I’m starting to realise that I’m not yet ready for you. I’m trying to organise my life so that I’ll be the best Tarah. I want to love myself wildly, madly, ridiculously but I’m not there yet. I used to be all about the drama and I’m still a bit ‘about the drama’. That has to stop.

I’m getting closer and closer to loving myself. It took 27.5 years to get to this stage.

So you say that you’re intelligent, eh? Good for you. No, really, good for you. But that don’t impress me much. It used to, though. That and being emotionally unavailable — married, ‘busy’, or just interested in a good old time. But really, I’m glad that you are intelligent even though it’s no longer my defining criterium. Relationships aren’t about intelligence; relationships are about two people who love each other.

So please hang in there. Go out and have fun, work on yourself, learn as much as you can, and have more fun.

I’m relieved that I won’t have to play mind games with you. Things will be easier with you, that I can tell. You may not ‘get’ me at once but you’ll still love me. I’ll feel comfortable enough to be who I am with you and I’ll feel no insecurity. I used to say that I hate the beginning phase of dating because it’s just so damn confusing. Well guess what — I will try to see that phase for what it is: a chance to get to know each other.

So yeah. I’m looking forward to meeting you eventually.




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.


How funny that he doesn’t ever notice these sort (type?) of status updates. He only ever sees the crazy, psycho-bitch ones… So I signed up at Twitter. I’ll use Twitter to rant and vent and go psycho-crazy.

But. Aren’t these status updates so very cute? Why doesn’t he comment on these? Ever?

I do, however, think status updates are fucking evil. It’s too easy to change them. Too easy. And I have an addictive personality (which is why I should stay away from wine…) so I do go crazy on my gchat and FB status.

Tarah is excited about next saturday.12:52pm

Tarah is looking forward to tomorrow morning.10:12am

Tarah is looking forward to tomorrow. very, very much. 9:55pm

Tarah can’t sleep, she’s too damn excited about today! 4:59am

Tarah has an angel smiling down on her fo’ sure! 10:35am

Tarah is a very lucky not-so-little girl. 5:14am

Tarah is madly, deeply, crazily, head over heels in love with V. 12:23pm

Tarah had a GREAT weekend!!!! I love you all!!!!! 10:51am

Tarah se lewe is ‘n eienaardige vervolgverhaal. 10:19am

Tarah se lewe is ‘n langdradige, baie eienaardige vervolgverhaal. 10:21am

Tarah would like someone to whisper in her mouth. 9:47pm

Tarah is missing her darling Victor just ever so slightly. fine, lots.5:04pm

Tarah had a lovely weekend with her pwetty boy!! 4:12pm

In late 2006 I had dinner with a friend at one of our favourite restaurants in Kloof Street. We were having a lovely time and all and all; I wasn’t worried about my Virgin Card being declined and we had a lot of catching up to do. I regaled her with my latest dating horror stories and she amused me with anecdotes about her well-endowed boyfriend.

Eventually, we asked for the bill. Our waitress stomped to our table, looked a little sheepish, and handed me a business card. I thought that perhaps it’s a talent scout who noticed my fantastic cleavage, and who wants to cast me in his latest block-buster. Alas, it was an old, old man. He was enarmoured of my dewy eyes, good skin, but most importantly, my ample cleavage.

I emailed Anton the following day: “…So why did you send your business card; why didn’t you buy us a drink instead?”

He acts surprised by my question. As if. We were supposed to meet for drinks the following week, but I just couldn’t let myself go: he’s old, fat and fucking ugly! This happened a couple of times and then finally I relented. He took me to The Codfather in Camps Bay – fuck, now it’s forever tainted with his memory, and then proceeded to give me R200 for food when I got out of his krok later that evening. I didn’t want it; he insisted. Fuck.

Men were always trying to save me back then. But as soon as they find out just how much saving I really need, they fuck off.

We went out once or twice after that, but nothing ever came of it. I told him I’m only interested in friendship, nothing else. He wasn’t pleased with that and tried to get me to reconsider. I didn’t, but still kept in touch once a month or so.

Fast forward a couple of months and I’m once again without a job and on the verge of being evicted. I phoned Anton, asked him if his offer to put me up should anything ever happen to me, is still standing. I didn’t even bother asking about his offer to sponsor my University Fees… He hesitates for a bit, then tells me that yes, it’s still standing. I tell him “…good, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Some random Gumtree guy had given me enough money – R800 – to afford a moving company’s services just two days prior to that phone call to Anton. So I thought I was sorted.

Ha! I moved in on that particular day and exactly one and a half weeks later he kicks me out. He cited my messiness as reason. I reckon that one and a half weeks I stayed with him were some of the most fucking soul destroying days I ever experienced: I was far away from my familiar haunts; I was out of job; my money was fast running out and I had very little motivation to find a new job. The deal was that I could stay there for as long as I needed, yes, even if I wanted to study. Oh well.

I’m glad he kicked me out. Really, I am. I still find it difficult to believe that I thought he would treat me with respect. I wasn’t even allowed to watch videos on my iPod, and he played music throughout the night. He had a maid but he expected me to clean up his mess, especially the fucking carpet. Whenever I go anywhere I had to explain myself. He even once made me sleep on the kitchen floor when he had a girl over… But please don’t think we shared a bed. No, we didn’t. I moved in with my bed, bookcase and everything else bar my white items.

Perhaps I’m casting myself in a very favourable light; perhaps I gave him too much grief. It was, after all, a bachelor flat. But. I was desperate. Anywhere would have been better than on the street. I didn’t really want to become a larnie bergie. Even though that fictional experience would have given me much material for my forthcoming best-sellers.

I don’t know why I’m sharing this. Perhaps I want to get it out of my system. Perhaps I want to warn myself not to ever trust anyone again. Perhaps I want to tell myself … oh fuck it.

My dear Expensive Mistakes and Cheap Thrills tagged me with a 50 things you didn’t know about me challenge. I guess it’s as punishment for commenting on her list… Oy vey. So here goes!

1.      I read dictionaries. For fun.

2.      My standard order at a restaurant begins like this: “Please may I have a tall glass of water with no ice or lemon.” This is followed by a confused look on the waiter’s face, possibly because it happens to be a HOT day.

3.      I imagine scenarios in my head and play them out. This could happen anywhere, so beware!

4.      I’m lazy and messy and my flat is always a disaster area. I don’t do dishes very often, but that’s ok because I don’t eat much. So there’s hardly anything really to clean. But my flat’s almost always deurmekaar.

5.      I’m addicted to the internet.

6.      My very best friend is actually not very clever and I look down on her for that. But I love her still. Eeek.

7.      One glass of wine is all it takes.

8.      My debt is close to 60k, though possibly closer to 50k these days – I think. The last time I did calculations was in early 2007

9.      I don’t have any degrees or diplomas. I never studied after school but I have a job that required a degree just to be interviewed. So I guess I’m really good at marketing myself.

10.  I tend to wear clothing to showcase my ample cleavage to work.

11.  I was forced to resign from the job before this one. I received a tidy settlement and partied! Well, as much as a geeky girl can party…

12.  I’m very honest; if I don’t like you, you’ll know.

13.  I bought my very first CDs some weeks back.

14.  I used to struggle to open CDs until I got my own…

15.  I would love to be a stay-at-home mom.

16.  At times I think I might be the only person in the whole wide world who has not seen Titanic…

17.  I taught myself how to play chess.

18.  Toby and I moved in together after knowing each other for only 2.5 months.

19.  I am basically an only child. I have two half sisters (mom), one half sister (dad), four half brothers (dad), one step sister (step dad) and one step brother (step dad). My dad’s other daughter has kroes hair and I hate her for it. Why can’t she be pretty?

20.  I love cooking for friends, not lovers or myself.

21.  I spent my teenage years reading…and I slightly regret it now.

22.  Once, I was in desperate need for cash… I phoned an escort agency in the area I used to stay, and worked there for one night. This means I can never become president. Or if I do, I’ll legalise prostitution. And I’ll make them pay tax, damn it!

23.  I think about dying at least once or twice daily.

24.  I’ve had many, many, many crushes on gay guys.

25.  I’m concerned Victor may have found this blog… He asked me something last Sunday that got me thinking about the blog. Fuck.

26.  I once got evicted for not paying rent.

27.  I’m petrified of anything happening to my face. I’m very shallow in that regard. But it’s because I *do* have a pretty face…

28.  There used to be a picture of my darling kitty in Long Street, opposite RCafe. It’s gone now. *sobs silently*

29.  I have lost my brilliant ability to write in Afrikaans, yet I contacted an editor at a leading newspaper and asked if I can write a weekly column for the paper. Silly me.

30.  I dig lay-buys! I wish more stores can offer them. I’m currently lay-buying a sideboard. Ja, I’m old-fashioned!

31.  There are some books that I read just so that I could say I have read them.

32.  I hate being the same as everyone else. I need to be contrary. And that quality has lost me many jobs!

33.  I take customer service very seriously. Very, very, very, very, very seriously. Much more serious than most other people. And I get sorted out because I know who to complain to.

34.  I love the idea of reading the Sunday Times… not actually reading it!

35.  I have a foul, foul, disgusting mouth. I’m very polite on this blog…

36.  I don’t think I’ll ever get a learner’s license… what for?

37.  That woman, whatshername… Andie Mcdowel, I can’t stand her. There’s something about her eyes… and her acting that just bug me.

38.  My bags are mostly old-fashioned ones.

39.  I used to read music when I was little, but I could actually listen and play much better. I found the music reading very confusing.

40.  Victor and I met through Datingbuzz!!

41.  I’m a girl.

42.  I don’t trust people who don’t drink…except one person, of course. And that’s only because I love you so much, my darling!!

43.  Silence is golden. Nuff said.

44.  I’m a loner.

45.  I need a date for the poetry thingy at Spier.

46.  I hate brands (well, most of them) but love to be seen at the “right” places.

47.  Right now, I treasure this moment. It’s quiet, I’m alone, I’m not stressed out, I’m sated and I’m writing. What can be better?

48.  I don’t watch television much.

49.  I dislike all clubs, though I might go if you’re insistent enough. Let’s rather share a superb bottle of wine or bubbly in my flat and talk kak about whatever.

50.  When I get married, I wouldn’t want to stay in the same house as my spouse. I would only want to see him/her once a week. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say.

51.  My rent is half of my nett salary.

Yeah, I know it’s 51 things… I just wanted to be contrary. He he he he.

The about me post


I used to be a cat lady but I gave my two kitties away early last year. I like to believe they’re still alive somewhere, and that they did not land up at the S.P.C.A.

I live alone in a cute little apartment in Cape Town. I moved out on my own at the rather tender age of 20.5 and told myself I will make it. Ha! I struggled a LOT, but it’s finally paying off now, at the ripe old age of 25.5

Toby and I were together on and off, on and off, for a very long time. We were just kids; we didn’t know what we had in each other and/or what we were doing. It was fun, but it was mostly a lot of admin; young people shouldn’t have that much admin. They should be having fun, damn it!

I was on the injection for a LOONG time. I think it really messed up my body; every couple of months, I get a lump in my breast. Very painful, it was. Is, because I think it’s back now.

My favourite activity is not having sex. Surprise, surprise! It’s actually reading. Books are my first love. I need to be surrounded by beautiful things, and, to me, books are it.

That said, I do like having sex, but I can’t do soulless sex. I need to be able to connect with someone, otherwise it’s really shit.

I love buying shoes! Very, very, very much. I have some really cooky shoes. My shoes complete me. But I don’t believe in spending more than R200 on a pair of shoes, which is why Shoe HQ is my favourite place in the whole, wide world.

I’m chubby, which I think is even worse than being fat. Hmmm. Perhaps I should just own up to the fact that I am fat, finish en klaar. I’m 5″4 and weigh 65kilos. Eish. I used to be so much skinnier. And people tell me so regularly. I claim that I’m living La Dolce Vita! And perhaps I am. It must just stay that way.

I have, what some white people will call, an exotic look. I share features with – shock, gasp, horror – Thandie Newton and Jo-Anne Strauss. I look like their fat, very evil twin. Honestly.

Because I’m a loner, I’m a blogger. No, that sounds wrong. Because I’m a blogger, I’m a loner. No, fuck it. I’m a loner. Is that ok? Fine. Good. Excellent. I’ve always been one, perhaps because I was an only child for quite some time.

I have conversations in my head. Not just the normal talking to oneself conversations. No, sir. I have full-blown conversations with re-enactments of actual scenes, or a visualization of possible scenes. It’ll often involve someone I’m trying to impress (Victor, at the moment) and one of my friends or a hip acquaintance like for example Craig Native.

I’m just slightly cuckoo. And it’s only because I’ve learnt to embrace myself for who I really am: cuckoo. And I mean this in the best sense possible. So many times, you meet someone who thinks you’re OTT, but they’re actually as OTT in other areas of their life, they just do not realise it. Toby was like that. And then I rubbed off on him a little. These days, he’s as random as any other Capetonian. Or more so! And it’s all thanks to me. I feel proud!

Oh. Last but not least. I turn straight men gay. But more about that some other day.