Lent For A Year

So Slapper and I were chatting on the phone last night and we ended up, as usual, back to the same topic of conversation. How is it that some girls get quality blokes with the snap of their fingers while others get nothing but sore thumbs from all the attempts?

Firstly, take me out of the equation. Slapper is hot. As in she's smouldering. She's got all the physical attributes a man would want. Legs up to her pits, huge jugs and a wide open mind. She's been single for years. Bridget-Jonesdom is her comfort zone. And though that's all fine and well, it really really pisses her off that no man has come along worthy of enticing her out of it. Yeah, she meets hot men, intelligent men even. So she come away with a couple of great conversations but no soul-meet-soul connections, no lab-sized blow-outs, nothing happening on a cellular level that believe it or not, seemed so plentiful back in the '90s. Let's not even get into the issue of being too demanding. Life is not meant to be lived in mediocrity. Is earth shattering, you-rock-my-world chemistry too much to ask for these days?

Slapper told me about her best friend: diamond-dripping, Christian Louboutin-heeled, Chanel-wielding, fabulosity on legs, society princess Kimora. Poor Kimora's awesome international merger of an engagement has fallen apart in just six short months. All sad and truly heartbreaking stuff, but guess what, Kimora is back in the fast lane. Within 2 months, she wiped her tears dry, powdered her nose and hey presto, hot, intelligent Prince Charming no. 2 turns up in his C/S/A-whatever class of an automobile and sweeps her off her feet.

Question: Who gets Prince Charming No. 2?
Answer: Many girls do. Smart, ugly, witty, beautiful, fat, short, uneducated, black, white, brown, red, etc etc girls the world over are getting connected mind, body and soul!

I guess that makes Slapper and I Martians passing up as Venusians on planet Mars. Hey, its not as if we're hard up. Jeez, no. We like being single. Most ardently. But you know, we are a little bored. How is it that chemistry was all abundant a decade ago but so unbelievably absent in the millenium? We can't blame alcohol either. While I've been dry now for almost a year, Slapper is still prone to Chardonnays on Sundays (as if the weekend binge didn't kill her off already), so not much going for that argument. Goddammit, dry or high, we just want someone to fancy.

So here's Kimora's secret.

In order for new things to come into your life, one must make sacrifices. Make space for fresh produce. Clean out the fridge. Out with the old, in with the new. Sacrifice something to show the universe how much you want it. (PS. this is radically different from what I proposed in my post entitled May The Force Be With You written November 2006 but never mind, let's just go with it)

So Kimora gave up....chocolate. Within months, she was married to the sweetest guy ever. OK, so that didn't last but the universe didn't stop giving. In reward for her denial of Kit Kats, ganaches and all things brown and gooey, the universe presented her with Prince Charming No. 2.

I totally see the logic in the proposoition (?? well, kind of). I gave up alcohol, smokes, parties and high-heels and got sobriety, sanity and a faint resemblance of knees back didn't I? OK, so maybe I'm grasping at straws but hey, anyone in their 30s would agree that its the new age of experimentation.

So, what would really be a sacrifice for me to give up?

To meet someone absolutely fascinating and mind-blowing, I will for one year, starting now, give up....drum roll...

I will give up Pork.

Blek

Gosh I can really drone on and on with the heavy stuff...

Neeways, Pilates instructor tells me I have weak legs. Almost non existent inner thigh muscles.

So sad.

Fat and weak.

Ugh!

Re: Parents

I just realised that for the first time in many many years, things have actually been going well between me and my parents. Somehow, the stifled angst for whatever they did or did not do has sneakily uncurled from my store of 'wrong done to me ' and dissipated into thin air. Where did it go? How did I resolve them? I don't know. All I know is that it vanished and I find myself wanting to spend more and more time with the cantakerous old biddies I call my parents!

I guess we all have our issues with our Mums and Dads. Mine weren't conventional in their choices but I actually think that enriched my life rather than handicap it. Sure, there was a lot of pain and confusion in the past. Endless fits of rage and tears as I wished and wished I had been born into another family.

In the small town outlook of this supposed metropolis I live in, my upbringing appeared dysfunctional to say the least. So Mum and Dad didn't live under the same roof, there were these additional parent figures and of course all those rumours that sad people who have no lives of their own still speak of today. Believe it or not, I have been asked the strangest questions.

To the judgemental majority, it was no environment to raise a child in.

"Poor girl, she is the way she is because she's the product of a broken home".

Jeez. So many comments to make about that.

Firstly, that word 'broken home' totally sucks. It sucks also that I have to point it out. Having to explain the issue I have with it is like having to explain to a white person that I am not 'coloured'.


Secondly, I think people like to categorise. To fit people and situations into stereotypes and piegeon hole them 'cos then it becomes simple and convenient to deal with. I'd like to remind those who have forgotten, that both my parents went on to become part of long-lasting and what I would term 'successful' relationships. If perhaps not at first, they certainly have now. If that's not a lesson (or several lessons) in what works and what doesn't, I don't know what it is.

My parents made their mistakes but I can see now that I am the fortunate one. I've had the fortitude to witness the real deal in the making rather than live through a poor imitation stuck under the same roof "together because of the children".

So here I am defending my parents. Who would have thought.

My family and I have always lead independant lives. They did their thing and I did mine. I was left to my own devices at a very young age. It was easy to lie and pretend I was at over at so-and-so's place when really, I was out clubbing as young as thriteen. And believe it or not, I never ran off with random men (a prude then and a prude now), never took any drugs and certainly never got mindlessly drunk - I left those past-times for university.

It's my independance that has allowed me to weather many storms and it's something I totally enourage of my son. It puts your life in perspective and gives you the courage to live it. I thank my parents for it - from allowing me to leave home in ridiculous Madonna outfits to fully supporting me through bigger mistakes I have made in adult life.

I think what makes it the sweetest thing is that though my parents have given me the full freedom to live my life, and though I may have flown the coop on several ocassions; at the end of a long journey, I just want to hang out with them. Maybe its the Asian in me or maybe they're just way too cool to resist, but I cannot imagine not being close to them -physically and emotionally.

And I think that this coming to peace with them has actually settled a feeling of restlessness. It's not just that it's one less issue to thnk about. It's a feeling that, here comes the cliche again, that though everyday life is so mundane and so incredibly uninspiring sometimes (no man, no money, no dreams, ex boyfriend hates you, hate boss, etc etc), there is still love. Two people (or maybe four people) out there still think you're the puppy.