Inspirational Tuesdays: Weddings and catcalls

What has been really great over the last week has been the tremendous amount of well wishes and messages Erik and I have received about our marriage. Just thanks everyone! I imagine this is what a Kardashian must feel like when they wake up every morning. Just endless facebook messages and likes. Except I would more realistically be a hundredth of a Kardashian. I can live with that!

A hundredth of a Kardashian

Then there's Jessica Williams who really should be an inspiration to us all and to men who aren't quite sure about  the catcalling thing - she's right!

Review: The Woman in White

Today's post is a review of one of my favourite novels, The Woman in White. It has been written by one of my dearest friends Nicole a.k.a. the nutella of my soul. Not only am I delighted because she is a wonderful writer but it's the first guest post here on s.o.d. Yay!

Women in white drink red wine           

Nicole Esbach

If you have ever read Dickens, Eliot, Austen, Gaskell and the literary dream team, The Brontë Sisters, then you are assuredly aware of how limited Victorian society was for a woman. The quintessential corset that outwardly looks fetching, yet to the captive is nothing more than scheduled incarceration for the female form. First, she belongs to her father and then she belongs to her husband. Appraised for her appearance, ability to entertain (social class withstanding –not every woman was an accessory, others were cogs in the economic machine) as femininely(meaning as demurely and non-threatening as possible), in short she is to have no self but be the sum of what is socially expected of her. To be pretty, to be quiet and most importantly to be the receptacle for furthering her husband’s lineage.As most eras go, this one included, we grow accustomed to certain practices. Some may irk us, while others may go unnoticed as they leave relatively no harm and are deemed acceptable like calling your bestie a bad ass bitch because nothing says respect like a derogatory statement. Thus the female plight may be passed over in various literary works, and that is okay because not every work should be a portrayal of ghastly suffering. Alternatively, if it can be at the apex of sensation novels, or be a purveyor for the detective novel then William Wilkie Collins is your guy. Known as Wilkie Collins, as not to be confused with his father, also named William; Wilkie wrote what is largely considered to be his greatest work, The Woman in White.

The Woman in White is a novel that reads like a courtroom testimony and is composed of multiple narratives. Each narrative serving to elucidate and move the story forward. In a nutshell, the story is about identity theft as well as the great 19^th century concern: social class. The first narrator, Walter Hartright, an art teacher in need of employment and just all-round nice guy takes up a post at Limmeridge House. Where his only pupils are two young ladies: Marion Halcombe and Laura Fairlie. En route to Limmeridge House, he meets a mentally unhinged woman, Anne Catherick: asylum escapee, believed keeper of pertinent secret, and steadfast devotee to the colour white; who bears an uncanny resemblance to Laura Fairlie. Naturally, she is an attractive blue-eyed, blonde and the legitimate daughter of a large inheritance. As custom would have it, she has been promised to wed, Sir Percival Glyde. A friend of her late father and unbeknownst to all, heavily entrenched in debt. However,she falters in maintaining her promise, when she falls in love with her art teacher. Familial obligation steps in and she ends up becoming Lady Glyde. Life as Sir Percival Glyde’s wife, though, proves to be quite difficult for both parties. The scheming Glyde with help from his devious friends, manages to switch his wife’s identity with that of the unhinged Anne Catherick. What ensues is a heavy bag of obligation, suppressed feeling, indefatigable tenacity and downright treachery that is lugged around until human folly and the strict code of an Italian secret society disposes of it.The supporting characters range from the hypochondriac Mr Frederick Fairlie; who is essentially a tyrannical shut-in and Count Fosco; a man whose enormous girth is only surpassed by his grandiose sense of himself. The undoubted heroine of Woman in White, is Marian Halcombe, half-sister of Laura Fairlie and confidant to Walter Hartright. She is presented as the model spinster. Her lack of physical charms (she has a marriage-blocking mustache), is remedied by her sharp mind and depth of will commonly only seen in men.Marion is unerring in her devotion to her sister and in her pursuit to reinstate sister’s identity. All in all, The Woman in White is engrossing from beginning to end. A work of classic literature that reads like the literary equivalent of a fine, red wine. After all, a full-bodied pinotage is an excellent accompaniment to a full-bodied novel.

Here's some more about Nicole:

Apparently nobody is perfect, yet here I am….living proof that that sentiment holds true. Champion of all things grey, voracious eater of the humble peanut (well pulverised into a delectable paste that is) and one existential crisis away from never speaking without using air quotes. Pet peeve: people who send me photographs of food. Instead of actual food. They should be phased out.

Check out her blog GrrrlGazette! It's funny!

Inspirational Quotes

Inspiring things are just great! And I personally feel that s.o.d. needs a bit of inspiration. My inspiration was inspired by all those helpful quotes floating around my good friend the internet, especially those on facebook. They truly help to make you a better person, from the comfort of your bed/couch/office(where you’re obviously avoiding work). How else would you know that it’s okay to be you? Because it is, you know. Or that the best consolation for your friend’s break-up is to take them to the beach, during a sunset/sunrise, so that you can hold hands and jump in the air together? I simply couldn’t resist and had to get in on the act. So, Tuesdays will now become Inspirational Tuesday where I will supply my public with a heartwarming quote that will just make you want to reach out and touch someone. No, not there!!!

First Times

Right now I’m sitting in Washington DC. I look out of my window onto a grey, cool day. It hasn’t started raining ,yet - but there’s still lots of time for that. It’s still early here, only 09:15 in the morning. My hair is wet from the shower I just recently took and I enjoy the feel and sound that the keys of my laptop make as I type away.

Even earlier this morning I accompanied Erik to the station. On my way back I walk past, in this order, the Library of Congress on my right, The Capitol Building on the other side of the street and the Supreme Court. Everything inside me wants to scream – What the fuck? How did you get here?

As clichéd as it sounds, these landmarks are not only impressive but beautiful. Really, really beautiful. I had seen these buildings before on tv shows and movies I couldn’t even recall the names of now, and I felt quite confident that I knew how they looked. To my great surprise this didn’t mean that I actually knew how they looked, or should I say, feel.

To answer my question of how I got here I have to go back to more than two weeks ago to Saturday 31 June, when I began my 36hr trip from Cape Town to DC.  I was concerned about how I would handle the long journey. I have never travelled extensively in my entire life and a 36hr journey comprising of two stops seemed a bit daunting to me.

What I didn’t fully comprehend was the fact that ignorance was truly bliss in this case. I had no other experience to compare this to. This would be the best transatlantic trip I’ve ever taken. For some reason collecting my luggage was the biggest issue for me, because my luggage was big and I am well... not. First in New York, then in DC – where I proceeded to get lost, in the airport, for an hour. I would like to place all responsibility solely on the fact that I had been travelling for an inordinate amount of time, but really even at my most coherent I am extremely scatterbrained. In the moment of moving from one elevator to another I tried to assure myself that all this was rather funny indeed. However, all I wanted to do was cry, I would laugh later but I just really felt gotten the better of in that moment.

Other than this the trip was great! As I have so often experienced in life, nothing was as bad as I thought it would be. Not the flight or the airplane food (although airline chicken is an altogether new experience, I can’t quite explain the texture?). I arrived in Dubai at one thirty in the morning. Even though I was in the airport it was surprisingly humid, already! At this point the mixture of lack of sleep and excitement had made me delirious. I walked around slightly dazed, half asleep and in such awe really. I mean I was in Dubai. I’d never been in Dubai before!

My lack of sleep was brought on by the fact that I found it impossible to sleep for any proper length of time in my seat. I also found the restriction of movement quite tedious after a while, especially on my second 13hr flight. Yes, 13hrs of trying to manoeuvre my body into a position most resembling lying down. This is not possible, at least not in Economy. Also, and in hindsight, wearing a bra for 36hrs is both stupid and unnecessary. Just don’t do it!

At around I-am-not-sure-if-I’m-asleep-or-awake o’clock this giant ball of molten orange rose in the sky. It was amazing. Yeah, I may have been sitting in an airport, threatening to fall over every time I stood up, but, wow, that sunrise. Thank you Dubai!

I don’t think I can truly convey how it feels to technically be in three new places in the space of less than two days, when for 28yrs of your life, you have lived in the same place. I can’t describe it, not right now anyway. Also, part of me knows how special it really is, and I want to hold onto that feeling for a little bit longer.

When I reached New York I think I must have thoroughly looked the part of the exhausted, first time traveller, because everyone was so incredibly kind to me. After having unlost myself in Washington Dulles I was able to see those very buildings which I walked by earlier this morning, but under the veil of a dark blue night sky. And I won’t have Table Mountain around anymore, and how I will miss it. I do however feel that for now I’ve made a good swap.

A Well Timed Apology

I recently read an article that stated that men are less likely to want to be in a long term relationship with a funny woman. Wow, this was simply mind blowing for me! I never considered the fact that a smart, funny lady made man parts sad. One of my first responses was to write this blog post, because, as a woman, with a blog (two actually), I felt I needed to contribute to the debate. If any man, at any point, has read S.O.D., and thought the contents funny, I sincerely apologise, as this was never my intention. If the research is true, this blog should have meant that I would be in a relationship by now. Although I know myself to be very far from witty and humorous, I am afraid that some of my failed attempts at humour, were actually mistaken for being so. Please, men of the world, discard this, if it’s what you mistakenly believe! I am neither funny nor smart. Let me explain the logic. It’s been a long time now that science discovered that a woman’s brain is indeed controlled by her ovaries. Ovaries want babies. And how does one go about getting a baby? By making love to a man’s penis. Science also showed that ovaries can be vengeful. They hate sitting around month after month waiting to be fertilised. When they’re not, they get angry and cause a woman to bleed from her sex hole, sorry, one of her sex holes. It is also known that the deep recesses of a woman’s brain start to deteriorate the longer she remains unfertilised. This commonly starts to happen in her mid to late twenties. These women, and this will come as no surprise, are usually single.

The deterioration continues at a steady pace, until such time as a woman is able to find a man to “jack her up”*. If not, the decline of her mental faculties often leads her to behave in such a way that will in fact repulse men. The longer a woman remains single, the less likely she is to find a man to be with her in a relationship, therefore making her more repulsive with time. One of the manifestations of this deterioration is a false sense of confidence and intelligence, which thus leads to a woman being funny. Obviously, a woman can never really be funny, so it is more that she believes that she is so. This is proven by the fact that there are indeed no funny women out there. Ask yourself the question, have you ever met a funny woman? Have you ever wondered how, if a guy said the exact same thing, it would be funny? Well, just remember science – ovaries! Funniness in a woman has therefore become an evolutionary marker to men. The funnier the woman, the less fertile she is and therefore a less desirable long term mate. So, a funny woman is in fact less funny as in humorous, but more funny as in this-lasagne’s-gone-off.

Unfortunately, with age, these women are more likely to surround themselves with other women in similar situations, who will then feed each other’s delusion with encouragement and support. This further decreases her chances of finding a life mate, as these relationships become substitutes, albeit poor and insubstantial, for the love of a man. The development of the deterioration and the support structures often created to uphold them, mean that some women may actually start to believe that they are as funny, or even funnier than, men. They will develop a repulsion towards such things as “rape jokes”, for instance. Even though the term clearly has the word joke in it. This example clearly illustrates the degree to which the brain has weakened over time. There is a misguided notion that either certain subjects should remain off limits. Or, that if dealt with, should be done so delicately and by those with true skill and genius.  If she wasn’t a woman, she would know that comedy is the land of no limits. Please keep in mind – ovaries.

Now this brings me nicely back to my apology. I never meant to be funny and if ever I was, it was as a result of my angry ovaries. So, men, if that’s what has put you off, forget about it! There’s no way I’ll ever be smarter or funnier than you. The only reason I don’t laugh at your all jokes, is because I simply don’t get them all the time. Although I know that they must be funny, because there never has been a truer indicator of taste, quality and intelligence than a penis. And thank God you have one!

*Appropriate term used for making a woman pregnant.

My Strategy for 2014

I spent the majority of my Christmas break tuning into SadFM – easy listening for the perpetually single. This wasn’t what I had planned for myself. I was supposed to get into shape by doing yoga everyday, eating vegetables and pretending that I enjoy eating vegetables. I was supposed to get my mind in shape by reading everyday, writing amazing blog posts and maybe even start a book.

Figure 1: Not me

Clearly none of THAT happened. I was too busy being piled into a heap of self trying to piece together 2013. Yip, it’s been a rollercoaster ride, and I use that analogy because I am terrified of rollercoasters. Having spoken to a few people, it seems that it has been a crazy year for many. I don’t know if life has actually always been this way and I’m just not as much in denial as I was. Or if it just gets more challenging as you get older. Whatever the reason, it’s been hard and as happy as I am to see the end of it, it’s made me slightly apprehensive for the year ahead. Apprehensive not necessarily because I don’t think I can handle what’s to come—I just don’t feel like it. So, yes, I dread 2013 because of laziness.

Okay only partly because of laziness. I might be happy to say goodbye to 2013, but I also have to be honest and admit that it has been very good to me. I’ve learnt a lot, I’ve grown, blah, blah, blah, self-development etc etc. However, what stands out most for me is this little gem, that 2013 so generously gave me over and over again, which is - life doesn’t run according to the script in my head.  Thank you 2013! Because every time I thought it would you were just like, “Fuck that shit!” Yes, the shit was thoroughly fucked. 

We all know what life does to this

That’s half the reason I’m covering my eyes at the sight of 2014, I am scared. If I don’t know what’s going to happen, it means that anything could happen. ANYTHING!!! And anything could involve a lot of things I don’t like. If I were being optimistic I could say, “Oh! But that’s just the wonder that makes life SO magical!” Firstly, shut up! Secondly, the thing is sometimes I just don’t want magical. I’m too tired for magic and mystery. I don’t want the Heston Blumenthal dish, I just want beans on toast. Beans on toast, that’s all I ask of you, life!!!

But I know myself and the minute I get beans on toast, I’ll be like, “But why am I only getting beans on toast?” The saying you’re never happy with what you’ve got comes to mind here. The funny thing about growing up is that it’s just so very funny. In the midst of one’s deepest humiliation and failure therein lies the joke – you, you sad pathetic loser. And it’s okay to be that loser, my problem was in not admitting that I was one.

Denial anyone?

Just as you learn one thing, you learn that the exact opposite can be true also. Life never stops. Things never stop changing. The best strategy for that? Acceptance. Like that gift you got from your relative that you didn’t actually want. It’s okay not to happy with it at first. It’s okay to hide it in the cupboard and pretend it doesn’t exist for awhile. But eventually it just takes up unnecessary space and it’s either time to chuck it or make some sort of use out of it. This can be hard, especially if you’ve hinted for months about you really, really wanted and half of the anger comes from the fact that you wonder if people ever really listen to you.

Enough with the complaining though, as I could go on indefinitely. Let me now focus on the positives of the past year and of budding 2014:

I’ve got a gammon in the freezer                                 

I’ve gained considerable boob weight, as a result of large amounts of food consumption. It now nicely balances out my bum.

Although I’m still single, I can rest assured that I am indeed “great” company (albeit not “GREAT” enough to be in a relationship with).

So, I’ll forge ahead with 2014! With my trusted allies singleness, pork and boobs at my side. Coincidentally, that also happens to be the name of my next single.

Available at(not a single) store near you!

Hot Tears of Shame

The past few weeks have been crazy. I went from being unemployed a month ago, to doing some freelance work, training as a waitress and then getting a job. I also decided that I needed to get over my online dating phobia and joined a site. It’s all been a little overwhelming at times, but mostly wonderful and very educational.

The reason why I found myself in this “crazy” situation was because I decided to leave my job. It had become just unbearable and was making me sad. It was by no means an easy choice and I knew that I would be exchanging one set of anxieties for another. I had reached the point where my mental and emotional wellbeing had to be put first. I left scared shitless. I had enough money to cover me for a few months, but still, you know how it goes with money. However, part of me was just relieved that I was no longer waking up in the morning going to a place that filled me with such intense dread.

The first week was great. I relaxed a lot. And began feeling like my old self again, but by the third week I found myself close to tears, admonishing myself with, “I’m so sick of you!” What the third week of unemployment had taught me was that being at home, with so much time on my hands, was not for me. Mostly because I was no closer to finding a job and doing nothing makes you feel like nothing. It was a pretty lonely and scary place. I was lucky to have the most supportive friends and family. Not one person questioned my decision to quit my job. Everyone offered some sort of help whether they knew it or not. Whether it was an encouraging email, buying me breakfast or just listening to me talk, it all helped and I would never have gotten through those first weeks without it. What was difficult though was going to bed at night and being alone with my thoughts. This blog seems to have become dedicated to my follies while being single and it really has helped me to laugh at myself. But in those moments it became harder to laugh when I had no one to hold me and tell me that it was going to be okay, when I didn’t know what the fuck was going to happen next. Yes, deep down, I knew I’d be okay, but sometimes it’s just nice to hear it.

Even though all of this happened fairly recently I can’t remember when things started changing. One day I was contacted to do some freelance work. Then, soon after, my friend had arranged an interview for me at a restaurant. Soon where I had no job, I now had two. It may not have been enough to cover rent and all my expenses but it was a welcome addition to my diminishing savings. Most importantly it gave me something to do. But I still had quite a lot of time on my hands and I decided to do something I’d been playing around with for awhile – starting a food blog. And on my 28^th birthday I “launched” The Singular Cook. Which isn’t dissimilar to this blog, because it’s about me being single, but with stronger emphasis on what I decide to stuff in my mouth. Oh! It’s actually exactly like this blog.

I also decided that it had been way too long since I had performed on stage. This is where the title of this post comes in. Hot Tears of Shame is a name inspired by my friend Leigh who described the agonizing experience of having to perform in front of others. It seemed perfect for what I wanted to do. You see after I left my job I decided life was too short to wait for someone to perform with. I would take my mediocre guitar skills, okay vocals and underwhelm the patrons of a certain bar, in the Southern Suburbs. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your attitude), this bar no longer offered an open mic. However, the planets shifted, the stars aligned so that little old me would, in fact, experience her own rather unexpected Hot Tears of Shame. Thanks, Jupiter!

Let’s get back to the fact that I joined a dating site! Ha! If I had posted this a week ago, I would’ve said something like, “It’s been SO much fun!” But this past weekend I had my first date, so now the fun in that sentence would have to be replaced by the word “humiliation” or “mortified”. Even though I thought I’d gotten to know myself really well when it comes to my issues with men, nothing is more humbling than having this played out with a real guy. I won’t go into details, but let me just say that after two years of, well, nothing in that department, it felt nice to get even a little attention. I just got so far ahead of myself that I blew it! I can laugh about it now and to be quite honest I can’t even be that hard on myself. If you’ve read the contents of this blog, it should be clear that there’s no way this date would not have been filled with unrealistic expectations and hope on my side. Completely inappropriate, yes, but then again I’m not a perfect person, I’m just an okay person. Plus, delusion is one of my things. And after that experience, it makes the idea of singing out of key and playing the wrong chords in front of complete strangers somewhat appealing.

That’s everything in a nutshell! Fear, success and humiliation. Exactly what I never imagined my life to be, but to get sentimental, I wouldn’t exchange it. I’m a ridiculous creature and to fight that would be a futile and exhausting task. I should know, because I’ve spent so much of my life doing just that.  This post is really meant to thank everyone who stood by me. Everyone who accepts the silly person I am and only sometimes makes fun of her. Seriously, you guys could do it all the time. Thanks!