The Boyfriend…

Save me Mr. Perfect

When I was younger I watched, with my dictionary, a television series that has helped mould some of my current ideals and ideas of what a relationship should be. This series was called Dawson’s Creek.  Dawson was my favourite character.  His devotion to Joey, so unwavering even when she did not deserve his affection, was the first thing I looked for, at the tender age of 14, in a boyfriend.  I set out to separate the boys from the men and made a list of pertaining to the characteristics of the man who would truly be deserving of my unconditional love. A few things on the list went like this: 

•               Must be able to skate-I suppose balance is a good thing to have in a boyfriend -___-
•            Must be good with his hands-At 14, what the hell did that even mean?!
•           Must listen to rock music-Of course this a true test of how much he loves me
•            Must be good to his mum and sisters-Even young lil me got this one spot on
•            Must be taller than me-Maybe I would have physically abused a shorter better half?

Who would You go for?

The point is; the Relationship became an organization in which I was the C.E.O and the boyfriend was a position in the firm and you had to either shape up or ship out. The boy who would come close to fulfilling all the requirements on my love list would, to me, be like a knight who tried to rescue the princess, fell short and went back to work on his skill so he was brave enough to defeat the dragon and win the princess’ heart.  The weird and slightly  embarrassing thing about this list is that I had made it with such confidence but had no suitors to compare this list to. I was hardly asked out and in some cases, acne and all, I felt that I was too ‘all that and a bag of skittles’ for the nice enough young boys who saw something in me when all the cool guys didn't. To all of you, I do apologize, but youth and naivety are the sugar and water that mix very effortlessly, and I’m happy that those I do keep in touch with are doing amazingly in the battlefields of love.

The ultimate Man of ste

My ideals, of course, have changed and I now realize that a relationship is

a partnership and not something that one can completely own while raising the standards for a potential partner who may never be able to jump high enough to please everything on the list. If I had had the exact replica of what perfection was then I would have to be content with dating a predictable bore that would douse the fires that keep my romantic heart beating. Life is about compliments, if you want to control every aspect of your love life then prepare yourself for a mundane existence without adventure or discovery. I had to accept, rather painfully, that while Dawson’s Creek gave me invaluable insight on relationships they also had a director to yell ‘Cut!’ so that they too could pack up on set and return to the real world where complexities are not always a bad thing.

Find someone who makes you wonder how on earth did you end up with this retard and why do you love it so much?! A love that brings out the best in you is a million times better than someone who can skate!

Live.Laugh.Love

Growth Is Relative

I'm 25. I don't mention my age to show off the fact that I'm still pretty much blessed with the body of my teen years (I just showed off didn't I?) But rather, I mention my age purely because in most instances it "ain't nothing but a number".

 I had this beautiful illusion that at 25 I would be swept away by my prince charming, married with 8 gorgeous children while maintaining a body that made all the other soccer moms green with envy. I have found the prince but no ring or babies and I'm happy with the pace at which things are going. People often link age with maturity, a certain readiness to commit to the ways of adulthood but just as I'm still the host of the body of an 18 year old, my mannerisms also keep traveling back to my teen years. I realize that popping the balloon of expectations about how my life should've turned out has helped open my eyes to certain realities about myself. Such as: 1. I'm not ready for marriage. As a girlfriend I'm still afforded room to slack in some departments but as a wife my A game has to be on point ALL THE TIME

2. I'm not ready to be a mother. I'm a great babysitter and love children but I'm do not have the emotional capacity to care for a child and there is no return policy for children

3. I don't enjoy kitchens. I know my way around one but having to provide scrumptious, nutritious meals for my family EVERYDAY would drive me to utter lunacy.

4. I still want to try kill myself before the babies come. I want to sky dive or bungee jump without having to think of what will happen to my children should I die(see what I did there?)

5. I don't want to share my husband with the babies just yet. Who is going to pick me up and swing me about senselessly?

All that is saying is that I'm selfish and need to learn how to share my toys.

 Now don't get me wrong, I would love to have the intimate wedding and raise those gorgeous babies(2 now seeing how the economy is ruining my initial plan) but right now the demand on my ovaries by certain individuals (namely my younger sister) have to be put on hold because simply put I'm not ready for the 24/7 kind of deal. The prince and I will make "till death do us part" look like a walk in the park when the stars align and I grow up and we will make an awesome set of parents, God willing but right now I'm in love with our friendship, the evenings where bread and eggs make for a romantic dinner, sniffing socks and wearing the least funky and the late nights spent burning calories on the dance floor of some crowded club.

I'm an adult but I'm not a grown up.

Live Laugh Love

Growing Pains

It is another yarn-filled Monday morning void of any happy feelings except the hopeful countdown to Friday. Why do we count down to Friday? When we are born, we are without cognition of what the world has to offer us. We are wrapped in the loving sheath of protective arms that loved ones provide and our only instruction is crying…let the adults figure out what it means. Then we become inquisitive toddlers who crawl into all sorts of nooks and crannies and put into our mouths all sorts of cuisine, mostly dirty items that give the adults a fright, and our instruction now comes from a set of coo’s, smiley coo means I agree and angry coo means I’m a ticking time bomb of tears.

Without explaining to you the growth cycle of a child like you are ill-informed, let me just get to my point. For a small portion of our lives we love being picked up and taken care of but the moment we realize that we can stand, run and express clearly our desires we rush towards independence with the speed of a freight train. We wriggle out of the warm embrace of loved ones, we spit out our food and eventually we turn into hormonal teens chasing the cool, praying for larger breasts and fewer pimples, banging doors and wishing that the freedom of varsity could come tomorrow. We have discovered our voice, or so we think we have, and spend a lot of our time shouting to get our point across because nobody can pretend to know us better than we know ourselves, our parents were born age 45 anyways so what do they know about the trials and tribulations of growing pains? Why hasn't Peter called me back?

After what seems like an 18 year long epic fight scene from the movie 300, we gain freedom, get into varsity, finish varsity and live pocket money free as an employee at some company. At first it’s fun, we pay tax, buy cars, party up a storm and tweet pictures of the expensive bottles of alcohol we can now afford. We love being in our own place away from the prying eyes of our guardians and some of us even get that tattoo that would have gotten you thrown out your mother’s house. It is great to be a grown up! Life, of course, has a way of putting things into perspective and after a while you notice that you spend more hours working, your face looks older than your years, your life, including the parties, becomes a mundane routine, your body feels like a ton of bricks every Monday morning and you don’t often agree with the bills paid for on your behalf but because you came into the scene as a “balla” you swipe, grin and bear it.

You are now nostalgic and want to revert back to the good old days when everyday was new and filled with such vibrancy and possibility. You want to have a scheduled nap time, the responsibility of what you eat and wear must be transferred, after a long drive to and from the office you want to get home and have someone lift you and spin you around senselessly while they tell you that you are the smartest and most beautiful creation. You no longer want to worry about taxes, rent and gas. Life would be blissful if you wore part a party hat, swimming costume and wellingtons to work, it would make your colleagues jealous because your parents were the coolest to let you go out like that. Every day would be a Friday and no more would you partake in the countdown to the weekend.

All I’m really saying is that life is precious, a gift that only comes by once. Enjoy the moments of being cared for thoroughly so when it is your turn to be a caretaker you will look at your crying children, remember to give to them the same warmth and understanding your guardians gave you and figure it out…

Live laugh love

Life after Exams



Yes...this girl will be a postgraduate



The past two weeks have been eventful but not in the way the average 25yr old would describe the word. I did not party, go on holiday, get a better paying job or a pair of killer shoes. I wrote exams. Yup, I had to secure my place in the academic sphere and willhopefully be amongst the 2013 September Btech graduates at T.U.T. The reason I’m blogging about boring old exams is because I am still angry at them and myself and I’m not over it and since writing is cheaper than therapy I want to vent.

After getting my diploma I swore off school but guilt set in when I thought of how long it took me to get a three year long diploma (mum calls me a doctor in building science) I decided that I would redeem myself by pursuing the Btech degree and do it in the set amount of time, one year. First semester began and I was all talk about how my study technique would change; I would revise my work every day to ease the pressure of studying at the last minute and I would pass with flying colours…A whole lot of hot air, it’s a surprise I did not float away with my ambitions.

Needless to say I did not adhere to my new code to academic redemption, instead I sat at home, ate tons of ice-cream and used my mirror as a pretend stage where I threw enchanting dance concerts and had my many followers waver their “We love you Dice” banners and throw underwear on stage (it’s a fantasy but judge away lol). The downside of any fantasy, if you live it long enough, is that reality no longer seems necessary and you try your hardest to forget the goals and objective that you proudly penned down. You go to classes in a state of autopilot and then you FAIL! I did not qualify to write one subject’s exam, out of three papers, in the first semester and that put the fear of Jesus in me and my single parent’s struggle made me wake up, smell the coffee and put my back into it!

Second semester was more challenging. I had four subjects, had to re-register Construction Management and classes clashed with my development classes, I was on campus five days a week and my study technique still had not changed but I managed much better when exams came along. I had to decide to stop victimizing myself, telling myself that the world is out to get me and that I’d never cope with the extra subject and a fulltime job. I had to get out of the way of my own success. I did not become a ballerina like I wanted but the talent is still here and I’m using it, I’m not stupid so clearly it was time for an attitude adjustment and I really do not want to become a varsity “Van Wilde type” fossil.

The latest is that exams tried to assault me but I have a feeling that the pressure of a fulltime job and student career were exactly what I needed to show myself that I really can do whatever it is I put my mind to and that even if my study technique sucks ass, it was the same method that helped me squeeze through that small gap where I could see a flicker of light.

I don’t have my results yet so I’m not doing any joyous backflips but I put in the work and I just need the results to reflect that.

I’m currently contemplating the Master’s Program at school…will I ever learn?

Live Laugh Love

A Wolf in Sheepskin



Must have it...



So, the last time I blogged was when I threw caution to the wind, had some hard liquor and decided to be a fashion blogger. I’ll let that sink in for a few seconds…I wanted to be a fashion blogger. Now we can all collectively laugh… What on earth do I know about the ins and out of clothing never mind the industry? I own only one pair of denims for heaven’s sake hahaha! Truth is, my favourite magazine had launched a competition in search for an online fashion blogger and my master plan was to infiltrate the magazine in the guise of someone who knew all about trends, designer labels and style while I showcased my own written work and have them hire me on the spot to touch on issues that were of more substance to me.

So I set out on my quest to come up with a creative concept: to show case different trends in SA and compare them with how people in Europe wore the same trends since we are two seasons behind in terms of fashion in this country. A sort of “throwback meets the present”type of feel.  The idea worked for me but my contacts on the other side of the world have lives and could not help bring my global vision to life. That left me a little despondent and instead of me taking that as a red flag, a warning that maybe this is not where I need to be, I persevered and decided, against better judgment, to model my own blog. Again I’ll let that sit with you for a few seconds before you pee yourself with laughter.

I’m comfortable with my personal style. It has no name, box or category but it is hardly something to talk about or even blog about but again the “you are using yourself as a model” red flag went up and I pushed on. I really wanted to write for my favourite magazine and I took the risk.

Needless to say, I did not win the competition, neither was I even considered for the top one thousand. I, of course, am not the best in situations that require sportsman-like behaviour and I immediately broke-up with the love of my fashion life, Elle Magazine, and have not bought an Elle in what will soon be a year. I walk past its awesomeness in the shopping isle and just as I reach out to touch it I swear my ears emit smoke and the terrorist in me threatens to comes out, I quickly withdraw my hand and leave the magazine rack in one piece. Must get a handle on this forgiveness issue…

I’m certain that soon Elle and I will get back together and that little misunderstanding will be long forgotten and off into the sunset we will ride through pages of pastel and neon and I’ll learn to just me, the life meant for others is uncomfortable to wear.

Live Laugh Love

Those who walk…



Hitch hiking in the wild



Those who walk shall drive, a saying that I picked up from the boyfriend. When I first moved to Pretoria due to my life story off- ramping into a direction a tried hard to fight I was a pedestrian. I lived at res and had no use for a car or a man with one. I enjoyed that my legs looked amazing all thanks to the obstacle course that is the mountainous T.U.T main campus. Fast-forward to 2013 and still here I am with the hot legs and no car. I did not mind it for the longest time, my mummy is a single parent and I did not want to push so I put on my “happy thought’” hat, continued my calorie-burning life and strengthened my bond with the sidewalks of Pretoria.

I then started noticing that I had no control as to when I left a place because I had to be cautious of taxi times. I could not stay on campus for the extra hours that I required to get help with the rapist subject EconomicsIV. My friends were always giving me lifts from dance practices even when the route was out of their way. Tons of people were shocked that they saw me dance on television constantly and I was still walking. What “famous” person does that?! People started making up rumours about how rich I had become and how I was ‘ballin’”. Jesus help the little children to keep their noses out of my business.

The only truth is what I write and here it is…To say I detest walking is to be ungrateful for my good health but I'm always sweaty and sticky by the time I get to campus, my colleagues have given me the nickname Bugatti-legs because I can get to corner Pretorius and Sisulu Street from Bosman Street in under twenty minutes and my dainty dancer feet are beginning to hurt. I am also getting over the curves of burly women resting on my thighs as we sit overloaded in the taxi, the bath-time evaders and the spicy smell of armpits, the elderly who want to discuss everything under the sun when all you want is some quiet and please don't get me started on the ventilation issues!!!!

I appreciate the stories my pedestrian life has enriched me with but I'm ready for a new set of problems. I too want to gasp in despair when the news announce yet another hike in petrol, I want to see friends and family at a whim and want to be able to escape any scenario at the drop of a hat but until then I must believe that those who walk shall drive.