Curly hair don't care?

In the past when I get sick and tired of my big, unmanageable, curly hair I would just shave it off. The last time I did that I found myself staring longingly at someone on the train with a mop of curly hair and wished that I’d left mine to grow. Right now my hair is long, unruly and annoying sometimes. It’s a lot of work and more pain than I care for, but I also quite like it. I think it suits me.

This wasn’t always the case. In high school my curly hair was one of the most bitterly painful truths of my life. Now, this may not seem like a big deal, because curly hair is cool now. When I was going to high school it certainly wasn’t. My experience of being part of a coloured community on the Cape Flats was that features which were considered white were highly valued. This especially went for naturally straight hair and green or blue eyes. The girls with “real” straight hair seemed to have an aura about them. They didn’t have to go to all that effort that the rest of us had to go through. For me this would be the ritual of blowdrying and straightening my hair for about two hours. Back then hot irons weren’t as popular so often my hair would be put into rollers, which I would wait around for hours to dry, then it was blown out so as to straighten it. The effortlessness of those who naturally had straight hair seemed to indicate that they were just better than me. Also, the best boys, the ones worth having crushes on always had green or blue eyes, just by the way!

I remember once being admonished by a boy in class for having the audacity to wear my hair curly. His words went something along the lines of, “Why don’t you make yourself look descent?”  If his comment hurt my feelings I can’t remember that part maybe because any hurt feelings were trumped by the indignation I felt that this particular person, who I had utterly no respect for, dared to be so rude to me. He wasn’t the only boy who was funny about my hair. I was a very angry teenager and expressed that anger in what I believed were witty retorts. I was actually just really mean. As a result I often enjoyed exchanging insults with some of my male classmates.  No one pulled punches and the fact that I was a girl didn’t seem to matter. Until one day I wore my hair straight. Something strange seemed to overcome my classmates. They looked and talked to me differently.  The animosity in their voices had been replaced with a softer, gently tone.  It was as if they were shocked that this was me, or this is what I could be.  It was like one of those teen movies with Freddie Prince Jr. Where the ugly duckling isn’t actually ugly, she is in fact the very pinnacle of teen beauty. People start treating her with respect and also she is no longer in need of a personality. They were being nice to me and I didn’t like it.

The message I got that day was that it didn’t matter who I was. I had changed my hair not my personality and yet here I was being treated completely differently. This also frustrated me a great deal, because I so badly wanted to be seen and valued, but not for this particular reason. As much as this angered me it wasn’t this incident that made me start to like my hair. It upset me that much of my value seemed to be placed on this one thing, but I also didn’t like my hair myself.  If I could have exchanged my dark, curly locks for straight hair I would have. My inability to naturally conform to that standard of beauty just felt like it was my cross to bear. I didn’t want to pretend to be something I wasn’t although it was something I longed for so badly.  For me there was this sense of being a different person when my hair was straight. A better me. I remember being a child and one of the symptoms of having my hair blown out was this overwhelming desire to constantly twist my head so that my hair would flip, like in the shampoo adverts. I don’t why I did this. It felt so light and freeing.  I guess I knew people would look at me and find me pretty. At the same time being fully aware that I wasn’t pretty just as I was. It felt like a cruel fate to me.

Fast forward to my third year at university where I was obsessed with Karen O and her signature hair. I wanted those dark, heavy bangs that hung just above her eyes. So I cut my hair. In no way did I look like Karen O, BUT for about a week or two I was having, what felt to me, as much fun as she was. My hair was straight, it hung in my face and I loved it. Then it had to be washed.  I had recently moved out of my parents’ house, a place where I had never learnt to straighten my hair, because my sister would do it for me. So, back to curly I went.  Unlike before, my hair that I was just barely able to tie up when straight was impossible to pull back into a ponytail when it was curly. This was new and frightening territory for me. In the past and as I often do now I just tie it up, but back then I had no choice; it would be loose. Then something surprising happened, something very similar to what had happened to me in high school. The girl who had been admonished for her curly hair was receiving compliments. What?! People liked it? Really? This was all too confusing for me, because it didn’t compute with the image I had of myself and how I valued my own hair. After the shock came the high of being considered attractive for once. My lack of self esteem enjoyed the feeling of being praised for something that I had no control over.  Even so having to wear my hair loose forced me to work with what I had and to ultimately enjoy it. I was still baffled that one of the things that made me feel so ashamed of myself was something that others liked.  

It also brought me to another interesting discovery that I will try to illustrate by relating a short story I had to read for my Afrikaans class in high school. The name of this story is Mejevrou Mattrasskop* which translated into English means Miss Mattress Head. The name denotes the nature of the main character's unruly hair which children in her class think looks like an explosion at a mattress factory.  Oh, sweet dear children with their ability to make both ridiculous and hurtful comparisons.  However, at the end of the story this girl starts to value and recognise the beauty of her hair because Miss South Africa at the time is a coloured woman with curly hair. Now I have to be honest and admit that I haven’t read this story since high school and was unable to find it on the internet to reread it, so this is all from memory. But I have never forgotten it and I think writing this has revealed why to me. Let me start by saying I fucking hate that story. Not only is the title the most thinly veiled insult ever! I can’t imagine the working title for Goldilocks being The Girl with the Pee Coloured hair. Don’t forget Goldilocks violated the home of the bears but she still got a lovely nickname. What upsets me is that this girl only considers her natural beauty as beautiful when an outside source has sanctioned that beauty. This is similar to what happened to me in university and it’s really just superficial nonsense. Now I do believe that the people who complimented me were just being nice, so it’s really about how I was affected by that kind of attention and the questions it brought up for me. Like, “Is my hair great because I think so or because other people do?”

Earlier this week I read this great Chris Rock interview. Not only did I forget how much I enjoy him and his humour it also helped me to arrive at a certain conclusion. That just because something, in this instance curly hair, is accepted and considered beautiful now, doesn’t mean that it wasn’t that way before perceptions about it changed.  Anyone should be able to like or dislike something about themselves based on their own preferences and values.  From my own experience I know this isn’t always the case.  It is tempting to derive worth even from untrustworthy sources who I know don’t have my best interests at heart. In this particularly instance I immediately think of the media and whoever it is that decides what’s attractive. I think it appeals to that desire  to be accepted. At least this was the case when I was a teenager when blue eyes and straight hair seemed to be the answer to all my problems. I don’t always love my curly hair and sometimes I imagine having straight hair would simply be more convenient. But since when is being human convenient and why should it be? When I look in the mirror now after having my hair straightened it feels strange, because I look different and I’m not going to lie part of me still likes that because maybe I can finally become part of that club I’ve wanted to be in all my life. Another part thinks it doesn’t suit me the way I feel my curly hair does.  It just looks and feels, well, boring and uninteresting!

*When I was writing this I was pretty certain this story existed, but my friends who went to high school around the same time as me, albeit different schools, don't seem to remember it. I don't imagine that I've made this whole story up in my head. But I just can't seem to find any other proof that it exists, other than me saying  it does. If this is case I am kind of impressed at that title! Even though it is mean. But I'm also sure it is real though.

Things That Made My Week

Tony Blair

This is what happens to former Prime Ministers. Cherie can smile because she's never been one. So the lesson is never become Prime Minister or the equivalent thereof in your country. You'll carry the weight of that which you could not do with you forever. Oh, and don't be tempted even when they offer you lots of chocolate.

Harper Lee

At the moment I am reading To Kill a Mockingbird. Here's the forward that Harper Lee wrote:

" Please spare Mockingbird an Introduction. As a reader I loathe Introductions. To novels, I associate Introductions with long-gone authors and works that are being brought back into print after decades of interment. Although Mockingbird will be 33 this year, it has never been out of print and I am still alive, although very quiet. Introductions inhibit pleasure, they kill the joy of anticipation, they frustrate curiosity. The only good thing about Introductions is that  in some cases they delay the dose to come. Mockingbird still says what it has to say; it has managed to survive the years without preamble.

Harper Lee

12 February 1993"

I had developed a soft spot for her earlier this year when I discovered she fed birds out of a cool whip container. What brought me even greater joy was the seeming disillusionment of a  certain writer, upon this discovery. Along with Lee’s approval of the whip I also agree with what she says about introductions. I’ve always hated them. They are often long. I find many unintelligible. Worst of all they spoil the plot and ending. So many good books were ruined for me because of introductions. I've been disregarding them for years!

Longwood Gardens' Toilets

Yesterday I visited the spectacular Longwood Gardens and had the pleasure of using their award winning toilets. Have you ever used an award winning toilet? 

The person in this picture just did. Just look at that expression of disbelief and utter joy!

The guy who yelled at me

Usually it's not cool for guys to yell at women. EXCEPT when I'm wearing my Phillies beanie and they shout, "Go, Phillies!" He called after me when I had already walked passed him. I just turned around nodded and smiled. It was a very Seinfeld black & white cookie moment.

Review: Tess of The D'Ubervilles

A pure woman faithfully presented                                                                                                                           Nicole Esbach

Tess of the d’Urbervilles is the kind of novel that you toss aside in frustration, only to resume angry-reading it until the very last page.The 19^th century, Victorian novel by Thomas Hardy, is the literary equivalent of Precious followed by an entire season of Law and Order.The female protagonist, Tess, is positioned as a mere puppet of the gods –to be jostled by whims, patriarchal prejudices and then sacrificed or to be more precise, executed. Her journey through life begins with her hymen, and thus archaically viewed with her virtue still intact. Once severed outside of the social requirement of marriage (with or without her consent), she is considered reduced in moral value and consequently a point of ridicule. For in her world, if you are not Madonna (not to be confused with the sexual provocative, music icon of the same name) then you are a whore.

The story begins in a rural village where John Durbeyfield,a drunk and candidate for Worst Father of the Year learns of his noble heritage. The working class Durbeyfield soon feels elevated by his connection to the old, monied d’Ubervilles and goes off to celebrate this prestigious news in his preferred fashion. What follows is a succession of tragic events, resulting in the Durbeyfields requiring financial support. Evidently believing in presentation, they send their attractive, eldest daughter; who also happens to be the only one with a basic education to secure them the object of their desire from a family whom they mistakenly believe to be their next of kin. These d’Urbervilles, residents of the portentously named, The Slope, had in fact had their current illustrious named purchased by their father, Sam Stokes. At The Slopes, Tess becomes the object of desire of the entitled and smooth-talking Alec d’Urberville.  Whom she believes is a distant cousin of hers due to his constant referral of her as being such. He relentlessly pursues her and she answers each advance with rejection. Not dismayed, the predatory Alec eventually rapes her. Tess pregnant with the child of her rapist, is viewed as having brought shame on her family. She is left to baptise and bury her infant son, named Sorrow alone when he dies. Two years later, she employed as a milkmaid at a dairy farm, Talbothays, she meets Angel Clare. She falls in love with the academic turned apprentice farmer, and typically views him as being her social and moral superior. Angel Clare, for his part falls in love with her or more truthfully falls in love with his image of her – that of an untouched earth goddess. The two marry, only to have said marriage severed after Tess follows Angel’s confession of his past sexual relations with her own. The earth goddess image ruined, Angel flees to Brazil leaving his new bride to fend for herself. Though not before soliciting one of her friends to accompany him in the capacity of mistress to Brazil. Earning him a leading spot in The Douche-Bag Hall of Fame.Tess, in an added cruel twist of fate, ends up working at the farm of the man who had painfully mocked her for her past tragedies. This is then soon followed by the meeting of the seemingly reformed Alec. Alec, the wandering Methodist preacher quickly abandons his proverbial Bible once he sees Tess, and resumes his base pursuit of her. In the end his persistence pays off when Tess’s mother and sister are left destitute by her father’s death and their lack of money. Angel Clare, the marital defector returns to England, remorseful, and attempts to find Tess. He finds her living as an upper class lady with her rapist. Upon seeing Angel, Tess blames Alec for their separation. Which she expresses by fatally stabbing him. She then runs off with Angel Clare to have what is essentially the Bonny and Clyde honeymoon package. On their final day, the police find her asleep at Stonehenge on a sacrificial altar, apparently inspired by symbolism they cart her off to be executed. While the recently blessed couple, Angel Clare and the dubiously named Liza Lu, sister of Tess looks on.

To sum up, Tess of the d’Urbervilles is a critique of Victorian society and its host of judgments as well as its narrow necessaries to be considered a somebody. Women are situated either as man-focused or the object of man’s focus; mere sexual adjuncts in a patriarchal world. Almost anything can be bought: a prestigious family name to gain entry into a higher social order. Indicative of the shift towards the new middle class. And lastly woman and her physical attributes, to be used as and when wanted as a whim or for the price of her family’s financial security. Tess had the unfortunate genetic curse of being born not only as a girl, but as a pretty girl in an environment that bred horrors that was consumed as acceptable daily occurrences. No wonder her only respite was death.

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!

The Good Guide to Remaining Single Part II

She lay with the covers over her heavy head. She knew it was a cliché. Lying there, in the foetal position. He had left almost half an hour ago. She didn't want to think about it but she was unable to stop herself. He had come upstairs to drink his tea. She motioned to kiss him. He pecked at her like a bird with his tongue, before softly declaring, “I want to go!” The mortification hit her instantly and with that her senses cleared and she saw all too clearly the great delusion she had been nurturing.

It wasn't so much the rejection but the fact that she had unknowingly accosted a stranger in her home. When had she become a predator? It didn't help that she was being bombarded by everyone she had told about her “first date”. It would have to be repeated ten times over. Her shame increasing with every consonant and vowel. Like black and white keys being punched without ceremony. 

She did the only reasonable thing she could think of doing, and that was to go over all the possible reasons why he had rejected her. This would be helpful in future situations, but then again, she wasn’t planning to date after this. No, but she was a reflective individual who always strove to look within herself. Even when it hurt most and even if it were to make things hurt more, in order to grow and become a better person. Naturally.

1)  Her messy flat, an obvious reflection, to some a moral evaluation

2)  The fact that she had commanded him NOT to remove his teabag from his cup

3)  Maybe she had bad breath or body odour

4)  Her jeans were too tight

5)  He thought she was ugly

It could have been any one of these reasons. Perhaps a mixture of some, and maybe even all. The result would ultimately be a congealed mass reason for rejection that could simply be summed up as – YOU. Everything about you at that particular moment was wrong. If you had only made your bed, if you didn't care that tea should be brewed properly you could have been…Could have been what? Not alone, right now.

What had he done? Ooops! That was awkward and he truly did feel bad. He would just pop her a quick SMS to say sorry. He was sorry, but not sorry for being honest. It wasn't right to lead her on. Or lead her on anymore. Phew! The look on her face when he pulled away. He cringed when he thought about it. Ag, she would get over it. She was fun, they could be friends.  Yes, that’s what he would say. They should be friends, because that is what he truly believed. That it was okay to say you wanted to be friends, because in the moment it was true and guilt somehow always likes a good consolation prize. But really when he thought about it, if you take away that uncomfortable ending, it was such a nice date.  He could imagine doing it again and it would be even more fun because the stupid romantic stuff would be out of the way.

 Sue never did end up seeing him again. In fact, weeks later, he died in a tragic cycling accident. One of his last thoughts had been of Sue, their date and how his fear had prevented him from taking things where he really wanted them to go to. Death does not often deny one the sobering facts that one denies oneself of during life. In the bottom of his backpack lay a letter written hastily on the back of a fast food flyer. It was addressed to Sue.

Dear Sue,

I know the way I treated you was wrong. The truth is you were not what I expected and I have to admit that scared me. I could’ve sat all afternoon and just listened to you speak. That’s what I really wanted. Ha! So, I followed you to the beach and to your place...we know what happened. You were brave enough to show your emotions, to make a move and I was a coward. But can you blame me?! If you were everything I thought you were I feared I could not live up to you, that I was not good enough. At the time, I told myself it was an issue of attraction. Actually it was, I was, am so incredibly attracted to you. Your laugh, your intelligence, the way you almost walked into the door. I saw it and thought it was adorable! I just couldn’t let you know that I did, that I was so into you.

Believe me, I am. And I know this is probably late. That someone else has already shown you the interest you deserve, but I’d like to see you again. And again after that and after that. I know this is crazy but I just know when it comes to a woman, I just do and I know with you. I can only ask that you will consider allowing me the privilege to take you out again. To give me a second chance, even though I know I don’t deserve it.

Adam

Or at least this is what Sue liked to imagine would have been the proper romantic conclusion to this non affair – Adam dying. Not the boring clash of schedules and the fact that neither was willing to make changes in those schedules. She obviously couldn't be the one who died, she had too much she still wanted to do!

A few weeks after the date he asked her if she wanted to go to The Breadbox Market with him. She had to refuse  but only because she was out of town. Sue sighed as she imagined them bonding over artisan pizza, sprinkled with prosciutto and rocket. They would sit on a hay bales, music in the background, with their 11 o’clock mojitos and maybe something would happen. He would see another side of her. The Breadbox Market side of her! Although, these trips invariably cost more than she thought they deserved afterwards. However, being away could prove to him that she was an individual who went away on weekends! Like she imagined fun, spontaneous people did. Even though she had moved on from the humiliation of his rejection of her she still wanted him to like her, actually even more so because of the rejection. Mostly because if he were to change his mind she would be in the position to reject him. Which she would not do, no! What he would be aware of was that she had that power and chose not to use it. They would both know it and this would bring them closer to one another and they would be very happy as a result, because of her.

Upon receiving her reply he turned on his side and went back to sleep. He had made the effort!

Review: The Custom of the Country

"It's business, nothing personal."

Recently I read the wondrous book The Custom of The Country by Edith Wharton. It was my first taste of Wharton and it was  like eating a good sandwich. And I don’t use that analogy in any sort of demeaning way, I use it because I honestly love sandwiches. Edith Wharton was my delicious sandwich. Just the right mixture of crunchy greens, not too much sauce and bread that adds flavour. It’s the type of creation you wish would never end.

The meat in my proverbial sandwich is the ever adaptable Undine Spragg. How I love her! Do I like her though? No, not really.  She’s not maternal. She’s incredibly vain. She is selfish. However the cherry on the cake is the fact that she is all of these things but absolutely unashamed of herself! How dare she?!

She is who she is and whether or not you agree with her motives and actions, that’s something you have to respect. Often heroines are endowed with flaws, but their “saving grace” is the fact that they become aware of them and at least try to change. Not Undine. I mean with a name like that why would you ever want to change? Okay, so that's not entirely true. Throughout the course of the novel Undine does undergo change, but it is the kind of change and the motivation behind it that makes her so fascinating. Undine changes not for others but to further herself. If it happens to be in someone else's best interest too, then that is mere coincidence. She is so brilliantly imagined and drawn by Wharton that it is such a pleasure to see Undine's mind at work and her amazing ability to adapt .

What I really like about this book is the fact that there seems to be no moral judgment laid upon this character by the author. She is of no less value because she does not fit into the mold of "traditional womanhood"*. What we are introduced to is a woman who is incredibly adroit at her chosen field of interest, which itself has been shaped by her gender and class. I couldn’t help but think what a brilliant, feared business woman she could’ve been, but that’s what Wharton does. She takes the domestic and reveals it to be the business arena that it is for so many people.  

We’ve seen it with Jane Austen’s heroines, who like Undine are very flawed, but altogether likable. They have their value too. In representing normal, well-meaning individuals negotiating one of the most important contracts of their lives. However, Undine Spragg is at another level altogether. She is a masterful negotiator and tactician. She makes me think of a more sophisticated Lucy Steele. I can only imagine what Austen would've thought of this heroine had she had the pleasure of reading this novel. 

Last week I had the pleasure of being introduced to Blanche DuBois, also a very flawed but incredibly fascinating character. Someone who you may not like on a very deep level, but who, at the same time, you can't stop watching. It is these characters not just the "good" ones who I believe are so important in representing woman at all levels of class, likability and intelligence. All of which are deserving of respect. Undine Spragg is a  favourite of mine now, precisely because she is  full of flaws and doesn't give a fuck about it.

*I myself do not even know what this is!

The Good Guide to Remaining Single

So, today I am putting up a story that I have been working on. I started with it when I was still in South Africa. When I had a look at it here I felt it worth pursuing further. The idea is to put it up as installments every week. At the moment I only have a completed Part I and a partially completed Part II. So, like the rest of you I don't know what's going to happen next or how the story is going to end! I hope it's happy though. I've decided on doing it this way because I think it will be good practice for me. I am terrible at completing any piece of writing if I don't have a deadline and some sort of authoritative figure to uphold it and to disturb my sleep with guilt for missing those deadlines!

The Good Guide to Remaining Single

Part I

Before tomorrow came Sue had to figure out a few things. 

 1)      What would she wear to her date?

 2)      How would she do her hair?

 3)    Should she arrive before or after him? Did she want to see him first or did she want to be seen first?

She was slightly flustered. Even though she was 27 she had never been on a date before. Yes, she had gone out with guys, but it was never labelled as such. It was just hanging out; but going on a dating site you could not escape the term. It was a rite of passage in a sense.  When dating really wasn’t just for fun, it was about survival. It was one of her least favourite things about growing up. Reaching the age where the want of a companion seemed to be really pressing.

It was known that she did not need a man in her life. It wasn’t a death sentence. But what she had come to realise was that there was a part of her that longed to be with someone. A deeper yearning for a someone.  The shock of that fact was that she could never have imagined that such a part existed in her.  This was a dilemma, because it was something she knew she wanted, but something over which she had very little power, or none whatsoever. The truth is that she had signed up for the site, because it was really the only thing she could think of doing at this point.

Now here she was preparing for her first date. Mentally preparing, that is. How did she want to appear to him? Light hearted, carefree, fun? Yes! Light hearted, carefree and fun. She was all those things; sometimes.  However, if she were to examine the underlying emotions, the desire to appear carefree, she would see that it was in fact just a desire, just an appearance, at least in this specific instance.

Anyone who had been ditched two years ago, and had no real romantic attachments to speak of in the meantime, would really be anything but carefree. In fact she carried a big load of care into the whole affair. Even in the emails they exchanged she secreted  a long-standing hope. She could not detect the odour herself.  The whiff of hope and development she recognised in their interaction with one another was merely the breeze blowing her own smell back into her face.  It was what kept her going. It was what made her email him first and eventually ask him to meet her. He had said yes! So, why should it matter who asked who? In the long run such details really are insignificant.

Filled with what she thought was good humour throughout their two week correspondence, she reckoned she was in a good space to go through with this dating stuff, after all. A nervous desperation pressed heavily on her, though. The recipient of all of this undeserved thought and attention was, well, unexceptional.  More so because there wasn’t enough known about the poor soul. He was exceptional because he was the first and because he had responded to her nicely, and that made her feel nice. What she actually liked most about this guy was his very beautiful eyes. And he did indeed have beautiful, big, expressive eyes. On that point she was not mistaken, the photos did not lie. The thing is, beautiful eyes aren’t always the most accurate marker of compatibility. Rather it displays that if one had to choose which eyes to stare into longingly, those would be at the very top of the list.

This entity was quite unaware of the gradual elevation of approval he had gained with her. For him, there was nothing unattractive enough to put him off. She was not his first choice, or a choice, at all. He responded to her email because it did not put him out when he had received it and she seemed nice.  He found that as in life, this virtual dating was heavily stacked against men. So few women to choose from!  Almost always having to do the approaching, at least this one saved him that effort. Although he would have preferred seeing the Indian girl again, who suddenly had to uproot, for a scholarship she had gotten. He was bitterly disappointed. Especially since, before that, the two month thing with the Chinese girl had just really been about sex, and even though the sex was good, he wanted more.  Not more sex, just more.  This new girl did not inspire any excitement, but there was something there that he could not quite define, and it wasn’t at all bad.

The day arrived and Sue found her imagination had adequately supplied knowledge about him, knowledge that no human being had ever been supplied with in a few emails, sent over the space of two weeks.  Although she knew that she could not properly know these things, she was assured that it was just a matter of time before she should know them. Even if they did deviate slightly, or perhaps not so slightly, she believed that on the bigger, more important points her opinions of his opinions would prove true. But really, she had to admit, that she did not know at all, did she? It was just the impression she’d gotten.  Believing herself to be quite objective now, having considered her limitations, she also had to admit that trusting her instincts was overall a good thing.

The universe had made the decision that she should not arrive first, since her train was late. What a relief! One less thing to worry about! She walked to the restaurant, but she found she could not walk fast enough. She was soon to be introduced to the moment that two years of long awaited singleness had come down to. After having almost walked into the glass doors, she shrugged her shoulders, laughed to herself and imagined that he had seen her. That would not be a bad start, it could be endearing, it certainly was a scene worthy of a romantic comedy.

Sue made her way to him and introductions followed.

“I almost walked into the door,” she mused.

“Huh?” he said.

So, he clearly had not seen her, not a trainsmash, “As I was coming in, I almost walked into the doors over there,” she laughed.

“Oh,” he said unenthusiastically.

Okay, so the first point of conversation did not go as well as she was hoping. He was not at all amused or interested it seemed. She would not allow herself to be deterred. This was after all not a dealbreaker. He was to inform her that he was slightly hungover from the night before and tired because he had only gotten to bed at five in the morning. This could have deterred her.  If she were cynical she may imagine that his lack of concern for his constitution on meeting her might have discouraged him from partying all night. She instead thought it was a good thing, because it seemed to prove that he had a healthy and active social life and she had read that one should be wary of individuals who had few friends. Friends he certainly had, five in the morning friends, but what was the difference? 

His first impressions of her were satisfactory. She was pretty, talkative and smiled a lot. When he had woken up earlier that afternoon he was actually dreading this meeting, simply because of the effort he knew a first date deserved. The effort to appear interesting and, more difficult, interested. But as he was sitting across from her as she bubbled away, he realised that a hangover need not be a big problem. It suddenly came to him what it was about her in the emails, he felt comfortable around her. Like one often did in stretched out, fart laden pajama pants. So comfortable that he knew that even though this was a first date he readily shared his past disappointments about the Indian and Chinese girl. She even suggested that he still had the opportunity of rekindling that relationship. Ah! He hadn’t thought of that. This date was turning out to be very enjoyable for him. Not much effort required!

Sue was not encouraged by how comfortable he obviously felt with sharing his past romantic disappointments with her. Even she had to admit this wasn’t a good sign, but somehow she found herself doing the same. The ex that had contacted her earlier this year, the woman who she had been briefly involved with. He really liked that last bit and sympathised that the relationship had not worked out. “It sounds like it could’ve been lovely.” Lovely in part mostly because it was lovely to imagine this pretty girl, with another pretty girl – lovely indeed! Why she told him these things, when she was quite averse to him doing the same, was unclear to her. Really it was just the basic human instinct to compete. She had to show him, that at some point, someone had found her desirable.  Perhaps this would make him find her so too.

Other than this the date seemed to be going well. He even mentioned as much, which in turn encouraged her, where she had been discouraged with his earlier choice of conversation. Even more promising was that on leaving the restaurant she mentioned that she would not need to be accompanied to the train station as she would prefer to take a walk on the beach.  He seemed more than glad to join her and it was his suggestion not hers.  Wow! This was shaping up! Little did she know that it was from a lack of any other pressing engagements that he deemed a spontaneous walk on the beach quite nice, rather than on account of the company that he was sharing.

As their time together progressed and she got to spend more time looking into his eyes, she was convinced that any doubts she may have had earlier where unfounded. This was a good date. He could have gone home, but instead decided to go for a walk with her. What was even more encouraging was him accepting an invitation to her place for tea. He must know that was more than just an invitation. She found that she liked him very much now, even though she had never previously liked anyone with his looks, manners and conversation before. The thought of being liked made her like him more than she honestly could.

For him, he wasn’t completely oblivious that in similar circumstances his behaviour towards her would have appeared as showing interest. But he also did not believe that she had misinterpreted his comfortableness with her. It was clear that if he was interested he would never have mentioned the Indian and the Chinese, he had a sense of decency after all. She was a nice fun friend, nothing more. He dismissed the growing sensation he was feeling, of what, he wasn’t sure.  He was very glad that she was enjoying his company he could clearly see that she was. He was flattered that he handled the situation well.

A Streetcar Named Desire

Last night Erik and I excitedly made our way to watch A Streetcar Named Desire. I was especially keen because Gillian Anderson plays Blanche DuBois and growing up I was a huge fan of the X-files. Scully and Mulder are still one of the best tv romances and I should know; I was raised by tv! In an attempt to be profound I turned to Erik as we were sitting in our seats to let him know that at this very moment Gillian Anderson was preparing herself for the stage. Please do keep in mind that I often mistake profound for ridiculous. To myself I wondered about her "process". Was she nervous? Did she have any rituals? Stuff like that. I thought about how as a teenager I had watched her week after week, on a Friday night, because I loved the show and I wasn't a very popular teenager. For some reason I was turning this into a reunion of sorts. I would be reunited with one of my childhood icons and she in turn would be introduced to a crazy lady from South Africa.

Upon perusing the program we were to discover that this was in fact not a live performance. It was but it was a live broadcast of the performance all the way from England. Our hearts dropped. Really? Instead of seeing Scully in the flesh I would be seeing her onscreen, again. My monologue earlier seemed wholly unnecessary now. It then made sense why the tickets seemed so cheap and why there was nothing on the stage. The latter I didn't even notice, Erik had to point it out to me. But we were there and what else could we do but watch it.

Another reason why I had so been looking forward to watching the play was because I had seen rave reviews about it. I also enjoyed Anderson's performance in Bleak House and was excited to see her in something else. Of course, if I had the choice, I would have preferred to see the show live, but that's the only complaint. It was brilliant and Anderson was enthralling as Blanche. If you have the opportunity, watch it! It was moving, scary and disturbing in the best way, which for me  is having a story that feels so real that it gets under your skin and makes you feel uncomfortable.

"...we don't make mistakes we just have happy accidents"

Before I get into the title of the post I have to relate this truly delightful story. Erik and I were on our way to a book sale, because he is addicted to books. As we were crossing the road this baby in the pram just ahead of us starts shouting, I assume crying, because that's one of the three things babies do. What I wasn't expecting was that there was another baby on the other side of the road who started screaming too. Fact is baby was screaming because he was excited to see his baby friend.

It was just a really cool thing to see. I mean, if you think about it, we never grow out of that. Imagine walking down the street and seeing your best friend unexpectedly. For me this would result in jumping up and down and screaming, so very much like a baby.

Something that I think would also be great for babies and children is this guy -

This is Bob Ross. Here's some more Bob Ross -

People this is good for your children. I've decided that when I have children there will be mandatory Bob Ross time. But don't despair I was only recently introduced to Mr. Ross myself and trust me he works just as well on adults. His soothing and reassuring voice just says, "Everything's going to be okay." I feel like I've just had a therapy session after watching one of these. If you've had a bad day, get into your pj's, get a bowl of ice cream and put on some Bob Ross, he will make you feel better.  Also, did you see how much he enjoys cleaning his brushes?! It really is the simple things, isn't it? Bob Ross makes the world a better place - fact!

Review: Zoo City

Today's review is written by my friend Casey. Casey and I shared an office when I first started working as an admin assistant. I cannot thank her enough for our coffee/chocolate breaks, Nando's lunches and just staring out of windows at the outside world like we were caged mice. Also she is reviewing a South African novel which is great! 

Zoo City                                                     
Casey Louw

ZOO CITY is written by South African author, Lauren Beukes. It is part-mystery, part thriller in that the very details of this page-turner divulge little of the plot and the unpredictability of the book in general makes this all the more exciting for the reader. It won the 2011 Arthur C. Clarke Award in 2011 and the 2010 Kitschies Red Tentacle for best novel. 

This book is forged around main character, Zinzi December. The lifeblood of the plot thickens as the reader discovers that each of the books’ criminals are “animaled” or marked with shame and have to permanently have an animal in their company. Zinzi’s animal is a sloth that lazes around her neck as she goes about her daily business. Other hardened criminals each have a different animal that marks their dark pasts.

The novel takes place in Johannesburg and mores specifically Hillbrow. Zinzi is “animalled” because she gets into a disastrous situation where her brother is killed. Zinzi used to be a journalist and is privy to various addictions which form haunting habits of which she hopes to rid herself.

The plot thickens as Zinzi owes her dealer money and has to make ends meet as well as repay the debt. Zinzi is gifted in that she has the perceptive ability to find peoples’ lost possessions and as such finds herself entwined in various webs of strangers’ lives in an attempt to find things they have lost that mean much to them for sentimental or nostalgic reasons.  The storyline gets juicy when Zinzi gets nudged into the vicarious lives of a brother and sister pop band, where the sister has strangely disappeared and is nowhere to be found; much to the distress of those close to her. Zinzi willingly takes this job as it will be her means to repay the debt she owes to her dealer. 

Here's some more about Casey:

I love to write, any time anywhere. I enjoy a good read but find little time for it, so when I find a good book I tend to burrow under a blanket on the couch for a while. I love the outdoors and travelling. I’m at my happiest around friends and family! I love languages of which I can converse in German and skate by with Afrikaans, which is terrible as I am half Afrikaans. I love South Africa where I find my home, for the people - our ribbon of culture entwined in our talents as artists, musical genies, foodies, teachers and people bulging with voluptuous artistic ability. 

Whose not getting it on in 7de Laan?

Being in the States has me missing South Africa. The ocean, the mountain, the people and the soapies. Yes, the soapies and it got me thinking about something that struck me awhile back when I was still in SA. I thought about 7de Laan and how for some reason unless you’re past the point of childbearing age, like Felicity and Herman, you can forget about being in an interracial relationship! You are allowed to be friends, best friends in fact. You can be social equals,  BUT no matter how much you may have in common the writers have decided that it simply isn’t going to happen.

Now, I know it’s a soapie and expecting realism maybe my fault. However, I am wondering if 7de Laan’s audience really wouldn’t be able to handle some black on white action. Or even some black on coloured action. I am not picky. It just amazes me that 20yrs into democracy where interracial relations are no longer illegal and is a fact of life(which it was even when it was illegal). Like I was saying I probably have way too many unrealistic expectations of a show that has to have a fashion show every few months and where the inhabitants always seem to find the weirdest things hilarious.

I guess what bothers me is that I get the feeling it is something that is being avoided. It’s like  7de Laan exists in some sort of idealised bubble of the “new south Africa”. Yes, black people and coloured people exist - first fact. They are also successful, funny and as interesting and as complicated as a 7de Laan character can be - second fact. All races have sexual desires and will therefore be attracted to each other regardless of skin colour - third fa... Oh, no, sorry that’s NOT a fact on 7de Laan, because for some mysterious reason none of these races ever find each other sexually attractive. I just can’t believe it! Are you telling me there isn’t even a little fling or people making out when they get drunk? Not even a little bumping and grinding at that club they always go to? On the surface the idea of freedom and equality exists, but no white women is allowed to have a black penis inside her.

I realise I am picking on one show. I know that were I to look at the array of South African soapies there would probably be endless amounts of things I could write about race and what it says about South Africa and feel free to do that yourself. As much as I often chide the show in my mind for its ridiculous storylines and then rehashing those storylines, it does have some redeeming qualities. There are interesting characters and some strong female ones like Charmaine and Gita. There have also been very well written and intriguing storylines. And I do believe that the actors are good and that the show could do so much more with what it has. I’m the silly one though for expecting more from a show that doesn’t profess to be something it is not. 

An example to us all

Cankles and Squirrels

Here's a snippet of some newly married conversation

Me: Erik, do you know what cankles are?

Erik: Isn't it ankles that look like cans?

Me: uncontrollable laughter

                                                                              ------------

Me: Do my feet look like dinosaur claws?

Erik: No! Do you even know what dinosaur claws look like?

Me: No, but I was just wondering.

If you can't ask your husband if your feet look like dinosaur claws, then I just don't know!

Squirrels

I used to hate squirrels. I thought of them as rats but with fluffy tails and also modern day carriers of the plague! They're actually not that bad. It's really fun watching them run around whilst you sit in the park.

Also, squirrels are coming up in the world. Take a look here:

Yes! It's a business squirrel. They exist and are actually taking over the business world. Or so I assume from this picture. If I was making shady business deals, I would prefer making it with a squirrel. Very soon they'll be just like us. I hear they've already started discriminating against female squirrels both in business and private settings. It's reported that female squirrels who occupy the same positions as male squirrels earn less nuts. Way to go squirrels! I knew you could do it!

A Guide to Naps

I simply insist that everyone should indulge in a good nap as often as they can. I don't consider myself an expert on much but on sleeping I definitely am. Sleeping and all its variations. Seeing that it's Friday and the weekend should be about relaxing I offer my expertise on the art of napping here and for free! You can thank me after your nap.

In my research I have found that a good nap is made up of three simple and easy to follow parts.

Part I: Pre-Nap

This involves finding a suitable comfy spot where minimal disturbance would be likely to occur. Best done when no one else is around and won’t be around for a few hours. This is essentially quiet time where you switch your mind off and just relax. A nice cup of tea before the nap might be helpful here but don’t try this if you have a weak bladder, this might wake you up before you are ready. If you are a particularly popular or important individual you may want to tell people to will not be available between such and such a time. Unfortunately, we still live in a society where naps just aren't given the respect they deserve.

Part II: The Nap

This part involves napping to the best of your ability. Part I is crucial to the proper execution of this step.

Part III: Post-Nap

The nap doesn’t simply end the minute you wake up! If you get up too soon, you may end up feeling groggy and become grumpy. However, it is also important that you don’t stay in too long either. This may result in oversleeping and very similar effects to getting up too soon may occur. The best thing to do is to wake up but to lay in for a further 5-15 minutes. Just go through how you feel. Evaluate your nap – was it good? Think about what you ‘re going to eat when you get up. Some salsa and chips would be delicious. Maybe you want a chocolate milk. On a personal note because I am often tempted to stay wrapped in the warm folds of my covers, food is one of the few things that can motivate me to get up. Food and guilt. So, if someone's about to get home soon I don't want them to see I'm napping. Napping is very personal!

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.