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.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

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.