I couldn't help but wonder...

"When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us." - Alexander Graham Bell 

Who knew that the engineer behind the first working telephone could have such a profound take on life? As if his contribution to communication and elocution wasn't enough, he was also a prophet speaking volumes about human nature and our inability to let go of things we hold so dear, especially when their ending is so long overdue. Too often we cling to the familiar and define ourselves by our daily routines, afraid to unmask ourselves and see through our limitations, even if it means immersing ourselves in the deepest, darkest oceans that run deep with our souls.

For Sex in the C.T.,  it's time to say goodbye. What started off as just another dude in a dress somehow turned into something more. It found a place and a voice of its own in the hearts and lives (and subsequently Facebook feeds) of many. Like all modern day musings, my intention was to communicate and marry indifference, making the world realize that we are actually one and the same in certain aspects of our lives. We are unified through similar experiences, heartaches, pleasures, pains and situations especially when it comes to making sense of love, life and of course, sex.  Do I have the answers? Not a fuck which is why I'll probably keep questioning in some way or another...

My first literary brain child has been inspired by a number of wonderful people in my life. Some of you know exactly who you are (and that as I promised, will go down with the ship) while others had no idea how much they truly inspired me. I have evoked feelings of unintentional and sometimes intentional pain using words to hurt for which I am truly sorry. But I have also evoked a thought process through my ramblings, providing an alternative view for those standing at one of life's many cross roads. Whether through personal introspection and experience or living vicariously through the hearts and souls of my fellow sister friends and brothers, I hope at the very least to have made some kind of a difference.

It is with great sadness but great relief that I say goodbye to my baby blog. Because of you, I am wiser and more mindful of the power words carry and hope to use that in more creative ways. A new journey and adventure awaits in the form of self reflection, The Manni Diaries. It's time to look back at the past and through it, find my future. As I find myself in a more honest surrounding, I can no longer rely on the stories and antics of others no matter how hilarious, sad or just plain salacious they may be.

To all the loyal fans across facebook and twitter that tuned in every Thursday for their SITC fix. Thank you. To Women24 for your constant support especially Carmen, Lili, Jana, Meagan and Tammy. Thank you. To my many muses across the globe. This blog would have been nothing but a blank space if it weren't for you and the wonderful stories you have shared with me. Respect. Keep being the individuals you are as you embrace new challenges and life choices that may bring us closer or further apart. Thank you. To Aiden, my ultimate and editor. Thank you. I know some of the things I wrote weren't always the easiest to read.  And last but certainly not least, to Cape Town. There really is no place quite like the mother city and in my heart, you will always be home.

So as I hang up my tutu and pink strappy top for one last time, I couldn't help but wonder...as one chapter closes, what lies behind the new door that stands in front of me?  

Watch this space....#TheManniDiaries

The Turkey Baster

Any cook worth her apron strings will tell you that in order to prepare a feast, you need to have all the right ingredients first. Whether you’re whipping up a tasty treat for two or simply simmering down after a long day at the office, the art of culinary genius requires a blend of skill, precision, technique and of course, perfect timing. Jamie Oliver and Youtube clips can only take us so far, but in order to achieve success, we need to have a dash of patience and one helluva of a plan. Whether you're a stranger to the home-cooked phenomenon or perhaps a self-proclaimed master chef, anyone who's ever flipped an egg before will tell you that the best results come from sticking to the recipe.

When it comes to serving a dish of happily ever after, the recipe seems so simple. Add one well-mannered, mature, gorgeous and mentally stable boy to one insatiable, funny, smart and driven girl until a relationship is formed. Once the relationship has settled, bind for about two to three years, kneading gently until a marriage is formed. Do not stir too hard. Let the marriage sizzle for about one to two years until it reaches optimum maturation. Whisk in a cup of hot, passionate sex and gradually combine with two to three kids. Mix in a lifetime of financial security, one medium to large sized house with a white picket fence and baste in happiness until death do you part. This recipe also works with same sex marriages. Simply substitute Step 5 with an adoption or surrogate agent.

But what happens when you get stuck along the way? When no matter how hard or how many times you try to stick to the fool-proof, non-stick plan, the end result always seems to flop? Timing may be everything when it comes to cooking but when it comes to life, there are only a certain amount of viable eggs that a girl can hold onto before the right man comes along. Should she deviate from traditional methods of conventional cooking and literally take matters into our own hands? Well if the Baker's man can...

If there was one thing that Dinny wanted most out of life, it was a child of her own. She had been in the dating game for nearly 36 years and decided that her Prince Channing had either died or met someone else along the way. This was not a void that she needed to fill but a calling, a right she felt entitled to. She wanted to take the next step in her chapter and she sure as hell wasn't going to let one missing ingredient take that away from her.

"I've been manting for about a year and a half now. Yeah, it's a diet free from all the dip-shit commitment phobes and men who can't seem to grow the hell up. I'm running out of time, Manni and the last thing I want is to be mistaken for my kids grandparent at his or her graduation ceremony. "We saved a seat for your grandma right up front." I want to walk my child down the aisle. Not hover or cruise down in a Segway. A woman such as myself doesn't need a man to make her dreams come true. I make my dreams come true. While a man is certainly nice to have in the inventory check list, the whole package is no longer essential."

Sacrebleu! Is it true? Have men become redundant? An obsolete ingredient when it comes to starting a family of your own? Is this the measure that women have been reduced to? 

And it seems as though AI procedures are no longer reserved for the reproductively challenged. It seems to have extended to the masses as a supply and demand item, quite apt for a society that thrives on instant gratification. Dinny went through thousands of potential donors until she finally found one that sparked her ovaries. As it turns out, the whole process was like online shopping. A catalogue of revolving donors all waiting to make Dinny's dreams come true. Simply select, hit defrost and apply judiciously with a turkey baster. Wait 15 - 45 minutes and voila, pregnant. Easy bake babies and instant parenthood.

"Of course it's a heavy decision. I'm catholic for Christ's sake. My family thinks I'm a lesbian and our priest thinks I'm possessed. I am pretty sure that I am going to get criticism about my child not having a stable father figure. I really don't care what the judges think anymore. I want a baby even if that means being a mother and father at the same time. Who knows. Maybe I'll meet Mr. Wonderful later on and add him to the mix but for now I'm happy with just me and bean. You see, some koeks crumble when they don't have it all by a certain age and so, they either give up or settle for mediocrity. Consider it like self-raising flour. Too fresh to flop."     

When it comes to placing a bun in the oven, and traditional methods no longer seem to do the trick, isn't it time we got a little creative? After all, aren't the true pioneer's those who add a little twist to the original recipe? Of course the results aren't always going to be successful but with a little patience, a killer medical aid and the right frame of mind, artificial insemination seems to be the only alternative for single ladies tired of waiting for the right man to come along...

When it comes to sticking to the original plan, even when the alternative provides a far more savory and satisfactory result, I couldn't help but wonder, are we all cooked?

The Mom Card

They say that there is no greater joy in life than bringing a child into this world. Some have even gone far enough to call it a gift, a miraculous life-altering event that every woman should experience at least once in her life, and one that cannot be understood or truly appreciated until you have a mini-me of your own.

Quite frankly, I can think of a million other ways of deriving joy and pleasure than nurturing a spawn of my own. The thought of sacrificing my spare time for play dates and swim meets doesn't sit well with someone who enjoys sleeping past 10am on a Saturday morning (at least for now anyway). The potty training, the screeching sound of twenty sugar hyped kids at Jimmy Jungle, sleepless nights from staying up with a snotty nosed, pink-eyed rugrat. That biological clock can tick as loudly as it wants to. I ain't budging. Call me shallow or hateful, but I quite like the smell of fabric softener on my cashmere sweater instead of the stench of lactose flavored spit up.

"Nothing is going to change. I promise you!" Famous last words used by any pregnant friend or friend with child in order to make themselves feel less guilty about the inevitable abandonment and demise of your friendship. Have you tried talking to someone with kids these days? It's either all about them, all about their child (which you really struggle to identify with) or like talking to someone with an attention deficit problem. Sure some kids are cute and have a certain charm of their own but any friend of friend with kids will tell you that the joy about being around these noisy, smelly critters is that you get to give them back at the end of the day. 

The sudden baby boom of 2015 got me thinking about relationships, particularly friendships that are unable to stand the test of time because of self-important, opinionated assholes that parenthood has the potential of turning some people into. It's easy to play the "you don't have kids so you couldn't understand" card, but at the end of the day, friendship is a two-way street. It survives on just as much mutual effort and compromise as any romantic relationship does. Yes, your life has become one big sacrifice after another, a choice you made, but does that necessarily make my life and its subsequent choices any less meaningful or important than yours? Are my accomplishments no longer important or recognized?

With great responsibility comes an even greater sense of power, not to mention, entitlement. Enter the Mom Card...

Working in an environment that's pro-family made me realize just how much a parent, especially a working mother, can get away with. While on the one hand, it might be considered a mild form of discrimination towards co-workers without kids, it's also an ingenious method of manipulation. Flexi-time, weekends at the company beach house, compassionate and paid-for maternity leave. What asshole is seriously going to say no to a sick kid? And what mother will honestly stand for it? While the mom card is highly effective in the work place and often used as collateral to get away with murder, just how acceptable is it when it comes to your social life?

Holly, Kendra and Bridget had been inseparable besties since their first year in pre-primary. They survived boys, puberty, heartbreaks, tampons, family travesties and all the other post-teen drama of the late to early 90's. Thick as thieves they were as they endured life one difficulty after the next confident that nothing and no one, not even a baby, could break these bonds of sisterhood.

Of the three, Holly was the least likely to have a baby but true to her spontaneous nature, she brought a little bundle of boy almost immediately after graduating from varsity. Being the true friends that they were, Bridget and Holly were supportive of this life choice and did everything they could to adjust to this stage in her life. They made regular visits and assisted with the baby shower, got elaborate gifts and made a pact that motherhood would never change the dynamic of their friendship.

"I'm not sure whether it was those frigid bitches from her family planning classes or those self-important housewives in Bishopscourt, but Holly had become a completely different person. It was like she had a lobotomy." According to Kendra, Holly had morphed into a super-paranoid, earth mom who refused to leave her child out of mind and out of sight. He was literally attached to her hip and sometimes, her tit for that matter. Whether kid appropriate or not, little Junior had become a regular addition to our circle of friends.

Every attempt at taking her away for some much needed "we" and "me" time got vetoed by some excuse or the other. "We tried to stage an intervention but that only aggravated the situation further. She got crazy defensive and thought we were attacking her. We have loads of other friends with kids who refuse to let motherhood affect their professional drive let alone define who they are as individuals. They also make the effort to support our life choices as well. Holly missed a number of important events in the past such as Kendra's 30th and Bridget's celebratory promotion weekend, each time throwing the mom card in our faces."

Are friends without kids fucked for life by the arrival of tiny pooping terrors? Just how much of an adjustment should friends make to cater for someone else's life choices when the actions and feelings aren't even reciprocated? Are babies and kids the death of friendship? 

"I don't think people with kids realise just how much we bend over in order to get some time with our friend. They lose themselves in this new role, completely negating who they are in the process. We worry what this is doing to her mental and physical health, not to mention her relationship with her partner. There's even a rumour going round that she's thinking of having more? Bye-bye Holly."

"You're going to make a great parent someday." Translation. Start having kids now otherwise this friendship as you know it is officially over. Hats off to anyone having a child these days. Seriously, I applaud you for having such an altruistic take on life. Kudos to you, but just because some of us haven't jumped on the bandwagon of tots and terrors doesn't mean that you need to ice us out with the "we don't understand" card. We understand perfectly well. Perhaps you're the one who doesn't understand what it takes to be the supporting friend. You are after all the one getting all the support.  Maybe one day we'll catch up but until then, we are quite happy with our noiseless, selfish and meaningless existence.

When it comes to life long friendships, what came first? The bestie or the kid?

Trev in the C.T...

They say that death and taxes are the only two things in this world that are guaranteed to us in this lifetime. It doesn't matter how safe you play the game or how dangerously you live on the edge, we are born knowing that someday, you and I are going to eventually die. It's a terrifying notion to accept, one made only worse by the fact that we never quite know when our time is up. Whether you believe it to be part of God's greater plan or whether you simply believe in fate, there's no way of escaping the inevitable hinges of deaths door. But just because we are born with this unwanted promise doesn't make it any easier when we are faced with the loss of a loved one, especially when it happens so suddenly.

Every now and then, our city suffers a loss so great that it calls for mass mourning. Whether it's a structure that once stood tall and proud or a person that touched the lives of so many with his sincerity and spirit, the thought of something or someone being permanently gone is a paralyzing one. It makes you think about life and how important it is to be kind to yourself every day. To appreciate this gift and live every second with passion and vigor. What kind of footprint do we want to leave behind and how do we want to be remembered when we go?

As I logged onto the social news bulletin known as facebook, I was shocked to discover that the world had lost one of the most beautiful souls I had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Floods of "R.I.P." messages began pouring onto my feed, tributes and condolences to a man that I once fell head over heels in love with. I was consumed with disbelief and denial. It felt like only yesterday that we had been enjoying a glass of red (as everyone knows, his signature drink) with this precious being, catching up on the years that separated us and having a smoke and a laugh at the local pub down the road. It seemed so surreal, so sad and so sudden.

I was only 19 years old when I first met Trev at a complex in Sandown which I aptly dubbed Melrose Place. I can't even remember how we met but knowing Trev, it must have been through some amazing night of dancing and drinking red wine. Although I was partly obsessed with his room mate at the time, a man whose heart had already belonged to another, it was Trev who constantly made me smile. I remember his affinity for anything ABBA, and the first time he introduced me to the real queens of pop like Cher and Madonna (vintage only). He was essentially my late 90's and opened his heart to me with as much gusto as the next bottle of wine or pack of cigarettes.

I'll never forget the night I fell in love with him. Let's face it. It's hard not to. We had all gone out to the Bronx one Friday night and he had worn an all white outfit consisting of a white jacket and white trousers that he thought was the best thing since sliced bread. Fashion is fashion. Style is style, and Trev certainly had style. It was one of those nights where one of my many attempts of getting his room mate to fall in love with me had failed dismally, and so I took comfort in Trev's fun loving (and fun living) world.

We danced to Cher's "Believe" and drank copious amounts of red wine and Hunter's Dry. We both had little side satchels in the day, the ultimate accessory to surviving the clubs of the late 90's and early noughties. I remember how he would always have just a slight tinge of rouge around his lips and teeth when he'd had one too many. But he couldn't give two fucks. Even when some callous queen knocked over his drink sending it ricocheting across his angelic ensemble, Trev still remained cool, calm and collected. As we stood in a pool of Cabernet Savignon, all we could do was laugh.

I remember the perfect cure to the next day's hangover would be to watch back to back episodes of Patsy and Eddie's outlandish adventures in AbFab. I knew then and there that I'd found a friend of quality and not quantity. As the years went by and our encounters became less and less, seeing him was always like taking a holiday for the soul. His warm, wicked smile and amazing sense of humour was always welcomed. He was eternally optimistic about everything and probably the most consistent human being I had ever had the privilege to meet.

We all fear the unknown and the point of no return to some extent, whether it's the finality and permanence that comes with death or the fear of leaving this earth with a unexceptional impression. We all want to leave a part of us behind, a legacy that's memorable and a life that was lived with love. Well my dear friend Trev who left this earth far too quickly too soon was a shining example of what legends are made of. It shows by the number of people whose lives and hearts he touched, and who are all so deeply saddened by this loss. His memory lives on with every bottle of red I open, with every AdFab rerun I'm bound to watch, but most of all, through every ABBA song I have yet to dance to. Thank you for the music friend. You will be missed.     

When it comes to life and living it to the fullest, why do the good ones always have to go first?    

This blog is dedicated to and in loving memory of one of the very first men I ever loved. My condolences to you and your family during this difficult and heartbreaking time. Trevor, may you find peace in the heavens above dancing to ABBA and being absolutely fabulous. They sure are the lucky ones now.

Shame on me

Someone wise once told me that in order to succeed in life, we need to embrace our failures and see them as stepping stones towards a greater understanding of our true character. The mistakes we make along the way and the way we pick ourselves up defines us as human beings. It's all about trial and error. The way we learn is essentially the way we are going to live, and the reality in life is that some people are better students than others. While some people are just naturally gifted at getting things right the first time around, others require a more cautious, steadier approach. Step by step, fall by fall until we finally master the challenge at hand.  

But then you get those who never learn, the ones who find themselves stuck in a cycle of their own circumstance. Poor unfortunate souls who believe that life is one big revolving door, spinning round and round in circles with no break on the other side. Instead of learning from their mistakes and taking responsibility in a healthy, mature manner, they bang head to wall over and over again until finally concussing themselves into a coma of their own wallowing pity and self-despair. We've all been there at some point, and while most of us manage to pull ourselves up and out, there are those who fail to acknowledge the consequences of their own shitty choices and situations.   

Being thirty something and single for the first time in five years got me thinking about failed relationships and the things we do to avoid the inevitable feelings of pain, loss and failure. There's the name and shame game in which we blame our former lover for everything that's gone wrong in our lives including the wonderful relationship that you once shared. Let's face it...someone's always got to be the bad guy no matter how amicable the relationship ends. While that kind of behaviour may be tolerable when you're sweet and twenty, it sure as hell ain't cute and nothing short of fucked up when you're supposed to be a mature adult dealing with your own personal issues.

Another personal favorite is avoidance. The classic art of jumping from one relationship to the next thinking that it'll miraculously heal the wounds of your broken heart without taking the time to reflect on what just happened. The ones who sleep better at night convincing themselves that they're in love again when in actual fact they're petrified of facing the reality of loss. Is it possible that we avoid reflection because of the horrifying truths and imagery that might stare back at us? Nobody really wants to admit defeat or take responsibility for failure. Everybody loves a winner, but are we really winning if we fail to acknowledge the fact that the problem could actually be you? 

There's nothing like a little time alone to reflect on the ghosts of relationships passed. Big, Steven, Jay and now Aiden. Each ex uniquely different from the next physically, mentally and emotionally. Each one evoked a different kind of love and subsequently, a different kind of pain when they eventually ended. The only common thread amongst these three men (besides a dick between their legs) was a failed relationship with me and the set of standards and expectations they could never achieve. Had I set each of these relationships up for failure without even knowing it? Had my incessant need to control and mold things into my own delusional reality of relationships ruined the joy and spontaneity of being in love? Was it really me all along? 

Looking back, I played the blame game exceptionally well. It was after all the human thing to do. It was easier to blame Big because of his womanizing ways and commitment phobia, or Steven because he just disappeared off the face of the planet, came back and then disappeared all over again. I really dodged a bullet with Jay, the compulsive liar with a drinking problem who wanted me to relocate to Rustenburg. Had these men scarred me so badly that the only way I felt I could heal was to jump into the next best thing? Emotionally damaged men who needed the power of my love to heal instead of actually healing myself? Would I continue to follow the same patterns and make the same mistakes now that I'd had this daunting yet refreshing epiphany? Or would I finally see it as a lesson learned?

If you smoke 20 cigarettes a day, your lungs are going to turn black. If you eat a big mac meal for lunch everyday, you're going to get morbidly obese. If you keep pushing someone you supposedly love into being something that suits your ideals and not theirs, you're going to lose them forever. Instead of accepting the fact that we are all human beings bound to make mistakes along the way, we will never truly progress and succeed in love. 

When it comes to understanding our own flaws and weaknesses, I couldn't help but wonder, when will we ever learn?

Daddy Issues

Once upon a time in a prehistoric mindset, before gender equality existed and sisters were doing it for themselves, a man was referred to as 'hunter'. Strong, powerful, virile man-beasts whose sole purpose was to provide, breed and protect the supposedly weaker and lesser sex. It was a victorious time for men, a time where the size of his loin cloth was measured against his primal prowess and the ability to make fire. He was without a doubt the King of the cave, the ultimate object of desire, a god amongst the gatherers, a Cro magnon cutie whose brutality commanded the attention of their female counterpart. How times have changed...

Flash forward to the present where modern-day men are no longer required to act like apes in order to get a female to notice them. Those who managed to hop on board the evolution express will soon realise that a modern day gal is more likely to choose her mate based on intelligence, EQ and the ability to make her feel loved and wanted. Raw brawn and muscle, although extremely easy on the eyes, are no longer the same ideals we hold as our prehistoric predecessors once had, especially when it comes to procreation and starting a family.

It's no secret that bringing a child into the world can take a serious toll on one's relationship. Something inside a woman changes not only physically, but emotionally and psychologically. In this Oedipal twist of events, a man can suddenly become obsolete, no matter how supportive or caring he may be during and after the gestation period. It's almost as if she becomes the hunter, ready to protect and strike at any threat that comes in between her and her child. The world suddenly revolves around this tiny little bean growing inside your belly leaving little to no time for the man that helped you create this special gift, and while women certainly do carry the bigger share of the burden, I couldn't help but wonder...where does it leave the man?

It's a very rare occasion that you hear a man's honest perspective on fatherhood and the challenges he faces both personally and collectively. Not only is his life about to change forever, particularly from a time and financial point of view, but also from a priority perspective. His needs no longer take precedence, and while a woman finds this much easier to accept for some biological reason unknown to man, the pressure to provide all types of support for the next eighteen years can easily send a man into an early mid-life crisis.

Whilst having my usual double skinny latte at the local Vida, I locked eyes with a tall handsome stranger staring at me from across the room. He had a boyish smile that lit up his muscular visage and he could not have been older than 37. He'd noticed me glancing over at him for quite some time until he finally swaggered on up towards me. He was confident in his approach and introduced himself as Doc Martin.

We developed a friendship over the next few weeks in which I would vent to him about my tragic relationship woes in exchange for an inside look at the life of a married man struggling to deal with the pressures of being a dad and the effects it had on his relationship.

"It's no wonder so many men in my situation cheat on their spouses. Their ego needs the validation. They become so subordinate and forgotten to this new love in her life, so secondary and unimportant. I know this sounds selfish but men also need to hear how attractive and important they are from time to time. Women expect it constantly and we tell them what they want to hear even when they're 10 kilos overweight and bloated from pregnancy. We embellish because it makes them feel special and loved. It's such a double standard, one that can seriously damage the intimacy in your sex life not to mention ruin an already fragile ego." 

Who'da thunk? Do men secretly feel insecure and threatened by the relationship between a mother and child? Was Doc Martin simply acting like a little boy bitch looking for tea and sympathy to entertain his pity-party for one or was there something seriously unspoken about the neglect men feel in this type of situation? Were daddy's issues the real deal or were they just an excuse to justify the behaviour that comes with your typical mid-life crisis? Has the need for a more emotionally in tune man threatened the traditional traits of masculinity or are some men just as sensitive as women?

"If you ever want to put your relationship to the test, have a kid. They zap every, single, little bit of energy out of you. There's no time for anything else other than the routine you have in place, especially when you both work for a living. Don't get me wrong, I love the little fucker but I sometimes wish I could turn back the clock and just go back to a time where I did not have to feel guilty for wanting some quality me time. Your life becomes consumed by this unstoppable force and all your needs and goals get put on the back burn because you just don't have the time for anything else."

Not making enough time for yourself as well as your partner is a common relationship mistake that most of us make, and a sure fire way to end even the strongest of unions. We are all individuals who have needs and in order to make a partnership work, we need to respect, acknowledge and support those needs, especially when you decide to add one to the equation. Regardless of gender or sex, both man and woman will be challenged in ways they never thought possible. It's finding the strength to work together during these trying times that will keep the fire that you both started burning. 

When it comes to defending the caveman, is it absolutely necessary to put daddy in the corner?

Surprise Sex

As human beings, we are prone to the confines of familiarity. Routine. Schedule. Institution. It helps us make sense of the world we live in, and while some of us go through life living in the moment and thriving on spontaneity, the rest of us take comfort in solid structure. Knowing exactly what to do and what to expect when a well-thought out plan is made, stuck to and properly executed is the closest thing to perfection we're ever going to achieve. With such specific goals to attain in something as short as a lifetime, there really isn't much time for the unexpected curve ball, especially when ones goal in life is to be as normal and consistent as possible...

When you enter a marriage for the first time, all you can think about is love and being set for life. At last; a life of stability and comfort. No more dates, no more "getting-to-know-you" and no more awkward first times. You've found your penguin. Yes, when you're a newly wed, the last thing on your mind is the possibility of divorce but just like shit, sometimes it just happens. After spending a lifetime getting to know the ins and outs of another individual, accepting their flaws and their faults and loving them exactly the way they are...SURPRISE! Irreconcilable differences. The marriage along with all the other creature comforts in a relationship suddenly crumbles and you find yourself right back at square one. No wonder they call it bitter.

As if the process of separating from your supposed happy-ever-after wasn't painful enough, we soon find ourselves being pressured into getting back into the saddle. We begin to worry about things such as dating and dating admin, getting to know someone from scratch, trusting someone enough to allow them into your naked space. Suddenly dying alone in a bachelor flat full of stray cats and microwave dinners for one doesn't seem so bad. There really are far worse things in life.

While post-divorce and rebound flings are always exciting, bright and new, it also means having to adjust one's routine in order to accommodate their newly single lifestyle. It means making the time to put yourself out there in a reality where the majority of decent men are already taken or on the prowl for veal...not aged, mature sirloin. The competition is stiffer than a frat boy's penis, and while online dating may assist in terms of convenience, it still means having to put in the hard yards to make yourself appealing. This entails going to gym, eating right and doing whatever it takes to look less like the emotional train wreck your previous relationship left you in.

Most people require a fair amount of time to get over their ex but when you're in your mid-thirties, divorced and horny as hell, that "half-the-amount-of-time-you-were-together-before-you-can-start-dating" bullshit simply doesn't fly. "I need to get laid before this thing between my legs falls off!" There's nothing like a little nookie with a perfect stranger to get one out of their routine and comfort zone no matter how daunting it may be at first. Just ask Laura, my 33 year-old divorced friend who has been flirting up a storm for the past year with any hot blooded, semi-decent guy she could get her hands on.

"Maybe it's the fact that Jon and I hadn't been intimate for a long time before our marriage ended or maybe it's the fact that I'm constantly on heat, but most of the post-divorce sex I've had really wasn't as difficult or awkward as it's made out to be. Of course crying and running out of a room the minute another guy lays his hands on you is something to be expected, and hopefully never repeated, but once you get over the insecurities that your previous relationship left you with, and the reality of being with someone else other than your husband sinks in, the sex can be very stimulating."

Was post-divorce sex like being re-virginized? Touched for the very first time by someone who wasn't your spouse? Was Laura suddenly born again? And what about the psychological implications of having unfamiliar sex? Should we see it as validation and a way of feeling good about ourselves, or is it the necessary release required to bring closure to the previous relationship?

"Retraining oneself at being single again wasn't easy. For starters, I found myself shaving my legs more frequently, but apart from the physical and mental efforts, I found myself enjoying the freedom of not giving a fuck. All that meticulous planning around having this perfect relationship or this perfect life no longer seemed relevant. The pressure lifts and finally, you find yourself enjoying life again. The first couple of dates were weird as fuck, especially the ones where you run out of things to say before the first round arrives. What's worse is when you slip into conversation about the demise of your marriage making you look like a sad, angry, erratic nightmare. Funnily enough, these were usually the dates that ended in surprise sex. Forget rejection. Vulnerability is the ultimate aphrodisiac!"

Whether you're looking for that next meaningful relationship to fill the void or a ride into rebound valley, first dates post long-term relationship are never really smooth sailing. The manner in which we begin again varies from one person to the next, and while some people may live in hope of reconciliation, others are simply doing what comes naturally in this specific circumstance...moving on. If change is as good as a holiday, why not enjoy the vacation while it lasts?

When it comes to post-marital sex, how do we liberate ourselves without feeling guilty?   

Too Little Too Late

If you're addicted to series the way I am, and you probably are, you'll soon discover that there’s nothing worse than that fateful day when your favorite TV sitcom, soapie or drama has been given the boot. Will & Grace, Happy Endings, Beverley Hills 90210 (the first one). After giving us season upon season of non-stop entertainment and escapism, a network can suddenly turn around and pull the plug, leaving us stunned, depressed and ready to rant about it across their social media page. It’s devastating, cruel and sometimes completely unwarranted especially when you consider all the unoriginal dribble that gets renewed and picked up for five, six and sometimes seven seasons, and while Glee may have taken a nose-dive after the original cast members graduated at the end of Season 3, it has since redeemed itself by delivering some of the funniest, wittiest, bitchiest and heartfelt one-liner's in the history of television.

I am not ashamed to say it...I am and always have been a total Gleek, and the return of the sixth and final season has really struck a chord in my heart. Everything from Becky Jackson's insidious insults to the cheerleaders and football jocks, from the carefully selected repertoire of pop-culture classics to the return of Sue Sylvester and her multi-colored tracksuits. The magic of High School Musical's darker sister on steroids was making a major comeback as it entered its Swan song days. Why on earth could they not have gotten this right a season ago when the ratings were low and the show was struggling to keep its head above the water? What took the creators so long to recapture those glorious and precious moments that made this TV show such a hit in the first place? Were they tired or had the show gone as far as it could?

As I cackled and hosed myself laughing at one of the more recent episodes, I found myself thinking about relationships and their uncanny relation to TV shows. Just like any good TV plot line, a relationship starts with a romantic interest. Throw in a bit of laughter, compatibility, sex, a host of supporting roles and just when you least expect it, a flash mob with perfectly timed choreography. Nothing is as good as the first few seasons, but what happens when the show begins to lose its sizzle? What happens when the twists and story-lines no longer seem to gel, and the show seems inconsistent? Is it time for some fresh and innovative material or is it time to put the show to bed? 

After five seasons of unadulterated drama and nail-biting cliffhangers, I decided to cancel my existing contract with Aiden. The network was not happy, but at the end of the day, I had to do what was right for me and essentially him.

The production that had become our relationship was no longer viable in its current format. Of course the network tried all it could to salvage the show...focus groups, new surroundings, the reintroduction of Doctor Moriarty. They were willing to do whatever it took to improve the ratings, but somehow, it simply wasn't enough. It was clear that our relationship had taken a slow and steady decline for the worse, despite all the efforts made to revitalize the brand, leaving us with one of two choices: we could either cancel abruptly or end the relationship on a high note...

"What happens after the initial shock, pain and anger subsides is something beautiful and unexpected. You start listening to one another. Communicating. The break up sex is incredible. You find humour again and gradually begin to enjoy each others company, despite the harsh circumstance that brought you here in the first place. True, there's a greater possibility of things ending on bad terms, but when you have characters with as much history as Aiden and I, ending the relationship with as much integrity, dignity and respect seemed like the right thing to do."

The last few episodes of a series can be particularly emotional, especially when certain things that are said and done happen to bring up old feelings that you thought had long since gone. The physical attraction and the emotional connection reignited over that final candle lit dinner scene, one hot night of passionate sex...is it all just another gimmick to please the crowd or is this actually for real? Could there still be a chance of saving the show or is it all simply too little too late?

When the future status of a relationship is pending, and the uncertainty of not knowing what happens next looms over you like the plague, the best thing to do is try to be kind to one another. We all handle break ups differently, some with a vengeance and others with a strong sense of amicability. At the end of the day, it's not about giving your audience what they want, it's about doing what's best for you. Who knows...perhaps a spin off series of the original might find itself crossing over from time to time but until that decision is made, the power to control the end is entirely up to you. 

When it comes to the cancellation of our favorite relationship, I couldn’t help but wonder, why is the final season always the best?  

Down with Love (A V-Day Special)

Love is a many splendoured thing, love, lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love…Sigh! Just like the ever-hopeless romantic love-fool, it all starts with a little song in our hearts and a sudden spring in our step. That elevated sense of euphoria that beats any schedule 7 high that comes whenever we lock eyes with that special someone who takes our breath away. It literally knocks you off your feet and suddenly, you're flying high and the world seems like such a perfect place. Yes, the power of love has a way of transcending its magic into our souls, spreading like cancer, and just like any terminal illness, the only cure for it is to go with the motions and wait it out.

Every year on the fourteenth day of the second month, we are reminded of this crazy little thing called love as we embark on one of the most commercially viable celebrations known to man; Valentines Day. The official Hallmark day for love glorified by anyone lucky enough to have finally found someone, a day to celebrate their love through simple romantic gestures such as a rose, a box of chocolates or a romantic candlelit dinner. What feels like a torturous, wicked game for singletons everywhere is actually just an extension of the eternal flame that burns between a man and a woman. True love sees past the pink smoke and careless whispers, making every day V-Day through simple acts of kindness and appreciation for that special one in a million. It's supposed to bring out the best in you...

But if love means never having to say you're sorry, what about couples who constantly find themselves apologising for bringing each other down? What happens when emotions become more than words and words of love turn into weapons of pain, anger and resentment? When you've been with someone long enough, it's perfectly normal to have the occasional spat between lovers. It's to be expected; but what happens when the one that you want suddenly becomes the target of your own misery? Is that the way love goes or is it time to end that supposed endless love?

"Down with Love" seems to be the mantra of 2015 with not one, not two, but three long-term relationships coming to a sudden end. As I found myself checking into the heartbreak hotel along with Bryan and Laura, I couldn't help but wonder...what could have possibly happened to bring about such a total eclipse of the heart? 

"When I first met Peter I wasn't just bleeding love. I was haemorrhaging! I was crazy in love. I welcomed it with open arms and just knew that he was the one I was going to spend the rest of my life with." Laura, 31 had met Peter in high school and had been partners in crime ever since. After nearly ten years of marriage, she decided to ask for a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. After hopelessly being devoted to one man for all her life, she had noticed that they were no longer compatible and stopped wanting the same things for their marriage.

"We got to a point where we both felt so much guilt about the things we said and did to each other. That's a heavy burden to carry, let alone acknowledge. Knowing that you're the reason for constantly bringing the worst out of someone and making them question whether or not they'd ever live up to your exceedingly high expectations is a pretty kak one. It's torture. Maybe we stayed too long out of comfort or maybe we just need a break from one another to figure our own shit out. I know deep in my heart that we belong together but at this point in our lives, we're just playing on broken strings."

And then there was Bryan. To know him was to love him. Six years into his engagement, he and his fiancee decided to call the whole thing off. " I suppose that's just the way love goes. One day you're falling and loving them truly, madly, deeply and the next thing you know, you're on a battlefield, trying not to kill each other. I always thought that love would keep us together, but sometimes it's not enough to heal the damages we cause unto each other. But the heart is resilient. I believe that it will go on..."

Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs while others simply need a break from it all to figure out whether those unchained melodies are really for them. Whatever vision of love you think you might have, sometimes it just isn’t enough to justify a marriage or romantic relationship that finds itself in critical condition. What might have been the greatest love of all the one day could suddenly turn into a highway to hell, bringing about the absolute worst in us. Is love just a losing game or does it just hurt sometimes instead? Surely, if things are truly meant to be, isn’t letting of someone you love worth the risk of getting them back in the end?
 

When it comes to the tragic demise of a bad romance, I couldn't help but wonder...what’s love got to do with it?

Cheat Day

At some point in every girl's life, we're bound to come across one of nature's most difficult challenges; the dreaded D-word a.k.a...the Diet. Whether your goal is simply to lose those unforeseen festive pounds or whether it's part of a whole new healthier lifestyle regimen, dieting is about as necessary as waxing your fanny. And it certainly doesn't get any easier the older you get, what with all those delicious delicacies so readily available at the swipe of a loyalty card. Chuckles, Krispy Kremes, a super-size McFeast Delxue meal at 2am after a heavy cocktail binge. It takes a lot of willpower to muster up the strength, discipline and motivation to avoid those sinfully delicious, chocolate-covered carbs and sugars.

While some of us go to extreme lengths such as cleansing our systems full of lemon-cayenne-pepper concoctions or starving ourselves to the point of keeling over, most of us choose the saner and safer option of daily exercise and a well-balanced nutritious meal plan.

Salads, veggies, protein and water. Repeat six days a week with an intensive cardio and functional training routine. These are the things that a good diet doth make, and while the proof is certainly not in the pudding that we begrudgingly deprive ourselves of, at least we have one day in that hellish week to look forward to. My friends, I am talking about the cheat day - that wonderfully glorious day of the week in which meal replacements and dietary supplements are replaced with pretty much whatever the hell we want. Pasta, pizza, speckled eggs. That well-deserved splurge and purge after weeks of sticking to lean cuisine, power smoothies and beastly Banting rituals. It's literally the one day of the week that we can have our cake, and eat it.

Never has a concept such as "Cheat Day" tasted so sweet, and even though we should do our best to keep things in moderation, sometimes our cravings are so intense that we tend to go overboard. One day can turn into two and before you know it, your entire meal plan expands as quickly as your waistline. All that hard work and commitment for nothing. While some of us manage to go through our routine without even thinking about it, others tend to over-indulge which can often lead into dietary consequences.

The whole concept of dieting got me thinking about couples and the discipline it requires to maintain a healthy relationship. While a cheat day once a week is absolutely necessary for our sanity when it comes to food, how acceptable is it in a relationship? What happens when we get bored and sick to death of the same mundane dietary routines? Do we give into our cravings or do we remind ourselves about the health benefits that come with sticking to a stable relationship? While most of us are disciplined enough to soldier through, there are others who simply can't resist the sweet temptation of infidelity...

Samantha was down from London and as always, she was looking her best. Maybe she was born with it or maybe it was her diet. No-one thought in a million years that she could do it considering her notoriously ferocious appetite for men once-upon-a-time, but Sam had achieved the impossible feat of maintaining a healthy-ish eight-year relationship with a man who was as bland as tofu. For eight long years, she lived off a staple diet of commitment, communication and compromise without a single craving for the sweet taste of man...or did she?

A bottle of Pinot Grigio and several dick pics later, Sam began to spill the beans of her several indiscretions over the past three years. Without anyone knowing what she was up to, she had maintained a secret diet of man-meat that included a Viking, an Italian, a German, the gingerbread man, the married guy with a kid and of course, her personal favourite, Mr. dark chocolate. "It's a slippery slope, one that I would never recommend to anyone as loyal as you. It finds a way of eating at you but at the same time, it's a helluva of thrill and highly addictive."

She began to tell me about the first time she had had an affair with the married man. Two strangers sitting at a bar casually conversing over the very best bottle of MCC, neither one of their spouses in sight. Both bored with their draining daily routines and lack of spice in their respective relationships. Chemistry happened. There was an instant connection and attraction between the two of them and it wasn't long before Sam was blowing him in the bathroom stall of this very local, very upmarket Pub in London Town.

"I know what you're thinking. Why don't I just leave Paul and put him out of his misery? Well, because I love him and he gets all of me but when it comes to our sex life, he just doesn't know how to turn me on anymore. He's so vanilla. Everything is so safe, so missionary. Did you know I have 65 tiles on my roof. 65?! I tried explaining my desires to him and told him that I needed him to be more adventurous, more experimental but he just didn't feel comfortable. One day I just said "to hell with it" and started going through men like a thousand flavours. Now my diet is full of variety which of course includes a shit load of really effective sexercise routines."

Is that why people cheat? Because they're bored, or is there something so horribly lacking in their sexual chemistry that no matter how many times you communicate, never seems to fulfill one's sexual hunger? Is a little slip up every now and then necessary to keep us going despite the possible pain and fall out or is it something completely unsavoury? Was Sam just a greedy little skank incapable of staying faithful to her relationship diet or was she simply trying to give her body something that it so desperately craved?

When moral fibre begins to lack in any relationship, how do we get back on track? Do we continue the vicious cycle of cheating knowing that it would break the fast of a healthy and well-balanced relationship, or do we continue indulging until the excess guilt starts weighing us down? Should we exorcise these impure thoughts before they become physical actions or do we keep feeding the beast until it the evidence eventually shows?

When it comes to committing the ultimate crime of relationship carbocide, at what point should we stop pigging out?

New Terrain

If the weather in the mother CT miraculously happens to be windless and anything above 25 degrees, you can bet your bottom Zim dollah that the majority of Capetonians will trawl along to one of our many gloriously notorious sunny beaches. The Cliftons. Sandy Bay. Muizenberg. It's one of the most common past times for individuals of all shapes and sizes. Families. Friends. The Gays. Whether you're cruising, tanning or simply just splashing about in the unknown depths of the salty ocean, this sub-torrential paradise is one of the most popular havens for all sorts of fun in the sun.

For the minority of us, present company included, the beach is an offensive place. Not only is it frightening, noisy and somewhat disturbing (what with the latest male swimwear editions), but it's also far more dangerous than we let on. Heat stroke, stampedes, the occasional case of aquatic asphyxiation. I just don't see the appeal. Whether it has to do with my two near death experiences in the open waters, not being able to drink legally and at will, or whether it's the unwanted sand that always finds a way of creeping deeper and deeper into sink holes that no grain should ever travel, the beach will be always be a hostile and unsettling environment to me. 

My fear of factor fifty and competing against perfectly sculpted twenty-something year old bodies got me thinking about unfamiliar terrain and the difficulties we face when the decisions we make leave us stranded somewhere amidst the unknown. Naturally the safest bet would be to remove ourselves from these uncomfortable situations, sticking to what we know best, but when the heart can't take any more disappointment and when you've given something your all and it still doesn't work out, isn't it time to take the plunge?

While everyone else in my inner circle was either getting married or popping babies, another couple had decided to call their five year tenure a long and painful day. It came as a shock to everyone around them, like that time Christina Aguilera beat Britney Spears at the best newcomer Grammy category. So unexpected and so painfully unfair. Joanne and Bryan, or collectively, Broannie, had made headlines with their sudden decision to call off their engagement and subsequently, their seemingly untainted relationship.

"It's a horrible thing to consider but when you're both filled with a greater sense of relief instead of pain and anger, then you know you're ultimately making the right decision." If only more unhappy couples could be this brave and understanding. Too many times we choose to stay in a place that our heart no longer wants to be in, denying ourselves the chance to be truly happy out of fear of hurting someone else. Despite the anguish that goes along with the permanency of breaking up with someone you'll always love and cherish, to be able to finally admit that things just aren't working out takes courage worthy of even the bravest soldier. Such a fearful and terrifying notion it must be to shake up one's world of creature comforts and familiarity.

"There's only so much one can take. So much one can communicate. So much one can expect before realising that if you were truly meant to be with that one person, you wouldn't have to change them in the first place. There's only so many times that one can hear the words 'I'm sorry' before it loses any kind of merit. It's a unique type of torture that we inflict upon ourselves. Waiting for things to get better when all the while you're only wasting time. Time spent drowning in negative emotions. Time spent breaking each other down to the point of being maliciously cruel. Time spent worrying about whether or not you're going to make it. That's the harsh reality of breaking up a long-term relationship."

Such a sad state of affairs. I can only imagine the complexity of emotions that Joanne and Bryan must have been going through to finally get to this point. Was there really no hope or shred of light that could save their relationship? Had they finally reached the tether and point of no return?

"The period of adjustment is probably the worst. There's definitely a sense of loss that comes with this untimely decision but sometimes you just have to rip the band aid off and let it bleed until it eventually heals by itself. The divvying up of friends and responsibilities. Getting used to that someone not being your shadow anymore. Starting over again. It's daunting but also liberating. Who knows what time will bring. Maybe our paths will meet again and we'll be cool like that Gwen Stefani song. Maybe we'll remain great friends. Maybe we'll realise that this was all a terrible bump in the road and maybe, just maybe, we'll end up saving each other from a life of misery and resentment. The long term results of such difficult decisions is really like your typical Cape Town weather; extreme but always uncertain."

While a light breeze is always welcomed in the heat of summer, a blustering wind is not, especially when it brings about such sudden and unexpected change. There are no rules or niceties when it comes to breaking up with someone you love and care for, which makes the new ground even more difficult to tread upon. We hope for the best and prepare for the worst, knowing that somewhere in distance and time, things might just go back to the way they once were. And if they don't, well, there's always the beach. 

When you find yourself waking up to unfamiliar territory, I couldn't help but wonder, how do we survive the harsh conditions of breaking someone's heart?

Les-be-honest: Part 2

Gays. You know them as the fun-loving friends of Dorothy. The fabulous glitter-wielding, feather-wearing forms of comic relief whose complimentary tones of genuine candour could bring laughter to even the darkest of days. Whether they adhere to the typical stereotypes of campy, hip-swishing effeminate queens; muscle-bound, beer-guzzling jocks who unbelievably know what tries and centuries are or even the tattooed and shaven K.D Lang-loving lesbians; the gays will always find a way of brightening up a gal's day. Not only have they become more and more socially accepted in today's metro-modern society, but they have always been good for a girl's self-esteem. Whether it's the sympathetic shoulder to cry on or even the latest fashion advice, why would anyone want to pray the gay away?

But the rainbow, like most things in life, has two sides to the spectrum and sometimes you come across a pack of he-devils and she-wolves that give this peaceful tribe a rotten reputation. If you're living in a city as queer as Cape Town, you're bound to come across at least one of them, the select few of sociopathic sirens whose sole mission in life is to convert and traumatise heterosexual beings into a permanent state of sexual confusion. Ladies and gentlemen; I give you...The Flipping Gays.

It's no wonder why right-wing religious bible-bashers believe them to be soldiers of the antichrist sent to destroy the supposed natural order of the world. The Flipping Gays are devious in their approach and know no boundaries when it comes to sexual pleasure. Why deny it? You know you want to. As pleasing as the act may be, there is still a level of disrespect when it comes to the seduction of someone who is comfortable with their own sexuality. Of course it could've been that one time at band camp, but when it's forced and calculated with malicious intent, it's time to bring out the sexorcist.

Despite their existence, I strongly believe that at some point in everyone's life, even the straightest of straight has at the very least thought about it. That heavily repressed curiosity to have a sexual encounter with someone of the same sex. It's so taboo. So forbidden yet so necessary. It's an itch that the aforementioned bloodhounds would be more than happy to scratch, and while they may aid in bringing these tempting thoughts into action, doesn't it all come down to the choice we make at that particular moment? Could the very thought of it derail everything you found comforting about your sexual preference or could it actually liberate a secret suppression that's been tightly hidden behind one's closet door?

I sought guidance from professionals in this game and while they were known for embellishing the tales of their sexual conquests, you simply won't believe it unless you've actually witnessed it for yourself. For years I would watch them in awe, hunting in clubs and bars for unsuspecting victims, secretly wishing that I too could break that moral code and turn someone into something they weren't if only for the night. Was it their hyper-sense of confidence that made them seem so utterly irresistible or was it their penetrating persistence that permeated through all sexual barriers, no matter how hetero one thinks they are?

Kitty McKitty was a lesbian friend of mine who wasn't in any way what you would call a "conventional lesbian". She epitomised the male fantasy of lesbionics and came in the form of an exotic, petite, voluptuous brunette with honey-kissed skin to boot. She was charming, witty, direct in her approach and had the confidence of a thousand gods. Her sniper-like skills were legendary when it came to turning the ordinary girl's fantasy into a hard core reality. When she had a fresh target in sight, it was almost a guaranteed hit.

"I have a taste for the exotic you see. When you've been eating prime steak for all your life, you develop the occasional craving for veal." Yes. Some people actually do talk like that I'm afraid and what Kitty was saying was nothing short of the truth. I had witnessed her smooth moves for many years and always found it entertaining they way she managed to get it right. Whether it was some freshman debutant trying to make her college boyfriend horny or a yummy mummy cougar fresh out of a divorce, Kitty always gave her conquests a night to remember.   

As I sank into another one of Kitty's latest shenanigans, I couldn't help but wonder about the women she had bedded. Was she really the culprit praying on unsuspecting victims and their respective vulnerabilities or do some women simply throw themselves willingly at the chance to experience this once in a lifetime sexperience?  

"This last cougar's curiosity literally killed her cat. I had been chatting her up for about a week before I finally got a dinner invitation back to her mansion in Houghton. After some fine wining and dining, she wanted me to come up and see her bedroom. I told her that I was comfortable sleeping in the spare room but I could see that she wanted a bit more than friendly companionship. She took me upstairs and clothes began flying. I removed my boots and threw them vigorously to the ground. It was at this moment that I heard a thump. I thought nothing of it and continued to give her the dessert that she desired."

"She had fallen asleep in my arms after a night of intense pleasure, another conquest for my journal. At around 3am I got up to empty the alcohol we had consumed over dinner. I noticed my boot resting on something furry, a stuffed animal perhaps, but upon closer inspection, I noticed that it had actually been Mr. Whiskers, her 17-year old cat that had somehow been K.O'd in the crossfire of hot lady-loving passion. I panicked so I quickly moved the body into the room next door hoping that Lydia would wake up and believe it had died of natural causes. The only thing that died was her hard on. Bye-bye Kitty. Hello remorse. I'm not sure whether it was the guilt of last night's scissor action or the fact that she suspected foul play, but she kicked my ass out on the street without a ride and without half of my clothes." Is that what you call hitting two pussies with one stone? 

We all have deep-seated sexual desires that most of us are too afraid to ever act upon. We've been conditioned to believe that anything slightly askew from missionary, hetero sex is shameful and forbidden. It's this taboo that makes it so appealing, so when the opportunity arises to act out our filthy fantasies in the dark, we're going to take it, secretly hoping that it will never reveal itself in the light of day. While the snake may have lured Eve into the garden of Eden to taste the forbidden fruit, at the end of the day, wasn't it Eve who made the decision to take a bite?

When it comes to the deviant nature of homo-erotic fantasies, les-be-honest, who's really hunting who?