Relax, just do it


I’m too aggro. Again, last night, I morphed into this other woman. She is loud, rude and really pushy. I’ve had anger issues for a long time, mostly fuelled by Toby. One of Toby’s friends claim I used to be very sweet. LOL. And that Toby made me bitter. He’s probably right. I mean, this guy gains nothing by telling Toby he is the cause of my anger.

I’m so embarrassed. My friends were embarrassed. Mind you, I was only looking out for them. Honestly. I guess I took it a little bit too far. Especially when I wanted to know “What’s with the finger pointing?” and using “dude” and getting closer and closer to the guy’s face. I swear he thought I was going to hit him. I probably was, who knows?

Last night’s little altercation probably did a lot of damage to my relationship with Beatrice and Susan. Because I also got into a tiff with Susan’s friend. Ai. No, it wasn’t just the wine that got me acting like this. I think it’s all my pent up anger that is only now boiling over.

This is not a very pc thing to say, but I’m itching for a fist-fight. I’ve never been in one, and I would love to start one. And I’m not talking about a slapathon. I want a properse fight.


EM & CT tagged me yet again. This time, she wants us to take a sneak peak into my life, um, I mean my bag. I wanted to cheat and pretend I’m using a different, prettier bag, but I decided not to.

So, here is my ratty Nine West bag, circa 2004.

The story behind this bag is that I used to work at a video store back then, in addition to a semi-normal job at a semi-bank. Right? Ok. So, the video store manager would pay us in coins. At every month end. We’re talking about getting paid R1500 or R2000 in coins. What fun.

The money I made from the semi-bank job went towards food (Toby didn’t work, I supported his ass) and some of my bills. The money I made at this video store was my splurge money. Oh, what a feeling.

So I walked into the Nine West store, opened my “wallet”, and pulled out a bank bag full of R5 coins. I decided on the pink bag because I thought it’d always look good. Ha! The sales assistant gave me one of her best sneers, ever, and counted the R5 coins, all 70 of them.

I walked out of that store, the happiest girl in all of Cape Town.

All my crap. I’ll break it down in easy to digest pictures right now.

2 x Tea Bags in different flavours – I ❤ tea. Most flavours. The little reddish sachet is my favourite.

1 x Vodacom R12 airtime – Poof. Gone.

1 x Bus ticket – I take the bus to work.

2 x Lindt chocolate wrappers – I’m an addict. To Lindt and to Vida. I think I’ve got a soft spot for the Vida in my area: it’s where Uri and I were supposed to meet the first time last year. When we got there, it was closed, and we went to one of his favourite restaurants instead. Anyway. I ❤ Vida.

1 x What not to write – A girl’s gotta know such stuff.

1 x Afrikaanse Woordelys en Spelreels – My Afrikaans is rusty. This book might help me regain some control.

1 x Notepad – LOL (You can only imagine what my LOLLING means)

1 x Sexy Carol Boyes pen – LOL (You can only imagine what my LOLLING means)

1 x Louis Vuitton wallet – Yes, folks, this is the wallet.

1 x Vogue Sunnies – Got this from whatshisname back in 2006.

1 x Lipgloss – Can’t be caught without lipgloss.

1 x Tube of lotion – This is fabulous! I use it on my face, my lips, my hands and my legs.

1 x Tampon – You never know when inspiration will strike.

1 x Random mini thingy of lotion – Got this in a magazine, but only use it if I’m forced to.

1 x Yet another notepad – I got this at Exclusive Books in 2006. It contains some crazy notes, hey.

1 x Sony Ericsson K800i – There’s an interesting story behind this. Well, semi-interesting at least.

1 x iPod 30Gig – Running out of space. Only 6.5 Gigs left on it.

1 x Set of keys – Scooter and housekeys.

Twee Ingelsmanne


“Let’s call the whole thing off”.

This is almost what we did on Sunday. I was crying, snot en trane, on Sunday. He wants us to “talk”. Instead of just “calling it off”.

Fuck, Sunday was horrible. I am struggling to adjust to this new Victor. I really miss the old one who used to inundate me with thoughtful sms’s and emails, facebook messages and phone calls. Wow. The first month or so was amazing, this isn’t.

I miss him. And I’d be very happy if this does work out, but right now, I don’t have much hope. I’ve heard nothing from him this entire week. Instead the cute Afrikaans constable is irking me with his flood of sms’s. It’s getting pretty annoying.

Is this what Victor feels like? That I’m annoying? What a horrible thought. I really hope not. Anyway. I just needed to get that off my chest. No, I’m not feeling much better … not yet. I’ll only feel better once I’m home and chugging away a glass of vino. Oh, it also helps that I did some actual work today. I’m feeling slightly more confident at work.

And I wrote an article for the popular Afrikaans daily. Such a pity Richard can’t read Afrikaans… wanted him to proofread it for me. Yeah, I know, I’m silly for asking an Ingelsman!

I got what I wanted, I guess. Right now, I’ve got “lights, camera, action!”

On Thursday, I did something I’m not very proud of: I bunked work. Ai tog. I fucking finally made it past my probation period (18 January 2008) and I do something stupid like that.

So, of course, I got a warning. It’s only a First Written Warning Letter, but it’s there nonetheless. Stalin looked downright uncomfortable, probably expecting me to put up a fight over receiving the warning. I didn’t. Shame, poor oke. I felt worse than he did. I don’t know why I thought he was a meanie. Anyway.

It’s the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We’re always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.

This is from Crash. I guess what happened here, was the feeling of not being communicated to. So I bunked, and someone spoke to me. Finally. My logic is fucked up sometimes, so help me out.

Do I feel bad for bunking on Thursday? Yes, of course I do. It was Warren’s last day yesterday, so I will never see him again. Had I at least showed up for work on Thursday, I would have seen 8 hours more of him.

Oh well, we’ll always have facebook.


As I’m writing this, I have someone standing outside my door, banging to get in, trying to “evict” me. LOL. They’ve been at it for half an hour or so. I called the police, and they’re sending someone out.

Actually, I haven’t heard anything much from them now for a full minute. I saw a shadow a minute ago, but that’s been it. That, and the normal noises of people opening their doors to get outside. The funniest thing is that they got here just as I was about to leave the flat! I heard some noises, and closed the door just in time. I am dying for a cuppa, and to return the videos I rented. Argh.

House arrest

Let’s see what’s gonna happen. Victor offered his help, should anything happen. Leigh-Anne tried to help, too. Thanks, honey. You’re a darling.



Well, that was a rather interesting two hours. I learned that there are some very cute Afrikaans constables out there. Some of them do have a rather wicked sense of humour, and I didn’t receive the second season of Sopranos. I’ve got seasons 1, 3-6, but not season 2. I wonder…

This was just what I needed. Some excitement. Wow. I feel alive again. Argh. Anyway. That was completely random. I’m no longer under house-arrest. The landlady threatened to evict me, even though the cops told her she’s not allowed to. The cops were excellent, especially my Afrikaans boy.

Let me know when you want to move the couch.

That’s from Cute Afrikaans boytjie. LOL. I think he really liked me!

Anyway. I’m in desperate need of a coffee. Especially now that the landlady’s daughter threatens to move in here. We’ll see about that. I doubt she will, though. Well, it’s nice to know the law is on my side. And thank Jebus for stupid landladies.

So here’s the thing: my dear (or not so dear) landlady wants me out … by tomorrow night. I’ve got nowhere else to go, bar my parents’ two-bedroom semi with the outside toilet and no bathroom. Divine.

We don’t have a lease; we have a month-to-month agreement, according to her. I never signed anything; she never asked me to. Not even our “agreement” that I move out. She’s been bloody stupid, this isn’t something I would expect from someone with a 4-year diploma. But then again, she’s only a high-school teacher. What does she know?

So. Technically, I have the law on my side, even if only for a short little while. Problem is that she can make my life pretty damn difficult should she choose to. She said as much last Friday. Even threatened me, at which point I then asked her: “May I record you while you repeat what you said just now?”

At that point she stormed off, refusing to open the security gate to my flat. I had to beg her to open it. I don’t like begging, but I also didn’t feel like being outside on the street on Friday night. And I wouldn’t even know how to force a gate open.

Which is why I’ll be buying a massive lock tomorrow afternoon. And I won’t leave the flat over the weekend. She’ll have to lock me inside, then.

Leigh-Anne wants to move to the Northern Suburbs. A part of me likes, another bigger part of me says “NO!!”. I’m a city girl. I need my culture: coffee shops, bookstores, art exhibitions, poetry evenings, book launches, my fuck buddies, dinner parties, et cetera. But I’ll save money on rent. We saw a 2-bedroom flat in “Perou” for R1600 a month. Fuck me. That’s R1100 less a month than what I’m paying for my bachelor…

Argh. Victor would be pleased that I’m moving to the Northern Suburbs. My parents would also be pleased. My wallet, who is my dearest friend, would be fucking thrilled. But alas. Let’s see. Let’s see how things pan out in the next couple of days slash hours and then we can decide on my fate.

EDIT: Um, I was wondering, should I put up a fight, or should I let her have her way? What ya think?

tarahsweeney at g mail dot com 

I need a life


I need a life. I’m stalking Natasha again on Facebook. Browsing her photos. Wondering where Toby went wrong, wondering where I went wrong, wondering where everything went wrong. Iamastalker.

It’s still difficult to believe how he could fall for someone who’s probably double my size, but then again, I guess it’s not all about the outer appearances. I hope she’s making him happy. Really, I do. I didn’t make him happy.

I just couldn’t respect him. I out earned him, I thought I was smarter than him, I detested his weed smoking, I was always grumpy, he just couldn’t make me happy, no matter how hard he tried. There was always something wrong. Yes, you guessed right: I blame myself.

Only during the last couple of months did I finally realize he’ll always earn less than me and I’ll be the breadwinner. And, eventually, I started to make peace with that. But it was too late by then.

So, I doubt we’ll ever be friends, but … argh. Fuck her! (Not quite sure where that came from, promise)

I’m pregnant


No, I’m not. LOL. But.

I’m bored. Of life. Of myself. I need some excitement.

So I’m planning a getaway of sorts. Two weeks, possibly a full month. It’ll do me good and it’ll probably give me some perspective on a lot of things. I need that.

I’ll put my furniture in storage and hitchhike across SA. Fine, then, I won’t hitchhike. But I need some sort of adventure. Anything.

Right now.

That’s my question, folks. Lee told me I should never show him (you know who) this blog. Richard reckons that he’d be damn stupid to dump me if he does ever read it. Mwah @ Richard.

What should I tell him? Should I tell him that I got fired from my job at a big retail company for stealing? It was, admittedly, a very grey area: virtual money. And it wasn’t even a lot. Should he know that my local Woolies banned me from “shopping” there? That is, until they got a new store manager and a new security guard. Should Dubbeld know how worried I am that the old manager or security guard will show up there, see me and tell me to get lost?

Just how much does my “Facebook complicated” need to know?

I’m awake


It’s Saturday 16 February, 9 days before pay day and I woke up at 5:30am. Well, I didn’t wake up this early because I’m excited that pay day is one day closer, no, sir. I normally wake up this early on a Saturday because of butterflies in my tummy: I’m gonna see my darling.

Today is different. I thought I heard someone outside the flat. I’m paranoid like that. But I became like this for a reason. I suffered 3 break ins in 2006/07.

The first time was rather funny. I got home one Sunday afternoon and noticed the DVD player is gone. I call Toby. “Hey. The DVD Player is gone. Did you take it?” I ask him. “No, why would I do that? We’ve got a DVD Player.” he says.

Now I’m perplexed. If one stays on the 6th storey, you feel rather immune to the ravages of the outside world, and this includes being burgled. Who would honestly want to scale up your building, only to take a single item? But it happened, so it has to be someone.

The second time it happened, wasn’t funny. I got home at 2am to find out that my laptop, tv set, DVD player were gone. I didn’t hesitate calling my then flatmate. “Jou ma se ****!” I shouted at him. Over and over again, I insulted him. It could not have been anyone else who took the stuff. I locked the damn security gate and there was no fucking sign of forced entry.

The third time was fucking scary. I was living with Asanda and was alone in the flat that morning when I woke up at about 4am. I still thought to myself: “Cool, now I can finish Half of a Yellow Sun!” Alas, that didn’t quite happen that morning. I didn’t wake up by myself; I actually awoke from some rather strange noises in the flat.

I was thinking to myself what to do and worried they’ll come into the bedroom. Well, I didn’t have to worry they’ll do it; they had already been inside the bedroom by that stage. The bastards took all my stuff, which were in the corner, and they threw about half of it in the lounge. They didn’t touch Asanda’s stuff. They took fuckall of hers, only my stuff. I lost memories that day. I lost my funky Swarovski earrings, which I treasured immensely. They were one of a fucking kind, those earrings. Very similar to my skanky red shoes, these earrings were so very unique, I’d be complemented about them on a daily basis. No one else had them. Or rather, no one else had ever seen earrings like those. My heart was broken. Is broken.

My not so intelligent friend, Beatrice, reckons Asanda asked some of her friends to do it. I mean, why would they not steal any of her stuff? Why only mine?

So. What did I learn from all these incidents?

  1. Insurance companies are stupid. I claimed for much more than just a DVD player.
  2. Insurance companies are stupid. I claimed for much more than just a DVD player, tv set and a laptop. Do not trust people who are substance abusers (my now ex flatmate). Just don’t.
  3. Insurance companies are clever. I claimed for too much and lost my insurance cover. Don’t crash at a friend/frenemy’s place too long.