The fever of the jungle kind…

To whom it may concern,

I hope you’re all geared up with a stupid amount of chocolate, sure to cause severe cases of diabetes in the near future, I know I am.

The other day my friend Aidan showed a group of us a photo of an Indian girl stating “Bro she’s definitely a 9” although the group was in agreement, shawty was definitely a babe, there was the swift and giggly justification “Oh Aidan, you’ve definitely got that jungle fever going huh”. Aidan sheepishly agreed, “Well I think it’s quite evident”. Not everyone wears the branding with as much style as Aidan. Another mate on the other hand previously said of the same girl “ I don’t really know if she’s pretty, I’m not really into brown girls aye”. Which is a vastly accepted notion here in Kiwi- land, a notion I only found out about having left school.

According to the ever-handy urban dictionary, Jungle Fever is: When a non-black person has a sexual fetish partial to black people. Originally it was used for when a white woman dates black men, but now the term has even shifted enough colloquially to commonly include a person who is Caucasian who is attracted to a non-African, or to a person with a diversely different racial background.

Thanks, urban dictionary!

My first celebrity crush was Jonathan Taylor Thomas from ‘Home Improvement’ when he didn’t grow very much I was convinced we were meant to be, my first boyfriend was Caucasian but not intentionally, I didn’t grow up with the idea that white men needed to have a sexual fetish of my skin to be attracted to me. I was definitely under the impression it was my unintentional slapstick humour and let’s be real, Sandy and Mandy that were my selling point(s)…budum bum chhh. Apparently, I was wrong.
But friends lets all be a little kinder and more sensitive towards each other, because if someone asked me if I find Ryan Gosling attractive and my response was “um I’m not really sure, his skin, y’know the fact that its all white isn’t really working for me so I can’t tell if he’s hot” a group of trained females, gay men, and straight male assassins would find me and kill me for my crassness and stupidity. Some men are genuinely un-attracted to women of colour and some have a genuine fetish towards a certain race, which is absolutely fine – don’t hate a pl4Ya. But let’s not make the ones who feel as though they’re “diseased” with a “fever” and perhaps then more men would feel more comfortable to look past skin colour and appreciate Sandy’s and Mandy’s of all nations.

An unwanted adventure & my first experience with Tinder

One of the guys had somehow racked up 230 matches. He sent one of his matches a message that read, “Hit me up with them digits gurl” and it worked. She hit him up. He decided to enlighten me to his “pulling” method, which only leads to me being more scarred than anything. He figures that most girls on Tinder are 1) good to go but also 2) constantly hit on because of the app’s popularity.

To whom it may concern,

This week like most has not disappointed me as far as entertainment goes. It started off with a traumatic mini-adventure. Having had a reasonably tame weekend, if you don’t count the particularly rowdy family night that definitely included some Sporcle Cricket trivia, I made a last minute decision to go out for St. Patrick’s Day! And after enduring a particularly long lecture I hopped on a bus at a bus stop I’d been utilising for the last 3 years. Till Monday any bus I’d gotten on always went via Newmarket to its destination. Turns out some of them just go straight to Otahuhu and I’d just been really lucky till that point. With my 10minutes journey home having turned into an hour long bus ride beside a scowling, moustached lady with mutton-chops that’d put most of the men I know to shame, I was in absolutely no mood to celebrate St. Patrick’s day. But like every good student of procrastination, I pulled myself up by the boot straps, donned my token green piece of clothing and headed over to my mate Tom’s place.

It was here that a few of the relatively sober guys decided to educate me on their experience with Tinder. For those of you above the age of “cool” and the technologically challenged Tinder is an app that syncs a few Facebook photos of choice, allows you to create a Bio of yourself and links you with fellow singles of your selected age-range in your vicinity. If you find that someone’s photo and bio to tingles your loins you swipe right and if you don’t, left. If they also find you to be the Cat’s Meow, tinder will “match” you up and you can chat to them.

One of the guys had somehow racked up 230 matches. He sent one of his matches a message that read, “Hit me up with them digits gurl” and it worked. She hit him up. He decided to enlighten me to his “pulling” method, which only leads to me being more scarred than anything. He figures that most girls on Tinder are 1) good to go but also 2) constantly hit on because of the app’s popularity. Therefore he figured his slightly “forceful” technique of emulating 50 cent would make a change from the poor lads out their telling these girls they were beautiful. I then learnt of how my friend had so many matches that Tinder allowed him to make folders for them. He’d arranged them in order of hotness to increase efficiency. Fast forward to Friday night when he’d consumed a couple of beers and decided it’d be hilarious to dirty talk to the folder of girls he didn’t care about. Ladies form a line. Tinder can’t all bad, though, a friend’s older brother just moved in with his Tinder match of 5 months so there’s that. Plus abs pics and the guy that photoshopped himself on Miley Cyrus’ body on a cannonball. Keep grindin’ dude your soul mate is a swipe away. But its safe to say being enlightened to this guy’s folder method was a sufficient deterrent to Tinder and life in general.

Anyway, I definitely have an assignment due on Friday and instead have done a completely useless analysis of a dating/”friendship” app (stop lying to yourself).

Wish me luck kids,

Xx

Keth

My funny Valentine…

My man is a little different. At first he’d just come to the mall to kill time either from lack of a job or maybe he’s so rich he doesn’t need to work. Either way he was there with his extremely long beard. Not the sexy kind, the kind that homeless men have because they can’t afford a razor.

To whom it may concern,

Valentine’s Day is swiftly approaching so I figured you all needed a cure from the last depressing post. Don’t feel too bad about my lack of social skills with men. Sometimes, not often, there’s one guy who finds my lack of a grasp of the English language in situations of pressure rather adorable.

Since I left school I’ve had a part-time job as a Customer Service Representative for a mall. The mall is pretty schmancy, in the heart of Newmarket in Auckland; a mall where most of the retailers themselves are a pristine reflection of the ridiculously expensive clothes they sell (I’m looking at you hot Barkers guys…yeaah, you aiite 😉 ) On your average Saturday morning the mall is streaming with the love children of Beauty Queens and Millionaires wearing boat shoes and a Ralph Lauren sweater casually slung across their broad shoulders even though there isn’t a boat in sight and it is really rather warm for a sweater. But no complaints here because when you’re that good looking nobody cares and apparently you don’t sweat! Pretty much the perfect place to meet a beautiful man who is not only smart but also rich?

My man is a little different. At first, he’d just come to the mall to kill time either from lack of a job or maybe he’s so rich he doesn’t need to work. Either way, he was there with his extremely long beard. Not the sexy kind, the kind that homeless men have because they can’t afford a razor. One day he walked by the Customer Services desk and saw a Brown Princess awkwardly daydreaming (me, I’m the Princess…it’s my story) He dares not approach the Princess for her vacant stare was too intimidating but mostly creepy. So he returned every day after trying to figure out exactly which days she worked there, all the while plucking up his courage to talk to her.

He gained hope when one day she wasn’t daydreaming and looked in his direction so he quickly took advantage and did the ethnic head shake that all fobby ethnic men give a girl when they recognise that she too, is of similar ethnic and cultural background! He did some reconnaissance work with the security guard and asked for her age and name. Turns out he was quite a bit older than she was and by a bit I mean a lot. But he didn’t care. He continued to show up as she started her shift and didn’t leave the mall till she finished her shift. Sometimes he’d walk by her desk “on the phone” so it didn’t look like he was just there. Then FINALLY one day he went up to the desk and said “I’ve been coming here every day for you. You want coffee sometime?” and she said, “No thank you, is there anything else I can help you with?”

But he persevered! He would not take rejection, for months of preparation had gone into asking her out. So he began watching her at her bus stop. That’ll win her over for sure! But then she called security who rewarded him with a trespassing notice from the mall and a warning that the next time he approached a Customer Service Girl the Police would be called. Because stalking young girls is a crime.

So what am I doing for Valentine’s Day? I’ll be working the evening shift at the mall where our kick-ass security team keeps me safe from stalkers 🙂 Come say hi! Bring me chocolate 🙂

xx

Your Valentine

Tragic experiences with boys – Part 1 of many

Picture a brown Lorde performing at the Grammy awards, with the alty hand movements and crazy eyes but without the singing, in a normal conversation. Yea. That sort of sums up my attempt at flirting.

To whom it may concern,

I don’t consider myself a shy person – I doubt many do. However when it comes to the department of the gentlemen, whoa buddy. No words.

Picture a brown Lorde performing at the Grammy awards, with the alty hand movements and crazy eyes but without the singing, in a normal conversation. Yea. That sort of sums up my attempt at flirting.

In my defense I never really had to deal with the “dating” situation at school. My first boyfriend asked me out in year 11 and he’d known me since I was 12 – he knew I was weird before we started going out. Luckily for me, he put up with my weirdness till University. Someone give that boy a medal. Let’s just say it’s a good thing he had a strong sense of humour.

After 12 years of being in an all-girl environment, Uni was probably not the best time to figure out how to talk to lads. It also doesn’t help that I’m almost always oblivious to most social cues but also somehow manage to over-think EVERYTHING.

So one day when a lovely guy and I decided to watch a movie I was understandably very nervous.

1) I didn’t know the guy very well at all so he definitely wasn’t aware of how totally cool I am and frankly wasn’t sure if he could handle it (not even a little sarcastic). 2) Not everyone really “gets me” – a fact I constantly forget. 3) The word “date” was never used – STRESS OF MY LIFE. 4) He is definitely a lot smarter than I am + the chances of me saying something stupid are high = maybe I shouldn’t speak?

I was so incredibly nervous that to this day I have no recollection of anything I said on the actual date/not date/was it a date? Seriously guys what the hell was it…

All I know is it probably wasn’t good.

The one part I do remember was the car slowing down and my attempt at being “cute”. He’d been telling me about how he’d had his first lot of patients that day and how they’d all been rather depressing (Yea he’s studying to be a Doc…see what I mean about smart).

What I meant to say was  ”I had fun! *Hair flick* I hope you have better luck with your future patients *cheeky grin* “. And then he’d be like “damn. This girl has some great listening skills and I really appreciate that cheeky grin”

What came out of my mouth was: “thanks for the ride, Good luck for your future” *exits car* and he was probably like “wtf?”

So that happened. I’m just going to stop, fulfill my Father’s dream of me becoming a lesbian Nun (He doesn’t trust boys, he thinks they’re ALL trying to do the horizontal tango with me…little does he know) and just save everyone the trouble of having to deal with me. Except for the lesbian nun population, which I feel, would be very small, so no harm done.

Always yours,

Tragedy.