Aww fuck! There goes the neighbourhood.

I live in the proud, New South Africa. I love my country, and cannot imagine myself lifting roots, and pissing off somewhere else.

BUUUUUUUUT!!!!

Political tragedy has come to pass. The possibility that we are getting a rapist, fraud endorsing, crook as president, is now very real. Scares the shit out of me, and makes me ashamed of the mentality of – apparently – the majority of South Africans. Shame on us all, that a man like that even managed to get as high up the corporate ladder as he has. No good can come of this. The man is a Neanderthal, with charisma. Sadly, there goes the past 13 years of babysteps in the right direction.

Bad, bad, bad for my country.

Update: Drove past a van this morning with the slogan “Africa shall be saved” screaming at me. Well, all right then. Phew! I was worried.

The Adventures of Bullet-Proof Girl & JC

JC is ….. ummmm…… I’m unsure how to describe him. Ok, let’s keep this simple. JC is a man I felt for, felt a LOT for, but due to various unchangeable situations, we never went beyond passionate kisses, and a lot of longing on my side. JC went away, far far away, a couple of years ago. He visits now and again, a fact I both love and hate.

Last year I asked him not to come see me anymore when he’s in town. Which he respected for a few months, and then, to my relief, contacted me on e-mail, again. We keep up a very unsatisfactory, very rare e-mail correspondence.

Yesterday, he shows up at my office, and my first impulse is to run into his arms, and lay my head on his chest. Which I did, without thought, totally on instinct. With anyone else, I would be guarded and more than a little pissed off that they went against my wishes. But, because it’s JC, I conveniently block out any pain, any disappointment, in a nutshell, any reality, and indulge the vulnerable side, that feels safe next to him, and wants to reach out and take his hand when crossing the road, like a child.

He stayed for about an hour, and after he left, left me pondering my reaction. A few times, I had the urge to curl up on his lap, and just be ….. quiet ….. safe ….. untouchable by anything that could hurt. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me feel this way. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so vulnerable (and so illogically safe) with any other man. I don’t know whether this is what love’s supposed to feel like. I do know that I’ve never let myself do the things I want to do with him, but also, that it’s been a struggle with my conscience, all the way.

The fact that he’d never be mine, is all right. It used to hurt, but now, I’ve accepted it, and know that it would have been impossible anyway.

What puzzles me is that he makes me feel vulnerable and small, like I need protection, and I like it. I like the feeling, and aside from my logical mind always going into shock, I’m content next to him.

I wondered whether this is a side-effect from having a very shitty year – emotionally speaking. Realising that I am soft inside, and that I do hurt, and that, no matter how hard I try to act invulnerable and hide, it’s just not possible anymore.

Suppose what I’m trying to get to here, is that I’m glad he’s still around to point out stuff like this, me still having a soft, vulnerable side, a side that peeps out when the right person to trigger it, shows up. I’m glad that I want to stop acting like Bullet-Proof Girl, and just curl up with someone. Let someone guard me, and not threaten to kick everybody’s ass, for once.

I’m glad you’re still around, JC, and I’m glad the Sweetie side of me is still around, too.

Various Jumbled Messes & the Holiday Season

Mess #1:
When my parents split up, all of 13 years ago, my father instructed me to "talk to your mother", indicating rather strongly that it was up to me to get her thinking right. I didn't, mainly because I thought / still think, she did the right thing. Now, Father has split up with his lady-friend, and has been making noises to Sister (his confidante), that he "thinks it would be the right thing" to get back together with mom, to stop the family from "splitting apart". Now, apart from the obvious incriminations I could throw his way, there's the added aspect of him ordering my sister to tell me about it, so I can tell mom, so she can "get right" and take him back, "for the family's sake". I've once again, decided not to do anything, and not make this my responsibility, as it's not supposed to be. What gets to me about the situation is how immesurably sad this is...... After all these years, he still doesn't have a clue, not a clue......

Mess #2:
A while ago I blogged about sending my CV abroad, which I did in the hopes of getting reaction from a very prominent international body, and possibly getting a contract with them, for the betterment of the world (yes, sounds corny, but that's actually what I want). And, yes, they do warn that they may take months before they get back to you, if they do at all. Still, it's been 3 months, and I'm close to despair. Thing is, I have a job, I do my job since it feeds us and puts a roof above our heads, but I will never love my job. And, I will never get to the stage that I would actually be able to afford a place of our own, or a car, should my little wagon decide to die. This job I've applied for would solve 2 problems, it would be something that MEANS something to me, something good. Second, it would give me an extremely welcome financial boost. Maybe even enough for a downpayment on a home. So, what's making me sad, is that I feel like I need this, and nothing's happening.

Mess #3:
My son is, once again, spending time with his father, and step family. I always experience his absence as a physical thing, I start craving his closeness, I miss holding him so badly, that I want to start crying. Which, yes, means that I love my son, which is good, but seeing on his little face the desperation I feel inside myself, when he gets the chance to come say hi, while staying with them, breaks my heart. It's too much, he shouldn't be this attached to me, I shouldn't be this attached to him, it's not good for either of us.

Mess #4:
As stated yesterday, I'm now willing to acknowledge that I'll probably always believe in love, no matter how disillusioned I sound, and how much bitterness I may spout at various stages of loneliness. Love is, and always will be, to me, the one thing that might (MIGHT) make this life worthwhile. Mess is, I have a serious shortage in my life, and don't know what to do about it. So, I guess, admitting it, and asking for more is a start, right?

Now..... The Mutherfocking Holiday Season
Is a time of year I detest, in the worst possible way! People seem to get a little extra dollop of crazy in their cereal bowls each morning, and this gets progressively worse, as the month of December drags it's feet to January. At work, I have to suppress cursing like a patient with terminal Tourettes, or getting on our open plan shared desk, and starting a slow pole dance, while shouting a Joe Cocker song, out of sheer, unadulterated BOREDOM!! NO phones to answer, no cases to issue, nothing to do, but freak out slowly in my mind. In the streets, people form little clumps in the middle of the pavement, blocking pedestrian traffic from both sides, to discuss the Christmas menu, or how stingy this lastest boyfriend is.... Or, they dawdle along, platoons of four or five wide, always just too many to pass without actually running into the street, and wave umbrellas around, while shouting at the person RIGHT NEXT to them. People start reminding me that they want "a christmas" (gift) that I never have any kind of interaction with for the rest of the year. In short, the holiday season drives me nuts, it's like people pop out of the manholes, more each day, with the express duty of driving me insane. As an added bonus, fmilies go on holiday, people get all exited and fuzzy with 'holiday spirit', and babbling about gifts, and big meat dinners with family, blah blah blah. Which is not something a person, essentially alone, even in the twisted embrace of my slightly scary family, wants to hear about. Can't even drink, since Father is a recovering alcoholic, and Sister gave up for fear of becoming one.

Well, at least I'll be getting a few gifts, maybe there's actually someone in my family that gets me enough to find me somehting I actually like, this year (sigh). Here's to hoping.

I've declared myself Hopeless

Every time I go through one of these intensely depressed times, I think "THIS will be the last time I set myself up like this. NEXT time, I'll be hardened and anti-love, so I'll never feel like this again!!!!"

Yeah, well, not so much hard as nails.

So, I've decided to declare myself a hopeless believer in love, and deal with it.

Wonderful.

(That last bit was sarcasm, just in case you didn't spot it.)

Dear Beautiful Beloved Beings

You remember that financial document the man who pays my salary is supposed to give me on an annual basis? The one I have been begging you to convince him to complete and give to me, on and off for the past 2 years?

Yeah, well, he still hasn't. And if he doesn't within the next 8 weeks, I will be considered a criminal by the law makers of my country.

So, I am begging you to help me out here, please please please, somehow, make him do the right thing...... Please please please. I am not a criminal.

Guys, please. Make it so.

Sylphi

Dream of Deliverance

I am standing in what appears to be a bath room, with another person, sex unknown, who is holding a baby, around 18 months old.

Suddenly, the floor starts flooding, rapidly. The water level rises incredibly fast, and when it reaches hip height, the other person gets panicky about getting out. I calmly take the child from him/her, turn around, and start wading through the house, heading for the front door. By now the water is making it difficult to move, and keeps rising. I reach the front room with the water forcing me to swim, and keeping mine and the very quiet baby’s heads, above it. When I reach the closed door, the water engulfs us, and I struggle to open the door.

I finally get it open, only to see a glass door in front of it, blocking the water from going out. I realise that it’s a matter of time before the pressure takes care of the glass for me, and turn my back in preparation. The door implodes suddenly, shooting shards into the water, instead of to the outside, and we’re rushed outside on a current of clear water.

I am exhausted, but very calm. Medical personnel show up, and I hand them the still quiet baby, and turn my back to show them the 2 shards of glass sticking out.

Somehow I know that one room in the house was filled with people, and that they are all dead. I am not sad, I am relieved that we made it through.

TAFKA Chief Advisor’s analysis:
Clear water, as opposed to murky or muddy, is good. So, the water is an issue I am dealing with, that I am capable of dealing with, but that I experience as a build-up of pressure (swimming through rising water). When the resolution comes (glass door shattering) it may be violent, but it will lead to resolution. The baby represents a new beginning, which I desire and, ultimately will have. Dead people may represent those in my life now, that will not have space in the new, and that I will not mourn their loss, but accept it as part of the order of things.

Ok, then. Bring it.

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!