Aimee’s at It Again…

My blog is a relatively no-holds barred space.  I write about different things, and often from one extreme to the next.  I know that I have different readership, for which I am grateful, but I want to state, again, that I will not tolerate prejudice from those readers who disagree with the content of any of my posts – like the atheists about my religious/faith posts, or the Bible followers that disagree with my view on people like Aimee and her choices.  If you can’t respect that, then I’d rather have you unfollow me.

Thank you.

Now, if you’re still reading:

Read this post first, so that you have the background.

My exams are finally over.  *Happy dance*!  I got back from Cape Town on Friday afternoon, and was surprised to hear that Aimee was in town.  Obviously, we had to get together to catch up on what’s happened since our last visit, a fortnight shy of a year.

Poor woman.  She is totally fucked – in the physical sense of the word, but in the psychological realm too.  She’s not crazy (well, then again, she is in my inner circle, so maybe she is a bit touched), but mind-fucked.

A lot has gone down in the past year, which is the last time I saw her:

Junior got involved with a girl his own age and from what Aims tells me, he seems idyllically happy.  She seems okay about it, telling me that on the odd ocassion he’ll call, just to hear how she’s doing, which she appreciates, although he did tell her the other night that while he was in the shower, he thought to himself that he should phone her.  Hello?!  He’s involved with another chick, yet he thought about Aimee when there was steam surrounding his naked body while hot water was pounding his flesh.  Well, maybe it wasn’t just hot water…   In the back of her mind though, I think she knew even if they had got their groove on, it would have been short-lived.

Mr. Married Willy is also out of the picture.  I say, “Thank God!” even though she is devastated.  While all he initially wanted was the intellectual sex, they decided to meet in person a while ago, but he couldn’t get out of the house, “for fear of making my wife suspicious” and then again recently, but nothing came of it.  I said he got cold feet, she said he got a cold heart, which shriveled his dick and crumbled his spine.  I get her anger, but he is married, although I know better than to bring that up because it’s not what she needs-, nor wants to hear right now.

She tried to be brave when telling me of her disappointment, but I know she’s hurting.  I’m not sure if she was in love him, but she was curious, and with her vivid imagination, I think she had some kind of picture in her head of him getting a divorce, then having rip-roaring, sheet-tearing, chandelier-swinging sex with him, and possibly, some kind of future.  It’s a definite no-go after he made some shitty excuse about not being able to see her.  Snap!  That’s the sound of the little bit of frayed line that held whatever-it-was-they-had together.  I want to phone him and tear a strip off of him, but she’s put a leash on me, so she’s planning her own revenge.  She knows who his wife is, and it’s easy enough to get in touch with her on Facebook.  She has every last text message, and e-mail exchange of the almost two years they’ve been corresponding, and she has no qualms about forwarding them to his unsuspecting wife.  I can only hope she changes her mind because while he deserves to be miserable and alone, his children didn’t ask for this.

There’s no shortage of virile men around Aimee though.  Mr. Freak, now known as Mr. Hot Bunz is still in the picture, which surprises me, especially after her disconnection from the moment the last time and because Friends with Benefits is not her style; being a fuck-buddy, with the right guy is.  For those of you not sure what the difference is:

Friend with Benefits:  Person who is a friend, with whom you enjoy spending time, doing friend-stuff, but it may or may not end up with you doing the horizontal mambo.  When either one is in a relationship, then the benefits are forfeited.

Fuck Buddy: You both fuck each other senseless and then sleep in your respective homes.  There is nothing friend-like about the arrangement.  You’re basically carnal rabbits in a cosmic pheromone-filled warren. Synonym: Booty Call.

So, now that you have the nutshell meanings, Aims is the kind of girl that’ll hook up for the occasional one-night-stand, and if he has her coming like a garden hose, she might even enter into a fuck-buddy arrangement with him, but it will never involve doing ‘relationshippy’ things, like drinks at a fancy bar, walks on the beach or a movie-night, with pizza and wine, nor will it ever involve him/her spending the night.  It will be wanton sex. Nothing more, nothing less.

But it’s different with Mr. Hot Bunz and it’s messing with her head.  He’s become her friend and a confidante.  I’ll chalk the latter off to the fact that I live too far away for her to pop in for a heart-to-heart over a glass of good red.  She hooked up with him the same night Mr. Married Willy stood her up, and it blew her mind, but she feels guilty now.

“Oh. My. God!  Aims, you’re not…”

Yes, she’s in love with him, and she has made the epic mistake of telling him how she feels.  Kudos to him for not getting into his car and riding a million miles in the opposite direction, even more so when she may, or may not have told him in a hazy sleep-awake moment that she loved him, or someone else.  She knows she heard a loud, “What?” from a voice, but she’s not sure if it was his voice, or if she dreamt the whole thing.  If she did say it out loud, I hope it was that she loved him, because she’s already had one strike.  I also hope that if he is an actual knight in shining armour, that he will at least be open to something more, because while Aimee almost never has her shit together, she is a one in a million girl and when she’s in a committed relationship, she’s in it for keeps.  All she needs is a good guy to take a gamble on her.  I know if he does, he will have struck the biggest jackpot imaginable.

To balance things out, Aims finally stopped gushing about herself and Mr. Sexy Ass, just long enough to ask about how things are with my love life.

“Less complicated than yours”, was my response, which is the truth, but some days I wish I had her open mind, smoking hot body and happy-go-lucky (for the most part) attitude towards life and fiery rabbit-love.

I have a feeling too, that another year isn’t going to pass before I give you an update on Aimee’s Escapades, given that she is seeing Mr. Sexy Ass more often now.  So, ‘til next time…adios!

Brain Itch

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Elizabeth invited me to join her, Gabriel and Steve to go and watch a local show, but I am really budget conscious right now, and besides that, God had an appointment with me at church last night.  In actual fact, He’s had appointments with me the entire weekend, but more about that in a minute… Has it ever happened to you that you can listen to a song, regardless of the genre and enjoy it for the piece of magic it is, but out of the blue, that same song will take on an entirely new meaning, and tug at your soul?  If not, then I don’t think you’re normal…

Last night in church we sang “Jesus, Lover of my Soul” and while I’ve sung it countless times, last night I really understood the words.  “You’ve taken me from the miry clay…”  You see, since moving into my own place, things have been hard.  There, I’ve said it.  They’ve been hard.  I haven’t really had disposable income to enjoy the lifestyle I became accustomed to when living with my parents.  Some nights are incredibly lonely.  My friends are around, but for the most part, they don’t really understand just how difficult this transition is for me.  I’ve spent a great deal crying myself to sleep at night, but yet, I have wanted for nothing.  All my needs have been taken care of.  God has kept His promise to supply all my needs according to His Glory in Christ Jesus.  So, as hard as it is, I’m trying to stay focused.  Last night though, when we sang this song, the floodgates opened because Valerie, my colleague, told me that this is a process I have to go through; that God is moulding me for bigger, better things.  He has taken me from the miry clay and He is moulding me into an even more beautiful pearl for His Crown.

I’m reading William Paul Young’s Crossroads and my word, I sometimes feel that the book was written specifically for me.  Sometimes I will read only a small excerpt, but there will be such a powerful message in there that I get goosebumps. I keep telling myself that I must invest in post-it notes so that I can just mark the messages.  I WILL have to make a plan after work today.  

On Saturday I attended an amazing ladies’ tea where the message was about women being the pearls in God’s Crown, and what a timely process it is for a pearl to be formed.  Again, “You’ve taken me from the miry clay…set my feet upon a rock…”  I left that tea feeling… for lack of a more descriptive phrase, specially chosen.  

Not really wanting to go straight to bed after church, I asked Andrea (a friend from Herbalife) if she felt like coffee and within minutes she was at my flat.  We chatted about what happened in the week and I told her about the tea and other happenings.  Normally I wouldn’t really discuss religious/spiritual issues with people whom I am just getting to know, but I feel a strange kinship towards Andrea.  She seems to just “get me”, more than some of my life long friends do.  Her advise was to remember that I am never alone and that nothing ever happens without reason.  Sure, it may not be clear right now, but in hindsight, everything makes sense.

Now, to the title of this post…Brain Itch… for those of you who don’t know what a brain itch is – it is a song that is stuck in your head that no matter how many times you’ve sung the words, you just cannot get it out of your head.  Guess what’s stuck in my head right now?  Your Song by Elton John. I’m not sure why, but I hope it is saved on my netbook so that I can just listen to it to get it out of my head…

Wishing you all an amazing week, filled with blessings, love and hope.

 

 

 

In the Pursuit of Happiness…I went…well…read it and find out…

First of all, before I continue this post, there are a few things you should know…

1. I don’t camp. If it doesn’t have four solid walls and a roof, I don’t sleep in it. If it’s on wheels, I’m not keen on sleeping in it either.

2. I don’t mind the rain, as longs as I am between four solid walls and a roof.

3. I have a love affair…with my bed. Sure, I sleep in hotels on the odd occasion, but I’m always happy to go home and sleep in my own bed. I have an orthopaedic mattress, you see…

4. Dogs should be taught that barking at night is a disturbance. In fact, I personally think it should be covered by the nuisance by-laws.

5. I like my shoes and socks dry.

6. I love hot, clear running water.

7. I like to be able to get fully dressed after a bath.

8. I am not much of a mariner.

Now that you have a semi-picture of the prima donna I can be, you will enjoy the story that lies ahead. I went camping this past weekend. In a tent. Close to home though, beautiful scenery…

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but still…in a tent. For those of you who are a bit slow on the uptake, a tent doesn’t have four walls and a roof. It is a material structure, which, if not properly erected will either implode on you during your not-so-comfortable-slumber, or simply blow over in a gale.
It’s amazing that whenever I plan something outdoorsy, something will happen. In this case, everything will happen.

Two weeks ago it was my 34th birthday and I decided that in this new life year, I would try everything, retaining the good…so I thought camping would be a good place to start. I sent out invitations to friends asking them to join me this past Saturday for fun, laughter and memory-making in the sun. My invitation was received with quite a substantial amount of enthusiasm and timeous RSVP’s. A good sign…

Saturday arrived somewhat sooner than I’d anticipated, but I got up early and went with my Dad to the campsite. He was going to set up the motorhome for him and Mom and I was going to pitch a tent for Elizabeth and I.

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Steve and his new girlfriend, Michelle joined us later, along with Sarah (another friend from the gym), her boyfriend, David and another mutual friend, Jack. Elizabeth arrived some time later, a little green around the gills with flu, but soldiering on as usual.

Dad was cooking up a pasta storm while we all sat around watching him. He is so incredibly at ease doing the caveman-thing, that none of us wanted to interfere.

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We had wine to focus on.

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Pasta was set aside for us to enjoy after the rugby. The clash of the world’s best…the All Blacks vs the Springboks. We all piled into the cars and headed off to a local haunt to watch the game. Despite all our cheering, the Springboks lost the game, and we pretty much lost our will to live.

Exiting the pub we were greeted by rain… Putting my best game-face on, I drove back to the campsite, thinking that Steve and Michelle were right behind us. Mom was snug under the covers in the motorhome and dad was waiting for us ever so patiently. Sarah, David and Jack decided to have dinner in their tent, but were soon piled into ours as they’d left the flap unzipped and as a result, all their goods and chattels were wet. After about a half hour, Steve and Michelle had still not returned and getting worried, I called. Steve told me they’d got lost. A likely story 😉

Now seven people in a four man tent is not exactly a bright idea, but we had good fun nevertheless. Laughing and joking and regaling tales of our childhood. I took a sip of my wine (which was in a mug because all the glasses were in the now-locked motorhome. I took a big swig and felt something solid go down my throat. I spat the wine out very quickly, but it was already too late. Jiminy Cricket had made is way down my throat. Thankfully he was already disinfected by the alcohol.

The rain had dampened spirits just a touch and soon everyone was ready for bed. Sarah and David decided to rather go home and come back the next morning; Jack did the same (he had to work at six a.m.). Part of me wished I was going home too, but soon the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain lulled me to sleep. I was quite warm in my fluffy blanket and comforter on my inflatable mattress.

Said mattress did not remain inflated for during the night, so consequently, I had a not-so-comfortable-slumber. But not before first being assaulted by said mattress. Due to the fact that it was deflating, it was somewhat flexible, so every time I tried to turn over, which was often, the stupid thing would wrap around me like a hot dog, or, if I sat up, it would bend at my waist, knocking me on the back of my head, making me wish that it was morning already so that I could hunt down the barking dog that kept waking me up in the first place. I vowed that if that dog emerged I would bark right back at it.

Morning broke very quickly, with Elizabeth waking me up at 05:30 because she needed to go to the loo. Seriously?! “MTM, please come with me. I don’t feel well…” So, being the trusty friend I am, I unzipped the tent only to be confronted by a haze of smoke. Thinking WTF?! I tried to get out the tent only to walk straight into the gauze. That’s right people, I didn’t unzip the door properly. There are two zips. Once the second one was open, the smokiness was gone.

Steve was already up. Given the fact that he has to be at the gym at 5 a.m. every morning, it is understandable that his body-clock couldn’t sleep late. Michelle lay blissfully unaware of everything around her. Poor woman had worked the entire Friday night, and not had any sleep after coming off shift the Saturday.

After trotting off to the loo, Elizabeth and I wanted coffee and found Steve at dad’s magic bucket which warms water, but alas, does not boil it. Desperate for caffeine I asked Steve if he’d go to the gas station and buy us some and he obliged. He’d just finished putting on his shoes when Mom and Dad woke up which meant he didn’t have to anymore and we could make coffee in the motorhome! Parents to the rescue!

Now caffeinated, I was actually ready to face the world. I just couldn’t get warm though. Turns out that my sneakers, fabulous as they are, they are not waterproof, so as long as I kept walking on the wet grass, the water would seep in, wetting my socks, resulting in me staying cold.

After changing socks about five times, I decided that the only way to get warm would be to have a bath or a shower. I couldn’t get the shower taps turned on, so I decided to have a bath. I nearly plutzed when I opened the tap and brown water came out. Elizabeth was in the opposite bathroom and her water too, was brown. I was not amused. Turns out that the park uses the water from the river which is filtered to remove organisms and such, but it can’t remove the colour. I was horrified!

Knowing me better than I know myself, Elizabeth shoved me aside and poured about half a bottle of bath foam in the bath making the brown water invisible under a white blanket of sweet-smelling bubbles. I eventually climbed into the bath and was pleasantly surprised that the water is even hotter than ours at home! I lay and soaked for a while. When I was ready to eventually wash myself, I realized that I had no soap. Crap! I bemoaned my lot to Elizabeth who came to my rescue with body wash, but not after negotiating the use of my sponge because she’d left hers at home. Fair deal…

Out of the bath and ready to get back into dry clothes…only to discover I’d left my underwear in the tent! So I had to go commando…first thing I did when I got back to the tent was put on my bra and panty.

Dad being the awesome man that he is already had a fire going, so Elizabeth and I held our shoes over the flames and got them dry. A flame licked my shoelace and it caught alight, but I slapped it out very quickly.

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I’d rather have wet shoes than no shoes! We soon found out that the fire was for breakfast, not shoe-drying. Sausages, eggs and buns on the menu. Camping was turning out to be real fun.

Mom wasn’t feeling well, so I loaded her, and some of the stuff we wouldn’t be needing, like the bedding and my clothes in the car and quickly dashed her home. Once back at the site, I ended up with wet shoes again, so Dad said I should check in the motorhome. He remembered seeing mom’s wellies in there somewhere…I found them and soon I was happy camper because I was going to have dry feet for the rest of the day. Or so I thought…

Other friends had let me know that while they wouldn’t be able to camp, they’d join us for a barbeque on Sunday. They started arriving and soon we were a happy group of Dad, colleagues, friends and kids. I should mention at this point that I did this exact same barbeque thing, at the exact same venue for my birthday last year, and it was a great success. One of my friends Yasmin, who was there last year and I decided to repeat history and hire a pedal boat.

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We pedalled up river back to the campsite and Steve and some other guy-friends were standing at the fire, close to the riverbank, so when we pedalled in, Steve grabbed the rope and pulled us in. Yasmin and I couldn’t manoeuvre the rudder to come alongside the bank, so we “parked” as best we would with Steve holding the rope tight. We both got up at the same time and balance along the pontoons, but Yasmin stepped off a split second sooner than I did which resulted in the boat tipping and me going arse over kettle, fully clothed, with heavy wellies on, straight into the murky brown water.

Apparently it was like watching something in slow-motion – but it was not slow enough for someone to reach out their hand and grab me without falling in themselves. I emerged from the water like someone who’d been baptized by a madman, hair all matted on my face, clothes clinging to my figure and wellies filled with water and Lord knows what else.

The guys helped me onto the bank but once I was up and I’d realized what had happened, I burst into tears. Tears of embarrassment and shock. The fright was bigger than the embarrassment, because some years ago I dived into the shallow end of a swimming pool, which resulted in my cracking my head open and breaking my nose. The doctor said that it was a miracle that I hadn’t broken my neck. It dawned on me at that moment when I saw everyone that I could very well have fallen back, and hit my head, or broken my neck because I didn’t know how deep the water was.

Michelle and Elizabeth both came running with towels and calmed me down. I was shivering with cold. Elizabeth took me back to the ablution block and ran me another hot bath. At this stage I was so cold I didn’t care what colour the water was. The problem arose when I realized I had no clothes. They were at home, with mom. All Elizabeth had to lend me was her pyjama pants and her top. I put them on, this time forced to go commando, only to realize that the pants were short and the hair on my legs was so long you could pick up a signal from a space satellite. I grabbed another pair of pants out of her bag – mom’s very bright, pink, fluffy pants and pulled them over. Ah…legs covered.

I had to put on one of Dad’s tops over Elizabeth’s one because without it, it was quite obvious that I wasn’t wearing a bra. I really looked glam. Trendsetter, I tell you!

After lunch everyone went home and we packed up camp, with many wonderful memories. I can’t wait to go camping again, but next time I’ll be a tad more prepared. I’ll make sure:

1. To inflate the mattress extra hard and put newspaper underneath it (I heard it keeps the cold away).

2. To have more than one pair of shoes (and to make sure they’re water proof)

3. To have more than two pairs of socks.

4. To have more than one change of clothes, and not to take them home before I’m sure I’m not going to need them.

5. To have soap and all my clothes in the bathroom when I go to clean myself up.

6. To wear my bathing costume if I’m going to be close to the water.

7. To check my cup/glass of wine for bugs before simply taking a swig.

Next camping trip is booked for 25 and 26 October, at a place called Peace of Eden… but this is a different type of camping – the tents have beds in them, and there is a shower off the tent. Carmen and Ewan arranged it quite a while ago. I am looking forward to it!

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Three Months has Passed…

…since I last blogged. Shocking! I should be court-marshalled, or burnt at the stake, or something…

So, let’s see, where shall I start?

Ah, I know, my hospital two weeks ago. I came to work feeling very chipper because I was only due to work half day and then a mini-holiday awaited me as we were only due to restart work on this following Tuesday. Well, as I sat down in my chair, a searing pain (that I’m sure is worse than childbirth) took hold of my back, and that was me. I couldn’t move, and worse, I couldn’t feel my legs. I yelled up the passage for help, which arrived and I was loaded into the car and taken to casualty, because the stupid doctor’s receptionist couldn’t comprehend the term emergency, and failed even more to understand that I couldn’t wait until after lunch for an appointment. I was in pain and needed help. Immediately!

I ended up having to wait for the casualty doctor for about a half hour, but I got to lie flat which relieved a great deal of the pain, but I still couldn’t feel my legs. I have only ever felt so helpless once before. He poked and prodded, and I yelled like I was being murdered. Eventually I was put on a drip with serious pain meds and for a while I think I saw little birdies and stars. I was sent home with strict instructions to lie flat on my back for the entire Easter weekend. So not cool! Needless to say, I didn’t listen.

I went to physio the following day. My legs nearly gave way underneath me again, but not because I couldn’t feel them anymore – the therapist was one of the most handsome (young) men I’ve ever laid eyes on. And that is no exaggeration! He also attempted to assess my pain, but all I could do was squeal like a pig off to slaughter. He told me to come back the Saturday, but that I’d be seeing his colleague as he already had prior work commitments. So I lost the gorgeous-blue-eyed-boy’s hands on my body…alas!

Went back a few days with significantly less pain, thank goodness. Turns out the gorgeous-blue-eyed-boy’s colleague is equally handsome. Not as drop dead gorgeous, but a looker nevertheless. I’m not sure if it is a pre-requisite to have beautiful eyes to work at this specific practice, but therapist two has equally beautiful eyes, and a soft manner which made him immediately likeable. He pulled and propped and yanked and prodded and while it wasn’t exactly a heavenly massage, I walked out of there unassisted! I even drove myself home without having to drink pain meds when I got there! I was so happy, I could quite easily have kissed him, because it meant that I could go to a concert that evening.

Now, those of you who aren’t South African may not yet have heard of this amazing foursome, Romanz. Do yourselves a favour and check some of their YouTube videos. Go on…I won’t let you read further until you have!

Right, now that you’ve done that, all I am going to say about the concert is, “Wow! Amazing! Super! Bravo, bravo, bravo!” So, that’s pretty much my Easter weekend in a nutshell…

Two weeks before that I went with Carmen, Ewan, Nicolas and his wife, Eleanor to a little holiday village called Jongensfontein. While there, my car was broken into (it was parked at Nic and Eleanor’s place as I drove with them), but fortunately not much was stolen, but the schlep involved to get everything sorted out was not amusing, believe me. The police came to take fingerprints, but there wasn’t a single usable print, so I don’t hold out much hope. The most valuable thing the stupid tits stole was my reading glasses, which the insurance is not replacing and I don’t have a medical savings account, so I will struggle on without them. Besides that, a pair of my favourite sandals broke that weekend too. So, if bad things happen in threes, mine are over! *Happy dance*

On the subject of that weekend, here are some of the photos I took.

Jongensfontein at Dawn
Jongensfontein at Dawn
Jongensfontein Tidal Pool
Jongensfontein Tidal Pool

It is a small piece of heaven, that is less than an hour’s drive away from where we live. The break was just what I needed and while I thanked them, I don’t think they comprehend the extent of my gratitude. We had quite a few laughs and I got a tan that should last me through the winter – physiotherapist number two even commented on it *blush*

Oh yes! I’m moving round about the middle of July – to a place that is a mere 10 minutes away from my folks’ home. I started thinking about moving out when Dad started talking about retiring – he’s not getting any younger and the hard, active work on the rig is taking it’s toll on him. He wants to scale down a bit after retirement, and if I’m honest, I should have moved out ages ago, but living at home is convenient, and mom needs the company because she doesn’t drive. If dad still decides to work for a while after I move, I will spend some nights a week with her and some at my own place.

I looked at a few places online in our area and what fell in my budget was mostly bachelor pads, or single-bedroom places. I’ve always had champagne taste and beer money, so this was obviously not really working for me. I found one place that I would have deemed habitable, but I was put off by the bathroom being off the kitchen (I am not a germophobe per sé, but I seriously don’t want to be flushing the loo an arm’s length from where I’m going to be prepping food) and then someone else at work showed me that there is a cupboard affixed above a door-frame. How the heck is anyone supposed to reach there? Seriously, even I could have drawn up a better plan… another place I looked at online was well within my budget, and semi-furnished, but almost everything furnishing wise was zebra stripes. And the walls were a violent shade of orange. So not the restful zen-retreat I had in mind.

What I really desired in my heart was a place with two bedrooms and a full bathroom. Make no mistake, I love my shower in the morning, but there are just some days when only a bubble bath can make a bad day better. So, with that said, God knows the desires of my heart, and He blessed me beyond that. It is a blessing that came across my path, through Carmen. She and Ewan are currently living in the flat. It is underneath her parents’ house, but with a separate, private entrance. She was telling me that she and Ewan want to move out later this year and I asked her if she’d ask her parents if they’d be willing to rent the place to me. I thought even if they would be willing to, I may very possibly not be able to afford it, but turns out that it is R200 more than I had in mind BUT it includes utilities, satellite TV and will be furnished with whatever I don’t have (which is almost everything!). It has THREE bedrooms (although I will use the one as a dressing room, as they currently do), and two bathrooms (the one bedroom is en-suite), and the other has the bath!

I bought myself a little second-hand lounge suite from a friend of Aunty Carol’s and the lady threw in a round table too. Mom has given me a food steamer, a fridge and while there is a bit of a fight about it, I’m sure my orthopaedic bed will be moving with me (after all, I don’t want to have to go to hospital again, now do i?) Dad bought me a little two plate stove oven and Aunty Carol and Uncle Barry gave me a George Foreman Lean Mean Fat Grilling machine. In the meantime, I have been buying a few things (dry groceries mostly) which I’ve been boxing and storing. One thing I can tell you is that if I have friends over for dinner, there is a good chance that they will be eating Mince/Tuna/Rice Mate because I have about 8 boxes of those meal kits already and most likely canned fruit of some sort for dessert (or jelly and custard)! I have everything to make the flat shiny and clean from Toilet Duck to Mr. Muscle. I have been trying my best to settle all my small niggling accounts (but the back episode has set me back quite a bit this past month, but I’ll survive – I have faith!).

I’ve finally reached goal weight, having lost 20 Kg (although with all the meds for my back and subsequent need to have a pity party (I’ve eaten two boxes of Lindor balls in as many days), I’m quite sure I’ve put some of it back, but I’ll be back in the gym tomorrow (with permission from physiotherapist two) and I’ll start shedding it again. Apparently I have to do more pilates-type exercises, so I’m not only going to be thin, I’m going to be bendy too!

Then, a shocking revelation came my way two weeks ago. A very close friend, Jesse James, of mine for whom I carried a candle for almost a decade (read the linked post, you’ll understand) came to visit his folks and we got together for drinks. I had the most incredible cherry vodka and mint tea cocktail – served in a teapot! He had two beers. From there we popped around to another old haunt and while we were waiting for our drinks, he asked me if I had regrets. I said I think everyone does and he told me that he…he… and then he tried to change the subject, but I pressed. He told me he regretted that we never ever ended up together. I wasn’t sure I’d heard right, so I made him repeat himself. “I regret that we never ended up together, that we never gave a relationship between us a chance.” Now, if you’ve read the linked post, you’ll know he knew how I felt about him, but I honestly had no idea he felt the same. I’d made peace with the fact that it just wasn’t meant to be, and I believe in my heart that I’ve met the man I’m going to marry anyway. Jesse James knows how I feel about this man, and he says he’s happy for me, and I believe him, because I know him better than he knows himself and I’ve never seen him so sincere. I told Elizabeth what happened and the cynic in her says it was the booze talking, but how much truth serum is hidden in two beers? Even if I didn’t feel about this other man the way I do, Jesse James himself has told me that he knows it would never work, because in our case, we really love each other, but it’s not enough. We’re from different worlds, and he can’t give me the life I deserve…part of me is glad he told me, because I’ve always wondered, but part of me wishes he’d never said anything because the dynamic of our friendship has changed a bit. I don’t know how to describe it other than “it’s complicated”.

So, that’s a glimpse of what’s happened in the last few weeks… I’ll try to blog more often, but more often than not, I look around and think “where the hell did the day go?!”

Blind Dates, Studs ‘n Flaming Cortinas

I was inspired to do this repost of an entry I wrote in 2008 on another blog platform…before I discovered the wonders of WordPress 🙂 after reading this post from Scholars and Rogues.

I was chatting with a friend online last night and how we got onto the subject of blind dates, I don’t quite remember, but thought I would share my first (and last) blind date disaster with all of you.  Apologies in advance for the long read, but I hope it will bring at least a smile to your faces today, that I promise you.

Before I go any further, I need you all to know that generally, I don’t think I am attractive.  Not that I’m ugly…  It’s just that I can be in a room full of other women and at least 70% of them will, in my opinion, be more attractive than I am.  I regard myself more of a plain Jane than a ravishing beauty.

It all started when my cousin, Lorraine, 2 years older than myself was the chairperson of the local village’s pool club.  Every now and then she would come round to my house and drag me with her to the pool hall to shoot a few balls.  I should have realized then already that I wasn’t destined for this Crazy Little Thing called Love because I literally (and figuratively) have no ball sense.  As we continue this ride, this statement will become more evident and ring even truer than it does now.

We shot a couple of balls, or rather Lorraine did, while I attempted to rip as much felt-cover off the pool table with the cue as I could.  Eventually she lost her rag with me and decided to march me back to the car so she could take me home.  I would have walked, but it was pouring with rain.

As we were walking down the stairs at the pool hall, a guy shoved past us in the opposite direction and then had the audacity to wolf whistle at us and shout something like “Hey you sexy beasts…” 

At this time it should be noted that whilst I am not attractive, I am not a dog either, and thus, do not at all appreciate being whistled at, nor referred to as a beast of any other kind.

Lorraine wasn’t very charmed at the choice language I used in reply to his comment, but she got over it quickly enough because…
 
… two weeks later she sent me on a blind date with him!

I was visiting at her’s house – curled up comfortably on the couch watching a local soap opera when the door bell rang.  I didn’t make an attempt to answer it – firstly because it wasn’t my house and secondly, it was that crucial moment when two of my favourite characters were about to share a passionate kiss for the first time…

I vaguely heard her say, “She’s almost ready.  I think she’s just putting the last touches to her make-up.  Have a seat in the visitor’s lounge…”

Like the Duracell-Bunny on Energizer batteries, she came charging into the TV lounge, whipped me into her mother’s room, threw some clothes (including a pair of her mom’s high-heeled shoes 2 sizes too small) on me, as well as slapped some make-up on my face, shoved 50 bucks in my hand, whilst in very hushed tones informing me that I was going on a blind date to the local dance hall and that she clean forgot to tell me about it…(yeah right!!) She then dragged me out to the visitor’s lounge to meet the Doorbell-Ringer…

“MTM, this is Roger.  Roger, this is my cousin MTM.  Enjoy the evening, you two!”  And with a shove, he and I found ourselves on the front porch as the door thundered closed behind us.

I gave Roger a very quick once-over.  Tall ‘n blond.  Not badly dressed. 

Seeing that I was now in this situation, I decided to try to make the best of it.  I politely asked him where he had parked his car (the dance hall is about 2.5 Km from the house) as there wasn’t any form of transportation visible in the driveway.

He replied, “I don’t have a car.  We’re walking.  It’s not that far.”  I couldn’t believe my ears!  Walking?!  You’ve got to be kidding!!

Needless to say, I was not charmed by the time we reached the dance hall…

Firstly because Roger had taken it on himself to re-christen me to Angelcakes. 

Secondly because he gave me a running commentary of his dream car – an old Ford Cortina, which he was going to have painted gloss black with a Phoenix rising from the ashes painted on the bonnet.  (Lorraine, you are going to be so dead when I get my hands on you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

And thirdly, but by no means less importantly, because my poor feet resembled two large oranges trying to make their escape out of a banana peel! They were blistered, but not enough for me to be able to get out of this situation

I think Roger must have picked up that I was feeling slightly harrassed, because he told me he would pay my entrance fee – and then proceeded to drop the money-note on the ground where the wind picked it up and blew it into a storm-water drain.  This, I understand was beyond his control, but what really got me is that he spent 15 minutes on his knees trying to fish it out with a stick!

Eventually I ended up paying for our entrance and he bought me a cooldrink.  He offered me a cigarette, which I turned my nose up at. 

Seeing that we had walked all the way to the dance hall to dance, we decided to give it a bash.  And what a bash it was.  I bashed onto his feet and he bashed onto mine. 

Roger politely enquired as to whether or not I had actually ever danced before prior to now.  Honestly, I hadn’t, but I wasn’t going to let on. 

He told me to look at his feet to get a rhythm and then to look up at him.  It worked.  Everytime I lost the step, I would look at his feet and the steps would come.  Finally getting the hang of things, I decided to check him out properly…

Surfer-blond hair
Nice blue eyes
Clean shaven
Crisp white shirt
Black jacket
Black jeans…and then it caught my eye…

I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t what you’re thinking it is. 

I don’t deny that I was working my way down to check out his package, but I never got that far because it caught my attention…

There between his crisp white shirt and his black jeans was a belt buckle.  And not just any belt buckle.  A belt buckle that read “STUD” in 5 inch letters. Polished to irridescent brilliance…Now, this was just too much.

I feigned a headache and demanded to go home, which Roger was only too happy to accommodate.  We walked back to Lorraine’s house where I politely thanked him for the cool drink and the few dances.  Before he could even try to kiss me, I opened the door, said a very hurried goodnight and closed the door in his face. 

I know it was mean, but I couldn’t face the thought of, while he was not a bad-looking guy, playing tonsil hockey with a guy that “advertised” himself as a STUD

(MMmmmmm you kiss so nice (STUD).  Don’t stop what you’re doing (STUD).  Do it again (STUD)…)

You get the picture I’m sure…
 
I stormed up the stairs to Lorraine’s room.  I was quite ready to drive a stake through her well-meaning heart!

She was lying on her bed.  “So, how was it?” she asked rather nonchalantly, trying to hide a smile.

“How was it, you ask?  I’ll tell you how it was!”  I bellowed.  “It was a disaster !  An utter disaster!  You sent me on a blind date with a man that made me walk to our destination.  In shoes two sizes too small, I might add.”

Lorraine looked rather puzzled at this revelation “Walk?” 

“Yes, walk.  You know.  One foot then the other.  Walk.  You sent me on a blind date with a guy who has no car.  BUT wait, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have plans to invest in one.  He is going to invest in an old Ford Cortina, spray it gloss-black and have a Phoenix rising from the ashes painted on the bonnet.  And then he is going to come and fetch me – aka Angelcakes – for a spin.” 

This was obviously just too much for her to handle because she lost her composure entirely and began to laugh hysterically.  The tears were eventually streaming down her face.  “You always have to be such a drama queen, MTM.  He has to own a car.  How else did he get to the pool hall the other night?”

“I don’t know!  Maybe he walked?  Or maybe he got a lift?  But he told me he doesn’t own a car.  Never mind that, it gets worse!”

She looked completely dumbstruck (which is something that doesn’t happen to her ever). 

“When we eventually arrived at the dance hall, he took out the money for the cover charge, as you said he probably would.  Then he dropped it on the ground where the wind picked it up and carried it into a drain,” 

Before she could interrupt, I continued, “where he spent the next fifteen minutes trying to fish it out with a stick.  I eventually paid for us both to go in.  At least he had money to buy me a cool drink.  And another thing, how could you send me on a date with someone that smokes?  You know I don’t like it.”

She looked at me, started laughing hysterically again.  “No! He didn’t!!  I can just see this.”  More hysterical laughter.

“Lorraine, I can’t believe you are making fun of me.  You sent me on the most disasterous blind date in history and you think it’s funny.  Well, I’ll show you funny.” 

I proceeded to demonstrate the foot-bashing dance routine and my discovery of it, the STUD belt buckle.  “You sent me on a blind date with a guy that literally advertises himself as a STUD .  How could you?!  I don’t know what’s worse, you wanting to send me out with a STUD or should I rather call him Flaming-Phoenix Cortina Man?!

She didn’t believe me.  She just laughed hysterically.  “You know, when you leave school, you should go into acting.  You’d be pretty good.”

So I told her, I’d prove it.  I contacted Roger the next day and asked him to pick something up at Lorraines’s office.  He did – in full STUD garb.  She was gobsmacked…
 
The phone rang moments after I had got home from school.

“MTM, MTM!! you were right!  He does have a belt buckle that reads STUD.  I don’t believe it!!  And, for the record, I checked his package out – he’s anything but a STUD.  I’m sorry.  If I had known…”

Before Lorraine could continue her apology, I interjected, “If you’d known, you would have what Lorraine?  You would have still sent me on a blind date with someone else – and with my drama-queen luck, it would have probably been Jeffrey Dahmer’s love-child or something, so it’s OK.  You’re forgiven.  Just don’t do it again.  Ever.  Promise me.  Please.”

To rid myself of Roger, I introduced him to Neema, a close friend of mine, but I did warn her about the STUD thing.  They hit it off, but it didn’t last long…don’t know whatever happened to him. 

As for Lorraine, she promised and has lived up to her word.  To this day, 17 years later, she has not attempted to play Matchmaker again.

Thank goodness for that! 

Solitude…

Octavio Paz wisely said:


(Photo found on archdelhi.wordpress.com)

As I approach my 33rd birthday this Saturday, I’m reminded just how “profound this fact of the human condition” is in my life. Cousin Lorian passed a comment on Friday night at Mom’s birthday dinner, “We’re going to have to dust you off; you’re on the shelf now!” Normally I would simply let it fly over my head, but like I said in my previous post, I do hear the loud ding-dong-tick-tock of Big Ben in my brain and belly. And yes, I know and believe that God is still writing my love story, but sometimes the loneliness of not having my own “someone special” does get to me. I find myself almost resenting my coupled friends because they have something I don’t – and I keep wondering why God has chosen them to be, for lack of better expression, happier than me. Some days I feel so incredibly alone, despite having wonderful parents, extended family and some of the most loyal, true friends a girl could ask for. I am loved by so many, except that “special one”.

I’ve met some wonderful potential “special ones”, but I know in my heart, romantic relationships with them would not go the distance. The majority of them are at least a decade older than I am, some being divorced with kids already half my age, some having never been married, but with zero ambition…

I’ve fancied someone for quite some time, someone who could be the “another” that I could realize myself in, and he knows it, despite his pretence of obliviousness. In many ways, he is what my heart desires – well mannered, ambitious, gentle, caring, fun, stable, focused, attractive, diligent…the list can go on for quite a while…but for reasons unbeknownst to me, nothing more than a semi-stable friendship has evolved. I say semi-stable, because we’ve made progress as friends, but it is as if he is afraid of really showing who he is…fear, perhaps? Trust issues? Closeted skeletons? I’m naturally an open person, and (much to my shock and horror), some people are intimated by this. Mom has always told me to be who I am and if people can’t deal with me the way I am, it’s their loss, not mine. But, like I’ve said before, I have this deep-rooted yearning to be liked.

Mom, Elizabeth and I were having coffee at a local franchise on Saturday and there was a couple with their son (about eleven or so), and a little baby girl. She was so beautiful, so precious, so perfect, so…something I long for. And I don’t only mean the baby…I mean the whole family unit…MY family unit.

Time will tell, I suppose… until then, I’ll just have to continue to hope that soon it will be my turn.