Test Post From BlogDesk

In order to save me some time when blogging, I downloaded this cool little app thingie. I will now upload an image of utter seriousness to see if this thing works, as well as tag this post in a few random categories. I’d appreciate your feedback of my awesomeness soonest.

Cats are being picked up on Sunday, btw. Awwwww. I’m going to be so bleak without the little shits.

Also, I have 4 up-coming late nights and I’m shitting meself. I’m old(ish) you know… I can’t be doing these things anymore.

Okay. ‘Till later. Luff you.

Kill me now, I’m a psychobitch.

So.  It’s that stage of a dating relationshit where you’re not sure of when you should or shouldn’t ask someone to stay over.

In being completely honest, this is pretty much the first time I’ve been with someone who hasn’t tried to feel my boobs from the first minute.  And apparently he is a boob man.  I found this out whilst IMing him.  No, he’s not a geek, he just likes playing poker online.  He’s someone who doesn’t even know my blog exists and if he did I would actually die, which is strange as most of the people in my life know about my blog.  He has no idea what sort of mad person I am yet, although in movies (whilst holding hands) he whispers to me “please could you stop bluetoothing ‘you suck’ ringtones to the black dude behind us, I’m a little nervous – he’s kinda big” and also let me drive today, so I’m sure that he’s getting a fair idea.

Anyway, I digress.  Its gotten to the point where my friends are looking at me funny because we haven’t, you know… body humped yet.  Not even close.  While I am totally okay with it, I’m a bit confused about the whole thing now – apparently this is unheard of these days.  One of my mates even went as far enough as to say to me the other day; “more than three dates and still no sex is a bit of a wastage of eachothers time”.  After he said that, I was like – what the fuck?  Seriously?  And now the down side to it all is that I can’t stop thinking about humping his leg. God damn peer pressure.

Anyway, so because of all of these thoughts, I say to him this evening whilst overlooking the beauty that is my balcony view, that it would be slightly pleasant if he wanted to “stay over”.  With a deep, meaningful look and everything.  Suddenly an awkward silence ensues.  I mean, crickets chirp, pins and needles drop on floors, I can almost hear people in China saying their morning prayers its so awkwardly silent.  Then the  dude politely turns me down, with some mumble of why he has to leave. Immediately.

Thats right, folks: He. Said. No.

So, naturally – because I’m a girl, I start having a mini mental freak out moment.  What the hell were you thinking?  This is why women shouldn’t come on to men, it should always, always be his first move and left for you to decide – not the other way round. Oh my god, now he thinks you’re horny.  Oh nooooo.  And even then he still says no.  With your low cut top and everything.  He doesn’t like you.  He got an sms and now he’s all quiet and needs to leave.  This is so awkward.  Please die, now. In a fire or something, you are such a loser.

*three minutes later, walking him to his car*

I bet you that was his ex girlfriend.  I bet you she wants to get back together with him.  Thats why he’s rushing out the door.  Mwah, good bye DateDude, enjoy fucking your ex girlfriend.  I’ll just lie here on the couch and wish for a slow torturous death involving spatula’s, rope and possibly a plastic chair… I know I deserve it, for coming on too strong.  Clearly you don’t like me as much as I thought you did, or at least not in that way.  Maybe I’m just a cool forehead of a girl you like to kiss.  There you go, drive out the gate.  Watch out for the taxi to your left as you leave me for your ex skank.

And then, just after I’m ranting to Cath, she’s plotting revenge and interception involving bouncers and dangerous “accidents” I get an sms.  It says:

“Sorry babe, please, please can we take a rain check some time soon?  I can’t believe the timing but I really needed to pooh.”

Win free stuff for le bedroom/bathroom/office – whichever you prefer, really.

Dear young (whisper: and sexy) Chris from iMod has been receiving a bit of flack on muti for his blog recently. Something about it not being geeky enough to earn Tech Blog 2008 award.  I say pooh to that! I am a lurker usually, I enjoy his writing and he’s informative and random, my two favourite things in a blogger. 

Whilst stalking reading Chris yesterday, I then noticed that he’s opened up a compo to bloggers of a rather, personal nature and I thought “well, why the hell not – let me be the first chickie brave enough to enter”. Because hey, if I was a guy I would totally be okay with everyone knowing I was sometimes a wanker, so why be coy just for the reason of being female? 

And so, here I am, telling you fabulous readers, to follow suit and enter yourselves, if not for the desperate need to have some quality time with your privates in self loving, then to support the worthy cause of mutual happiness by the bodies at http://www.hustlerextreme.co.za/.  Come now, I know you want to. 

I know that technically I am supposed to only list one of their products, but a service caught my beady little eye and I feel that since I am the last South African twenty something female not about to run off and get married and also the fact that I make one hell of a good bridesmaid, knowing about what they can offer is a brilliant feat of success on my part since I oft end up throwing the bachelorette parties for all my ball and chain buddies. 

Also, lets face it, my vibrator broke months ago, I’m kinda in need – you know what I’m saying?

Go me!

Wanna know whats in my handbag?

As promised to my annoying friend whom I love dearly, have a look at what I keep in my bag on a day to day basis. The only thing that is missing is my yellow toothbrush, which I realised, only after the photos were taken,was left in the back zip:

The top of my leather bag. I’m not a handbag person, actually – so I have one large, leather one that goes with everything, and more importantly – holds everything.

My polka dotted make up bag, complete with lipstick, mascara (the one with the eyelash comb), eyeliner and lipgloss. I never wear base or foundation, so thats all I really need.

In order by number:

1. White leather wallet, containing approx. 28c in it. I’m rich!
2. Polka dotted make up bag
3. Panado headache tablets (bottle of 54)
4. Badboys2 DVD (wtf?)
5. Visa Application papers (buckled and broken – woops)
6. Fake tatoo (I have no idea, don’t ask)
7. Erm. Tampax case.
8. Passport in envelope (realised I hadn’t checked my name was accidentally changed to Sheena Mzimayo since our home affairs department is just so adept)
9. Two cellphones, one broken, one working
10. Cat-inc business card (from my lovely blogging auntie, Candy)
11. Make up mirror
12. Two lighters (one kept hidden out of sight as spare, just in case)
13. You can’t see it clearly, but its a Speedy Gonzalez mimick, from my brother to remind me to slow my driving the hell down
14. Woolies hand cream (lemongrass and wheat flavour)
15. Tweezers, for emergency hair pluckage, ya understand.

The above all laid out on my chinese duvet, in my room, in Port Shepstone, in KZN, in South Africa, Africa, The World, The Universe, The Galaxy.

I tag:

• Bridget – you know you aint getting away from this, I don’t care if you told me I wasn’t allowed to tag you since it was your idea
• Sweets – because you ALWAYS bloody tag me, cow. Suffer!
• Peas – because you could do with some aimless and no-point distraction
• My real life buddy Tiff - since she’s the unoriginal Martha Stewart and should have the most useful content
• C@th – I’m just plain curious
• Candy – your business card is in this post, how could you get away scott free? And,
• Nats – show us what you got all the way over in Buckingham Palace Town, baby!

Aaaaaand, I’m spent.

**Before you click away, scroll down to the previous post.  I shared a bit of my heart**

tippex toes

I’ve come a cropper. I met a man. He’s cool and all, but has a fing for toes. Oh, also – he’s a Clutchplate. Fantasties!

Anyway, before y’all go and get ahead of yourselves, I’ve myself someone to hang out with during the day, okay? He just happens to be of the penis variety. it’s nothing more than that.

I also have white nail polish on my toes today, if anyone was interested.

That is all.

Vaccum cleaner level of suckiness to the penoos factor

Men suck. Every creature that can be referred to as a ‘he’ sucks worse than an electrolux. I hate them. Counting on my fingers and toes, I could possibly say there are roughly about four men I tolerate in my life. And that includes my dad and brothers (some of them).

Funny thing is, as cynical as I am feeling right now, I’m not the one who’s been burnt this time. It is on behalf of my two close friends.

I hope their willy’s fall off and get chewed, not swallowed, just chewed and chewed and chewed by a homeless man on steroids who sniffs glue so he pretends he tastes toffee while he’s chewing their willys.

Assholefuckheadsgobshites.