A letter to 13 year old MsMozi

I've been inspired by the work of Lordwiggly, Sweetass and Living Bridget, so here goes...

First of all, you need to tell your mom that it’s time for her to stop cutting your hair and go to a real hairdresser. The skew curtain of a fringe isn’t working and this may be the reason you haven’t managed to kiss, sorry I mean ‘grab’ a boy yet.

You’ve just arrived at your uptight all-girls’ school and you’re worried about not fitting in. The strange goth girls have befriended you and all the other girls are telling you to stay away from them. Although you’re probably going to listen to them, you’d be much better off if you didn’t because you end up befriending this bunch again in Std 9. You’re still hanging onto your two primary school friends and think that they’ll be your best friends for ever and ever. Well, here’s some news for you – by the time you’re 21 you’re not friends with either of them anymore. They’re both really bad for you and the sooner you get them out of your life the better.

You’re probably going to completely ignore Kay throughout your entire high school experience but she ends up being one of the greatest people in your life as you get older, so maybe you should start spending some more time with her now.

I know you’re spending hours in your room, longingly starting at your posters of Take That (actually, perhaps you should take those off the walls) dreaming about meeting a wonderful boy and wondering what’s wrong with you – but you’re wasting your time. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you and you are going to be pursued by many wonderful boys later on, so just enjoy being young!

Now I’m going to tell you something a little scary – but try and remember that your 26 year old self is still around to write this so it doesn’t turn out too badly. In two years time a doctor is going to discover that you’re really really sick. Now don’t panic…. But what’s going to follow is months of surgery, radiation and hospital time. Your parents are going to completely fall apart and you’re going to feel like you have to put on a brave face for them – but don’t. This is half the reason you got sick in the first place – you need to start talking about your problems instead of just pretending everything is okay all the time. Your friends and family will love you anyway and it’ll be much better if you learn this before you turn 21 and have to write off an entire year to learn how you should really be living your life.

After you get out of hospital – boys are finally going to start taking notice of you. You’re going to meet your first boyfriend and you are a complete bitch to him. This behaviour is completely unnecessary - I know this dating thing is all new to you, but you should really try and treat him with a bit more kindness during the course of your epic three week relationship. Before the end of Std 8 you’re going to have your first kiss in a movie theatre while watching Independence Day and you’re going to hate it (the kiss, not the movie). Don’t worry – it really does get much better than that.

At the end of Std 9 you’re going to fall in love for the first time. You’re going to date this boy for two years and a year of this will be long distance. You’re going to experience highs and lows like never before and even 13 years later you’ll still look back on the relationship and smile. He’s going to be your first for a lot of things and he’s just the right candidate. Enjoy it!

After you finish matric, you start being a real pain in the ass and drive our parents crazy. Try and be a little more considerate to mom and dad. They’re the best parents in the world and you know it… and besides, for the rest of your life they bring up this ‘problem year’ and make you feel guilty about it – so rather save us the complaining and just be nicer to them – okay?

And also try and put a little more work in when it comes to your relationship with your brother. By the time’s you’re 26 you have almost no relationship with him at all. Perhaps if you put more effort in earlier on it won’t get to this point.

You’re going to go on to travel, study and eventually work – and you have a pretty good attitude when it comes to balancing all of these elements. Don’t ever feel like you’re not doing enough – your priorities are just different to everyone else’s and you don’t need to make excuses for this. In fact, stop comparing yourself with others and don’t ever feel like you need to live up to someone else’s expectations. You’ll eventually learn that people’s motives aren’t always good, and although it’s a hard lesson, you’ll find it very liberating.

Stop worrying - you turn out pretty good later on – healthy, happy with strong relationships, mostly with people you don’t even know exist right now. You’re going to get intense joy out of life and walk around smiling most of the time. Don’t sweat the small stuff – things tend to always go your way at the end of the day.

What's your flavour?

Italian Ex-Boyfriend has changed his status on Facebook to ‘in a relationship’. Being curious, I decided I needed to take a look at his new chickita, so I clicked on one of the photos. I was quite astounded to see that his new squeeze looks almost exactly like me.

And this got me thinking… as I’ve noticed that many of my ex-boyfriends go on to date women with features very similar to mine. I’d like to believe that this is because they are so wracked with remorse and regret that they realise that if they can’t have me, that they’ll just have to just settle for someone who looks a lot like me – but I know this is not the case. I think men are just much more likely to have a ‘type’ than women are.

For example, The Ron’s type is completely set in stone. I’ve only seen him with tall blonde girls, with straight hair and broad-ish shoulders. (The broad shoulders are a bit weird, but he openly admits this is his thing).

If I were to line all my ex-boyfriends up against a wall, it would be hard to believe that one women dated such a variety of boys. Some tall, some short, some blonde, some dark, some skinny, some a little bit chubba… a total mix. Only FD and the Dairy Farmer look a little alike, which leads me to believe that my type is not the tall and dark sort, but rather the blonde, quirky, surfer type.

Do you have a type – and what would they look like?

A 7-point catch up

I’ve been neglecting my blog. But I’m back! And in the past few weeks the following has happened:

1. I met FD’s mom last Sunday. It all went pretty well and apparently he had lunch with her yesterday and she kept asking questions about me, clapping her hands in enthusiasm and kissing him on his cheeks. She’s Italian – so I think this is a good sign.

2. FD met my parents last Sunday. I had been putting this off, with both sides nagging to be introduced and trying to sneakily orchestrate methods of meeting. It all went extremely well with both my mom, and my *gasp* dad giving him the thumbs up.

3. I’ve starting to really enjoy this whole rock climbing thing. Been on real rock twice now and back to the climbing wall several times. FD has even bought me a chalk bag in my favourite colour (green).

4. Met one of FD’s ex-girlfriends and had a mini-internal freak out. She’s prettier than I would like and she’s this wild and crazy free-spirited type who climbs without ropes, rides horses without saddles and thinks nothing of running around in skimpy bikinis and throwing herself against FD. Not so keen on her. Have super casually dug for more information and FD reassuringly pointed out that she’s one of the most arrogant, high-maintenance people he knows and feels sorry for any boy involved with her. This made me feel better. She has since, most annoyingly, found and added me as a friend on Facebook. I’m pretending she doesn’t exist.

5. I’ve celebrated two months of not smoking – going very well, aside from the hubbly which has been smoked on occasion, but I don’t think that really counts. Don’t really miss it at all. In just 3 weeks time my heart attack risk will start to drop and my lung function and circulation will improve (according to the chart next to my desk).

6. I had a rather hilarious evening at The Colon which involved FD, Mr S and the Plumber/Lawyer all being in the same room. What are the chances – too funny.

7. I have jumped and fallen extremely hard for FD. I love every second we spend together, whether we’re doing something silly like drinking Konyagi and ginger ale on deck chairs on my balcony while listening to Jack Johnson at midnight, doing something crazy like dangling off rock faces in Hartebeespoort, doing something mundane like reading the newspaper over a greasy Saturday morning Wimpy breakfast, or doing something completely unromantic like sharing flu medication (both of us were sick this past weekend). I would even go so far as to say that I haven’t ever felt so strongly for someone in such a short space of time.

And I think that’s it in a nutshell. I will definitely be more diligent about posting in the future!

In these arms.... tonight.

There are two types of people in the world: Cuddlers and Non-Cuddlers.

I learnt during the course of my relationship with Italian Ex-Boyfriend that I’m a Non-Cuddler. Basically, what this meant was that I couldn’t fall asleep if any part of his body was touching mine. When I sleep, I need space to move around, I need to be able to scratch my nose if it’s itchy, I need to be able to sit up and take a sip of water. Italian Ex-Boyfriend was a Cuddler – but he eventually understood that he was allowed a maximum of 10 minutes of cuddle-time before I rolled over and went to sleep.

Since the demise of that relationship I’ve had a full year of my big queen-size bed all to myself. I’ve been able to toss and turn and kick off blankets with free abandon. It’s been fabulous.

But FD and I have recently entered the ‘sleep-over’ stage of our relationship and the bed is no longer solely my domain. And I’ve discovered that FD is a serious Cuddler. In past relationships I’ve noticed that most guys fall asleep with their girl in their arms, but during the course of the night gradually move over to the other side of the bed. Not FD – he hangs on for dear life the entire night.

The first night I stared at the ceiling for a solid couple of hours before eventually managing to drift off. The second night had been a bit of a bender and I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow and woke up in the morning in the exact same position with FD’s arms, once again, still securely fastened around me. This morning I woke up at about 5am dying of heat with FD pressed up against me, peacefully breathing away (thankgod not snoring). I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t even try move away as I had about 1 inch of mattress left to work with. I decided that he might be mildly offended if I climbed out and ran around to the other side of the bed so I just had to lie there and pray for sleep which thankfully eventually came.

I’m not planning to re-institute the 10 minute cuddling rule, so I’m hoping if I just hang in there a little longer I’ll be converted into a Cuddler.

Say what?

Strange experience last night…

Went to a gallery and then out for a sushi dinner with FD and a lady from his office. The woman seemed nice enough – middle-aged and quite stereotypically conservative Afrikaans South African. She had just come back from a trip around Europe and she was telling us about some of her holiday experiences.

Towards the end of dinner, she turned to us and said: “It was quite shocking, because I noticed a lot of interracial couples in Europe.”

I looked back at her a little surprised at her statement.

But this just spurred her on even further.

“There were a lot of white men with African women… which I’m completely fine with – but then they have children which is just completely wrong.”

I continued to look back at her stunned.

“I mean if you want to get married to a black person, that’s fine, but getting kids involved is just selfish and cruel.”

I blinked in incredulity – is this woman for real??

“Like the one kid had normal hair and was lighter, and the other kid was darker, with the other hair.”

Whaaaat???

I continued to just sit there completely shocked that this woman, who I’ve known for a grand total of about three hours, has decided it’s appropriate to discuss her antiquated beliefs, assuming that as a white South Africa, I would be nodding furiously in agreement.

I got home, a little angry at myself for not responding to her ridiculous statements. Although my silence probably indicated that I wasn’t on the same page as her – is it really enough? As she spoke there were a million things I wanted to say, but instead held my tongue, aware of the fact that this was someone who was important to FD and I didn’t want to get her back up.

What do you think…. Should you always argue vehemently for your beliefs – or is there a context where it’s better just to shut up?

Ups and downs

I’m discovering that there are pros and cons when it comes to dating the adventurous type.

 

Yesterday afternoon FD called asking if I wanted to meet up last night. I enthusiastically agreed and said – “Let’s do something different”. I suppose I should have explained that by ‘different’ I meant eat at a restaurant that isn’t Espressos, or go for drinks somewhere outside of Sandton.

 

I wasn’t suggesting for a minute that we spend Tuesday night hanging from a climbing wall in Kya Sand.

 

Now don’t get me wrong… I believe exercise is important, but for me this is usually restricted to the confines of my local Virgin Active gym. But I also understand that this whole ‘relationship’ thing is about sharing each others interests. So I mustered the energy to get an enthusiastic smile on my face, donned a tracksuit and headed off westwards to Wonderwall.

 

The place was teeming with people hanging upside down suspended by their big toes and pinky fingers... I was intimidated.

 

And then I was handed my harness. Man oh man – how much I hate those things - there is just no way of looking cool in a harness.

 

Then it was onto the climbing wall. I was pleasantly surprised to discover it was much easier than I expected and FD did a super job of shouting out words of encouragement. After about two hours my forearms had completely seized up, my fingers were aching, my legs were shaking and I decided it was time to call it a night.

 

Before we left I got to watch FD ‘bouldering’ – which is essentially low climbing without a rope and using the walls and ceiling as support… every muscle in those perfectly chiseled arms of his was flexed and I couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off my face. And I was right back to loving the pros of dating the adventurous type.

Beginnings

So I’ve been both putting off this post and looking forward to writing it for the past week.

 

It appears that I’ve found myself a boyfriend. And I’m now able to say the word ‘boyfriend’ without flinching. (But I haven’t quite reached the point of changing my relationship status on Facebook).

On Saturday last week I finally reached the decision to drop Mr S and make a go of things with FD. And since then things have just been quite simply spectacular. I’m scared to say all of this, even as I type, I’m terrified of jinxing the fabulousness of the past few days. I suppose I’m still struggling to believe that I met someone like FD at The Colony of all places.

 

There’s already this complete feeling of ease and comfort between the two of us – coupled with the crazy butterflies and infatuation that accompanies the beginning of an exciting relationship. Loads of laughter, goose bump inducing kisses as we try to learn as much about each other as possible while avoiding looking at the clock ticking over to the early hours of the next morning.

 

But it still feels a little like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, with one foot dangling over the void, deciding whether to jump or not. FD, being the gorgeously alive and spontaneous soul he is has already happily leapt down and is waiting for me to join him there. It’s because I really really like him, and along with that comes the possibility of really really getting my heart broken.  

 

But for now I’m waking up each morning with a giant grin on my face.  

The games people play – Part II

So I’ve finally gotten around to writing the sequel to this post.

This is thanks to Aye’s boyfriend who last night at Giles educated me on a couple of new rules and laws that come into play on the dating scene. Each rule was demonstrated using the salt and pepper shakers, a stray chip, an ashtray, a box of cigarettes (don’t worry, not mine – a month later and still going strong) and a lighter.

1) The Lemon Law

According to this law, if a guy finds something fundamentally offensive about his date (much like biting into a lemon) – he has exactly five minutes to get out of it before it starts getting complicated. This usually means that within the first five minutes, the boy will excuse himself to go to the bathroom and while there phone his mate with instructions to call and fake a scenario to get him away.

2) The Fat Friend Rule

This is a really weird one. According to Aye’s boyfriend, when ever a guy is interested in a girl, she brings her most unattractive and overweight friend along on the next date. The guy will then flirt as much as possible with the fat friend in order to make the girl he’s actually interested in insecure. I don’t really get this one, but apparently the fat friend rule is widely acknowledged.

3) The Smoke Rule

Now if you thought the fat friend rule was a weird one – this one will knock your socks off. This rule comes into play when a guy brings the girl he’s interested in to a braai at his friend’s house. When the girl comes to join the guys at the braai, they will maneuvre themselves around until the girl is standing in the exact spot where all the smoke is blowing. If she can stick it out for longer than two minutes she’s a keeper.

Unfortunately at this point, Aye’s boyfriend realised he was betraying his brotherhood and refused to impart any more wisdom. Aye and I begged and pleaded but he refused to budge. I even began to use the analogy of him sending me off, unarmed, to battle with 300 Spartans… and that it was his duty to at least hand me a sword so I had a fraction of a chance of survival. But it didn’t work.

He did admit, in the end, that if a guy is really interested in a girl there are no rules at all.

Ouch

Oh My God………….. Winex………… Bad.

Things I woke up regretting this morning:

1) Spending over R1 000 on wine and olives. In less than 21 days I will be getting a case of JC Le Roux and a case of Haute Cabriere delivered to my apartment. If any of you dear readers know about SA’s wine producers – you will realise the complete contradiction of these two labels. I thought it was hilarious at the time.

2) My extremely drunken phone call to FD on the way home… even in my drunken state I could tell I was slurring. He, of course, had just gotten home from training and was stone cold sober. Oh well – he was going to have to encounter the drunken version of me at some stage. I have since followed up with an SMS of apology, and fortunately he seems to have found the entire thing very amusing and apparently finds drunken MsMozi “sweet”. I think this one is a keeper.

3) Bumping into this guy (the one who suggested we run out of Moyos without paying our bill). Wow – how things have changed over the course of a year… I can’t believe I ever thought this guy was worth considering as an option. Comparing him to FD is like comparing Danny De Vito (except not short) to Wentworth Miller (except not gay).

C has her own list of regrets – which include a toe injury inflicted by an olive-tasting toothpick.

Reflection

It’s the first day since Friday that I haven’t worn green – it feels awkward, uncomfortable… almost naked.

 

Is there anything more spectacular than the African spirit? This country just oozes soul from every pore.

 

I had the strangest dream last night – so realistic and probably brought on from all the beautiful displays of patriotism, healing and joy we witnessed in SA this past weekend…

 

I dreamt I had gone back in time to my primary school days, but with all the knowledge I have now. It was the day the headmaster announced that our school had become a ‘Model C’ school, allowing black children to attend.

 

Thabo, who was the first black boy to join my class, had arrived for his first day. In my dream I was watching him and feeling how terrified he must have been arriving into this completely white classroom. I had this overwhelming compulsion to tell him that everything was going to be okay – and that I could understand how scary it must all be.

 

After I woke up I thought back to the reality of the situation – what my classmates and I all really thought when Thabo arrived at my primary school. We were that weird ‘in between’ generation – with apartheid-aligned ideals beginning to crumble away.  We knew that racism was wrong – but we were completely oblivious to the major change we were living through.  When Thabo arrived we kinda knew that things were changing, but treated the new situation with the casual indifference typical of a bunch of 10 year olds.

 

By the time of the 1992 referendum – we all began to wake up to what was happening – mostly on account of the excitement and buzz in the air. After the ‘yes’ vote was announced I remember running around the neighbourhood with my parents to cut down the ‘Vote yes!’ advertising boards to keep as a memento of the dawning of a new era.

 

All my primary school friends just sprouted forth what ever they had heard around their homes – making it very clear what political agenda lurked behind the closed doors of each. Some would rattle off their parents’ plans to flee SA’s shores and tell horror stories about how all the white people who stayed behind would be chased into the sea. Others started to grasp that great things were about to happen…

I dated a genius

On Facebook:

 

Italian Ex-Boyfriend: Is there such a word as ‘been’?

 

MsMozi: Yes – as in ‘how have you been?’

 

Italian Ex-Boyfriend: Fine thanks and you?

 

MsMozi: Um… good thanks – but I was just using the word in context – it’s the past tense of ‘be’

 

Italian Ex-Boyfriend: Oh ok! But I looked it up in the dictionery (sic) and I couldn’t find it – and I’ve been saying it my whole life.

 

MsMozi: That’s because they don’t list the past tense of verbs in the dictionary.

 

Italian Ex-Boyfriend: Wow – thanks so much! So why don’t we ever chat anymore?

 

Yep folks – I dated the man for a year and a half.

Sinking to new lows

At 8:30pm on the dot – as Grey’s Anatomy’s credits began to roll, my cellphone began to ring. My heart stopped. I threw the TV remote across the room (took me about 10 minutes to find it again). I looked down and saw a cellphone number I didn’t recognise… and thought to myself – it’s gotta be him.  

 

And then I just let it carry on ringing without picking it up. I honestly have no idea what came over me. I waited for the voicemail message to beep at me… and it didn’t.

 

So now I have no idea if it was or wasn’t him.

 

It probably was one of those wrong numbers – you know the type where you keep saying hello, and someone in a heavy accent on the other side keeps on responding with hello… over and over again.

 

But maybe, just maybe it was him.

 

My God – does this all sound as lame as I think it does?

VTs, six packs and the incredible sulk

A good weekend – it started off very relaxed with drinks after work on Friday. As my lips touched the vodka tonic (which may never be called Vodka & Tonic, the & only applies to Gin & Tonic – thank you Mr Spencer) I got a bee in bonnet and decided I needed to go out. Started smsing a couple of friends but kept coming up against a brick wall and eventually decided the best option was to get a DVD and hibernate through the storm. Watched Fracture with Ryan Gosling – not a great flick but Ryan is always good value.

Saturday after the insanity of the Australia – England quarterfinal – Kay and I decided to hit the town and tried out someplace different. We hit yuppie-central – The Baron on Fredman Drive. We were completely unimpressed (aside from the strawberry daquiri Kay was very impressed with) – basically a News Café with unfriendly staff and we reconvened at my apartment for some vino and the strategizing of a new game plan.

We weren’t very creative and decided to just carry on with the Baron theme and headed off to the one in Bryanston – which was also…. Completely crap.

So all there was left to do was to head towards the Colon – even in bad weather it offers guaranteed entertainment.

After ordering our John Deere’s it was half time in the New Zealand – France quarterfinal and I asked the two guys nearest us what the score was. The fantastic thing about The Colon is that was all the spadework that was necessary on my part and the two guys continued chatting to us for the rest of the night.

One of them – who will be known as Free Diver, was cute in a slightly dorky, but free-spirited adventurer kinda way and began to show very clear interest after a while.

A little later, a friend of mine walked through the doors and as fate turns out – he was there to meet up with Free Diver.

Ended up having a bit of snog with Free Diver on the dance floor and discovered that he has one of the most smokin’ hot bodies I’ve had the pleasure of being in the vicinity of in a while (since The Soldier). At the end of the night he said, “So this is when I get to take your number and wait 5 – 7 days before I start harassing you”. I laughed and made a big point of saying “So I’ll hear from you in 5 – 7 days then!”

I didn’t hear from him yesterday and now I’m wondering if he is actually waiting 5 – 7 days before making contact or if I should write him off completely.

Another danger factor – is that C and I made this rather silly bet about a month ago, that both of us would reach 10 snogs for the year by New Year’s eve, or we’d have to carry out a severely embarrassing forfeit which still needs to be devised. Infantile…. I know, but not something either of us are taking too seriously.

Anyway, I told Kay about this bet a while ago and she was outside speaking to the mutual friend of Free Diver and I, after the kiss. As I walked past her she said “Yay MsMozi – that’s Number 6!!!” Which leaves me hoping that she didn’t share this piece of info with the mutual friend (Did you Kay?), because if the tables were turned and I heard someone was labelling me as No. 6 in a list of conquests I don't reckon I'd be too happy. I would definitely like to see him again so holding thumbs that he won’t be yet another that disappears into the void of one-night-only snogs.

Got home to a loooong and fabulous email from The Soldier. I’m still completely hooked.

Sunday I got hit by the cranky bus in a major way. Possibly a slightly delayed nicotine withdrawal but I was not a happy camper. Went to go watch the rugby at Boktown in Monte and sulked for no good reason for most of the game and the rest of the day until I went to bed at 8:30pm. Feeling much happier today though.

Ramble, ramble, ramble

Last night was spent with the girls, Aye, Kay and newest recruit Jop, having dinner at La Meridiana in Craighall (best gnocchi in Joburg). Jop is a close friend of The Fugitive, and although I’ve known her for quite a while now, she’s only grown on me in the last year or two. She’s got the sharpest wit I’ve ever come across but is also completely wild, and has often been spotted giving lap dances to strangers at the Colony. But for the last two years, she’s settled into a serious relationship and calmed down substantially.

 

With Aye and Jop both in relationships and Kay and I both single, naturally we got onto the subject of relationships vs single life.

 

Jop declared that she was happiest when single. Which begs the question… why ever get involved?

 

Is it possible to get everything you need without entering into an exclusive relationship?

 

From previous relationship experience, I’ve always found the support I’ve gotten from friends and family to outweigh that from my significant other. On top of that, my friends rarely, if ever, complain or get annoyed with things I say or do. There’s no shortage of ways to fill the time, and there’s almost no need to ever compromise. Sex is a tricky one… because for many, this is something readily available to them outside of relationships, but that’s a route I’m unlikely to ever take. Is sex reason enough to want a boyfriend?

 

And another question… is it ever possible to stay true to your single self within a relationship? Is it possible to be with someone else and not change… whether it’s by calming down or getting more needy as a result of the need to please someone else.

 

Yes… this post is a bit all over the place… and I don’t have the answers to any of these questions.

 

Oh and while I’m at it – a quick update on my dire romantic situation. Despite saying I would give Electric a chance, I’ve decided against it. The more I got to know about him, the more I realised he definitely wasn’t for me. To meet up with someone, knowing that there’s a 99,9% chance that nothing will ever happen between the two of you feels wrong.  I also haven’t heard from the Soldier for about two weeks.

 

But on a slightly positive note, I am finally meeting up with the Plumber/Lawyer again this evening for post-work drinkles… and Rock Climber has suddenly reignited contact via Facebook and will be in Jozi within in the next few weeks.

*cringe*

So I’ve been out of home for about three and a half years now – living on my own in my pad in the heart of Sandton. I love my place because it’s completely and utterly mine. Everything in it belongs to me and its in the place that I want it to be.

 

Initially I decided I wasn’t going to hire someone to help me clean-up. When I first moved in I was a student and had all the time in the world on my hands to dust, vacuum, scrub and polish. Now that I’m working, cleaning is the last thing on my mind when I get home at the end of the day. As a result, my parents’ helper has been coming around once a week to help out. My mom comes through to my apartment and opens my place up for him.

 

So after work yesterday I gave my mom a call on my way home to find out if everything went fine with the cleaning up. Towards the end of the conversation she casually slipped in – “Oh – before I forget, I put some letters that came for you in the top drawer next to your bed”.

 

I froze.

 

Surely everyone knows, that no parent should ever, I repeat, EVER go into their daughter’s bedside drawer. The bedside drawer is home to all things that daughters would like to keep out of sight from their parents – in fact out of sight from anyone who isn’t in bed with them.

 

Contents included:

 

2 x condoms – so much worse than an unopened box of condoms, because now my mother knows that if I had a three pack – I’ve had sex at least once… which is one more time than I would like her to know about.

 

2 x Durex lubricant sachets which came with Cosmo/Marie Claire or some other chick mag

 

1 x sex dice, purchased at one of those lingerie/sex toy parties for girls, basically one dice has actions on it – eg. lick, massage etc and the other has body parts on it.

 

I have so many drawers in my apartment that she could have chosen instead – probably at least about 20 she could have chosen from, rather than the one she decided to go for.

 

The cringe factor is so high – it ranks right up there with another scenario that played out between my mother and myself earlier in the year…

 

My parents recently moved so there’s been an assortment of my stuff that ended up with them. Casually over lunch, a few months ago, and in front of my father, I might add, my mom chirps up with – “So who’s Mike?”

 

I carry on tucking into my meal and casually shrug – “I have no idea”

 

“Well he certainly seemed very happy with you!”

 

I look up – “What are you talking about??”

 

“Well I found a card from him that must have been attached to some flowers, saying – Dear MsMozi, thank you so much for an incredible night last night, Love Mike”.

 

At this point my father and I both nearly start choking.

 

By now, of course, I remember exactly who Mike is, and although the action between us was probably only worthy of a PG13 rating, he did sleep over for the night, and another night after that – but there is no way of explaining this to my parents.

 

I decided to stick to my guns…. “Hmmm…. Doesn’t ring a bell”.

 

Cringe!

Chronicles of a nicotine-deprived, opera-hating sugar mommy

On Friday I went to the opera. Yep – the opera.

 

A while ago C asked if I wanted to go to the theatre. She’d gotten some free tickets from a friend and all I really heard was the word ‘free’ so I quickly agreed. Arrived at work on Friday to discover that I had been conned, and was being dragged off for three hours of German opera, with a warbling soprano screaming about her ‘mutter’ or mother, for those out there that don’t speak German. It was terrible. Luckily I managed to escape during half-time… or should I say, interval.

 

Afterwards, I needed a stiff drink to recover from the trauma so headed off to join the Geek Parade at their usual Friday night watering hole. I love geeks… they restore my faith in mankind – reaffirm my belief that there are people in this world with good souls, innocent intentions and an obsession with tacky, low-budget sci-fi series.  

 

And on Saturday, I finally managed to revisit The Colon… it’s been a while. I tried to convince Kay that we should do some karaoke, but we were having problems settling on a song. I wanted Belinda Carlisle’s Leave a light on, and she wanted Queen’s Show must go on.

 

After getting hitting on by two 20-year old KES boys… (such fun being a sugar mommy), we polished off our John Deere’s and hit the road.

 

And now… I must mention that I have been nicotine free for a whopping 1 week! Think I’m over the worst of it and the cravings haven’t been too bad. The only noticeable side-effect has been completely random and largely unprovoked mood wings, which last no longer than a maximum of five minutes at a time, usually restricted to two or three a day.

 

I unleashed my wrath upon one of the geeks on Friday night, who tried to blame me for getting his ex-girlfriend drunk about four years ago. She nearly got arrested for drunken driving and he had to come and save her and bribe the cops. Even with nicotine in my system I would have reacted to this accusation, but probably would have held back a little more. Grrrrr, can’t stand people who play the victim – as though I was funneling stroh rum down her throat and then ordering her into her car to drive while intoxicated. Poor Mr Spencer and Kay have also completely undeservedly fallen victim to one of my little moments – but apparently by this time next week my body would have completely physically adjusted to functioning without nicotine.

Desperate times call for desperate measures - Part II

I inadvertently met another online dating buddy last night.

 

Until this point there had been no significant progress on the internet dating front. I’ve been chatting to a couple of guys on and off, including one who we will refer to as Electric.

 

Electric mentioned that he was going to the launch of the new Parlotones cd last night. With C and I being the devout Parlotones fans that we are, we had already booked our tickets for the event about three weeks ago. Electric and I made no concrete plans to meet, and I was pretty much hoping that I wouldn’t bump into him, because then I was going to have to explain the entire scenario to C and in my nicotine-deprived state, I don’t have patience for such conversations.

 

We arrived at Partyhouse (seriously…. why would they choose such a kak venue for a CD launch???) and there were hundreds of people. I breathed a sigh of relief realising the likeliness of bumping into and then recognising someone I’ve only seen one or two photos of was relatively minimal.

 

By the time we arrived, the venue was packed and C and I had a fantastic view of the tops of people’s heads and not much else. So when the band took a 15 minute break we dashed to the front to get closer to Khan, the talented front man. After a few minutes, a group of people moved in front of us and I looked up and immediately realised it was Electric. I waited for a look of recognition to cross his face… but nothing.

 

My reaction to this was to leap behind C so that she was blocking his view of me and I could avoid the situation. Of course, bearing in mind, that C had absolutely no idea what was going on, she began to find it a bit weird that I refused to budge from behind her, so I had to explain the whole scenario to her. Luckily a few minutes later, Electric and his friends moved further back and I forgot about the encounter and enjoyed the rest of the show.

 

On our way out, C and I noticed that The Parlotones had set up some tables and were autographing CDs and posters for a long queue of adoring supporters. C and I, in a bid to retain our non-groupie status carried on walking towards the exit when Electric suddenly appeared in front of us and asked… “Are you Mozi?” (except he used my actual name). I smiled, nodded and asked if he was waiting for an autograph. He said he was and offered to take my CD and get them to autograph it too. Afterwards, he gave me my CD back and we said our fairly awkward goodbyes.

 

Not thinking much of the situation, I logged back onto the dating site this morning to find a message from Electric, sent at 1am. Basically he said that he recognised me straight away but was too shy and nervous to come over and say hi. He said he eventually realised he had nothing to lose and plucked up the courage right before I walked out the door. He wants to meet up again.

 

I’m a little torn. Electric definitely isn’t the type of guy I’d usually be interested in. Nothing rock ‘n roll about him (other than his love of the Parlotones) – but he certainly seems to be decent, interesting, honest and a gentleman.

 

Is it time to move away from the old cliché that all girls love bad boys?

Goodbye my love

I’ve quit smoking.

 

It’s been nearly 42 hours.

 

So far so good… except I think I went through a bit of a nicotine withdrawal episode last night. I kept on waking up feeling like I couldn’t breathe (which is weird because it’s the exact opposite effect I was hoping for). I did, however, wake up for the first time in four years without a sore throat this morning.

 

I’m trying to fill the gaping void left in my life with water, bubblegum and gym. Somehow, this has all been quite fulfilling so far, but let me not kid myself, it’s only been 42 hours.

MsMozi in Mombasa

Mombasa - Day 1

 

So things didn't get off to a particularly good start. Arrived at OR Tambo filled with apprehension over the ridiculously late flight to Nairobi (00h40), only to discover the flight had been delayed until 02h30 (bearing in mind it was now only 22h00). Dreading the four and a half our wait, I located my hosts and was relieved to discover we had entrance passes to the business class lounge.

 

After the hours passed with much red wine, a motion sickness pill and conversation with my hosts, it was eventually time to board. I actually don’t remember anything at all from about 20 minutes after popping the motion sickness drugs until landing in Nairobi as a result of the zonking out effect of meds + alcohol.

 

We landed at about 08h15, which was troubling as we had to make a connection to Mombasa at 08h30. Thankfully, Nairobi airport runs like a finely-tuned machine and we were through immigration in about two seconds, to find our luggage already on the conveyer belt. We dashed across the road to the domestic terminal and managed to catch our flight in time. Can you imagine that ever happening at OR Tambo?

 

After a short flight we landed at Mombasa airport and found our shuttle to the Serena waiting for us under the blue sky, with a little table set out with champagne, juices and beer and red roses for all the girls – noo-noo!

 

The 45 minute drive to the Mombasa Serena took us through the town in our fabulously air-conditioned bus. Most of Mombasa is fairly slum-like, but so authentically African with goats running across the main road and bars with names like ‘The Silent Joy’. We arrived at the hotel to traditional dancers and fresh coconut juice.

 

I got to meet most of the rest of the journos (13 in the group in total) and on the way to my room walked past a total hottie, which left me hoping in some fantastic twist of fate, he’d be part of our group.

The room is beautiful, huge with a view of the ocean… if I can look past the pale overweight Germans in the way.

 

The group reconvened a few minutes later to do a hotel inspection and discovered that the hottie was indeed part of the group. The hotel inspection went on forever and ever and afterwards we sat down to a much needed lunch.

 

We had the rest of the afternoon to do our own thing so I opted for a swim in the warm, crystal-clear ocean and a snooze on a deck chair by the pool.

 

Then came dinner with some of the Serena big guns. Incredible – five courses of lobster, prawns, calamari steaks, darwas and red wine. Hottie was unfortunately way on the other side of the table. Afterwards we hit the main bar for coffee and a bit of a boogie which brings me up to this moment.

 

Tomorrow I’m hitting Mombasa town with a few of the boys including Hottie. Then we’re changing hotels to Mnarani in Kilifi – should be great!

 

Mombasa – Day 2

 

Woohoo! Just finished watching the bokke annihilate the English. This was made sweeter by the presence of several pommies in the hotel. Love it.

 

Well another beautiful day dawned in Mombasa. I accidentally lost track of time during breakfast and missed the trip into town. So I opted for another day spent lying by the pool, sipping on pina coladas…. Is this seriously work??? Burnt myself to a bit of a crisp but I’ll hopefully recover in the next day or two.

 

After lunch we moved onto the Mnarani hotel and enjoyed the 45min transfer along Kenya’s potholed road surrounded by lush forests and open green plains dotted with giant baobabs.

The Mnarani isn’t quite the same standard as the Serena, but still extremely comfortable and affordable (if I was paying). It also has an enormous infinity pool overlooking the Kilifi lagoon.

 

We headed out on a dhow sunset cruise, sailing through Kilifi creek with the goosebump inducing cry of the fish eagle as our sound track.

 

At about halfway, I discovered the problem with Kenya’s local beer – Tusker. It comes in 500ml bottles. Since I had already polished off one during the shuttle to the hotel, and another on the dhow, my bladder was suddenly stretched to 1 litre – with no relief in sight. For the last 40 mins I couldn’t think… .couldn’t speak.. and was made to feel only slightly better by another guy in our group who was suffering from the same affliction.

 

After docking and a hasty – virtually walking on water – dash to the loo, we sat down to a seafood braai on the beach, entertained by local acrobats and followed by sensational rugga.

 

That’s about it for today – tomorrow we’re venturing off to Malindi!

Mombasa – Day 3

 

So it’s the final day of the trip and it’s been unbelievable. I wish I could stay for another week – three days is just far too short. I will be back though without a doubt.

 

Today after breakfast we headed off on a tour around the area. We started off at a deaf school for the local community. We then went to the falcon sanctuary which really didn’t impress me. They had these beautiful raptors tied to poles so that they couldn’t fly away. None were injured, so its obviously just a tourist ploy with no plans to reintroduce them into the wild.

We then drove on towards Malindi. En route we saw several cars stopped ahead of us and sea of people. Turns out there were two robbers shot dead by the police lying on the side of the road. Most of the people on the bus saw the actual bodies, both with bullet holes in the foreheads. I didn’t want to look. Apparently it’s quite normal for the Kenyan police to shoot suspected criminals execution style since they have so little faith in the judicial system.

 

We then saw a fairly crap craft market before visiting the Gedi Ruines. The ruines are what’s left of an 11^th century city. Rumour has it that the entire civilization was wiped out in the 17^th century by the Zimbi tribe of cannibals who literally ate their way through Africa.

 

After that it was finally time to return to the hotel. I just chilled out for the rest of the evening, ate dinner and watch Maasai dancers.

 

So it’s almost time to say goodbye to beautiful Kenya. Leaving at 04h30 tomorrow morning to get to the airport in time.

 

So Kenya – kwaheri I will be back!!!!

Jambo!

Tonight… or more correctly, in the ridiculously early hours of tomorrow morning (00h40) I will be departing for Kenya.

 

This is definitely one of those moments when I looooove being a journo (or a deputy editor) – I’m going to spending a night at the Serena in Mombasa, before heading a little further up north to a coastal village called Kilifi for the remainder of the stay. It’s one of those perfect work trips, where they haven’t crammed in a million hotel inspections and conferences and instead we’re being left to scuba dive, snorkel, receive spa treatments and wander around town.

 

And as excited as I am about the trip – for some reason everyone has chosen this coming weekend as the one to embark on enjoyable adventures around Jozi.

 

Events I’m missing out on include:

 

1) The Ron’s birthday

2) Joburg Day

3) A wedding – BMXer asked me to go with him as his partner. I’m certain this would have been the night that he looked at me and realised I’m the one he’s been waiting for his entire life.

4) The Supersport United / Pirates game which everyone at work is attending as a teambuilder

 

But I’m sure none of you want to here my moaning about a free trip to Kenya, so I’ll stop.

 

So until the 17^th – Kwaheri!

A Perfect World

Last night I got to enjoy one of my favourite traditions – ‘The Deck Chat’ with The Ron. This ritual can only be performed in spring and summer – with alcoholic beverage in hand, gazing out at the twinkling lights of Jozi’s northern suburbs from the pool deck at The Ron’s Sandton complex.

 

During last night’s Deck Chat, we got onto the subject of The Ron’s 27^th birthday, which is this weekend. The Ron has decided that he’s not celebrating at all, because he feels he hasn’t achieved anything notable since his birthday last year. I pointed out that this isn’t entirely true – for one he’s found a wonderful girl who’s on the verge of moving in with him. Secondly, he finally bought his dream car, a Golf 5 somethingorother.

 

Essentially, The Ron was most concerned about not having found a new career path… his current job, which he’s absolutely brilliant at, unfortunately has a ceiling which he’s already reached. On top of that, it’s the kinda job you can’t really do past the age of 35 and that’s at a push.

 

This made me think about human nature – why is it that we always fixate on the one thing that’s missing from our lives, and ignore everything else that’s going swimmingly?

 

I’m just as guilty – career-wise, things are going brilliantly, my friends and family are all happy and healthy and I’m about to head off on a free trip to the Kenyan coast for a few days of frolicking in the ocean. Yet I ignore all of this and instead completely obsess over the absence of a significant other in my life.

 

The Ron pointed out that this phenomenon was best described in The Matrix, by the supercool Agent Smith when he said:

 

“Did you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world, where none suffered; where everyone would be happy. It was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Some believed that we lacked the programming language to describe your perfect world, but I believe that as a species, human beings define their reality through misery and suffering.”

 

But I guess this isn’t necessary a bad thing… if we focused only on the positive, we wouldn’t bother with self-improvement. It’s just weird to think that we’re constantly striving to reach a state of perfection that we’ll never find - and even if we somehow managed to, we’d remain unsatisfied.