BeMused

Do you have a blog? Do you MySpace? Do you network in Facebook or LinkedIn? Do you Digg It, Sumble It, Redditt, CoComment, MyBlogLog, Entrecard and Del.icio.us? Do you Twitter, Bebo, Orkut, Flickr, Friendster and hi5?

Do you blog daily? Update many times a day? Do you have multiple blogs on Blogger, LiveJournal, WordPress, and host your site? Do you follow SEO on your blog? Do you read/follow the advice of probloggers? Do you seek out popular blogs just to bring comments to your site? Do you post comments on news websites? Do you get actively involved in forums?

Have you tried Joomla? Do you blog from your mobile phone? Do you have the iPhone app for your WordPress blog? Do you subscribe to multiple RSS readers? Do you have a number of email addresses through different providers? Do you cyber, IM, MSN, GChat, Skype? Do you update your networking status several times a day? Do you take and post arm-length photos of yourself? Do you upload your mobile phone videos to YouTube?

Do you write? Do you then have time to write quality posts? Do you get the inspiration from your real or online life?

Do you live life or update it as it happens?

No, I am not referring to a vacuous TV show that drew in millions of viewers. Throughout my adult life I have come to realise that I have been blessed with Big Brothers, older and younger men who have taken on an unforgettable role through their own volition.

The first time I encountered a Big Brother, I was in my first year of university. BB 1 was in my year, and since I was a non-drinker, he insisted I remained ‘pure’ by ensuring our group’s get-togethers did not include rowdy pubs and dingy drinking holes. “Can’t spoil Cléa by taking her to a local pub!”

The second BB incident was a little more serious. In my final year of university, I took on three part time jobs to support my full-time study. One of my jobs was in research, and the place I worked was an eye candy heaven, with male graduates two to four years older than me strutting their stuff. Most were attractive in one way or another and a very interesting and down to earth young men. One of the senior researchers had a reputation with women; they literally fell at his feet. Many used him to gain employment in that coveted field in exchange for given pleasures.

He asked me to work late one evening as the team had a deadline to meet. As a poor university student, I needed the money, yet I was a little nervous that I was going to be in the company of Casanova, with barely anyone else around. I reluctantly told BB 2, one of the researchers I worked for, and after he coached me in ways to handle him in case he tried anything, he wished me well and left for the day. An hour or so later, BB 2 returned to the centre and sat at his desk working. And he stayed the whole evening until it was time for me to leave. When I asked him why he came back, he just mumbled that he had something to do.

A year later, as a new graduate in the workforce, I worked with a flamboyant BB 3. He introduced me to his best mate, Tony, who like me at the time, had just broken up with someone. He suggested we all go out, and we did socialise as a group on many occasions. “Cléa, whatever you do, don’t sleep with Tony,” was the stern advice BB3 gave me. “He’s a one minute wonder!” When I quizzed him to the knowledge, he was more than happy to oblige with details I didn’t need to know. Considering we all worked in the same profession, I could never look at Tony without BB 3’s one minute visuals.

These Big Brother experiences may have had something to do with my youth or naivety at the time but I have come across more Big Brothers later in life. BB 4 was four years my junior, and unknown to me at the time, had taken an inordinate interest in my personal and professional interests. He became my mentor, a trusted advisor, which led to becoming a best friend. His protective and caring attitude towards me was no different to the other BB before him.

All these Big Brothers shared commonalities. They were all in happy relationships. They had no romantic/sexual interest in me and they willingly and openly looked after my best interest without being asked. I always look back with fond memories of them.

Recently I have come to question, what causes the Big Brother phenomenon in men? What drives a man who clearly has no romantic interest in a woman to act protectively towards her and hold her best interests at heart? And what kinds of women attract Big Brothers? If my initial theory pointed towards inexperience and naivety, the BB 4 experience has refuted it.

By the above definitions, if you’re a man, have you been a Big Brother to someone? And if you’re a woman, have you experienced the Big Brother phenomenon, and what has been the trigger in either instance?

Your opinions… as always.

With the same awkward care as holding a newborn for the first time, I unbundled him and took him in my hands. He looked so tiny and cute, wrapped in a thin pale pink blanket. I wondered where his talents would eventually lie, once he wakes up from his tranquil sleep. I stared at him and welcome him into my world. You and I are going places together. He remained silent, acquiescent, just the way I like him to be. I wonder what inspirations you’ll give me. I said with a faint smile. I felt him stir as I gently inserted the battery and powered him on. He awoke from hibernation with a cute yawn and a lot of promise. With my fingers on his keys and a light stroke of his pad, we were properly introduced. We are going to finish that novel together. But for the time being, we are… bonding.

*** WARNING - THIS POST CONTAINS SEX AND THE CITY SPOILERS AND STRONG OPINIONS ***
There are days when I seriously question if I have been given the right XX chromosomes and nothing like a few hours spent at the movies to reaffirm my doubts. Admittedly, the only reason I was sitting in the theatre surrounded by numerous excited females about to watch Sex and the City was because my mother had asked me to accompany her.

And so we went, not as a group of girlfriends dressed to the nines, looking for a post movie dissertation  over a few Cosmopolitans. There were no girlie discussions either. She had a fabulous time. I, on the other hand, was far too engrossed in analysis to enjoy escapism of the lavish kind.

I am not a devoted fan. I have watched the show intermittently over the years but could not relate or empathise with any of the characters. And now that these women are into their forties, I had better expectations than the mere mention of Botox, the use of reading glasses and wincing at the star actress’ skeletal frame.

When Big turned away from the church leaving disappointment and anger in his wake, I felt nothing for Carrie. At her stage in life, she behaved like a selfish young brat who became ever so self-absorbed in the Big wedding and the Big dress and the Big reception that it highlighted her Big ‘me’ complex that pushed the groom into the background.

As for the other characters, they perpetuated more fairy tales for the older girl’s fantasies. Apparently, infidelity and a break of trust can be easily restored without identifying and fixing the underlying problems. Mending a broken marriage is as easy as Miranda and Steve meeting on a bridge and never looking back.

Another fallacy come fantasy was the notion that when 40+ women who have endured the trials of infertility adopt a child and stop trying, they will magically fall pregnant without any concern for abnormalities or miscarriages. Whatever happy drugs Charlotte was taking throughout the movie lent kudos to the lack of credibility.

But the biggest girl empowerment moment of all was delivered by Samantha, who preferred buying her own expensive jewellery than receiving it as a thoughtful gift from her partner. “I love you but I love myself more” is the new black for single girls looking for an excuse to remain single.

For a hyped-up chick flick with flamboyant fashions and multiple product placements, I fell in love with the city of New York. I marvelled at the beauty of the sights throughout the seasons. Besides, it must be a fabulous place if a girl alone on New Year’s Eve can traipse around safely in high heels along the subway and snow covered footpaths.

The storyline may have reminded me of the reasons I left fairy tales behind at the age of seven but with  poorly structured dialogue, little wonder my favourite line was delivered by feisty Miranda upon arrival at the Mexican resort, “Do you have wifi?”

The movie was much like the designer heels, flashy, pretty on the eyes, but oh-so-painful to walk in their 9 inch shoes. And it left me with a feeling much like Carrie’s coveted wardrobe, empty.

Far too many people go through life with clouds of anger over their heads, waiting for the first chance to strike at others. Be it is road rage, angry help desk calls, endless unresolved complaints or being undermined at work, people are often on edge, ready to hurl abuse and violence towards others.

There can only be one reason. They are not getting enough sex.

This week I had the misfortune of enduring a nasty situation where an irate woman continuously spat venom at me and refused to allow me to speak. The result was a shouting match where I had no choice but to stoop to her childish tactics by yelling over her voice like the hormonal witch she was, which only served to irate her further.

It wasn’t a work situation. It wasn’t a pram pusher getting a vantage spot at a crowded café - though it happens - or a 4WD/SUV driver hogging the road. She claimed to be in charge and when she realised she had been incompetent in her actions, she resorted to yelling at me, the customer, who had invested a substantial sum in the company’s product.

I hated having to retaliate by copying her behaviour. I despised her existence for bringing out the worst in me. I was furious at the cloud of anger she had passed onto me when I carry clearer skies. Though I yelled over her voice and finished by belittling her position in the company, I did not resort to name calling. But my fist was in the air and my inner bitch was shouting, “Fuck you!”, all for a good reason.

There are merits in giving someone the finger, and yelling out the ubiquitous insult. Not only for the feel-good retaliative factor but you could be doing them a favour by passing on the right message. Have sex. And have more sex. And if you’re not sure what is enough, then have some more you f@$%^&* idiot sh%^&*of a b(&^%$#!!!

Nothing like a good prick to that bubble of anger over their heads to give them the release they so desperately need.