Monday, April 24, 2017

Who has got talent?

Mercia (my neighbour) did not make it onto the regional finals of the national talent show.  She is having a meltdown. One of the judges made fun of her and the other sarcastically suggested she try out for Circus So Lame.

 It seems she has taken his words to heart.  I try sincerely to soothe her and cast around for any of the usual excuses that might make her feel better. 

“Maybe they were looking for someone younger, you know how ageist people can be ,“ I offered. She nodded still sobbing into my couch scatter cushion. 

“Maybe this time they wanted a black winner, you know with all this BEE stuff they are under a lot of pressure to choose a black person.” She sobbed even louder into the cushion. 

 I felt I should NOT mention that her act was appalling and she really should be grateful that their decision saved her from national humiliation. 

Her ultra boring husband is no doubt thrilled to have his garage back for his train collection. I decided on my final tactic. 

“Mercia you should be very proud of yourself, you tried and you put your heart and soul on the line and millions of other people are just too damn cowardly to even try. You are very brave and courageous.”

Finally I detected a decrease in her emotional angst. Whew! I hope she is back on her anti-depression meds - she might need them now more than ever.  I suspect a mid-life crisis brought on by her children flee-ing (yes flee-ing the nest). 

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Chocolate addict - who me?

I am not a chocolate addict. I mean I do go overboard sometimes. But my theory is that when you buy a whole slab it is meant to be eaten straight away. Everyone knows that once you open a bar of chocolate it goes stale!

So my children are over the legal age limit for Easter eggs. But they still demand them. I am happy to indulge in this chocolate addiction. But of course any responsible parent has to make sure of the quality of the easter eggs.

I'm a stickler for chocolate quality and on one occasion I bought three lots of easter eggs in an effort to make quite sure the chocolate was top quality. I think I gained 5 kilograms - such dedication. 

The problem is that every year the chocolate factories bring out new flavours and designs and one has to choose wisely.

I was particularly impressed with the mini eggs that had strawberry filling. Yummy! I am also quite a fan of those that have Smarties in them or the ones that have caramel filling. Delicious!

Those marshmallow eggs are not really for the likes of me - the connisseur but I do manage to make my way through a few boxes. Every year.  

My children used to do a traditional egg hunt but Gregg would invariably find all the eggs and Cheri would end up in tears. I had to force him to share. It does not come naturally to him.  I made sure I found any extra eggs that were undiscovered and ate them - just to make sure the dogs did not find them and get sick!

I did read that chocolate gives you a similar sensation to an orgasm - so that must be the reason I love chocolate . My dismal sex life and lack of orgasms ... Besides it sounds better on one's Cv if you says chocolate addict rather than sex addict!

Lights are off - but we are home

Arrgh! Bloody power outages.

 How can Eskom charge us an arm and a leg and still provide appalling service. I am irritated, unlike our neighbours I do not have an emergency generator and I am fast losing the novelty of candle lit dinners – by default. 

The children are like drug addicts without their fix – no wi-fi and no television or radio. Gregg has the municipality enquiries phone number on speed dial and he dials them furiously.

Cheri stomps around the house and my suggestion of scrabble by candle light is furiously rejected. 
I can see these children will not make it onto any future episode of Survivor.  They are addicted to the good life. 

My cordon bleu baked beans are eaten with long teeth and we all disappear to bed before 7pm. While it is always a good sign when the electricity comes on within 12 hours it is a tad irritating when the lights burst on at 3am and I am roused by a blinding light and a shriek from the microwave.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Dating debriefing

My friend Greta informs me that I am going about Internet dating the wrong way.
"You are far too serious and picky!" She believes I should stop looking for love and rather look for a way to enhance my social life.

I begin to protest and then think that a monthly book club meeting. The once yearly - if I can't get out of it -  parents teachers meeting does not exactly qualify me as a "happening" person. I am a bit shy ... at times. 

Some people don't get my sense of humour and invariably it happens in the wrong company.
I'll be meeting a friend at a restaurant and say FUCK loudly and the closest table in the restaurant will be a bible study group. I just have the knack of putting my foot in it.

So yes sage Greta says I must lower my standards , she says I should join the local gym or walking club. Secretly the idea repels me.
I am not attractive in my baggy sweaty gym clothes at the best of times. Sans make up and sporting a grimace I just can't see how I would meet the man of my dreams at the gym.

But ever the optimist I stalk the facebook page of the local ramblers club and I see the average age is 60 plus. The sad thing is they can out walk me any day. Usually after four aisles in the supermarket I am starting to huff and puff.

Greta has done the dating thing on the internet several times and she always seems to meet someone. I need to qualify this and say ... none of them would be my choice.
Greta ignores all the blah blah and says "Ooh he looks hot!"

I scrutinise their age, occupation, and marital status, area of residence and then I send a brief but witty message to check their IQ.
Those who reply with a lame one liner are eliminated even if their pecs are impressive. I know I am soooo fussy but anyone who uploads a photograph of themselves where the arm of their previous paramour is hacked off in a bad crop is lacking in basic intelligence.

Greta's current love interest was found at the local music club. An ecclectic place and to be fair the music can be good at times. But it seems like the available men are from wanted posters.

Ageing hippies and balding accountants rub shoulders in the boerewors queue. My gut feel tells me that I am not going to find a suitable match here. I suspect my hormones are dead - and need resurrection. Not even a vague flutter in the stomach when surveying the options.

Annie my other friend urges me to consider HRT therapy to boost my libido. 
I look at her and say: "HRT will not make me blind and stupid enough to bonk any of the blokes I've seen."

She rolls her eyes. I did expect some sympathy from my women friends regarding my dating disaster, but I seem to amuse them.

So I will be forced to persevere with the internet dating.

Greg and Cheri are both urging me to find a date. Greg's criteria is very simple - a guy with lots of money. Cheri says after some thought ... "anyone that is NOT like Dad." 

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Dating remorse

Slick Joe lives above his “business premises” – ahem. The factory I am standing in, is strewn with industrial equipment is not exactly what I expected, but I try and remain positive. 

I do think my chiffon blouse and smart skirt look a little bit out of place. Romeo has not bothered to dress up, in fact he is wearing no shoes and has recently emerged from the shower – his wet hair dangling on his shoulders.

I see that his internet picture is a few years out of date. Hmmm. Romeo tells me how many lady friends he has found on the internet and then says I should set the table. The table he is pointing to is an dirty old plastic garden table. 

 My expectations of a romantic candlelit dinner are now swiftly disappearing.  I plonk down two sets of cutlery and am only half surprised when he emerges from the kitchen with a frying pan and a ready-made packet of salad.

In the frying pan nestles a large portion of boerewors. “I spoilt you and got a package salad’” he says smiling.  I am not impressed. To be honest the boerewors was actually quite tasty but the whole dining experience was a huge let down.  It was like having someone tell you they drive a Porche and then you see them in a VW golf. 

Romeo flattered me with compliments – that were as subtle as wolf whistles and as I ate my last mouthful, he grabbed my hand and offered to show me the rest of his place. Meanwhile I was trying to think of a suitable exit strategy. 

Upstairs his double bed was unmade and I swear I could see skidmarks and a blob of phlegm on the bedside table. But I was more horrified at the porn that was flashing on the screen of his laptop.

“Let’s watch,” he suggested and gestured to a broken chair next to his. I decided that it was time to make my exit. It seems that Romeo and I had vastly different ideas about how the date was going to end. 

Playing hide and seek and fighting over my car keys was his idea of foreplay and for me a desperate bid to evade his clutches. I managed to get out of his house and I ran to my car. I screeched towards the exit and found to my dismay that the security gate was locked.

Repeated hooting eventually managed to rouse the night guard who was slightly curious. I drove home suffering from rage and gratitude. It was a close call and things could have gone badly wrong. I promise myself to log off the internet dating site.

SlickJoe is crossed off my favourites list. I decide to go to the next date in a very public place with a bottle of pepper spray. If I ever go on one again.

April 1st - a fool indeed

OMG! I have agreed to go on a date tomorrow.  I have been chatting with a guy – SlickJoe 22 on the internet dating site and our emails have become familiar and then flirtatious, and now he has asked me to dinner at his place. 
I am thrilled and a little nervous. Terrified in fact. The last guy I met for coffee arrived at the coffee shop in tiny  shorts and sporting a massive beer boep.

 He spent the brief coffee chat complaining how diabetes had ruined his sex life with his wife and he had a heart condition that made it impossible to use viagra. How exciting!
He also complained that I was ten minutes late after I told him I was going to be late.
Oh yes and he seemed put out that I had ordered a coffee while he sipped a diet coke and tapped his fingers on the table impatiently.
Clearly we were soul mates ... not! 

The cherry on the top was when he invited me back to his flat. I have to say I did not have to think about it . WTF!

Dare I chance my luck and go on another date – eek!  Annie wants his email, and cellphone number in case he is a psycho. Knowing my luck ...