The following goes back to the year 2005 - 2007 - R.I.P
An ex boyfriend 'A' recently started a relationship with someone I used to know. A shocker to me, alright, because this is a woman I considered to be a friend during the time I knew her.
Only close to the end of my relationshiop with 'A', was I told that this woman had often hinted that she would cheat on her partner because she had a thing for ‘A’. Drooling cheating biets.
Yes, my claws were out...Because, how dare she try her luck with my boyfriend at the time? We had a two year (too) long realtionship, one which I ended late in 2006 because…because… One just realizes things won’t work.
Thinking about what ‘A’ told me recently, I’m completely irked. I have a mind of sending him the telephone bill which had rocked my budget right accross the universe. Because dear friends, all I had to do was LISTEN. To ex boyfriend ranting about himself, this woman, them, their misfortunes, his bad luck, the bastard ex of the woman...
And all I could think was: The last thing I want to hear is who and what my ex boyfriend is currently shagging.
Like most people, the thought of exes and others together isn't very attractive.
Story:
The partner that this woman used to share a house with for a couple of years had to move out. In fact, he is kicked out.
It gives ‘A’ free access to the house. The scmuck gets it easy...
The woman decides she wants ‘R’ back in her life. Poor old ‘A’
Woman wants ‘A’ back, dear poor old ‘R’…
Woman doesn’t seem to know what she wants; and so on… Screwed up? I think so.
Verdict:
It bugs me that two people I knew, can destroy someone else’s happiness on a whim, just like that.
I always thought 'R' and I had more in common than 'A' and I. Perhaps both 'R' and I missed something.
I may very well have been stringed along like a fool. Love makes real fools of us nice, decent and trusting idiots sometimes…
Sentencing the guilty:
How can one understand, have time or respect for such unbelievably insane behaviour?
This is the sort of thing that happens in small Scottish or other villages. Everyone has slept with someone’s ex or current partner. Maybe the villagers aren’t stimulated enough. Due to working on the fisheries, local shops, pubs and on yachts, they don’t often get out and in touch with the outside world. A certain social scene is set and bred and it seems to steer towards sheer dark drops that leads to no good.
Death Sentence:
Well, yesterday I received a note from ‘A’ that he nearly died during the last couple of days due to a burst ulcer.
Oh dear, how awful. Poor thing. So all these latest escapades had left him feeling ‘disenchanted’?
Well fuck (sorreee), I don’t care. I’m sorry for his bad health which I often warned him to keep an eye on…but frankly, it’s no longer my problem.
It was my thoughts yesterday, still is…
Epilogue
I am done with the past and a village gone bonkers with villagers bonking one another...
I pressume such thoughts mean I've moved on.
That is when one knows that one is in a very-very good space.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Snug as a Schmuck
Well,
No, of course I did naet get it all. And just to be annoying and perverse, I also don't like bran or rice crispies...Doesn't mean I don't like a good hearty full English or Boere breakfast.
But looking at the a different world under the outspan of stars last night, I realised what an old bag I’ve been lately.
Nagging really drags one down and up to a certain point, wears out the listeners as well. Fact remain though that us fragile and sometimes extremely powerful human beings need to crumble or vent from time to time. I usually take this in my stride – going to and fro. That’s why my family believe that quite a bit of Italian-French and Viking explosive oomph and lustre runs in our veins, not to mention some strong German-Scots and Jantjies (of which I’m doubtful, but…) remaining in stubbornnes and neurotic willfulness…
However, I’m consoled in knowing that pavement specials survive and make better pets and pals than fullblood and often disease prone hounds. Mind, I’d have loved to be a pedigree English hunter, or a scruffy Border Terrier (yuff-woof!).
We are after all lucky things. Some like me priviledged to have it on our back & frontdoor steps.
And we are alive.
So I felt at peace for once:
A braai fire lit, mist hovering in the loop between a The Twelve Apostles and little Lions Head
Rain clouds shifting further across the darkening sky, and all but disappearing into thin air.
Lightning: got all excited and a bit worried as I could not see a cloud in the sky. Was a faulty outside light going disco-bonkers. Spooky!
A falling star. I actually saw one for once! This big, yellow perfectly shaped star died gracefully without sparks. I’m sure it wasn’t a flair (I did not have a lot of wine either). It went pitch-black again.
The end of something bright and light…
Salt sea air tickled my face, nostrils and eyes. A sure sign that rain was closing in. No clouds visible yet…
Woke up at 03h00 with the sound of thousands of drops falling from the sky...
Dozing off to be somewhat disrupted by a waking and stretching kitten…
No, of course I did naet get it all. And just to be annoying and perverse, I also don't like bran or rice crispies...Doesn't mean I don't like a good hearty full English or Boere breakfast.
But looking at the a different world under the outspan of stars last night, I realised what an old bag I’ve been lately.
Nagging really drags one down and up to a certain point, wears out the listeners as well. Fact remain though that us fragile and sometimes extremely powerful human beings need to crumble or vent from time to time. I usually take this in my stride – going to and fro. That’s why my family believe that quite a bit of Italian-French and Viking explosive oomph and lustre runs in our veins, not to mention some strong German-Scots and Jantjies (of which I’m doubtful, but…) remaining in stubbornnes and neurotic willfulness…
However, I’m consoled in knowing that pavement specials survive and make better pets and pals than fullblood and often disease prone hounds. Mind, I’d have loved to be a pedigree English hunter, or a scruffy Border Terrier (yuff-woof!).
We are after all lucky things. Some like me priviledged to have it on our back & frontdoor steps.
And we are alive.
So I felt at peace for once:
A braai fire lit, mist hovering in the loop between a The Twelve Apostles and little Lions Head
Rain clouds shifting further across the darkening sky, and all but disappearing into thin air.
Lightning: got all excited and a bit worried as I could not see a cloud in the sky. Was a faulty outside light going disco-bonkers. Spooky!
A falling star. I actually saw one for once! This big, yellow perfectly shaped star died gracefully without sparks. I’m sure it wasn’t a flair (I did not have a lot of wine either). It went pitch-black again.
The end of something bright and light…
Salt sea air tickled my face, nostrils and eyes. A sure sign that rain was closing in. No clouds visible yet…
Woke up at 03h00 with the sound of thousands of drops falling from the sky...
Dozing off to be somewhat disrupted by a waking and stretching kitten…
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Things
I wrote to a friend today, asking: Wàaaat are you taaaaalking about?
Somewhere along the lines I got behind. Then realized with a jolt that I need to get a grip and come back to this life. Note: not to me, but to lilfe going on around me.
The reply to my question, was patient and friendly. Aren't we lucky things to have friends like that?
A lot of people seem to struggle with life and work at the moment - and if they are like me, feel completely out of it. Middle-cross left & right through the 'whap'.
We've lost the plot. Our heads are in a different place. We're not too certain about the direction we're heading into at the mo. Things happen too fast, all at once. Some of which seems so unimportant whereas the holiday memories seem to fade with each day passing...
I'm joining the bitching work brigade. I'm reeling from the shockwaves of being back at work, in the ever windy auld Cape Town. I'm hit between the eyes, where it hurts the most, as to why we always come back. Do we really fancy living a PC and mafia-boss macabre lifestyle?
Sometimes we don't have a choice, though, do we? Or maybe we're working towards something that just seems to be fluttering just out of reach and our begging hands.
I really-really enjoyed the empty space and view from the top. Standing on a mountain with a panoramic view stretching into a soft distant vicinity. I liked watching sunsets and rising early, breathing in clean veldt air and drinking from the gentle whispers of a farm hidden amongst layers of mountain and sky.
I promised myself a picnic with many people by the dam, and to take along binoculars next time. Loved the dirt & dust, feeding the chickens (with disinfected cat-litter instead of grainy shell I promised to import from CT, but forgot to do).
Chatting to my dad in his vegetable garden, taking kiekies, introducing my folks to new cooking tips, learning things and such from them, doing things I never do in my ordinary life.
Things...
How about you?
To those who are suffering with regards to anything at the moment: There is a book by James Patterson titled 'Suzanne's diary for Nicholas'
- It gives one a complete new meaning of the word 'Lucky'.
Somewhere along the lines I got behind. Then realized with a jolt that I need to get a grip and come back to this life. Note: not to me, but to lilfe going on around me.
The reply to my question, was patient and friendly. Aren't we lucky things to have friends like that?
A lot of people seem to struggle with life and work at the moment - and if they are like me, feel completely out of it. Middle-cross left & right through the 'whap'.
We've lost the plot. Our heads are in a different place. We're not too certain about the direction we're heading into at the mo. Things happen too fast, all at once. Some of which seems so unimportant whereas the holiday memories seem to fade with each day passing...
I'm joining the bitching work brigade. I'm reeling from the shockwaves of being back at work, in the ever windy auld Cape Town. I'm hit between the eyes, where it hurts the most, as to why we always come back. Do we really fancy living a PC and mafia-boss macabre lifestyle?
Sometimes we don't have a choice, though, do we? Or maybe we're working towards something that just seems to be fluttering just out of reach and our begging hands.
I really-really enjoyed the empty space and view from the top. Standing on a mountain with a panoramic view stretching into a soft distant vicinity. I liked watching sunsets and rising early, breathing in clean veldt air and drinking from the gentle whispers of a farm hidden amongst layers of mountain and sky.
I promised myself a picnic with many people by the dam, and to take along binoculars next time. Loved the dirt & dust, feeding the chickens (with disinfected cat-litter instead of grainy shell I promised to import from CT, but forgot to do).
Chatting to my dad in his vegetable garden, taking kiekies, introducing my folks to new cooking tips, learning things and such from them, doing things I never do in my ordinary life.
Things...
How about you?
To those who are suffering with regards to anything at the moment: There is a book by James Patterson titled 'Suzanne's diary for Nicholas'
- It gives one a complete new meaning of the word 'Lucky'.
Disconbobbled
Groggy mornings...And a gloriously rolling morning to you!
External factors can play a huge role in mornings, you know. Especially those chemical feeling-good hormones that takes their time to kick in and start up like a lackluster rusty grossly abused old tractor.
To name a few culprits in my morning life:
Eyes puffy, face plastered with too much hideous make-up to stuff up an unusual paleness and unsightly blue circles…I wont achieve the serene beautiful looks of a Madonna today. For some unexplainable reason I am dead on my feet. Spring-chickens like me should be jumping with joy and energy so something doesn’t tick. Surely?
There is the illness for work I have to cope with. Dreadful. I have so many work related allergies and too many to name. Such as dysfunctional photocopiers, static PC’s, work mugs & coffee & milk, the telephone (argh), nasty witches flying around me below the dreadful fluorescent lights, the boss and his fishwife (I can imagine this entity slaving & screaming at everyone in a crowded hot Portuguese fish & chips shop)… My system seems to have developed an incurable resistance against all anti-histamines available on the market. Time to switch to something else? A strong antibiotic to get the antibodies fighting for survival again, or turning to a bottle of ‘water of life’ such as uisge beatha? That is whisky, by the way, okay.
While we’re on the topic, can one ask to be send home from smoke congestion? Once again we’re surrounded by runaway veldt fires and a lot of smoke that weaves it way through our valley. It seems to get trapped around our heads and backdoors. This invading smoke comes all the way from Kommetjie, Joostenbergvlakte and Botrivier. Where is this place?
Fires, wind, dams that are bursting at a 99 % and yet some poor southern suburban folk are wildly fined for watering wilting gardens. And continuously stalked by Lesotho-hat-wearing (I have seen them! Their big secret is out) bush-sitting speed cops lounging around the Kirstenbosch and HB Spar area. That’s a new way of getting the work done, eh.
I also suffer from apparent lack of sleep. 8-Week kittens are programmed and entitled to have happy-jumping hours amongst the bed linen and its sleeping inhabitants. This happens at all hours during the short night: 01h25, 03h30, 03h55, 06h30. Today the little buggers gets to sleep it off whilst this poor idiot feel deprived of much needed rest. Do you think people start seeing and hearing things due to lack of sleep? I just get grumpy.
So all in all, I’m entitled to have sundowners out somewhere tonight. I’ll be hitting the road with screeching tires and it’ll probably leave unsightly marks in front of the workplace. Tough on them, because that is what the neighbor’s dogs do to our lawn all the time.
So I guess I’ll be doing the morning-noon-night thing all over again…
External factors can play a huge role in mornings, you know. Especially those chemical feeling-good hormones that takes their time to kick in and start up like a lackluster rusty grossly abused old tractor.
To name a few culprits in my morning life:
Eyes puffy, face plastered with too much hideous make-up to stuff up an unusual paleness and unsightly blue circles…I wont achieve the serene beautiful looks of a Madonna today. For some unexplainable reason I am dead on my feet. Spring-chickens like me should be jumping with joy and energy so something doesn’t tick. Surely?
There is the illness for work I have to cope with. Dreadful. I have so many work related allergies and too many to name. Such as dysfunctional photocopiers, static PC’s, work mugs & coffee & milk, the telephone (argh), nasty witches flying around me below the dreadful fluorescent lights, the boss and his fishwife (I can imagine this entity slaving & screaming at everyone in a crowded hot Portuguese fish & chips shop)… My system seems to have developed an incurable resistance against all anti-histamines available on the market. Time to switch to something else? A strong antibiotic to get the antibodies fighting for survival again, or turning to a bottle of ‘water of life’ such as uisge beatha? That is whisky, by the way, okay.
While we’re on the topic, can one ask to be send home from smoke congestion? Once again we’re surrounded by runaway veldt fires and a lot of smoke that weaves it way through our valley. It seems to get trapped around our heads and backdoors. This invading smoke comes all the way from Kommetjie, Joostenbergvlakte and Botrivier. Where is this place?
Fires, wind, dams that are bursting at a 99 % and yet some poor southern suburban folk are wildly fined for watering wilting gardens. And continuously stalked by Lesotho-hat-wearing (I have seen them! Their big secret is out) bush-sitting speed cops lounging around the Kirstenbosch and HB Spar area. That’s a new way of getting the work done, eh.
I also suffer from apparent lack of sleep. 8-Week kittens are programmed and entitled to have happy-jumping hours amongst the bed linen and its sleeping inhabitants. This happens at all hours during the short night: 01h25, 03h30, 03h55, 06h30. Today the little buggers gets to sleep it off whilst this poor idiot feel deprived of much needed rest. Do you think people start seeing and hearing things due to lack of sleep? I just get grumpy.
So all in all, I’m entitled to have sundowners out somewhere tonight. I’ll be hitting the road with screeching tires and it’ll probably leave unsightly marks in front of the workplace. Tough on them, because that is what the neighbor’s dogs do to our lawn all the time.
So I guess I’ll be doing the morning-noon-night thing all over again…
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Unplugged
Just the other day we discussed how words sometimes go riot as it comes out sounding all wrong. Causing minor embarrasments. This caused a bit of a stir and a giggle with a story or two…
Such as the time long ago when I asked a diner if he did not want to eat the soup in front of him, to which he replied solemnly: No thank you. But you can eat it if you want. Turned out it was a bowl of water to wash one’s hands after a splendid meal of spareribs.
Another time my sister did a finger prick (how else to say?) on a patient to get a blood sample. It (the needle) slipped too fast and hard through the unfortunate patient’s skin. In a flurry she said: I really did not mean to stick a finger in your hole! No surprise the all but amused patient replied: I would hope not!
Walking the lovely white beach Saturday morning, I commented to sis that some surfers seem to be really something to look at. Wouldn't it be nice having one of those... Wanting to say that a surfer could ‘surf’ into her life any time, it came out as: A surfer can service me any time...
What a laugh.
Not thinking, I asked which part she was talking about: the distributor or the plugs… ? Gross details really; and I'm sure a real mechanic would have been able to construct the question slightly more functionary.
Such as the time long ago when I asked a diner if he did not want to eat the soup in front of him, to which he replied solemnly: No thank you. But you can eat it if you want. Turned out it was a bowl of water to wash one’s hands after a splendid meal of spareribs.
Another time my sister did a finger prick (how else to say?) on a patient to get a blood sample. It (the needle) slipped too fast and hard through the unfortunate patient’s skin. In a flurry she said: I really did not mean to stick a finger in your hole! No surprise the all but amused patient replied: I would hope not!
Walking the lovely white beach Saturday morning, I commented to sis that some surfers seem to be really something to look at. Wouldn't it be nice having one of those... Wanting to say that a surfer could ‘surf’ into her life any time, it came out as: A surfer can service me any time...
What a laugh.
Not thinking, I asked which part she was talking about: the distributor or the plugs… ? Gross details really; and I'm sure a real mechanic would have been able to construct the question slightly more functionary.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Hairy weekends
Following all the recent excitement…
Well, Last night I sat on the front steps of the cottage, relishing life and an aged red wine from a big elegant crystal glass. Sunday dusk was fast turning into a soft glowing evening. It had a poetic beauty to it. Accident-prone knees drawn up to my chin with sun-brown calves (too much exposure to harsh Karoo mountains and sun), everything inside me became still. I welcomed the evening chill creeping up my muddy from watering-the-garden toes… But still, we were sheltered from the southeaster howling over the pebbles by the river at the bottom of the valley.
I watched the last pink colors fade on dark rock faces inked with rough lines and crevasses. I wanted to get up there to find and feel the deep hidden ravines where ferns and forest giants watch down on us small human things. I imagine there must be cascading small waterfalls and tranquil rock-pools; hiding amongst shadowy slips, narrows and plato’s. Maybe, just maybe so.
Before melancholy could set in too deeply, I suddenly remembered something important and said to the other silent watcher on the steps:
I think my hair has grown this weekend.
Whàt?
Yeah, I can feel and see it…
Oh, so your hair has grown SO much over…the…weekend.
Yeah. Don’t you think it is great?
Well, Last night I sat on the front steps of the cottage, relishing life and an aged red wine from a big elegant crystal glass. Sunday dusk was fast turning into a soft glowing evening. It had a poetic beauty to it. Accident-prone knees drawn up to my chin with sun-brown calves (too much exposure to harsh Karoo mountains and sun), everything inside me became still. I welcomed the evening chill creeping up my muddy from watering-the-garden toes… But still, we were sheltered from the southeaster howling over the pebbles by the river at the bottom of the valley.
I watched the last pink colors fade on dark rock faces inked with rough lines and crevasses. I wanted to get up there to find and feel the deep hidden ravines where ferns and forest giants watch down on us small human things. I imagine there must be cascading small waterfalls and tranquil rock-pools; hiding amongst shadowy slips, narrows and plato’s. Maybe, just maybe so.
Before melancholy could set in too deeply, I suddenly remembered something important and said to the other silent watcher on the steps:
I think my hair has grown this weekend.
Whàt?
Yeah, I can feel and see it…
Oh, so your hair has grown SO much over…the…weekend.
Yeah. Don’t you think it is great?
Thank goodness I'm not Catholic
...or a lot of confessions would have to be made on a weekendly basis...
Peace arrived last night after a somewhat peculiar weekend. You know, one of those which one can't put a finger on. Like a thorn stuck under the skin, not terribly uncomfortable but not supposed to be stuck there either...
I did not work on my story for a travel magazine. Using an excuse that I'm awaiting some vital info...
I did however change the story line of that big 'Tuscan-villa-here-we-come' novel. People, you may now officially start booking your stay...as there might be a waiting list.
I drank less wine... During the holidays I heard this true story of an elderly gentleman that choked straight into the wine goblet during a communian service. Too thirsty? Tsk. Everyone apparently then asked for tumblers... which luckily were at hand.
Went to the cinema to see either Jonathan Livingston Seagull or Australia, then changed the plan and bought a screw top bottle of Chenin Blanc, cheese straws and honey-nougat and hit the road not quite knowing where I was going. Not home, because that would send me going boing-boing.
Drove to the other side of the peninsula and went for a lovely long curvy stroll on Scarborough’s white sand. Pervert me did a bit of checking the surfers gliding across the gentle swells. The sea colors were aqua-, cobalt- and transparent like a swimming pool. And it nearly froze off my toes.
I spent a lot of time playing with Mr. Gorgeous. The latest addition to Acorn Cottage, Luigi is a tiny, ffurry, funny, jumpy, milk and attention loving little kitten with plenty of personality.
Ma and Pa celebrated their 39th wedding anniversary. How many people can say that? I told them that they must have a very normal marriage considering all the sh*t between all the good over the years, and getting to the point where they still love each other.
The very same day however we reeled in shock when my cousin (godchild’s mom) had a nasty car accident caused by an imbecile drug-induced blond charging her white Corsa from a one-way ally (wrong way) straight into her. My cousin could have died. Cousin said with a hint of humor though that they're going to 'naai' this chic in court.
Spoiling the day further, Ma and Pa’s beloved pet, a 5-year old rock rabbit (dassie) decided to die. Probably liver failure, as Dassie had a real fetish for cheese and wine. Well, another thing is that my brother and Dassie had a very special relationship: they hated each other. Bro did the right thing however to call and give his condolences of the recently deceased...
And I forgot to phone a friend who I promised to call last night - after I tried really hard to remember all weekend.
And someone I know seems to have gone off with a guy I really liked.
Life in the nether parts of Africa never has a dull moment, it seems.
A happy & blessed week to you.
Peace arrived last night after a somewhat peculiar weekend. You know, one of those which one can't put a finger on. Like a thorn stuck under the skin, not terribly uncomfortable but not supposed to be stuck there either...
I did not work on my story for a travel magazine. Using an excuse that I'm awaiting some vital info...
I did however change the story line of that big 'Tuscan-villa-here-we-come' novel. People, you may now officially start booking your stay...as there might be a waiting list.
I drank less wine... During the holidays I heard this true story of an elderly gentleman that choked straight into the wine goblet during a communian service. Too thirsty? Tsk. Everyone apparently then asked for tumblers... which luckily were at hand.
Went to the cinema to see either Jonathan Livingston Seagull or Australia, then changed the plan and bought a screw top bottle of Chenin Blanc, cheese straws and honey-nougat and hit the road not quite knowing where I was going. Not home, because that would send me going boing-boing.
Drove to the other side of the peninsula and went for a lovely long curvy stroll on Scarborough’s white sand. Pervert me did a bit of checking the surfers gliding across the gentle swells. The sea colors were aqua-, cobalt- and transparent like a swimming pool. And it nearly froze off my toes.
I spent a lot of time playing with Mr. Gorgeous. The latest addition to Acorn Cottage, Luigi is a tiny, ffurry, funny, jumpy, milk and attention loving little kitten with plenty of personality.
Ma and Pa celebrated their 39th wedding anniversary. How many people can say that? I told them that they must have a very normal marriage considering all the sh*t between all the good over the years, and getting to the point where they still love each other.
The very same day however we reeled in shock when my cousin (godchild’s mom) had a nasty car accident caused by an imbecile drug-induced blond charging her white Corsa from a one-way ally (wrong way) straight into her. My cousin could have died. Cousin said with a hint of humor though that they're going to 'naai' this chic in court.
Spoiling the day further, Ma and Pa’s beloved pet, a 5-year old rock rabbit (dassie) decided to die. Probably liver failure, as Dassie had a real fetish for cheese and wine. Well, another thing is that my brother and Dassie had a very special relationship: they hated each other. Bro did the right thing however to call and give his condolences of the recently deceased...
And I forgot to phone a friend who I promised to call last night - after I tried really hard to remember all weekend.
And someone I know seems to have gone off with a guy I really liked.
Life in the nether parts of Africa never has a dull moment, it seems.
A happy & blessed week to you.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Men & Milk
A conversation around a rekindled barbeque fire at 04h00 in the morning, tuned me into a curios listener (for once). Men and buying milk are a synonym when it comes to relationships.
Now we’re onto something! I thought as a light drizzle turned into tiny droplets sparkling from the nearby lemon tree. I was guided into the world of dark and luminescent relationships. Told about the current trend of sex-in-the-city of London and given a glimpse of how life and dating work for the single, between 30 - 55 sometimes erratic, realistic and straight forward male of our day and age.
The ‘right man’ has become exclusive goods these days. That we women know, but...
Girls-girls, some guys are actually completely empathetic towards one of society’s biggest ever niggles! The grossly over-population of the female sex across the world, as opposed to the seemingly diminishing male sex. A thorn in the flesh of most normal women, as this factor stands in direct opposition of the normal, single girl’s fantasy of finding the One. Or be found by the One and Only. The ever-missing link of a perfectly, suitable but elusive entity that right now we all wish is out there searching for us. And not lusting after others. We want the single male mustang to be wandering out there in the wild, hungry and wondering where you and I can be.
And Boy! Is it wild out there… I’m trying to say that this lucky bastard (whoever it eventually will be) doesn’t realize half the time just how lucky he is to be surrounded by so many females. So many to choose from. Complete magnitudes of femme fatale! He knows that he only needs to sail out of his front door to be surrounded by women.
Must be bliss...for them. But no-no, not really. Girls, we like to think we know what men are like, but not entirely so. The reason why I’ve seemingly have gone singularly mad stating this, is jotted down in the lines further down.
Don't hurry just read slowly and take time to ponder the following...
My gorgeous new friend who just happened to get engaged to an apparently lovely Scottish lassie, said things that made the hair on my head stand up on all ends. He agreed with me that it is rather a sad fact that women really don’t have as much choice as men in finding a partner. If one looks into shops, pubs, train terminals and all, one will always find a bloke’s eyes roving over bunches of girls. Some obviously may seem more greedily than others...
A meeting place is arranged. The week after it is with a different individual…and a month later he had seen a dozen different women and can't remember half the names. Men have a big choice in the selection of woman they want to go out with. At the drop of a hat or condom, lover can get cold feet, and as he run away, bump into the next chic. It almost works like an easy refund when one gets something similar in the next shop...by knocking a new pair of legs or bum off their feet.
The only consolation I find in knowing this terrible truth is that our male buddies may have a problem at hand, what with all the choices laid on a tray before them.
My mouth went dry with the shock when as good confessing how the male psyche works, he told me some serious stuff:
Finding the right woman amongst thousands of her own species, is tough on a man. Women are wrong to think men are spoilt for the picking, choosing and disposing. Women ought to drop every notion of envy. Let go of any prejudiced thoughts towards the choices men face these days. Kick out any wrong conclusion about what goes on in men's heads, because the male fantasy in reality amounts to the dreadful example of shopping for milk.
Yes, milk.
Skimmed Milk, Full Cream Milk, 2 % Fat Milk, Goats Milk, Soya Milk, sterilized milk, homogenized, soft curd, flavoured milk, acidophilus, kefir, reconstituted, recombined, toned and double-, carrot…double-toned milk, Reconstituted /Rehydrated Milk, fermented Milk...and so much more varieties of...just... milk!
He said that different types of milk and the choice of partners have something in common – they share a deeply structured recipe. Choice.
It’s daunting. It’s hard and difficult. It’s ridiculous, but a simple outing such as buying milk can quickly turn into an extremely foul-tasting and curd experience. An example to understand what I’m getting at is that one can read the label wrong and go for the completely wrong carton. Or simply not find the right one amongst a confusing stack of other cartons. Or blindly choose one just to discover it is soy milk and tastes awful in coffee. Or the 2 % low fat hardly makes any difference and makes coffee look like sick…
So, as much as I like the Pink Floyd song “We don’t need education”, it may be time to let go off the stagnated view of men getting it all… They may seem to be having a lot more choice than we do, yes. Sometimes they seem to be the proverbial cat that got the cream and the butter. But it happens often that a man can walk out of the shop with a teething tiger in the bag.
Next time, I see a decent looking guy standing around the milk lorry and looking confused, I may just offer some assistance in the big choice he has to make…
Now we’re onto something! I thought as a light drizzle turned into tiny droplets sparkling from the nearby lemon tree. I was guided into the world of dark and luminescent relationships. Told about the current trend of sex-in-the-city of London and given a glimpse of how life and dating work for the single, between 30 - 55 sometimes erratic, realistic and straight forward male of our day and age.
The ‘right man’ has become exclusive goods these days. That we women know, but...
Girls-girls, some guys are actually completely empathetic towards one of society’s biggest ever niggles! The grossly over-population of the female sex across the world, as opposed to the seemingly diminishing male sex. A thorn in the flesh of most normal women, as this factor stands in direct opposition of the normal, single girl’s fantasy of finding the One. Or be found by the One and Only. The ever-missing link of a perfectly, suitable but elusive entity that right now we all wish is out there searching for us. And not lusting after others. We want the single male mustang to be wandering out there in the wild, hungry and wondering where you and I can be.
And Boy! Is it wild out there… I’m trying to say that this lucky bastard (whoever it eventually will be) doesn’t realize half the time just how lucky he is to be surrounded by so many females. So many to choose from. Complete magnitudes of femme fatale! He knows that he only needs to sail out of his front door to be surrounded by women.
Must be bliss...for them. But no-no, not really. Girls, we like to think we know what men are like, but not entirely so. The reason why I’ve seemingly have gone singularly mad stating this, is jotted down in the lines further down.
Don't hurry just read slowly and take time to ponder the following...
My gorgeous new friend who just happened to get engaged to an apparently lovely Scottish lassie, said things that made the hair on my head stand up on all ends. He agreed with me that it is rather a sad fact that women really don’t have as much choice as men in finding a partner. If one looks into shops, pubs, train terminals and all, one will always find a bloke’s eyes roving over bunches of girls. Some obviously may seem more greedily than others...
A meeting place is arranged. The week after it is with a different individual…and a month later he had seen a dozen different women and can't remember half the names. Men have a big choice in the selection of woman they want to go out with. At the drop of a hat or condom, lover can get cold feet, and as he run away, bump into the next chic. It almost works like an easy refund when one gets something similar in the next shop...by knocking a new pair of legs or bum off their feet.
The only consolation I find in knowing this terrible truth is that our male buddies may have a problem at hand, what with all the choices laid on a tray before them.
My mouth went dry with the shock when as good confessing how the male psyche works, he told me some serious stuff:
Finding the right woman amongst thousands of her own species, is tough on a man. Women are wrong to think men are spoilt for the picking, choosing and disposing. Women ought to drop every notion of envy. Let go of any prejudiced thoughts towards the choices men face these days. Kick out any wrong conclusion about what goes on in men's heads, because the male fantasy in reality amounts to the dreadful example of shopping for milk.
Yes, milk.
Skimmed Milk, Full Cream Milk, 2 % Fat Milk, Goats Milk, Soya Milk, sterilized milk, homogenized, soft curd, flavoured milk, acidophilus, kefir, reconstituted, recombined, toned and double-, carrot…double-toned milk, Reconstituted /Rehydrated Milk, fermented Milk...and so much more varieties of...just... milk!
He said that different types of milk and the choice of partners have something in common – they share a deeply structured recipe. Choice.
It’s daunting. It’s hard and difficult. It’s ridiculous, but a simple outing such as buying milk can quickly turn into an extremely foul-tasting and curd experience. An example to understand what I’m getting at is that one can read the label wrong and go for the completely wrong carton. Or simply not find the right one amongst a confusing stack of other cartons. Or blindly choose one just to discover it is soy milk and tastes awful in coffee. Or the 2 % low fat hardly makes any difference and makes coffee look like sick…
So, as much as I like the Pink Floyd song “We don’t need education”, it may be time to let go off the stagnated view of men getting it all… They may seem to be having a lot more choice than we do, yes. Sometimes they seem to be the proverbial cat that got the cream and the butter. But it happens often that a man can walk out of the shop with a teething tiger in the bag.
Next time, I see a decent looking guy standing around the milk lorry and looking confused, I may just offer some assistance in the big choice he has to make…
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Sh*tty Conversations
Times spent with Ma & Pa can be challenging and demanding. The surprising factor however is that there short visits can turn out to be fun and filled with occasional hillarious moments.
Mother and daughters are peculiar beings. They can talk and cook together, admire Mum’s garden and get on marvelously early in the morning… By noon Mum will be scolding Dad to go steady on the vino and not produce raw dinner again whilst the daughter stares irritated down at the drooling dogs littered across the lawn. Ah, a curious fact to doodle and ponder if one happens to have the time.
...But never to quite reach or fathom the bottom-line of mother-daughter relationships.
Mum: You don’t do it like that.
Daughter: Of course you do.
Mum: You don’t.
Daughter: Ma, praat mos nou sommer k*k. (Ma, you’re just talking shit now)
Sharp intake of breathe…
Mum: I would never have said that to my mother!
Daughter: You did!
Mum stalks away angrily, Dad following her to the bedroom.
Dad says: I remember that you did tell your mother...
Silence…
Mum, exasperated: What???
Dad: That she talked a shitload of bullocks....
Mum: ... Maar dan het sy seker k*k gepraat. (...But she probably did talk shit).
SAY NO MORE!!!
We all love you Mum.
Mother and daughters are peculiar beings. They can talk and cook together, admire Mum’s garden and get on marvelously early in the morning… By noon Mum will be scolding Dad to go steady on the vino and not produce raw dinner again whilst the daughter stares irritated down at the drooling dogs littered across the lawn. Ah, a curious fact to doodle and ponder if one happens to have the time.
...But never to quite reach or fathom the bottom-line of mother-daughter relationships.
Mum: You don’t do it like that.
Daughter: Of course you do.
Mum: You don’t.
Daughter: Ma, praat mos nou sommer k*k. (Ma, you’re just talking shit now)
Sharp intake of breathe…
Mum: I would never have said that to my mother!
Daughter: You did!
Mum stalks away angrily, Dad following her to the bedroom.
Dad says: I remember that you did tell your mother...
Silence…
Mum, exasperated: What???
Dad: That she talked a shitload of bullocks....
Mum: ... Maar dan het sy seker k*k gepraat. (...But she probably did talk shit).
SAY NO MORE!!!
We all love you Mum.
Monday, January 12, 2009
In The Ditch
A fellow blogger on the SA News 24 blogsite asked ‘what’s in a name’. It came to mind how I once scoffed at what mine could stand for…
My name is Carin. Not Karen OR Carine, just plain Carin with a “C” and the “I” and pronounced as Car-In-The-Garage. Simple, one would think, but not so to some beings who seem to be really slow getting it.
So having a conversation with a newly married couple in a pub of small Highland town called Applecross, it threw me into gob-smack disbelief when my boyfriend at the time, took over from the usual description saying aloud: It’s like "Car-in-the-DITCH".
Prat.
On the way back to the dingy B & B we stayed at, I nearly fed him to hungry heilen coos (Highland cattle).
By the way, being back at the humorless job today and it SUCS. Any other bollocks might be more acceptable than this trade with the soul-wrenching tight-lipped mafia...
My name is Carin. Not Karen OR Carine, just plain Carin with a “C” and the “I” and pronounced as Car-In-The-Garage. Simple, one would think, but not so to some beings who seem to be really slow getting it.
So having a conversation with a newly married couple in a pub of small Highland town called Applecross, it threw me into gob-smack disbelief when my boyfriend at the time, took over from the usual description saying aloud: It’s like "Car-in-the-DITCH".
Prat.
On the way back to the dingy B & B we stayed at, I nearly fed him to hungry heilen coos (Highland cattle).
By the way, being back at the humorless job today and it SUCS. Any other bollocks might be more acceptable than this trade with the soul-wrenching tight-lipped mafia...
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