0800-BALL-BUSTER, call me....

According to very scientifical research , mostly conducted by males, since, you know, most women, like, suck at science and all, men are attracted to women who have “good fertility indicators”. So I’s has a little enquiry bout this. What’s that mean in our current frame of reference? I mean, socially, it’s totally accepted that probably around 75% of all girls (in a very big racial majority) below 18, already has their first child. Now, I realise that I am generalising something fierce here, and that there are some very valid arguments out there to try and prove me wrong, but, bear with me, in my circles, the statement I made, is deifinitely accurate. Upon enquiring why, I was informed that this proves their fertility, and thus, makes ‘em worthy procreators, and pushes up the asking price for their parents, when they sell ‘em (payment is called ‘lobola’, Google it if you don’t believe me). Sharp, I don’t get that, but whatever floats your boat, right?

So, let’s look at this from another angle. I am 34, I was 28 when I had my baby, whilst married. My question is this, does the abovementioned principle have a “sell by” date? Why is it that being a single mom while a tad more mature makes me ‘complicated’ and not ‘fertile’?

And here’s the part where I’m probably gonna piss off most men, my conclusion on this is: Men want younger women solely because they are easier to manipulate, the ‘bending the tree while it’s still green’ mentality. They (in most cases) are more willing to deal with 'things', and are in general easier to convince that something is ‘permissable’ that should not be. In short, they have yet to learn that they have worth, and that that worth comes at a price.

But, I am getting a tad off topic here:

According to recentish research, let’s do a comparison of what the test population thought was desirable in women:

Hips, ass, boobs (that fertitility thing again) Check
No tall enough to be intimidating Check (Short to medium myself)
Feminine features Check (Blonde curls, blue eyes)

I have been told that I look fragile and vulnerable, which apparently makes men feel protective (and subsequently very manly) around me. So, physically there’s nothing about me that screams “Turn and run, turn and run!” to guys, right? Right. So, the problem has to figure in the equation once the guy has gotten to the stage where he actually realises that I am more than a vagina with a body attached to it. When it becomes impossible to keep the blinders on, and they HAVE to notice a personality, a brain, and gasp, an opinion!

Now, I have to mention here that from my teenage years, I have always had good male friends, but VERY few boy friends, and have had 2 serious relationships, with 1 ‘could-go-either-way’ relationship, and 1 I have to admit to never being remotely serious, although the guy was. So, ratio of guy friends to boy friends are probably around 98 to 2, figuratively speaking. Ergo, it would be safe to say that men prefer friends who are secure enough to have actual honest-to-god opinions and views, but not relationship partners with said characteristics.

An older male whose opinion I respect enormously once told me that men prefer women who ‘can do stuff themselves, but occasionally ask them (the men) to do it, just so they feel they have some use’. Butt, and it’s a big one, think Beyonce-sized here, I have yet to find a man like that. In my experience, changing your own flat tyre, instead of playing the ‘maiden in distress’ makes you ‘one of the guys’ and not, as he stated, a valued equal partner. Having strong opinions, and voicing them, certainly hasn’t earned me any gold stars in the romance department, although it sure does make my friends debate-happy!

A female relative who has been living abroad for quite some time now, had cause to consider coming back recently, and stated quite seriously that the South African man was one of the main reasons she wouldn’t come back. We had a very interesting talk on the SA male mentality, and boys, it ain’t pleasant. I’ve had a lot of dealings with foreign men, and let me tell you, you got a lot of growing to do to get anywhere near the kind of respect most foreigners have for women. Please, please know that I am not saying this to get up anyone’s nose, I’m simply stating what I’ve experienced in ALL cases when comparing SA men to foreign men.

Which brings me to the next dilemma, is this a cultural thing, more prevalent in the country of my birth? To a large extent I think it is, especially when our possible next president is a man who believes that women ‘ask for sex when they wear short skirts’; have been charged with rape, and told the court that because she lay still instead of fighting while he had sex with her, he didn’t consider it rape, even though she said no; and sings a song called ‘bring me my machine gun’ which sends his disciples into a frenzy of joy, at political gatherings. If someone like that is an icon in this country, does it even make sense to expect more from the average South African man? Sadly, I am not sure.

So, let’s sum up my conclusions on the subject (please note that I am stating it as it is in my mind here, and not going for the PC terminology just now):

We are still living in a horrendously inequal world (not exactly news, but still);
Most men are, in essence, cowards;
Double standards are accepted without any questions asked, WHEN the standards are a male’s;
South African men are worse than average;
Most men view women as 2 dimensional, a physical being with the ability to “give” them children;
Most women accept this view readily, and play to it.

I have to mention here that I am no angel, I know that I am to some extent, anti-man, and that I tend to notice the negative in male behaviour waaaay more easily than the positive. But, know that what I base all of this on, is personal experience. The argument that we attract a certain ‘type’ is certainly always at the back of my mind, so, this might be the ‘type’ I attract, sure. But, I refuse to believe that, in all the places I have been, and the biggish city I live, I only meet and have dealings with this one specific type of male. All, and I mean all, the males I can in any way recall are, in differing degrees, essentially the same. Even the dealings with men that have relation to someone other than myself (eg. a female friend’s husband, boyfriend, whatever) have never disproved my theories. And, I’m sure there are men out there with the same opinions of women, so ignore me, disagree, whatever. As long as what I’m saying resonates somewhere, I don’t really give a shit.

And, people want me to still believe in ‘the one’. Yeah sure. There’s this one man out there who’s the opposite of all of this, uh huh, especially for me! I’m stating that HE does not, nor has he ever, existed. That the battle of the sexes is a waste of time, and that women will, till the end of time, be seen as the ‘inferior sex’ by a large chunk of the male populace, because it’s a hell of a lot easier than admitting that we are at worst, their equals, and in my opinion, far superior to this kind of man. I just don’t think that there’s a man out there, man enough, to know me, and still stick around long enough to earn my respect.

So, after all of this, are you out there Mr Miracle? The one who’s supposed to make me respect the male species. If you are, bring it, brother, I’m waiting. Well, are ya? Yeah, didn’t think so.

I rest my case.

PS: A few other usefull labels: bitch, man-hater, feminist, in case you weren't creative enough to think of any.

PPS: I was SO much nicer when I was still getting sex! No really!

Now I don’t wanna start any blasphemous rumours …..

I used to get preached at about that song in Sunday School, you know, satanistic and all. Recently, I’ve come to believe it is largely a true reflection of The Creator’s state of mind, at least some of the time. Sick sense of humour. Rather sadistic at times. The image I get is often that of a voodun sticking pins in a doll, grinning gleefully.

Thing is, I do believe in free will, but I also believe in destiny and karma. Which means that, no matter how hard you try, if what you’re trying to achieve is not what you planned in-between this life and the previous, honey, you ain’t getting’ there. Kinda like a salmon trying to get to it’s breeding ground via a huge dam wall. You can jump and jump and jump, in the end you’re pretty much killing yourself for shit.

Now, if the god/dess/spirit you believe in, is the vengeful, judgmental type, I’m guessing you’ll be ok with having a crappy life, cos that’s what you’d expect from these types, innit? But, if you’ve been led to believe in the sanctity and divinity of Love, and that it’s only love that gets you through, then, like me, you might have a hard time understanding what the fuck is going on.

According to the major principles of most of the mainstream religions on this rickety, wheezing planet of ours, what you give is what you get. Eg. go around killing people, by all accounts at some stage you should end up behind bars, taking it up the backside, and getting called beyotch. Same principle applies to the opposite, you try to live without harming anyone/thing, you should be getting back in kind, shouldn’t you? Only, in my case at least, that ain’t so. I would like to stress the fact that I am, in fact, not feeling sorry for myself, I am facing reality, not self-pity.

So, only counting life after leaving my parental home (cos the abuse there was not something I could in any way have caused and brought upon myself), my adult life has been pretty much …..sad. I started out enthusiastically and eagerly (like most of us do) believing in eternal love, and that there’s love out there for all of us. Cutting a long story short, love, I have not been able to find. Now, unless I have the most warped idea of love in the known universe, the fact that I've have been trying to live by the creed that giving love, should earn me some credits, right? Not so, I’m afraid.

So, the only conclusion I can possibly reach is that, in the haze of whatever I was inhaling in the In-Between, I, and whoever the fuck my mentor was, decided to make this life a “challenging one”. Which is more sad than I can even express. Living a life without love, to me, is worse than being denied food or water. It takes away my core, the ‘who-I-am’ part, without which I do not see any need for being here.

Which is why I think that whoever aided me in getting here, now, has the illest sense of humour I have ever had to deal with. Religion after religion spouts messages of love and happiness, preaching that this is what God, Allah (peace be upon him), the Buddah etc etc ad nauseum, wants for us. I’ve made my judgment call on this, don’t know about you, but I pretty much know where I stand.

Amazingly, there is still this minute part of me, that wants this not to be true. That goes against everything I have seen for the past 34 years. How stupid is that?

Anyway, to quote Depeche Mode again:

"I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumours
But I think that god’s got a sick sense of humor
And when I die I expect to find him (?) laughing"

What made me Smile Today ......

Finding an e-mail from a very dear ex-pat friend after four months of silence......

Symptoms of a Life Severely Out of Whack

Insomnia (or rather worse than usual, insomnia);
Waking up in excruciating pain due to a cramping neck;
Having to think good thoughts to keep a threatening asthma attack at bay in the middle of the night, after 12 years of being asthma free;
Not having slept for a new record of almost two weeks;
Having dead eyes, when they used to be described as ‘gleaming devilishly’;
Not being able to look at own toes due to a painfully stiff neck;
Bursting into tears without provocation;
Finding your face unusually line-free due to expressionlessness;
Wondering what on earth you were thinking when you bought sexy underwear six months ago (since no-one’s ever gonna see it);
Finding affectionate touch from people annoying, when you used to crave it;
Still going to sleep wishing that it’s the last time you ever have to close your eyes.

What made me laugh out loud today ......

Bestest Friend swearing he was getting me 'lots of sex with a very tall guy' for Christmas!

If you want Humour, I strongly suggest you MOVE ALONG SWIFTLY

I can’t explain it. I don’t know what causes it, so I can’t fix it. This terrible, terrible hurt that takes over me more and more regularly these days.

How do you fix a life? How do you fix a person? Can a person even be fixed, or do you pretend that the cracks and gaping holes make you ‘special’?

Lack of love, too much fear, too many assumption, lack of honesty, lack of respect, too much anger and aggression, I suppose I could go on and on about possible causes. Truth is, I do not know. Only thing I do know, is that on some level, I am dead. The will to go on, go out, go find something, someone, some love, no longer drives me. I am at a stand still. I am breathing, I am eating, I am working, I am sleeping, I am nurturing, but the part of me that had any kind of faith in the future of me, is dead.

I am mourning my passing, I cry at inappropriate times, for no conceivable reason. I become angry at light-heartedness, and I idly wonder when I got older than my parent, when I chide her for being silly. I watch my body act it’s biological age, and I get pissed off at it. It longs to fulfil the biological imperative, while the mind, heart and soul knows, this ain’t gonna happen. My body cries, bleeds, ovulates, lives, while the rest of me gets dragged behind, just passively wondering at body’s stupidity. It doesn’t know we’re dead. It thinks there’s still reason for survival, it wants to get up, fuel itself, live.

I feel disconnected, like a part of me is floating in that space we go, before shooting off into nothing, while the grounded, earthed part, is trying to drag me back down to earth. Dispassionately, I watch my own hands grabbing at me, and I wonder whether I should bother to pry them loose, or just wait until they give up on their own. Until body learns it’s over. And just lets go.

My opinion of why we’re here, is this – to love. Each other, other species, the Great Mother Earth, ourselves, life. So, if this is why I consider myself necessary, and there is no-thing that needs this from me, why am I still feeling coarse office carpet under my feet, why do my eyes open every morning, why do my ears hear birds, and cars, and the coffee percolating in the kitchen? Yes, I know. I am a mother, which means that I am needed by a child, but my son is ok, now. Even if I were to turn tail, and flee, he’d be ok, because he’s a beautiful being, he’d be good and fine. He’d hurt, for a while, until it faded, but my being or not being around, wouldn’t be the deciding factor in his life. He’s ok, he’d cope. I feel as if, that short, short space of time that a child needs a parent totally, has passed. He is fully formed, now. He is strong.

Now, the landscape around me is vast, and empty, and scary beyond reason. I am not brave enough to be here without loving someone. I am also not enough of a coward to throw myself away, and love someone just for the sake of existence. Being loved wholly, and loving wholly, is what makes me, and without it, I am nothing, have nothing, give nothing, take nothing. I need to love, as others need to belong to flocks. As long as I have my love, I’m ok, I am someone. Without it, I am a piece of space debris. Ugly, and ultimately destructive. I don’t want to be here anymore. Not like this, not at all. If I could think myself dead, I would have. If I could choose to close my eyes one night, and just … slip away, I would. But, every morning, I wake up, and I wait a moment, so my mind can believe that I’m still breathing, still seeing, still needing to get up. So it can realise I’m still alone, still lonely, still broken, still sad, sad, sad, still …. mostly dead, only, still bound.

Still here.

What Made Me Smile Today ......

The smell of Honeysuckle in a corporate garden ........

Going Overboard

G'day Boys and Girls.

Where to start.... where to start.....

I'm still not sure what I even want to type today, I know I need to vomit something out, cos it's all getting too much again, I just don't know what, and I'm scared if I just pick a random thread to pick at, it'll turn into a confusing mess.

I'm hurting, is probably a good start. There is not a part of my life at the moment that does not hurt in one way or the other. Exhausted and filled with actual, physical pain. My heart is heavy and sore, and it takes nothing at all to make me burst into tears. My mind is tired, I don't want to think anymore, my head hurts all the time. I look at myself in the mirror, and feel nothing. No pride, no love, no sympathy...... not a fucking thing. All I see is a sad, sad woman, regretting. I miss my son, miss him, miss him, miss him. But I know, even when he's back, he can't be big enough to fill the hole.

I look into tomorrow and all I see is an endless open space, with me the little dot trying to melt into the ether, to fly away, to drift into nothing. I want to become less solid, and then, disappear, like ice turned mist.

Don't wanna be here, don't wanna be here ever again. Wanna be gone, wanna be a memory. Cos a memory actually means something to someone, unlike my life now, to myself. I am meaningless, I am a waste of resources, I am the Universe being sentimental, and keeping something that's no longer needed.

In Case you hadn't Noticed

I'm taking a break. Fed up with myself.

Whatever.

Later.

The stuff of Legend

There’s the kind of dark, joyless, fearful, choice-less love you find in the sharing of blood and DNA with someone you wouldn’t know otherwise. The kind that rears up when you see the person in question and says: ‘Oh, I love him!’ And then subsides again. The kind that borders on distaste, disrespect and in earlier times, hate.

There’s the kind that consists mostly of fierce loyalty, like for treasured pets. That make you look at other people who ‘trade-in’ beloved Butch for a new, more Jonesy-model, and think: “What a clueless ass you are”, since they just don’t get the unconditionality of it all.

There’s the kind that you feel for a friend who, for a while, might have meant more, but never actually was more, that’s forever tainted with a resigned sadness.

The kind you feel for people who walk around with eyes like twin open wounds, that makes you want to run to them, and just take them away, cos you remember the taste of that fear.

The kind a child feels for a parent, total, selfish and one-dimensional. That sees you as a being made to love and raise them up, and chooses to not see the person inside.

There’s the kind you treasure for old friends, that makes you sigh when they talk about how they’re back with their ex (AGAIN), and listen anyway, and get ready to soothe the inevitable hurt, even though you know it’ll just happen again.

The kind of love you feel for your brave body, that nurtured and birthed, and gets up every day, and acts as a comforter for so many. And your brave mind and soul, that stood in the middle of years of abuse, sorrow and fear, and still came out mostly whole.

And then, the one kind I am unable to report on, the kind I used to think was the ultimate kind. Romantic love. A foolish, ingrained dream, a landscape that exists only in hungry minds. I’ve wanted to be loved in a passionate, feverish, possessive kind of way. Wholly, with no reserve, to give myself to someone. Which is impossible, because those shivers that run up and down the spine, dies down. And later on, the kisses do not make up for the broken promises. And, the endless talking, without meaning, drowns out any affection that was left. In short, the truth shines through. And, this love, as fleeting as melting ice cream, drips down to the ground and evaporates. Forever becomes a year, six years, twenty-four years, finite and sad. And infinitely false.

Love is different for all of us. There are those who believe they have the true version, and those like me, who no longer believe in that version. Love is subjective and conditional, contracted, “you do this for me, I do that for you”. The kind that binds in the forever kind of way, is not, never was, and never will be. The only true form of it, is the form that comes with clearly defined limits, borders. “How much of yourself are you willing to lay on the altar? That much? Ok, then I can give you fidelity, maybe. You give me that part there, too, and I’ll give you affection for the next 5 years.” I was a believer, a romantic, whatever you‘d call it. Then, I lived a while, and was enlightened. You show me a good marriage, I’ll show you a well-thought out, clearly defined role play. There’s no such thing as safety, no such thing as eternal, no such thing as True Love. There just ain’t. Pull on those Big-Girl-panties, and deal.

What I have to say Today

Stay in the rapids, then the adrenalin keeps the exhaustion at bay. Stay angry, stay fighting, then the sadness won’t wash over you like the slow, endless, moving beauty of the deep river.

Laugh, smile, joke, be loud, cos when you stop the tears start pushing, pushing, pushing, on the insides of your cheeks, pushing up, up, up, to reach the outside. Keep moving till the exhaustion makes you drop, cos if you lie down on your own, the dark swirls around you, and bleeds the whispers from your insides. And you have to listen, acknowledge the voices mirroring what you swallow every day, that the tears, the regret, the loneliness, can be kept inside, but never at bay. And that it will, never, never , ever, go away.