Saturday, July 31

heart friends

there's this saying that friends come into your life for a season, a reason or a lifetime. i reckon you only know which is which after a few years of knowing -- or unknowing -- someone.

between these people that will pepper your days and make up your existence and memories are your heart friends.

they're the ones who accept you without judgement but know when to tell you you're being reckless with your heart, your life, your body or your mind.

they're the ones that know how to let you cry, create, shout, keen, love, lose, rage, want, weep, laugh, run, go mad and desire without calling into question your reasons.

they're the ones who will tell you when it's time to see a shrink, make peace with your family, love your body, follow your dreams and accept that you're more than ok.

and then.

there within your little group of heart plums will be those who make you feel like you can fly. that there is nothing in the world you cannot do.

consider this a little ode to my heart friends. you know who you are. i love you.

and then my little ra-ra song for the evening given to me by @jeanbarker (check out her site, signlanguage).

it's just the MOST awesome song in my world. maybe a little twee, but i'm a flake that way sometimes...

'can we be down with ourselves'... fuck it's so tao of poo, i LOVE...

Thursday, July 29

my sexuality, your label

Boys who like girls who like girls who like boys who like... Dorothy Black thinks it's time we dropped some labels

I remember once, someone saying to me: ‘Your boyfriend sounds gay.’

And my response was, ‘Well, yes. Yes I think he might be a little bit.’

But then, I think when it comes to sexuality, ‘straights’ are all a little bit ‘gay’ and ‘gays’ all a little bit ‘straight’. We’re just on one big sliding scale of ‘bi’.

So a gay man might find himself attracted to breasts; a straight woman may fantasise about other women; a straight man might enjoy watching penises and cum shots in porn; and a gay woman might enjoy kissing a man for the tactile pleasure of it.

Let me clarify before I continue


Monday, July 26

postsecret pic of the week

oh how i long to live in a hogwartsian world. but only if i'm harry. maybe even hermione. it's no good being one of the other nothing characters that fill space. not even the cutable bumbling ginger.

dear god
in my next life i want to be a girl version of harry (and by that i mean a girl version of harry. i don't want to be hermione.)
thank you

listen up kids. here's what not to do on a monday morning. stumble home at 7 am to be at work at 9. some useful advice maybe. use it; don't use it...

Friday, July 23

FOB necessitates lame joke post : 1

An Alsatian went to a telegram office, took out a blank form and wrote, “Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof.”

The clerk examined the paper and politely told the dog: “There are only nine words here. You could send another ‘Woof’ for the same price.”

“But,” the dog replied, “that would make no sense at all.”

Thursday, July 22

dear blog

i have the blog scareds again. i don't how it happens. it's like everytime your stats take another jump up, i get nervous and, like, a form of stage fright.
so then i ignore you.
i'll be back tomorrow. or maybe saturday. maybe. but if not then then definitely sunday.
don't hate me. i love you.

Monday, July 19

sassy gay friend

what are you doing?! what, what, what are you doing?

k. so i'm often a slow on the uptake. but, um, for those of you who didn't know about SGF either, here are two very awesome clips from the youtube shorts.

so funny.

SGF and Eve

SGF and Juliet

we all need a SGF. mine have all left and now live in various parts of the world.

speaking of which, i'm very, most excited to tell you that b and jesse (that link to jesse's blog may or may not be up when you click through. boy changes blogs like... well, like a very changy thing) will be guest posting once a month on pop culture/sex/life/whatever interests them from the east and west respectively.


(i'm assuming these freaking videos are taking up about the width of you dire need of...)

postsecret pics of the week

this week's postsecrets are pretty hectic. these were the ones that struck a cord...

one recurring nightmare i used to have was of being a murderer. i would hide the bodies and the bulk of my dream would entail an incredible sense of guilt and mortal fear of being found out.

i don't have those dreams any more luckily. do you think this postsecret is for real?

i think this might be a much more common reaction that many would like to acknowledge.

this was just sad.

Thursday, July 15

to bring you my love

and by 'you' i mean 'me'.

my PJ-fest continues. but we've moved on from the angry to the post-epiphantic moment not exactly, but very nearly, expressed by 'to bring you my love', arguably one of harvey's best albums.

so many, many good tracks. difficult to choose. this is one of my most favourite PJ singalong songs, but this is what's playing as i type:

hm. unfortunate lyrics. i mean, i'm totally over the whole mr hardman thing and didn't think of him at all during that song.

uh hum.

so, here's the deal. after much ranting and railing at ye gods (whywhywhydoesthisalwaysfuckingfuckinghappen) my epiphantic moment came to me while taking a lovely, hot bath at about 11 on tuesday morning.

i mentioned the other day 'bushka's they fuck you up book and that it was keeping me company.

they fuck you up. so simple, yet so...simple

well now, i've read lots of psychologicalising books. i could never afford full-time therapy and i didn't like the idea that i'd have to forsake my libido and wine if i was going to do happy pills.

so books, writing writing writing, friends (even some bitch frenemies who say mean things that make sense in a way. kinda), a string of very educational relationships, painting, a thinky kind of nature and this last relationship with mr hardman ... finally brought me to the epiphantic moment...

do you like my handling of the text? it's art. but you can get it.

i realised -- through my gnashing of teeth and general romancing of the moan -- that, *sigh*, i've been making this stupid cycle happen over and over. not Mr Man, not god, not the tooth fairy.


seems so obvious neh?

yeah, well. took me a while. been liaising with @thehuman of themusicsarecoming (check the site out. pretty groovy.) about whether i should post this or not, he says 'ye' to my 'almost nay' so i've taken the middle ground and will post some lines from my epiphanising moirs. mostly cos somaya'llz seem to like it when i get personal, finding it good for a laugh helpful.

or so you say. cheeky rabbits.

cheeky rabbit.

It is said that we all play out our childhood relationships with our parents in our adult relationships in an endless loop until there is a conclusion. Hopefully a happy ending – or another ending at least.

But generally, because we never really face the pattern we’re projecting onto the situation as OUR pattern, we end up following the same dramas and blaming the other for it. We end up becoming our parents but staying children, responding in fits and starts to the other’s emotional pathologies.

i wrote a lot, but here's the gist of it neatly colour-coded and numbered (fuck i swear i do this at the mo just fill time... hate missing people...)

the relationship neurosis of dot black in four parts
(because what else is there to do on a friday night)

childhood drama:
no constancy of relationships; people always left for whatever reason: death, divorce, separation...
don't get too comfortable in relationships because they will end abruptly and out of your control; don't trust that if someone says they love you they actually want to stick around
dult' compensation: be sure to counter weird emotional neediness, otherwise known as 'love', by maintaining emotional distance and being sure to pre-empt the end of the relationship so its on my terms and in my control.

childhood drama: dad wasn't able to make everything perfect and couldn't affect positive change in his life, always seeming to fall victim to the women he married. didn't stop me feeling like shit
lesson: all men are weak
'adult' compensation: maintain 'i am stronger than you' and adopt men who believe this and have their own victim hooks to justify my belief

childhood drama: i grew up as the 'many mothers, motherless child'. the parental figures in my life were particularly dumpy and gave me a pretty warped relationship map.
lesson: being vulnerable and emotionally open elicits scorn, rejection and judgement
'adult' compensation: in the black and white world of a developing human, i made the decision somewhere that being on the receiving end of that sucks, so i'd rather be the one dishing it out.

childhood drama: since everything was so emotionally fraught i learnt to talk my way out of everything and rationalise anything and everything i need to.
'adult' compensation: I’ve made such an art of it that those who I get involved with are generally not able to argue my point. Or are not clear enough on their own opinions because they’ve never had to face issues I present. or they are too easily swayed by me.

either way.

whatever their hooks and personal issues, they are human and, of course, do start feeling crap eventually and on the defensive...

and then? well, they leave naturally. so, at the end, my personal tome of 'she who is left' is once again justified and my demons all too satisfied that i am right right right... when, in fact, well... not so much.

don't let the dark side win. it dresses funny.

whatever the case may be. after years of trying to find that last puzzle piece that would break the pattern, i found it. on tuesday. in the bath. it was me. being a scared kid acting like the bad adult role models i had.*

now... now i feel like... i dunno, like i'm going to be able to love someone, and me, properly. and fully.

i think at least. everything's good in theory and epiphanies all very well in the bathroom. actually living them in relationships is whole other ball game.


so that was quite a lot. if you stuck out all the way. wow. :)

sleep well, dream well plums

(*i had really good role models also. if i hadn't i'd probably be a sociopath by now... but that's story for another day.)

Wednesday, July 14

Three's a crowd?


Dorothy Black thinks that some things are better left planned

There are many wonderful things that can be done spontaneously. Going on a spur-of-the-moment picnic is one. I like that. Coming home to a surprise candle-lit dinner is another. That is also nice.

These are good, wholesome spontaneous activities.

But there are other, trickier spontaneous ventures that are best given some thought. I have quite a list, which includes stupid shit like spontaneous drunken, car-surfing in Hermanus in winter. At night. For example. Or a spontaneous hike to Bainskloof waterfall in winter. At night. Without a torch.

While these might be not so awesome by virtue of risk to life, at the top of my list entitled ‘Tricky Spontaneous Things (Not) To Do’ is that spontaneous threesome that seems like a super idea after five bottles of wine and enough tequila to flood a small village. Read more...
So got a letter in from a dude last week. Him and his wife have discussed and are flirting with the idea of finding a chicken to join them for their first threesome.

Answering it on the dotspot tomorrow at 10:15 (tune into live audio streaming at 5FM ya'll) ... but as there are some things one cannot say on a national family radio station, here's what i've told dude on email:

you can try,, dateomate (though i have yet to trawl this one, so don't my word for it, a plum posted this site) or even for possible partners (there are others but they basically share the same databases).

be very, very specific when you draw up a list of what you want and what you require. You'll prolly get some people trying their luck (whether it's about sex or a nigerian scam) emailing you (do not list your cell number) so set up fake gmail account and work from that. On sexfind you'll be able to chat with the people (they have a chat function)...

Sunday, July 11

rid of me

as predicted, with every up there is a down.

groovy evening at boo's last night, laughing, mingling, chat chat chatting, super breezy, yummy's everywhere...

and then today two pivotal convos come back to mind...

me: i just hate the fact that i meet guys on the cusp of their growing up, and then they feel they have to go away from me -- and whatever fucked up idea they have in in their head about what they think i want -- to get their shit together, with all that 'fuck you're so cool, i love you, but...' if they love me so fucking much what the FUCK?
miss america: aw honey. um...
me: what?
miss america: well...
me: what??!
miss america: it's the classic 'its not you it's me' line. it's just easier to say shit like that...
me: FUCK. why is there no fucking fuckity fuck fuck worse word than fuck. i fall for that crap EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME.
old lady at table next to us: excuse me but do you mind...

c: so let me get this straight, between two things that could've been fucking with his perception on shit, he chose to drop you
me: -----
c: so. that's not cool.
me: yeah. me = idiot.
c: -----
me: fuck.
dude: so vocab a little on the thin side huh?
me: fuck off.

so this morning. anger anger anger. i get all PJ on the situation. out with beyonce's halo, in with harvey's rid of me (i got 4 track) (wanted to choose one track, but the whole thing is here's one of my faves) how- how- howling rage... i actually quite enjoyed juliet lewis's version of rid of me/can't hardly wait in strange days...

anyhoo. see. listening to those tracks made me feel better already. fuck yeah.

Saturday, July 10

click click

just woke up to the sound of rain. i have never been happier to have shitty weather.

yeah. ok, in retrospect this looks a little crazy, but it made me smile.

when you're feeling crap and sad and just generally grunty there's nothing worse than a happy sunshiny day. it's intimidating really. especially in cape town where, when summer does blossom unexpectedly for a few days in the middle of winter, there's all the expectation to be happy and summery and sundownery and light and joyful and exposed, when all you want to do is hide in a little dark hole and die for a bit.

it just makes me want to vom.

i thought i'd continue the winter theme. you like?

i mean, i'm a sunshine gal; i consider 24˚C (75.2˚F) to be cold and the dark depresses me. but. my god, there is nothing more awesome than the near shakespearean pathos of shit weather to shit mood.

so. anyway. i've decided to write 1000 words a day towards something resembling to a book. and blog as much and as often as possible, because it's a funner version than the morning papers. besides, mr hardman gave me his laptop to use after my desktop crashed and is letting me keep it til i eventually get sorted (oh the joy of living a credit-cardless life). he's kind that way. but it also means i can blog from bed. fun.


about that click click. i'm in danger of buying into my 24-hour grace period of FUCK-YEAH, but after spending the whole of yesterday a solitary slobbering mess (the chefs insisted i go meltdown at theirs but i'm so tired of being a social buttercry and sometimes that shit just needs to keen out in confinement), where i sobbed out a small river and i couldn't even wank i was so depro, i have decided that today will be sads-free.

i dunno either, but it seemed appropriate

well. as much as possible. i still woke up to duran duran's out of my mind swirling around my head. so that doesn't help. BUT breakfast in a bit with miss america, a night out with the chefs and co and a good read - they fuck you up - courtesy of labushka, should see me through today.

and then tomorrow. um. yeah i'll deal with that then.

oao plums

Friday, July 9

a funny

A real man is a woman's best friend.

He will never stand her up and never let her down.

He will reassure her when she feels insecure and comfort her after a bad day.

He will inspire her to do things she never thought she could do; to live without fear and forget regret.

He will enable her to express her deepest emotions and give in to her most intimate desires.

He will make sure she always feels as though she's the most beautiful woman in the room and will enable her to be confident, sexy, seductive and invincible.

No wait... sorry... I'm thinking of wine.

Never mind.

(thanks @crustyq)

and then this

le love

thanks hestia


sometimes i just think this would be fucking easier.

Tuesday, July 6

toot toot

every time i 'toot toot' it reminds me of a character in twin peaks that used to do that...

can't remember if it was cooper or jerry horne. prolly cooper. anyway. i digress. i am finally out of the woods with regards to a crazyass time and now sit in the post-death, post-deadline 1, post-breakup, post-deadline 2 freakout funk where my mind resembles the red room.

laura palmer's father killed her (well, him possessed by BOB), just in case you forgot.

anyway. mind. red room. fuzz.

here's lady gaga.

there she was justa walkin down the street

well, no actually she was working at lazari. we walked past, i shouted LADY GAGA?! and her mates said, honey, put that diva on a stage and she'll be anything you want.


she was a lot prettier than this dude:

suppose it's better than the bush of dreams.

and then, look, labushka's feet in dorothy-type shoes!


so been watching the soccer, watching seriously unfunny movies (dunno what's up with that: seven pounds, funny people [some funny bits but on the whole pretty depressing. much like chris mac], the assassination of jesse james...), smoking (fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck), drinking (bleugh), trawling datingbuzz (RESEARCH YA'LL), watching oprah and sleeping.

all very non-groovy post-anything-bad activities.

so i've decided to stop it.

tot hier toe en nie verder nie
(til this far and no further. or something.)

as my mom would say. she also says, ons het nou tee nodig vir hierdie katastrophe (dunno how to spell that...). i kinda just substitute 'tee' with 'wine'. same difs.

so. anyway. meeting up with mr hardman tonight for a little debrief (listen up kids, never break up over the phone. it's just stupid.). not looking so much forward to that. hence the being awake at sparrows fart again this morning.

toot toot.

oao plums.