Bliss

At what point does the girl you are with become the girl who is worthwhile?

Until 10 minutes ago I would have thought – said – presumed – it was when you first fell in love. No wait. That may be too soon. Perhaps it’s when you go on your first date – even if it’s a week…or a month …or a year - or 2 - after you first met. Maybe it’s when you start to spend every waking hour together – and those hours that you’re not together – the ones that tick by so slowly – become all-consuming thoughts of THE one in your life.

That. That is what I thought. I was wrong.

On review, I would suppose that a person – a woman – can only become something – something worthwhile – once she has accepted her fate and become the property of the man. Married. Don’t ask me about it – because I have a lot to say. A lot. A self-proclaimed expert of sorts – for I have been down that path…and found my way back. My way back to being me. Where my last name is the same as it was for the 28 years leading up to it. Where I am not just another possession to be admired. To be envied. And I thought – I think – I know…that “back” is where I belong. That just because I do not wear an expensive trinket on my ring finger – does not make me cheap. Nor worthless.

So imagine my complete and utter shock – when someone – someone who I thought got it – understood it - someone who I thought was my greatest supporter and aided in my journey to become un-lost - comments about how his newly-wedded friend should not have time for him anymore – since now – well - he’s married. He’s won. He’s done. Forget the fact he’s shacked-up with said betrothal for nearly a year. Forget the fact – as difficult as it may be - that her wedding dress fit tightly across her now 6 months pregnant frame. These are things I do not judge. In fact, these are the things that I thought mattered. These are the things that I would have thought – made her a priority to him long before some stupid ceremony and piece of paper. But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps this is just me extending my bitter-jaded-once-bitten-twice-shy-you-name-the-synonym-my-god-I-can’t-believe-I-used-the-
word-synonym-in-a-sentence point of view.

But to me marriage is what one makes of it. I am neither for, nor against it. But I do not believe it should be entered into foolishly. Nor should it make someone more important to you a mere day later than the day before. Because if that’s all it took to make someone make someone else a priority – well – perhaps I’d still be living in the house on the hill…instead of picking myself up off the mantle – and dusting myself off - however much better I may be for it...

*** P.S. DECEMBER 4, 2006 - Dear Parkes : I wrote this in June - but never posted this until today. I wrote it in anger - as I do many of my posts - but I'm not mad at you - don't believe I ever was. Yet another moment where I misunderstood/misconstrued/misfired - and for that I apologise. I did feel compelled to post it though, if only to better understand the frustration and anger I felt - feel - at myself. Forgive me...~G

Beverly Hillbilly

Okay…it’s like – Day 192 since Parkes left…and as much as I have enjoyed this time apart…I think I am ready for his return.

I have, however, become reacquainted with the box in the corner of the living room though – and more happily – with one particular show involving one very posh zip code. I hear the opening song - in all it’s synthesizer glory - and am magically transported back to days spent lying about in my one bedroom apartment wondering what my future would hold. Which on second thought – would mean that I’ve come full circle really…though fill in as much drama in the past few years to make even Kelly’s head spin. You name the story line. I have lived it.

Regardless – what I also noted during Episode 3 "The Green Room" today – apart from terribly bad writing – is that the boy I would stalk – if it were me walking the halls of West Beverly- has certainly changed. Circa 1992 – I would have given anything – ANYTHING – to give up my (non-existent even at the time) virginity to one Mr. Dylan McKay. Dylan was soo cool…so popular…if you could just land Dylan McKay then - well your days would be filled with long rides on motorcycles, surfing, and a constant good time. I was always pro-Dylan – the bad boy – the fun guy – whatever you call it – I was just plain attracted to it.

He was certainly far more attractive than the sensitive, emotional, about-one-day-away-from-his-first-period Brandon. There was nothing that put me over the edge faster mid-90s than goody-two-shoes Brandon who always showed up at a party or the beach armed with an empathetic ear and a life lesson for all. He was smart and articulate and good-looking – but didn’t ooze the charm of Dylan…the bad boy…the one that could suck you in and make you feel like you were the one lucky enough to be with him…even if it were the other way around.

Fast forward 10 years…and I find myself looking at the two boys of Beverly in a whole different light. I mean sure Dylan is hot and you could have a really good time with him. He looks great on the beach and can ride the waves like no one else. But he’s also the shallow end of the pool so to speak. He’s emotionally shut off…and though I’m sure has feelings - deep down...somewhere…he hasn’t the faintest clue how to express them…partly since his parents ran off to France when he was still in high school…choosing to buy him fancy toys to distract him instead of dealing with his hurts…his happiness…the things he needed to be taught. No wonder Brenda moved to London. I mean what kind of future is there with a man like that? Sure – you can date him…get engaged to him…hell – even convince him to marry you - but at the end of the day he’s in it for fun…and well…anything over and above that….is just a bit too heavy.

Enter Brandon – whose cheeseball musings and high brow banter always used to drive me a bit batty. Really didn’t like him at first. But you see - as I’ve matured…I’ve noticed that it’s Brandon who is actually the hottie - the keeper…the one who will stick by you during Student Council elections…the closing of the Peach Pit…friend’s drug additions… family emergencies...pregnancy scares. It’s all about Brandon. He listens. He empathises. He nods in understanding. And then he tells you how it is - not always what you want to hear – but how it is…and it makes so much sense and suddenly you feel very supported…and very very much not-so-alone anymore. And you start to notice why he’s so popular - why everyone loves him - because he’s kind. And genuine. And that is a rare combination. Credit his loving family. His good relationship with his sister. His great genes. I’m not sure. But in retrospect - Brandon is the guy you want to hold on to - the one you should tackle life’s adventures with. I mean - yes - there are times he might not be as fun or as carefree as Dylan. He may not even look as good in a wet suit. But when the chips are down…there’s no one better to have on your team than the Student Body President.

And that my friends is what I have learned from watching TV.

Saturday Night Fever

Hi Murz...just me...just got in...can't get hold of you because - well...third world shit phone lines...(he he) and the fact I think you are in church. (Honestly...I think you really are...not in the way I always say "Oh-shit-don't-let-me-sleep-in-and-miss-church-tomorrow" dripping-in-sarcasm-way - but in the "you-are-in-Uganda-and-you-really-really-are-going-to-church-this-Sunday-morning" way) I hope your day is good so far...I know how hard it all is on you...and just want you to be okay.

Anyways - I have just returned home from the bar (yes...altruistic me as well) with Miss Gillian and The Broker. Lovely time really...both are big fans of yours. Good time all in all...learned lots...mostly that I'm not as strange or neurotic as I might think...oh - and a bit of info from each...namely:

Broker: "You Ginger are tall with long blonde flowy hair and blue eyes. You look like an American Eagle model." At which point - I do not know whether to be flattered or offended. It sounds like a fancy way of saying "plain." UGH. (at which point he called Miss Gillian "exotic-looking." I'm so boring! HELP!!!)

Gillian: I love Parkes. You should marry him. In South Africa. I'd so come to that. (looking all exotic no doubt.)

So you see...everything is just how it should be.Me the plain-American-pie (ugh - I am so not-American)-looking-girl-next-door getting married in Durban. Now that would make an excellent AE spread.

Good luck in church - avoid all lightening bolts...and say a quick prayer (or 12) for me.

Ta.

~G