Dear Future Boyfriend, Part Two

You know more guidelines and advice for that lucky (?) guy.

*I heart Bradley Cooper. So if you are not him, you’ll have to deal with me talking about him. You see, I’ve been undertaking some charity work in order to provide me with good karma for the rest of my life. Well sort of. I really want to do charity work but I’m like crazy busy and there never seems enough time. But I intend to do something because by some twist of fate (karma that’s you) I’d really like it for you FB to either be Bradley Cooper or at least resemble him. See I have had this thing about him for ages. Ever since he first appeared in Sex & The City, then Kitchen Confidential then even as the douche in Wedding Crashers. For some reason I cannot look away and the obsession’s starting to get bad. I’ve started to think of the many ways we’d meet and fall in love and how I’d handle the press intrusion into our lives and what to do if our sex tape ever got leaked (which wouldn’t be the dirty kind by the way, more a video of me eating cheese and filming Bradley while he sleeps). So shit is bound to get weird and I’d just like to prepare you for it.

*In that great tradition of double-standards, my shit can be weird but I’d prefer if there are things you didn’t do. If you tend to eat chocolate cereal and just love when the milk turns all brown and tastes delish, please use your spoon to drink it and not go directly for the bowl. If you say shit like “catch you on the flip side” or pronounce croissant with a French accent even though you’re not French, it’s over. If you listen to Nickelback, haven’t watched 30 Rock or wear a peak cap backwards, it’s okay. Not everyone is perfect. But if you do all three, see ya!

*You have to like my gays. Unfortunately and fortunately I seem to attract the homosexuals. I think it’s my extreme penchant for ABBA, musicals and cocktails with dirty names. Instead of a moth I’m a disco ball and instead of a flame, they’re flaming queens. I don’t usually complain about my gays but it is discerning to note that most of my BBM contacts have Lady Gaga as their profile pictures. But they’re an important part of my life and I’ll need you to accept them. You don’t need to love them because then I’ll worry that I’ve turned another one but you do need to like them. Or at least pretend you do.

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

How Do You Measure A Year

This past weekend we watched the movie version of the musical Rent. I don't like to mention names - Blue Eyes - but not everyone enjoyed it. I on the other loved it. While it's not happy like Hairspray or Mamma Mia! or romantic like The Phantom of the Opera, it's still a great musical. I suppose the subject material of AIDS, violence and drugs does not help matters.

While it is about those things, it also poses a very important question: How do You Measure a Year?

I'm paraphrasing from the song here but basically are you the type of person that measures your life in:

- minutes (525 600 to be exact)
- daylights
- sunsets
- midnights
- cups of coffee
- inches
- miles
- laughter
- strife
- truths learned
- times cried
- bridges burned

In the end, they offer up love as a measurement of a year. The song is called Seasons of Love after all.

While I'd love to measure a year in love, I'm afraid it won't be a very long calculation. I have to wait for Bradley Cooper to wake up and realise that he loves me first :)

But from now on, I think the measurement of a year shouldn't be how many hours you spent a job you didn't like, or how many times you looked at your phone wishing he'd call or even all those moments spent cursing in traffic.

From now on, I'm measuring a year in how many good coffee dates I've had with Blue Eyes, the nights I danced with my gays to Glee, the laughs I've had with my brothers and sisters, and the times when I realised how lucky I am.

How do you measure a year?

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Ps. If you wanna hear the song, click here.

Image from here.

Things I've Realised...

I just need to hear the theme song from Flashdance and all I want to do is dance.

I really like being single but, I wouldn’t mind someone telling me I’m pretty every now and again and holding my hand at the movies.

Jennifer Aniston chooses the wrong movies.

Sometimes all you need is a little faith.

Drinking in the afternoon is awesome.

I’m going to start taking more risks.

Even though I struggle to get up in the morning, I am really starting to like gym.

I miss my number one gay best friend. Come to Cape Town please!

Whenever I’m feeling sad, fat, fugly and as if I have no direction, the opening scene of The Devil Wears Prada perks me right up. I’m so gonna be one of those women when I grow up.

I never want to hear the phrase “I have a large phallus.” It was overheard in the kitchen, repeated to me and now I am disturbed.

Popcorn with salt ‘n’ vinegar flavouring: delish. Inhaling salt ‘n’ vinegar flavoring by mistake: not as delish. In fact kinda painful.

Happy Thursday!

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!

Monday's Mantra

This week is about deciphering those cryptic clues.
I believe happiness can be brought about with some good music.
I'm addicted to House and munching on NikNaks.
I wish life could be one big musical. Mamma Mia anyone?
I'm jealous of no one this week.
Soundtrack/Mantra for the week Some things I cannot change. But until I try, I'll never know

Dont Cha

Don’t you just hate when someone is a heavy smoker and they invade your personal space. I don’t mind smoking. I’ve even smoked. You know those drunken club nights when suddenly for some unknown reason you need a ciggie. I blame Jaeger. Particularly for making me think that I look with one in hand. For this reason I don’t want to preach about it. Each to their own and all that nonsense but please if you are gonna talk to me about it, have a mint or at least rinse out your mouth with some water. And do not forget the hands. They are tres important. It will also stop me from trying to move away slowly. It looks like I’ve got a facial tick.

Don’t you just wish life could be a musical. Or at the very least people won’t frown on you for bursting into an impromptu song and dance when you’re shopping. Sometimes the vegetable aisle of a shopping market makes the perfect stage for a version of You Can’t Stop The Beat. I think this would also be a great idea when you want to tell someone how you really feel. No one can get mad when you sing them a song accompanied by jazz hands. When you have an overbearing parent a couple of verses of Papa Don’t Preach will do wonders. When you’re happy and want to tell the world you should be able to do so with Walking on Sunshine. And what boy would say no to This Girl’s In Love With You. It’ll be magic.

Don’t you just want to be French sometimes. They get to commit crimes of passion. They get to wear red lipstick and scarves in cool fashions. They get to have short Audrey Hepburn haircuts. And they never get fat. Okay I don’t think I’d ever have the energy or motive to commit a crime of passion but I’d like to know that if a boy treated me really badly and I accidently killed him, it’d be okay. I also cannot wear red lipstick, it’s my skin tone, so it would be nice to break some rules. And never getting fat. Like I need to justify that one.

Don’t you just want to have a career where your strengths are celebrated. Seriously I want a career where I can do what I love and get paid for it. And I don’t mean sitting on my couch watching Will & Grace and eating. For instance I love writing and would love to be a writer. At the same time I love pop culture references. Like really. I know my shizz. I kick ass at pub quizzes. You’d be lucky to have me on your team. Now if only I could get paid for knowing that much useless trivia. If this were a musical I’d look longingly into the distance and start singing All you have to do is dream, dream, dream, dream…

Ex-Oh! Ex-Oh!