Day 6: Gay bar, still in Luang Prabang drunk.

Found this post hiding in the written-but-not-published section. Brought back (weird) memories so publishing it now... Written on 22nd May, 2009, Luang Prabang, Laos. Also, I'm not editing it to retain the flavour. ;)


Hello hello
the one thing i love about this blog is that i can be myself. phhhhrst to those who think that blogs are self-indulgent. Even if they are, so bloody what?

Today can be labelled as Rip Off Day...went to Tadse waterfall which had no water and no fall and we payed USD $ 3 for it. Yes, its meagre but someone is earning it and being ripped off is not a good feeling.

Back from a foot-leg and head-shoulder massage. OOOOOH they are bloody good. PArtner makes faces that i have never seen before. Bought a Terry Pratchet book. Itbasu should like it, though i wouldna said so if i weren't drunk. As i have mentioned before, it takes very little to get me drunk. Today --- after massage -- it was but one Long Island Ice tea. bloody good drink i say. its my first in 3 days. The Laos beer is called 'Beerlao' and i cannot have it because i just dont like beer. Pardon typos and weird English because right now i am thinking in English, Hindi and a smattering of Laos...

So bloody waterfall was dry and got bitten by 14 mosquitoes...i know because I counted. Then we slept off because I awoke at 5 am to shoot monks. Shoot as in camera. :D The monks are given little handfuls of sticky rice. Most menus here write it as "Stricky rice", much like Indian menus that have "stop parantha", which means stuffed paranthas. Phonetics is a funny business.

So i shot monks and spoke to a 1-year-old Canadian journalist. As in she's been a reporter for a year. She's taking a break from her work and her boyfriend. They've broken off for the period she's travelling. I felt jaded. She called me jaded. Whatever.

BY the way, the massage girls said Indian girls are beautiful, while asking me if I wanted a pedicure. So i don't think it was for me. It was for the dollars. Blah, whatever, I am 52 kgs. :( I just shouted because a huge ugly moth went down my cleavage. Everyone else gave me a look. To check out Partner, we are in a gay bar. It's the only one that's open. And it's right on the street so. Thankgod Partner is a boobs-man and not a butts' man...

Disgrace

Am a disgrace. Neither can I drink properly- read, copiously -- nor can I handle the morning after.

What's most insulting though, is that while everyone else the previous night was happily "on the piss"; I didn't even drink that much. And yet...

1. vodka+lime cordial + topped with tonnes of ice
2. 2/3 rd wine glass
3. one Breezer

That's it. I know I was not drunk last night. But WHY do I feel So crap?! Just wanna BITE people.

Bangla beer, baby and burp

As I had written in my earlier post – Love and the holi mess – Partner and I went for a dinner to this nice couple’s home last night. Partner had told me that the boys had decided it would be a curry-cook-off between the ladies.

Given that our host’s have a four-month old baby and being Aussies do not usually cook ‘Indian’ food, our hostess had made some really nice butter chicken. They had made some real effort to make the dinner ‘authentic’ and had ordered some naan – which they called ‘naan bread’, very cute – and raita from their local Indian restaurant.

I had made the JB special lamb curry and Arundati’s baked banana ice-cream. While I will be immodest enough to say the lamb curry was bloody good, the ice cream was a different story. And not because there's anything wrong with the recipe! I miscalculated the time needed for the ice cream to set properly and put more cinnamon than I intended to and so we ended up having suspicious banana pudding-with-some-frozen-bits that tasted more cinnamon than banana!

Moral of the story: It is a stupid idea to try a dish for the first time and make unsuspecting guests your guinea pigs. The guests however were gracious enough to finish the confused-pudding-masquerading-as-ice-cream that was served. I was gracious enough (ahem) to serve only two tablespoonfuls.

On our way to their house, Partner wanted to pick up some wine. Now liquor shops in Oz are called ‘bottle shops’ and are more sophisticated than the Indian ‘wine and beer’ shops. For one, you can drive-in and pick your liquor while sitting in your car and no one stares at you (if you’re a woman) when you’re buying booze. However, bottle shops in Australia are like grocery stores in India: You’ll find one at every street corner. And then they complain about rising alcoholism?!

Anyway, Partner walked in and asked for a wine that goes well with Indian food. The result was us discovering the UK-made Bangla beer and the Australian, proud-to-be-Punjabi, ‘Nazaaray’ wine. I don’t drink beer – very un-Aussie I’m told – so cannot give you feedback on the beer and will update on the wine once I have tasted it.

The highlight of the evening though – if you excuse the banana-disaster – was that I got to hold the baby. So tiny, so bloody cute and such a good baby. He did not cry at all and in fact I am quite proud to announce that I was the first 'Indian' the baby laid eyes on. And I daresay he quite liked what he saw. There's another Aussie conquered. Ha, ha.

Here’s the recipe for the lamb curry; it takes patience with this one, but the effort is bloody well worth it.

If you’re curious about Bangla beer and Nazaaray wine, read these two articles:
Indian Express
Sommelier India

When your mouth smells like cat piss...

... you should try and not breathe into the pillow. The odours off your own mouth can be really noxious.

The previous post was written under the influence of machine-gun-tequila shots. That is the variety when the shot glass is really big and you don't even stop to suck lime in between the shots and have all four one after the other...

The result is that you go from perfectly sober (was about to 'perfectly sane', but it was far from that last night!) to whoa-keyboard-keys-are-jumping-out-at-me in a matter of seven minutes. And in THAT state we went out...

There must have been something about my body language last night because suddenly eyes were noticing me... I was not 'behaving' drunk but I definitely had my I'll-burn-you-baby hat on. The waiters at the Vietnamese joint were smiling more...despite me having taken a couple of bites out of someone else's order. The bouncers at the club while ignoring the other chicks were quite 'flirtily protective' and of course my tattoo has always been used as an opening line by guys. Not just that, when smoking outside the pub, I had random conversations with slightly-better-of-the-lot guys and was dastardly rude to the muppets who were like "So you've been here long?" And I'd said, "No only at special times..this is a special time..." To which he asked, "What time is that?" And I smugly responded, "Time for you to shut up."

It was a very stupid comeback, but it worked. Because while that guy had been snubbed, there were a couple of cute ones on the side who liked it and laughed. Men can be such predators. When they see a lay, they are only too happy to mock one of their own kind. But it's okay. Women can be worse. We are only too happy to grab on and play anyone against anyone as long as our ego is pleased.

Ach. By the end of the night, there was a huge fight. I think I was flirting last night. "It's all in your eyes and shoulders," is what Partner says. Well, what can I say?? Perhaps I did flirt...

Flirting for me has never been a way of getting attention... it's been more of a way of tuning others and watching them perform exactly the way I want them to. I needed that feeling last night. In these six-seven months, I think somewhere has been a burgeoning feeling of losing control. So I ended up... Hmm.

Yes, I am in a relationship...but I think guys and girls both flirt to get some sort of I-still-have-it-in-me validation. So I've been home all this while; cooking, washing, gardening, reading cook books (for fuck's sake) and I was even about to be invited to a Tupperware party (shit). And all the kids at the restaurant I was working at are young -- 19-24 -- and there I was, 30. Thinking babies.

I went out with them one night and there was nothing in common -- They were so, free! -- and I was like a chaperone with them. ME! CHAPERONE! That's when I knew I was losing it.

Oh lord. Bas. Let's just say I really need a coffee right now. Last night was a close shave. Had I been single, I knew I would have had whoever eating out of my hands... or what/wherever else. Partner noticed too. We had a mega fight. :( Thankfully both were drunk enough to pass out after a bit. Now I'm about to eat eggs and am watching 80s videos on TV. We both woke up contemplating the pattern on the ceiling. And with huge headaches.

So that's that. It's a happy ending for the interim. But then he's turning 30 too...

PS: Of the 14 dogs, four were pups. The bungalow we lived in was huge, with big front lawns and back gardens as well. One morning we woke up and found the dogs dead. Some in the front lawn, some near the gate... only the four pups who lived inside the house lived. The robbers thought we had a lot of money and had poisoned all the dogs. Rigor mortis had already set in.

Is f*****g drunk....

...and will probably regret this tomorrow. But then, what's life without some regrets, eh? I have been so controlled, so fucking politically correct, so "good girl" that it giving me a solid case of identity crisis.

I am not used to keeping my mouth shut...or having conversations inside my head, which is pretty much what I have been doing.

Ican be SUCH an arsehole. People who matter,I ignore and others.... well, I behave like one of those silly dogs that will wag their tail and be friendly with everyone. the hungry for affection sorts.

Once, when passing through this colony -- my regular route -- I saw this pomeranian that was tied to the balcony railing with a rope. Not much area to move, not much to do anything. That bloody dog used to bark --- that irritating pomeranian bark -- at everyone. I used to think that dog was really nasty. Then one day -- and on more days frequently -- I saw the dog's owner belt it. Really belt it. The dog wouldn't yowl, it would just whimper while the belt -- and sometimes a slipper or a boot -- made its fur come out in tufts.

At other times, I saw the same owner really hug and pet the dog. The dog would have its tail between its legs while his master stroked him. The dog was always expecting another beating. Even when his master was cooing to him.

Sometimes, I hate feeling like that pomeranian. Some of us, you know, it's better for some of us to realise that we are meant to be pomeranians. Not labradors that are supposed to be the most people-friendly dogs. I think I am a pomeranian.

Did I ever tell you that at one point in my history I had 14 dogs in my house? Majority pomeranians. Hah. Should have known then, but what to do? I was a mere 6-yeard-old then... Papa was posted in Agra then. On Prithviraj road.
The street was known for robberies. The burglars thought that people who had dogs were rich...they were using dogs to protect their riches.

haha. My mother had me and a new born baby...and a plaster on her right leg. Osteomalitis. Her bone marrow dried on the right leg shin, that piece of bone was removed. Poor Ma. And 14 dogs to look after... Papa didn't help. Someday I shall ask him about it...

Now....my parents have NOT told me about uit.....but Ma has heart problems. My bro told me...my parents think i dont know... hah. They always try to 'protect' me... whatn good has it done Ma-Pa? when did you eever succeed in that???

So now they are waiting for further ECG tests...all the while assuring me that everyything is all right. Oh. I am NOT a fucking child. Thankfully, Papa knows that I use "fuck" a lot.

Haha. He was quite disappointed when he had discovered my new, improved vocabulary.

Ok Never mind. it's now getting progferssively harder to speell. so ishall desist.

we shall end with quote of the day: "If you leave your dog for a man, it nwill always come back to bite you."

cheers....

The tequila tramp

There are some things in life that can completely devastate a human being, bring her down to the knees (usually looking into the watery insides of a shit pot), make her head pound in a manner that suggests the brain wants to leapfrog out of the cranial cavity and make her insides scream for mercy. And no, it is not a case of good, old you-stand-behind-me-bend. We don’t talk about such dirty things anymore.


So Sunday morning I woke up with this out-of-body feeling. A feeling that suggested something had happened the previous night and I was not quite sure what. The evidence was worrying: There was a huge cigarette burn on my left middle finger, the base of my neck felt as if someone had been hammering it all night, my tongue felt as if I had tried to put it in places it shouldn’t have been and my mouth smelt like the room Golu Dawg magnanimously poos in when he has not been taken out for a walk… One look at Partner confirmed something was amiss: His jaw sported a cigarette burn as well, his elbows were scraped and there were scratch marks on his cheek. WHAT the hell had happened (and the why the hell were HIS elbows scraped?)


We had had a perfectly docile Saturday morning doing homely things like searching for new furniture and eventually turning up at our local watering hole. And that’s when things turned nasty. From the hazy, headachy recollection I had of the previous night the culprit was six shots of tequila. While that still did not explain the mysterious cigarette burns, it made the need for an urgent Drinking Resolution very clear. Here goes.


1. Try and stay as far away as possible from tequila shots or anyone offering them.
2. If someone does offer you tequila shots, shoot them. If you are paying for your own tequila shots, you are an idiot (will always be proven so the next day).

3. If after three shots you feel “nothing is happening,” don’t be a fool. Something will happen and you are most likely not to remember it.
4. If at all you do have more than one shot, quickly get home before whatever-happens-that-you-won’t-remember happens. In all probability, memories of it will be embarrassing.

5. If you have tequila and lots of it, head banging is a very bad idea. No, it’s not a sex position, it means serially banging your head to music that comprises lot of screaming, swearing and jarring guitars. Since your head hangs low while head banging and there’s vigorous shaking, the tequila rushes from your stomach to your head. And stays there. I think.
6. Never go searching for cigarettes when drunk on tequila.

7. In fact, QUIT smoking.
8. Never wear flip-flops on a night you might be near tequila. They can go missing and the next day you might find dirty stains on your legs. In such moments it is perhaps better that you don’t remember much about the previous night.

9. Never go and ask your neighbour for cigarettes after tequilas. The fact that he gave you the whole packet will make you suspicious of HOW you asked him. It’s better to completely forget about it anyway.
10. Never light a cigarette in bed when drunk on tequilas. Something will always burn. If it’s not the sheet, try and find burn marks on your body.

11. Never try and have sex after tequilas. You will only find yourself waking up naked but won't remember anything. (No, that did not happen, but heard it happened to someone on a TV show
12. Never think tequila shots and vodka shots are the same. They are not and mixing the two is illegal. Or should be.

13. Never throw your clothes around when you come back home trashed. Next day you won’t find them. They vanish.
14. If you feel pukey at home, don’t try and stick your finger in your throat to “get the shit out of my system”. The finger can get stuck in your throat and you can’t scream out for help either.

15. Never discuss international politics after a tequila night, when still drunk. You will only end up saying bad things about other countries and realize you are not just drunk, you are a racist.
16. If your parents had called earlier in the evening and you had promised to call back, after tequilas is NOT a good time.

17. If you are a small person, never compete with a bigger person on how much you can drink. Of course you can drink as much, it’s the after that you won’t be able to handle.
18. Never give your credit card for payment when drinking tequilas. You won’t be able to get your signature right.

19. Try and stay as far away as possible from tequila shots or anyone offering them.
20. Never keep a camera around when drunk on tequilas... you will click pictures doing stupid things and think they are cute.
Like trying to make horse faces--->

PS: And then Partner woke up and grunted groggily, “Didjuhimmeonmahead?”

Drunk sex is NOT honest sex!

"Have you written anything on women who date arseholes?" asked sexy Sheila* (not her real name, but says if she had a fictional name that's what she'd like to be called). I promptly sent her the link to 'Good girls and jerk-ing off' but was not too sure if that post answered whatever she had in mind. No matter what the reasons for women dating jerks and arseholes -- this blog has given reasons too -- I think it all boils down to one simple word: STUPIDITY.

While no woman would date a man if she knew at the onset that she was getting into a messy situation, what I FAIL to understand is WHY women (and men) continue in a relationship even when it becomes very obvious that it's a downhill road for them (a whole lot are already in the ditch and are in denial about it)... Or when it is VERY clear the other is NOT interested.

Some keep waiting for the phone to ring, some wait for hours even when they have been stood up three evenings in a row, some stew visualizing what the other must be doing when s/he is not with them, some will take rejection (no hugs, being pushed away etc) hoping it's a passing phase, some will ignore blatant signs (like lipstick marks or a raunchy email) thinking they're being understanding and are giving 'space' to the other and some will even overlook a sperm-laden condom in the dustbin justifying he must have been masturbating wearing a condom.

'Hurt' cannot be helped when the object of our affections turns down the affection and runs the other way. However, DIGNITY can be maintained if you get the signs and get on with your own life. It IS a cliche but unfortunately it's true: NO one can make us feel like a doormat unless we are lying on the ground and asking to be stepped over. We usually wear a sickening weepy, don't-break-my-heart look too. It looks UGLY.

If he says he will call and does not call back - repeatedly - get out. If he says he is in a meeting and you find out he was watching a movie with someone - get out. If he was supposed to spend time with you and instead runs for an "emergency" humanitarian meeting with the ex - get out. If he would talk about emotional things to the she-colleague/ Ex rather than with you - get out. If he hugs you only when he wants to fuck you and never else - get out. If he constantly compares you to the Ex and says she was better - leave him with the memories and get out. If he shags you ONLY when he is drunk - get out! Seriously, you are anyway being treated badly... How much worse will it be to walk out?

Confessions over Coffee: A Series

Coffee can cure almost anything – hang-overs, bad days at work, period cramps and even helps detox after some indulgent evenings.

As one downed the third cup of much-watered down, machinated Office Coffee – there's coffee and there's Office Coffee – Friend instant messaged and greeted one with a, "YT?", which in Internet chat lingo means 'You there?'

You get the maximum YTs on days you are the busiest and have a glaring Busy icon next to your name. Before one could respond to the abbreviated query, Friend continued, "Tell me if I should dump him: he does not want to commit, still talks to his ex girlfriend and sends me confusing signals." Despite the Busy sign, such peculiar state of affairs and persistent messaging had engaged one's attention. One asked Friend how long she had been dating her current cause for trouble. Apparently, one had asked the wrong question.

"But I am not dating him. We hang out together, sometimes, talk on the phone, sometimes and even chat on the net, sometimes. Actually, it's always me who takes the initiative. So I am thinking if I should give this up... We also have sex, sometimes, usually when he is piss drunk," Friend paused. One instant-responded and pointed out that it was tough 'giving up' something you don't "have". The pointing-out was not appreciated.

"What do you mean don't "have" him? What does it mean if someone hangs out with you, calls you, chats with you too and even has sex?" One suggested meekly that it could mean either that the other enjoys your company, or that you are a good shag or he's too drunk to realise the difference; it usually works that way.

Friend replied, "What nonsense! It means that you Really Like that person, want to be with him/her, talk to them, SMS them, spend money on them... And don't they say men are the most honest when drunk?" One really wanted to point out that it could be real good marketing strategy to promote drinking but looked like one had got it all wrong again.

Friend continued, "But do you think someone could do all that without being emotionally involved?" One was considering writing ALL MEN in 72-point size but was saved the trouble by Friend's self-diagnostic abilities.

"But maybe I am being too hasty on deciding that he's the one for me... After all, he hangs out, calls and chats with other women too. I don't think he sleeps with anyone else because he says he can have sex only when he is drunk; and am usually with him when he is drunk or he comes and picks me up. He also made me meet his parents when we bumped into them at the mall. He also took me along for his office party. He even confesses that he can REALLY talk to me and that I am different from the other girls. You know HOW men are, always hinting at things... But I cannot take the suspense any longer... What do you think, is he using me? Should I dump him?"

Thankfully the Internet connection died at that precise moment. And Erica Jong did say that advice is what we ask for when we know the answer and wish we didn't...
Moral of the story? Coffee can cure anything, it cannot cure stupidity.

PS: Conversation 2-minutes after posting this...
Pirate: But drunk sex is fun...
Me: definitely! :) the guy doesn't remember and the girl thinks it was great because he lasted really long...
(Published, Metro Now, New Delhi, March 13)

Blog for today (and no promise that I'll post one everyday!)--->
"I know cricket is an emotional game and millions cry when Sachin gets out at any point in the match. I also know that people want Mahendra Singh Dhoni to score at least four a ball and that a Pathan ball must both inswing and outswing and hit the middle wicket every time. That a foreign player abusing us is a monkey but our players can refer to be in bed with the other player’s mother and it’s a simple and innocent teri maa ki..."
From KaKiSi's World

F**k You TV and How to Find A Husband

There was a reason why for the last 8 years I did not have a TV at home, watching television depresses me. The TV and everything on it is designed to make you feel really bad about yourself, one way or the other.

Like the ads that show women with lustrous, beautiful hair that bounce more than their boobs do when they walk or run. (Majority hair ads have women playing, jumping, running, why?) Or ads where men are ALWAYS gifting expensive jewellery to their girls and looking happy about it, ads where Papas have loads of time to sit and chill with the family or ads that show how women with pimples/acne don’t get boyfriends. Or stupider TV shows…

I just got up after watching this series on Discovery Travel & Living called, How To Find A Husband (also shown on UKTV). It’s a pre-recorded show about Sally Gray (reporter and TV presenter for last 15 years) who dates 50 men in 10 weeks to find herself a husband. The promo for the show goes, “I am 37 and still single. There is nothing wrong with being single…but now I want a husband…blah…and I don’t want to be stuck wearing this fucking SINGLE ring for the rest of my life.” She wears a silver ring with SINGLE engraved on it. Nice start to finding The One.

I was watching the original 1978 Don when a young Amitabh Bachchan’s collagen injected lips and Zeenat Aman’s pointy bras (why did women in the 70s think that boobs were supposed to be conical?) got to me and I switched channels to end up on Sally’s show where the first thing I heard was, “If you want a husband, don’t sleep with a man on the first date, or the second or the third.” (How about fixing the hymen instead so that each prospective husband-material thinks you’re a virgin, eh?)

Then the various date gurus go on to tell Sally that she should be “demure” with her dates and not be hyperactive. Then she was advised to keep the first date a coffee-date and not a drinking one and if at all there was to be drinking to keep it to two glasses of champagne. “Remember, less is more” advised the guru. Funnily enough the same dating guru who had so far advocated ‘demure’ advised Sally to be sassy and bold with her online profile, even if it meant fabricating stuff.

As an example the dating guru said how her profile said she liked wearing men’s shirts (how chweet no?) and at the same time was open for a threesome. Sally’s response was a shocked, “But that’s not true…” The dating guru responded with a quick, “How do you know?” Basically Sally is an honest person while the dating guru is a fraud. And that’s what finding a husband is all about isn’t it? Making a/the guy believe he is getting himself a wife while you hide your true self – could be hideous, hyperactive, bold, fun-loving, smart, witty, whatever – behind this mask of what is supposed to be Acceptable Behaviour for Marriageable Girls.

Of course that rule applies to women like Sally – and an increasing number of you girls out there – who are smart, sassy, independent, usually smarter than the dumb jocks around and DON’T want to settle for just anyone with a bit of flesh between his legs. Strangely there is no Acceptable Behaviour list for what makes a man ‘marriageable’. All it takes for a guy – even if he’s passably ‘good’ – to classify as marriage material is “He should want to marry”.

A guy can want sex on the first date because “He’s a man, men always want sex” and of course women’s hormones are only meant for the period, they don’t make us horny. A guy can drink on the first date because testosterone and caffeine don’t go together, do they? A guy doesn’t have to be ‘demure’ and can laugh loudly and crack the funnies because if a woman does that, frankly the man will be threatened by her wit. A guy can spill his drink, burp, fart and be a clumsy clod and everything is acceptable because of course his mommy cleaned up after him. But a woman doing any of that is not-marriage-material because honey, you are showing that you will not be the Perfect Wife. Because only women want marriage, right? Fuck you.

What if the woman does not want marriage? If a woman is quite happy NOT being a Mrs Somebody… Can the guys handle that? (She’d most probably be called a slut)

PS: Anyone out there who slept on the first date and is (still) married to/dating the person: Write in, even if anonymously. I REALLY want to prove this shit-myth wrong. Why should only a woman’s character be judged for sleeping on the first date?

PS2: IF there are men out there who don’t believe in a woman following a list of Acceptable Behaviour, don’t fucking fight with me and write in saying I am man-bashing; write in to show you DO exist: Apparently there are many really nice ladies single out there because they couldn’t be bothered marrying an arsehole.

Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?

Ever wondered...
How if you think no one's watching and scratch your bum in public, somebody IS watching?

How you don’t realize how someone has snuggled into your daily routine till they go out of town and you suddenly don’t know what to do with your time? And you miss them sorely and everything you routinely do suddenly seems very weary?

How TV channels have ALL boring shows on weekends? One would think that with more people sitting home with time on their hands to watch the tele, they would put out better shows. But they don’t. Stupid channels.

How all "sexy" women are supposed to sound husky? And of course there's the breathlessness of Marilyn Monroe's voice.

How when you have a “sexy” song playing at a disc/pub, most women start doing a “sexy” dance? Like perfectly normal women – who have hitherto been dancing quite modestly – suddenly start gyrating and thrusting their butts out and making all those grrrrowl-I-will-bite-you-expressions the moment ‘Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me’ (Pussycat Dolls) starts playing? Even to the faces of their own boyfriends?!

Or how every woman – even if she has a hip fracture – will start shaking her bum to Shakira’s Hips don’t lie? (Raises hand, have done it too. Bwahaha, if I were perfect, I'd be such a pain, no?)

How women will s-l-o-w-l-y bite and then proceed to lick their fingers doing the “saxy thang” and make "mmmm" noises when eating fleshy fruits and finger foods; particularly when there are good-looking men around?

How men will laugh at the stupidest thing a woman says if she is really beautiful or very hot? Or if said man wants to bed said woman?

How most women who run beauty salons – at least in India – are usually ghastly to look at? I mean Shahnaz Husain has a whole line of beauty products for crying out loud.

How people start using phrases that make no sense and that they have no clue about just because everyone else is using it? Like, “My bad” or the oft used, “That’s a bummer”. What, pray, is a bummer? A fart? Is there a non-bummer fart too?

How when you are nibbling a pizza carefully – or anything with a topping – to save the meatiest bit for the last, most satisfying bite… it falls down? (This one could be just me)

How when you want to look your best on a certain night, the girl who you hate looks better than you? (This could just be me, and no it’s not insecurity, I just want to look better than her, okay? No discussion. Grin)

Or when you are planning on wearing a really skin-hugging outfit and need your tummy to look flat… the shit thing bloats? (Maybe, just maybe I could be a fashion disaster)

How you will ALWAYS stain your whitest outfit/ shirt/ trousers no matter how hard you try not to? The harder you try to keep it clean, the tougher the stuff you will stain it with.

How almost ALL women when drunk HAVE to declare they are drunk? They will laugh loudly, do stupid things all the while crying out loud, “Oh I am so drunk.” Everyone can see it, why say it?

How ALL women forget to carry tampons/napkins etc when they are close to their period dates? And just when you ask around, no one else has it either?

How as you grow older, your hairstyle gets messier, sportier, sharper, crisper, more with-the-times… because you are either trying to hide thinning hair, a bald patch or want to feel young? (I go with the uncombed wild look. Dude, I am turning 30. THIRTY?!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…)

How you write random things because there is something else on your mind and you want to write it but you don’t want to write it at the same time? Sigh.

I want a massage, lying in the sun with the waves crashing near by and no stares.
I want to eat a really tasty meal. And be able to burp without getting self-conscious.
I want to dance and dance and dance… without bothering if someone is staring down my cleavage or who is laughing at me. Actually no, I want people to stare at my cleavage and have a hidden, camouflaged squirting gun device that tracks starers and squirts them with unwashable ink smack in their faces. Yeah.
I want to laugh with my head thrown back, where my stomach hurts and I have tears in my eyes and not bother if I look ugly or there’s too much teeth. Just laugh. The Partner says my smile lights him up, I have seen his eyes shine brighter too. But some words take time to rid from your subconscious. I will get there. I don’t have an "ugly pirate laugh".
I want to stop my friends from getting hurt. Just take the hurt away from all those I care about and find them love and happiness and satisfaction and no fear and security.
I wish I could stop people cheating on each other and have everyone fall in love and remain in love. I can be so stupid.
I want to be able to sing. At least one song. Perfectly.
I want to have REAL friends. It’s been so long, this changing, adapting, molding myself. Now I just wish I had more friends on my phone book than taxi drivers and help-lines.
Self-sufficiency has its price.

Holi Mess!

Hello hello…a very Happy Holi to all of you…even those who have no clue about ‘Holi’. This is our version of mud-wrestling, the Spanish tomato festival or simply put, getting down and dirty. Just that we do it with colours – preferably ones that leave you with pink or green or even purple ears for the next week or so – and plaster each other with all shades that stick.

My dad used to call Holi a ‘dirty’ festival because he reckoned that men used the fest as a way of feeling up women. Well, there’s no harm in that I say if it’s someone you really want to be felt up by. Grin.

Holi is also the festival where you can get everyone officially drunk on bhang (extract of Cannabis sativa, aka hemp). You can drink it in milk (called ‘thandai’, literally means cool), you can eat it in pakoras (veggies fried in a gram flour batter), you can kill yourself with laddoos (round, sweetmeats stuffed with bhang) and as some friends are planning, you can make a mozzarella pizza and use bhang instead of oregano for garnish. The result is the same: On mild amounts you crack up and laugh maniacally for hours, with slightly more you pass out and with shit loads in your system, you can get a paranoia attack.

It’s sensible to drinking/having sensible amounts and laughing your head off. Holi is also interesting as this is the festival to let all barriers of decorum fall. Shy housewives, mother in laws and even strict fathers to pretty girls usually let their guard down and let people mingle, get stoned or drunk and have some fun.

Yes, you can get very dirty. The best trick is to step out slathered with oil, so that whatever colour you get can easily be washed off. Also, as long as you don’t get the colour in your eyes or mouth, you’d be bloody fine. If someone is coming at you with colours or a water gun, it’s prudent to shut both your eyes and your mouth. And get them back! Wearing white is fashionable, but girls should be mindful of not wearing white that’s transparent. Unless that is what you’re planning.

Now I gotta go… wish you all a very happy holi... and it's bloody great that we can do this in India.. officially throw water balloons at people and not get sued for it. What a place to be. Sigh.
PS: The pic's from last year... what fuckin' fun!

Sexual suggestions and realisations 2008!

There are little things and big things that make for great sex and all of it does not necessarily have to do with penis size. Most of it just practical advise – you may or may not find yourself in a similar situation – and some of it just observations. Read on and if there’s something you want to add to the list, please feel free.

1. Toilet paper is must have to any sexual encounter. In your excitement, you could kick a coffee mug or a glass of wine, or squish the tube of lubricant, or spray on the wall… Keep toilet paper handy to quickly mop up. It soaks up semen best.

2. The man never has a condom when you need it most: Read that, remember that, it’s a rule. If it’s a regular partner, you don’t want a baby and you are not on the pill, YOU carry a condom, no matter who says it’s the man job. If you are into randomly picking up people, you are an IDIOT for not carrying condoms.

3. The most unfortunate thing to happen is for you to dry up when things are heating up. Instead if coughing up spit to get things on a smoother track, please invest in a tube of lubricant. It saves precious time during foreplay, helps get a quickie off quickly (!) prevents erectile tissue from going flaccid and you, from getting sore.

4. Keep a bottle of water near especially if you are a smoker and if you like to go at it for long. A parched throat distracts, doesn’t let you breathe easy thereby move easy and saps energy. There is no scientific research behind that statement, but experience says drinking water keeps you going stronger and longer.

5. Mouth-freshener whether it’s wake-up sex, after-party sex or just any other time you think your mouth’s not smelling fresh… No matter how much you don’t mind kissing his morning mouth, a fresh mouth makes for much more pleasant kissing etc.

6. Sex can be tiring and hunger-creating. If you want to avoid stepping into the kitchen in the heat/cold or waiting for the delivery boy, always keep munchies and chocolates by your bedside. Empty-stomach sex is really not that much fun.

7. It’s always good to have frequent quickies, helps you improve your technique, you never know when you’d need a quickie.

8. Learn the right way to deep breathe… it does wonders for your stamina.

9. Always keep a morning-after pill with you, condoms are only 97 % safe and even guys with great practice in pulling-out can sometimes miss the signal.

10. If there’s another person in the house NEVER assume they cannot hear you even though you might be screaming into a pillow, DON'T scream. The third in the house ALWAYS hears things.

11. If you have to scream, try not to scream out technical details like “put it here” or “harder baby”.

12. Till you really don’t know your girlfriend’s threshold-for-violence, never encourage her to slap your balls playfully. Or for him to bite you hard.

13. Frantic grinding after two glasses of water will always give you a stitch in the stomach. Ditto for any aerated drink.

14. If you are in a situation where you can be caught, ALWAYS put your undies in the pocket of your jeans/jacket/whatever. In emergency escape scenarios, the undies/ socks always go missing.

15. Never be the third when a recently-dating couple hang out. You will end up looking like an idiot while they grope and suck face.

16. Never point out to your partner (girlfriend or boyfriend) the person/people you have slept with in a party. If they ask about someone and are right, never deny.

17. When you are in a relationship, you will seem far more attractive to everyone else. Don’t think it makes you a siren, it just makes you a challenge, that’s it.

18. If a guy is drunk and has brilliant sex with you; it’s not you, it’s the alcohol.

19. If a guy is drunk and can’t get it up or can’t come, it’s not you, it’s the alcohol.

20. If a drunk woman starts crying after you’ve had sex with her; it’s not you, it was the ex-boyfriend.

21. Never trust a guy who only wants to meet you when his girlfriend leaves the city. He will always discuss you with his friends.

22. If it’s stinking, don’t take it in your mouth.

23. The girl who compliments the most girls in a party is always the biggest bitch.

24. If he says he has never been in a long relationship and is scared of commitment, TRUST him and don’t set out to test his words.

25. If a woman says she’s your friend and then feels up your boyfriend or flirts with him ‘innocently’, watch the bitch.

26. You can get away with calling a woman fat but you can never get away with criticizing her boobs.

27. If you are insecure about your sex life and discuss it with people, they will only make you feel worse about it.

28. If a woman constantly talks about a man to you (and you’re a chick) – and you two aren’t the best of friends – she isn’t being communicative; she thinks you are either hitting on the man or are a threat to her.

29. Women who are the loudest in declaring their relationship status to people – particularly when their boyfriends/husbands are not around – are usually the ones who would cheat on their men.

30. A possessive person needs a possessive person as his/her partner, any other situation cannot survive.

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.

Drunk. Shrug. F**k It.

It started out with coffee and quotes and ended with wine and confessions.
(or has it quite, as I write...?)
And I really want to take my mind off it all and have sex. Not make love, I don't want that, but have sex. It's funny accepting that, writing that... and perhaps makes me a little queazy too, because now I am aware of the fact that a lot of people reading the words ALSO know the face behind the words. (Deep breath) The fact that people 'know' what's on my mind does not bother me -- I write about it! --but what does bother me is the assumption that just because I write (that I want to have sex), many think I'd be up for Anything or Anyone. Don't people realise, that for someone THIS open, if she were interested, she would make it rather clear? If the lady is not taking hints, she ain't interested.
You go out looking for conversation and the dude nearly kills you. He propositions you so bad and so blatantly that you nearly choke on your puke, trying not to throw up on his face. Why can't some men take a graceful and polite no? Anyway, this is getting to be harping on the same ol' issue. And mindless word games are irritating me too. OH GOD. I am SO wound up right now, it is just not funny.
Maybe it's all the talk about bed-breaking sex I've been having all afternoon, or too much coffee, or maybe the two bottles of cheap Indian wine that are lying empty, or perhaps its one Jane too many... whatever, I am wound up. Taut, tight, high strung, whatever; been so for two days and it's irritating the hell out of me. In need of some SERIOUS...oh, I don't know.

There was a time when I, well, had this recurring dream...this very, crispy-clear picture of this very pretty green valley, with the aroma of camelias all around, tall trees with orchids growing in their stunted boughs, the mountains opposite covered with snow, the grass under my toes, green and moist with the rapidly descending fog... And I am standing there, looking at the mountains far, far away, with the breeze tickling the skin on my legs and thighs, with my hair falling light and cool on my neck and shoulders and just as I feel the first chill... a pair of arms that come and encircle me, and gently pull me into Him, and am held, and warmed, and held. Just that. I never see Him; but lord knows I feel him so intensely. So completely. It is almost a physical pain. The ridiculousness of my own dream.
I never saw anything else; never see anything else.
And yet I so, so crave for it. And it eludes me. I tell you, all bravado goes. If i could feel that, I would give all... I would fall on my knees, and lay naked and say and mean the words... and never want or try to be the ball-breaking, Strong Woman again. Because then - with Him - I would know it's okay to be weak because He would never use it against me. And it's so relaxing to let all bravado go, to let yourself feel. Even feel scared. Because then, with Him, you know you can feel scared but you will not be hurt, it's so much peace. Because you can feel at ease.
And it's so stupid to dream like that. So juvenile. Illogical even. You think that 14-year-olds think of... well, I am embarrassed as hell saying the word... Soulmate. Of just being.
Oh god. So much has passed and I am still fucking, sheepishly thinking soulmates and jackshit. I am STILL stupid.

Post scrap: And the Princess looked at the World around and saw everywhere, the evidence of the Big Lie and thought, "It's not true; mirages are never true and yet you wait...you eternal fool."

Wonderin' if she could sniff some crotch

If we all were to live in a humpy-dory world where we all fucked and forgot...we would all live happily ever after. Because we would fuck, then we would forget and we would still fuck the same person(s) without any hard feelings. Hmm. utopia.

if human's behaved like dogs....we would all stare at each other's private parts as much as we wanted, scratch and even lick our privates in public and no one would think a thing was outta place, chase whoever we wanted...look at any number of the opposite sex and wag our tails. And if the interest was really great? Even sniff their crotches. If you like what you smell, you take it -- or stand in line -- or you move on to some more sniffy-fucky. Simple. Sigh. a dog's life. cant sniff no crotch. cant even dare. at least with cats and dogs you are certain they DO groom themselves/
PS: to self = do not write after vodkas. it sows. shows.

I am Sunita and I get beaten everyday

I am Sunita, 30-years-old, three children: two daughters aged 17 and 14 and a son who is 10. Today I was beaten up, first when i was being beaten for myself and then when I was trying to save my younger daughter ...who was trying to save me.

My husband -- an alcoholic, without job and with another woman he spends my money on --- was hitting me this morning. As usual. We had an episode last night too. As usual. so my younger daughter got in the way, trying to stop him from beating me. She thought if he hit me too hard i would die. You see, just two years back (i was 28), I had an open heart surgery. But he hit me, because I warned the Other Woman that she has to stay away from my husband.

So when my younger daughter tried to protect me, he throttled her. And said he would fuck me and my daughters. How can he? They are his children, his flesh and blood. How could he say that? Why does he treat us like this? I didn't get the kids from my parents'...they were born here. Of him. How can he talk about screwing his own daughters? what if she does? What should I do?

Should i leave him? what will the world say? what will happen to my daughters? who will marry them? Will they also have a life like me?? I am Sunita. I got married at 18. I am a maid in a swanky household. WHAT IS MY FAULT?

(as told to Eve*)