There's a feeling I get

There’s a feeling I get, when I think about you, it’s not the ordinary butterflies and a knot in the stomach type of feeling. It’s child like... Almost soft, but fluffy and light, with a strike to the heart that makes my heart beat painfully. It’s like I am being lifted from my body to... God knows where. This feeling brings a tingle to my back, makes me want to cry tears of joy, but for some reason, this crazy feeling gives me certainty, a sense of surety that doesn’t exist in reality. In life the only thing you can be sure of is yourself right? No, this feeling says thinking like that is crazy – it challenges the lessons I have learnt, it challenges the pains of being burnt, It even challenges the things I have seen – therefore it challenges who I am all together. It’s a feeling, but it takes over, almost like a person who is possesed in church terms.

Don’t mean to scare you, but just that there’s this feeling and I have never heard or experienced this feeling – this is besides the love I feel for you. This feeling is just a strange, strong feeling that takes over... It feels good to have this feeling, it’s surreal, and when I have this feeling I can almost feel your presence.. That is why I have decided that the feeling is you.. That is the only way I can explain – this feeling.

There’s a feeling I get sometimes.


I do…I don’t … maybe… wait hold on to that thought

So, common said something about black women and marriage which was repeated by Loyiso Gola, which I can’t remember exactly, but it sounded like they were both trying to say that they would like to see less black single mothers and more married black woman. (I may have misquoted and frankly my dear I don’t give a damn – hehehe I am such a plagiarist). So, anyway Loyiso’s random tweet got me thinking and contrary to popular belief I do think quite a bit.

When I was growing up, I had what you would call a typically girly childhood - I was the kid who always had a doll in her hand, I wore matching clothes with my mom and I had a miniature porcelain tea set that I was prepared to murder any of my siblings for if they touched or even looked at it. I believed I was a fairy princess, I put Tinkerbell lipsticks on and glittery heels ( now that I think about it they were like baby stripper heels… you know the ones in the Tinkerbell range SMH – what kind of a stripper name is Tinkerbell anyway) I had earrings, a doll house and wait for it… I collected Barbies. I lived in a perfect little world where I even had volumes and volumes of books that had the most enchanting fairytales. My toys and my books taught me a few things, Beauty is essential (you should see me now – some lesson we don’t learn) and every woman needs … sorry every beautiful woman needs a knight in shining armor to rescue her. Secretly I still believe it.

After the doll stage, I found myself being the akward kid in boarding school and by the time the teenage years hit WOAW!!! Let’s just say they asked me to play a donkey in a play and I warmed up the seats at socials. But I grew up in a home where there was a mother and a father, for as long as I can remember I have wanted to get married even when I was Donks, I had my first huge crush on a guy called Shane. I mean my diary was filled with this guy’s name I wanted to marry him – he clearly did not think I was human at the time. I wrote about him everyday… well I just wrote his name over and over every day not like he spoke to me and I really had content to write about. That crush was swiftly crushed by my mother as she found the diary, read it and told me in no uncertain words that boys were evil and if I ever went near one my life would be over and I would be buried at the dodgiest place that she could find (of course this is the condensed version she had a whole lot more to say. My mind decided to block that as I was traumatized).

I finally started dating when I grew into my teeth, never did grow into the over bite, but I think it has a charm about it. So, the name ‘Donk’ as in donkey disappeared after I grew into the teeth and after my mom finally allowed me to wear jeans when I went to varsity, boys began to talk to me and buy me chocolates and weird things from the cafeteria. So, I started dating naturally, first it was the guy that my friends were convinced was gay, coz he told us he had to sleep with a dookie on (ok maybe I should not go through them). But the point is that I believed in marriage, and I contribute this to the great family I grew up in. My dad was super dad and mom was the perfect mother, wife, sister and friend - so I modeled most of my relationships after them. I played the perfect wife, I cooked, cleaned, listened, worked , knew stuff, played play station , knitted, sewed, took care of injuries from drunken stag nights and on and on.

So, there I was in all my perfection and also a career girl, by this time I was dating a very brilliant looser, this guy was the smartest man on the planet according to himself, but could never keep anything for more than a year without destroying it - he drove over his own dreams like they leaves on the side of the road. He was bad ass and I thought he was so cool. Of course I thought he was cooler when he said he wanted to marry me. Finally my dream (yes, I said dream), my happily ever after, just like in the fairy tale books. I had just forgotten one detail my prince was prince Harming not charming, I cooked, cleaned, worked and he watched movies and went to art school ( he was pretty old) – nothing wrong with that – if we help each other out. Brothers, cousins, randoms and friends would be there every day and I would have to cook and then clean up and boy did I want to kill them. Every day.

To cut a long story short after a series of girls from art school I left and asked myself what makes a wife. According to the brilliant loafer it meant taking all the shit and working like a dog, You mustn’t be happy, he must be happy. So, I looked at the best place I could look… well before I tell you about the looking I have to tell you how much contempt I had for marriage, I was sure I was becoming a feminist, I mean I had the burning desire to make all men suffer (I know that is not the definition of feminist – shut up this is my blog and my thoughts… aaahhh stop judging me). Then after getting over the loafer and the many unspeakable illegal things that he did including leaving me broke and homeless. I looked at the only place where I could look for answers on marriage. I looked at my parents.

The only two people who I knew who had spent thirty years together and never left each other’s side no matter how bad it got. The two people that supported each other in every little thing the other did even if they did not agree. The only two people that stayed in love, no matter what the world said. Then I looked at my friends who just got married, some are already getting divorced … because we have forgotten that love does not exist in duality.

I cannot raise a child in a single parent home because I would not know how to and could never have the strength to do such. I believe in happily ever afters and I believe in marriage, but I believe that my generation is also disillusioned. One day I hope I will find the love of my life so in conclusion I say ‘I do’.

The toilet was my headboard

Ok, so what a day right? I mean a lot has been happening in the rainbow nation – I mean with Juju Malema calling people Satanists and not deserving to be wives and Winnie dishing it out on the Diba and Deputy Jesus Tutu the cretin (in my arrogant opinion finally saying what I have suspected and said all this time) to young popstar (? Is that right he is a popstar right?) Molemo Jub jub(got his name in the papers) and his cronies mowing down a few starry eyed, young and hopeful bystanders. What they hope for I cannot be sure, but we all have dreams and I can bet my left toe those kids had big dreams and plans… in fact I can bet they were all planning to get home and make a sandwich and wonder about that girl or guy they like, look at the homework they may love or hate, they may have even been planning to pick a fight with their siblings, because they wanted the remote. Whatever it was they had short term and long term plans, but we all know that he who giveth also taketh away – but he clearly uses us dumb party animals that think life is about having fun to prove a very sad point.

I bet when the cars started swerving and heading towards human lives Jub Jub and unknown buddy sobered the hell up. Who wouldn’t? I sobered the minute I realized that I would have to answer for the five lives in my car. I mean all we had was a little Champaign that is a little Champaign all weekend. I bet Jub Jub also had a little beer here and there and a few lines between the beers – I am sure that stuff can blur the count. And getting behind the wheel of a Mini Cooper is pure bliss trust me I know and love the car like no other. Marinqi baby I love you (private moment) the car with its 1.6 engine moves from 0 to 100 so smoothly it becomes hard to resist acceleration and a bit of show off movement, because it’s miniature form allows you to sneak into every nook and cranny. The car is a little beast and I am in love with it.

Now when you are under the influence as most of you may be familiar with, not only are you loud and think you are ok and can do stuff, but I hear that with cocaine you develop a ‘Superhero’ complex… clearly in my observation the three don’t mix – car, booze and drugs and what a way for your mom to find out you do the powder… Yikes.

Ok down to my inauspicious moment of dumbfuckness, like I said we had a little Champaign, as in a little Champaign the whole weekend – we may as well have bought a fountain. Thousand of rands down the line and a sweet Sunday Camps bay sunset later we set off to go spend more money on more useless drinking only to celebrate the huge change and love in my life. I drove, it was my car after all. Never minding the fact that my tyres needed changing as the threading had been filed down to a smooth feel I drove on those curves like I was being commissioned by the F1. I reached a messy curve, that without my glasses and hammered as I was - drove me straight to the pavement. Thank God I landed on a clear pavement with no people. Alas I had burst all four tyres , and totally realigned my car. People were alive, still drunk, but I was sober.

I drove the car to the nearest gas station, so as to leave it there, take a cab and deal with it in the morning ( I so had a party to get to – no worries right?). Some tattle tale saw me Donald ducking my car to the gas station and called the cops… wait back track did I tell you that I was moving cities so I had half my clothes in the boot of the car and as soon as I got to the gas station I took all the clothes out and handed them to homeless people. When I think back, those folks got a lot of stuff… not the point. The POPO’s came and well we tried to negotiate, I was off the hook when the cab showed up, but then Rudi (and he will read this and swear at me) Said in his angriest and drunkest voice: “Fuck the Police”. I really don’t want to remember the following details, but none the less I ended up in a cell in SEAPOINT with the biggest white Afrikaans woman I had ever seen in my life!! I was wearing a mini dress because we were starting summer and I was just a tender 23 year old. I was scared witless and Big Bird could smell it. As soon as I walked in she told me:” I R in here coz I beat up that police cop man… he tuned me kak mos and no one tunes me kak!” I stood by the entrance bars shaking and crying. At this point I am thinking: ‘Shit WTF happened and what if my parents find out? OMG this dress is new, I bought it yesterday… what if she takes my dress… it cost so much. What if my parents find out and cut me off? ‘I cried even harder. Big Bird got up and got closer and she told me to sleep by the toilet. Yes, the toilet was blocked and over flowing, there was no mattress and 1 blanket in a holding cell is really nothing.

I kept gagging, but you know how it goes I had not eaten the whole day, I just swam in Champaign. All of a sudden I was really sorry, I mean I am not illiterate I had seen all the ‘don’t drink and drive’ messages, but no it could never happen to me. Never, not to me, I was young, beautiful, educated, high LSM – hey I could do as I pleased, but I was wrong. I couldn’t, no one could. I was as guilty as the guy who stole bread, but at least he stole because he was hungry. I endangered my life and people’s lives, because I was a cool, arrogant dumbass. Those 4 hours, I froze my ass off, cried my eyes out and gagged my insides out, yet the greatest thing I did was think. I thought about what a prick like life I had been living. I was the female version of a pompous arrogant prick. I really thought I was somebody. But the disappointment that my parents would feel scared the most out of me. The people that had given me the world were going to find out that I took that world and I made it a joke by partying it away.

Finally the sun came up, the cops came in with breakfast – I could not eat, he hit on me, I ignored him and an hour later he came to fetch me to tell me my friends were there to get me. Almost Scott free just that a frenemy got hold of the story and called my brother who called my dad and my dad called the Police station… Ay. Ok No fib could get me out of that one. What I look back on and appreciate the most is that they showed me that my behavior was unacceptable and I had to sort out my own crap – no more spoilt brat. To cut a long story short, I went home, took a shower got my car towed, everyone was mad at me and many thousands of rands later I had a car with fly rims. I put it on the train, got on a flight and started a new journey in a new city.

I was very lucky, I got off super easy, I could have also driven into people, but I would have to face the consequences. My heart goes out to the Families that lost Promising young people, but we must understand that God decides when he takes and when he gives. Jub Jub and his friend had no way of knowing that. Yet, in all honesty we must admit that like me and my big mistake they made a dumb move. One dumb move could change your life forever. You know after I thought about this boys story this morning I was too afraid to touch a car. I know how it feels to have your heart sink because you can see your life disappear in front of your eyes, but you don’t die you stay alive to face your mess and what it brings with it.

So, should we judge this guy? We are human and we judge, but he is not a murderer he is a dumbass, like I was, like any of us is when we think we can skip that robot, drive up that one way but mostly when we think we can indulge in alcohol and drugs and think it is ok to drive… it isn’t. Rather stay at home and drag race on play station. And that my friend is my 2 cents.

The dream

I woke up one morning and had a waking dream, I saw myself from outside of me - I saw how the world saw me, rather how I wished they saw me. When I rose from my sheets, I turned to my right and gave you a morning kiss, walked to the bathroom brushed my teeth and felt your breath on my neck as you kissed me gently and said: “Hey you!” I ran the bath water and we jumped in and scrubbed each other’s backs.

This was my awake dream but you were there…
We got dressed, laughed at a joke, picked up the car keys, I grabbed a notebook, you grabbed a sketch pad – we smiled, locked the door and off we were, our separate ways, the day was about to begin.

You found a beautiful park and created brush stroke interpretations of the world around you, your pencil danced lightly over images that your eye caught and your mind dissected. You smiled as you felt the joy of creating something you love.

I sat in a padded room with deaf ears, but feeling notes with every other sense, I turned them to melodies and heard my heart harmonize to the beats. I created a song, the one about you, in the back of my head Nina gave an award winning performance… I felt waves of love move through my back, I smiled as I felt the joy of creating something I loved.

That night, for the first time, and only in my awake dream, I sat in front of my drums, notebook open, microphone ready, drumsticks in hand. I start the tune, sing the tune, the base guitar goes off, I hit the drums, the piano starts, I am nervous, I look at the crowd – you’re there. I’m alright, actually I’m good, good at this, loving this, loving you, loving you with my song.

We’re home, it’s a late night, we are drunk, everything’s funny. Hash? I open the door and there, right there on the center of my wall, the most beautiful painting I had ever seen. Your love, my love, we good, good at this, love this, love me, love you.

Then I went to bed and my dream ended

I must be politically correct. I got my hag stamp didn’t I?

Aaahhh the great smell of freshly cut roses, I actually don’t like roses, there are a lot of things that i don’t like and one of them just happens to be people thinking they own me. You know those people that think they can tell you what to say, who to be friends with and they suggest how you should dress. Under normal circumstances your mom or your wife (if you are a heterosexual man) would tell you that, but I am not a man and I don’t think I will have a wife – no, I am not a lesbian (not that I am against lesbians, I just don’t swing that way and my mom might read this – I really have to clear that up. I am single by choice). Back to my point I really don’t like people telling me what to do or think or telling me anything that forces me to behave in a way that pleases someone else before me.

A while ago in my younger days, I woke up one Saturday morning, bored, broke and living with the devils spawn who was still behind her cloak where she held the life size dagger that she would later stab my back with and laugh all the way to the bank with my hard earned money, but that is a story for another day. The point is I woke up this particular Saturday Morning and as usual I took a jog , but this Saturday was different as I felt that I needed more than just another Saturday in my boring and newly single life - I wanted more, I wanted to meet people interesting people and I called the only person I could (well, the only person who answered my please call me). I picked up the phone and called the king himself. And if you know anything about being cool you will know that calling a guy called the king guarantees a day filled with good times. This story is not about that day, it is about who I met that day and how I finally got my hag stamp (almost).

The King as he is affectionately known, took us to a strangely crusty guys house, but he is celebrated in the in the creative industry, so everybody, sort of became an ass kisser and we had to be nice – he did have a nice house though – this story is not about him either. Well, to cut a long story short, everyone arrived at the house in drones - I was not entirely familiar with everyone , but back stabbing cloak and dagger girl had the 411 on every human that walked through the door. I say human in the nicest way because a few of the characters that walked in could have past as exotic creatures (will not blog pictures for fear of being sued for telling the truth. You know that happens right?). Then my favourite person at that time walked in – let’s call him Jude, luckily he was one of the human looking people.

The day was filled with activity, the King was the main entertainment, he was on a roll and his mouth ran like it had been charged with Duracell batteries. It was great, there was food moving around music making us dance and well Jezebel juice for those who are prone. Backstabbing, cloak and dagger girl kept whispering in my ear about Jude: “he’s gay and he doesn’t want anyone to know – he is friends with my sister.” Ok I thought. Why is this any reason for me to care? To cut to the chase, Jude was a nice guy who would behave straight and flirt until he knew me for about a week, then he found it fitting to state the obvious: “buddy I am gay.” My replay was a quick nonchalant: ”I actually know”

So, weeks went by and we began to hang together everyday, since I actually did not have a job and Jude did nothing at work, we hung out and partied and to Backstabbing cloak and dagger girls dismay we dragged her along too – not like she had anything better to do. Time went by and short and natural cropped hair went from a wig, to a punk relax and my face went from clean to thickly covered with makeup. Everyday of my non working I had to wake up, dress up -no seriously I would pick outfits the night before. Me! An entire Chumi was wearing liquid tights and dancing in gays bars as the new and improved version of the Golden hag. And boy did we dance. I ended up at places that my ex used to take me to (I did not know they were gay clubs – I guess the sign should have been when he kept disappearing) and when I was there I realised I was a hag all along especially when I was dating WOW! Jude was not the gay guys we see in Birdcage or Milk or other movies about queens or lady guys. No he was a guy, guy... a guy who almost beat up another guy ‘cause that guy called him a bitch.

One night, when my face was covered in about ten layers of make up and my lip gloss looked like I had eaten a greasy pork chop without using my hands. We ran into a really fabulously gay couple that did not have a hag. I danced with them we all had fun and they gave me style tips and one of them wanted me to become their dressing project – This is where Jude jumped in and said: “She belongs to me!” All of a sudden I was a Barbie in a bar. The conversation was about me, but not with me. I took out a mirror and I realized i looked like plastic. I heard the Fab guys say: “Then mark your Barbie – you know, tattoo her under her foot.” We laughed, but this was not really funny, at least not to me. I left there feeling like – well like I had run into my ex and his friends. I am not the personality I am just the face next to him.

I became a girl, and started going on about how i really need a boyfriend, I complained to Jude that i wanted to be like him and his boyfriend, I wanted someone to cuddle and share secrets with. Jude told me that I didn’t need one he was my boyfriend. He would give me everything I need - just not the other stuff – I mean the guy was gay people. A few weeks later I found a boyfriend, the pressure the jokes and the ‘he is so useless speeches finally led me to driving him away. Ok truth is the guy was just pretty everything else the Lord did not bless him with at all – 90% of his conversation was about how much he loved his velvet suites. Personally i was afraid of them. No really he had like seven of these things in every colour you could imagine. Week 2 i told him to take a hike, i just couldn’t listen to anymore velvet talk, plus the friends were not happy (I was young ok... I can feel you judging me).

So, time went by and i carried on the adventures of the Golden hag – then I got a job, needless to say i did not have time to HANG OUT THE WHOLE DAY. Then problems began, Jude and my friendship took strain... wait I wanna back track. Did I mention the part where Jude took us to a gay club and my window (car) got broken and I decided that I was never hanging with them again, but I did. Now Moving on swiftly. So, i got this job and i dedicated all my time to it. I actually enjoyed working saw Jude less, I started forming my own opinions. Jude would get angry that I was not coming over as often. Then the big fight came he said: “You have to choose between me and your life out there.” What?? All i did was refuse to hang out in Soweto at night, with a car with no window. You would think that it would end there. I started looking less plastic and more human, he started calling me every pay day. It seemed i was paying something called a hag fee. This fee was never under R1000 – as if I had no bills to pay from lounging and not working – wait I still had that window to fix... yeah the car one. So, one day i said no and i had big family responsibilities, I got insulted and found myself a gayless hag. I am happy that it all happened before i got the tattoo under my foot. Yes the one that was scheduled to be done so that everyone knows which gay guy i belong to. No, we were no Karen and Jack, neither were we Will and Grace. I was the puppet he was the master. My rebound relationship was a story of a gay guy and his plastic hag.

Every morning when i wake up and see the big zits on my face and my nappy hair popping from my braids . I pull my gappy smile and say hey there strange looking sister – it’s good to have the stupidly opinionated you back. Thanks to twitter I think I have a life