Especially Google Reader.

So apparently, Johnny Depp is the sexiest man alive.

Again.

Amen to that. The boy is hot! I have adored him right from the days of 21 Jumpstreet. Apparently, he has crossover appeal and is loved by women of all ages.

Again, amen to that.

Previous double winners include Richard Gere [yum!] and George Clooney [he made it hot to be short] .

Also, Brad Pitt. Hmph. Sorry Ms Jolie, but I just don’t get his appeal. He so does not do it for me. Colin Farrel on the other hand, yum!

I have some love for the brothers as well … Denzel and Will Smith are never off my list. And Mohinder The Pretty [from Heroes], not forgetting the gorgeous Arab guy on Lost, I forget his name. And Dean from season 1 of Gilmore girls, before his hair went bad. I think his name is Paldecki.

I’m pretty sure there are some boys out there who can give these ones a run for their money *cough*cough*K3* but since they are not on TV, we will never really know.

♫♫♫♫

Beauty, apparently, is in the eye of the beholder. I have heard it said that’s just a prize for the unpretty, and I have to agree. Coz think about it. We are all forever harping about different strokes for different folks and gunk like that, yet we can’t deny that Halle Berry is hot and Megan Fox is a goddess.

Now I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed. I always thought I had unique taste. But that my yummiest stars are universally accepted as yummy stars, well, that makes me just like everyone else! The horror!

Oh well. At least I still have [my disliking for] Brad Pitt.

♫♫♫♫

Harlequin have a division for self-publishing and Mills and Boons are finally marketting African beauty. Seriously.

Also, zombie romance, the Nook, and fear of body parts falling off during coitus. Not forgetting Evil Editor. Oh, and a really cool writer whose book I haven’t read. I will buy it though.

This is how I use 2GB of bandwidth in a month. **cheeky grin**

♫♫♫♫

Why is it, I wonder, that indigenous Africans didn’t consider nipples erotic? I mean  I know they were thought to have little use beyond feeding babies, but seriously, it’s like the most sensitive part of a woman’s [and, I hear, even a man’s] body. More reactive even than lollipops and joysticks. How did our forefathers not know this?

Perhaps because said tips were exposed and alert all the time, it was hard to notice the potential for horizontal triggering. Which is just a shame if you ask me. They probably didn’t realise that sometimes, these organic baby bottles were not at full attention. I mean seriously, did no eight-packed, animal-oiled bare-chested beauty notice that when he walked past, all the nearby ladies’ elements pulled a double salute? Really?

But then again, many indigenous African societies liked to mutilate joysticks to prevent, you know, so perhaps they simply chose to ignore said pleasure spots. And since women were mainly for making babies, then stimulating certain zones would only produce baby food, which is hardly the most evocative of images. Interesting thought that.

♫ Incubus ♫ Wish you were here ♫

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What. It’s after lunch.

Two people I know [of] were on TV yesterday. They looked all smart and hotshot talking about social media and the usefulness [or not] of twitter and facebook. Me, I’m just in it for the rant.  But it did get me thinking.

In my other life, the one where I use the saner half of my name, I am sometimes approached with ‘Oh so you’re the xyz that did abc’. I always find it vaguely amusing. So I did xyz. Big deal. I’m still just me, with all my foibles and nonsense and idio-whatsits [I never liked that word].

I remember in school once I got in trouble with this boy I liked. He was the head prefect, and awfully hot for a short boy. His sister was in my class, and she got it into her head that I had ATT. Ok fine, I did, but still.

What happened is we were in the field, under the acacia tree, and it was windy and really dusty. I was in the shade for some reason, and she was standing in the sun. She came walking towards me, and I squinted to keep out the dust and maybe see her clearly, which she misinterpreted and said

“Why are you looking at me as ift [sic] I am *contents of sewer* ?”

I was all of nine, or maybe ten years old, and was rather too shocked to answer.

“You think you are so clever, you know I have an auntie in Tanzania? She can roga you with this,” at which point she pinched my arm and allegedly grabbed a few hairs … or maybe dandruff. I didn’t think much of the threat, since I have a few dubious relatives of my own, and I was sure mine could take hers any day.

I left it at that until the next day when we were in the school bus heading to the swimming pool. I was looking at …almost said his name **cheeky grin**… zoobing at his beauty and not hearing a word he was saying. Turns out he was yelling at me to sit down, and was not amused that I had refused to  obey.

“You think you’re so clever, and just because you did xyz you can do whatever you want?”

I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, I was too busy crying that the boy of my  infatuations could speak to me like that. I don’t remember whether I sat down or not, but I must have, coz he was scary at the best of times.

So clearly, my having done xyz has never been a big deal, and I still wonder why some people think it is.

Yesterday, watching Kahenya and Mark on the silly unloadable video, I couldn’t help thinking they’re regular guys, just like anyone else on twitter or wherever, just like Paula or Alai or Tonee-before-BBC.

And I see myself as a pretty regular person. But because of BBC/Kiss FM/et al, they become instant experts, go-to guys, people held in awe. Yet awe aside, they are just everyday jamaas with squabbles and foibles [I like this word] and tweef, just like the rest of us.

Sometimes, when I meet these people who pull the xyz stuff on me, I wonder what they would think if they saw my FB page, or twitter feed, or heavens forbid, the mess that is my living space. Would I come off their pedestal? Would I be suddenly human in their eyes? Would I be worth less … or somehow worthless?

Some people in the blog twircle are professional. They are serious at all times, never a stray tweet or idle chatter. Their image is cold, clinical … compact. I wonder if it’s hard keeping that up, or if my anything-goes-ness-ness is some kind of mutation. Coz me, I think I’d be a little stunted if I had to watch every word I said. I’m not even sure I know how. Still, different strokes and all that, their system serves them well, so I just need to work with mine.

Wait. I have a system? Interesting.

I do feed my mind the strangest things sometimes.

And I’m sleepy.

♫ Walking with a ghost ♫ Tegan and Sara ♫

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A week ago I asked a question and last night a got my answer. It was a long and painful answer, but then, it was a long and painful question.

The answer is yes.

The questions wasn’t ‘what colour did the original kencell-celtel-zain-whatever-it’s-called-now use’, though I’d like an answer to that as well.

Yes, it is possible for two people to say or do the exact same thing and have completely different meanings. Observe.

Case study 1

Wife asks husband “Honey, do I look fat?”

In 90% of situations, the correct answer is “No dear, of course not.” accompanied by a swift ducking behind furniture or a sprint for the hills. Why? Because she will go out in that dress, meet her sister/mother/bitchy neighbour, who will inevitably comment on her weight. Then you are a dead man.

But in the 10 percentile are the indigenous societies where a rotund woman is a sign of affluence, in which case her husband had sure as hell better say “of course you do hun, I feed you well,” regardless of said wife looking like a matchstick.

Case study 2

This here being CB, I prefer to be told the truth, no matter how much it hurts. So if I ask you if I look fat, please say yes or no, whichever is more accurate.

However, there is an exception to every rule…

Case study 3

Me, CB, I have weight issues. I was terribly chubby as a teen, and my siblings and relatives tormented me ceaselessly. It did not bother me. Well actually, it did, but I brushed it off. Teasing from silly blood relatives was something I could live with. **They can’t me**

Later, when I was slimmer, the same relas now teased me for being thin, and I asked, ‘When I was fat you dissed me, now I’m thin you’re still dissing. Kwani?’ My cousin admitted that he had no idea his teasing was upsetting me, because I’d never react. I explained: reverse psychology. If I had reacted to the fat-chat, he would have increased the level of torment. As is, he thought I didn’t care so the game became boring and he stopped.

Once I had shed the weight to a point where “My … twins … were suspended on a skeleton”, those words were said by my girl. I acknowledged that the phrase was in bad taste, but brushed it off. Bygones.

Lately I am putting on weight again. My aunties are super excited, I look okay, but it’s totally bugging me.

Former-workmate  said “You’re so fat! You look fabulous!”

Twiggy said “You’ve put on, what, five kilos? Your’e an African woman, stop dieting.”

Princess said “Mummy, I like hugging you coz your stomach is warm. I want to be fat and hot like you.” [I’m pretty sure she meant temperature *cheeky grin*]

None of the above particularly bothered – or flattered me.

However, when someone said “You’d better find some way to exercise, coz with all those lunch dates you have, you’re going to get a little chunky.”

Ouch?

Now explain to me how I decided that the other statements were idle chatter while that last statement implied jealousy? And more to the point, why I walked around nibbling at my food for days after that?

Case study 4

I don’t enjoy losing my temper coz it leaves me with a vacuum – this giant chasm that I can only fill with blackforest cake. Also, because when I’m angry, I throw things. Expensive things mostly, and they tend to break. That’s why I like Nokias, they have survived endless throwing.

When I speak to the First Ex, I get so furious that I yell and scream and rant and generally castrate him with my tongue. Nothing gutterly about that. Nothing at all. I loved the boy so much that the hatred I have for him now is enough to ignite a petrol bomb – with my eyes. It is gradually fading to indifference though, which is good, because bile is bad for the skin.

Yesterday I had a heated argument with someone. The level of anger surprised me, because I have only ever been that angry with the First Ex. Yet this anger was prompted not by scorning, but by caring. The boy I fought last night is so dear to me that I called him all manner of names yet constantly wondered why I was doing it. I got more and more angry, and I wondered, since he was pissing me off so much, why the fuck was I still talking to him? Why didn’t I just hang up?

Clearly, rage can be fueled as much by love as by hate. That’s why lawyers can argue out a crime of passion.

And I suppose that’s also why the First Ex often said that he wished I didn’t love him so much. He said love makes people crazy, and that he was afraid one day I would walk in, find him on top of some woman, and kill him on the spot. Hm. Glad I got over that boy.

Case study 5

I have always said that if a boy likes you, he will not mention sex on the first date. Or the second, or even the third. It’s my reasoning that if you have long-term potential, he will want to bide his time and get to know you vertically before he takes it horizontal.

And no, I don’t mean standings.

I don’t know where I got this idea. Probably from Oyunga Pala *shudder* or from that Monica song. Or maybe from the rule that most boys get bored after they hit it, especially if ‘it’ is wild and green and under sixteen.

Horizontal synchronicity, however, is important in relationships. So lots of people will not take you seriously until you have proved your ability in the art of sideways.

So, while one person may simply be winning a bet or filling out his scoresheet, another may have be genuinely besotted and now wants to see if you are worth further … perusal.

Case study 6

In high school, boys would always ask for girls’ pictures and vice versa. In our case, it was so we could put them on the noticeboard or under our pillows to ensure that we dreamt of no other.

In their case, it was probably to show off … or perhaps, by the time they got to college, to ensure cleanliness, with the aid of a bar of soap.

In any online interaction, you will eventually ask for pictures – unless of course you’re on facebook. When I ask for a person’s picture, it is simply so that I can visualize the person I am talking to. It makes the conversation more comfortable, more real. And yesterday, I realised that some boys can be equally sweet, so you, yes you, you have officially cleansed my dirty mind, at least for the moment. Much obliged **grin**

Conclusion

I have been disturbed for most of the morning equating the First Ex to the boy from last night. I thought that either I hate the boy from last night, or I still have feelings for the First Ex.

Both ideas are ridiculous.

So I cede. It is, after all, possible for two people to use the exact same words at the exact same place, in the exact same situation, yet have completely different meanings and results.

I detest First Ex. But I miss my friend.

♫ Fallen ♫ Sarah Mchlachlan ♫

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