Why is it that when you’re single and not seeing anybody note-worthy (even casually), nobody seems to notice AT ALL. In fact, in this instance men fall into not two, but three extremes –

1) being total arseholes to you without provocation (I can’t help it that YOU don’t know what you want and that YOU have issues),

2) being totally oblivious (They won’t notice you’re there if you lit a cracker under their arse) or

3) bascially treating you like one of the dudes. Suddenly you have a relatively normal and sane person of the opposite sex displaying some kind of interest in you and “individuals” from the afore-mentioned categories are all over you.

HUH? Does it give you a cheap thrill to play mind games with me? Does it makes you feel better when I am more of a challenge? I am SO sick of men and their bloody drama’s. Damn. Enough already. If you were into me, why didn’t you show it while you had the chance….

Do I LOOK blind or stupid. And now I feel better, having vented just a little bit.

Small things…

Courage the Cowardly Dog

Had the WORST night last night. Woke up cold, miserable and just cranky. A mossie had come into my bedroom and was enthusiastically consuming huge quantities of prime grade a Jean Juice. And once I was up, I realised I had been bitten. So there I was – itchy, cold and wide-awake. What did not help matters was the fact that Mr. Darcy had once again succumbed to his little weakness (the damn freakoid) and had rescued my lingerie from a drawer and was cuddling with my La Senza panties. Sigh…I guess I must explain.

Mr. Darcy is my (almost) year old Toy Pomeranian. White, dainty and schizo. Apart from all other obvious clues, he does not realise that he is a boy dog and languishes in a gender-confused state where he is basically always the most beautiful little fairy dog. He is absolutely tiny. With the tiniest little paws (which he uses to clean himself like a cat) and the tiniest little teeth (which he uses to catch lizards for his mommy yuk). In many ways he is a real cutie…with the face of an angel and the sweetest disposition ever. Never bad-tempered and certainly not a yapper, you`d think that he would be the apple of my eye and not his vagabond, crazy sister my (almost) two-year old Yorkie, Stormy. You`d think. However….when you`re on your way to work, bleary eyed and not fully awake (since you haven`t had the morning call from the FPU) you do not expect little surprises. Let me explain… My morning routine is fairly simple. Stumble out of bed. Go for a walk. Curse. Come home. Shower while the coffee`s pithing away. Get out of shower, dry, slap on some body butter and perfume, go to kitchen. Feed and water doggies, pour coffee. Stumble back to bedroom. Sit on bed and have small fashion crises.

Approach what do I wear hysteria. Find something to wear. Finish dressing. Rinse coffee mug. Say goodbye to furkids. Lock up and go out to garage. Reverse car out of garage and close garage door. Drive past big gate where fur kids are now standing attentively waiting for mommy to pass by. Try and ignore the accusatory looks from fur kids for leaving them home alone, so as to guarantee a guilt free day. Except….wait. What`s that in Darcy`s mouth. Pink? What pink cloth is in his mouth…. Oh well…drive on. Now approaching huge security gate of complex. Oh Shit! That`s me knickers.

Oh Shit!

The whole neighbourhood must be driving past my gate where my dog is proudly displaying my pink knickers. At this point I reverse rather dramatically. Jump out of the car and a 10 minute chase ensues (because Darcy naturally thinks that this is a rather fun game mommy`s playing….Yippeee). And you know what, it would not be that bad if the little deviant didn`t insist on stealing the best stuff…the best of my La Senza and La Perla favourites. I thought to myself that there must be something wrong with me. Or my knickers (heaven forbid).

And this morning at 04h15, after a ballistic mosquito woke me, I had an EPIPHANY. Perhaps he is stealing those items of delicate clothing because it is most accessible to him. It`s in the two bottom layers of my chest of drawers, which just so happen to have little cut out designs JUST big enough for a little paw to snake through, grab something` satiny and soft and leg it off to the garden for a good chew. mmmm….not so deviant is he.

Silly mommy.

So, had you been around at 5am this morning, you would`ve found a very happy princess re-organising her wardrobe. And all my knickers…well out of the way of my little angel.

Creative Maths

There were two girls on the plane the other day. They`re both about, oh…14 or so and speak in the angst and italicised mannerof young teens the world over. They tray`s are down and void of any airline food and they are huddles over the notebooks, scribbling intently with neon pink pens.

“We’re doomed,” declared the blonde in the cream puffy jacket with the fake fur collar. She slumped in her seat and sighed.”48%, that’s not that bad,” the brunette in the pink puffy jacket with the fake fur collar said in soothing tones.”48% is rubbish!”

I peered over to see what they were doing. Oh, sweet nostalgia. Do you remember when you were young and crushing and you’d write your name on a piece of paper, then write LOVES underneath, then the name of the boy underneath that?

Like this:

and then you’d count how many L`s are in your names, then how many O, V, E and S’s, and keep adding up the numbers until you were left with a two-digit figure that spelled out your romantic destiny:


his poor girl was not happy with her compatibility with a young James. “He borrowed my pencil in Science last week so I thought things were going good.”
My heart went out to her. At this stage of her life, all she had to go on was pure mathematics. She wasn’t old enough to buy Cosmopolitan and let her self esteem be dictated by Are You Suckers Gonna Make It? multiple choice quizzes. I wanted to tap her on the shoulder and tell her that all was not lost. With some careful massaging of the data, it was entirely possible to turn the tide of their relationship.

Firstly, many schools of thought believe if you get a result under 50%, you have to double the number, the reason being 50% is the scientifically-proven minimum compatibility one can have with another human being. Or maybe it’s just because a result less than 50% would be like ripping out your heart and inviting a herd of elephants to crap on it.But if you don’t feel comfortable with such blatant figure fudging, you can tinker with the words. Try adding your middle names and see if that beefs up the percentage. If you don’t know his middle name, it is accepted practice to make one up.


Failing that, try a different word in the middle. “LOVES” is so traditional and stuffy.
Try “adores”, “admires”, “worships”, or:

is visible aroused at the thought of J

If all that still fails produce a satisfactory result, well, whatever. Clearly the boy is so not good enough for you, girlfriend.