The Holiday of Hearts and Hubris

So. It's almost February. You know what happens in February?
Let me give you a clue: It's commercial. It's romantic. It raises peoples' hopes and expectations and then succeeds in dashing them; thus causing an argument that brings up every single disappoint experienced by either party and then it ends in tears and a hefty divorce settlement.

Yup, it's Valentine's Day!

Now, please don't read me wrong. I'm a dinosaur that likes a little romance in her life. I like presents, especially if they're wrapped in red paper. I love receiving flowers and being told nice things. I can even be partial to, dare I say it, being taken out somewhere nice with my partner actually behaving himself and occasionally glancing at me like I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

However! Yes- you knew that was coming. Clever reader.
Valentine's Day has become something far more than it was supposed to be; the real meaning and intent lost in layers of pink tissue paper and extravagant cost-you-more-than-you-can-afford gestures.
In this post, we'll take a look at how it came about and what I believe it should really be about. (C'mon now... It *is* supposed to be my blog and therefore filled with lofty opinions that you must read in order to get to the entertaining stuff...)

So, Saint Valentine's Day was named after 'one or more' early Christian Martyrs. Apparently their supplicants lost track of just how many sacrificed themselves.
Originally, from all accounts, Valentine's Day had absolutely no connection with romantic love at all. It was really just about a couple of different men that were persecuted. Of course, if you're into that sort of thing, it could all be terribly romantic- It's like Romeo and Juliet all over again, except with a couple of Christian men that died for faith instead of love, and they were killed rather than commit suicide (because that would have been a sin!)
Okay. You're right. It was absolutely nothing like Romeo and Juliet.

Still, as these things happen, it became about love. Why?
A man named Geoffrey Chaucer set quill to ink to parchment and wrote a poem about love and mating to celebrate the first year engagement anniversary of some fifteen year old King to his fiancee. (King Richard II of England to Anne of Bohemia, if you really wanted details.)
The idea was so beautifully put, words singing off paper and into the love-thirsty minds of his audience, that Chaucer effectively gave rise to the belief  and implementation of a tradition that was to be carried on for hundreds of years.

Traditions change over time; and when you take into account that people always have individual opinions and ways of doing things, well, something's going to get lost in translation.

There are so many different ways and days to celebrate love and romance in a global sense. At the bottom of this post, I'll even list some of the more interesting ones.
So how is it, with the perfect and pure intention of telling someone you love them, that it can all go so horribly wrong?

1) Women. They're involved in this holiday, whether you like it or not. The End.

2) Okay, to be fair and non-sexist, I'll add some clarification. How about society? Yes. That's a good one. Society has essentially built up the gender roles so that women have come to expect that on Valentine's Day, they'll be treated like a Princess and have gifts like it was their birthday and there'll be flowers and birds singing and... Well, you get the point.

There are a couple of problems with this, as you might have already guessed. (You're a wily bunch, you readers. I've got my beady, prehistoric eye on you.)

• Sometimes there isn't anyone to give presents, make grandiose statements of undying love; or even toast in bed, for that matter. 

• Most of the men that I know are against Valentine's Day for one reason or another- They're too lazy, they're broke, they don't see why they can't do those things for her on any other day where it isn't an expectation...

3) Society. Oh wait; did I already use this one? Well, too bad! This is number three.
Society has, as it is wont to do, taken the feminist protests for the right and opportunity to work, have equal rights, equal pay and equal social standing- and made them almost compulsory. It is much less acceptable for women to stay at home and raise their children, cook for their husbands and keep a house running as a recognised role/ profession. Oh no! Those lazy bitches should be in the workforce, I tell you!

And so, the roles have become rolled when it comes to other areas of life and couplehood; like Valentine's Day. Uncertainty clouds the minds of people in their pre-Valentine's anticipation. 'Do I buy him something now that I'm working?' and 'Do we both pay when we go out for dinner?' and my personal favourite:
'She's the one that's into the bloody holiday; let her put the effort in. I'll wait and see what happens. Hopefully she'll get me that awesome Man-Toy3000 I've been hinting at after giving her pleasure.'

Amongst conflicting personal views and misinformation, Valentine's Day goes wrong.

4) Society. Okay, okay. I'll rename it. How about... Uh... Capitalism and the Media!
Valentine's Day is number one for the year on the retailer's list of holidays. It kicks off all the others; and 'love' is such a powerful way to guilt trip consumers into buying armloads of crap they didn't really want to buy. Heart-shaped cards that cost $10 and last 10 minutes... Teddy bears that get a squeal of delight, only to be thrown on the shelf for 6 months before the next big clean... Chocolates to make her fatter so she'll complain about her weight more... These things you simply must give your loved one or crush or you're being a bad person. At least, that's what media would have us believe.

5) Expectation. Aha! Got you there, didn't I? You were expecting a certain 's' word that rhymes with... Well, never mind. I win.
Expectation is the worst thing that ever happened to Valentine's Day.
It's the thing that sets you up for failure, or at the very least, disappointment.
When you're a woman, raised in- ah, here it comes- Western society, you come to have expectations of the kind of things that Valentine's is about. You're thinking flowers, chocolates, special and touching words of love and devotion. You're thinking dates, and dinner, and maybe even a chance to show off that sexy new lingerie.

You're also left thinking 'Oh, was that it?' and 'I didn't want that one. Doesn't he know me at all?' and 'Everyone else looks so happy. What's wrong with me/us?'.  Even the toast he brought to you in bed was burnt, and you got crumbs all over the new sheets.
A day that was made to celebrate love and foster closeness in your relationship has just suddenly become a bleak and awkward day that you end up both wanting to avoid.

'There's got to be a way!' you protest. Well, here's the advice of someone that's been around for a few thousand years.

• Communicate. Let your partner know what Valentine's Day means to you, if anything. If you want those flowers, that romance, then let them know. It's better to talk about it then to play guessing games.

• Lower your expectations- do you actually need more from your relationship than you have? If the answer is yes, then Valentine's presents won't fix it.

• Try to give back a little; if making your partner feel loved and happy doesn't make you feel good too, you might be in the wrong relationship. 

• Try spending time instead of money. It works, I tell you. Do something nice for someone you care about- it shows your love in a thoughtful manner. This can be a love letter (handwritten shows more feeling and effort than type- just saying,) or a quiet afternoon together in a pleasant place, or even getting around to putting up that new fence she wanted *and* painting it, even though she didn't ask you to.

• If you don't have a 'partner', hang out with your friends and family and let them know that you appreciate them! Love exists in many forms, right?

•  Make a kind of Valentine's resolution. You know that love doesn't have to be, and in fact shouldn't be, celebrated only on one day of the year. So, from this day onwards, make an effort to show/tell your partner you care every day, even just in small ways. A kiss, a whispered encouragement, a little note on the bedstand.

Above all, I think my cardinal rule is 'have fun with it.'
If there really was a Saint Valentine that looked after all things love related, I think that he'd want you to seek out your meaning of love.
I think he'd want people to practice loving consciously, which means taking responsibility for their part in love and making effort to be accepting, kind and considerate.
I also think that he'd be a really rich bastard because he'd claim the proceeds that come from such a ridiculously expensive holiday!

Awkward Dinosaur tries online dating!

Okay, so. I've been on online dating websites for a few years now. It's the kind of thing you do when you're young and eager and curious, right?

Maybe that was the case for me; some of the messages I received, however, were from people that were on these sites for completely different reasons. So I collected some of the shining jewels of the inbox and posted them here, complete with witty and sarcastic commentary, for your enjoyment.

First off, how not to do it...

The Enthusiastic Sex Machine!

"Let me rock your world ! you said you love amazing sex i can give you more! i love girls like you not too skinny , skinny girls and sex dont mix ! anyway im here holla at me if you want to take this to another stage ! trust me id be more then happy !"

Let's take this apart, starting with the positives. (Yes, there are positives.)
He gets +2 points for reading my profile, and +2 points for a somewhat original starting line. Another +2 points for an upbeat, positive attitude and +1 point for attempted compliment.

Apparently he doesn't know anything about capitalisation or punctuation so he receives -2 points. Another -2 for the huge ego.... 'I can give you more!'. Really? Did you think I was lacking in it? Because believe me, I'm not.

-1 point for use of the word 'holla'. I'm not a 'gangsta' and you shouldn't be either.
An epic -4 points for the compliment-gone-wrong.-1 point for bagging on skinny girls; all girls are beautiful in their own way and I'm quite certain that skinny girls and sex can happen, regardless of his personal preferences.

So, overall, a disappointing -3.


Next up is The Screensaver.

You know; adapts himself to fit every user, is nice to look at but needs some settings changed so that he can be a better screensaver?

First message: "hey, what if your a guy interested in bi girls and erotic hypnosis... ? just saying I'm exploring you know :)"

An hour later: "Hey you seem like a really interesting chick who would be down for some fun and good conversation, would you be keen on maybe watching the inbetweeners ? just thought you'd be into that movie I love the series... anyway you seem real cool and I'd love to learn some stuff from ya X) hope to hear back from you sooon ! :)"

Okay, so to be fair to this guy, he seems nice. Genuine, even.
Still, my knee-jerk response to the first message is 'Yeah, what if?! Fancy that happening...'

Still, +2 points for making an effort to find something I'd be into. +2 for the compliment- I find being told I'm interesting to be quite flattering. +1 for the overall positivity of both messages. +2 points for being open minded and willing to explore.


As to negatives, -2 for capitalisation and punctuation. Also, why has he put spaces between the end of his sentences and the punctuation?!
-1 for the phrase 'chick who would be down for some fun'. That just screams of 'I think you're an easy lay.'
-1 for using the words 'real cool'. I mean, I am, but really.
-1 for the assumption that I'd love to teach him 'stuff'.

Screensaver comes out with a +2. Seems he's ahead of the pack.

Well, there's always the kinky folk! Here's Mr TMI.

"im (insert name here) and ive been readying your prof ...i realy like you and i just wana say i wana be your little toy boi ..make me your little secert i want you to slap me tie me up pee on me and abuse me all you want i just want to be used out doors in the pool any where you want..... what you say about fun now????for you ill do anything from licking your toes to's liking anything of the floor or cleaning up after you hun i will be at your every dirty lil wimp"

Yes! Please! It's what I've always dreamt of... Having an illiterate, desperate male to pee on. Heaven.
Yes, that was sarcasm and I'm not even going to bother grading this one. I can't count quite that far back in negatives.

And, finally, one of the best messages I think I've received yet:

"i'm just curious about your thing...
care to chat???"

I'm curious about my 'thing' too- I didn't think I had one!

Awkward Dinosaur thinks she will just stick to watching porn and meeting geeks at Sci Fi Cons.

The Biggest Challenge

So, recently I've fallen into doing a lot of those things that a lot of fuller figured women hate.

I've been binge eating sugar, and blaming it on stress.

I've been comparing my figure to other women my age, and finding myself lacking.

I've been cringing at myself in photographs and mentally re-taking them without the double chin and the flabby arms and minus about 40kg.

I'm a strong, confident, intelligent woman with plenty of admirers and I love myself. So why must these insecurities, these imperfections, these destructive behaviours keep returning to haunt?

The answer: It's complicated.

Social pressure these days is not only about the 'perfect' image for women, but about the health conscious, which makes it more of a serious issue for most of the BBWs I know. Once it's not about looking like Barbie and being a sexy size 6 stripper that would fit on an MTV screen, but instead about the fact that being within the correct BMI framework means less serious health issues, better quality of life, and more time to enjoy things... You start to take it seriously.

You read all the books, buy all the 'right' foods, feel proud of yourself because you went to the gym twice that week, or because you chose to walk that extra bus stop...

Right before the pressures of that poster at the supermarket, advertising your favourite ice cream on special.

Or when your friend is being really depressed because her boyfriend dumped her; so you eat those calorie-laden fudge brownies you baked her in a marathon sugar/crying session over men. Your reasoning is that it's alright because it's comfort food, and it's for your 'emotional health'.

You're late for work and forget to make lunch, so you go to the bakery to buy something. Surely you can get a filled roll or something. Yes, you can. Ooh, and what about one of those apple strudel things? They've got fruit in them- it counts, right?

... One thing I can say, straight up: Bitches be crazy.

It's no wonder, with all the conflicting information we get given!

Be sexy, but it's essential to love and accept yourself how you are.
Be slim enough to fit into generic label clothing, but beauty comes in all shapes and sizes.
Eat 'healthy'- which means, of course, being on the right diet for your body type/ blood type/ gender/ star sign.

I'm a Libra- that means I get to eat chocolate every day. Honest.

As a plus size girl of 23, I don't want to feel unattractive. I don't want to feel that I don't measure up to other girls my age, or that I have to accept just having compliments about my pretty face and my great personality.
I want to be admired. I want to see lust in a man's eyes, and in his pants.

I want to be a real woman, and to me that means having realistic goals for a realistic image and a healthy lifestyle that I have control over.

So, as a favor to myself, I'm going to stop lying to the one person in the world I lie to:
Myself.

I'm going to admit it when I'm eating for comfort.
I'm going to hold myself accountable for decisions I make and the consequences of them.
I'm going to take it easier on myself when I'm stressed out, and be harder on myself when it counts.
I'm going to set achievable goals for my weight, for my eating habits, and for my self expectations.
Most important of all, I'm gonna put a post-it note on my mirror, and here on Blogspot, to remind me of the most important thing of all.

We have to learn to be our own best friends because we fall too easily into the trap of being our own worst enemies. ~Roderick Thorp, Rainbow Drive

The Joy of Christmas

So, Christmas is one of my favourite times of year. Sure, it's a commericalised shopping holiday for the masses... but it still holds a special magic for me, in the way that it brings people together and kindles the spark of mischievious excitement that we all felt as children. Christmas is a time where everyone can feel loved, and special; each a special star in the communal bond of humanity.

 Of course, naturally some stars shine brighter than others... (It also looks like I'm trying to backhand Jen's boobs and chop off that poor pedestrian's neck...)

Those of you who know me well probably know that I don't really have the typical family structure. My family is made up of an odd assortment of friends, lovers, and geeks. At this time of year, it's really important to me to show them that they mean a lot to me, in good times....

...And in better times....

The holiday season fills my heart with joy for so many reasons- Christmas lights, the smell of pine, brightly wrapped, mysterious box shapes under the merry lights of a decorated tree... Mmm, fresh baking, and pudding, and... Gigantic dinosaurs!

This holiday season, I'm making it a priority to spend time with my friends and to really live in the moment- experience everything with open mind, heart and occasionally legs.

Laughter is most definitely on the agenda, as is making an absolute ass out of myself for the sake of comedy.

This year, I've learnt so much about myself, and met so many amazing people, done so many mind-blowing things (and women,) and I feel that Christmas really is the best way to finish up.

So... Merry Christmas everyone! Find the magic, the fun and the connection this season and remember to play safe ^_^

On life, and death, and how to win.

This post is dedicated to a woman, and the legacy of her loss. My apologies for the sombre tone of this post, but it would have been my mother's 58th birthday today, and I feel it a fitting time to publish the post that I have been sketching out for a while.

She was a woman born into the 1950's role of femininity, a 5ft barely-there doll of a woman that lived and loved and, I feel, should be written about by someone.

In the words of James T. Kirk, "How we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life, wouldn't you say?" and I believe that remembering and sharing our feelings of those that have passed is a peaceful, accepting way to deal with death.

Janette was the daughter of Brynley Davies, a Welshman that served in the Navy throughout WW2,
and Mary Edith Davies, his wife who passed from a brain tumour when her daughter was in her teenage years.

In her lifetime, she gave birth to five children, developed a passionate love for poetry and listened to her Foster and Allen CD 3,650 times. She was fiercely patriotic and the Welsh national anthem was played regularly in our household.

The things that I remember most about my mother are little things, and usually things that make me smile in fond remembrance.
The way her skin was so amazingly soft as she held me against her when I was upset, the conviction of her words as she told me that I could do anything I wanted in my life, if only I applied myself; and the amazingly average food that was seasoned with bland, extra salt and overcooked meat.

I remember the day that she died so vividly. The friend calling me from the nursing home, telling me to come and say goodbye. My denial, my vehemence that it was all just another false alarm. The drive across Auckland in rush hour traffic, heart pounding with the fear that it might actually be the last time I spent with her.

Walking into her room, and seeing the faces of everyone gathered before I saw her; seeing the sympathy in their eyes, the resignation, the embarrassment at not knowing what to say to console the heavily pregnant youngest daughter of the dying.

They all shuffled out single file, leaving only my partner, my mum, and myself in the room. She was seated in her chair, the one she was always sitting in when I visited, dressed in that faded hospital gown.
I had to double check that she was breathing; the movement of her chest was so slight. Her eyes were closed, peacefully, as though she was already gone. I didn't know what to say, didn't know who this person was that sat before me.

So I sat, and I took her hand in mine, and I sang to her. I sang to her the song of a Welsh homecoming, and for a brief, precious second, her hand tightened in mine... The first sign of communication I'd had since I arrived. So I sat, and I held her hand, and I told her that I loved her. Then we left.

The nurses told me they would call me when there was any news; good or bad. A short time later, at 3am, the phone rang, and I knew. My mind blanked, white and silent, when they told me.

"I'm sorry. Your mother passed away a few minutes ago."

They asked me if I wanted to come see her now, or if I wanted to wait until morning. They told me that it was as if she had been waiting to say goodbye to me; hanging on to life until she knew that I would be okay, until we'd connected that one last time.

I mumbled something about coming in the morning, and thankyou for letting me know, and yes, I would be able to organise her possessions and make funeral arrangements. The dial tone kicked in, and I walked back to bed, fell into my partner's arms and cried, my grief pouring out hard and fast, a torrent of pain unleashed in wordless wailing.

Sleep came quickly, surprisingly enough. I organised her things. Her house, her will.
I went to see her, lying still and pale in that wooden box in a room in a place full of the scent of disinfectant masked by floral freshener. I kept waiting for her to breathe, for her chest to lift, for her to open her eyes, and tell me that everything was okay; that I wouldn't be motherless at the age of sixteen. That she would live to see my first child born. That it was all just some terrible mistake, and any minute now those things would happen...

But they didn't.

I remember her funeral. The people.
All of the people at her funeral, their eyes full of sadness and loss. I knew she wouldn't have wanted us to be sad. I knew she wanted us to celebrate her life... Though tears still fell down my cheeks as they played 'her song'; Sophie B. Hawkins', 'As I lay me down'.

I remember thinking that I wished I could take all of the pain that was held inside that chapel into myself, away from everyone else, away from the friends and the children and the brothers and sisters. That I could hold it, that enormous, unspoken thing that brought so many strangers together, and somehow make it something that only I had to endure.
Maybe that was because I couldn't feel anything. There was a void in me, and my emotions faded to grey like the end of an old movie.
I was on automatic, and I kept everything going like a well-oiled machine. Slowly, and with time, I began to feel again, regaining a new sense of self and identity as a mother myself.

And so, life went on, as it will. And really, that was the most important lesson that I learnt. Life goes on.
It's what we do with our lives, with every day, that counts in the end. My mother spent her life planning her death, being afraid of herself, of the potential of failure, and in the end, that's what I mourned the most; the loss of a beautiful yet unfulfilled life.

I understand now how important it is to go for those things you want, those dreams you dream, because you never know when and how the opportunity will be taken from you. In some ways, it's what my mother didn't do, as much as the things she did, that taught me about the value of challenging yourself, and of challenging others.

It was the profound impact that her death had on me that helped me to comprehend the complexities of human relationships, and led me to question how I would want to be remembered at the end of my lifetime, and whether or not I would have come to regret the decisions I'd made.

"Live every day as if it were your last, because one of these days, it will be."