Verbal Diarrhoea

I realize now that writing my number with the words “For a good time call Sid”, in an attempt to get a boyfriend, was not the brightest idea. In fact it ranks right up there with the incidence of 1997, where I ground up laxatives into a can of coke and offered it to a classmate. High school: where your parents are under the misguided impressed that you’re just learning about academically relevant topics.

Anyway, yesterday I found the following text message on my phone: “Hi. I came across yr number on my phn bt iv no clue who u r.”

Now most people would have provided the interrogator with a simple explanation of who they are. I of course am not most people. As Michelle Branch so wisely sung, “I’m a little left of centre, I’m a little out of tune, Some say I’m paranormal, So I just bend their spoon, Who wants to be ordinary.” So I took the question and decided to use it to reflect on who I really am? Would I describe myself by the work I do? Is my job really a good reflection of who I am? Yeah, sure I spend 8 hours of my day here, but can I really say that I am my job? Do I state that I’m a surfer with a possible coffee addiction? Do I tell him about all my hopes and dreams?  

Ten minutes later, I decided I was a Meredith Brooks’ song and quoted the lyrics Bitch. Thirty minutes later and he came back with a similar reply (I’m guessing he didn’t recognize the “angry woman” anthem).

Anyway, here’s part of his reply, “Can’t remember who u r but can sense that you have gd karma. Stay as u r.”

And that ladies and gentlemen, was the highlight of my day.       

*

Anyway, my bucket list is over at Brazen’s. You should check it out.

Overheard in Cape Town

Friend 1: I can’t wait for the weekend. Some R&R is definitely needed.

Friend 2: What’s R&R? Rohypnol and rape?

*

I’m not sure how many of you have received the memo but today’s Friday. And in my world that means looking fabulous and goofing off with my colleagues.

Wanting to appear ultra feminine this morning, I settled on a cute, floral dress. Or at least I thought the dress was cute, until a few months ago when a female colleague commented on my appearance. If memory serves me correctly, I think her exact words were, “Holy crap! Are you boobs real? What does your boss say about you walking around like this?” (He says nothing. It seems that women are the only ones who have something to say.)  

Not wanting a reoccurrence of snide comments, I decided to tame down the sexy and add a camisole and pair of tights beneath the dress (and a jersey above, just for good measure.) Upon noticing my “I not here to be leered at, I’m an educated woman” approach to dressing, Fahiema couldn’t help but ask, “Feeling a little self-conscious after Lilly’s remark?”        

Anyway … so far today’s been good with my colleagues serving up delicious cakes and witty banter.

Me: Halle Berry is in Cape Town for a movie shoot.

Web Developer, who’s gay: Now THAT’S one woman who’s worth batting for the other team for.

Anyway … hope you guys enjoy the long weekend.

Busy. Always …

Quote from the movie, “Invention of Lying”.

Jennifer: No. But I enjoy the end result of the job which is money. And the hours are pretty good for the amount of money I make, which I spend on things I like, such as clothes, hiking, drinking – even though I know it’s bad for me. (PAUSE) But I’d rather just get all the money and not work for the results.

This is the quote that popped into my head as I thought of travel destinations. Right now the list of cities/countries that I’d like to explore has grown exponentially.

The original desire to explore one city/country in each continent BEFORE revisiting a continent has waned. I guess I’d always assumed that I’d only ever have money to travel to five destinations and that I’d better make those good choices. But with two promotions in as many years, there is no pressing need. There’s suddenly this belief that there’ll always be time … there’ll always be money.

(Of course there’s also the fear that I’ll spend so much time vacillating over a destination that I’ll never travel).

After seeing this picture I’m currently in love with Amsterdam. More pictures of awesome European destinations available HERE.

*You can find the script for the Invention of Lying here. And yes, occasionally I read the sections of TV/movie scripts even AFTER I’ve already watched the movie.  Sometimes the dialogue is just too good not to indulge.

The daily journey to work should have taken me no longer than ten minutes. But I’d left the house late and now I found myself sitting in traffic.

Sitting there, hands clenching the steering wheel, lips chapped and attempting to sing along to The Postal Service, I noticed her running by. And instantly I hated her. I hated her and everything she represented. I hated her freedom. I hated the fact that it was nearly 8 in the morning and she wasn’t rushing off to an office with fluorescent lighting. Her fingers would not be gliding effortlessly across a keyboard, in an effort to update the latest database. I hated the fact that she had the luxury of spending her mornings exercising, her legs pounding away rhythmically. I imagined experiencing the exertion of my lungs, the cold air on my face and I hated her. I hated her pert ass and blonde ponytail swinging to and fro.

And as sat there thinking up a list of imaginary wrongs incurred by the young woman, I had what others would refer to as an “epiphany”. I realized that a few months ago my opinion of the woman would have been different. I would have looked at her in complete and utter awe. I would have admired her willpower. The discipline that it took to wake up at the crack of dawn and run anything further than a block, was beyond my comprehension. And this feeling of awe would soon be followed by one of dejection. I’d never be capable of any of this.

And now … Now all those things I’ve admired in other runners; all those things that I always I assumed I was incapable of doing, are easy. I’ve finally reached a place where I can run 8km comfortably. I’ve finally reached a place where running is actually enjoyable. I’ve finally reached the point where I can bite down and tell myself, “You’re not done yet. Dig deep. Find your inner strength.”

And as this realization hit me, I couldn’t help but smile.

Fifty imaginary points if you can correctly identify this building.

*

It was her eyes that drew my attention. There was nothing spectacular about them. It wasn’t their shape or colour that startled me but rather their vacant expression – as if they’d seen it all and nothing would surprise her.

Drug addict!

Even to my ears the words sounded harsh and final. Those two words, that simple, singular thought, expressed something about me that I couldn’t quite accept. I’d judged her and written her off as a worthless fraction of society. Determined to change my impression of her, I scrutinized her. If she noticed my staring, she didn’t show it.

Maybe she’s just tired? Look, she has bags under her eyes. Her clothes are clean and there are no smudges of dirt on her face.  

Quickly my eyes darted to her arms in search of needle tracks or better yet, a collapsed vein. The long sleeved jacket she was wearing and the fact that I hadn’t been blessed with x-ray vision prevented me from getting a good look at her arms. Not willing to give up at playing Columbo just yet, I tried to look at her groceries. She didn’t have any but I watched the guy standing beside her, the guy I assumed was her boyfriend, slowly sign a cash slip and handing her a packet of Pampers.

See? She just had a baby. She’s probably had countless sleepless nights. She’s not a drug addict. She’s just tired. Her boyfriend doesn’t really look like her type though. He just looks too … vibrant.              

Once they’d left, I looked over at my friend and asked, “Did you notice the girl standing in front of you at the checkout till?”

“The one with the brown jacket?”

I was taken aback by his reply. Of all the things I’d noted, the colour of her jacket wasn’t one of them.

“I don’t know. Blonde hair. Was there something weird about her?”

“Drug addict. I’ve seen her before. She asks people to buy her things – baby food, porridge,* nappies** … and then she returns the items for cash.”

 * Porridge – cereal.  

**Nappies – I think Americans refer to them as diapers.

Me: My subconscious is fucking with me. I had a dream that the MFH emailed me to ask me out on a date. And all I thought was, “THAT only took me four years.”

Dizzy*: I think your subconscious wants you to make a move already.

Me: He has a girlfriend. Do you think my subconscious wants me to get rid of her?

Dizzy*: I think your subconscious wants you to find out if he’s REALLY happy …. I’m kidding! Don’t do anything to hasten the poor girl’s demise.

Me: Soooo … you won’t be my alibi then?

I woke up this morning to find that I DID indeed have an email from the MFH. Unfortunately it was all innocent and work related and no matter how hard I tried, there was absolutely no way that I could delude myself into believing that the words “I can programme a script that will validate all the links within a website” actually translates into “I want to do things to you that would make Jenna Jameson blush”.*

*I don’t actually want him to say that. It just sounded funnier than “I can’t stop thinking about your brown skin and pert ass. I should totally dump my girlfriend and do whatever it takes to make you mine”.

*

Oh, did you know that when using predictive text and you start typing the word “dream”, your phone will automatically assume that you wanted to type the word “erection”. Unless of course that’s just my phone …

If I could give guys one piece of advice on how to treat a woman, it would be, “Don’t be a dick.”

Yeah, I’m pretty and succinct.