Grown Ups and Fuck Ups

The thing about a crush.

Digital Crushing

The last time I had such an enduring crush was an age ago. I was in high school, fat and super insecure about how I looked. He was gorgeous. Like absolutely beautiful. Blue eyes, light brown skin and just the most stunning English accent that made me combust into a ball of teenaged lust and angst. We became friends, really great friends in fact, while acting together in a Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. I played Katherine and he played Katherine's father. I still remember how nervous I was when I asked him to come to my 5th form formal with me. He agreed. He brought a rose and the Victor Victoria musical dvd as a gift. Much much excitement. We kind of danced around each other and then when it could not get any worse he kissed a family friend. Fun times. I still see him on my Facebook, gorgeous as ever but my preferences changed, I grew up, lost the weight and the desire to be poor forever with an aspiring actor. 

Youths. Urgh.

The thing is that actually interacting with a flesh and blood person allowed me to get over the crush. Seeing him drunkenly kiss my cousin at Matric Vac in a sweaty, stinky beachside club gave me the impetus to just get over him. Not so today. The thing about me is that more likely than not, I fall for a brain. Yes, looks are all good and well, but what gets me going is a smart man who is equal parts culture, smarts, business acumen and a sprinkling of sex. And a beard. And my GOD does twitter not have an abundance of those. Meeting a few of them in real life cured me of that quick fast. From a braying laugh, to some good old misogyny, they were able to disabuse me of the notion of ever shagging them. Thanks guys. 

Thanks for the commentary on the appropriate amount of women's pubic hair

But what of the unmet twitter crush? What of the exquisite agony of crushing on an avatar? Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have a crush on someone who for all intents and purposes may not exist? 

Fuck you Internet

 I found myself clicking on a twitter account more often than usual. Laughing out loud. Smiling as if those tweets were addressed to me. Giggling when I got likes on Instagram. It's like trying to get water out of your ear after swimming for the whole day. You jump around like an idiot and all you hear is WOMP WOMP WOMP. You can't click off twitter or Instagram because LIFE'S BLOOD but they are there ALL THE TIME. BEING SMART AND CUTE. AND BEARDY.  

Stop this thing.

Literally unable to can

You're in a permanent state of butterflies but over the digital iteration of someone's personality. To be clear, no one on twitter is their true self. I think honesty stopped being a thing on twitter around 2010 when people realised that they could make money off of catfishing a bunch of brands. I digress. 

So I  had to ask myself what will it take to get over a crush that has held me in its sweaty little fist for a month?

 I decided to webstalk.

NINJA POWERS ENGAGE!

Yes, I trawled Facebook to find pictures from three years ago of the person in blackface, a Borat thong or even a bunch of Super Bru's at one of those paint throwing dub step concerts white people go to while high on methamphetamine. Nope. Nothing. He was basically perfect. Fuck. I texted my friends. I asked my sister for help. I watched some Oprah in the hopes that she would lay her hands upon me and pray away the crush. Two weeks later, I was a little luckier. I found a retweet that my ass crack told me was his girlfriend. Read through her timeline. 

BINGO. Drinks required. Luckily, Saturday decided to play ball and I found myself neck deep in straight up margherita's. Eventually I dispensed with the lime, simple syrup and salt. Tequila. It's good.

Much better now.

Now I am semi-cured. I am actively ignoring his twitter and hoping to stumble on to a regular person that I can actually pretend to talk to while we watch Star Wars, drink beer and eat grilled cheese sandwiches which is the natural order of the world.

Apparently I'm Not Good Enough

I took a long break from blogging, I shouldn't have, I apologise, I'm back.

On to the new stuff. Last week was a rather interesting week. While I was on twitter, my twitter spouse, the fabulous MvelaseP and JoziGoddess labeled me a "bad black" what is a bad black, you may ask? Usually, it's a black person, who is educated well, lives a middle class life and has an opinion. No. Really. If you are a bad black, according to the DA masses, you vote ANC based on some struggle-era nostalgia (oh the good old days of bullets, German Shepherds and tear gas) and therefore do not think for yourself. I "speak so well" and "am just like them" because I went to private school and have wealthy parents, which somehow excludes me from the black masses (not so are the wicked, not so!). This confused me, as I somehow have now lost all legitimacy to say that the DA doesn't look out for my interests as a young, soon-to-be-professional woman. That now, I must forget about BEE because I am "empowered" and give up my privileged position on the BEE pecking order for some white male who "can't get a job in this bloody country" (perhaps that should be one word) and we should all hold hands singing "Kumbaya" around a fire in a group masturbation exercise.

Erm. No. I'm NOT "just like you". In fact, I'm part of a tiny, tiny percentage of black people in this country who live a privileged life. I won't step aside for a kid whose parents and grandparents are Michaelhouse alumni so that he and his family, who have been empowered for the last three hundred years can "get a chance". I'm not afraid of my bad black status, I will use BEE to grow wealth for me and my family so that my children and grandchildren can go to St Anne's and Michaelhouse. In 2004, St Anne's elected its first black head girl. At that time, the school was 127 years old. Should I clap for them? No. Should I clap for your mediocre son and give him a job after he scored all C's in his final matric exams after his parents spent R500 000 on his high school education alone? Or should I give that kid who worked by candle light and got an exemption the chance to better himself and earn a decent living?

You say "It's not fair!" Life's not fair, get over it. Strive to be brilliant so that despite the current status quo, your potential employer will hire you, because you are just that good. Because if you are mediocre, you won't succeed in this country, black or white, eventually your work ethic will make you disposable or indispensable. We have a long way to go in terms of righting economic and sociological inequalities in this country - we're ONE generation into this all. BEE's not going anywhere. Until the DA gets that, blacks, good or bad won't vote for them.

Something that I saw that I found rather hilarious was the DA advert for the current municipal elections. They did a good job. I won't hate, but let's be serious, no one who tasted Apartheid like that old gogo is ever going to vote for the "wall-less toilet" DA.

Be more awesome, all of you.
M x