Embracing solitude in my home... and not wanting to do it solo...

Dear Reader,

I’m sorry I have been distant. To say that I’ve been busy is no excuse. You deserve better than that.

I treasure your loyalty and I hope that you've been salivating for my return to this blog, though I might be optimistic. I want to recommit to this relationship. We’ll start slow. I’ll give you all the time you need. 

Please don’t think that I am only affording you the attention since the Oscar Pistorius Trial is on a two week break (which helps, I won’t lie). In writing you this post I have realized that these few months have left me with tons of experience, ideas and topics that I would like to share with you.

Yes, this first post might seem bizarre. It's to show you that I miss you in my life. I need to write this blog to prove to myself that I'm not slowly losing my marbles and because it's the most fun writing I do. You make me a happier writer and I don't want to live alone any more.

If you’ll have me back, I’m ready to start over.

All my love,

Jeanine

Ps: I’ve been reflecting on how colossally banal my own solitary arrangement is AKA living by myself. You’ll probably deduce from the above letter that my life is indeed a sad one. But fear not, dear reader, I am still in a long distance relationship with a loving, gorgeous, incredibly kind hearted man. Yes, we’re doing great. No, this post is not a hint that my solitary living arrangement should change any time soon. I’ve just been reflecting on what it means to live alone. I fluctuate between feelings of “well, this sucks” and “I freaking love this”. 

Oh behave!

Please don’t ever subject yourself to a “behavioural specialist” or "life coach". Or for that matter anyone who tells you that they speak three languages: English, Afrikaans and Subconscious…

Last Thursday I met up with a ‘life coach’ as part of my complimentary, obligation free session I was offered at our previous social. I use the inverted commas because basically you can ‘qualify’ yourself in this field. There is no supervisory body or universal standard of practice or training, so, in reality, anyone can call themselves a life coach.

After my ‘life coach’ explained that a life coach is someone who helps people help themselves we began our session with her explaining that her office was to be thought of as a “safe space” and a “neutral area where there are no wrongs and rights”. Oh, what had I agreed to?

Next she started asking me some basic questions regarding my view of success, balance and obstacles. When she asked me what I thought my biggest problem or obstacle was regarding my interaction with others and I told her that I thought it was my inability to properly deal with criticism. I really suck with criticism. Generally, if people say something negative about me, I want to stab them. I generally think that I am right most of the time… As you can see, I have a major ego problem as well. Anyway, biggest problem: criticism. And then we got started...

Finding something like a wolfsheep or sheepwolf...

I hate quotes like this one. It places me into a box. You are either a sheep or a wolf. My brain starts running at inappropriate speeds when faced with quotes like this. I start to ask the weirdest questions…

What is the context this quote speaks to? Is the Christian ideal to be a sheep? I love the idea of being shepherded and often dream of heaven where the clouds are actually…cute, fluffy sheep. Where is my Clarissa Pinkola Estes book Women Who Run with the Wolves? I need to finish that book. Could it be genetically possible to create a sheepwolf? Or a wolfsheep? What if you were a sheep, but chose to show some teeth now and again? What exactly does it mean to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

Okay, so you might think I have some weird unexplainable adoration for sheep (you are right) and that I think too much (probably right again). However, I was so confused after our little event my dating service hosted this past Wednesday that all these questions seem quite reasonable.

This quote was used to end our event. Our event, meaning the “life-changing talk” on balance my dating service hosted where after we would have the opportunity to socialise with the stunning singles who are members of our dating service.

A dinner date function

On Friday evening I had an event with my dating service. This dinner took up "two function credits" and the email that accompanied the invitation read "if last year is anything to go by, you will definitely not want to miss this dinner".

I knew that my exams would be over so I booked. This was the perfect opportunity to 'scout' for some new dates and check out the other girls with whom I would be 'competing' with.

The event was hosted in the upmarket French restaurant, Brasserie de Paris, in Waterkloof, Pretoria. 

I was quite nervous as one would expect. Well, I am a INFJ personality according to the Myers-Briggs personality test - I do not like small talk. That and the fact that the dress code was "smart/cocktail". Thank goodness that my best friend is a stylist.

Dressed in knee high boots, stockings and a cocktail dress with my hair curled I set out.

I walked into the room and was immediately greeted by the lady from the dating service. She escorted me to my seat on a long table (thank goodness) where I found my name tag. Que the stares...

My date with #6

I finally had a date with Number 6! I say finally because we were introduced two weeks back. After the initial phone call and checking of schedules, we agreed to meet in the next week, but we didn’t set a date. A week later, after not hearing anything from him, I sent a message to try and fix a date.

Our schedules just didn’t seem to line up. I spent last weekend in Thabazimbi with a friend at a real boere Wildsfees and we even saw a contestant  from the Boer soek ‘n Vrou show who entered last year… I’m taking this as a good sign.

Anyway, back to my date. The only time that suited him was on Tuesday evening. I was writing my first exam on Wednesday, but I thought ‘we really need to get this date going’. We agreed to meet at a coffee shop at 20:00. I pitch at the coffee shop at 19:55. At 20:05, at the risk of looking like my date had stood me up I go into the bookstore next door… Browsing…browsing… buying a book…ordering my own hot chocolate…reading my book…

At 20:18 I get a message from Number 6 that he is in fact in the bookstore. And then I see him.

Since he doesn’t have a Facebook account I had to go on his WhatsApp profile picture which is a ‘professional’ photograph. You know the photo where a man leans against a wall, hands in his pockets and stares longingly into the distance… My friend said he probably had make-up on as she noticed the discolouration comparing his face, ears and arms. Ha! I thought that was hilarious. He was not that bad. Hell, I even had a gay friend say ‘Oh, he’s cuuuuute’.

 

This is not Number 6... unfortunately!

Boer soek 'n Vrou

To my English readers: This post is in my home language Afrikaans. It’s about a strange dating type show where girls essentially enter to meet a farmer. Culturally, this may sound weird and I’m sure if you try and put this post through Google Translate it will sound even weirder. Don’t bother. I’ll write the next post in English again as my next date has been introduced and we plan to meet up this week.

  

Afrikaans pappa! Hierdie inskrywing kan slegs in my ou hartstaal geskryf word en dit voel skoon vreemd om nie in die ‘taal van die vyand’ te dink nie.

Ek is seker daarvan julle het al van KykNet se program Boer soek ’n Vrou gehoor. Verlede jaar sou ek ingeskryf het omdat ek ’n weddenskap met ’n vriendin verloor het, maar kort voor die inskrywings gesluit het is daar darem vir my gesê dat ek nie meer hoef in te skryf nie. Ek was ongelooflik verlig want ek het nog nooit regtig die program gekyk nie.

Ek het so paar episodes laasjaar gevang, maar nie regtig veel opgelet nie. En toe is dit 2013, en ek is steeds alleenlopend en toe herinner my liewe vriendin my dat ek miskien hierdie jaar moet inskryf.

Hier is hoe die program werk: 10 boere oor die land word gekies en aan die land voorgestel. Daarna kry meisies die geleentheid om vir hierdie 10 liefdesbriewe te skryf waarna dit aan die boere voorgehou word. 5 boere word hier geelimineer omrede net die 5 boere wat die meeste briewe ontvang het aanbeweeg. Die boere lees dan hulle liefdesbriewe en kies dan ’n sekere aantal meisies om te ontmoet. Ek dink hierdie is 10 meisies – ek sê mos ek het nie regtig opgelet in die klas verlede jaar nie. Mos.

Na ’n kort onderhoud/gesprek met die boer kies hy dan 4 meisies om saam met hom plaas toe te gaan en dan stuur hy een vir een huistoe totdat hy nou met sy ideale plaasvroutjie opeindig. Pragtig.

Snaaks genoeg wil ek hierdie jaar inskryf en dis presies wat ek gaan doen. Ja, ek weet wat die meeste mense se reaksie is. ‘Neeeeee, Jeanine! Dis nou desperaat. Jy weet dis ’n klug en die hele land gaan dit sien’. Ja, ek weet dit. Maar regtig? Ek verstaan nie dat mense gereeld gaan draf en hul eetgewoontes kan aanpas om hulle nuwejaarsvoornemens te hou nie, maar as dit by ‘dating’ kom dan sit hulle net agteroor en wag vir iets om te gebeur. Julle ken die ou sêding: jy kan nie die lotto wen as jy nie ’n kaartjie koop nie.

The scum of the dating world: The Players

It’s funny how life works. My last post explained the very reason it’s a good time to fall in love. Unfortunately, I spent my time since then consoling my friends as it seems everyone is breaking up.

I asked two of my friends for permission to share some of their experiences as I believe both of them have come into contact with that type of men that have a certain bad-boy allure that drives some women wild. They know how to make a woman feel special and really turn on the charm to get what they want. You know the type - we call them ‘players’.

It is really difficult to define a ‘player’. You will definitely not find a dictionary explanation. Some call them Pick-up-artists, Casanovas or even ‘dating predators’. In the simplest terms possible, I find good synonyms to be asshole, loser and jerk. You may have your own favourite terminology, of course, but the man himself is always the same.

The aim of a player is to win your affection and the mark that this has happened is often that the relationship becomes sexual – they have achieved their conquest. However, this is not always the case. Players these days are more cunning.

For me a player is so called because he is actively partaking in a game. Let’s say you have a rugby player who is partaking in the Super 15. He has to abide by certain rules, he needs to practice and above all the needs to know what the aim of the game is. The same is true for players in the dating world. They have certain rules by which they play. I’ve listed the most obvious ones and I’ve tried to make a few suggestions as to how you can spot whether he is following them…

Some Ex-perience

I have written this post about five times. I deleted it about 5 times.

I have been making amends this past year. It has been an arduous and testing experience of clearing the baggage of my past and learning to be honest with myself and with others. It has also been one of the most liberating and rewarding experiences of my life that has helped put me in a position to be of maximum use to the people around me.

This week, I had to make an amend to my ex.

Some people call it Valentine's Day - I call it thanks-for-reminding-me-that-my-life-sucks!

Ah, Valentines Day. I find it amusing that a day that is supposed to be all about love can conjure so much hatred inside of me. Yes, it is because I’m single. Still single.

Call it whatever you want, Valentines Day, Singles Awareness Day or Forever Alone Day, this day comes every year 14 February and to be single on it sucks. Don’t try to fool me with all that ‘I’m so content and free’ crap. Not on Valentine’s Day. This is a day where even a cute angelic depiction of Cupid wants me yelling: "Get the hell away from me - you useless, flying, half naked, midget bastard!" Yes, I have some rage issues.

Being single on this day, February 14, means you’re way more single than you are on February 13 or February 15. Like, way more. Now, there’s a lot more you can do than cry, eat ice cream, and feel bad for yourself.

Last year, I got extremely drunk and passed out in a parking lot. Not good. So, this year I decided that I needed a plan. 

Dating, it's a numbers game

I have only one exam left. Hallelujah! I’ll be writing Ancient Culture Studies on the 27^th and then I will be able to give my full attention to lounging around my house, tracking through Africa by 4x4 and packing for my move to Pretoria.

I have been quiet on the blog, studying, preparing for an event I’m speaking at tomorrow night and writing Greek. It has been a very depressing time indeed. I can barely contain myself for tonight where I will finally be able to socialize with my church buddies at our weekly gathering.

As my brain is still on full academic mode and the depression of exams is still with me I decided to write a quick post that will hopefully ruin your day as well.

Dating, it’s a numbers game.

If you ask the pessimists or the cynics what the probability is of meeting your soul mate their answer is simple: 0% “because man is naturally polygamous and love doesn’t exist”.

Now, of course, the first step is believing that your “soul mate” exists. I know a lot of people don’t believe that everyone has a soul mate, but for the purposes of this post, let’s just ignore them

Our country has recently released the statistics from the 2011 census and I have been busy crunching some numbers:

Things you should not do when spending a Friday evening alone

I suspect that I might be suffering from ADHD (attention deficit-hyperactivity disorder). Now you might say that constantly being distracted or impulsive isn't as bad as being, say, a serial killer. But, I have found that in my case it may cause emotional death.

I have had one hell of a week and the plan was to drag my exhausted body to bed early yesterday and just sleep. Instead, I decided early yesterday afternoon that my apartment needed a serious spring clean. Nothing says relaxation like being crouched over scrubbing a toilet. But I argued that I would probably get distracted during the fast approaching exams and start cleaning then, which would surely end in disaster as I know from experience that ANYthing seems like a superior priority than studying.

So, I spent the early hours of Friday afternoon doing the week’s dishes and catching up on some laundry. And then I started to develop my single blues again. I ended up having had a really horrible evening. Yeah, sometimes it sucks being single.