Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Miminism. Cavemen were Yesterday.


One should never put ones paw in the path of progress.

Just imagine the world without it: No GMO, no Polyester, no Celebrity Jungle Camp, no designer knock offs, no Annoying Orange, no Kardashians, no Crocks, no Borat, no Southpark, no Jersey Shore. No Gangnam Style.

I've been told that people would actually write
on beautiful paper, delivered by pigeons. That you then could either treasure or tear. Instead, what do we get?! A glow in the dark message saying LUV U. In the best of cases. Save or delete.  

I usually delete.
I thrive on drama. And I go crazy in a world of pings/ pokes/ tweets and blocks. Much rather I would kiss/ kill/ cry/ slap/ pour champagne over heads and embrace and hold for ever.
Dammit. 

But except for
nothing really is one-sided.

Not even progress.


So therefore, I am very proud to announce that our pack of cavemen has been promoted, as they finally evolved and reached...




And I know this because thy fair Maiden Mimianne has met the cast herself, and has been wondering, knight after knight, what happened to the good old caveman.

So, let me introduce...


Galahad, Lancelot, Arthur..
The knigth in shining armour Is a myth, all little girls know about. Inflated egos, shining sports cars, fanfares whenever they enter, an entourage of the mind- and reckless, dirty secrets, dark chambers. Round tables laden with bottles. 500 horses are better than one. 
Yet in a courtly society where image is everything, it is of greatest importance to scratch on the perfect, shiny surface. 
And to discover if your knight in shining armour could just be a retard in tin foil. A frog, speaking in tale terms.
The kind that prefers loaned Horses to owned Houses..
But then again, this one is easy. One can only fake a certain lifestyle for so long. And when Christmas comes around, you usually know..
Kiss, scratch and see for yourself. And do tell us, gurrrrl, so we can spread the word..


 

I don't mean the actual singer here, like say Thomas Tallis. I mean the alienating concept of courtly love. I always wondered what dude could prefer to serenade his loved one from afar, rather than at arms length. And I really need not fear any form of close up. I am- in fact- better up close.

Well, apparently some guys exist that are speechless when confronted.
When it actually matters. Knights that fear fights.
They call it 'refusing to play games'. They sure do. Playing a game involves two people. But obviously, you cant even play a game with someone who refuses getting involved in any form.
Not realizing that this is their fair maidens last resort trying to trigger just any kind of reaction. So they will rather watch her gallop into the sunset (on Sunset), hands in their pockets, looking shattered.

But out of sight, out of fright. And once she disappears over his horizon and from his limited point of view, that is when the courtly singer snaps into action. The man of no words magically is transformed into an old-school charmeur, texting - no kidding- 20 scroll message-arias. Missed-calling 55 times a day. Sending hundreds of pink roses. (I hate red ones. At least that they remember). And gifts. And kisses.
But chirping serenades from a safe distance is not cool, dude. Relationships are lived in the present. They thrive on real communication. There is no point for 1 billion iloveusomuch-texts, when you cant even speak a single meaningful word at dinner.
James Blunt- the ultimate bard who constantly makes the headlines with his breakups- was right. I see no bravery anymore.


Next to the singer, we can hang the poet. Obviously. Printing was invented in the 15th century. Something that seemed promising at first.

But I have to warn you, it really is a weird world out there. Yesterday I attended a dinner with my girlfriend Kiki and was seated next to an author. Nice looking, late thirties, blond, tanned, surfer boy kinda guy. An artist. Smiling at me.
I was mildly interested. Till he told me the title of his recent book, that is.
No kidding. Seriously. That's how it's called. Straight from the stake.
Women, in the plural. Not one specially remarkable bitch that screwed him over, stole his carriage, his watch, his flat screen, burnt his castle, food poisoned him with her cooking and ran away to Marrakesh with his best friend.

None of the above. HE HATES ALL WOMEN. PERIOD.

And he took the time and effort to fill 300 cliché-dripping pages with his crap, and the predictable bottom line being that women could either be
sexy + dumb, or smart + ugly.
And all without exception should go down on him. I wonder what his mommy says to that.

And he even has the nerve to tell me 5 minutes into the conversation. Proudly. And show his book around like his firstborn.

I was kinda speechless. So what could all women have possibly done to him?!
I am sorry if the truth offends you bro, but even my little nephew knows that you only get what you give. And it makes me wonder, what YOU must be giving...

Needless to say that with half the worlds population (and the main target for relationship novels) being fabulous females, this book was not a bestseller. And not an obvious choice any girl would get for her boyfriend, either. So the book will remain a first edition and the polite poet will remain self-published and single.



Congratulations, someone got himself a conscience. But be ware, this one is a guilt tripper, that better is avoided. Duties, responsibilities, and his love and care for everyone else rule his perfect little world. Pretending to be holier than the pope. Expecting you to constantly have sympathy and understand. And get bitchy if you don't.
But fake halos don't make up for real balls. And I don't do double standards.

Oh, and if he once gives you a present- for example the holy grail (hush, dirty fantasy, not HIS holy grail!)- and in a rush of well deserved and justified fury you happen to throw it out of your tower window, you will hear it till kingdom come.  
You broke my holy grail. WHATEVER. Get over it. Don't give it to me if it's that sacred to you.
Maybe I should try the damsel in distress. Or the damsel in undress. That works fine with any saint.
And one thing you should remember about holy men: All saints should be judged guilty until proven innocent. Amen.


On to the next one. The sinner. Rotten to the core. The devil, in fact. Without disguise. He doesn't bother. So attractive, I could burn. Super rich, super charming, super looking, super dangerous. Notorious for his time in prison and his unhealthy relationships.
Mr Grey, but the real deal.
Totally unpredictable. Always up to something. Something troubling, usually. The tabloids would agree.
But as I said, nothing really is one-sided. Even the blackest sheep has a white hair somewhere.
Or develops them, once it grows old.
And there is nothing more melting to my cold little heart, than glimpsing the sinner hiding a soft spot in his..

I would love to tell you more about the sinner, but I can't. I always remained at a safe distance and got out before I got to close to the fire. I'm a chicken, after all (and turkeys and chickens need to watch out these days).
I keep telling myself I am saving him for 'later'. For whenever that is...

What is it that makes all women want to be the one that cured the bad ass bastard?! Tell me, if you know..



Of course there are some guys at court that I don't deal with, like:

 And others that are yet to make their entrance, like..



Once I find him, you will be the first to know.

Xxx Maid Mimianne


PS: I'm aware of the fact that- as bizarre as this might sound- guys do read my blog. So if you think you recognized yourself- maybe you're right, most likely you're not. Not EVERYTHING I write is about YOU. This is a truly geocentric attitude. Not all my planets revolve around you. I am still the sun in my own solar system. Hallelujah.

2 comments:

  1. This is definity one of your best post. Not to undermine your other work about fashion, which I also like. The type of writing is funny and wise. But let me tell you about the type of guy you all should avoid. Be aware of the one who hate women... I once dated a playboy, wouldn't recommend that one either, very dangerous and handsome. But the women-hater is worse. I really mean it. Stay away from men who pretend being hurt by their exes and ex-mother-in law, mine told me his ex and mother in law where plotting something against him. This type of man try to win your empathy with all their sad stories about the witch ex. But in fact they want to say how bad the other is and how good/holy he is. You will hear his complaints and depressive stories till your head hurts and make false accusations towards you too. Once you become his ex he will spread rumors about you. Mine accused me of stealing his apartment keys, while he just gave those to me. Off course he can write a book of 300 pages about how much he hates... but when will he realize that he needs to move on and get over it.

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  2. Oh my god, that sounds crazy, poor you...! But yes, I could really imagine the women-hater doing something like that! So ridiculous..
    But happy you like my post though.. :)
    Xxx Miss Mimi

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