true story.

Remember the little love is… comics? Here is a new one:
 

… when you wake up on a beautiful Sunday morning to discover (after you have already walked around in your flat for half an hour without contact lenses) that your entire floor is covered in maggots and you start hyperventilating because maggots are really so gross that you just want to throw up, but you can’t because you must go and teach a yoga class and don’t really know how to even attempt to get a handle on the situation and your man says “Babe, don’t worry, I will take care of it, you go and teach” and thus you return home 2.5 hours later to a maggot free flat, with the washing hung up, new washing in the laundry, the trash taken out and the dishes clean.

This is a true story.

*See how gross they are? They don’t even have eyes. And it was even worse as they were covered in ants who I guess wanted to help getting rid of the maggots, but it didn’t really help and made the whole situation even grosser.

Dancing delights.

Herve Leger was in Brackenfell yesterday. So was Gianni Versace. At least that's what one could assume when seeing the amount of tight, short bondage dresses and skirts, and the fact that they actually still make white pleather loafers and people who buy them. Though that is unfair to Gianni as I think he would have rather died than use pleather. Ups. Pardon the pun.

In case you now wonder what on earth I'm talking about here – I was being a very good girlfriend last night. So good that after buying Turkish Delight on the market this morning, I was promptly dubbed a German Delight.
When meeting someone new, you not only meet a new person but also a whole new life with an array of friends, habits, and hobbies. Have I mentioned that I don't have hobbies? And happily so, but apparently I am an exception in this world. Though I might be an exception with no hobbies, I'm also someone who is at least for the time being trying to please the new man on her side, which brought me to Brackenfell last night.
The new man likes to dance and though I'm spared the Salsa moves, in the search for Sokkie we ended up deep in Afrikaner land where people don't speak the same language as I do and I can't even sing along to the songs.
After me sitting quietly in the car for 40 minutes, praying that we may stay lost forever and just drive around aimlessly for the rest of the night, I found myself in a dancehall. That's what it is called and there is no other way to describe it. Make a time warp and picture a dancehall. A big dance floor in the middle, tables and chairs on the side, pictures of Elvis on the wall, bar in the back room, smoking allowed.
I thought I came prepared and only realized then and there that I have had no clue. Though I am not a complete rookie and didn't attempt to even ask for a Cuba Libre instead ordering a brandy & coke just as Thekla taught me. When in Rome.... The first sip immediately took me back to 1995. Every Friday we would order entire trays of 'whiskey cola' at Metro as they were on special for DM 1. Or maybe DM 2. Either way dead cheap and thus even more delicious for poor students.
After that first sip it was easy. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow and enjoy the ride back in time. A time when people line up on the dance floor and dance a routine, because after all Johanna and I would do the same back in the day when the Backstreet Boys were still socially acceptable. A time when girls like to channel Britney Spears and wear dresses that you would consider a t-shirt once you are in your thirties, and a time when it is perfectly agreeable to walk like an Egyptian in an attempt to shake things up.
Then there was the actual dancing and I guess the torturous months of Tanzschule back in the day did pay off after all. Though by far no expert, I managed to not fall or slip and was even twirled quite expertly a few times. All in all a perfectly enjoyable evening outside my comfort zone.

The only thing that would have made it any more enjoyable would have been a certain girlfriend on my side. For the moments in between the dancing when I wanted to sit back with yet another brandy & coke and watch. For the moments of delicious gossip when I wanted to stare incredulously at the white pleather loafers. For the moments when I wanted to turn to my friend and say: “I wonder what good old Herve would have said to see knock-offs of his creations worn by the Brackenfell youth.” And this person would have laughed and known exactly who and what I meant. 

...My friend, you know who you are and I will take you on this travel when I see you in a few weeks!

New boy on the block.

As official as it can get in my life: there is a new boy on the block. Which of course would get me thinking … being an almost 33 year old unmarried woman I can without a doubt say that I have dated a fair share of assholes. There is no other word for it and describing it any differently also wouldn’t make it any better.

There was the guy who told me after a few weeks of dating that he couldn’t see me anymore because he was moving to Houston. We ran into each other two month later at Club Monaco, both swearing underneath our breaths at the same time after which he tried to evade the awkwardness by telling me he was definitely moving to Texas this week. I hope he did and learned the lesson to never rely on the fact that you think New York is a big city. It is in fact not and Murphy has a strong standing there.

Then there was the guy who only came to sleep in my bed because unlike me he didn’t have AC at his flat. One with a mafia family background and another one who was a lawyer. No need to say more.

Yet another one who preferred coke to sex and who expected me to wear sandals in a snow storm just so we could get into the River Café. I refused, wore sneakers, and we got turned down because he wasn’t wearing a tie. Aah, a tiny moment of satisfaction and justice…

Moving to Cape Town brought a slight change in the men’s appearance (nicer tans and all), but not in behaviour. An ex actually told me he would like to take a three week break as an old girlfriend from Germany was coming to visit and wouldn’t it be convenient as I was due to visit home during the exact same time. Do all Germans actually look alike so you can just substitute one with the other??
I’m still a bit puzzled about the cheek of this though not as much as the fact that I actually managed to get stood off by a guy because he got arrested for alleged ex-wife beating and ended up spending the weekend in jail. Needless to say he didn’t make his one call to tell me he couldn’t make dinner.

Asking around with my girlfriends I am by far not the only one and some stories would make a good dating equivalent of the Blair Witch Project. So one can’t be surprised that a girl can get a bit paranoid in this men’s world and may despair in the attempts of finding a happily ever after. Which leads to the simple question: Are all men assholes?

I tried to find answers. Not very successfully, because upon asking my co-workers iPhone Siri (best research tool I came up with short notice) that exact question, she just replied: I don’t get this. Since I am in a good mood today I decided to take in the best possible way. I decided to take it as in No, you dope, not all men are assholes - just look at the guy you are dating, who just showed up at your doorstep last night to surprise you and give you a hug and who is not being an asshole at all.
Who am I to argue with Siri? I will simple accept the fact that she recons not all men are assholes and believe her especially since the above mentioned scenario is actually true and happened to me and not in my dream.

Office chit chat.

This week has started on a much better note than last which resulted in me being able to actually have a chat conversation with Thekla during office hours like any normal person.
The conversation was started by this picture which I had found on Facebook and reposted on her wall:

As you may know I dig kittens and vampires but my allegiance isn’t to Edward wherefore I could enjoy this one much. Thekla on the other hand would have needed Edward to hold the vampire-kitten-thingy for it to work, as she wrote me.
Yes, this is what two grown up women talk about during work hours to amuse themselves and if you think this is bad, let me tell you the conversation went down hills from here.

 Thekla: Shall we do our date on Thursday?
 Me: Sure, that sounds great. 
Thekla: I need some one on one girly time.

Silence.

 Me: Hehe.
 Thekla: Okay, that came out wrong.
 Me: Why? Considering you are my cousin, no one could misunderstand without having a really twisted mind.
Me: I will put Thursday in my calendar.
Me: My calendar is finished, I still need to get one for the new year.
Thekla: Why don’t you use Google calendar? They send you email reminders too.
Me: Ach, there are some things that I still like to do manually. 

Silence.

Thekla: That also came out wrong.
Me: I know. I realized the moment I typed it, but it was too late. I knew you would notice!

Ach… the little joys and giggles of afternoon office chats.

Back!

Today is the first day in two weeks that seems to be a normal office day including me leaving at six o’clock. Work has been manic and though I have been slightly anxious at times, I also realize in this day and age one mustn’t complain when work is busy.
I still relish today being quiet and the phone hasn’t ringed once yet. So here I am to catch up. Or to reminisce. My Dad only left a week ago, but it already feels like forever. And though I am happy to have my little flat to myself again, I do miss him since we had such a nice time together.

My favourite part was that thanks to my wonderful cousin Nikki, I finally got the big Christmas I always wanted ever since I first watched ‘Home Alone’. She and her husband gave my Dad a voucher for a day, all expenses paid, at the Cricket, and my Dad took to it like a fish to water.

At some point I got a text from my cousin saying: Your dad drunk, streaking, and singing dirty songs, what shall we do?Me: Film it!
Upon questioning my Dad later how it had come to this, he just snickered and said: Nikki and I made that up to tease you. 
(I should add that at this point he still seemed slightly intoxicated and could not remember who South Africa had beaten in the game, so I don’t think it was entirely made up, but I stopped questioning him at this point).

So here’s to good times and till next year, Papi!

Strange Christmas Beings

La Perla fare-well.

Preparations for our Betty's Bay feast.

Dad and Colleen at the Harry Potter Garden (as I call it).

"Jack, I can fly!"

Things in my head.

Apparently my absence has been noticed. I apologize, it already feels like forever when I last wrote. The truth is I had a rocky start into the new year or at least that's what it felt like inside of me every morning when I had to get up. There was nothing to write, I couldn't, because I actually didn't feel very funny or that I had anything to share. 

Since yesterday things are looking up though. Something just shifted and here I am again, sitting in my chair. I just took my Dad to the airport and now I'm by myself in my little flat for the first time in a month and I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. The flat is clean, the mess (of two people sharing a small space, I don't blame my Dad!) is gone and I miss it already.

Work is crazy and I need to remind myself to breathe constantly and that things always work out in the end.

A new guy with all the craziness, the butterflies, the unanswered questions, the insecurities, the smiles, and everything that goes along with getting to know someone, letting someone new into your life.

...bits and bobs here, I seem not to be able to string a coherent story quite yet... I will work on it on the weekend and that's a promise...

Two announcement that already make this new year quite rocking and that need to be made:

I have my own yoga spot from next week onwards. I will call it: Come sweat with me! And it's Tuesday nights at 19h30 at Jai. I don't know if anyone except me wants to do yoga that late in the evening, but I sincerely hope that once Miss Julia will be back in town, I will have at least one student...and she will be back in town very soon and for very long – hurrah for my soulmate friend Julia, who is coming back in February!

Enough bits for tonight. I'm off to watch a movie, eat quesadilla, and not speak for an evening.

Bonne Annee.

The idea of getting all dressed up for New Year's and make a plan to get to one party or another actually scares me. Choosing a New Year's party is sort of choosing a line at the grocery store, you always feel like you picked the wrong one.
Call me lame, I don't even care, but I am happily sitting on the terrace of our hotel after a nice shower, wearing harem pants and a tank top with a big glass of Cuba Libre in my hand. Across from me is a group of girls, all dolled up for the special night out, and despite that I would never wear a silver sequence dress unless it was Dior to begin with, I do not envy them a bit.
In our little fridge we have a proper bottle of French champagne, baguette, camembert, and smoked salmon followed by a desert of Kinder Bueno (though widely available now, it will always remind me of vacation in Malta with 15 when I ate it the first time, so it is my vacation treat).
In addition we have my Dad's bridge book, my Murakami, and a shared laptop – everything one needs for a good evening in my opinion. Having this said, however you choose to pass your evening, I hope you are having a good one... I am off to make 'Schnittchen' as my Dad calls it.

Bonne Annee!