False advertising.

#4 had been silent, as in, deathly silent. Therefore, I was annoyed, and being the stubborn person that I am, I was not going to check to see if his heart was still breathing (or whatever it is that stupid organ does, besides getting broke). As in, he seriously didn’t call. Which is fair enough given we are not in a relationship or anything and therefore there was never any reason for him to call. But still. A girl feels a little lonely. So I did what any girl would do in this situation: I decided I would get my eyebrows shaped, get a bikini (and upper lip) wax, do my nails, and even stock up on the ‘make-my-skin-look-nice’ stuff. Yes, some casual false advertising; I mean, my skin is mostly even and I am a bit of a yellow-yellow (Kenyan for light skinned, so the foundation has little to do with it), but the depilation might suggest I had just exited my mother’s womb - a little untrue. The aim of this exercise was to attract some much needed male attention at a party I was going to, give my number to someone, and have a coffee/drinks date for the next few weeks to look forward to, because exams and being ignored can make a girl go a little crazy. 

But alas! My plans were thwarted. By a chavy 21-year old with an Essex complex (pardon the snobbery, but she looked like a wannabe Katie Price, you know the kind that are wearing too much fake tan, white denim shorts in winter, and pink heels – Bleeugh!). She started to tweeze my eyebrows après lip wax, and completely destroyed them. Now I looked a little like Cruella D’eville’s previously unknown sister, with a slight, but definite surprised-botox-like look (*perhaps a slight exaggeration). This complicated date night; it was now going to have to be about impressing people with my charm, and legs, and good conversation. Thank heavens for my dimple and high cheek bones, my not-so-secret secret weapons.

And just like that, I realised that all girls are predictable. In fact, probably all human beings are predictable. We all engage in a little false advertising, everyday. We look for flaws to hide, goodies to accentuate, hoping to blind people to the faults we possess. Common situations include:

Work/school: This is where you talk really loudly in the ONLY section of the meeting you understand, hoping no one will catch onto the fact that you don’t know the rest of the stuff you were supposed to have researched. Or more simply, lie on your CV! *false advertising*

Relationships: We all try to conform to the person we think our significant other will love, and more often than not, strive for unrealistic perfection. Every so often though, our neuroses catch up with us, and you start arguments with “the text I found on your phone....” *false advertising*. Ps I am all for embracing the craziness, you might get the help you need earlier if people can see that you’re loco.

Parents: When mum asks you where you were, and you’re story starts “After uni today, I went to BWTB’s house to read, but she couldn’t drop me home so we had to wait until BWTB’s anonymous friend came, and it was late so we got food on the way, and her friend’s friend followed us so we were safe...” *false advertising*

So my plan for this week is to cut down on the false advertising. I will not wear any make-up, and I will sport my crazy eyebrows with pride, and a painful reminder of a lesson learned. Oh, also date night was fun, I did meet a boy, I didn’t give him my number though and we’ll probably never see each other again, but I restored some of my self-confidence. And #4, fuck off. Until you call me.

Taboos...

I was following the hurrah over Saints (#t), the new TV show in Kenya, and was bemused to see that Kenyan TV stations censor words like condom, God and sex. Yes (NTV wewe, even in England we hear about your nonsense). In 2011, at 20.30 on a Monday, this stuff still happens. The obvious questions were why the show was not given a later time slot, but more importantly, what exactly did they think would be achieved by censorship of that nature?!

It amazes me that some people still think that the only way to achieve anything is by clearly pointing out what’s taboo, because that obviously means our children will do the opposite, the non-taboo thing. Take Hosni Mubarak (and all other dictators really) as a crude example. He banned people from protesting, because he figured that would stop them. He didn’t care to find out what it was they wanted, but he assumed that saying ‘no, don’t do that’ would stop them. Ha! We are all children at heart: if you tell me not to touch something, I will want to touch that very thing. It’s not rocket science.

Censoring the word condom or sex. Did you think that would mean less Kenyans would think about sex? Or the 15 year old awake at 8.30pm (given all children under the age of 8 are probably asleep) wouldn’t be able to work out what the word was, or what it meant?! Jokes (for lack of a better insult). The person that devised the plan is a joke. The plan itself is a joke. The desired end...joke. The very opposite happened: people spoke about nothing else but the words that were censored, and you know what, that conversation was cool, and was about sex. So, joke’s on you. Mr Censorship (and all you dictators that think oppression lasts forever).

The Kenyan society is dominated by young people that don’t necessarily subscribe to their parents’ way of thinking. This is not due to a lack of respect (however hard my mother argues to the contrary), but rather, a result of exposure to a bigger sphere of influence. We all watched TV from a much younger age, had our first kisses before we could properly spell the word ‘awkward’, and generally pursued the forbidden fruit because our parents made it taboo, and hence fashionable. It’s a fact of life. Part of that discovery is a heightened awareness of ourselves as sexual beings. That doesn’t mean that all we do is do it (though for some of us...). It means that we simply don’t think a sexual identity of any sort will earn us dibbs next to Lucifer in the broiling chamber of doom (relax people, no need to shout ‘Shotgun not’). I and many of my friends are aware of our sexuality. Some choose to abstain, many choose to explore, and others choose to be liberal. We talk about it, and we respect each other, whatever one’s decision.

But good news for the censoring public and our parents; they need only be patient. Apparently, sex and all other fads, are like a time bomb...ticking, ticking, ticking, BOOM!!! and then there’ll be nothing left. According to the Sunday Time Magazine (Style section), loads of previously promiscuous people are over it. They did the sex thing, they experimented with partners, drugs and sexual openness, including, and preferably for that era, literally being snapped doing it. And then, they got over it. In fact, people actually report a sense of relief when they stop feeling sexy mid-forties, because perhaps they can carry on with knitting and cupcake baking while their partner finds a new hobby (usually a twenty-something girl that can only be described as VIVACIOUS, and with nipples more erect than the Berlin wall). One member of this ‘over-it’ era said ‘sex was cool when we were the only ones doing it openly and could flaunt it, you know, like cocaine. Now the village idiot’s doing it, so it’s time to find something new like, abstinence’. A bit like facebook and twitter then, huh?

Yours, Cowardly but Loving.

I always thought of myself as being anti-feminism, but I realised that was all bullshit. I am definitely pro-feminism, I like the fact that I have the opportunities to do all the things that boys can, opportunities that were probably much harder for my mum to come by (been following Egypt online- respect). I guess I had the misguided view that feminism was about opening your own doors and always going Dutch on bills, but it’s not. So I am happy to be thought of as a feminist, as long as it doesn’t rob men of the chance to be chivalrous J (*hides from the incoming torrent of abuse*...you do know what I mean though?!)

In other news, I ended ‘potential things’ with 458. Yes, yes, I hear you: how does one end potential things?! 458 and I were talking a lot, and I guess there was always a ‘possibility’ that something might happen, at least in his mind. I decided to stop that, before something went horribly wrong. These Ferraris did have a habit of bursting into flames after all. In fact, it was imperative for me to end it, because 458 almost said the ‘L’ word on Saturday night, and once that is said, things get complicated.

Which brings me on to what was/is bugging me: do any girls ever say ‘I love you’ first? I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to, but I haven’t said it that often in my life to have had the chance to say it first. I asked a few of my girl friends, and for supposedly modern women, we are terrible conformists. There was a cacophony of incredulity at the suggestion that it was ok for girls to say it first. One of my friends interjected with:

‘What if he doesn’t say it back? Huh? What then? You might have to end things with him, you know’.

This scared me. First of all, why the hell didn’t I know that relationships were always all or nothing?! Crap. Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing wrong. I always assumed that a man that loved you would say it back if you said it first and if not, he might need more time to work on the deeper emotion thing, but at least he’d be genuine.

I then, in my ignorance, asked the next obvious question: What if you do genuinely love him?

Angry women: That’s beside the point! He’ll know you love him, and he’ll use you.

The girls seemed to be in agreement. It is a man’s prerogative to say it first, because apparently, this emotion thing is completely beyond men, so if he says it first it’s got to be true. I literally laughed out loud. Bullshit, or um, bullshit?! Surely if a guy was going to play your ass for a fool, he’d say exactly what you wanted to hear, whether or not he said it first?! If we are stupid enough to think that men don’t know what women want to hear, we’ve got it coming to us. He’ll play the game, say ‘I love you’, use you and to put it in Kenyan-speak, ‘bust a move’. It didn’t sound like a foolproof way to determine what a guy was really feeling, or a reason not to be honest in a relationship. In fact, it sounded like a badly played game of entrapment. Maybe I need new friends.

Girls are cowards. At least, I am. I am afraid of rejection. I am afraid of feeling scorned if the boy doesn’t say it back, but truth is I wouldn’t love him any less. I am also scared that a guy could take advantage of me, but I don’t think who said what first would change that. Men are not that emotionally dense. My theory is he doesn’t say I love you because he REALLY DOESN’T LOVE YOU, which is tough shit, but its ok. If you feel too embarrassed to remain in the relationship, you probably didn’t really love him. The proffered reasons don’t dissuade me from saying it first; now if I could just get over myself and feel strongly enough for someone to mean it and say it.

Herein ends my happy thoughts for Valentine’s (Dashing-of-Piped-Dreams) Day. Go procreate like the rabbits we all want to be.

Yours,

Cowardly, but Loving.

PS. HD told me that he’s going to start a support group for people dumped by me, and call it DbB...Dumped by BWTB. Ouch. 

Awkward....

There is a saying (which might be very Kenyan, I don’t know) that ‘no one knows what happens between bedfellows’. Yeah well, that shit is true. My friend, Collinda (so not her real name, it's just I've been watching the Good Wife), called me to have a go about the guy she’s currently seeing, but apparently soon-to-be-exed. I, in true friend fashion, decided that I would be supportive, and if she asked for my opinion, I’d let it all hang out. The conversation took that turn sooner rather than later, when the trust issue came up.

Collinda: Yeah, you know I told you that he cheated on me?

Me: Yeah, the bastard (see how well I do sympathy?).

Collinda: Well I asked him not to do something, because there are trust issues.

Me: Obviously. It’s like me and... (I offered a painful self-narrative on lack of trust)

Collinda: He is still doing the thing! I don’t know what to even think. What do you think?

This is the point at which my strategy came to fruition: honesty time. Woop dee doo. Or not.

 Me: You have a point. If a relationship isn’t built on trust, it’s not going anywhere, especially with you facing a stint apart from each other (see how much Oprah I watched in my youth?! Sheesh).

Collinda: I agree. I guess I know what I have to do, it’s just so hard.

Me: Yeah, you do. Good luck...I am here for you...blah blah blah.

Collinda had surmised that I wasn’t taken with her boyfriend, given how little I felt at the prospect of them splitting up. There was nothing I said that wasn’t true, but a lot of extrapolations could be made as to the nature of my unspoken thoughts. Two days later, worried about Collinda's emotional wellbeing, I picked up the phone and called her. No response. I hoped she was ok and forgot about it. She rang me the next day and this is the point at which the holes in my strategy began to gape dangerously.

Collinda: I was kinda busy.

Me: Oh really? With...

Collinda: Oh, uuuuum.... (pregnant pause, as in one carrying twins) Mr. Collinda. Don’t ask.

Me: Ah right. Really? Ok, I won’t ask.

Then the unthinkable happened. We run out of things to talk about. This would be ok if Collinda was my boss or something. No, in fact, Collinda is someone I could spend all day every day with because conversation normally comes easily. So, this really was awkward. I couldn’t ask how the date was, because I clearly thought it was best for her if they didn’t date. Plus, truth be told, I felt a little scorned. How, in the name of all that’s holy, had the cheating swine managed that? Bad ass! Then I remembered my cousin telling me that ‘there’s no point having an opinion about another person’s relationship, cause truth be told, no one knows what happens after people have shared a bed’. It was true. I had made a huge assumption: that Collinda would look at the situation exactly as I did. Of course, I forgot about shared sheets, pillows, blankets, sweat, skin cells etcetera (I have so totally always wanted to use that word).

Ah assumptions, and with that, you reclaim your spot as the mother of all cock-ups. I am going to learn to shut up from now on, simply blog, and better still, I’ll stop asking my friends for their opinions if I don’t intend to listen to them. Or else...well I don’t know. It’s still awkward with Collinda. Hopefully I’ll be able to fix it soon, by...doing nothing (Equipoise post), or maybe buying Collinda some cake. I don't know.

Thank goodness I am having a *winter legs day* ... (i.e. skirt, no tights – Only for the brave).

This sex thing. It’s a big deal, huh?

I was sitting with some acquaintances in the common room, between a lecture on something-I-don’t-care-about, while waiting for the next on something-I-will-never-care-about-ever. The boys were discussing the problems with the female species around them. You know, in typical guy mode, when no 25 year old woman likes you because you act like you’re still 12, the problem is so obviously with them.

                Boy 1: Well they are all NSBMs.

I looked around the group and everyone seemed to know what that meant. Crap. I could feel another ‘MILF’ moment coming on (i.e. I found out what MILF meant about 2 years after it had come into general circulation. Yes, I am a prude, and no, I don’t read urban dictionary...often. Moving on...).

                Me: Guys, what’s NSM..?

                Boy 1: NSBM?

                *Insert plenty of chuckling semi-broken voices here*

                ‘It’s a no-sex-before-marriage girl.’

Really?! I mean, really?! Is it that big a deal? So much so, that you’ve devised a T.L.A (totally ludicrous acronym), that most certainly does not roll off the tongue?! The boys carried on with their conversation, claiming that these girls were fawning over them (on the inside clearly, cause I couldn’t see any evidence of this), but that their NSBM status was a NO-NO for the boys. FML (I don’t think I need to spell this one out, but I need to find me some new acquaintances, ASAP).

I completely forgot about this incident until it came up in conversation with HD (Harley-Davidson, previous post) a few weeks later. He laughed and then broke it down for me in girl-speak. A boy that is so concerned about NSBM status has probably only ever had sex once before, hence he is acting as though it’s such a big F***ing deal (pun intended), and will announce this to everyone even when no one is listening. He is also probably pretty average (pretty and average, pretty but average...hmm, don’t know what’s worse) in bed, and that one time, he was such a disappointment that the girl walked out with a knowing nod and a sympathetic ‘well done’. He also pointed out that any self-respecting, mature male (such as him and his friends), didn’t talk about it because: (i) he had experienced a previously fulfilling sexual relationship and therefore wasn’t bothered, or, (ii) he was someone that respected a/his woman so much that he definitely wouldn’t care about her status. He likened it to the fact that boys are always quick to make jokes about gay men being promiscuous, but the truth was, that other than being bigoted, they were jealous that a man was getting some, and they weren’t. Ouch.

I don’t really know if HD was right or not, and I haven’t thought about it much since then.  I did see one of the young ‘uns recently though, and it was all I could do to stop myself from laughing in his face and shouting ‘one-hit-average-wonder’. Good thing I didn’t. Apparently 12 year old boys often have no qualms about hitting a lady.