Butterflies and Hurricanes

This post is more of a question than my usual strong opinionated or random rant efforts. What is this Zimbabwean million dollar question you might ask, well, it’s “Am I good luck Chuck?” When one of my closer friends strongly suggest I see this movie (read Good Luck Chuck) I immediately thought it was in reference to my affection for the uberly hot Jessica Alba (who is in the movie). Instead it was his not so subtle suggestion that it was a movie that compared closely to my actual love life. See, the basic theme of Good Luck Chuck, is that every woman that he dated/hooked up with ended up finding the person she would be with for the rest of her life after him. As in, the very next person they were to date was their quasi soul mate/life partner/person that completes them. Now, before anyone thinks that my 25 year old self absorbed, highly insecure existence is thinking about settling down and finding Miss Right, the motivation for this post was due to recently discovered information as well as thoughts of the past.

In Good Luck Chuck, he would date a woman, they would break up with him (or him with them) and the very next person they were to date became their husband. Granted, some of you romantic cynics out there may see this as a curse more than some sort of positive outcome, I however find just it disconcerting.

A little re-cap and historical context. The recently discovered bit of information is that my first ever girlfriend (and only girlfriend in high school, yes, yes, I was the cool, indifferent loser) that I dated for an entire 2 week period, has gotten married. This “relationship” of ours was all of 8 years ago. She started dating her now husband, the very weekend we broke up…THAT WAS 8 YEARS AGO! We lasted 2 weeks, in awkward conversation, some sort of physical attraction (well, I thought she had really blossomed) and she dated him for 8 YEARS! Sounds like no biggy, right? Well, strap in, prepare yourself for quite the ride.

That was in 2000. My next girlfriend of note was in 2003. She, though a harlot and eventual philanderer, was the other part in an awesome month long rollercoaster romance. The tears had barely dried when she began dating someone else. THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER. Even the village bicycle has managed a relationship for the past 5 odd years. Yes, she may have had multiple partners whilst still being with before mentioned dude or been the dismissive disarming princess she was to me (maybe more committed), but they still lasted 5 years. Seriously now, what the fuck?

The other ex from 2003, proceeded to date her next boy for approximately…5 years. Yes, that’s right. Their tumultuous and tempestuous relationship has gone on and on and included at least two engagements. They are still together and nearing engagement number three. We dated for 2 months. She is STILL DATING HIM.

Members of the jury, I now turn your attention to the evidence of 2004. I dated her for almost 5 months. It was interesting, and sometimes really, really good. She started dating someone else a week after we broke up as a quasi revenge offensive. THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER! We, as what I refer to it, extreme dated for 5 volatile months before the dramatic end (in which I ended it because I was tired of being told what a shitty boyfriend I was and met someone else) yet she and her new dude are all systems go and well on the path to marriage. Am I the only one seeing a pattern here?

We are now presented with the reason for above break up, the other relationship of 2004. I ended it and she didn’t take it too well. After a sabbatical from all things relationshipy, she started seeing someone in early 2005, yes, you guessed it…THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER! This is stuff that the greatest romance/thriller/fantasy/conspiracy theory novelists couldn’t come up with, even with guest contributions from Quinton Tarintino and Robert Rodriguez. She was a broken woman after our relationship, yet picked up the pieces and missioned ahead with her new guy. They are well on their way to marriage and aiming to emigrate together.
The drama of 2005 references the ex that actually saw suitors whilst we dated. Though those were decently ominous signs as it was, we dated for a record 6 months. It was generally good, till she validated an ex boyfriend more than me. They hooked up, again, after a 2 year period apart and …no prizes for guessing, they are STILL TOGETHER! I mean, what the hell man? We were good together, it was all rainbows and butterflies, but at the first instance of drama, it was death by conversation. Instead, she works it out with the very person that was a real dick to her during dating and even post dating.

We now get to undoubtedly, my most favorite story. The romantic tragedy of 2006. She was pretty awesome, we were pretty good together, her other personalities showed up and out voted the ones that liked me, that was that. We dated for a Nelson Mandela-prison-sentence rivaling 3 months. She started dating someone half an hour after me and…all together now, THEY ARE STILL FUCKING TOGETHER! We barely had a chance to discuss each others child hoods, favorite colors and other relationship shit yet she and her new man, have emigrated together. What the fuck dudes?

Right, now that the evidence is in, we retire to our chamber to pass judgment. They could have just got on better with the next. The next could have been easier to be with. The next could have been better than me in every way possible. In certain cases, the next may have had more personalities than me and as such, been a better fit. The next could have been wealthier and perhaps have a bigger penis and uber abs. But seriously now…it was like I was bringing a knife to a gun fight, in hindsight.

What do you think? The good people of the public domain. Some of you know me personally. Some even closer than that and some of you have just longed from afar. My best friend ventures the insightful “maybe it’s you dude”. As deep and profound as that may sound, I, a student of people and logic, can’t fathom that such a caveman conclusion fits. And even if it is the final prognosis, what are the symptoms and surely, sweet Jesus, surely there must be some sort of pharmaceutical experimental drug out there to aid my terminal state.

Just a sequence of bad choice, bad luck, bad timing…or deeper issues on one party’s side? As I have articulated before, I’m not that bad looking (have been accused of being handsome by the odd sober woman), I am decently insightful, intelligent, charming and witty. I have a decent job (for those old fashioned retards that factor that into a man’s worthiness); I am good with kids, pets and old people. Moms love me, fathers at least don’t generally hate me and I play well with her friends. What might be the problem?

Am I Good Luck Chuck and to be doomed. Destined to be some sort of lucky charm for women in their quest to find their preferable perfect fit? Resigned to fall, be left or leave and end up alone, whilst everyone else picks up the pieces and makes happy postcard-esqe memories. Sunday afternoon “comfy” sex and romantic weekends away? Fighting over what movie to watch, which shade of tan to paint the living room with and where to holiday? All, only after me?

If that is the burden I bear, the cross that I carry, then pretty please, dear Santa, all I ask, is where the fuck is my Jessica Alba?


“Rather than love, than money, than fairness, give me truth”

For reasons unknown

Right…for the first time in eons, I went out clubbing a week or so back. It was a Friday night and part of the itinerary tied to a friend’s birthday. I am not generally the clubbing type. It’s not that I believe I’m above it, or too old or anything like that. It’s just that I’m over it. Yeah I bob my head to certain dance tracks on the radio here and there and fall into a nostalgic place when my home PC stumbles across old MP3s. But for the better part, the Zoydberg that enjoyed the concept of clubbing is well and truly in hibernation. Safely tucked away from the chaos of hard house, tribal beats and ecstasy filled evenings. I am not like those now non-smokers that chastise the cancer stick now that they have quit…clubbing was cool, just not my fit anymore.

Anyway, I digress. The one thing that always intrigued me about going to clubs (be them the hardcore ones I used to go to or the preppy, tartish efforts in suburbia) was the, as Martin Lawrence’s character once called it “scattered ass”. No disrespect to women, in fact, I have the highest regard for women, but the hootchies that go out, all dolled up, with next to nothing on, putting on a show on the dance floor with “fuck me” looks. It’s almost an audition for a new Brittney/Christina music video. Again, please heed the disclaimer; this is not me painting all women that go to clubs as this brand of female, but definitely, a large, large proportion. As a hot blooded man, with a decent libido, above mentioned hootchies certainly catch the eye and quickly enough accomplish their mission of gaining their fair share of looks from their core targeted demographic.

I can’t, for the life of me understand how such a grave number of women put themselves out like that. It’s almost a true animal planet-esque sighting…”and here we see the 19 year old uber hottie with midriff and severe cleavage showing and micro mini hiked up even further to attain the affection and attention of men she doesn’t even have interest in. Quite the task she has as she battles the massive amount of alcohol she has had, the massive amounts of alcohol they have had as well as her 6 inch heels. ” Again, please don’t get me wrong, ornithology (braces himself for impact from female friends for that one) is one of my favorite past times but the way that the whole thing plays itself out is quite fascinating.

See, I’m no Brad Pitt or Jude Law or Johnny Depp, I don’t have old money or too much of new money and there certainly aren’t washboard abs nor huge penis burdens for me, but I have been ok with the ladies. They seem to like me, though in warped shows of affection and tumultuous endings, but they like me enough to at least stick around for stints of time and don’t mind being seen with me in public. But I have never been able to chat up a woman in a club, properly, or with any sort of suave or swagger. The 4 times that I was successful (there is context, put the pitchforks away) all have their own interesting stories attached.

The first was by accident, she was attractive, uninterested in my come hither looks and couldn’t care less, I left, came back and was going to attempt to hit on her, but found some random drunken guy hitting on her, she found me a slightly more attractive option and said that I was her boyfriend and he was to leave…that catalyzed conversation, and led to high school action…after, and only after, she found out that I was funny, witty and charming.

The second (note, the 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th were all on cricket tour) was me playing wingman to my mate…he scored her very attractive friend I took her out to eat some hay…was painful, but was for the sake of the Man Code.

The 3^rd and 4^th was me, not really caring, them noticing that I was part of a cricket squad from natal and returning soon enough, and everyone was decently tipsy to drunk…and that was that…they were more interested in the concept of than the actual person. I am convinced of this.

As the above summaries surmise, none of these cases actually have anything to do with the girl liking me. In fact, it was either due to her getting to know me, or just going with the flow of the context that I was able to put the proverbial points on the scoreboard. Which all just further backs up my age old ethos about myself…”I’m quite attractive once you get to know me”

The thing about me is, that I would, I guess, like to be found attractive for who I am, as that would validate my critiquing of those more superficial than me. Yes, very counterproductive, I know, but still how my warped mind works. That said, I don’t believe I am completely dodgy looking and have had the affection of some attractive girls. That is, however, only because I had the chance to speak to them. You see, a club does not afford someone like me, who puts so much stock in my abilities with my tongue (pun unintended) to err…eventually get to use my abilities with my tongue (pun intended). The music is too loud, the people are too tipsy and unfortunately, it’s more a case of first impressions that works the magic. I have fundamental issues with having to buy a girl a drink in order to buy her time as this infers prostitution (yes, yes, so does the date concept of dinner, movies, etc). The thing about the drink thing is, did you honestly get all dressed up and picture guys walking up to you to buy you drinks in order to flirt with you to get in to your pants? You seriously didn’t expect the man of your dreams to rock up and sweep you off your feet with you wearing hootchie heels and matching skank skirt? What does that say about him…you also could just have been out for a girls night, still looking like above mentioned 2 bit ho? All of this leads to the other fact, of which most of these women are aware and participate in, which is, to have the invisible “open for business” sign up.

The first thing a girl sees of a boy in a club is his looks, then his dancing ability. Both infer so much more about so much more. How he looks , speaks to his actual genetic makeup, his dress sense infers certain things about his taste in clothing and class factor as well as a certain something about the money he has access to. The way he dances infers his comfort with his own body and his confidence levels…all of which is conveyed in 2 simple minutes. Unfortunately, it would appear that most of these women that look attractive and have that sign up, are only looking for the best possible looking guy they can attract with the above mentioned qualities. I unfortunately, base any game I have on my ability to talk…which is nullified by the loud music, by the fact that they clam up already based on how I look (and what that infers) and a perception of what they want , and the fact that I am sober and they sorta aren’t…

To conclude, my excuse for not being able to pick up a girl in a club are because she would have made her mind up before I have even delivered my hilariously funny, witty and charming opening line. And as such, I shall remain on my soap box, cos who wants those uber hot, low moral fiber tarts anyway! Give me a girl with context, for goodness sake!

Straight jacket fashion

These last few weeks I have been spending a lot of time on my own. Awaiting the alone time that the 5 PM bell brought on a Friday afternoon. In this time, I have, as expected by those that may know me, spent most of those evenings watching random movies and comedy shows. Most have not been toilet humor and as such, with some sort of message embedded throughout the running time or at the very end. Random thoughts were provoked about pretty much every facet of my life. My career, friendships, relationships and family. The one particularly random thought that popped up was…”who?” Nope, not whom I would wed, or who I want to become or whom I want to leave my enormous (err…ya) wealth to, but rather, who are the top 5 people I would like to meet…dead, mythical or alive.

I have been blessed in this regard as the combination of my personality and circumstances have afforded me plentiful opportunities to interact with many interesting people. I guess if one of those people was someone that was genuinely kind and generous and selfless, I have already met him; in fact, I had the esteemed pleasure of growing up with him (my middle brother, Doc). If on my list was to meet the most beautiful girl in the world, well, I see them (there are two, equally gorgeous) every week and they shower me with unadulterated affection (my beloved nieces). If it were the funniest person that does not have a commercial contract, well, we email every week or so.

But before this sounds like a mushy ode to my family members or friends, this is in fact a list of people that I think would fascinate me in the entire length of a 3 hour, once off session. It’s a case of where they’ve come from, what they became and how they have intrigued or touched my life.

It is worth articulating, that I don’t read, so that rules out the great authors of our existence. I can’t respect the amazing literary efforts of certain documented geniuses because I just lack context. I’m sorry, and I’m sure that if I had the want or exposure to great pieces of literature, I would definitely have had at least some of them on my list. The same upfront excuse goes for my respect of most great historical figures. Your Churchhills, Napoleans and such….unfortunately, I just don’t know enough to know that I would want to slot them in. I know Napolean was a hobbit and Winny had a drinking problem and it did sound like he was an inspiring character, but ya, not enough to crack the nod, sorry guys…

Right, enough with the foreplay…who makes the grade and why…

Let’s start off with the slightly commercial choices…the first being, Robbin Williams. Yes, Mrs Doubtfire, Mr Keating, Man of the Year. I am sure that most of what he has done from a movie point of view was all a part of the great scripting process by some guy in his basement (or office, based on his success) and not uber improv, but there is something about Robbin Williams that speaks louder than his impersonations. His ability to mimic and quite competently impersonate people, situations and red necks (because they seem to be a category on their own) is entertaining and engaging. But my want to meet him is primarily for some of the roles he has played. No they haven’t been Oscar winning movies and expensive, over the top Hollywood efforts, but the dialogues that he signs up for, speaks volumes of the man. His eyes articulate so much more than the average quasi A list actor and when you couple that with his actual comedic abilities, you can’t help but want to have a sit down with the man and get to know him a little better…if the age old adage of “the eyes are the window to the soul”, then this man certainly is worth delving into, well, my thoughts.

Right, time for the second…yes, yes, it’s a bit of a cliché but its Tiger Woods. The man (a young black one) took the world of golfing (run by old white men) by storm and has remained there for eons. The ability to excel at the level of competition that he has is one of unimaginable heights. The concentration required to unequivocally dominate is truly remarkable. Only Micheal Schumacher, Valentino Rossi and Roger Federrer may have rights to be on that same podium, but even they have such blips on their CV that its questionable. Sportsman of the year a few times over and quickly catching the great Mark Nicklaus (who played till he was 233) are only 2 milestones on his impressive run of world dominance of a sport that requires much more than brute force, supreme physiques and outstanding technological advances. Then there are the typical issues of how he has stood the test of time, fighting the stereotype of being a huge US sports star (with endorsement deals that would solve world hunger) and being black (well, sort of, he has like 5 races in him) and the fact that the sport that he is king of is one of supremely managed concentration. I think Tiger could teach us all a thing or two about how we could apply our minds better in our day to day dealings.

Then there is Mathew Bellamy. The lead singer and guitarist and pianist of Brit band Muse. No, my interest in him is not only that he kicks ass on stage, belting out uber rock songs, but also his appreciation of the ability to improvise. His instrumental talents are spellbinding and to work just one of those instruments would be a dream accomplished for most. I cannot articulate just how talented this man (and his writing skill) is and I’m sure that pound for pound there are only a few others, past or present that would rival his abilities. It’s not just that he can do what he does, but with the ease and grace of someone that is so comfortable and confident with his skill, plus, the music they make is out of this world. His singing style is another not so typical stance on how music should be churned out. Then there is the fact that he is a strong believer of life on other planets and is a champion conspiracy theorist…the making of an interesting meeting, I think so.

And then there were two…Step up Adolf Hitler. Yes, as cruel and insane as his crimes were, from what I know of the Holocaust, this man had the ability to inspire (or brainwash or put fear in) an entire country. To make so many people, probably decent people that would have lived normal, vanilla lives do such horrible things to innocent people, are truly remarkable and must rank him as one of the greatest motivators ever. From what I know, he muscled a few situations but somehow, with whatever techniques, made so many follow his will and more importantly, his vision. Can you even imagine how he must have been with his friends, outside of killing innocent people based on his delusional thought process? Did they sip a beer and discuss how their favorite team was playing without their Jewish midfield playmaker…or did they discuss stuff like how traffic is a bitch if you a working in town? Or how children these days grow up so fast? I mean seriously, what the fuck went on in that psychos mind, bar the retarded concept of purification? I don’t even know where I would go on to, from “Hi Adolf, I’m Zoydberg”…perhaps “So, killing people in really fucked up ways, what’s that like?”

And finally, and if he existed (or not even)…Jesus Christ. Yes, as someone who is agnostic or Religion Light as I like to call it, I question whether JC even existed. I mean, he has this massive worldwide following, had wars fought and blood spilled in his name and is the reason why at least 2 women I have dated did not put out, obviously the man has got some pull. The question of his existence is not under examination here, it’s just that it would be pretty cool to ask him questions related to how things started, that supreme A-hole Judas, and of course, how things turned out since. Again, not a topic I am incredibly well read up on, but from what I know, I think it would definitely make for an interesting Q and A session. We could bounce across these allegations of homosexuality being a straight path to hell (do not pass begin, do not collect R200), we could talk about how faith in him is the only path to heaven (or be faced with Route 666) and we could talk about those 2 women that didn’t put out…I’m thinking the water and wine stuff would come up, and most importantly, is this how he wanted it to turn out (as in was he maybe just spreading the rough teachings of Buddhism), was this his vision of what it was going to be or did people take it and royally fuck it up and how? I guess, I know how I could start the conversation…“So, play any sports when you were a kid, or would that have been unfair in the “My dad” argument?”

“The only thing that we can be sure off, is that we don’t know enough”

Endlessly

It’s been a long time coming, but I think I have finally accumulated enough (who am I kidding, I was ready to write this in 7^th grade) context to write an autobiographical account of my life’s romantic tragedies. Granted, I have previously articulated my thoughts on romance, but purely from a philosophy or “how it should be” or “what I think it should be” sort of view.

We date back to my first ever “dare to be great” moment in which I(grade 7) revealed to my first crush, let’s call her A, that I in fact had this funny feeling in my tummy every time she entered the room and made me lose control of my brain whenever she looked at me and all I wanted to do every time I saw her was to awkwardly kiss those gorgeous lips and hold that soft hand. After all, what did I haveto lose? It was the last day of school and she and I were going to different high schools. How bad could it be right? It would turn out to be a rejection that only I would know about and would not have to face on a day to day basis. WRONG! On revealing this childish, pubescent feeling I was greeted with: “well, Zoydberg, I don’t like you like that. I actually have a huge thing for Random_Boy.” Instead, he wasn’t that random, he was my best friend. I then proceeded to hook them up….every romantic experience since, as John Cusack’s character once said, has been a different version of the same thing….Zoydberg the martyr.

Skip forward a few years to high school…let’s call her B. Smart, witty, God damned attractive and super popular…”Err, B, I have to tell you, that my mother told me never to tell a girl I would move heaven and earth for her, but for you, I would”…”sorry, Zoydberg, I see you as a gay best friend and feel comfortable enough with you to change clothes in front of you, but what’s up with Random_Guy2, he is so hot!” Also, not that I seek such circumstances, but random dude turned out to be new best friend in high school. He didn’t need much help (or quasi permission) to cure her curiosity.

Fast forward a few more years and I start dating the first woman I was to fall in love with, C. Granted, she had a wee bit of a reputation before we hooked up. I however, soon discovered that there was a plethora of awesomeness to her that she needed to realize. I validated her, she proceeded to be philandering and dismissive partner that ensured I owned the title of “broken ex boyfriend”. Christ she looked stunning the day she dumped my ass!

Skip through the puntuatory(yes, just made that up) dates or random hookups and we have documented experiences of dating someone that actually met “suitors” set up by her family(D)… then, super emo who was oh so promising then turned out to have more personalities than a talented ventriloquist (“I love you like a brother”, thank you E), another that was also uber emo and uber promising and didn’t want to broach the issue that despite my best efforts I had her unhappiness on a hair trigger (F), the “I-think-you-rock-and-I-actually-do-want-you-but-we-can’t-be-due-to-insert_reason_here”, G and the made for TV in true Bollywood style, I-think-I-love-you-but-we-can’t-be-together for…err…still figuring that one out…H

Not to leave out the initially promising I, who chose to try to “save me”, be dismissive and judgmental of those less fortunate, then want to shag me to keep me…J, who is smart, uber intelligent, cultured, liked me enough to want to be with me, but not enough to not want to mould me and make damn sure I articulated just how lucky I was to have her…K, whom I had a huuuge crush on, validated her more than her piss poor selection of boyfriends, and on rejection from them (always horribly inebriated, of course, cos she has too much pride otherwise) decides to articulate my awesomeness, before sobering up the next day, in which I was again safely tucked back in the Dawson’s Creek friendship box…Uber posh(and hot) L, who loved spending evenings in with me, but was too chic for such public displays…etc…etc

Before you jump on your horse named High, there is much context to each. There always is. In every single one of these scenarios, be them in cases of me actually getting to date/be with X, Y or Z or merely trying to woo and win them, I have given and given and essentially, been the cavalier romantic fool I have given every impression I am. I’m the one that believes in the Hollywood romance of her getting off the plane after some uber epiphany that I really, really, do rock or the even less likely, her calling me to say she would like to give this a shot because life is too short and to regret is the worst thing in the world.

I continually find myself convincing women to be with me. Trying to get them to see that I am actually attentive, sensitive, insightful, witty, charming, low admin and will make you feel like the most desirable woman on this planet. I remember the small, arbitrary details and glorify the important ones. Yet still, they enjoy the preview but don’t bother buying the season ticket. Dogged by perceptions of who I might actually turn out to be, their own unchecked baggage filled history or just confusion of what they want, I am the loser left with my heart quite literally on my sleeve.

Many quotes come to mind. There are no half martyrs or if you put everyone before you, you eventually end up last or it just wasn’t meant to be, but the one that echoes most eerily is that of you should never have to convince those that already know you.

Despite their best efforts, I choose to remain this terribly optimistic, hopeless romantic. Maybe a re-evaluation of my own worth and a lowering of the “BS acceptance meter” is called for, but if I don’t have the tenacity and lack of fear, who will?

“It’s better to say too much, than never to say what you need to say”

Citizen Erased

Life has become fairly stable…even good to a certain degree. As I continue to contemplate a career move, I make progress in other facets of my life…one of the notable mentions is that I have seen the almighty Muse live and as such have checked one more on the “To do” list. I haven’t blogged for a while cos I guess; I have been fairly ok with how things are right now…no specific need to vent or articulate frustrations or bitch really.

So, I have been thinking about certain things and the re-watching of the Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind has catalyzed a thought about not playing any exaggerated role in a few peoples lives. My martyrish take on things yet still trying to live out the carpe diem bit sorta conflict one another. This has led to me developing relationships with people whom have expectations of me, be it by action or reaction.

I seriously question whether they would have been better off without the “disappointments” supplied by me. Whilst I am sure, that they would deny this and rather counter my thought process with a decent case of “I would rather have than not”, I doubt they have thought as much about it as I.

Is it too selfish to want people to deal with their own shit or is it actually a very self absorbed thought. I really, really, don’t mind being a pillar or an ear or an audience, whatever the fuck they need at that point, but should they then not realize that they need to deal…in the end?

Whilst I like helping people because I sincerely believe I can sort my own shit out better than most (melancholic bouts included) should they not at some point realize that this is the fucking hand they have been dealt, stop being a fucking victim and move forward with some sort of a game plan, resolution tactic or stop gap scenario?

What I do find is that most of this shit that stirs in the pit of their souls causing this random bout of expectation from me, is in fact, history…stuff from a past. An action that needed more thought than they were willing to offer. A statement that should have been articulated in a more diplomatic manner, a guy that shouldn’t have been nuts after looking so promising, etc…or is that me being self absorbed again.

Seriously, the fucking victim card thing pisses me off. I vent and bitch and in the end I fucking deal with it myself…I try to fix other peoples shit as well as my own. Is it fucking higher grade to realize that you are processing shit on a standard grade level and that hoping that other people will put up their hands to go salvation army on your sorry ass is retarded?

I’m sorry that your life is not rainbows and fucking butterflies, I really am, but it is your shit!
If I had not existed in their lives, not assisted with being that pillar or ear or audience, would they still not have dealt with their shit but also not be disappointed by yet another person in their life?

Honestly, I do wish for world peace, gender equality, the ceasing of animal cruelty, but for fuck sake, can you realize that you are going through either a mildly shitty or completely shitty time and deal? Do not make random, left field requests and believe that all is fucking well and fine when you go of the reservation and even worse, hope for validation when you have your own fucking shit to sort out!

As dumb human beings, we try to validate our existence by wondering about what is the fucking reason….we are fucking animals, here to live, breed and die…the continuation of the fucking species. Yes, we have a greater logic and the continued ability to learn and that alone separates us from a fucking pack of hyenas, but they sort out the fact that they are hungry, that their litters aren’t reaching optimum age or they are lacking fucking water. We just bitch, whine and hope that somefuckinghow our problems will be solved. The way the world looks at us, the way that your job doesn’t fulfill you, the way that life is not working out the way you hoped…sorry, hoped? That would infer that you fucking thought about shit at least once in you life, what is so difficult about doing that again, at least this time, some of the variables have been mitigated. Would any of this be any different if you didn’t know me? Or would some other sad bastard be the one wondering if he could do more?

Seriously, I give decent amounts of me to many people and I do it sincerely. I try my utmost to help others by either just listening or giving advice or even acting on thoughts. When I do that, I don’t expect a fucking Nobel prize, I just want you to realize that there is value in the people around you. In context if I am available to assist you, then that context would define how you handle me. If I wasn’t around, would you deal with your shit anyway or am I just the one that is projecting internally about your fucking problems?

Relationships are all about fucking context…realize and respect the context and the relationship will no doubt flourish. All of this means shit if you are busy non processing your shit with half lies, evasions and fucking innuendos.

I have met a plethora of glorious, super fantastic people that have made-for-Hollywood shitty lives and continue to be dealt shitty cards, but they mission on in a courageous and graceful manner and not hamper other people with wanting solutions or assistance to their sagas. Not only that, they continually give all of who they are, without condition whilst dealing with their own problems…and winning.

Your life is not that bad. You are attractive, you are not that fat, you are smarter and funnier than you think, people do like you and find you interesting, he will accept it and move on, you will find another, you have to hope that you will start to feel better and in the name of Zeus Fuck, do you really think that asking “how can this happen to me” or “how can my life be this shitty?” would have any validity considering how you have treated, judged and manipulated in the past? But then again, maybe if I didn’t exist, you would have come to this conclusion anyway, without one more person that offered disappointments.

Get over it, grow up and as Tim Robbin’s once Andy Dufresne said, “get busy living or get busy dying”…

In Pieces...

Tagged!

So, this is in a fairly random post and I guess infers that I don’t have anything too insightful or thought provoking to blog about. Should you need some insightful or thought provoking reading, please scroll to earlier posts.

This post is in response to the almighty Golden Beagle and her “tagging” which, if you haven’t read her blog, asks that I share 7 random or weird things about myself. Lucky for you guys, I am self absorbed and am only too happy to continue divulging arbitrary detail about me. These are, of course, the life and times of Pedro Zoydberg.

Here goes:

1) I am reading my first book since 1994 (yes, I didn’t even completely get through my set works in matric)…that book back in ’94 was Animal Farm and I was 11. I guess I will have to get rid of my adage “I don’t read, ever”

2) My first kiss was just before my 17th birthday and my first sexual encounter was shortly after my 21st birthday! My memories of my first kiss is one of me talking and her pulling into me, mid convo! (tongue and saliva were not held back!) and my memories of my first sexual experience was “Good God, is it supposed to be this awkward… please stay up, please stay up, please stay up!”

3) Sort of a follow on from the previous point…I have never climaxed during sex…ever! Since that first faithful day, a few women have found me mildly interesting enough (I wish my friends were there!) to shag me…that said…I have never even remotely been close to climaxing…*sigh*

4) I cry during movies and certain sporting events. That is right, I am a stallion in the prime of my youth (certainly not a “Man’s man” though), but Braveheart, Gladiator, The Notebook, Shaun Pollock retiring, United winning the Champions League in ’99, amongst many, many others have drawn tears…that’s right…I’m a weeper.

5) When I prepare to go out to bat (for cricket), I prepare the left side of me first…don’t know why, but its just this random habit that has popped up…left sock, right sock, left shoe, right shoe, left glove, right glove…I think you get the point

6) I view my life as a movie…and every movie I see or song I hear, contributes to thoughts of whether I would have that bit in my final script/soundtrack (hindsight view of my life, post death) or not…from what songs would fit where (The Shins, Collective Soul, Seether, Coldplay, Lifehouse, etc) to which scenes resemble my life (The Notebook, Love Actually, Legends of the Fall, Fight Club, Garden State,etc)…it is true, movies almost seem more real life than real life does.

7) My very best days (yes, there are a few), are…the day I played at Kingsmead Cricket Ground (the home of cricket in Natal), watched Collective Soul (a bit of a life goal, as the first time they were here, I was broke, studying for exams and a million miles away from seeing them due to other contextual life reasons), paying off my last installment of a R50 000 student loan on a really, really (you have no idea!) shitty salary in 16 months and finally, watching my brother graduate to become a doctor! My very worst day…the day I realized (and yes, I get the inconsistency) that amidst my martyrish one liners and actions, I will never know if I will ever truly be validated…

There you have it…a quick peak behind the curtain.

Sad Story

Right, to my masses that have been waiting with baited breath for my next post, the time of reckoning (and reading) is here. We first re-visit the plethora of dark, heavy and very emo thoughts that punctuated my last few months…they were all dark, heavy and very emo indeed. I have however overcome a great deal of them. I am pretty sure that a decent amount of the heaviness was exorcised with my decision NOT to go to the UK and rather choosing to seek employment elsewhere in this city. It is to be seen where this process will take me, as it is in its infantile state. But yes, it would appear that I had placed many tonnage on what and where my life would continue…I am happy to say, right here.

Not soon after becoming comfortable with my above decision, Eskom decided to level up and completely and utterly fuck up many things…traffic and fresh coffee being the most important. I am however refusing to be a part of the masses of doom profits that have the opinion that our power dilemma coupled with the impending Zuma reign are the beginnings of an end. I think we will be OK. I think its going to be tough, but as a country, we will come through it…many candles later.

Regarding my funk, well, the birthday was also a huge contributor to the dark cloud of depression that is usually reserved for talented musos, poets and artists. It was then, that with massive surprise that many people that I know made an enormous effort to validate me on this day…most notably, an unnamed, unknown friend/admirer/stalker proceeded to punctuate the day with a “gift hunt” across my employers many campuses. It was interesting, fun and very fulfilling…as of yet, I still have no clue who this wonderful person is and why they went to such great lengths to make me feel not so arbitrary, and I thoroughly appreciate your efforts and only wish I could thank you…however, if you for some really, really sad reason read this blog…THANK YOU!

I had, what turned out to be quite a lovely birthday. To further the amazing race of gift hunting, a surprise birthday dinner was thrown with some of my closest friends and my beloved doc. A great evening was had and further validation felt.

Now, on to the business end of things, as it has appeared to me, that I have over come my temporary funk and moodiness and am back to my self absorbed, self proclaimed inspirational, thought provoking, insight invoking self…

It seems that I know too many people that are oh so comfortable with their own state of vanilla. I’m not saying that its not allowed (as prior posts will tell you, I feel that everyone has full right to this), but to hold on to it, and make it all you have with regards to feelings and experiences is terribly short sighted and severely life limiting. These people that I speak of are interesting, smart, charming, witty and attractive individuals, yet in my opinion, they lack any real desire to enjoy new experiences. They do have hope for these new experiences, but in my opinion are held back by their past, be them bad or good historical knowledge…they either linger on how glorious the past was or how deep the scar was or a good measure of both!

I can’t understand it…for the life of me, I can’t. I am by no means the most interesting person I know, but these people are way more well versed with world knowledge, have their opinions and arguments in check and are just all round fantastic, but, they are chicken shit…building walls upon walls and taking a stand against life itself…it borderline infuriates me with how shamelessly they seek to take the safe haven of constants and not bother too much with the variables of this world and its people. How? How on earth can this be enough…how can such enchanting personalities be happy with such mundane thoughts about certain things so important…?

To put yourself out there, is a very daunting thing, but to live a life protecting yourself from even the joys it offers, is truly criminal. For their sakes and for the people that they will touch, I hope the walls come crumbling down and human reaction/emotion runs free…for the world is a poorer place with such people running in neutral…

“You would say we were just a big mistake, I think its worth making…worth repeating”

And just cos it’s good to feel alive again…

“It’s not the years in your life that matter, but the life in your years”