bag lady

If you've got it, put it in your handbag.

That is the philosophy I live by. Everything that passes through my hands has a very strong possibility of going straight into my handbag, and almost never coming out.

It's true, mine is, what can be called a "black hole of handbags".

It is only in the unlikely event that it changes (due to weather or wear and tear) that things actually might see the light of day.

Not all of it is rubbish though. I have a lot of very essential stuff –well, stuff that I think is essential, anyway. Lets see, lip balm, a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouth wash, face wash, face cream, hand cream (a lavender one – yummy), house keys, an i-pod USB cable, my i-pod, sunglasses, an umbrella (when the weather demands it), a pocket-sized mirror, a novel, an idea book, printouts from work, a bottle opener (don't ask),an extra keychain, tissue, mints, four or five pens and lots of credit card receipts.

I also have a make-up pouch that contains three types of lip gloss, mascara, eyeliner, lipstick and a locket with me and my dad's picture in it.

In addition to this, I also have a big, fat wallet that carries everything from tummy tablets and band aids to visiting cards and crocheted flowers (oh, and money too).

You'd think with the amount that goes in to it, it would be a rather big bag. On the contrary, my brand new, sky-blue beauty fits neatly under my arm and has great storing potential ( read: it's still rather empty).

Bags are probably my most favourite accessory. And aren't always bought based on need. I have to literally chastise myself from buying every handbag that "speaks" to me. (My newest favourite formal bag is a cute little bronze pouch, with a metal handle – but that's another story)

My old everyday-bag was a large rugged, khaki Diesel bag. I could stuff virtually anything into it. When the zip broke, so did my heart. I spent weeks looking for a new one. Why weeks you ask? Because I am one of those people for whom buying a bag is not just a shopping issue, it's a very emotionally-charged experience. You can't just go out and "buy" a bag. The bag needs to sell itself to you.

A bag has to speak to me; it needs to talk to me from a shelf to grab my attention. It doesn't need to shout, it needs to flirt subtlety with me.

And when I put it on my arm, I need to feel like it's mine – and not just some bag on my arm. It needs to be a part of me – an extension of my body. It doesn't have to be branded or expensive, it just needs to speak.

For weeks I did not find a single bag that spoke to me. Then suddenly this blue one just grabbed my attention from an array of bags on a shelf.

My new boy waited patiently as I preened and posed in front of the mirror and then, without hesitation paid for it and happily stuffed everything from my make-shift plastic bag, into its welcoming, water-proof lined depths.

Yay :)

Luna-tic

I’m going to go ahead and blame it on the moon.

The 13th of September was probably the worst day in the history of my life. I literally felt like I would have a sudden shooting pain in my left arm and my life would briefly flash before my eyes while I passed into…well…the other side.
Alarms that didn’t go off, mad men on the road, never-before traffic jams and intense heat - after which, I finally step into my office.

I walk in and before I even put down my bag, this servicing guy parks his pillar-like body in front of my path, looking at me with lunatic eyes, asking if I had a goodnight. I ask him if he has any work with me and why he is following me around like that big black slab in Kubrick’s 2001 Space Odyssey. He doesn’t get it. I walk passed him and when I reach my desk – he is there again. Freakin’stalker dude.

Then the most annoying woman in the office, the stick-figure, walks up to me and starts yelling that I have to do some work for her and she doesn’t care how much work I have, she needs it and she wants it by 4:00pm. This is when I lost it. This is when I thought I would have my first heart attack of the day. In short, I yelled till my eyes were blood shot. I told her to piss-off and come back when she learns how to talk to people. She didn’t.

Then as I calmed down with lunch I noticed that one of the guys in the office was very obviously ignoring me. I asked him if he was and he curtly replied, that he was. I asked him why and he yelled that he didn’t want to talk about it right then and stomped away.

In the evening I was sitting outside the office when he marches up to me, Red Bull in hand, saying he wants to talk about the Tuesday night office party. So I say, okay, talk about it.

He then begins to accuse me of starting this little tit-bit of gossip involving him, an annoying girl in the office and a Swedish condom. Apparently he was reaching this woman home to one end of the world when he stays in another end, and when he told some office guys, they drunkenly teased him and one of them handed him a condom – instead of throwing it back at their faces there and then, he keeps it and leaves. Then when the party is almost over, I notice he is not there so I ask where he is. The drunken boys tell me he’s gone to drop the annoying woman home – at which I say –Why would he drop her home? He stays no where close to her. At which the drunken boys giggle and tell me he took a condom too. Now, because of office grapevine, the ugly annoying girl walks in on Wednesday and the whole office is whispering that this guy took a condom and dropped her home.

So, I’m sitting there as he accuses me of “getting the ball rolling” and how “at my age” I should know better than to “blab” at office parties about things I don’t know. This is when I truly lost it. I told him he had no right to talk to me like that, and that how can someone “get the ball rolling” by asking about the whereabouts of a friend at a party? Further more, if he had no intention of doing anything with the condom, why walk away with it? And if he were to drop me home, would he even think twice about giving the condom back? No? Which means the drunken boys were completely justified in thinking something might ensue between annoying girl and boy?

There was a lot of yelling and crying (yes, I cried) and eventually he wanted to make up because he realised he was being rash, but I just can’t go from yelling to being bum-chums again. And honestly I don’t think I ever will get back to thinking he was anything more than a colleague.

The day was awful and I thought maybe I should go out dancing to relieve stress. We went to our usual adda and start dancing when this normal looking couple walk up to her boyfriend and say hi. But it ended there – they only looked normal.
She made intensely happy smiling faces and mouthed an “I love you” to me. She popped out from nowhere as, I walked to the loo, and danced with me. We tried to escape them and go upstairs and she followed us. We hid behind pillars and made our way to the exit. And we were free.

I went home and the heat was unbearable. As much as I wanted the day to end it just wouldn’t. I tossed and turned in bed and finally fell asleep at 5am.
What a day. I’m going to blame it on the moon.