The Snob and The Social Reflex: Part Un

Am I frowning? But, boy, is it bright . . . Oh right, I have shades on. Am I still frowning?Urgh, it’s the public.

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Please feel free to mention how absolutely dressed down I am, blending in so as to not have to garner any unsolicited attention from locals.Yeah right. We know the only blending in I’m good at is the blending in that involves the bronzer on my cheekbones and the blush on my cheeks. Now THAT’S what I call a natural transition. Do you think maybe I should’ve highlighted just above the cheekbone? Or a darker contour in the . . . Well, contour above my jawline. Hold on, I’m veering off.

Does it help that my schedule won’t allow for me to manage these cuticles, and so yes, they’ve got my attention in this place, surrounded by people who could also probably use a manicure. What an utterly boring distraction. When am I getting a grooming buddy?

So last November, I got myself (after much consideration and motivation from two of the closest non-women in my life, never again) a pair of sneakers!!!! *Gasp* Yes, sneakers. Why am I gasping? Why aren’t you? Well, you see I haven’t owned a sneaker since 5 years ago when it made sense to be so colloquially dressed, walking about, identifying as young and carefree. Of course, the pairs were well embellished. One, black padded quilting like a Chanel purse, the other with pink accents and a pink sole, and the other, a regular Converse high-top except for the doodles/grafitti that it was decorated with. Yes, they were all bought like that, picked out of a selection of bland running shoes. You see, I don’t think sneakers are shoes, I think of them as more of a necessary tool, like prescription medication (shoes for like, running and stuff?). So planning my outfits around these sneakers gave me a bit of a headache. Not to mention I had to learn how to walk in them, how ironic. Bite me.

So this is world’s apart from the postural exercise I’m used to. The ‘tuck in your butt, point your toes, drop your shoulders, hold in your core, hold your gaze in a thin, long imaginary line shooting straight forward’.

fancy outfit and sneakers

Nope. It’s basically ‘walk’. I found myself lifting my heel for no reason, arch-less, ball-less, stepping of the one foot followed by the other. Like . . . A boy.

Hey hey! The plus side. I can walk REALY fast, heck I can run! Do you know how exciting that is? Other than the fact that I might NEED to run (from something/someone, most likely for something, like a bus, out of the way of an asshole driver (read: right of way) or because I’m in a hurry or all of a sudden I realise that if I run now, I won’t have do those lunges later!). Reality is such a pain in the bunion.

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Sigh, anyway. Or whatever. Sneakers.

They make feel a little less poised than I want to (maybe ought to) feel, a little less feminine, a little less entitled, a little . . . Low maintenance. Like a sliding door as opposed to a vault. Like an A4 page with a feint and margin as opposed to a taupe woodgrain wallpaper sprawling across 5metres . . . Like I can’t be excused for not knowing the meaning of the new slang word doing the rounds. Like ice, melting in a glass of room temperature water . . . And my feet still hurt.

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They also make me feel like I should know the lyrics to A$AP Rocky/Drake/Kanye songs or perhaps just the names of pop artists and their shenanigans to begin with (Getting there), they make me feel like I can actually dance in a place other than in front of the mirror in my room. They make me feel like I’m drinking, like a lot more water than I am, they make me feel like college kid identifying as young and I guess I sort of am. It’s as if I’m not wearing shoes . . . I won’t repeat that prescription part, you know what I mean.

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Check out this blog beeteedubs

I will never complain about the glamorous discomfort that heels provide, about the sway aiding the one already created by my waist-to-hip ratio, about the stuttering footsteps, the walking carefully down a flight of stairs, the hand I might need getting across badly maintained pavements, the sloth pace, not even the ankle I might break by walking carelessly. I mean, I said “never” right? Like, what do you want from me?

Shout out to all the snobs who drab away in flat colloquial shoes for necessity only to get home and slip on your favourite pair of heels to maintain that sought after arch in your foot and just revel in wearing something that was made for poise, statement and flair. Until your whole schedule of excuses to wear heels fills up, soak it all in.

And the next time you go out for a jol and your insensitive friend (we all have one) tries to hurry you, followed by, “Why are you wearing heels?” you have my go ahead to answer in a mini tantrum “Because I FUCKING WANT TO!”. Just do it.

P.S. Pictures of other people because I mean, I’m not ready to be photographed with sneakers on, like . . . Also, they are killing it. Go girls.

Over and (running) out.

The Snob.

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Came, Saw, Conquered!!

Ooh, nothing like killing about 4 birds with one stone!

Confused? I’ll enlighten you. It was a weekend night (that starts with an S, the other one, the one on which Christians like to hang out together), we went out to a place that you can call ‘the usual spot’, the bartenders know what you want so you don’t have holler at them like the rest of the crowd.  That’s besides the point, my night turned into an episode of Sex and The City meets Gossip Girl (seriously). Don’t want to go into too much detail but I was greeted by a person who is already hard to like with a dirty look ‘smile’, of course in all my politeness and not giving the person the satisfaction of making me uncomfortable, I smiled back. I’m still not sure if it was a real smile but it did the trick. Fast-forward less than a minute later, walking strutting with drinks in hand to see the live jazz band,  meeting friends, having a jam. Bird 1-injured.

Oh by the way, it’s been a fucking long time since we saw a good jazz band, the bassist knew he was good, and he showed it by playing and playing and playing until the other two band members had to randomly join just to stop him get a chance to show off their skills too. A live freestyle performance will always be interrupted by a drunk and lively character in the audience, one of these was a cool girl who looks like your aunt but acts like your crazy best friend, she kept singing some one liner from a popular kwaito song. Funny in the beginning but slowly worked its way into annoying and disrespectful, but I guess it’s all part of the fun. A while later we all sat at a table and talked shit about everything, refreshing talking to people you haven’t seen in a while. Here I also got glances from this non-stranger, which left me thinking ‘when are you going to quit?’. Here I am trying to dodge a conversation about maize, yes MAIZE, apparently that is the latest important thing to talk about, this is obviously new to me since the maize we (my fiance and I) eat is cous cous from Morocco or Italy or something. Anyway how does one dodge a conversation? Sipping your drink, smoking your cigarette and scanning the crowd, which means getting scanned too, oh the joy (sarcasm).

Before I carry on, I must mention Bird 2: Being way hotter than your ‘arch nemesis’, hotter, well dressed, polite, intelligent, the fucking works. Need I say that I immediately removed that label from that person because anyone who knows me, knows that I’ll only accept a person as my arch nemesis if they’re in my league. Am I wrong? No I’m not, think about it, there’s no point in Giselle Bundchen-Brady calling Tyra Banks an arch nemesis, it’s a waste, Giselle is a million times hottter, and is always tops whereas Tyra is a has been, and always wears too much eye shadow! See what I mean? Bird 2 status-smashed into a million little pieces.

Ooh we had a good dance, like in the movies haha. We had a friendly chat with the band’s drummer who turned out to be a familiar face to my fiance, and I had a friendly chat with the girl with the thrift shop racks selling everything I wouldn’t wear until That 70’s Show reunion party. But she’s a cool, chilled out person and she’s developed a lot of poise since the last time I saw her, ‘You go girl!’.

Bird 3 is a nice bird, it’s the bird that can’t fly and makes good chicken wings! Yummy. This is the one person who got on my nerves for not acknowledging important current situations. Fine, you’re kind of annoying but we can actually get along and I’d understand what you were saying more often if it wasn’t for your ghetto accent, but I can appreciate that you’re not completely rude, even though you have your moments. Win! Bird 3 status- killed and eaten. lol. And I guess you can’t stop people from copying your make-up.

Bird 4- Going out with my lovely fiance, meeting friends, dancing and having a ball. Since that was the point, but like a good hunter, you always recognise your other successes especially if you’re using the same weapon! You can have so many asses kicked in one night, politely of course. Cheers to partying like a betch and being a good hunter ūüėČ . Cheers to my snobs!

 

Overthrow?

Gossip Girl Season 4

Excuse me. I know it’s been a while, I’ve had what I actually don’t mind calling ‘writer’s block’, the external kind. The kind that’s most annoying, like “Why am I sitting in this room with this girl, she’s like quite literally staring at my back (and sometimes at my front) and it’s truly annoying being stalked by the present past who is, like, staring at my back (did I say that?okay).” Once I beat that with the classic (figurative),”You can’t sit with us!”, it was cool. So hey, the snob is back.

Also, I was writing about something-you’ll see later- when it mysteriously didn’t get published. That pissed me the fuck off, I had posting trauma for like, two days! Scary stuff, putting in so much effort just for shit to get deleted. Anyway I’m sick of writing about how the internet has been BETRAYING me (http://cigaretteincense.blogspot.com) so I’ll stop.

Ooh yesterday, my friend (who’s in he city for a month) and I texted about fashion and clothing and shoes and accessories and other girl stuff almost the whole fucking day! If you read my post about Spring you must know that this friend is actually a PERSON and not a season. Moving right along, I forgot that I could do that! Seriously, it’s fun. it’s like smoking an exclusive girl power/fashion joint! It’s a little evil army of terror candy-coated in prettiness, giggles and ‘oh my gosh, you won’t believe!’. Speaking of things that you oh my gosh won’t believe . . . Of course you won’t, because that kind of conversation is exclusive,duh! What you should know are that those things make us fucking crazy! The official, diagnosed kind, not that anyone ever notices. OCD and paranoia do just fine in society, hence the show Gossip Girl, oh and our lovely friends HELP us become crazy by letting us know we aren’t crazy,”Oh my gosh, I totally understand!”. It’s ironic, but it works. It’s something that makes us high maintenance, fast talking, fast thinking, bitch slapping Queen B’s instead of the doormat, do everything that you say,’does my ass look fat in this?’,walk all over me, annoying girls that guys with low self esteem like. See? Good. My best friend’s head is full of secrets and it’s inflating, she gets to minimize when she tells me though. See what I mean?

Boys and their Toys?

 

Uhm okay, this is new?

I think I’m being excluded. Maybe I’m isolating myself from the many topics that come from a ‘man party’.

I’m not sure.

So today,actually while I type (as I decided to invade this male bubble) my lovelier than ever boyfriend (actually fiance) has a friend over.

Uh I must explain to you how exclusive this party is¬†– it has to do with internet games, canned beer, girlfriend drama ( I’m cringing ), plugs, opening files, saving files, programming, ‘control click’, desktop, more beers, some vodka, hip hop music –¬†I mean The Honorable Wu-Tang Clan, operating systems, backing up, firewalls, updates, connections . . . By the way, all this internet/computer lingo jargon is coming from the lovely above-mentioned man. It’s like when my friends invite me out shopping to style them or when my gay friends invite me to their parties because they want to know stylish hot girls and not just gay hot guys (who are also funny).

Anyway, I’m not sure, but I think they might be talking more right now. Earlier I couldn’t really hear them and I wasn’t even watching reruns of ‘Sex and the City’ or ‘Gossip Girl’ (which blocks out most of the suburban sounds for my fashion girl heaven ).

I find this weird because I’ve been the ‘guy-girl’ or as they say ‘one of the boys’ as well as one of the girly girls ( I don’t know how I managed ). I know that with girls, we have a very specific exclusivity social attitude about these kinda gatherings. If you’re not the right girl,¬†you don’t fit in, if you’re a guy, surely you don’t fit in, unless you’re a GORGEOUS, FABULOUS, STYLISH, OPINIONATED GAY GUY! In my case, I was the sporty, opinionated, straight girl who was immune to dirty jokes and innuendoes and spoke frankly about everything and didn’t mind if their immature sexual comments were directed at me because I’d have a killer,totally belittling/embarrassing comeback for them. I do this ‘frank thing’ with my girl group but they probably think I’m a necessary bitch, which is what guys and girls have in common¬†– The necessary bitch.

So here’s where it sucks – like how the fuck am I supposed to be that (necessary bitch) when I’m dealing with Macs and techno shit and poker, I guess?

Funny thing is I can’t complain because I get to watch my lovely above-mentioned man in all his social manliness. It’s fucking hot! It’s hot how he’s bobbing his head to The Honorable Wu-Tang Clan, asking serious questions every now and then, talking about cars and their sync (and it’s sorta comedy as well), and then I think about my friends and how they are so free and honest around me (they better be or I’ll call them out), how they deal with all my shit and how they are so willing to listen because they trust me and react maturely to what I tell them because they know it’s from someone who cares about them.

Our conversation just moved to our appreciation (not mine) of BEER, and then whiskey etc. Somehow, bricks and building worked its way into this modern man (and woMAN) conversation and so did alarms and neighbours. I’m waiting for fashion and haters ( apparent girl shit that guys talk about? ).

Other than the fact that I don’t have a penis, I actually like this company. My own friends don’t talk about the Kardashians. I sometimes find us having quite manly conversations, most of it though is some highly intelligent back-and forth about everyday experiences (lol,philosophies and shit) but we do talk about fashion ( I neeeeeeeed someone who I can talk about the Kardashians with!!!!!)

Anyway, their meeting is over and they’re like ¬†‘See you soon dude’ the same way I am with my girls, so hey IT’S ALL RELATIVE’. Ta-Da.

 

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