Don't have a cow man!

I thought I would tell you one of my favourite jokes.

Two cows are standing in a field and cow 1 turns to cow 2 and says:
'Hey man, have you heard about that Mad Cow Disease? I'm really worried'
Cow 2 turns to cow 1 and replies:
'Yeah man, I've heard of it, but I'm not worried'
'Why not?' Asks cow 1.
'Because' says cow 2 'I'm a helicopter'.

Disclaimer:

The cows in this joke are fictitional characters.

No cows were harmed in the telling of this joke.
By telling this joke I am not implying that mad cow disease is a trivial issue.
I am actually not making a political statement about mad cow disease at all, it is simply a joke.
I do not mean to imply that I understand the challenges of a cows life. 
I do not consider myself an authority on cows, diseases, diseases of cows, or cows with diseases.
Try not to take this joke too seriously.
Try not to take yourself so seriously.  Just try. 
Cows around the world, do not need to feel minimised or marginalised just because I have mentioned them in my blog.  in fact, cows don't need to have any feelings because I mention them in my blog. I am not The Leader of Everyone and Everything in The Whole World.
If you don't like my jokes, just ignore me.

Cows who read my blog should not read into this joke any hateful, negative, or judgemental sentiments that are in fact, not there.
If cows should do this, then it is said cows who are responsible for their own silly misery, and I would hereby like to officially state that I Don't Create Your Feelings.  You do.  With your mind. So be careful what you beleive.

And if anyone like to know my REAL opinion, instead of thrusting one upon me... the truth is...
I like cows.

Happy, crazy, silly old cows. 

mad men is infiltrating my brain

Sometimes, when i feel sad that I am not married with children, i go out for dinner, which i don't need to arrange for with anyone, drink alot of wine and come home late, sleep in, maybe til 12, and do what i want all the next day. in the quiet. catering for only my own wants. then i feel better.

A client of mine (personal training) called me today in tears, telling me that she couldn't see me today because she was falling apart. she just found out her lying, cheating, abusive husband, who she recently left, is having an affair with a woman in sydney, amongst many.
why does he get to have all the fun. while i'm stuck here in the family home.

Marriage. It's a doozy.

I'm obsessed with mad men, it's set in the 1960s. when men were hard working hard drinking womanisers. and women were either mothers and housewives, of sexually inviting servants of some sort.  or help. the black people were help.  it's hard to belive this was only my mothers generation ago.
the impeccable hair, hats and tight wasted dresses, the dinner etiquette and the accepting way people put up with the chain smoking of lucky strikes. the cadillacs.  it's also amazing how this particular type of trapped existence can seem so appealing.
but then if you are going to be in a trap, why not a well presented one, that smells like lemon washing up liquid and chanel no. 5, cigarettes and brill cream.

I 'belong' to several feminist organisations on facebook.  girls rule the world. that sort of thing. whilst it strikes one chord with me, it twangs another.  why does it seem that women are still just reacting to thier circumstances. it's all still so reactionary. i know i am. 'they can't tell me this' 'they can't do that'... it's just like a child reacting to bad parenting. women, reacting to a 'bad world'.

sure things aint so bad for me. what can i say. i'm not going to get stoned to death for being raped.

i think i'll go out for a walk, i won't have to check with anyone, nor will the neighbours ask hushed questions.  I think i'll drink wine at three. wear pants. work overtime.
these are the liberties of a modern girl, in a modern world. that i am.

I have a growing feeling that there should be a new movement, not patriarchy, but not feminism.
A movement that acknowledges that women need men. and men need women.
Because we do. We need them to take care of us.  And they need us to be tender towards them.
If only we could stop making it a game of battleship.  Stop trying to infiltrate each other. Stop identifying ourselves as separated by enemy lines. I think that would be really shocking.  Who's with me?

boy or girl?

I recently came accross the story of Jenna Talackova, a 23 year old woman who was born a boy, who forced a rule change to let transgender women contend in Miss Universe Canada. 
(FYI Donald Trump owns the franchise and it was he who acquiesed. You just know behind that comb over and rubbery face that guy is a real good c*nt ahy?)
So yeah she was born a boy and says that by the age of 4 she felt like a girl living in a boys body.
Age of four! 
This is when I started to think... do I feel like a girl inside?
What does a girl feel like anyway?
*closes eyes and tries to feel internal feelings of femaleness*
I can't feel if I feel like a girl or not.  I'm not even sure what i'm looking for here.
I try the same thing with 'feeling like a male'
*closes eyes, forages around in the dark for feelings of maleness*
Nup.  I don't have any of those either.
The truth is, I have no feelings of gender inside me at all.  In fact, I'd go so far as to say, I feel quite genderless inside. Inside I feel like a person, kinda, although even that's a bit of a leap.
Mostly I just feel my emotions whizzing around like electrons in an atom, combusting and colliding and disappearing from existence only to reappear again without warning and seemingly without meaning....
But even those, I can stand back from, they're not really me.

What the HELL are these people feeling, that make them feel like, or not like, one gender or the other?!?
This has really got me puzzled.
And it surprises me that this question has only just arisen for me because I lived with a transgender person, originally male turned female, for a year, and I never thought about it then.

And actually, that adds another puzzling level to the whole question, I'll tell you why.
Even though she said she whole heartedly felt female, and wanted to live in a females body, you know, enough to have her wanger surgically transformed into a gash for $10,000 in thailand, enough to put up with weekly laser sessions on her face to remove facial hair (and you know that shit hurts ladies), enough to take synthetic hormones that made her all sorts of fucked up and depressed (oestrogen - who'd have it!) and EVEN To deal with all the bullshit and prejudice and hatred she must have encountered regularly... Even though all of that, she just really acted like a boy.

She had such a boy nature, just like, not that emotional i guess, and seriously, girls are moody! And she was really good with tools and cars and she loved motorbikes, I mean she could really fix shit, like anything, and had heaps of tools... she was just, boysy.  She couldn't see dirt, that was another boy thing, she had that 'broad stroke of the brush' approach to cleaning, and the other three girls who lived there were, you know, a bit more anal. That's a girl thing.  There were lots of little ways she seemed like a boy.  She even liked girls. Even though she was a girl. So she was gay too. Nuts ahy. I think that's why I never really thought about it, because I was too busy trying to be accepting for her sake, because man, what a hard road to hoe....

And once we had this really funny, telling moment. I think it was me who said that women have 72 bathroom items, and men have about 5, and everyone, boy and girl, in the group nodded that it was true, except her and she said, i'm somewhere in the middle.

So that's what I've been wondering about that. What are these people FEELING inside?!?! How does it FEeeeel? Why don't I have a feeling?!?! Should I be feeling something? Should I be worried? What do you feel inside? Does this make me non-gender!?? Aarrgh.

I mean, I definitely like boys, but that is a separate issue.
What if I'm a gay man in a womans body and i don't know yet?!?!?
Wonder if I can get ACC for that...?

That's all really.

Another Audition

So I look down at my phone and it is flashing and his name is on the screen.  I don't know if I'm calling him, or he's calling me, or how this happened. Then I realise if he's calling me he might be listening to me heavy breath into the phone while I try to work out what's going on, and quickly press end call.

I think about it for one minute and realise I don't want him to think I called him. Oh so, he's a guy from findsomeone I messaged with once right before I got on-line-dating-fatigue (OLDF) and closed my account.  It's been ages, months since then. So I don't want him to think all this time I was clinging to the possibility of us, worked up the guts to call him, and then lost my mettle and hung up mid call! Tragic.

So I text him him "hey (guy), my phone just pocket called you, sorry about that, hope you're well".
Sorted.
Don't hear back for a few days, nothing unusual there.
Then I get a text from him saying he's had his phone off because he's been trekking in the himalaya's and how am I?
So we text back and forth, turns out he's travelling in south america, and after a few texts asks me if we should have coffee then?
If you don't know, I am a believer in just about everything.  From vampires to fairies to there being no actual time, to mayan predictions, to witches, to lot's of types of gods (non-exlusively), to telepathy, aliens, ghosts.. yeah you name it I pretty much believe in it, so being this type of all-believing person, I think that it might have been Fate slash Destiny that my phone rang him all by itself. And what a great story this will make to tell our grandkids.... of course I'll go for coffee.

We text during the week, actually, he texts me alot, and I have a good feeling about him from the things he says and does.  He asks questions, seems to have a full and interesting life, and thinks I'm funny. Which of course I am, but you know, it's good that he can tell. 

So I turn up at the Piha cafe, he lives at piha and i'm happy for the opportunity to get out there because it's been months.  And I see him through the window and he has a nice sort of look about him - blonde, blue eyed, tan skinned surfer type look. I pull the heavy glass door open and step inside and he has risen to greet me and I am 100% sure that his first thoughts are 'oh my god she's so tall/big!' while mine simultaneously are: 'oh god, so small/short!'  Here we go again.

In the week I'd had to log back onto my findsomeone account to preview his profile JUST to be sure.  And I read on there that he is 5'10.  You know I call myself 5'11, but i have no idea really, i don't even know what that means, five what's? badgers? eleven what? eggs? five shoes and eleven cigarettes. I dont' even know.  And I could possibly be 5'10.  So from looking at his height on his profile I think, okay, about my height I can deal with that.

Everyone knows I date short guys. Dated one for 2 and a half years. It was pretty miserable but not because of his height. I thought he was very attractive. So for years I've been saying 'i don't really mind short guys' and you know what? I'm not going to say it anymore because CLEARLY the universe has been listening, and is sending every vertically challenged midget into my life like it's a Charlie And The Chocolate Factory wrap party.

Anyway, I put that aside. And we get coffee's and he asks me what i would like and pays and that's nice and we sit outside and there's his dog and it's about the nicest dog i think i've ever met, a collie huntaway cross, and so polite and gentle and nice lookingand doesn't smell and well behaved and that really endears me to him.
And we're talking and he's eating eggs bene and i'm saying to myself just be yourself and he's telling me all these things, how he's invented stuff and had it patented and sells it (pretty impressive) and has had four major careers, and while he is giving me a short history of just about everything i notice that his hands are really small.

Quite aside from the old, I think fairly accurate adage, that mens hand and foot size is directly proportionate to their appendage size, his small hands just look a little bit ridiculous.
I know, I know, i'm going to hell. ALONE. I get it.  But i'm just being honest.  I move on from the small hands thing and then he puts this massive big woollen jumper on, the kind that looks like it just came off the sheep, real thick thing, maybe an inch thick, and it has rolled up cuffs and a kind of turtle neck, i like the jumper, but unfortunately the sleeves end shy of his wrists. and in this too short sleeved, over-sized, massive jumper he looks a little bit like .... a little-person.  You know? with normal head size but short limbs and small hands?  I mean. Come on. I'm really not that shallow.  But a little person?

And also, it's starting to become apparent, that he is for talking, and i am for listening. And that's probably the crux of it.
So we go for a walk down the beach and i ask if he feels like a big 'stonking' walk because i haven't had enough exercise this week and we're at piha and the air is all fresh and misty and the beach so long and ideal for it, and he says we could walk up to the look out bit and I say cool and can we walk FAST?
Reason 1 - my back hurts, all the time, and i shit you not it hurts more when i dawdle.
Reason 2 - i have long legs and my walking pace is fast. walking slowly is like waiting for a toddler. Or watching a toddler try to find it's mouth with a spoon, but all the slimy porridge ending up on it's top, hands and chair.
Reason 3 - i need the exercise.
And i begin to stride off at my normal beach walking pace and he falls behind and says, but you have long legs and i have little stumpy ones.
And now the word stumpy has been said, laid on the table, out there for all to see.

Up we go, me and jack the dog up front and piha-man twelve paces behind.  And all the way up and around and down and through, he continues his telling me all the things he's ever done, or thought, or been to.  And the worst of it is, he punctuates his sentences with the word 'mate'.
He actually refers to me as 'mate'.  Like: and then this thing happened and MATE you wouldn't believe it... and i mean MATE have you ever seen.... It's not a general reference, he's actually referring to me as mate. and sometimes dude. which is vaguely better but not much.
I have a thing about being called mate, no, women have a thing about being called mate.
Mate is what you call ugly chicks.  I am not your mate, I am not on your buliding site in gumboots with a fag hanging out the corner of my mouth, nodding my head in condelence to your big night out shagged a fat chick story.
Mate.
And it just kind of adds to the me bing three stories taller than him thing, with him calling me mate, i'm feeling more and more like a checkered shirt wearing, short haired, tractor driving, lesbian.
This is not how I want to be feeling today.

We reach the look out bit and i'm soaking in the big endless grey atlantic sea, six foot swell and tiny black bodies of surfers'; the wet air on my face and emansive black rocks pushing up into the slate sky, and his phone rings and he talks on it for five minutes. and when i want to keep moving he says 'gee you don't sit still and take it all in do you?!' but i did. while he was talking on the phone.

So i don't know, is it the height, the hands, the always talking and telling me the same story three times (yeah i get it, i already got it), the calling me mate, the stumpy legs? Is it all those things, none of them? I don't know. I just know there's no spark. And when there's no spark, there's never going to be.  Sparks do not grow.  We are not two bits of tindery wood, who if we just rub together long enough will create an inferno.  If i've learnt anything about dating it's that sparks don't grow. In fact the lack of sparking almost always escalates into full blown revulsion if you let it go on, hoping for a fire. In a way, it's like mother nature saying, next! And quite aside from whether it means anything or not, I just want to feel something.  It's a bad feeling, not feeling anything.

And you see this, this is part of the reason I don't want to go on dates. Prior to meeting him i was feeling intreptidation, more than half the reason was because i don't want to meet a nice person, have them put in all this vain and noble effort to impress me, and then have to tell them i don't like them.  Because I don't NOT like them, I just don't want their sweaty body writhing on mine.  But that's not how it sounds. It sounds like 'i think you're shit'.  And then this perfectly nice person you have nothing aginst, immediately feels like shit and hates you. It's rough.

I am good and polite and go back to his house for tea and listen to more stories and then finally the light is changing and it's a decent time to say i have to go.  And we have an awkward hug goodbye where he goes to kiss my cheek but i leer to one side and his lips go flying past my cheek, completely missing it so he is making a big MWA sound into the air over my shoulder. I hadn't planned for that to happen. Oh well. And off I'm driving with him on the driveway waving.  If the date had have been with his dog, I would have damn well adopted that dog.  I've never liked a dog more in my life.  I'm going to miss that dog. Might have been the only dog I'll ever meet that I really liked.  The Fates are laughing at me.  I swear they're laughing.

Oh P.S! I had to add this, when i told my mum about him she said, well i'm 5'10.  And my mum is a tall lady. And you're 5/11. She says. Which makes him no taller than 5/8, and probably 5/7.  So he lied. And when we sat down to coffee, the first or second thing he said to me was, i happen to remember in your proflie picture you were a blonde (i've died my hair reddy brown) in a vaguely accusory manner.  Can you believe it!??!

Why get married

Why.

So that you don't spend sunday afternoons alone. If there are going to be lonely hours, that is when they will find their way in. Even the sun slowly sinks away in a way that says 'goodbye'. On Sundays.

So that you can go to your friends house for dinner, friends plural, who are a couple. Because they will invite you as you will be the right number for wine glass sets, games and four sided tables. Two.

So that you can say 'we' and 'oh yes my husband has one of those' and 'i better get home, hubby will be wondering where i am'. And someone will be at home, kindly wondering.

So you can relinquish a job or two that you hate, forever. Such as the rubbish. or the lawns. Even though he doesn't like them either, he does them for you. Til death do you part.

So that you can be sick. Because being sick, when no one cares, is not really sick, you might just be pretending. You cough a little 'achaa' ...and sniff a little 'sffft'... just to check if you are really sick, because unless there's someone to tell who says 'oh dear' and frowns and really means it, what's the point.

So you can go on walks. To walk as one you need alpipne sticks or an umbrella or to hurry slightly your step. One is going somewhere. One is exercising. One is on an errand. Two is just out for a walk.

So you can share all the burdens of your world with another person.

So you know you will always be loved after the fight.
Loved after the fight has gone out of you.
Loved after the light has gone out.

So you can make tea for someone. And have them say, this tea is perfect.

So you can watch movies you wouldn't otherwise watch. Like 3D action films. Or old westerns. It's good for you, to see these films. Saves you from banality of rom coms and tear jerkers.

So you can say 'lets' followed by anything, to someone, out loud.

So you can say 'have you seen my glasses?  I'm losing my marbles!'  and then say it again the next day, and the next, because they are losing their marbles too.
And when alls said and done. Rocking chair porch and sun setting looks faded weathered faces, calloused crippled hands and rings stuck forever on fingers swollen with age, stirring bright purple stewed plums in a bowl and drop them on the floor SWOOSH red everywhere and shed a tear as you kneel to clean up all the lost sweetness. Kneels next to you and says, I love you.

Cheap Therapy and Hot Tips from Beauty Salons and Dentists

I went to the beauty salon the other day. Don't get the wrong impression, by salon, i don't mean five floored luxury spa with wings that each have their own temperate pool where buff tan men in short white shorts offer you lemonades off trays.. i'm sorry what? oh yeah, the salon, or whatever they're called. And don't get another wrong idea, i almost NEVER go to beauty places (you're like: no shit), this was only my third or fourth time my whole life. And no i wont' disclose why... just trust me it was worth it. So the lady who runs the one woman show that is said salon, is Iranian. She's gorgeous. She's kind of half physically gorgeous, and half just so warm and amusing you can't help but want to hear her thick Iranian accent believing everything she tells you about the new mineral make up... Everything about her makes me think of the word honey. She has honey coloured skin, and honey brown eyes, her perfectly coiffed, short 'bob' is streaks of golden honey blonde, very natural, for a dye job. She is perfectly made up, of course, in a nice way, not over the top. And she is fairly small, but a big presence, with spectacles sitting on the bridge of her nose. She is warm and welcoming and immediately feels like your no-nonsense aunt that you love even though she tells things you how things are and what is what. Well, Roya, her name is, has me on the fake leopard skin 'fur' covered salon bed.. and she says to me amid the 'getting to know you' banter 'You have boyfriend!?' She sort of jabs the words at me, not unkindly, matter of factly: 'you have boyfriend!?' she says. 'No' I reply (wait for it..) WHY YOU NO HAVE BOYFRIEND!? she says 'tall, beautiful...? (it's clearly as puzzling to her as anyone)... let me look at your eyebrowz' she says, and lifts her spectacles and peeeeers deep into my occular region. I'm apologizing and saying yes they probably need plucking (you're always cowering with embarrassment around beautiful beauty salon people as you know they are taking you apart and lamenting your complete lack of decorum).. and I'm wondering what ancient iranian astrology can tell about me from my eyebrows.. perhaps the name of my future lover... 'Ah yes' She says, as if it is plain for all to see. 'yes, we shape you eyebrowzz we tint your eyelashes, you get boyfriend'. If only I'd known it was so simple at an earlier date. All I needed was an eyebrow shape and eyelash tint. Shit, for twenty five bucks it seems more than reasonable... Well I left there and went to the dentist. I know. No i do work. just not on thursdays. I saw a deal on group on, and bought it. HIghly risky and i had been imagining all week all the kind of horrific dental atrocities the dentist was probably going to perform on me to try and make money out of me like some backstreet abortion clinic... I really got my defenses up. Turns out the dentist is a pretty nice (for a sadist) Eastern Block lady, maybe russian, called lily. Lily is perfunct and matter of fact and a charactature of herself, with far too long dyed blonde hair, dark roots showing, half a pot of turqouise eye shadow on each eye lide, quirky rectangular spectacles, and a white apron over intersting, but not fashionable, worn out looking dresses, with puffy sleeves that continually drape in my face and smell sweet and of dust. I lie down on lily's blue leather dentist chairs (god i love these chairs!! the ones that go back and up and down and forward like each of their 8 parts moves in complete independance to get you just so underneath the biiiig white light, with a pleasant little humming motor gently whirring against your skin....) there i am saying 'no i haven't been here before' and lily GASPS as she says 'YOU HAVE VERY GOOD TEETH!'. THis is mostly why i came, i've decided. IT's like a kind of all round feel good day for me this day. She says 'you have very good teeth' and i say 'oh really (in that funny way you talk when you're trying not to show your teeth because as soon as someone mentions teeth yours go all shy) and she's saying 'yes, you do, let me look' and thumbing back your lips so she can get a good look at your pearlies and she says: 'do you drink fizzy drink'.. and i get to say 'no, no i NEVER do' (proud as punch) and to add to my own self inflation i say 'i don't really like sweet food'. This makes me feel holier than thou, and lily gives me a, what i think for her is warm, little nod of approval. IT's not true of course. I like russian fudge, and apple crumble, actually any crumble, and very dark chocolate occasoinally, i like anything that tastes like sour apple, like zombie chews or apple lollies, and sour coke bottles, and frozen coke, but only at the movies. But what i mean is, i haven't spent any part of my life consistently gorging on sugary food, and in doing so, i've saved myself aLOT of pain and dental bills. I think that's why i went to the dentist. THen she sands my teeth with a pointed ended electrical saw, or at least that's what it sounds and feels like, that she'd first frozen, and then sharpened to razor sharp point. and then she polishes (is this the same word as polish, as in, from poland, or can i not spell?) them with that chalky, sweet, slightly orange flavoured tooth paste. And i am good to go. Clean pearlies, and only one shape and tint away from true love. Happy days.

holy matrimony batman

Three conversations have coincided this week to make me have a slightly major epiphany. About marriage.

One conversation occurred on a semi-date, making this a legitimate entry onto my blog. (phewphs, i'm trying here people!)

I met a really interesting guy at a friends house, and in this case, I'm not using the words really interesting lightly. Smart, quick witted, easy to talk to, and an artist, oh and a greeny. Tick tick tick. Through our mutual friend he asked me if I would like to go for coffee the next day perhaps? Sounded swell to me. Then after facebook and web stalking him and viewing his art online and genuinely liking it a whole lot, I asked if as well as coffee, I could see his studio. I know what you dirty little monkeys are all thinking, but you can just forget about it. I genuinely wanted to see his art and workspace. You: *smirk*. Me: *rolls eyes* pfft!

So the next day we set off on a perfect, crisp, sunny long weekend day on foot towards town to see his studio (Ak uni, elam). And all the way we talked. Interesting talk. Actually, so interesting and easy that it made me realise how utterly boring most men are. yes you. you are so boring. We, i, women, bend over backwards making conversation puzzle shapes so you can put your conversation puzzle pieces in them. We bring up topics for you to talk about, and do all the right nodding and question asking. God it is all so tedious. But in this case, it was not at all so. I think it is fair to say I might never have met someone so worldly, in the truest sense of the word: so well travelled and broadly knowledged. This AND a great artist. I'm quite taken. I called it a semi-date because it wasn't one of those god-aweful, awkward, contrived, pressurised drink-at-a-bar scenario's. It was more like a really cool hang out. SO ANWYAY god before i lose the point entirely.

Said man, I'll call him the artist, he's got pretty good general knowledge, knows pretty much enough to talk about politics, history, geography, shit.. you name it. And you know, me, well, i'm smart, but i don't KNOW alot of stuff. i know alot about some stuff, but i really missed alot in school. i smoked weed and drew funny pictures of my teachers and wagged and got drunk right when things were getting, what i in hindsight now realise, were fairly critical. like history. ouch i just got a pain in my body even thinking about history class. but now i see, one should really know a little about the major events that occurred in the last few hundred years for example. because they shaped our culture, and our world, they shaped lanuage and art and philosphy and through that, shape today, and me. And besides, you just look dumb when you don't know things. And no body likes dumb people.

So i came home from this enlightening and educational, as well as truly enjoable day, with a bit of a mental list of things i wanted to read up about, you know, homework so to speak, and one of them was marxism.

So i'm reading away about karl marx, thinking shit, i'm kind of marxist! and i follow the wikipedia link about 'marxist feminism' because that sounds interesting. And here i read that marxist feminism is the theory that: the root of the oppression of women is capitalism, as it deprives women of property, economic equality and independence, and breeds unhealthy relationships between men and women. In this capitalist society, the family structure (i.e. marriage) serves to subordinate women, putting them at the service of men.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Bells go off in my head.
(This is why you should stay at school and learn, kids, so you know when someone is oppressing you).
Bells went off, and the ringing that they made sounded distinctly like the words 'fuck me, it's true'.

Just the night before, i had been talking with one of my best friends who is newly married and about to have her first baby. We talk about this and that and of course we talk about men, my complete absence of, or whomever i currently squeezing if i am squeezing (which i am not!), and her husband. And I can tell she really needs a vent you know, she tells me how he drops the cleanly washed towels on his poisonously toxic shoes and leaves them there, how he can't see the butter on the bench or anything else that needs putting away after he's made a sandwich... and on it goes. It's not particularly inspid, just home truths... and at the end of it she huffs and says crossly:
"I just feel like i'm his slave".
And this is one of the relationships i consider in the 'good' category. Well suited people who are in love. CRIPES.

And it's not just this friend, it's all my married friends. All the women feel this way, not just like slaves, but trapped. Trapped is a word I hear these days. They are totally dependent on men for financial support and their identity is suffocated out of existence by the all encompassing role of mother, the overwhelm, the expectations, the isolation.
Like the guy at the end of the bar, marriage looks less attractive the closer you get, I am finding.

Now now, I hear what you are thinking, what about the men? Exactly, what about those poor bastards, as emeshed in this dysfunctional system, shackled to their jobs, bearing the sum and total responsibility of bread winning. How horrible for them too. And I don't have even the vaguest idea of what an alternative solution to pairing and reproducing might be. But I have to say marriage seems a fundamentally oppressive institution, in light of these points. But MAINLY oppressive to women.

And this is not all. I had another conversation, via email, within days of these conversations, with a friend of mine who has been married several years. This friend said to me how they had wanted to discuss a particular sensitive theme with their spouse and it had created a huge explosion, which supported their growing belief that marriage was not a relationship in which you could be completely honest, or completely yourself. They went on to add, that marriage is so loaded with unconscious projections and expectations and that people subconsciously think that by getting married they have the right to be outraged if their spouse does not comply with their unvoiced assumptions, and that only non-married couples still had, at least, a sense that they didn't actually possess the other person.

And I thought, you know, it's really true. I see it all the time. In relationships, we negotiate, compromise, barter, because we KNOW that person can leave us and is opting to stay, essentially. And then the knot gets tied and people starting treating their 'loved one' like property, like a pet they need to perform well so their lives can remain on course.

It reminded me of another friend of mine who's husband wants sex all the time, and she'd quite happily live without it. She gestured to her wedding and engagement rings with the thumb of the same hand and waving them at me says: but this says i have to do it. I was slightly shocked, but only slightly. Which is shocking.
Hmmm swapping sex for gold and security... doesn't it sound a bit like... slavery?

So here I am, reading for the first time about Marxist feminism, with these conversations rattling round in the recesses of my brain, coagulating and attempting to form cut and paste messages for me, and I think a funny thing: marriage, is not, really.... feminist.

I'm struck that that is funny, mainly because i've never thought of it that way before. How come, in a world that was broken in two by our feminist mothers, (MY feminist mother!) and patched back together with women in the work force, equal pay (ha HA!), women in the army etc. well HOW COME we are still reading 'princess gets married to prince and lives happily every after' to our daughters, and how come our grown up daugthers, aka me and my UNmarried friends, are even still considering marriage an option, much less treating it as a GREAT TRIUMPH?!?!?

Someone's put something in the koolaid, becuase if the world was ever truly burnished by feminisms branding, the scar it left has all but faded to white.
Ahhh, look what the women have done, a little foot stomping, isn't that cute! Now send out the magazines to show them what to buy, how to look and how to act so they can use up all that silly energy covetting prams and cooking lamb roasts.

Shudder.

Now, being the daughter of a feminist mother, with an entirely feminist family, and feminist type expectations of me like, be everything, succeed all the time, have it all, feel fabulous being stretched within an inch of your inner resources... I thought i had been doing a fairly adequate job of feigning feminism. But here's the thing. THere are two ways you make decisions that support feminist ideals. One, is because you ought to, kind of the way you ought to finish dinner because african children are starving; and the other way, is because you're outraged.

And all these conversations and events and unveilings have culminated in me a feeling of, yes, a little outrage! And this outrage, lead me to all in one moment realise that I don't have to, need to, and in fact I think I may not want to, get married.

Ta da! That's the end of the show folks. Final bow, curtains fall. I mean, i never thought of myself as a ring-chasing big fat gypsy wedding type anyway, especially compared to many of my peers. But in a way I held this loose etheral idea of me getting married, the way you see yourself sitting on a porch when you're old. It's just how it looks. I may have watched too many movies.

And I tell you something else, boy does that take the HEAT OFF!
I didn't think I was dating in order to get married (and I feel like i'm going to be sick a little just writing that out loud to you) but the idea that i will never get married, by choice, well that just feels like a big fat gust of wind just blew into my life, peeling the curtains apart and the view it reveals is across a wide sea of freedom and possibilities, as far as the eye can see.

I've also downloaded lectures from oxford university explaining capitalism... next thing you know i'll be up and quitting my oppressive office job....

Yeah so that's all I got and it aint really funny so look at this fucking hilarious cat gif.
Oh, i don't know how to put it in... i'll try something else.

Oh and yes. I will be seeing extraordinarily interesting artist man again. This time armed with some prior reading! There you go. Nice call back at the end there! you see what i did. :)