Tag Archives: purple is the colour of the sexually conflicted

I love call centre agents… *swoon*

A long long time ago, I had the fortunate luck of working in a call centre. Fresh out of  university, this was the only job I could find with my limited work experience, so I was not complaining… Yet.

It was difficult. The hours were long, my conversational armoury was devoid of chit-chat and to top it off, I have the voice of a little girl (I know this for a fact because one of the customers asked me what grade I was in and whether my parents knew I was using the phone). I was very put out afterward, I decided not to speak to anyone for a week, except at work because I got paid to do so. The speaking I did at work outweighed the speaking I did out of work so this was a very moot exercise.

That said, I’m generally empathetic towards Call Centre agents but I loathe receiving calls from them. I feel like I’m on the Call Centre Agents Association most wanted list.

I'm Dustin. I'm here to make a mockery of your existence.

Typical conversation between me and a CCA:
CCA: “Hi, this is X from YZandBullshit Incorporated”
Me: *Shame, a call centre agent. I know how difficult their lives are. I shall be nice to this fine fellow (Because I think in an old British  accent, evidently)*
“Hi, this is ChocMilk from Planet Earth”
CCA: “…”
CCA: “I’ve called to tell you about an amazing opportunity that your friend Bla thought you might be interested in”
Me: *Bla, she’s a really good friend of mine, she wouldn’t give my number out to just ANYONE*
“Go on…”
CCA: “ Great, well, we at YZandBullshit Inc are offering some amazing discount vouchers that you could use when you go out for dinner with, say, your boyfriend”
Me: *It’s very presumptuous to think I even have one, what if I had a girlfriend and interjected to correct him? Wait… I totally should interject! WOOO! CURVEBALL!*
“I don…”
CCA: “Awesome! Now, you may be wondering….”
Me: -zones out-
2 minutes later

CCA: “… and all that for just R95 a month! How does that sound?”
Me: *Shit! I just made him recite that whole speech. I know that doing so takes a great deal of effort and builds a false sense of WIN! I should have cut the call when I had the chance! I SHOULD HAVE TOLD HIM THAT I AM A LESBIAN! Fuck. FUCK!*
“Great but I don’t think I have my banking details on me…”
CCA: “Not a problem, I’ll call you at another time”

And he did – multiply. Even though I avoided calls from private numbers for days afterwards, he managed to break through my barrier and make me feel even more guilty by saying that he realises how very busy I am…
As a result, I have to give him 5 recommendations – of close friends that may be interested too.
Not only do I have to suffer through the pain of speaking to him again, I have to bring my friends down with me and they will hate me for it and I will be alone and I’ll have to get a dozen cats and my house will smell of tuna and the kids in the neighbourhood will refer to me as ‘that crazy cat lady’ and when the kids in the neighbourhood tell tales of my infamous lack of sanity, they will say that I was brought down by a call centre agent.

That’s the very last time I let a call centre agent assume that I am heterosexual.

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ChocMilk: On being 25.

I have been on this Earth for exactly 25 years, 1 month and 13 days. At this point in my life, I would have made a serious impact on those around me, my career and my  environment, right? Right? Wrong.

Fresh out of high school, with my optimistically pink-hued shades and training bra, the future I had envisioned for myself was like something from a prime time show about a successful 25ish female with spidery eyelashes, high heels and a glamorous air that wreaked of romance and mystery. Truth is, I would have been utterly dismayed with that kind of life, and even though my glamorous airs are purchased and smell like Escada, I’d rather have it this way than another. I may not have a prime-time worthy life right now, but , after careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that knowing what I know now might have made me considerably more boring.

Things I would have never predicted to happen when I was 17, but did.

I can’t watch porn.
Let me just get this out there, I have never watched porn with company, I can’t even watch a sex scene without feeling the need to disguise the fact that my cheeks are getting flushed with embarrassment. So, on the listless Sunday that Nick suggested we watch some (boys, I don’t get it) I was hyperventilating under my rapidly warming cool exterior.

Me: (thinking) “What do I do in this situation? Look sexy? Do I even know what that looks like? I need a mirror. ZOMG that guy looks douchebaggy. Do I really have to watch him do that? There’s no way those could be real”

Me to Nick:  “There’s no way those could be real”

Nick: “He seems to like them”

That summarises the whole 5 minutes I spent watching porn. As is fashionable, women of my age are supposed to be ‘sexually liberated’ and I thought I had crossed that line the moment I bought condoms from a garage at 2am. NO. They don’t show that part in Sex and the City. I feel inadequate. I should watch some porn.

After 25 years, I still know jack-shit about relationships.
Post hight school, I got into a hot and heavy tête-à-tête with a to-be-accountant. He was the alpha to my beta, the present value that would result in favourable time value of money outputs, regardless of the inflation constant. I was with him for 5 years and barely escaped impending nuptials with my sanity intact. I needed to grow up before I decided to have 2.5 children and a joint bank account. But, even after all this drama, I will never be prepared for new love affairs and I’ve decided that I prefer it that way.

I’m too old for this shit.
Rather, I’m ecstatic that I don’t have to do this, ever again:

  • Two minute noodles
  • Inflatable mattresses
  • Justin Beiber
  • Loud ‘woooo’ noises
  • Glitter anything
  • Scrapbooking

It’s okay to say no.

I am not my degree
When I decided on my career choice, I was 17. I liked the Backstreet Boys and belly tops. What does that girl decide to do with her life? Study finance! Obviously. Oh, my misguided youth… I don’t regret my career choice at all, I just wish I had a bit more exposure to the choices available. I am not my degree any more than blogging makes me a successful writer. It’s never too late to re-invent, it’s the whittling down on choices that’s the mind-bending part.

On winning the lottery
As opposed to several years ago, I won’t spendit all on one massive shopping spree. Also, actually buying a lottery ticket is imperative to winning it.

I don’t want to take over the world anymore
I’d have to wear lycra and come up with a name, an evil laugh and group classifications for my army of minions. Actually, I do have all of the above, except for the lycra.

lastly,

Writing about my personal life isn’t as tacky as I thought.
In fact, I’m finding this rather therapeutic 🙂

I still feel like I’m a few inches too short to get on the rollercoaster ride, but, at least I wear big-girl bras now!

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Like sands through the hourglass…

average-housewife-afternoon-soap-operaI like sordid. In fact, I revel in it. This is mostly due to the fact that I’ve watched cheap soap operas whilst in my impressionable teenage years. I adored Taylor, Brooke, Sammy, Carrie and the other soap opera babes. All of them… It was only during my cynical early adulthood that I realised what they were – ‘Ambitious women that achieve their goals through questionable means’, otherwise referred to as whores, skanks, slappers, tarts, ho’s and sluts. I know, it’s easy to give them all a label and you think that any of those words apply. Wrong! There are intrinsic differences, subtle and equally dirty, but differences nonetheless.

THE ULTIMATE SKANK BLOG.

whoreWhores
Bio: In many cultures, they are referred to as the fore mothers of the modern variants we see frequenting our daily lives, labelled as such by those that prefer to use Old English to define them. Often portrayed as the most vulgar of them all, these women conduct daily life making a living through means of prostitution or stealing husbands. Once their acts are vindicated, they become martyrs, often seeking solace in exotic places such as Babylon or upon silk sheets in hotels along the French riviera.
Habitat: The whore is a nomad by nature, moving to places that allude to offering them wealth, though inclined to settle once their materialistic needs are fulfilled.
Mating habits: The whore uses sex as a trade, through a voluntary process, weighing her outputs against the value of her actions.

Skank
Bio: One of lower class, predominantly found in trailer parks or on the arm of Dennis Rodman. Often viewed as dirty, displaying a lack of personal hygiene and complete disregard for the condition of her skin. May be considered to be less beautiful than her peers. Also, a type of dance that white people do.
Habitat: A native of trailer parks, abandoned high-rise buildings and the back of Ford Cortinas.
Sexual habits: Elusive, often conducted in dark corners. Their sexual partners tend to deny any involvement, often evading questions through a semblance of logic. Ex: “I’d never sleep with her, she’s fugly”.

slut

Slapper
Bio: A party animal. A frequenter of bars, parties, clubs and pubs. That hot girl that’s a friend of a friend of Joe’s cousin who denied you the pleasure of her company and you’ve secretly been lusting after her since then. In it for the good times. Mostly considered as easy when under the influence of alcohol. Uses the power of suggestion to get what she wants without actually keeping to her promises.
Habitat: Trendy nightspots such as Manhattan and The Baron. Photographic evidence usually documented on Thunda.com, later tagged on Facebook.
Sexual habits: It seems as if she’ll do anyone except you.

Tart
Bio: A type of confectionery. Easily identified by her bubbly personality and/or complete lack of brain activity. A serial flirt by nature, the Tart manages to get a lot of attention through very little use of thinkery. Mainly used as a derogatory term amongst older woman of English heritage.
Habitat: Your mom’s tea party/braai, often engaged in conversation with the husband of that bitch Maude, whilst her friends stare at her in aplomb.
Sexual habits: A Tart will deny that she’s ever slept with your husband. You will believe her because she’ll do it in a very ditsy manner. Even if you could prove it, you would never allow yourself to believe that you got ousted by someone perceived to be less intelligent than you.

Ho’s
Bio: A product of hip hop. Not restricted to gender (see man ho’s and faux ho’s). Not necessarily a derogatory term. Created for means of use in rap songs. Words that rhyme with ho: mo’, fo sho’, blow, dough. A ho is a product, usually starting out as a shawty then yo’ girl then yo’ baby mamma and finally, a ho, when she demands alimony.
Habitat: Different area codes.
Sexual Habits: Usually sleeps with rap stars, older women of elaborate means and yo baby daddy.

Slut
pic4smBio: Usually sleeps with anyone as long as they flatter her ego. A woman with the morals of a man.
Habitat: They’re everywhere. Capable of adapting in the most harsh of environments. The Slut is also mobile through means of paying for lifts with sexual favours.
Sexual Habits: Anywhere. Any time. Any place. What? Did you just tell me that I’m beautiful? *pounces*

I must admit, defining these terms took a while and was very difficult at first, but I had lots of fun attempting to. Thanks to those that pushed me to write it. Slappers, the bunch of you.

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Of Mice and Men

I overheard the term ‘soapbox’ this morning. Strange term that. Before I go on, let me state that this blog has nothing to do with the political and humanitarian rights aspect associated with protesting on discarded soap boxes.

When people say ‘soapbox’ I think of the endless lectures I got from my mom about how sad life was when they lived on the farm that she had to go to the river to fetch water so she could have a bath and she used this certain type of soap that was in a blue paper wrapping. You know the wrapping I’m talking about, the wrapping that gets all goo like after you’ve run from the shower to wherever the soap is kept, trying not to slip on the tiles as you pray that no-one is awake to watch this debacle in mild amusement. Then when you finally get to the shower, your hand is covered in this oatmeal like grunge. I hate that type of wrapping.

Times, as they say, are changing. Not only can you get soap in boxes that don’t disintegrate, but you get soap that promises cleansing capabilities of unfathomable kinds of dirt. Observe:

125837233_m1
I know that the makers of this product developed and marketed it as a sort of ‘kitch-cool’ thing that’s meant to be taken very tongue in cheek, see, I don’t. Why are there only two options? Where is the purple one with the ‘Not a virgin but definitely not at slut status’ title? I demand a purple soap!

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind sluts or virgins. I believe that they are an integral part of the economy. Virgins are the fantasy, the ideal.  Sluts are harder to explain without pissing one gender off… so I have come up with a clever solution:

IF YOU ARE A MAN PERSON, READ HERE
-A slut is a temporary distraction used for purposes of a sexual nature. Does not require any consideration thereon as she is freely available or disposable.
-Someone you can blame when things don’t go as planned, using her ‘wanton’ like ways as an indication of her moral character.

IF YOU ARE A FEMALE PERSON, READ HERE
-A slut is a term made up by men that need their fragile egos stroked once in a while so that they may become productive members of society
-A slut is a woman so envied by her counterparts that her less than equal enemies have no defence against so they resort to mud-slinging by ways of implying that her sexual appetite is morally wrong.

Just about anyone can be a slut. Take this woman for instance

PALIN CABINET

I know which soap you would use Ms Palin. Don’t even try to talk your way out of this one missy.

While we’re in Alaska, did you know that the plural for Moose is not Meese or Mice but actually Moose? Well that’s no fun at all.

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