Oh Blog It All

Kerry liked to think of her past relationships as practice relationships, a time to learn those little things that would make all the difference when the real one came along. So there was her first serious practice relationship with Eddie who used to like to drink a lot and smack her around a little. Kerry liked to think that what she learned from that relationship, apart from a little self defence, was that love wasn’t supposed to leave bruises.

Then there was Josh. Handsome, popular, rich and totally besotted with Kerry. At first Kerry could not believe that someone like Josh would even look in her direction. She did not come from the same background, she didn’t go to the same private schools, her parents did not belong to the same country club as Josh and his family did. And even though they barely tolerated her and stopped short at being outright rude to her, the snide comments and subtle digs at her humble origins did not seem to matter as long as Josh smiled that smile at her. The smile that said “I love you, you belong to me”.

But one day Josh had to decide between true love and a trust fund. The trust fund won. Kerry learned that money didn’t have to buy love, it was better then love.

Lastly there was Andy, who was like her dad and even called her his little princess. Andy showed Kerry the wonders that were liquorice, foreign films and apricot jam and cheese on scones. It was from Andy’s family though that she learned that loving Andy did not give her right to mourn his passing at his graveside. Kerry stayed away and instead mourned Andy in a way that Eddie would have understood.

Though she knew they were all practice relationships, Kerry mourned all the love she had lost, Eddie, Josh and then Andy. And Kerry might have mourned until she joined Andy in the next life had Frank not come along.

Frank was nothing special really, a regular guy who liked nothing more then a beer and a braai on Saturdays and falling asleep with Kerry in his arms every night. Frank didn’t ask about Kerry’s past. He knew she had been hurt and was weary but he didn’t need to know details. He knew, just by looking at her, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Kerry didn’t feel the same way but she had no other offers to entertain and Frank could make her laugh sometimes when he had a mind too.

It was natural for them to move in together, share a hearth and home. Between the two of them they didn’t have much in the way of furniture but Frank didn’t mind, he wanted for them to build a life and home together. Kerry didn’t mind because she thought of this as being just another practice relationship and when the time came for it to end, she could pack her few things and move on.

Then one day, just after Valentine’s when the shops had yet to take down the red hearts and replace them with Easter Bunnies, something changed for Kerry. She was with Frank and the two of them were looking at washing machines. Frank said they needed one because he didn’t like Kerry going to the laundromat by herself when he was working nights. Kerry loved going by herself so that she could pretend for an hour or two that Frank really wasn’t part of her life. But it was a Saturday and Frank was determined that they not go home until they had their first and very own washing machine.

The sales lady at the furniture shop was quite pretty, her blonde hair just long enough that it flipped when she tossed her head back to laugh at Frank’s jokes. Her smart black trousers emphasised her shapely legs and her blouse was cut just low enough to be sexy but not too revealing. Kerry looked the sales lady over and admired her lovely figure and pretty face. And then Kerry looked over at Frank and knew that he was admiring the same things. This did not bother Kerry.

Kerry didn’t really follow the conversation, she just watched as Frank made the sales lady laugh again. And she didn’t really pay attention when Frank was signing the paperwork. Then it was done and the washing machine was theirs but for the small matter of delivery. As they walked out the door the sales lady called out to them. They stopped and turned to face her.

“I forgot something”, she said “Happy Washing”. And though the phrase was innocuous enough it was the sight of the sales lady’s hand on Frank’s arm that moved Kerry to action. There was screaming, crying, blows, begging and blood. And when it was all over the saleslady was lying face down in her own blood and Kerry held the wrought iron candle stick above her head, ready to strike again.

There was no protracted court case, just a twenty year sentence with a small chance of parole.

When seven years were over and they decided that Kerry had been a model prisoner and had shown due remorse for her crime they decided to let her out, back into society. Kerry was sad to leave, she had found peace in the never changing prison routine, peace in her aloneness, peace in fact that practice did not make perfect and that love was not for her. She wasn’t prepared to start all over again with life but the choice was not hers.

The dress she wore as she walked out the heavy iron gates was not her own. It was a dull grey, echoing the cloudy sky above her and it was too big for her. Her shoes were the prison takkies she’d worn for the last two years, the only pair she had.

He was waiting for her. And the sight of him made her want to run back to the prison gates and beg them to let her back in.

“Do you still love me?” he asked.

“Yes” she said.

“Let’s go home” he said.

“Yes” she said.

Once upon a time, before I knew about surfing, googling and blogging I had e-mail. I lived for sending e-mail. I lived for receiving e-mail. E-mail was as vital to me as oxygen. I was the kind person who welcomed spam just as long as it was personalised and sitting in my inbox in the morning. A day without new e-mail was a long and dreary and downright pointless day.

But the tough thing with e-mail was that I needed someone to send e-mail to and I didn’t know that many people who had e-mail. So the unlucky few that did would receive a dissertation on whatever subject took my fancy that day and I would just live for their one line “I don’t have time to send a decent e-mail now, I’ll mail you tomorrow’ replies. Crumbs I know, but I was desperate, I couldn’t afford to be picky.

Then I discovered blogging and now I just waffle on about whatever takes my fancy, safe in the knowledge that at least one person in the universe, my poor, unfortunate geek actually reads it. And I know he reads it because I quiz him on my latest entries. And I know that this is possibly the most pathetic thing you’ve ever read in your entire life but you still love me, don’t you Honey?

I still love e-mail though and it’s really nice that I have some people to e-mail and there is still nothing as exciting as opening my inbox and there is mail waiting. If that mail is a comment on my blog, well, I’m like Sally in the “When Harry met…” movie only I’m not faking.

So anyway, some time ago I joined some on-line forum for South Africans living abroad. I did this because a friend of mine used to write a regular column for them and I was keen to read her writings. Unfortunately the archives weren’t available so I’ve yet to read her words of wisdom but I thought it a good idea to hang around anyway and get an idea of South Africans’ experiences living overseas.

One day I got an e-mail from Pete*. I was absolutely delighted, someone had e-mailed me and he wasn’t trying to sell me Viagra. However, it was while I was reading the e-mail for like the 115th time (I’m obsessive like that and anyway, I wanted to send a good reply) that a little pale pink flag started flapping in the non-existent breeze.

I have to explain to you that I don’t get hints, I don’t get subtlety. If a guy really fancies me then he’s got to just come out and say so because I am incapable of reading between the lines. But there was something about this e-mail that just made me think that maybe Pete was looking for something other than an e-mail buddy.

I sent a politely worded reply and managed to mention my fiancé in it because what the hell else can I do, I don’t want to start something I can’t finish (and after a certain little incident where some dude was throwing pot plants out of a patio because of unrequited love I wasn’t prepared to take any chances). I sent it and then felt bad. What if I had misinterpreted Pete’s intentions? To date I’ve heard nothing from Pete, so I was either very right or Pete no longer has Internet connectivity. I’ll ever know.

But scarcely two weeks later I get another e-mail from some dear soul named Kermit**. Careful to not make the same mistakes I made with Pete I send a carefully worded reply to Kermit, omitting any mention of my fiancé.

Happy days, Kermit sends a reply. In his brief e-mail Kermit sees fit to tell me that he is “coloured 25yrs old black hair brown eyes very sensitive and stubborn i guess. I just wanted too get that out of the way ……” I didn’t ask for this information, Kermit volunteered.

So in the spirit of sharing information, because clearly this stuff is important to Kermit, I send a reply saying I’m 30, white and getting married in February. Sadly I have not heard from Kermit again either.

Both Pete and Kermit currently reside in the UK and I have visions of the two of them sitting in a pub bitching about how they are so misunderstood on the net.

To be fair, part of the problem may be me. In the lengthy questionnaire I had to complete in order to read something that is no longer available I had to give extensive details of myself, including but not limited to specifically what kind of vitamins I take, if indeed I take any.

However, when it came to my marriage status I had two options, single or married. There were no options for engaged, living with a significant other, living with an asshole, widowed, divorced, desperately seeking Susan or hermit living in the desert. And I’m not married yet so I really couldn’t check that option, so all that was left was that I was single - which is true in the legal sense but doesn’t quite tell the whole story.

So now anyway, here I sit, contemplating life on foreign shores while my fellow countrymen withhold information.

But,see, I know how the universe works. I know that sooner, sooner rather then later, there will come another e-mail from some fellow who thought that when I said “I would like to learn more about the experiences of South Africans living abroad” I really meant “e-mail me so we can get together in some seedy chat room and have sordid cyber sex”. And when that happens, I’ll be ready, I’ll have a reply and it will go a little something like this:

Dear [insert Muppet-like name here]

Thank you for taking the time to e-mail me.

It’s actually rather brave of you to e-mail a complete stranger. You know absolutely nothing about me save that I read the same website as you. For all you know I could be some kind of psycho Lego porn fanatic looking for someone to ‘build’ with.

I’m a very upfront kind of girl and as such I’d like to just mention a few things about myself that you may not feel is important but I feel you need to know. I love Depeche Mode, I think they are the best band in the world ever. I also like Linkin Park. I find it hard to get along with people who don’t like these bands.

I am a chocoholic, so much so that I get a little edgy if I don’t have chocolate in the house.

This might make me sound a little weird but I don’t like hair. Well, it’s okay if it’s attached to someone’s head but sticking to the side of my bath just freaks me the hell out. I’ve thought of getting therapy for this but I worry that I’ll end up with a shampoo model turned therapist who just won’t get it.

Um, let’s see, was there anything else? Hmm mm, not that I can think of right now unless you want to know what colour my eyes are and what made me pick next Friday as a good day to get married - LOL. Oh God,us women are so funny thinking that because we’re not available any more suddenly every man we meet is hitting on us - again, LOL.

Anyway, hoping you are well, South Africa is sunny today.

Write back soon :-)

Geek’s Girl

* Not his real name but pretty damn close.

** Again, not his real name but I just know his mother really wanted to name him Kermit but someone at Home Affairs made a mistake, thank God, so now his name is similar to Kermit but it isn’t Kermit.