Controlling my autopilot

My autopilot, my instinct, my gut … why does it sometimes betray me and some of the personal values I hold most dear?

I grew up in apartheid South Africa. At that time I was not very politically conscious, I still really don’t care much for politics. Politically apathetic at best. But as I aged I became more and more aware of the inequality between races in my motherland. It’s something I always hated. Life to me must be filled with variety and that includes friends. I befriended people of various races and loved them for who they are not the colour of their skin, the money in their pocket, their sexual practices …. When I moved to Europe this became much easier. Here there is no underlying uneasy tension in the air when two or more people of mixed race are socialising in public. When apartheid ended in South Africa racism didn’t magically disappear. In that new South Africa a young mixed race couple could now freely walk hand in hand down the street. But the looks and scowls they got didn’t change. I was quite happy to leave that shit behind. I deplore racism in any form!

Which brings me to that autopilot of mine. Say I am driving around town and there is a bad driver in front of me, making part of my journey more difficult than it should be. If as I finally overtake them and look at the driver, I see a black person behind the wheel, the little hamster in my head says “Awww fucking black person, typical!”. WAIT!!! WHAT??? Where does that come from? That really isn’t me. How can I think like that? It disgusts and distresses me that deep down in my core there is a racist little fucker!

But it’s not only racism. I am quite an old soul. Morally I am grey at best but I respect and value the older generations. I will always have time to help or listen to an old member of society. But as with the little racist buried deep within me there is a little ageist.

As is the case with the sexist me. I don’t believe I am sexist but occasionally it shows its ugly little head. A few weeks back after a club night out dancing I headed off to the bus stop. Sitting at the bus stop was someone I can met a couple of years ago but hadn’t seen in ages. We started chatting and it turned out we lived a few blocks away from each other. We went back to hers and spent the next few hours chatting and drinking. I was trying as best I could to get into her pants and was doing quite well. I told her that I had gone to a restaurant a while back and the waitress looked just like her. At that time I couldn’t remember her name so asked the waitress hers. It said … “IT?” She turned to me with a shocked look on her face. “IT?” Yes I had said it. WTF!!! Do I really objectify woman that way? **face plant** Needless to say them panties never came off and I eventually left questioning my inner self.

Discrimination of any sort pisses me off!! But deep within me there is an autopilot of sorts that can be racist, ageist, sexist, classist, sexualist, creedist … I suppress that whenever it gets triggered. But why is it there?

Time marches on

Another heartbroken night … time marches on
Another sexless month … time marches on
A holiday abroad … time marches on
A new friend … time marches on
A new job interview … time marches on
A night out dancing … time marches on
Dreaming of out of reach love … time marches on
Deadline after deadline met … time marches on
Dinner with a friend … time marches on
Domestic arguments … time marches on
Kids acting up … time marches on
Peace of mind … time marches on
Queuing … time marches on
Sick again … time marches on
Unattainable dreams … time marches on
Unending traffic jams … time marches on
Vegetating on the sofa … time marches on
Waiting for freedom … time marches on

And time marches on … another step closer to expiration

New girl

13 months on I am still heartbroken about leaving K. But I can never return to her while I am still living with my wife. Replacing K is not what I want. I want K, the relationship we had and I never want the pain of heartbreak again. But it seems to be happening …

I have know M for years. An absolutely stunning lady, the type of woman everyone’s heads rise to when she walks over to the copier. We had worked in the same company but I had hardly ever spoken to her for more than a few minutes … then one day, one thing led to another and I am starting to forget K as my mind slowly gets consumed by thoughts of M.

Mutual friends would never put us together, hell not even complete strangers would. You see we are very different. Looks wise I am a realistic 6, she is an 8 pushing 9. I am 45, she is 29. I am an hard nosed atheist, politically apathetic, a parent, kinky and outgoing. M is very religious, interested in politics, long time single, vanilla and aloof.

We had a brief 2 month spell “together” at the tail end of last year. But she ended it. Like I said she is very religious and duly principled. Messing around with a married man was too big a hurdle for her to overcome. We kissed and made out for hours whenever we were together but never had sex. So we went our separate ways, before anyone got too hurt.

Several months later we were back in touch and now several months into our 2nd spell together little has changed. We go out (not daily or even weekly but regularly), we make out for hours and avoid the issue of sex. We still haven’t, which is something very unusual for me and the relationships I have had. Can I call it a relationship? It’s something, it’s more than just a friendship.

Whatever it is it works for us. We have each other. We both have very different but difficult issues in our lives to contend with. But in each other we have a companion (at arms length) to feel warm with.

I don’t want another relationship until I can get clear of my marriage. But I don’t want to give M up. All I am left with in that case is emptiness and loneliness. And I am not a complete idiot (naive and a dreamer, yes). I realise the chance of a future with M is very unlikely, for various reasons. And if I moved out tomorrow I need to go back to K. It will probably never happen with K again regardless but that is where my heart is.

Yet here I am sitting in a coffee shop in Old Str in London on my day off waiting for M. Wondering if this will ever turn into the relationship we want it to.

A virus in my city

There is an nasty virus spreading across London Town. You may not see it. It disguises itself well. It is hip, happening and the kids (young and old) are all signing up.

It has taken that beautiful antique table, the patinaed typewriter on the table and the rusty bicycle on the wall and sucked all the appeal out of them. You see this virus is quite the leech. Its sucks the beauty out of architecture, books, fashion, menus … the list is endless.

Taking key pieces of something and placing it perfectly opposite a different piece of something unrelated, but equally beautiful so that the juxtaposition between the two is perfect no matter how crappy the lens of the bright eyes tourist is.

The not so delicate, amazingly creative grunge gets replaced by the soulless manufactured grunge coated in just the perfect amount of scuffs.

And slowly my city rots. It rots as gallons of beard oil seep deep into its soil. It rots as the creativity washes away, pushed out to somewhere affordable.

Another boutique clothing store who’s single pair of vintage twead trousers carries a price tag that could provide the annual nourishment for the extended family of the miserably poor Turkish villager who’s hands created them. Another ethically sourced ingredient’d menu appears with words most good dictionaries would struggle to stomach. Another rockabilly girl parks her designer bicycle in a colour that the factory stopped producing back in the 50’s and sits down on an old school bench that has been repurposed by the restaurant owner handing her Canadian Arctic water. Another tear falls down my cheek as I sit on the bench opposite her in my new trousers and look down at the new menu.

My type

Do I have a type? Yes, no, I can’t be sure.

I am quite a slut. Walking down the street in my head I count the women I would be happy to shag. The percentage is surprising high! Age makes little difference. Race sometimes does (this really pisses me off, I  wish it didn’t but we are being honest here). Something like height … no difference but size sometimes does (again something I am not proud of). Orientation, kinkyness and goodlooks have a minor impact. Gender makes some difference. I am bi but attracted to few guys. Transgenders I am also open to…

What does seem to have a massive impact is if the person is (excuse the term) a cunt. Nasty personalities are a massive turnoff. Sure if its just casual sex with a stranger this is unlikely to affect things. But if I know the person and the are a cunt it doesnt matter if they are Tabatha Coffeys twin, I won’t go near them. For anything!

Ohhh Tabatha Coffey? … yes top of my dreamlist. A strong lesbian with short hair and a pointy face? Yip 100%

For guys I don’t really know. The guy I am most attracted by looks a bit like Marilyn Manson but with muscular arms and an equally hot wife.

I usually go for quite strong women. Even if they don’t appear strong or think they are, if in my eyes they are strong it is a massive plus.

Obnoxious, pretencious, attention seeking, socialittes or princesses … no, no, no

Adventerous, nice, tolerant, open, warm, considerate … yes please