Where have all the cowboys gone???

So in a couple of weeks I will have been single for an entire year. A YEAR. This is the longest I have ever been alone – since my first boyfriend at the age of 15. It is not having a good effect on me.

 

First of all – I’m becoming one of those grumpy sods that scowls at happy couples. It seems like people are hooking up ALL around me. Everywhere. Even the entire blogging community appears to be in the throes of loved up, candlelit, doe-eyed bliss. I hate them all.

 

Out of my five closest friends – three are in serious relationships, with Aye and The Ron both having the ‘should we move in together’ conversation with their other halves. I told The Ron that if he gets married before I get a boyfriend I’ll never ever speak to him again. He laughed. I told him I was being deadly serious.

 

The second side effect is that I’ve turned into a total perv. This is due to my personal moral code, which dictates that serious action is limited to boyfriends only.  C and I went to go watch The Dirty Skirts last weekend (who are all men by the way, even in their utter metrosexualdom) and after a while I couldn’t even hear the music anymore. Instead I was watching the way the bass guitarist’s muscle on the underside of this elbow would occasionally flex, and imagining what it would be like to run my fingers through the scruffy hair of the lead singer. I now do this where ever I go…in the traffic, grocery shopping… conferences… everywhere.

 

My newfound perviness was never quite as overwhelming as it was at Oppikoppi. An old varsity friend, who I’ve been secretly besotted with for almost 10 years now, was there. We’ll call him BMXer. He’s everything I want crammed into one perfectly proportioned individual. Ashton Kutcher-style goofiness, combined with the surprising ability to be serious every once in a while, with a daredevil streak and a body of Spartan (complete with the occasional scar from his extreme sport injuries). The sunny Saturday afternoon when BMXer came bounding over without his shirt on nearly sent me cascading down the Koppi.

 

There isn’t even a single remotely exciting prospect on the horizon. The Soldier is in Germany, The Game Ranger is a complete disaster and The Lawyer/Plumber, despite being hilariously funny, does absolutely nothing for me.

 

I’ve even sunk to the lowest of the low… Internet dating. This is not going well either. Despite having 470 fans – there isn’t a single one that I would actually like to meet. But perhaps I should… and join the ranks of the bloggers who have documented their Internet dating escapades. If nothing else, at least it’ll give my mates something to laugh about?

The Grrrrrrrr Factor...

So I’ve been quiet again… but quiet is good. It means I’ve been too wrapped up in my life to sit down and try and get it down onto a page.

Interesting developments have included…

 

a) Falling for a soldier…

 

Strange huh? I’m still trying to work out whether my fascination with The Soldier stems from the sex appeal that literally drips off him, or if I got swept away by the fact that I met him a week before he left the country, intensifying all emotions a thousand fold. All I know is that it’s been a long time since I’ve looked at a man and been all consumed by the feeling of grrrrrrrr. There’s been quite a lot of communication since he left last week… and apparently there is a surprise on its way to me. Unless it’s him in uniform on my doorstep, it’s going to be a disappointment.

 

b) The Game Ranger disappoints…

 

So remember the Newtown kiss that held such potential? Turns out it didn’t. Following that encounter I heard absolutely nothing from the Game Ranger for at least two weeks. As an advocate of the ‘He’s just not that into you’ theory, I filed away all possibilities into the back of my mind and continued on as normal. Until an evening at the Colony… Kay and I were enjoying our John Deere’s when we spotted the Game Ranger in one direction and Kay’s Citi Golf in the other. As far as uncomfortable greetings go – the Greeting of the Game Ranger was one for the record books. I went in for a hug, he went in for a full on kiss – he collided into my cheek leaving a soggy reminder of what he had been aiming for. Terrible. He was completely sloshed and I avoided him for the rest of the night. Then a couple of days later he sent me a message on Facebook inviting me to his family’s game farm for the weekend… huh??? Of course, I turned the invitation down…. He’s almost more socially inept than Broken Arm. I’m half-past over it.

 

c) I’m heading back to East Africa next month

 

A work trip to Kenya was sprung upon me, to my utter delight. I’ll be spending a night in at the Serena hotel in Nairobi, before heading to Mombasa for three nights… God, I love my job.

 

d) I’m off to the Koppi this weekend…

 

It’s going to be a weekend of rock, drunken debauchery, sleepless nights and a million cigarettes as I head off with C to Oppikoppi tomorrow. There will be stories…. many, many stories…. So stay tuned for next week’s edition!

 

The octopus a mint martini and Newtown kisses

What a weekend! For once it felt like it lasted forever and not because it was a bad one!

 

It kicked off with a mini after hours shopping spree with C, during which we managed to find t-shirts, emblazoned with ‘I’m not with the band’ – so we promptly each bought one to wear during Oppikoppi in August.

 

We then headed across to a little pub that has opened up across the road from my complex, which I’ve been just dying to try out. As soon as the door opened, we realised that this was one of those pubs for ‘regulars’. Everyone seemed to know one another, with the exception of the two of us.

 

We sat ourselves down and after a few minutes, a large, bald, extremely drunk man decided to plonk himself down at our table too. The man was bonkers…. Literally completely insane. He kept holding his wrist and whispering into it, as though there was some kind of radio transmission advice attached to it and he was feeding important information to intelligence agents. He then grabbed C’s scarf, stuck it on his head, letting the tassels fall over his forehead as he shouted out “I’m an octopus! I’m an octopus!” We promptly finished our drinks and left.

 

We then moved onto Doors in Edenvale. It used to be Italian Ex Boyfriend’s favourite spot so I went quite often during the course of that relationship. C had never been and I knew she would love it so I dragged her along. The music was sensational and we had an absolute ball.

 

Saturday was a chilled one and eventually headed over to Kay and Aye’s place for a couple of glasses of wine. From there we decided to go to Fuel, which usually isn’t my most favourite of establishments. There was a band, made up two boys probably in their early twenties, who played songs that sounded exactly like Erasure covers. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen. I could only get a good view of the guy who was singing and playing the….. wait for it…. Synthesizer. He was going moggy in his skinny jeans and 80s bob.

 

The Game Ranger was also there. He’s been the target of a substantial amount of my spadework over the past few weeks. He’s the best friend and roommate of Aye’s boyfriend and he’s great to speak to… and also *shock horror*…. A decent guy. Weird. Ended up being the last two out of our group still at Fuel at around 2am and ended the night with snog on the Newtown pavement. Haven’t heard from him since though, which is a little concerning. We’ll just have to see what happens.

 

Sunday I headed off to the Food Show with Mr Spencer and C. We managed to enroll ourselves in Cocktail Making 101 taught by the incredibly gorgeous Liquid Chef instructor. Such fun!! We were throwing shakers and ice cubes around, and ended up with fabulous mojitos and mint and litchi martinis, which we quickly consumed. Since I wasn’t really fully over my drunkenness from the evening before, and hadn’t eaten since lunchtime the previous day, the Bacardi went straight to my head while my mates and I ran around Sandton looking for a cocktail-making set to buy. Ended up knocking over an entire display of cocktail shakers, leaving poor Mr Spencer to deal with the chaos in my wake.

 

What a weekend!!!

Lights... Camera... Action!!!

There is an epidemic that seems to be sweeping across the country, taking down every ordinary, completely unexceptional and downright boring individual it comes across.

 

I like to call it: Celebrity complex

 

Now if any of you are journalists, you will know exactly what I’m talking about…

 

Somewhere along the line, between watching to much of Channel 41 and listening to Britney Spear’s – My Prerogative…  (oh my god… this makes this the second post in a week where I’ve written the words ‘Britney Spears’), many South Africans have imagined that the media are all after a piece of them.

 

After clicking on one too many headlines on News24 with ‘Paris Hilton’ in the title… completely regular South Africans begin to imagine that the paparazzi are a serious problem in their life. War in the Middle East? Whatever…. HIV crisis? Who cares….  The media is the root of all evil.  

 

Now I don’t even work in glamorous or controversial media… I write for a business magazine that targets a really niche sector… yet more and more often, when I call people requesting info or comment, I get greeted by the hand in the face and almost expect the person on the other side to break out with “Everybody’s talking all this stuff about me… why don’t they just let me live! It’s my prerogative!”

 

One phone call from a journalist and Mr Frans Stoffel Hendriks running a B&B in Kakamas will immediately begin his insta-Celeb delusion. “You media… you always twist my words…. Make it sound like I said things I didn’t! It’s my prerogative!”

 

But on a completely seprate topic – I just learnt how to operate a tele-prompter…. So cool! I’ll be signing autographs between 5pm and 6pm.

Let there be rock!

I’m pretty sure I was a rock star in my previous life …. Either that or this life is paving the way for me to become a rock star the next time around.

 

If I had been graced with the ability to sing (drunkenly belting out ‘I love rock ‘n roll’ with C at the Colony doesn’t really count) or could play more than eight chords on a guitar, there is no way I’d still be at my desk job.

 

I’m obsessed with all things rock… particularly the men, leaving family and friends bewildered as I go doe-eyed over tattooed and pierced boys (I can’t help it, I like ‘em a little dodgy). The way I felt about watching Rock Star Supernova on DSTV Channel 10 was probably the same way men feel when they watch FTV… or e-tv on a Saturday night.

 

But it’s more than just that.

 

From the day I turned 13 and was given my first ever CDs (Green Day – Dookie and Offspring – SMASH…. remember those??) my feet never really touched ground again.

 

There’s something magical about hearing Pearl Jam strum the first chord of ‘Nothingman’… something revitalising about watching Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers jump around to ‘Universally Speaking’… and it’s just simply dynamite to see Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance fall to his knees during the climax of ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’.

 

So put another dime in the jukebox baby!

The conversation that all men fear.

Last night I went out for dinner with The Fugitive, Kay and a couple of other boys and girls. After a few glasses of cheap red wine, the conversation somehow moved to that frightful subject… The type of discussion that leaves men in a cold-sweat, eyes frantically searching for the nearest exit, contemplating intentionally choking on the rosemary and feta focaccia just to escape to the heinousness of the subject at hand.

Marriage.

It’s amazing that so many women have planned out even the most insignificant detail of their future wedding, many without a significant other in any shape or form. Take The Fugitive for instance: Although she is dating the German Sailor – marriage isn’t currently under discussion. But she does know that she will be having a civil wedding in Germany, a church wedding in SA, a wedding dress that fades from white, to pink, to red, and bridesmaids in burgundy.

Another friend at the table (whose boyfriend was frantically wiping the sweat from his brow) had decided that she would be getting married in Plett and was starting to survey the rest of the table to determine who had holiday homes there to accommodate the guests.

What is it about marriage that makes lunatics of fully competent women?

I think it boils down to three things:

1. The fixation on marriage has a lot more to do with the wedding than marriage. Post-wedding depression is a major problem, with many women suddenly realising that the day they’ve been dreaming about since they were born is over…. And they are faced with the reality of their lives… as they will stay…. For ever and ever…… hectic!

2. Women start to panic when their friends start getting hitched one after another. They take a look at the calibre of the men their mates are marrying and think “Wow, he’s such a catch – damn! Now he’s taken and I’m going to be left with the dregs of society if I don’t act soon!”. Or they think “Wow – he’s such a moron! Now he’s taken.... if he’s taken can you imagine what kind of crap is still available… I better act soon!”

3. And of course… the old biological clock – so friggen unfair that men don’t have to worry about this. If women didn’t have to I reckon it would be a completely different ball game.

I still maintain that if I ever get married, it’ll be a drive-through ceremony in Vegas. With KFC… Britney Spears-style.

A mini soul-search on a debaucherous weekend.

So an interesting weekend all-round, during which I made several key discoveries:

 

1. I’m currently in relentless party-mode. Sadly, it seems like the majority of my friends are completely over the party scene…. for life. Should I be more like them at 26? Have I actually reached my party expiry date and I’m just carrying on in total denial? Thankfully, C (who is also three years younger than me) is still able to party up a storm…. so I do have a partner in crime.

 

2. I miss the security of having a boyfriend. I bumped into Italian Ex-Boyfriend for the first time since the break-up last year September. It was really strange to see him again. Was out at the Manhandler on Friday with The Fugitive and Kay who both wanted to go home… I really felt like staying, but gave in and we were on the way out when I saw him. I decided to stay… knowing I’d be safe as long as he was there. We had a good chat and I also knew instantly that I had no feelings left for him… but at the same time missed the feeling of having the support and strength of someone beside me.

 

3. The chemistry between me and Broken Arm is still almost palpable… insane. I hadn’t seen him for quite a while, until Saturday night. I have no idea why there’s such a spark there, but it doesn’t seem like it’s going to disappear anytime in the near future. Yowza.

 

4. I miss being on the stage… went to go and watch The Lion King yesterday (which was spectacular) and was reminded of how much I need to be back on the stage. Aye and I are planning to join a drama club – should be awesome!

 

5. The Ron and I had “renewed our friendship vows” to quote him directly. Had a heart-to-heart with him on Saturday night (after he had polished off seven Long Island Iced Teas) about the state of our frequently tumultuous friendship. We’re in a better place than we’ve ever been… practically family and it was good to hear it from him.

 

6. Norwegian men aren’t all that.

 

And that was my weekend in a nutshell…

 

Rock on rock stars!