coincidence or fate?

have you ever wondered how bizarrely trivial the coincidences can be that make you meet some of the closest people in your life? an accidentally-missent sms, a wave back at someone who was actually waving to the person to behind you. some of my memorable ongoing interactions with people have started this way, and i'm strangely more compelled to keep these going (through the perverse belief that it is not coincidence that brought us together but fate) than the obvious i-met-you-at-school incidents (though don't get me wrong, my two bestest peeps in the world hung out with me way back then)... take, for instance, the strange relationship i have with brendyn, the last person i interviewed for that little engineering publication i used to write for. if he hadn't been my last interview, and if i hadn't been so piss-angry with the gilb, i would've treated him as just a regular guy. but the combination of those circumstances led to my daring email admission of instant attraction to him, and while things haven't gone that way - we were both faithfully committed at the time - i delight in the anticipation of his next email/phone call/sms, even if i haven't seen him since. or how about last night's farewell to a swiss tourist who i met in ct while arguing with a hardware store owner about the benefits of grout vs crack-filler. or the chick i used to hate because she was shagging that beautiful creature who used to play at the bohemian, who saw me at another club and came and introduced herself to me, making it a lot harder to hold any grudges against her? or even irate bloggers who misunderstand my intent when i jokingly make fun of them? this entry isn't going anywhere, but i just thought about it last night, and the lengths i'll go to to remain in contact with these people whose paths have fleetingly crossed mine - i turned down dinner for the gilb's parents' 30th anniversary (and their first official invitation to me for dinner, i might add) to go say good-bye to this swiss creature who bases his entire life on Trainspotting. to all those i've met briefly, may we meet briefly again many times to come.

sandtonites only. no jeans, no sneakers.

picture the setting: club in the middle of poser-ville rivonia, ladies dripping sparkly fake diamonds counter-balanced by white boots and shrinking minis. now, put my head on one of those lasses. gasping? i thought so. yep, on saturday i descended to the level of the cliquey masses - and, it gets worse - i had a fabulous time. so while the title of the par-tay was a little deceptive (when they said playboy everyone assumed it was associated with the magazine), there were still ladies and gents strutting their sort-of-hot-but-not-quite-Playboy material on the ramp. come 11pm, oiled up by countless free whiskeys, just relieved of the boyf's presence (he had to sleep for early cricket the next morning) and spurred on by my equally frivolously-clad pal tammy, wild lolo came out to play. was there dancing? and humping the fake-rock wall? and frightening the poor scared hired dancer off the platform with uber-cool moves? and enticing innocent passers-by to partake in dance-sandwiches? and trying to pull off the sexy hired male dancer's pants mid-performance? and demanding to be snapped by strangers' cell-cameras and insisting that they be saved as background images? to the above: yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. now, the ignorant reader may assume that being so rat-arsed and doing all these stupid things, i would have emerged with my dignity impaired. wrong! if anything, i think it got upped a little, even if the big boss was watching (yes, he was there, yes we hauled him into a dance sandwich, yes, he bought me many of those free whiskeys, and yes, i still have a job). so moral of the story? none really, but i guess fun can even be had in the dark tacky depths of rivonia too. who'd have thought?

X marks the spot

so like, whaddya do when your new best friend believes you were meant to be best friends by virtue of the mere fact that you both share beauty spots (he calls them) or moles (as i call them) in the same place? not those kind of places, dirty reader, but rather slap bang in the middle of your throat nestled between the two collar bones. picture this: new year's eve, 8 pm, clifton 2nd (a mere half-hour till we were nearly arrested for drinking in public by camp's bay police - but that's another story), the unbelievably cheesy sunset boasting before us, when out Marc blurts: "you know, i think it's more than just coincidence that we share the same beauty spot marking, don't you?". Lauren: "Hmmm...." And to herself, "wtf?" Now, it's not exactly a cindy crawford signature, but please! leave my mole out of this, mkay? and keep your beauty spot to yourself! that said, i'm still meeting him for a last lunch today before he heads back to CT a few short weeks till i do. go fig...

goodnight sweet prince, and hand over the duvet

So, the Gilb and I were lovingly sleeping, holding each other in a restful embrace, and awoke to the sweet chatter of starlings in the morning. Rewind. Erase. Starlings may chatter, but never sweetly. Rewind. Pause…restful embrace? I just realised that I’ve never slept next to someone without consciously being aware of their presence when I’ve tossed and turned in the night, which requires more exhausting conscious effort in the exercise of tossing and turning in your sleep without waking the other half up. And they wonder about the bags under your eyes. Do people ever get totally used to the idea of unconsciously sharing a bed together? If so, how long does it take? Are we all bound to bachelordom (or even worse, spinsterhood, now there’s a gross word) because of our sleep patterns? Are marriages made and broken on the Sealy triple-spring extra-length mattress because one partner got the better springs? Zzzzzzz….sweet lone sleep calls.

Pimp Your Ride: Entry 1

Pimp Your Ride: Entry 1

So, the Gilb and I were lovingly sleeping, holding each other in a restful embrace, and awoke to the sweet chatter of starlings in the morning. Rewind. Erase. Starlings may chatter, but never sweetly. Rewind. Pause…restful embrace? I just realised that I’ve never slept next to someone without consciously being aware of their presence when I’ve tossed and turned in the night, which requires more exhausting conscious effort in the exercise of tossing and turning in your sleep without waking the other half up. And they wonder about the bags under your eyes. Do people ever get totally used to the idea of unconsciously sharing a bed together? If so, how long does it take? Are we all bound to bachelordom (or even worse, spinsterhood, now there’s a gross word) because of our sleep patterns? Are marriages made and broken on the Sealy triple-spring extra-length mattress because one partner got the better springs? Zzzzzzz….sweet lone sleep calls.

Entry 1

Hello world!

Lolo's gone international (let's hope this isn't her only stab at fame) with a blog to put all her blah up... so BLAHHHHHHH!

Would've loved to make this a meaningful entry, but I'll try for something truly earth-shattering tomorrow - for now, suffice to say Peas on Toast are you listening?!?

Smooches, planet, let's do this properly on Tuesday....