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.