Sunday, March 26, 2006
The Feminist Movement
I read another article in the NYTs today about how with an increase in female applicants to colleges, girls inevatibly have to be better than before to get in, while to maintain some element of gender balance a less brilliant guy may make it in instead of the outstanding girl!! So, by improving our chances to go to school and pushing ourselves we now get screwed and boys, yet again, do less and get more! What is going on here? Why are we always losing out - have we not thought the movement out enough? And what is the movement anymore? Young girls having unprotected sex and dressing at age 10 like they're 18? Women and men who can't cook or women (and men) who won't cook so their kids grow up on diets of McDonalds (or for a real meal, Outback)? Two-parent working families, struggling to make ends meet and with no time to be with their kids? Women who spend all their money on botox, lipo, face-lifts, dangerous boob jobs? An increase in young women smoking so they remain thin? Motherhood as a 3 day event (in, out, out)where the #1 thing is to exercise while pregnant and post pregnancy so that you never look like you had a child in the first place! What happenned? I know my mum didn't fight for this and I don't want any part of it! I've lost out both ways - within the phrase "I can be everything" is the dirty secret - "I wil have to be everything". Women still do more than 80% of the housework but now also work long hours outside the home, rear children, being super-moms, and must continue to look around the age of 22 at the most! On top of this, security of marriage and stability has gone. Enough, enough...what is wrong with us...how do we end up with the raw deal without fail!
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Shout out to the boy
So, I spoke to the boy just now and he's going to read my blog! Wow! Feel all embarrassed, like we're on a first date or something. Hee hee. This is the thing about long distance relationships - the one's where you were once together in the same place -- you get by but only by supressing your real feelings. If I was to open myself up totally, I'd be hard pressed to keep breathing without him. But, to survive apart, I close that part of myself off - I just shut it and put it away. So this way, I continue living my life but not fully. When the intern was here, we talked about this, this living your life in segments. My segments are spread all over the world and the whole me is really present only in cyber-space, floating around like Mike TV in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Here is the other thing, the boy is off camping and my un-American cityness always kicks in regarding camping. I worry he will be killed or kidnapped. I worry some redneck will run him off the road and today, I thought about all that (just so I'm prepared), and my heart started to break. That is when I realised, I'd put my heart away while in Brussels. But, my heart knows what it feels like to crack - I learnt in last year with the boy. I remember the tremors and the cracks through the heart. For this reason, I will probably move to AA or even Chicago (no, no, there must be a god out there) and love them both. Because I'll be with the boy. Sounds corny I know. And I wish the bastard would come here. But I can't have it all. I can't, can I?
On another note, looked up cinnamon peeler on google image and found some cool photos of a dance troupe imagining the poem to dance. Then found a photo of a real cinnamon peeler and now can't enjoy the poem the same way again. Actually, the poem is one of my favourites. I've always maintained the Sri Lankans are a sexy bunch (PKG, the cricket team, MIA, PKG's sister, Ondaatje himself etc.) Of course, I'd like to add the Tamils are a sexy bunch (hey hey). I think it must be the dusky looks, good, strong, white teeth, and sinewy bodies. And lovely healthy hair. Its all that coconut oil.
Ok, here is one part:
"what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar."
As if wounded without the pleasure of scar...my broken but mended heart.
God, the boy will probably forget to read this and remember over the weekend and read it while correcting papers and puke. That's ok - we all have to know what we are marrying into.
This weekend is a work weekend. sigh. I want to go out alone saturday to see a movie, maybe a dinner alone, a drink at the Canadian bar (though the owner's gf will probably talk to me all night and i won't get to be alone). I want to see if I can stil go out alone - I seem to always be with people and have lost the ability to be on my own -except for sitting in my bedroom. B is off this weekend for her annual grrrrl alone weekend. Wow! I actually want the apt empty of roommate #1. I want to be in my own place...should i have sucked up the extra money and got my own place!AAAh, such thoughts are pointless.
Ok, time to go to sleep (and think of the cinnamon peeler - who is very like the boy -- the beach boy collecting coconuts). Hmmm...that links back to my small restaurant on the beach in Goa, cooking fish, having a guitar player in to entertain the guests, home cooked fresh food in a clean and pleasant surrounding. And here I am, all those dreams later in Brussels. This is age, because now, I can't ever even imagine that actually taking place - I've given up on that dream. Instead, I've replaced it with ambition and intellect. What a loss!
Here is the other thing, the boy is off camping and my un-American cityness always kicks in regarding camping. I worry he will be killed or kidnapped. I worry some redneck will run him off the road and today, I thought about all that (just so I'm prepared), and my heart started to break. That is when I realised, I'd put my heart away while in Brussels. But, my heart knows what it feels like to crack - I learnt in last year with the boy. I remember the tremors and the cracks through the heart. For this reason, I will probably move to AA or even Chicago (no, no, there must be a god out there) and love them both. Because I'll be with the boy. Sounds corny I know. And I wish the bastard would come here. But I can't have it all. I can't, can I?
On another note, looked up cinnamon peeler on google image and found some cool photos of a dance troupe imagining the poem to dance. Then found a photo of a real cinnamon peeler and now can't enjoy the poem the same way again. Actually, the poem is one of my favourites. I've always maintained the Sri Lankans are a sexy bunch (PKG, the cricket team, MIA, PKG's sister, Ondaatje himself etc.) Of course, I'd like to add the Tamils are a sexy bunch (hey hey). I think it must be the dusky looks, good, strong, white teeth, and sinewy bodies. And lovely healthy hair. Its all that coconut oil.
Ok, here is one part:
"what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar."
As if wounded without the pleasure of scar...my broken but mended heart.
God, the boy will probably forget to read this and remember over the weekend and read it while correcting papers and puke. That's ok - we all have to know what we are marrying into.
This weekend is a work weekend. sigh. I want to go out alone saturday to see a movie, maybe a dinner alone, a drink at the Canadian bar (though the owner's gf will probably talk to me all night and i won't get to be alone). I want to see if I can stil go out alone - I seem to always be with people and have lost the ability to be on my own -except for sitting in my bedroom. B is off this weekend for her annual grrrrl alone weekend. Wow! I actually want the apt empty of roommate #1. I want to be in my own place...should i have sucked up the extra money and got my own place!AAAh, such thoughts are pointless.
Ok, time to go to sleep (and think of the cinnamon peeler - who is very like the boy -- the beach boy collecting coconuts). Hmmm...that links back to my small restaurant on the beach in Goa, cooking fish, having a guitar player in to entertain the guests, home cooked fresh food in a clean and pleasant surrounding. And here I am, all those dreams later in Brussels. This is age, because now, I can't ever even imagine that actually taking place - I've given up on that dream. Instead, I've replaced it with ambition and intellect. What a loss!
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Feeling like a teenager
So, work is horrendously busy and intense - but lovely. Real migration policy and project development work. It all ends next week but then I have to attend the big S.Caucus debacle meeting - it is all handled by my office partner S, but it still involved my nerves and constant tummy turmoil. Looking forward to it all in a slightly sick way. This is the low-down kiddies; last week was chockablock with going out. So bad that I just wanted to curl up in bed and watch SATC. So, decided this week would be “stay at home” week and now, WED, having stayed at home Mon, Tues and Wed - I'm going STIR CRAZY!! Wok me baby! Sorry, I badly pun at such times. No fun, but plenty of pun. ha ha.
I can't really complain, I went to Londres for the weekend on the Super Bro’s tab and it was really ABFAB! Saw lots of old friends and new cousins. Felt at one moment I was back in NYC - nothing had changed on meeting the lovely old roommie and his wife/my friend. Realised that old friends mean something - we have moments captured on mental film that no one else has access too. Like mum in the grocery store buying beers, like putting up our Xmas trees, like rooftop parties, keg stands, bad punch, sitting on the couch chit chatting on a Sunday morning, walking past the drug motel, calling the fire station, the old lady on the stoop, the other awful roommies, the one I got for life, and, and much much more. Had a bizarre back to school moment as well. Sigh - how many Fridas have there been since that point - back at Tenby Mansions and heading out to St. John's Wood or down to Leicester Square with Mr. PKG, standing outside my window or on my doorstep for one last kiss? Very old school, road trip back down memory land sort of thing. Lovely, lovely, lovely - and all done with the bro.
Realised the other day, I have very few total ‘secret’ secrets. You know, most of the stuff that enters into my life I share with one person at least -- mum, the boy, the bro, the girls, etc etc. Very little is kept only to myself. I'm not secretive by nature and keeping a secret, when I have one, is f*ing hard. While I wouldn't necessarily share it with just anyone, I usually tell people who share secrets with me that they should expect me to tell the boy. Had to promise to roommie #2 (the cool one) that I wouldn't tell the boy about our detailed sex talk as she would get embarrassed (though really, we didn't delve into what we do with our boyz to such a horrifying level). I've discussed worse:-) But, I realise that I never create my own secrets - that is until >>>>>>>>>>>
Baby, I feel like a teenager. This is the truth - I'm about one month or less off from being 31, but I don't feel like it. Yes, I've learned to say NO more easily and that I don't have to be loved by all, (or learning the above), and how to say ciao and walk away. But, deep down, I'm still 16 -- walking into the Trocadero and feeling energised by people and music. Fact is, I like a fun life - drinking, dancing, dressing up and dreaming (4 Ds). I like cool new lipsticks, seeing friends for dinner, a cute boy across the room, a lovely die-for dress or pair of shoes in the shop window, a fabulous movie or some amazing song coming out loud and clear at the gym or a car stereo. I like dreaming of my future - and possible other selves - something that becomes harder and harder the older you get. And for this reason, this deep down love of being young, having potential to reinvent myself and redraw my life, I love and respect Madonna. There you have it - the crux of this whole piece. Hung Up has me hung up and has (SECRETLY) inspired me to go to the gym. There it really is - the secret. Sigh, ok – there it is – spilled into cyber-space; Ms. Richie, reborn into her blue jeans and farah fawcett hair has me going back to the gym. Sigh. I'm off to bed now.
oooh and james blunt:-) Do love James!!
I can't really complain, I went to Londres for the weekend on the Super Bro’s tab and it was really ABFAB! Saw lots of old friends and new cousins. Felt at one moment I was back in NYC - nothing had changed on meeting the lovely old roommie and his wife/my friend. Realised that old friends mean something - we have moments captured on mental film that no one else has access too. Like mum in the grocery store buying beers, like putting up our Xmas trees, like rooftop parties, keg stands, bad punch, sitting on the couch chit chatting on a Sunday morning, walking past the drug motel, calling the fire station, the old lady on the stoop, the other awful roommies, the one I got for life, and, and much much more. Had a bizarre back to school moment as well. Sigh - how many Fridas have there been since that point - back at Tenby Mansions and heading out to St. John's Wood or down to Leicester Square with Mr. PKG, standing outside my window or on my doorstep for one last kiss? Very old school, road trip back down memory land sort of thing. Lovely, lovely, lovely - and all done with the bro.
Realised the other day, I have very few total ‘secret’ secrets. You know, most of the stuff that enters into my life I share with one person at least -- mum, the boy, the bro, the girls, etc etc. Very little is kept only to myself. I'm not secretive by nature and keeping a secret, when I have one, is f*ing hard. While I wouldn't necessarily share it with just anyone, I usually tell people who share secrets with me that they should expect me to tell the boy. Had to promise to roommie #2 (the cool one) that I wouldn't tell the boy about our detailed sex talk as she would get embarrassed (though really, we didn't delve into what we do with our boyz to such a horrifying level). I've discussed worse:-) But, I realise that I never create my own secrets - that is until >>>>>>>>>>>
Baby, I feel like a teenager. This is the truth - I'm about one month or less off from being 31, but I don't feel like it. Yes, I've learned to say NO more easily and that I don't have to be loved by all, (or learning the above), and how to say ciao and walk away. But, deep down, I'm still 16 -- walking into the Trocadero and feeling energised by people and music. Fact is, I like a fun life - drinking, dancing, dressing up and dreaming (4 Ds). I like cool new lipsticks, seeing friends for dinner, a cute boy across the room, a lovely die-for dress or pair of shoes in the shop window, a fabulous movie or some amazing song coming out loud and clear at the gym or a car stereo. I like dreaming of my future - and possible other selves - something that becomes harder and harder the older you get. And for this reason, this deep down love of being young, having potential to reinvent myself and redraw my life, I love and respect Madonna. There you have it - the crux of this whole piece. Hung Up has me hung up and has (SECRETLY) inspired me to go to the gym. There it really is - the secret. Sigh, ok – there it is – spilled into cyber-space; Ms. Richie, reborn into her blue jeans and farah fawcett hair has me going back to the gym. Sigh. I'm off to bed now.
oooh and james blunt:-) Do love James!!
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