Salsa nights

So on Friday evening, an old friend, who I haven’t seen in about 10 years, invited me to join him and his mates at a new salsa club in Rosebank. I figured, why not? I mean… I’ve been for like three salsa lessons! In fact, I’d probably be so inspiringly co-ordinated on the dance floor that people would start forming a circle around me, clapping their hands in crazed enthusiasm like they do in the movies!

 

This wasn’t quite how things panned out…

 

A few minutes after I arrived, a suave-looking Latino hopped up onto a raised area, and announced that he’d go through a quick basic salsa lesson before they really kicked things off. He began doing the super easy, back – forward – together – step. I looked across at my mate, smirked and shook my head knowingly while mouthing – “how easy….” I stopped paying attention for approximately 30 seconds – and by the time the teacher shifted back into focus, him, as well as the entire crowd were twirling each other across the dance floor while simultaneously executing perfect dips along with grinding hip action.

 

It all went downhill from there. I was so bad that my mate wouldn’t even let me onto the dance floor – he dragged me off to a dark corner in the back of the club to practice. After a few hours, he decided it was time to let me loose on the dance floor – and within 10 seconds I had bashed into and tripped up half of the club’s clientele and I was dragged back into the dark corner.

 

But now I’m determined to become the salsa queen! The people in that club were unbelievably good – I felt like I had walked in on the party scene in Dirty Dancing. Hot hot hot…

 

So my new goal is to be able to go back to the salsa club with my head held high within the next three months!

I'm psychic.

So guess what! Two of my predictions came true!!!

 

First of all, I’m ecstatic to say that I’m now Deputy Editor of the magazine I write for. Super chuffed and promptly changed my email signature and ordered new business cards. It just sounds so much nicer than journalist.

 

Secondly – I now have a man… sure he may be inflatable, but beggars can’t be choosers. A colleague brought him to work for me today because I’m using him as a prop for my friend’s bachelorettes party in two weeks time. He’s fantastic – his name is Frank, he’s a little short, but has perfectly styled dark hair and doesn’t mind sitting in the office butt naked all day. And he floats. I really think he might be the one.  

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes...

All week I’ve been waking up in the morning feeling like I’m on the cusp of a major change. It’s been a good feeling… like things are just about to take a drastic turn for the better…

Not that I’ve been particularly miserable lately – it’s been more like I’ve been floating around in limbo, neither here nor there…

So this feeling has gotten me thinking about what I’d like to change in my life…

Firstly, my career is potentially on the verge of a major change. I’ve got my annual performance appraisal this afternoon. Six months ago I was told that I was being primed for the position of deputy editor, and if everything went well I’d get my promotion at the time of my evaluation. If it doesn’t happen I’m going to be hugely disappointed… so keep those thumbs firmly held!

Secondly… and this will come as no surprise as a result of my latest blog entries… I’m ready to meet someone spectacular. The Ron has even lent me a book entitled, “Keeping the Love you Find”. I think this is a book that needs to be tucked away completely out of sight from any potentially interesting men visiting my apartment (haha, like there are any). So far, the most entertaining part of the book has been the exercise section – where you have to complete sentences with the first word that pops into your mind. The Ron originally borrowed the book from a very angry and bitter homosexual man, whose answers are still pencilled in. Some gems included “My parents are…. f*ck ups. “Women are… disgusting”… “Men are…. beautiful”. To add to the direness of my non-existent love life, I noticed on Facebook that Italian Ex-Boyfriend is now seeing someone. Her one wall post said – “Hey you, sorry to hear you’re so tired… must be from all the action you got last night, your fault not mine hehehe” Vomit.

Thirdly – I’m planning to quit the cancer sticks on September 25^th. Already freaking out about it and smoking myself into oblivion while I still can. I’ve chosen September 25^th as I’ve gotta do the bridesmaid thing the weekend before, which is going to require much chain-smoking… and with the 24^th being a public holiday, I can literally smoke non-stop the entire day, until I get nicotine poisoning and never want to see another cigarette again. Good strategy huh?

So yes… if any of these changes come into effect in the next week (obviously not the smoking one)… I’ll have this blog entry as proof of my premonition of a positive change lingering on the horizon.

A little less conversation.a little more action please

There are so many ways of keeping in touch these days… Between phones, SMSing, emails and social networking media…. there really are just too many options.

And this has all kinds of implications for those involved in the dating game….

 

For example, the method with which we choose to communicate is directly relative to how much we like the other person… it’s actually got a hierarchical structure… I like to call it MsMozi’s Ladder of Communication Channels….

 

Right at the bottom of the ladder we have the Facebook message – this form of communication is completely non-committal and probably the product of a few minutes of boredom at work.

 

Next one up is the Facebook wall post. Although usually brief, this implies that the communicator is happy with the fact that others can see the interaction. The communicatee does not always feel the same way.

 

And third from the bottom we have online chatting, whether it be Skype, Google or MSN – very conducive to fun and interactive conversation – but again, very often, just a method of killing time at work.

 

Following this is the SMS… this method of communication implies that there has been a phone number exchange between communicator and communicatee – which further implies a level of comfort. Although brief – this can often lead to back and forth flirty banter, otherwise known as SMS Tennis.

 

Next up is the e-mail. Although still quite impersonal – there’s no limit on space and can also, very often, lead to Email Tennis.

 

And finally, on the top rung, we have…. *gasp*…. the phone call. Actual voice-on-voice contact…. Very frightening indeed, no time to think through witty comebacks – and indicative that there may be something there.

 

Now what does this all mean for the singleton?

 

It means, without a fraction of a doubt, that if you don’t hear from someone for a prolonged period of time – they’re just not that into you. Phone lines or internet down, stolen cellphones and computer viruses are no longer adequate explanations – the likeliness of these things happening simultaneously is too improbable to believe.  

 

But do all of these options really help us? Do you remember the days when regular telephones were the only way we stayed in touch? The heart-stopping feeling when the phone rang at 8pm on a Wednesday night… and you heard your mom pick it up…you stopped breathing as you waited for those magical words – “It’s for you!” … still unsure who was on the other side with no caller recognition, but knowing exactly who you hoped it would be. And the conversations that would go on for hours and hours…

 

Don’t you miss it just a little bit?

 

 

 

Desperate times call for desperate measures

So Internet Date No. 1 is behind me.

 

It wasn’t too bad.

 

But first a little bit of background…

 

I had noticed, while surfing through the profiles of the men on the dating site, that most of the ones I liked lived in Cape Town… which is very weird, considering the ratio of women to straight men in that city – you would imagine that any vaguely decent boy would have been snatched up by the deprived women-folk yonks ago.

 

Anyway – I had been half-heartedly emailing a Capetonian – we’ll call him Rock Climber. He seemed nice enough, but was definitely not one of the guys I eagerly awaited responses from.

 

Then, last week he sent me a message saying that he was in Jozi for work and asked if I wanted to meet him for coffee that night. I only got the email at about 11pm because I had been at The Fugitive’s house – so I shrugged it off. He then emailed the next day asking if I was free again. I said I’d get back to him later… almost certain that I wouldn’t have the courage to meet him.

 

So later on in the evening, I logged into Facebook and saw that The Soldier had added new photos. Excited to take a look, I clicked on his profile and noticed the album was called ‘My new girl’. Clicked on it and looked at the photos of The Soldier out partying with two of the most unappealing women I’ve ever laid eyes on. My heart sank and incredulity washed over me.

 

Now I understand that with The Soldier a gazillion miles away – we’re both going to meet other people and forget about the little whirlwind interaction we shared – but for several reasons pertaining to The Soldier’s current situation which can’t be discussed here – this was very odd behaviour. *

 

And with that – I smsed Rock Climber and accepted his invitation.

 

We met up at Nelson Mandela Square, as it was one of the only places he knew in Jozi. He was already waiting when I got there and recognised him immediately (points awarded to Rock Climber for not loading a photo of someone else, or one that was taken 5 years ago). Completely pleasant looking, but not completely my taste – a little too clean cut I guess. Despite this, he had lovely kind eyes and a great smile.

 

Conversation was easy and flowing as we discussed travels, adventure sports and sex shows in Amsterdam.

 

At the end of the night, we were talking about my favourite restaurant in Jozi, Cranks and he said that we should go there the next time he’s in town **

 

Walked away feeling like I made a new friend more than anything else – although I didn’t smoke around him the entire night, which must mean I like him a little bit.

 

*The Soldier has since removed the album from his profile and has been sending me lots of long emails… I know I should cut off all contact and forget about him, but I can’t do it just yet.

 

** Rock Climber flew back to Cape Town the day after the date, but have had a couple of messages on Facebook since.

 

 

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!