3. Dirty Nights: “Gimme head!”

Glug. Smack. Ah. Glug-glug-glug.
“This beer sucks. I like my Kingfisher in pints.”
“Uh-uh.” Glug.
“But nothing beats chilled beer.”
“Yeah.”
“Got to take a piss.”
“Uh-uh.” Glug.

They stand together, one next to the other, surveying the scene before them. They stand in the darkest corner. They don’t mind the light, just that the darkest corner is also the closest to the makeshift bar. One of them is the group commentator, the other agrees to everything, the third just looks… and drinks and looks some more.

“Legs, nice.”
“Fuck the legs, check the tits.”
“Hubba-hubba.” Glug.
“Too bad her face sucks.”
“Uh-uh.” Glug.
“Yeah, too bad her face sucks, wouldn’t mind those red lips around my…”
“Hell yeah.”
Glug.Glug. Glug-glug-glug.

They stand watching a group of girls on the terrace outside. One of them is wearing a backless and gets a glance. There’s another girl covered from head to toe, she isn’t spared a look. The third is wearing a short skirt that is riding high on her thighs, showing off cellulite. The fourth girl is wearing a bright red off-shoulder, which after five drinks has turned into nearly-off-boobs. She is top heavy and her breasts are straining to break loose. She is wearing bright red nail paint, bright red lipstick and her hair is not long enough to cover her ample bosom. The girls are talking amongst themselves, casting furtive girly-looks around. Sometimes they break into a giggle, at other times – when a guy is looking at them, they will strategically place their hand on their neck or on their heaving chest while a hitherto unheard throaty laugh will come from deep inside their gut, jiggling things further.

“He’s looking at you.”
“Are you sure? He was talking to the slut sometime back.”
“Never mind HER silly. I am sure he was looking at you. He likes you!”
(Blush) “He is cute.”
“I love his dimples, say you love them too…”
“Umm…and the way his eyes crinkle. But I just lurve his arms, they look so… safe.”
“There! He looked at you again. He positively likes you sweetie! I am so happy for you.”
“Do you really think so? Do you think he will talk to me? I hope my flatmate stays out tonight…”
“Of course honey! You are pretty in an unconventional sort of way, which is quite in these days and you are smart. Just look confident. I can sense it, you two will look so good together…”
(Blush) “Sigh.”
“Listen, let’s go to the bar and get a drink.”
“No, no, he is standing there, it will look too obvious.”
“Don’t be silly. Boys are shy creatures you know and we are just getting a drink. You have to let him know you have noticed him…. C’mon.”
Shuffle, shuffle, clickity, clackity

Glug. Smack. Uh??
“Shit. No more beer, but there’s rum. Now I have had whiskey, vodka and beer, am smashed, might as well do the rum. Old Monk, my friend…”
“Uh-uh.”
“You want one… oi!! Ugly-face is coming this way…”
“Nice jiggle.”
“If she trips on those heels, do you think they will pop out?”
“For sure.”
“Too bad her face sucks.”
“Uh-uh, cover face, fuck base.”
(Bwahahaha) (Back slapping)
“And dude, when she’s down and I got my eyes closed, who cares about the face? Good head, is good head.”
(Bwahahaha) (More back slapping)
“Let’s get that rum and see if ugly-face can talk."

Pop. Fizz. Pour. Tinkle.
“No more ice?”
“Sucks.”
“Coke’s cold though…?”
“Uh-uh.”
Sip. Smack. Ah. Somewhere a TV comes on.

“That shit’s watching TV while his chick is flirting with the other guys.”
“Poor guy. Nice guy.”
“Yeah, is always well stocked with alcohol in his parties.”
“Uh-uh.”
“His chick has nice tits though.”
“Uh-uh.”
Sip. Smack. Ah.
“Whattafuckinhouse! They always show cool fuckin’ places in these shows and this one has a swimming pool.”
“Uh-uh. With nekid girls in it.”
“With THAT house and pool, the naked girls will come for free and… Dude, I just saw ugly-face giving me the eye.”
“She is hot for you.”
“Yeah, that house, that pool, naked pretty girls and ugly-face sucking my…”
(Bwahahaha) (Back slapping)
“Oh. Here she comes. Keep your mouth shut.”
“Uh-uh.”

Clickity clackity. Shuffle, shuffle.

“Oh! There’s no ice here sweetie, that’s a bummer.”
“And no clean glasses either and he is watching TV with his friends.”
“Oho, don’t be silly sweetie, men do things in groups. But he has been looking at you for sure.”
(Sigh) “Perhaps and… oh my god. I think he just saw me looking at him! I want to die…”
“Don’t be silly. He likes you I told you. And his friends have been laughing and smiling too, that means he positively likes you. No guy tells his friends about a girl if he doesn’t like her. But he might be shy…”
“I like shy boys… and he’s sooo cute… how do I talk to him?”
“Wait, leave it to me…”

Clickity clackity.
Sip. Smack. Ah.

“Hi guys, is there any ice?”
“Uh-uh.” Sip.
“Pardon me?”
“He means there’s none, sorry. The Coke’s cold though.”
“Oh right, thanks, how silly of us…hahaha…” (Helplessness, crinkles nose, shrugs her shoulder and does the cute laugh)
“Here…can I get you ladies a drink?”
“Oh really! How sweet of you, thankyou…”
Shuffle, shuffle. Pop. Fizz. Pour. Shuffle, shuffle.

“Sorry about no ice…”
“Don’t be silly, haha, not your fault, haha, you have been really sweet…”
“Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
Everybody stands silently staring at the TV.

“Uhm, what are you boys watching?”
“Ads.”
“Pardon me?”
“No, no, he means we were watching some show on expensive houses and now they’re running ads.”

Everyone watches the ads. There is one where the guy puts a necklace with 20 diamonds on it around a girl’s, well, neck. The girl in the ad is beaming.

“Awww! What a sweet ad, her eyes were sparkling and he looked so happy.”
“No he didn’t.”
“Pardon me?”
“Erm, don’t mind my friend, what he means is, if you ask us guys, no guy looks happy giving that many diamonds.”
“Awww, haha, c’mon, if you loved a woman you wouldn’t mind giving her stuff like that. But boys! (Rolls eyes) When have men accepted being in love easily? What do you have to say sweetie?”
Sweetie aka ugly-face is blushing, the red on her cheeks could be booze, embarrassment or anticipation. Ugly-face and suck-my-cock are standing next to each other.

“I don’t like diamonds… I prefer platinum. Looks classier.”
“I wouldn’t give anything.” Sip.
“Pardon me?”
“Erm, what he means is that no man looks happy giving that many diamonds… think like a man you know, that’s what my friend means.”
“No. I mean, if I gave as many diamonds, I would fucking fuck her whole family in exchange.”
(Bwahahahaha) (Back slap)
The girls leave horrified. No one gets laid.

2. Dirty Nights: The Slut

So she is the party slut. Actually, she would make a good office slut too. Or a holiday slut. Or a you-can’t-make-her-meet-your-mate-because-she’d-screw- your-boyfriend slut. But overall, she makes the best party slut.

She would be the one to always sit in men’s laps and hit bull’s eye. Or bull’s crotch. She never sits on the knee, always perches on the crotch. And the guy – owner of the crotch – is supposed to continue having his drink nonchalantly. You’d think he has low alcohol tolerance to be going red in the face on his second drink.

His girlfriend meanwhile will smile benignly, and will have the oh-they-are-friends and she’s-such-a-fun-girl look. Other men will think the bloke’s lucky to have a chick on his lap and a “cool” girlfriend. Everyone will live happily in a happy world of tolerance. Then, in the loo, while reapplying her gloss, the unsmiling girlfriend will say, “She’s such a slut.”

In another corner, two blokes will be gulping beer and will be joined by the now-glossed-over girlfriend. After she’s kissed them on the cheek and shown her preference by standing closer to the better looking of them (will keep touching his arm, perhaps rub thighs accidentally too), she would say, “She’s such a slut.” All three will be looking at the slut, who is being generally slutty with all men around. The men would nod and one of them – usually the one who has not laid the slut – would say, “Yeah. But she is known to be a good fuck.”

The guy who's having his thigh rubbed would perk up at that bit of information. The chick would roll her eyes and say, “Really? But then sluts are supposed to be, aren’t they?” She would look horrified and innocent at the same time, or try. Then she would ask, “But how do you know?” and look conspiratorially. He would smirk and lie, “I had her in the back of my car.” He would wink. She would groan and say, “Uff, you are such a player. Disgusting. She is such a slut.” And yet, oh-so-subtly, she would shift to adjust her jeans. She's a good girl, she's never had it in a car.

They will all sip their drinks and she’d move to another group after a bit to share the information. She would say, “She slept with someone – I wont take names! – at the back of a car. Had her legs around the rear view mirror. She is such a slut.” Others would nod their acquiescence. Most have heard the car story. Someone else will talk about the time the slut stripped off her top in another party (five years back). “Then she wore the host’s shirt, tied a knot right under her breasts. Her tits were erect, she had lost her bra. You could SEE them.”

“Lord,” they will all groan in unison, “Such a slut.” Then the guy who is usually seen hanging with the slut – arm candy – will join in the group. Someone will ask, “Are you dating HER?” he will scoff and scowling reply, “Of course not. But I have fucked her.” Everyone nods and says, “She is so obvious, such a slut.” No one will mention that she is a good fuck.

1. Dirty Nights: The Storyteller

Chapter One
The storyteller makes a party. The storyteller breaks a party. Without the storyteller, there is no bloody party.

There are all types of parties that you attend in any given year. There are club openings with orange strips around your wrist for all-night-free-booze (only Indian Made Liquor please). There are book readings followed by cheap wine with bad cheese. There are parties around festivals and the after-fashion-show parties and the let’s-get-drunk-for-no-reason parties (my place, you get the booze type). Then you have the Delhi blacks and Delhi white parties… Funny there are no Delhi browns given that research says Indian women prefer all shades of brown for their lipsticks and majority people in Delhi ARE brown.

However, MOST parties can safely be categorised into two slots: Boring and Interesting. I am not going to write about the boring parties (who cares?).

The interesting parties are the ones that have stories unfolding. Sometimes people share life stories. Some people enact the stories, facial expression, hand movements and pelvic thrusts included. Other people just tell stories. Some stories are very good. Sometimes you see a story unfolding even as another is being told…

Sometimes, the story might not be that good but you enjoy the way the chick bends forward at the Most Important Moments and all eyes – gender irrespective – go down to her breasts as the neckline plunges further. You notice that her breasts are double-shaded: tanned and hitherto untouched by the sun; tungsten and UV lights do not tan.

The other women watching the bending-story-teller will lick their lips. Men will gawk. Those with girlfriends/wives present will quickly raise their glasses for a sip and look from behind the rim. Some glasses will magnify the twin-shaded breasts; some also magnify the eyes. The said girlfriends/wives – who usually know their man is doing the sip-and-see – will use their peripheral vision to see if their man is checking out the breasts.

Most of these women will then feel very sick about the men they are dating. Some will suddenly sit straighter and surreptitiously try and pull down their dresses. Others will cross their arms right under their breasts to push their twins up. The lacks-in-subtlety ones will repeat the storyteller’s moves and lean forward, rest their elbows on their knees and look the picture of interest.

All of them will think the same thing: “The bitch is flashing her breasts.” Most will flash their own, but they are doing it to keep their man’s attention. Sure. Bring on the breasts, may the best set win.

PS: The storyteller thinks her story was a hit and repeats it at another party. Today she is not wearing her cleavage. No one fucking bothers about the story. End of story.

Dirty Nights: A Series

Author Chuck Palahniuk – for those who don’t know, this is the guy who wrote Fight Club (‘now a major motion picture!’) – says in the foreword to the start of his new book Non-Fiction, “We get there, and we’re alone. And we’re lonely.” Then he continues to say, “The world is made of people telling stories,” and “the people fuel the storytelling.”

His book is about people getting together, sharing a passion and the stories that revolve around those shared interests. So taking a leaf out of Chuck’s book (and brain), I am starting a series on another shared passion: Parties.

And what happens in the parties, who happens, what should have happened… After all, everyone loves a good party and everyone loves a good story. This is not fiction. Some stories might rub some the wrong way; just ensure it’s a good rub though. Shrug.

A look at the city's party scene in a series of 10 short stories (or five, or seven!). Let’s party.

PS: Probably the end of me being invited anywhere, but whaddaphuck.

The man, the boss and the rapist

It’s been happening a bit too frequently now. Each time I plan out a fun post, something happens that sends me reeling back to angry writing. This time though, it’s not something that happened to me. So this girl went to a house party with her colleagues where her boss tried to jump her. Rather he pinned her down on the bed and tried to force himself on to her. In legal parlance, it’s called attempted rape.

What is the girl doing about it? Nothing. She quit her job and when asked as to why she wasn’t taking the matter further, the girl said, “Oh but he is a good man. He was only drunk that night.” Interestingly, this “nice man” has three other attempted-rapes to his 'credit' and all three girls left the organization. And of course, like all “nice” men, he has a wife and a kid and thus needs to get drunk to force other women.

Listen up women. A nice man – whether drunk, stoned or baked out of his head on cocaine – will NEVER try to rape a woman. For those (stupid) women who have not bothered to find out: RAPE is a crime of power and dominance and NOT about sex or physical gratification. If a man tries to rape you, please lose all notions that he is a “good” man. He is not. He is a fucking raging criminal who will eventually get bolder with each attempted rape that is NOT reported. This is a man - even if he is/has been your boyfriend or husband -- who has issues with women and usually would like to dominate and subjugate women. "NO" is a fucking perfectly understandable word. If you say no and the guy still tries to force himself on you; that's a bonafide rapist you are looking at. He WILL try it again.

(Much like women-beaters. Please UNDERSTAND, men hit women NOT because of provocation -- no matter how many times a man tells you that the woman asked for it; a woman perhaps ask for it when she does a Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, comes at you with a fucking knife -- but because that man CAN hit a woman. If he does it once, he will do it again. I have had it from two men in life; and prior to testing their strength on me, both men have had a record of hitting other women. And am sure will hit others)

However, let’s stop for a minute here. WHY don’t women report cases of sexual harassment at work or in this particular scenario, an attempted rape? Usually people will tell you that the women are scared of societal retribution and what their families will say and what people will think about her. It could ALSO be a case that the girl was guilty of encouraging the man in the first place. Thinking that they can keep things under control... and of course they can't.

Please get this straight: NO woman wants to be raped. However, I have known women who have willingly encouraged attention and cheap jokes and a casual touch here and there from their bosses or superiors. Why do they encourage these things if they don’t want situations to lead further? Simply because these women think that if a little flirtation furthers their careers, there’s nothing wrong with it. What's wrong with it is that you are sending out the signal that you are okay with the man being a sleaze ball with you. If you are okay with raunchy jokes and your boss frequently putting his arm around your shoulders or your waist, or are discussing your sex life with your boss and thinking it’s cool: fucking think again. While today office environments and office decorum is much more relaxed than it used to be earlier-- you put people together, eventually they will fuck -- some basic rules don’t change.

1. you don’t flirt with your boss, more so if the dude is married.
2. If you are flirting, be prepared when the boss would want the things to go further; and that he is not used to a no since you have been cooperative so far.
3. if you are discussing your personal or your sex life details with your colleagues and friends; there is a certain image you are portraying. In simple words it’s called being an “easy” woman. It has nothing to do with being comfortable with who you are or being liberated enough to say what you want to say. Some things should not be discussed in the office; and your sex life is one of them.
4. There are people who meet and fall in love in offices. HOWEVER, office flings are not looked at kindly. And you should be prepared for the sniggers and the looks and perhaps even people thinking that you are not professional enough. And of course other sleaze balls thinking you are fair game for them.
5. if ANY man tries to rape you or forces you in ANY fucking way, it is NOT a good man. It’s a man who has been getting away with shit for far too long. If it's your boyfriend, get out of that relationship and report it. If it's your boss, fucking report it, that's a predator who needs to be in the dock. Please understand that your boss is a man first and then a superior. ANY man (the sort we are discussing here) if given encouragement and signals that the woman is okay with advances, WILL fucking make those advances. You cannot run complaining that you were okay sharing dirty jokes and dirty looks and a little flirtation and not anything else. Either play it the entire distance or if you are not going to be comfortable with what ensues, nip it in the bud.

And for the sake of other women who will be working in that organization and who perhaps don’t want to lose their jobs, PLEASE take your pawning your body OUT of the office. YOU spoil things for other chicks who are only interested in their work and advancing their careers the right way – it’s called hard work – and not by pimping themselves to their bosses. Often we women ASK for things to happen to them. We give these bastards (and it does NOT mean all men so don’t you guys dare write back with how-can-you-hate-men) a chance to do what the fuck they want because we give them the fucking encouragement. Kindly stop it.

Don’t let a man or men get the better of you. It’s your body, it’s your integrity, it’s your professionalism at stake. If you don’t safe guard it and look after it, no-fucking-one is going to be doing it for you anyway. It’s fucking disgusting how women let things happen to them especially in scenarios (like an office) where’s it’s avoidable. Pissed off.

PS: Many write in asking if I hate men. For the record: NO I don’t hate men. I am in much love with a very good man and he and others like him make it worthwhile to love and believe that certain good does exist in the species. HOWEVER, there are jerks and bastards around and I will continue writing exactly how and what I have been writing. Those who are pissed off are fucking most welcome to not read. Loss of hit counts (and idiots) really doesn’t bother me that much.

The Good Girls and Jerk-ing Off!

It was an interesting meeting, last evening. An old friend and me were sitting and chatting over coffee and assorted cookies (she had two, me guiltily gorged on at least 8) in her new office. My friend – let’s call her Usually Calm Friend – is bright, smart, beautiful and with a sense of humour that makes her fucking hot; if were she a man, she’d be mine. And yes, she’s mostly seen dealing with situations calmly. Except of course when it comes to men.

Now Usually Calm Friend has recently purged herself of Ex-Memorabilia. For those who don’t get it, Ex-Memorabilia are things – letters, moments, reminders of special dates on your phone calendar, gifts – that were once given to you (lovingly even!) and now ONLY serve to remind you of times that were good, of a man that was a good till he turned into his real self. A man’s real self is the one that no other woman but his mother will love. (Such men should also only stay with their mothers)

So Usually Calm Friend serially went on a purge-drive where she tore letters, cut out pictures, flushed an expensive perfume, donated another expensive jacket and so on and so forth. After narrating the trail of destruction she’d been on and which – “was so greatly soothing” – she said, “I feel so stupid for wasting so much time and emotions on him. And ALL because he came across as intelligent. WHY do I fall for the same type each time?”

(And why do good girls like jerks? thought the Romantic while the Cynic had a good laugh and has a black eye now)

The two of us went on to discuss the qualities/traits that make us notice a man or talk to him at a party or take things further. Both of us agreed – after going through a list of “our kind” of women we knew, which would be pretty, pretty smart, independent, etc – and realized that most of us (read women) notice a guy because he SPEAKS well… Yes, even if a guy has dreadlocks reaching his knees and red-eyes (would normally be avoided), but if he can talk well, well that’s a girl hooked. A little word play here, some smart comeback there, another well-timed one-liner, someone who can take some fun and give it back… verbally.

(And no, if you see a woman dressed in red and black, asking her, "Are you a vampire?" is a very bad idea and a very bad line!)

And you see, most bad boys – call them jerks, call them Players, call them Don Juans – the kind that GET a girl are the same type, they do the how-to-hook-a-girl right. (Of course when it comes to keeping a girl, they either lose the rule book or are bad learners) The guys know how to spin words (and webs). They know how to present the package, they know how to throw the bait and more than anything else, they are CONFIDENT that they will get the girl.

Point being: Give yourself and your other women friends a break: NO ONE falls for a jerk knowing that it’s a jerk. No guy wears a placard/tag that reads, “I am hideous, come date me.” When a (smart) woman falls for a jerk, she usually falls for the (superficial) good qualities she sees in him. It’s just a matter of time for those qualities to vanish and the hideous Mr Hyde to surface… If you have dated a jerk and are now suffering, PLEASE don’t make the yuckiness (the nausea you feel thinking of exactly HOW stupid you were and why didn’t you see it coming) worse by blaming yourself for FALLING for the guy. He showed you things you liked, you fell for the bloke. Period. Now you are out of it – forced or per choice – get on with it, purge him out of your system and get your perspective back. ALSO know that there are no guarantees that you will NOT fall for yet another jerk.

Next time you meet a man, you have to take your chances because chances are all we have. It either works or it doesn’t. There really is no mid way and no way of finding out beforehand

Hmm. Except for these two little tests on how-to-spot-a-jerk that OFTEN work:
1. Check how he talks to his mother: If he is being nasty to her, baby there’s no way the bastard will be good to you. But chances are you might not meet his mother (It's an A-grade jackass who has his family in on the game as well, the mothers always support)
2. Is it your bill or his?: Yes this is the age of liberalization and moneyed women and guys and girls split the bill and all that. BUT. A real man (usually) likes to nourish, cherish and look after what is his (includes you), which usually translates into him NOT asking you to foot the bill. It doesn’t make sense that he is taking you out for a movie (or wherever) and you are paying. It’s understandable when one partner foots the bill because the other is broke or out a job or whatever; that’s cooperation and understanding (and you pitch in once you have as it as well girlie). However, if the guy CAN pay the bill but does not even mention taking it up and somehow you ALWAYS end up paying… dudette, you are just a cash cow for him. (Same rule applies for men who become walking banks for certain women, get out of it lad)

For the boys, here's one test: If she spends the night with you, or subsequent nights and you give her the royal treatment hoping for a lay and she gets all cosy with you BUT insists on talks and hugs, she be jerking you around dude. THIS is what a male pal of mine who has recently declared he hates cockteasers says, "I hate those women, especially the pieces of shit who get all closey-closey and say "All I want to do is talk and hug". Fuck them in the ear." Ah well, I'd say turn her out of the house that very instant... but call a cab for her (you are a gentleman and yet you show that you have balls). On that note will go check how he's doing today...

PS: This is something I had written in August: A post about what makes a man stand out. Some of you guys reading Eve* should perhaps go through it as well!

Wind me up, turn me on (read full text)
Nothing, I tell you, is more turning on than a sharp mind. OH! No lines and no charm works better than someone who has presence of mind, quick wit and the nonchalance to pull it off. And the few people I have in my life – the new and the old – are fucking so bright that it is thrilling. And I want to hold on to them and not let them go and therefore I become a pile-on (me thinks) or what we here, in the northern parts of the country, call being a ‘chep’. (Literally means someone who ‘sticks’)

(Too Fucking) Frequently Asked Questions

Still answering the fucking FAQs...

These were the first batch of 7 Too-Fucking-Frequently-Asked-Questions that were answered in Decembre 2006... some questions are STILL being asked. The CURRENT additions to the questions follow below the original:

1. Why do you make so many spelling mistakes on your blog?
A: Because I type with one hand.

2. Why dont you use both your hands?
A: I always use one hand to type and the other to frig.

3. Arent sex blogs supposed to be Anonymous?
A: No.

4. People know your identity...isnt the idea of such a blog to be anonymous?
A: The idea of this blog is to be able to fucking write what i WANT to fucking write. With name, with a pseudonym or with a placard declaring my name, phone number and directions to my house.

5. Why isnt there much sex on this blog?
A: There's not much sex in my life. when there will be...and if it leaves time for me to blog :) -- you get to read it too.

6. Will the sex be raunchy?
A: No. we sit across the room from each other and type out things we want to do to each other. We LOVE blogging!

7. Who's the WE?A: those involved.
________________________________
NOW

8. Hang on, this is the longest you have gone missing: Anything significant?
A: Yes, lot's of sex.

9. Is it good sex or bad?
A. Answer will depend on whether you feel happy for me or not.

10. Does that mean there's going to be more sex on the blog?
A. No.

11. But you said "when there's sex in my life..."
A. Shrug. It doesn't leave much time to blog.

12. Will you still be called Clit Chatting?
A. Yes. I still use it you know... the name, I mean.

13. Does more sex in your life make your blog more popular?
A. No, people hate the fact that am happy and orgasming. At least when I was moping, many felt better about their sorry lives.

14. So now you are feeling cocky?
A. Erm, not cocky. Pus... maybe? (Bwaaahahahaha)

Boob bakwas and crotch my heart and hope to die!

I think boobs are to women what the crotch is to men: An obsession, a full-time occupation and even the reason that can get you killed. And yet, the way men and women behave wrt boobs and penises, is rather different.

Many a times I have noticed women walking down the road, their head bent down, ostensibly looking at the ground. The reason many give is that since men (the road-Romeo variety, can also been seen at swanky pubs flashing swanky brands) are always letching at women, the best way to avoid eye-contact with sleaze balls is to stare at the ground while walking.

HOWEVER, a large number of women also look at the ground while walking because they are not looking at the ground at all! They are in fact checking out their own boobs. Is it jiggling too much? Does it have the right ‘hop’ as I walk? Is the center of my ‘vee neck’ shirt right at the center of my boobs…or has it shifted to the right? Is it obvious that my right boob is bigger than my left one? Oh shit, it’s cold, are my nipples erect?!

And of course if a woman is flashing a load of cleavage – strictly for the women who flash their cleavage to be noticed as against those chicks who flash theirs “because I believe in myself and my individuality and my feminism and I have excellent cup size” – she is mighty bothered when no one looks at her. So down goes the head to check if the right amount of cleavage is being flashed. Point being: Women are as conscious about their breasts as men are about their penises, but only the women are not as open about it.

Like while you will see a man gladly and fondly scratching his crotch in public; sometimes they even give it a complete-palm-squeeze, women unfortunately are never seen fondling their breasts. While a guy will feel absolutely comfortable adjusting his Package, a woman will suffer a wedgy with a tight smile but will NOT pull it out (in public). Even today I have chicks come up to me with a ‘my god you are naked’ look when ALL that’s showing is a bra strap.

Sigh! I wish could fondle myself as fondly as the guys do… AND then this morning, I was nearly run over by a truck BECAUSE my autorickshaw driver insisted on driving with one hand. His other rested firmly next to his crotch. On that note… read this one from early January 2007…

Eve* saying crotch my heart and hope to die

You bloody nymphomaniac, you!

This blog is great. (Blush) That was not meant in any self-congratulatory way except to say that at times it amazes me to see how things have changed over the one year of writing here. Was re-reading what I had written around this time of the year in 2006…

At the outset let me clear that what you will read is NOT an invitation for random people/men to message me thinking they could be the answer to the points/questions raised. In simple terms, please do not poke/message with the intention that you could match my passion. This post is not an application; and anyway, the position is taken. The passion has met its match. Hah.

Sex is a funny thing, especially when I think of it in the Indian scenario or particularly the woman-asking-for-sex scenario. Don’t get this post wrong; there are men who are great in bed and men who are not and think they are… This post is about the latter and of course it’s not flattering at all. Those of you with a weak heart or a weak libido, please do not read further.

First up for the women: Please remember that it’s perfectly NORMAL for a girl to want sex, even as much as a guy.

If some random research says that men think of sex every 7 minutes; I bet my arse women think of it as much. And if there is NO research on those figures, it’s perhaps because it would make the men nervous. So if ANY man tells you that it’s abnormal for you (a woman) to want sex as much or ask for it, get rid of him. IF your man calls you a sex maniac or a nymphomaniac BECAUSE you have asked him for sex after a week of no touching; dump him. If you want it every night and your man cannot keep up, there’s nothing wrong with you, you guys are just sexually mismatched. Find another who can!

(Please note: IF your guy has spent 18 hours doing back breaking work or has had a really nasty day with his boss, PLEASE don’t expect him to be Don Juan in bed… it’s normal for a human to be tired! Give him a shoulder rub, let him sleep and self-help!)

For the record, NYMPHOMANIA is when a woman has uncontrollable sexual urges and will sleep with any man to assuage the need.

If you are asking YOUR man for sex or more sex (as be the case), it is NOT being a nymphomaniac. It just means your guy cannot keep up and is trying to make you feel bad by calling you names. Call him a fag in return and walk out (and find a guy who’d rock your insides!)

Much as you – read, the men – would hate me for writing this, most men CANNOT handle a woman with a high libido… or even one with any libido. Confident men are a different ball game; but then, there are more men out there who are scared little boys masquerading as men-in-control and not necessarily alphas.

A woman who is confident and demanding in bed is more likely to wilt an underconfident guy’s willy than engorge it. When I say demanding, I don’t mean someone who asks to be whipped every time you kiss her. By demanding I mean a woman being able to ask for what, how, how many times or how often or when and on what surface she likes it. Most weak men will freak out if they meet such a girl: First they will freak out thanking their luck that they met a woman who likes sex; then they would freak out because they would find it hard to keep up. Or if they can keep up at all, they’d be busy wondering who else the girl has slept with to be “as demanding”.

In the Indian-men-scenario, things get even weirder. If you sleep with an Indian man on the first date (or second, or third or usually at all!), the dude will immediately slot you as fuckable-but-not-marriageable list. Indian men, I say, are good for one-night stands, strictly when they (and you are) drunk though for that’s the only way an India male will be able to hold out for longer. Premature ejaculation is usually congenital in Indian men.

The moment you get into a relationship with an under-confident-masquerading-as-God's-gift-to-womankind guy and think he can satiate you; it’s trouble. As long as such a does not have the responsibility of having to please the woman time and again, he will be the most perfect man; tell him he has to keep up with it and suddenly you have an ill-mannered three-year-old in the body of a 30-year-old. While most men are known to look elsewhere once they ‘get’ a girl – apparently the thrill of the chase is over and Apparently No. 2, ‘variety’ is the spice of life for men – the underconfident men particularly suck in the keeping-up-with-the-passion department.

My mother told me the other day, “You remember, if you give a man everything he wants, he will look elsewhere for more.” And I say that’s bloody confusing. HOW are you supposed to like/love a guy and hold back? And why should you?

I have realized that unless you really are a case of uncontrollable sexual urges – which is a medical thing – it is perfectly normal and natural to want a lot of sex. Some of us are more physical than the others. The trouble starts when you end up with someone who does not match your sexual frequency. Again, somewhere I have realized that no matter how great the sex and the passion; how much sex you have does come down somewhat with life and bills and boss in day-to-day life. Having said that, PLEASE do not hear crap like, “Oh you are an abnormal woman because you want so much sex.”

Do not let anyone make you feel bad about yourself because you like sex. When you DO meet someone who matches your passion and your need (and your rhythm), it will not matter how many times you have sex or who initiates it or who is on top. It will be good and you both will automatically know when it’s time for a quickie and when it’s time for a slow-mo session. AND, no one will call you names.

Please remember that the easiest thing for men to do when threatened by a woman is to undermine that woman’s confidence by saying nasty things: Whether it is comparing you to an ex-girlfriend, saying how your opinions suck or calling you a nymphomaniac. Such a man does not deserve your affection or your body. Find someone who matches you and scream on…

(Thanks god for damn good sex and) Going into flashback mode; this is what was going through my mind in November 2006… and am glad things have turned for the better for me, even though it took a year. Better? Burning bloody hot I say! Heh heh.

Flashback: I am Eve*, passionately afraid (written: November 9, 2006)
If I were to ask you, what's the single, scariest thing about yourself...what would it be? I am scared of my passion. There are no midways, no tempering with me. I have tried. I can only succeed with moderate behaviour for a while, I am passionate about everything I do. If I am not, I wont do it. Can't. It’s a physical impossibility to make myself do something I don't feel passionately about or that which am passionately against. I suffer because of it. Greatly. Stands I take, moves I make, things I do, the way I do them... Many say "if only moderation" was exercised. I don't know that way. But.... I am shying away from the Real Intent of This Post. I think I am abnormal. In bed. No, I don't mean kinky sex or BDSM or anything like that. I mean sheer energy. Please don't laugh. I am scared of sex or starting to be... because I am afraid I will be disappointed…

Read full text: I am Eve*, passionately afraid

Wish you a horny Diwali

Umm…. It’s strange, the kind of reactions and responses I got for the previous – Let’s date, mate and fuckin celebrate – blog got; both here as well as on instant messengers and through emails. The ONE thing that was common to almost ALL messages was that everyone responded to the fact that it was a positive post.

A recent-acquaintance-might-turn-friend had said a week or so back, “Why do you always write about the negative things in life?” “I write what I see,” responded me. “But if you SEEK out negative things then those are what you will see! Why don’t you try looking for positive things, maybe then you will also write positive things?”

Well, while I did not consciously ‘look’ for positive things; a huge dose has come my way; and I will not be scared to accept that I am happy. Why should happiness scare me? OHO, I am a pessimist baba, if happy things happen to me I am shit scared that soon something-bad-will-happen. NOW I have decided that yes, something bad might happen -- given that my boss calls me Murphy’s delight, whatever can go wrong with Eve*, will go wrong and then she will outdo herself, is what he says – the bad is NOT going to happen to me.

I LIKE being happy and I am going to hold on to it….and THIS is how I am planning to… the points underneath…Since I have shared a lot with those of you who read me… It’s only right that we be “together” when we get happy too, eh? (Smiles) So well, the wager’s on and here’s what am going to do to BE and REMAIN happy (Cynic mutters “god help us all” under her breath) -->

If you are happy... don't be afraid to show it.Even if it means grinning with all teeth showing and eyes crinkling in pictures.

If you think you like someone, don't be shy. At the most they will say the timing is bad… they could also turn around and pleasantly surprise you.

If you feel s/he might not like you; still give it a try. HOW do you TILL you have not asked them? Unless you’ve killed someone in their family or something!

If someone gives you affection; give it back too... UNLESS it's a stalker. Heh.

If someone says they will like you IF you changed certain things about you, HUG yourself and walk out right then.

You've liked them for how/who they are, they bloody well like you for who you are. Please don’t suffer a jackass, gender irrespective.

If your best friend does not like the guy/girl you like; remember they don’t have to! YOU like the person, remember that, know that; keep liking the person. Unless the person you like was your best friend’s Ex. Then erm, it’s trouble!

And damn… I got to catch a cab…later people! Also, I need to think of more points. Heh. Positive writing is new to me. Hahahaha.

May we all shag in peace…and those who are getting some… get loads. (of cum, as said nasty anonymous)HA HA HA HA HA.

Let's mate, date and f*****g celebrate!

Today, one of the lines in my horoscope said: Your pessimistic attitude might be on the rise again; however since you don't know the future, there are equal chances for things turning out right rather than turning out wrong. Hmm.

Tell me something: How bad or tough can it get when two people in any given situation/association/ relationship, REALLY decide to make it work? I have often wondered, and me thinks have written about it earlier too, that I really don't understand why two intelligent, sensitive, like-each-other people cannot have a relationship that lasts or works out. And no, am not talking about walking down the altar. I am talking about being with someone and being happy. I am happy. Eight days and growing happier, but HELL, I am HAPPY. Reason? New person in life. And that's all I am gonna say.

Yes, I did say no more trying etc, but hey... I have also been called a fool, an opportunist and a hopeless romantic at other times. I am simply cognizant of a good thing and cherishing it. Of course I am scared... but if there is no fear, one can get complacent, no?

So you, we, me have been hurt before, the scars remain. "How can you get the strength to try again?" someone else had said sometime back. And I had said, "Because I WANT to." And at times, you want to try because of the person... because they share their warmth, love, affection and softness with you and you want to give back equally and cherish too. But then, if we constantly keep reopening old wounds, do they really ever heal? Perhaps not, some things simply come back or make you more cautious or haunt you for long. However, there could be moments in life, instances and circumstances where you meet people who make it all seem worthwhile. You want to close your eyes, sigh in relief and say, "Ah, I don't have to be on my guard now."

I have a request for all those who might be reading this…. Will you PLEASE treat the person in your life right? It changes so, so many things when there’s someone in your life who… How do I explain it? It simply makes you beam all over the place, feel confident about who you are and can be and makes you a better person. Because you know that there is SOMEONE who likes you for who you are… It’s just SUCH a nice break from trying to count your negativities and figuring how the fuck you can rid yourself of those.

There are the nasty boys and the beastie boys, but nothing beats a man who is GOOD to his woman. I mean how much does it take?

In fact, it’s so SIMPLE being good to another person that I am aghast. It’s like… If it was this easy, WHY was I treated badly? Why do so many take shit, men and women alike? Many need a little appreciation for who they are, what they might do for you, what they mean to you… It doesn’t take too much time. One well-placed comment will make another’s entire day brilliant. “You are very efficient in the kitchen,” he said… and I was glad he noticed. Just glad that cooking for someone was not a wasted effort. Or a lingering glance. Or a casual touch. At times, after a bad day or a tiring day, all you want to do is to be HELD close and take in the other's fragrance and feel yourself rejuvenated. It's just so relieving.

Umm… like I had stopped grinning in my pictures because I thought I looked ugly, in fact I was told so. Suddenly, it does not matter. I can GRIN, show my buckteeth, wink on camera and not give two hoots. Why? Because someone does not mind how I look when I grin. In fact someone finds me gorgeous… G.O.R.G.E.O.U.S. (Say it loud to yourself girl, you are not going to hear it everyday!) It really does not matter then, if the other looks/appreciates someone else…because YOU know what you mean to that person. You feel secure. (Eight days, keep repeating to self woman, eight days) And that's what I try and understand about other men: I guess we all look at someone/something that is appealing, but does it have to be at the cost of making your partner feel inadequate?

I am just overwhelmed. Kindness took it's time to come to me. Somewhere I feel like an abandoned pup that has now been adopted and is now being petted and loved and cuddled and played with and has her tummy scratched. And I want to say THANKYOU… for treating me like a human being.

Man! We ALL crave affection, WHY the fuck don’t we give it around then? And suddenly there is a very scary thought… what if all men DON’T cheat? What if I find someone who doesn’t and who… likes me back? Then?

And I am praying... all those who are hurting out there, lonely, tired, wanting a hug, a little smile, words that say that it's okay to be an idiot... I hope there are at least some moments, even if transitory that make you truly happy. And please, DON'T turn away from those moments because you are scared about what will happen in the Future. You and me, we really don't know.
PS: Long-forgotten voice of tarot reader: “You had a bitter death in your past life. You were an herbalist or had something to do with plants. You fell in love with someone who didn’t belong to your nation; he loved you back too. But he left and you were heartbroken and died lonely and bitter.

Grits teeth. NO. I wont think like this… and anyway, I cannot stop whatever has to unfold, but I can be happy till Armageddon. Am going to get my tummy scratched.

Still thinking about Multiple Partners: A year later!

For those who don't remember -- which should be most -- certain astrologers had
"predicted" that "if not married" I would certainly find many/a marriage proposal by November. Love would bloom etc too. Dear All and Sundry, it gives me mixed-delight to announce that soon it would be the last day of October. And as of now -- and I really don't see it happening on the last day, it's not a frigging cricket match -- I do not have any marriage proposals. Pleasure in the announcement that I caught them out and did not buy a topaz ring or anything to "nail the deal". Wry smile because am still mingling. The post below was written on October 29th, 2006, last year. And again, it is fucking irritating that not much has changed. Except perhaps for one little factor -- Earlier, I wrote absolutely honestly in my blog-posts. Now I still write honestly, albeit selectively. (Evil grin) Do read.

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Had a tarot card reading sometime last week, my second one, and this time with Doe Eyes in tow. This time too it seems, the ancient card system is intent on predicting a soul-o future for me. Soul-o mind you, not solo. According to both the tarot readers, my future is devoid of any soul mate. But apparently, instead of eternally moping in the doldrums of soul(mate)less singledom, i would be cavorting around with Multiple Partners!

Yes, the idea excited me as well...at least when it was first interpreted from the cards...and perhaps it was my evident delight at such a fate that Tarot Reader 2 quickly re-interpreted the cards to read thus: "You will have multiple partners all your life. In fact, as long as you have multiple partners, you will benefit and be happy. It's only when you will concentrate on one man that things won't be as good." (At this I do a quick jig and let out a loud, "Yea baby", upon which the following is then added to the prediction: "However, the multiple partners will not be at once...one man at a time only.") And I was thinking: oh, she meant multiple MEN all this while... My reading of the entire situation? The tarot readers weren't experimentative enough.

Speaking (decidedly) of men: Tarot Reader 1 further said i would soon be getting a "gentle, sensitive lover" but that I had to "allow him in." I dont exactly have a Do Not Enter sign outside, just that i frequently change the sign to 'Closed Due to Renovation' whenever I see a not-doing-anything-to-me dude...which seems to be happening a little too frequently. Perhaps it goes with being choosy...you dont like a lot of what you see and you dont want to pick whatever you see, no matter how big a bargain it is. And anyway, dont they say that when the bargain is too good, its usually second hand, faulty or stolen?So thanks to my Lets Be Choosy chromosome being recently activated, my current Multiple Partner/Men count is: Nada.

Despite the rather dismal Future Chances of Soul Mate predictions by the two tarot readers, it seems another set of heavenly bodies are somewhat more benevolent towards me. An astrologer and a palmist on two separate occasions -- yes, am developing a particularly macabre fondness for predictive sciences; soon i'd be laying wagers on the various Most Likely Futures Possible For Eve* options --- have said: (a) i would eventually "settle down" and would even give up everything for my man and child and (b) my second big relationship would be a success...but wont be a marriage. Shrug.

What do i make of all this? That i will find Some Suitable Man later in life AFTER I've had my fun making my billions and finding them Multiple Partners/Men. THAT is why i will give up everything once i meet the guy...by then i would have gotten what i want and that is why i would settle..because by then I would have had my fil(s) too. Multiple Partners. Yea baby! So where's that gentle, sensitive lover?

The Shagging Love Song

Fretting here in my studied gloom
Is jes another day spent in purple fumes
I got less time, with many to do
Yet I shag my hand, I'm cravin for you
But nothin ever happens
And I blunder

I'm ridin fine in your arms
I'm ridin you hard, I'm ridin you strong
And it disappears, the vision of you
So I shag my hand, I'm cravin for you
But nothin ever happens
And I blunder

I blunder how, I blunder why
The other day I rode this guy to heaven 'n' nigh
And all I saw was us speeding down the dee-en-dee
The leaves changed from green to brown
And I turn my finger, turn it up, in 'n' around
And all I saw was of us speeding down the dee-en-dee

Isolation is not good for me
Isolation - I don't wanna think of us on the dee-en-dee
I'm dancin' around, using every ploy
Baby anyhow I gotta do another guy
And though much will happen,
It'll be a blunder

(Or whatever.)
___________________________________________________________

"You hate men?! WHY?" This was not from any anonymous, but an acquaintance of a few shared night outs, amongst hordes of others. Another said on another conveyed chat, "Tell her to go back to the old Eve. She's gone mad."


Hmm. I don't hate men. I write about a particular kind of Men and they do exist. No matter how anyone, very moronically, will first read this blog and then thrash around on the floor in agony. Then while denying any "hatred" towards women, go on to wish me triple penetrations, rape, sodomy, gang-rape and fellatio. (Hain? Fellatio as a way of TIRING a woman? Excuse me. If the woman is angry and claims to have a temper like mine - verifiable by people - why would anyone ask for a blowjob? Or risk it?) Gangrapes, yes, are usually known to kill a woman than merely tire her. Wow. This anonymous person has strong anti-me feelings. And THEN the person claims to be a man AND wonders as to WHY I wrie nastily about men. Or, a particular kind of men.


Oh there are AMAZING men. I have met them too. They are the ones who are around when the nasty boys and the beastie boys have had their way. Most certainly, I have abetted in my own misery very willingly. Many so-called strong people who appear quite cant-ruffle-their-feathers and capable of looking after themselves, change when they (think they) fall in love. I think such people just like the idea of letting go of the control and either looking after someone else or being looked after and therefore lose control of their own vulnerability. They show their weak spots. They give (in). They get fucked-over. Ditto.


Is it strange, that even the AMAZING men who are there in my life have had some sort of Nasty Love Story? It involves the female version of the nasty-boys. At times I wonder, if the beasties hurt me and the good ones are around, WHY doesn't anything work out anywhere? Neither of us are interested. Many of my single, eligible friends have their own set of single, eligible friends and yet, no one dates anyone and everyone remains single and eligible. I suspect they fuck though.


When certain people ask "what's so special here?" (no, it doesn't 'bother' me, I like to be able to answer questions posed to me), I think of the Few Good Men. I think all people should think of them (haha, few good people, not necessary for men to think of men, heh) when questioned by nasties. Science says that for a man and woman to be friends, attraction is a must. Whether you choose to do something about it or not is another matter. I suspect that sometimes opposite-sex friendships are also based on pity, when one lets the other hang around becase (a) it doesn't make a difference to you (b) you like your ego pampered and (c) when you know the other is 'dependent' on you and therefore you apply (a) But the pity-friendships don't last, the stronger person usually pulls out on first signs of trouble. Anyway. I think of my good male-friends and the fact that they are bloody good human beings, intelligent men, funny men, capable men, men with spine AND they are my friends. There HAS to be something special about me to have them around. Likewise for all of us... even one good person in our lives negates any number of Nasties.


Erm. I have already declared that I am a pessimist-trying-to-control-it person. So the corresponding negative-thought to the positive-good-men-like-me-thought would be ---> What if these men have YOU around as a pity-friend, Eve*?`Considered that 'sweety'?" But then I am also a perfectionist and like to cover all loop-holes. Or perhaps I am being a typical woman, typically needing constant validation of affection? Hmm. Let's fucking be positive for this moment at least. That's the problem with losing trust you know, you fucking doubt everything. Even your own positive thoughts.


Blah. This post is supposed to be Positive, or was. Reclaiming positivity... Few Good Men (so far): He got me interested in new words, 'chutzpah' being the first he threw at me. He who offers a conversation and company when most needed and shows me brilliant films. He who spends an idle, ideal day that translates into evening and night and doesn't ask any questions when I shut-up for hours at an end. (also the reason why I should perhaps not go to anymore
parties, I go to sleep.) He who's offered me a roof time and again, without a single motive or me giving anything back, ever. Some strangers who have strangely shielded me from other strangers around when I'm trying to get a drink for myself over the bar... I'm short, I get crowded out. So these strangers would just sort of ward off others, buying me the time to get a drink, smile politely, let me pass. They never touch. It's SUCH a nice feeling.

And club bouncers! Ha, ha, there used to be one at Pluto's (now dead restobar that I frequented on Thursday nights way back in 2000-2003) me thinks, who could raise a brow. I never spoke to him, but when I'd get there and be dancing, he'd keep and eyebrow out for me and would arch it threateningly at any not-so-nice company around me. He was my personal Rock. Heh. Uff. I'm digressing into stories... Or he who calls randomly, messages randomly, checks on me and I always make a promise of calling back and follow through religiously by not doing so. And so on and so forth. Can't write anymore, somehow, these stories are more personal.

PS: Notes to self
Romantic: Men don't like you.
Cynic: Yes, I know. (scowl) Aren't you supposed to be dead?
Ghost Romantic: I'm haunting you. Besides, what are you going to do about men not liking you?Cynic: Nothing. Shrug.
GR: Writing 'shrug' is not cool, by the way.
Cynic: shrug.
GR: You are SUCH a teenager. What do you mean nothing?
Cynic: There are some things you can do nothing about...
GR: Stop being mysterious, doesn't suit you. You're very bad at it...
Cynic: Shrug. Like the sun rises from the east. You can do nothing even if your room is placed anti-Feng Shui directions.
GR: You're trying to be cool again.
Cynic: Yes. Shrug. At least I try. Somethings can be changed, somethings can't. Men don't like me. Period.
GR: Hmm...
Cynic: Dy'er maker...
GR: Medicine...
Cynic: Let's go sleep.

Will you like my backside?

To miss you
Is such a waste of time
For one, you won’t come back
Two, you were never mine.

To miss you
Is also very irritating.
First I won’t be able to piss you off
Second, no more sadistic waiting.

To miss you
Is to want your hair
For one, to lash across my face
Two, caress every inch that’s bare.

To miss you
Is to hear your brazen laughter
For one, it awakens every sense in me
Two, I like the way you look after

To miss you
Is to deny your existence
First, I don’t really think of you much
Second, missing you is just pretense.

And I can’t think of anymore rhyming lines. Also, I am getting pissed off thinking about You. You, who? Yoohoo!

“Last night I saw a side of you I wish I had never seen,” said another. Well, what side do I show then? The inside? Outside? Backside? My early-morning side is definitely out. I don’t look pretty when I wake up, you know. I look… sleepy. Definitely not like the women who inspire early morning poetry on look-how-she-sleeps-like-the-morning-dew etc. If my nose is blocked, I will even sleep with my mouth open. Not very dewy, I’m sorry.

Then there’s the side of me that loses temper. The side that flares for a minute (or some) and lord! How it flares. It scares a lot of men. It turns off most others and blows my chances of making crazy love after a crazy fight. Again, I don’t look like any goddamningly beautiful warrior princess or anything when angry. I just look a small woman getting really angry. And my mouth does draw into a very thin, tight line and my eyes get very mean. So I don’t think you will like that side of me either. Shrug. No one seems to like the entire package.

“You don’t always look beautiful.” Yes, I know, I am sorry, forgot to insist on that one before I met you. You don’t look beautiful, you get too angry, you have too many opinions, why do you have to say something everywhere, why aren’t you patient enough, etc. So I am not all that you want me to be. Do you think I should kill myself for it? Arre baba, DON’T like me. Go away. Look! Turn your head and you will see the most gorgeous woman walking down towards you. There, now you can grovel at her feet. Sigh. Beautiful women scare me. I ALWAYS lose out to them. (grim) Smile.

And yes, Apollonia surfaces again. Apollonia? The drop-dead gorgeous Sicilian chick Michael Corleone falls for in The Godfather and forgets his fiance-in-waiting, Kay Adams. So no matter WHO I like, there will always be an Apollonia and I will always be plainer than her. SO BE FUCKING IT.

And I miss dancing. There is SO much pent-up energy that I NEED to get it out of my system. Men are not helping. They don’t do anything for the energy, except for fucking trying to psychoanalyse me. Seriously, why bother?

DEAR GOD.
Isn’t there ANYONE with whom I can just BE? Who can fucking handle me? Who will know when to keep quiet – while I blow my lid – and then put me in my place with some terse words? (Anything more would make me violent, ha ha) Someone who will see through the sometimes-false bravado and call my bluff? And yet someone who will hold me close when sometimes, I put the confidence on a hanger? Someone who tires me in bed? And yet has the patience to wait for me to open up? So I am combative… don’t tell me, dear god, that you didn’t create even ONE man who can match up? What the fuck. And don’t tell me, dear God, that you’re vacationing either. I haven’t had a holiday since March 2006, how the hell are you on a break?

AAAAAAAAARGH. I so, so, so NEED to dance.

Men, Free Willy and the Need For Seed

Each time, each and every time you talk about men and cheating, at least 14 responses will point to how it’s evolution and not the men. How it is SUPPOSED to be like that since men have a genetic need to spread their seed around. (seed=sperm)

A man needs to screw around because genetically, evolutionarily, he is supposed to make a whole lot of babies. It’s funny though that despite this rather dire need to have as many babies as possible, MOST men go purple in their faces at the mention of the word ‘babies’. Also, given that most sensible – and medically aware – men would use a condom when fucking around… HOW are you spreading the seed baby?

Women are supposed to live with the fact that a man or their man will cheat and sleep around. And those women who do not understand that are of course supposed to fuck off or shag themselves or something. However, I would like to point out a small evolutionary detail that most men forget.

According to the Survival of the Fittest theory, the male of a species mated with many females (of his own species till the species called men decided to do other beings with orifices) to ensure he had many offspring. And no, even in the evolutionary order of things, men did not have much love for their own offspring, the looking after was the chick’s job. To have many offspring, the male mated with a number of females.

Now THAT is the theory that the 21st century man – and the men in earlier centuries – have been giving women to explain their cheating around. Unfortunately for the 21st century male, the Creator of the Universe had really not made much leeway for doctors and the medical profession increasing chances of survival. Suddenly, you did not need to produce as many kids. But of course, men chose to ignore that fact.

Even if say men are REALLY genetically helpless to NOT fuck around, they seem to hear or understand only PART of the theory of evolution. While a male indeed had many female mates to spread his seed….it was not EVERY male. The females ONLY mated with the top-rated males. Alpha males. They didn’t mind sharing quality sperm as long as they (females) knew that the offspring would have the genes of the strongest, fittest, most able male. The females did not let ANY male mate with them. If one of the other buggers tried, usually the alpha male shooed it away; more often than not, the females managed to shoo away on their own.

So now, coming to the human situation…. It’s funny how every man, whether he can get it up or not, expects to fuck around because he thinks it’s his bloody genetic, evolutionary right. It’s not. The WEAKER males could only sniff a desirable female’s crotch, not get to mate with her. In human-terms, that sniffing is called “teasing”. It’s never nice. But hey, women are GENETICALLY engineered to choose the best possible option from those around. WHY blame them, hmm?

Like, you, dear men, want to spread your seed, women – when they cheat – are perhaps trying to enforce quality control by not letting every other ass screw them. And yes, there are women who sleep around for the heck of it. However, that’s SLEEPING around when NOT in a relationship; not cheating.

And if women DON’T sleep around as much as they would like to for fear of being called “sluts”… NO woman goes around discussing who she is sleeping with (unless she blogs, heh). It is the men – again – who need to declare their conquests and who they are sleeping with. Men label a woman slut AND have a problem that women don’t sleep around as much. It’s a control thing. I am YET to meet a man – no matter how “liberal” – who would go around talking about how his girlfriend/wife/partner CHEATS on him or prefers to have other man/men as well. So men do the next best thing. They try to spoil a free-thinking, alpha-male choosing woman’s choices by calling her a slut.

No baba. A woman who sleeps around is not a slut. She just doesn’t get it enough or as good as from you or one man. Therefore, she exercises her GENETIC right. Just like you do when you sleep around. Once men get used to the fact that their woman might want to sleep with another man and do NOT label women as sluts… women too shall stop having problems with their men cheating around. And we would have one humpy-dory world.

PS: Bumped into Ex-2001, who is now a father and we talked about cheating. I said, “Where there is a will, you shall find a way.” He answered, “I don’t know…my willy always finds a way.” Bwaaahahahaha.

Come cheat on me baybee....

I am really foxed and the more I think about it, the more it escapes me. Or perhaps, the answer is so obvious that I don’t really want to accept it. Perhaps men cheat because they can. Or perhaps because they can get away with it. Or perhaps because women don’t cheat as much.
Oh sure yes, there have been women who have dumped their guy for another, or cheated on their man and then dumped him. But don’t you see, women usually cheat on their men to LEAVE them for another. I really don’t know of women who randomly do men or sleep around with whatever/whoever catches their fancy just because… Just because! I have heard stories of women cheating on their partners/husbands when they were not happy, or because the said partner/husband was not satisfying them physically, emotionally, monetarily, etc. Point being, there is a REASON why women cheat.

Much unlike WHY men cheat. There is no why, men simply cheat. Or at least, majority of the men I have met have been the cheating sort; and I don’t mean the men I have dated. Even those I see around me, are my friends, colleagues or generally around. Men cheat. I am trying my best to think of cases or men who don’t cheat, but so far, other than said man/men’s word that they are monogamous or committed and do not cheat, the proof is contrary to the few men who CAN say they don’t cheat. I am yet to see it for myself.

I have asked many of my male friends, the reason why they cheat. Sometimes, even without asking, they volunteer the information. Here are some of the reasons I have heard/ been told about why really, the male chooses to wander:

“Tonight is an office party, I am hoping to meet some hot chicks, maybe get lucky with one of them.” On being reminded that he had told me he had a fairly active sex life with his then girlfriend – who is now his wife – my friend replied, “Yeah sure. But you don’t expect me to have sex with the same woman again and again? I get bored dude.” This discussion took place a week or so after he got engaged to then-girlfriend-now-wife.

“I only cheat when I am sure I don’t love the woman I am with. When I am committed, I don’t cheat.” That was one of my ex boyfriends who was making it clear that he would cheat on me – but kept insisting that he had not so far – since he did not love me. Very pleasant, he was. When I asked him if he was perhaps okay with me cheating on him too, he said, “Of course not. You will go straight out that door if you do anything of the sort.” But DUDE, you don’t love me, shouldn’t it be both ways?

“You cannot sleep with another man. Then we cannot work out.” This WAS one of the dude's I really liked and we perhaps got very close to dating each other, but our mutual timings sucked. He was caught in something, I was getting out of something and something just could not happen. Now he dates another… And has cheated on that other with me. Shrug. But of course, he still does not like the idea of his girlfriend cheating on him. And of course, what she does not know cannot hurt her.

“But I LIKE women!” Well, what can one say to that one? This was dude dating another really HOT girl; and was strangely hitting on me (strangely because she was waaaaaaay better looking, hotter, etc than I can ever manage to be, even with a lot of effort put in). His response was “because I love your personality. Your confidence is so alluring.” He was good with words and perhaps I might have been tempted if at the precise moment he was doling out those lines, his girlfriend – who is now ex – had not called and he had not started sweet-talking her while trying to do weird things to my hand. I think he was trying pressure-point maneuvers. I was plain disgusted.

“They are just sex, fucky-fucky baby, no one can threaten the girlfriend.” Ah, another ex, explaining how I was different and he respected me and all that and how since he respected me, he needed to screw around.

“I need a Cow. To marry.” Another dude, deciding on marrying a chick and wondering how much he can get away with. Why? Because, “I don’t believe in marriage as a concept.” Erm, so WHY marry her? I am sure she wouldn’t want to be called a cow or thought of as one. He also wants a cow because she would be “simple and straight-forward and not much experienced and she wouldn’t ask too many questions.”

“Women are my weakness. No matter how much I love a woman, I need other women around me.” The ‘around me’ of course means he wants to do more than just have them hanging around him.

What REALLY foxes me is: HOW do men keep the ‘love’ and the ‘lust’ separate? How do they nonchalantly fuck one woman and go to another and profess love to her? Can a human being – even if said human being is a man – REALLY love a woman IF he can fuck another woman without a thought about either women? How can a man be so sure of loving one woman when he is blatantly cheating on her… Of course, here I am assuming that the said love-of-his-life-woman does NOT like being cheated on. HOW can men just fuck women without bothering to see the PERSON behind that casual screw? If they meet an interesting woman and screw her, don’t they want to know her?

HOW do men keep the guilt away? I want to know, I want to learn. I have not cheated on the men in my life. Never two-timed. Erm, except when I was 14; and then too I was a virgin, so my cheating was basically being both their ‘girlfriend’ at the same time. Till yesterday, I was under the illusion that I had cheated on one of my latest ex-es. But then realized that in the period I was thinking I was STILL with him, he had already announced on facebook and orkut and to his friend circle that we were not together. So technically, I did not cheat on him.

So... I don’t cheat on my men. And if at all, I have remotely come close to temptation – the kind I KNOW I will follow through or want to – I walk out of the existing relationship. Again, I don’t get tempted unless my man is being nasty to me. Strangely, and I feel like a complete fool feeling like that, given that no amount of dedication stops a guy from cheating on you – strangely, when I am happy with my man, I don’t need another. I will be happy with his jokes, his out-of-tune singing, the silly videos he will make, or whatever else good and not-so-good thing and I will stick with him. For better or for worse. I am tempted when what I have is lacking. And it’s never physical. Oh sure, I will be creaming in my panties at the sight of strong, shapely shoulders, a perfectly V-shaped torso, strong calf muscles, jeans that fit a strong, strong thigh (ummmmm….), strong hands and strong fingers, a defined jawline, a cleft on that strong chin, nice hair… (ok this is going overboard and it’s quite a delectable picture that’s forming in my head) …BUT, I will ONLY admire. And think that the dude is hot. I will not compare such dude (oh what a dude!) to my man or wish I was in bed with him or give in to if said-such-man were to give me attention etc. Nope. I would go back home to my baby and be happy.
BUT. Put a man in that situation and he would say, “Are you fucking crazy you want to let go off that chance? Screw him man! He is hot.”

Men. I love them. I REALLY don’t understand them at times. And then the buggers have the audacity to say that women are complicated. (Scowl)

There's the bitch; and then, there's the Ace Bitch.

Hello!

(Big grin, hair all over the place, eyes squinting with remnant of sleep, little red, hot pants with ‘surf chic’ written on the bum and the warning that the bloody things can get transparent when wet, haha, skimpy white top, no bra, loads of goose bumps and more… hahaha…yes yes….GOODmorning people)

Up at 6.20am Eight hours of sleep! Positively cold breeze. Temple bells. Lazily rising sun. Goose bumps Thighs. Arms. Areoli. (evil grin) Conscience? Dead! Guilt. None. Outlook. Positive. Trouble. Others. Monday. Edit. Ugh. Molu marriage. Missed. Sigh. Another marriage. Ha ha. Phone. Miss you moto!

I have woken up happy, or let’s say, not sad. It usually means either thing: Something nasty will unfold today or.. something not so nice will happen. Well, various horoscopes announce I should take things positively. Yes, yes, I am very positive. Just that the kind of positive am being, am very honestly worried about the others around me. This is the kind of positive feeling I wake up with when I am about to… well, say finalise on a kill. Or when I know a hunt will go well. What hunt, you ask? Ah. Well. :)

The last week or so has been an amazingly perceptions’ clearing kind of time. I saw the TRUE face of Man. And no matter how many cry out that one should not generalize. Fuck you babies. ALL men are the same. Like one of my ex-e’s mom had told me in 2001, “Horses and men will graze.” (Was told that after I had discovered some rather hot emails being sent to and fro between him and his much married chick best-friend who had pinched my cheeks the evening earlier and had called me “little sister” and all.)

You could be the most beautiful woman in the world. You could suck your man off twice in a day – goodmorning sucky and the goodnight sucky. You could even be ready to suck him during soccer matches. Or offer your arse each time he is not feeling like sex. Be the best cook in the world. Look after the bastard. Oops. Look after the darling. Be good to his parents and his friends. Be his arm candy when he takes you to meet friends and at his office parties. Understand his need to have gorgeous women friends. And yet, darling. Your man will never be yours. Ever.

He could fuck someone else who has the Perfect Cover Girl body. Why? Because hell, he has never fucked anyone who looks remotely like a cover girl. He could fuck someone with perfect biscuits for an abdomen. Why? Because hell, how many women can manage biscuits ya? He will simply fuck around because he can and because what you don’t know cannot hurt you. And he will insist that that is how evolution meant a MAN to be.

Are ALL men like this? Not really. But that’s because either they cannot get another woman to screw them or cannot manage the time to manage too many women. But like Jeffrey Archer said in The Firm, “Give any man assurance that his wife/partner wont find out and he will cheat.”
I don’t want such a man or such men. IF I am to open to my partner cheating around, pray tell me, WHY should I waste my time – except for screwing him, IF he is a good screw that is – on more things on him? I have much, much more to offer and refuse to settle for anything lesser.
I woke up happy this morning because I realized that I CAN lose my conscience. I can be a bitch. As someone recently called me – no, not anonymously, heh – that I am a “nasty piece of work.” Why, thank-you. I am just starting. Oh, I am just starting.

I have followed the Pattern of Self-Destructive relationships to the last alphabet. Been trying to love and all. But dudes and dudettes…it’s gonna change now. Got to change. It will too. Enough now na. I know what I want and what I don’t want. Till I don’t get what I want, let the others watch out for me. No shame. No guilt. No conscience. And I really don’t care WHO gets hurt now. I have been watching out for myself, it’s high time others handled their own shit too. So dear world, here comes Me.

PS: there are more thoughts on the subject; this post was written in extreme haste. But I need more time to pen/type those down. Will come through. In time. I have loads of time, in my head.

T & T

This and that. That and this. Waterfalls behind kitchens. Mountains. Kalimpong. The white nightgown. 37 kgs. Shoulder blades. Midival Punditz... saathi haath badhana? Happily ever after. Macabre. Mother. Investments and tax. Deadline. Script. Insomnia. Silk Cut. Parantha and butter. Lots of butter. Butter that clogs the pores. The nostril. No breath. Spinning head. Turbulent thoughts. Peace? Piece. Scalpel. Incision. Incisive. Decisive. Derisive. Deride. Self-obsessed. Stubborn? Determined. Really? Aim? Uh. Bitter? More like raw. Howl. to the moon. Two-in-one. One in two? in my head. swirling. twirling. twisting. turning. love. bite. love bites. lol. also called hickey. hic. insanity? silly excuse. and, no. volume. ear plugs. poke. stoke. broke. broken. empty. use and throw. use me, hey! throw and use? would be recycle. motorcycle! crash. itch. hitch. sai baba. fertility god. nymphomaniac. lol. maniac. water. flood. drown. yamuna. declare. really? aver? what? amavasya. venus retrograde. huh? DJ. friend. dont go. or perhaps no. can i call you? perhaps no. scraped. insides. uterus. the core of eve's apple, forever within her as her uterus. lump. breast. the lump called breast. or breasts. darla and dorothy. not identical. mole. role. hole. fall. anonymous. annoy mouse. rodent. hamster. no. NO! vibrate? electrocute. me. bad hair day. nonsense.

i want pain, huge amounts of it. physical pain. so it shuts out what's happening in my head. can't seem to stop it. it's on autopilot. on a vertical nose dive. and no stimulus, really. set to self-destruct anytime. can hear it. grinding together, mish-mash, swish-swash. some parts inside the head feel heavier. perhaps the blood curdles there. why? no promises ever made. no, no. not promises. i am disappointed. in me. for even... wishing. sickening fucking sense of want. oh, please love me? woof, woof. wag, wag. haha. and really. cant be self-confident, bullshitting self always. THIS is me. insecure. unsure. wanting. wanton. craving. crayon. lol. bad one. i really want some pain. like acupuncture needles. only, not to relieve pain. relive perhaps. might take the mind off and make it STOP.

PLEASE make it stop. swirling. twirling. cant let me walk. or work. just spinnnnnnnnnnnnnning.

please stop.

Your application for candidature: Rejected, Again

‘Beyond salvage’ is perhaps the phrase for it. And very sincerely, even I am perhaps beginning to get scared of who I am and how I am. The reasons perhaps that make me so unloveable. There is no beating around the bush. For that is what I am – momentary entertainment, bit of exasperation and damnably, rejected. Ha, ha.

What sucks big time is that I sincerely don’t understand why. What’s wrong with me.. can you please tell me? Someone?

So I used to be fat. Now? Some find me skinny, others announce I have the best body. Oh, the compliments fly in thick and fast. But those are just hollow words…momentary pacification. Or humiliation. Who knows? I don’t for sure. Maybe people laugh behind their backs when they say nice things to me … and if (rarely) they do find me believing those remotely nice things about me. So, I am supposed to have a sense of humour and make people laugh. But maybe they laugh AT me and not with me.

I am also supposed to be someone who parties like a rockstar. Ha, ha. Really. Let’s count the number of people who genuinely want to BE with me or even spend some hours of their evening with me. One: He definitely wants to get into my pants. Two: She, being a basically nice person invited me to her birthday party because I happened to be around when she was deciding the details of her party. And that’s about it.

Right now, I am having a splitting headache. The more I think, the more the head hurts. It feels as if it would explode any moment, splattering gyri-fulci on the wall behind me. I cannot decide if the headache is better or worse than the strange, constant, dull ache in my heart. Or that region. I cant seem to make people be ‘sure’ of me. And I don’t know what to do now. Or how to try. Or what to say.


Earlier it was all about so-he-wants-to-screw-me. Now, they don’t even want to screw me. Ha, ha. Some are scared of me and others ‘respect’ me and still others don’t find me screwable. Funny, it should have made me feel nice or something. I just feel… rejected. Like, damn, I am not even worthy of a random fuck now? Maybe I should just go out one night and DO a lot of men. But then there are two things that stop me from doing that. One: Most men would be drunk on such an expedition and THEN I would never be sure if it was the alcohol or if it was me. Two: What if no one wants to do me? what then?

And I really don’t care how many Anonymous people bitch me out AFTER announcing my name on this blog. I did not delete that comment. How much more can I be rejected and how much worse can it get?

I am extremely tired. And beaten. You win. And you, and you, and you and you.

You can be unsure of me… even I am not sure of me anymore. But the problem, you see, is that I don’t know any other way to be. So, I guess, I am sorry, AGAIN…that, unwittingly, like the prized arsehole that I am, I tried again. Here, I pull out my imperfect, extremely flawed self…

Wishing everyone love, luck, friends, happiness and PEACE… even my ‘share’ of those things, if at all there is a ‘my share’. May no one ever suffer their own self. Nothing hurts more than NOT knowing what’s wrong with you. On that note, here is a joke:

She met him out of the blue. It happened unplanned, undecided, unscripted. Destiny decided it for her. He sparkled and she was hooked. Try as she might, she could not put up any façade before him, could not be her public persona. She was starkly honest about who she was and how she was. First, he laughed at her… that she liked him. She enjoyed his laughter. It made his eyes twinkle. Then he disbelieved her, that she could like him…because perhaps she was too flighty. Then he kept asking her why she was with him… doubting her. She could not explain enough that he kept her grounded… Made her feel special. He was not even a bastard. He had never hurt her. But she hurt. She wanted him to love her. He would not. Then he said he was not sure. She was heartbroken, finally. She was embarrassed at who she was. Or who she could not be. She went away.

Then, there was a knock on her door. It was Him. She opened the door and he enveloped her in his arms. Holding her and molding her to his body in the same way he had instinctively done it the first time. He was the only one to have got it right… the way she always wanted to be held. She felt safe. And loved. And wanted. Then he looked at her and said, “But I do love you.” She asked, “Even though I am hyper, fly off the handle, am full of myself, cannot be controlled, look bad on camera and will never get a book published or have people interview me?” He laughed at her like he always did, his eyes twinkling and he kissed her. His chaste, soul-uplifting kiss. She was happy.

Then she fell off the bed and woke up and realized he was never there. He was gone. She closed her eyes tightly and wished the dream would come back. He would. But it was gone. She started crying.

Random Wishlist...

... because I don't feel like writing anything "meaningful". But then, what means something and what does not are completely subjective things.

1. Body massage: where I am buck naked and not bothered about what is showing and what is not and where I can groan with absolute abandon when my body is pulverized. Yes. It needs to be pulverized.

2. New specs: was discussing how blind I am with another friend and realized that I am bloody blind. (It was the combination of spinach and sulphuric acid I got in my eyes during a badly planned experiment in Chemistry class in school) Not nice when you are small and need to letch at men from above many heads and amongst many waists. You end up looking at wrong things and then trying to ward off unwanted, bad-looking attention all evening.

3. New chappals: Black, white and red, that should handle all events etc for me, since darling Golu and Loona have systematically gone through ALL my to-wear-outside footwear. The only two left are two pairs of boots; one being calf-length with rhinestones that need to be removed. I have just come back from a VERY official assignment – politicians and all – where I wore my bathroom slippers. Yes, I wear them to work as well. (Grin, my dad would disown me. From not being allowed to step out of the house without shoes WITH socks, his daughter has come to bathroom slippers. Hah) (Hmm, perhaps another set of spaghetti straps in some more colours and perhaps a couple of shirts. And little, skimpy panties, I just love them. Hmm. At times it's embarrassing, the fact that I don't shop.)

4. An open jeep: Much as everyone tells me that a car is the safest; I would much rather go for an all-terrain, open jeep that is fucking sturdy (since a bike would invite far more attention). I wouldn’t mind retractable blades that come out from the wheel-disc or something. And maybe an oil-slick device to de-road vehicles that are tailing me. Yeah! Why would vehicles tail me? Shrug. Just because they have not so far does not mean they wouldn’t in the future! Also, given Delhi’s road rage, I don’t want to take a chance.

5. Punching bag or speed ball: The violence in me, oh the violence in me! ;) Since I don’t have too many physical outlets for all my energy – and typing really does not count as ‘exertion’ in my books – I NEED something. And once I can train my punches, it will also motivate me to practice in real AND stand me in good stead as and when I do get into trouble (which is often).

6. A belt with hidden spikes that I can open quickly. Also, to learn to swing it around in style and hit out with it. (I did mention a serrated knife in an earlier post, didn’t I?)

(Hmm…too many devices of violence)

7. A cat: I miss having a kitty-cat around! (But should ask Golu & Loona what they think of the idea) Cats are so sexy it’s not funny; even when they lie on their backs with all four paws in the air. Cats just do not look ungracious. My walk was different when I lived with cats. I sort of imbibed their body language. And you can well imagine, raising one leg and scratching your sides like dogs is NOT graceful. Also, I love Golu and Loona, but sometimes… they are just SO loving, even when I am in a nasty mood that out of GUILT I have to be sweet to them. Nothing is more irritating than a wagging tail in a scowling face. You don’t have to do anything like that with a cat. You can be as nasty with them, even throw them around the room. They will either scratch you or land on their feet, no harm done. Doggies give you hurt looks and all. The bloody shits. With kitties it’s pretty simple: Your bad mood is your problem and the moment they sense you are in a bad mood, they pretty much ignore you. Ah, I miss that indifference. ;) (I miss my soul cat so much…)

8. Personal pleasure possum: Translated, it reads, man, who does exactly what I want him to… in bed. (Elsewhere I would be bored of such a man in two seconds flat) And yeah, it should be someone I can mistreat without feeling any guilt. Like someone whose calls I don’t take, who I keep hanging, who I give weird notions of space and then crib when he doesn’t call me 17 times, of course I will not answer the calls when he does call me 17 times. Someone who brings me flowers and then I distribute those flowers amongst friends. Or gives me chocolates and I throw them away or something saying I don’t like those chocolates. Ah. I just want a man I can be REALLY nasty to. Just for fun. Shrug. Yeah, make him reheat dinner while I call some other man. Compare him to other men and make him feel like a waste of space and generally tell him how he sucks. Then, of course, make him go down on me and THEN roll off to the other side of the bed and go off to sleep. He can jerk off for all I care. Or, get him all turned on and then suddenly say, “Oh wait I got to make a call” and then talk on the phone for two hours… to another man. Maybe have phone sex while he waits. (Sigh, pleasant, pleasant thoughts, abusing a man) And THEN, pass him on to my chick friends to abuse.

9. Push speed limits: Have not done that for a bit… The last I drove a motorcycle was in 2005 and I severely miss it. So I want to get atop a bike, strap on my helmet, wear my jacket and scare some of those pillion-riding jackasses on the road. It pisses me off when men on bikes think they are really cool. I can teach some guys a thing or two. For one, I CAN do a 360 degree turn on a bike and STILL be standing. AND I can do that wearing 7 inch heels. Beat that bastards.

10. Dance on stage with Shakira AND walk away with the attention. Shrug. I know I can do it. And now she has boring straight hair while mine – owing to sheer laziness to go to the parlour and give it any form – is going all over the place. Truth be told, I love my hair when it looks like nothing. Yeah. I REALLY want a night where I can dance to my heart’s content without wondering about social niceties or norms or which-man-is-pissing-me-off. I want my release. Again and again and again.

PS: For some strange, inexplicable reason; I am happy. And a tad worried – my true nature shows through! – that now that I am happy, perhaps something bad is about to happen. But hell. We shall see.

The Cynic and The Romantic

ROMANTIC: What would you do if your soul mate stood before you?
CYNIC: You believe in soul mates?
ROMANTIC: yes!
CYNIC: let me rephrase… you still believe in soul mates?
ROMANTIC: yes!
CYNIC: you are stupid.
ROMANTIC: I am not stupid.
CYNIC: (lights cigarette) No?
ROMANTIC: (smiles) So… what would you do if your soul mate stood before you?
CYNIC: There is a basic problem with that question. You see I don’t believe in…
ROMANTIC: No, no, just believe that you do believe in love and romance and someone, somewhere actually loving you and WANTING you… and in soul mates. So what would you..
CYNIC: yeah, yeah, got the question. Let me think.
ROMANTIC: (smiles)
CYNIC: Why are you smiling so much?
ROMANTIC: I have never seen you this confused or scared to answer. You usually have rather quick answers and strong opinions on most things.
CYNIC: is that a bad thing?
ROMANTIC: No, not at all. But right now, we are discussing what would you…
CYNIC: Argh. I GOT the question. Shut up. I would say hello.
ROMANTIC: WHAT? You meet your soul mate and all you would say is Hello?
CYNIC: Shrug. Yeah. Won’t you greet him? It’s polite. What would YOU do?
ROMANTIC: Why, I would run to him, hold his dear, dear face in my hands and kiss his brow. Then I would hold him close to me and…
CYNIC: What if he pushes you away?
ROMANTIC: What? No, no, he will not do that.
CYNIC: how do you know? Maybe in your enthusiasm to hug him etc, you step on his toe?
ROMANTIC: Oho stupid, he will not push me away because he is soul mate.
CYNIC: What if he does not know it? Or even better, does not want to know it? Denies that he is soul mate. Then?
ROMANTIC: (frowns) But why would he not want to know? Or deny?
CYNIC: Because he is bored.
ROMANTIC: how do you know?
CYNIC: I don’t. I am the Cynic, remember? It’s my job to think like that.
ROMANTIC: No, no. He will want me as much as I want him.
CYNIC: He could WANT you; but there’s a difference between wanting and agreeing to be soul mate.
ROMANTIC: Erm, you don’t agree to BE soul mate baba. You are. And even so, why would be not agree to be soul mate? What a weird concept!
CYNIC: (Bored) Oi, idiot. Being soul mate etc is hell of a responsibility. Or perhaps he is bored waiting. Or tired. Or sick of the whole concept thing. Maybe you are late. Maybe your timing is off.
ROMANTIC: There is no timing in love… You just love…
CYNIC: Phui. Timing is everything babe. There is a lot that happens in a person’s life BEFORE meeting prospective soul mates. For instance, he could have thought of someone else as soul mate and therefore has no mind space or heart space or simply no space for another… Considered that my love? What if he thinks you are not soul mate?
ROMANTIC: But if I feel… how can he not? That cannot happen. He must know. (little flutter of panic)
CYNIC: It’s not always about you. Are you panicking?
ROMANTIC: No. Not too much. And stop manipulating this conversation. You said we would both get a chance to speak out here…
CYNIC: (hates it but) Ok, fair enough. However, you HAVE to consider the possibility that your soul mate might not agree to being your soul mate. And anyway, HOW are you so sure you would know when you would meet him?
ROMANTIC: Because…
CYNIC: Yeah?
ROMANTIC: Because…
CYNIC: Am listening…
ROMANTIC: SHUTUP and let me complete. Because I would know it's Him.
CYNIC: Wow. Why? Will he come with a placard? What if he is in disguise? Or does not look the part?
ROMANTIC: what do you mean "not look the part"? There is no "looking the part."
CYNIC: Impressed, I am. So you don't have a set This Is How He Looks for your soul mate? Nice. There is some sense left in you...
ROMANTIC: Shutup, you are obnoxious. I would know he is soul mate because it would feel right. It would be different. Not the same. It would not hurt. And I wont be able to control it; neither would you…
CYNIC: Control Him you mean?
ROMANTIC: No, no. I would not want to control him… You don’t try to control when you meet your soul mate. You let him be. YOU know it too. That would be a major sign. Letting go of the control.
CYNIC: Speak for yourself sweety, I cannot let go of control, no ma’am.
ROMANTIC: Perhaps not you. But me, I would let him be. Whatever or however he is. Because, you see, he would let me be.
CYNIC: Wah, haha, utopia! Even if that means him NOT thinking of you as soul mate?
ROMANTIC: Oh. No, no. He cannot think like that. Will he? Why would he? We will laugh together, we will feel safe together, I will never, ever hurt him, he will know that, I won’t let anything hurt him, he will never hurt me, we will try our best, I will love him more than I can love myself…
CYNIC: He is not interested. As in, he won’t be…
ROMANTIC: HOW are you so sure? And why are you saying nasty things?
CYNIC: Simply because you are basing your Soul Mate Version 2.1 on weak premises. You are assuming he wants all the things you want. You don’t know that. Again, as I said, timing is everything. You could be all sunny and lovely and wanting to love; and he might not want it. Then?
ROMANTIC: No, no…
CYNIC: Stop that juvenile “No, no”. Just because YOU have decided that Said So-and-so is soul mate does not mean the other has to agree to it.
ROMANTIC: (small voice) I did not decide. It happens. Out of the blue. And you can sense the difference. You behave differently. You WANT to try.
CYNIC: And if he does not want to try at all?
ROMANTIC: But WHY would he not want to try?
CYNIC: BECAUSE he does not WANT to be soul mate, dude. Maybe he does not want you. Maybe it’s not even about you. Can’t you see that?
ROMANTIC: You are trying to hurt me…
CYNIC: You are trying to be intentionally daft.
ROMANTIC: I am not daft.
CYNIC: Yeah, sorry. You are a hopeless romantic. Ha ha.
ROMANTIC: What’s funny about it?
CYNIC: Nothing. Shrug. Just that ‘romantic’ always comes with a ‘hopeless’. (ha ha) No one says ‘hopeless cynic’.
ROMANTIC: Cynics have no hope.
CYNIC: Because cynics are not daft.
ROMANTIC: I am not daft.
CYNIC: Yeah. You are Hopeless.
ROMANTIC: You are Faithless, and loveless and hopeless. (with finality)
CYNIC: Nope. I am just heartless.
ROMANTIC: this conversation is not going anywhere.
CYNIC: I knew it from the beginning.

(Romantic then chucks a shoe at Cynic, which Cynic expertly dodges. Then Cynic picks the shoe and throws it back at Romantic, playfully. The shoe hits the Romantic right between the eyes. She dies).

CYNIC: Shit. Hope died under my shoe.