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.


There are some stuff happening right now that’s a bit much for me to handle. I can feel things may slide back into a maelstrom if I don’t stop it …

But do I want to stop it?

I saw two good friends today. Uri and my darling Glen. It’s the first time in months that I saw Glen again (fucking dodgy grammar, please find it in your heart to forgive me). And I was able to vent to Glen about some of the kak that is hitting my fan at the mo. Uri, well, I kept mum. It’s not as though he won’t understand, but he’s so good at pinpointing what’s wrong, it makes me want to cry. Argh. And I hate crying when I’m wearing mascara.

So I bought myself some pwetty things to make my heart sparkle again. I got new skanky red shoes yesterday already. They’re my new fuck me shoes. Every girl should have a pair of FMSs. Today I got new jeans. From Edgars, nogals. But they’re no-name jeans; I don’t do labels. I’m a label snob. It makes me look thin and pwetty! I’m so very thrilled with myself.

And then I got some new red wine glasses at Clicks. I’m far too easy to please. I don’t have to spend a lot of money; I spent R200 on the jeans and the shoes. Only!

Yes, I know I shouldn’t use shopping as therapy. Yes, I should tackle my problems instead of dodging them. But what if I just can’t? What if I’m having nightmares from them? What if my paranoia is so bad I refuse to believe what people tell me? Who can help me?

I don’t wanna


I have absolutely no desire to go to work today. It’ll be the same old, same old: no work to do, surf the interwebs until I’m blue and then go home.

Yawn. True, I do write for myself when I’m at work. But it shouldn’t be like that, right? I should have work, right? Problem is that it we got paid yesterday, so it’ll look pretty suspicious if I stay away from work today, no matter what good excuse I can come up with.


I want this to work. Really. I wouldn’t spend so much time and fucking energy fretting about it if I didn’t. He’s busy, I need to deal with it. C’est tout. Finish en klaar. But I also don’t want to feel neglected. Tricky. But I do not have energy for too much D.R.A.M.A

I thought of taking up a part time job. I actually applied somewhere. A bookstore, obviously. I could really do with some extra money; my rent is astronomical. I’m also working on some shitty articles for a popular Afrikaans daily. It’ll do me good. Remember I spoke to the Editor about writing something for his newspaper? I need to use Malcolm‘s Press Card for free movies on a Thursday – I’ve only been twice. Hell, I could even ask him if I could write a review on the movies and then he can publish it… I’m even thinking of doing volunteer work. But all these are not to become busier, so as to keep up with Victor. No, I have been contemplating doing all of these for months. I’ve been meaning to join Toastmasters for years. Well, for one and a half years only.

Although it is very satisfying to come home and not to have anything to do: no art exhibition opening to attend, no book launch to mingle at and no Christian birthday partay to suffer through.

In other news

It’s V’s day. Argh. At least he sent me an email. He promised last night that he’ll try to be more communicative. I guess it’s a step in the right direction.

Tonight was supposed to be a girlie evening with my spessal fwend – Susan. But I don’t really feel like trekking all the way to her anymore. Instead, I’ll spend tonight at home. Lalita might pop in for an hour or so. If not, then it’s still cool. I’ll have myself some Pongraz then.

And then I’ll spend a couple of hours with Victor this weekend. But first I need to spend some quality time with my pwetty lady!

I’m going to work hard today. Very hard. Harder than I’ve ever worked before. Hmm. Starting at 10am

Wish me luck!

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.

Oh god, I’m so scared to go back to work. I keep envisioning what will happen: “Tarah, could you please join us in the boardroom?”, or “What are you doing back here, you should not have bothered to come back to work, you know?” or “Piss off, you lazy cow.”

Fine, the last one is a bit of an over-exaggeration and I should really get ready now. Besides, they can’t just fire me on the spot for being a slacker. They would have to conduct (even just a small, informal ) inquiry into the matter of me not performing as well as I should be. I blame it on the damn festive season… my slacking off.

Christ. Wish me luck.

Hi sweetie

You don’t know me; I’m your future self. Twelve years older than you, and still the same size! My darling, today I would like to sit you down, and talk frankly about what is happening in your life, and what is still to come. I promise this won’t take very long, you’ll still have time to finish Sophie’s World today… or are you reading Crime and Punishment today? Sorry, my love, I get confused at times with everything you’re reading.


Though I’m sure you’ve noticed that men like you, you don’t really realise just how amazing you really are, so you settle for the scraps. There’s nothing wrong with the men you chose to have in your life, but they could (have been) so much better. As people, as mentors, as friends, as lovers. There’s nothing wrong with sex on the first date, or sex on the third date, or hell, sex on the seventh date, however, soon you’ll realise that for some men, sex is merely a fun game and it does not mean as much to them as it does to you. You’ll cry many tears over the years to come. Please act wisely and wait until you’ve known the person better.

You’ll lose your virginity at 18.5 years of age. Well done, my darling! It’s a good age. I’m so proud of you. Oh, that boy you were head over heels in love with? He is as sweet as you thought him to be, though you never really knew him. In twelve years time, you’ll chat to him on the odd occasion on something called Gchat and Facebook, both of which still need to be developed in 1995. In fact, you’ll both joke about getting married… though he is slightly religious, so might not be your type.


Your mom is going to give you lots of trouble over religion. Brace yourself. Be yourself. Don’t feel bad for not believing. Well done on being so opinionated, though.

Tertiary Studies

I’m unsure of what to say here, as there are many goods, and many bads. Don’t waste the first three years after school as I did. You’ll live to regret it. Do something, anything! Stop watching Ricki Lake with your mom during the day! Get a loan, even if it means you have to get out of your comfort zone. You’re a great writer. You should hone your skills. There will be a period in your life where you don’t write anything for just over three years…What a terrible waste of talent. One day, at Woordfees, you’ll meet one of your coloured idols. Speak to him about your love for words and ask if you can submit something to his newspaper. He’ll go on to become some fancy editor for that newspaper, so act now while he’s still in love with you. Yeah. He was. Trust me. lol


You are worthy of a great salary. Call centre positions are actually beneath you. Get off your arse and get a proper job!


Go see your grandpa today. He’s worth it. He will live a while still, but he isn’t around in 2007. Try to see the rest of your family, too. You might not like them, but they’re part and parcel of your life, and should be treated as such. Spend more time with your sisters, even though you live slightly far away from them after leaving school. You’ll enjoy it as much as they do, I’m sure!


Don’t be ashamed of being coloured, my doll (and stop freaking out when people call you my doll). Get out of your comfort zone, the one where you’d rather read a book than go to a coloured fete. There’s nothing wrong with reading as much as you do. It’s absolutely amazing! But. Trust me, some years down the line, you’ll regret not having more fun away from the constant books.

I’m working it


For over a year I used to be terrible at keeping a job. I spoke about this yesterday when I met some really fabulous girl in Long Street, but more of that meeting some other time.

The last time I ever made it past the probation period was in 2004. Since then, I had a multitude of jobs, most of which I got fired from. Edit: all of them fired me. Except my current one! I’ve been there since September this year and just made it past that terrible three month period. Phew. I guess I am really good at what I’m doing, as I’ve only had one complaint about the work thus far. One complaint and one reprimand for getting to work too late. Considering my track history, that is indeed pretty damn good.

Perhaps it just means that I have finally found my niche. I’d like to believe so. It is a great feeling!