So I'm out of the shower and back here. The hot jet of water coming from the shower head works wonders. And I'll never trade in my modest Dove shower gel for anything else in the world. That works wonders too. Maybe I should start trying my hand at fixing up some magic. If only Dove could do any trick in the world. I'd probably buy a really large sieve and start sieving people through it. The Good, the Bad... and the ugly! Sorry I couldn't resist that. I've watched way too many movies for my own good, and they sometimes rub off onto me, especially when they've got a just as good soundtrack. Anyway, about this sieve, I think it would make a real hit. But then, there is no good without bad, no ugly without beauty. So maybe I'll keep some bad people who are not very very bad, and good people who are not very very good. And that should keep the balance right. At least I think so. I just wish I could force feed certain people a red hot chili so maybe that will help them start the ball rolling. I need it to roll, and fast, before anybody else gets in the way. Because I don't have much time on my hands. And I need to start sieving people quickly. No I am not God, but sometimes God tends to look the other way when you're good on intent. At least I hope He does. No, better still, I'm sure.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Designer Stuff
I'm back after a very cold shopping afternoon. I didn't realise it was so cold, we've now got to the stage where we need coats guys. Although I did see a few stick-thin bare midriffs, and I suppose they were made of wax because there was no chance they were melting in a hurry. Loads of people around, except that nobody was buying anything and were being a pain in our ass who wanted to buy. Why do people have to try on a pair of shoes for eight times if they never were interested in buying them anyway. I would suck at being a sales assistant. I'd probably not even last a day, people can be so rude. And then on the other hand salesgirls at one designer shop were being quite rude to me. So what if I cannot fit into a size 8, it doesn't mean I don't have spending power. And if it's a designer jewellery shop, what the hell does making an appearance with or without mascara have to do? It always happens that I do not shop fully made up. And that is no excuse for mascara-laden girls behind the counter to be snooty. They stop being snooty when they realise it's instant cash, and that this girl does not take half an hour to choose a watch but will buy four in succession in under ten minutes. Never judge by my cleanly spruced face. It's clean but it doesn't mean my wallet is. It does mean that I'm going to clean it out though. I'm very good at that, and Christmas is my kind of time of the year. And since it's always me and the boys, and my boys have designer preferences I can clean out wallets with one swipe. And I don't mind one bit. If I could, I'd buy them the whole shop. Because they mean everything to me, and also because it's my fault that they are now hung up on designer stuff because I started them on it to begin with.
But I miss one boy who probably wouldn't know designer from normal. One boy with whom I'd probably get more success by leading him to a designer toy shop. Like all boys, he can be a handful, and perhaps he is a designerly handful. No I don't think he's a saint. He could be just another boy to anyone else. But not to me. Every year we celebrate the birth of a young boy and spend so much in the process. Well there is this other boy who I will not stop thinking about. And he too is not guilty. He deserves so much yet would settle for so little. Because it hasn't been his fault, and is just a boy who deserves all the designer love in the world.
But I miss one boy who probably wouldn't know designer from normal. One boy with whom I'd probably get more success by leading him to a designer toy shop. Like all boys, he can be a handful, and perhaps he is a designerly handful. No I don't think he's a saint. He could be just another boy to anyone else. But not to me. Every year we celebrate the birth of a young boy and spend so much in the process. Well there is this other boy who I will not stop thinking about. And he too is not guilty. He deserves so much yet would settle for so little. Because it hasn't been his fault, and is just a boy who deserves all the designer love in the world.
Do as you would be done by
I've just finally managed to squeeze myself out of my really nice cosy bed, with the thought of spending the entire day shopping. Well perhaps not the entire day, seeing that I've slept till noon, but whatever's left of it. I like my bed, everybody would like my bed. I guess my bed also qualifies for a Christmas present, but then again I haven't been to the moon yet so I'm no lunatic.
Yesterday was fine, expect for the fact that I had no time to get myself here and write. But it was fine, although maybe fine except for one reason. It seems there are some things I will never understand. Perhaps it's other people who don't understand but they seem to be the majority, and I'm in the on-my-own-minority group. I ate the finest food, I could have drunk the finest wine but settled for Diet Coke instead because I have this relationship with alcohol, which is a no relationship. I chit chatted about an array of things, until come 11pm, the talk turned to 'evil' people. The 'evil' people who are dark skinned, the 'evil' people who have Afro-hair, the 'evil' people who are born disabled, and what was the worst was the 'evil' little people who are stuck in an orphanage for one reason or other. I listened and listened until it all got under my skin so much that I was risking losing two friends. But I was flabbergasted at their theories. I can never understand the theory that whoever is born dark-skinned is evil. I can never understand that being disabled is because of some cool work by the black old man who lies in God's opposition. And no, I will never even try to understand that little people in orphanages are bad, bad, bad. I'm not sure I like these two friends any more. Friends will have disagreements of course, but nothing like this. They were just brushing me off as a 'miskina' what a lot of growing up I have yet to do. That doesn't bother me at all. What did bother me was the not very nice gleam in their eyes as they went on describing the level of torture they would put these people in if they were the government. Now sometimes I'm not very pleased with the government, but yesterday I was blessing Mr. prime minister who would never do that sort of thing. Thank God these people will never make it to parliament, or it would turn out to be one sorry country behaving worse than the behaviour going on in the dinosaur age. Dinosaurs went extinct, but these people seem to be breeding and popping out like rabbits on a high dose of pot.
And then, after I finally came back home, after I finally removed every last bit off my mascara, I started getting angry and resentful. Will somebody please sit still for five minutes, (well they don't have to sit if it doesn't please them) and listen to me? Can I have my say of the bargain? I have never been one to have learning difficulties, quite the contrary. But I have either turned very very stupid, or something in my grey matter has gone missing while I turned to a fiery redhead a few days ago. Perhaps it was washed away with the hair dye? I know it's a feeble explanation but I cannot find a better one. So just because I have been 'blessed' with pale pink skin, freckles and no hint of Afro hair, then that makes me a good citizen. But if I had to have dark skin (which sometimes I'd love to have especially in summer), then I am born evil. And just because one extra chromosome finds itself in during conception, then the creature born through that conception is evil. And just because a mum had to give her child up for a good or a bad reason, then the poor child is automatically evil. Humbug. This is all bullshit.
And this is where I am at loggerheads with God. Why did he create such warped minds? And if these warped minds are believing these evil theories why doesn't God send them a warning which would be, at best, personal so they could immediately destroy their theories? And for once in my life, although in the minority, I am so certain that they are wrong. We do not get to choose the colour of our skin, our hair and eyes. We do not choose our mums and dads, and we do not choose not to add the extra chromosome or not. It just happened. At the very least, we got lucky, at the very best, it was in God's plan. It has also made me think that perhaps I am not much of an educator. Because I do not know how to separate emotion from anything, not even from the words on the little waxed paper that comes with a Baci chocolate. And of course is it very easy to point the finger at the ones who actually brought me into the world. I never had a strict father figure, I had a dad who would roll and run around with us, take us everywhere, and who made sure we knew that he loved us to bits. As for my mother figure, well, we always knew we were loved, but we considered her more as a mum, and less of a playmate, because of course, seeing that her husband had taken on the playmate role, somebody had to do the household chores. And did I choose all that? No. When I remember that I was practically glued to my dad from the beginning, that he would take me to theatre, cinema and all the fine arts from age 3, I bless him. Yet I didn't choose all of that. When I realise that learning was never a problem because dad has a library which would shame the one which used to exist (or maybe still exists) in Beltissebh, I bless my dad, and yet I never chose that. So all of this makes me not evil because of some stroke of luck. And the best thing of all was mum and dad's golden rule, which went something like this.... whenever you're going to say or do something, think if you'd be happy about someone else doing it to you first, and do as you would be done by.
Yesterday was fine, expect for the fact that I had no time to get myself here and write. But it was fine, although maybe fine except for one reason. It seems there are some things I will never understand. Perhaps it's other people who don't understand but they seem to be the majority, and I'm in the on-my-own-minority group. I ate the finest food, I could have drunk the finest wine but settled for Diet Coke instead because I have this relationship with alcohol, which is a no relationship. I chit chatted about an array of things, until come 11pm, the talk turned to 'evil' people. The 'evil' people who are dark skinned, the 'evil' people who have Afro-hair, the 'evil' people who are born disabled, and what was the worst was the 'evil' little people who are stuck in an orphanage for one reason or other. I listened and listened until it all got under my skin so much that I was risking losing two friends. But I was flabbergasted at their theories. I can never understand the theory that whoever is born dark-skinned is evil. I can never understand that being disabled is because of some cool work by the black old man who lies in God's opposition. And no, I will never even try to understand that little people in orphanages are bad, bad, bad. I'm not sure I like these two friends any more. Friends will have disagreements of course, but nothing like this. They were just brushing me off as a 'miskina' what a lot of growing up I have yet to do. That doesn't bother me at all. What did bother me was the not very nice gleam in their eyes as they went on describing the level of torture they would put these people in if they were the government. Now sometimes I'm not very pleased with the government, but yesterday I was blessing Mr. prime minister who would never do that sort of thing. Thank God these people will never make it to parliament, or it would turn out to be one sorry country behaving worse than the behaviour going on in the dinosaur age. Dinosaurs went extinct, but these people seem to be breeding and popping out like rabbits on a high dose of pot.
And then, after I finally came back home, after I finally removed every last bit off my mascara, I started getting angry and resentful. Will somebody please sit still for five minutes, (well they don't have to sit if it doesn't please them) and listen to me? Can I have my say of the bargain? I have never been one to have learning difficulties, quite the contrary. But I have either turned very very stupid, or something in my grey matter has gone missing while I turned to a fiery redhead a few days ago. Perhaps it was washed away with the hair dye? I know it's a feeble explanation but I cannot find a better one. So just because I have been 'blessed' with pale pink skin, freckles and no hint of Afro hair, then that makes me a good citizen. But if I had to have dark skin (which sometimes I'd love to have especially in summer), then I am born evil. And just because one extra chromosome finds itself in during conception, then the creature born through that conception is evil. And just because a mum had to give her child up for a good or a bad reason, then the poor child is automatically evil. Humbug. This is all bullshit.
And this is where I am at loggerheads with God. Why did he create such warped minds? And if these warped minds are believing these evil theories why doesn't God send them a warning which would be, at best, personal so they could immediately destroy their theories? And for once in my life, although in the minority, I am so certain that they are wrong. We do not get to choose the colour of our skin, our hair and eyes. We do not choose our mums and dads, and we do not choose not to add the extra chromosome or not. It just happened. At the very least, we got lucky, at the very best, it was in God's plan. It has also made me think that perhaps I am not much of an educator. Because I do not know how to separate emotion from anything, not even from the words on the little waxed paper that comes with a Baci chocolate. And of course is it very easy to point the finger at the ones who actually brought me into the world. I never had a strict father figure, I had a dad who would roll and run around with us, take us everywhere, and who made sure we knew that he loved us to bits. As for my mother figure, well, we always knew we were loved, but we considered her more as a mum, and less of a playmate, because of course, seeing that her husband had taken on the playmate role, somebody had to do the household chores. And did I choose all that? No. When I remember that I was practically glued to my dad from the beginning, that he would take me to theatre, cinema and all the fine arts from age 3, I bless him. Yet I didn't choose all of that. When I realise that learning was never a problem because dad has a library which would shame the one which used to exist (or maybe still exists) in Beltissebh, I bless my dad, and yet I never chose that. So all of this makes me not evil because of some stroke of luck. And the best thing of all was mum and dad's golden rule, which went something like this.... whenever you're going to say or do something, think if you'd be happy about someone else doing it to you first, and do as you would be done by.
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