Disa, Louisville, USA

we all have excesses of the stuff if we’re adults and haven’t been living in caves on our own since infancy (although that would probably add up to some carry-on, even if it’s just the wheelie type). girl’s baggage is always more noticeable anyway (you’ve seen those hot pink delseys on the luggage carousel). guys have baggage too, however it’s generally referred to as “an ex who had her own entire set of matching lois vuitton”. perhaps this is why god invented the vanity case, it is merely a form of female diversion towards potential mates; from the 5 cats and small paris hilton pooch. baggage is obviously something “other people” travel with.

i have come to the realization that my baggage is literally that, baggage. i have always had a suitcase nearby, under my bed or rammed into the back of my cupboard creasing all my clothes. i travel with trunks as if i am setting out on an epic voyage by steamer ship, and when i get to my destination, my trunks function as furniture. i actually picked my undergaduate university based on it’s proximity to heathrow airport. yes, my parents moved us around a lot growing up, no, i’m not claiming to be a victim of my upbringing. however, i would like to channel it into something positive, possibly even lucrative, like my brother ‘the pilot’. travel writing sounds appealing (i like reading travel writing), but i hate flying, so that’s out.



i am a creature of habit, i like to know what comes next, what to expect, no nasty surprises; i habitually flip to the last page in a book, have chatted with a clairvoyant and will always tune in to next week’s episode to see who gets eaten by the white polar bear creature thingy on “lost”. change induces sharp spikes in anxiety and manic episodes of nail biting and cuticle tearing. however, i can also change my mind; i am female.

i cannot tolerate stagnation, unfortunately this means that my actions will often overcompensate to the other extreme in order to fend it off. the logic being that if i create change on multiple levels then i will not be able to predict what comes next. my favourite past time is the “this time last year” game; i could never have imagined i would be a) in this physical location, b) paid for providing this service, c) colliding orbits with these particular people, d) all of the above. this can then be modified into the “this time next year” game which is good for slow stagnation days. however, one of the implicit hazards of conducting one’s life in this manner is the ripple effect it has on the others in my orbit.

we are all connected by our tribes; family, work, friends, partners. this web holds, protects and challenges us. i also get to reciprocate the favour and in turn challenge myself. when i was a little girl i remember first learning to jump into the pool and into my dad’s outstretched arms. even though i knew i was going to end up being caught by him i was still absolutely petrified to jump.

with every leap into the unknown there are people on the cliff watching, cheering, and sometimes even giving you the nudge you need to jump, sometimes they even jump with you. when i land, i get to look up and see their faces as i begin the long climb back to the top; of the next cliff. some of them you will leave behind, some of them you will catch up to on another cliff. some don’t understand why you chose that particular cliff to fling yourself off and sometimes i don’t always know why i chose that cliff either. but when i look back i can see a very clearly defined line connecting the dots; now it makes sense.
Disa, 32, Louisville

was she a) pretty, b) intelligent, c) big boobed/skinny/funny/nice/loved by the family d) all of the above, e) none of the above? perhaps the answer is not: “do you really want to know the answer”, because you will make it up in your own head depending upon self-esteem related hormonal fluctuations. it is human nature to compare ourselves to others, i don’t care if you’re bleating about a childhood filled with braces, glasses, a stammer and merciless teasing. the tall, skinny and perfectly tweezed that we (the formerly brace faced and be-spectacled) make fun of now, compare themselves too. our commonality is wanting to be perceived as more favourable than “the last”. there is a need to be different, better, new and improved, unique, and therefore a perfect match.

however, you don’t want to be too different if that was the “type” and youre living on borrowed rebound time. we secretly clench from grinning our straight teeth off that she was “needy”, “not terribly motivated”, and “kinda chunked out towards the end”. by the same token “psycho bitch from hell who had 18 cats, a chihuaha and an entire drawer just to house her belt collection, 48 candles ranging from butterscotch to batman’s crotch, and a throw pillow collection that would require the assistance of a small army of bangladeshi labourers to set up in the morning” could indicate an error in his judgement or a very angry personality. (more…)

“So, where would you like to be buried?” the lesser asked question, but certainly in the top 5 of; ‘this is a response of essay length proportions’.
“So, where are you from?”
“Well, where is home?”
“Well you sound like you’re from Australia”
-Finally! An answer I can be sure of. “No, I was born in South Africa”.
“Oh yeah, I can hear it in your accent now. But you’re white.”
“No, I have a British accent”.
“Wow! I loved princess Diana, she was so great!”
“I’m not British!”
“Well, where’s your passport from?”
“England, but I’m not British”
“Well, where do your parents live?”
“Oh, Michael Jackson is living there. So what do you think about the war?”
“Well, I haven’t really lived there since I was a teenager”
“Well, where’d you go to school?”
“Saudi Arabia…”
“Did you have to wear a veil?”
“…And the United Arab Emirates…”
“Do they have supermarkets there?”
“…And London…”
“Have you met the queen?”
“…And Kentucky…”


every (?) woman’s biological and procreative destiny and ambition, apparently, is to push a thrashing object the size and weight of a kitchen aid appliance, out of her hoo-hoo (i just learned this word last week and have been waiting for an opportunity to use it). and until you can claim bragging rights to; splitting, stretch marks, and passing plugs of mucous, there is no “get out of [jail] free card”. pregnancy is now a politically correct “state of being” that must be respected ad nauseum; to cater to: ‘she who is with child’. let it be known that i do not have a problem giving up my seat on the train, or holding the door for a woman struggling to get her SUV sized stroller in and out of buildings. i will even give sympathetic looks to mothers and screaming babies in adjacent aeroplane seats, although after 2 hours of caterwauling (into a 7 hour flight) and i will begin to experience migraine induced homicidal tendencies. (more…)

answer: patients/clients who are able to overcome their commitment issues.

there are very few women i know that will change their “service provider” once they have identified one that they trust, not necessarily like, but definitely feel “comfortable” with. the professional that is wielding the appropriate metal device will then be followed (sometimes even stalked), with unwavering loyalty, over office or salon moves, health insurance changes, and quite often, state lines. sometimes for decades, and even in spite of retirement.

i went 5 months, FIVE (caps and long hand are necessary to convey the emotional scarring), without going to the hairdresser when i moved to san diego. this is far too long to be walking around with a skunk stripe of dark roots for all to see. but wait and wear hats i did. i could not bring myself to go to another stranger, only to leave in tears, because she didnt do it; “the way KIM did it”.

Disa, 32, Louisville, USA

the quandary of how to choose sides that don’t involve the house salad, a corn muffin or baked potato appears to be rather arbitrary. this is turf war; bed and box spring style, where size mattereth not. it is less about the real estate and more about location, location, location.

my research question was specific to the post coital, nocturnal layout, or who slept on which side of the bed. the sample group comprised of a married couple, co-habitters living in sin, and a newly single co-habitter. additional information was collected regarding the nature of disputed land and who really won the coveted spot “nearest to the toilet”.

the findings were fairly broad and motivated by both physical and emotional extremes. the token husband reported that his wife insists he sleep nearest to the door. the assumption being that if an intruder were to break in, he would provide a “human shield” and absorb any potential stabbings. interesting rationale.

late night bedtime butchering aside, territories are typically argued over based on their proximity to, and ground clearance for, the inevitable bladder run. i personally tend to be compulsion driven, and have historically “slept on the left”, whether it’s at the holiday inn, in a tent, or a bunk bed (for the record, i sleep on the top, in case there is a fire i will have more of a chance). however, due to changing floor plans over the years, i have since been out-voted by other’s incontinence. revenge is mine though. any of my unscheduled nightime toilet visits usually involves scaling a snoring, farting, heaped hurdle (“ooh sorry, did i wake you?”) to get to the other side. of course if my nocturnal eneruresis becomes too much of a problem i can always invest in some night time pull ups.

Disa, 32, Louisville, USA

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