Tag: 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.

Put out more flags…

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In my part of the coastal boondocks we are very excited because a rather large golf tournament is taking place in the neighbouring town.  Apart from the much needed injection of cash for the local economy, and the fact that many people have been inundated with visits from distant relatives with a fetish for sticks and small balls, this sporting fixture of note has meant access roads & short cuts to and from the Golf Open are subject to traffic restrictions. 

To help residents get over the shock, we’ve all been given bright orange car badges, that say ‘LR’.  These identify us as locals, and give us right of way over journalists, sneaky golf lovers and out-of-towners. The effect has been curious.  Weirdly some sort of cameraderie has developed – people who don’t know each smile, wave and let other vehicles bearing the LR insignia go first at a junction.  Actually, its the same as when it snows heavily in London and no one goes to work – everyone gets all Christmassy and starts performing random acts of loveliness.

It got me thinking…if a small square of orange plastic could create such profound change, wouldn’t it be great if we had a sticker system for life…?

L is for…Love, Lessons & Life

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This is the first blog in a while. Thank you for being patient.

A few weeks ago, it could have been  ‘L’ is for the…’Life is shit, and then you die’  blog, but having been to a wedding (my sister’s), a funeral & rebirth (my own) and to hell and back…(least said, soonest mended)… I have to say it’s good to be here again. Blogger on planet earth.

This I know…

1. Your love is not a small thing. It is the most precious gift you can give. It is not always gratefully received, but that does not lessen it. Giving love makes you capable of great things.  You can cross continents, gamble your future on the stars, and sacrifice yourself…all for love. Love is in the letting go…but it takes great love to watch the person you adore walk away, knowing they will never come back. Hate is not the opposite of love, indifference is.

2. Lessons are almost always about the learning, not the experience. The experience may be humbling, painful, humiliating…but as long as you learn from it, you grow. There is an old Buddhist saying ‘ When the student is ready, the master will appear’. Often we don’t think we are ready for the trials ahead, but when they happen, they show us who we really are. Our choice is to fight, to surrender or perhaps...and this may be ever so un-pc… to ‘smack’ the zen master as a reminder that we are human and have fire in our bellies. Whack! How was that for you, Obi Wan?

3.Life…never ever works out how you plan it. I don’t care if you are the supreme deity or a secretary…this is true! So you can spend your days feeling miserable about the cosmos and the fact you cannot use ‘The Secret’ to manifest pizza, money or love… or you can embrace uncertainty. Oh crap!  ‘Uncertainty’, are you sure?  I’m all for the darkside, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t scary…Life is wonderful, but it is also weird. It makes us who we are. It’s lessons make us who we can be.

My advice? …Live well, Love long, Laugh loud…

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! 

G is for…Gratitude

Chiromancer3 Comments

This blog has been a long time in the making. 5 and a bit years to to be exact.  I’ve often wondered whether I should write about this experience, but I have a number of friends who are going through the same thing, so it’s about time this particular confession saw the light.

July 7th, 2005. Exactly a year after I’d moved into the house from hell. A sunny day.  It was also the day I had a panic attack and couldn’t get on the train to work. If you know me, you know this is not my normal mode of being. Fearless – Yes. Frightened – Often, but I hide it well. Cowed – Never, especially not in 6 inch heels and a suit! But if you had seen me sitting on the station bench that day, hyper-ventilating, shaking and trying not to cry or step in front of the train (crying and spoiling my make-up would be worse, you understand), anyone would be forgiven for thinking I’d finally given in.

July 7th, 2005.  Exactly two years since someone I loved, left. A sunny day. The day of the London bombings.  When I finally made it into the City and into a walk-in clinic, I sat waiting for a doctor and watched the carnage unfold on the flat-screen in the waiting room. All I could think about…while the helicopters circled Cannon Street and the discordant siren call of police cars and ambulances pierced the usual hum of a big city, was that my problems were minor compared to those people who lost loved ones or now bear permanent scars from the random acts of deranged fundamentalists.
 
My doctor diagnosed depression and prescribed medication.  I diagnosed an immense gratitude for the fact that I was still alive. A feeling that grew as I walked through the silent streets in the evening aftermath of the day’s events.  And my prescription – which I still follow today, even though the pills got flushed down the loo after 6 months – was to find three things to be grateful for at the beginning and end of each day.  Instead of lying in bed wondering if I actually wanted to carry on, I’d be glad about the birdsong, the way the sunlight twinkled on my wall, and the fact that my cat loved me more than anyone else in the world – despite my flaws as a human.  Nothing stays the same, even bad things… I’m really lucky and I have so much to be grateful about…I live by the coast, have a brand new nephew, and people who I love deeply.  Life is short.  Embrace the good things.

Depression affects 1 in 10 people, and one in 50 people will suffer severe depression. It affects not only those with depression, but also their families and friends. Help is available here:  http://www.samaritans.org/

Trigger finger…

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I used to be a real hot-head when I was in my twenties, but somehow I’ve managed to temper my temper and keep that short fuse well hidden as I’ve got older. This is probably also known as ‘becoming English‘ since I’ve lived in Blighty long enough for some of that British reserve to rub off.

Of course, my genes are totally against me – I have an Irish and Italian background so the lovers and the fighters are equally represented when I get very angry. Not to mention the stroppy South African contingent who tell it like it is and not how others like to hear it.  Perhaps this is why I’ve recently morphed into a sailor with Tourettes, replacing adjectives with expletives. Not terribly lady-like I know, but ever so satisfying to say when confronted by the idiocies of modern life…automated call systems, for instance.

Picture the scenario – you have a problem and need to speak to a human being.  You dial the number of the helpdesk that promises ‘extraordinary service’. You get…some disembodied tinny recording saying ‘press one for query X, press two for query Y…’ Then, you get a recorded message that says…’your call is important to us, please hold’.  By now 15 minutes have elapsed while you’ve waited for the cyber-operator to do its best to deter you from actually speaking to a  real person. God forbid!  More time goes by while you listen to Yamaha’s interpretation of rock classics and then you get a message saying…’we’re sorry, we can’t speak to you right now. If you’d like to leave your number, press one for…’

Instead of using my finger to dial a number, I’m beginning to think it would be simpler to use it to put a bullet in the head of the idiot management consultants who think automation is synonomous with customer service. Who hires these turkeys? Yep, stuff like this really brings out the anarchist in me, and I find I become prone to small acts of civil disobedience…

Next time you get one of those voice activated systems that asks you to ‘speak your postcode’  my advice is to just keep saying f$&K and B*£££r – you’ll get put through straight away!

Lost luggage…

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Semi- useful facts about Finland.  1. Population 4.5 million. This makes Finland the most sparsely populated country in Northern Europe 2. Home of the Nokia and the Northern lights. Phones and fun, but not necessarily in that order 3. Part owner of the world’s worst airline. Yep, the Finnish government has a majority stakeholding in Finnair – 55.8% to be exact.

Semi-useful facts about Finnair.  1. They carry approximately 8.8 million passengers per year.  2. They manage to lose luggage on a regular basis.  This week, they even managed to lose my bags twice!  Annoying, yes.  Life-threatening…? well, probably only for the customer service department at Helsinki airport.

As I stood waiting next to the carousel for a suitcase that was not coming, I got thinking about our attachment to ‘stuff’.  Why do we get upset when our luggage goes astray or our things don’t end up where we are? And as I defrosted the car and began a long, wintry drive home, I wondered about the other baggage we carry so freely. You know, the stuff we think is invisible to others (it’s not by the way), the stuff that nevertheless weighs us down, because it stops us from seizing the opportunity to shine as ourselves.  Why don’t we get upset about that 20kg of emotional baggage that we’d be better off losing if we are to journey lightly through life? Perhaps it’s better to travel without possession.  People matter far more than ski boots and souvenirs.

Kansas…

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2009 has been a tempestuous year. You know, the sort of twelve month period where your world spins on its axis and you wake up without your red shoes and little dog Toto in the sort of place where not everything is what it seems to be.

I’ve met the cowardly lion, the tin man and loads of oompa loompas in between. I’m not sure I like any of them.  The coward deserves to be stuffed or made into a rug, the heartless tin man should be recycled and turned into a can… and, as for the oompa loompas…well, they really should carry a health warning before they are let out amongst the general populace.

With Christmas looming, I’ve decided to get ahead of myself and write my gratitude, goodbye and intentions list.  It’s something I’ve started doing because I’m usually rubbish at New Year’s Resolutions. And anyway,  perfection is hard to maintain in a tornado!  So, I’m writing a list of all the things that happened that I’m grateful for, all the things I am clicking my heels and putting in the box marked ‘o’ for over, and setting my goals for the next 12 months.  Somehow it feels better than simply making a list that says: 1. no booze 2. no sweets 3. no schoolboys.  (OK, I was only joking about the last one).

Whatever you are doing this Christmas, whether you celebrate the Winter Solstice, the birth of Christ or just the opportunity to spend some relaxing time at home, I hope this festive season is a good one. May 2010 bring all of us a little shelter, a lot of love and no more natural disasters!