6 Step Weight Loss Plan

Since I quit smoking almost a year ago I have gained a very unwelcome 10kg. To be honest I can only attribute the first six to the lack of nicotine, however the remaining kilo's are put down to good old fashioned eating.

Some smartass at work decided that we should be fed at the company's expense to avoid any unnecessary out of office visits to Nando's; Pizza Perfect and Pick 'n Pay. Hotdogs on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays; and toasted sarmies (cheese and tomato) on remaining days. As if I don't get enough carbs, fats and sugars there; I eat out with friends way too often (you will be invoiced if Step 6 below is enforced!)

I'm certainly not bordering on obese, but when you're as vertically challenged as I am, 10kg doesn't have much space to spread out. I am feeling awfully uncomfortable in myself and the bottom line is I can't fit into my clothes. I am a full size larger than I was this time last year and since I am not prepared to spring for a whole new wardrobe when I have a perfectly stylish one already, I am determined to lose the weight.

Step One

I will be power walking around my complex in the mornings before work. At first I was very against this idea for fear of loneliness, but since having acquired an MP4 player (told you it was a brilliant birthday!) I will have the latest tunes to help keep up my pace.

Step Two

In the evenings I will step. Yup, I am buying a step machine. The Diva's teacher is selling me her white elephant that doubles as a clothes horse. And at R100 it is quite the bargain! I plan to dust it off and oil the springs and get to stepping!

Step Three

I am going to quit drinking coke. I figured if I could quit cigarettes after a disgusting eighteen year habit, I can lay down the can. I will substitute my cola with water - flavoured of course. I also plan to cut down, I repeat c.u.t. d.o.w.n. on coffee. Not quit!

Step Four

Goodbye Top Deck. *Sniff* It's been fun, but this slab-a-day habit has got to go. *Sob* This decision saddens me immensely, but until those Soviet jeans (part of a prize courtesy of winning a game show on TV) go over the hips you shall not pass these lips. Sorry.

Step Five

Being over 20. Er, I mean 30, I am going to need some assistance in fighting the flab so I have enlisted the help of Herbex Age-Group Weight Loss Formula. I do not feel guilty. So leave me alone to pop my pill.And if all else fails ...

Step Six

And if all else fails, I will resort to surgery. Liposculture liposuction, whatever the latest trend is! And I will not feel guilty about this either. But one way or another I am getting my figure back!

What To Do With Ex Boyfriends?

Ex boyfriends. Where should they be?

The reason for this profound question is that a plethera (hehehe, ok, not that many ... but I was determined to use that word in my post!) of ex-boyfriends have recently come back into my life.

One I'm very grateful for is my 'high school sweetheart'. That's about as best a description I can offer. Anyway, through a mutual friend on Facebook, yes Facebook, we got in touch again after 16 years. We've been sms-ing each other a few times a day for a few months now. We talk on the phone a few times a week; and meet for coffee once every few weeks.

He has not changed a bit in all the years. His amazing sense of humour; his gorgeous smile ... I'll stop there! Anyway it has been so great to reminisce about the good ol' days, because they really were, the good ol' days.

It is also good to have a new friend in the form of an old one. And butterflies still remind me of you!

Birthday Review

My Birthday was fabulous! I have never been so spoilt on any previous Birthday or other celebration for that matter. I would love to brag about the stunning jewelry; fragrant perfumes and marvellous electronic gifts I received but that would be tacky. So I'll just say that my family, friends and colleagues really love me!

My special day was immediately followed by my baby brother's which was immediately followed by my step-mothers; so it was three days of non stop celebration with copious amounts of Drosty Hof. I have still not completely recovered from all the festivities and my sinus's have taken strain hence I will be taking it easy this weekend (aside from last night's cocktail party, of course!).

More good news in the life of Moi ... I resigned yesterday! And I do not have another job to go to. Hehehe before you think I've gone loco let me let you in on a little secret ...

I have not one, but two opportunities of $elf-employment. Yes my friends, family and fans, after a two year absence I am going to have the honour of having ME as a boss again! My first business is an internet marketing company, and as soon as I conclude the terms with my first client later next week I will be telling you all about it. Trust me, you'll be hearing about not much else for the foreseeable future! My second business is a partnership with T (ex). A few months ago he headed north to the lowveld to start up his own business and he is doing so well he now requires the assistance of an experienced business manager. Enter Sharon. Tex and I will be creating self-employment opportunites for others and promoting healing and good health. Therefore I will not feel guilty making hobbles of money.

And the final bit of good news is that it is finally Spring. This has been one of the coldest winters for me ... or perhaps it was being single in winter that made it so cold. Either way I am thrilled that Spring has sprung and my mood with it. This also means that the kids and I will be spending most of our weekends by the swimming pool, which means *gulp* I need to fit back into my bikini. Er, maybe I'll splash out and buy a new one instead!

And now in more sombre news; this week:

My cellphone had a bath
I was hit by a taxi
My portable DVD player gave up the ghost
My step-grandmother once-removed passed away
The kids have been possessed by Damien

So that's the good and the bad ... and now for the really not so ugly at all ...There is, well there might be Someone (Bandit, wipe that grin off your face!)... but I am not saying much more on the subject as I have a habit of blabbing my mouth only to have egg on my face at the end of day. So to avoid any hexing and hoaxing and until I've confirmed my status, single or otherwise, I'll keep my blabber shut!

August 1996

I was granted a divorce and full custody of D-Max in August. August 16th 1996. Thereafter my boss took me on a shopping spree! I remember what I bought (or rather, was bought for me) but I don't recall the name of my attorney.

But I remember at the end thinking, Is this it? You stand in the witness box, the attorney says a few things to the judge, the judge asks you a few questions; you answer a few questions, the judge grants the divorce. You walk out of the witness box.

I've been divorced so long it's hard to remember that I was ever married actually.

What is the message from the Universe when:

(1) your cellphone has a bath and even after lengthy drying with the trusty hairdryer, it still doesn't work; to be followed by

(2) my spare phone being 'sim locked' and no code I can think of unlocks it and to top it off

(3) D-Max's cellphone is almost flat and I can't find his charger and he's asleep so I can't ask him. Without waking him up of course.

August 2001

It's my birthday in 4 days time. I get a bit reflective over this time. So bear with me.

Big things always happen to me in August. 'Big 'as in life-changing; some breath taking moments and some traumatising incidents.

Let's see ... I was born in August! Hey, that's a big deal to ME you know!

My next few blogs are going to about these events. The Good. The Bad. And the Ugly.

I was hijacked in August (2001). MJ was in the car with me at the time!!! We were actually 'reminiscing' about that night. She was traumatised badly. And I had my two foster daughters with me. (Yup, I'm the Old Lady Who Lived In A Shoe. No, scrap that. I'm the 'Ol Lady Who Lived With A Lot Of Shoes!) They were 2 and 3 at the time, and I had to beg with the hi-jackers to let me take them out of the car. *Shudder* I don't like thinking about that night.

My two foster daughters came to live with me and D-Max in August! I saw an advert in our local newspaper in the personal ads (no, don't get any ideas!). It was an adoption home looking for families to become foster parents. The ad also mentioned that two little multi-racial girls were looking for a home. (they worded it better, mine sounds like an ad for puppies!) D was 6 at the time and independent enough to handle another child in the family; and I was longing for a baba. And I thought, what a beautiful way to give back to the Universe. I got in to touch with home and made an appointment to meet with the Matron and social worker.

After the initial interview I was accepted to undergo a course and follow the screening processes in my application to become a foster mother. I enquired as to the two little girls and was informed that they were back with their mother and they were going to 'give it a try'. To be honest I was very disappointed. The thought of those little girls running around my house was so appealing and my motivating factor in getting hold of the home. But by that time I had become engrossed in the courses and the interviews and the home visits; I was very committed to giving any child a place in my home, my heart and my family.

Ironically, before the scheduled end of the course I received a call from the wonderful social worker to say that the two little girls I had enquired about urgently needed a place of safety as they had been severely neglected. I thought "Wow! I need to go shopping; I need to get the girls room ready."

There was no time for shopping or making the bed however, as I had to go to the home to fetch them now. At a social workers visit that day, they found that the alcoholic drug addict prostitute mother has deserted the girls, once again, to find herself in Hillbrow. She had left the girls with her mother; an alcoholic woman herself, whose own children had gone through the welfare system.

So that afternoon I was Mom to two more little angels!

It was a beautiful experience in love; one that words can never convey.

I fell in love with the baby instantly. One look was all it took. She even looked like Daniel and I! When they left for another foster family I was devastated. The weird thing ... eight months later I was pregnant with The Diva. The weirdest thing ... The Diva looks exactly like the Baby. If I show people photo's of the Baby, they think it's The Diva; even madam is convinced it's her in the picture!

It was certain the older one had FAS (Foetal Alcohol Syndrome) as she exhibited many of the symptoms, and with the mother's obvious history ... so sad.

I miss my BooBoo's. But they did teach me the true meaning of unconditional love. A small matter such as DNA did not get in the way of me loving my children.

Bridge Over Troubled Waters

There is this guy that I have been seeing for a few weeks now. Until recently we enjoyed a fabulous relationship, but yesterday he really hurt me, he even made me cry. And the worst part? I'm going back for more.

Rewind.

I'm talking about my dentist.

A few weeks ago I took the Diva for her first dental appointment and she needed two fillings in her front teeth. This magical medical man managed to complete the procedure sans an injection and with minimum discomfort to my little angel.

I was in love!

A week later one of the fillings dislodged and we had to return to McCreamy. Once again The Diva sat still for more than fifteen minutes without so much as a flinch. By now I was head over heels.

I have a missing tooth in the bottom left rear section of my mouth (biltong, yeah really). It has been gone for a few years already but the discomfort has steadily increased to the point where I have to fill the gap. McCreamy's initial advice was for me to receive an implant but by the time he was finished describing the procedure I was deathly pale and my jaw clenched shut. I opted against his recommendation and instead selected option two: a bridge.

Yesterday was preparation for the bridge which involved filing down the adjacent teeth for caps to fit over. Now in order to painlessly drill the enamel you need to anesthetize your patient and for that you need an injection. Now I'm not afraid of needles. I'm not even afraid of needles going in with the intention of drawing something out. I'm so brave I can even handle a jab in the nether regions for a vitamin B12 shot! What I am afraid of is injections in my mouth with that dreadful poison that hurts like hell no matter how many times you rub my gums with strawberry flavoured 'number' (pronounced 'numb-er' not 'number').

I warned McCreamy and informed him that I am nowhere near as brave as The Diva. It was only when the tears were streaming down my cheeks and my white knuckles clenched around the arm of the chair that he heeded my confession. By then it was too late. I was immensely embarrassed and kept my eyes closed for the entire duration of treatment. After my allotted 45 minutes I dazedly scampered out of the electric chair, garbled a slobbery 'shee you nexsht week'; and made my way to the reception where I scheduled my next appointment to receive the bridge (over troubled waters).

All My Children Ep. 2

When D-Max and I moved into our complex eight years ago, he befriended a lovely young girl MJ who fast became a fixture in our household. We also got to know her family and they were only too happy to have her spend a great deal of time in our home, so much so that one day I was summonsed to a family pow-pow to discuss the future of MJ.

Present were MJ's mother, father, maternal aunt and myself. On the agenda; the possibility of me adopting MJ as they felt they could no longer look after her and she didn't give me the problems that she gave them. Picking myself up from the floor I enquired whether perhaps she could just stay with me on a temporary basis because adoption is, well permanent and if I go through with it I'm not about to hand the child back over should they have a change of heart. Provisional custody was not an option as far as they were concerned and I left with the promise of giving it much thought. As much as I wanted to adopt MJ and be a mother to such a big hearted child; I felt her parents were being extremely irrational and in the absence of abuse, could find no legitimate reason to take on MJ and so declined their request.

I continued offering MJ my guidance and an open door to my home and heart. She grew up, became a very beautiful intelligent young woman, and suffered no ill effects from her family. And then the wheels fell off.

Without exposing all of MJ's personal tragedies in detail, two years ago her mother felt that I was no longer a positive influence in her daughter's life and requested rather firmly that I break off all contact. With MJ still being a minor I had no say in the matter andrespected the wishes of the family.

A few weeks ago MJ tracked me down and disclosed all the tragedy that ensued after my disappearance. It included two run aways; severe physical, emotional and verbal abuse; and a horrific attempted suicide which led to a brief stay in a psychiatric hospital. When I took her hand and saw her mutilated wrist my heart broke and I was almost physically ill. My eyes welled up with tears I was flooded by the guilt of not adopting her when I had the opportunity; deserting her at the wishes of her mother and not being there for her when she needed me the most.

Her family has moved to Cape Town and she is currently living with her boyfriend at his mother's house. This afternoon she phoned me asked if she could come live with me because there is trouble in paradise and her only other option is returning to her family. She offered to do the cooking (she knows my culinary skills are in short supply); baby-sit the kids so that I can get a break and help financially with groceries and household supplies. I accepted her offer of cooking and kidding and rejected any monetary assistance.

So tomorrow my 'daughter' comes home.

All My Children Ep. 1

Isn't it funny how the Universe works? Sometimes our hearts desires are granted but not necessarily in the manner we requested. Nevertheless it comes with an enormous feeling of relief.

This afternoon I was earnestly considering alternative part-time living arrangements for D-Max (as he now refers to himself), as his teenage boorish antics have become too much for this tired, overworked single mom to handle. Add that to an extremely stressful and hazardous occupation; and a five year old Prima Donna a.k.a. Diva; and you have walking time bomb ready to explode.

As much as I detest the idea of D-Max spending more than a nano-second with the Sperm Donor; I felt it was time for him to leave his party, come to my party and take responsibility for the dilly dallying of his dick. Next week I celebrate the 11th anniversary of our divorce and whilst we haven't received so much as tuppance during the decade and a pinch, and I certainly don't expect to receive in the coming decade; some paternal discipline would not be amiss. So the plan was to call Sperm Donor tomorrow and inform him that his spawn will be living with him on weekends.

Since T and I separated in January I have been taking strain with the kids. He was the firm disciplinarian and I was the softy wrapped around their little respective fingers. Mommy was there to wipe the snot, the tears and the blood. I was the good cop and now I'm expected to take on the dual role of mother and father and it's unnatural for one person to play both roles effectively.

Arrrgh!!! I screamed to the Universe, I NEED HELP!!!

Don't Call Me I'll Call You

Don't you hate it when people call you during office hours and start a conversation before finding out whether you're busy or not?

Whilst I have no qualms taking business calls when conducting informal meetings in my office, I find it inappropriate to take personal calls with my staff sitting not two feet away. First of all I'm not particularly partial to colleagues being privy to my personal conversations and secondly it's rude, inappropriate and unprofessional to disrupt a business chat with personal business, unless it's a dire emergency.

So when I've no sooner answered the phone with a quizzical yet polite hello and the caller on the other end dives into a diabolical tirade before I have even established who I am are talking to; I can get pretty peeved.

Wait for me to complete the pronunciation of the 'O' in hello; introduce yourself if you know that I don't know you; and then enquire as to whether or not I am available to take the call. If not, have the courtesy to further enquire as to when would be a good time to call me back, alternatively leave me your details and I will return your call at my earliest convenience.

I’m specifically pointing my finger at call centers. Be it banks, insurance or those god forsaken timeshare agents; telesales people have no manners whatsoever. Why should I give a rat's ass about your family funeral plan when you couldn't be bothered with the simple courtesy of finding out whether I have the time (and patience in my case) to listen to all the benefits of including my in-laws (which I don't have) on my policy. From your demeanor, it appears you are under the impression that I am sitting next to the telephone, right hand hovering over the receiver ready to pounce at first ring. This is not the case, I assure you.

In all fairness, I must mention that whenever the dreaded Hellkom place a call to me, the operator always asks whether it's a good time for me to talk. However I must further add that it is as clear as broad (band) daylight that the poor hapless operator is reading from a script. That is another telephone faux pas that irks me. It sounds terribly insincere when someone is reciting from a generic draft and I'm too distracted singing along in my head to the sing song in the voice to concentrate long enough to hear about the fantastic call-more plan for just how much a month?

Does telephone etiquette have a place in today's fast paced society? Don't call me, I'll call you.

Vote NO for Bush

My parents have a house (or whatever the dwelling in the bush is referred to) in a game farm in the Eastern Transvaal. Yes I know it's no longer referred to as the Eastern Transvaal but the thing is, I'm not sure whether the farm falls in Mpumalanga or Limpopo, and I know in circa 1985 it was still referred to as Eastern Transvaal so we'll stick to what we know.

Their house on the farm is quite lovely. Very bush. Thatch, lots of wood, more thatch and still more wood. It's a house in the middle of the bush, so that's what to be expected. Oh and animals. Lots of wild animals. Lions, elephant, hyena, buffalo, giraffe and the rest of the zoo too.

Now here's the thing. I'm not a bush person. In fact I'm not an outdoor person; unless the outdoor is a flea market, a swimming pool or a beach. I don't do the khaki and the binoculars and the mosquito nets and the polaramine and the malaria. I also don't take well to being chased by a bloody maternal cow; elephant that is; nor do I fancy being faced with a spider any larger than the pinky nail on the baby toe of my little size three's. And if I wanted to see a lion I'd go to the zoo. Even better, I'd Google it.

I am a city girl. I take long hot bubble baths with my portable DVD player perched on the toilet seat under a white fluffy towel; showcasing the latest in my favourite series. I am quite comfortable using up all the hot water in the geyser and not feeling guilty about it. There are no baths in the bush. Or at least not at The Parents bush anyway. There's a shower. Did I mention there's no electricity? No electricity = no hot water. Ok, so there are solar panels on the thatch. Big deal, what happens when it's overcast, huh? On one of the three occasions I bit the bullet and roughed it, The Parents bought me a small round three ringed baby splash pool to put in the shower so that I could 'bath'. Lovely thought, but even at 5'1" I could not comfortably relax.

As for game drives, don't even get me started! First of all you have to up at the crack of dawn. Not figuratively, literally. At 4:30am you're expected to be dressed in your khaki's (which seriously clashes with my hazel eyes.) comfortable walking shoes (my stiletto's are very comfortable thank you very much) and a wind breaker. Binoculars, Roberts Bird Book, walking sticks and water bottles are optional.

The next problem is eating out. There are no restaurants, no take-away joints, no Mr Deliver not even a corner cafe. All meals are eat in, and when I say eat in, I mean eat out because every meal is braaied. Now I love a braai as much as the next SA chick, but three meals a day? Day in and day out. There's only so much boerewors that even I can handle.

So while The Parents and my five male siblings head up at least ten times a year and do the bush as only they can do, I'm quite happy to take walks in my garden in my comfortable walking shoes, all 5", whilst watching my cats (read: lions) prowling. And the only time I will face 4:30am is coming home from a good party.

Girls Night Out!

On Saturday my gal pal and I decided we were in dire need of a night on the town. She having recently suffered a break up, and me needing absolutely no excuse to dust off the dancing shoes and doll myself up.

Our first port of call was a birthday party in a suburb that shall not be mentioned by name. GP and I gate-crashed late, making a grand entrance with more than 2,5 litres of wine in hand (and about 500ml already consumed). Being the courteous and charming ladies we are, we were warmly welcomed and ushered to the bar whereupon we were handed two small wine glasses and our first bottle of wine uncorked. From there we made our way outside to sit (and drink) under the thatched gazebo.

Half a bottle of wine, two plates of chicken curry and many handfuls of crisps later we made our way back inside to the bar, lured by the promise of warmth that comes with dancing. We weren't on the dance floor for more than 15 minutes when the 'DJ' and I use that term very loosely, wa spinning records (figuratively of course) of tunes that we were unable to identity by either song title, artist or genre, When we couldn't even place the decade of said tune, we reaslised that it was our cue to make a disappearing act. And with that we grabbed out 1,5 bottles of wine off the bar and made a hasty retreat to our awaiting chariot, mumbling thanks of a delicious meal on our exit.

The night was young and so were we. After a few calls to various party PRO's we headed north to the capital of clubbing. We made our way up far too many stairs for a 30-something year old and once i had caught my breath, paid our entrance fee and once again headed straight for the bar. (much to my chagrin I see a pattern forming here.)

GP and I made the discovery that the club has a maximum height requirement, specifically for men. And it seems to be less than 5'6". I have honestly never seen so many vertically challenged men in one place before. They made me look tall! I mentioned to GP that we must've gate-crashed (as we are wont to do) the after party for SMAC (Small Male Adult Conference).

After a few hours of wearing out the soles of my black patent leather stiletto's on the dance floor and blatantly staring at the very short and very young men, we came to the conclusion that we needed to be surrounded by older taller people. The immediate broadcast of another unknown song by unknown artist from unknown decade and we elegantly made our way to the establishment across the parking lot.

We were pleasantly surprised to find average and even above average height men and women. What we weren't pleasantly surprised to see was a club filled with high school students and first year varsity soon-to-be dropouts. (And yes, I kept a look out for my son!) We also weren't prepared for the pole dance simulation gyrating antics of an unusually tall but male looking woman. I think GP is still traumatised!

As was our motis operandi by now, we waiting for the guaranteed unrecognised song and made our graceful exit. In the parking lot we stumbled upon a mobile boerewors stand and teated ourselves to our second meal of the evening. We both agreed that the sausage provided more satisfaction than any man whoe paths we corssed that evening / morning!

At 3:30am with stiletto's and wine bottle grasped firmly in hand I sprinted the short distance from GP's car to my front door and finally entered my haven.

My not-so-successful night on the town begs the question: Where do single 30-something woman go out for an evening of dancing and drinking without patronizing with patrons from another generation?

Not for Sensitive Viewers

And now for the full scoop.

On Saturday R had to briefly attend a work function so I opted out of that engagement (for obvious reasons) and decided to meet him afterwards at his friends birthday bash at a club. Thank God I was on the guest list and therefore able to push my way to the front of the queue. I have no qualms paying for the pleasure of my partying, but I abhor queuing. For anything.

R and I headed straight for the bar and my first poison was a R28 vodka, lime and lemonade. I almost sprayed the barmen with R6 worth of said drink when he told me the price. Gawd, when did drinks get so expensive? (We were not in Sandton). Luckily I was with a gentleman and R took care of the tab. And the next tab. And the next tab. And the next …

I was unusually subdued during my first drink, surveying my surroundings, meeting R’s friends, one of whom I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting. C, a pilot, recently had a near death experience so it was good to see him alive and kicking after being surviving an aeroplane crash and being submerged under water.

During drink two (500ml of vodka and red bull) the DJ played my 2006 theme song “Crazy” and that was all it took to get my dancing shoes on, R pulled me up and we set the dance floor on fire. I did not sit down again until just before we eventually left at about 02h00. When R was tired, C joined me and when he was tired, there was a multitude of men and women willing to make merry with me!

During the course of the evening C had a revelation that he felt he just had to share with me.

“You should hook up with R.”
“Why would I do that, he’s my buddy?”
“Yeah, but he’s really into and you’d have fun together”
“Oh. Well I’m not looking for fun, I’m looking for husband”
“You’re too young to be settling down”
“*choke* C, I’m almost 34 years old! I’m 8 years older than R!”
“No shit! I thought you were his age”

Whilst I was flattered at his faux pas; I did neglect to tell him about my lustful infatuation with M. R obviously hasn’t cottoned on to this fact, just as I had no idea for his feelings for me, so best for sleeping dogs to remain sedated.

At about 02h00, after drinking more than 2l of my new tipple of choice; the crew decided to head on to another club further north in the region.

“Oh hell no!” Said one drunken me. “I live in the opposite direction, so you guys head on out without me.”

And at that moment I realised that I had driven to the club; and therefore had a vehicle parked downstairs. And furthermore, being the law-abiding moral upstanding smart person that I am; I knew that I was in no state to operate heavy machinery or drive a car. R immediately came to the same conclusion and insisted on parking my car in a safe place (the corner Engen garage) and then driving me home.

Warning: not for sensitive viewers

Half way home I had my appointment with the pavement along Johannesburg Road. I calmly told R to pull over and then fumbled for the damn handle to open the door. I could not find the daft thing, so R leaned over, and opened the door for me; and with that my Stan (from South Park) impersonation began. I did not even undo my seatbelt, let alone get out of the car. From my very comfortable position within the vehicle I was able to dispose of my Spur nachos, carrots (I have never eaten carrots, so where did they come from???) and my V&RB. Inbetween chunks, groans and almost tears, I apologised profusely to R for my … er little scene and told him that I was going to avoid him for at least a week to recover from my embarrassment. He just rubbed my back in moral support and uttered countless “S’ok, you’ll be fine”.

I don’t remember much more about the ride home, so it must’ve been uneventful. Soon R was parked in my parking bay and helping me out of the car. I mumbled more apologies, waved off any further assistance and ran walked sauntered strolled stumbled to my front door.

And to think I woke up at 08h00 on Sunday morning sans a hangover!

Headlines

I’m dog tired so I’ll give the headlines.

M wasn’t there. In a totally unrelated incident I got totally drunk. Danced the night away. Got a lift home with R. Threw up out of the car outside the Jewish Old Age Home in Sandringham. (Sorry guys! Shalom) Got home safely … if not soundly.


PS: It’s my birthday next month and I have decided to celebrate it in style. After all, it’s not every day you turn 25. This is my 10th and final commemoration of reaching my quarter century and regrettably next year I shall be blowing out thirty candles on my cake.

There was talk about whether I should hold two parties; one for my ‘normal’ PG rated friends and a more rowdy one for my R rate friends.

I have such vastly different groups of friends …

Thoughts to ponder …

The M Word

The last time I saw M was on that fateful night at the club a few months ago. Since I wrote that previous entry on him, I had neither heard from him nor seen him. In the proceeding weeks, he didn’t go to the weekly sales meetings at our distributors but instead sent his sales manager, my friend R.

There I was on Thursday sitting behind my desk feverishly buying drinks on Facebook typing up sales forecasts, when who should appear in my door frame? None other than Mr M! Bright eyed and bushy-tailed he stood there, leaning his physiqued body against the door frame grinning at me like a Cheshire cat. Instantly my mouth mirrored his, with the smile; the rushed “Hi, how are you”. My hands froze on my keyboard and I didn’t know whether to get up from behind my desk or remain in the safety of my little burrow. M took the decision out of my hands when, never taking his chocolate eyes off me, he came around my desk took my hand and pulled me up into his arms.

*exhale*

And then he kissed me. Not a lovers kiss. Not a friendly kiss. It probably lasted all of 1 second, but once again, my heart and time stopped within that second.

And then in the mist of our body heat he disappeared. I flopped back down into my highbacked swivel chair and tried to regulate my heartbeat. Once sanity had returned I immediately got hold of my receptionsist slash friend slash ex-student to find out (1) why she didn’t warn me that M was at our offices; and (2) what the hell was M doing at our offices! The answer to (1) she wanted it be a surprise; and (2) he had a meeting with our events management team.
And then the rationalisation began.

He has a girlfriend! I was over him months ago! It doesn’t mean anything! I won’t see him again!

And then the Universe laughed. Hahahaha.

On Friday afternoon my colleagues and I arrived at our distributors for our weekly sales meeting. As I walked towards the glass sliding doors of the boardroom, who should be lounging on the leather chair??? None other than the usually absent M! A return of smiles and waves and I disappeared into the MD’s office to seek sanctuary until M had left the building.

Hahahaha.

The MD and I were chatting about the usual sales related issues, when who should appear in the door way? Déjà vu.

I couldn’t help myself. I started giggling at first, and then laughing quite raucously. The MD looked at me quizzically, properly wondering if I was in need of a shot of tranquilisers. And M, M just gazed at me, with the biggest grin possible on a grown man. The MD left his office to chat with M in the passage way, but through out their conversation M’s eyes never left mine. Not for a second. He also never stopped smiling. The MD eventually asked what was going on and whether we would like a private room together and M’s answer was all it took to get me into hysterics and a genuine need for a tranquiliser; the MD blushed so severely I thought he’d never recover and the sales manager just quietly walked away.

Tonight (Saturday) I am going out with R, M’s sales manager. I don’t know whether M will be there or not; but I don’t want his absence or presence to be a factor in my decision in going. But if he is there …

Hahahaha.