Rod the British Buddha

Earlier this year I met the most wonderful man, one whom I nicknamed (in my mind) Rod Stewart. He is probably one of the most brilliant minded people I have ever met and we both helped each other through some hard times. I like to think of him as a British Buddha as he always has the wisest things to say for any situation.

He’s moving back to the UK this December and wrote me the sweetest poem in parting.


I met a girl called annabelle

I wouldn’t say I knew her well

But having met her

I would say

She brightened up the darkest days
and what support,

from one so slight

her mind her tool

the pen her might



All the best. A.B.C!



enmasse..touch my body!

When you touch a body, you touch the whole person, the intellect, the spirit, and the emotions and damn enmasse have got this down.

Last week I was given a massage voucher for my birthday, because apparently I’m always complaining about my neck pain caused by long hours spent staring at my computer screen slaving away…and writing fantastic articles for you of course.

The voucher was for an hour’s Thai massage at enmasse, my new favourite place…Topshop move over!

Having been to Thailand numerous times and had my fair share of massages not just in S.E. Asia but South Africa, ladies and gentlemen I have found a winner.

Not only is the décor simple and chic but the massage was truly the best one I have ever had. My favourite part of the whole experience (after the massage of course) was that once you have had your treatment there is no one rushing you out of the door, clients are in fact encouraged to hang around and enjoy an amazing selection of teas.

They are open till 10pm also so its great for losers like myself who work all the time, the concept is a kind of walk in change your life, stay for as long as you want, we work around your lifestyle vibe.

So if you are wandering what to get that special person, or actually anyone, for Christmas, get them an enmasse experience…NOW!

Watch their video to get a better idea of enmasse: 


Contact details:

Phone: 011 880 3020 (after hours 082 907 6267)

Entrance & private parking in courtyard behind building off Corlett Drive, Unit 14, Illovo Junction, 1 Corlett Drive (corner with Oxford), Illovo, 2196

You’re Back…I’m not Snow White

You’re back, and you announce it to me via text or email or Facebook message or skywriting or carrier pigeon. “Hey,” you write. “I’m back.”

Oh. How nice. How nice for you. I…I don’t know how I’m supposed to react.

Did you think that when you left, I froze? That time stood still and I just stayed exactly the same in exactly the place you left me? Did you think I wasn’t upset, wasn’t moved, wasn’t changed by your leaving and the way you left? Did you think I just went, “Oh, okay. I’ll wait here” and plopped down and twiddled my thumbs and waited for you to return?

I am different than when you took off. I was alone and I was sad and I picked myself up, dusted myself off and kept on. Well, what was I supposed to do? Go to sleep? Hibernate? Go into a coma? Die? Was I supposed to die? And then rest in a coffin in the forest and wait for you to come back and kiss me and wake me up? Am I Snow White?

At first, I waited for you. Maybe intentionally.  Maybe just because I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I convinced myself that you were coming back and it was me you were coming back for. I convinced myself I could hold out, and that if I just remained pristine and perfect, I’d be preserved for when you returned. But then, time went by and I moved on. You have no right to come back and expect me to just drop everything like we were a book you get to just put a bookmark in and return to whenever it’s convenient for you.

There is no bookmark. My story continued without you.

Is this a TV show? Did they just want to stir up my storyline for sweeps or a season finale? You used to be a series regular and then you thought maybe you could do movies or something so the writers wrote you out of the show. Then, a season later, your movie career failed and you asked to be written back in and so the writers shoe-horned a reason for you to just show up at the coffee shop and voila! You’re back!

But here’s the rub: you missed a whole season. Maybe I was given a new love interest or maybe I went through some trying “Very Special Episodes” but either way, I am not the same. You can’t just expect me to be the same.

I’m not even mad at you. I’m sorry if it seems like I’m mad. I’m just frustrated by all this. A big part of me wants to run into your arms and never let go. A big part of me wants to resume everything as normal. A big part of me wants to believe you’ll never leave again. Will you ask me to wait for you this time? I want you too, but I’m also scared.

You were like an imprint in a car seat or a divot in the sand. I knew you’d been there, because you left a mark, but then you made a choice and you were gone. It really, really hurt.

You’re back, you tell me. And you want a response, a reaction, something, but I feel too many emotions at once to figure it out. Can I both slap you and kiss you? Confuse you the way you confused me?

I’m sure we’ve both changed. I bet you’re also unsure and tentative. You have so much you want to tell me, so much to share. Where do you even begin? Where should I even begin?

But it’s halfway through the next season and even the writers can’t salvage this one and I don’t want them to. Let me enjoy my happy ending this time.

I’m not Snow White…


Moms on Facebook

Moms on Facebook

When Facebook came out I was 16 so naturally I wouldn’t be caught dead without chipped black nail polish, broken all stars and a scowl on my face that said: “leave me the eff alone adults”.

I wholeheartedly refused to add any family however distant because then they would know what I was doing and stick their noses into everything, even though the highlight of my week was usually sneaking into Bowls Club and sneering at those who couldn’t get in…and sometimes laughing at those who took on the dreaded fence in attempt to get in (the fence usually won).

As I grew up and I realised that my parents pretty much always knew what I was getting up to and they became my friends, not the dreaded tyrants who wouldn’t let me get a Playstation I added them, along with a few family members. I won’t mention the tearful conversations over dinners of ‘Why won’t you be my friend’, ‘You don’t like me?’ ‘What are you hiding from me?’

As it turns out not only is my life less exciting than my moms, she also ‘likes’ a whole lot more than I ever thought a single human being could, Be warned though, it’s not just me mom who has been bitten by the Facebug its all of your moms.

Things moms insist on doing on Facebook:

  1. Moms having recently decided how to tag names in statuses or posts will tag you in EVERYTHING! I shudder to think of the day when moms discover what a hashtag is…#endofthewordasweknowit
  2. Send you invites to every online game ever including every online version of Farmville ever created, even the dodgy Asian looking on. Also moms love playing Dope Wars…I am afraid to ask why.
  3. Have a constant stream of inspirational pictures (which are pretty great I must admit) and random memes which no one can understand, even the memes aren’t sure if they are memes.
  4. Have the most descriptive status updates ever, usually including a whole bunck of exclamation marks….
  6. Moms love to comment on everything but mostly your friends status updates, Is it weird that moms now know more about our friends than we do?
  7. Post comments on chores that you should be doing
  8. Post horrible pictures of when you were in your awkward tween stage and insisted that you wear those awful Spice Girls platforms…your life will never be the same once these are up.
  9. Tag you in a whole lot of photos and albums you are not actually in. Usually about a puppy or something…if you don’t like this picture this puppy will DIE!
  10. At least one status update a hour  Status update about how lucky and thankful she is
  11. Facebomb you, if a mom hasn’t been of Facebook for a while prepare for the proverbial Facebomb of 40 likes or comments on everything you have done over the past week.
  12. Sign random petitions for things that will never happen, or really shouldn’t ever happen.

I guess that’s why we #love them. Keep posting, keep liking moms!


Watch this amazing skit from SNL :damn-it-my-mom-is-on-facebook-filter

Everyone’s doing it!

I was sitting having a drink with my oldest friend laughing about the first time we got drunk …while you were getting married.

You were in the same grade us yet you were getting your hair curled into one of those awful wedding hairdos while we were watching the sunset over the JHB skyline.

You were saying ‘I do’ while we were laughing at the girl screaming for help because she got locked in the bathroom.

Fast forward two weeks and my Facebook page has been flooded with engagement rings, wedding pictures, pregnant bellies and babies still covered in afterbirth (yeah that one really happened). Is everyone having kids, settling down and doing grownup things?

I don’t have anything against any of this really I just don’t understand how people I grew up with are …you know… ‘doing it’. How did the girl who used to pride herself on having the loudest burps in my class get married…how did the guy who refused to call women anything except ‘bitches’ have a baby girl.

Holy responsibility! Does this mean we are adults now? Just the other day I was racing home to watch Pete and Pete followed by a Lizzie McGuire omnibus wishing I could get my hair just like hers. Suddenly I seem like the odd one out for having zero interest in squeezing out a child or planning a perfectly tacky wedding, chicken dance and all…although that is quite fun to do. I’m not even phased anymore when I log into Facebook and there is the guy who used to be able to take shots of whiskey through his eye holding his new-born’s umbilical cord between his teeth. In fact if I don’t get my daily dose of baby updates from people that I never actually speak to, I start getting broody.

Did I miss the ‘everyone’s doing it’ convention while I was dancing to Blink ‘What’s My Age Again’ thinking that this actually relates to me now because I am 23.

And that’s about the time that bitch hung up on me
Nobody likes you when your 23
And are still more amused by prank phone calls
What the hell is caller ID?
My friends say I should act my age
What’s my age again?
What’s my age again?