Please stop calling me. If you persist, I will not be held responsible for what I will do. That will entail stringing you along for the next two or three months, using you as a substitute for Victor.
You don’t want it. Hell, I don’t want it. So stop now. Please understand that when I say I am in love with someone, I really mean it. Saturday’s lunch was great. Thank you. You should’ve let me paid my bit. And good god, you should stop being so very homophobic. It isn’t endearing.
The outfit told me you tried too hard to impress. A more liberal way of thinking would’ve impressed me.
Do you want to know why I always sound miffed when you phone me? Because it’s you, not Victor who’s calling me. That’s why. Yes, it’s a terrible excuse, but I want to be honest with you.
See, I just can’t see myself with you. It’s not your lack of a job (though it certainly does not count in your favour); it’s about your attitude towards some things. The homosexual sex thing just clinched the deal for me. Surely two consenting adults are allowed to do whatever they want to? As long as it does not involve small children or animals, I’m quite happy for them to explore their sexuality.
Oh, and the reading thing. If you want to get into my pants, you’d have to learn to do better than tell me you find reading boring.
You’re a very attractive guy. I’ll admit that. And you’re rather smart, or else I would not enjoy talking to you as much as I did. But that’s about it. Oh, and you’re a great dancer. lol.
But yeah. You’re too needy. Which is funny, because I’m like that with Victor. You should’ve seen me on Friday night. 😉 It wasn’t a pretty sight. Funny, yes, certainly. Pretty? Nope.
So, anyway. This is it. No more. I have made a pledge to myself that I will not indulge in gratuitous sex any longer. And that’s all you will really be. A pretty boy with nice lips.
Two weeks. 26th March 2008. It’s a fucking struggle.
“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!
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?
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
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!
It is almost 8pm on Wednesday night, February 13. Two minutes to go. If I do not hear from Victor by 9pm tonight to let me know what the plans are for tomorrow, I’m going to lose it.
Last I heard from him was the email about him needing to think long – and very hard – about accepting my FB relationship request. Argh.
He calls himself a workaholic and is married to his career. Is anyone else’s SO (significant other) like this? I’m not so sure if I can handle it. Only seeing him once a week for a couple of hours is bad enough, though I can handle it; him not staying in touch is quite another.
He’s a bit of an intellectual snob. And has working class aspirations. Nothing wrong with that, but I’d rather aspire towards a nice home and a comfortable retirement. Not to work until I expire. I see myself as the quirky granny who has a Cosmopolitan for breakfast, you know?
So anyway. I have proceeded to barrage my heart against the inevitable: heartbreak. I gave my Datingbuzz profile a makeover, I posted an ad on Gumtree and I have not been in contact with him since yesterday. Well, fine, I am too used to sending him links to cool stuff I find on the interwebs. I should stop.
Yes, I know I might be overreacting, but I do believe I deserve better. We’re just too different. I don’t think he is ready for a relationship. And perhaps I’m also not.
Tomorrow is V’s day. That means I’ll share it with a spessal friend. Who is a girl, if you were wondering. Remember, Victor’s got until 9pm tonight to contact me to arrange something for tomorrow? 35 minutes to go… 33 minutes to go…
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?
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 lied to SA Succubus this morning. She wanted to know how the balcony sex was this past weekend. Somehow, to my mind, sex still equal penetrative sex. I blame my puritanical upbringing for that. Sex could really be anything that involves two naked – or not so naked – consenting people. This includes blow jobs and hand jobs, both of which happened on my balcony Saturday night.
It wasn’t my first time having a go at balcony sex. I’ve done it before. It was his, though. Oy. He’s so damn conservative, but I shall break him in!
Yesterday me and Victor had a go at something very new: we did it in front of the mirror! WOW. WOW. WOW. WOW. WOW.
Sorry, I almost got carried away! I’m rather chubby, so didn’t think it will look very hot, watching myself in the mirror. I wasn’t expecting anything; just two people … er … fucking.
It was beautiful. Really, it was. I found a new appreciation for my body. Normally I look into the mirror and see an unshapely 25-year-old girl; yesterday I looked into the mirror and saw a fabulous, sexy 25-year-old with a great body. Fine, I saw myself, and I thought: “Hmmm, not too shabby, doll.”
Never mind how it turned me on looking at us… Good lord, it turns me on now, just thinking about it. Eish, I should stop.
I should have done this looooong ago. It almost feel as though you’re watching someone else. This “technique” should not be used every single time … I will use it rather sparingly and supplement it with some more tips from my little book of sexual advice I picked up at the recent Exclusive Books sale.