Making The Cut

We all edit our lives in some way.
And what we allow to be seen in public depends entirely on which Directors cut we want to be screened on any given day.
Is today's blockbuster feature an action film? Dozens of bad guys cut through in a hail of bullets issued forth by just the raising of an octave?
"You want me to wait HOW LONG for my home delivered Pizza you lying piece of scum?"
Or is it a bubbly Rom-Com replete with witty repartee and floppy hair?
"Oh, Charles, you rascal. When you said lets go Dutch, this WASN'T what I had in mind"
Perhaps today's home edited flick is a slapstick comedy staring your landlord, a guy from the taxation office and a Prairie Dog. Prairie Dogs make even the worst days seem like a comedy.
Which brings me to the point......finally.......that all of this editing takes time and effort. Especially the effort part.
I have a friend whose life is so carefully crafted for his adoring public that if he turned his life into modern sculpture it would resemble some kind of large, smooth, shiny,white obelisk. Not a single spike in sight. No rivets, or badly fitting seals. No bumps, or hard edges, or broken bits held on with superglue. Just light, tight and bright white chocolate mousse floating on a cloud of perfumed sunshine.
His therapist of 15 years agrees. No one EVER had a life that charmed. NO ONE. EVER.
And that's my second point.
Life, even other peoples lives, has lumps.
Soft ones that look good on screen, pastels and beanbags.
Small hard ones that feel like a stone in your shoe. Wrinkle makers. Not too bad from a distance, rough on the close up.
Big, fat ugly misshapen ones, that look like carcinoma, smell slightly sour, and are hard to light.
Those are the ones we crop out most often.
Hours of cropping and honing. Hours of re-editing sound and lights and even actors.
Re- auditioning the roles of the lesser players.
Re invention of term-making a career shift/out of a job-taking a break/out of a relationship-taking a personal day/out of your mind.
It's not criticism. I do it, the editing. We all do. And we don't just make edits to the surroundings, we do it to ourselves as well.
Billy Joel calls them 'the faces of the stranger and we love to try them on'. And he's right.
The 'masks', the 'smoke and mirrors', the 'make-up'.
They can be useful, but it's worth remembering that the life you live, the REAL life is trying to tell you things.Important things like 'Why you shouldn't drink and Drive' and 'Why after a certain age, mini skirts look trashy'.
Stuff like that.
So the next time you take a pair of mental snippers to your 'REEL OF LIFE' story, ask yourself this.
Is it a better film with the bloopers left in?
And is there a place where a well placed Prairie Dog might be appropriate?

Size Does Matter

Today I learned that the Marianas Trench is swallowing the Earth.
Great.
That should keep the Doomsdayers busy for a while.
That, and the Icebergs floating along the edges of Terra Australis- very south......very, very south.
Look it up. It was in the paper.
So I wonder, given how precariously we cling to this big wet rock anyway, is it worth getting all het up about the small stuff?
We know we are hurtling towards the sun.
We WILL impact.......in 5 Billion years.....and that's a finite amount of time.
It's a countable noun.
That is if we don't crispy fry before hand due to a lack of Ozone, or be ground into dust by the movement of the tectonic plates.
And if Hollywood's latest blockbuster is anything to go by, we may have less that 3 years to put our affairs in order before it all turns to poop anyway.
Sure, Mayans were so great at predicting the future they all died out. But they carved our fate into rock first. So they MUST be right.
But back to my point.
The small stuff.
Like starting that diet.
Or replying to that email.
Or going on a blind date.
"AHA"....I hear you say ( because in my head you give a damn)....."NOW I know what she is going on about !!!"
"Now her thought process is exposed" you say" Now we know why she is rambling"
Yes, it's true. This week, I am going on a blind date.
Not the type where one of us is actually visually impaired- although that could be an advantage- but the kind where you wear a red carnation, and check your lipstick in the mirror every 2 minutes.
Confession time, this is not my first one.
It's my second.
And the first one was good enough to brave me trying it again.
The thing about dating as a previously married 40 year old is that it is an unnerving combination of the familiar, and unfamiliar.
Truthfully, I am not a New Kid On The Block....being able to achieve erection, buy me dinner, and pronounce wine names does not impress me.However, the same jaundiced eyes I bring are also going to be set into the face of the chap sitting across from me.
My cleavage, girlish giggle, and coquettish responses will not do.
Time to bring out the big guns.
Damn....where did I put those big guns?
And can I remember how to use them ?
And are they looking a little out of date ?
And will he notice the dust and cobwebs?
There is nothing for it.
I shall either have to suck it up and buy that carnation, or stay at home and pray for the destruction of the Earth before Friday.
Probably the former.
It appear the Marianas Trench is swallowing the Earth at the breathtaking speed of approximately 3 inches a year.
3 Inches !?!?!
I wouldn't leave my house for 3 inches.
I'll let you know how it goes.........

I am not obsessed.

Sex. It's all about sex. All of it. All the time.
Look, I am not naive, and I know you're not too.
It's just that I never noticed how much of it is about sex until now. Not just a bit. ALL of it.
Short shorts and high heals. A given. As work wear? It says what exactly? I'm fertile? I'm up for it? I want it now, on the desk, in the copy room?
I am beginning to see 'The Game' as I used to refer to it absolutely everywhere. Standing on the train platform, me and 15,000 commuters, 99 % of whom speak English as a second or third language and all I can see and hear is 'The game'.
Furtive looks, thrusting chests, batting eyelashes. I think up until recently I have ignored it. Too wrapped up in my own world perhaps. Or shut off from that part of my social radar.
I feel like the ultimate voyeur. I see 'her' walk into the coffee shop, and I see all the 'hims' take note. They postulate, slightly louder than before. Legs crossing and uncrossing, or jiggling. When I was younger I used to wonder at the constancy of the male leg jiggling until I learned about testes and the release of male pheromones. "AHA!!" Went my newly informed self, and then "...ah..haaaaaaaa......"
As for the 'hers' giving it up for the 'hims'?
In this town it's not too tricky to work out. 'He' is walking through the supermarket.'She' can smell him from a mile off. She stops to look at the produce located conveniently located just to his left, on the bottom shelf. She bends to pick it up, whilst taking a moment to check out his body on the way down.His eyes scan her tit's, legs and arse in less time than it takes for light to travel across a condom box.
They both know what's going on. She may be happily married, his girlfriend may be in the next aisle, but that's never stopped anyone from looking. It's sex.
Good old fashioned "I wonder what you would be like in bed" mental telepathy. And it's everywhere. All the time.
I read recently that the old wives tale about men thinking about dipping their wick every 7 seconds has been proven to be a myth. It's actually only a couple of times an hour. Interestingly, they now say, about the same number of times a woman thinks about having her dip wicked.
And why not?
What else are women supposed to think about? Their hair? The groceries? BBC Documentaries about Nazis?
I think about sex all the time. Always have.
And now I see I am not alone. Everywhere I look, on the faces of the young, and not so young, I see the look that says" You know, I reckon you would be quite the Tiger under the sheets".
Or maybe I am imagining it.
But I think not. I think no matter how 'evolved' we get, no matter what accoutrement we fill our lives with, at the end of the day, we are all are looking for a way to share our gene pool. Or to play at it.
Of course, none of this game play means anyone is actually getting any.And this may be why the game is now being taken into the public arena. If Bars and Clubs are not working out for you, what better option than the good old fashioned Post Office as a pick-up joint?
Stamp licking, queue forming, uniforms.
It's all there.
Sex.Sex.Sex.
I am not obsessed.

Never explain. Your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe it anyway. ~Elbert Hubbard

There are some things that are better left unsaid.
This applies very much to the loaded question.
It's called 'loaded' not because a nose full of fairy dust, or a belly full of beer, but because it has the potential to explode like a mortar and shatter your heart.
Remember when you were 7 ?
"Wanna be my best friend?"
Or 13 ?
" Wanna go together?"
Sure, you said yes. Who doesn't want a best friend or someone to 'go' with ?
But did they explain the fine print to you?
Did they mention that you would be tied into that friend for ages to the exclusion of others?
"You don't even know Wendy, she is MY best friend, she belongs to ME, and she will only talk to ME"
Did they tell you it would kill off any chance of a normal relationship you may have had with the first person you ever had a crush on ?
" Why don't we talk anymore ? All we do is pash, and then you ignore me when you are with your friends"
It's about thinking, and being honest, and being brave.
"Does my bum look big in this?"
"Yes, yes it does- it makes your arse look huge, actually, it even makes your shoulders look big, weird, you look terrible."
"Would you mind if I leave some of my stuff with you?"
"Yes, yes I would. Your shit is not welcome in my home, I need extra clutter like a hole in the head. Most of your stuff is shitty anyway, why not just ditch it and get better stuff?"
" I am using a new cream, can you tell?"
"No, no I can't, you still look like a Shar Pei.Lets face it, nothing but a super size bull clip is going to take the old out of your ugly"
You get the picture.
It stings. It does. But in the end you will be thankful that you took the time to read the fine print tacked onto the loaded question......having to compliment your friends butt, putting up with someone else's crap, lying about someones crows feet when all you really care about are your own.
Honesty is THE BEST policy. That's what they say. Not honesty is QUITE A HIGHLY RECOMMENDED policy.
So take the time to say what you mean, and mean what you say. No explanations required, only the truth. It hurts, but it will set you free.
Don't you agree?
You agree with me right?
Say you do.
Say it..........