone keeps ringing- so I am going to have to stop. Point is- I love my new bag. It’s been a long time coming.

dizzy spell

Last night, someone locked me at work. It was not a complete disaster as I had my tag with me and an alarm code. I found out this morning that it was actually my boss who’d done it. It was disturbing that he is not aware that for the last couple of months I have been working late almost every night. It is not for noble reasons (I have to wait for my person to pick me up), but still.

Anyway- that little incident got me thinking about being forgotten. It fucking sucks. Friends, lover and parents have all forgotten me at one point or other.

Not fucking cool.

I have some difficulty in writing this blog as I suspect I might actually die. I am on this medication that says to ‘avoid alcohol’. Who knew they were serious? I had like two sips. My head got sore. I stopped. But now, it is still sore. I am a little itchy and I closed my eyes for 30 seconds and now I am seeing stars.

This might be the last thing I ever write. So if your prescription bottle says ‘AVOID ALCOHOL’ then just fucking do it. Who knew dentists are like real doctors?? Not fair. Great- now I feel nauseous. Woe is me world. Can’t even remember what I started blogging about and frankly I don’t give a damn!

Grown Ups!

You know the song ‘Like a Woman’? It goes, ‘I make love just like a woman, but I break just like a little girl’. I kinda love that song, but lately I think I live it too. Last night I threw up from too much alcohol in too short a time. Who still pukes from too much alcohol? Apparently me.

It is depressing. And today I am having lunch at a friend’s house with other friends. The friend that is feeding us just had a baby. She is actually pretty happy. She is single mom, but the baby daddy is pretty supportive. I’m happy for her, but it’s depressing.

I am only ever useful at work. I feel incapable of growing up and if you’re 27 then that just feels lame. Do not get me wrong I have plenty of blessings. A cute boy loves me and I love him back, a great family, a good job and taste. But it’s little things like still not knowing how to drive and having no learner’s licence that depress the fuck out of me on days like these.

kisses

There is nothing quite binding as a kiss. My birthday was on the 13th of June. I am a full grown and awkward 27 years old. A little wiser- there are plenty of kisses that I regret. After seeing my line-up maybe, ‘plenty’ is not the correct word as my lip buddies are well under the number 10.

The first man I ever kissed is my father. Not in a gross make-out way, but in how fathers and daughters kiss. I mention this, as oppose to the countless uncles I have exchanged kisses with, because I am my father’s daughter. I have a rather unhealthy need to please him and be perfect, without actually being pleasing to him and hardly perfect. I hide my blemishes well, which takes its toll. I love my father dearly and he loves me. But there are times I am crushed by his expectations and I have grown so used to bottling it up, that I would rather perpetuate the myth than be honest with him.

The first boy I ever kissed promised to love me forever. So far so good. I was 15 and terrified. We’re both much older and the kisses still mean something. There is kissing to say hello and goodbye, kisses to make up for a bad fight, kisses to replace tears and kisses of contentment. We probably fight more than a happy couple should. But we are happy. It’s not perfect- but it’s our mess and we do the best to become better at it.

I kissed a girl in high-school. It was hardly life changing. Then I kissed my closest friend for quite a while until it became a pleasant habit. It breaks my heart to think I might never kiss her again- because we are not us anymore. Of course we still love each other fiercely- but we lost an intimacy to our friendship. It was probably all my fault. I tend to fuck up. A lot.

The 2nd boy I kissed tricked me. The 3rd seduced me. The 4th amused me. And the 5th I felt bad for. It’s always the kisses one should not have had that annoy me the most. Being older should mean accepting your mistakes and cherishing the good decisions. But fuck it. I’d rather I had always kissed whoever I’d have wanted to kiss in the future. Sound complicated no? Well maybe it is. It feels like I gave too much away. Locking lips is no small matter.

27 has taught me one thing and one thing only. To be selfish with my kisses. I have seen a glimpse of my future. In it- I am high on champagne, smug about having found true love, on a spiritual quest, happy and above all- kissing only those who deserve my lips. Another thing 27 has taught me- giving away kisses willy-nilly means you are the one that runs out.

P.S I meant to blog endlessly about my trip to Romania, but maybe later. Inspiration came and went.

and i do mean, EVERYTHING!

One more thing I am certain about in life:
-S.A temporary passports are only good for some holiday in Maseru on the pretext that some obscure relative has departed this world-

For international travel, one needs to try a little bit harder. I thought I’d finally be updating my blog on my way to Munich to catch a flight to Timisoara. Instead I on the sleeper couch, next to soon-to-be-hubby trying to figure out the reasons. Shit happens is not really good enough for me. I prefer the butterfly effect. So in essence, some maniac in china stomped on an ant and I was rudely turned away from my flight.

I do have a solution though. Of course God willing- I can quickly get my visa on Monday. I really do hope I do, I do not relish the thought of explaining to 10 different people at work why I am still in South Africa.

Oh and I am not an idiot, I did have a visa. It’s just in the wrong passport.
This blog was supposed to be about the show Tumi and the Volume put on last night at the Blues Room. I’m no longer in the mood for my somewhat scathing review. In short, Zubz was oddly perched on a stool swinging his legs for 80% of the show. It really bothered me. Plus I kinda think he sucks now. But that’s another tale entirely.

Moral of my crappy experience? Everything and I do mean everything has purpose behind it. Think about that, next time you pick Gordon’s Gin over Tanqueray.

?questions

Age-old question. What do you do when your boyfriend has been to a strip-club and lied about it? Well, more like didn’t mention it. Lying by omission- is that still a bad one? Here is another question- how do you un-know something you are not supposed to know to begin with?

You don’t. And to answer the first question. Fuck if I know. Lies are funny like that. Nobody knows all the rules. And because of the nature of a lie we kinda make them up as we go along.

Maybe the first question was not an AGE-old question. Here is a better one: How do I call you honey if you’re not really sweet?
I went home this weekend. My real home. My parent’s house. Generally life works like this:
• You’re born
• If lucky you spent some of your childhood at home
• Then you leave home repeatedly until either you or your parents move on

The homes we later create are really that for our children. Not for us. So I say, those who live at home well into their 40s know something we don’t. And yes my world view is extremely sheltered but it is mine.

I digress. I went home to see my parents before going far far away. They are cool my parents. Cool in an un-cool way. For instance I often wonder if I’ll ever be as gracious and elegant as my mother. Or wise and magnanimous like my father. I am their daughter so chances are good that I have a chance.

But then I come back to Johannesburg. To my life. And it’s fabrications and such a severe disconnection from everything that I literally ache and nothing I do numbs the ache. There is a catch though. My friends and boyfriend are convinced I need made-up angst to feel interesting. Fuck ‘em. I love them, but...okay maybe that’s not a catch.

It’s not that I’m unhappy. It is just that I can’t quite place my emotions all the time. And words are always getting in the way of what I feel.
If I ever leave and never come back- I want my parents to know they did it better than anybody else.

Nobody reads this blog. And whoever starts, won’t look at the archives. People never go back.
I’m sorry I missed two days. I had material but could not be bothered. I am pretty sure this is not supposed to be a diary- I’ll fix that.

As for the questions in the beginning: I wish you believed half the things I say, maybe then you might just know me a bit better.

Tact People

Finally after a gruelling week of waiting- I got the new frame for my glasses today. Yay! The frame is gorgeous if I do say so myself. But what I found disturbing was how my optometrist and his two assistants could not stop telling me how much better it was than my old one.

I mean sure- I understand the concept of standing behind your product, but I had already bought the damn frame. Plus I felt I gushed just the right amount for them to just nod politely and let it go. To be repeatedly told how abhorrent my old frame is/was especially when I was still wearing it was annoying.

Then last night, my friend (let’s call her Spikey for her unnatural love for Spike the vampire- note how I have decided to try out the nicknames) mentioned how by applying a little eye-liner her entire office suddenly decided she was so pretty. Her concern and rightly so, was: were they implying that before the eye-liner she in her spikey fineness was hideous?

I think yes. Most people would lie about directions to a blind man. Why? Because people generally suck. And when they could leave one alone to think that even though they have purchased a fabulous new frame- they did not spent the last two years of their lives looking like Shrek with glasses.

A labour of something akin to love

So I am still obsessing about my new blog. Today’s focus of aforementioned obsession is will my blog be different, interesting and uniquely me?
I think not. I shouldn’t probably say this but then again I should be fully engrossed with a task my boss has just given me. There was no deadline attached- to me that is always code for “when you can get around to it”.
Back to my dilemma. Whilst I do get that South Africa is not exactly the U.S where blogs have made many a tacky writer famous- I live in hope. Who knows right? Some wildly rich publisher might just think me brilliant. Although I also worry that a blog does not exactly show off a writer’s talent.
Back to dilemma for real- will my blog be different from all the others? The reasons I tend to doubt are these:
• I started the blog after reading a couple and thinking to myself- I can do that.
• I really want to give little nicknames to everybody I write about- which everybody does
• I have no clear focus at the moment of what this is exactly about
• Sooner or later- the one person presently reading this will tire of my insecurity and move back to relishing Perez Hilton
I was also wondering if all the scandalous things I shall surely write about will someday be used against me in a court of law. But things I need to get to the getting.
p.s I am absurdly happy that I have four followers. I am not sure what it means exactly but I was like yay- 4 people cared enough to click on ‘follow’.
p.s.s The euphoria of boss coming back from France is wearing off. Especially because his assistant is still away and I always hate being the stand in because like does anybody here really know how smart I am?

Maybe this Time

I am new to blogging, therefore I am not quite sure what blog etiquette is. For instance- can you have more than one post in one day? You might think this simple enough to answer. I mean it’s only natural that more than one thing happens in a day. But maybe one should rather wait till the end of the day and write about it in its entirety.
Well here it goes:
• I woke up
• Went to work
• Hugged my boss who’d just come back from Cannes
• Started a blog
• Mused if said blog is going to make me famous

The above is not exactly riveting stuff. The reason I came back to post something else though is slightly more profound than describing my day- if I may be so bold. I told my boyfriend on the way home that I had started a blog. His initial response was- “baby what happened to the book you had just started?”
It is on hold. I tend to do that quite a bit. Put things on hold. I blame my parents of course- they should have equipped me with the skills to not put things on hold. To be a follow-throughwer.
So I find myself wondering...will this blog be yet another aspect of my life that is shelved?
It is eerie being almost 27- looking at your life and thinking there is still so much time to live and do things. But I was once 21 and thought the same. Time is a sneaky little bitch.
The point is I do not know if this blog will still hold my interest tomorrow. I hope it does- because there is a lot of fuckery in the world that somebody needs to write about.
Tomorrow I’ll learn how to dismantle shelves.

A little less fuckery would do us all some good

I wish for Lindsay Lohan to get her ish together. I honestly think if that girl can de-skank herself, sober up, read a book and get back to work then there is hope yet for the human race.
Allow me to feebly construct an argument I may or may not buy but that I hope to convince you with.
Lindsay started out relatively okay. How cute was she in the parent trap? And one often thinks if you're that adorable as a kid- surely some of that should linger well into adulthood.
She started out dealing with a lot already. Her mother is nuts and possibly on crack- who knows? Her father borders on the creepy side of things. How could she not be what she is?
So if this person with all the odds against her (she was not exactly on welfare and abused but bear with me) could get it together, what would prevent the douchebag from next door doing the same?
NOTHING.
Point made.