What's in a name?

One of the strangest things about living back in South Africa is the attitude towards relationships.

In London being single is not a crime. Being single in your 30's is accepted and very often the norm with the busy and stressful lives that people lead.

Cape Town is quite the opposite.

Thankfully I am not bothered by it but sometimes it appears that other people are bothered on my behalf.

Whilst going to Bistro Sixteen82 at Steenberg Golf Estate today:

Female Security Guard: Where are you visiting and please can I have your surname?

Miss M: Bistro Sixteen82 and M

FSG: Thank you Mrs. M, do you know where you are going?

Miss M: It's Miss M and no I don't

FSG: Leans forward slightly and smiles at me Aw don't worry, I'm a Miss too

It was round about this point that I wanted to get out of the car and bitch slap her through the face

Instead I just smiled sweetly and went on my merry way.

But what I really wanted to say

Miss M: Really lady? REALLY? Are you so pathetic and insecure that you really feel that you need to define yourself based on whether or not you are in a relationship? Get. A. Grip.

Who knows.

But all I know is that I am very happy being Miss M and don't want to change it, for the time being.

Toilet humour

I went back to my university today for a meeting with the head of the Film and Media Department about the possibility of going back to school and completing my Masters next year.

That isn't the story I'm going to tell today.

Whilst having a cup of tea with my friend Cuddles he mentioned that he had been to the roof of Jamieson Hall.

Miss M: I want to go there.

Cuddles: Now?

Miss M: Yes.

So off we went.

But that isn't the story I'm going to tell.

Whilst going up a metal ladder in to the rooftops of the building I had a mild panic attack and Cuddles had to talk me up.

Still not the story.

Once on the roof we chilled for a bit in the sunshine. Cape Town was having a beautiful day, one of those perfect days that makes me so happy to be back.

Not the story.

Now strangely enough the ladder up to the roof is situated off of a bathroom in Jamieson Hall. I'm not quite sure why they did that but hey. The space is small and cramped, pretty much just enough room for me, Cuddles and the ladder.

Cuddles: Miss M, keep quiet for a second, I think I hear someone

Miss M: Stage whisper In the toilet???

Cuddles: Ssshhh

Now let me tell you there is nothing harder than trying to keep silent whilst listening to a complete stranger enter a bathroom, unzip their pants and let rip.

I was clinging on to the ladder almost dying from trying to hold my laughter in whilst Cuddles held himself against the door in a desperate attempt to make it appear locked in case the person tried to investigate why the door was laughing uncontrollably at them.

All I could picture was him and I opening the door and walking in whilst someone sat on the toilet staring at us in shock.

I could not stop laughing.

Cuddles wasn't much help, if I looked at him he started giggling and then I was off again.

Thankfully we only waited for two people to use the bathroom before we could leave. It must have looked so funny as both of us exited the bathroom in tandem laughing hysterically.

I hope that the last person who was in there didn't see us.

Hard one to explain.

Will his Mama let him out tonight?

At what age does it stop being wrong to have a crush on a younger boy? I ask this because of late I have found myself attracted to these creatures.

Not that 27 is old at all. Proven by the below scenario.

Miss M walks in to a local pool bar

Bouncer: ID please

Miss M: Huge smile plastered across her face Really???

Miss M happily hands over her ID

Bouncer: Oh, my compliments to you!

Dear Reader I am not fooled in to believing that he thought I was under the age of 18 but perhaps 23??

However I think it is definitely improper to have a crush on a boy who, when you matriculated from high school, was only 8 years old.

When I lost my virginity he hadn't even reached double digits.

When he matriculated I was already hitting the down hill slide to 30.

When we hear of a couple who are 55 and 66 respectively we don't think anything of it. 42 and 33, not a problem. 90 and 81, so close in age.

But 25 and 16? Illegal.

27 and 18? Seriously improper.

And reverse it so that the older party member is the girl and everyone is so shocked. Cougar and cradle snatcher being some of the choice words.

Thankfully this boy does not live in Cape Town so I am saved from the embarrassment of actually doing something about this improper crush but would it really be all that bad?

Wouldn't we all like to relive our teenage years without actually having to be 18 again?

Ps - the 18 year old actually wanted me too.

Shocking.

The birds and the bees

When I worked in TV I would constantly complain that there were no straight men, only gay men, in the office.

Turns out that film is quite the opposite.

The crew is made up of 100% hot blooded heterosexual males who want nothing more than to "get their freak on".

Pity they're all married or involved and plenty of them have children.

Yet as soon as the cameras start rolling they want to start rolling with anything that moves. Is it perhaps because we are surrounded by each other for 14 hours a day and pretty much for 2 months don't have a life outside of the filming vicinity?

Or is it just because men can't keep it in their pants and film crews aren't afraid to show this?

The girls don't seem to worry that much either. It seems to be a well known fact that at some point in time during your film career you will end up sleeping with a married man and enjoy it.

It isn't like they hide the fact.

I got hit on by a Grips who in one sentence would tell me how outrageously sexy I was and that his wife also looks good in green.

Even the cast are dipping their nibs in to different pots. Each week we would receive the hotel bills for our international cast members and each week there would be a cost for an overnight visitor. In fact one cast member had someone move in to his hotel room for 3 weeks, at our expense of course. And what can we say?

Nothing.

Keep rolling rolling rolling

The marble incident did not end just there.

That would be too easy.

Every new location for base camp Asshole would complain that the trailer was at an angle and S.A.S would have to inform the poor Transport team who really had better things to worry about.

Like Chaperons going missing whilst transporting the lead cast but no Asshole's trailer is more important.

Last day of filming finally arrives.

Assistant Transport Manager walks in to the Producers trailer and in complete silence takes a marble out of his pocket. He looks straight at Asshole and puts the marble on the table.

Marble doesn't move.

ATM picks up the marble and walks out.

Oh to have been there to see the look on Asshole's face.

Losing your marbles

Over a 6 week period we were filming all around Cape Town and some neighboring areas. Base camp was moved from location to location and everyone worked out of their respective trailers.

Asshole and Mini-Me shared a trailer and their poor personal servant lived in there with them too. S.A.S's job was to make sure that all of Asshole's needs were fulfilled regardless of what they might be.

He needs coffee. Check.

His laundry needs collecting. Check.

He needs help going to the toilet. Check.

The list goes on.

One day Asshole decided that his trailer was not 100% straight. He was determined that it was at a slight angle and therefore all of his brilliance would be lost and that the movie would fail.

Right.

2200
Asshole: S.A.S please find me a marble so I can prove to the Transport team that the trailer is wonky.

S.A.S: I'll have it for you in the morning.

Asshole: No I need it now.

S.A.S: Right now?

Asshole: Yes. And if you don't find it now forget about working with us on another movie

Poor S.A.S runs to every single department on set desperately trying to find a marble. Poor girl just gets laughed out of most trailers until she reaches the stunt boys where amazingly enough one of them has a marble. We're not asking why people.

2250
S.A.S: Here you go Asshole

Asshole: What's that?

S.A.S: The ... marble ... ?

Asshole: Oh I'd forgotten about that.

Asshole.

Introductory speech

So this year I worked on my very first feature film. A Universal Studios major feature film. Quite a stamp to have on my CV I must say but definitely not as glamorous as it is sold to be.

15 hour days, 6 days a week for 2 months. I was like the walking dead half way through it. Never seeing the outside world, never seeing my friends and most horribly actually getting used to it and enjoying the torture!

I finally understand Stockholm Syndrome.

The South African team was led by The Sheriff. This man has a firm grasp of money and movies but is one scary ass motherfucker.

He screams.

A lot.

And not in a nice way.

Week 2 in to the film he made me cry. In fact I had a full blown panic attack which involved hyperventilating, cold wash clothes on my forehead, breathing in to a paper bag and tears. Oh so embarrassing but apparently you're not really in the industry unless The Sheriff has made you cry.

Our American Producers I shall coin "Asshole" and "Mini - Me".

Mini-Me was so far up Asshole's namesake that I'm surprised if he ever came out for air. To be fair he was 25 and an Assistant Producer for Universal Studios and had been given this chance by Asshole after 4 years of servitude to the ... well ... Asshole. He wasn't going to mess up for love or money and we had to know about this.

My team were lovely except for Bitch. She could be oh so sweet and then viciously take you down in one fell swoop. There was no yelling. No that was not her style. She'd rather calmly insult your intelligence/activity/personality gently and sadistically in front of the entire office.

Personally I'd take The Sheriff any day.

So now you've met the characters.

Let's get on with the story.

Look Who's Back!

Yes yes, please pick yourself up from the floor; I am here, I am writing and I am going to try and stick around for a while this time.

I know I've made promises before in the past. I know I've said that I'd always be around. I know I promised you the world.

But hey.

Shit happens.

So this time my promise to you is that I am going to TRY and keep myself going in the blogosphere. I'll TRY and not run at the first sign of writers block (perhaps the second or the third but who's counting?) and I'll TRY and keep you laughing. (or what ever it is you do when you visit my blog)

Here's hoping I manage to pull it off.

It's a new year!

This holiday season as been an absolutely fantastic one. Filled with sunshine, friends, laughter and food.

Ah the food.

I think I've eaten enough to feed a small family for a couple of months and now I am on the road to food saintdom.

You know; when you only eat because you're hungry and you remove all joy from food by eating only extremely healthy items and no fat what so ever?

Ha. That so isn't ever going to happen is it?

New Year resolutions are, as far as I'm concerned, a complete waste of time and energy. Every single year we vow to make changes, vow to do things differently and promise to make our lives the way that we know they should be.

Which lasts all of 1 month.

Or in the case of Lopz, Shoes and I last year, just 2 days.

Instead this year I am going to resolve not to make any resolutions and just take life one day at a time and see what happens.

So here is to a bloody fantastic 2010 regardless of what happens!

Ps - a job would be nice though ...