Once bitten, twice shy?

The name on my birth certificate is a funny one — most have not heard it, a larger number still mispronounce it and one in every five people that I meet, ask me the meaning. Out of every five people who ask the meaning, there’s only about one who might really be interested the others are those who use “so what does your name mean” as an ice-breaker (hoping it works); and can be heard repeating that question to all and sundry, even people who are called Pipli or Timpi or whatever.

Along with the many mispronounced, distorted and downright murdered versions of my name that I have been called over the years; there have been some other names I’ve been called too. One of them being a Dystopic Cynic. ‘Dystopic’ is someone who lives in a constant sense of dystopia. Acording to some well-loved people I’m supposedly dystopic – simply put – I supposedly believe that everything WILL go wrong (but it does, it does!) And of course, putting a cynic in a dystopic environment is creating one hell of a hedgehog. Stereotypically.

But then, I do have a problem with the way a cynic is perceived. Ah, that arsehole who does not believe in anything. But darlings, the arsehole probably has bloody good reason not to believe anything! Reasons based on experience, observations and plain goddamn logic. Like no matter how much it (and I) hurt at a relationship’s failure – if you don’t date what’s not for you, better be prepared for a lonely New Years (and Diwali and Christmas and…) And whether the guy was a jerk or you the fool; it really depends on who’s perspective you see it from.

Playboy columnist, Cynthia Hiemel once compared men to animals. Hmm. She said that since/when women date a lot of warthogs, they think all men are warthogs and forget that some men can also be gentle giraffes, affectionate puppies and the entire cuddly menagerie. According to her, the trick is to avoid the warthogs. While I completely agree with the avoiding bit; it’s kind of difficult doing it as men do NOT come wearing name-tags that read ‘Warthog’, ‘Giraffe’, ‘Horny Puppy’ or ‘Randy Dog’. They all ‘look’ the same — as Gorgeous Sincere Fuckers who’ll never hurt a hair on your heard or elsewhere if you please.

Ah, isn’t the above the kind of statement that gets labeled ‘cynical’? Or a direct result of all men looking/ appearing to be GSFs? You find out that the Lonely Doggie you were losing sleep over is not just a warthog, he’s a fucking wolf in a warthog’s skin (or vice versa, whichever freaks you more)! Now suppose you have the brilliant fortune or absolute lack of judgment or even an unexplored psychological issues with guilt… all of which lead you to serially date/mate five warthogs consecutively! Not one fuckin puppy!

So after most warthogs, what do you FINALLY do when you FINALLY realize WHY you have been following a certain pattern? You fucking steer clear of all animals, especially the two-legged variety, since you can never really KNOW what’s-in-what’s-skin. Isn’t that a better idea than going, “Ouch that’s a warthog, shit this is a giraffe, damn that’s a zebra”… all the while trying to get the pup that’s really meant for you. (Er, eh?)

Never mind — basically, if you cant figure the right from the not-so-right and the perfectly-pathological-for-you-guy; stay away from ALL. I have been doing that now… okay, maybe its just been two days of avoiding ALL men (calls, IM chat and SMS-es not included, heh heh).

And that’s not cynicism; it’s being practical and logical and common-sensical and realistic and realizing that you love your own arse more than anyone else’s.
(Is that self-centred, self-obsessed or self-preserving, now? Too many definitions…that’s another post too)

Post Scrap: Logical, common sensical, practical, realistic sense to Self: “Woman, that’s also being scared shitless. Isn’t it?”

And what if you do end up falling in love with the warthog...what then?

Allergic to nostalgia

(an older post, thoughts pretty much same, more refined and rabid perhaps, but couldn't be bothered to type them out... yet...going slow...should be back in full swing soon....)

Nostalgia: An allergy to memories (with/of someone) that causes people to have nervous reactions (ranging from serially going through old photographs, reading old SMS-es and crying and breaking things too).

Positive thinking: When you are positive that something bad is going to happen — and it does — and it’s much better thought out than you had imagined, which basically means its worse for you.

Thought For the Day: Never love someone who becomes a priority for you when you’re just a choice for them.

Somehow that very sensible quote is in direct violation of the Law Of True Love. The LOTL states: You shall love unconditionally, when the biggest condition is YOUR having no condition(s). You will love but not expect — any of the following, either individually, or as a package deal — love, affection, physical intimacy including accidental thigh rubs, even a casual, polite glance, appreciation, respect, acknowledgement of your presence in any way — and anything thereof that the author has forgotten and that the recipient of YOUR Unconditional Love can deem fit to include.

Somehow the definition of UL of the LOTL also sounds like, “Step on me! Step on me!” to me. (Has visions of self in maroon, spaghetti-strapped negligee, with a deep V-neck, hopping with a placard reading, Step On Me, held above my head and looking a grotesque version of Baywatch-meets-Scream.

How you get through your U.L. ordeal depends on the Recipient too. If you love a somewhat-kinder soul, you might get away with a feeling of someone who ‘understood’ you and so what if s/he couldn’t love me? Or you might even get your affection reciprocated. Delight of delights!! That purely euphoric thought apart, I have a sniggling suspicion, when you are supposed to/ meant to/ destined to/ manage to get your unconditional love reciprocated — you don’t get into definitions.

It’s only when it’s close to THE END that someone, somewhere reminds you, “But darling, The Law Of True Love says…”
And you’re left to figure, to be or not to be…doormat.
PS: Cynicism is not congenital. Author welcomes jibes, thoughts and opinions contrary to hers.