You know the song ‘Like a Woman’? It goes, ‘I make love just like a woman, but I break just like a little girl’. I kinda love that song, but lately I think I live it too. Last night I threw up from too much alcohol in too short a time. Who still pukes from too much alcohol? Apparently me.
It is depressing. And today I am having lunch at a friend’s house with other friends. The friend that is feeding us just had a baby. She is actually pretty happy. She is single mom, but the baby daddy is pretty supportive. I’m happy for her, but it’s depressing.
I am only ever useful at work. I feel incapable of growing up and if you’re 27 then that just feels lame. Do not get me wrong I have plenty of blessings. A cute boy loves me and I love him back, a great family, a good job and taste. But it’s little things like still not knowing how to drive and having no learner’s licence that depress the fuck out of me on days like these.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
kisses
There is nothing quite binding as a kiss. My birthday was on the 13th of June. I am a full grown and awkward 27 years old. A little wiser- there are plenty of kisses that I regret. After seeing my line-up maybe, ‘plenty’ is not the correct word as my lip buddies are well under the number 10.
The first man I ever kissed is my father. Not in a gross make-out way, but in how fathers and daughters kiss. I mention this, as oppose to the countless uncles I have exchanged kisses with, because I am my father’s daughter. I have a rather unhealthy need to please him and be perfect, without actually being pleasing to him and hardly perfect. I hide my blemishes well, which takes its toll. I love my father dearly and he loves me. But there are times I am crushed by his expectations and I have grown so used to bottling it up, that I would rather perpetuate the myth than be honest with him.
The first boy I ever kissed promised to love me forever. So far so good. I was 15 and terrified. We’re both much older and the kisses still mean something. There is kissing to say hello and goodbye, kisses to make up for a bad fight, kisses to replace tears and kisses of contentment. We probably fight more than a happy couple should. But we are happy. It’s not perfect- but it’s our mess and we do the best to become better at it.
I kissed a girl in high-school. It was hardly life changing. Then I kissed my closest friend for quite a while until it became a pleasant habit. It breaks my heart to think I might never kiss her again- because we are not us anymore. Of course we still love each other fiercely- but we lost an intimacy to our friendship. It was probably all my fault. I tend to fuck up. A lot.
The 2nd boy I kissed tricked me. The 3rd seduced me. The 4th amused me. And the 5th I felt bad for. It’s always the kisses one should not have had that annoy me the most. Being older should mean accepting your mistakes and cherishing the good decisions. But fuck it. I’d rather I had always kissed whoever I’d have wanted to kiss in the future. Sound complicated no? Well maybe it is. It feels like I gave too much away. Locking lips is no small matter.
27 has taught me one thing and one thing only. To be selfish with my kisses. I have seen a glimpse of my future. In it- I am high on champagne, smug about having found true love, on a spiritual quest, happy and above all- kissing only those who deserve my lips. Another thing 27 has taught me- giving away kisses willy-nilly means you are the one that runs out.
P.S I meant to blog endlessly about my trip to Romania, but maybe later. Inspiration came and went.
The first man I ever kissed is my father. Not in a gross make-out way, but in how fathers and daughters kiss. I mention this, as oppose to the countless uncles I have exchanged kisses with, because I am my father’s daughter. I have a rather unhealthy need to please him and be perfect, without actually being pleasing to him and hardly perfect. I hide my blemishes well, which takes its toll. I love my father dearly and he loves me. But there are times I am crushed by his expectations and I have grown so used to bottling it up, that I would rather perpetuate the myth than be honest with him.
The first boy I ever kissed promised to love me forever. So far so good. I was 15 and terrified. We’re both much older and the kisses still mean something. There is kissing to say hello and goodbye, kisses to make up for a bad fight, kisses to replace tears and kisses of contentment. We probably fight more than a happy couple should. But we are happy. It’s not perfect- but it’s our mess and we do the best to become better at it.
I kissed a girl in high-school. It was hardly life changing. Then I kissed my closest friend for quite a while until it became a pleasant habit. It breaks my heart to think I might never kiss her again- because we are not us anymore. Of course we still love each other fiercely- but we lost an intimacy to our friendship. It was probably all my fault. I tend to fuck up. A lot.
The 2nd boy I kissed tricked me. The 3rd seduced me. The 4th amused me. And the 5th I felt bad for. It’s always the kisses one should not have had that annoy me the most. Being older should mean accepting your mistakes and cherishing the good decisions. But fuck it. I’d rather I had always kissed whoever I’d have wanted to kiss in the future. Sound complicated no? Well maybe it is. It feels like I gave too much away. Locking lips is no small matter.
27 has taught me one thing and one thing only. To be selfish with my kisses. I have seen a glimpse of my future. In it- I am high on champagne, smug about having found true love, on a spiritual quest, happy and above all- kissing only those who deserve my lips. Another thing 27 has taught me- giving away kisses willy-nilly means you are the one that runs out.
P.S I meant to blog endlessly about my trip to Romania, but maybe later. Inspiration came and went.
Friday, June 4, 2010
and i do mean, EVERYTHING!
One more thing I am certain about in life:
-S.A temporary passports are only good for some holiday in Maseru on the pretext that some obscure relative has departed this world-
For international travel, one needs to try a little bit harder. I thought I’d finally be updating my blog on my way to Munich to catch a flight to Timisoara. Instead I on the sleeper couch, next to soon-to-be-hubby trying to figure out the reasons. Shit happens is not really good enough for me. I prefer the butterfly effect. So in essence, some maniac in china stomped on an ant and I was rudely turned away from my flight.
I do have a solution though. Of course God willing- I can quickly get my visa on Monday. I really do hope I do, I do not relish the thought of explaining to 10 different people at work why I am still in South Africa.
Oh and I am not an idiot, I did have a visa. It’s just in the wrong passport.
This blog was supposed to be about the show Tumi and the Volume put on last night at the Blues Room. I’m no longer in the mood for my somewhat scathing review. In short, Zubz was oddly perched on a stool swinging his legs for 80% of the show. It really bothered me. Plus I kinda think he sucks now. But that’s another tale entirely.
Moral of my crappy experience? Everything and I do mean everything has purpose behind it. Think about that, next time you pick Gordon’s Gin over Tanqueray.
-S.A temporary passports are only good for some holiday in Maseru on the pretext that some obscure relative has departed this world-
For international travel, one needs to try a little bit harder. I thought I’d finally be updating my blog on my way to Munich to catch a flight to Timisoara. Instead I on the sleeper couch, next to soon-to-be-hubby trying to figure out the reasons. Shit happens is not really good enough for me. I prefer the butterfly effect. So in essence, some maniac in china stomped on an ant and I was rudely turned away from my flight.
I do have a solution though. Of course God willing- I can quickly get my visa on Monday. I really do hope I do, I do not relish the thought of explaining to 10 different people at work why I am still in South Africa.
Oh and I am not an idiot, I did have a visa. It’s just in the wrong passport.
This blog was supposed to be about the show Tumi and the Volume put on last night at the Blues Room. I’m no longer in the mood for my somewhat scathing review. In short, Zubz was oddly perched on a stool swinging his legs for 80% of the show. It really bothered me. Plus I kinda think he sucks now. But that’s another tale entirely.
Moral of my crappy experience? Everything and I do mean everything has purpose behind it. Think about that, next time you pick Gordon’s Gin over Tanqueray.
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