Finding Hollywood...

My contingent seems to all be following a particular trend.

Hollywood!

And no, there is no travel involved here.

Taking a note from “the modern age liberated womans handbook”, I booked an appointment with the local go-to-girl.

Knowing fairly well the etiquette of such situations, I brought the trusted “manky panty” along for the ride.

Dear lord!

I now look like I could attract all men named Peter.

I could be mistaken for a 9 year old boy in the mirror (once again – thanks so much for dishing out the boobs on the day I missed school, Mother Nature! Loving that fate in life! Ggrr!)

And I feel as if I’ve had an intimate encounter with The Crotch Whisperer!

I think I will be planning my trips back to Brazil from now on...
(see "The Crotch Whisperer - 14 May)

Tourist Watching...

From the 8th floor high rise of my office window, situated in hotel district of the CBD, I often am afforded the opportunity to see some magnificent sites.

This morning however – magnificent is not the adjective of choice.

I really wouldn’t mind if the view was monopolized by a buff tanned tourist standing on his balcony, clad only in a tiny white towel raising his morning coffee to his lips.

In fact – I encourage such behavior!

Instead however, I’m treated only to a pasty flabby 60+ something mincing around in his tiiiiiny little excuse for a swim cozy.

It’s times like these when I’m glad I don’t possess 20:20 vision. - I get to avoid the close up.

No need to raise the binoculars to sharpen the view – at all…

Cannot wait for summer to arrive again - the hotel alongside us, has a rooftop pool… and their “clientele” is more appropriate.

Yummy!!

Departure of the Ugly Bus....

Got an SMS from a pal last night – he’s newly single too, so is on a pulling rampage!

“Can you please come and fetch me - the ugly bus still hadn’t departed, and I’m way too drunk for this shit”

The Ugly Bus: (the bus that takes all the ugly people away while you are in the bathroom, so when you return to the club, only the hot folk remain...

Made my way down to clubbing district central at 1am in my uber cool PJ’s, only to be caught at a roadblock by the cops. “Have you been out drinking lady” he uttered in a harsh meneer aksent.

Are you kidding - Did he not see my PJ’s? They have sheep on them for f**k sake!! 

Tart Fuel...

Received a rather kinky text from someone who is supposed to be a “friend” of mine. I guess these friendship lines are blurring more every day.

Anyhoo – it was past midnight, so I figured it must be fueled by a mass load of tart fuel.
(alco-pop type beverages aimed at the fairer race - that lead to drunken behaviour and clothes shedding)

It’s not the first time I’ve been the recipient of such notes from him, I’m just good at ignoring them!

DELETE!!!

A Doctor in the House...

Its 1:55AM, the music is pumping, the drinks are flowing, the bachelors are looking HOT, and the girls skirts are riding up ever so slightly. The set is clubbing central (we won’t share the name) and it’s Friday night… code name for party your panties off…

The crew is out on a monumental pissup, FMB's in toe, (I credit Baglett for this beauty of a term) and we haven’t yet paid for our own drinks. The night is young, and the sexxxy scenery is tempting!


Come on - I'm newly single - can you blame me for wanting some ridiculous male attention?!?

Cut to the cocktail bar, where hottie alert has been issued to full strength…INCOMING….

The Doc: Hi I’m ***, but you can call me “The Doctor”…
Crashlett: No…
The Doc: (smirks) What do you mean …no? What’s your name?
Crashlett: I’m not falling for that one… sorry…NO… (while giggling)
The Doc: (To Peach)…Wow, is she always so difficult… (laughing)
Peach: You wouldn’t believe… (smiling)
The Doc: I like it…
Peach: (to Crash) Crashlett, meet ***, he IS a doctor…
Crashlett: (blushing) oh, hi…
The Doc: Well hello there Crashlett, how’s your heart rate?
Crashlett: OMG... are you serious… is that all you’ve got? (laughing)
Crashlett: So Doc…what’s your specialisation? (still laughing)
The Doc: I’ll let you guess. (with a smile)
Crashlett: A Urologist?
The Doc: (laughs)
The Doc: Nah…Not quite
Crashlett: A Gynaecologist? (smirking)
The Doc: (smiling) that’s more like it, but no…
The Doc: I’m a Cardiologist… coz your heart is in my hands… (glamour grin of pearly whites)
Crashlett: hhhmmmm (I try to roll my eyes, but I'm holding in the giggles I almost falls over)
The Doc: So Crashlett, can I buy you breakfast…?


Crashlett: Come On!!! really? Fuuuck!

The Crotch Whisperer...

Booked an appointment to see The Crotch Whisperer this week.

Nicknamed so – because he spends most of his time down “there” fumbling and muttering to himself, and seldom actually looks me in the face.

Come to think of it – he reminds me of some guys I’ve dated.

His voice is so soft, I have to strain to hear what he’s saying (how many times can you say “what?” before it’s considered rude?)

I thank my lucky polka dot socks that this is only an annual event. Any more meetings like this, and I’m going to have to get a hearing aid.

Personal Ads...

Here’s a thought:
If you had to place a singles ad for yourself; what would it say?

Forget about the semantics of SWF blah blah. I’m seeking a more hypothetical creatively crafted blurb…

My personal ad will read:
Billionaire with thriving international chocolate and designer shoe empire, seeks great cook and somebody to share in her fortune. Sense of humor essential. They need not know one another.

Do you think I’d get many responses?

It's Called Batting...

I know a boy… a boy in EVERY sense of the word… and it doesn’t look like change (read vast maturity) is around any bend, corner or twist in the road… and I’m using GPS.

And yet strangely I’m drawn to this… I know… I don’t understand it either!

So we “hung out” something else I don’t “do” that often anymore.
Yes I go “for drinks”, “to dinner”, “to art openings”, “to gigs”, “to poetry readings”, “to art films”, “play footie”, but I rarely these days… “hang out” as the kids are calling it. (I’ve always wanted to say / type that)

Cut to the end of a rather eventful night packed with mild flirting, innuendos, cute smiles, subtle steamy looks, sharing, bonding a few chilled drinks and enough IOI’s to host a flirting seminar (Indicators Of Interest – “The Game”)

… and I get a hug!!!

Yes… A HUG!!!

WTF???

Going Fishing...

I was asked by Metro Man today: "Do I have any cute single friends wanting to date somebody who aspires to rolling cigarettes in a vending machine for a living?"

Wasn’t quite sure what he was going on about – until he mentioned that it's sometimes difficult to remind himself that not all Cape Town girls are materialistic, high-maintenance, boring, and snobbish…
(myself excluded of course…. Who am I trying to kid!)

Apparently the vending machine / ciggie thing is his filter to wade out the trust-fund seekers…

Metro Man, although fabulous, is clearly lonely, and has exhausted his cuddle buddy resources. He now seeks new blood. (his words – not mine)

My advice was this:
Fish in a different pond, or change your fishing strategy.

MM: right – so are we hitting Tiger this weekend then?
Crash: haven’t you overfished that sespit?
MM: probably!
MM: but the view is still nice…

So I guess we are going fishing then…

I Want My Stuff Back....

Spoke to the REA about getting my stuff back... random things that didn’t fit in my car upon break up night.

Including, oh yes, my laptop.

Apparently I’d told him that he could use it for as long as  he needed. Yes – I distinctly remember this conversation.

However, myself, and the general population, seem to think that these rules change somewhat upon a breakup. Do they not?

I’m now being sworn at, and told I’m a ^$@$^*%#% and that I’m inhibiting him from doing his job if I take back my own possessions. This is new territory to me!

Apparently I also owe him money for him fixing said laptop. Why – I’m not entirely sure – I didn’t ask him to fix it/use it etc.

So instead of a further ranting session, I’m treating this like a business deal – and I’ve set a D-date. 4 weeks should be sufficient for him to get his things in order. Correct?

Thereafter – I WANT MY STUFF BACK!!!

Why must we always degenerate into children upon breakups. Cant it ever just be a “hey this was fun; have a good life convo”?

Past Life...

Am super happy I have real, honest and genius friends.

They have so sneakily taken my cell and renamed the REA as “A Past Life  - do not call”

I love my girls!!