And I ran…

Q: What’s crazier than a 25-year-old girl/woman/lady in a pink dress running in a rainstorm?

A: A 25.5-year-old girl/woman/lady in a pink dress with a Woolworths bag covering her head, running in a rainstorm to see SATC the movie.

SATC overdose affects female’s brain

I’ve been watching too much Sex and the City tonight, and the last two months. I know I need to desist watching this much, but it’s difficult. Even if I start drifting off thinking about Nick every couple of days. At least it’s not every couple of minutes.

He’s the one whom I had to pressurise into having sex with me. He’s the one guy who wanted to take things slow, and I couldn’t understand that, thinking instead that ‘He’s just not into me’.

Yeah, I know things didn’t work out, but I wonder what he’s doing and whom he’s doing it with. It could be in Dubai; he did mention how bored of Cape Town he is, and how much he’s missing Dubai.

I sent him an email. A pathetic little email, saying that I hope he’s doing OK.

God.

I overreact *slightly*

Because I love my flatmates so much, I have decided to move out. I’d rather do this than confront them about their strange uses for dishcloths, their music that I can hear at 22:14, and their abuse of my television.

OK, fine. I’m a strange one. I believe televisions should only be used to watch DVDs, not actual television. But, anyway. So I was trawling Gumtree last night, in the hopes of finding a cute bachelor or 1-bedroom apartment, when I notice something that might be perfect for me. It’s a 1-bedroom, slightly out of my price range, but I’m sure I can make drastic adjustments to my budget to somehow afford it.

I then arrange with the estate agent to view the flat. She asked me whether 17:30 will be OK. I mail her back, saying that 17:45 would probably be a better time. I was worried that I will be late because I take a train and a taxi to get home. Yes, folks, it takes me about 45 minutes to get home, which isn’t bad, but I still have to take public transport.

She says it’s fine, and I got a little bit excited about this new flat. I got even more excited when I got out of the taxi at 17:38pm to see that it’s in a smart new block. It’s also a small block, very unlike the one I am in now.

I send the estate agent an sms to tell her that I’m waiting outside and continue to grin to myself. By 17:45, still no estate agent, and even after ringing the buzzer a couple of times, also no tenant.

Yes, of course I get mad, but I thought that perhaps she/they are just running slightly late. So perhaps I should just wait a bit. I phone the estate agent, but get her voice mail. I leave her an urgent sounding message to call me back. I walk up and down, wondering if the estate agent could be the woman standing outside the blue car on the opposite side of the road. But she’s on her phone, gesticulating and raising her voice to someone on the other line.

So I go home. I get home and vent to the darling flatmate of mine who has that horrible habit of using dishcloths to wipe dirty cutlery with. She’s also the one whose music I can hear at 10:14pm. I vent about unprofessional estate agents, and how I’m going to complain to this woman’s boss.  She tells me that sometimes, that is exactly what we should do to get results. I go to my room, agreeing, but dreading confronting this estate agent because I know I can be very aggressive. And that doesn’t always get me what I need, or want.

So I phone the lady who ‘stood me up’, but first, I put my phone on ‘private number’. “Xxxxxxx, this is Tarah. I’m still waiting. Where are you?”, I ask her. She sounds surprised, and tells me that our appointment was not for today, but for tomorrow! And of course I deny it, why would I make a mistake like that? I sigh dramatically, and say “Thanks” before hanging up on her. Followed of course by another mini venting session with flatmate.

Some minutes later, while eating my supper – beans on toast – I check my email and find out that, actually, the appointment was for tomorrow, and I was wrong. Fuck. This is so typical of me. Well, at least I have apologised already to the estate agent, sort of.

Some gratuitous shots of shoes

Christy and I were drooling over these shoes yesterday… We’re planning a trip to NYC, followed by a pillage of the Saks Fifth Avenue store. Anyone keen to join us?