Thought of the Day 31-May-2015: Oh, To Be Young Again

Today is one of those days where I simply feel overcome with gratitude. Despite (or perhaps inspired by) a fairly narly hangover, I reflect on yesterday's adventure with my two future flatmates with such delighted sentiments that I'm going to straight-up recount the episode. Not to gloat about how happy I am in New Zealand with my new friends, but to appreciate it; knowing how far I've come, both literally and figuratively, to get to this fun-filled niche of my life. Full disclosure, it was a tried and true night of shenanigans. 

Westpac Stadium, venue for the 2015 FIFA World Cup Games in Wellington. Affectionately know as 'The Cake Tin' by the locals.

Our initial purpose in going to Wellington was to watch a couple of the 2015 FIFA World Cup Football Games taking place throughout New Zealand over the next couple of months. My co-workers, friends, and flatmates in T minus 1 week are quite keen on Football, playing on leagues themselves, and I love big sports events in general, with the exception of American Football. I was also happy to go and see a sport that I could actually understand. Though this assessment will rile the Kiwis, the other popular NZ sports utterly confuse me: Rugby, a homo-erotic version of American Football without all the padding and hedonistic tackling; and Cricket, Baseballs lazier brother that can last as long as a Quidditch match. After discussing it, we decided to stay in Wellington after the game to enjoy a night of not-so-well-mannered-frivolity by checking out the crazy Saturday night scene on Courtney Place.

Game 1: Argentina Vs Panama, 2-2

The games were really exciting and fun despite the notoriously awful Wellington weather, which also did not disappoint. It was wicked cold and windy, and it rained on and off the entire 4 hours. Yet these trifles were nothing that couldn't be overcome by 5 layers of clothing, relocating to a covered section, electric hand warmers, lattes, hot chips, pulled pork sandwiches, constant cheering and TS's homemade bourbon. Both games were ties, and the level of sport was incredible to watch. It was also really nice to not give two shits who won or lost because I had no vested interest in any particular team. Though I'll admit, the Austrian team was especially European and gorgeous.

The happy Flatmates, me, DC and TS. Brrrrr, but Yay! 

By the time we walked to the hostel on Courtney Place and checked in it was 10pm and Wellington was starting to come alive. The Boys downed a beer while I made a feeble attempt to counteract my hat hair and put on my sexy dancing boots. We started out the night at a great little Italian eatery where TS treated me to the most delicious Sauvignon Blanc and  Portobello pizza I've ever had to celebrate the submittal of my Permanent Resident Visa application. Though DC wasn't feeling well, he rallied and went to the first bar with us, TS's choice; some place famous for it's selection of microbrew's on tap. I got a NA spicy ginger beer, needing a small respite from alcohol if I was going to last the night. As a side note, if I ever leave NZ, I'm importing ginger beer to where ever I go; it's delicious. I don't even care that they don't sell diet ginger beer!!

The next place was my choice, and as one might guess, I wanted to DANCE! I love nothing so much as dancing. We went into the first place playing a good song, and I was a bit disappointed when the bouncer indicated he did not want to check my ID. Since it was my shout I went to the bar to get us all drinks. A guy who turned out to be a Russian-born Kiwi asked me what I was drinking and I told him I didn't know yet since I hadn't ordered. I got something called a Ginger Mule (noticing a theme here?), which basically tasted like a gingered mojito (yum!). That guy must have gotten a few too many Vodka and Red Bulls, because when he came up to me on the dance floor a bit later he put one in my hand. I danced with him for awhile but decided to meander over to TS since the Russian spilt most of his drink all over me while we were dancing.  TS and I danced for a long time, having tons of fun and intermittently waving to DC who was happily bobbing around a table, watching our stuff. He was also being persuaded by a chick, but though I enthusiastically told him to 'go get it' he opted to remain where he was, haha. Meanwhile, TS and I were making up a move we will hence-forth refer to as 'The Venus Flytrap' wherein we hip-thrust-trap any unsuspecting dancers that either one of us should want to ensnare. What fun! 

The next thing that happened damn near put a dent in my night. Some asshole, dancing with some classically beautiful blond, gave me a look like I was seriously one of the most hideous things he'd ever seen. It is not an image I will soon forget; I wish I'd never witnessed it. Now, there are two things of which I know and attempted to find consolation in in that moment: One, though not drop-dead gorgeous, I am a pretty girl. Two, I can dance my ass off. Concerning the latter, I know this because Black people, yes plural, have told me so; and as all White people know a Black person, particularly Black woman, do not compliment White girls on their dancing unless they are truly deserving of that admiration. Still, I felt myself loosing steam as well as my zeal for dancing, seeing that horrid look on his face over and over again; remembering the way the bouncer didn't want to ID me, to say nothing of the fact that I'm the oldest of our group of friends. I tried to divert my thoughts and energy, focusing on TS who was obviously delighted by his BFF, rallying my dancing spirits. I remembered myself. Am I a victim? Fuck no. There was no way I'd allow some douche-bag to get me down and mar one of the most fun nights I'd had in years. And as though my Higher Power wanted to reward me for those self esteem boosting sentiments, a very very young and handsome bloke began dancing with me. When I asked him how old he was his answer was 'old enough,' to which I laughed heartily. He told me that I was an exceptional dancer and that he'd rarely seen girls that could move like me. Then he took me up to a roped off level where only VIPs could go, and when I asked why he could do that he answered that he was a part owner of the club. Woah! So then I really wanted to know how old he was, and he admitted that he was 20 which blew my mind even more. After stating that I was 30, his reply was that I was still beautiful and an incredibly sexy dancer. I ate up those compliments and beamed. By then the Roomies were giving me the signal that it was time to move on so I gave the lad a quick kiss, thanked him for making me feel young again, and bounced.

Oh, and on another side note, one of the things I love most about New Zealand and that it is perfectly acceptable, and indeed common, for guys and girls to be friends; best friends even. In the US it seemed that no one could allow a man and women to be friends without assuming that something sexual was happening between them; and if one was out dancing with their friend it would certainly scare off any other potential dance partners. Not so in New Zealand. When I guy wants to dance with a girl they do it regardless of whoever else is around. It's simply refreshing! It was a bit cumbersome however, when a muscly 23 year old picked me up and carried me off like a friggin' rag doll last weekend at a club in Palmy. When I asked TS and DC why they hadn't stopped the brut, they laughed and said it looked like I was having fun so they didn't want to interfere.

The second to last place was a low-key and mostly vacant place DC picked because they were playing Tool. I took things way back by ordering a SoCo and diet, and enjoyed repeatedly toasting with the Boys over such things as having awesome, non-judgmental, flatmates who also have similar musical tastes. Indeed I'm anticipating having two of the best flatmates in existence. Sure they are smelly boys, but we are all active sorts of people and share an enthusiasm for social interactions. DC plays the guitar and loves to sing as I do, and TS plays the bass and also makes his own wine, spirits and beer, having obtained a degree in food science. Not to mention they seem to accept and love my ridiculous American Self for reasons I'll never fully understand. Score!

We finished the night off with the one and only thing that could truly solidify our already formidable relationship; we went to the Strip Club. What happens in those joints stay there, I will say that it was nothing short of phenomenal and I have an even higher admiration of my friends now. It was there that I also got my second huge confidence boost of the night. Perhaps it was the liquid courage in me, but I felt positively convinced that I was both fitter and a better dancer then the girls I saw perform. One was particularly portly, but I became so captivated my her confidence and obvious ability to do her thing regardless of the thoughts of others, that I damn-near fell in love with her. What's more, I heard no snide remarks or japes, nor saw any sideways glances or looks of disgust; the Kiwis dug her, so I fell in love with these incredible accepting, open and honest people all over again. By then it was 4am. I was sacked and had started losing my voice, much to the Boys' delight, so we went back to the hostel. Being too drunk and/or lazy to crawl up on a top bunch, I told DC to shove over and slept next to him. One hell of a night.

It was a good time, but I'm with you Ron!

And so I look forward to next Saturday and living with my best mates. Knowing the Boys, DC especially (damn, even his initials foreshadow the inevitable event), I'm guessing our house is going to be most lively on the street, with plenty more shenanigans and misadventures. We already have about 10 parties planned!

DC will most likely be wearing a Spiderman costume.

Definition: Insecurities

Insecurities: Those traits, whether physical or emotional, which serve to remind someone that they are not yet the person they wish to be and/or make them feel broken. An open wound in the Soul, exposed for all the world to see. 

It's typically quite easy to identify the insecurities of others since we lash out in pain when someone pokes at these wounds. They is a plethora of typical insecurities, such as a lack of wealth or education, or a any number of mental and/or physical ailments. People tend to avoid situations where they fear these insecurities may rear their ugly heads. Worst still, many people are completely unaware that they possess such insecurities; using their ignorance of their own shortcomings as an excuse to treat others poorly who do not, or can not, hide their deficiencies. When it comes to insecurities, a little self-awareness goes a long way. Since I'm painfully self-aware, allow me to share one of my worst as I analyze its toxic effects on my self-esteem.

Admittedly, I have many insecurities. Ironically, these are the things I talk about them most, as if I'm begging others to excuse them or to attempt to make others understand that they are not baseless, fearful of their inevitable judgement. The Confessional mentioned my fear that I'm chronically unable to have a normal loving relationship for several reasons. Additionally, fear of codependency, shame of my American background, mental illness concerns related to my addiction to control, extremism, eating disorder and constant anxiety constantly plague my thoughts. Still more profound, these insecurities compound which ultimately lead to low self esteem, making self acceptance difficult and self-love nigh on impossible.  Indeed, I have only to analyze a statement I've repeated to myself a million times over to convey this sentiment: "What mother would want her son to bring home a barren foul-mouthed American covered in tattoos?!" 

Is that really the image I have of myself? Sadly, it is. Granted, I don't mind my swearing or tattoos, but looking through the eyes of another, it's easy to see than these deficiencies would make me an undesirable daughter-in-law. I've often told the men I'm with that they should find someone better, yet I never truly understood why I thought this way. Last night, however, I realized that there is one wound in particular which has scared me worst than all of the others combined, a wound I'm not sure will ever truly heal; my inability to have children. Oddly, this insecurity does not bother me specifically; I seriously do not want children for many reasons, and I'm steadfast in this resolve. The wound opens when I see its impact on my self esteem and my ability to consider myself deserving of love. Simply put, I will never allow myself to be with a man who wants children. Great men deserve to have children, thus the logic follows that I am not worthy of great men. Unfortunately, for various reasons, I think almost all men are great. 

The confidence I seemed to have mustered when I wrote about Child Rearing becomes compromised when I realize that I'll very likely be alone in this life; especially when talk of such things with potential future partners reminds me of this physical deficiency. Some days facing a lifetime of purely superficial relationships is comforting, others it's terrifying. I didn't ask to go through menopause at 25, nor did I want cervical cancer to rid me of half my baby plug. Nevertheless, it's my reality. Worst yet, I don't know what worries me more, that I feel this inability makes me an unworthy partner, or that I'm immensely relieved that I'll never have children. My potential partners deserve a life including children as much as I deserve one without them. I was hoping to find someone who would be so sated by the happiness with all aspects of their life, as I am, that they would not feel the need to procreate; but some days I reminded that this is extremely unlikely. 

Until such a day I get a grip on this topic, however, I will do what I've always done: rely in a wide circle of dear friends (largely consisting of men and girls who aren't girlie), each of whom I will shower with the immense amount of love and energy I have to give. So long as I maintain these alliances, the loneliness stays within the range of non-existent to tolerable.