I had a conversation with a friend yesterday. We were joking around about some trivial shit when I mentioned that I will probably at some point in the future invest in a little bit of Botox or boob implants or both. He was surprised, probably even shocked at how superficial I had exposed myself to be. But honestly, it’s not that simple. It’s not even that I am unhappy with the way I look. I actually feel about a million times better than I did in my early twenties, I feel more attractive, I feel more vibrant, all in all age is treating me well ( at least in terms of looks, I’m not talking about work or relationships or life, or money. So basically like Berlin: arm aber sexy, lol. (This by the way is a scam, I have never seen a city unsexier than Berlin)). The thing is though, that I know that I will not always look the way that I look now. And that is of course okay because it is natural and because I am more than just my looks BUT the problem is that I also know how my life is when I look good as opposed to when I do not. And I honestly prefer my life when I look good. Now usually when I talk about this to guys that are into me, they will exclaim something like „you never look bad!“ but that is obviously nonsense. Give me two weeks of not washing my hair, two months of living in Berlin and voila, I look like an alcoholic deprived of sunshine, which would be the truth. I was once turned away by a guy who thought I was begging („no, sorry, thanks!“) when I was in fact just trying to ask for directions (true story).
But that is of course an extreme. A less extreme scenario and far more common is the way I get treated on a market day on a good-looking day as opposed to a bad-looking day (now you can always put these terms „good“ and „bad“ in inverted commas in your head, because of course it’s „all in the eye of the beholder“ blablaba, but we all know what I am saying!). The difference in how I get treated is striking! On a good day, visiting Maybachufer market is a joy, I will leave with a bag full of fruit and vegetables and a hand full of compliments and many how are yous and discounts here and an olive to taste there and very quick and friendly assistance when pressing past hundreds of other hands to buy a bag of grapes. To juxtapose: on a bad-looking day I will be asked not to touch the avocados. „But how am I supposed to know which ones are good??“. „They are good, just take, don’t touch“. WTF. That’s the whole point of a market innit, touching the avocados? Not groping of course, that’s just disrespectful. But touching? feeling? smelling? Nope! Sorry. Not today!
I was forced to buy a new laptop some weeks ago. Now my ex-boyfriend was growing increasinly annoyed at me for asking questions like „what’s a RAM?“ so I decided to take things into my own hands and go to Mediamarkt to get advised on what laptop I should buy (later online). But going to Mediamarkt for advice is not as simple as it sounds. It’s winter, people are grumpy and low on Vitamin D and I had been there two weeks prior to buy a powerbank for a vacation I was going on. That day I had had an ugly day. I went into the shop and asked one of the guys where the powerbanks are. He pointed me in a general direction. I asked him if he could help me figuring out which one I should buy and his response was: „They are over there. You can read the description on the back“. I was shocked at his rudeness. But then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window and I understood. So this time around I was not going to take any chances. Make up (including foundation as it is apparently very important to guys that the face is the same colour all over), lipstick, heels, tight pants, cleavage. I went to the notebook aisle and I was not disappointed. I spent 40 minutes asking questions that two Mitarbeiter attending to me did not tire answering. „sorry, can you just explain that again, I’m not even sure, is a megabyte bigger or the gigab….“ A smile in response. More than happy to help. In the end I didn’t even have to come up with an excuse as to why I wasn’t going to buy the laptop he highly recommended in the shop because he said: „honestly, get that one, but order it somewhere else online, it will be much cheaper“.
So all I am saying is that I am keeping a bit of botox and a bit of a boobjob as an option in the back of my head. Because in all honesty I am just terrified that one day no matter how much makeup I apply I will be sent to the notebook section to look at laptops and figure out the difference between mega and gigabytes all by myself.
Cape Town Stories 15
Coming from a casting in town I decided to take the scenic route through the Company’s Gardens, a place I had loved coming to as a child: here we would buy peanuts in little plastic packets to feed the squirrels – the aim was to get them to eat out of our hands. Honestly today the thought of that repulses me, I find it hard to differentiate between a rat and a squirrel, really the only difference is the tail, is it not? But at the time it was too much fun coming to this place with its amazing lush trees, their old, thick trunks ideal for a game of hide and seek. Today a man played not hide and seek but peek a boo next to one of those trees as I walked passed. I saw him put his hand in his pants and take out his penis, and as I quickened my pace he said something generic like „Hey sexy girl!“ and then promptly began to pee. For a second I was relieved, but disgust quickly returned. I told him: „sies, don’t do that“ to which he replied, still peeing „I’m not watching you“. Uhm, how are you saying that while you are looking straight into my eyeballs? I am incredulous and kind of shocked at myself for still talking to him, all the while still rushing away: „No, but don’t say something like that to me while you are peeing!“ to which his literal response was a confused yet firm: „WHY?“. The type of why that does not actually mean „why?“, but rather „why not?“. I guess sometimes you just wanna whip out your penis and pee against a tree AND tell a girl you like her at the same time! Why not? I guess it’s a beautiful day in Cape Town if you just concentrate on the sound of the birds chirping as you run away.
Cape Town Stories 14
My sister and I went to grab a coffee down at the heavily overpriced Biscuit Mill (or Biscuit Müll if I may try a pun in German). It was so full we sat on the floor between hundreds of tourists (92 Percent German), drinking our coffee and trying to ignore the electronic music (uhm, Mauerpark much?) accompanied by a didgeridoo (seriously though, did they just copy-paste Mauerpark into South Africa?). The South Easter was not joking that day and so we had to hold on to our paper cups (I know, we are all part of the problem) to keep them from blowing away and my sister was getting increasingly annoyed at her hair smacking her face so she removed her flowery t-shirt, rolled it up and asked me to tie her hair with it.
Some people must have thought our hair-wrapping situation to be a performance piece, because as one old (white) man took a photo of us another old (white) woman literally stopped walking to watch us. No, let me rephrase: stare at us. I look up at her and say „Hi, what’s up?“. But she clearly does not enjoy crowd work because she just smiles and walks away. Oh okay than.
Some moments later we bumped into the dad of an old school friend of my sisters. We went to a rich private school and he was one of those men that lives on that side of the mountain where bougainvilleas grow the size of most peoples‘ houses and the swimming pool is placed conveniently between guest house and private tennis court. Anyways to cut a long story short, he wanted us to eat with him and his wife (I said yes immediately, I was hungry and who says no to free food and wine anyway!) and now to get to what I wanted to say: he is so rich he does not know the name Mitchells Plain. No jokes! He talked about how they purchase their organic vegetables for the hotel he owns from a farm in a place called „Mitchell…? Something Mitch-Plain?“. Guys! I am being so fucking serious right now! He lives in Cape Town! But he is so rich his mouth does not know how to say Mitchells Plain! The struggle is real I tell you!
Cape Town Stories 13
I had to go to Groote Schuur this morning. You know, the hospital placed conveniently next to the graveyard? Yes, it is bleak, very bleak.
Anyways, I needed to take the lift up to floor G and as I entered, a white woman stood shouting at a Black guy who had had the audacity to press his floor which was up before she could press her floor which was down: „No! I wanted to go down! And now you pressed before me and now it’s going to go up!“ She wanted to get out of the lift before the doors closed, pressing past people who tried to reassure her „Don’t worry, it will also go down“ but she could not be appeased: „No!“ she screamed as she jumped off the lift „I am going to Europe!“. We laughed.
Upon reflection I realise she may have actually said „No, I am going to walk“ (phonetically there is a similarity, say it loudly) because I later saw her again on floor G. But for the sake of this story a white woman screaming „I am going to Europe!“ because the lift would not go down just seemed funnier, no? So yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.