One of the google searches that led some unsuspecting searcher to my blog: how to know if a guy is into himself.

I don’t know whether this person saw it as a negative or as a plus. But I think it’s a good thing. You’re allowed to like yourself. So the guy whom you’re dating should also think highly of himself. If he doesn’t, who will? I’ve dated men who didn’t like themselves — Toby is one of them. Even Jozi boytjie is unsure about himself. I’d like to think it’s because they’re still young(ish).

So how can you tell whether a guy likes himself?

Well, it’s simple.

  • He doesn’t feel the need to crack jokes about himself, no matter how weird, fat or poor he may be. A guy who likes himself doesn’t need to do that; he is confident that his regular jokes will impress you. He won’t take the first girl who makes herself available to him. He’ll wait a bit.
  • He’ll dress nicely. No, really. He’ll take care of himself. So he won’t have dodgy teeth or cracked heels. He’ll always smell fresh.
  • He doesn’t apologise for liking something that you may scoff at.

If this were 08 January 2007 I would’ve been crying. Hell, on 08 January 2006 I *was* crying. But that’s a different story and it shows how much stronger I have become.

Fine, then. I cried a little yesterday. I cried after Jozi boytjie’s abrupt ‘Goodbye’ and I cried a little after speaking to LA late last night.

And I was shaking yesterday afternoon when I discovered someone at work is being dishonest. I called her over to my desk once, twice, three times. I made her explain why X and Y are identical. Can’t say much more than that, though.ย  And then I asked her to come with me to the boardroom. My hands were shaking. I was a mix of emotions. This is horrible to admit but I have lost my respect for her. Well, frankly, I have never had much respect for her. She tried to justify herself and acted as though she didn’t do anything wrong. But you can’t con a con-girl. I’m a good liar so I know when someone else lies to me. Here’s looking at ya.

So try to imagine the look on my face when I got home to discover my fridge has been unplugged since, um, Sunday? And that I lost R350 worth of meat?

I love this blog. I blogged about my breakup with Toby and adjusting to being single; I blogged about meeting and falling in love/lust with Victor; I blogged about the 50% salary increase I got in May 2008. Or did I? Eeep. Perhaps I didn’t. But I did complain about getting paid peanuts

I bitched about moving to suburbia, which didn’t feel like the real suburbia. But I somehow forgot to mention that I moved back to where my heart belongs. I took months to be able to blog about Mr Stellenbosch. I met a Jozi boytjie but it turned out He’s just not that into me.

It was a funny year for me. Nothing terrible happened. Well, except that I got some karmic justice, of course. I was single for more than 80% of it and I enjoyed it, mostly. Sure, it got lonely sometimes… but c’est la vie. And that’s why G-d invented wine. I like to think I have high standards, which is why I didn’t get involved with Mr Freelance Writer. But for some strange reason 2008 was the year that I had a thing for boys wif broad noses. It was also the year of livin’ dangerously: I finally allowed myself to buy the SATC boxset. ๐Ÿ˜‰

I moved three times in 2008. No, sorry, I moved four times. I think that was the hardest part about 2008. Constantly worrying about where I’ll live. And dealing with the ex-landlady who sued me for R2600. Ai tog.

I am still struggling to orgasm. I sometimes wonder whether I would ever be able to. Perhaps I was the only coloured female on whom FGM was practised? Or perhaps not. Perhaps I just need to see a sexologist. End of this month, I promise. It’s an investment, right?

Anyway. I hope that I’ll be able to use this outfit finally. And I don’t even think I’ll force myself to lose weight for it ๐Ÿ˜‰

I love receiving fan mail. Don’t we all? Except I don’t receive many long, detailed emails; only a few. So his email impressed me. And I read it again. When I decided to respond to it, I saw he wants to chat to me; we are both Gmail users.

See, I’m a Bad Personโ„ข. You already know that. But I do sometimes wish to meet my Knight in Shining Armour. Just sometimes. But I know that this is ‘real life’, so I carry no expectations.

For a while I had this fantasy: a sweet, intelligent (single) guy reads this blog and somehow, falls in love with me. I think they call this a ‘pipe dream’ or ‘shameful fantasy’. But it was nice. I’d curl up in bed and I’d dream dreams of this young man. He’d be charming, successful, intelligent and be nothing like Victor, Toby, Nick or Gareth. He’d be like the Jozi boytjie, actually. He’d have only good qualities. Or only one flaw.

He’d contact me through the tarah sweeney at gmail dot com address and we’d email each other constantly. We’d fall in love over email. We’d meet, and he’d be as charming IRL as over Gchat.

Something like this happened. Somehow someone found my blog, even though it wasn’t a simple ‘stumble upon’; this was different. He found my blog through a different channel: I posted an ad on Gumtree and used the tarah sweeney at gmail dot com addy. That ad. hmmm. I promise I was bored when I posted the ad on Gumtree. I can’t tell you the title; you might remember it from browsing the ‘Casual Section’. Hell, what if you responded to it?

I got many replies. From married men. From singles. From men who only wanted to see what I look like. From men who wanked themselves silly over the possibility of meeting me.

The ad had nothing to do with Uri’s suggestion. I promise that, too. What he suggested I shall not say.

Someone responded. He sounded nice. And somehow, I responded to the ad he placed on the Gummy Tree, too. And I mentioned this in my email to him. He is involved in a long-term relationship, coloured, a young professional who likes the good things: whisk(ey), wine and pretty girls. I was interested, but not much: his relationship status bothered me. For a change, I didn’t want to be the other woman. So I never responded. He persisted, though. But then he gave up. Or so it seemed.

He sent me an email, claiming to love my blog. But he used a different email addy and a different identity. Of course I felt flattered. I’m a wanna-be writer so it’s only natural that I’d feel proud. We spent two or three hours chatting over Gchat and he somehow convinced me to meet him for coffee. Everything was perfect: I was wearing a snazzy outfit; I felt confident; I didn’t feel threatened. We had a great evening, and then I saw him again.

And something felt different. He was vague about how he had ‘stumbled upon’ my blog. He doesn’t blog at all and this confused me. How many coloured guys read blogs? Hey, I’m just being curious, OK? I also noticed that we didn’t have much to talk about. It disappointed me. There we were at a wonderful restaurant with nothing to talk about.

So I sent him an sms. I told him I know he posted that ad on Gumtree. He obviously claimed innocence. And acted hurt that I did not believe him. And we didn’t speak for a while until he emailed me again — or did he send me an sms? — to ask whether I’d like to have a coffee with him. I felt bad about my prior outburst so I offered to buy him coffee. Which I did.

And then he told me that he did actually place that ad on Gumtree. Reader, I cried. I wasn’t a pretty sight at La Playa that day. And the damn toilets are so far away, too.

I couldn’t handle the idea that he’s involved with someone. After Uri I promised myself I won’t ever get involved with a man who is not available. I am amoral but I’d like to think I am improving slightly. Being an atheist does not give me the liberty to hurt other people. I hate being lied to. It’s bad enough that my sister Elizabeth lied to me about the iPod; I don’t also want to be lied to by someone who claims he’s interested in me. I am rather naive [this year].

I’ll admit that we have been emailing each other a bit since that day. Not recently, though. But somehow our plans always get cancelled. Perhaps it’s better like that.

I will enjoy being single for as long as I can.

I will buy property. I’m working on my credit profile so I’m sure I’ll be able to buy within 3 or 4 months.

I will spend more time with my family and the few friends I have.

I will weed out the friends who aren’t real friends.

I will blog every weekday. Bare minimum.

I will lead an enriched life: travel, study, see a sexologist, read and meet people.

I will learn to like myself.

Congratulations. You have made it; you are a grownup now.

What’s life like there in 2012? Fuck, it’s scary just writing to you; it gives me goosebumps. It’s scary because soon I’ll be you. But it’s cool, too: I don’t have to apologise for the previous sentence.

So. Tell me. Where are you now? Are you still writing? Are you still in South Africa or are you in Brazil right now, being seduced by a hot boy? Or a hot girl?

Wait, that sentence assumes you’re not married or in a long-term relationship and that you’re living a Samantha Jones kinda life. My apologies.

Do you remember today at all? Today isn’t one of our best, hey? We’re feeling a tad crappy but it’s all good: it’ll soon pass. Heck, I actually can’t wait to go back to work next week to kick some arse!

Anyway. Back to you. God, I’d love to meet you. You must look really pretty in 2012. I imagine you are wearing designer clothing: Lanvin, Diane Furstenburg, Valentino. Wait, why not Valentino? A girl’s got to dream, right?

I suppose I just want to know whether you are happy. Yes, money counts but it’s so much better when you have someone — anyone — to share it with. We’re too headstrong to settle for enige Jan Rap en sy maat… and that’s a good thing, too.

Have you had lunch at Banq yet? No, wait, don’t tell me. I want it to be a spontaneous thing. But lunch at El Bulli, well, I can handle knowing the truth. I’m willing to settle for mediocre service at El Bulli ๐Ÿ˜‰

Well, besides knowing whether you are happy I would also like to know about the men or man in your life. Have you had better luck with them yet? What am I doing wrong? Should I give the neighbour at number 12 a go? You know which one he is. Tall, Afrikaans, reads a lot, is a DIY kinda guy…

Or should I just get over Jozi boytjie first?

Feel free to write to me via return mail.

Lots of love,

26-year-old Tarah

OK. Earlier last month I had a bizarre experience with some guy. I’m not going to bore you with details of how we met; instead I will tell you why I realised he’s just not that into me.

  1. He didn’t ask me about myself. This could include my thoughts, opinions and some interesting titbits about moi.
  2. I didn’t mind splitting the bill for the evening but he ordered a rather expensive bottle of wine…and had only R50 in his wallet and an ‘expired credit card’.
  3. He took me to a dodgy place in Long Street when I had told him loooong beforehand I’m over that place. Waaaay over.
  4. He made me feel bad for not inviting him in at the end of the evening.
  5. He didn’t say “Thank you for allowing me to drink your champagne”.
  6. He slept until an ungodly hour the next morning and just couldn’t leave.
  7. He opened my fridge without asking me and poured himself some tomato juice.
  8. He broke one of my champagne glasses — van Woolworths af, djy wiet mos? — and didn’t apologise.

So what did Tarah do? He left here just after 10:00 so I sent him an email.

Last night was a fluke and perhaps it’ll be better if we remain friends.

I’m feeling much, much, much better today. I went to teh Waterfront earlier today — it’s what I do on Sundays, djy wiet mos? And I had a spin on the ‘Magic’ ride. There is a fun fair on at the Waterfront so do go. I was just worried that I’ll slip out of it. I was shaking all the time while the thing went round and round and round and round and… faster and faster and round and round a… And I have no idea what the proper name is for the ride; not even the ticket crew knew its name. *Sighs*

I’m still amazed at Jozi boytjie’s maturity. I think he’ll make some girl immensely happy. But she won’t be moi. And that’s fine, too.

We have decided to remain friends. A tough challenge cause I really, really, really like him. I’ve said this before: he’s perfect on paper.

Oh, and about the flowers that I mentioned on Thursday morning: I returned them and got a refund ๐Ÿ˜‰ And I’m waiting on a hug from a certain person. To tell me that everything’s gonna be olraait and that next year will be two thousand and fine. You know who you are.

I am officially fucked up. Why did I assume that the Jozi boytjie flew down to shag me? Why is it such a mindfuck that he wanted to come ‘kuier’ and wasn’t looking to get laid?Is this indicative of all the bad relationships I have had, or does it mean that he is naive?

We spoke about this last night and we agreed to take things slowly. hmmm. It’s just so slow, though. He doesn’t touch me, even ๐Ÿ˜ฆย  Fine, then, there were some late night fondling, which I enjoyed very muchly, but it wasn’t anything serious. And yes, we do spoon; sometimes I’m the big spoon ๐Ÿ˜‰

He went to visit some of his friends in the Boerewors Curtain so I’m at home. I’m not so sure about things. I know he likes me and all but I don’t think he’s all that into me. I know the signs. And I don’t see ’em. But it could also just be that he’s still a bit shy [around me]. And that he isn’t experienced in relationships, or even kissing: he’s a geek. A hot geek but a geek nonetheless.

I started this blog just more than a year ago to deal with all the shit that have happened to me. I meant this blog to be the digital equivalent of a psychologist. I’m not so sure that it has helped: I’m still clueless about men, I’m still paranoid and I still feel fragile. The Jozi boytjie is a good oke and perfect on paper but, same as Victor, he is a bigย  fixer-upper IRL.

He’s not nearly as bad as last month’s hot catch, though. Or was it October’s? So there isn’t much to complain about except that we only chat when we’re with other people. This is so different from the 3435 IM conversations we have had.ย  He wakes up in the morning, grabs his book and reads until at least 11:00. I want attention, damn it!

And I can get it if I want: there’s yet another Gumtree oke who is interested in me. I should’ve accepted his offer earlier today to buy me coffee. I’ll give him a call on Tuesday or so and get him to take me to Pigalle.

Update @ 23:14

He’s just not that into me. He’ll be sleeping over at a friend’s tonight and tomorrow night. How I’m feeling? I’m relieved. I knew he wasn’t really that much into me but I *wanted* him to want me. Yes, this is a big blow to my ego but … another lesson learnt. He needs a smarter girl than me, anyway; I’m no match for his intellect.

Update on update @ 23:28

I’m crying.

Imaginary Facebook status @ 23:55

Tarah is wondering whether she should erase all memory of the Jozi boy: IMs, photos taken last night and all emails…

I’m confused about the boy. I really am. He flew down to visit me and had no expectations whatsoever. Yes, a boy my age didn’t expect to shag me. Was it something I did wrong? Was I expecting too much? Should I have waited for him to make the first move? Was it wrong to assume he wants to kiss me at all?

Our day started out OK: we had lunch at Den Anker in the Waterfront. He paid. I didn’t expect him to but he did. We then drove to Goldie’s in Sea Point cause I was hoping they’d be open; I wanted to buy chopped herring. Goldie’s was closed. So we came here, to my place.

We placed 2 games of Scrabble and then he claimed he’s too tired. I suggested he take a nap on my bed. I kept joking that I won’t molest him and that he’s safe. He kept saying he doesn’t want to hear such things; he was hoping I would want to molest him. So I sort of took it that he is dying to kiss me, at the very least.

Alas, reader, I wish I could offer you some good news. Perhaps he just isn’t that into me. This is, however, a blow to my ego. I think I’m a bit of a catch, you know? Young, intelligent, attractive, bla, bla, bla. Something to write home about.

Perhaps it was a mistake to let him stay here. I should’ve told him to rent a hotel room. Just a pity it’s Christmas and not some other normal day.

I hope the rest of his stay will be different. Let’s hope.