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12/02/2008

I did something no self respecting 25.5-year-old would do… I sent Victor a Facebook Relationship request. No, I didn’t touch alcohol today, no I wasn’t feverish, no I was perfectly lucid when I did it.

Hell, I did it just a couple of minutes ago. So, right now, my MyFace profile states that I am in a relationship. Scary stuff. I crave being in a relationship, but I also fear it will mean I lose my identity, as has happened in the past.

This time around I would like to remember that I adore Wilson toffees, that I am extremely hyper-active, even more so than Lalita and that I think R&B is the best music ever created. Well, these days I can appreciate Jazz and Blues and other stuff, too. But R&B is my very first love.

Now he just better approve this damn relationship request, or else… Or perhaps I should just cancel it, what do you think?

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Back off, or else

11/02/2008

It was Lalita’s birthday yesterday, so she invited me and 8 934 378 other Capetonians to partay. At first, I didn’t think I’ll go; it’s exactly two weeks before pay day arrives again… and I’m practically broke.

At around 8pm , I get an sms from one of our mutual friends, let’s call her Alice. She wants to know if I’m going. I tell her, “Nah, I don’t have a lift, and I’m very broke.”

She offers to give me a lift to the partay, so we go.

After the initial introductions, we sit down – me with a veeeeeeery expensive Johnny Black: R10 more than the average price in town – and get to talking to everyone around.

Now, Lalita and Alice are both quite religious. Lalita is probably more religious than Alice, but is not as much of a Bible-basher.

So, somehow, the topic of religion got brought up and Alice mentions, in a condescending (or perhaps I was just feeling fragile, hence I thought it was rather condescending) voice that I’m an atheist. I immediately got rather defensive. It’s not the first time that she pokes fun at me for not believing. At first I joked about it, but then I got serious: “Alice, I’m gonna moer you if you say something like that again!”

Now, Alice isn’t fazed by many things, but she paled (just slightly) when I said that. Which is funny, because I have never been in a fight, ever! I wouldn’t know what to do…

But what I find so horrible is that they are allowed to mock us for not believing, yet we’re not allowed to do the same. They see their jokes as freedom of speech, but we’re not allowed to make any jokes about religious people, or about being religious.

The weirdest thing is that the girl we were in conversation with, Tracey, could possibly be described as a closet agnostic. Me and Tracey got along excellently much later on, talking about relationships and religion and … stuff such as art exhibitions, et cetera.

But I was a little freaked out by Tracey (I must’ve been feeling very fragile, or very drunk) because somehow she knew that Victor didn’t have access to a car and wasn’t really surprised when I told her his car will soon be fixed.

I dunno, but it really freaked me out. It’s as though she knew him, but didn’t want to let on that she does. Eeeek. I’m being paranoid again. I hope.

I have a cute little feng-shui frog that I feed money to. I’ve had him/her for a while now. I never really used to feed him/her much money; it’d always just be a 20c or a 50c coin.

Some months back, Toby started feeding it R2 coins. At some stage we even had a R5 coin in it. We believed it brings luck.

Who knows, perhaps it does? I thought my luck started to turn in August. But then it took a dip and then, some months later, it peaked. It peaked again in September, when I started this job, and then it peaked yet again in November, when I realised I like Victor.

I always kept a steady supply of coins ready for the little froggie. I couldn’t have him/her go hungry and I needed to feel that my good luck is assured.

So of course I am beginning to wonder if I did the right thing last night. I took the money out of his mouth. I needed taxi fare. Eeeek.

Now, Victor has been busy the whole week. I didn’t really hear much from him. He’s been rather … distant. So I’m starting to freak out. I am starting to suspect that he found my blog (this one) and that he has been reading it on the sly.

I tried to phone him today. Twice. Three times. The fourth time I put my number on “private number” and he picked up. That says something. I’m very, very, very, very sad. Being too busy to pick up my call, but not too busy to pick up a “private number” call? Ag nee, man.

Him reading the blog wouldn’t upset me; him not telling me he found it would. So, Xxxxxxx, if you’re reading this, I’d just like to ask you the following: “Why didn’t you tell me?” Why did you act as though you’ve never laid eyes on my darling little blog?

I deleted your telephone number. I’m considering taking you off my facebook. I deleted the things I posted on your wall. I can contact you only through email. And I won’t do so. Or perhaps I will. See, I know what I get like when I’m upset. Ask Toby. That’ll be Xxxxx, if you haven’t figured it out by now. Not even Xxxxx would do something like this.

I hope you’re happy now.  I’m not. Or. I guess I am. Cause now I know what you’re really like. I guess you just wanted me for sex, hey? I should not have slept with you. I knew it was a mistake. I knew that you’re too clever to want a girlfriend who doesn’t even have a degree or a diploma. I knew that you’d be too embarrassed to introduce me to your *real* friends. Fuck. I’m stupid. *Bangs head against wall*

I blame that picture that Gareth took in 2006. It’s just so damn sexy. You weren’t the only guy who fell in love with those pictures. In one day, I would get 25 Datingbuzz messages. You weren’t special; I was just bored. *Stops banging head against wall*

Recovers, and catches Warren’s eye. Shit, he’s mighty fine. I think I’ll quit my job and shag him. He can be my rebound guy. Him, and not you, Xxxxxxx.

And then, just to get my revenge on you (I’m freakishly evil, if you have not noticed it yet) I will include your full name and profession and everything in this blog. And I’ll email your mom. Or your little brother. Or should I email your sister instead? Who shall it be??? I wonder. Your dad? Perhaps I won’t even email, perhaps I’ll send them a handwritten note to their postal address. I’m not quite sure what I’ll say. But I’ll figure it out.

Trust me.

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How to survive – Apetown style

Many, many of my friends and acquaintances have told me over the years they admire me; I can hustle when I’m really pushed into a corner. At some stage I thought of hosting a monthly class, aka Carrie from SATC, but on how to get men to fund your admittedly-not-so-lavish-lifestyle.

What I have learnt over the years (really only since 2006, if I have to be honest) is that men will give anything for a really good blowjob. Even more if you swallow their stuff. Don’t get me wrong: I love swallowing the right guy’s stuff. And that’ll be Victor, as I did on Saturday. It wasn’t bad, actually… Anyway. Anyone else, well, it’s kinda eeew. But I’ll do it if the money/reward/spank is good enough.

So how did I survive being fired three times in 2006-7? Oh, it was easy.

I pilfered a lot last year. For some strange reason, I pilfered a ton of books! That didn’t really help me to keep my tummy full; it was an attempt to distract me from my poor surroundings. Sometimes I would return the pilfered item to a different store and receive a refund. Depending on which store it is I could then buy something else with that money/credit note. That is how I managed to buy a kettle early last year.

On another occasion, I pilfered a really cute clock. The price: R199. I’m not entirely sure what I did with the credit I received from the store. I think I bought another towel; I was gatvol of Toby using my damn towels. On another occasion, I pilfered some really fancy perfume. I managed it with a horde of sales assistants crowding around me.

The men in my life also helped me a lot. I think I’ve already written about Muhannad and how he used to give me money. R2000 here, R3000 there, it doesn’t matter; he’s got more money than Allah. Uri also helped me a bit. I once placed an ad – I placed many, many ads – on Gumtree, to which many guys responded. One of them contacted me and made the mistake of constantly calling me. Once, he called me a couple of minutes after Muhannad cancelled on me. So I was teary and not in a good mood. I then told him I’m upset because I’m getting evicted from my flat. Well, it was true!

The very next day, he drove from wherever he was staying and gave me R800 to help me. Yes, he wanted to shag me, but it didn’t happen. Remember I said I don’t do coloured guys? I never heard from him again.

So when I didn’t receive money from random Gumtree men, I would receive it from Uri or Toby or even from Anton.

Anton’s a character and a third. He started out very nice, and then turned progressively bad, then good, then bad. Anton is a character for another blog post on another day after I had had two or more glasses of red wine and I’m listening to angry chick music.

Another survival tactic was my Virgin Credit Card. Wow. What an amazing contraption. I don’t know if I’ll ever pay what I owe to Mr Branson, I think I’ll just worship his card thrice daily. It kept me from starving at the end of 2006. Unfortunately, when I thought I needed it most, Mr Price picked up that it is a Hot Card and alerted Virgin Money. At that stage I was already 7k over my limit of only 5k. Well, it was my fault: I asked them to lower the limit, thinking I won’t really need a 7k credit card limit. So silly of me, I know.

So I knew what it feels like when I wanted you to imagine you’re at the till and you want the card to go through and not be declined.

Oh. I also did a tiny bit of freelancing. Not much. Not enough. But I did it, and it somehow got me a job at my present company. God knows what will happen if they find my blog.

So, kids. Do not think I’m nice. I’m not. I know how to take care of myself. I might never become the bergie with Swarovski earrings, but I will always have street smarts. If Uri decides my blowjobs are kak, I’ll find some other sugar daddy in a beat. Trust Craigslist/Gumtree/(insert random, dodgy bar’s name here) for that.

Hmmm. Methinks I may need to ingest something not liquid. So, cheers vir eers! – Ant Stienie van Agter Elke Man. (The trippy writing style I attribute to my boobs being as big as they are today and also to a rather nice 2007 Robertson Winery Sauvignon Blanc. It looks cheap, and it is – only R24 at Pick n Pay – but it’s damn nice!

it’s complicated

23/01/2008

Gareth called me some weeks ago. I was surprised to hear from him again. We haven’t really been in contact and he rarely responds to my sms’s.

I was in Exclusive Books, reading some material on How to tame one’s man, or something like that. He phoned me and I accepted the call, wondering what he could possibly want to talk about.

It seems he got cheated on by his by now ex-girlfriend. He sounded all teary and I almost felt sad for him. This is the guy I thought was so perfect for me. We spoke for over half an hour, which is funny, considering he didn’t even try to tempt me into visiting him at his flat during the entire conversation. He seemed genuinely sad about his ex-girlfriend’s cheating ways.

Which made me wonder: should I change my ways? What amount of bad Karma am I getting by cheating with other womens’ husbands, boyfriends? Why do I not feel as guilty as I should? Am I destined to always be the other woman?

I don’t want to, that’s for sure. Gareth even told me to stop doing what I’m doing. Not that I’m doing much, actually! Well, I plan to, but don’t always follow through. Besides, emotional cheating is actually as bad as physical cheating. That’s why I broke it off with Toby. He was cheating on me, even though it was emotionally. I found pictures and emails and sleazy Facebook messages all the time. True, I shouldn’t have been snooping, but … I was suspicious. Where there’s smoke…

My problem is that I like being bad/naughty/evil. And I condone infidelity, as long as you don’t get caught. But a small part of me wants to be faithful to Victor. Fuck, I’m getting old.

instead, show us where it is and we will find it ourselves…

“you’ve made me feel like a fool. Still I want you to know that id like to stay with you. I have a very liberal relationship. I miss being intimate with someone and I think you do too. We could be lovers…”

What do I say to this sms from German guy? I’m intrigued… I’ve never been with a younger guy, never mind a younger German guy. Grrrr. Especially not a young, very cocky German guy…

my feet are cold

13/01/2008

It’s the year of living dangerously, 2008. This was the year I reckoned I will attend my first swinger’s event, have anal sex, have my first orgasm, hold onto my job, have wild lesbian sex and seduce a cute 19-year-old German guy.

He contacted me a while back, asking if I could put him up for a couple of days, or for as long as I could (I’m a member of GlobalFreeloaders). I wrote back, saying that I don’t mind, however, I no longer stay in the 2-bedroomed apartment; I moved into a much smaller apartment, further away from that old neighbourhood.

We met yesterday to decide if I could trust him enough to let him stay here. He seemed rather sweet on the phone and in the email he wrote some weeks back. He even offered to clean my flat and buy food in exchange for a place to stay! Cute.

I planned to let him stay here until next Sunday or so, which is when Victor will be back from the big, bad bush. I figured if he’s any good in bed, I might let him stay until Tuesday…

Until this morning, I thought it’s a good idea. Then I reconsidered. And I decided it would be very wrong of me to do something like this. Even if nothing happens, he is indeed a very attractive young boytjie and I would be very, very, very tempted to do unspeakable things to him.

So here I am, dodging his calls, ignoring the buzzer and stuck inside my apartment like the hermit that I am. Sometimes guys can be so thick. Surely he should understand by now that I got cold feet?

Perhaps you have been wondering why I am so paranoid over the possibility of losing my job. Perhaps you have been wondering why I always say I’m evil.

About one and a half years ago I got involved with Nick and things were great for a while. We made a very cute couple: I was cute and fragile; he was big, handsome and bulky.

We didn’t really last for very long. Some time after we had sex, he just pulled a disappearing act on me. I suppose I had something to do with it; perhaps I was very clingy … or something. Perhaps he was just a big fat cunt.

So anyway. He pulled his little disappearing act, but I carry on with my life, wondering if I did something wrong. I invite him to a party I held at my flat, he doesn’t show up. I decide to forget about him.

Two months later, he calls me. I almost didn’t answer that call … if only. He offers me a part-time job. I had to write four articles on online dating every month. The only condition attached to the job offer was that I get a computer and DSL. I think about it, I wonder if I can afford it. I tell him I need to consider it.

He calls me continuously throughout that day, raising my expectations. Offers to pay for the DSL as well as the installation costs and makes me an offer of a full time job. Of course I accepted it!

Nedbank approves a R9000 personal loan two weeks later and I buy my first ever laptop the following day. Telkom installs my DSL line and I start work on 16 August 2006.

He didn’t expect me to know everything about copywriting for an online dating site. I kept telling him how very little I know. I struggled. Very much. I couldn’t get the tone right and I couldn’t get the subject matter right. I asked him and his business partner for assistance but never received anything that helped me.

They fired me shortly before my birthday in September. Nick didn’t even have the decency to call me to inform me of the termination; he sent me an email. They didn’t even give me a month during which to prove myself, though they knew I am not a qualified copywriter. True, one does not need a degree in rocket science, but some experience certainly helps. Or, rather, I’m sure I could have proved myself had they given me a bit longer than a month.

I had to get back at Nick. Somehow. I took a photo I had of him and created a cutesy profile for him on Gaydar. I left his telephone number on the profile. I filled out his personal details as accurately as I could remember: race – white; hair colour – brown; build – big; penis size – small.

I rocked with laughter at all the responses his profile received, and, because I didn’t want to keep it to myself, I sent him the URL to it. I just had to! Gaydar promptly closed down his profile, as expected, but I had my revenge. Sort of.

I’m still paying off the personal loan. I still owe Telkom money from having that DSL. My credit record is fucked because of Nick. Merci beaucoup.

some day when I’m a big girl, I will have the heart to forgive him. But not today.