Return of the Prodigal

I've been back for just over a week now, but still having a hard time readjusting to regular life. No extravagant shopping trips all day, no fabulously scrumptious food available at every corner, and certainly no hustle bustle of thousands, or the constant blaring of cars, bikes, rickshaws and horse carriages alike. Instead, I'm back to a city thats having major power problems and a mountain load of work that gets bigger every time I think about looking at it.

The three weeks away that I had planned for turned into a little over four. Not because we were having such an incredibly great time, which we were. But the medical check-up my mom was undergoing required it. And so, having asked for only a three week leave of absence from work, I started revamping my resume in my mind and thought of exactly what I'd say at my next job interview.

Fortunately, everything turned out okay. The tests revealed nothing serious that couldn't be controlled with loving care and a hawk-eye watch over medication and diet; and my desk still sat waiting empty. Barely just.

What I hadn't bargained for was how much I'd miss Karachi. The smells, the sounds, the flavours, the frequent chuckles with family, the noisy rickshaw-wallahs and the incredibly hot Pathan boys. Every little thing became an excuse to return.

So much so that my last conversation with mom went; "Mom, the toilet paper here is so crap. Lets move to Pakistan."

M.I.A.

...for the next three weeks since I'll be out of the country. I'm too tired from running between travel agent and work and bank and home to actually be legible or sensible in trying to explain why I'm leaving so suddenly.

Just know that I've not decided to join the travelling circus (although it sounds exciting and I might just be interested), neither am I on the country's most wanted list (last time I checked), nor am I on a covert mission, secretly training to be a Kamikaze pilot for Uzbekistan.

But I leave tonight and I still need to pack.

See you soon.

Oh, and...

An update

Yesterday's very unexpected valentines present made it to my top five, all time greatest gifts.

*drum roll* I got a digital camera!!

Finally! After years of wanting one, but never really bothering to actually go out and buy one because I always had something I wanted just a little bit more, I got one! Sleek, slim and silver, its magic. My memories will finally be pixelated.

Strangely enough, quite a few of my more valuable possessions have been gifts. The phone I currently use, my rarely used iPod, a Gucci watch, and now the camera.

So my new motto in life: If you really want something. Wait it out. Eventually, some kind soul will feel sorry for you and buy it for you.

I heart valentines

I don't believe there should be only one day dedicated to love, but if it makes men nicer (more generous), who am I to complain? Although seeing my sister with her husband makes me all dreamy-eyed and cheesy-grinned. When I met her today and asked what her other half was giving her for the special occasion, she said she didn't want anything. Since everything she's ever wanted or asked for, he's given without question, everyday is valentines as far as she's concerned.

Sigh. I want that for me too.

A rich sucker who'll give me everything I want.

But since I have nothing exciting to report, seeing that I have no special date lined up - which has been the case with many, many past valentine's days - and which, in all honesty I have absolutely no problem with, because its actually fun being single on valentines. You get the attention of all the other single guys out there, and can just possibly get more roses and chocolates and other little gifts than any other coupled-up woman, even if you do have to have a pretty lame single girl's night out that night. (Which can also be fun, because you can meet a whole bunch of single guys who are also on a pretty pathetic guy's night out. True story that.)

So anyhow, as I was saying, because I don't have anything fun planned, I will post about my favourite ever valentine's surprises. So if anyone out there is looking for a tip, here are a couple you can't go wrong with.

The nicest may be a little cliched and maybe a little unoriginal, but it was incredibly sweet all the same. A huge bunch of gorgeous red roses - 49 to be exact - delivered with a cute little note that read, "If you stand in front of a mirror with these 49 red roses, you'll be looking at the 50 most beautiful things on earth." While I may not like being called a "thing", I will not hold it against someone who thinks I'm beautiful. Vain? Never denied it.

The second sweetest thing ever was a very inexpensive but thoughtful basket of chocolates. Three big bars of regular candy with a note that said, "The Bounty because you have a head like a coconut, the Snickers because I think you're nuts, and the Mars, because I think you're out of this world."

Cute right?

When the going gets tough...

The tough get going.

Straight to the boss to ask for a raise.

Tales of horror

I was working late into the afternoon last Saturday... one of those few unfortunates the world over, who has to come in to work on a weekend. (Modern day slavery I tell you.) And I saw the most awful thing. I'm still in shock. Outraged speechless by what happened.

Just as I was putting some finishing touches on a deadline, I heard a huge commotion outside by the lifts. A woman screaming bloody murder and the sounds of a violent scuffle. All of us still at the office ran out to find an office driver beating - as in physically brutally battering - the mother of his child. [A lot of the local men, usually lower income earners, tend to have what is called in Swahili, Little Wife. Usually a second or third girlfriend kept on the side, out of wedlock. Basically mistresses who 'complement' their 'real' wives.] She was lying on the floor while he kicked wildly at her face and chest. Their six year old son looking on, crying desperately.

When he saw us running towards him, mouths open in shock, he stopped. The woman shakily got to her feet, still screaming. She thrust the young boy towards him and yelled that she was leaving, that he could take care of his child, that he wasn't responsible and wasn't making child payments. They shoved the kid back and forth, each furiously bellowing they didn't want him.

Can you imagine the effect that scene may have on the child? How he could grow up thinking this savage behavior was a norm? How it could lead to a vicious cycle of abuse, generations on? And to think this goes on in homes all over.

This comes a close second to the most horrifying thing I've ever seen.

The first being an accident I saw many years ago on a dark, unlit highway; where a drunk man was knocked to the ground by a speeding drunk driver, and before anyone could do anything about it, run over and crushed to death by three other cars. It still gives me goose bumps.

So, while on the subject, I'm going to take this opportunity to spread an important social message (and hopefully add a dose of humour to this otherwise gruesome post.)

Don't drink and drive. Accidents cause people.

Different

This past weekend I met up with a cousin who's back home for a meet-the-parents holiday. (Although I'm not sure how much of a holiday that can be). Recently wedded and still full of the excitement of a new bride, she was bubbling over with happiness. Now a recurring, predictable theme; and the beginning of every conversation I seem to have; she hugged me and exclaimed, "So what's goin on with you? Any plans to settle down on the horizon?"

Off we go, round and round that same weary bush. While I pull my hair out in frustration.

After I'd told her my long mournful story (read: whined about the quality of guys in this town) she put on a serious face and lectured me for over an hour about how there was no such thing as Mr. Right, (D'uh. You think?) and that I should look at her own past and learn from her experience.

My cousin, now in her early twenties, was in a relationship for 3 years before getting married, which then rapidly ended in an ultra quick divorce. Not interested in the dating game and it's accompanying heartaches, she settled for an arranged marriage. A guy her parents introduced her to, four days before their engagement.

She was terrified ofcourse, afraid that emotions and sensitivities from her failed first marriage would somehow influence her second. On her wedding day she cried on my shoulder, wondering if she'd made the right decision because, she'd said, she had absolutely no feelings for him. Just a high opinion of his gentle kindness and an admiration of his impeccable manners.

Now, barely six months later, she's over the moon.

So with some encouragement from her (and more than a little resignation), I did some thinking (yay me!) and realised that the Z is not everything and the earth. Sometimes you just have to allow yourself to be swayed into a relationship. Mr. Good Enough may not necessarily sweep you off your feet, but he can certainly make you stumble. (Which is a given if you, like me, live in heels.)

Thinking back, there are some regrets... chances I should have taken, opportunities now lost. I remember this one guy I'd met a while ago who, on paper, had it all - confident and charismatic, he was decent enough to look at, and his family owned an empire. The woman who'd set us up told me he was a great catch, that he would quote "drape me in diamonds" unquote.

Annoyed that she thought I was a scheming gold digger, I didn't take the bait. I wasn't attracted anyway, and our conversation had been peppered with how he sailed his private yacht at the weekends, and how he holidayed at exotic islands every few months. Since he trumpeted his wealth in every other sentence, I felt he couldn't possibly have much else to offer. Plus, he sat like a girl.

When I finally turned him down though, during the course of our last conversation, he mentioned how different I was compared to other women he'd met. I've gotten that from other men over the course of the years, always wondering what exactly they meant. Different good? (you're extraordinary), different bad? (you have three eyes.) But I always put it down, a little uncertainly, to my independent, I-know-what-I-want spirit.

Now in time; still single, not getting any younger, and having let slip some really good men; I realise what they meant. Different really means incredibly fucking stupid.

Shrink Wanted

I've always imagined myself a pretty good amateur (unqualified) psychiatrist. Not that I'm any good with sharing advice. Or with listening to people mourn about things gone wrong, because really, there are enough things in a day to get a person down without having to listen to another depressed soul's sob story. Hmmm... never mind, so I wouldn't make that great a shrink, but I've always considered myself stable minded, level-headed and common sense-d. But secretly, I'm not.

There are deep psychological factors that affect me. So deep rooted and well hidden I don't know whether to be amused by my own neuroses, or to seriously think about investing in a therapist.

Relationships terrify me. The thought of chaining myself to any old guy (and I don't mean that age-wise) for the rest of my one precious life makes me panicking-ly claustrophobic. It's not that I don't want to have a serious relationship which will inevitably end in marriage; because hell yeah, I do. One day. But either I just haven't met that right guy with that Z* thing or I have some seriously deep emotional issues.

The last handful of could've-beens that I've met, I always about-turned straight out, before even beginning to let the idea of a chance happen. Finding invisible flaws and imaginary defects seconds after having been introduced. And the few others that I was incredibly attracted to (and who had the Z), were either too young, too uninterested, or too taken. And if they did become available, I suddenly wasn't so into anymore. All part of a weird emotional mind-game. I'm only interested if you're not.

I don't know whether I just need to smack myself back into the grayness of reality, or keep fanning the vibrant flames of hope that I will, after all, find that one great guy who's right for me. Hold out until I'm an old and wrinkly 50 year old, still waiting; or just attach myself to the next almost-decent, no-spark guy who comes along. But neither one sounds very appealing.

My mother is always the first one to tell me I should just give it a shot, that I will eventually end up falling head over heels. And I understand that, because it's easy for two people spending enough time together to discover the goodness in each other.

So I wonder if I should simply give up on all the hoopla of chemistry at first sight, and settle instead for a steady (boring), good-on-paper kinda guy and then, hopefully, discover the Z in him.

But then again, it's a trade off between electric passion or plodding, respectful fondness. And the latter I've always felt, is more apt for elderly uncles.


Z* - Simply named due to the plethora of words to describe it, that all begin with Z. More popularly known as "zsa zsa zsu" or much better; the "zzzzuh!"

Blogorrhea

Urban Dictionary defines it as; To write a blog entry just for the sake of posting an entry, not because you have done anything interesting today.

So here's my contribution...

I've blatantly swiped this off of Thai Girl's blog. Feel free to return the favour. I love these things. Give me an application form or a questionnaire any day, to be filled out in block letters in tiny little boxes, and I'm a happy puppy.


1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?
"@!%$#@ I'm gonna be late again!"

2. How much cash do you have on you?
:S hmmm... equivalent to $26.

3. What's a word that rhymes with DOOR?
Bore, store, lore, snore, adore, ignore, before, furore.. okay this is going take a while.

4. Favorite planet?
I dunno? All? None? I'll stick to Earth until I've visited the others.

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?
An international call from a guy friend who called to say "hi its my birthday, wish me!"

6. What is your favorite ring tone on your phone?
Hummingbird. I am a boring ring tone person.

7. What shirt are you wearing?
I'm at work (heheheh) (no wonder, right?) so it's a white stripy shirt with cream and brown print.

8. Do you label yourself?
I am beyond all labels. (And oh so humble).

9. Name the brand of the shoes you're currently wearing:
This is funny, I just looked down at my sandals and the label says "No Name." Shoe, thy name is irony. But I'm going to have to put in my dollar's worth here (I'm worth more than just two cents), I do not understand how some women can spend a fortune on shoes that they're going to walk through mud and dirt in. Expensive watches and bags I can understand, but shoes? It boggles the mind. Affordable doesn't mean ugly.

10. Bright or Dark Room?
Bright and sunny, unless I'm sleeping.

11. Why is there always a missing question?
Because there's always a screw loose.

12. What does your watch look like?
Platinum, square face, roman numerals. It was love at first sight.

13. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Watching a Prison Break re-run. Wentworth Miller. Yummy-licious.

14. What did your last text message you received on your cell phone say?
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I think he's married! I'll xplain all when i get to work!"

15. Where is your nearest 7-11?
Within airplane flying distance.

16. What's a word that you say a lot?
"Bloody" "Shit!" "Are you serious?" "I'm starving"

17. Who told you he/she loved you last?
I don't even remember. My mummy? No actually, she didn't either. I'm so unloved :( Okay it was a girlfriend I did a favour for just yesterday.

18. Last furry thing you touched?
Eww no. I don't do pets. They're cute to look at, from afar.

19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days?
I'm a good girl. And I also don't like the legal ones. I'd rather sleep off a headache than take a painkiller.

20. How many rolls of film do you need developed?
One, but it's only quarter used. I can't even remember what's on it.

21. Favorite age you have been so far?
19. 20. 21. 23. Probably my entire childhood until 23. 24+ life just got boring.

22. Your worst enemy?
None that I know of (I hope).

23. What is your current desktop picture?
Some arty illustration of a woman with a guitar. Very colourful, very abstract.

24. What was the last thing you said to someone?
"Which one of you thieving rats stole my pen?!!" (This is an oft-used, typical line repeated every few hours at work, until I sheepishly find my pen under my keyboard/ on the floor/ under some papers.)

25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly, what would it be?
See if I had a million bucks, I could take an airplane to wherever I needed to go. Two birds with one stone. Am I clever, or am I clever?

26. Do you like someone?
It's kinda fading out. Not by choice.

27. The last song you listened to?
Crazy by Gnarls Barkley is on my iTunes as I write.

28. What time of day were you born?
Night time. Probably why I'm such a night owl.

29. What's your favorite number?
I don't know - how do you tell? Maybe 1.. It's cute and small, and I don't have to send those bloody chain forwards to too many people :)

30. Where did you live in 1987?
Same place I live now.

31. Are you jealous of anyone?
Nope. Being satisfied is being happy.

32. Is anyone jealous of you?
Who knows? Who cares?

33. Where were you when 9/11 happened?
In Dubai on holiday, shopping. The clowns at the mall were all gathered around a television, and I wondered what sci-fi "America under attack" movie they were playing.

34. What do you do when vending machines steal your money?
Never happened. I'm one of the lucky chosen few.

35. Do you consider yourself kind?
Kind, no. Gullible, maybe.

36. If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be?
Either my lower back or my left hip and my ankle. Can't decide, but I definitely, definitely want one.

37. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be?
French or Arabic. So sexy.

38. Would you move for the person you loved?
Yup.

39. Are you touchy-feely?
I'd say yeah, but then I'd also say no. Depends on the person I'm with really.

40. What's your life motto?
"Act in haste, repent at leisure." This coming from one of the most impatient people on the planet. But it's a life lesson learnt the hard way, over and over. And over.

41. Name three things you have on you at all times:
Cellphone (my right hand, my lifeline, my oxygen), keys, lipgloss.

42. What's your favorite town/city?
My God, where do I start? Where do I end? I like quaint towns and bustling cities, I like historical hamlets and contemporary metros. It would be a bloody long list.

43. What was the last thing you paid for with cash?
Taxi this morning.

44. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it?
My best friend's birthday a few months ago. We have this deal where we HAVE to post a birthday card + letter on birthdays. Best idea we ever came up with. Okay not really, but it comes pretty close.

45. Can you change the oil on a car?
Err... no. I wouldn't know where to begin.

46. Your first love: what is the last thing you heard about him/her?
Don't know about a first love, but my first crush was a red headed, freckle faced brit called Ian, back in the 6th grade. I have no clue where he is.

47. How far back do you know your ancestry?
Sadly just upto my great grandfather. That's the problem with immigrant families. And no internet. My mom's side is a slightly different story.. I can go up (down?) about 8 generations, although I'm not sure how much of it is true and how much my grandfather made up.

48. The last time you dressed fancy, what did you wear and why did you dress fancy?
A girlfriend's wedding last week. I wore a muted green chiffon sari with silver work. Why? What kinda question is that? Because I felt like.

49. Does anything hurt on your body right now?
Naah... unless we're talking about hunger pangs. My stomach feels like it might eat itself.

50. Have you ever been burned by love?
No, and I'm very thankful for that.

51. Do you have a crush on any bloggers?
No, but I'm very much intrigued by some.

52. Where would you like to live?
Australia, South Africa, Australia, Singapore, Australia, Mumbai. Did I mention Australia?

State of my affairs

Yup, so it's not happening with my very own, local Ashton Kutcher. Not that I'm not interested, or have changed my mind. Far from it. There's just no way, no how, that it's going to happen. He's too young, I'm too old, he's still studying, and too young, he lives in another country, and is too young. So I'm being dignified and moving on before I make a fool of myself. Also, I haven't seen him in a week. Maybe he has a girlfriend. But anyway, he's too young.

So a little sadly (emotion-wise and pathetic-situation-wise), I move on.

On the winds-sweeping-the-gloomy-clouds-away side, I have a date with a guy I was at school with. Attractive and interesting, he's a total catch. A textbook example of The Perfect Man. Almost. Because, while he has great qualities along with some pretty great looks, his arrogance and super-size ego wipe out his good-points slate to a snowy white, squeaky clean.

He'd asked me out before, while we were still at school, but I'd always turned him down - his constant need for attention and self-worship just a little too much for me to handle. But in my almost-desperation for romance, I'm giving it another chance. Because who knows? After all these years, he might just have changed. Or I might have. So I'll go with an open mind and see how it goes... it's not a big deal, just coffee after all. And I've always been a sucker for a really good cup of choco-mint latte.

I told my sister about him being back in town, and she told me to be careful. "Don't you dare fall for him," she said, "You told me way back then, that if you ever considered dating him, I should smack you really hard. And I will." She obviously doesn't like him.

But I'm tired now. Sick of waiting for the right guy to come along. I have younger and younger friends getting coupled up and hitched all around me. They're dropping like flies. It makes me just a tiny little bit envious when I hear friends tell me how great their boyfriend/ fiance/ husband is. One girl couldn't stop gushing about how her fabulous fiance treats her like a queen, still opening car doors and all, and they've been engaged for almost half a year. I want that for me too.

Getting off the subject, but I think gentleman-ly men are absolutely awesome. I loooove it when a guy opens the door, or waits for me to go before him. There's this one guy I keep bumping into at work by the lifts, who always puts his hand over his heart, bows and politely greets me. It totally makes my Monday morning.

As for Mr. Big Head - my coffee date; with a not-so-hopeful heart, I wait for any excitement tomorrow may bring.

Confessions of a would-be Cradle Snatcher

First things first. But not necessarily in that order.

Zanzibar was... well, what can I say? My visions of sunny, sandy beaches and mouth watering junk food were drowned in a pail of icy cold water. The weather was dreary - constant rain which made the beach and Stone Town utter and absolute blah. And the street food vendors had been closed down by the government due to an outbreak of cholera.

So with dreams of un-eaten junk food and un-drunk sugarcane juice and an un-swum-ocean, I got back to the drudgery of daily life.

Then, one day, I met a boy.

Absolutely gorgeous, a funny, kind-hearted, regular good guy. There's an inner glow that lights his face. I feel about him what I haven't felt in years. Not even with Ahmet. I know this sounds clichéd and dumb, but I feel like a school kid. I get all blush-y and shy around him. And as usual, with my luck with love, there's a problem. Well two, but one is not as important as the other. 1. He hasn't actually asked me out. 2. He's younger than me. Like, really young. Early 20's I think, compared to my almost ancient 26.

The last thing I'd ever thought possible for me on this earth was to be attracted to a guy younger than I. If someone's even a couple of months younger, my attraction-possibility meter shuts down. Instantly.

I don't really know what to think or do. I feel stupid flirting, although I do very subtly use my feminine charms to err.. entice him. But I don't really know if I'd be able to carry through. Plus, he leaves for home, abroad, in a few weeks. And I'm not really one for long-distance relationships. If it ever came to that. But I do so like him.

I've always thought with my head when it comes to relationships. I've never ever never fallen blindly for a guy without ticking off a mental check-list. Attractive. Check. Witty. Check. Mature. Check. Well spoken. Check. Good-hearted and well-mannered. Check. Outgoing and fun and social. Check. Successful. Check.

Yeah that's right, I have a stone-cold heart.

In my defense though, it comes from long experience. I dated a seriously hot guy just for his looks. It lasted less than a week. While he was drop-dead yummy to look at, he was a total yawn. Vanilla dull-dom. Then I dated another guy just for his personality. He was intelligent and interesting, but the attraction level was zilch. No, I lie. It was in the negative. That didn't last long either.

Now that I'm old enough (and mature enough) to know what I want, and more crucially, what I don't want, it's always been important for someone I'm in a relationship with to meet those criteria. Only this time, that list I've chucked straight out the window. Who knows what might happen. Or might not.

He could one day be my Ashton Kutcher.

Happy New Year.

Ho ho ho!

Happy Holidays!

Paradise Found

This coming weekend I'm off on holiday to a tropical paradise. One of my absolute favourite places on earth, Zanzibar is an island full of history, culture, spectacular beaches and mouth-watering food. Exactly my idea of heaven.

Not to get all tour guide-y, but Zanzibar was the centre for the East African slave trade back in the day, and the decaying ruins of slave markets and crumbling sultan's palaces still stand to tell their tales.

While a lot of the island is white, sandy beaches and aquamarine waters; Stone town, which is the heart of main island life, is all long and narrowly winding alleyways; brass-studded, carved, wooden doors (a throwback to the times the Sultan of Oman ruled Zanzibar) and dusty corridors that echo with the whispers of long forgotten ghosts.

Yup, you read right. Ghosts.

I have listened to older generation Indians and Arabs, who, having lived there after immigrating on dhow boats from the East, speak many a time of hearing shuffled footsteps at dawn. The sound of the jinn, going about doing it's ablutions for prayer. Strange sightings and mysterious sounds. And stories of possession.

It doesn't help that the last time we'd gone there, taking a meandering walk through the labyrinth of narrow streets that is Stone town (now a United Nations World Heritage Site), we spotted an ancient African man, huge rosary beads around his neck, carrying a dead crow in each hand. Witch doctor or other-worldly spirit, we couldn't tell. But needless to say, we kept very, very quiet as he passed us by in a world of his own calm.

My fondest memory of the place is when all of us, a bunch of about 5 girls, were idly traipsing about when we noticed some raggedy children teasing 2 big, black, scary-looking dogs by throwing pebbles at them. Suddenly we heard furious barking and on turning, saw the dogs lunging.

We ran for our lives.

Panting down the alleys, we ran blindly through the mazes of narrow streets, adding frightened beggars and confused shop keepers to our marathon team. We pushed each other desperately out of the way, one girl falling face down into the street, while another jumped clear over her.

After we'd sprinted across half the town, a man dashed out of a little shop. "What happened?" he shouted at us, alarmed.

"Dogs!" we puffed, terrified, "Dogs!"

"What dogs?" he asked calmly, probably thinking we were high on something.

We slowed down and turned. No dogs. They hadn't even bothered to chase us.

Here's wishing the holidays and the year ahead bring lots more fun, adventure, love and excitement; and even more stories to blog about.

Have a merry Christmas and a fabulous New Year.

I'm off to collect my fee from the Zanzibar Department of Tourism.


Links : Images of Zanzibar, More Photos, History, Stone Town.


Photo courtesy (stolen from) Getty Images.

Party Hearty

It's almost christmas, and the year end parties have started with a bang. My weekends (and a lot of the work week) are almost completely choked up with plans. Even if that means dragging myself out of bed the next day wanting to die, so I can sleep some more. For eternity.

But the endless parties and meeting old friends and new strangers is always fun. What's even more fun is the hilarity - the absolute, utter hilarity - of being possibly the only stone-cold sober person at a wild party. Because you should know, the antics of the piss drunk make for some seriously good entertainment.

Since I'm usually the only one with a boring glass of juice (or at my most hair-down-all-caution-to-the-winds best, an ice cold red bull), I'm usually able to appreciate (more like, laugh till my tummy hurts and never let them forget for the remainder of their time on earth) their drunken acts of lunacy.

This one guy for instance, at last weekend's bash where almost everyone was plastered, all high on life (and a whole lot of other things). He wandered over and started talking (and I use the word loosely) about the cheesiness of old D grade Indian movies.

"All they do," he slurred drunkenly "is dance around trees," and tipsily tottered around the near by lit-up tree, then promptly fell off the steps next to it. He then stumbled back to our table, picking up the cloth napkins at each place-mat and stuffed them down his shirt.

"See," he said, "They cram napkins down their boobs. Then the hero comes and kneels at her chest while she breathes heavily," and proceeded to act it out, thrusting his chest spasmodically in the air, confidently playing the heavily panting, busty heroine.

I think it's time he came out of the closet.

It's not always so amusing though. A lot of the time when everyone's passing out left, right and centre, drinking themselves into oblivion, like it was last night at a friend's very lively, movie-themed party; I wonder whether most people can enjoy living and loving life without the aid of hazy, alcohol tinted glasses.

As someone who doesn't touch alcohol (by choice) and can go to a party and still have a blast, I feel sorry for people who have the need to zombify themselves. Getting a little tipsy and happy I can understand. But when you drink to a state that you couldn't recall your name if you had a gun to your head is just, I don't know, stupid.

I like to be able to talk coherently (as much as is possible above the deafening music), get home safe, sleep on my own bed, rather than crash out in crumpled clothes on a stranger's uncomfortable couch. And nurse a killer hangover the next morning.

Although grumpiness resulting from the late night + early morning wake up call for work, a missed breakfast due to having overslept and a skipped lunch trying to maniacally meet deadlines, comes pretty close.

Poise

Only in Africa will you find a peacock in all it's magnificent feathered glory, strutting proudly across a traffic jam packed street at rush hour.

Head held high, neck craned to look down it's nose at it's honking surrounding, disdainfully arrogant, it crosses the road unfazed as grown men stare out of their cars and point and laugh.

I think there's a lesson in there somewhere.

I'd rather have my tonsils removed with a rusty spoon*

Or: Thanks, but no thanks.

What is it about men that makes them treat women like they own them? And this with all women, not just their own. It's cool if you're chivalrous and charming, but if you're going to get all weird and freak out on someone you barely know, or even share a casual acquaintance-type relationship with, it's SO not.

It really gets my goat because there I'll be all nice but platonic (with a huge dash of casual) with someone and then they'll suddenly turn around and hit me with a lovey-dovey, sappy hand (and I speak metaphorically). Smack bang right in the middle of my gob-smacked self. Which is all well and good when you're both attracted to each other and flirting. But if you've been very obvious that you're not interested in the least, and go out of your way to be sisterly... WHY? WHY?

So I'm freelancing for this guy right? We met once when he had to give me some supplies and we're mostly communicating over the phone... all very professional and work related. So I finish the job and when he comes to pick his stuff up, he brings a little gift. I'm not one to take presents from people I hardly know (bad experiences. life lessons learnt the hard way) so ofcourse, I refuse in the nicest way I know.

"Why?" he goes, "It's just a small thank you. A watch. Not expensive," and shows me a garishly kitschy pink watch.

Now even if I wanted, why would I take that? I don't collect cheap, tacky, (ugly) watches thankyouverymuch.

"Take it" he says "If you don't want it, throw it away. I can't give it to anyone else, I bought it just for you. Who will I give it to?"

"Your girlfriend/ wife/ whoever" I say with what I think is an impish grin and then I walk off.

An hour later he calls me up. "Are you married or something?" he asks.

I'm lost for words. I don't want to say "D'uh no" incase he's got any ideas, and I can't say "yeah, with 3 kids" 'coz he'd find out in less than a minute from a mutual friend. Although I have done that once before when a stranger stopped me in the middle of the road and asked me my name. When I asked him why he wanted to know, he'd asked instead if I was engaged. I told him I was married and walked off chuckling, thinking I was oh so clever. A few months later I was set up on a blind date with the very same guy. So much for being smart.

So instead, I go "What do you think?"

"Damn you!" he says in annoyance "you can't even answer me properly! You don't take my gift! You don't answer my questions!" and he hangs up.

I couldn't have cared less at that point. His job was done, he'd paid my fee, and I was happily headed for lunch with a good friend.

And then this sms conversation happens:

B: sorry i lost my cool. just having a bad day. sorry

GG: its ok.. but next time please dont make such a big deal out of small insignificant issues.

B: sorry. i know guys must be hitting on u all the time. im not one of them. all i wanted is to show appreciation to a fellow artist. Im sad that my efforts were not appreciated. I prayed for you though - its friday :)

GG: (groans to herself, then rolls her eyes)

B: am i considered as just a client or a friend? if the latter then what else do i need to know about u. itll help me not to be humiliated next time.

GG: (enjoying lunch)

B: i guess i answered my own question. ok thats cool, i can live with that. i will send my driver to pick up the stuff tom. bye.

First of all, having a bad day is NO excuse to act like a moron. Secondly, whaddya mean you PRAYED for me? What are you trying to insinuate? Jerk-O. Thirdly, the whole client vs. friend thing? We've known each other for less than a week and I talk to you only about the work I'm doing for you. What do you think? Fourthly, you do NOT give cheap, tacky gifts to women. If you can't afford it, buy flowers, buy chocolates, buy a goddamn card. Fifthly, get a life. And a girlfriend. Sixthly, talking to someone for two days about work does NOT give you the right to give her presents. Well okay, you can give her presents. But only nice ones and without dishonourable intentions or expecting anything in return.

Maybe if the watch hadn't been so ugly?

Superficial? Who me?


*From a list of creative ways to say "No" that also included amusing but very gag-able items such as: I'd rather suck the snot out of a gorilla's nose until the back of his head caves in.

The Cabbage Patch Man

I'm in bed with a throat infection, all covered up, bowlfuls of hot soup at my side and constant attention. Aaah... I kinda sorta almost love being sick. Since I'm in no shape to blog but I'm also suffering blog-withdrawal, I'll write about a not-so-distant memory that always brings a smile to my face. Okay, not really a smile, more like a hide-behind-your-hand giggle.

Not too long ago, I'd gone hiking with a bunch of friends. A mighty mountain, a practice run for the great Kilimanjaro. Just as steep, nearly as high, almost as deadly.

Now you and I both know, if you're going down a steep incline and you're not careful about how fast you're moving, you're going to barrel down, tumbling over wildly, accelerating out of control. I know some law of physics goes here, but I don't want to bore you (and I can't for the life of me remember. I was never very good at physics). (Maybe now's the time to take the "geek" off of the "goddess").

(Oh my God that sounds so dodgy. I meant that in the cleanest, non-perverted way possible) (Or not).

So there we were, thrilled about having reached the peak, elated at seeing the misty view of the city below us through chilly, translucent clouds, (did you know clouds are chilly? I mean it's cold anyway up at such heights, but if a cloud passes you by you'll feel the chills - and not just from the excitement. It's really, really umm... chilly). So anyway back to my story; there we were climbing slowly down the treacherous slope single-file, carefully digging each foot in the soil before taking every next step forward when suddenly this guy, Shab I'll call him, yelled out in panic "OUTTA THE WAAAYYY! MOOOOVVVEEEE!" and all of us, without pausing to look back and see what was happening, leapt off the track and onto the cabbage patches on either side that mountain villagers had planted. Shab thundered past us, somersaulting down the narrow dirt path that led straight off the side of the mountain plunging into a massive chasm below.

Hearts beating wildly we watched as he rapidly rolled down the almost-vertical trail until he crashed heavily into a rock and stopped. Thankfully he was okay, just bruises on his limbs and head. He sat there, head in his hands, breathing erratically, almost in tears. We scrambled down and asked if he was alright.

"You guys go ahead" he said to us, "I don't think I can come down."

"That's ok" we told him, "you let us know when you're ready and we'll all go down together"

"No" he said quietly, on the verge of tears, "I'll never be able to do this. Leave me here. I'll live with the villagers on this mountain forever and eat cabbages."

Eventually, we got him to walk down with us. But for ever more, the story of the origin of his name has been passed down for generations. (Not really, but friends, family, colleagues, neighbours, and random strangers).

And that is the story of how he came to be known as Cabbage Shab.

Another year older (and not much wiser).

I love birthdays - and not just because they're the perfect excuse for extravagant parties filled with friends and loved ones (and I've only separated the two because well, some friends are just casual acquaintance-type-friends, and some friends are loved ones), or fabulous (or not) gifts and fancy dinners, but because it's the one time in the year people from far away places and far away times make an effort to get back in touch and call to wish you. I love anticipating which blast from the past I'll hear from next; the surprise and excitement of hearing from childhood friends half forgotten and old schoolmates long gone.

Not that it's such an effort to remember now, in the days of cellphone reminders (something I rely heavily on, due to my non existent memory - my secret of never forgetting a birthday - or other important things, like waking up) and birthday website alarms and whatnot. But it's still very special to hear old voices, all nostalgic, reminiscing bygone memories and wishing the best for the year ahead. (A lot of these wishes include my finding my Mr. Right... Come on guys, I'm only another year older, not wrinkly and toothless. There's hope yet.)

I got some nice presents too. The usual chocolates, earrings, jewellery boxes and clothing, movie/ lunch/ dinner treats, and with them, a much-loved bottle of perfume and a gorrrrrrrgeous pearl and diamond ring.

Yeah okay, so maybe I also love birthdays because it's the one time you get lovely free gifts.

[Rubbing hands in glee.] Bring 'em on.

I

This past weekend was fabulous, the whole beach weekend thing turned out to be a surprise birthday celebration even though my birthday isn't until tomorrow. So sunburnt, happy and well-fed on gooey chocolate cake, I will turn a still-nineteen-at-heart 26. In honour of that momentous occasion, it is my pleasure to present a list of 26 hitherto unknown facts about my favourite person. Me.


1. I consider myself lucky. Although I've never won anything, anywhere, in any sort of game.

2. I love high heels. The higher the better.

3. Im pretty health-conscious. I'll drink spinach juice from time to time. Sometimes I even think about cutting back on fizzy drinks. But then I think.... naaaah.

4. Blue is my favourite colour. But I can only write in black ink.

5. I like fancy four-wheel drives better than fancy convertibles and sports cars. And I like fancy motorcycles more than I like fancy four-wheel drives.

6. I love chewing gum.

7. I hate taking photos.

8. I am not a morning person. I'd like mornings better if they started later.

9. I'm a complete girl-y girl. But I love camping and trekking as much as the next guy. Camping in the wilderness with lionesses right outside the campsite? No hot showers for 5 days straight? Been there, done that.

10. I hate walking directly behind or directly in front of someone else. It irritates the hell out of me.

11. I believe in the supernatural. And I'm pretty spiritual. Could be the scorpio in me.

12. I climbed walls as a kid. We had a narrow hallway and I'd race up to the ceiling, one foot on one wall, another on the other. If you look up "ants in her pants" in the dictionary, you will find my photo as a child.

13. I sometimes think I walk around with a big flashing neon sign on my forehead that reads "I'm a moron." I've lost count of the liars/ stalkers/ con-men I've met. Dear people of the world, I am smarter than I look. I am not a dumb blonde. I'm a copper-red-brunette (salon bought), and I repeat, I am not dumb. Really.

14. I love the rains with a passion.

15. I'm extremely house proud. Even if that means dumping the mess into the nearest closet when we have unexpected guests.

16. I'd rather be too cold than too hot. I'd rather be too wet than too dry. I can't decide whether I'd like living by the ocean or in the mountains more.

17. I love Tabasco sauce. I'd eat cardboard if it had Tabasco on it.

18. I rarely use my ipod. Maybe once in a month, if I'm stuck in traffic. And only if I remember.

19. I have 6 stitches on my head. (Did a light bulb just go off? Aahaa..)

20. I love the taste of menthol cigarettes. In someone else's mouth.

21. I love to travel. I probably inherited that from my dad.

22. My dream job would be to host a travel show checking out the world's best hotels/ spas/ restaurants. (Would anyone like to hire me?) (Pretty please?).

23. I can speak five languages, I write only two.

24. I sing when I'm happy. The next time you see someone walking all by herself in the middle of town singing, stop and say Hi. I'll also be the one chuckling quietly to herself.

25. The oldest man to hit on me must have been in his eighties. He was oOold, shaky, and walked with a cane. He stood directly in front of me, looked at me lecherously and said, "helloooo beautiful." - He also wore the thickest glasses I have ever seen.

26. I love lists. As a result I'm super organised. I make to-do lists, shopping lists, reading lists, clothes lists, holiday lists and lists of things I need to make lists of.

Sunbathing between a rock and hard place

[Health warning: Boring whiny post. This blogger takes no responsibility of injury or risk to reader arising from eye strain or mind numbing boredom.]


I am fed up. Completely and utterly sick of my job. Not the work itself which I enjoy, but the people I work with and their attitudes, and the ever growing politics that happens in offices everywhere but which I've only just experienced. I've been seriously thinking about quitting, but I'm stuck. If I leave now for a new job, I won't get a holiday until I've been at new-job for a year. And that, I desperately need. I can't wait until after my holiday before I quit present-job because I won't last that long. I might just take a running leap out of my very tall building and enjoy the breathtaking view on my way down to eternal work-stress-free peace.

The only other option I can think of right now is to find a hot, unsuspecting, foreign victim and dupe him into marriage, move abroad and get a fabulous job. Get out of this country with it's eternally frustrating annoyances, (electricity problems, water shortages, corruption, traffic police who I'm more afraid of than muggers, sucky jobs, and the friggin air-conditioning that won't work, and as a result of which my brain is melting into a puddle) and the only way I'll ever do that is to marry an overseas stranger and escape this place. I feel like Rapunzel locked in her tower. Only I get to leave at six.

But ofcourse, I can't do all that because I could never leave my mommy who I'm really close to and who I can't live without. Which is also one of the main reasons I did not go abroad to educate myself. Which I sometimes slightly regret, because by now I'd be living the good life, have a great job, enjoying my singledom in cities more suited to fun singles like myself. Not that I don't have a pretty great social life here, or a glam job - for now. Infact, most of my friends envy my work (if only they knew) and my freedom that some of them don't have because they're married with kids and responsibilities. But what's the point of all that if there's nowhere I haven't been before and no one I haven't already met, same old people at the same old places. Last weekend I watched a movie, attended a farewell party, a bridal shower and a house party with the exact. same. crowd. Not one more person, not one less. Dreary dull-dom.

What I'd really like right now is to meet someone fabulous and have a passionate, exciting romance. True love and all that. No chance of that happening though, because I don't see any nice, available boys. And I'm not being picky or anything, it's true. East Africa has a serious shortage of eligible men; somewhat like a man-drought, a testosterone famine. The only men around are old and married, or young and well... kindergarten age. And I'm only half joking. The one and only eligible is getting engaged very soon to an old school mate who I don't particularly like. Boo ya to them.

Anyhow, this weekend, if work and boss let me, I will break free from the grind of daily life and escape to sandy shores and endless horizons. A giggly gaggle of girls at a beach resort out of town, free from gossipy, spiteful stares. Sun, sand, saltwater and snacks. A weak ray of light filtering in through gloomy clouds.