Too sleepy to write anything decent...
I had my blood taken today - to establish weather I do have high testosterone levels. Don’t laugh. My body is very hormonal. I had to wake up ridiculously early (for me) and sleepily head over to the clinic. It was quick and easy. I then ended up in one traffic hold up after another until I finally gave up trying to park the car for some shopping and came back home.
Then got an incredible amount of admin and organising done, well done me.
But I can’t keep my eyes open and typing this half asleep.
Anyway hope you’re having a more awake time. Goodnight.
Wednesday 27 February 2008
Tuesday 26 February 2008
Immigrant Abuse
The moron is at it again. This time I slipped my arse off on the kitchen floor, because he managed to spray oil all over the countertops, cooker, hood, cupboards and floor, just by frying 2 fcking chops!!!!
And as if that wasn’t enough he had the bloody audacity to argue with me over a map that had 2 dots (this is not an exaggeration, 2 fcking dots!), saying that loads of research and time had gone into making the bloody stamp size (again, this is not an exaggeration, stamp sized) map!!
And a further ‘conversation’ we had earlier:
FW: I don’t know why they don’t just get rid of all the immigrants from this country, they’re all minions and they (tie) up the (resources) on the NHS.
Jozi: So what would happen to the commercial economy which has quite a large proportion of very skilled professionals?
FW: Britain would be better off without them, why should a poor old seventy-something man go blind because some scarf-wearing immigrant woman wants to have kids? In fact, all women should work.
Jozi: Who would look after the kids then?
FW: They should work too, they could do acting
Jozi: What about the babies?
FW: They can bloody get used for commercials as well
Jozi: Whose going to take them there if the women are working?
FW: They can do it themselves
Jozi: You are talking through your arse now!!
And of course my fcking neighbour from no. 92 was listening as the volume went up towards the end. I heard the fire door bang abruptly at this point.
And through all of this, I am the immigrant, who despite being a very well-paid professional previously, cannot secure a new visa to work here, instead I am allowed to stay without working, but am not entitled to any state benefits, and they don’t care about my living because I own property here (an obvious indication that at least I was economically contributing to the country), or that I will eventually have to get the authorities involved to remove FW if he ever crosses over the very fine line of disrespect he is currently balancing on, while sponging off me!!!
And the only reason I have not done this already is because he damn well offered to buy the place himself, but if the ever-prolonged paperwork is not forthcoming in the next few days, I will have to put the place on the market, delayed on account of waiting for FW, and all this while I have no proper income.
This is how an apparently fine, upstanding citizen takes advantage of an immigrant. And with no conscience.
Disgusting!
Its days like this when I realise that my problems in good old Jozi weren't so bad after all.
And as if that wasn’t enough he had the bloody audacity to argue with me over a map that had 2 dots (this is not an exaggeration, 2 fcking dots!), saying that loads of research and time had gone into making the bloody stamp size (again, this is not an exaggeration, stamp sized) map!!
And a further ‘conversation’ we had earlier:
FW: I don’t know why they don’t just get rid of all the immigrants from this country, they’re all minions and they (tie) up the (resources) on the NHS.
Jozi: So what would happen to the commercial economy which has quite a large proportion of very skilled professionals?
FW: Britain would be better off without them, why should a poor old seventy-something man go blind because some scarf-wearing immigrant woman wants to have kids? In fact, all women should work.
Jozi: Who would look after the kids then?
FW: They should work too, they could do acting
Jozi: What about the babies?
FW: They can bloody get used for commercials as well
Jozi: Whose going to take them there if the women are working?
FW: They can do it themselves
Jozi: You are talking through your arse now!!
And of course my fcking neighbour from no. 92 was listening as the volume went up towards the end. I heard the fire door bang abruptly at this point.
And through all of this, I am the immigrant, who despite being a very well-paid professional previously, cannot secure a new visa to work here, instead I am allowed to stay without working, but am not entitled to any state benefits, and they don’t care about my living because I own property here (an obvious indication that at least I was economically contributing to the country), or that I will eventually have to get the authorities involved to remove FW if he ever crosses over the very fine line of disrespect he is currently balancing on, while sponging off me!!!
And the only reason I have not done this already is because he damn well offered to buy the place himself, but if the ever-prolonged paperwork is not forthcoming in the next few days, I will have to put the place on the market, delayed on account of waiting for FW, and all this while I have no proper income.
This is how an apparently fine, upstanding citizen takes advantage of an immigrant. And with no conscience.
Disgusting!
Its days like this when I realise that my problems in good old Jozi weren't so bad after all.
Monday 25 February 2008
Crap day
Feeling hemmed in from all sides today.
An old friend of mine, and one whom I‘ve known for quite some time, called me today – the one who only ever seems to be in contact when he needs something from me. (This became obvious a few years ago when he started popping over to the UK on visits or business, and very conveniently staying at my place, without offering anything in lieu of appreciation, and indeed by being a very inconsiderate house guest in other ways.) Last year when I first started to panic about my apartment he responded by, ‘offering‘, to co-own my place (by verbal agreement, in which he would make use of the place from June onwards, this year, at a rental, like a lodger would pay for a room, but in this case he would expect some sort of capital benefit instead, and all of this would be conveniently ‘off ' paper.)
When I told him I was selling, he made some unsuccessful attempts at persuading me to keep the property, and then the phone calls ceased somewhat, albeit his falseness at trying to be so happy to hear from me when I called.
Today he left a message, so sweet and flowery, I thought he really wanted to say hello. Turns out he just wanted to know the name of the area I lived in, which no doubt he will use to bullshit, about co-owning my property, and quite frankly, I don’t care about that because legally he is of course not entitled to anything. What really bugs me though, is that he hasn’t really been much of a friend since I’ve had problems. If I think back 10 years, he has only sort-of been around when things were good and there was no responsibility.
My parents on the other end, are apparently happily asserting that they will be so much happier, if I was back home, as they would have someone ‘around’, meaning that they could rely/depend on me as a trusted family member. After some hesitation and bullshit attempts at feigning some form of assistance of the financial kind, none of which was ever forthcoming in any way, and certainly nothing I was asking for or needed from them, they expertly concluded that they are too old to be concerned with their kid’s problems. They are in their fifties. Hence my current assertion that I am too young to be concerned with their well being enough to warrant moving back home for their sake.
To make matters worse, on an obviously bad day, I had a mini argument with FW. We do not argue as ferociously as we used to because he is not allowed to drink in my apartment anymore, and hence behaves a bit more humanely towards me. This time it was about his constant excuses for not paying bills. They get more and more ridiculous by the day, and I end up having to foot the bill. I cannot wait for this place to be sold - so that I can move away from this black situation. And on the off chance that FW may be aware of this blog, I will say this: If it wasn’t for my foresight into exactly such a situation and making sure I had a plan B on the finances, just before I became unemployed, I would have been up shit creek right now, without a boat.
And to round off a perfectly screwed up day, I discover that my expectations on the visa front are all rubbish. I wonder if I will be able at all, to even get the visa I am holding out for now.
An old friend of mine, and one whom I‘ve known for quite some time, called me today – the one who only ever seems to be in contact when he needs something from me. (This became obvious a few years ago when he started popping over to the UK on visits or business, and very conveniently staying at my place, without offering anything in lieu of appreciation, and indeed by being a very inconsiderate house guest in other ways.) Last year when I first started to panic about my apartment he responded by, ‘offering‘, to co-own my place (by verbal agreement, in which he would make use of the place from June onwards, this year, at a rental, like a lodger would pay for a room, but in this case he would expect some sort of capital benefit instead, and all of this would be conveniently ‘off ' paper.)
When I told him I was selling, he made some unsuccessful attempts at persuading me to keep the property, and then the phone calls ceased somewhat, albeit his falseness at trying to be so happy to hear from me when I called.
Today he left a message, so sweet and flowery, I thought he really wanted to say hello. Turns out he just wanted to know the name of the area I lived in, which no doubt he will use to bullshit, about co-owning my property, and quite frankly, I don’t care about that because legally he is of course not entitled to anything. What really bugs me though, is that he hasn’t really been much of a friend since I’ve had problems. If I think back 10 years, he has only sort-of been around when things were good and there was no responsibility.
My parents on the other end, are apparently happily asserting that they will be so much happier, if I was back home, as they would have someone ‘around’, meaning that they could rely/depend on me as a trusted family member. After some hesitation and bullshit attempts at feigning some form of assistance of the financial kind, none of which was ever forthcoming in any way, and certainly nothing I was asking for or needed from them, they expertly concluded that they are too old to be concerned with their kid’s problems. They are in their fifties. Hence my current assertion that I am too young to be concerned with their well being enough to warrant moving back home for their sake.
To make matters worse, on an obviously bad day, I had a mini argument with FW. We do not argue as ferociously as we used to because he is not allowed to drink in my apartment anymore, and hence behaves a bit more humanely towards me. This time it was about his constant excuses for not paying bills. They get more and more ridiculous by the day, and I end up having to foot the bill. I cannot wait for this place to be sold - so that I can move away from this black situation. And on the off chance that FW may be aware of this blog, I will say this: If it wasn’t for my foresight into exactly such a situation and making sure I had a plan B on the finances, just before I became unemployed, I would have been up shit creek right now, without a boat.
And to round off a perfectly screwed up day, I discover that my expectations on the visa front are all rubbish. I wonder if I will be able at all, to even get the visa I am holding out for now.
Peach skin and Clarins
I caught sight of my face in broad daylight the other day. (This normally never happens as my bathroom has no window, so it's always in unnatural light). It was my reflection in the blank monitor of my laptop. I wish I could describe this any other way but it looked like an old drying up peach with its hairy skin. This shocked me into immediately doing something. Clarins is always my emergency answer to these crises, and I must say, 3 applications of the face lift formula later, I started wondering why I hadn’t bought the stuff before.
Bloody amazing!
Saturday 23 February 2008
Things I hate about my flatmate - FW
FW has butter fingers and a very serious lack of common sense. As a result I have to put up with endless cleaning chores and stupid unorganised situations at home.
He spills something off every plate of food or drink he has, almost religiously, I swear the guy must think spilling is some sort of rite of passage for eating and drinking. He has no conscience about it either and I can guarantee, that if he does actually attempt to clean it up (in itself a miracle), it’s never done properly.
I have gotten used to walking into the lounge and finding spilt red wine on the carpets, all over the computer (leaving me the overly-intricate job of having to remove even the little round ball inside the mouse to get it working properly again, not to mention the printer), the walls and table top. All left, without a trace of an attempt to clean them. And he carries on the day as if nothing happened, or worse shoots back a reply of: ‘It’s only wine!’ Everything is always preceded by, ‘It’s only...’
He empties his left over coffee cups into the sink every morning with such force that the remnants splash all over the drying dishes to the side of the sink and all over the sink top. I have seen him doing it. It’s as if, he has to summon up the energy in advance to produce the otherwise unnatural force that is required to create the messy spill. He hesitates, he flicks. Victory! The cup goes into the sink. Anything neat and considerate would be a failure.
He has spilt pots of oily residue, oven grease, milk and running food on the floor and wipes them up with a dish cloth. So I, have had the distinct pleasure of walking into the kitchen and slipping right on my ass, and then later on discovering, that while using a dish cloth to dry the dishes, my dishes are being streaked with gravy - which has, more than likely, been mopped off the floor by said dish cloth. FW uses dish cloths to mop up anything in sight, I’m sure he would use them to wipe his own backside if in a hurry and then would place them right back where you would assume they are clean dish drying cloths, for the use of dish drying.
On the subject of dish cloths, I usually soak them overnight with bleach and then do a separate wash. FW simply throws them in the wash with his other clothes including his skid-marked underwear!
I have resorted to thinking twice before allowing him into the kitchen, never mind ever daring to ask if he could help, say open a jar or a bottle of coke or something as the contents would go splashing about and I would have to realise yet again that trying persistently myself would result in far less work than having to clean up after FW.
He also has a habit of placing mail and larger objects over smaller objects so that anything you assumed would be visible (or even just where you placed it in a hurry), is never so.
I went through a ‘keys’ situation for about 2 weeks before I managed to nip it in the bud. FW decided to (repeatedly) remove my keys, from the table that I have been leaving them on (for years- so that I would know every morning exactly where they were) and put them in my handbag, wherein I would never look for my keys as I would never put them there. I got late for work on about 4 mornings, looking for my keys, and of course FW denied putting them in my handbag until I finally had a yelling session at him, after which the keys have remained exactly where I put them.
My home life has degenerated into a consistent search for things. I no longer live with the pleasure of knowing where anything is. Being able to find something in a hurry is lovely surprise. I end up buying new things to replace old things that I know I will have much difficulty finding. And I have less time and more irritation living at home than I used to. FW calls this normal and can’t understand why I am so uptight.
What never ceases to amaze me about him though is the consistent lack of common sense that goes along with the bad habits and butter fingers.
Once when on holiday, I tried unsuccessfully to get ketch-up out of a new bottle with thick sauce towards the neck. I knew if I jerked the bottle any harder it would spurt all over FW and me, so I signalled the waiter to help, assuming he would probably take it back and give us a more free-flowing bottle. FW grabbed the bottle and saying it was so unnecessary to call the waiter, attempted to do it himself.
Now I will tell you that on many occasions in life, a guy has offered to help out in some situations and until FW came along, they usually managed to surprise me with information or knowledge on things I would never have thought about, so having these experiences in mind (and not having known FW for very long at the time), I believed that perhaps he knew of a neat way to get ketch-up flowing more easily out of the bottle.
The fucking moron turned the bottle over, whacked it and spurt ketch-up all over me. And then I had to walk into our 5-star hotel lobby, having been previously treated like royalty by the staff, with fucking ketch-up all over my shirt!
And then there's his habit of cooking while leaving the kitchen cupboards and cutlery drawers open, so that the sauces from the stove splash around and items inside the cupboards and drawers are generally covered in dried sauce.
Today, he announced triumphantly that he washed the dishes, and I discovered a greasy frying pan in the cupboard. It looked clean on the inside but the underneath was covered in oven grease from being left on top of a roast pan. And the grease had made its way around a few other pots and the cupboard shelf as well.
Somebody help me.
He spills something off every plate of food or drink he has, almost religiously, I swear the guy must think spilling is some sort of rite of passage for eating and drinking. He has no conscience about it either and I can guarantee, that if he does actually attempt to clean it up (in itself a miracle), it’s never done properly.
I have gotten used to walking into the lounge and finding spilt red wine on the carpets, all over the computer (leaving me the overly-intricate job of having to remove even the little round ball inside the mouse to get it working properly again, not to mention the printer), the walls and table top. All left, without a trace of an attempt to clean them. And he carries on the day as if nothing happened, or worse shoots back a reply of: ‘It’s only wine!’ Everything is always preceded by, ‘It’s only...’
He empties his left over coffee cups into the sink every morning with such force that the remnants splash all over the drying dishes to the side of the sink and all over the sink top. I have seen him doing it. It’s as if, he has to summon up the energy in advance to produce the otherwise unnatural force that is required to create the messy spill. He hesitates, he flicks. Victory! The cup goes into the sink. Anything neat and considerate would be a failure.
He has spilt pots of oily residue, oven grease, milk and running food on the floor and wipes them up with a dish cloth. So I, have had the distinct pleasure of walking into the kitchen and slipping right on my ass, and then later on discovering, that while using a dish cloth to dry the dishes, my dishes are being streaked with gravy - which has, more than likely, been mopped off the floor by said dish cloth. FW uses dish cloths to mop up anything in sight, I’m sure he would use them to wipe his own backside if in a hurry and then would place them right back where you would assume they are clean dish drying cloths, for the use of dish drying.
On the subject of dish cloths, I usually soak them overnight with bleach and then do a separate wash. FW simply throws them in the wash with his other clothes including his skid-marked underwear!
I have resorted to thinking twice before allowing him into the kitchen, never mind ever daring to ask if he could help, say open a jar or a bottle of coke or something as the contents would go splashing about and I would have to realise yet again that trying persistently myself would result in far less work than having to clean up after FW.
He also has a habit of placing mail and larger objects over smaller objects so that anything you assumed would be visible (or even just where you placed it in a hurry), is never so.
I went through a ‘keys’ situation for about 2 weeks before I managed to nip it in the bud. FW decided to (repeatedly) remove my keys, from the table that I have been leaving them on (for years- so that I would know every morning exactly where they were) and put them in my handbag, wherein I would never look for my keys as I would never put them there. I got late for work on about 4 mornings, looking for my keys, and of course FW denied putting them in my handbag until I finally had a yelling session at him, after which the keys have remained exactly where I put them.
My home life has degenerated into a consistent search for things. I no longer live with the pleasure of knowing where anything is. Being able to find something in a hurry is lovely surprise. I end up buying new things to replace old things that I know I will have much difficulty finding. And I have less time and more irritation living at home than I used to. FW calls this normal and can’t understand why I am so uptight.
What never ceases to amaze me about him though is the consistent lack of common sense that goes along with the bad habits and butter fingers.
Once when on holiday, I tried unsuccessfully to get ketch-up out of a new bottle with thick sauce towards the neck. I knew if I jerked the bottle any harder it would spurt all over FW and me, so I signalled the waiter to help, assuming he would probably take it back and give us a more free-flowing bottle. FW grabbed the bottle and saying it was so unnecessary to call the waiter, attempted to do it himself.
Now I will tell you that on many occasions in life, a guy has offered to help out in some situations and until FW came along, they usually managed to surprise me with information or knowledge on things I would never have thought about, so having these experiences in mind (and not having known FW for very long at the time), I believed that perhaps he knew of a neat way to get ketch-up flowing more easily out of the bottle.
The fucking moron turned the bottle over, whacked it and spurt ketch-up all over me. And then I had to walk into our 5-star hotel lobby, having been previously treated like royalty by the staff, with fucking ketch-up all over my shirt!
And then there's his habit of cooking while leaving the kitchen cupboards and cutlery drawers open, so that the sauces from the stove splash around and items inside the cupboards and drawers are generally covered in dried sauce.
Today, he announced triumphantly that he washed the dishes, and I discovered a greasy frying pan in the cupboard. It looked clean on the inside but the underneath was covered in oven grease from being left on top of a roast pan. And the grease had made its way around a few other pots and the cupboard shelf as well.
Somebody help me.
Friday 22 February 2008
Jozi Memory
Discovered on the Bell Roberts Exhibitions:
Jozi Memory
Wayne Barker, 2007
Oil on canvas, 1000 x 1000 mm
Lovely stuff!
Thursday 21 February 2008
Friends or more?
Meeting an ex-colleague for dinner after not seeing them for months, especially one whom you think -and it’s just a smidgen of a possibility here - likes you, is a lot more difficult that you think, especially when said person also happens to be an ex-boss.
I met him last night for what was meant to be drinks and then turned to dinner, (at a ridiculously expensive restaurant), in Soho.
Having hibernated in my secluded flat for months, the first outing of this nature required an enormous amount of effort on my part, just to appear effortlessly smooth. I bought fat-burning creams, did hundreds of push ups, new make-up, new better-fitting jeans (whose hems had to be hand-sewn after the sewing machine needle broke on me, mid jean leg), layers of sexy knitwear as opposed to chunky, warm clothes (I am so glad that for some unexplained reason I did not freeze), and a fake, totally-at-ease, joie de vive attitude.
It turned out alright, I guess. The food was scrumptious, the service commendable, the company a bit laboured, but good conversation flowed and for a change I felt really comfortable.
Don’t get me wrong, I, do not fancy him, but would like to keep the friendship which, with these type of men, is very difficult, because we are very compatible, in many ways, and that old saying about men and women not being able to be friends without sex getting in the way makes me wonder about whether it relates to people like us.
I got a text from him today saying how much he enjoyed last night and we should do it again sometime.
Verdict? I don’t effing know! Not a clue.
I met him last night for what was meant to be drinks and then turned to dinner, (at a ridiculously expensive restaurant), in Soho.
Having hibernated in my secluded flat for months, the first outing of this nature required an enormous amount of effort on my part, just to appear effortlessly smooth. I bought fat-burning creams, did hundreds of push ups, new make-up, new better-fitting jeans (whose hems had to be hand-sewn after the sewing machine needle broke on me, mid jean leg), layers of sexy knitwear as opposed to chunky, warm clothes (I am so glad that for some unexplained reason I did not freeze), and a fake, totally-at-ease, joie de vive attitude.
It turned out alright, I guess. The food was scrumptious, the service commendable, the company a bit laboured, but good conversation flowed and for a change I felt really comfortable.
Don’t get me wrong, I, do not fancy him, but would like to keep the friendship which, with these type of men, is very difficult, because we are very compatible, in many ways, and that old saying about men and women not being able to be friends without sex getting in the way makes me wonder about whether it relates to people like us.
I got a text from him today saying how much he enjoyed last night and we should do it again sometime.
Verdict? I don’t effing know! Not a clue.
Tuesday 19 February 2008
32 things about me
Jumping on the bandwagon...what the hell, here goes...
32 things about me
1. As far as I can remember I have always wanted to be a writer (and to be somehow involved in film), however I buckled under pressure at 17 and chose to study finance instead, a choice I have sorely regretted ever since.
2. I am a dog person
3. My favourite foods are quiche, wors and roast lamb
4. I prefer (good) sex to shopping and chocolate
5. Actually I hate shopping unless I am having a good-figure phase and everything looks good on me
6. Like every other woman I know, I love shoes
7. I had braces for 5 years when I was a teenager and I still, sometimes resist the urge to cover my mouth when laughing, because of that
8. My teeth are still not completely straight
9. I was an extra in a movie once, at 19
10. I can’t play that DVD on my player here in the UK, because it is not compatible
11. I have a fear of water
12. I left Johannesburg at 26 for London and have been here ever since
13. I once dreamt of being a millionaire by the age of 22, I eventually stopped smoking that stuff
14. I can kind of understand German, if spoken slowly and clearly
15. At 6, my father wanted me to become a doctor, at 16 he wanted me to become a beauty queen, I always had other plans
16. I learnt piano for about 3 years when I was about 7, I’m still a junior at it
17. The greatest feeling in the world, to me, is freedom, the worst, feeling trapped or stagnant with no direction, hence my mid(ish)-life crisis right now
18. I don’t have a favourite colour
19. At 19 again, I trained in Latin and Ballroom for about 4 hours a day, 6 days a week, for 6 months. I believe I can dance now.
20. I love rich, old... cabernet sauvignon wine
21. Most of my best friends were Leo
22. I wrote and directed 2 plays in high school, and began to see the genius in others, from them
23. I still hold out the hope that I will one day direct or produce something meaningful and well-received
24. I love the smell of freshly baked bread and jasmine at the start of spring
25. I don’t particularly like living in London, hence this blog
26. My best friends live in another country
27. My first proper car was a powder-blue Toyota Tazz, I had it for 5 years
28. I am an aunt to 2 beautiful little nieces, from my only sibling, my brother
29. I am not a morning person and can’t wake up until my morning shower/first coffee/first breath of fresh air from outside
30. I used to have a really tight, pert, curvy ass, but now, I have literally worked my butt off
31. I make a mean roast dinner
32. I love being in love, romance, the softer side of life and smooth jazz
Happy Monday y'all, oh and I passed my previous set of exams!
32 things about me
1. As far as I can remember I have always wanted to be a writer (and to be somehow involved in film), however I buckled under pressure at 17 and chose to study finance instead, a choice I have sorely regretted ever since.
2. I am a dog person
3. My favourite foods are quiche, wors and roast lamb
4. I prefer (good) sex to shopping and chocolate
5. Actually I hate shopping unless I am having a good-figure phase and everything looks good on me
6. Like every other woman I know, I love shoes
7. I had braces for 5 years when I was a teenager and I still, sometimes resist the urge to cover my mouth when laughing, because of that
8. My teeth are still not completely straight
9. I was an extra in a movie once, at 19
10. I can’t play that DVD on my player here in the UK, because it is not compatible
11. I have a fear of water
12. I left Johannesburg at 26 for London and have been here ever since
13. I once dreamt of being a millionaire by the age of 22, I eventually stopped smoking that stuff
14. I can kind of understand German, if spoken slowly and clearly
15. At 6, my father wanted me to become a doctor, at 16 he wanted me to become a beauty queen, I always had other plans
16. I learnt piano for about 3 years when I was about 7, I’m still a junior at it
17. The greatest feeling in the world, to me, is freedom, the worst, feeling trapped or stagnant with no direction, hence my mid(ish)-life crisis right now
18. I don’t have a favourite colour
19. At 19 again, I trained in Latin and Ballroom for about 4 hours a day, 6 days a week, for 6 months. I believe I can dance now.
20. I love rich, old... cabernet sauvignon wine
21. Most of my best friends were Leo
22. I wrote and directed 2 plays in high school, and began to see the genius in others, from them
23. I still hold out the hope that I will one day direct or produce something meaningful and well-received
24. I love the smell of freshly baked bread and jasmine at the start of spring
25. I don’t particularly like living in London, hence this blog
26. My best friends live in another country
27. My first proper car was a powder-blue Toyota Tazz, I had it for 5 years
28. I am an aunt to 2 beautiful little nieces, from my only sibling, my brother
29. I am not a morning person and can’t wake up until my morning shower/first coffee/first breath of fresh air from outside
30. I used to have a really tight, pert, curvy ass, but now, I have literally worked my butt off
31. I make a mean roast dinner
32. I love being in love, romance, the softer side of life and smooth jazz
Happy Monday y'all, oh and I passed my previous set of exams!
Sunday 17 February 2008
Drought
It has been a very long time since I have fallen in love. The sweet surrender of the heart seems like centuries ago in my life.
A friend of mine once said that people only have so many chances of falling in love, and once you’ve used up your particular ration, it doesn’t happen again. Sounds a bit too cynical and simple to me. The only thing is, strangely enough, I haven’t really felt ‘in love’, since a certain point in my life, when at one stage I remember saying to myself that I don’t feel as if I’ll ever really experience that ‘in love’ feeling again. Self-fulfilling prophesy?
I think the answer may be more rational though. There are certain factors missing in my life right now that prevent me from falling in love. Not the least of which, is not being in proximity of like-minded, compatible men with whom I have more chance of discovering mutual chemistry.
Also, having more responsibilities and troubles in my life right now, and let’s face it, just being mature, often prevents me from truly letting go and being in touch with my feelings.
Another scary thought, some of the few times I have discovered real chemistry, have been when I was rather chemically-altered myself, which never happens anymore and now I am left questioning, was it really me, back then, falling in love?
Astrology offers an answer: once every 12 years, and a few more minor incidents in between. Now if this is the case, then I have been between the in-between incidents for a long time.
Social structures have so much to do with chemistry too. I can honestly say that I am usually attracted to guys who have shy smiles and soft voices, and a bit of a quiet intellectuality about them. Now that’s pretty rare in my current neck of the woods.
These guys used to be called SNAGS (sensitive new age guys) in the nineties but seem to have died out now (along with the dried tomato and chicken a la king).
They’re the kind of guy that would agree to go out for coffee and listen to your troubles, rather than drinks and premature too-drunk-to-realise bonking. They would visit you if you were ill (with chicken soup!) and remember your special occasions. And if you weren’t originally that interested in them (physically), they would be your friend in the hope that one day things will change.
Now, chemistry + a SNAG would certainly be the perfect match for me.
But unfortunately, the chances of that happening here and now are pretty much zilch.
What is a girl to do?
A friend of mine once said that people only have so many chances of falling in love, and once you’ve used up your particular ration, it doesn’t happen again. Sounds a bit too cynical and simple to me. The only thing is, strangely enough, I haven’t really felt ‘in love’, since a certain point in my life, when at one stage I remember saying to myself that I don’t feel as if I’ll ever really experience that ‘in love’ feeling again. Self-fulfilling prophesy?
I think the answer may be more rational though. There are certain factors missing in my life right now that prevent me from falling in love. Not the least of which, is not being in proximity of like-minded, compatible men with whom I have more chance of discovering mutual chemistry.
Also, having more responsibilities and troubles in my life right now, and let’s face it, just being mature, often prevents me from truly letting go and being in touch with my feelings.
Another scary thought, some of the few times I have discovered real chemistry, have been when I was rather chemically-altered myself, which never happens anymore and now I am left questioning, was it really me, back then, falling in love?
Astrology offers an answer: once every 12 years, and a few more minor incidents in between. Now if this is the case, then I have been between the in-between incidents for a long time.
Social structures have so much to do with chemistry too. I can honestly say that I am usually attracted to guys who have shy smiles and soft voices, and a bit of a quiet intellectuality about them. Now that’s pretty rare in my current neck of the woods.
These guys used to be called SNAGS (sensitive new age guys) in the nineties but seem to have died out now (along with the dried tomato and chicken a la king).
They’re the kind of guy that would agree to go out for coffee and listen to your troubles, rather than drinks and premature too-drunk-to-realise bonking. They would visit you if you were ill (with chicken soup!) and remember your special occasions. And if you weren’t originally that interested in them (physically), they would be your friend in the hope that one day things will change.
Now, chemistry + a SNAG would certainly be the perfect match for me.
But unfortunately, the chances of that happening here and now are pretty much zilch.
What is a girl to do?
Friday 15 February 2008
Valentine's days past
When I was in my early twenties I used to wish that someone special would send me flowers or cards or take me out to dinner at valentines. I didn’t want to pre-empt anything so as not to ruin a surprise. My love interests were always on that border of not quite committing to a relationship and therefore not quite comfortable about celebrating a day like this with me.
Sometimes I thought that they were all just pretending to have better plans and ended up lonely.
The few valentines days that stood out were both impromptu. A Sunday lunch with an old friend who was also dateless (he bought me a rose, which was the sweetest thing in those days) and we pretended that we were a couple for the day to keep everyone guessing. Turns out, years later, after our friendship based only on meeting up about 4 times a year for a movie and coffee, he hinted at a marriage proposal and I stopped meeting up with him for good.
The other really nice Valentine’s happened when I was not expecting anyone at all. I had made myself a singleton dinner (potato bake) and was going to resort to watching TV and drinking a bottle of red by myself when a guy I had just started sort of dating (and whose relationship with his current girlfriend, who lived on his property, was still being resolved) popped by. We had the loveliest time and he didn’t once mention valentines. We ate out of the casserole dish, drank the bottle, laughed, joked and had some serious conversation. It was so special and real and I was equally confused especially when he said goodbye. He had created, for me, one of the most perfect goodnight kiss moments and then turned around and walked away without doing it.
The story with him is that I found out he was gay soon after (although he, himself, may still be in the closet). This, explained a whole bunch of things...not worth mentioning right now.
Valentine’s within dysfunctional relationships, to me, feels more of a waste than a disappointment. Disappointment is: dashed expectations. But when your partner buys you flowers, cards and takes you out to dinner (which is all you ever wanted years ago), and there is no spark, it’s like doing an obligatory duty. You appreciate it, you don’t enjoy it.
And you realise you would much rather (actually) have earth-shattering, mind-numbing, heart-thumping Luurrrvvve, than all the valentine’s surprises in the world.
The message on yesterday’s blog was not for FW. Bless.
Sometimes I thought that they were all just pretending to have better plans and ended up lonely.
The few valentines days that stood out were both impromptu. A Sunday lunch with an old friend who was also dateless (he bought me a rose, which was the sweetest thing in those days) and we pretended that we were a couple for the day to keep everyone guessing. Turns out, years later, after our friendship based only on meeting up about 4 times a year for a movie and coffee, he hinted at a marriage proposal and I stopped meeting up with him for good.
The other really nice Valentine’s happened when I was not expecting anyone at all. I had made myself a singleton dinner (potato bake) and was going to resort to watching TV and drinking a bottle of red by myself when a guy I had just started sort of dating (and whose relationship with his current girlfriend, who lived on his property, was still being resolved) popped by. We had the loveliest time and he didn’t once mention valentines. We ate out of the casserole dish, drank the bottle, laughed, joked and had some serious conversation. It was so special and real and I was equally confused especially when he said goodbye. He had created, for me, one of the most perfect goodnight kiss moments and then turned around and walked away without doing it.
The story with him is that I found out he was gay soon after (although he, himself, may still be in the closet). This, explained a whole bunch of things...not worth mentioning right now.
Valentine’s within dysfunctional relationships, to me, feels more of a waste than a disappointment. Disappointment is: dashed expectations. But when your partner buys you flowers, cards and takes you out to dinner (which is all you ever wanted years ago), and there is no spark, it’s like doing an obligatory duty. You appreciate it, you don’t enjoy it.
And you realise you would much rather (actually) have earth-shattering, mind-numbing, heart-thumping Luurrrvvve, than all the valentine’s surprises in the world.
The message on yesterday’s blog was not for FW. Bless.
Thursday 14 February 2008
You are always with me
To the only person in the world that made my heart flutter, sing and be constantly alive.
Wherever you are, you will always be with me.
Thank you for giving me the gift of knowing that no matter what happens in my life, I have experienced true love, a love that transcends time. It fuels me everyday, to go on, to be me, to make you proud.
xxx
Wherever you are, you will always be with me.
Thank you for giving me the gift of knowing that no matter what happens in my life, I have experienced true love, a love that transcends time. It fuels me everyday, to go on, to be me, to make you proud.
xxx
Wednesday 13 February 2008
No. 92 rings my bell...
Sometimes, not often, just sometimes, I have a day that makes me feel like this place isn't so bad after all. Today was one of those days.
I had a dental appointment that proceeded flawlessly for a change, on time, no waiting, good clean-up, twenty minutes and out the door. The dentist is on the high street about a 3 minute drive down the road, so it was really convenient.
Also had a doctor's appointment which is a more convenient 3 minute walk up the complex and it has a pharmacy attached. Another trouble-free appointment, my doc actually listened to me for a change and chatted a bit, and so now I happily realise that I need physio on my right knee, and possibly acupunture, and all of this is just a 5 minute drive down the road. Oh and it seems as if my testosterone levels are too high. Not surpised really, considering my 'partner' is such a twat.
Anyway so, our neighbour from no. 92 rang our doorbell today, not the woman that spies on us but rather her 'boyfriend', or so I suspect. He wanted to speak to my 'husband' and I thought it was to do with opening the electricity meter box again so I promply called FW and left them outside the door talking.
Turns out he wanted to discuss the royal f.u. that our incompetant management company has caused and FW of course gave him exactly the wrong information. So 10 minutes later FW asked me to do some damage control and re-advise him.
I felt like a right idiot, I tell you - explaining (in a nice way) that actually as much as FW pretends as if he owns the flat, I do. I think it came out as: 'Hi, I own the flat you were just at and FW just asked me to clarify some things with you as he seems to have the wrong information.'
The poor kid, he looked young, sort of around 26 and he was so nervous talkng to me that his hands were shaking along with his voice and he seemed as if he was trying to create a good impression. Bless, bless. I did what I could. Lovely guy. Not bad looking actually...and I could hear his girlfriend shifting behind their door, listening...what is a neighbour to say about that in these circumstances?
I had a dental appointment that proceeded flawlessly for a change, on time, no waiting, good clean-up, twenty minutes and out the door. The dentist is on the high street about a 3 minute drive down the road, so it was really convenient.
Also had a doctor's appointment which is a more convenient 3 minute walk up the complex and it has a pharmacy attached. Another trouble-free appointment, my doc actually listened to me for a change and chatted a bit, and so now I happily realise that I need physio on my right knee, and possibly acupunture, and all of this is just a 5 minute drive down the road. Oh and it seems as if my testosterone levels are too high. Not surpised really, considering my 'partner' is such a twat.
Anyway so, our neighbour from no. 92 rang our doorbell today, not the woman that spies on us but rather her 'boyfriend', or so I suspect. He wanted to speak to my 'husband' and I thought it was to do with opening the electricity meter box again so I promply called FW and left them outside the door talking.
Turns out he wanted to discuss the royal f.u. that our incompetant management company has caused and FW of course gave him exactly the wrong information. So 10 minutes later FW asked me to do some damage control and re-advise him.
I felt like a right idiot, I tell you - explaining (in a nice way) that actually as much as FW pretends as if he owns the flat, I do. I think it came out as: 'Hi, I own the flat you were just at and FW just asked me to clarify some things with you as he seems to have the wrong information.'
The poor kid, he looked young, sort of around 26 and he was so nervous talkng to me that his hands were shaking along with his voice and he seemed as if he was trying to create a good impression. Bless, bless. I did what I could. Lovely guy. Not bad looking actually...and I could hear his girlfriend shifting behind their door, listening...what is a neighbour to say about that in these circumstances?
Everything is becoming 'Instant'
Everything has become ‘Instant’ these days, and I’m not just spinning the proverbial coffee metaphor here.
Take Internet Dating for example, you upload a profile, do a search based on what you would like to see in a person, shortlist the ones you prefer, send them a quick note and it could be a matter of days before your first date! And if you are lucky enough to line the dates up for a few months, you’re bound to find someone you have some chemistry with.
This sort of condensed timing could normally take people years to reach the same result.
But of course it’s not that simple, there are always limitations to the ‘instant’. The first being that pictures hide chemistry, so you may think you’ve shortlisted the best, but you could have excluded people you would like had you met them in person, and you lessen your choices. The mere act of short listing means you’re already judging a book by its cover. After a while you realise you keep choosing the same kind of guy and it doesn’t work, and your dating life starts getting a cheap coffee after-taste, unless of course all you want is a few no-strings-attached dates pretty quickly.
And then there’s online shopping, one click ordering makes it literally a touch of a button to your selection and your order is paid for and delivered. But try returning goods that look a whole lot different from the pictures and it’s certainly not a single-clicker.
The same goes for online job and home searches, new-restaurant bookings and fast food deliveries.
In the world of virtual purchases, is it true that all we really need, is a photo and some information, to make a good decision?
And if we make our choices this way, are we deciding to choose speed and efficiency over the kind of quality and attachment that comes from experiencing something beforehand and the certainty that it is what you want?
Take Internet Dating for example, you upload a profile, do a search based on what you would like to see in a person, shortlist the ones you prefer, send them a quick note and it could be a matter of days before your first date! And if you are lucky enough to line the dates up for a few months, you’re bound to find someone you have some chemistry with.
This sort of condensed timing could normally take people years to reach the same result.
But of course it’s not that simple, there are always limitations to the ‘instant’. The first being that pictures hide chemistry, so you may think you’ve shortlisted the best, but you could have excluded people you would like had you met them in person, and you lessen your choices. The mere act of short listing means you’re already judging a book by its cover. After a while you realise you keep choosing the same kind of guy and it doesn’t work, and your dating life starts getting a cheap coffee after-taste, unless of course all you want is a few no-strings-attached dates pretty quickly.
And then there’s online shopping, one click ordering makes it literally a touch of a button to your selection and your order is paid for and delivered. But try returning goods that look a whole lot different from the pictures and it’s certainly not a single-clicker.
The same goes for online job and home searches, new-restaurant bookings and fast food deliveries.
In the world of virtual purchases, is it true that all we really need, is a photo and some information, to make a good decision?
And if we make our choices this way, are we deciding to choose speed and efficiency over the kind of quality and attachment that comes from experiencing something beforehand and the certainty that it is what you want?
Monday 11 February 2008
Facebook - The Emotional Rollercoaster Ride
When I hooked up to Facebook last year it was initially to view my colleagues pictures, but I needed to create a profile. Thereafter I was exposed to the facebook phenomenon.
The Good
My ex E found me one week later, I had been trying for years to contact him but we seemed to have lost each other, as it turns out he was searching for me too. That was like a present from the universe for me. We emailed non-stop for weeks, I was so happy to be in contact with him again.
Today I found my old housemate and very good friend EV and another friend O on the site. EV and I go back to the days of my ex P, that I mentioned on yesterday's blog. I found out from her that P is now married! (Begin emotional closure process now...). Yesterday while reminscing i realised that I haven't had a friend like EV for a long time. We lived together. We both partied with P. She used to arrive at my bedroom on a Saturday morning with tea and questions about the socials of the night before and we would exchange stories and then go out shopping and lunching until the next party. She was like family, and we had this banter and familiar innuendo that started all over again in the emails today. Turns out she has been living in Switzerland the last 5 years and I had no idea. We are planning to hook up for a good few nights on the town soon.
I have also contacted a few more friends on the site that are invaluable in my life.
The Bad
Facebook stress, aka the friend quota issue. It seems like the aim of facebookers is to see who has the most friends on Facebook. You may start out innocently (as I did) thinking well, I don't really want to reconnect with my old high school friends that I can clearly see are on Facebook, but who at this stage of my life do not need to know all the details about me as yet. It is a social dilemma. I'm not ready for it. It's like having a reunion imposed on you immediately with no time to prepare.
As for current friends, as I am in a different country and network far less than before, as well as being unemployed and in my thirties, the chances of my having a lot of current friends (who are on facebook) are pretty slim, hence the small accurate number of my friends who I am actually in regular contact with. I believe I am being more honest because I know well over a 100 people on the site, I just don't want to befriend them right now. However everyone has jumped onto the friend wagon and anyone who has few friends suddenly looks a bit strange.
Second stress in the form of contacting old friends: I took the plunge this morning, had not slept all night researching and writing and in my insomniac state decided what the hell, I emailed a whole bunch of people I knew. Turns out only the ones I thought would reply have so far, and one other, a guy I dated in 2000, who was happy to send me a few emails today and then suddenly went all wierd and stopped, and I have a funny feeling he won't be contacting me anymore. All of this is rather embarrassing. It's really scary emailing people you haven't heard of in ages and then being ignored, because now they not only know you know they are there but they don't want to know you as well.
And the truth is, it could just be that they haven't checked their profile yet or something but you feel stupid anyway.
I'm not sure how this is going to pan out, but I have resolved to try to contact as many people as I know and that way at least I'll know who not to contact for future reference.
Technology stress, who would have thought...?
The Good
My ex E found me one week later, I had been trying for years to contact him but we seemed to have lost each other, as it turns out he was searching for me too. That was like a present from the universe for me. We emailed non-stop for weeks, I was so happy to be in contact with him again.
Today I found my old housemate and very good friend EV and another friend O on the site. EV and I go back to the days of my ex P, that I mentioned on yesterday's blog. I found out from her that P is now married! (Begin emotional closure process now...). Yesterday while reminscing i realised that I haven't had a friend like EV for a long time. We lived together. We both partied with P. She used to arrive at my bedroom on a Saturday morning with tea and questions about the socials of the night before and we would exchange stories and then go out shopping and lunching until the next party. She was like family, and we had this banter and familiar innuendo that started all over again in the emails today. Turns out she has been living in Switzerland the last 5 years and I had no idea. We are planning to hook up for a good few nights on the town soon.
I have also contacted a few more friends on the site that are invaluable in my life.
The Bad
Facebook stress, aka the friend quota issue. It seems like the aim of facebookers is to see who has the most friends on Facebook. You may start out innocently (as I did) thinking well, I don't really want to reconnect with my old high school friends that I can clearly see are on Facebook, but who at this stage of my life do not need to know all the details about me as yet. It is a social dilemma. I'm not ready for it. It's like having a reunion imposed on you immediately with no time to prepare.
As for current friends, as I am in a different country and network far less than before, as well as being unemployed and in my thirties, the chances of my having a lot of current friends (who are on facebook) are pretty slim, hence the small accurate number of my friends who I am actually in regular contact with. I believe I am being more honest because I know well over a 100 people on the site, I just don't want to befriend them right now. However everyone has jumped onto the friend wagon and anyone who has few friends suddenly looks a bit strange.
Second stress in the form of contacting old friends: I took the plunge this morning, had not slept all night researching and writing and in my insomniac state decided what the hell, I emailed a whole bunch of people I knew. Turns out only the ones I thought would reply have so far, and one other, a guy I dated in 2000, who was happy to send me a few emails today and then suddenly went all wierd and stopped, and I have a funny feeling he won't be contacting me anymore. All of this is rather embarrassing. It's really scary emailing people you haven't heard of in ages and then being ignored, because now they not only know you know they are there but they don't want to know you as well.
And the truth is, it could just be that they haven't checked their profile yet or something but you feel stupid anyway.
I'm not sure how this is going to pan out, but I have resolved to try to contact as many people as I know and that way at least I'll know who not to contact for future reference.
Technology stress, who would have thought...?
Sunday 10 February 2008
Sweet Nostalgia
When I was 21, and living with my ex P, the aim of my life was fun, fun, fun. And P did a lot to keep that going. I remember the continuous kid games and dares, and the spontaneous, non-stop self entertainment. We drove out in his side-less, roofless, 4-by-4’s, barefoot and caused a stir on the streets. We had raucous parties, karaoke sessions and even went flying in his rented choppers. I was constantly excited and we were always laughing.
We played games with each other, got up to no good on MIRC chat line (remember that?) , called each other ‘My Lord’ and ‘My Lady’, spent sunny afternoons lazing at the pool and evenings of skinny dipping. There were loads of friends and drunken laughs and plenty of sunshine and international visitors and German culture - an incredible amount of fun, it never stopped. It was as if we were in competition to see who could have the most fun and we certainly got on with it.
Right now I feel like I have put on an old mask of those days and realise that excitement is an attitude. I used to put in on in the morning and keep it going. I would have a day off sometimes every now and then to recover.
I wish I had those days back, my mind tells me that they belong to a younger age and that I would look like mutton dressed as lamb if I tried them on now but I don’t want to believe it.
I remember a conversation we had while splashing around in the pool, one late Sunday afternoon. There was a song playing on the music station in the lounge, loud enough for us to hear it from outside, and I was really enjoying it. We were talking about our compatibility and P said that we were so close to each other, because after all, I was the only one who knew that he sat on the loo when he pee’d. We laughed, then he added contrastingly, ‘but you’re so young you probably enjoy this song that’s playing.’ I was shaken out of my blissful reverie.
I can still feel the full impact of that moment, the smell of the chlorine in the pool, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the music lulling me, his friendliness creating a safety cocoon, and then the truth, stinging, when I least expected it.
It’s been 10 years since then, how time flies.
The song was playing in my mind today when the sun was as strong outside as it was back then, I had to immediately download it and listen to it, for old time’s sake. I must admit, it sounded fake, youthful and boring and I suddenly got it, I have grown up.
I resisted the urge to call him up and say, ’hey, remember that song you said I enjoyed because I was so young?...well I just heard it again and it’s crap, wanna meet up for some coffee?’
But of course I can’t because he is on the other side of the world, back home, and I am here. The last I heard of him was that he was engaged and proudly raising his fiancée’s daughter. He moved on, and so have I in many ways.
But I know that he’ll always recognise my voice on the phone, even if I try to fake it. It’s one of the things we share P and I, recognising each other’s voices and the sweet nostalgia of our connection on a level only we know...
And the song? ‘Your Woman’ by White Town, how ironically appropriate.
We played games with each other, got up to no good on MIRC chat line (remember that?) , called each other ‘My Lord’ and ‘My Lady’, spent sunny afternoons lazing at the pool and evenings of skinny dipping. There were loads of friends and drunken laughs and plenty of sunshine and international visitors and German culture - an incredible amount of fun, it never stopped. It was as if we were in competition to see who could have the most fun and we certainly got on with it.
Right now I feel like I have put on an old mask of those days and realise that excitement is an attitude. I used to put in on in the morning and keep it going. I would have a day off sometimes every now and then to recover.
I wish I had those days back, my mind tells me that they belong to a younger age and that I would look like mutton dressed as lamb if I tried them on now but I don’t want to believe it.
I remember a conversation we had while splashing around in the pool, one late Sunday afternoon. There was a song playing on the music station in the lounge, loud enough for us to hear it from outside, and I was really enjoying it. We were talking about our compatibility and P said that we were so close to each other, because after all, I was the only one who knew that he sat on the loo when he pee’d. We laughed, then he added contrastingly, ‘but you’re so young you probably enjoy this song that’s playing.’ I was shaken out of my blissful reverie.
I can still feel the full impact of that moment, the smell of the chlorine in the pool, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the music lulling me, his friendliness creating a safety cocoon, and then the truth, stinging, when I least expected it.
It’s been 10 years since then, how time flies.
The song was playing in my mind today when the sun was as strong outside as it was back then, I had to immediately download it and listen to it, for old time’s sake. I must admit, it sounded fake, youthful and boring and I suddenly got it, I have grown up.
I resisted the urge to call him up and say, ’hey, remember that song you said I enjoyed because I was so young?...well I just heard it again and it’s crap, wanna meet up for some coffee?’
But of course I can’t because he is on the other side of the world, back home, and I am here. The last I heard of him was that he was engaged and proudly raising his fiancée’s daughter. He moved on, and so have I in many ways.
But I know that he’ll always recognise my voice on the phone, even if I try to fake it. It’s one of the things we share P and I, recognising each other’s voices and the sweet nostalgia of our connection on a level only we know...
And the song? ‘Your Woman’ by White Town, how ironically appropriate.
Saturday 9 February 2008
Expectations
Expectations: I normally set myself up for very high ones on my birthday and am equally disappointed when they don't happen.
This year I took the road less taken, for me. I said no flowers, no cards, no fancy dinners out, no stress, all I want is to wake up and do whatever it is I want for the day. It worked - perfectly.
I read the morning papers over coffee and croissants, I watched a couple of DVD's, I took a walk out in the beautiful sunshine, I did a bit of shopping, had a lovely roast dinner at home and listened to 4 and a half hours of my favourite music in the background. It was blissful.
And I got more texts, phonecalls and emails from my friends than I would normally get. And despite my requests, still got flowers from FW and some cards, and I was happy.
This year I took the road less taken, for me. I said no flowers, no cards, no fancy dinners out, no stress, all I want is to wake up and do whatever it is I want for the day. It worked - perfectly.
I read the morning papers over coffee and croissants, I watched a couple of DVD's, I took a walk out in the beautiful sunshine, I did a bit of shopping, had a lovely roast dinner at home and listened to 4 and a half hours of my favourite music in the background. It was blissful.
And I got more texts, phonecalls and emails from my friends than I would normally get. And despite my requests, still got flowers from FW and some cards, and I was happy.
9 Feb - It's about time!
I left my country, I emigrated to new pastures, I travelled the world, I worked and lived in one of the most internationally successful cities, I’ve seen many dreams come true, I’ve changed and grown, I’ve found a new life and I’ve hit rock bottom.
And in this enormous change, I have lost myself.
Today I am 32. It’s an age I am afraid of. It places me in an age group I am still not used to. It smells like confusion and unhappiness. It has an edge of urgency. It holds the memories of the passion that keeps my hopes and dreams alive. It drives me to go on and achieve, to fulfil my destiny. It tells me over and over again that life... is too short.
My biggest birthday wish this year, is to find myself again.
************************
My most sentimental and meaningful piece of jewellery is a watch I bought in 1999. It means so much to me because back then I was lonely and sad, and for the first time in my life, I had enough money to spoil myself and buy jewellery. I bought three watches at a sale and they were all very special to me. I gave one to M and one to G and have worn the other ever since.
About a year ago, when my life was falling apart, the batteries on my watch stopped working and I just didn’t get around to replacing them and so I got used to being without a watch. It was disorientating at first, until eventually I gave in to the chaos that dominated my life, and I stopped watching.
Just recently, after trying to put my life together again, I decided, as an act of getting back on track that I would replace the batteries and start using the watch again, but alas I couldn’t find it anywhere.
Right now, in London, England, it is an hour and a minute into the 9th February 2008, my birthday. I have reached for my old handbag in my bedside drawer to get some lip balm out, but the bag slipped, caused a huge noise and some of the contents fell out, and among them was my watch!
I take this as a sign- that it’s about time I started fulfilling my destiny.
Happy Birthday to me.
And in this enormous change, I have lost myself.
Today I am 32. It’s an age I am afraid of. It places me in an age group I am still not used to. It smells like confusion and unhappiness. It has an edge of urgency. It holds the memories of the passion that keeps my hopes and dreams alive. It drives me to go on and achieve, to fulfil my destiny. It tells me over and over again that life... is too short.
My biggest birthday wish this year, is to find myself again.
************************
My most sentimental and meaningful piece of jewellery is a watch I bought in 1999. It means so much to me because back then I was lonely and sad, and for the first time in my life, I had enough money to spoil myself and buy jewellery. I bought three watches at a sale and they were all very special to me. I gave one to M and one to G and have worn the other ever since.
About a year ago, when my life was falling apart, the batteries on my watch stopped working and I just didn’t get around to replacing them and so I got used to being without a watch. It was disorientating at first, until eventually I gave in to the chaos that dominated my life, and I stopped watching.
Just recently, after trying to put my life together again, I decided, as an act of getting back on track that I would replace the batteries and start using the watch again, but alas I couldn’t find it anywhere.
Right now, in London, England, it is an hour and a minute into the 9th February 2008, my birthday. I have reached for my old handbag in my bedside drawer to get some lip balm out, but the bag slipped, caused a huge noise and some of the contents fell out, and among them was my watch!
I take this as a sign- that it’s about time I started fulfilling my destiny.
Happy Birthday to me.
Feeling old
This morning when I left the building, a man was trying to get in. He apologised for being in my way when I opened the door, I told him it wasn’t a problem. Then he said, ‘you smell beautiful’. I said, ‘excuse me?’ and he said ‘you smell gorgeous’. I was so embarrassed I said ‘thank you’ without looking at him and hurried off to the car.
On my way to the station I thought about that compliment. This morning I made a little bit of a fuss about myself, my make-up, my outfit, I wanted to feel good. I was getting my groove back. I sprayed perfume all over myself, my hair, my clothes, like I used to when I was 21. And someone noticed me.
I was smiling on the inside, when I thought that when I was younger, I would have had the courage to look him in the eye, smile and say thank you. And then I realised that when I was younger I would have probably not given any attention to anything short of something like, ‘Mmm...I love your scent...smells like... jasmine in the spring...a beautiful scent to go along with a beautiful woman...’
And I had to ask myself: In my downward demise, have I created a self-fulfilling prophesy of being a ‘nobody’?
And, when did I drop my standards and why?
Today I met K for a quick lunch. I had to get up early and arrange so much just to arrive at Liverpool Street and walk a mile and meet her. I was looking forward to it, but it left me flat and uncomfortable. K opened up about her relationship with her boyfriend and I realised that I was actually having it easy in life compared to her. I can only imagine I said the wrong things as I got no response to the email I sent her afterwards, explaining that I may have been cold but want to help and become closer. There was also a moment where I wasn’t sure if she was asking for money.
On the way back I realised that my knee was acting up again, and my feet were raw with pain from my heels. I hobbled back into the flat and as I dropped onto my bed to get my heels off, I realised that I felt really old. Old and tired, like my mind needed a permanent holiday and my body was showing signs of over-use. And then I remembered again, that in a few hours time I will be a year older.
On my way to the station I thought about that compliment. This morning I made a little bit of a fuss about myself, my make-up, my outfit, I wanted to feel good. I was getting my groove back. I sprayed perfume all over myself, my hair, my clothes, like I used to when I was 21. And someone noticed me.
I was smiling on the inside, when I thought that when I was younger, I would have had the courage to look him in the eye, smile and say thank you. And then I realised that when I was younger I would have probably not given any attention to anything short of something like, ‘Mmm...I love your scent...smells like... jasmine in the spring...a beautiful scent to go along with a beautiful woman...’
And I had to ask myself: In my downward demise, have I created a self-fulfilling prophesy of being a ‘nobody’?
And, when did I drop my standards and why?
Today I met K for a quick lunch. I had to get up early and arrange so much just to arrive at Liverpool Street and walk a mile and meet her. I was looking forward to it, but it left me flat and uncomfortable. K opened up about her relationship with her boyfriend and I realised that I was actually having it easy in life compared to her. I can only imagine I said the wrong things as I got no response to the email I sent her afterwards, explaining that I may have been cold but want to help and become closer. There was also a moment where I wasn’t sure if she was asking for money.
On the way back I realised that my knee was acting up again, and my feet were raw with pain from my heels. I hobbled back into the flat and as I dropped onto my bed to get my heels off, I realised that I felt really old. Old and tired, like my mind needed a permanent holiday and my body was showing signs of over-use. And then I remembered again, that in a few hours time I will be a year older.
Johannesburg - a fine wine
Johannesburg - a unique blend of various European, matured in fine African, with American influences, and hints of passion, warmth, electricity and excitement, but does it compliment British meat?
Today I was reminded of that rare moment when you feel free, sophisticated and beautiful somewhere, in a foreign country, and then just with one witty statement, your insecurities rise to the surface and you realise that you do not belong completely, and that people see you as different. You can choose to embrace this and work it and re-assert your confidence and power or, to fall into the shame of your insecurity.
When you put down roots in a city, it is like beginning a love affair. It’s deep, raw and messy, it’s troublesome and fulfilling. You lose yourself in it. You become it. It compliments you, it completes you. It blesses you with a lifetime of memories to savour. It envelopes you with familiarity. It awakens that giddy desire to love and be loved.
And if you decide to move on before you end your love affair, you will have to deal with a broken heart and a rebound new-city relationship.
You will need closure, or you will keep running back, yearning, wondering what could have been.
I have not had my closure of Johannesburg yet.
Today I was reminded of that rare moment when you feel free, sophisticated and beautiful somewhere, in a foreign country, and then just with one witty statement, your insecurities rise to the surface and you realise that you do not belong completely, and that people see you as different. You can choose to embrace this and work it and re-assert your confidence and power or, to fall into the shame of your insecurity.
When you put down roots in a city, it is like beginning a love affair. It’s deep, raw and messy, it’s troublesome and fulfilling. You lose yourself in it. You become it. It compliments you, it completes you. It blesses you with a lifetime of memories to savour. It envelopes you with familiarity. It awakens that giddy desire to love and be loved.
And if you decide to move on before you end your love affair, you will have to deal with a broken heart and a rebound new-city relationship.
You will need closure, or you will keep running back, yearning, wondering what could have been.
I have not had my closure of Johannesburg yet.
Friday 8 February 2008
Where has romance gone?
The epitome of gorgeousness, Chris Noth aka Mr Big of SATC (and Law & Order) fame
There is nothing more romantic than the soft, longing gaze of someone who is in love with you when his eyes can’t hide it, and no matter what he does everything seems coloured by a sweet sensitivity, and it touches your heart.
These days I only seem to see this on TV...
Thursday 7 February 2008
Rip-offs beware, and people I hate
I’m having one of those days. I hate the world. I hate all my ex-boyfriends who were jerks. I cannot believe I put up with them. I hate my dysfunctional parents who seem more and more selfish by the day. I especially hate the following people:
· The thieving twats at what used to be YDP, who overcharged me by thousands when I used them to arrange my move here.
· The hair salon called Eclipse who arrange ‘marketeers’ standing on street corners bullshitting people that for £50 you will get discounted haircuts, Indian head massages, unlimited free wash and blows, free hair colouring and various other add-ons, but when you take the bait, they find an excuse for all of the above plus, and how it doesn’t actually relate to you, for example the hair colouring is a blond bleach only, so anyone not wanting blond highlights in their hair cannot choose another colour. In was all a total rip-off. They didn’t even offer me a cup of coffee - they said the coffee machine was broken! And they insulted my country as I walked out the door!
· The beautician at Tower hair (close to Tower Gate station) who charges £45 for apparently some wonder face peel straight off Harley street that does wonders for your face and ends up putting a small smear of what can only be described as cheap mask on your face, for 10 minutes, and calls it a facial. Someone should expose this woman.
· My optometrists for verbally agreeing to deliver a set of contact lenses every quarter for an agreed price and then, after setting up the debit order, denying that it was meant to be per quarter, but rather bi-annually!!!
· Powergen, for fooling you into thinking that everything is okay and then hitting you with an overpriced electricity bill.
· The management company CPM that deals with our estate, for charging a whopping £44k a year to mess up our financial contributions and get us all in hot water, on account of pure incompetence
I know I am pms-ed out, but it’s times like these when I am angry enough to actually say it out loud, (or at least blog it).
· The thieving twats at what used to be YDP, who overcharged me by thousands when I used them to arrange my move here.
· The hair salon called Eclipse who arrange ‘marketeers’ standing on street corners bullshitting people that for £50 you will get discounted haircuts, Indian head massages, unlimited free wash and blows, free hair colouring and various other add-ons, but when you take the bait, they find an excuse for all of the above plus, and how it doesn’t actually relate to you, for example the hair colouring is a blond bleach only, so anyone not wanting blond highlights in their hair cannot choose another colour. In was all a total rip-off. They didn’t even offer me a cup of coffee - they said the coffee machine was broken! And they insulted my country as I walked out the door!
· The beautician at Tower hair (close to Tower Gate station) who charges £45 for apparently some wonder face peel straight off Harley street that does wonders for your face and ends up putting a small smear of what can only be described as cheap mask on your face, for 10 minutes, and calls it a facial. Someone should expose this woman.
· My optometrists for verbally agreeing to deliver a set of contact lenses every quarter for an agreed price and then, after setting up the debit order, denying that it was meant to be per quarter, but rather bi-annually!!!
· Powergen, for fooling you into thinking that everything is okay and then hitting you with an overpriced electricity bill.
· The management company CPM that deals with our estate, for charging a whopping £44k a year to mess up our financial contributions and get us all in hot water, on account of pure incompetence
I know I am pms-ed out, but it’s times like these when I am angry enough to actually say it out loud, (or at least blog it).
Tuesday 5 February 2008
Buying Property? Just rent instead!
If I could ever give anyone advice, who is an immigrant in another country without permanent residence as yet, especially under changing economic environments, it would simply be this. Do not buy property. Especially, in the UK. Let me give you a sample of what I have experienced in the last two years of my supposedly glorious apartment-owning life.
An incorrectly wired boiler (read geyser), meaning that I had to live without hot water for a few days before the problem was resolved, and yes it was winter.
An incorrectly wired bedroom telephone link, corrected ‘courtesy’ of a well known British Telephone company, whose engineer originally suggested that he would sort the problem out as a ‘courtesy’ at no cost, but as it turns out he was expecting me to reciprocate with another courtesy (of the sexual variety) and when I didn’t quite offer the goods, I received the enormous bill, now un-attestable as my two year new-apartment-building insurance time-period has lapsed.
An incorrectly wired electricity meter, charging me the elevated day rate for electricity, which should have cost me the lesser stored heat rate. I spent 6 months enquiring why I didn’t receive any bills and was given various excuses, the main one being an incredibly large backlog. So 18 months later I get charged the over-priced bill which had I received sooner, I would have queried and sorted out the over-priced problem. Now it turns out that the responsibility is with the builder, and for which I had to calculate (without much information) what figure I should be receiving as a refund, myself! This matter is still not resolved two years later.
The management company that is handling the complex, returned some accounts a good few months too late and were in the process of being kicked off the companies register!! They are also so incompetent that they double paid an insurance premium and sent us the bill in advance! These are just a few things I care to point out on their incompetence.
To make matters more hilarious, two residents (roughly 10 years younger than me!), decided to insert themselves as new directors and appointed a new management company without any formal approval (which is illegal) and managed to get this new management company to negotiate a refund from the overpaid insurance, which they actually received (!!) before the management company was even officially elected.
And here I am, trying to sell the place in the current declining house-price market.
Sunny weather for me any day...
An incorrectly wired boiler (read geyser), meaning that I had to live without hot water for a few days before the problem was resolved, and yes it was winter.
An incorrectly wired bedroom telephone link, corrected ‘courtesy’ of a well known British Telephone company, whose engineer originally suggested that he would sort the problem out as a ‘courtesy’ at no cost, but as it turns out he was expecting me to reciprocate with another courtesy (of the sexual variety) and when I didn’t quite offer the goods, I received the enormous bill, now un-attestable as my two year new-apartment-building insurance time-period has lapsed.
An incorrectly wired electricity meter, charging me the elevated day rate for electricity, which should have cost me the lesser stored heat rate. I spent 6 months enquiring why I didn’t receive any bills and was given various excuses, the main one being an incredibly large backlog. So 18 months later I get charged the over-priced bill which had I received sooner, I would have queried and sorted out the over-priced problem. Now it turns out that the responsibility is with the builder, and for which I had to calculate (without much information) what figure I should be receiving as a refund, myself! This matter is still not resolved two years later.
The management company that is handling the complex, returned some accounts a good few months too late and were in the process of being kicked off the companies register!! They are also so incompetent that they double paid an insurance premium and sent us the bill in advance! These are just a few things I care to point out on their incompetence.
To make matters more hilarious, two residents (roughly 10 years younger than me!), decided to insert themselves as new directors and appointed a new management company without any formal approval (which is illegal) and managed to get this new management company to negotiate a refund from the overpaid insurance, which they actually received (!!) before the management company was even officially elected.
And here I am, trying to sell the place in the current declining house-price market.
Sunny weather for me any day...
Sunday 3 February 2008
Symptoms of cheating
Today I had a fabulous roast turkey dinner which FW cooked (after doing all the shopping), then he washed up and tidied the lounge. I offered to help but he refused. I had to ask a few times if he was feeling alright, especially as he had even switched the TV off at one point while being on the main computer (we are trying to keep the electricity bill and the noise levels down). I thought maybe he wanted to keep the flat tidy after my mammoth attempts this week of re-arranging the place and major spring cleaning, sans help.
And then he did something that he would never dare do, sober.
This requires some pre-information. FW is always secretly internet-dating. I don’t know if he actually goes on dates with the women but he certainly is in contact with them. When I first discovered this (and we were a couple), he made a huge attempt to ‘stop’ and as proof allowed me access to his passwords for cell phone itemised bills, email and computer log-on. But around November last year, after I noticed that he was keeping his cell phone very discreetly away from me, I also noticed that he had changed passwords to all of the previously accessible areas. And to confirm any doubtful suspicions, he got really drunk around Christmas and starting msn-ing off the computer, and I saw it.
Well, we are now very much, not a couple, and well on our way to eventually separating, as soon as we resolve the apartment-situation (this is so ridiculously marriage-like).
But today after making yet another statement that showed that he was assuming that we would get back together again, he msn-ed while he thought I was watching a DVD on my laptop, and even though he tried to be discreet about it, I realised that he has no intentions of ever having a real relationship with me, which as we all know is a huge relief as I can’t wait to move on.
I’m starting to see FW through the tinted lenses of my ex-boyfriend (the womaniser). My ex had unexplained disappearances motivated by simple duties like rushing off to the shop to get milk (and later when I’d check I’d realise we had enough to last a week anyway), the garbage got taken out sometimes up to twice a day, and most ridiculous, he feigned a bladder problem in restaurants, all so that he could disappear and make secret calls and texts to other women. He even once admitted to being able to text on his cell under the table- without looking (which explained more than the strange texts I sometimes got from him).
FW goes out to do the shopping, alone, early on weekend mornings, while I am still asleep: he always needs at least fuel or newspapers. The garbage gets taken out a lot more regularly, coupled with the changed passwords...you see where I’m going.
It's just a matter of time.
And then he did something that he would never dare do, sober.
This requires some pre-information. FW is always secretly internet-dating. I don’t know if he actually goes on dates with the women but he certainly is in contact with them. When I first discovered this (and we were a couple), he made a huge attempt to ‘stop’ and as proof allowed me access to his passwords for cell phone itemised bills, email and computer log-on. But around November last year, after I noticed that he was keeping his cell phone very discreetly away from me, I also noticed that he had changed passwords to all of the previously accessible areas. And to confirm any doubtful suspicions, he got really drunk around Christmas and starting msn-ing off the computer, and I saw it.
Well, we are now very much, not a couple, and well on our way to eventually separating, as soon as we resolve the apartment-situation (this is so ridiculously marriage-like).
But today after making yet another statement that showed that he was assuming that we would get back together again, he msn-ed while he thought I was watching a DVD on my laptop, and even though he tried to be discreet about it, I realised that he has no intentions of ever having a real relationship with me, which as we all know is a huge relief as I can’t wait to move on.
I’m starting to see FW through the tinted lenses of my ex-boyfriend (the womaniser). My ex had unexplained disappearances motivated by simple duties like rushing off to the shop to get milk (and later when I’d check I’d realise we had enough to last a week anyway), the garbage got taken out sometimes up to twice a day, and most ridiculous, he feigned a bladder problem in restaurants, all so that he could disappear and make secret calls and texts to other women. He even once admitted to being able to text on his cell under the table- without looking (which explained more than the strange texts I sometimes got from him).
FW goes out to do the shopping, alone, early on weekend mornings, while I am still asleep: he always needs at least fuel or newspapers. The garbage gets taken out a lot more regularly, coupled with the changed passwords...you see where I’m going.
It's just a matter of time.
Saturday 2 February 2008
Neighbours with no lives!
I have a strange complaint. My neighbour (and I now know it is a woman from no. 93) listens outside our door quite frequently as a form of entertainment. I would really like to barge over there sometime and say: ‘get a f*"king life will you!’, but of course they would deny it.
I have suspected this for a year. My sense of privacy in my flat has decreased and it is more than a tad uncomfortable. I am now very quiet when in close proximity of the hallway. I close the lounge door all the time. I realise why this place was so well priced now that it is so obvious that the flats are not very sound proof (as confirmed by my other neighbour, in her potential pursuit of justice against the guy above her who is overly noisy and keeps them awake). And a few days ago I realised that my suspicions were true.
I was doing yoga, alone in the bedroom and of course breathing very heavily and I, as usual, heard someone out there, but for the sake of my sanity (and at this stage unproved suspicion, hence the denial that followed), I ignored it and continued. Then I heard a male voice saying: ‘Are you listening at their door again?’ and a women giggled and said ‘yes!’ They left before I could run out screaming profanities.
You may think I’m over reacting to this but the reason it bothers me so much is that this happens about 12 times a week (of which I am aware) and most often straight after I have had an argument/stiff conversation/audible conversation with FW that I would not like to share with my neighbours, or straight after I have used the bathroom (which is right next to the front door and I don’t bother closing the door when I am alone, although I have started doing this now).
Surely I have the right to my privacy behind closed doors? I can’t believe that anyone has so much time and interest in continuing such pathetic behaviour.
Anyway...
Cynicism: when did I start accepting that being bluntly honest was better than making people feel good about themselves? Happy friendships are surely about people ‘clicking’, imitating one another, being comfortable to each other, not pointing out the obvious flaws in every situation. I need a kick up the rear sometimes. No wonder.
And also...
Two things: First, you can learn so much from the movies. Second, I feel like I need to regress 10 years to get my life back, because it seems like I was more mature back then. (And thinner)
I have suspected this for a year. My sense of privacy in my flat has decreased and it is more than a tad uncomfortable. I am now very quiet when in close proximity of the hallway. I close the lounge door all the time. I realise why this place was so well priced now that it is so obvious that the flats are not very sound proof (as confirmed by my other neighbour, in her potential pursuit of justice against the guy above her who is overly noisy and keeps them awake). And a few days ago I realised that my suspicions were true.
I was doing yoga, alone in the bedroom and of course breathing very heavily and I, as usual, heard someone out there, but for the sake of my sanity (and at this stage unproved suspicion, hence the denial that followed), I ignored it and continued. Then I heard a male voice saying: ‘Are you listening at their door again?’ and a women giggled and said ‘yes!’ They left before I could run out screaming profanities.
You may think I’m over reacting to this but the reason it bothers me so much is that this happens about 12 times a week (of which I am aware) and most often straight after I have had an argument/stiff conversation/audible conversation with FW that I would not like to share with my neighbours, or straight after I have used the bathroom (which is right next to the front door and I don’t bother closing the door when I am alone, although I have started doing this now).
Surely I have the right to my privacy behind closed doors? I can’t believe that anyone has so much time and interest in continuing such pathetic behaviour.
Anyway...
Cynicism: when did I start accepting that being bluntly honest was better than making people feel good about themselves? Happy friendships are surely about people ‘clicking’, imitating one another, being comfortable to each other, not pointing out the obvious flaws in every situation. I need a kick up the rear sometimes. No wonder.
And also...
Two things: First, you can learn so much from the movies. Second, I feel like I need to regress 10 years to get my life back, because it seems like I was more mature back then. (And thinner)
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