There we go again...
A friend of mine has just acquired herself a(nother) plaything. Or made herself available as a plaything again.
This girl (we'll call her J) is successful, she's smart, she's bloody drop-dead gorgeous, she's one of the most intelligent people I know, and she can get any man she wants with the snap of her finger.
Unfortunately for her, her life has been a long series of short-term relationships with the wrong men, and now she simply doesn't know how to either choose, or how to sustain her relationships. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and is constantly falling in and out of relationships. I mean, she's had four men in seven months!
This latest, fifth person that she has just acquired herself, is (from my reading) her perfect man. He's extremely hot, very polished, very suave, very charming, he constantly has many nice things to say and he loves to take care of people, so he gives her a lot of attention. Which is good for her, I know. How do I know so much about this guy? Well, I know him too. The only catch is this: he doesn't want commitment. So they spend tons of time together, she has practically moved into his house, and they bonk like bunnies. But they call themselves "good friends".
Now… I know J, and I know her longing for a committed relationship. And I simply don't understand why she compromises herself and her desires, to get into situations like this. It angers me, it hurts me for her, and it bloody frustrates me!! Now what will happen is that she will enjoy this for a while. Suddenly, when Tarzan begins to talk about his ex-girlfriend (who he still carries a flame for), she will be all upset and hurt that he doesn't consider her his girlfriend, although they've slept together and spent so much time together etc. And then she'll withdraw, begin to ignore him, and either abruptly bring "them" to a close, or slowly cut him out. And lose herself another damn fine friend.
How on earth does one make her realise the rut she's put herself into? I've seen this happen time and again, and I just know the cycle like the back of my hand. Three weeks of moping, and then she'll go ga-ga over some other loser who makes her feel good about herself. Till then, of course, she'll nearly eat her insides out with guilt.
Sigh. I wish I could shake her till her bones rattle, and hard-knock some sense into her. Stupid, stupid girl. Unfortunately, all I can do is helplessly watch, as she puts herself through this time and again, and just be there for her when she needs me. I only hope this guy doesn't cause too much emotional wear and tear...
Dammit! Why can't she see what the world sees about her? Why is it so difficult for people to learn to love themselves? And why on earth does it have to be so easy to compromise on something, and so tough to get out of it?
Hah. Famous words from me. Yes, I'll shut up now.
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From dust to dust
I always wondered why I am a bit aloof. So I sat down to think about it, and tracing events in my life that made me spend so much time in my own company. This post, honestly, is not good reading, or writing. It's just a snapshot of what i figured. It makes me wonder more now, but wonder less as well..
I grew up a lonely kid. I only had two female neighbours, whose parents insisted they play with Barbies and the like, and I always wanted to play outdoors. Indoor was for rainy days, and then I’d play with cars, guns, Lego and such. Obviously, we didn’t get along. :-) All other neighbours were boys, and much older than me. They were most happy to let me play in their games, but my brother hated that his little sister tagged along. He also ganged up against me with my elder sister, and so I spent most of my time alone, climbing trees on my own, reading and playing with all the stray animals around.
When I joined school, I made two lovely friends, who I spent all my time with. However, in about a year, lifestyle differences began to force up apart, and we faded into acquaintances too soon for my liking. The solitary trend took over once more, and lasted pretty much all the way through till I completed my schooling. Sometimes I hung out with people, and went for lunch with them and stuff, but I pretty much had only me for company. Y’see, I went to one of the snootier schools in town, and everyone was more interested in what people had with them than what they had inside. So if you didn’t sport the latest styles, you were just too plebian. Towards high school, I became a complete loser in everyone’s eyes, coz whilst they were out at discos or parties in the nights with their hip short hair, and their rich boyfriends, I was sporting hair down to my knees, and was busy learning classical dance. Sheesh… what a comparision.
End of school, I made my best friend. We went through school together, hating each others’ guts, but ended up being best friends the minute we left school. Strange, huh? But interests varied, and so we studied completely contrasting streams. So barely was I getting used to the idea of someone in my life, when we went and joined different colleges. Back to the loner phase, then. The only thing I liked about college, was the subject I’d chosen, where classes were more practical than theoretical. It exercised my brain, and brought out the best in me.
But the rest of the time, I would take off. Where people bunked classes to go for movies, go out drinking, or have clandestine meetings with boyfriends, I’d be grooming and riding horses. I graduated as the only person in my class who got along with everybody, and nobody.
Then I began to work. The kind of job I did gave me the confidence to actually face the world. Where I was hitherto shy and silent, I was now pleasant; where I was hitherto reserved, I was now more sociable. I met tons and tons of people, and actually began to build up some sort of relationship with some of them, but nothing ever progressed beyond the pleasantries. I was still alone. Oh I would go out like crazy, and my days were packed with social activity… but it was never with the same group of people.
And then of course, I shifted towns. From a place where I knew nearly everybody, to a place where I knew hardly anybody. And so my status remains quo. I am still alone.
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With plinky-plonky music
Yesterday, I had the most pleasurable task of giving a friend a massage. What started of as a shoulder press to ease tension, evolved into a nearly full-body massage.
I love the feeling I get when I massage people. Yesterday I used baby oil, and oh it smelt good.
I love the contact between hand and skin. I love feeling the tension ease away beneath my fingers, and the knots beginning to untangle. I love the sheen the skin acquires, with all the oil, and the softness of touch later. I love watching the creases disappear from foreheads, and the glaze the eyes begin to acquire. I love the goofy smile of bliss, and the sudden twitch of hitting a ticklish spot.
I love feeling the knobbly bones, and pampering the little neglected bit of the body like the spaes between the toes. But most of all, I love the connection you can make via a massage - deep and caring, but not sexual (although things can get pretty heated if it's the right two people, and yes... the feel of the massage will definitely be different)
I think I should quit my job and do this full time. Only (ugh!)... hairy backs and hairy legs will be all I see. Ugh.
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Someday maybe?
I’m an emotionally demanding person to be around. Nay… emotionally draining is more like it. While I do not demand anything materially, I do certainly expect that any person I’m with, be it friend or boyfriend, will give me adequate attention. Which does not, of course, go to say that I expect 25 hours of phone conversation each day, or four million messages. But I certainly do expect that they do more than message me more than one good morning, and one good night message.
I’ve always felt that people didn’t really have this to give, especially for me. I mean, friends were always willing to foot the bill, boyfriends were always willing to buy gifts… but that’s not what I wanted. People were invariably never around when I needed them.
I think what I really want is somebody who will be around when I need them. Sure, I have friends, and sure I love a lot of people. But sometimes I feel like I do so much for people, and I don’t get anything done for me in return. I’m not saying I do things for people because I want them to do something back for me. But you know, sometimes I guess I feel taken for granted.
I want to be able to tell someone that they look horrible in their outfit, without them taking it personally. I want someone who knows that I am still their friend even if I don’t meet up with them every second day. I want someone who I can be honest and myself with. Someone who’ll gladly share in my ups, and maybe sometimes lend an ear if I want it too.
Perhaps some of it has to do with me too. I don’t share easily, and I’m definitely more a listener than a talker. I’m constantly nervous that people judge me by my actions, and I’m constantly living my life for other people. So when I do let go, I really let go, and then I get hurt. Again.
I want someone who can reassure me time and again that I’m ok. Yes, I do need that frequently, even if I don’t show it. I hate the way I look, I hate the way I think, and I hate the way my mind works. Basically, I’m not too high up on the self-esteem scale.
Outwardly, I’m successful, I’m grown up, I’m confident. Inside, I’m a shy, cowering, scared child. Outwardly, I’m masculine – I’m a biker chick, I’m a back-slapping beer drinker, I’m a short-nailed, no-time-for-frills person who checks out women with her male friends. Who gives men advice on how to treat their woman, and who loves boys’ nights out. Inside, I’m craving the same attention that these men give their woman. I want to be made to feel gorgeous, I want to feel special, I want to be pampered. I’d like people to take initiative for me instead of being the one to do it all the time. I’d like to be picked up some nights, instead of being the one that ferries people around. Small things. I want someone to do the small things for me.
The reason I’m so scared of commitment is that I think it will chase people away the minute they know what I want. On the one hand, I look at the thousands of successful couples making unreasonable demands around me, and I think I’ll be way better than them. On the other hand, however, I don’t know that that’s possible. Plus, there’s always the fear of losing what you have someday… so sometimes it’s better not to have anything than to have something and lose it all…
Am I making any sense at all? I thought not…
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Sex kept me up last night
Hah... gotcha there, didn't I? No, I wasn't having it... I was talking about it.
From 10:30 pm till 1:30 am, I was on the phone with one of my closest buddies in Chennai. Amongst several varied topics such as credit cards, loans, financial institutions, nail polish, pretty feet, head massages, eucalyptus oil, dentists, fruits and breakfasts, we also spent a considerable time talking about sex. Not discussing the technicalities or the methods... we were merely discussing the different varieties thereof.
We weren't having a debate, and we certainly weren't trying to hook up with each other. He's very happily dating somebody, and I'm very happily single, so no doubts there, no sir. We were merely having a conversation - a very intellectual (interesting) conversation - on sex.
Things like, do you call it 'making love', 'having sex', or 'intercourse'? How does an emotional connection with your partner make it different from just a pure physical attraction? Is it possible for women to disconnect the act from the feeling?
We came up with many logical explanations, and many theories. But that apart, I'd like your opinions too. What do you think :
1. Is it possible for two people to have a physical relationship without the commitments that it brings normally, and still remain only friends?
2. Do women like that exist (to your knowledge) in India?
3. Would you treat the women who can differentiate between the physical act and the emotional attachment, differently? As in, would you "classify" them?
I'll let you know what I think, later...
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Ohjoyohjoyohjoyohjoy
Yesterday was a complete kid-in-a-candy-store experience for me. I spent FIVE hours yesterday, gaping wide-eyed at all the wonder around, wishing like crazy that I had all the money in the world to buy the whole store. Rows and rows and rows of books, stacks and heaps and piles of music, tons of stationery, shelves of mugs... oh gosh! It was just too much to handle.
I didn't even know where to begin, so after looking around for three minutes, I obediently trotted off towards the books. Sigh. That smell, I tell you - crisp paper, fresh print - it can turn me on far better than Davidoff and his Cool Waters can. I freaked out. I browsed and browsed till I had read nearly enough to fill the Iliad. And then, armed with a basketful of books, I made my way to the coffee shop to "shortlist" from my selection.
Then (joyohjoyohjoyohjoy) I waddled my way to the music section. Wow. I think I picked up something like twenty thousand bucks' worth of music, before it hit me that my balance has never seen a sum so large. But it was still fun. Imagining all the songs playing in your living room, the order they play in, the possible flow of the songs you've never heard, the little bob of the head while you imagine the songs you do know... y'know, that kinda thing.
At the end of the evening, I found myself proud new owner of mannnnny new CDs (including jazz, classic rock, old hindi movie songs (a complete RD Burman collection. Fabulous), rock & roll, oldie classics, etc, etc), mannnny new books, and two brand new CD cases. Yippee!!
Who says you need money to be happy after all? I'm bloody broke, but top o' the world, mate!
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Two guys, a girl and a peanut place
Guy I
Six foot two, really broad, very hairy, very scary. My personal bouncer. Who's a teddy bear inside - a big, wushy teddy bear.
So what do I have to say about him? Nothin' special - just that he's bloody special. He sails wild seas for six months, and then treats me like a princess for the four that he's here. And we can discuss sex, vodka, communism, garment exports, ex-flames, cocktails, clothes, dumbass women, Royal Enfields, books and nail polish or anything else. He rocks, he rolls, and he supplies me with some EXCELLENT music.
I'd never have thought us the kind to get along. And although we look, to the world, like we're only drinking buddies or casual hangout partners, he's the one I've had most heart-to-hearts with. And vice versa. While he's away sailing, he calls me every three days, at least to say hi, and report that he's alive.
So, Sailor Boy... a big, big hug for you. I hope you're doing well.
Guy II
Dear, close, champion, hero, HOT friend of mine. Not in India, but we're still terribly close. We speak on the phone sometimes, and laugh over inconsequentials (usually the high pitch of my voice). He sounds like Beavis (or Butthead), and thinks like Spielberg. Whatta guy.
And he just got married. Congratulations, my Hottie. I hope you and your wife have the best life EVER.
Girl
Tuition class was so, so, so much fun... Those children are sharper than Mensa's tests, and so absolutely eager to learn. We read lots and lots and lots, and wrote lots and lots and lots.
And when I rebuked her for mistakes, she said:
"Aunty mustn't schkold me. Schmall boyschz make schpelling mishtakes."
So I took them to the beach, and shot balloons with air guns. And we got free peanuts from the peanut shop guy. Heh heh... he was her neighbour! I tell you... luck pops up in the most unexpected of places.
I LOVE my life!!
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Of things to come
Warning: Long post ahead, please avoid if disinterested
The past week or so has been a period of fairly deep introspection for me. Incidents triggered off fresh incidents, new occurances triggered off old memories, and that has nearly been my undoing.
You see, there were tons of memories that I filed away carefully, in the darkest shelf of my brain. I called it "Forgotten", but apparently "Dormant" would have been more appropriate.
A friend from my hometown travelled here on work, and we met up for the regular beer and exotic dinner that we so enjoy together. This friend (I'll call him Arachnoid) has been more a close acquaintance than a friend. However, we have an innate ability to sort each other out, or completely understand the other's situation, without either of us saying much.
His first sentence after the excited hellos and hugs was "We need to talk". And I shivered in my pants. Y'know, we talk about seemingly the most inconsequential things, but only we know how much they matter. And Arachnoid teaches me to acept without beating myself up over a lot. He listens, he probes, he brings out a helluva lot more of the inconsequentials, and asks me seemingly-innocuous-but-very-pertinent questions.
There's a lot hidden in the depths of me that has hurt me more than I care to admit. There's a lot of shit I've taken, and a lot of shit I've been through. So far, I've behaved like it doesn't really matter. I have been there for a lot of people, but have not had anyone in return. I've tried to make it seem like everyone goes through shit at some point or another, and so what I'm going through is really nothing.
But that's not true. Alright, so what I've been through may not be as disastrous as what some other people have been through. Maybe what has hppened to me in the past has happened to five billion people as well. But I'm able to see for the first time, that I am my past. Every single incident in the past 23 years has shaped me into the being I am today. Has had a profound influence on the personality I today exude.
I'm not saying this only in the context of the more negative experiences I've had... certainly I mean in as much in the good sense as in the bad. However, the good doesn't hurt, the good doesn't resurface with the same intensity. That's for sure.
This is going to take a very long time to accept. The layers are peeling off, the acceptance (and resignation) has begun to set in, and the wounds are resurfacing, if only to heal. It hurts, yes, but I'm pleased. The cathartsis has probably begun. I don't know if I'm going to have the soul or the will to see it to completion, but at least I've initiated the process.
Whatever happens, happens. If I'm this strong by denying, perhaps I'm going to get stronger by accepting? Perhaps I'll convert vulnerability to emotionality? Only time will tell.
And I am waiting to hear.
As a start to this exercise, I'm going to begin by being honest. To myself, with myself. It's what I owe myself, maybe. I've hidden too many things for too long, to remember how to react, or what, or why. And I'm going to regularly post one incident from memory, that shook me to my very roots, questioned everything about me, and left me different.
I started this blog as a means to vent out my frustrations and pour out my heart. As a place where I could express doubt, fear, anger, disillusionment and despair. That does not mean I'm not happy - please let's be very clear. You see, the thing is, I have loads of people willing to share the joy and the glory and the happiness with me. But the negatives? That's where I'm alone.
My request to you is this: please don't offer me sympathy - it's not what I'm looking for, or why I'm doing this. If in the future, we happen to meet, as more than two passing IP addresses, please don't hold any of this against me. In fact, perhaps don't even bring things up.
And please, send out one good vibe for me - I suddenly feel like I need the support.
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You know you're a regular... Part II
(See Part I)
- You know all the barmen, DJs and waiters.
- And their girlfriends.
- All your favourites begin to play even before you've said hi to the DJ.
- You hang around the DJ console so much, someone comes up and makes a request to you.
- You're allowed to play it.
- You're allowed to dance to your heart's content, though club rules forbid it.
- The waiter is comfortable enough with you to say he thinks you're well suited to your profession.
- You can go there alone if you want to, and no one will bother you.
- You receive something you never believed you'd possess.
- As a New Year gift from the manager.
PS: This was a different location from Part I. Obviously I need to start spending more time at home.
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Unexpected
It's funny how one little incident can leave you feeling ecstatic and humbled at the same time.
Last evening, I went to the beach, to sit on the sand and watch the waves roll in. As I drew patterns in the sand, my mind contemplating insignifancies, two people rushed up to me. A little girl, with wind-blown hair, and an elderly man who was being pulled along by his enthusiastic companion.
Before I had time to react, the girl jumped on me, and smothered me with her biggest hug. She dragged me to my feet, and jumped around in excitement, her words tripping over each other as she spoke to the man. I didn't understand a word she said (I later figured it was some dialect) but I began to look more and more alarmed, as the man's face began to break out in a smile as well, and he began to pump my hand.
When all was calm once more, I figured out that this girl was someone who I had looked after in one of the relief camps. I had done nothing more than clean a couple of her wounds, but she apparently thought differently. Turns out also, that she had been reunited with her grandpa just a couple of days earlier. Both her parents had been killed in the Wave.
We spent the next half hour splashing around in the waves, and eating peanuts together. And we have an English date on Saturday morning, where I will tutor the girl and a few of her companions before their exams.
Well... looks like I have a new friend. And yes, I grinned through the night.
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The Strangest Thing
Take my life
Time has been twisting the knife
I don’t recognise
People I care for
Take my dreams
Childish and weak at the seams
Please don’t analyse
Please just be there for me
The things that I know
Nobody told me
The seeds that are sown
They still control me
There’s a liar in my head
There’s a thief upon my bed
And the strangest thing
Is I cannot get my eyes open
Take my hand
Lead me to some peaceful land
That I cannot find
Inside my head
Wake me with love
It’s all I need
But in all this time
Still no one said...
If I had not asked
Would you have told me?
If you call this love
Why don't you hold me?
There’s a liar in my head
There’s a thief upon my bed
And the strangest thing
Is I cannot get my eyes open
Give me something I can hold
Give me something to believe in
I am frightened for my soul
Please, please
Make love to me, send love through me
Heal me with your crime
The only one who ever knew me
We’ve wasted so much time
So much time
~ George Michael
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Yea Britney, it's killing me too
There are many, many things that I don't understand, and that don't quite fit here.
I just want a good, long weep. And the tears refuse to fall. Sometimes, my inability to cry just infuriates me.
I am hurt and confused. And for the first time in ages, lonely. And I'm not enjoying it one bit.
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Update
It is the upward swing after all. And I don't need to (or want to) get it off my mind.
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Hair-brained
Amongst other things that I have discovered about myself, I have discovered that I am a lot like my hair.
Perfectly straight...
No doubt about that one!!
...But still quirky.
No matter what length my hair is, it is perfectly straight till the end, when the right half curls inwards and the left, outwards. I'm a bit of a rebel meself.
Au natural...
My natural hair colour is a gorgeous brown-black that companies have been trying to emulate (in vain) all their lives. I also love the brownness of my skin.
...But artificial.
I think I am quite a nice person inside, and I have no idea sometimes, why I put on the acts I do. Just as I sometimes don't understand why I coloured my hair.
Hip...
My style and length changes often. Very often.
...But classic.
They're never wild. I'm a bit of a traditionalist that way.
Unpredictable...
My hair never looks or acts the same on any two consecutive days.
...But passable
And it still manages to carry itself well.
But most amazing of all, it reflects the way I feel. Unfailingly. Every day. If I'm happy, it's glossy and sits well. If I'm down, it's limp and weak (even if I've only just washed it). If I'm carefree, it grows big and surrounds my head like a happy, nice-smelling aura. And don't even ASK what happens when I'm grumpy...
Today, it's absurd, haphazard and kind of out-of-sorts. With a little TLC, it could turn out really awesome.
Well, it's the start of a long weekend, so perhaps there's still some hope!
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Big Bear
So how many of you are believers in Hug Therapy?
People have done years and years of daft research, verifying whether a hug lowers blood pressure or reduces hypertension or slows down the heart rate or whatever. Why medicinalise (!) something as nice as a hug??
As far as I'm concerned, a hug is warm and comforting, and allows you to hold and be held. Letting you revel in the feeling of being able to cuddle up for just that one second longer. Letting you lean on someone without feeling weak and helpless.
Sigh. I could do with one of those just now.
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Pleasing
There is a certain definite charm about chivalrous men. More specifically, men who are chivalrous without being apparently chivalrous. Without trying.
There is something really quaint about having a door opened for you, or someone waiting till you're seated before sits down, or someone listening in rapt but not obsequious attention, with regular polite nods of the head.
I don't expect that people do this for me each time I go out. That would really be asking too much, because, save for two people, all my friends are male. Expecting all those boys to do all these nice things for "one-of-the-guys" is expecting the moon on a stick. And in any case, I think I do a fine enough job of being a male myself!
I had the pleasure of meeting yesterday, a genuinely charming, naturally chivalrous, thorough gentleman. We went out to dinner, and beginning with the time he picked me up, I was pleasantly surprised at regular intervals, by someone who possessed real old-world charm. Don't get me wrong - he was funny, hip, suave, and very modern - not a fuddy-duddy like I painted him to be. It was just really, really pleasing to see a wicked sense of humour join hands with traditional charm.
(I know I'm overdoing that word - charm - but that's really what he exuded.)
No, it wasn't a date, but yes, I wish it had been. And yes, he was very, very good looking.
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Yay!!!
Happiness is knowing that my man has arrived.
Can my life get any better?
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Fashionista
I’m no slave to fashion. I don’t follow latest trends – in fact, I barf at a lot of them. Why? Well, for one, I certainly can’t afford it, and for a second, I would never fit in any of ‘em.
I am a large person. My shoulders are 17 inches across (the same as my dad’s) and from there down, I maintain proportionate width. I have never worn a short skirt in my life, because each of my legs is the size of two normal legs.
And yea, I like colours – all of ‘em – but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be wearing them all at once! Bright pinks with brighter and pinker sequins are just not my thing, and neither are white pants.
I have developed my own sense of style over the past years, and really, I’m quite happy with it. Sure I experiment once in a while, but overall, I’m pretty classic. I like clean cuts with no fuss, no frills and no fancy. Of course I like male cuts too, and male-based styles. I’m pretty boring, really. Also, since I hate to shop, I pretty much don’t get to see what else is “on offer”.
One of the many men in my life (we’ll call him ‘Chintu’, by popular demand) hated this fact about me. He hated that I was not hip (although I think I’m fairly ample in that department) and fashionable. "Ohmigosh! You’d actually condescend to be seen in something more than twice?? Eeek!!"
He didn’t like my style, my hair, my figure, my smell (loser!), my clothes, my shoes (double loser!) or anything. I always wondered what it was that he saw in me then, but that’s for a different day. So one day, two weeks into us dating, he decided to go shopping. Without me. For me.
Three hours, thirteen phone calls to my friend, and 4000 bucks later, he met me with several large parcels stuck under his arm. With an impending sense of doom, I made my
way to his bedroom, and began to try ‘em on.
Disaster.
The trousers wouldn’t rise beyond my knees, the shirts couldn’t button, the skirts wouldn’t zip, and one of them looked like a little panty – it was that short! And oh horror! The shoes! They had pointy toes! And heels!!
But I was on an exercise programme then, after being out of action for several months, so all hope was not lost. So one month later, clad in hip beige capris and a figure-hugging black knit top, I dumped his parcels on his lap. Two minutes later, I dumped him.
And celebrated with rich black forest cake.
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Tell me...
If there is something on my mind that shouldn't be on my mind, how do I get it off my mind?
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I Will Survive
I'm a big girl now. Yea, so sometimes I may want things so badly that I will shame myself for them, and completely lose myself, but that's ok - I can move on.
I'm still a big girl now. I live on my own, and I even have a new someone for company.
That's right folks!! Say hello to the newest member of my family. Someone who will cook for me, and get hot for me. And do my every bidding.
He's my new year gift to myself. Oooh.... aren't I so grown up now?
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Obsessive Compulsive
I just realised that I have pressed the refresh key every ten minutes on a certain web page, SINCE 1:00 THIS AFTERNOON!!!
Reveur, you FREAK! Go sit in the corner. NOW!!
Sniffle. I want.
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Menu in a Juice Store
Dutches of Windstar
(Orange, Pineapple, Sweet lime and Mint Mix)
Flosbary Flop
(Cleandine, Apple and Mint Mix)
American Fiss Soda
(Vanilla Strawbary Soda)
Milk Orange Tanox
(Orange Milkmed)
Trve Blue
(Sweetlime, Pineapple pits, Lime (1/2 pcs), Gripe)
Valentino
(Orange, Water Milon, Strawbary)
I ended up having something called “Getting Together” which was touted as a Citrus mix with Pineapple pits. It was a ghastly, ash-grey residue, and yes, it was replete with those charming pineapple “pits”.
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Conversation
Reveur : Mother, does it ever worry you that you might be smelly?
Mom : No. But I’m sure that for some people, it’s a far greater issue than global warming.
Reveur : Oh yea? I’m sure you think about global warming a LOT.
Mom : A lot more than body odour, that’s for sure.
Reveur : Oh.
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This post makes me nervous
Something very, very good has been happening in my life over the past couple of weeks. Something very, very, very good.
There are two ways to looking at this, really. One, just sit back, shrug those worries off my shoulders, and enjoy every moment of it. Two, examine ot closely, microscopically and look for factors that could cause doubt.
Oh I know what your reactions are going to be. So far, I have only been following option one. But there's more to this situation than a mere superficial glance. There have, I admit, been several areas of doubt. Several instances of my being at an unfair disadvantage where knowledge/information is concerned.
Where I had hitherto shut my eyes to this fact, the seeds of doubt were brought to my notice. My intuition tells me to continue to enjoy, but my logic is playing havoc with my heart. The more I think about it, the worse it gets.
I have made some enemies in my life. Not intentionally (in fact, 'twas quite the contrary, but that's another story) I do not know whether the extent of this enemity will allow for people to quite mess with me like this. My reasoning is that even if they have been taking me for a ride (my enemies, that is), after two weeks of my falling for it, and being perfectly nice about the whole thing, their consciences should prick them enough to want to disclose it, right?
Oh lordie, I sure hope I've been right about this one. If it holds a positive outcome, it can be quite the upward swing I've been waiting for all my life. Because it is so damn right. I mean, nothing can be quite so bad if it feels so right, no?
But if I'm wrong, then oh hell... I'm just bloody done for. Again.
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The Making of My Poverty
I love animals. In all shapes, all sizes, all forms. It is my dream to live in a house filled with dogs, cats, me and my husband. In my house growing up, I’ve had pets that ranged from rabbits to guinea pigs, to cats, to white mice, to turtles, to fish, to dogs, to calves.
I could have adopted a dog as a pet now, but it wouldn’t be fair. To it, I mean. After all, I live alone, and the poor creature wouldn’t have anyone at all to be with. To top all of which, it’s not even a large place – kinda tiny actually – so it won’t have anything to do but keep pissing and shitting all over.
So I got myself a cat a couple of months ago. You know… all that jazz about cats being independent, self-reliant creatures, which enter when you enter, leave when you leave. I found her at the ATM, and called her... Cash. (I mean, what else does one NORMALLY find at an ATM, huh?)
Cash loved me from the moment I set eyes on her. First off, she let me pick her up outside the ATM, something she didn’t even let the guard there do in all that time. Then she came home, meow-ed at me a bit, drank all (and more) of the milk I gave her, and promptly jumped into my lap for a nap.
Yea, I did all those normal sweet things of setting up a sleeping basket, a shitting basket (complete with mud and all), a food bowl and a water bowl. But over the course of the night, she proceeded to shit all over my floor cushions (re-ee-eee-eeee-ally stinky. It took me four days of incense to get rid of it), and then jumped onto my bed and curled up at my waist.
When I threw her out the next day (on my way to work), she waow-ed at me in hurt and disgust, ran up the stairs, and disappeared. When I returned however, I didn’t even have to call out – she was waiting, curled up on my doormat. (I know… awwww!)
Well, two days later, the neighbours complained. Turns out Cash had waited on my doorstep all day, meow-ed loudly at intervals, and driven the dog upstairs crazy, each time he passed our floor. When one lady on my floor tried to chase her away, Cash ran into the same lady’s house, and jumped on her sofa.
My adorable cat.
So two days after, I took her to the Blue Cross, and set her down. She jumped down, and ran to my car. It took me forty five minutes to convince her to allow the BC guy to carry her, and then I took off. I couldn’t even say a proper bye, although I talked to her all the way, in my car.
I wept through for five hours, by the sea. And I hadn’t spent more than three days with that cat. She was amazing. She was intelligent, and smart, and clean, and she loved me.
I didn’t like getting rid of my cash.
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Eloquence
The Owul
The Owul is a dangrees bird. It has five hrons. Some owuls even have ten hrons. These are even more dangrees.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Essay written by Reveur, age 5, on The Owl, and presented to family, teachers and school principal (It is a wonder they let me continue there!).
My mom found this a couple of days ago, whilst cleaning out the shelf we call “Memorabilia”.
PS: Dangrees = Dangerous.
Hrons = Horns
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She-male
Testosterone
I love cars and bikes(I think ) I ride and drive way better than most womenI feel awesome riding a big bike with a chick behind meI can identify and fix basic issues with vehicles (and I can change a flat tyre in 5 minutes)I have committment issuesI don't understand women (esp me!)I have never cried at the moviesI love the classic-ness of Aramusk and Old SpiceI don't get excited by random babiesI dislike shoppingMy clothes are tailored by a male tailorThe louder the belch, the happier I am (incidentally, I've belched in public too!)Male shoes, male deo, male clothesI genuinely appreciate the female formB E E ROestrogen
- Men! (Can't live with them, can't live without them)
- I don't understand the hype behind football (although I'm pretty knowledgeable about it, and I play a damn fine game)
- I like to take magazine quizzes
- Intuition
- I can talk about one mindless topic forever
- I think way too much about way too much
- Heart over head
- I think getting physical is more about what happens in your head
- I sometimes say "Oh so cuuuuuuuuute!!"
- PMS
- Stuffed toys
- I like Brett Lee more for his looks than for his game
- I wish I looked better
- I multi-task bloody well
- I love pink
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You know...
...how you wait and wait for this one thing? And then you never know what to expect, simply because you don't know what to expect. And you don't want to expect, but you're hoping despite yourself?
And then when it happens, it's far superior to what you could ever have even conceived?
My life is a plum cake.
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You know you're a regular when...
- All the waiters know you by name.
- You know all the waiters by name.
- Every single request you make, gets played.
- You always get one drink and one plate of starters complimentary.
- Even if that's all you've had.
- A box of sweets is brought to your office by the manager on Diwali.
- You know the rosters and collections of each DJ that plays there.
- The DJ tells you, you look "stunning in white".
- You can dedicate a song to someone 2000 km away, whose name you don't even know.
- And get away with it.
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I'm in the mood...
I'm bored now. I've been working my ass off the whole damn day, but it's been so damn boring, it's just damn unbelievable.
I had boring meetings with interesting people, did boring clerical work on interesting projects, and even had a boring lunch at an exciting restaurant.
So I thought I'd tell you about my most boring boyfriend so far.
Let's call him "Bunty" - a nice, safe, boring nickname. He was 23, doing his MBA, and I was 20, working.
My first view of Bunty was of him sitting at a bar table with a mug of beer in his hand. He had shaved his head, and cultivated a french beard. Of course, my tongue dropped to the floor immediately, effectively preventing me from swooning in eye-candy ecstasy.
When I finally managed to roll it back, I grabbed my friends' arms for fresh support.
(There were two of them. I was the single kabab-mein-haddi. I normally am incidentally, though that's tough to believe from what you read here)
So anyway, I gasped out my appreciation of (oh-so) Hottie, and leered viciously and nauseatingly.
Till I realised they were walking up to him. Oh joy oh joy oh joy oh joy oh joy ohjoyohjoyohjoyohjoy!!
Aside: The pub we visited is known for wretches who are conformingly non-conformists. Y'know the regular long hair, cigarette, beer, grass, rock music, dumpster attitude... In the midst of all those skulls and skeletons, a normal person (an outstanding specimen, even) was a true breath of fresh air.
So I joyfully got introduced to him, tried to make myself heard over the racket in the pub, and ended up charming him so much that he dropped me home. At which point, I promptly invited him for my birthday party a week later.
Starting with the party, dear ol' Bunty and I became inseparable. Again, we were an extremely good-looking couple, matching each other perfectly, structurally: our heights, weights, shapes, likes and dislikes. We could've been in the movies.
Which might even have been a good thing, coz at least we'd have had a script then. Alas for me, Bunty was all brawn, no brain. (he wasn't even all brawn, being more lean and wiry than muscled and bulky) He had no conversation to make with me - nothing to say to me, and certainly nothing to counter anything I said to him.
His single, recurring whine was that I should see him when he began to work - he'd have it all going for him them. As in, the money would give him the confidence of interation. Poor, deluded man... he hadn't budgeted for the brains.
For a couple of months, his looks, and his praise of me kept me (us) going. we would do nothing but sit and drink coffee and smoke (at that time, I didn't even smoke - I would just watch) And no, we didn't even kiss all that often - just twice actually. I accidentally opened my eyes that once, and saw what his face looked like "in the moment". Trust me, I was careful to keep them shut the next time!
After these happy coupla months, I got really bored and dumped him. You know what he said? "Just wait till I start working. You'll never be able to resist me then." Well guess what, I did.
Plus, you know how hot he looked when bald? Well... that was not deliberate.
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Catcalling
White salwar kameez, oxidised silver earrings and bracelet, anklet, kajal. I'm looking good today, if I may say so myself.
I'm even having a good hair day!
Also, I'm feeling good, work's been going well all morning, and everything is generally all happy and shiny.
If only my stomach wasn't rumbling, my world would be near perfect.
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Six things about six things
Shoes
~ I own over thirty pairs, but don't use most of them. (As in, they're in my hometown. Perhaps "can't use" is a better term?)
~ Only four pairs have heels.
~ Only two of them cost more than 300 bucks. Three cost more than 200 bucks.
~ I also wear male shoes. I own three pairs of these. Work and all, y'know.
~ My riding boots are not counted as a part of my shoe collection.
~ Neither are bathroom chappals and home footwear. (Three pairs)
Socks
~ I own over thirty pairs of socks. I use ALL of them.
~ Two pairs are white, one pair is plain black.
~ Four pairs are sports socks.
~ You will laugh at the rest.
~ Three pairs have individual toes, six are anti-skid (have little rubber designs on the soles, so you can wear them without shoes and you still won't skid. Isn't that thoughtful?)
~ You don't even want to venture towards my stockings.
Smells
~ Of course I mean the good ones!
~ Deos, perfumes, talc, soaps, shampoos, shower gels, scrubs, moisturizers, body lotions, lip balm, incense cones, agarbathis, oils, pot-pourri, etc.
~ I love the way I smell.
~ I use male deos and soaps.
~ My biggest decision of the day is what to use in the shower.
~ My brother loves to use everything I have, esp the more unusual aromas. Male schmael. Hah.
Stationery
~ Unbeknownst to my non-interfering family (god bless them!) I dedicated a whole cupboard to stationery
~ I own four bread boxes of erasers; three bread boxes of pencils; individual boxes of black pens, blue pens, fountain pens, coloured-ink pens, quills; many, many crayons (plain, wax, metallic, glitter), colour-pencils, sketch pens, coloured glue, paints, and more.
~ No two of my pencils, erasers or pens are alike.
~ Handmade paper, scented paper, coloured paper, thick paper, thin paper, plain paper, letter paper, parchment paper, invisible paper (you write with ink, it fades away), chart paper, glossy paper... you get the idea.
~ My biggest dream/ambition to used to be running a stationery store. Till I realised I would have to sell things.
~ Although I can't draw to save my life, I never, ever buy people greeting cards. They'd never match up.
Sweaters
~ I own more than twenty five sweaters
~ The numbers have dwindled. This bitch I once knew, borrowed over six of my sweaters and conveniently either "lost them", or just plain kept them. Hrumph.
~ The oldest one belonged to my grandmother, and is still in pristine condition.
~ My favourite is a thin, black button-up, which I team with my small tops on a wild saturday night out.
~ Of course some of them are male sweaters. One of them, my brother stole. The rest, he and my dad frequently borrow.
~ Especially as I have no particular use for them in a city whose seasons read "Hot, Hotter, Hottest".
Mugs
~ This is the only one that doesn't begin with "S". It is also my most recent addiction-addition.
~ Beer mugs and coffe mugs. Porcelain, glass, china, terracotta. No plastic.
~ I own forty two mugs. No two are alike.
~ My second biggest decision of the day is which mug to drink out of.
~ My favourite mug has a handle shaped like a cow, and cow patches all over its body. I drink milk from it.
~ Some of my oldest friends call me "Mugs". Little do they know!
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Taking Stock
Warning : Long, egoistical post ahead, more for my benefit than anyone else's. Please avoid if you're not in the mood.
Materially, I'm no millionaire. I don't live in a palatial mansion, I don't drive a Merc (or even an Ikon), I don't spend money lavishly (I don't have that much) and I don't live flamboyantly. But I do have a little apartment, I do have a fully functional kitchen, I do have some furniture, I do have a little car, two phones and many other things. They're not big things, but they're ALL mine. Every inch of everything is mine. My hard work, and my earnings.
I haven't taken a penny from my folks. On the contrary, I send money home every month - a substantial amount, I might add. I make tax savings. I go out and socialise a fair bit, I party. Sometimes, I even pamper myself at the beauty parlour. Basically, I don't deprive myself of much, really.
Physically, I'm not so bad either. I have all my faculties in place, and all my senses functioning perfectly well. Intellectually, well... let's just say I wouldn't have the job I do, if I didn't have something to show for it!
And emotionally, yea... I'm pretty ok. I've been there for people who've needed me, I've empathised to my best extent, and I've put myself out for people. How do I know? Well, I just do.
So why am I being so egoistical at the start of the year? Well, it's like this. If there's one thing I have in plenty, it's an inferiority complex. I constantly make disparaging comparisions with other people (even random strangers) physically, mentally, intellectually and emotionally. Oh yea, I am a completely "with it" person on the outside, but inside, I'm a mess.
But it's not all my fault. I've constantly been judged along these factors, y'know, by friends, family, society... So much so, that it's been ingrained in me now.
However, I've realised this much : situations I'm in are (mostly) in my control. I am the only one who can control my mind, and therefore, whether I'm feeling inferior or not is completely up to me. I do not mean to boast, but I certainly am proud of all I've achieved. I have had no help, and I have had my own set of hurdles to overcome.
I work bloody hard. I run a succesful professional life (haven't been sacked yet!) and balance it with running a home. I cook myself, and pack luch for a couple of single uncles I have in this city. I have a set of good friends, who are there for me, and whom I'm there for as well. And I have the best family in the whole wide world.
I have no reason to feel inferior. I lack nothing.
And so, I am henceforth going to try my hardest to feel the confidence I portray. To feel as successful as I appear. And certainly, to be as content as I seem.
That is my goal for this year.
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