Thursday, May 21, 2009

I should have paid more attention in high school

If i could replicate one of those "Michael J Fox" time travel missions from "Back to the Future" i would whiz myself back to the year 1994, where i would i predominately find my 13 year old self and clap myself upside the head.

My high school was one of the few establishments that mixed the archaic sexist staples with all things modern woman-ish. An hour session of pure physics was usually followed by a full hour of home economics (ie cookery class). Learning how to use the computer was also coupled with lessons in using dodgy old type-writers that had seen better years prior to 1960. Obviously my school new it would deliver some quantum physicists as well as secretary's.

One of classes i absolutely loathed most was cookery class (no surprises there), I couldn't wait for Art class and had lukewarm feelings for fashion & fabrics, otherwise known as "Needly work" (say in gwash tones for correct capturing of the word).

So believe me, when i say that the irony is not lost on me that i've signed myself up for a glorified fashion and fabrics course to learn the in's and out's of fashion design and execution. If i had paid attention 15 years ago i wouldn't have to be re-taking this course, and funding it myself :-P

Question: What new tricks have you old dogs learnt recently...or intend on learning?


Watercooler Never Lies: There's no smoke without some fire...the situation at work is dire. Budgets aren't close to being made, non-performers are being given exit strategies and everyone is just in a foul mood.

This too shall pass...and very soon i hope!


Sisi Petina: As recommended by munhu, i made my way to Rosebank Exclusive Books for Zim writer Petina Gappah's book signing and reading from her collection of short stories called, "An Elegy of Easterly"

I finished it in less than 36hours! I don't want to give any plots away, but this woman mixes so much humour and amusement with pretty heavy underlying nuances or themes.
I am even more chuffed i got a signed copy of her book and managed to chat to her for a bit. In her acknowledgements she thanks a "Vimbai" who turns out to be her sister's name...but going forward i am going to claim that she was referring to me :-)

To those of you in Harare, Zimbabwe go and check out Petina's book signing and reading:

Place: Amanzi

Date: Saturday 23rd May 2009

Time: 3pm - late

Trust me, you don't want to miss out, this chick is doing big things!


The office flu doing the rounds for the last two weeks got me good this Tuesday! I know that sharing is caring amongst team members, but this is ridiculous. My throat is crazy sore and no amount of lozenges seem to be helping!

Later chickens, have a great weekend and behave!


V x

Sunday, May 17, 2009

525,600 minutes later…

I love remembering dates or rather I just do (remember, that is) whether I like to or not! The more eccentric the “anniversary”, the more likely that I will remember the date and day as though it all happened yesterday.

Take for example my first kiss, ‘twas delivered to me by my “then” Prince Charming on the 5th August [Year Omitted ‘cause I was a bit of Late Bloomer], oh and my first period (yes, T.M.I. - I know) that unfortunate event happened on the 18th October [Year Omitted out of Anger].

Then there are the dates and “anniversaries” that I wish I could forget. On those days I cease to exist…I feel as though I’m holding my breath under water for 24 hours. Thankfully those days are few and far between.

Today’s date, I am glad to share, is a happy one to remember. It marks my 1 year anniversary in The City of Gold (Johannesburg).

365 days ago I arrived fresh off the boatplane wondering what on earth I had got myself into.

You see, I never intended on coming here, Joburg was always a transit city for me. During varsity days, it was the place I merely saw from the airport whilst waiting for my connecting flight to Kaap Staad (Cape Town). When I moved back home, Joburg then became the playground I visited every 6 months for a retail and clubbing fix. Living here was never an option.

That is, until the end of 2007. Certain realities could no longer be ignored, such as; being paid the equivalent of R500 a month (yikes), the everyday frustrations of life, lack of career progression and most of all, I was still living at home and trying to “nest” in my mother’s space (women over a certain age shouldn’t live under the same roof, it just gets territorial and ugly, lol).

It’s been a year of high highs and low lows:

The Good: Financial Independence, getting my own pad where I can nest to my heart’s content, being closer to family and friends, personal progressing & career development, making new friends, having accessible and decent healthcare, getting a more regular retail therapy fix, getting Customer Service (lol), feeling more like myself and having so many more choices in every aspect of my life.

The Bad: Being stuck in Joburg traffic, dealing with the close proximity of complex living, freezing in winter ‘cause it gets $%#@ing cold, being homesick, not understanding what’s being said (too many languages man, I can’t eavesdrop), living with the real threat of being the victim of a heinous crime and lack of eligible males (competition’s tight ladies!).

The Ugly: Having to listen to my country and its people being mocked on a daily basis, as well as, facing the reality that due to the geographic challenges of diasporan living, I am doomed to long-distance relationships with family and friends.

A year later and the place is growing on me…we are still in the “getting to know eachother” phase. Methinks this is gonna be one of the longest courtships ever!

Hi, My Name is Vimbai and I Am a Twitter Twit: I am far from tiring of Twitter and that’s saying a lot, I usually have the attention span of a gnat!

It has gone from a giddy infatuation to a strong, deep bond that I am going to prematurely call Love. Yes, I Love Twitter. If Twitter was a man, his favourite colour would be blue, he’d love birds and he’d give me an on-the-hour running commentary about his day (eish, that could got get a bit annoying) lol.

Sadly with all things cherished, there’s always a drawback…and this one is particularly embarrassing. It seems Twitter has managed to access my usually-dormant groupie tendencies.

Oh Lawd, let me just come out and say it:
“Sometimes (read: Not as often as I actually want to)…I…*cringe*…comment on my favourite celebrities statuses in the sad, sad hope that one of them will actually reply.”

I know, very lame and even more uncool, but I can’t help myself. Don’t judge me.

My inner groupie hasn’t had a outlet in ages and is now operating in overdrive. Not since my impromptu encounter with Jared Leto back in 2004 or my ohmigosh-I’m-so-close-to-Jigga-I waved-at-him-and-he-waved-back concert-going swooning in 2006 has my inner groupie heart beat like that of a humming bird’s.

Fun times *sigh*.

Question: When was the last time your inner groupie unleashed itself upon the world? ‘Fess up!

And The Winner Is: Yay, I got a blog award from Haute Choclit aka Zim Chick. I love winning stuff, it so rarely happens! This is my first blog award and I very grateful! Keep ‘em coming, hahaha.
Monday beckons with its usual cry of doom and gloom. I urge you to not listen and instead encourage you to shout back your own inner cry of hope, success and achievement!

Have a great one chickens!


V x

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Let’s Get Nekkid!


When is it appropriate to take ama-sexy-nudie-ohmigosh-is-that-really-her-@#$% type pictures?

As a perennial member of the camera-whore club, I understand the sheer joy one gets from getting their picture taken. As anyone who knows me will tell you, if there’s a camera about chances are that I’ve already spotted it, am puckering up my lips and trying to channel one of The Great Supermodels of the 90’s.

In my opinion, nudie pictures fall into two categories:

Naked pictures: These are your artsy fartsy strategically taken nude pictures that are used to convey an emotion, a theme or a scenario. Examples would be anything from PETA ad campaigns to some haute couture designer’s warped idea that sending topless and bottomless malnourished models down the catwalk signifies something as random as the Plight of South American Sea Turtle.

One thing stands out about naked pictures and that is participants for a naked photo shoot etc always know where their pictures of will end up, which takes us to the next category…

Nekkid pictures: Eish, now these items are just downright sketch bra! They’re always heat of the moment, amateurish, let’s-take-some-more-shots kind of pictures. They’re usually taken to explore and push sexual boundaries and shrouded in intimacy and secrecy….that is until they’re “discovered” by people who shouldn’t be privy to such antics (in general, the rest of the world).

What’s even worse is that these photo’s can be used as a form of exploitation, our girl Riri is learning firsthand that “Hell hath no fury like a Young Breezy former lover scorned.” Heck, it’s really becoming the norm to have one…mmmmh, I wonder if Obama have any lurking about, hehehe.

There’s no judgement here, I am well aware about the alluring appeal of nekkid pictures, I just haven’t had the nerve (read: I was never drunk enough) to take any when frolicking with former love interests.

To rephrase my man Sean Carter, “I’ve got 99 problems but a nekkid picture ain’t one”

So another question I would like to pose to y’all in blogville is, Have you had nekkid pictures taken? If so, splurge on the details…’fess up!

Random note: If you google the word “naked” it then asks you, in the related search if you mean Rihanna naked…asikana/shame.

The Smell of Success: There I was, leisurely paging through this month’s copy of Elle when I get to the front page (I work through mags from the back to the front, don’t ask) and notice an advert for Tom Ford’s fragrance “White Patchouli”. Firstly I was mildly surprised that the Estee Lauder’s ads have been usurped from their “rightful” position but after a bit I realised that the woman in the fragrance ad looked very, very familiar.

Turns out that it’s Ms Erykah Badu, as I live and breath.

I love this chick, she has a special place in my heart…her Baduzim CD was the first CD I ever owned and loved (the second was by “Five”…eish).

Here’s hoping that it smells as good as it looks!

5 hours later: Have any of you read Yann Martel’s “Life of Pi”? Oh wow, if you haven’t, go now and get it…I’m serious, leave what you’re doing and find your nearest bookstore and buy this book. A generous friend lent it to me at 2pm on Sunday afternoon and by 7pm I was done.

Yes, it's that good.

I won’t give you the story line, if you know what’s good for you then get your hands on it. ‘Nuff said.
Let me enjoy the last few hours of my Hump Day and catch up on my Grey’s Anatomy!

Keep smiling chickens,


V x

Friday, May 08, 2009

Hey Mama

This Sunday officially marks Mother’s Day, but who are we kidding here, every day is Mother’s Day.

In Zim, the very common slang term for one’s mother is “Queen” as in, “What am I getting my Queen for Mother’s Day” or “Eish, I must not forget to call the Queen this Sunday or my a*s is grass.” ‘Tis a very fitting term for the woman we all owe a lot too…and who doesn’t let us forget we owe her a lot, lol!

K over at The Tattoo Journal blog recently wrote the most hilarious post outlining her mother’s hardcore methods in keeping her in-line when growing up. I love her post ‘cause it outlines how mother’s will not think twice to use questionable means to hit a point home and how their lessons always come from a place of love (they care that much).

One particular memory comes to mind when I think of mum going beyond the call of duty to teach her offspring a lesson. This scenario doesn’t involve me, but my brother and went a little like this:

At the tender age of 11 (or was it 12) my brother had discovered the fairer sex. His attitude had gone from “Girls, yuck!” to “Girls, girls, girls!” Anywho, it was round about this time that he and his cronies discovered that snogging was an entertaining past time and their days were consumed with finding willing female participants for their “social experiments”.

At some point it came to light that one of my brother’s willing female partakers was in fact, not being as exclusive with her spit as she had lead him to believe and was instead running her own social experiment.

Now my brother and my mother have a very close bond, as mother’s and their son’s usually do, so it was no surprise when my brother on learning his fellow spit swapper was the neighbourhood strumpet went off to confide in my mother.

Except this time, his “pal” was not amused and was going to make sure that he a) Learnt that all forms of sexual promiscuity would never be taken lightly and b) To up the calibre of his girlfriends in future.

My brother did not get the sympathetic ear he was hoping for; instead he got a trip to the doctor instead.

My mother, in cahoots with our family GP, drummed into him the dangers of all forms of sexual engagement (supposedly, this includes kissing) and how fraternising with multiple partners would increases his chances of being exposed to HIV/AIDS.

If that wasn’t enough, the family GP (on strict instructions from my mother) then put my brother on a 60 day course of ARV’s to drum the point home. Okay, we later learnt that they weren’t actually ARV’s but sugar tablets, but bloody heck, my brother’s 11 year old bones were rattled to say the least and my mother certainly got her point her across.

I believe every mother’s MO is “Through any means necessary!”

To all mum’s and mum’s-to-be, here’s hoping you have a fantastic day and get spoilt rotten!

To my mummyI love you to bits; thanks for loving me back, keeping me in line, being there for me and teaching me the beauty of compassion, faith, forgiveness and love.

Have a fantastic weekend chickens, keep safe and don't forget to show your mamma some love!


V x

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

So long, Dear Thong

Dearest Thong,

Where do I begin? I know you’ve been confused by my absence or rather avoidance during these last few weeks.

The truth is… well, there’s someone else.

I wasn’t looking to replace you, seriously I wasn’t. You and I had had such a good run for the last decade or so. Even during times of judgement, like when my mother found evidence of after my first semester at varsity and demanded vehemently why I bothered with you and that she was convinced that you were merely “stringing” me along & I should replace you with something of more substance (read: more material per square centimetre).

I defended you and spoke of how you delivered me from the horrors of Visible Panty Lines (VPL) and frumpiness at the tender age of 18.I wasn’t the only one who loved you though, you were so popular that even Sisquo wrote a song about you

Nevertheless, I had my frustrations with you that I skilfully hid from those near and dear to me. You weren’t always the most comfortable companion, can I be more candid and go as far as saying you could be a right pain in the ass at times.

This can’t be all that surprising to you, you must have seen this coming a mile away. Now I think about it, our relationship had no long-term future. The fact that I refused to sleep with you should have set off some alarm bells!

Like I said earlier, I met someone else. If I was to be honest, this isn’t as recent development as you probably believe. But even back then, you were my mainstay; those flings meant nothing, merely an outlet for my quarter life crisis and need for change.

Nevertheless, a week ago, I was minding my own business and doing a spot of window shopping when I walked into La Senza who were having a fantastic sale. I couldn’t resist. As I reached out for you, my staple, the sales lady pointed out that the French Knickers (FK) would be more to my liking. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have listened, but they looked so cute. I promised myself that I would only buy them this once, what harm could be done.

Two weeks later and this is were we find ourselves…semi strangers. FK’s have introduced me to a new way of comfort and sensuality. This is no longer a casual dalliance or school girl crush. I’m in it for the long-term…I am so sorry.

I know we’ll still see each other from time to time; we have too much history to part ways so coldly and completely. After all, we can still be friends :-)

No hard feelings,

V x


No laughing matter: I acknowledge there is nothing amusing about a health hazard that’s killed people and continues to infect more people…however, in times like this, when people are gripped by the hysteria of fear and uncertainty…Humour is the only medicine.
I got the following cartoon jpeg in my mail the other day and couldn’t help but have a bit of a chuckle.

It’s Not Right But It’s Okay…I think: Something’s feeling a little off at work. Things are a bit tense as it is with depressed economy making it harder to meet budget etc, but that’s not what’s bugging me. What concerns me is the number of resignations this year alone within my department. People are jumping ship and that’s not a good sign at all.

I am gonna spend more time at the water cooler and tea area and get to the bottom of all this, clearly I didn’t get the memo :-)

Happy Hump Day hukus (chickens)


V x

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Witness The Fitness

Tis the time of the year when I decide to haul my behind off the couch and call upon my inner non-existent workout bunny.

I hate exercising…I hate having to do jumping jacks…I loath running anywhere (unless it’s a 100m sprint somewhere), I get faint at the mention of squats and lunges and you certainly won’t catch me downing a protein shake ever.

So why do I bother you may ask?

That’s pretty simple to explain; well it appears I am a bit vain and vain people like the way they look in clothes, clothes they spend a lot of time buying and trying on in badly lit fitting rooms. I despise shop fitting rooms with their well angled, unforgiving mirrors.

What I do love is the sensation of heady endorphins coursing through my veins when I eventually do get around to a workout. Just what the doctor ordered to chase those winter blues away.

This season my fitness regime of choice is Yoga.
Finally my hot pink yoga mat will get used for what it was actually made for. A mate of mine is trying to convince me take up some Bikram yoga with her, but the thought of working out in a 40 degree celsius room is stifling…not to mention I don’t want to be working a flat iron through my hair after every workout ‘cause the humidity has dwinged it, hehehe.

What are you workout regimes of choice? Any of you do Yoga?
Would be great to know in advance if I’m getting in over my head here.

It’s Not Me, It’s You: Spent the weekend with Lily Allen’s CD aptly title “It’s Not Me, It’s You” on repeat. This chick kills me; I have yet to dislike anything she’s ever done. This album doesn’t disappoint, she covers a lot of scenario’s with her usual tongue-in-cheek humour. So far, my favourite tracks off it are as follows”

1. "Back To The Start": (Theme: Healing rifts with friends); 2. "Who’d Have Known": (Theme: Tender, tentative beginnings of a relationship…very sweet);
3. "22": (Theme: Reaching a certain age and felling quite unfulfilled…eish);
4. "Not Fair": (Theme: Meeting the perfect man…except he turns out to be rubbish in bed, lol); and,
5. "The Fear": (Theme: Commentary on how confusing life is).

I'm Tweeting in the Rain: So it’s been about a week since I signed up onto Twitter and I’m still a little clueless, navigating my way about.

It’s so great to be connected with some of my blogger regulars, I feel so more engaged. Some of your updates are just downright entertaining, keep ‘em coming.

The celeb tweets are equally engrossing; Rev Run drops words of wisdom every few minutes, John Mayer is always up to some sort of nonsense (or defending his manwhorish ways, ah bless), Alicia Keyes sounds like someone I could hang with and Diddy is….eish, honestly I have no idea what the heck Diddy is going on about, he’s obsessed with his “Locked In” statements.

Either way, I am waiting for it to all get mundane and boring…and guess what, it’s not!

Who are you following that’s got you hooked?


It’s been 9 whole days since I was last at work. Lots of r ‘n r has been had and I am actually looking forward to getting back into the daily grind. I even have a spring in my step and everything...then again, i am writing this on a Sunday evening. Here’s hoping the “spring” still exists tomorrow morning and continues till the end of the week.

Happy Monday chickens!



Friday, May 01, 2009

Come what May

A pinch and a punch for the first of the month!

Happy May Day chickens! A quarter of the year has flown by and I’m all dazed and confused. Here’s hoping that the next 4 months ease up just a tad ‘cause I am barely recovering from the drama that has been the last 4 months of 2009. Here are 4 life lessons I have learnt these past months:

1. Being passive aggressive is a waste of everybody’s time. There’s nothing like a good old showdown with loved ones and friends to clear the air, after all, no one’s a mind reader.

2. A job and a career aren’t the same thing, they’re hardly related even. They’re maybe third cousins, twice removed. If you merely have a job like me, then its time to do some soul searching to determine what your career is meant to be, ‘cause a job can only tithe you over so long.

3. Say your prayers. I had slipped on the spiritual front, I used to have God on speed dial but now he’s probably looking down at his phone every time I buzz like “Ummm, who’s this?” Praying is very personal thing, so if to you it means chanting, meditating or merely expressing gratitude to the universe, then do it. A little bit goes a long, long way.

4. Becoming friends after having been a little friendlier than that is…weird, to say the least. Some things happen a little more naturally than others or not at all.

Happy Endings: Forget the “happy endings” depicted in seedy porn flicks (which I obviously don’t know too much about *ahem*). I am talking about the sheer joy of regaining the ability to move my neck 90 degrees to the right without hearing something click followed by a sharp painful sensation.

Situation was so dire I had dubbed my back, “Knots Landing.” Enter the masseuse, now to be known as Magic Fingers (MF), who pummelled my neck and back into shape using hot stones.

Dialogue between me and MF was limited as I kept losing consciousness during the massage from either sheer joy or sheer pain: MF told me, in not so many words, that working for The Man had resulted in me harbouring weapons of mass destruction at the base of my neck.

I merely muttered incoherent sobs in agreement whilst wondering silently if it’s possible to die from a massage, as well as inwardly praying she didn’t get too close to my boobs (what? I had a bad experience a while back…but that’s a story for another day).

An hour later I stumbled out into the glaring daylight with a new lease on life…and a glistening body as proof (that massage oil is impossible to remove!).

Where’s the Oinkment? WHO has bumped it up to a pandemic threat level of 5 on a 6 step level. Not good…not good at all. Even worse, pharmaceutical companies are speculating about the amount of money they can make by creating new drugs to address this flu strain.

Seriously??! People are dying and someone in some big, cushy office somewhere is rubbing his hands in glee at the money that can be made off an imminent pandemic.
It makes me believe that there’s some truth in the countless theories that cures for most diseases that afflict humans exist, however, cures don’t make big business sense so they’re shelved for other forms of medication that reign in symptoms rather than cure them.


Random Tidbit: Was just getting my daily tabloid fix (don’t judge me) and I see that Kelis has filed for divorce from Nas. I guess her milkshake can bring all the boys to the yard, however, getting them to stick around and behave may just be another story altogether.

Hollywood relationships have the most ridiculous turn-over rate; then again, this Love business isn’t for the faint hearted…


I shall now wish you all a superb weekend where you can keep your rose-coloured glasses on and remember that Louis Armstrong must have been on to something when he crooned,

“And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”

Be good chickens,


V x