Soft in the head?
So there I was happily fitting on dresses. All that white, lace, satin, silk. It was already strange.
Enter the designer. The dress I had on was too small (sample sizes don’t cater for curvy bodies) but I wasn’t too bothered. Then designer – let’s call him R – did his designer-wave as he cast his eye over said curvy body and dress.
Mmmm, he said. “I like that you’ve chosen this. At the back, we’ll have to do something else because you’re quite soft and flabby.”
Gasp.
He continued. “This fleshy part in the front must be hidden. Oh, and we have to do something about the tummy. I do see a pretty face here though.”
Er. Gee thanks.
Anyway. . .he insulted me in such a nice way that it didn’t really upset me too much. He’s a designer and he’s supposed to know how to make me look my best. Fortunately I was so overwhelmed by all the girliness that I didn’t let loose when he suggested I join a gym.
He must be soft and flabby in the head if he thinks that’s happening any time soon.
A face made for talking
I like to think I’m a decent, nice person. But there are limits. When I’m sitting/standing somewhere I don’t really expect complete strangers to ask if they can join me then start a random conversation.
This has now happened three times in the space of one week. I kid you not.
The first was a random PR who asked if she could sit at my table because she hates sitting alone. I said fine but thought it a bit weird. Before I’d finished my smoke I’d heard about her two dogs who died from the poisoned dog food, how she’d sue Woolworths and how her cat eats only Epol. I’m not even joking.
The other was a guy who told me about his days in the army and how much fun it was. His brain must’ve been addled because he failed to notice the fact that I’m coloured and would certainly not approve of their fun activities in apartheid army.
Then this morning the lady from the bookshop downstairs asked if she can sit at my table because she ‘can’t walk another step’ (the next table was literally another step away). I said fine (why do I do that?!) and she want on to tell me about her new kid and how she was awake at 4am to do ironing, blah, blah.
Can’t a girl just have a cigarette in peace? It’s enough to make anyone quit. I really don’t invite these strangers. They just seem to find it very easy to ask me to sit with me. It’s weird and freaking me out just a tad. I am probably the most antisocial person I know, so heaven knows company is the last thing I want when I go outside alone.
Next time I’ll wear my don’t-fuck-with-me face. Perhaps that will help.
Bang, bang
Is there anything worse than office renovations? Yes? Liar! There simply can’t be.
I certainly can’t understand how anyone would be ok with strange men traipsing up and down singing tunelessly (why the singing? why the singing!). Dust everywhere – in your clothes, on your desk, on your sleeves, in your hair, nose and eyes. . .
I know that it’s going to look great when it’s all done but I can’t stand it right now. The noise, the dust (and resulting hayfever/coughing) and the people all around. It’s just too much.
I think I need a holiday.
Venue, venue, which one do you choose?
So there we were exploring the lush hills of Stellenbosch’s wine route. Man, I had no idea how difficult this whole wedding planning thing is. We drove and drove and drove, then drove some more.
Fortunately it was lovely scenery but still. We managed to find a place and it’s pretty and all that. So now we have to get cracking on all the other stuff. I don’t even have a to-do list. Is that a bad thing? Or is it bad because my friend has a to-do list (for my wedding) and I don’t?
This is going to descend into madness, I’m sure.
Don’t ask me if I’m gay
Well, well, well. Finally the US has something to be proud of. A court has ruled a site that helps people find roommates can’t ask for the user’s sexual orientation.
By bloody time, I say.
Although the person should probably be wary of the reaction of someone they’re potentially going to room with (do you really wanted to be smothered in your sleep?), it’s great that they don’t have to be discriminated against before they’ve even had the chance to check out the place (and the person).
We seriously need to up our game when fighting discriminatory attitudes. Thumbs up for these judges.
Back to business
So I’ve been gone for a while. I thought I’d be writing more often when I was subbing but it was the opposite – almost no writing on this side! Anyway. . . I’m back to writing now so hopefully will be posting more often again.
In the time I was gone Mugabe may have been toppled, I became engaged, people fell for April Fool jokes, men became pregnant and it’s starting to get darker earlier which means winter will be here soon.
Nothing unusual then.
Simply sick
I hate being ill. The only thing worse than being ill is having to care for someone who is (hey, it doesn’t mean I don’t love ya, ok).
I’ve been dealing with a stuffy snotty nose and am only now starting to recover. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t blogged for so long. Anyway.
What with tissues permanently stuck to my nose I had the obvious, ‘are you taking anything’ question. I eventually took it but when I initially said no people could not believe it.
Perhaps I should make clear: I don’t like doctors. I don’t like medication. I especially don’t like both when I am feeling sick.
I think we depend on medication too much when we have something simple like a sniffle. For serious conditions, sure, then meds are fine. But really, do you need to pay R300 to be given Panados and told to go sleep?
Name thyself
I’ve been pretty quiet this week, I know. Sorry about that – I find myself busier and busier these days and when I do get time to blog I’m so annoyed by the spam that I log off. Childish, I know, but I reserve the right to be. I’m still a kid at the tender age of 25 ok!
Anyway, now I’m back and as usual I have something to bitch about. I’m trying to figure out how to respond to someone who has invited me to a party. I say someone not to preserve the privacy of the person. No, dear reader, I say someone because I don’t know who the person is.
To date I’ve received three smses, one mailed invitation and two emails from Person Who Is Not Named.
In the smses there’s simply no name. In the emails it’s signed by The Organiser. And the email address is a gmail address with the name and type of party to which I’m being invited; no person, no way of knowing who it is.
Now for some reason I am extremely ticked off by this. Isn’t it basic courtesy to identify yourself when you’re communicating with someone – doesn’t matter in which form?
Or am I getting on my high horse for nothing? Is this new quirky form of communicating the in thing, the hip thing? Well if it is call me prudish and stuck in the old ways.
I like knowing who I’m talking to. I like knowing who is talking to me. Even if you’re a blogger using a pseudonymn at least I’ll have some idea of who you are.
But no, Person Who Is Not Named doesn’t realise this. Worst of all is this person clearly doesn’t know me from a bar of soap but is organising the party for someone else whom I do know.
It’s annoyed me so much I don’t want to go (actually, I’m not being totally honest but more of that later. . .).
My instinct was to fire off a snippy response pointing out how absolutely fucking rude it is to send emails without your name to someone you don’t know. But that might offend the person who I actually do know and for whom the party is being held.
Shit, I hate this politeness thing sometimes.
Spam
This spam thing is driving me nuts. To the point where I don’t even want to write any longer. Every time I log in and see it I have to spend some time deleting and then forget what I want to write.
Is anyone having a huge problem with spam? *grits teeth*
TOBBHERHANK 