Spring Cleaning And The Winter Coat

It seems that it has been the time of year for spring cleaning recently. And I do mean that recently as in the past fortnight or so and not ‘September’ when the rest of the southern hemisphere welcomes in the season. One would normally assume I guess that you should undertake this sort of endeavour at the beginning of springtime, but no, I have only really managed it at the end. I think I’m more a better late than never kind of girl as opposed to the early bird catches the worm sort of person. In any case, at work, at home and in my car (my alternate living space at times), things have been getting a bit of a dust up and a clean out and they are looking better than they have in a while. Given that my car has also had a service I am assuming it is running better as well (although I am a total ‘girl’ about matters automotive so all I ‘know’ is I am now a couple of hundred dollars poorer). I think it’d be great if the rest of life was that easy to spruce up.

With relatively little effort you can clean away dirt with soap and water. You can update the wallpaper and hangings with a new outfit and some accessories, you can slap on a new coat of paint with some polish and you can do renovations creating a new foundation with wax and scissors. You can also just throw out anything that’s taking up too much space in your wardrobe. Not so simple to change or get rid of however is that pesky habit of waiting for something to fail, the residual irritation over a situation that ticked you off, the tendency to analyse life more than living it or any other ‘possession’ that might be considered as baggage that is merely weighing you down. All the little things (and I guess for some of us there are big things too) that might be stopping you from having that awesome life with your perfect match. The things we are well aware we could do without and would be happy to shed like an extra layer.

A lot of that seems to be going round at the moment actually. The delayering I mean. As the weather is heating up in Sydney, the clothes are definitely coming off. Girls are back in little skirts and summer dresses and I’ve even had to buy a pair of shorts. That’s big for me. I have also been shedding my own winter coat – molting like theres no tomorrow. Its not particularly pretty but as any female with long hair (or any friend of a female with long hair) will tell you, we unintentionally leave traces of ourselves all over the place, especially coming into summer. Couches, beds, floors, clothes and it seems even places where we haven’t been sometimes. We all do this actually but with long hair its obvious. I usually start to wonder with the evidence before me why on earth I’m not bald yet. I’m not however, I have an awful lot to lose. But that’s neither here nor there really. Its not even particularly relevant. I was just pondering the fact that some things are so much easier to get rid of than others.

Its A Not Like A Romance Novel

I know many women bemoan the fact that real life just doesn’t work out like it does in romance novels. You know, like its actually supposed to or something. I mean obviously no one puts their hand up and says I’d like to experience some seemingly insurmountable adversities and go through hell for a while please, but given half a chance, I think most of us would take the happy ending and be off like a shot. I have a sneaking suspicion that I have said as much myself on occasion. Given the example of something I read recently however, I’m actually kind of glad that life doesn’t work out like it does in books. As life is largely about the journey, there are some things that I feel I could definitely do without.

Normally I quite enjoy this genre. I got into it due to a previous job and discovered a partiality for the paranormal. I’d like to point out that its not the only thing I read (and nor is it all Mills and Boon either) but it is good for escapism and facilitating procrastination. What was not good was half a short story I had the privilege of suffering through a while ago. I got so frustrated that I couldn’t even make myself finish it. I was quite disappointed really. Especially since I had previously enjoyed the author. Unfortunately though, this was not one of her better works (in my humble opinion) and I’d have to say that it was one of the most patronising examples of literature (and I use that term loosely) that I have read in a long while.

Perhaps it was a byproduct of trying to portray a romance with an obvious age difference. Whether it’s the old teaching the young or the young ultimately teaching the old, someone has to be the ‘experienced’ one. In this case it seemed to be all about the poor young girl who was practiced enough to not be an innocent (this means that they can jump into bed without too much preamble) but ultimately naïve as she hadn’t experienced the loving of a real man yet (so it was just like the first time…ughh). She had that idealistic exuberance going for her and an eagerness to please that was almost embarrassing but was therefore the prime candidate for the gentle guiding hand of an older man. Oh puh-lease!

When I read something I want to be able to empathise with the central character. I don’t want to feel the urge to slap her upside the head and shove the love interest out the door for being a conceited prat. There were several things that annoyed the crap out of me in this story but I think the straw that broke the camels back was when the potential lover (I didn’t even last till the sex bit) admonished the chick for spritzing perfume on herself when she realized she was going to get some. I understand the romantic sentiment that he wants to smell her and not her perfume but he may as well have come out and said ‘you just did the wrong thing and I don’t like it so don’t ever do it again’ or perhaps ‘this will go a lot easier in future if you learn to do only as you’re told’. It ticked me off.

Now the story may have ended brilliantly. Usually I have enough blind faith to see me through the bad spots, reciting the mantra ‘its just gotta get better than this’ but on this occasion I don’t think I will ever know. And I’m not particularly bothered by that. I think I’m bothered that some women would read this and lack enough self confidence to think the hero was fantastic.

My Funny Valentine

My Funny Valentine has to be one of my favourite songs. It’s a ballad that has always appealed to me due to both the lyrics and the music. I happen to like it sung deep and slow however and my recording of choice is definitely sung by The Peddlers. These guys were a sixties blues, rock and jazz band and I have heard it said of their work that 'never in the field of human entertainment has so much great music been heard by so few'. I think I would have to agree with that. My opinion aside though, I was reminded of this song the other day, or rather of the lyric Is your mouth a little weak / When you open it to speak are you smart. This came to mind when I was reading about women who are apparently dumbing down.

Despite the fact that more and more females are achieving positions of power and authority in the workplace, there still seems to be the conception that in the social arena we should be more circumspect. There is the notion about that if you want to get a guy you shouldn’t be too funny, too smart or too successful. Or at least if you are, you shouldn’t be obviously so. The male sex is apparently intimidated by intelligent femmes and so there are sisters out there who are fabricating alternate identities in order to become more appealing. Dumber identities that is. Oh its mostly ok for you to be a lawyer or to have attended a university or whatever but if you happen to be a partner or the valedictorian, well you had just better leave that part out.

Now this is not a diatribe about what a sexist society has brought us to or that glass ceiling we haven’t quite smashed yet but rather an expression of my bafflement as to how this strategy could possibly be worth it. I mean who really has the energy to consciously hold back all the time lest you appear a little more clued in than the bloke next door? Wouldn’t you then be worrying about what you have and haven’t said all the time as well as whether you were being seen as an over-achiever men didn’t want to hang out with? It sounds tiresome to me. And I know that every time I decide to ask new acquaintances to call me by a nickname so I can try it on for size it lasts about as long as it takes to say ‘hi my name is’ because after that I inevitably insert my Christian name anyway!

Of course, you could quite possibly argue that my inability to maintain an alternate identity should be indicative of the fact that I wouldn’t need to, at least in regards to portraying the level of my intelligence. I would still argue though that this sort of thing won’t do anyone much good in the dating game. Isn’t finding a partner about finding someone equal and having no secrets? If you were one of the country's top spies sure, I can see why this would be a useful and perhaps a necessary skill to have but for the rest of us, perhaps not. As for myself, I will definitely not be dumbing myself down for a bloke any time soon. Although I do sometimes wonder if I’d be better served by wising up.