CBMused

“I can’t believe you’ve forgotten me!” the voice said on the other end of the phone line.

We were three, and we were inseparable. Three very different girls who were brought together by fate during their early teenage years and formed a friendship. There was the taller-larger gregarious one, the girl with a heart of gold and jewellery to match. Then the older one with sexual experience to recount, and a passion for psychoanalysis that ensured we had long and deep conversations on the phone. And the shy quiet one, the born-thinker and analyser, the one of tiny stature who quickly became the confidante of the group.

Our parents inevitably became friends and encouraged our socialising. There was complete trust on all their parts; little they knew about the early sexual experiences whispered quietly during innocent sleepovers. And as we developed throughout our adolescence and entered adulthood, the strong bond between us remained.

Life events got in the way of seeing each other with regularity. Some of these were atrociously life-changing, leaving indelible scars on altered personalities, or silent but enduring pain that was understood but not shared. Others were happier events that shifted priorities of our leisure time.

Naturally, the frequency of communication dwindled but all it took was one chance meeting, one phone call, or one large celebration to reaffirm the bond and continuity of our friendship.

“I haven’t forgotten you,” I told her amidst an overflow of emotion. “I’ve forgotten your voice!”

And what followed was one of those early adolescent phone conversations, this time without the whispers to hide information from our parents’ ears, without the boys we secretly liked, without the angst of growing up. We were grown up.

“I have some bad news,” she said.

We were three. We are still three. One of us had lost a parent.

We will soon see each other again. And I know, as much as the three of us know, that this loss will echo and mirror with unspoken parallels throughout our hearts.

We are three.

What are the odds that in a period of two weeks, two of your friends openly inform you of their swinging lifestyles?

Emma was the first. She spoke of her past in an almost lamenting tone. And after recounting how it had started, it seems she wanted an opinion. Or was it absolution or acceptance. Who knows, I am the least qualified to give it. Apart from an initial mild curiosity about the dynamics, the lifestyle has no appeal to me. I told her that there was no point regretting the past and beating herself over it. But later I sensed it was more than my acceptance that she was after. It was a longing to return to it.

Tamara was more direct and to the point. “Do you think I’m a slut?” she asked while puffing on her second cigarette, angry that a guy she had recently met had intimated such a thought. She then told me about her recent past, that it was a phase that she had enjoyed but had definitely put behind her.

The coincidence that both women chose to reveal a similar past to me was more perplexing than the disclosure that they had been swingers. Like the things in life in which I do not partake, I have an open mind to listen and learn, even though I do not share the interest.

The intimate knowledge has not changed the way I feel about either Emma or Tamara. My friendship with them has nothing to do with their choice. As I am not in the habit of imagining friends having sex with their partners, I choose not to imagine either one in their swinging lifestyle. After all, are we to judge our friends by their sex lives, or lack thereof, or the way we relate to them?

Would you have reacted any differently? Your opinion…

Cryptic. Masonic. Elusive.

The new sudoku? A brain teaser? A tease?

762 + 38 = 800
2. (10/12) + 0. (2/12) + 0. (0.5/12) = 3. 1
208,867 + 1,013 + 999 = 210,879
3.1 + 210,879 => 800

If
Arithmetic equates to Logic
and
Logic yields to Creativity
and
Creativity results in Numbers
and
Numbers mean Arithmetic
Then
Vodka + Dry Vermouth => Martini
Else
Rum + Muddled Lime + Mint + Soda => Mojito
End If

Result:
800 => Martinis

Aquarius - January 21 to February 19
“They fall into two principle types: one shy, sensitive, gentle and patient; the other exuberant, lively and exhibitionist, sometimes hiding the considerable depths of their character under a cloak of frivolity.” Source

cbmused.com was born on Feb 1, under the Aquarius sign. It could have easily been born on January 22, which would have also placed it under the same water carrier sign. Coincidence or cosmic fate?

Incidentally the star sign is not my own. But if I were to apply the laws of astrology to my style of blogging, the end result would leave me in a frivolous titter that hides deeper truths. And when it comes to compatibility, Aries, Gemini, Libra, Sagittarius and Aquarius blogs are meant to be a match made in the starry heavens. You can test your (blog’s) compatibility with mine here…

What does your astroblogology say about you?

Note: This weekend post was clearly brought to you by Cléa’s frivolous side.

There is an irritating-time-wasting-gag-worthy shopping task that I occasionally have to endure, and pay handsomely for the privilege. It may sound simple, to elbow others in front of a messy stand - and that’s in itself cause for ire – and choose a piece of mass-produced cardboard with a few printed words. But in reality, it brings out the red monster within.

Greeting cards work on the premise that the image will grab your attention and the clichéd words will reflect sentiments you are incapable of expressing. They have a short expiry date in your life, unless you hoard memorabilia from every birthday, Christmas, New Year, illness, hospital stay, graduation, farewell, engagement, wedding, anniversary, baby, and death.

Whenever I am given a card, I pity the person watching me open the envelope. If it is a Far Side card, my reaction is to give them a long hard blank stare. I just don’t get it. And if they have to explain it to me, I still don’t think it’s funny. Cute teddy bears, I’ve outgrown when my teddy got jealous, and he’s a precious one I dare not upset. Cutesy cats and dogs are out of the question for someone like me who has a phobia. Floral arrangements, housey cottages, artwork and nature make me reach for the porcelain bowl recycling bin. Girly cards with lots of splashed pink aren’t me.

Which brings me to ecards. Having enjoyed a ten minute fame in their heyday, flash-animated cartoons with annoying music leave me cold, reaching for that bottle of port reserved for sleepless wintry nights. In fact, I have stopped opening them when one innocent click downloaded a malicious virus and hijacked my PC.

But I confess to having in my possession a small collection of memorable cards. They have a stylish and modern design, they are sassy and bold - a bit like me - with just a few heartfelt words written by the sender - like ‘Dear Cléa Love Me’.

Which is why I was instantly attracted to this site and I immediately raced to send one. No, not this one. (NSFW)

So, on this Valentine’s Day, permit me to send you all a little expression of my sentiments.

☆*´¨`*☆.¸¸.☆*´¨`*☆

To My Dear Readers

A little bloggy lurv.

Love
Cléa

☆*´¨`*☆.¸¸.☆*´¨`*☆