Verbal Diarrhoea

On Sunday I was looking at babies.

In the whole history of Sid Kane, this is an unprecedented event. My usual stance of “Oh holy mother of fuck, why would anyone do THAT to their vagina” was replaced by looks of yearning, looks that has heretofore been reserved for hooker heels and men with really broad shoulders.

I’m talking about desire. For a baby. I Sid Kane, who previously duct taped a nappy to a kid’s ass and has often referred to kids as “rugrats”, am overcome with the sudden desire to have a little one.

 And all I wanted was the simple things

A simple kind of life

And all I needed was a simple man

So I could be a wife

It got so bad that while lounging at La Perla, I ignored any hot men in the near vicinity. Noting my fascination with the little buggers, Cazz finally commented, “You want a life altering experience? How about having one of those?”

Me: I did think about it but to be honest with you Cazz, I don’t think the parents would be too happy with me abducting their kids. Parents are kinda touchy that way.

I always thought I’d be a mom

Sometimes I wish for a mistake

The longer that I wait the more selfish that I get

You seem like you’d be a good dad

*Sigh*

I’m not quite sure what else to tell you guys. I guess I just don’t really want to tell you guys that for the longest time ever I’ve had this image in my head of me standing in front of my bedroom window, watching my husband and kids play soccer. Of course as the years have passed this vision has evolved to include me holding a camera, which has now become as much a part of me as my appendages.

Now all those simple things are simply too complicated for my life

How’d I get so faithful to my freedom?

A selfish kind of life

When all I ever wanted was the simple things

A simple kind of life

(Just reread this and can’t believe how girly and honest I am. And on a public forum no less. God I want to puke.)

Never too soon
Oh reckless abandon,
Like no one’s watching you

Sweet Disposition – The Temper Trap

Let’s go back in time when I was a freshman* at university and Britney Spears bothered to put on panties before leaving the house. Yes, the early 2000s was a time of innocence. Back then I still believed in soul mates, the healing power of chocolate and that a good job was all that was needed to OWN a house. Now the only thing I swear by is the healing power of chocolate – unless of course you’re diabetic, then you’re screwed.

Comic from Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal.

Anyway, the following story takes places a few months into my first year at uni. I’m in the Bolus Herbarium (Botany Library) searching for my BFFs (En-dee!, Fahiema and Goldilocks**). Not finding them I decide to share a table with a group of black students, one of whom I recognize from one of my classes.

So they’re sitting there having an interesting conversation, none of which I can understand because they were speaking in Xhosa. Of course I wasn’t going to let something as silly as the language barrier stop me from participating in a conversation that appeared to shock the audience.  

Me: Wait? What? I don’t understand you guys. Please repeat in English.

Girl: I was just telling them that I watched this series where a black mother caught her gay son having sex with a guy. She them poured boiling water onto them while they were still busy in the act.

Everyone shakes their heads and mutter something or other. And then the boy said something that shocked me.

Boy: Homosexuality – the white man’s disease.

And I just sat there, wide-eyed and disbelieving as everyone else seemed to agree with him. Until that day I’d always assumed that it was only the uneducated that thought this way – now I know better.  

*South Africans don’t use the term freshman so I have no idea if I’m using the term correctly.

**Goldilocks would later stop speaking to us after we screw her over but that’s a story for a whole different blog post. Actually I think I already blogged this story.

Two blog posts in a day. Damn, I’m on fire!

Back when I was young and beautiful and had millions of suitors who loved me not for my body but for my intelligence, I worked as a receptionist at an Estate Agency. I hated that job. I hated every minute of it. And every time I consider leaving my current job I remind myself of how much worse life can be. That’s right bitches, fear is holding me back.

But THIS story isn’t about how much I hated my old job and former boss. What I’d like to talk about today is a conversation I overheard while working in THAT hellhole for R2 000 a month. That right, R2 000 a month! I had an honors degree in Science, no less, and I was working as a receptionist at a shitty ass agency for R2 000 a month. AND I worked Saturdays as well!!! Do you have any idea how little R2 000 is??? Fuck, my current monthly payments on my car is double that.

Struggling to find a job in the environmental field, I eventually settled for a job answering phones and contemplating suicide. This mind you, was not a permanent position. I was simply a stand-in for a woman who was on the verge of ejecting a kid from her vagina.

After two months of utter boredom, the new mother arrived back at work to show off her baby. Since I’ve never been the type of woman to fawn over another woman’s kid* I remained firmly behind my desk. All the other office women however scrambled towards the rugrat and cooed over it.

Female colleague: Oh your coloured baby is so dark.

Mother: Yes but it is okay. It’s a boy. Boys are allowed to be tall dark and handsome.

To me this remark sounded strange and I couldn’t help wonder if she had a dark, little girl would she love her less?

*The only kids I’m willing to dote over are my cousins and future nephews and nieces. Oh right and if I ever have my own kids, I’ll probably love them too. Probably.

It was yesterday while dreaming of the colourful domes of Saint Basil’s Cathedral that I was reminded of the two Russian girls I’d met on the steps of a Venice train station.

Looking back I don’t quite remember what they looked like. This has always been a failing of mine.

What I do remember thinking was that they looked awfully young – not much more than 19. Their faces had the look of fresh innocence about it – as if they’d never had their collective hearts broken. Of course this probably says much more about me than it does about them.

I was 24 when I finally made my way to Italy. I’d spent years pouring over maps, tracing my stubby finger from one country to the next, dreaming of great adventures and muttering the mantra, “When I have money.” It’s a mantra that I STILL find myself repeating.

(To be continued.)

*

Things that made me smile:

1. Hayibo’s satirical article on “Feefa” robbing South Africa blind.
2. The Portugal versus North Korea match. (I was there!)
3. Kulula’s adverts.