Me? Getting Married?...Hell No!

I've noticed that more and more young women seems to be ruling out marriage as an option. I mean totally. Not "I might not" but complete and utter, unequivocably 'never in a month of Sundays' "I will not!"...and the kicker? They're all straight (well almost). I start to ask myself what's gone wrong. Who or what is to blame for the prevailing reluctance to ride all the way to the last bus stop of relationships? Could it simply be a matter of age? There is something known as the audacity of youth, the prevalent belief of the young of age in their invincibility and seemingly demi god-like infallibility, their total faith in no-one else but self. Age and time usually cures one of that folly and when the biological clock and pressure from friends, family and society in general a mad dash ensues to find the ideal (and not so ideal) husband before the last viable egg shrivels up and the words Hot flash, night sweats, oesteoporosis, HRT and vaginal atrophy form the mainstay of your lexicon.
Is it the dearth of suitable companions? Or is it the sour taste of bitter pills swallowed that still linger? Is it the placing the weight of lofty and insurmountable expections on the shoulders of mortal men (expectations of such proportions as to render even Atlas and Hercules combined powerless and doomed to failure) the cause? Do these young women have not so SMART projections and expectations of their imagined spouse. Do they seek fantasy where commonsense should prevail?
Perhaps it is simply lack of faith in the institution of marriage! This seems like a possible answer. Considering that global statistics show that you have more odds of being a divorcee than remaining married, if you don't have the nerves of steel that favor a game of craps or roulette to which skill is not a major consideration but pure sheer dumb luck (or plain old loaded dice), you might be inclined to avoid a foray into the blood drenched battlefield called marriage a.k.a community property. Again it might not be the fear of divorce or failure but the fear of marriage itself. Our parents are to blame in part here. Our parents' or guardians' marriage is the only one we have front row seats for (asides our own...if ever) and more or less makes or breaks our conceptualization of the word marriage. We are our parents' children and they our primary handbook and road map on matters of the ways of the world. Even as we age and mature and break the bounds of parental influence, our actions and decisions are based consciously and unconsciously, directly and indirectly on our level of disdain for our parentage. We either act to be...or be nothing like our parents. That said the quality of the marriages you are privy to information about taint or color your notions on the prospect. Again our culture and its unspoken endorsement of male infidelity does not prevail upon women to be bound so tightly to men, seeing as he has a virtual carte blanche to be of mischievous intent.
But again really what is the need for marriage? Isn't marriage really the deciding of two people to be emotionally connected and showin the world the strength of their conviction in each other? So why the ceremony? Isn't cohabiting much the same thing? Two people deciding to couple their lives and their assets without fanfare? At least abroad I know that cohabiting partners have certain legal protections similar to those enjoyed by legally married partners, and common law espousal is recognized. Is it wrong to seek commitment but not the attendent jewelry? Or is it a case of eating one's cake and still trying to have it?
Or are the only cards in the deck really just marriage or eternal bachelor(ette)?
Please take note that these are mere musings on my part, the musings of a much demented and jaded mind no doubt, that still hasn't made up it's mind on acquiring a Mrs. status, but I'd like to know your take on this muse.

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Sex, Lies and Vodka Pt. 1

(Excerpt from a story)
10.30pm and I'm stuck in traffic! I shouldn't be where I am! I should be rounding up my 8pm date with my boyfriend and maybe getting a little brown sugar for dessert. But no...I'm stuck behind a belching cancer box that V. O. I hasn't seen and worse of all my cellphone's died on me, so I'm unable to call to cancel our date. My boss decides, at the last minute...as usual...on a friday (lousy day for traffic) to send me off to see a client in Eleme of all places. I estimate another 2 hours of limited movement and turn off the radio and select 'The Man That Can't Be Moved' by The Script to listen to, and cue 'Dark Horse' by Nickelback to follow, the beats keep me company and match my mood.
Fast forward 3hrs, I finally drive into my compound, the yard appears empty...seems my neighbors took advantage of the weekend and went to the club. Musa, the security guard, gives me a note. Michael, my very ticked off boyfriend of 5 years, apparantly spent an hour waiting for me at home after an hour long wait for me when I didn't show at the restaurant. It's seems my cell packin up was a mixed blessing. At least that way I didn't have to hear him bitch about me being late for the duration of the date. Well thank God for small mercies.
The whole relationship was starting to get a little bit stifling...what with his everyday complaints about my job, my career drive, my time and my friends. I don't know what he wants really, if I were a woman who sat on my bootylicious booty all day and waited for him to come buy me sanitary pads he'd be on my case 24/7 that is if he hadn't left me already. Unfortunately or fortunately i ain't that kinda chick. I like my great job, great car, apartment, wardrobe and generally my great life.
Anyway I open the door, kick off my shoes and head for the kitchen. A half bottle of chilled red wine beckons me. Glass filled and bottle in hand I head to the bedroom sipping as I go. The lights are dimmed and Freddy Jackson serenading me in the background, i slowly start undressing, divesting myself of my suit jacket, rumpled white shirt and kicking off my short skirt. Sitting on the bed I slide off my sheer stockings one leg at a time. I head to the bathroom and start the process of filling the tub as I seriously need the soothing heat of a bubble bath. As the tub fills at an agonizingly slow rate I head back to the room dancing to the slow beats. I've just taken off my barely there silk and lace contraption that Victoria's Secrets called a bra when the doorbell buzzes. I pray wistfully that whoever it is will just go away, but the buzzing continues. Grabbing a robe off the hanger on the back of the door I head for the front door angrily...ready to rip the person a new one...! I mean who the HELL is that at 2AM? Through the peep hole I see Jamie my friend suitcase in hand.
"J! What the hell are you doing here at this time...with a suitcase no less". She looks at me and starts sobbing. "Mel...Justin hit me again," eyes bloodshot and swollen "he accused me of flirting with a guy at the club and when we got home he hit me! I left...I can't take his insecurity and jealousy anymore!" By now we'd gotten to the parlour and she collapses on the sofa weeping uncontrollably. Now although I make all the right noises and say all the right things I have no sympathy for Jamie whatsoever. Justin and I are like 1 and 10 or better yet parallel lines. He's an ass! This wouldn't be the first and not likely be the last time he'd hit her and she left. At least once in three months my pad becomes a shelter for battered women thanks to the two Js. I've told her to leave him for good but she always goes back. Always justifying his action and layin the blame for his latest beating on his job, his mother, her...anything but him! According to her 'he loves me, he really does...it's just that he's stressed'. Huh! Some kinda loving! The last time she lost a 4 month pregnancy, the next time the bastard might kill her! The irony of it is they're not even married yet, 7 years of togetherness and she's been his punching bag for 3 of these 'blissful' years. Well bye bye bubble bath! Sayonara blissful sleep!
Inwardly pissed I lug her case into the bedroom and usher her towards the bathroom to clean up and hand her one of my nightgowns. Now Jazz is a beautiful girl with a great body and even greater job but Justin has made her a shadow of the bubbly and vivacious imp I met in college. Jazz was once the heart and soul of every party, the IT girl that everybody wanted to be friends with. People would go out of their way just to see her smile, and do anything to hear her laugh. Jazz and I had also for a brief while been lovers! It wasn't anything serious...more curiosity than lifestyle. We were younger then and wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by a woman, we loved each other as friends and were close enough not to worry about exposure. So I had vested interests in my former lover's happiness. Watching Jazz soaking in the tub brought back forbidden memories of long repressed embraces. Helping her scrub her back my hand lingered ever so briefly on the base of her neck...her sensitive spot and I feel her shudder...it seems she remembers too. She turns her head to look at me...like a puppy left out in the cold and I bend my head and kiss her. Not a deep or passionate kiss...just a light friendly reassuring touch on the lips with mine. Her mouth opens, inviting my tongue in. Instead I nibble on her bottom lip. She moans softly and shivers. My hand moves to her right breast, as I get down on my knees, gently tweaking on her nipple. She opens her legs and guides my hand to her parted legs...
(T. B. C)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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TMI

We currently live in what is commonly referred to as the Information Age. Constantly we're bombarded by information...from radio, print media, tv, the internet...you name it. We've got information up to our ears.
Daily we're asked information about ourselves and disclose intimate details on questionnaires and such. However my current question is...is there such as thing as Too Much Information (aka TMI)? Is there a line between just the right amount and too much?
I went to the bank last month to open an account and was asked to fill a form. Some of the information was routine, where do you live, where do you work etc, but some of the questions were to put it mildly bloody invasive. How does my martial status (or lack thereof) or religious affiliation determine my ability to run a savings account? Savings! Not even a current account which has a facility for overdraft. Even for a current account, legally, my (imaginary) spouse isn't liable for any debts I as wifey incur (sadly if he runs up a big old debt and skips town I get stuck with all the responsibility). Enough of me and my banking wahala, but seriously when do requests for information become invasion of privacy?
In relationships the oft stated mantra is full disclosure, but when is full disclosure too much? Is it proper to list off the number of men you've slept with since you lost your virginity? How many is too many? 5? 10? 30? Do you need to mention booty calls and one nighters in the list? Should you give him clues to the real number of abortions you've done if the need for that discussion arises? If you run across an old fling and find out he knows your significant other, should you spill the beans or shut the hell up and hope they're not too close?
Is telling him you once dated his Dad (before you all got serious) a good idea? Especially when Daddy's not spilling. Or how about telling him you had sex with his best friend? To do or not to do?
I know honesty is essential to any relationship and I also know the Good Book says "the truth shall set you free"; "My people perish for lack of knowledge" "nothing is hidden under the sun" and all other such goodness, but shouldn't some things stay buried, and isn't ignorance supposed to be bliss? Are there things best left unsaid?
Please feel free to contradict me or add your two cents.

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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The One That Got Away!

I believe everyone has that one person in their life who they think of with longing and regret. Regret over wasted time, things left unsaid, things better left unsaid. The one person who got away. The one person who has you saying "coulda, shoulda, woulda" and asking that eternal question "what if?" I have (or should I say had) one person like that in my life. The love of my life. My best friend, the one who got away.
I got a call today, a call I wish had never come, but it did. I was informed that my best friend died two days ago. I'm in a state of limbo and still hoping someone will call and say it was just a mistake. But I know that won't happen, his sister's tears made that clear. I'm writing now because I'd rather write than cry. If I don't do something I'll only weep, and I'm not ready to cry yet. The irony of the whole thing is I'd been ill too and never knew he was ill. My illness started the day his did, same thing sef. Malaria and typhoid. I got better, he didn't. What's even funnier is two days ago I woke up feeling unlike my usual self. I was lethargic and really had no zeal to do anything. I remember telling a friend that I was just feeling generally tired of life and fed up. As it was, that was the day he died, and now I wonder if that was the reason (even though I'm not one to romantize such things).
We had a very strange relationship. Very, very strange. We were friends for nearly 8 years, for 5 of those years we were more than friends. Most people (self included) actually thought we'd get married (his kid sisters still daydream). Things happened, that now when I think about it really made no sense, and even after he married someone else we still kept in touch. Even though he hurt me greatly he was still my best friend, and we could never really leave each other. Don't get me wrong. He was married, thus out of bounds, but on an emotional level we were always joined. We could have an entire conversation without saying a word. He always got me, even when I didn't get me. He was the one I could always count on, as strange as that sounds.
He was that one! Maybe the One. He was the one who'd hold my hair while I'd be puking in the bathroom. He was the one who slept by my hospital bed. He was the one I'd stay awake with all night just talking, and the one who I could just sit with for hours and not feel like I had to say a word.
He was the one I always loved, and he loved me too. I'm not talking about the "tear off your clothes" mad passionate kinda love (though there was a time we had that too), I'm talking of the "I love you as you are" kind. He had issues, I had issues, WE had issues and maybe we'd never have made a marriage between us work, but that aside if I killed someone he'd be the one I'd call and he'd help me bury the body, no questions asked and vice versa. He was my person!
Now he's gone for good. So adieu to the one that got away! Adieu to my best friend.

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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From Girl friend to Girlfriend

I'm the perfect girl friend! Seriously, I am! Guys just LOVE me. I'm funny, I'm fun, I'm kinda geeky, I talk football, know what a 4-4-3 formation is and am totally fanatical about my team (for them as don't know...Manchester United is the best team ever to grace the planet), I can drink with the best of 'em (and have put many a man under the table), I'm not prone to girly girl antics (i.e I don't flicker my eyelashes and act dumb or burst into tears when I don't get my way (I have a mean left hook for that :-))). I know the difference between SOAP and soap, and also get that Ruby on Rails isn't the name of a movie, and I keep it light. All my male friends come to seek wisdom from my oracle on dating and female issues (Delphi has nought on me) and I'm more or less one of the boys. Really cool and as an added bonus I can cook (all my male friends are in love with me).
So I should have no problem when it comes to my boyfriends (as in unpaid sex workers not as in guys who are my friends). I wish! It appears I become totally clueless when I'm in relations (or is that relationships...I tend to get confused which is which). All my super cool girl-pal powers evaporate when I become "The" Girlfriend. I'm starting to believe that it is a terrible idea move from friends to "friends". You can be really down to earth with your friends, you can talk shit and not feel self conscious or bad. You can be real and not fear judgement or reproach because your friend gets you, and has no preconceived notions or expectations about you. You can enjoy sitting down at a joint and jointly scope the field, offering friendly suggestions about the correlation between gravity and butt\boob sag (depending on the particular asset of preference of the scoper), and the link between shoes and penis size.
However, the minute the line is crossed, the rules change. Jokes that used to make both of you roll hysterically on the floor with laughter now bring about what I'd like to call the "Boys are not smiling" look. The once easy comradeship that was as natural as the hair on your head (the hair you were born with, not that raggedy ass made in Taiwan weave) disappears once you've seen each other naked a few times. The evenings spent chilling with the boys knocking back the double doubles are now taboo. Your one time best source of relationship info no longer exists, let's face it you can't really ask your bf to give you advice on how to get a guy to give you a lil down town action when he's the man in question. Sure you can ask your girls but again lets face it, guys know guys better!
Many conversational topics vanish from your gist repetoire, no more talk about the fly honey you saw at the club. Or how cute that hunk's tush's looking in those (oh those) jeans. Total no-no!
Another disadvantage is that boyfriend knows you. How's that a problem? Well let's look closely. This is the guy you spent nights with giving the down low on all your underground pimpette player moves. This is the guy that was in the know that time you had a holiday fling...when you had a boyfriend no less! He knows you! Bad, bad, bad...Michael Jackson bad! Seperating your pre-dating persona from your current dating persona is at times a task. And let's face it...you know him too (dawg that he is or is that was? :-D)!
Dating is hard enough with someone you don't know, but it's like paddling a canoe upstream without a paddle when you have history. That said I still think I'd prefer dating the guy who knows I like rice and okro, that I think Danger Mouse is way cooler than Mighty Mouse, that knows I'm a mean bitch till I do my first cup of java and slept by my hospital bed when I went in for surgery just so I wouldn't wake up alone.

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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