Wednesday, 30 October 2013
Since the beginning of time every girl has longed to be the recipient of a couple of phrases. Let’s state the obvious: I love you. Let’s move in together. Will you marry me?
But long before that there is: What’s your number? And I’m not talking about switching digits in the traditional sense.
A few weeks ago I was reading the Saturday newspaper (I know, so very grown up) and after I’d caught up on Malema’s latest blunder, done the word search and clenched my knuckles at the on-going e-toll saga I found an article that I liked so much, I read it twice.
The article was titled: “How lots of Kissing helps a girl find Mr Right” and I know you are thinking, Pfft! Typical girl, zoning in on the most Cosmo-style feature amongst hard hitting news stories. I don’t care, I’ll take it.
The article stated that in a recent study at Oxford University (nogal), researchers discovered that kissing allows woman to suss out their potential partners in more ways than you think. I mean obvs if the guy is treating your face like a canvass for his tongue paintbrush, you’re outta there… but I’m talking about chemical compatibility and how collecting more samples, if you will, makes for a more discerning search for Prince Charming.
So really, the more a woman kisses different suitors, the more able she is to find a good match for a lifetime partner. Not only this, but her future relationship choices are far more conditional and focused. Yeah that’s right, all this time you’ve been thinking: Eh What a slapper that one is, when in reality the girl who “kisses around” may make better and more mature decisions when it comes to love and committed relationships.
According to the article, kissing serves three main purposes:
· It helps asses the genetic quality of a potential partner through subconscious readings of taste and smell
· It is used to create arousal (dah, we know that one)
· And it cements bonds in a relationship, keeping a couple together for longer.
The theory goes that because women are created to have children and dedicate a large amount of time raising them, they are more selective when it comes to a potential husband. Research has also shown that women who value the art of kissing are much pickier when it comes to deciphering who The One might be.
This begs the question around an age old inequality: Why is it socially acceptable for men to “sample” many woman, when in actuality it seems that woman have even more of a right to be playing the field, yet get heavily criticized for this behaviour? In the words of Ms Aguilera:
The guy gets all the glory the more he can score, while the girl can do the same and yet you call her a whore.
Now that’ll give you something to think about won’t it. Besides, how will you boys ever learn to kiss a girl without experienced smoochers doing a public service in their Varsity years? I’m not talking about myself of course, I was practically a nun. Eh-hem.
So yes, inevitably you are going to ask those dumb numbers questions: how many people have you slept with, how many have you kissed, how many serious relationships, how many one night stands, WHATS YOUR NUMBER? And if a girl is smart, she’ll tell you exactly the truth. Divided by two or three, to take into consideration all those times it totally didn’t count. It’s an unspoken rule amongst woman that there are just so many mitigating factors when it comes to those calculations, for example kissing a girl, doesn’t count. If it only went in once, totally doesn’t count. If it was a charity snog, doesn’t count. And the list goes on…
And yes, inevitably we are going to ask you all those dumb numbers questions: how many times have you had your heart broken, how many relationships have you had, how many times have you been in love, WHATS YOUR NUMBER? And if a guy is smart, he’ll tell you exactly the truth. Multiplied just a few times, to take into consideration many, many extenuating circumstances. For example that time you accidentally touched her boob… that was totes 2nd base. Or when you went in for a frenchy and she pulled back thinking it was just a friendly hello, you tapped that right?
So I guess what I’m saying is that your partners’ history is always going to be somewhat of a mystery, and maybe that’s how it should stay? Physical connection is really just a kind of speed dating, trying to asses a potential mates’… potential. With all that being said, if she’s on your arm, surely she’s sussed out enough subliminal information about you to think you’re alright? Better than alright. You are the lucky chosen genetic match, a cut above all the other idiots she’s kissed before. That’s got to count for something.
Wednesday, 16 October 2013
Yeah yeah yeah, summer is here. Woo Hoo. Do you sense the sarcasm?
While everyone else is getting amped about the arrival of October, I am mourning the loss of crispy winter days in July. I know what all the fuss is about: it’s about braai’s and beach bodies and outdoor activities and longer days filled with sunshine. Bah! Ham buck!
Everyone forgets that with those things come hot irritability, holiday season price hikes, 38 Saturday afternoon events and the inevitable onset of thigh gravy (ever sat on a plastic chair in a skirt? that mushy wet mix of epithelials, including the residual from the chairs last guest, is what I call thigh gravy).
So it only seems fitting to celebrate my woes with something I think we can all agree is a summer success – cocktails!
Here is my soothing (and slim) remedy to scorching afternoons in the sun:
2 shots of Vodka/Gin (I’m a gin gal! But Vodka will work just as well)
100 ml soda water
100 ml pear juice
Handful of fresh Basil
Handful of fresh Mint
Squeeze of fresh lemon juice
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
Ice cube tray
8 – 10 Blueberries
Prep Time: 15 Mins
Freezing Time: 2 – 3 hours
This is so easy, it’s going to seem like one of those recipe’s that’s too easy. But sippology shouldn’t be a chore… in my opinion.
In a medium saucepan, add sugar, water, basil and mint. Bring to a boil over medium heat and then take off the heat, keep the lid on (to preserve the minty flavour) and allow to cool until leaves start turning a browny colour. Add a squeeze of lemon and strain the liquid (syrup) so there are no longer herbs in it.
Pour the syrup in an ice tray/ Tupperware and allow to set in the freezer. The syrup won’t set completely, but it will make an icy granita like texture that you can scoop out with a spoon. Most importantly it will be icy cold and super minty sweet – adding a punch to your cocktail.
In a medium to large sized glass pour the shots, pear juice and soda water. Now add your sweet mint basil cubes and top with blueberries.
For a shnazy touch, I filled half the ice tray with the syrup and in the other half I filled the cubes with water and then added some blueberries, mint leaves and lemon zest. This creates cute little designer ice cubes that dissolve and add extra garnish and flavour as you drink.
I think this would make a fab jug as well – perfect for entertaining girlfriends by the pool. Just adjust the quantities according to taste.
Now – a stack of mags, flip flops and some jazzy tunes and you are set to revel in mid-summer melancholy! Enjoy!
Wednesday, 9 October 2013
Someone must have shanked that community of 3 am tweeters. I must remember to send them a fruit basket…
I thought to myself, as the first few chords of Bob Marley’s Get up Stand up woke me for my 6.30 am interval of snoozing. Between this and the next alarm at 7.00 I contemplated how clever my play on words was – no one will think I’m actually just talking about the noisy birds that have taken up residence in the tree directly outside my window, they’ll think *snigger* that I’m talking about Twitter. I must find a way to use that. I also need to find a way to use the line “I have an itchy cricket” because it’s hilarious and wildly inappropropri…
Get up Stand up! Stand up for your right... Dismiss.
It’s been a while since Bob has serenaded me awake because, as I previously mentioned… those mother-cluckers outside my window are worse than a bunch of drunk coloureds, insisting that I wake up at 3 am every morning with their incessant summery nattering. But on this particular day, the sun was nowhere in sight… instead, a powdery grey blanket of overcast had wrapped itself around my city. Joburg… you lookin swanky gurrrrl!
I couldn’t stop thinking about our fight on the way to work. The empty bottle of vodka was still rolling around on the passenger side floor and with every ting it gave against the metal lever at the bottom of the seat came a responsive twang of guilt from the pit of my stomach.
Did I actually say that? That’s terrible. Where did it even come from?
It came, from the dark festering mound under the carpet, where all unresolved issues sit and amalgamate into one deadly relationship amoeba. This one was particularly nasty, mostly because it was soaked in the audacity of a Russian Bear.
I wound down my window for some fresh air. There was an undeniable feeling of anticipation that had started to infiltrate through the tapering morning stillness. It’s how I knew, and know, that my city just gets me. Like it had climbed into a pair of old tracksuit pants and said: Sit. Tell me everything… and no matter what, I’m totally on your side.
I wished in that moment that it had done just that – and that we’d sat for hours running over every line of dialogue (if you can call it dialogue) said. I wished that it could collect all of our ugly words and stuff them back into our mouths like a sleeping bag in a tiny sack. I couldn’t tell, but as the day progressed into unsettled shades of cumulonimbus, I got the feeling that it would have told me the ugliness was better out than in.
By 4 o clock it was so dark, I struggled to see the last few items on my to-do list. Blinds battered and bashed against the office windows, panicked and trapped. Mock-charge rumblings from the belly of the beast had begun boldly escaping until a piercing crack solidified the intent. Mother nature’s tumultuous symphony had reached its crescendo.
And just like that, Joburg had its first glorious summer thunderstorm.
The deluge was epic and I stood watching it cascade into the parking lot, in two minds about risking the 50 meter stretch to my car. I felt an inherent all-or-nothingness propel me outside where the hard rain pelted against my skin until my car door slammed. A moment of calm resided as I watched raindrops turn GHD’d locks of hair into spiraling water-slides and apply cheeks into mulchy smeared canvasses of mascara. And then…
My Man: God I miss you. Isn’t this weather just…
Carly: I know
The next time I looked up, a thick magical coating of gold had sprawled out underneath a magnificent amber sky. The smell of hot roads fighting the cool downpour floated up joyfully into an approaching dusk and even the unmoving scourge of contempt I’d had earlier for those damn birds dissipated, as they began crooning from crevices of refuge.
Later that night, while wishing it were possible for arms to wrap around a person twice, I looked into the kindest set of eyes with absolute peace.
The storm was over and it occurred to me that maybe sometimes gale force winds, maddening torrential torrents and crashing thunder are a necessary prelude to the most beautiful and harmonious rays of sunlight. And sometimes… good things are allowed to come undone, so better things can come together.
Wednesday, 2 October 2013
A couple of days ago I was rummaging through my high school and varsity scrap books and found a clipping of an article titled: 50 Things She Wishes You Knew. The disintegrating page, next to some old Thunda.com printed pics, ticket stubs and birthday cards, captivated me as I read through a list of familiar wants.
I thought to myself, wouldn’t it be great if you could buy/ download a software that just plugs in to a man’s cerebellum (somehow? We’re still in the brainstorming phase of said idea) and updates him on things that feel completely obvious to us Chiquita’s?
I decided to conduct my own research, online and amongst girlfriends, to put together 25 of my favourites… Here is my list of things we just wish you boys knew.
1. When I’m in love, my previous sexual history is automatically deleted and you, hunk of mine, are fast-tracked to the coveted position of best shag I’ve ever had.
2. I secretly love it when people mistake us for a married couple.
3. My mind is dirtier than you think it is.
4. When you ask about romantic gestures, it’s an immediate love buzz kill. Do you want flowers? Uh. Yes dumbass.
5. When I’m upset, I don’t need a solution… just a hug.
6. You effed up. I seem okay about it. I’m not.
7. I still expect you to court me.
8. When you tell me how you feel about me, I’m floating on a pink fluffy blissful cloud of happiness.
9. I remember e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g
10. My stance on cheating: you’re doing it of you’re doing something you don’t want me to see or know about. PLUS I dump liars. PLUS, even if I can forgive you, can I ever forget what you did? Hmmm. Not likely.
11. A man who knows that oral sex is a crucial part of my sex life, and gives me more than 10 minutes of pleasure…. Is a keeper.
12. Don’t be a punk and string me along – if you’re not into kids, or earning money, or girls, or marriage… put it out there from the start.
13. Show offs that start fights, spend hours talking about themselves or rev their engines at traffic lights are NOT sexy.
14. I’m a woman of the 21st century – it’s impossible to shave my legs every day. Get over it.
15. Am I your bud? No. Am I your cousin? No. So when you introduce me, might be a good idea to mention I’m your girlfriend. Unless, you don’t want people to know and then we got ourselves a problem.
16. When you don’t reply to my text, I transform into a CSI agent and analyse every possible reason why. Are you with someone else? Did I say or do something to make you upset? Are you playing me?
17. I suffer from a recurring affliction called The Insecures.
18. I love it when you listen but I also want to feel like you get what I’m saying, especially when we are trying to work through an issue in our relationship.
19. I really do like it slow, s.l.o.w. – take your version of slow and then go slower. For longer.
20. I like that you want to use a condom – it means you care about yourself, and me.
21. Ask me… what I like in bed, how I feel, where I’ll be in 5 years, what cut of ring I like, what my favourite wine is. Just ask.
22. I’m right. 99 percent of the time.
23. Let me make this clear: if I am wearing lingerie (underwear that is sexy, see through, lacy, usually comes in the form of corsets, suspenders, stockings) I’m trying to seduce you. Do me a favour and play along, even if you feel awkward or embarrassed at first.
24. Those grey tracksuit pants are a HUGE turn on.
25. The only person allowed to talk smack about my family and friends is me.
So there you have it!
I’m pretty sure there is a long list of things you wish WE knew… wanna tell me about it? Email me on firstname.lastname@example.org and if I get enough good ones, I’ll put them up!