How to Ruin a Good Vacation .............

.........Vacation with my mother!!! There I said it and I'm not taking it back. (unless my mama reads this statement,then this blog will have to come down with the speed of light. I might be an independent strong black blah blah blah woman but my mama is even stronger and even at twenty seven I still meet the criteria for being walloped to death lol). Okay so I'm back, scarred, bruised and heavily traumatised but back all the same. Who wouldn't be(scarred,bruised and heavily traumatised)after spending four weeks in the captivity of my mother? (disclaimer: this statement might have to be deleted at the speed of light lol)Seriously my mother has the energy, the intelligence and superhuman five senses that are sharp enough to sap the joy out of any good vacation. By 'joy' I mean men,nightlife and more men.

But having said that I had an amazing holiday. So much to tell and so very little time, but if one word sums up my SA holiday it would be SEX or lack of it but wait 'lack of it' is actually 3 words so SEX it is. Not that I'm confessing to having had any, how could I? My mother not only preaches abstinence but she damn well insures it is practiced with the ruthlessness of an African dictator. My mother is up there with the Hitchcock's or Mafia of the abstinence world. I swear she can detect the tiniest threat of sexual activity before you can even say the words bum skimming shorts or micro mini. Which is a shame, there is no point to having sexy legs if you cant put said sexy legs on display. My mother hypocritically states that thighs should be reserved for the eyes of a husband, but with the same mouth she tells my sister 'what kind of married woman wears such a thing' (thing in this instance standing for very tight micro shorts which ironically she was wearing for a night out with her husband at some random beach party. Clearly there is no pleasing some people ('some people' here completely refers to my mother lol).

Speaking of husbands, my mother hijacked my brand new sinfully expensive (according to my ever expanding overdraft lol) Christian Lacroix nightie (if you could call the flimsy material that). She claims I don't need any sexy nightwear, I don't have a husband. (*deep sigh* 'mum I do have sex you know', ) (Disclaimer: I did not say this out loud to my mothers face, I'm still young, I do not want to die, in fact I would rather let you cut me up into a million pieces or skin me to death than die at the hands of my mother). Apparently I'm not deserving of any sexy lingerie but she is, she did not have the decency to refund me my money, I did not have the suicidal nerve to ask for it. I refuse to imagine what she possibly got up to, or is getting up to in it. I do not want to be permanently emotionally scarred, but i am boycotting Christian L for life, I could never wear it again without having mental images I don't want to ever have, so future potential boyfriends please take notes.

Its a truth universally acknowledged that the sole purpose of going on a foreign holiday is to have sex with a foreign man (or depending on how adventurous you feeling, have sex with foreign men plural) . A safari or two might also be on the agenda, you might be suicidal enough to try bungee jumping or sky diving but ultimately nothing beats having sex with said foreign man. Okay i made that up, but whats the point of going on holiday if sex is not on your 'To do List' ? Speaking of sex, i dont normally kiss and tell but the most important lesson i learnt whilst in Mzansi (SA) was that if you intend on having 'sex on the beach' for maximum comfort buy a beach house, or more practicably have sex with a rich foreign man who already owns a beach house unless you want to spend the rest of your holiday removing sand from your down belows lol.

So I'm not sure if I managed to meet Buttercup(big sigh). I met a street hawker called Mercy (originally from Zimbabwe,but not a relation or acquaintance of Shona's lol) selling vhuka vhuka which she informed me is some kind of p*nis enlargement herbal sh*t, but she denied being responsible for those thoroughly annoying spam emails that fill up my junk folder stating 'Dear Miss DM would you like to enlarge your penis blah blah blah...' Coincidentally I also met a street hooker called Obianujuaku (yes I did ask her to write down the spelling). Apparently her name means 'born to plenty' or 'born to a rich family'. (obviously not that rich if she is plying her feminine wares in the dark alleys of Cape Town). Speaking of Obi I've just has a thought...buttercup I hope that wasn't you lol.

Speaking of hookers I also met a money guzzling, fame hungry,man eating gold digga who was heavily disguised as my brother's girlfriend (lol my mother's words not mine). She loves my mother with the passion of a girl who fears she might be left off the shelf and knows that the way to my brothers heart is through my mother and of course his wallet. My mother in turn treats her with so much contempt, I cant remember my mother disliking anyone so intensely or with so much passion....actually I do, my brother's previously girlfriend who foolishly informed my mother she was 'a non believer'. My mother was incredulous I think little miss non believer holds the Guinness world book record for being thrown out of a house at the speed of lightning.

I've been blubbering non stop, you see I missed you guys,its certainly good to be back to civilisation (by civilisation I mean any place away from my mother lol....you know I love you mama.)

The Cow jumped over the moon.............

in the words of R Kelly.....

My mind....my mind is telling me NO!!!!!!

But my body..my Body is screaming yes yessss yesssssss yes oh yesssss!!!!!!!!

So I'm off to the sunny sometimes cloudy skies of Cape Town and Joburg for a fortnight

to clear the cloudy seeds of doubt.

And when im back, maybe that cow would have jumped over the moon and became a dog,

but if it insists on being called a cow, you might as well line up with your buckets for free semi skimmed milk, coz we gonna milk this cow dry lol!!!!

Buttercup if you meet any drop dead gorgeous sexy intelligent, hot fabalous ******insert any other discription for a bombshell***** skinny bitch, ask for her autograph coz that could definitely be your very own Miss DM. lol

9 Days Celibate and still Counting.........

My celibacy count is back down to a mere 9 days. Don't even know if that still counts as being 'celibate' I miss being celibate (insert big sigh)I miss feeling so self righteous amongst my rampant friends like i belonged to some elite stuffy boring uppity club, wish I had made him just put the 'head' in lol so i could technically still be a celibate non condom buying so and so.

Speaking of condoms God are they so dear.....hmmmmm there is something oddly unsettling about mentioning God and condoms in the same sentence, but seriously last time i bought condoms they cost 20 cents came in one shape, one colour and had the same latex taste lol. I bought my first condoms at 11.....from my brother aged 6 who had stolen them from my mother aged...... well dunno how old she was but my behind was certainly a few years older than me when she was done with it. She kept shouting 'show me where it goes!!!' whilst beating the living daylights out of me. I become permanently scarred, whenever I'm buying condoms my heart is always almost about to leap out of my chest, like she will suddenly leap out from the checkout counter shouting 'show me where it goes!!!' if you know my mama please advise her not to try it though coz i might just.......just...just be brave enough to lift up my skirts and defiantly shout, 'it goes in here mum, its definitely been in here!!!'.

So me and him are having 'a thing'. I hate having 'a thing' with a dude. You know that indescribable confusing stage where you have moved past the point of being casual lays, (we speak on the phone all the time for hours on end, he is the only person I can bare my soul to, and he tells me he loves me and wants to be only with me ) but for reasons best known to myself I absolutely refuse to classify what we 'have' as a relationship so ' a thing' it is. 'Things ' are supposed to be less complicated, I used the word supposed coz they are in reality a whole lot complicated and messy. What is 'a thing?'. Does it give you a licence to diversify your man portfolio? legitimately I can always do another thingy on the side after all ' we are just having a thing' right? Is a relationship a relationship because you have that conversation where you agree to be exclusive and actually say yeah we are now in a relationship, or is it the case of if it looks like a dog, barks like a dog and lives in a Kennel then it is a dog even if it calls itself a cow? if I'm to keep my sanity 'we' can not be in a dog, I insist that what we have is a cow, a non milk producing, barking, kennel sleeping, dog look alike but I insist its a cow nonetheless.

Sexclaus is coming to town .............

Just so you know

Sexclaus is coming to town

and when he does,

he is soooooooo going down my chimney

not once, not thrice, but over and over again

'Sexclaus'

lets do the maths........

fcuking my brains out = Sex

going down my 'chimney', deliverin' my goodies and making my christmas come early = Claus

so Sexclaus

Johhny Teabag upstairs aint got shit on you.

so bye bye Pink Rabbit

The End of 389 days of celibacy.

Who Ate All the weight loss Pills Pies .........

Siren blazing, lights flashing, travelling at an almost suicidal speed, the car swerved from lane to lane, onto on coming traffic, past red traffic lights, zig zagging into the bus lanes and down one way streets, you would be forgiven for mistaking this as a scene from the latest Bond/Bourne movie, but it wasn't, if it had been a movie scene it would have been aptly titled 'Ms DM's almost fatal attempt to be a size zero'.... and it was...almost fatal...when I was admitted into the emergency department temperature at 38, my circus qualifying abnormally big head almost twice its normal abnormal size, breathing through non invasive ventilation, my life, actually to be exact my last 397 sex free days flashed through my mind and I had only one regret on my death bed, 'I should have fc*ked Johnny from upstairs brains out when I had the chance.'

At that very moment even though I felt I was dying, I would have given up the last three, four or seven hours I had left to live to have Johnny my tea bag borrowing upstairs neighbour appear in that A&E assessment ward and give me a mind blowing orgasmic send off into the 'other side'/ pearly gates. seriously as I lay nearly dying from dodgy weight loss pills bought off eBay all i could think about was 'God just one last chance to have sex' (in case you are wondering in my 26years I have already spent an average of 45 Sabbaths a year praying for my salvation so it would be have been only fair to spend the remaining few hours of my life focusing solely on sexual gratification lol).

After being humiliated and cheated out of a chance to bag 'the most eligible, noodle serving, pot bellied, Bugatti driving, sugar daddy on the block' by the Skinny-Bitch I vowed to join the size zero skinny bitches brigade, come doughnuts, lattes, cheese laden pastas, rich chocolate desserts, hail or sunshine. First research pit stop was the gastric bypass, (feel free to judge me all the heck you want lol) I am one for efficiency (working in billable hours does that sort of thing to you) I figured one better way to propel myself to Bugatti sugar daddy snatching size zero than getting my intestines nipped and tucked in Harley street? Besides, the fact that it was only two days after payday meant that the bank manager would happily give me the green light. But i found out the hard way that forget the disabled, gender inequalities, ethnic minority racial discrimination,bias against lesbians/bisexuals etc the world totally discriminates against those of us unfortunate enough not to be too thin and not too curvy either. Apparently no self respecting intestine nipping and tucking surgeon will touch anyone with a body fat mass index of less than 22, their excuse being its dangerous à la Kanye West mum's style hence totally unethical.

Undeterred I turned to the diet pills market, this was the point that the grim rippers clock must have started tick toking in my direction Final Destination style lol. In my defence the gym membership was not helping much, after religiously going to the gym four times a week and huffing and puffing nearly spitting my liver out on the treadmill, i was horrified to learn that i had gained 3lbs. the personal trainer had the nerve to try and spin a web of lies about muscle mass being heavier than fat blah dee blah n*gga purlizzzzzzzz that motivational sh*t don't wash on me, I mean its not as if I'm already spotting a six pack (yeah LLCoolJ always has me at Hello). Now my gym ought to be sued, whats with the sabotaging, situating the fitness suite right next to the drive through McDonald's and LaTasca(Italian restaurant), as I'm huffing and puffing on the treadmill the smell of freshly cooked pasta carbonara and big macs wafts through the room, plus you get discount vouchers for both restaurants as part of your gym membership WTF?????? You burn 400 calories on the treadmill and then afterwards pass through LaTasca and devour 1200 calories disguised as Pasta Carbonara (add 450 more calories if you have chocolate fudge cake as dessert), its a no brain-er so personal training so and so should cut the crap about muscle mass being heavier than fat, unless the other name for muscle mass is pasta carbonara lol.

So you know who your true enemies are when you ask a 'friend' to recommend certain diet pills that can fast forward you to skinnybitchness and she directs you to an Internet site. She swore the sh*t came highly recommended, was 100% legit and even endorsed by celebrities (yeah should have asked which ones, OJ Simpson???). Son or rather more aptly daughter of a b*tch nearly sent me to an early grave, without giving me the opportunity to get my brains sh*gged senseless by tea bag borrowing Johnny from down the stairs. I parted with nearly £183 for the sh*t (hey in my defense I'm sure that when i had successfully bagged Bugatti Veyron sugar daddy he would have spent x1000 that amount on 'keeping me happy' lol). The sh*t (sorry there is no politer word to describe the death pills that nearly killed me) even came with a guarantee that if you didn't loose 7lbs in the first week you would get your money back (conveniently the corresponding address was a P. Box number, now don't quote me on this but i need to recheck Vera's P.O Box number, girl could be the one who tried to grim reaper my ass lol). To cut a long story short, I took the first three tablets and in less than two hours my head had swelled up to twice its normal size, my heart was beating off the Richter scale of heartbeats, my whole body had a sinister looking purplish rash and i was badly swollen as if i had been rihanned by a team of 12 Chris Browns, I couldn't breathe my airways were closing up, in short that sh*t was killing me, thus i found myself on the way to the emergency department in an ambulance, wishing to God I had shagged tea bag borrowing Johnny from upstairs when I had the chance.

8 days later I'm now back home, recovering ( as if you could ever recover from such an ordeal) thanks Tigeress for checking up on me whilst I was in hospital, as for the rest of you Judas Iscariot's who never checked up on me, I hope you choke on a batch of the diet sh*t that nearly killed me. Seriously never ever buy pills off the Internet, I learnt my lesson the death bed way.........but thanks to eight days of horrible hospital 'food' (slimy mashed potatoes and mince meat which had a suspicious sardine like odour) I'm now firmly on my way to earning my Skinny Bitch club platinum pass lol so forget sh*gging Johnny from upstairs coz Bugatti Driving, noodle serving, pot belled Sugar Daddy here I come!!!!!!.

'Wallop me Mama for I have sinned'......

I was awarded the 'honest scrap award by Poeticallytinted. (see bottom of post for a picture of the award which Poeticallytinted gave me because she thinks my blog’s content or design is brilliant (ha ha ha how can I not be bigheaded when I literally have a big head). Thank you so much PT for showing my blog some love, unfortunately since there are no interesting facts about Ms DM, instead of the 'ten honest things about me' I have decided to do a post on ten 'sins' I have honestly been walloped for by my mama 'the queen of corporal punishments'.

10 honest sins things about me that I have been walloped for

1. I nearly got expelled from Primary school aged 7 for writing an explicit letter with hand drawn pornographic images. My mother has never forgotten this and she tattoed scars on my behind so that neither would I.

2.I once got my mother to fire a new housegirl because she had too many pimples on her face and i refused to eat what she cooked. My father concerned that I was not eating got my mother to fire her. my mother walloped me in my father's abscence for being shallow then turned me into the 'housegirl' for the remainder of the school holidays.

3. My brother who was aged 7 at the time once got me (at age 13) to electrocute myself on a socket claiming that it would feel 'nice'. My mother tatooed his behind, his face and his back in her expert effortless fashion, screaming 'is this nice?' over and over again.Then tattoed my behind for being foolish enough at 13 to listen to a 7year old boy and nearly getting myself killed in the process.

4. I was once 'chucked out' of our local church together with my aunt for being 'inapporpriately dressed in miniskirts. My mother cleared all our wardrobes and threw away anything that was 'above the knees.' which loosely translated means 'she left us with no clothes that were not trousers, jeans or school uniforms.

5.My mother once made me and my cousin sleep (nearly the whole night)outside our front gate in a hailstorm for going on a date with a guy at the same restauramt that she happened to be at for a business lunch. After being made to sleep outside we were still walloped the next morning.

6. My mother once made me and my sister shambock each other (nearly to death) for her entertainment (not strictly true but painfully accurate). We had gone to our nieghbours house and ate dinner there (because it was chicken and rice) and we were sick of the vegetarian (sabbath) saturdays at my house. Stupidly we had arrived home with 'rice and chicken' stains on our clothes.

7. I once 'shared' a man with my cousin because she was not convinved I was telling the truth when I said that he was a very good kisser and an expert at 'touching' up a woman that I agreed to let her 'expierence' it for herself. My brother told my mother and she walloped me and my cousin for 'trying to run a prostitution ring in her compound.

8.On holiday at my grandmothers I once wrote a letter to my father complaining bitterly about her alleged (false) cruel treatment of us (my brother and I)so that my parents could come pick us up. My mother brought my grandmother the letter, read it out loud in front of her and several other people and still left me in her care.....the treatment became accurately cruel (and not false) for the duration of that holiday.

9. In kindergaten I once stole and eat another child's lunch of jallof rice....and was caught. My mother cooked two big pots of jallof rice and demanded that I finish them or else she would wallop me. I finished them.....she still walloped me expertly.

10. When still at nursery I was so ashamed of an uncle of mine that my mother had asked to drop me at school (because he had a beard and had also just arrived from the village) that i lied to him that 'adults' were not allowed on the school premises and asked him to drop me round the corner. The teacher sent my mother a letter asking why I had arrived at nursery unaccompanied. My mother (after asking said uncle why he had not taken me straight into my nursery class and he told her what I had said to him) realised what I had done and walloped me for being ashamed of my relatives.

As i am incredibly selfish and want to hold on to the award lazy I will bend the rules of the award by not list seven blogs I find brilliant because every blog on my blog list and (those that i have ever read/commented on) are brilliant. However I will tag the first person to comment on this post to write thier own 'ten sins I have committed' post.

The Truth that got me 'Rihannad' ..............

My mama taught me all kinds of lessons, " if you so much as touch a guy you can get STI's", "you can get pregnant by merely smiling at a man", "your mother will know if you have fooled with a guy because your uterus is linked to her umbilical chord". My mother was a diligent teacher, she taught 'practicals' as well. Painful lessons delivered with equally pain inducing apparatus, shambocks, slippers, branches from our mango tree and my fathers Italian leather belts and stilettos thrown on the spur of an angry moment. Yes my mama was a professional at all kinds of lessons that involve torture but unfortunately she forgot to teach me the most important lesson of all 'under no circumstances shalt thou spit at random dudes'. I will never forgive her for this oversight, and neither will my ass.

He walloped me, right in the middle of the high street (or its African equivalent). 6 inch heels held firmly in both hands, I ran like the wind towards my mothers office, what better place to seek sanctuary than in the arms of the woman who bore you. BIG MISTAKE. He ran like a tornado, chased me right past the uniformed doormen and the revolving door whilst continuing trying to kick me with his size 13 Wien Brenner clad caveman feet. (who knew men could multi task). As misfortune would have it I bump into my mother (with random guy still in hot pursuit) waiting for me in the lobby. My mother being my mother takes charge of the situation, by take charge I mean she wanted to know, 1.why I was ten minutes late for our appointment, 2. why I was charging into her office like a shoeless crazed idiot whilst being chased by another equally crazed but shoe wearing idiot. Before I could utter a single word Crazed Shoe Wearing Idiot blurts out 'Ma I do not know this girl, can you imagine she spat at me right in my face, spat at me like i was dirt, common filth, can you imagine Ma?' .

I can not describe to you what took place after he uttered that sentence. All i will say is hell hath no fury than a mother whose child has just spat at a random stranger. She walloped me. Right there in the front lobby, in full view of the underpaid receptionist with a hairstyle she could barely afford on her wages and was clearly supplementing by being sugar daddied by my mothers deputy (a story for another day). In full view of the doorman with his weather chapped hands, roughened from years of carrying management briefcases and holding the door open for senior management like my mother who were not disabled but were apparently deemed wealthy or educated enough not to have to carry out such trivia as opening their own doors or carrying their own briefcases(again another post for another day). Briefly my mother turned to Random Shoe Wearing dude and said with her boardroom authority 'my son let me handle this' and took off her Zanotti heels and preceded to wallop me like a new bride pounding yam to impress her new in laws.

I danced the 'two step' my feet yoyoing on the marble floor as if i was stepping on hot coals as my mother attempted to educate me the best way she knew how. The door man tried to come to my rescue but nearly got his weather chapped hands (that he used to carry management briefcases) 'stilettoed' and quickly retreated. I guess he was more interested in saving his briefcase carrying hands than preventing my mother from 'domestic violencing' my arse. Its ironic that it was random show wearing dude that saved me, he knelt down arms raised in the air as if in surrender, and cried 'Ma i beg wo you leave the girl , she doesn't know any better, please ma.' By this time i was cowering behind him, seeking protection from the very person who ten minutes before I had so eagerly (with his encouragement if i might add ) spat at. My mother ordered me upstairs, and as i was getting into the lift I could hear her offering random shoe wearing dude some money "apparently for the indignity I had made him suffer" which he then had the indignity to accept. That was the best or the worst walloping I ever got (depending whether you were interviewing my mother or me). This walloping had been completely undeserved and up to this day I feel strongly that a great injustice was committed right there in that office lobby.

*rewind 15 minutes earlier*

You see I had met Random Shoe Wearing dude outside the bank as I was going to my mother's office. Granted i had spat at his face, looked him in the eye and then intentionally spat at him with all the force i could fathom, but he had asked me to, Literally asked me to spit in his face, his exact words were 'If you do not fancy me, like I fancy you, spit in my face and then i will know you mean it.' I had refused but he had insisted kept following me all the way from the Bank towards my mothers office. I asked him to stop following me as i would get into trouble if my mama saw me with a random shoe wearing dude but he insisted 'spit in my face to prove you are serious and i will leave you alone. I pleaded with random shoe wearing dude to leave me alone but he would not listen, 'spit in my face, he urged, spit at me or else I will follow you right into your mother's office. As we rounded the corner and I saw my mothers multi story office building looming in the distance I debated whether I should.....'spit in my face' he yelled with zeal enjoying the discomfort that he was putting me through. At that very moment I made my decision..' Spit in........'(I did not let him finish this sentence) I turned looked him in the eye and dutifully obliged.

fast forward 3 seconds later

He walloped me, right in the middle of the high street (or its African equivalent). 6 inch heels held firmly in both hands, I ran like the wind towards my mothers office.......................

Date Me, coz I'm Rich ..............

Okay, before you start invading my inbox with all sorts of grovelling , arse licking, desperately pleading emails, asking for financial assistance to send your Siamese quadruplets or your one legged, three eyed, four nosed, green haired sister for emergency death or death surgery, let me clarify one thing.......I'm not rich. Anyone who still buys a lottery ticket, or takes part in any sort of bet, get rich quick scheme, raffle or lucky dip is clearly not 'rich' by my standards. No matter how much money you have, if you still feel the need to have more then clearly you are not rich, the same goes for those who don't have much money but don't feel the need to have more......you are even worse off...I shan't give you a label, I receive enough hate mail as it is lol.

Okay so I'm not rich, right?.......wrong.... according to Sparkey* and 9 of its users. I woke up to a message in my hotmail inbox. Dear Miss Definitely Maybe, This is a summary of reasons that people gave when asked "Why would you date Miss Definitely Maybe ?" 1. hot (138 votes) 2. cute (49 votes) 3. fashionable (23 vote) 4. rich (9 vote) . Really???????!!! 9 guys would be willing to date me only coz of my perceived wealth???? I mean I know I am an incredibly sexy, hot, intelligent good looking mama, who would definitely make the thehappygoluckybachelor's Stunnas of the Month List if only i was willing to submit my portfolio (lol there is no shame in honesty, don't hate the genes......). I mean I have heard about a gold digging dude or two but 9???!! Don't get me wrong I'm all for equal opportunity dating and all, hell men have as much God given gold digging rights as us the fairer sex, jus as long it ain't no man of mine or my money they doing their digging at lol.....coz there ain't enough of it.....to....share. What with my shoe buying and shoe buying and shoe buying? I ain't Oprah n*$$as, I hold down a 9 to 5!!!

I'm not sure how this 'gold digging' dating thing would work though. Do i have to drive him to work then pick him up again? Take him and his friends to the movies and pay for all their corn? Will it be mandatory to take him shopping on Saturdays and pay his mobile pone bill even if 3/4 of the calls are to his friends? Do I have to help him out with his rent, treat his brothers and buy drinks for 10 of his friends in the club? Do i take him for dinner and he shows up with an entourage and I'm still expected to foot the bill? Do I have to buy him Valentine, Birthday and anytime presents that are better than all of his friends'? Am i expected to turn up at his door with flowers and candy or send him on 6 figure sum costing holidays around the world just so i can be labelled romantic? I'm not stingy at all, I'm damn well overly generous with a whole lotta sh*t in a relationship, quadruple orgasms, toe curling 'sutra' , there's a whole loada honey in this kitty Kat and I'm all for sharing (lol don't hate.....jus practice the yoga/pilate's) but when it comes to finances I only have one motto, 'If it don't pay interest then don't invest in it period.'

Truly some of this sh*t is enough to turn a sister gay...... or NOT..... becoz historically women are worse than guys when it comes to gold digging and its leaching practices. According to a biased, inaccurate, totally unreliable and grossly inaccurate survey I carried out (in my head) for every 9 gold digging sparkey using dudes there are probably 900 gold digging sparkey using females allegedly disguised among its 9000 strong black independent women.... So Sparkey if you are listening forget the good man or woman but just send me a rampant rabbit... Date me coz I'm rich??? How about Date me NOT!!!!!!