Can't Wait To Get Out!!

I seem to recall that the last time I left here, which now seems like eons ago, I was given a rather rough spell by the universe to make me not just excited about going but relieved for the exodus of that which is my life.
After this last month I absolutely need this two weeks out. Otherwise, I fear, Ill be spending this two years in either Guantanamo or Black Rock.

The last thing to happen was my car was broken into and a good deal of cash was taken. Cash that was in a sealed unmarked envelope and only that and nothing else. The perp obviously knew about it and as I know who knew I also know who was behind it. Of course it can't be proved so I' m left to feel not just taken advantage of but totally betrayed. This is a distinctly Barbadian quality (one of the worst, I'm afraid)- to smile and play friends in anticipation of the moment when it can be used to their advantage. Jealousy and envy and pretence.

I am looking forward to anonymous robbers, unfriendly faces and no good mornings in the GTO. To not be looked at, not talked about and not given a seconds thought. Just for two weeks.

A little apathy will cure me of my frustration.

Push Dey Suh One Time

This morning I went to renew the road tax on my company car at the Licensing Authority in the Pine. I knew this was a mistake because mornings and lunches are heavy flow times for all government offices in BIM, particularly on a Monday. When I drove in however, the line was pretty manageable so I joined the cue and started playing tetrus on my cell phone. A long long game of tetrus. Only to look up and observe that I had not moved an inch.

A description of the hour+ I spent in the line would not do the situation literary justice. It smacked of post colonialism and psychological warfare but with an oddly comical tinge that made the whole thing feel a little television.

The cell phones going off with ring tones so entirely antithetical to the respondant like old dude in suit and tie with bashment, and bashment dude of scar and scowl with love song.

The door marked 'push' that wouldn't open unless you simultaneously pulled the one beside it so that as you stood in witness of people fumble their way to exit you would find yourself unconciously joining the chorus of old timer liners with instructions on how to work it.
"Pull dis hay and push dey suh one time'

The weary, should be retired security guard trying to figure out how to curve the line to accomodate the thirty new entrants into an office the size of a bathroom then engaging the liners to join him in a hostile denunciation of the clerks who refused to take their job seriously and were making his line management near impossible.

And of course the clerks themselves taking bathroom, phone, run way, gossip and copy pages of information in long hand on scraps of paper then staple it numerous times, throw it into the garbage and stare into the the ceiling breaks between each customer. Except, in fairness Mr. #9 who without, the line must certainly would have curved its way to the Bussa roundabout.

After an hour in line with 9 in front and 29 in back it took me 45 seconds to present my insurance and check and receive my receipt. In good Canadian fashion I flashed Ms. 'I have no work ethic and am unhappy with my crappy job so instead of asking for an incentive I'll be passive aggressive to the liners and let them wait as long as humanly possible then act like a crabby bitch when they finally get through' #7 a smile, said have a nice day and left.

Not before finding the door marked push unmoveable and hearing the newbys chant "Pull dis hay and push dey suh one time."

Crazy

Everytime I hear the Crazy song on the radio, I feel gay!

(in the tadtional sense of the word, geez)

I'm particularly enthused by the bit that goes "Common now, who do you- who do you, who do you, who do you think you are? Ha ha ha bless your soul. You really think you're in control? I think you're crazy, just like me."

My father read my blog and said "well honey, don't take this the wrong way but I think you're crazy." The 'just like me' I took to be implied.

And this view that I've got a few screws loose was shared by others (yes you!). Some with some serious issues, I dare say. A bit ironic but nevertheless...

The fact is, I must be crazy because I think I'm sane and the world around me is crazy. This is the tell tale sign of madness, I've heard.

But in my defence, I guess why I like the lyrics of Crazy is because the song writer equates thinking one is in control, with madness. It's a question with loads of hidden depth.

You really think you're in control?
I think you're crazy.

Bathseba Setting Precedence

For those of you on pins and needles waiting to hear the climax to the Bathsheba Development saga, you will have to wait for our Saturday meeting with the bigwigs to find out. However, this I do wish to share...
Yesterday on the radio the community protesting the water park (I empathize- but god a water park would have rocked) said "you tried to do it to Bathsheba and now you're trying to do it to us...
Then, in the paper, the community protesting the moving of the civic buildings to a not so prime beach location to make room for hotels etc.. said "you couldn't do it in Bathsheba so now you want to do it here."
Yeah Bathsheba-Community of Rebel Rousers!!! I intend to burn my bra as a symbol of nothing. (memoir: BCC and the toilet paper controversy)

The Postman

Throw a little feminism around and men will quickly turn it into a gender war. The previous entry was not intended to start an argument, not even a discussion (although I do say, I'm rather impressed by the passion) It was just a statement of fact.
After I wrote it, I watched the Postman starring Kevin Costner. Not coincidental really. When dealing with the qualities of what makes us man/woman, even Hollywood consciously or not, resorts to basic truths. This could be any film but let us use Postman as example.

Basic Truth.

The male lead spends the whole film never fully grasping ownership or responsibility for a situation that he created. Yes, there are some heroic moments but they appear almost accidental and are quickly overshadowed in doubt. Moreover, the final army, need I remind, is made up of women and children (where, I wonder is the guitar player? still strumming I suppose.)

The female, in a subltle and deliberate way is the pillar of strengh.
Pay particular attention to the time spent in the Wilderness. Wild woman drags man behind horse, cuts out bullet, nurses him to health and even shoots horse when man complains about the snow soup.

But the question is, what viewer really believes that woman walks into freezing river and risks drowning by accident? Knowing that man must have reason to be hero in order to be man, she deliberately puts her life at risk to get sulky Kevin off the couch.

I say all this not to be cruel to men but to illustrate that women are the backbone and jawbone of a world where the men "play" the lead. My girl was up against attempted rape and brutal beatings while preganant and newly widowed. My man couldn't get out of bed to fetch a bowl of horse soup.

Get out of bed and get the damn horse soup- that's all we're asking.

Feminine Strength

As something of a feminist, I don't just believe, I know, women are the stronger sex.

Admitedly, men have physical prowess.
Muscles.
One single sole advantage.

And since it's all they have over women they flaunt it and fluff up the feathers trying to increase its value. It is also their only measuring stick of comparisson with other men so they fight and threaten and war. Check the animal kingdom-all male animals battle for their own glorification. One scares the other into submission. Woman chooses Victor.

Women's strength is subtle, it's hidden and it's slumbersome. We draw on it only to the degree that it's needed thereby giving the reservoir plenty time to replenish. And when a time comes that all is needed, all is there. We can lift cars to save babies. We can move mountains if need be.

At 28, this I know. The feminine aspect of God is Wrath. The moon can turn very cold. The waves can become exceedingly cruel. Dicks and Stones, Tanks and Guns, none can escape the fall into the belly of mother earth when she opens her jaws to receive them.

Sweet Sixteen Part 2

As 30 approaches I feel oddly excited. I tell people I am entering the desperate housewives phase of my life. 16 was the only other number where I felt such fervour and to my surprise, I am not the only one that remembers that party.

So! I have begun the preliminary stages of planning the big 3-0 and I am giving anyone who is interested ample time to save some pennies. The plan is that all will fly down to my rock where we will tour and party for a week straight, renting a guest house(s) with pool and living it up with BBQ's, rum and reggae.

Anyone who would like to reserve a place can leave a message with a name that I will be able to decipher (be bop a brother shem/uncle goat will suffice).

June 30, 2008 in Barbados- Just Beyond Your Imagination.

Happy Birthday To Me.

Some birthdays blend into others, some disappear altogether but every now and then there's a birthday that will carry you to the end of days.

16- That was a birthday! Smoking pot and drinking 40's with a backyard full of people while mum and Dennis were far off in Perry Sound.

Now 28...

Permanent scar on my memory chip.

My heart goes out to those who were there to share the day.