Foot in F*cking Mouth

I’ve only been at my new job for a month, so I’m still getting to know my colleagues and what makes them tick. Or should that be who makes them tick?

I was sitting with Claire, helping her with a TVC script when Sonja, our producer wandered over to Claire’s desk. She’d got engaged the night before and was showing off her beautiful ring. Squeaks of congratulations were flying through the air space of the open plan office. She was glowing, blushing, grinning from ear to ear.

Me: How did he propose? (Nothing wrong with that question? It’s the obvious one, right? WRONG!!!!!!)
S & C, in unison: She.
Me: Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Soooo sorry! (Wishing that the ground would open up and swallow me.)

Just when you think you’ve got the liberal thing down, your traditional worldview, which has probably been lurking in the dark recesses of your conscious jumps up and bites you in the ass. I’m ashamed that my first thought was from my hetro point of view. Have I been programmed or am I just so immersed in my self-centered point of view that I just assumed that everyone’s like me?

Sonja said it was fine, how was I to know. Indeed. The truth is that I don’t really care one way or another what the significant other’s gender is as long as people find people who make them happy and feel loved.

Perhaps we need to find a new derivative of s/he, you know like the “word” waitron. Waiter/esses no long have a gender. Perhaps genders shouldn’t have a gender. Okay, I know that doesn’t make sense, but it would make it a lot easier for faux pas idiots like me.

Juxtaposition

Yesterday evening I was having a smoke on my balcony. When I'm still coming down from the day I tend to lean into the balcony wall and dangle myself over it, with a few feeble pliés thrown in for good measure. What else is there to do when you're just standing there? (It's all part of the music video that is my life.) So, I was in this position yesterday evening when, down in the street below, a man wobbled past on a bicycle.

What fascinated me was that he was wearing a very smart black suit and a crisp white shirt. He had shiny, black formal shoes, doing their best to look convincing on the pair of pedals, sunglasses and dark hair, peppered with grey. And I wondered, what on earth was he doing on a bicycle? I imagined a gleaming Roadster, or a Jag, would be the order of the day. But there he was on his bike! What made it more amusing for me, was that I could tell by the rate at which his legs were pumping, he was in "granny gear". He looked as uncomfortable as his look.

He looked up and caught me watching him. I should have smiled. But I wanted to look, oh I don't know, pensive. (It's all part of the movie that is my life.) He cycled on, watching me all the while. I dragged on my ciggie, watching him all the while. And then he took the corner and was gone.

Corporate-man-on-bike. I will never know you, or your story. I'll never understand why you chose to ride that day. You were there for a few seconds and then you were gone. And if I hadn't gone out to feed my habit I would never have spotted you. Or be left wondering.

But, you on your bike, in your suit, makes me feel alive and real, because not every thing is supposed to make sense.

Language is…

Dynamic and changing. I understand this. Language evolves, over time, which is why we say knight with a silent ‘K’ and no reference to the ‘GH’ rather than the Chaucerian way… hard ‘K’, ‘n’ and ‘i’ and then, mustering up as much phlegm and spit as possible, into gggggggggggh and a sharp ‘t’. I wonder, did those folks mind wiping the spittle off their brow and cheeks? Or is it just me that can’t control my oral fluids when I talk? Hmmm.

But having said that… there’s something that really irritates me. When people abbreviate words, in an attempt to sound cool, with it, down with the lingo. SHUT UP because you really just sound like pretentious wankers. Here’s a short glossary, I’m sure there are many, many examples of these – I just can’t think of any right now:

Cab Sav: Cabernet Sauvignon
Lab: Labrador
Mare: Nightmare
RomCom: Romantic Comedy

A friend of mine uses another, that I’ve never heard before. I’m praying that she’s coined it, and more importantly, that it won’t catch on. And whenever she uses it, I’m almost reduced to violence – shaking and slapping it out of her: Cons. Cons? You ask… Yes, Cons! I say – and we’re not talking about those brutish men living out the rest of their days behind bars. We’re talking about a popular brand of takkie (trainer?): Converse.

Now I’ve been wearing Converse since 1994. Every year, since then, I’ve had a blue or a red pair. Most recently, I splashed out and bought a pair of blue high-tops and red no-tops(?). I’m not just a fan, I’m a convert. (No pun intended.) So, I do feel, since I’ve lived in the brand for 14 years, and my friend has just bought her first ever pair – I’ve a right to express my horror and dismay when out of the blue, people starting calling them CONS. Aaaaack! Say it isn’t so! (Strangely enough, I called my Docs, Docs, and have never had a problem with that! Although in my defense, Doc has been an abbreviation for Dr. for decades, possibly longer, and that could be why.) But Cons? It makes me want to run and hide. It grates my sensitive ear. And then there’s the violent streak.

So my plea is… help me squash the CON drive forever.

Or we’ll all be doomed to listen to:

So I went to walk my lab on the beach, I took off my cons to feel the sand between my toes. I was looking forward to a RomCom and wine at home when I realized that I’d run out of cab sav and the bottle stores were close! What a mare!

Excuse me while I vom(it).

Hush

stories, songs, magic spells
not yet slipping
just sipping the warmth of
whispered wishes
spinning on the edge
every seventh swell is a wave
spilling secrets from the deep

shifting sand between my toes

Cape of Storms

As the US braces itself for another hurricane, Cape Town was battered and bullied by a storm of its own this weekend. Foam and sea water hurled itself on to Beach Rd in Sea Point and the houses at Bakoven stood bravely in the face of eminent destruction. It made the front page. The little haven of a beach vanished beneath the waves.

I experienced my own little piece of the action at The Palms. A tree, torn in two, collapsed and took with it the boundary fence. Thankfully there was no damage to my car, or any others as far as I can tell. The novelty soon wore off as I realized that the tree, lying breathless in the parking lot has made getting in and out of my parking bay even more awkward than it already is. Now, I’m totally reliant on other cars not being there to escape and so, I’ve resolved to park in the visitors/shopper bays. (Actually finding a vacant bay at 17h30, notwithstanding.) I dare them to clamp my wheel. Go on, you know you want to.