Friday 19 November 2010

KABOOOM

Recently a Russian woman living in Moscow called and told the police that her daughter was about to blow up a plane. Not just any plane, but the very plane her daughter was taking from Moscow to Morocco to go marry a man the mother didn’t like. Of course the daughter had no plans to blow anything up, she was just trying to get to the man with whom she recently fell in love. Take about dedication to the dislike of your child’s choice of partners. This isn’t just ‘I forbid it, or please don’t sweetheart, you barely know him.’ This is, “if you don’t listen to me, I’ll go Jack Bauer on your ass and have you arrested!” Of course after the police detained the mother for making a terrorist threat, she confessed she had made it all up. And of course what did the daughter do once she was cleared of all wrongdoing…flew to Morocco of course. I am thinking that Mom will not be sitting in the front pew of that wedding, and mom and daughter are looking at one hell of a therapy bill.

As some of you know, I’m one of five girls. That meant that over the years there was a boat load of unsuitable and unsavory types coming through the front door that we as children of course deemed suitable and perfectly savory. It went something like this….’But Mom, I want to live in a garage, we’re artists!...he does have a job, he just doesn’t make any money at it...so what if he has blue hair and rap sheet, he’s really deep and he loves me!’

I have to hand it to my mother; for the most part she was a real trooper and didn’t say much when we dragged the boyfriend of the moment over the threshold. I was of course all passion fueled, swearing that I would love these individuals until the end of the world (or until next Friday, whichever came first). She’d just nod, and I’m assuming at the time was chewing the inside of her cheek off so as not to say anything, and wait till the relationship ran its course. Which it always did. And don’t get me wrong, this acquiescence on her part did not happen over night. There were times she weighted in with her opinion, which of course was then met with a full-scale rebellion. I think she quickly realized that surrender was the easier option in the face of the fickle minds of women.

I am hoping that when it comes to the King – that is my son to yee recent converts of my blog - I am as reasonable and rational as my mother…the jury is still out on that one however. I'm fiery like my father and don't always pick sense and rationale as the first port of call. Hey, at least I can recognize my flaws. I must admit that I fear if the King ever brings home some gum chewing, Lucite heeled, pole-swinging floozy, I may have to put Heathrow on speed dial.

I kid, I kid (sort of).

Wednesday 17 November 2010

WHY WOMAN, WHY?!

A male friend of mine asked me the other day why women fake it. And by it, I mean IT. You know the ‘it’ I’m talking about. [Yes Mother, I really am writing about this]. I suppose this is one of the old age questions that men can never wrap their heads around because the answer is often not something they want to hear.

I of course told my friend the first thing that jumped into my head (and seemed the most harmless) which was that women are people pleasers. We just want everyone to be happy, often at the expense of ourselves. We are a very noble, selfless gender...or perhaps a bit too self sacrificing, I'm not sure which. Another reason is that sometimes it is just easier to fake it. How so you ask? Well any woman will tell you; sometimes it is just smoother for all involved if men think that they rang our monumental bell – so to speak. It strokes the male ego – and let’s be honest, men’s egos often need major attention; it allows us to avoid being the bad guy or go into a five minute explanation of why tonight it is just not going to happen, and everyone gets to go to sleep that much earlier. So it’s a win-win really.

On the other side of things [brace yourself guys] sometimes you are just not doing your job right. So instead of firing you on the spot, which could scar some men for life, we tell a little innocuous lie and make you think that your work performance is up to par. Trust me, you’re boss is probably doing this to you all the time. I bet you’re thinking well why don’t women just tell us the truth? Often we do. I mean, with one’s partner, I’m hoping that most people are far past faking it (you rock sweetheart), or I sure hope they are. Cause if not, you are long overdue for a heart to heart discussion, using a complex power point presentation. But if one is still casually dating, sometimes it is just a necessity to fake it and avoid the tedious three hour discussion on how Mr. ‘I Need to Prove Myself’ can get the job done right. Women are busy; we don’t have that much time to teach the slow learners of the world, especially those that are utterly convinced they're doing everything right (you're NOT).

Here’s the other thing about women. We fake a lot of things: our hair color, our height, our pant size (oh come on, you know you’ve fudged the numbers before), our age…hell these days one’s skin color isn’t even real. I keep asking people where they went on holiday only to be told they just got ‘sprayed,’ (with fake tan of course) like they have some flea problem. In fact I think we’re so good at faking it we figure why the hell not. It’s a power thing I suppose.

So next time guys, you feel compelled to ask yourselves why women fake it – the answer is simple…because we can.

Tuesday 16 November 2010

CRAZY CATHY

When I walk in the front door my partner always asks me if I made any new friends while I was out. Don’t be alarmed, we’re not swingers and ‘friends’ is not some code word for new prospects (those of you that are swingers, no judgement, go for your life!). He just amusingly thinks that every time I step into the park or go to a coffee shop, I will have met a new fellow mother of the neighborhood and start swapping recipes or fabric samples (I don’t cook or sew, so that’s not likely to happen). I guess he thinks women just give out their numbers to any fellow member of the female tribe. Little does he know how discriminating we women truly are. I take this preoccupation of his to mean that either he thinks I need more friends and worries that I am lonely or he secretly wants me out of the house so that he can play video games and leave his clothes all over the floor.

So the other day he and I were at a coffee shop – the breeding ground for friend making apparently - and he clocked this woman drawing at the table behind us, or as he put it, ‘illustrating.’ He immediately, and excitedly, turned to me and exclaimed ‘babe, you should make friends with her!’ You can imagine the puzzled and alarmed look on my face as he said this. I usually try my best to look at him with a blank expression and ask him, 'um why would I do that?' (Why I bother even responding is beyond me). He then explained that as I’m a writer and she is an illustrator – something he of course decided that she was – she and I could work together on a creative project of some sort. The man is just too adorable for words some times. Or nuts, I’m not sure which. What he failed to notice however was that the woman in the corner was tucked into the chair like she was afraid to the touch the floor, she was wearing slippers and looked like she hadn’t showered in days, not to mention brushed her hair. There was also a slightly crazed look in her eyes, but I didn’t want to burst my partner’s bubble quite yet. He was still so excited he found me a new friend.

So my partner gets up to get a coffee and on the way back to the table he checks out my new friend once again. Suddenly his face looks a bit worried as he sits down. He then confesses that my new pal…let’s call her Cathy – is not actually illustrating, but drawing in a coloring book…a kid’s coloring book. Ah yes, my dream of starting a creative enterprise with Crazy Cathy just went down the tubes. Cathy then shifted in her chair, raised the binder that she was using to lean on, and on the back of it in big BOLD black letters, was the word SUICIDE written over and over and over, all the way down the back of the binder.

This was the point where I looked at my partner, and politely explained why I don’t come home with fists full of phone numbers when I venture out of the house. Not to mention, I wasn’t sure someone with a preoccupation with death was a good influence on the King. (And if Cathy really was serious about ending her life, I hope she gets the help she needs!) My partner - now with a fearful look on his face - of course agreed wholeheartedly and decided that perhaps I had enough friends at the moment.

You have to love the guy for trying.

OUCH, I HAVE A CRAMP

Due to the current house prices and space issues in Tokyo, a 39 year-old man has approached things in a uniquely small way. I’m talking real small. He and his mother have built a house on a plot of land the size of a parking space...I know. Talk about a recipe for an episode of Cops. Can you say domestic explosion due to cramped living conditions?

Fuyuhito Moriya decided that instead of building out, he would build up, and of course used every design trick in the book to make his new home appear and feel bigger. I’m thinking if one is living in a closet essentially, there is no hallway mirror big enough to make one feel like the room is bigger than it is, but that’s just me. According to Moriya, every single corner of the space is used. The furniture is minimal, there are hideaway cabinets for kitchen appliances, and design tricks and illusions used in every conceivable way. And get this, a parking space size home will cost you in Tokyo around a half million dollars (land is quite expensive there). I’ll give you a minute to digest that.

I’m thinking it may be time to move to the country. For Moriya it as simple, owning a home this size was better than not owning a home. If it were me, for that amount of money I’d want a home, WITH ten closets. In England you don’t get closets – it’s utterly maddening and absurd. I used to go see flats and walk around the room repeatedly uttering "but where's the closet?" like some mental patient. You get free standing cupboards. Americans put cookies in cupboards. We don’t want our shoes in there.

As far as living with his mother, Moriya does admit that privacy is a problem. You don’t say? You live in a parking space, of course privacy is an issue! I can speak on my mother’s behalf on this one, the day she and I move into a shoebox together is the day the middle east becomes an Up With People love fest. I love my mother, and I want to keep it that way.

Apparently homes of this size are now becoming all the rage, which should tell you something about our cities populations and the housing shortage that is plaguing most metropolitan areas. As for me, my sanity and privacy is going to trump my desire to own a piece of property; especially if it’s a room that could fit my books alone. Then again, maybe living in such a simplistic way would force one to scale back and shed their earthly possessions….Actually, the King just reminded me that my earthly possessions have increased tenfold since his arrival, so that’s out of the question. Actually on this subject, I’m thinking only bachelors who are fond of their mothers can move into houses 30 square meters in size. Cause I know families couldn’t do it, hell, couples shouldn’t do. Not if they want to remain a couple.

My partner and I used to live in a flat was two rooms - two small rooms. You were either in one, or the other. No mystery there. So if one needed space, it was either you each picked a room and stayed there, or one of you was going outside in the freezing cold to get your breathing space. Don’t get me wrong, I realize not everyone can afford a large place. But Mr. Moriya forked out half a million bucks to be living on top of his mother, literally. I’m thinking in a few months he may be regretting that decision.

Sunday 14 November 2010

DJ MAMY

There is a 69 year-old Grandmother who has become a hit DJ in clubs across Europe and has now performed in front of 3,000 fans in the States. I can’t vouch for Granny’s skills, but apparently she has amassed quite a following – something tells me however that the appeal is due to her age and not so much her talent on the decks. Ruth Flowers, also known as 'Mamy Rock,' began her music career five years ago at a birthday disco for her grandson. According to her, she enjoys mixing techno with the likes of rock n’ roll ala The Rolling Stones.

Now don’t get me wrong, maybe Granny is a natural when it comes to mixing and spinning a record, but it somehow feels a bit condescending that people are so amazed she can do such a thing. Okay fine, it is not often one finds someone her age at the clubs; at my age – which shall remain an eternal mystery – I can barely tolerate sound above a certain decibel, let alone the thumping bass of club music and crowds of young sweaty drug taking youths. Just writing about it gives me a headache and makes me want to make a nice cup of tea – I’ve had a hard few months, give me a break. So I have to hand it to DJ Mamy for staying up past ten, throwing on her track suit and hitting the clubs. Not to mention the amount of mousse she uses to obtain her look; I mean that alone would take me a few years of my life to master.

But there is something that has always bothered me about the way the elderly are treated when it comes to things like this. Suddenly it becomes so ‘cute’ or astonishing when an elderly person does something out of the ‘norm’ (whatever the ‘norm’ means) or let's say, has a witty sense of humor. People get that amazed tone in their voice when they come across an elderly individual that refuses to sit on their sofa and contemplate what coffin suits them best. And trust me, I’m guilty of it as well. A friend of mine has a grandmother that in her nineties was taking bus trips everywhere with her friends, living on her own, and even would take to peeing behind trees on her forest walks. At the time when I had joined her on one of these walks and saw her hike up her dress behind a tree, I thought, holy hell, look at Grandma go (I did for a second wonder if she remembered we had left the house). But then I thought, why the heck not? Obviously when nature calls it calls and she clearly has a rebellious energetic spirit, and probably had it all her life. So why shouldn’t she keep that in tact into her old age.

For me, however once I hit 60, I'm thinking fatigue is going to weigh in a bit. At this point, peeing behind a tree just sounds cold and inconvenient. But as sure as I stand here, I know that I will be the granny that hurls out a joke or four letter word when it suits me cause that’s just me, no matter what age I am [especially if you think you can cut in line in front of me at the post office]. If you’re around me when I’m ancient, please don’t tell me you think that’s cute. Vulgar. Fine. I can accept that.

Here’s the thing, the elderly have won the game. They made it around the board more than any of us; they (hopefully) learned the lessons, gained the knowledge and amassed more experience than those of us that are still climbing the ranks. And yet, we treat the elderly like they are infirm (okay fine, some are), incapable, and ready for pasture.

So DJ Mamy, rock on with your bad self. And not because I think it’s cute, because why the hell shouldn’t you be keeping busy at 69 years young. It’s far better than sitting in some old age home gumming biscuits....then again, a comfy chair and a good biscuit does not sound so bad right about now. Yo, King, get your mother some cookies pronto!

Latest Posts