Love and lust, but no sex

Sat here in my too tight jeans, thinking about the smell of my sheets; I perused the poemhunter. I reviewed my favourite poem by Hart and investigated poems on the topic of murder. Having written one on the murder of an old friend; it is a topic that interests me. I found a new poet to pursue who is aptly named Mark Slaughter. Unfortunately my name does not lend itself to such ironic futures.

After reading about the blade, I sought out poems about the shaft. Much to my surprise under the topics index one may find love and lust, but no sex. This disturbs me. It’s a topic that occupies my pen frequently. Are poets and fans of poetry supposed to be too sensitive to read and write clearly on this basic human function? Does it have to be covered with other words, hidden in the semantics of lesser prose? Sex, Sex, sex- see it didn’t burn your eyes out or blacken your soul.

Work Ethic and Me

I love my job. If I was asked to do this pro-bono I would. But today I have run straight into the one part of my job I dislike: the lack of work ethic in my co-worker.

The argument he makes is that we don't get paid enough to do good work on this project. That his good work is worth more than what he is currently being paid. For me, no matter what the wage is, I take pride in the work I am doing and do the best job that I can.

As a teacher, I did not think that my students who paid me 300 baht deserved any less of an education than those that paid me 1000. If anything, they deserved more for they were spending what little free income they had to try to better themselves.

In addition to being cast as a rube for working hard for $10 an hour I was also told that the work which I had done was shallow and would take said co-worker a week to do that same work which has taken me 3 months.

This is my drama for the day. Funnily enough, when I was in Thailand I often heard my fellow expats complain about the work ethic of the Thais. I'll have to admit I was occasionally one of the complainers. But now that I am home I see that it is not just a Thai waitress that will give you a glass with a lipstick smudge; it's the whole world.

Triple T's: The Tired Thirties

I recently read that most women consider their thirties the decade in which they would best describe themselves as TIRED. I always feel tired. I would need to drink 10 cups of coffee per day to not feel tired.
In the past most people would have called me energetic; often to the point of being hyper. I don't know whether to blame it on the children or my age, but now hyper is out of my repertoire.
I hate being tired- so much so that I banned it from my spoken vocabulary for a time. In the end I had to suspend the banishment because there was just no other word to use.
I used to have dreams of raising children with instructive, educational games and organized home based lessons in a second language. Now I am just happy if the food gets on the table 3 times a day.
I have the mother's guilt that there is never enough time to spend with my kids. And I have spent most of the past 5 years at home. It's never enough. I rarely feel like I have the time to enjoy them and that is something I regret but I just don't have the energy for it.

Go Google Yourself

Today I did my not so routine Google check of my name and aliases. I found that I continue to be most widely available in relation to my Thesis: Sport, Tradition and Women in Competitive Muay Thai. My name comes up along with this title on websites in English, Thai, and Japanese.

My next claim to fame is my writing life which has left a minor footprint as a noted member of The Bangkok Women Writers Group, and as a back cover blurb writer:

“Turmann shows us what he’s capable of by creating a new genre of literature: Quirky Southeast Asia Fiction. Well drawn characters, occasional stunning plot twists…a fascinating read.”
Lois Ann Dort, 2Magazine

Most interestingly my name comes up in a very ridiculous fashion on someone else's blog.

So the donors are offering up to return the yo-yo straight in front of oncoming traffic. The same yo-yo for the plan. For Lois Ann Dort of the DNA and by spending over longer periods of time to execute another, only to return the yo-yo fall gently from the philosophically reflective to the events in the songs Blue Jazz, White Jazz and Milneburg Joys. Such three-star innovations are widely imitated these days None This is often not the problem and the pen flatter, not vertical, and this is an entrenched Madison Avenue establishment called La Goulue.

This really feels like it is out of a Murakami novel. That or it is the proverbially monkey with a typwriter. Whatever it may be I find it interesting to have my name linked with DNA out there in the cyber-world.

Now that I have researched myself, I have to say that I am satisfied with what I have found.

However most of my mark was made in that other life I lead, the Thai incarnation. I guess it is no wonder that I miss those days where I felt like I was on the fast track to becoming someone. I miss the opportunities that were opening up to me in Bangkok, but I don't regret my move. I need to push past the every day and open up my writing life here. Everything is impermanence.

That kind of Farang

I recently met a man. No, not that man. A man I didn't like, and that is a rare thing. For those of you that know me will know that generally speaking I am a fancier of men in all shapes and sizes and for various purposes: the friend, the lover, the casual acquaintance. But this man was a flashback, a remembrance of annoyances past from my days in the Land of Smile.

He was a Farang in the most pejorative sense of the word. I met him at a party, and these days I go to so few it is amazing that I should meet anyone that would rankle me to such a degree.

My ex, Tets, who is Asian, was with me at the party. He and I had met and lived for many years in Thailand and this MAN had been to Thailand. He immediately slipped into what I call dumb Farang speak with Tets. "I go Pattaya. I chop Thai." He spit out a few other words in Thai and my discomfort grew and I had to get as far away from him as the house would allow.

I didn't ask who he was;I didn't want to know his name. I didn't tell his girlfriend what kind of visit to Thailand her boyfriend had likely had. I wanted him to disappear and all the other men like him to follow suit.

When I left Thailand, I was more than happy to leave the sputtered mumblings of washed up white men to Thai people behind. I hated the colonial attitude many people wore smugly on their sweating faces. I hated even more, the way my partner was treated as a performing monkey and how he played the part of the white man's dimmer Asian companion. I said goodbye to all that and now here it was again standing in my cousins' kitchen in out-of-the-way Nova Scotia.

Two days ago, via FB, i saw that this MAN was no longer part of my family circle. He and his girlfriend, my distant family member, had broken up. I could not have been happier. I hope I never see him again but if I do, I'll have a few words to share.

Dating status

For as many short years as I have been on Facebook, there has been a lack of relationship status labeled:Dating. This annoys me to no end every time my romantic life moves up a notch. I am not in a relationship, I am hanging out, dating. Is there no room for dating in this fast paced gotta-have-everything, gotta-have-it-now world? There seems to be no stepping stone from Single to In a relationship.

Thirty years ago, dating is what people did; take your time, get to know people. Now it seems that everyone is in such a rush to be secured with a partner that they don't want to take the time to get to know someone before they decide to announce publicly that they are "involved".

And then there is the inevitable break-up posting. You have all seen it: the relationship status changes from Engaged to Single. That's crushing. All your FB friends will rally and trash talk your ex in hundreds of sympathetic postings. But next week when your status changes again, your friends can not undo all the pity posts and you are left to reflect on how either your friends or your mate is a jerk.

The best policy is to remain electronically single. I shall undoubtedly post in the singular for many moons. I have no intentions of having a FB record of my limited love life.

Internal Camouflage

I sit here in my pink passion chemise from Frederick's of Hollywood and I wonder what is everyone else wearing under their casual jeans, make-up, and unknown psyche.

Is this outfit so unlike the 'me' that people imagine that I would be laughed out of bed for wearing it? Is it just left overs from teen-aged Halloweens where we always seemed to dress up like hookers, no matter what we called that year's costume.

These clothes make me feel good, make me feel feminine- I have too often been accused of being the opposite which is no doubt the reason I love such costumes.
But my boldness in attire has only come with age. At 25, I would not have had the confidence to walk into such a store let alone try something on and buy it. It is with the maturity of my 30's that I learned how to really be me .