The past is more fun in the future...

One of the perks of time is that the past becomes more and more ridiculous. Things that seemed like the end of the world at the time, now you look back on them and it’s a little embarrassing that you ever gave a shit. Moments in your life where you thought that this was going to be the end, after this nothing else matters, and then it turns out the event in question becomes the thing that doesn’t matter. I like the butterfly effect theory about how every single little thing has an influence on your future in some way, mostly things we don’t even think about. My choice in something as simple as colour socks I’m wearing today may have affected things that I will never know about, maybe even big things, maybe history as we know it.
A very good example of this is boys. Crushes, loves of your life, people who rock your world. Only later you see them walking in the street and you hope they won’t recognize you because you couldn’t bear to think that you ever had or wanted to have something with such a loser. I’m not trying to be mean on purpose, and I’m sure there are still people who fancy their pants off, but it most certainly isn’t me. We all change as we get older and I guess some people grow out of the side of them that we once fancied and holds on to the bits of them that we didn’t really like so much but were besotted enough to ignore. I’m the kinda girl who can go years being completely in love with someone who doesn’t know I exist. Happens all the time. My crushes are very very long term, and usually come to nothing or end up being very disappointing. I suppose we all do it, we fancy someone and make them up in our minds to be the best thing since flushing toilets. We spend all our energy running around after them, making friends with them, hanging out with them, thinking about them, fantasizing about them and in that time they can do no wrong at all. Most of the time you can spend hours with them, helping them through personal shit, supporting them and still they never really see you. I have a great deal of experience with this. Accidentally becoming the friend of the person you fancy. Ugh, what a pain in the ass. With one such guy I even ended up helping him pick up chicks! I know, not a very high level of self esteem displayed in that one. The beauty of it is, that after you cry your eyes out, and spend years holding on to that little tender spot in your heart you had for this person, you see them again and realize you are completely unattracted to them. I saw a former crush of mine a while ago, and low and behold, some other girl was doing the same thing I used to do, run around after him and lurk in the background. I had a civil ‘hi how have you been’ conversation with him and was really to jump back into ‘I adore you’ mode, only I couldn’t. I just really didn’t see it anymore and realized I didn’t give a shit. I wanted to fall back into old habits, but couldn’t, whatever was driving me into the insanity of these kinds of relationships was gone. Hallelujah for that. It’s actually a little bit funny that I ever cared; to think that that mattered to me so much.
The same goes for other things. Getting that job might have seemed like the most important thing and now you think it’s a pretty pathetic position to hold, or being worried about what people think of you when it turns out they’re even more concerned about what you think of them. Nothing new, nothing we don’t actually know, but something we are constantly forgetting.

Cape Town Sexpo 2009 - my thoughts

I went to it last year, and ended up taking my top off in the hope of winning some underwear. Alas I didn’t win, but the lady who did looked like she really needed new undies so I’m not too upset about it. I also got a certificate to prove that I have mastered some basics in pole dancing. I made it fun for myself because, dammit, I had paid the admittance fee. I wasn’t going to waste that without giving it a good shot and trying to have as much fun as I could. I remember leaving, thinking last year that it would have been a waste of time if I hadn’t made an effort to have some fun, the stalls were much of a muchness and the retailers seemed a bit embarrassed to be there. So I went again this year, with the same thoughts in mind, to make it fun for myself. I tried, I went to see the shadow show and the body art and the pole dancing show, and frankly if it hadn’t been for Tracey Simmonds the show would have been boring. The shadow show was prerecorded (which I’m sure is some cardinal sin in the world of sexual entertainment), the stalls were even more mundane than last year, and the giant genital mascots were there last year too and still weren’t funny. The people working at the show didn’t seem as shy as last year, I must admit, which might just be because they already walked around naked last year, so no big deal.

Tracey Simmonds however was amazing. She saved the show for me. It would have been a complete waste of entrance fee if it hadn’t been for her. Check her out on http://www.traceysimmonds.com/ She really does stuff most of us couldn’t do on the ground let alone on a pole. She put our local Mavericks and Teazers girls to shame. Granted she did win Miss Pole Dancing UK, so she would be expected to be pretty good.
So no good complaining about something if I can’t offer suggestions to improve it. I’d like to see less of, giant walking penis and vagina mascots, unless they can remake the costumes to not put people off sex for weeks. Fewer shops selling bad fake jewelry and plastic handbags with Marilyn Monroe crudely printed on it. I’d like to see more lingerie in a variety of price brackets; I’d like to see a greater variety of toys, once again in a variety of price ranges. It felt like you were either going to spend thousands of rands getting some reinforced leather item that can support a grown woman’s weight suspended from a ceiling, or alternatively some very dodgy plastic object that can’t obviously go anywhere near passion because looking at it too long will break it. There is a world of sex paraphernalia I don’t even know about, and at this rate might never find out about because they don’t somehow make it to the Sexpo. Less giant inflatable penis and more objects of substance, if you get my drift.

eating red

made it a bit more difficult, shot and starred and written and directed by myself.

Cooking for one.

Getting bored of making sandwiches so I’ve Googled it. Well it seems all ‘cooking for one’ sites are geared towards men, single men, who only eat curry. No matter, all I wanted was a site that could steer me in the direction of something other than toast that requires little cleaning of dishes after the fact. Eating straight from the pot is not below me. It’s a big adjustment to make, going from cooking a nice main meal for me and my man to these weeks (or months) of not having him around and just having to take care of myself and the cat. You know you’re in trouble when the food you’re giving the cat looks better than what you’re eating. Generally I’m not a bad cook, but I’m a cook, not a chef. I cook like a working-mother; I attempt to make healthy food, tasty enough to keep him distracted from the computer, in adequate quantities for my growing man, but nothing that requires hours of preproduction. With only myself to feed however, I become more concerned with the repercussions of my cooking than how it actually tastes. How many things can I cook in one pot? Can I use the same knife I chopped the onions with to eat my dinner? Minimize the dishes, minimize the prep time, and it’s starting to bore me.
The adjustment is always weird when he leaves. And when he comes back. He leaves for work, often with very little notice and without definite dates that he’ll be back. I’m not worried that he won’t come back because the computer he built is still at home with me, but it’s strange going from living with someone who shares a bed with you to not having anyone there at all. When he’s home the flat feels smaller, but cozy, when he’s gone it becomes a huge empty space. A space I have to try and fill. I usually spend the first few weeks with one light on in the entire place trying to come up with ways to feel less alone. I soon realize there’s nothing on tv. A mild depression waves over me. The first things I miss are silly like washing dishes after him, cooking for him, getting annoyed at him for playing computer games all the time. I miss that! Then I start speaking to myself, singing out loud. Then I don’t bother getting dressed after a bath, walk around naked. I don’t bother picking up after myself in the bedroom for week (while usually I’m picking up for both of us) and skip washing the floors. I leave the door open when I’m taking a bath and brushing my teeth, I don’t make the bed. I get into a way of living that exploits the perks of being by myself. In short I start enjoying being alone again. Then he comes home. It’s great, but it takes me a week or two to remember that I really shouldn’t burp out loud anymore and I get a fright when I walk into a room and someone is there. I have to share the affections of our cat with someone else, and start cooking real meals again.
It feels a bit like split personality or living a double life. He’s either there all the time, at home, or not there at all and only contactable electronically when our time zones happen to converge on a convenient time for us both to communicate. It’s schizo. It’s bizarre. It’s all and nothing. It takes getting used to, but for now, it’s life and I can’t wait for him to come back home. I can’t wait to be inconvenienced by him, to wash up after him and even be ignored by him when he’s playing games online. I can’t wait to work all day and then go home and cook a proper meal. This I can’t wait for! I must be in love or something.

the crash car!

Well the accident didn't kill me, so I'll be damned if these insurance people are going to get me down now...