Follow by Email

Friday, 27 January 2012

BBMotherfucker




Technology and I… we are not always the best of friends. In fact I cant think of a time we’ve seen eye to on button. I’ve always had an electronic crap drawer at home filled with cables leading nowhere, dads lost hope of me ever using a PSP, camera thingy-ma-jigs and phone whatcha-ma-call-its. I resisted facebook thinking; what happened to the idea of postcards from exotic locations, telegrams from far away friends, pen pals God damn it! None of which I have ever had despite my longing for something more personal and romantic.

My latest conformist fold has been the infamous blackberry… after years of loyalty my ol’ samsung finally packed it in and the taunt of free instant messaging was too much to resist in  my then, long distance relationship. But there’s always a glitch somewhere in the Matrix isn’t there? There’s always a loophole, fine print, terms and conditions overshadowed by these glamourous promises. “I’ll take the burgendy colour curve to match my new prada sling bag.” No one tells you it comes with a whole lot of extras you didn’t ask for.

“Why is Violet on your facebook friends list?” I hiss, thinking to myself, what kind of a bonehead name is Violet? What? Were your parents a bunch of acid tripping hippies? Were you concieved during an orgy that set off a chlamidia outbreak? A brief moment of guilt gushes through me. Crap. I used to kinda like that name.

“I don’t know, should I take her off?”

YES I think to myself. Why do girls always have to S-P-E-L-L things out for boys. She’s been stalking you ever since you left your job overseas and totally disregards the fact that I’m in your life. She’s a homewrecking menace and I not only want her off your FB friends list. I want her off this plain of existance.

“No.” I say. “Be friends with whoever you want”.

Because I’m the cool girlfriend who isnt bothered by these things. I’m secure, I’m confident, I’m not threatened.

Technology is a bitch. I remember watching beauty and the beast with Thereasa as young teenagers thinking, if only we had a magical mirror to peer into our crushes lives. What are they doing right now? Are they thinking of us? What do they say when we arent there? Well, we now have that very portal. It’s blue and has the following side effects: can cause obsessive behaviour, minor stalking tendancies, jealous raging, uncontrollable poke flirting and inappropraite ex interaction.

“Check this cool picture of a tornado bru” My oke says to Charlie my new roomate and close friend.
“Wow babe, who sent you that? We don’t get tornados in South Africa.” Nothing gets passed me. Ever.
“I can tell you but you’re not going to like it.”

Violet. I curse the word. The colour of my calm anger. The colour of betrayal. The colour I will passive aggresively paint with.

“She’s your friend on BBm as well?” 

I say, trying to contain the urge to smash something glass into the wall above his head. 

BBMotherfucker.

There’s always 1. In every relationship I’ve been in there’s always 1 girl who swoops in when you cross the line between cool girlfriend and mega bitch. And it’s a thin, thin line. Maybe a dotted line. Maybe so thin the scientist working at Always Ultra are testing it to see if they can use it for their next sell out, world wide winning, can’t believe it’s even there, white pants commercial PANTY LINER. It’s fucking thin.

She’s always there to remind your guy how great they’d be if you werent weighing him down with that massive burden, that shackle of a 3 year relationship. If I had my way sometimes I think I’d wave a magic wand and make sure all those girls were exposed to a particularly strong strain of lepracy. But then looking back at my past having been this very girl, young and stupid, and manipulating and charming my conquests in the very same way… maybe not.

There are 2 ways to survive a Violet outbreak, I’ve decided. Whats good for 1 should b good for all. I reminded My Oke that while he is the guy I love, the Mr Big in MY city and the lid to my poitjie pot, he is also at the front of a very long queue of eligible batchelors just waiting to take me out, send me tornado pictures and add me on FB. He’s got the prime spot and I want him there but I always hope he knows that theres a whole pallette of colours standing in line behind him, eager to get to the front.

I also reminded myself that I have no real reason to distrust the guy who proudly holds my hand and announces to everyone that I’m his forever. The guy that moves mountains and hundreds of km’s to share a tube of toothpaste and a queensize bed with me. The guy who always features me in his movie of the future as his leading lady. That’s My Oke. No one elses. 

No comments:

Post a Comment