Category: Modern Life

Wild cats and other animals…

Chiromancer2 Comments

Women’s lib has clearly failed judging by the latest ‘article’ in the magazine at mylocal hairdressing salon. I use the word ‘article’ loosely since it implies some degree of intelligence and more than a smidge of writing ability.  Neither were evident in this tawdry piece of journalistic tat!

Yet again, the object of my ire is one of those really vacant essays on the relationships between younger men and older women. In this nobel prize-winning segment (not!) we were invited to pass judgement on Pumas, Cheetas and Cougars – the implication being that if you like younger men enough to sleep with them, you are either deviant or desperate!

What really got me was that this was described as a ‘new trend’.  Well, hello!  I, and a select band of my female friends have been doing this for years… The first boy I kissed was in the year below me – Ok, I was the same age as him, but in those days that was tantamount to being an older woman!  Most of the men I have dated, had serious relationships with, and almost married have been younger than me. So. Blinking. What!

What really got me was the ageism implicit in the article. Women in their 20s and 30s dating younger men were just about ok – women in their 40s dating younger men, were badged as ‘predatory’. Puh-leeze! It takes two to tangle! Besides, not being one for convention, I’ve decided to be an Ocelot! Salvador Dali had one as a pet, they are rarer than snow leopards…and… if you happen to find one in your bed, just thank your lucky stars it’s a nuzzle, and not a death bite!

I really resent the implication that as a woman, you can’t find happiness with someone younger than yourself.  Let’s be honest here…no one seems to bat an eyelid at the fact that wrinkly octagenarian males are free to shag, marry and obey nubile young women several decades their junior. Put that in an article and most red-blooded males are ready to go ‘whoop, whoop’!  Why then, does society judge older women so harshly.  Has anyone stopped to think that they might actually enjoy being with someone who doesn’t expect them to conform. Has anyone stopped to think that men their age might actually be a) boring b) have baggage and c) just be really disappointing in bed?  Not to mention incontinent!

You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. As for me, I’m a cat person, and always will be.

One born every minute…

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I’m really beginning to think I live in a time-warp.  Watching the news, I couldn’t help thinking of events some 20 years ago. A corporate scandal involving a newspaper magnate whose surname also began with M, rioting in Northern Ireland and kwashiorkor babies.  Sometimes the more the world turns, the more it remains the same.

It’s heartbreakingly sad to see infants and children arrive at the refuge camps across the horn of Africa – only to die of malnutrition when they get there. It’s heartbreakingly sad to see not one or two children in this predicament, but five or six per family. These small creatures cannot speak for or defend themselves.  Their mothers are no better off.  Illiterate, poor, often victims of rape – for these oppressed women, family planning is not an option. The loss of one child is unbearable, the loss of two or three, when this could be avoided….

It’s a complex situation, and I don’t claim to have the answers.  Still, I can’t help wondering if our charitable contributions are merely adding to a culture of dependency in an environment where climate change and civil war have wreaked havoc.  If there is money to fund the warlords in Sudan, Ethiopia and Eritrea, why isn’t there enough to provide irrigation schemes or green energy? 

Instead of food aid, would our money would be better served funding education and contraception programmes for the women and children in such peril?  Though laudable, the charity cartels (think Oxfam, Unicef and Save the Children) have sewn up crisis response in sub-saharan Africa.  There is money to be made from suffering.  And if you think I’m being harsh, just check out the profit and loss accounts of these organisations. They have turnover and assets worth millions! Charity doesn’t even begin to describe it.

 I’m undecided whether I will donate to the latest DEC appeal. Are we are simply trying to hold back the flood by putting our fingers in the dyke? Or can our donations truly make a difference? The Dalai Lama said, ‘compassion and love are essential if we are to save humanity’. From a human perspective, it feels like the right thing to do.

You can find out more about famine relief and DEC by clicking here:
http://www.dec.org.uk
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/696803.stm

Mind the gap…

Chiromancer1 Comment

If it’s true that  women mature faster than men, I’ve never understood why sensible, intelligent females go for the equivalent of the grey gorilla…i.e. older men. They smell and are hairy!  OK, I get why a male mid life crisis involves a sports car, a blonde with pneumatic breats and botox. Mid life crisis women are a bit more selective…a blonde, with pecs…sports car is optional!

Personally, I’ve always preferred men younger than me. Why? Well apart from the obvious – I’m in my sexual prime, men my age are in decline – younger men are more fun. They don’t have baggage. Not an ex-wife or step-child in sight. They have no sexual inhibitions.  And actually, they are really grateful if you sleep with them – they know you aren’t going to have that ‘how was it for you’  or that ‘what are you thinking’ conversation. What they don’t realise is that you don’t care – you’ve had sex, and now you just want to get home and sleep in your own bed!

Besides, older men (in the UK anyway) imagine that you, as a single, professional, female must be so desperate for attention (wrong – on so many levels!) that you are grateful if they pay you a compliment. Oh hallo!  If it was a choice between poking my eyes out or being poked by you, I’d rather be blind!

So, there you have it. Men without their own hair and teeth need not apply!

Truth or consequence…

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Truth is relative.  A few  months ago, compelled by a need to be true to myself, I revealed something little known, but much suspected.  It cost me dearly…the love of someone I adored, the loss of myself. Well… the loss of my former self. I am different now. Still, it was a heavy price to pay. I feel the consequences every day.

As human beings, we often say ‘be honest’ when honesty is the last thing we want. I’ve realised perfectly sane, intelligent  people are happy to accept and to live lies because that is better than facing the consequences that arise from the truth. Of course, truth depends on who is telling it.  It’s not an absolute, simply a perspective. You cannot argue with facts in the same way you dispute versions of the truth.

My favourite role model, Einstein (love him and if he was alive would have his children!) once said: ‘Whoever is careless with the truth in small matters cannot be trusted with important matters’.  I think he’s saying that we need to be honest in the small and big events of our lives, even if that honesty brings consequence. And…I guess he’s making the point that people who cannot be trusted will betray you in tiny increments. The first cut won’t hurt at all, the second only makes you wonder!  Less said about that, soonest mended.

I tell the truth, because I think it’s important to accept responsibility for our actions. Our integrity depends on our willingness to own up for the decisions we make.  We have to face the truth – even if it’s unpalatable – and live with the results. Quid pro Quo.  Truth and consequence.

Warmonger…

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I’m very troubled by the news about Osama Bin Laden.  True, he is no longer a cypher lurking in the background and haunting our dreams. There is no doubt that he master-minded terrorist acts on a vast scale, and that he was directly responsible for the deaths of many innocent people. London, New York, Madrid – an unnecessary death toll. Not to mention all those servicemen and women who are now dying in pointless and un-winnable wars in Iraq & Afghanistan. What a waste!  But was justice served?

Bin Laden was an evil, hate-filled man. Sadly, his death won’t bring back the people who died as a result of his instruction.  It will only be a spur for those extremists who need an excuse to carry on fighting. So, President Obama, you are an idiot!  I really don’t see how shooting Bin Laden in the head means that justice is served.  I’m sad that you capitulated to the pressures of seeking re-election and the hawkish warmongers who lurk in the White House disguised as ‘military advisors’.  It was similar military boneheads who funded Bin Laden, armed and trained him when they wanted to get the Russians out of Afghanistan!  How conveniently you forget that fact.

And frankly, I’m annoyed at the arrogance of a nation who think it’s ok to invade another sovereign country and assassinate someone. Because lets face it, that is what it was. There was no intention of taking him alive. I find it hard to believe that big strong navy Seals couldn’t overpower him when he refused to surrender.  And I find it rather distateful that the US Commander in Chief sat and watched video feeds of the killing.  How is that justice?  Snuff movies maybe! Justice, no way!

Far better, for Bin Laden to be captured and brought back to the US to face the rule of law.  That is justice.  He should have been made to face up to his crimes.  Even the worst excesses of the Nazis (who killed hundreds of thousands of people) were dealt with by due process at the Nurenberg Trials. So why would he be any different? His crimes were no less heinous.

As Ghandi said, ‘an eye for an eye ends up making the whole world blind’.

Birdsong and bluebells…

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As some of my regular readers will know, I live in the coastal reaches of the South East.   It’s a sleepy place with a pier and a shingle beach.  We have big sky, loads of lovely countryside and the most amazing sunrises because we face East into the open heart of the sun. In the Spring, we have hedgerows and bluebells and I can go foraging for edible sea kale, wild rocket and fennel along the shingle path that leads towards the bay near my house.  I am lucky.

I wake up each morning to the mournful cry of the seagulls as they coast inland under onshore winds and the lure of landed fishing boats. Later, I hear the chirp of sparrows, the melodic song of dainty wild doves, and the smug moan of fat suburban wood pigeons when the human inhabitants of their domain come to life and begin their workaday week.  In the evening, blackbirds punctuate the dusk as they stake their claim on the trees, gutters and hedges of the houses in my street.  I am lucky.

Birdsong and bluebells serve as a reminder that the sun always rises.  Believe that it will, be lucky!

Hit and Ms…

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Being one has never bothered me…but clearly my marital status is of great concern to people who really should know better. Perfect strangers and distant relatives all seem to think my private life is fair game. They labour under the misapprehension that being unencumbered must mean a) I’m deviant in some way or b) I’ve missed out or  c) I don’t mind intrusive personal questions.  Wrong on all three counts.

Them: Why aren’t you married?

At this point I have three possible responses depending on how riled I am, or how stupid they are…

Response #1:  Because I forgot!
Response #2:  Because George Clooney was unavailable last week!
Response #3:  Because in my spare time I sacrifice babies to the turnip god and shag elephants!

Or my other personal favourite…

Them: Is it Mrs or Miss?
Me: Actually, it’s ‘Ms’. There is no Mr B.
Them:…Oh…Are you a feminist?

For the record, ignoramus, ‘ms’ is the French abbreviation for Mademoiselle! It’s a bit more chic than ‘miss’. As a woman in my prime, ‘miss’ just seems a bit juvenile. Frankly I’m fed up answering rude questions about my love-life and deflecting wrongful assumptions about my sexuality, simply because I’m a modern gal.

This is annoying enough, but being one means you also have to deal with the unwelcome advances of neanderthal man.  You know, the type that frequents the end of the bar and spends his time wondering how women can resist his bald head and oversize beer belly as he wobbles to the slot machine. 

This was the conversation on a recent night out with friends at our local…

N-Man: Hi baby, wanna drink with me?
Me: The last person who called me baby left with his balls in a bag.  I don’t think so.
N-Man: Wassa matter, don’t you like me?
Me: No, you are ugly and your mother dresses you funny.
N-Man: Awww…come on, have a drink with me?
Me: No thanks, I’m not your type.
N-Man: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I’m not inflatable!

And for the record, the distinguished chap who sent over a bottle of bubbly was the guy who scored the hit that night. Stupidity will never win fair maid, but champagne always might! 

Geek Goddess…

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This blog has been privvy to a few confessional posts, but it’s time for a planet-shattering admission. Mea Culpa. Yep. Me. Culpable. I’m guilty, I admit. It’s taken a while, but I’ve finally realised that I’m afflicted with  an uncommon strain of geekdom.

It’s so unfair…why couldn’t I have been whacked with the virtuouso stick, or infected with the cheerleader gene..? Oh no – the powers that be (presumably on a distant planet in a far flung galaxy) decided it was geek or nothing. Why the hell didn’t they bother to tell me?

I know, you are all probably rolling your eyes and wondering why someone who writes a real world blog that is about privatisation and other business boredoms, is hiding her inner geek behind a po-faced exterior. OK, I like science fiction and banking, but the two are not mutually exclusive, especially in today’s economy! It’s been a real shock for me!  I work up this morning and suddenly I knew what ‘cloud’ computing was. And no, it does NOT mean leaving your laptop in the rain! Moreover…yes, that was a word with 3 syllables. I might be a geek, but that doesn’t mean I grunt in binary…! More-o-ver…I actually know how to use social media…I have twits following me and I know my KLOUT score from my clobber. I want a Star Trek dressing gown and a Princess Leia beanie..and I’m excited about the prospect of zombie computing…and the fact that we are now able to send a satellite to photograph the surface of Mercury.  Oh, and of course I loved Avatar and the remake of Tron. Yeah, smug married people…you try and put that on a love.com profile and avoid the serial killers and the role-playing afficianados!

There is only one answer. Either I am in the throes of a deeply disturbing phsychotrophic crisis (a la Matrix) or else I should just embrace my inner geek and get with the IT programme…hmmm, perhaps is that the microchip in my head talking? Whatever, Schmatever! According to the aforementioned powers that be…it’s the geek who will inherit the earth!  You have been warned.

This post was inspired by ThinkGeek. And yes…I do want the Star Trek dressing gown…

Wax on, Wax off…

Chiromancer2 Comments

Sex and the City really has a lot to answer for.  Apart from the fact that nearly all my married friends think I live the high life – for the record, I’m mostly Miranda with the occasional habits of Samantha – this programme has made it  de rigeur to be fashion conscious in all aspects of one’s appearance.  Yep, fashion conscious from your Hollywood Blow-out to your Bollywood waxed bits. Ouch!  As if women didn’t already have enough pressure to conform.

Now, when protocol demands, I can be suited and booted, and I’m not averse to eye liner and a good dollop of lippie!  Like most women, I have partaken of the ‘I’m not going to sleep with him on the first date’ bikini, leg and underarm wax – but…only when the boy is suitable and a good kisser! In that order!

Still, I was mildly horrified this evening to see a programme describing something called ‘vejazzled’. No, not a Hollywood musical – I think the shrieks resulting from this procedure resemble caterwaul rather than cantata. Apparently this is all the rage. In fact, this modern travesty emanates from the porn industry, where wax off guarantees whack off.  Ouch, Ouch, Ouch! Only in the mind of a fat, balding, middle-aged sociopath with a camera and and an inferiority complex, can it be a turn on to wax your foo-foo into oblivion and then stick rhinestones on it!  OMG! Why?

Apart from the practical considerations – seriously guys, this must be like doing a velcro vagina or a broken bottle – how on earth do you cope with the regrowth. And what happens when the superglue dies and the shiny bits fall off?   And why would you do this on a first date…it’s the sticker equivalent of a neon sign that says ‘enter here’.  Tacky.  In all senses of the word! No.Thank. You!

I’m certainly no prude, but I’ve decided a bird in hand is probably better than a bush that lights up when you remove it’s underwear.

Jaywalker…

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I almost got run over last week.  I’d just completed my dissertation (cue delirious relief).  Walking back from dropping the mammoth tome off on campus, severely sleep deprived and mildly euphoric (ahem…caffeine induced), I ignored the pedestrian crossing and stepped into the path of a speeding bicycle which missed me with nanomillimeters to spare. I think the cyclist got more of a fright than I did.

Some people in my life might consider it comeuppance – but I consider it luck. After all, it could have been a Rover instead of a Raleigh.  But it did leave me thinking…am I one of those people destined to end up on the wrong side of the road or am I a pavement pioneer? 

I’ve had almost 2 years to realise I’m not one for convention. It’s a hard lesson because I’ve spent a lot of time trying to conform to some unrealistic societal ideals … true love conquers all, you’ll need a pension when you’re old, don’t eat anything past its sell-by date…You get the picture.  I’ve come to realise the bit of the road I’ve chosen for myself is often winding, sometimes steep and nearly always going in a direction I don’t expect. And that’s on a good day!

I’ve had travelling companions, and I’ve spent great stretches walking it alone.  Sometimes I’ve carried a heavy burden. At others, I’ve skipped lightly across the paving stones hand in hand with happiness.  New routes always lie ahead. Binding oneself to can’ts and shoulds, and what ifs and what’s expected may help you hang with the crowd on the sidewalk, but it isn’t going to give you a great view of the world. This I now know…if I have a choice between the direct road and the scenic route?  Well…I prefer my walks on the wild side!