Friday, February 27

bag ladies and space bubbles

i like women. being one myself and having lots of women friends, i think we are just a lovely kind of people.


there is one thing i do not understand about some of the ladies. and this is The Bag. and not just The Bag anywhere. The Bag on the DANCE FLOOR.

ola my peeps! wanna come check out the party in my bag?

now, i just don't understand it? what are you carrying in there? tomorrow's outfit? toiletries? snacks for the after the afterparty picnic? AND WHY IS IT ON THE DANCE FLOOR? it's like a whole other person, except this person is dead and strapped to your back and shoving everyone in the face. even actual dead people have better manners.

second, my little dance floor fille assez élégante, it is a DANCE floor. making little circles with your friends around a sad little heap of your STUFF and dancing around it like a small coven of SATC witches, is at best annoying and at worst enough to make me want to throw my martini on it and set it alight. it takes up space that could be used for DANCING.

and last but not least. at the risk of repeating myself. it is a DANCE FLOOR. not for nought is it called this. the STANDING, TALKING, SITTING, DRINKING space is called the BAR area.

over and out my plums.

Monday, February 23

Finally found the one

my plums.

I think i have found my life partner.

And it's a she I think. (It just feels that way in her curves...)

I found her at dr eve's stand at the woman's fair thing at CTICC on friday.

allow me to introduce you to Delight. she is beautiful. i am in love.

it seems money can buy love (all 1600 south african rands of it) ... or at least unfailing orgasms. what i really enjoy about it is that it isn't shaped like a penis (not that we have anything against the penis, but not everything that gives pleasure must be phallic) but is actually shaped to derive maximum pleasure from all the vag happy spots.

what joy is mine...

Wednesday, February 18


this is mostly what i want to post after every dumbass comment on one of my columns.

Tuesday, February 17

The Trampoline Boy

General reaction? What a lovely, sweet column. Fuck. Zero hits on that then.

Here it is then...

Don't know the difference between a rebound guy and a trampoline boy? Let sex columnist, Dorothy Black, enlighten you...

Every self-respecting broken heart knows that on the road to becoming whole again are the people and things that help glue it all back together – friends, sad movies, chocolate, wine, family and the trampoline boy.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, a trampoline boy is that guy that helps you bounce back after a particularly nasty break-up.

Think of it as a rebound relationship without the delusion of commitment, regular mind-blowing sex without strings and partnering without possession.

Friday, February 13

i heart friday 13th

Well, this is a shitty friday. a shitty friday the 13th. they're shifting editorial into a dark, shitty little corner with a view of concrete.

It is depressing. how will my delicate creativity stand the stifling and blocked feng shui of corporate upscaling in favour of SPORTS?!

So now, as i say goodbye to my view and sunlight and happy disposition – and as i've lost my mojo to attract anything other than ants and bad story lines – i've decided that bad office politics on friday the 13th and a dismal lack of love and shagging on valentines can be rolled into one neat little package of shittiness.

c'm here, you bad boy, you

on the up side. a chat with sparky last night resolved my next column. he said something else that i quite enjoyed: 'you might call it lying. I like to think of it as story telling.'

Monday, February 9

With a song in my heart...

I've been waking up the past few mornings with a love song in my head.

The first morning: The Carpenters - On top of the world

The second morning: Michael Jackson - I just can't stop loving you

The third morning: Elton John - The one

This morning - the fourth - was a re-run of Michael Jackson's Can't stop loving you.

This might be because I'm mentally trying to prepare myself for the next column. It was meant to be about trampoline boys and cockblockers but since a friend of mine is getting married on Saturday - Valentine's Day - i'm guessing that i'm going to have to come up with something more relevant to love and hooking up all that (deadline's Monday).

Which could be a problem as I am all outta love (oh fuck...that's a song also isn't it? just got the chorus in head as i wrote that) and i am tired tired tired of playing the thirty-something single BAH and i don't even play THAT very well


Thursday, February 5


i don't understand people that have a fucking blog and then make it invite only. what. the. fuck. if they didn't want the whole world to pay attention why didn't they just stick to fucking emailing their friends. i hate a contradiction in terms.

what a lame post. it's that moment of the day that pauses right before it becomes the 'after work'.

Tuesday, February 3

W24 - The waiting game

Is withholding sex from someone to keep them interested worthwhile? Dorothy Black is doubtful.

A long, long time ago, in a far away place, sex and dating was simple. There was an order to things. Boy would meet girl and they’d like each other. Boy would ask girl out.

If all went well they were automatically deemed exclusive. On the second date they would hold hands, on the third they'd kiss, and only by the tenth date they would sleep together. By the twentieth they'd be engaged.

The end.


you just wait until i have that rock on my finger big boy

So here's the new one. I wasn't feeling it as much I expected to when I decided to write about it. Probably because I was drunk. When I wrote it that is. Actually... when I thought about it also... it's been a rough week.