The wonders of personal perception

The fact that you come from and married money does not make you special or intelligent or more entitled to an opinion. It also does not give you the right to act like a harpy.

Age does not in fact ensure that you know better than someone else.

A theoretical degree is not worth much without practical experience.

A fresh degree is no match for a well-earned degree and 30+ years of experience.

A degree does not in fact mean its holder is intelligent – a near fail is still a pass.

A lack of formal degree does not imply stupidity or negate knowledge, wisdom or opinion.

Someone with a history of causing trouble is not trustworthy and should not always be listened to.

You have no right to yell and scream at those in inferior positions to yours because they disagree with your opinion and you don’t have enough brains to tell the local trouble maker to shut up.

 

 

Missing the networking

We recently had problems at work with the over-use of our resources in order to have cyber relationships on Facebook, as a result, FB has been blocked. This mostly doesn’t bother me, since all I ever did was check on friends’ status updates and then go along my merry way, occasionally updating my own status. Until today, I haven’t really missed it, but right now I do. So, herewith my mass status update.

My flat mate moved out end of last month, which left me minus some key appliances. But I was very lucky in being able to get a fridge fairly quickly. So, status 1: I have an awesome new fridge that is huge and works great! (I’m borrowing the bf’s microwave in the mean time – you’re awesome, honey)

I’ve also been struggling to figure out the state of my leave at work so I could put in leave for the Festive Season. I finally decided that I’d had enough and just put in for all the days I have remaining on the books and that happen to be all the days I wanted. So, status: I’ve put in for leave, please let it be approved.

After having let my Learners expire last year (yes, I am ashamed), I finally managed to get an appointment to write it again in March 2010. It’s still a long time, but I’m excited and scared and all the rest of it. I’m doing a Code 10 and I’m hoping it all goes well. The better half and his mom have promised to help me learn to drive – at this advanced age, it’s an embarrassment that I never got around to it. Status 3: I’m getting my Learners

I was overcome by the female plight of broodiness recently. I’ve wanted to get a second cat for a while, but couldn’t justify it. Combining the two factors and a few others, I started looking at various shelters and personal ads for cats and came upon a really cute picture. I impulsively SMS-ed the poster to hear where the kitten was and all that, but eventually thought it a better idea not to get it. The girl asked why I had decided against it. The persistence led me to take a look at the little one. Status 4: We have a new kitten called Odin Bubastis (Nastis)

My boyfriend’s parents are getting two kittens this afternoon – Heru & Miya (we won’t go into their registered names here, they’re rather long). The kittens are Maine Coons and the entire family is excited about bringing them home. Status 5: We’re surrounded by kittens!

Status 6: Family Christmas at my house this year – HELP!

Status 7: Have a wonderful Festive Season, all

Disabled or unwilling?

This past weekend I was given the opportunity to be part of an amazing competition for disabled (differently-abled, pick your pc terminology) dancers. I was the competition MC, so I was also given the opportunity to see the inner workings of a competition and to meet a few interesting people. Most importantly it taught me a world of life lessons.

 

I have no qualms admitting that I'm dancing today, because I accidentally walked into a disabled class during my beginner year at the MDS. I was having a hard time of it and very little of the dancing was actually making much sense to me, so I was very ready to just quit, but one Tuesday I got to class early. There was a disabled class in full swing, with mostly blind dancers. I sat there in awe. These people were doing all the things I was having trouble with and things I hadn't even learned yet and they can't see what they're being taught. So what did I have to gripe about?

 

These days I stick with it, but I still gripe and become grouchy when I don't get things. On Saturday the disabilities ranged from learning difficulties and Down's Syndrome to CP and missing limbs. There were couples there who don't have a fraction of my learning ability doing things I struggle with and doing them better half the time. And I complain that I'm not getting it.

 

There were couples with both partners in wheelchairs. How do you tell one dance from another when nobody is using their feet? But there is no doubt that they were dancing. One boy couldn't move his own chair when he started dancing, he was simply too weak and today he walks on crutches. He also rakes in the gold medals.

 

Then, possibly my favourite, a Down's couple. They were the youngest on the floor and the Latin had them lost. They were supposed to be doing a Cha Cha and a Jive. They Boogied through the lot, happily and enthusiastically. They knew full well that they were lost, you could tell by the way they looked at the other dancers, but they kept going. I would've run away. I have run away from similar situations, but they just kept at it and had fun.

 

I realised how quick we as "normal people" are to say "I can't" and then just give up. How easily we lose track of having fun and start worrying about achievement and how we'll look. If someone without legs and with only one arm can dance a beautiful Slow Foxtrot, why can't I? What's my excuse? If someone who struggles to learn can count a rumba, what's wrong with me. If a blind person can learn 4 dances well enough in 4 weeks to win a competition, why do I go home aggro after class? And most importantly, when did I forget to enjoy my activities for everything they are instead of turning it into something frustrating.

 

I learned on Saturday, that the only true disability is the inability to try. So no, I can't do a perfect open impetus, nor can I climb higher than my fear will let me – yet. But I'll keep trying and soon enough, I will be able.

When I'm all grown up

Isn't it strange how we don't appreciate what we have? Not until it's taken away from us. Well, I appreciate what I have. I'm in a position where I can watch other people interact all day. I never cease to be amazed by the lack of appreciation they have for each other. Then again, others clearly do appreciate each other.

 

Someday when I'm all grown up, I hope I have a ton of laugh lines. OK, this is not making any sense. Where's the beginning here..?

 

Ah yes, no titles no names. Let's call her Mrs. Apple. Mr. and Mrs. Apple are in their mid forties, they've been married about 20 years and have two kids at varsity. They own a lovely home, have a business together, both come from money and have made a huge success of their lives if money is anything to go by. They just don't match.

 

Mr. Apple adores the missus, this is clear for all the world to see. After 20 years his face still lights up at the sight of her – what a thought! – on the other hand, she makes a lemon-sucking face at the sight of him. Now, Mrs. Apple has a thing for white linen pants and this morning, after having ignored her husband's enthusiastic greeting, she got a friendly swat on the butt. She nearly took his head off. His astounded response was that he had just washed his hands – no marks on the white pants.

 

I'm sorry, but what? If my husband, after 20 years, still wants to swat my butt, thank the heavens! He can leave all the black handprints on my white pants that he wants! This is why we have bleach.  So, my point is that I appreciate the man in my life and the state of my relationship. If you measure success in Rands, then no, we're not too successful, but if you measure it in smiles…

 

And this is why I say I hope that I'll have a ton of laugh lines, but none of those lines you get from pouting. I hope we keep talking and playing, the way another couple I know still does – also 20 years down the line. And I hope that 20 years from now, he'll still swat my butt. And that his hands will be dirty when he does.

 

So, honey, if you're reading this, may you be a playful old goat when the time comes. Whatever else happens :-)

Loyalties

It always amazes me to look at human interaction. Today the thing that caught my attention was loyalty, or lack thereof.

The shocker? It is those we are most loyal to that deserve it least. There's the sister who financially supports her dead-beat brother for the sake of the debt she feels she owes her dead mother. No matter that it near ruined her and he feels no need to get back on his feet while he has this comfy safety net.

What about the wife who dutifully defends her abusive husband. I don't mean the one scared out of her wits, I mean the one who actually believes it's her fault and he's only doing it to help her.

The man who treasures a friendship with a woman who used him as her back-up plan in case the guy she really wanted turned her down. Yes, women do that. No, it's not a nice thing to do. And it definitely is not worthy of trust and friendship and confidence.

The jilted partner who tries to remain friends with someone who hurt them deeply and knowingly. And continues to manipulate and scheme and inflict pain.

The employee who has been loyal for decades. Watching a company grow from a shed to a corporation and never turned away, but who is not appreciated and often taken advantage of, even publicly demeaned.

The employer who blindly protects and defends the employee who steals from him and gives his company a bad name.

What is it about human nature that makes us so inclined toward misplaced loyalty? We're not loyal to the parents that scrimped and saved to give us all we needed or wanted. Nor to the partner who would lay down everything for our happiness. We treat our loyalest colleagues like dirt and have kinder words for strangers than our best friends.

Maybe we need to take stock of what really matters and where loyalty is truly due, before offering it blindly.

The Language Conundrum

I was raised fully bilingual - Afrikaans and English. For the most part my home life and friendships were conducted in English and schooling was in Afrikaans. Obviously, both had the odd exception. Interestingly, everything does not happen in both languages in my head. For example, though I am fully capable of doing math in English, I usually count in Afrikaans. The real dilemma for me is that I consider situations language appropriate.

To me, saying I love you doesn't have to mean much of anything. "I love you" is a bubblegum phrase thrown around by darn near everyone for every random situation. This doesn't mean I don't mean it when I say it, it's just more believable if I've said it to you in Afrikaans on occasion...

Then there is the Afrikaans boy band love ballad. They're funny, I don't know why, they just are. The idea of four Afrikaans boytjies getting together to lament their broken hearts is hilarious. Even one at a time, they're rather funny. I don't know, I can't seem to take their "pain" seriously while it's expressed in Afrikaans. I guess I'm a bad person. My favourite Eden aficionado friend seems to think so...

And don't get me started on sexual situations... In time, you can get used to getting hot and bothered around the Afrikaans language, but it's not a very sensual or provocative language, not in that sense, anyway. Mostly it reminds me of bad Boksburg jokes... And vaguely creeps me out...

So, your pain isn't valid if you sing it in Afrikaans and "Kom, Bokkie, kom" makes me want to take a shower, not do dirty things to you. Maar "Ek is lief vir jou" beteken aansienlik meer as "Luv ya".

The little inconsistencies of life

Just coz I'm drunk, doesn't mean you're not stupid

I once drunkenly informed my boyfriend that he is a stupid boy. That's right guys, caringly carrying your throwing-up-drunk girlfriend from the cocktail bar's bathroom while she desperately clings to the toilet seat and then affectionately putting her to bed, earns you the exclamation "You're a stupid boy". Sweetly responding "But I'm your stupid boy" earns you the blurted "You're still stupid". This to a man with a Masters in Cryptology who was amazing enough to look after me and not judge me.

Sadly, I neither forgot calling him stupid, nor clinging to the toilet seat, but that's not the point of my post. The point is that just because I was drunk when I said it, doesn't mean it's not true when I'm sober. Or when we're all sober.

No, my boyfriend is not generally stupid. He may be a tad challenged when it comes to certain vagaries surrounding human behaviour when aimed at him and he's not so good at reading people, but he's not stupid by a long shot. Except, he's a very stupid boy… For one, he's my stupid boy, which already proves my point. For another, he just doesn't get stuff!

Why is that? They just don't get stuff. It's like we're speaking Latin or Greek or something deader than either of those two… We don't, do we? No, of course not! I mean, how hard is it to understand that carefully sidling up to him while steadfastly maintaining distance and slowly growing agitated and eventually utterly upset, means that we want attention, affection and cuddles and that we want him to make the move? I mean, it's SO obvious!

Sure, we could try our own language for once, but receiving all the above after blatantly asking for it, just is not the same. So where do we find our middle ground? Well, since I make the food, he can stop being stupid! If he does this well, I shall bake him cookies. Or something…

A question born of torture...

What is the answer to lesson six?

And why do I continue doing this to myself?

Self mutilation

Today I had one of those thoughts. I don't know, I think Auds gets them too. It goes: Hmmm, I haven't had a really shoddy moment in a while, why don't I go looking for the instruments to put myself through Hell.

And I know just how to do this. A simple recipe. Take one man you love whole-heartedly, stir in that niggling insecurity. Roll out his blog to the right date, place love and insecurity in dish, cover with blog and bake in many sorrows for half an hour. Or something to that effect.

If you have a brain, that either makes all sense or no sense.

See, I have a boyfriend with a past, not the sort they hint at in movies and novels, nothing dark, just a life before us... OK, let me put it this way. All my life, or at least once I'd figured out most of my faults, I've been very careful about how I chose my boyfriends. I chose guys that had no previous girlfriends, or none that mattered, or none I'd ever have to hear about. It simplified things. I didn't have to deal with niggling doubts, I could train them whatever way I wanted and for the rest of forever, I would be the other girls' greatest insecurity - yes, I have a raging ego... But I'm getting older and my luck was bound to run out sooner or later.

So yes, now my boyfriend has a past, a life before us, one I cannot ignore or pretend isn't real or just not hear about. One I shared with him, one I was there for and one I can easily visit whenever the need to mutilate my peace of mind arises.

Not only did I know him when he was seeing her, I met him through her, just before they started seeing each other. She was my friend, and as such, I lived their relationship with her, from her perspective. I listened to her gush, I shared her excitement, I worried at her insistence that she was going to marry this man the moment he returned from the UK. And then I lent my shoulder when she tried to figure out whether and how to dump him.

When he returned, I listened to him deal with it and then sort of lost touch. It was interesting to find myself working down the hall from him a few months later. And then to be the one offering advice and a shoulder/ear from time to time from the safety of my smug, insecurity-less 5 year relationship. And in time I was the one in need of a shoulder, ear and advice. Imagine my consternation upon falling in love with this man! This man who's past was mired in my own, that I couldn't ignore or pretend didn't happen or just not hear about.

Worse yet, I risked everything I could possibly lose to be with him and deal with that past. That very accessible past.

Today I scrolled down his blog to the time of their break-up. And the weird thing? It hurt like blazes. Because I could tell that he hurt. Not because I wondered whether he feels that passionately about me, but because I can't take that hurt away.

Did I torture myself, yes! One creates one's own hell and all that. But more importantly, I have soothed that hurt. Not with sympathy, but love. The past will never be behind us, it will always be a part of us. It's what brought us together and in some ways, what kept us together.

I love this man. With everything I have to offer. Past and all, because it made him the man he is. Was risking it all worth it? 100% Does this mean I'm not still a little insecure? Hell, no! But no phantom perfect ex can take away what we have. Because she is a phantom. Mostly of my making.

When he stands in front of the woman he loves today, when he smiles down at her, when his eyes twinkle with mirth and happiness, the face reflected in them is mine, not a phantom's. No amount of self-administered torture can dull that fact.

Imagine that.





--

Stephen Leacock - "I detest life-insurance agents: they always argue that I shall some day die, which is not so."

Mackie's view on Persians

It sounds like a cat and it smells like a cat, but it looks like a mutated version of the furball I hacked up yesterday, with TEETH. And that is the stuff kitty nightmares are made of.

So... Apparently it is infinitely interesting to read about other people's lives. This is why tabloids will always flourish.


However, the phenomenon of Twitter or other forms of micro-blogging amuses me. You can now pretty much read a minute-by-minute update on people's lives. People you don't know from Adam, but definitely from Lilo...


Celebrities now have a forum from which to launch their own tabloid fodder. And from which to prove their extreme humanity. Turns out they can't spell either. Or avoid airing dirty laundry in public. According to recent news reports, they even sell their own stuff that they neglected to try on when they bought it.


But hey, I blog, so I suppose I've also assumed people care what I think and do. Or maybe I just wanted to gripe...

Super Powers

God was infinitely wise the day he chose not to grant me any super powers. If I had been an Other, there would be a global natural disaster of vortexes doing the rounds right about now. If I were a mutant, things would have gone badly somehow. If I had been a super-hero, I'd probably be Thor and spend most of my time with Green Peace, though I'm not really big on terrorism.

But humanity is flawed and not deserving of super powers. We're too assured of our own superiority and too convinced that we deserve all and are never wrong for us to wield them successfully.

This is the only time I question God's wisdom. When I wonder what he was thinking in creating man-kind...