The Dance Floor Orgasm

Oh well, it’s 9 days late, but here it goes anyway à Happy Birthday Eve*!

She (we, me, us,) completed a year of Existing here on blogosphere on September 21. And to all who read, don’t read and leave funny comments (anonymously) saying “You suck”, a big Wink! Thanks for sticking around, for whatever weird, bizarre or bored reasons. (Hug to everyone, butt squeeze to the cute ones)

So Friday night went for this kick-ass event, Midival Punditz burned the house down at Tabula Rasa (means clean slate, and funny how stage two of my Mission Personal Liberation started here on a balmy April night…)

How does one know it’s a damn good night? When you reach home, think it’s too early to have come back home (even though the place had shut down) and realize it’s 4.30 am. And that you have work in four hours. Ah. What a night.

Kab khayal aap ka nahi hota,
Dard dil se juda nahi hota.
(Thoughts of you don’t ever leave my mind,The pain never leaves my heart)

First, the live jam – Indian Ocean drummer, a flautist and the Punditz (Gaurav-Tapan) wowed those standing, sitting, swaying. Then DJ Rohan took the to the dais and the discs and dished out beats that thumped right within your chest or in the soles of your feet. Standing still was impossible. The icing on the cake or the final blow-my-mind-shot was Tapan’s return to spinning some absolutely wicked, wicked, fucking wicked grooves.

So there was Tapan: Head bent over, deft fingers teasing, tweaking, tuning and weaving vicious magic that pulled. Oh HOW it pulled. Two men disgraced themselves by climbing on to the stage and trying various versions of pole dancing and hip-thrusting. One was too old to hip-thrust and the other had too many freckles and was taller than the pole he was trying to… well, never mind. Not a pleasant sight. (Haha, Emcee Nitin Sukh was mortified and shook his hair-banded head saying, “We don’t do this shit, we don’t)

However, knowing HOW close I was to smooching the speakers and making love to the boom-thump-boom that flew out of them and hooked me right behind my belly button… Well, those men are pardoned. Even the other DJs present looked bright eyed and red-cheeked. You could not deny Tapan. I had a VERY hard time not surrendering and maintaining dance-floor-decorum.

Kesariya balam, padharo mahare des
Jin nainan main piya basse
Un nainan main kaun samaye
(My Lord, come reside within my Soul.
When my Beloved dwells within my eyes;
It’s but Him you see reflected within me)

Anyway the way I dance follows no rule book, steps etc. And then, when the music GETS me, I close my eyes and let go. Then, it’s just the music and me. (And um, given that I go to most places alone, it’s not always nice or comfortable, BUT, the body takes over, the mind is anyway on a different plane…without drinking or any other enhancer) Like DJ Sunny walked up, poked shoulder and said at one point, “Oi, come back to this planet will you?” Grin. It’s becoming more dangerous, stepping out of the house, for I cannot control my self. It’s all there, simmering, smouldering on the surface.

Erm also, when you are small and showing a bit of cleavage, what you forget is that those taller – almost everyone is taller than I am – get a much better view (of much more) than the ‘little’ cleavage that is showing.

Then there was Papon Angarang and his larynx. He made love to the pole too while singing and the way his eyes dance! My. Lucky pole. (haha) While the original Ali has been sung by Kailash Kher, Papon’s teasing, laughing start to Ali first made you smile and then well… There was this moment when Papon stretched his left arm to the audience, while his right held the pole behind him and sang. Mad curls, crazy vocals and he sang. (Deep respect sir) This was the first time I heard Papon. It won’t be the last.

Duniya vich bas tu hi tu
Mera jism bhi tu, meri jaan bhi tu
Doori sahi jandi nayi
Ankh lag di nayi
Ratt katdi nayi
Tu halat meri dekh ve sahi
Tujh bin jindadi lag di nahi

(There’s only You in this world,
You are my body, You are my Existence.
Cannot tolerate this separation.
Cannot find any sleep.
Cannot go through the night like this.
Can You not see me suffer?
Can You not see I can't exist without you anymore?)

And amidst my on-dance-floor orgasming, three jerks pissed me off. I kept avoiding them, they kept coming after me. I moved two steps back, they still tried rubbing their bums against mine. And. Well. I lost my temper. But, did not harm them. However, I wonder had they known I was carrying a khukri in my pocket that I can use VERY well, wonder if they would still have tried the butt-rub. It’s a small blade with a very neat edge; and after much practicing, I can slip the blade out of the scabbard very easily. Anyway. Thanks to the management at Tabula Rasa, had a personal bouncer tailing me after that.

There was a witness to my losing-temper. And ah, he messaged me after that; and well, when someone with brains flirts, it is always good fucking fun. Sample:
Him: Oi, hot head.
Me: Me?
Him: You are so fuckin J…
Me: Don’t tell me you write your own lyrics too?
Him: Pull-shit. You know you are. While I sit inside, my heart trips on the dance floor. Come into the restaurant, talk.
Me: Ah, if only I did not love music so much. Don’t you?

So on and so forth. It did not lead to anything, but for considerable mood-lightning. And as I left, he asked if I had to leave. I said I had to. And he said, almost with a promise: “All in good time,” with the wickedest grin I have seen in a long while. Amen to all-in-good-time. Ha ha. I LOVE intelligent, talented men.

And then there was Could Be Trouble. Each time I am certain CBT will not be trouble; he sort of reinforces he very well could be! There are his eyes for one. Did I imagine it or was he actually burning me with his eyes from over the heads of 70 people? I don’t know. I saw him perhaps looking at me and I quickly shut my eyes and turned away. I wanted to dance, not think. I like his hugs. Ok. Enough said. (Argh, sigh, ooof.)

A night well spent. Even if there was no love. Who needs love? When you can dance. (and I have said that twice before, me thinks) And before the Punditz completely change the direction of my Sunday, let me go change the music.

Dear You... And Things I Will Never Ask You

What did I do?
Why weren't you there?
When my body was broken?
Why don't you love me?
Or cradle me when I cry?
Where did I go wrong?
That you don't put your hand on my head?
Why don't you call me?
Just to hear my voice?
Remember, when you hid the butter from me?
Because I was fat?
Why don't you feed me anymore?
Or ask me what I have eaten?
Why don't you have the time?
To just come and be with me?
Do you know I can't sleep at nights?
For my body hurts so bad?
Do you think I asked for it?
Do you think it's Destiny?
Yours or mine?
Why didn't you just take me with you?
To let nothing else happen to me?
Have you given up on me?
Do you not love me... even a little?
Why don't you say anything that makes things seem better?
Not even a kind word?
Why didn't you hold my hand, stand by my side?
When they pushed me away?
Why did you keep quiet?
When others with no right, claimed me?
Why am I not a part of you, as you are a part of me?
Why can't I make you happy... or even a little proud?
What should I do?
Will you let me try?
Do you want to wash your hands off me?
Do you really not care?
To just leave me adrift?
Do you not know that I am scared?
Or my fears don't make sense to you?
Why don't you ever ask me of what scares me?
Why do you sound bored when I tell you?
Is it because I take your time?
Is it the phone bill?
Or you just don't like talking to me...?
Why did you bring me here?
If you did not want me?
Do you wish I was different?
Or that you had another?
Why don't you come gather my brittle, broken pieces?
Will you come gather my body?
Will you cry for me?
Mother.
Why don't you love me?
And if you don't... who will?


PS:
run. run. run. run. run. run. run. run. run. run.
you can't.
no legs.
no strength.
no will.
no want.
no heart.
no soul.
die. die. die. die. die. die. die. die. die. die. die.
you can't.
nothing more to kill.

Home.
Mother, I am waiting.
Patient?
You've been
So late.
I am alone.
-- home, menwhopause

Happy Fucking Birthday. Darling.

Happy Birthday, beloved lover,
I so want to take a cleaver

And hack off with great delay, that smug display
(You call your face)
And turn your happy day, into my happy dismay
(Blessed be thy grace!)

Happy Birthday, You!
There are but a few

Who I loved so strong
(And blew all norms)
That it always felt bloody wrong
(And had no logical form)

Happy Birthday, Great Swine
O sickening love of mine

I don’t love you any longer
(For you are also ugly now)
Yet my thirst for you grows stronger
(I’ll get you honey, I anew avow)

Happy Birthday, Dear Beloved!
O hear, hail, what I say, what I said

I don’t Hate you at all
(No sir, the love’s still unbound)
It’s an emotion for you too small
(But what goes, shall come around)

PS:
Don’t sweat the meter
These are mere words, dear Peter

Who Peter? you say
Ah it’s anyone, anywhere, anyway

I am no poet, no bloody laureate
I am just a heartless woman, love’s ingratiate

(so fuck you)

The Men I Will Never Shag

My head is throbbing. How sad, given there are other, interesting throbabilities. Sigh. Apparently, some research somewhere says that women peak at 30. Well, I am simply peaked. Perhaps that's because I am not 30 yet. But then, having seen just HOW the other when-you-turn-this-that-happens theories have turned out; I'd rather snort at the Peak-at-30 theory and carry on with... S.I.G.H.

At least, I have finally figured I DO want sex. (Praise the lord!) Only, I don't know who I want it from. (Right, like there is a line of panting do-able men queing up under your balcony, says nasty, self-deprecatory voice). Hmm. Actually, it's not a bad idea. Even though I am quite certain, even given 20 Do-Ables, I STILL won't know who-to-do, at least a queue of panting men will be good for my ego. Must do something.

Bloody self-help articles. Since I am a 'lifestyle' writer in my professional avatar (no, am not called 'clit chatting' there); I cannot escape having to read Speculative Research on the state of relationships and orgasms. One of the rules of Fulfilling Sexual Life says: Know what you DON'T want and what you want will come to you etc. What crap. While my I-Won't-Do-Him list is ready, it has not helped my Q for O. That's quest for orgasm. Also the fact that the only reason I step out of my house is work and nothing else, it is not helping matters. And dont even TRY suggestiong Men At Work. They'd probably keep asking, "Aapko kaisa lag raha hai?" ('How do you feel?", the standard line used by most TV journalists in India). And then, irritated and sexually charged and all, I would have to kill him or something. Or worse, blog about it. No orgasm though.

No, no, men don't bore me, not even for a second; it's just that I am abjectly bored of the ones around me. And my tolerance for bad flirting has reached new lows (in negatives). I've had very little patience for Idiots; and compounded with the fact that some idiots 'think' they can flirt... Argh. HOW do they survive? WHO teaches them those sorry moves? Some school for Men Who Cannot See They Are Making An Ass Of Themselves? But then (sigh), if they were that smart, they wouldn't be Men. Hrmph. Oh. Did I just generalise there? So sorry. Not all men are bad at flirting. Some are horrendous. Anyway.

To put things in perspective (and keep them there), here's my list of Men I Won't Shag Even If I Had To Shag Myself To Death (jhinga lala?!) -->

1. Those who don't get jokes (particularly ones I crack) and make me repeat the joke four times and THEN want the punchline explained as well. Dude, I want a man, if I wanted to mate with an amoeba, I would find an amoeba.

2. Those who say they have read my blog and THEN say, "So, Clit Chatting and all, eh?" THEN they look me up and down and all and expect me to melt or get turned on. Really, I don't know whether to laugh at the fact that you either cannot read or are plain dumb. Amoeba 2.

[Painful Interruption ---? Do you know a real pain in the arse is? When you weigh 37 kgs, have no flesh on your butt, your arse is really small and skinny and you have tail-bone-sticking-out problem and like to sit with your legs folded and write. So basically, since your tail is in the way, you don't sit on your arse, you end up sitting on your painfully protruding tail bone. In about 20 minutes of sitting like that, it sends such a shooting pain up your butt, through your bones and to your central nervous system that every nerve ending comes alive. In horrendous pain. It hurts. Sigh. I miss my cellulite. If only I were a sadomasochist, I'd be having multiples every 20 minutes.] Back to the Un-shaggables.

3. Those who say I remind them of their Ex-girlfriend(s)... and then go on to elaborate how they really liked the 'really spirited nature' both the Ex and me seem to have. Right. Amoeba 3, WHY did you let go of the former spirits then? And pray, what makes you think you can handle my spirits? Please don't give me lines like, "I like your strength of character." Truth be told, when push comes to shove, you don't think high-faluda definitions, you do what needs to be done. And since some of us are resilient -- like cockroaches and refuse to die down -- people find definitions and labels to justify their own defeatist attitudes. Also, please know, Amoeba 3, that as a blanket rule, I am NOT like anyone you have met before; because you have never met anyone like me before. Hell, even I haven't (for good or for bad, so be it). And I really don't care what you think of that statement. Sooner/ later, you will agree.

4. Senior (15 years plus) men who think they can 'guide' me by inviting me to posh parties and driving me around in posh cars. 'Guide' me? HA. HA. HA. Of course, I AM a novice in quite a lot of things -- Life, Love, Etc -- but dude, I am concerned. I could kill you with sheer exhaustion. Or even audacity. MOST women can. KNOW that. Like this one time a Senior-Porsche-Driving-Citizen Type invited me for this Exclusive Do. He has/had an EXTREMELY interesting mind though (my biggest weakness). But I like to converse with interesting minds, not indulge in osculatory exercises. Also, neither do I like grubby fingers nor a Porsche that goes at 60 kmph. It's a beast of power, Uncle, use it. So Uncle invites me to posh party and after introducing me to All Important People -- networking is always good for a scribe -- he proceeds to take me to the dance floor and kisses me. Without provocation, intimation or encouragement. He tried the classic, powerful (means tongue threatens to break through barrier of strong teeth), meant-to-make-damsel-swoon, romance novel kiss. Only, me ain't no damsel and definitely not distressed. He was no 'Prince' either (fuck the charming). So, I bit him REALLY hard, drew a little blood and Uncle's soon-to-be-phlegmatic eyes had tears in them. Told him that if he EVER tried to kiss me without me asking him to, I'd do much worse to him. I hope he understood. He is a sweetheart to STILL invite me for random dos. But I hope he got the message. I never issue empty threats. At least not when I have issued said threat in public. Then it's an ego issue; and I got a HUGE ego (who did not notice?) ;)

5. Arseholic colleagues who think they can flirt with me just because I smiled and greet them once in a while... And THEN, in the first conversation declare, "Yes, I am flirting with you, yes I want to see how you kiss." Hahaha. (Dies laughing at memory, reborn, crueller still) And THEN, if my laughing AT them wasn't enough, they get CONFUSED as to WHY I don't respond to their 'flirting' when "most other chicks do." I was SHOCKED and sincerely hoped he had a darned good sense of humour and was joking. He was not. He is what my Dad would say belongs to the genus -- Dad insists this is Russian -- Stupido mostoski ('most stupid' for the linguistically challenged).

6. Dudes who 'poke' me on Facebook and then suggest I join a group called 'Let's stop poking and have sex'. (Exasperated shrug) Dude, sincerely, I don't poke people/ person/ man I (might) have sex with. I kiss, cuddle, get-on-with-it etc. Never 'poke'.

7. Or ones who think that BECAUSE I wear what I wear (and write what I write) I must be a fluff-doll and therefore waiting to be screwed by every other creature (called man) that has a penis. Seriosuly, WHO in his right mind would think of ME as either fluff or doll? (DOLL?!) And if an occassional peek at a waist-chain, midriff, lots of shoulder, collar bone and arms make you think it decreases my productivity etc... You'd probably have a heart attack if you could see me now. I work best with deadline-over-head and limited sources. Like this post you know. It was hand-written. SEVEN pages and there isn't a stitch on me.

PS: If You have done any/ all of the above and I STILL talk to you, call you, instant-message you, write soppy, schizophrenic emails, want to meet you, meet you etc. Then it means I REALLY like you. Does that make this entire post contradictory? Of course it does, I am a WOMAN. ;)

The one-sided love affair

Single-minded dedication like single-sided (better known as one-sided) love, is tough to maintain. Like you cannot go on loving someone without returns – unless the other dies or something and then you can continue loving the martyr despite no returns – dedication to something more than you or your personal interests is tough. Many questions arise; both in terms of single-minded dedication and one-sided or non-expectant love:

1. Are you doing the right thing?

Is your dedication to a cause well found or are you just barking up the wrong tree and joining an already vociferous gang of rabble-rousers? Why do you love the other when you are not getting returns? Is it because s/he has done something exceptional for you, is an exceptional person or simply that you feel so grateful that you are loving them… as a last recourse? IF you have a single doubt about why you love another or whether you are doing the right thing, please take it as a sign that perhaps your gut knows better than your head. Listen to your gut and stop. On the other hand, if you are SURE of what you are doing, don’t sway. Fuck the Rules of Romantic Engagement and keep on loving. (At the most, you’d just be disappointed, hah)

2. Why should you do so if there are no returns?

But then, does everything have to be for returns? What if the returns are intangible and cannot be seen in terms of this gained or that lost? Ditto about loving someone who does not love you back. If you want to martyr yourself for someone who cannot reciprocate, KNOW what you are doing. Don’t turn around and start feeling hurt and rejected later; it does not work that way. Like dedication to a cause, one-sided love is complete in itself. There will be NO returns, no thankyous and most of the times, not even an acknowledgement of your affections. If you are prepared for that, sure, you’re most welcome to go on loving/ moping for someone who does not love you. If you are hoping that by doing the one-sided thing for 5 years, your love will turn to you; am sorry to say, you are walking into a disappointing situation.

3. How long will you keep up with it?

Please refer to point 2 above: There are no deadlines to return-of-love and neither are there deadlines to dedicating yourself to a cause. As is the case with love and causes, instead of sorting out, both tend to get rather convoluted with time. Be prepared.

4. Is there no short cut to doing it and still keeping your sanity/ self-preservation in sight?

Nope. You are either in or you are out. There are no half ways. You can either love and be dedicated, or you cannot. There is no “I will love you till the full moon” and then getting out of it. If it’s the full moon you are waiting for, it’s a sham you are indulging in. It’s about FEELING. When you begin feeling, there are no half ways. You simply FEEL. The love, the hope, the angst, the wait, the trepidation, the ache…and it’s all around you. When you love one person crazily, it spills on to the others around you. I sincerely have never been able to understand the emotions of those who claim to love one person crazily and then go about being nasty to others. If you are doing that, then dude, your ‘love’ for that one special person is questionable too. Love does not restrict. And someone incapable of loving all, can never love One person. It’s just selfishness.

5. Is it practical and advisable in today’s day and age to indulge in one-sided love?

Of course not, and therefore you wont find many doing it. Neither will you find many dedicated to any cause even if it’s the cause of better health and joining a gym. Timings don’t match, ideas don’t gel, the trainer isn’t right and so on and so forth. Loving someone without returns is also fraught with doubts. Don’t get into it if you are not up for the whole ride. Like Dedication. You need time, you need constant motivation… and MOST importantly, you have to be prepared to be Alone.

Abjectly alone. Proudly alone. With your head held high. YOU have to believe. Rest, don’t even bother to see what happens.

Much going on in head. Rock band, saving a river, saving my people (who don’t even know me)… And somewhere, accepting that perhaps more than me finding it hard to love someone… Others perhaps find it tough to love me. Shrug. (Smiles)

PS: Repeats to self: “Am a rebel warrior with my head held high. Ami bidrohi.” And desperately holds on to that thought, clutches it, in fact. My WILL is my only Hope. Won't let go, won't, won't, won't. And I truly don't need anyone. There are some moments of weakness; but gradually, I will learn to tame those as well.

So who said dumping the arsehole was easy?

Needless to say, in the true spirit of man-bashing, I really do not care HOW many nice men are out there. As far as my vision – peripheral and all included – goes, the men I see around me and those dating chicks I know, are all the arsehole variety, stinky ones.

And for god’s fucking sake, I don’t know WHY does MS Word have to underline the word arsehole; it does not even recognize arse for that matter. Grr. Am I angry? Bah, not even remotely so. Am just trying to get into the spirit of things. I want to laugh. It is all so fucking so, so ridiculous. The entire fall in love-cry about it-fall out of love, cry about it situation. Because strangely, nothing seems to change the Cry About It status.

When in love, you are crying about whether he loves you enough, whether he’s about to cheat on you, whether you can match up to his expectations, or whether you are expecting too much and therefore pressurizing him. Or why he doesn’t call enough when once-upon-a-time he wanted you to call him even when you stepped out onto your balcony. Poor fellow used to be worried that his baby might fall off or something. Aww baby.

Or from remembering your favourite dress to opining on what nail paint suits you, he suddenly goes colour-blind or says blanket-decision things like, “Everything looks the same on you.” The somewhat kinder ones – who perhaps want you to stick around a bit longer before you expire your Utility Factor – will modify that statement to say, “Everything looks the same on you… I mean, looks good. Don’t ask each time… baby.”

And Doubt is a deadly thing; because strangely, you never are sure. Unless you find a loaded condom in the dustbin. (haha, cracks up at the memory)

If your man first gives you a blanket-statement and then adds a ‘baby’ after that statement, mark my words, the fucker is up to no good. No, it does not necessarily mean he’s sleeping with another woman. It could be a man. Technicalities apart, it DEFINITELY means he is not interested. When the situation is rocky and the guy senses it, ‘Baby’ is often used as a Female Core Softener by him.

My Ex would use it each time to soften an argument, or ask for food, after an argument. It was always the same strategy. Fight, bitch, fight and just when I am about to explode or he wants to watch TV, “Baby, later.” It wasn’t the ‘later’, I would go all kachoo-machoo on the ‘baby’ and would ‘behave’. He would also use The Baby when I wondered aloud if the female colleague sending him shady song lyrics at 2.30 am (something to the tune of I-will-follow-you-wherever) meant anything specific…

(Kachoo-machoo is when you feel embarrassed for ever having opened your mouth and having questioned the intentions and motives of Such A Worthy person. You start believing that it is ALL your fault and every doubt is a figment of your imagination and that YOU were the reason the fight started in the first place. So you want to crawl and assure Such A Worthy person that it won’t ever happen again and so you keep your mouth shut and go on pretending that everything is okay while inside… You stew. And the bile, when it stews, just gets thicker. So while you want to scream out the allegations, demand a face-to-face talk and WANT clearance, you keep feeling guilty for having those thoughts. And nauseous. You feel like a doormat but you keep asking yourself, “But isn’t Love supposed to be about letting the small things pass and loving another despite everything? The good and the bad?” etc. So, you take MORE shit. Anyone ever felt kachoo-machoo?)

The good and the bad. Then there is Rotten. The Rotten should be dumped instantly. Beware though, Rotten comes in varied interesting packages. And always, as a RULE, he will SEEM to be the answer to ALL your prayers. Darlings, God is on vacation. So who the fuck is answering ALL your prayers? The dude is probably spam. Rotten. The trick to recognizing the Rotten from the Bad, is recognizing the kachoo-machoo. The INSTANT you begin to justify some horrendous behaviour or start questioning your Own sanity, STOP. Don’t do it.

If a man cannot make you feel happy, WHY the fuck are you with him?
If a man makes you cry once, he WILL make you cry again.
If a man hits you once, he WILL hit you again.
If a man is lying to you, nothing will make it stop and the lies will only grow.
If a man is not moved by your tears, he will not care even if you die. It’s harsh, it’s true.
If a man says, “Baby I am not sure,” don’t wait around for him to be.
If and when he is sure, he will seek you out. But DON’T wait. There was this girl who waited for this dude to be sure for eight years, they got engaged too; and a week before the wedding, he called it off. Sure, there are women who do such things to men too, but hey! This is called EVE Emancipation; the Adams can go fuck each other. And well, they are anyway.

And most importantly, for WHATEVER reason that your man turned nasty on you, it is NOT your fault. You don’t have to have a perfect figure. Or know every fucker who ever sang just because your dude is interested in music. He reads and you don’t, great! Don’t kill yourself over it. What is the worst that can happen? That you will be alone? It’s far tougher managing to stay single than you can imagine! However, if at all you do end up staying alone, it is definitely better than living for and a with a man who hurts you.

If and when you meet a man who can love you, make you laugh, hug you, care for you and generally be what the man you want – assuming you are being the woman he wants too – give him all, love him to your heart’s content, have no shame in apologizing and don’t keep credit points when you do something for him. Be ready to stand by him, give him your support, your caress, the warmth of your body. Be his strength, vociferously, or silently. But WHEN he does the EXACT things for you.

If he does not, get out and get out fast. You are a human being who deserves to be treated right. If you cannot love yourself yet – for whatever reasons – start by NOT letting another abuse or unlove you.

And remember ALWAYS; the moment a man says, “I am not sure”, get out. A relationship is about taking the not-so-sure things in stride and WORKING around those. Not making a list of the workables and the non-workables and THEN deciding to get into things. Shrug. Perhaps, some people call that taking your time etc; but hey! If the Dude can hang with you and do pretty much everything else BUT “give” his heart. Ha ha. The arsehole is making an ASS out of you.

Get out. Stop crying. Go have sex. If you see his face when sleeping with another man, shut your fucking eyes (and think of what’s happening in the groin). FIRST, get out and THEN we shall figure what to do next. Rest assured, life does NOT end at a break-up. No madam, that makes it easy and rather boring. Life continues and it’s up to you to make it rather boring pining for the jerk that treated you like sewage in the first place… or doing whatever else with it. Shrug.

PS: This is for all of You, who are having a hard time breaking up and are wondering whether you will get over, or where did it go wrong, or why did he do it, or what was lacking in me or oh-my-god how will I survive.
(The boys can change much of the above to women as well. Rotten is genderless)

PS2: something worrying happened, tried to shag, got bored midway. Waaaaaaaaanh...this is really worrying. Nothing turns me on!!!
(Post editing: hahaha, instead of "tried to shag", the original, unedited text said "trying to". LOL. Faux-fucking-pa!)

No orgasm, no post!

Ah, coming back here on Eve as Eve*, feels strange. Because… It just feels strange. Like this person, who has been writing here for a bit, getting angrier on these pages, is suddenly alien to me. Am I not angry anymore? Hah, of course not. Still angry and the more my eyes open, the angrier it makes me. And I think Eve has been crying for far too long now. Now, she wants to give it back. Hmm…

But somehow, this blog has become the most difficult writing! Why? Because one fine day I woke up and realized that it really does not matter WHO loves you or whether you have someone in your life or not. For one, look around you. What happens to those people who DO have someone in their life? They are looking around for fun. For those who don’t have anyone in their lives, they think finding someone would make things fun. And basically, no matter what end of the spectrum, it’s just running after that fun, pursuit of perverse happiness.

In between, the greatest joke of all was Me being asked to contribute for the Chicken Soup For The Soul series. Dude, those books are so happy and positive, they scare me. Half the time I want to do an investigative report on those stories to find if those are real stories or fiction passed off as real. Why do I find it so tough to believe that there could actually be volumes and volumes of books on Happy Things? SHRUG. Look around you dude! And I don’t mean just me. Given what has happened in my life to an extent and what a whole lot of others go through; I think I have come out of things fairly unscathed. I am standing! I am writing about them… I even manage to laugh about them at times. And I sure as hell am gonna be a pain in the arse for many. Oh yes.

However, Eve* is becoming tough to write because: 1. I cannot write about orgasms anymore. 2. I have not had an orgasm in ages (and am really nervous that now if it were to accidentally happen, I wouldn’t know, or would pass out in fear thinking it’s a new disease I have) 3. I don’t even know if I want to have an orgasm… It would perhaps involve a man or thinking about one; and both things lead to further complications, none of which are remotely close to orgasming. Too much pain for five minutes of pleasure; and people talking about multiple orgasms is like talking about the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

And I think, finally, Life has achieved what she set out to do. I have become completely desensitized. Like, a Third Person observer all the time. There are very, very few people who can now get under my skin. Oh, I rant and rave all the time, but that’s not because someone or something is necessarily getting under my skin; it could be just because I want to. I have mentioned I love attention, no? However, when it comes to remotely romantic situations, I switch off. There are times when I even laugh out loud.

Given that most men today really suck at flirting, laughing out loud often is not a choice. It happens and me being an honest person and all, laughing on their faces comes most naturally to me. It is AMAZING how men think that just because a woman responds to messages or smiles and talks and can perhaps understand humour, she is up for a game or a raunch or they-alone-know-what they have in mind. It’s too much fun… Particularly with men who have perhaps read Eve. There are roughly two types of those-who-read-Eve men that I have met: 1. She writes clit chatting therefore she will give me a blow job. 2. Oh she is hurt and alone and vulnerable, let me chat her up, be kind and THEN see if she gives me a blow job.

Dude, I don’t blow, I bite. Little bitty pieces that then I spit out on the floor. Then I gargle with ice-cold water and spit it on the spot I have bitten off. Trust me, it hurts. A lot. And really, even if I do end up liking you an iota, the last thing on my mind is, “Oooh, what a nice man, why, let me suck him off!” Nope, doesn’t work like that with me. So keep those pants on, ok?

AND, please, please, please. JUST because I am tiny does NOT mean that I want to be hugged. Yes, I DO write about wanting to be hugged. But dude, darling, not from you. Take that arm off, I really like to sit with a straight back. When I want to be hugged by any particular person, I make myself available to that person. Not avoid them on chat, not take calls and generally disappear. If I am doing all that and you feel I am avoiding you, voila! I am avoiding you.

But am not angry, am laughing. It is funny how men will offer to hold your bag, will wonder whether you have eaten, will call, will play with your hair, even scratch out remaining nail polish when they want to shower attention. Ah, Men are quite divine when they want to give you attention. However, it never, ever lasts. The moment you give any man Assurance, it goes. It’s shocking how fast men change and how irrevocably. What is truly amazing, is that a perfectly obnoxious man will STILL do all nice things to/ for other women. Hah, frauds.

So now, I am laughing. The more the men compliment, the more they want to do things, the more time they have for me, the more they want to hug me and hold me, the more I laugh. Because, now that I realize that I really don’t WANT to give my love away; it really does not matter who gets hurt. I am sure it is not going to be me. Yes, if I decide to give you my attention, then am hell bent on ensuring that you don’t get hurt either. But that isn’t happening that easily. It’s too much fun to let boys do the running around, while I put my feet up, lounge around and file my nails. And hurt some. It’s good fun to watch a man squirm, Dear Women.
So for all the girls who have had man-trouble or are still troubled. TRY something. Give him his own medicine. Because bella, if you are already crying because of him, it really does not matter WHAT you do, he will make you cry. So why not give it to him too? Remember, ALL men are boys. They are scared. It is very easy to hurt them. And if your brain does not work, drop an email to me, telling me a bit about your man and the nasty things he says to you. I have met so many beastie boys, that I will tell you EXACTLY how to get back. Trust me. You give me your will, I will show you the way. Ha ha.

But yes, if you have a good man in your life, hold on tight. Don’t smother, hold on. And if your friend tries to hit on him – no matter how loudly she declares she is not and you still feel she is – trip the bitch next time she is walking down the stairs. Or slap the shit out of her. You could also do other things, but I will charge for suggesting those. These are expert tips ladies! Anyway... Gor someone who cannot write, have written fucking loads. Ah, it’s so nice to write fucking. Heh.

PS: Will be starting a series on Child Sexual Abuse soon: REAL LIFE stories. Will get those who need to notice, to NOTICE. Watch this space. Will need your help.

I want your f*****g anger

I will not fall ill.
I have to work.
I need the money.
I need to.
I will not cry.
It hurts my eyes.
You will not make me angry.
You will not hurt me anymore.
I will never wish for you again.
I will never hope.
I will be my Own.
I don’t belong to anybody.
I won’t belong to anybody.
(Nobody wants to belong to me…or to own me?)
No.
I don’t want to belong to anybody.
I AM, alone.
I will stay that way.
It will always be my way.
I will not hurt.
I will never let anything hold me to it.
Or attach me.
I don’t need affection.
I want devotion.
Blindly.
I don’t want devotion.
I won’t treasure you anymore then.
Like you don’t treasure me.
I will not compare myself to others.
I will not find myself wanting.
I will not meet. So that I don't compare.
Shrug.
I will not call anybody.
I can’t, no money on phone.
I will pay bill on time.
I will always keep money in wallet.
I will not lose ATM card.
I will think happy thoughts.
I will try.
I need happy thoughts else Dementors' will get my soul.
I don’t want a Dementor’s kiss.
I don’t want a kiss.
I don’t need a hug.
I don’t even want to think about it.
I will not make arsehole of myself.
I will not call myself arsehole.
I will not cry.
It hurts my eyes.
I will not fall ill.
I will not call Ma.
I will hurt you back. Now.

You sure, you ain’t mad?

Is your life a happy life or a sad life?
Do you always think happy thoughts?
Do you know one joke that always makes you laugh?
Or one that always makes others laugh?
Are you always sure you’re looking good?
Do you believe every compliment?
Do you know the reason you follow whatever religion you do?
Do you ‘feel’ a favour someone does for you?
Do you succeed every time you try?
Are you absolutely sure of those who love you?
Do you have one definite thing that relaxes you?
Do you have an outfit that always makes you look good?
Is there one thing you can keep doing and not get bored?
Are you comfortable, asking for money?
Have you ever wanted something another has, really badly?
Are you sure you kiss well?
And do you know when to close your eyes nad when to keep them open?
Can you always find another’s sensitive spots?
Are you always able to ask for what ou want… and how?
Have you ever wanted to hurt a friend?
Are you very sure you can avoid any temptation?
Do you know when you fell in love?
And out of it?
Do you ever get bored,of love?
Have you ever woken up scared and realized you don’t really know if ghosts are real or imaginary?
Are you very sure you will never hit another person?
Have you ever thought what you are doing is completely insane?
Have you ever been scared, wondering, if you are mad?