Bad Boy vs. Bully

It seems to be a generally accepted rule that girls are attracted to bad boys. There is something so utterly thrilling about being the ‘flavour of the week’ of some really good looking bad boy whose hair is just a little too long and who bends the rules a little out of sync. Bad boys are just sexy and it’s something that genuinely nice guys have to compete with the whole way through school and early twenties. And then EVERYTHING changes.

Suddenly girls are looking for the type of guy that they want to marry. The type of guy who opens doors for you, takes you to nice places, treats you with respect and will bend over backwards to make sure that you’re happy. Everyone wants to marry the nice guy, but let’s be honest, when you’re young and enjoying being a twenty-something what you really want is a bad boy.

Sometimes this can go horribly wrong though. Somehow, somewhere in our minds something goes snap and before you know it you’re dating a guy who isn't just thrilling but who is actually bad for you. Someone who bullies you on some level, or who constantly brings you down, or who pulls you away from the people you love. Sometimes for no apparent reason we end up with guys who make us feel horrible, and to make matters worse, we love it.

It happens quickly and it doesn't matter what your friends say or do, you will not realize it until you either hit rock bottom or long after he has left you for someone else. Your brain will lie to you and tell you that you deserve it, or that it is your fault, or that you’re doing something wrong. You’ll know deep down inside that you shouldn't be feeling this way but this inexplicable need for love of any sort will keep you bound to even the worst of people.

And this is not to say that the guy you’re with is a horrible guy. Hell, he might be one of the good guys. But when two people with personalities that differ vastly, end up together they can be horribly bad for one another.

But not to worry because eventually it’ll reach a point where there is absolutely no point of return and the relationship will end, you’ll slowly start to rebuild your life and then, when the timing is right you’ll realize just how over-rated a bad boy really is and you’ll start looking for the type of guy who makes you happy without even having to try too hard. 

Because Sometimes Writing It Out is the Only Way to Figure Out What You Want

There are some things in life which just do not make sense to me. Yes there is physics which will just never make sense to me and I’ve come to accept the fact that I will never be able to predict the momentum of a particle in some hypothetical, non-existent plane but there are other things that I am just not quite willing to accept as easily. Is it really possible to love something or someone to death? Why is it, that often the people we miss most are the ones who are bad for us? Why do we fight with the people we care about most? And lastly, and most importantly perhaps, why do the people we love have traits that annoy the living hell out of us?

It has been one of those mornings where I listen to Mayday Parade songs, and think about the meaning of life when in fact I should be studying. I have done all my admin, and my flat is clean and I have officially run out of productive techniques of procrastination and have now moved on to the more wishy washy form of wasting my time by thinking about my life.

This can actually be quite dangerous, and usually it is, because more often than not it results in me thinking about how ‘depressing’ my life is (it really isn’t all that depressing but it’s easy to lie to your own brain) and that just results in a chocolate craving that makes me hate myself even more than the usual healthy dose of self-loathing.

Anyway, this morning there is actually only one thing bothering me about my life. I’m not worried about my friends because I have some amazing people in my life, I’m not missing home because I spent all weekend with my crazy family and I’m not worried about my studies because I have done more work in the last three weeks than I’ve done in the last three years combined. Actually, things are looking pretty good in the world of Kat, but there is one tiny little thing that’s gnawing at my very soul.

And actually it isn’t tiny at all.

Well to all of you it probably is, but to me it’s a huge colossal issue. You see the problem is that I am fighting with my sister. To most people this is the norm:

“Siblings fight.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll blow over.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“She’ll always love you.”

Yeah, I guess all these things may be true. Well I have to believe that they are because otherwise that leaves me in quite a shitty position. The thing is that I love my sister. I love spending time with her, we laugh a lot, we have a lot of fun and we think in the same way. It can be just the two of us or it can be a whole group of people. My favourite person in the room will always be her.

Which is all cute and cuddly, right? Wrong. I hate that she goes back on her word, cancels plans without telling me, cares about her own week more than she cares about mine, asks me questions and doesn’t bother to listen to the answers and is just generally selfish. I hate that she can fight with me when I’ve spent the whole week helping her. I hate that she can ask me for help with something and then walk out of the room half way through, leaving me to do whatever it is. But mostly I hate that eventually I will apologise to her for shouting because it’ll get to the point where I miss her so much that I’ll swallow my pride and ask for her back. And she will still always be my favourite person in the world.

Yeah, I probably shouldn’t shout. I shouldn’t get angry about her traits because that’s just part of who she is. So yeah, it probably is my fault that we’re fighting and yeah I probably should be the one to apologize but the problem with apologies is that they’re supposed to tell the person you’re apologizing to that you will never do XYZ again. And I know that I will. I know that even if I apologize today that in a week, or a month or at some future point in time I will get upset with her again and we will have another huge fight and we will be back at this exact point.

So I face a bit of a dilemma, because I really miss her right now. I hate walking passed one another in the flat as if the other isn’t there. I hate that our conversations have come to short texts about general admin instead of chatting and laughing as if we’re the only people in the world. And sometimes all you need is a little giggle with a person you love to make your day. But should I apologize?

Should I really have to apologize for the fact that she couldn’t print her own report when I was too busy to do it for her? Should I really have to apologize to someone who just left the room when it seemed the printer wasn’t working? Should I apologize to someone who was just not going to pitch up to an event we were both supposed to host? Do I apologize to her even though she went back on her offer to let me use her stuff for the event?

Yeah, I guess I do. I have to be the one to apologize because the truth is that on an ordinary day none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have been running late, I wouldn’t have been exhausted, I would offered to help her print it and I would have been okay with my broken printer and just had it fixed without any complaining. I would have realized that this was another step in her bad week and that she just needed a break and I would have put her emotions first.

So yes, I need to apologize. But today is not the day for it. Today I don’t have the energy to think about what she wants or needs. Today all the energy I have will be spent on what I want and need. 

Arriving in Kenya

On wobbly legs that had been liquored up on free gin and tonics, I made my way down the center

isle of the plane. The amazingly good-looking boy who had been sitting next to me was chuckling behind me as I tried with all my might to get my hand luggage and I out of the plane and onto the bus.

At some point Rob managed to find me and the three of us found a seat right at the back of the bus. By now, because the gin had set in, I was thoroughly enjoying staring at this guy’s arms, however I managed to pull my eyes away for long enough to notice the string of people waiting to get into the airport arrivals building and groaned in absolute pain. Did we have to join that queue? I thought back to Michelle telling me that it sometimes took her hours to clear customs and I was filled with dread.

Suddenly the fact that I had been awake since four o’clock that morning, and had already caught two separate planes, caught up with me and exhaustion mixed with gin and over-excitement, nearly resulted in a tantrum.

I think Rob realised that a tantrum of epic proportions was about to come his way because he was searching desperately for a different entrance into the airport terminal, and to my utter relief he managed to find the correct entrance which didn’t have a queue at all. We got through quickly and grabbed the forms that needed to be filled in and while I scrambled in my handbag for some pens Rob managed to get me into the correct aisle.

Clearing passport control went smoothly and before long I was searching for my bag while Rob dealt with his passport. I saw a HUGE red bag circling one of the carousels and instantly knew that it had to be mine. I ran to it and grabbed it off the carousel. It was at this point that I realised that none of the carousels were labelled. Turns out that in Kenya they put your bag onto the closest carousel regardless of where your flight came from. This made searching for Rob’s plan blue bag rather a mission but even that, in comparison to the travel horror stories I have heard, was easy (although this could be due to the fact that I was completely drunk and had no concept of time).

Anyways, with our bags at our sides we made our way through to the airport exit (well we followed the mass of people and hoped that it was heading in the same direction as we were). It was at this point when I saw Michelle and finally I was seeing a face filled with nearly as much excitement as mine. I considered running but then realised that drunk Kat plus heavy bag would result in a fail but it seemed Michelle had no such reservations and before long I was cuddling up to my adopted sister who I hadn’t seen in what felt like forever and a half.

It was then that it dawned on me; I was in Kenya! 

Get Me To The Plane On Time!!!

We were running late. In fact, we had been running late all day. The day was finally here and the thought was so surreal that it resulted in a deep confusion. Today was the day; we were finally en route to Kenya. But we were going to miss our plane if we had to wait in the queue for passport control much longer. After what felt like a million lifetimes we finally made it to the front of the queue and I rushed over to the counter with my passport leaving Rob to wait for the next opening.

I don’t know what it is about speaking to officials but every time I do it I get super nervous. I know for a fact that my passport is legitimate, and I have triple checked every single Kenyan website I could find to make sure that I have the correct documentation and yet as I walked up to that counter my stomach did a backflip and I felt my knees wanting desperately to give way or flee in the opposite direction. I pushed on and made it to the counter where the woman barely looked at me and merely glanced over my passport before stamping the page and calling out urgently to the queue behind me; “Next!”

I was through. I was in No Man’s Land. I was in the beautiful world of DUTY FREE and I sure as hell wasn’t going to miss up this opportunity, no matter how late I was. Rob and I made a beeline for the booze section and made our selection as quickly as possible before rushing through to our gate and to my utter relief the gate was still open. I breathed for the first time in about ten minutes and was just about to make it through to the gate when I realised that Rob had disappeared to find a toilet.

The woman at the gate (I’m sure she has an official title but I can’t for the life of me imagine what it could be) was staring at me and finally said; “If you’re planning on getting onto this plane you better get through here. We’re busy throwing people off the plane.”

“I’m waiting for a friend.”

“Well, you better call him. He has thirty seconds.”

Well, I faced a bit of a dilemma. I could wait for him and we both might miss our flight or I could just abandon him. Oh, who am I kidding? There was no dilemma. I wasn’t risking my holiday because of some guy with a full bladder. Once I’d made it through the gate however I thought it would only be fair of me to give him a call and rush him. I didn’t consider the nasty effects that a phone call half way through a pee could have on a public toilet and as the thought dawned on me I noticed with relief that Rob was actually already on his way back to the plane.

Finally we had made it onto the plane. Now all we could do was wait (and drink). 

Salcoholism

I believe that in every group of friends there is that one guy who looks like Jesus. Now obviously no one really knows what Jesus looks like, but you know that stereotype Jesus that you’ve seen in paintings and your childhood bible that some uncle gave you, that kind of Jesus; the one with the long straggly, dark hair and the beard. Think about it, it’s probably that guy with the receding hairline and the really dark beard.

And just as every group has a Jesus, each group has a Sheldon Cooper. Each group has that one super intelligent, slightly nerdy, skinny white guy who has an opinion about everything and is usually quite mean to people with a ‘lesser’ intelligence. Well, in my friendship group it just so happens that these two characters live together. Yes, Jesus and Sheldon share a flat (with some fish and a very blond goldfish).

This would never have come to my attention had it not been for a certain conversation that I happened to be a part of the other night. Now before I get started on what this conversation entailed, I should just mention that there was wine involved and this guy actually happens to be pretty cool.

Now to the fun part…

It all started when this friend of mine, let’s name him Sheldon, came over for a visit and we were sitting on my balcony busy chatting as we spied on the little minions walking down below us. Sheldon has recently started taking a German and was busy telling me about an assignment their busy doing in which he has to create a business card (in German). He was busy trying to come up with a job description to put on the card when suddenly he decided that his job description should be Jesus.

Well, I very nearly fell off my chair, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that I spend way too much of my time embarrassing myself in front of this guy I may even have wet myself. Sheldon does NOT look like Jesus. AT ALL!!! Anyway, after about half an hour of giggling and teasing and trying desperately not to fall off my chair I suddenly realized that he had suggested creating his own religion.

And what do you think said religion would be called? Well it would be called ‘Salcoholism’ of course: Alcoholism for Sluts. It would be aimed at stupid drunk sluts, which apparently are in abundance in Stellenbosch. The religion would be celebrated by watching pornography in a rented out garage or in some followers house and the stars of the show would all be fellow worshipers. You see, in order to fund said religion each follower would have to submit a porno in order to be admitted. This porno would be sold by Sheldon and the proceeds would go into funding his porn industry/religion. Also, at one point I distinctly remember the motto being “Join the Orgy; Because We Love Ourselves.”

The conversation continued and eventually entailed disciples and recruitment methods, as well as various religious holidays. But that’s not what is important. What is important is that there is finally a religion out there for all the sinners and instead of calling it evil we can now call it Salcoholism. And that sounds much better.