blogspot sucks...still writing occasionally on wordpress.

update

i have a small, one hour surgery tomorrow to put the tube in for dialysis. i'm not really scared about the operation, but the pain and discomfort after is not something i'm looking forward to, especially when it's on top of all that i'm already going through.

dialysis starts tuesday...the process just sound so disgusting and scary, i wish i didn't have to go through this.

wish me luck for tomorrow.

fear

it's really strange but i've fallen in love with pb after marriage. i mean, really, really truly, where i have no doubts, ever. i no longer have any walls up, i've succumbed completely to this...i'm no longer the bitch that used to dump his ass every time he messed up even a little...i'm now a defenseless little kitten. and i'm feeling insecure as hell these days.

the kidneys are being total bastards and deteriorating steadily. each day, i wake up to a new symptom: puffy eyes, swollen feet, itching, headache, nausea. sometimes, it's all of them. i don't think i have had a single conversation that did not revolve around my health this past month. every time i open my mouth, it's to whine about how my head is killing me, or how i'm feeling weak, or which tablet i have to take or how high my bp or heart rate is.

i'm not the best wife right now and i really wish i was. pb comes home, completely knackered from work and makes himself dinner and then listens to me whine. i feel awful, but i'm stuck at home, in bed all day, and can't think of a better topic. i know i'd be there for him, if our roles were reversed but somehow, that doesn't help. marriage is such a fragile thing, and i'm just scared that the next few months are going to be really tough and he'll fold under pressure.

i'll have my transplant probably within the next 4 to 6 weeks, if my sister's tests come back okay and she's fit to donate. i'm off to either london or singapore then. the irony! the only time i've ever travelled to anywhere other than pakistan was for my surgery to the UK, when i was 5. i was really hoping that my next (or first real) trip would be more pleasant, perhaps our honeymoon in italy or somewhere corny and romantic.

i've been trying to be positive and upbeat but sometimes, i'm just tired and overwhelmed. i am just not ready for this, it wasn't supposed to happen so soon. i've tried so hard to take care of my body, and the bitch of it is that the transplant isn't even the miracle solution. i will most likely get diabetes after, and i'll also be more at risk for cancer and heart attack. my bp may or may not improve. i don't know about my anemia...that might get fixed. sometimes, i just can't figure out what the point is of going through with the transplant, if my old problems will only be replaced with new ones. my most depressing thought this past two weeks has been the wish that we were like dogs that could just be put to sleep, once you realize that there's not much one can do.

uh...sorry...so much for upbeat!

anyway, i guess, like a wise friend of mine once said: this is my lot in life and i have to run with it.

p.s: sorry, i'm just trying to whine online so pb gets to hear less of it...you guys are gonna be my victims now!

you are NOT a muslim

sin posted recently about a blog dedicated to gay muslims.

before you get excited and click on the link, hoping to find some enlightened people having an open-minded discussion on homosexuality and Islam, let me tell you: don't bother. i'm really not sure why this person is out there, wasting his time writing all this because we already know that the majority think that homosexuality is a major sin (with some holding the view that the appropriate punishment is death).

even if one accepts that homosexuality is a sin, i love how it's considered as literally THE worst sin. suppose we have the following:

a murderer
a rapist
a lying, cheating, thieving bastard
a corrupt politician
a pedophile
a homosexual

sure, muslims want the all these people punished. but you'll never really hear anyone scream about how the first 5 aren't muslim, even though those 5 sins directly inflict harm on others. the homosexual causes no harm, and yet, we've heard enough claims of how one can not be a homosexual and be a muslim! so basically, Islam enthusiastically accepts all sorts of sinners who go around killing, raping, cheating but decides that someone who happens to fall in love with a person of the same sex must be thrown out or killed?

it annoys me so much that when people write in to scholars asking about homosexuality, they start the reply with:

In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful

and then go on to say:

"Islam emphatically forbids this deed [homosexual sex] and prescribes a severe punishment for it in this world and the next. How could it be otherwise, when the Prophet of Islam (peace and blessings be upon him) said: ‘Whoever you find committing the sin of the people of Lut, kill them, both the one who does it and the one to whom it is done.’ (At-Tirmidhi: 1376) That is, if it is done with consent."

The scholars of Islam, such as Malik, Ash-Shafi`i, Ahmad and Ishaaq said that (the person guilty of this crime) should be stoned, whether he is married or unmarried.

Indeed, Allah is extremely merciful!

and i love this part:

Almighty Allah has prohibited illegal sexual intercourse and homosexuality and all means that lead to either of them. This perverted act is a reversal of the natural order, a corruption of man's sexuality, and a crime against the rights of females.

yes, because we all know that Islam is really big on rights of women, what with allowing men to marry up to four women AND keep concubines (who were basically female slaves, part of war booty that were raped by their masters who owned them).

it makes me sick to my stomach to read about homosexuality being described as a filthiness, a perversion, a sickness or a crime. how cruel is it, to alienate all those men and women who believe in Islam and are gay? how cruel is it to constantly refer to their feelings for another human being as a perversion or a crime? who the fuck do these people think they are, making the gays struggle so much and often choose between faith and sexual orientation? how dare THEY decide that someone is not a muslim?

the author of the gay muslim blog seems to accept occasionally that this 'sickness' may come from within, i.e. it is not an active choice (you know, like i might wake up tomorrow and decide that i am tired of dick and need some more female genitalia in my life). however, he feels that one must not follow through with these feelings. so basically, a gay man must go ahead and marry a female, ruin HER life cause he just can't get it up, no matter how much she flaunts her big tits. and he remains miserable, and leads a life silently lusting after his male co-workers and getting off to 'shaving ryan's privates' after his wife goes to bed.

yes, that's EXACTLY what you must do because anything else and the merciful Allah will want his followers to stone you to death, you evil, evil fucking faggot.

Islam, on it's own, as a philosophy has many, many great things about it. and there are a number of amazing followers out there. but when haters like this get on board and shout the loudest, i just get so frustrated. how perverted are these people themselves, focusing only on the sexual aspect of a relationship between two men? why the fuck are they so obsessed with the idea of anal intercourse? why can't they see beyond that and accept that two men can be IN LOVE with each other (and find ways to express it)?

and how can they paint such a sadistic, evil picture of Allah, a God who, according to their narrow interpretation, can't wait to roast the majority of us in hell? how can they worship someone they fear so much?

it boggles the mind...

tolerance

so pb is away on a work related trip and isn't going to be back until Tuesday. he left Friday morning and i have to admit that i've been missing him a lot. i made the most romantic admission ever before he left, and confessed that although i hated him most of the time and wanted to kill him every 5 minutes or throw him (or his clothes) out of the window or strangle him because he keeps asking me every damn day where his socks are (how does a man assume that the wife is magically going to know where everything is??), i seriously can't imagine living without him (*puke*).

in other news, we had our weekly session of poker last thursday and after four, five hours of losing and winning money, we ended up having an interesting, half-drunken discussion on religion, evolution, and politics (typical topics that one goes on and on about when one is drunk and likes the sound of their own voice).

one of my reasons for closing down the blog to public has to do with the fact that i just did not feel comfortable writing my views on religion anymore. most people can figure out where i live, and there are a lot of defensive, angry muslims out there who take someone leaving 'their' religion as a personal affront...i really can not risk one of them being from around here and trying to report me to the authorities. these things DO happen.

funny thing is that in real life, people are far more tolerant. or perhaps those are just the kind of people i surround myself with. that poker night, as we all aired our personal point of views about fairly touchy topics, there was not a single argument or raised voice. there were at least 4 different faiths and 5 nationalities between the 6 of us, yet we had a civilized debate till 6 in the morning about how religion was evil (my opinion) or beautiful and necessary but far too dangerous in the hands of humans (the popular point of view).

in fact, i am sharing my life with someone who has faith in god and even in Islam (although he's not exactly what one would call religious), but there has never been any conflict between us regarding that. we hardly ever talk about it and when we do, there's no judgment. on one hand, i find it odd that i've married someone who chooses to believe in something i can't and he finds it strange how i have no faith at all, but we never think much over it. he does not irk me like a lot of other muslims do, because they constantly try to make you fear god's wrath or make you think that everything that's going wrong in your life is because you haven't been praying or cause you're such a bad muslim (or not one at all).

my parents often try to get me to pray, especially when something good or bad happens and i just give noncommittal responses. they KNOW i don't believe but they continue to hope. again though, they're extremely tolerant and i have discussions with them about how strange it is that my dad can't wait to get to heaven to sample the rivers flowing with wine, because i just can't understand how alcohol is bad, bad, bad on earth but a reward in heaven? i was also laughing over the 72 virgins thing with my father yesterday, wondering what happens after they have been de-virginized. do they have magical hymens that grow back? or do they go to the space reserved for non-virgins? or does the man end up with 72 women he has deflowered and now has to take care of (effectively, 72 wives?!). obviously my dad doesn't have an answer but suffice to say, he's looking forward to the fruits of his sacrifices on earth!

i suppose people find it so much easier to attack anonymously online, condemning me (and other apostates) to hell or promising to hunt me down. in real life, they're probably far more tolerant or extremely unhappy (i just can't imagine a person like that being content). i suppose i could budge and admit that it isn't religion that's evil but the people who bastardize it, because they're just plain stupid and they would ruin almost anything they touched. religion is just far easier to manipulate and interpret in ways that suit yourself, which i suppose is what makes it so dangerous.

i hope the people that have been given access to this blog are ones that are more tolerant, like the ones i know in real life because otherwise, the whole 'private blog' thing is rendered moot and i'll just have to pack up and shut up.

i wonder why those of you who emailed me and said that you'd been reading for 2 or 3 years have never commented? i think some of you are ones that freak me out occasionally because you spend 2 hours going through my archives every other day and each time i figure that i've finally got some relative or some fanatic mullah, ready to crucify me!

i'm so glad i've made the blog private because at least i will now know the name of every single reader (even if some of you have been complete bastards and supplied me with fake names!!). it just makes me feel a lot more comfortable. i have to apologize to anyone who did not have a gmail address and will have to go through the extra effort of getting one to continue reading; i'm REALLY sorry about all this crap but seriously, i'd be fucking traumatised for life by the alternative (an open blog, with the possibility of my dad keeping up with my sex life *shudder*).

i haven't written much for the past month because i had an awful health scare and it looked like my kidney failure had entered the last stage and i was a month or so away from a transplant. i was pretty busy getting tests done, crying, figuring out whose kidney to steal and comforting my even more terrified parents. i had the docs change my bp meds because the one i've been taking for the last 3 years has too many side effects that i just couldn't handle anymore (like lethargy, drowsiness, leg ache, cold hands and feet, low/zero sex drive, and depression). the new medicine had the miraculous effect of improving my kidney function (i don't know whether that is a temporary improvement or not though) but it hasn't been that good at controlling my bp so for the past 2 weeks, i've had the worst headaches. one of them also increases my heart rate which takes some time getting used to...imagine resting in bed but your heart is beating so fast that you feel like you're running.

fucking crazy shit.

anyway, so i couldn't write about any of this even when i was at my most terrified because i was too afraid of my father researching my illness and ending up here.

i'm back to feeling much better now but i don't know how long this is gonna last. i hate the timing of this, because i've barely been three months into my marriage and while a kidney transplant isn't that bad as far as diseases go (at least it's not cancer), it's still too goddamn soon. i always thought this would happen a good 5, 6 years from now, at least. i hate springing this on pb...he's had a tough couple of years, and life has just gotten better for him, with a great job, apartment, the car of his dreams and our marriage...and then i go and fall ill! i don't know if we're strong enough for this; i know i'm going to go from being super bitchy to super depressed in the next few months, which he's probably used to cause, lets face it, i'm not exactly nice! but if the last few weeks are anything to go by, it's going to be much tougher and worse than ever before and i hope we come through it okay.

ok, i'm going to stop whining now...in fact, i refuse to dwell on all this especially because we watched 'the pursuit of happyness' last night and seriously, my life seems amazing in comparison to the shit he had to go through.

normal (i.e. retarded, bitchy) transmission will resume soon.

after going back and forth over this (for a whole 5 minutes), i've decided to make this blog private (open only to readers invited via email). it will be tedious for those who do want to check in on me occassionally but i figure if they give a shit, they wont mind that effort. this past month, i've had tons of shit that i wanted to write but i've been self-censoring because i think my dumb luck is gonna run out any day and good ol' daddy or some annoying real life friend or someone in my city will find out who i am (and the idea of them reading about my sex life or drunken antics or rants against religion makes me pretty uncomfortable). this is blogger's fault actually, because i'd be just as happy to be able to post password protected posts when i need to, but they don't have that option. and i can't be arsed to start a whole new blog.

anyway, if i already have your email address, i'll send out an invite to you over the weekend (so obviously baron, alibhai, kristie, sin, sara, etc need not worry). if you've never emailed me before but have been reading a while, leave a comment with your name, blog and email address (or email me on mysoliloquy at gmail dot com). anonymous losers with fake names need not apply; you could SO be daddy or even pb (the evil cow!) in disguise!

note to pb: yeah, sorry baby, you lose the rights to read me from now on (i need to be able to bitch about you occassionally, without you reading all about it!). stop sulking, i love you...xx.

happy valentine's day!

pink clad bundle of malevolance*

red and brown m&m's taste so much better than orange, green, yellow, and blue. if i could make a wish today, it would be for a packet full of red and brown ones only. that or a million dollars. or big boobs. actually, i'd prefer perfect, long legs to big boobs.

pb & i are getting a really sexy convertible. it was out of our budget but the moment i sat in it, i fell in love. i wish i could have been so sure about my men, i would never have had relationship problems! seriously, it took one look at the exterior, a glance at the interior and there! the deal was sealed (or something like that).

men are never that easy (good thing i don't have to worry about that crap anymore though).

anyway, i can't wait to play the role of the (not so) hot chick in the hot car. so far, pb and i have spent most of our days fighting about who should drive, whenever we go out together, cause no one really wants to drive, especially not in this city and especially not a shitty rental like our current one. i think we'll definitely be fighting over who gets behind the wheel in this one though. and i've already threatened to call the cops on his ass if he doesn't let me drive, cause he shouldn't really be driving here since he still doesn't have a local license.

mwaaaaahahahahah!

sarah 1 - pb 0.

on to other matters....

i came across a really interesting blog today and one of her posts had an interesting challenge put forward by femiste, about coming up with 5 things you love about your body and yourself. it sounds pretty easy but it's not, especially not for someone like me. if you search through the almost 5 years worth of archives on this blog, i THINK you might come up with perhaps a couple of good things i've said about myself, but even those would be very typical ones, done in a way that wouldn't qualify them for the 'mission', as put very well by the blogger:

Have you ever wondered about how we as women, are hardwired to be self depreciating about our own selves? That with every fraction of appreciation we give ourselves, we can’t help but take ten steps back and hastily cover it up with oh-but-I-cant-wear-this-for-squat or I-may-be-good-at-this-but-I-will- probably -suck-ass-at-what-so-and-so-are-doing and comfortably sink into our usual cycle of self-belittlement?

now i read this about half an hour back and i still can't think of even one thing i could say, which i truly, truly love about myself, or which i don't think would sound conceited, or be met with 'ugh, i don't think soooo', or which i wouldn't start with 'i know it's not the greatest but i do like my...'.

nothing.

i have no idea when i became so self-conscious and insecure. and so arrogant in the belief that anyone would actually care if i think i have nice hair or eyes, even when i don't. so cynical in thinking that people are actually such assholes that they'd call me out on it and say, 'oh sorry hon, actually your hair is kinda shit and your eyes are fucking average'. oh and that word. i really can't remember when i actually succumbed so completely to it and accepted my mediocrity, to being so average that i can't even come up with a damn thing i genuinely like about myself.

it IS a challenge though, so of course i'm gonna do it. and i'd appreciate it if y'all do it too (yes, even the lurkers, including my twin!), without being funny, silly or self-deprecating about it. and without using 'i think' or 'x says that' or 'i kinda like' etc., as a safety net.

tell me 5 or more things that you genuinely LOVE about your self (and your body). i'm gonna put myself out there and do it, so you might as well have a go as well.

1. i love how i can get away with strange hair colours (including pink highlights) and cuts that look retarded on most people.
2. i love how i never have a problem attracting men or keeping them.
3. i I love my arse. and i love how i don't have to obsess about how i look or what my weight is.
4. i love my ability to be friends with and get on with people of varied ages.
5. i love that i can put a positive spin on my illness, my (possible) inability to have kids and joke about it all. in fact, i love my sense of humour because it is no holds barred, filthy and nothing is considered sacred.
6. and as a bonus: i love myself for always standing up for my opinions and my beliefs, even when i was a little kid.

note: the title is the best description anyone has ever come up for me, courtesy of my evil twin.

accidental babies

i miss my melancholy.

damien rice has come out with his new album. his previous one was 'O' and it has got to be my favourite album ever. it's just...so fucking beautiful. and the new one is great too, it has a couple of really good songs. i love 'accidental babies':

Well I know I make you cry
And I know sometimes you wanna die
But do you really feel alive without me?
If so, be free
If not, leave him for me
Before one of us has accidental babies
For we are in love

Do you come
Together ever with him?
Is he dark enough?
Enough to see your light?
Do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
Do you miss my smell?
And is he bold enough to take you on?
Do you feel like you belong?
And does he drive you wild?
Or just mildly free?

What about me?
What about me?

when i discovered 'O' in 2004, i used to drive home every night, listening to the album, singing along to it. most of the songs were depressing as hell, but i could relate...i'd been through a lot that year. changed jobs, careers even, discovered i had high bp and my kidney failure was worse than i thought it was. i broke up with my long distance boyfriend in june, had a very empty yet strangely enlightening and beautiful relationship with a scottish singer and then met pb, towards the end of the year. i had so much time to myself, time to think way too much, to wallow in my emptiness and depression, to over-analyze every feeling, to savour the beginning of a new love and i could relate to practically each song by rice.

a little over 2 years later and i've been relatively stable. i'm even married now, and to a paki! all i could write about, before pb, was how much i hated paki men, which resulted in quite a few pissed off, crazy fuckers who wanted to kill me...good times.

anyway, my point was that i miss all that. stability and contentment are beautiful things and i'm mature enough now to recognize that and embrace it, instead of trying to jeopardize everything because i'm more comfortable with unhappiness. but i do think there's just as much beauty in melancholy...i guess that's why, on one level, i prefer sad songs, suicidal artists and stories of unrequited love or failed romances to the happily ever after nonsense.

it annoys me that i'm in love with the line "But do you really feel alive without me?" but have no one to relate it to. i suppose i am too used to drawing parallels between such songs and my life because my life used to be full of a lot of difficulties, baggage, bad days, depression accompanied by a very tiny dose of something good, to keep me going. and now that i'm happy, the demons are gone and there's nothing to cry about anymore, i feel a little lost.

i know, isn't this so typical? the woman is finally happy so she goes and ruins it all by missing her sadness! i used to often think that, in many ways, i am only happy when i am depressed. i would always write more, i used to DO more (if only to get away from myself) and i would think more. happiness is like a little bubble that i live in now, slightly disconnected from everyone else, just passing my days floating around, doing nothing much at all.

i guess this is going to be another adjustment that i need to make. i need to get used to the fact that nothings missing anymore and life is actually pretty good (touchpbwood). and that melancholy and accidental babies, as beautiful as both are, can be done without, for a bit.

ding ding da ding

my favourite paki blogger is a year older (again)!

happy birthday, alibhai!

i hope you're out there, stuffing yourself with great biryani, followed by that yummy mango cake you discovered last year, drinking yourself silly and basically having an absolute blast.

and i wish this year's full of lots and lots of happiness, joy, love, light, success, booty, great food and stories to tell.

love & hugs.

changes

i've turned into a little housewife!

funny how we adapt to change (or are forced to adapt). a little over 5 weeks back, i was the pampered kid that would come home from work, scream that she was dying of hunger and often (yes, even at my old age) throw a tantrum when there was nothing to her liking. on most days, my poor mom would actually call me during the day to find out what i wanted to eat that evening (okay relax, it's not that i was THAT spoilt, i just have a special diet because of my illness).

and now...

i wake up in the morning, drop pb to work, come back, catch half an hour's sleep before the maid comes in to clean up the mess we made last night (we decided it was cheaper to get a maid than a divorce, which would DEFINITELY happen, with us fighting constantly over who should do the dishes). occasionally, i tell her what to do. most days, she tells me what i should do (like go buy another wardrobe or side tables). she's a little muslim woman, who comes in every day wearing the veil and i pretend to be asleep when she vacuums near my bed and sees the box of durex. i don't know why i'm embarrassed. i mean, for once in my life, the sex is sanctioned by the government, by my parents and by Allah!

veiled people scare me. i know that sounds awful but they honestly make me feel like they're constantly judging everyone behind that black cloth and laughing about how everyone else will go to hell. remember that issue about the british asian school teacher and the veil? well, i agreed with the school...i DO think it alienates everyone, i think it is a deliberate snub, a snooty way of setting themselves apart from the 'sinners'.

tangent.

sorry.

anyway, the maid leaves, i enjoy having my place to myself again by walking around half clothed and dirtying the kitchen with my attempts at making some breakfast and lunch for myself. off to work, where i do fuck-all for the most part (aside from looking up recipes for butter chicken or terriyaki sauce) until it's almost five and the guilt sets in, making the last hour the most productive one. i set off to pick up pb, after which we stop to get groceries and then i get home and make dinner (which is an experiment, everyday). he tries to help and it just annoys me because i'm a control freak and besides, it's just faster if i do it myself.

exhausted after all this nonsense, and after having eaten far too much, we sit and flip through channels before going off to bed.

rinse.

repeat.

i can no longer throw tantrums about wanting food RIGHT now. no one calls me to ask what i'd like to eat tonight. my parents no longer need to pay my gigantic medical bills. the fridge isn't magically stocked with yummy leftovers and fruits and snacks. my little sister isn't around to be emotionally blackmailed into making baked potato or chocolate mousse to satisfy my midnight craving or to wash my clothes or to hang them out. no mom around to fuss over me when i have a cold and no one to run to with help on make-up, to borrow shoes, belts, earrings or tops from. no one to have gossipy sessions with, at the end of every day, over cigarettes.

moving from a house full of a set of parents, 4 noisy, crazy, siblings, a greedy dog, a lazy, horny cat and two turtles to just pb is an adjustment (and a half).

little pampered me is (finally) all grown up now.

and some days, it sucks.

haseena atom bomb

i can't stop giggling. i can't believe i've never come across this before. released by good ol' lollywood, back in 1990, haseena atimbum (atomic beauty) is the deeply moving story of a bootifull lady out for revenge.

the plot:

Haseena Atom Bomb starts with a blistering dance number belted out by the evergreen Madame Noor Jehan AKA Malka-e-Tarannum AKA Melody Queen, if not beauty queen as well. The poetic and lyrical number has a crescendo line that goes....."main hoon, main hoon Haseena Atom Bomb" at which point the director has inserted some astounding and thrilling shots of a volcanic eruption, no doubt culled from some National Geographic video! No doubt he deliberately used a volcanic eruption rather than an actual Atomic Bomb so that he could actually equate the potency of the Bomb with the destructive power of nature. It would have been far too simple and even crude to merely show Atom Bomb's exploding when the singer goes "Atom Bump". Much more subtle and indeed symbolic to show Volcanoes instead.

(too long to paste the entire thing here so briefly: after the song, she apparently jumps into a stream to bathe, gets attacked by a gang, saved by some dude, goes back home, gets married, is about to 'consumate the marriage' when the gang comes back to finish what they started).

The gang rape scene that follows is memorable for being amazingly gratuitous and endlessly long but was deemed suitable for general viewing by the censors - that includes children. Poor Atomic's husband is forced to watch helplessly as each of the low life goons assaults her repeatedly. After a brief but highly enjoyable fight sequence the husband is left dangling perilously by a rope from the ceiling. The only support he has momentarily is the shoulders of Atomic, but she is hardly in any condition to prop him up after being gang raped and it isn't long before she decides she has had enough of standing up. The husband is left dangling for two thirds of the movie because Atomic returns to talk to the festering corpse when ever she feels the need for a friendly face to talk to or keep him updated on how she is progressing on her mission of vengeance.

It's a fantastic, elevating and dare we say, enlightening as well as culturally enriching experience watching this classic tale of post feminist social political backlash.

What a talent, what a bombshell! What a Movie! Very clearly a work of inspired genius.

two things:

- i think i am going to change my name on this site (or even in real life!) to 'haseena atimbum'.
- if any of you can get a hold of this on dvd (or even vhs, i'll go out and buy a vcr if they still sell them, dammit!), please send it to me IMMEDIATELY. i promise to send you back an autographed photograph of me dressed up exactly like her, in the poster above!!

we're grown-ups now

an update from mrs. pb

surprisingly, everything has gone better than expected, so far (touchpbwood).

wednesday night, 2 days before the big day, i finally got my wedding dress which looked like a disaster and i hated it on sight. i regretted ordering it from back home and not having a gazillion trials. for a minute, i forgot all about how i did not care if i looked like a beautiful bride or not. i wanted to run out and buy a gorgeous diamond set to distract from the horror of the ill-fitting top. i wanted to cry, i did not look like myself, it was FAR too traditional for my taste.

after my bridal hissy fit was over and my family forced me to try it on in front of them, i felt better because they ooh-ed and aah-ed appropriately (bless 'em). i hit the mall the next day to find the perfect shoes. mr. weitzman at harvey nics obliged and i found the pair i was looking for.

the wedding day arrived and everyone started calling me with weird theories about why it was raining like it never has before, in the city. according to my grandmom, there's a saying about how the bride must have eaten directly from the saucepan if it rains on her wedding day. obviously a few of her relatives must have been told this because every aunty in town called to ask how much i used to eat from a pan, to warrant such a downpour??! all my friends called to say they had always known that the day i married a paki, would be a day that it would pour in a desert.

pb almost couldn't make it for the nikkah, the maulvi (who my super lazy dad had just found the DAY BEFORE) couldn't find a fucking umbrella and everything got delayed. anyway, everyone arrived at the house, i never got to say qabool hay (and i was REALLY looking forward to yelling that out like an over-excited wannabe virgin about to give up her cherry). i was just asked whether i had any special conditions (due to the ultra religious appearance of the maulvi, who wouldn't even look at me and the presence of my dad), i just shook my head coyly (when i really wanted to say: hell yes! he should do the dishes, clean the toilet, do my laundry and then give me some good lovin' every night. and whenever i don't wanna do the dirty, he should retreat to the bathroom to take care of himself instead of whining or pawing me all night).

with the super romantic nikkah over, pb walked out and everyone ran about trying to figure out how the fuck to get to the hotel in the crazy rain. we managed to convince our father to drop us since everyone else's car had collapsed in the rain (lazy dad wanted to go sleep or watch some sad ol' political show on the desi channel). we spotted so many people stranded on the road and thanked god that dad loves ridiculously huge cars (no penis envy jokes please - this IS my dad).

the make-up chick was at the hotel and proceeded to paint my face. i grew extremely alarmed as the eye-lids were painted purple and cried out as she made me look more hideous by the minute. she came clean and confessed that my sister had told her to go for the 'bollywood' look and she had researched it all night and concluded that i wanted fuschia lips and purple eye-shadow that went all the way up to my brows.

*shudder*

we did some damage control (after yelling at sis for the mix-up) and made me look slightly more normal. the hair-stylist came in and was an extremely happy bunny when he was told that he did not have to do a bridal do on me and could go for my usual look. the photographer from hell landed and decided to take pics while we got dressed. he made me pose - i put a leg up on a chair, pretended to do my shoes while smiling at the camera (!!) and put on my bangles, one at a time.

i don't think i have ever felt this retarded in my life.

i warned him against pulling any such stunts at the reception.

my li'l bro escorted me to the dinner (he looked gorgeous!). pb, apparently setting a precedent for our married life, showed up late (he'd been celebrating at a pub and roaming around in the phantom that he seemed to be more in love with than his new wife).

we spent the next three hours meeting and greeting, smiling and posing, catching up with friends and relatives. in most desi weddings, the newly weds sit up on a stage so it was pretty weird for most people that i was roaming around. my grandmom was especially pissed off and i could see her face getting smaller and smaller as i hugged and pecked each of my guests including all my male friends.

i've concluded that you should get married if you're broke cause people get REALLY excited and give you loads of money. they also give lots of useless gifts (does anyone want a vase? i have about 7 to spare). i also realized that it sucks when the groom is hotter than the bride because every single person came up to me to congratulate me on my choice in men (only a handful of people remembered to hand out a compliment to the bride!). never ever choose a man prettier than you, that's all i'm saying.

so now i'm married. it's been almost 2 weeks and nothing has changed. and that's a good thing. i was terrified of marriage because they always say that everything changes the next day. it's still same ol' us and i'm pretty happy so far (touchpbwood).

nikkah

only one more hour of being single.

only one more hour and then i have to say "qabool hay, qabool hay, qabool hay".

honestly muslims have the most unromantic wedding ceremony. the guy and the girl are separated! forget kissing, hand holding or hugging, they don't even see each other.

ok i can't really bitch at length right now...have to go and get married.

i think i am gonna puke.

i can't believe i am doing this.

i feel like i am acting in some play - i feel uninvolved...sorta removed and distant, even though my real, physical self is running around throwing tantrums and getting dressed.

this can't be ME...willingly getting married.

stop it...happy thoughts...think happy thoughts.

ok have to go and look pretty for this damn thing.

on jahez & joras

i think i have finally figured it out: it isn't marriage itself that i have a problem with, it's the desi way of doing it that pisses me off. in most cases, there are numerous dholkis, a mehndi, a mayoun, the main shaadi reception, the valima...all these are functions which are hosted by the bride's family (with the exception of the valima). close friends and relatives are expected to attend each one, wearing new clothes every day, while the bride's family has to provide the food and entertainment.

and then, there's the dowry (jahez, in urdu).

now no one in pakiland ever ACTUALLY uses that word and almost every guy's family graciously points out right in the beginning "we just want your daughter, please don't worry about the dowry". but OF COURSE the bloody pakis worry about it...they have to, because "what would the society say if they didn't give their daughter anything??".

i have been laughing all of this year at my bestfriend, whose wedding date was set for a year from the day the families said yes to each other (it's not an arranged marriage but the parents always have to approve). her mom, who had probably been hoarding things from the day M. was born, went berserk and started to buy joras upon joras (desi dresses). once that was done, she moved on to buying stuff for M's apartment. in fact, M was even sent to foreign land to purchase dinner sets, gold, duvets, pots & pans and every goddamn thing you can think of. and now, they're even insisting on buying the couple a house because a 3 bedroom apartment is just not good enough for their daughter.

on one hand, this is absolutely fantastic, because the young couple gets to save a ton of money. on the other, the reasons for this are very suspect...its still all about show, society and 'my gifts for my daughter are better than yours'.

honestly, to me, the desi system is disgusting and repulsive.

my parents consider themselves pretty modern and liberal. they don't like the idea of dowry. yet, my sister got at least 30 joras made for her wedding and my parents bought tons of shit for her house. they spent an insane amount on these gifts, the gold jewellery and the celebrations.

her marriage lasted 6 weeks while fighting over the stuff they gave her lasted 6 months.

again, disgusting and completely, utterly repulsive.

and the reason why i am so exhausted and irritated by my own marriage is because i had to fight so much to do it in a non-desi way. there isn't a single function aside from the dinner/reception (which is also against my wishes). there is no dowry, there are no joras (aside from the wedding dress and one for the day before) or jewellery (i am going to wear what we have at home). there is not going to be a valima. and my parents are allowed to give me one single gift (just like every other guest at the wedding will).

i am so tempted to allow them to sponsor my entire furniture. and refusing the diamond set or the armani suit was no fun. it IS difficult for a young couple with virtually zero savings to get an apartment and set it up, but i personally think it is pathetic that we allow our parents to drain their bank accounts by doing it all for us. we can't pick and choose when we want to be independent. it is no fucking wonder that daughters are still such a burden in desiland because none of us ever make an effort to put a stop to this madness. for the parents, their daughters lives lead up to this moment, when they get married and leave home (in style). and to have them prepare and worry about it literally since our birth is horrible.

i know i sound like a self-righteous bitch but seriously, if the educated lot continues all these vile traditions that should have died off a long time ago, is it really a shock that even in this day and age, a daughters birth is often mourned, merely because it is synonymous with dowry & wedding expenses?

i know my parents are disappointed right now, but i am really glad i fought to do things my way because i would have felt like such a hypocrite if i had gone ahead and done it desi style, just cause it's so much easier. you can not decry bride-burning, dowry-deaths, killing of newborn baby girls, and all these extremely real problems in our part of the world, and then go on to give your own parents a heart attack over how much they have to spend on a day that should have nothing to do with money.

holy mother of god!

today, i would like to introduce you to sheikh taj el-din al-hilali, my 2006 candidate for retroactive abortion.

according to him, a woman who wears skimpy outfits is like a piece of meat left uncovered that is eaten up by a cat.

confused?

here are his exact words:

(by the way, if he wasn't serious and delivering this as a sermon to hundreds of his supporters, this would have made such great material for a stand up comedy act).

when it comes to adultery, it's 90% the women's responsibility. why? because a woman possesses the weapon of seduction.

it is she who takes off her clothes, shortens them, flirts, puts on make-up and powder and takes to the streets, god protect us, dallying. it's she who shortens, raises and lowers.

then it's a look, then a smile, then a conversation, a greeting, then a conversation, then a date, then a meeting, then a crime, then long bay jail. [laughs].

if you take out uncovered meat and place it outside... and the cats come and eat it... whose fault is it, the cats' or the uncovered meat?

the uncovered meat is the problem, he went on to say.

if she was in her room, in her home, in her hijab [headscarf], no problem would have occurred.

then you get a judge, who has no mercy, and he gives you 65 years.

he goes on to quote a "scholar" al-rafihi and says: 'if i came across a rape crime - kidnap and violation of honour - i would discipline the man and order that the woman be arrested and jailed for life.'

i want to bang my head against a wall right now.

so basically, men are like animals (since a cat IS an animal) and women are lifeless meat. and if i go out wearing a skirt, i basically want you to force yourself on me.

i don't know how his wife can live with him...if i were her, i'd be thinking, 'damn, the gold coast is full of uncovered meat and my dear husband, the cat, must be eating it all...oh well, it's not HIS fault, that meat should have covered itself up. my poor husband can't be expected to control his penis now, can he? that requires WAY too much thinking and will power'.

he keeps calling rape a crime...but somehow i think he means that the victim is the rapist and the woman is the perpetrator because that stupid fucking ho' forgot to cover her damn hair.

seriously?

i think i need to kill him.

you know what pisses me off the MOST about such stories? i'm assuming he's walking around happily as an australian citizen and so are his four wives and five dozen children. and i just got off the phone after an HOUR long conversation with the immigration department at the heathrow airport about my sister being able to go from the airport to the holiday inn .7 miles away, to sleep, during her 20 hour stopover, on the way back from canada.

and she can't. of course, she can't. she's paki. after speaking to 3 different women and 2 different guys, one of them finally admitted that "she has a paki passport and in these times you know how it is...".

yes, thank you, i DO know. my sister who is a NORMAL human being and extremely paranoid about traveling has to wait out 20 hours in an uncomfortable chair, in between flying for 9 hours each way, while mr. retard up there can enter UK any time he wants (and deliver similar sermons there).

i really think every country needs to start adopting a very, very rigid approach to such fundamentalists and deport anyone who delivers a speech full of hatred directed towards women, non-muslims, or the host country.

and then i hope all of them end up in one place and kill each other.

ok, seriously, if i write or think about this anymore, i am going to have a heart attack so i have to go now and pop some pills to calm my bp!

identity crisis

i wonder why people choose to define themselves the way they do, on their blogs. we usually don't do it that way in person. if i meet someone for the first time or am on a first date, and they say "tell me about yourself", i'd probably say "nothing much to tell" or perhaps talk about something i like or something i have been up to or what i do for a living (actually, i wouldn't do that since i am passionately against letting work define you unless what you do for a living IS your passion).

but on blogs, it's a whole different story. the 'about me' section usually states something about one's nationality. people also tend to announce gender, age and sexual orientation (unless they're straight). sometimes, they throw in the fact that they're a feminist, or a christian or a muslim or a republican or a liberal or a conservative or a teacher or a mother of two or single and looking. sometimes, they let lyrics or a quote define them. and sometimes, the section has a couple of (modest, often self-derogatory) lines about the personality of the blogger, which act as a premptive strike (so when someone calls me a confused bitch, i tell them to look up there on the right and then stick my tongue out and run off chanting: 'you lose!').

i know my blog would have attracted a much wider audience if i had stated my age, the fact that i grew up and believed in one of the most talked about religions which i no longer believe in, and am in a region that is always in the news. yet i do not hide behind a veil, am not oppressed, am the most potty mouthed girl i know, shag and drink, etc. i would suddenly sound SO much more interesting - i can just picture myself sitting on the couch on oprah's show and talking pretentiously about my 'oh-so-islamic' childhood that i tore myself away from, how i 'found' myself by shagging non-muslims and how i evolved into this fantastic human being that is living in a 'war torn' region (not!) and has decided to come back to her roots and marry a muslim! how deliciously fascinating! i can perhaps throw in a few lies about experimenting with homosexuality since that is another hot topic, and always a great selling point.

but NONE of that defines me. and i have no idea how anyone decides to pick anything about themselves to put under the 'about me' section. so, you're english? or indian-american? or a brit-paki living in the middle east? or a white convert? AND...?

you're married.

so?

you're straight but thought you were a lesbian briefly during your first semester in college. you're a democrat. you're a muslim. you're a nut.

i still don't get it.

who the fuck are you?

tell me what you like! that's what i wanna know. or tell me what you ARE like. if i met you in a pub, would you rattle off your age, nationality and sexual orientation? unlikely.

you would let me find out who you are through what you talk about. and what we talk about would most probably be music, movies, books, art, where we grew up, what we do and other random stuff.

so why do we feel compelled to announce all these facts in our 'about me' sections? is it merely because in person, most of these things would come across naturally and on a blog, it becomes necessary to spell it out? but in that case, how does one choose? i am so many things...i can't fit it in four lines. i wouldn't want to. i don't want to be categorized. i don't want to be boxed. i don't want to be known for my skin colour, my ethnicity, my religious affiliation, or my location. how do these things even come into play? or am i just weird? or a retard? or is it obviously a part of who i am, but i just don't want to acknowledge it?

as with most things in life, i just don't know...

bridezilla

i always warned my parents that i would marry first and tell them later. or i would tell them the day before and request them to show up.

you have NO idea how badly i wish i had stuck to that plan. i don't know any more what possessed me to be the dutiful daughter and give her parents advance warning, causing them to jump with joy (wallahi! one down, three more to go), start making wedding plans, telling every single person they know, talk happily into the phone for hours, as it rings off the hook with family from all over the world calling to congratulate them.

i don't understand it. i mean, of course i do understand but at some level, i just find this so retarded. why are people so enthusiastic about someone else getting hitched?? it's like everyone i know is suddenly so proud of me (look, she's finally done something right with her life!), they can't wait to show up at the wedding and applaud and bless.

i keep trying to convince my parents not to have a party, i find the idea of spending $10,000 dollars on one single day incredibly stupid. i don't care about what i wear, what my hair looks like, where we have the reception and who eats what. i really, seriously, couldn't give a fuck. all i wanna do is move in with pb and start our life together. i am excited about the apartment we found yesterday that i fell in love with, i am incredibly excited about furnishing it, about getting the oil & vinegar cruet that i've always wanted on my dinner table to go with the bread, about stocking up on wine and getting a really sexy dinner set and a plasma TV. but i am not excited about 'the wedding'. and i don't think there is anything wrong with that. i don't want to focus on ONE single day and forget about the bigger picture (i'll be MARRIED!!).

i know i am such a cynical bitch but seriously, with the divorce rates, with the number of unhappy marriages, estranged couples, cheating spouses and general bs associated with 'holy matrimony' these days, i really wonder why this is such a celebrated moment of our lives? in all likelihood, pb and i will not last a lifetime (either my kidney or a divorce will take care of that). what would be the point of all this then?

god, i know that's an awful thing for (of all the people) the bride to point out, but it IS realistic. wedding is a goddamn business, it's about other people, it's about putting on a show, about ensuring that the bride looks better than everyone else, that the venue and the goddamn menu is perfect and the tables look gorgeous. it's about the event planners, venue owners and the caterers making tons of money, it's about draining the energy of the bride & groom so that they're probably too exhausted to even shag on the wedding night, and emptying the bank account of everyone involved.

did i mention that i find this completely retarded?

i know i should just shout STOP! and run off with pb today but my parents seem really excited after a long time and this is probably going to be the last thing i do for them for at least a bit - the last time i play the role of the dutiful daughter. and since i don't give a fuck about the wedding (let me make it clear, i am excited about getting married but not about the day itself), i am going to let them do it their way.

for the last time.

and then it's just me & pb, baby! let the good times begin!

WHY???

pb and i have been discussing marriage since we got back together. so a couple of weeks back, i said yes, i intend to do it once anyway, so fuck it, lets do it.

i called up my dad (who wasn't in town, so there was less of a risk of him threatening to shoot me bollywood style, for arranging my own marriage). the conversation was so fucking surreal:

he was sitting at a restaurant with a friend and said it was okay to go ahead (even though i kept stressing that what i had to say was REALLY important). so i go "FINE. pb asked me to marry him and i said yes.

silence.

more silence.

and then: WHY would he ask you to marry him?

i laughed and screamed WHY?? what do you mean why?! cause i am an amazing person, THAT'S why! or may be it's for my big boobs (ok, i didn't actually say the last part).

so do you really like him?

yes.

beta, i am so thrilled for you! when is this marriage?

i don't know dad!

oh ok, not today or tomorrow or anything, right?

NO.

ok bye."

wow, i guess he did believe all my threats of marrying someone and telling them after or inviting them at the last minute or not marrying at all or even worse, running off with a (gasp) non-muslim! from now on, i am going to advise everyone to use such scare tactics, so anything remotely normal seems like such a blessing to the parents.

moving on:

pb came over last friday to meet the parents and my dad and i decided to shock the poor paki, by pulling the whole 'chai' routine as a joke (ALL arranged desi marriages go through this one - the girl comes in with tea for the boy and thats his only chance of getting a good look at her tits before saying 'yes' or 'no fucking way'). so i dug out the most hideous 'dupatta' there was in the house, pulled it over and came into the living room, and said (in the most disgusting village girl nasal voice that i could muster) "chai, jeeee?":



ummm...obviously my ms paint skills suck so instead of looking well endowed, he now looks like he has a rocket on his crotch!

but you get the point right? pb and i are getting hitched - in november. it's gonna be real sweet, for better or worse, to have and to shag, for richer and even richer, in kidney transplant and in health, to love and occasionally hate and beat up, until divorce do us part.

this is probably going to be the most insane thing i have ever done, but at least it should be fun. oh and by the way, it is YOUR responsibility to slap me if i start turning into a typical, nagging, un-fun, un-sarah, obsessed wife.

p.s: check the photoblog in a couple of days, i'm finally going to update it this weekend.

thinking out loud

i find door to door sales people so annoying and yet, i feel so bad for them. i sit alone in my little office and look like a prime target to all kinds of idiots who see me through the glass door and rush in to sell their crap. today, i had a guy trying to sell me - shit, i've already forgotten what it was (hang on while i look around for that paper)...ah! he wanted to sell me a 20 gig usb storage device. i promptly showed him my ipod and said i didn't need anything else. he then decided he might as well try and hit on me while he was there and came up with the uber original 'i think i have seen you somewhere' line. i got all weak-kneed and mushy and showed him the door, before i lost total control of my hormones because of his devastating pick up lines. in walked the next idiot, trying to sell me a projector or meeting room facilities and five minutes later, the dunkin donut guy with some sort of a promotion for a 100 donuts came in.

i'd love to be rude to these guys, but they look so pitiable. their job truly sucks - to have to go around and bug people all day to buy shit no one needs...i wonder if they ever really sell anything. and in THIS place, where its so fucking hot that even 5 seconds outside is enough to kill you, door to door has got to be real low on the list of things anyone would like to do.

what i hate though is how their jobs turn us into people we really don't want to be: rude bastards sitting in our comfy air-conditioned offices, throwing out these sales guys back on the street. but if you're even a little bit nice, you're going to end up with a coupon for a 100 donuts or forced to put up with pathetic pick up lines for an hour. i feel like telling them, "look, i respect your job, and gave you 2 minutes to give me your pitch, politely declined...end of story. please respect MY job and get out of my office NOW so that i can get on with it".

okay, all done ranting about the stupid shit that was bugging me today.

on to...

beauty.

do you think that beauty greatly alters life experiences? is a beautiful person a happier person? i know we all deny judging people by their appearance, but realistically, don't we all do it? if the salesmen that walked into my office looked like brad pitt, i am pretty sure i would have had more patience for them and may have even bought what they were selling. may be i am just more superficial than most people or may be i am just being honest here. don't we all respond better to good-looking men and women? don't we find them funnier or more charming than the less attractive ones? are we not more willing to extend our time, patience and money to someone who is pleasing to the eye? isn't it a pleasant surprise when you finish that amazing book, and look up the author to find out that he's gorgeous? aren't most of the singers, actors, anchors, models extremely hot? don't we watch a silly program just a little bit longer than we would ordinarily, simply because the person on screen is ridiculously perfect?

i am pretty sure we all do some of the above. but what about those people themselves? is THEIR life a whole lot better than mine because of their looks? could i have had a completely different and far more exciting life, had i been a perfect 10? would i not have fallen in love with the men i did? would i have gone to a better school? or had a better first job? or been more successful right now?

would i have been worse off than i am now, had i been super ugly? would i not get away with the shit i do, little things like returning my dvd's in late and not getting charged for it, getting discounts here and there, getting into an exclusive club or finding it fairly easy to meet men and get laid, if i were less attractive?

i think life would have most definitely been different, if i were prettier or uglier. and i just find it...odd. my life is the way it is because of the way i look. of course, the brains (or lack of) and personality play a part but who're we kidding? if i looked like a super model, thats probably what i would have been. randomly, i wasn't born with long legs or big boobs or a gorgeous mug and viola! my life experiences are going to be completely different from what they could have been.

i suppose that is why people go under the knife, don't they? to see if there is any difference at all (if they looked better) or whether it was all in their imagination. i'd really love to run into one of them and ask them if it was worth it and if beautiful people really do lead better lives?

“It’s irrefutable. Physically attractive people tend to have more friends, more dates, more money and more status. They also tend to have fewer mental, social and health problems. It’s a reality that won’t go away by simply ignoring it.”

Research shows that physically attractive people:
* As students, are given preferential treatment by teachers and are assumed to have more potential.
* As criminals, receive lighter sentences and other favorable considerations from the courts.
* In the job market, all else being equal, have an advantage in getting hired, and, once hired, are promoted more quickly and make more money.
* As patients, receive more attention and communication from doctors.
* As institutionalized mental patients, receive more visitors and are hospitalized for shorter periods.

Source

a very drunken letter to pb

sorry guys, this one is not for you - it's a long overdue letter to my li'l paki boy.

dear pb,

thank you.

i don't know why, but you've put up with me through everything. through all my mad pms phases where i screamed for no reason at all. through my monthly break-ups, through my desire to run away from you, from us, from commitment.

you have been so fucking wonderful, and you know what? right now, i truly feel like the luckiest girl ever. even when you were zeroed out last year, you made my birthday the best i ever had with that (not so) surprise party, where you thought of every little thing, from helium balloons, to my favourite chocolate cake baked by my favourite chef on earth to the best music ever to inviting my ex to the party at your house cause you knew i wanted him to be there to the best gift ever (the ipod!).

and this year, when i thought nothing could top it ever, you went completely insane and took me away for the weekend to the most awesome hotel ever, and at midnight, had them bring in the cake, champagne, and a trolley full of gifts which included the box set of dvd's by wong kar-wai. i swear, i've never been so close to the bollywood heroine who cries when she gets something (it was disgusting!). i seriously could not believe you remembered that i loved that director. and you got me a dvd on bukowski! AND tokyo story! AND the seventh seal! and ipod speakers, clothes, a PINK (the colour of passion) bag, a pink hangover kit (goddamn, that is gonna be useful tonight, as i write this in a VERY drunken state), while you mix vodka redbull for me.

you're the bestest EVER. i know i am a superficial cow who got back with you because you got me the most beautiful pair of jimmy choo's (and seriously, what girl wouldn't???), which i am wearing tonight because you've been dying to see me in that and nothing but. seriously though, i stood by you through the toughest phase of your life last year, as you went through two years of unemployment and a difficult divorce and so many other problems, and right now, i am so glad i found the strength to stick by you through all of it because, honestly, i have never been happier. for the first time in my life ever, i am actually prioritizing someone else and not because of some teenage rush of mad love, but because it feels so goddamn right. i am the most scared i have ever been because the decision to give in to you, to us, is the most conscious one - i am not blinded by anything...i just know that we're gonna work out.

i whispered the corniest thing ever to you last night, i am really not sure if you remember it. i cringe with embarrassment as i recall it but i'll say it again anyway...we're gonna live happily ever after. this goes against everything i have ever said and thought but somehow, i believe it. i know it's so naive and stupid, but i love feeling this way...i am so tired of being the tough li'l cynical bitch...i am finally ready to give in to us.

and now, i'm gonna hit post & publish because you're dying for a fucking blow-job (like the horny li'l shit you are).

i love you, baby.

p.s: i don't swallow and never will. just give up, you filthy cow.

the obligatory one

28 today.

budhiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!

birthday was awesome; details tomorrow, may be...the bed beckons.

mourning

there's this guy (S) who is still pining for his last girlfriend. his blog revolves around her. and in his last post, he remarked how it was his conscious choice to miss the girl: "I miss you now because I want to as opposed to taking a dump when I have to gives me this surreal sense of purpose that has absolutely no real merit but it is my choice. MINE." ... "For whatever its worth, I prefer you to everything else, completely and without exception."

however, his mourning seems to have exceeded the accepted period and has entered the 'dude, will you just get over it already?' phase, which is why another blogger noted how S should move on.

and rationally, of course i agree. it is a much healthier option, isn't it? it's life, isn't it? you meet someone, you love passionately, the relationship dies/ends, and off you go, into the arms of your next love. that's what most of us do, that's what i have always done. who the hell wants to sit and cry for the rest of their lives over one person? we rubbish the idea of a single soulmate for precisely this reason, don't we? it's too scary to believe that there's only 'one' person out there for you, and you may have had them and lost them. we tell ourselves that that's crap, it HAS to be crap, because we hope to find love again (and again and again, because each time we fuck it up).

each time though, it's less (intense). we figure we've become more cynical, tougher, built more walls, have too much baggage. we never consider that perhaps that moron who came up with the idea of one soulmate was actually right. no, that whole romeo and juliet, fairytale 'once in a lifetime' perfect partner thing is a lie. the fault does not lie in the ones we meet now, it lies in us, in who we have become. we were so much easier to love as teenagers, and we found it so much easier to reciprocate back then, as well. now we view everyone with suspicion, we think and rethink every step, every decision. we no longer get carried away, caught up in the moment.

we're old and we're jaded but we're mature and that's what counts, right?

we deliberately reject the notion of one true love and the idea of mourning over what we have lost because we are not allowed to. there's a respectable timeframe for 'getting over your ex'. if you're in bed with someone else the day after, you're a slut and if you're still crying over it after four years, you're a pain in the ass that needs to see that the world has so much more to offer than that one bitch who broke your heart.

S chooses to defy the norm and is pretty vocal about it. i remember dedicating a blog to my ex as well (almost four years back). it was so embarrassingly whiny, emotional and depressing and i got so tired of my friends thinking i was going to off myself, because my writing was so dark, that i quit. everyone around me was sick of me, and my sad little love story and i gave in to the pressure and 'moved on'. in retrospect, i don't think it was healthy...four years on, i still have too much baggage left over from that relationship and i constantly compare the way i feel towards my partner now, to the way i did back then. it's pathetic really, (my own perceived pressure from) 'society' did not let me be with him then, nor did it let me love him properly nor did it let me mourn what i had lost, the way i should have.

does it take a stronger person to continue to stay in love with who we had or is it weaker? is it stronger to pick up the pieces and mend ourselves and move forward or is it just us running away from ourselves and from the pain?

i don't know...but i do know that i admire the fact that S refuses to give in to the 'healthier', far more socially acceptable options, and chooses the darker route.

run sarah, run

i hate my commitment phobia.

i hate that i am so fickle. i really don't know how to deal with it.

the moment i start making my mind up about committing to someone, the claustrophobia sets in. i go from looking forward to it to being terrified. i keep thinking of all the men i could shag but now won't be able to. i think of the world as one full of possibilities, with gorgeous male bodies roaming around freely and me, locked up in a cage with one man. ONE man.

it gets so bad that every single male starts to look attractive. even mallus begin to look hot. you KNOW there's a problem when you begin to find mallus hot:



i don't know what to do about it really. i have always been fickle. and i have always denied it vehemently whenever any of my boyfriends have thrown that word at me. it makes me madder than any other word, especially because it's true.

i can't make my mind up. i really can't. i don't know what i want, who i want, and all that crap. and it gets worse every year. i change my mind every day and it drives me and my partners insane. read my last post. i thought i had it all figured out. today, i'm back to "what the fuck am i doing?".

i don't want to remain single forever, and the truth is, when i AM single, i find every man boring and repulsive, except the one i used to be with.

see? isn't that enough to drive anyone insane? i don't want who i should want, when i should want them.

shit, may be i shouldn't have had that baileys coffee after dinner.

obviously it's done my head in.

backtracking

sin wrote recently: "The truth, I strongly suspect, is that love is a bit of a twee (maybe even sad) little illusion".

sister spikey wrote today that "The paradigm of romantic relationships we are taught is that of exclusivity, of possession, of jealousy as a sign of love, of Romeo and Juliet, where tragic misunderstanding and rash action in the muddled, passionate thinking by the immature is the basis for one of our most enduring allusions to great love".

is (romantic) love really something we've made up to make life more bearable? is it a completely absurd notion or fantasy? or does the fault lie in our grasp of it...have we simply just got it all wrong? is the truth that it does exist but every definition or description so far has been inaccurate, which leads us to come to the despondent conclusion that it doesn't exist?

is the great lie the 'happily ever after' bit or is it simply our inability to come to terms with the ordinary, every day, real life shape that love takes up, after the first year or so? have we got the cues all wrong, as sister spikey says?

i know that i equate passion with love. and she is so right...i am a serial dumper, thanks to my expectations of what love should feel like; the moment the normality sets in, i put on my trainers, lace up and run. i always find really valid excuses, they make sense to everyone, including the dumpee. but somewhere inside, i know that it isn't them, it's me. it's my fear of being in a relationship where the love has reached a plateau and is going to stay there or go downhill.

so does love exist? is it what i feel in the beginning or is it what i should stay around to discover?

if i were to be truthful, i would say that i have been in love twice - once with the first one (D) and once with the last one (pb). and with both, the experience has been completely different. with D, it was passionate till the end but it was also extremely self-destructive and ugly. we were too different and yet too alike. we were horrible together but the chemistry was insane. and the love...i thought it would last forever and in many ways, it has and will. but (there is always a but), it's not a place i would ever want to go back to, especially since i grew up to be a fantastic human being and he grew up to be my closest friend who is a bit of an ass to women and wants to go to bollywood to sing and dance around trees (for real).

with pb, i felt (for the first time ever) the desire to be with someone, to marry them, to set up and share our lives together (not for eternity but a significant period). yet, i felt none of that jealousy, passion or insanity that i used to experience with D. and ultimately, that is why i ended my relationship - i figured it couldn't be LOVE, could it? love means we should be tearing each others clothes off every five minutes. love means that we should not be able to tolerate our partner looking at someone else. love means that we should want to be together every second and that we would do anything for each other.

the fact that i was so practical in my relationship with pb made me think i couldn't possibly be in love...it never really occured to me that perhaps i had simply grown up.

i know i sound like i have a very juvenile grasp of love and it is probably true. i experienced something as a teenager and made it my benchmark for all my future relationships, effectively dooming them.

it is difficult to admit, at my age, that i may have gotten it all wrong, especially since its an emotion i have always been fascinated by, written about and talked oh-so-knowledgeably about, so often. it is embarrassing to conclude that i don't know what the fuck love is.

i don't even know whether i agree with sin or with sister spikey. i figure, as with most things, the truth lies somewhere in between. and i've decided that i am going to go and find out for myself, if it does. and instead of identifying the next target, as is my usual MO, this time moving forward will mean going back and trying again.

sex

(this one's gonna get fairly explicit, so don't read if you blush & choke when you say 'cum'!)

reclusive leftist's blog led me to bitch ph.d who has been 'hosting' the most interesting discussions on sex.

here's a good post about women and their opinion on things they like and dislike about sex, especially blowjobs - the comments thread (which was 'women only') is fascinating. and then there's a post that leads to a thread for both men and women to discuss with each other.

so many interesting things came up, i really don't know where to start. i am compelled to talk about it though, because sex is usually never really spoken about. reading those discussions made me realize that although i am generally extremely open about sex and have had the occasional conversations comparing girth and length, generally sex talk is limited to 'yeah, its great with my guy' or 'he doesn't get what i want at all'. discussing whether we like blowjobs or head or how we like to be fucked or our fantasies are all fairly taboo topics. one might say that they should be, but i'm going to have to disagree. i think that the lack of honesty regarding sex makes it too confusing. i've had a relationship where i didn't voice what i wanted sexually until after it was over. and i know if i had been honest about it from the onset and put it across tactfully, it might have been different...there are ways that i want to be fucked that i haven't been, because i can't communicate it.

i am going to deal with the points that recurred and stood out in the threads one by one here, because the topic is already a few days old at her site and besides, it would be way too long a comment.

issues with admitting you don't want sex:

i never really thought much about whether other women experienced this...i always figured that it was really strange for me to go through periods where i didn't want any. i'd joke about my mojo being dead and my SO at the time would always make me feel that it wasn't normal, that he hadn't experienced it with anyone else (because every other woman that they'd been with was constantly gagging for it apparently). well, it looks like it's perfectly normal, for a myriad of reasons (post-birth, depression, medication, stress, ennui, etc). sometimes, i just give up on sex because i know it's not going to be the way i want it to be.

that brings us back to the inability to communicate what it is that we DO want. many women commented on the fact that they (stupidly) wished their partners would just know exactly how they want it, each time (because each time, you may want it differently). yep, i know, that doesn't make it any easier.

and then you're overwhelmed by the guilt of not wanting it and having a horny partner trying to feel you up constantly, and you pretending to be asleep...

blow-jobs & head:

a surprising number of women admitted that they don't like giving blow-jobs and a lot of them don't like going all the way. again, i was taken aback by this, because every guy expects one and it's considered so normal that you'd think no woman before has ever expressed that they're not gonna swallow! personally, i'm extremely anal (probably not the best word to use right now, but fuck it) about hygiene and prefer oral sex limited to post-shower (or when i'm too drunk to give a fuck about smell and taste for either of us). plus, it REALLY pisses me off when blow-job leads to sex, instead of it being my turn, because in any case, sex doesn't always lead to an orgasm for the woman whereas oral usually does the trick.

talking dirty, submission and dominance:

i can't stand dirty talk, it makes me feel like i am in some cheap porn flick. in fact, i hate the expectations regarding noise...every guy expects a woman to moan and scream even though they're doing nothing that could make you moan and scream (that's what happens when men watch too much porn - they think all women smile and go 'yummmmmy!' when they swallow, love to have every orifice invaded simultaneously, love doggy style, and secretly wanna be gang banged by a bunch of hot plumbers).

submission & dominance or rough sex is a tricky topic...within certain limits, it's all good (in my opinion). i suppose the main thing here is a partner who knows what he's doing, when to quit and one you trust completely. i haven't gone there yet though and i don't think it's something i could initiate.

anyway, you MUST read the posts and comment threads at bitch ph.d's because there's rarely been such a frank discussion amongst intelligent men and women about sex. it's fascinating and it provides great insight in to sexual preferences of real people and dispels so many myths (at least it did for me).

two heads are better than one

a lot of people are coming to my blog with such queries:

"what does a popped cherry look like?"
"my sister popped my cherry"
"how long does a popped cherry bleed?"

these are just a few...apparently, everyone out there is obsessed with popped cherries - weirdos.

i think the funniest search i ever got was "my 16 year old still wears diapers"!

what the fuck?!

some people seriously need help.

like this friend of mine...i've been watching six feet under, the last few weeks and am completely in love with the gay couple - i think they're adorable AND hot. a couple of my friends and i were discussing it and one of them said that she couldn't watch the show because the man on man action turned her off so much, she thought it was 'gross'! the other girl and i were shocked because we both loved those scenes and admitted that it was a total turn on. i mean, look at these two:




seriously, who the hell would be turned off seeing THEM make out?

besides, it's almost a relief not to see a woman making out with the hottie (i prefer the black guy, guess it's the whole ex-cop thing), because for once, we get to focus completely on the male body (or bodies)...as opposed to constantly checking out the chicks insanely perfect body and comparing it to our flabby selves. that sounds terribly insecure, but trust me, most women do it.

i think i've always had a thing for man on man action. i know that sounds so retarded, but seriously, i used to always joke about how i'd want to do two guys, whenever i was asked that stupid 'secret fantasy' question. it was mostly said for the shock value (like my fake obsession with 14 inch dicks, to counter the universal male obsession with big boobs), because while it is every guys fantasy to watch lesbians get it on and then invite him in half way for some deep dickin', who the hell wants to get off with two men? certainly no good ol' desi chick! but a part of me meant it because whats better than one guy doing his best to pleasure you all night? thats right kids, TWO guys!

'six feet under' really makes me wish i was a gay guy or a lot like one. i know TV isn't exactly such a great way to form judgements about homosexual relationships, but (if i were to) they seem a lot less complicated than the straight kind. at the very least, the men seem to understand sex or the urge for it a lot better. look at the conversation below; it would never seem plausible in a hetro scenario:

David: "I got a blow job today."
Keith: "You did not."
David: "I did."
Keith: "From who[m]?"
David: "From the plumber."
Keith: "You got a blow job from the plumber?"
David: "His name was Andy."
Keith: "A white guy?"
David: "Yeah. He was good with a wrench."
Keith: "Did you return the favor?"
David: "No."
Keith: "Well, you'd better not think you're gettin' out of having sex with me tonight."
David: "Okay. But I might need you to talk about water rams and hand snakes."

had it been a man and a woman, you would have had plates flying, vases being broken, tears, why why why, how could you, don't you love me anymore, am i too fat? is it my butt? is my blow job no longer good enough for you? oh how could you?? was she better than me? sob sob sob. and then bring it up every day, for the next decade.

ugh.

so yeah, to reiterate, men are hot, two men at it are even hotter and i wish i could be like them.

oh my god...you know what? i think my mojo may be making a comeback!

perspective

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
'anthem' by leonard cohen

i spent last night enjoying these amazing passion fruit cocktails, celebrating someone else's success while bemoaning my own unemployment and crazy life. it was such a surreal evening, with us ending up at a completely random house party of some girl who apparently looks like me, according to her dad, who was hitting on me, which sounds pretty disturbing and sick, now that i think about it.

nothings been solved but nothing ever really DOES get solved that easily, does it? I guess that’s what my problem is; ultimately, i am the typical paki chick, waiting for someone to waltz in, take charge, perform miracles and make all my problems go away (where the hell is jesus when you need him?).

i am not sure what’s going to happen on the job front, but i have decided to move out. it doesn't have to be immediate - obviously, it can't be, but as soon as i am able to, i am going to 'fly the coup'. i've wanted my own place for a while. i love cooking for myself, i want to make super spicy food every night without others complaining its too hot for them, i want to have a glass of wine while i make dinner, i want to be able to invite friends back and i want to just be on my own.

today, a couple of friends were discussing sharing apartments and said they definitely prefer to live with someone as opposed to on their own.

that's not me at all; i guess i gave up that fear of being alone and gave in to the beauty of solitude quite some time back, perhaps because of my inability to really connect to people in my city. eventually, everyone bores me. perhaps its leftover teenage angst or a superiority complex. perhaps it's just that i find that i can entertain myself much better than others can.

a friend asked me the other day whether i'd like to have dinner with myself and i obviously said 'hell yeah, i think i am fucking fascinating'. i was really surprised that he didn't want to dine with himself - i would have assumed everyone would. i guess that answer says a lot about ones self-perception. he thinks he wouldn't impress himself (which i think is ridiculous). if you can't impress yourself, what the fuck else do you have?

a friend from the blog world wrote to me on reading about my kidneys that he envied me because i know how much time i have left. isn't that a brilliant way of looking at this? i can't believe i never thought of that. although i was being melodramatic in my last post and i really can't accurately guess when my kidneys will fail, whether the transplant will work or not etc, i do know that i have most probably lived more than half of my life. i also know that i can rule out having kids. i know that i'll most probably kick the bucket sooner than 'normal' people.

this demands that i become a lot more productive, i stop waiting for life to happen to me, i stop waiting for inspiration to strike, i stop waiting for that miracle. i need to be so much more proactive than most people because my time is limited. what is the point of trying so hard to stay alive, by popping all these pills and taking all those tests, if i am not taking advantage of life and opportunities??

i can't believe i just sit on my ass all day, whine so much and waste most of life talking crap, bitching, partying and drinking. i always thought i had enough time to figure out what i want; a lot of people didn't become who they wanted to become or do what they wanted to do, until they hit 50. i guess its time to accept that i don't have that luxury and i need to be a lot less afraid of failure and experiment a lot more, in order to find out how i want to live.

as alibhai would say, 'its time to wear that new underwear that was being saved for a special day (or even better, go commando), scream YEEEaaarrrgh!' and take life by the balls.

*sigh*

you would hope that i'd come up with something a bit more upbeat by now, wouldn't you?

doesn't look like that's happening any time soon.

i had a drink because i NEEDED a drink, cause i was so depressed, for the first time yesterday. soon, i'll be standing up in a room full of strangers saying 'hi, my name is sarah and i am an alcoholic'.

god, talk about a downward spiral.

is it fun to watch?

so basically, i sucked it up and bought those $100 a piece injections that need to be self-administered. two words: phat gaee. i just couldn't take a needle and put it in my skin. the good news is that my chances of becoming a heroin addict are very slim.

i watched as a nurse rescued me and shoved the thing into my thigh and taught me how to do it. i smiled and nodded and i knew i'd never do it myself. people are lining up to do it for me though - i don't know whether it's to get some thigh action or some sick S&M shit. bastards.

i read up on the disease and on transplants because i had another round of tests done and they showed that while my meds were helping everything else stabilize, the kidneys were still going downhill. my doctor explained patiently that there was fuck all i could do, because it was just 'the progression of the disease'.

fuck him.

and on top of that, i learnt that transplants aren't as simple as i was told and there's a 50% chance of dying within the first ten years, if you make it past the first year and in any case, the life expectancy isn't normal, it's about 18 years at best.

so basically, i can pretty much tell exactly at what age i'll die (unless i get hit by a bus before that).

if all this wasn't enough to turn me into a crazy alcoholic, i ended up having a huge fight with my father, who is also my boss. this ended on a pretty unpleasant note of me shouting 'i quit' and him asking me to leave (the company). he is extremely old-school in his ideas. or rather, he doesn't have any ideas at all nor any business sense. for the two years before i joined, the company made very little money and was barely surviving. i turned things around last year but this year has been awful because i have been sick through most of it and unable to perform. however, i just grew tired of having to fight for every improvement i want to make, for trying to take it to the next level, while he is happy just waiting for a miracle and saying 'insha-allah' (god willing).

you have no idea what a bitch it is to be born into a desi family. they are absolutely amazing at times and i love my family like crazy but i am so sick of the sacrifices i have to make. i have to continuously lie about my lifestyle, my lack of faith in religion, i have to still give explanations about my whereabouts, at 27, its STILL not okay to have boyfriends or wear skimpy outfits or drink and i have to pretend that my values are the same as theirs. my whole fucking existence is a lie.

i know, i am such a drama queen but seriously, i am so pissed off and tired. i was in love with a hindu guy for 5 years and i gave that up only because i couldn't marry him because my parents would have killed me or themselves. i am still staying at home because it's what good desi girls do. i joined my dad's business because he desperately wanted me on board and i fucked up my own career path. i contributed to running the house for five years and gave them more than i kept for myself because i'm a good daughter.

and what the hell do i get in return?

'leave'.

thanks a lot.

it doesn't end here.

here's the most disturbing thing. my mojo is dead. and i mean D-E-A-D. i can not remember the last time i wanted some action or felt any desire. in fact, that is probably the crux of my problems, isn't it? i just need to get laid.

*sigh*

russian dolls

i've been meaning to write this for some time now but haven't gotten around to it simply because i feel silly talking about this all over again. i was warned multiple times not to go back after i had walked away from my relationship with pb, but in typical sarah style, i gave in at some point, without really realising it.

almost six months down the line, i had to face the fact that it wasn't working out for a number of reasons. perhaps i am just not ready to be in a relationship - i am still too self-absorbed to be as supportive and understanding a girlfriend as he wanted. and he is still too much of a child, who has a lot of growing up to do.

so yes, i have had to go through a break-up all over again.

pretty stupid, huh?

i watched a film day before yesterday that i completely fell in love with. it ended on such an interesting thought - the guy compares the women he has been with to 'russian dolls' (a set of dolls of decreasing sizes placed one inside another). he goes through a series of girlfriends in the film and can never make up his mind, and he realizes that he HAD to go through all these break ups and experience all this pain, in order to get to the final, the last doll...the right one.

i guess the main problem is knowing when to stop. i envy people who seem completely at peace with their relationships and their partners and content to give up the search, because they have found what they were looking for. i wonder how they knew it, what signs were given to confirm that this indeed was meant to be their last doll, the one they are supposed to end up with.

in fact, i think i have an issue with that...we generally equate 'the one' with someone we will end up with, someone who we can spend the rest of our lives with. i don't know if i believe that life is actually that kind. perhaps 'the one' (if he/she exists) is someone we have already been with, and just did not realize it at the time. perhaps they are the person we let go off. perhaps we thought we could do better. perhaps we didn't have the patience at the time and are living optimistically, foolishly hoping for mr. or ms. right to walk right in and then live with them happily every after.

what if 'the one' is married? what if he is incapable of committing? what if he dies? what if he doesn't see you that way? what if you're not his last doll? what if he thinks he can do better? what if he's an abusive asshole?

we naturally assume that because he is 'the one', there will be no problems ever, no clashes and ending up together is obviously the most natural outcome.

somehow, i don't think so.

or perhaps this is just post break-up talk that y'all will have to endure for a little bit.

i think i am not ready to give up my search for myself, just yet. there's too much i need to learn about who i am and what i am capable of, and an intense relationship comes in the way for me. i thrive in this emptiness, this loneliness, this drama...it gets me more interested in life, and makes me so much more introspective and i always come up feeling so much more positive. i don't like to distract myself with a relationship when it becomes obvious that that is all it has become...a mere distraction from myself, in a city that is terribly, terribly cold and harsh.

as always, i have realized yet again that being alone, truly alone is so much more beautiful and rewarding than being with someone and feeling all that negativity, crushing emptiness and loneliness.

strangely enough, i am quite happy now that i have finally admitted that i was terribly unhappy.

self-loathing

i hate who we have become.

i loathe this distance from everyone else, even my so called closest friends and family.

someone very close to me went through something terrible and didn’t even ask me to be there for them. i am not sure why…their explanation was that i would not have understood or i would have freaked out. its also very likely that the fact that they called and i had plans to go watch a show refrained them from asking me to be there for them.

i am traumatized by the thought that this person so close to me was having such a hard time while i enjoyed a fucking musical.

i hate how i can’t, in return, tell them what i am going through, how i can’t tell anyone at all. i speak of my relationship, which i put a whole lot into, almost ending with a shrug…look, here i am being all practical…these things happen, it’s all a part of life. i feign indifference; no, a year and a half of love that may have no hope of being saved is really not a big deal at all and talk about it all with such nonchalance that i almost end up convincing myself.

i can not believe i can’t connect with anyone. i can not cry on anyone’s shoulder and apparently, not even those closest to me can cry on mine.

right now, that person is in their bedroom, sobbing quietly, alone, while i sit across town and write this crap. i am infuckingcapable of offering comfort or receiving any.

i don’t know what the fuck to say…please ask me to be there for you cause i swear i will? i swear i will understand, i will listen. i promise i will not judge, offer advice or solutions or bullshit. should i put this on a fucking t-shirt or carve it on my forehead, so that the ones who should already be aware of this get the message?

honestly, i hate myself for being someone that not even my closest friends and family can turn to. i hate who i have become.

on cannibals and sharing space with them

so here we are again.

6 a.m., insomnia accompanied by hiccups - quite possibly the most annoying combination ever.

spent the last couple of hours reading a terribly morbid tale online, finished off a tub of chocolate ice cream, fought off my greedy dog as he tried to attack me as i devoured this hot dutch cheese that i have been hooked on to lately and have basically been leading my usual exciting crazy life (as you can tell).

recently, i stumbled upon the most disturbing news item i have read in a while about a guy in oklahoma who killed a 10 year old girl, and had actually planned to "kidnap a person, rape them, torture them, kill them, cut off their head, drain the body of blood, rape the corpse, eat the corpse, then dispose of the organs and bones."

that has got to be the most disgusting thing ever. and it seems pathetic that the possibility exists he'd get off on some sort of insanity plea. i don't care if he is insane, he intended to eat a person, a little girl and while he most definitely deserves life imprisonment, i hope that its one where his curiosity of tasting human flesh is satisfied with someone chopping off his balls, deep frying them and feeding them to him.

i know: an eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind (my twin loves that quote).

and you know what? yes, it's true, it's wise, gandhi sure knew what he was talking about but there are certain cases where the concept of forgiveness is just plain silly. i don't expect this man to understand the magnitude of his crime by spending his life in prison, just like i don't expect a rapist to realize how it feels to be violated unless it happens to him. i don't even think the death penalty is good enough for such people. they should live (death is too swift a punishment), but they need to be tortured for the rest of their lives.

sister spikey had a couple of excellent posts up on her blog about something similar - her beef was with some rapist who got out of jail after 8 years, went on to become a basketball star and got a scholarschip to boot.

uh huh - not only did this guy walk about freely after 8 short years, he gets to go to university now. i was horrified because the idea of sharing space with a convicted rapist would scare the shit out of me...i don't understand how the hell they can allow that?

i seriously think that murderers and rapists do not deserve second chances. they should not be allowed out into the world, where they are free to breed and father children quite possibly as screwed up as them (if not genetically, then just by virtue of having a convicted murderer as a parent). they should not be allowed a chance at relationships, they should not be allowed another chance at life. it is only by being this lenient in the first place that the crimes refuse to go away. and just as spikey was pissed off about a scholarship that could have gone to a student who had stayed away from crime, can you imagine how a decent, moral guy would feel about losing a woman he likes or wants or could have had, to a fucking convict?? or his spot on the basketball team or any job at all going to an asshole who has raped a woman or murdered a child?

life doesn't give us as many chances as we want or possibly deserve (contrary to all the bullshit self-help authors would have you believe). and it appears that the few there are are being handed out by the judicial systems to murderers, cannibals, rapists etc who get to walk about freely and take away from people who are trying their best to live by the rules (even though everyone feels like killing someone, sometimes - i know i do - we just don't fucking do it).

please don't give me that insanity crap or the 'he has learnt his lesson' bs. i don't give a shit about his reasons or lack of - all i know is that such criminals deserve to spend the remainder of their lives locked up, living every day in fear of getting killed or raped. and preferably getting tortured too (yes, i know, i am one angry, violent, evil paki girl).

honestly, i am going to be so damn pissed off if this asshole gets off. just knowing that i am sharing my space on earth with him (even if he will be on another continent), both of us walking about freely, showering and shitting freely, with access to chocolate ice cream and nice cheese, while he killed a girl he meant to eat, is going to be enough for me to want to hunt him down myself and give him a taste of a punishment that gandhi (or my twin) would surely not approve of.

p.s: i'll try and link to spikeys post later because it is extremely relevant (and far, far better written with a lot less cussing).

yet another cherry popped

my first drunken blog post! three years and i've never posted when inebriated...silly, isn't it?

sorry baron, its not whiskEEEEy, i've gone for plain ol' vodka and something. its doing the job though, so no complaints.

i'm sitting in my pink lingerie with pb making several attempts at trying to distract me from this super important task (stupid cow). i'm racking my brains trying to come up with something intelligent to say so y'all will think i talk smart while i'm drunk (coz that shit obviously doesn't happen when i'm sober, does it?).

obviously pb appears to be a bit excited and has wandered off to find condoms...hahaha - i think i'll pull either a headache trick or too sleepy one...what do you think?

i'm about to watch a hindi flick - another first while drunk...for somone who drinks fairly often, i obviously don't do enough while under the influence.

so yeah, on to the smart stuff...

i've had a nice week - i've been working very hard on getting out of my self induced depressing mode - it really IS all perspective; the same things that got me down last week are making me feel better now. scrubs no longer seems like an escape, pb is fabulous, and weekends at home make me feel good.

i took a fairly exciting walk with pb the other day around the area he lives in...for the first time in my life, i let go of my hang ups and made out in a dark, but public place (the bastketball court bitches!). i know i talk a lot of shit but the reality is that i am way too sensible and prim and proper in real life (if you overlook my language). all my less gutter mouthed friends and sisters have done far more exciting stuff and led more colourful lives while i sat on the sidelines and tried being the perfect, often judgmental prissy bitch.

jesus man, it is hard to type under the influence...i don't know how people consider themselves fit to drive!!

i've been thinking about polyamoury - i just can't grasp the concept. i am not a big fan of fidelity, i find it difficult to fathom the concept of being with one person your whole life, it just doesn't strike me as realistic. nor does the alternative though - i mean, how the hell do partners in such relationships cope?? i would die of jealousy at the thought of my partner being with someone else and i would be very, very pissed if he was okay with sharing me.

and how does it work on a day to day basis?

"hi honey, should i make dinner?"
"no i already ate"
"should i wear my maids outfit and get ready for you?"
"no, i just met sally and shagged the shit outta her, so i'm pretty sated...it sounds interesting though, so can you put it on for me tomorrow?"
"sure, hon, no problem"

my ass.

that's right, my motherfucking ass.

i really can't imagine it working out.

i'm thinking of marrying pb again and it sure as hell won't be a polyamorous relationship... much as i would or he would like to have the freedom of going with the flow and our respective punanis and dicks, that shit is just not gonna fly. i would KILL and i mean that, i would murder my guy or better yet, chop his bits off and feed it to my adorable dog if he ever cheated. and i could never ever do it either, i just think its so bloody wrong. whenever i watch a film where the protagonist is unfaithful, i wanna bitchslap the shit out of them cause it just defeats the whole purpose...why be in a relationship if you can't commit?

okay so thats me ranting while i'm 'talli' - thats desi-speak for drunk. at least i am not completely useless, i DO teach you goras something!!

i have to go now and take care of stupid pb who can't seem to get over the latest addition to my lingerie collection (the crazy ass thong with tassles which makes me look like a brazilian stripper - sooooo far from the truth, its not even funny).

i lurrrrrrrrrrrrrve y'all!

you have no idea how much pressure i feel having to think of a bloody title until all i can come up with is crap about how much pressure i feel...

its past 6 a.m.. i wish i could say that i have woken up bright and early but unfortunately, i haven't slept at all. i have such terrible sleeping patterns, i just can't get sleep before 4 a.m.. its ridiculous! by now i have tried every method in the book: read, smoked, took a crap, played scrabble online, watched multiple episodes of scrubs. i could masturbate, that always works (does it, for you guys?), but i am not in the mood. i've given up now and have been trying to wake pb up so we can do something exciting for once, like go to the beach and have breakfast or some other semi romantic, spontaneous crap but the fat lazy bastard is asleep (how he can sleep through his phone ringing 50 times is beyond me).

thanks for all your comments on the last post, each one helped and i snapped out of my depression and am working on fixing things. i'm concentrating on putting my weight back on, so i've been eating like a pig lately - i want my big fat asian ass back! none of this 34 inch, perky butt crap. can a butt be perky? or is just breasts? i wouldn't know about breasts since i dont have any, so you'll have to enlighten me on this one.

okay, on to less stupid stuff.

you know what? sorry, i have nothing. nothing at all.

oh wait, there IS the story about the couple that has been ordered by idiot so called 'muslim clerics' to divorce since the hubby whispered 'talaq, talaq, talaq' in his sleep (talaq = divorce in urdu/hindi). these people are such choots, it really gets on my tits (yea, the ones that aren't there). anyone who has ANY clue about islam and has read the quran for more than 5 minutes would know that saying it thrice does nothing, there is a whole period of reconsidering involved. most people, however, mistakenly believe or are led to believe that anytime your hubby says the word thrice, your marriage is over immediately. and you know, it would be fine if it was your village idiot spouting that kind of crap, but clerics?? aren't they supposed to know better??

and do you know what happens if they DO have to get divorced? well, according to islamic law, the wife has to go marry another man, get shagged senseless for a night or two, and once hubby number two divorces her, she can marry her hubby number one again. supposedly, the rationale here is that this sort of a punishment would deter hubby number one from divorcing his wife, because he really wouldn't want her after she has been with someone else, would he?

god, i just don't have the energy to rant about this. the good thing is that now my head hurts, just thinking about all this stupidity, so may be i'll try getting some sleep now.

or may be i'll call pb for the 51st time and wake his lazy ass up.

mmmmm....sleep. i think sleep wins for now.

i'll be back soon with a more coherent post.

hopefully!

...

i haven't been writing much because i've had a really horrible year so far. most days when i think of writing, i can only come up with really depressing thoughts and none of them apply to anyone else. generally, my posts are ones that people can relate to or have an opinion on (i think...) but all my personal shit would generate is lots of advice or sympathy or silence.

i don't think i am ready for any of it.

i've been in a hole since december. i've gone from being mildly friendly to terribly anti-social, from being cynical in a humourous way to jaded and bitter.

it's not just the dumb break-up which didn't end up being as real a break-up as i had hoped. i wish it was, though. it hasn't helped obviously, nor has the fact that i am still not sure where the hell that relationship is going because i am not ready to call it quits just yet but i am not in a position to go back to a full blown love affair and pretend nothings wrong.

my work has been going shit for the past four months because i have hardly been working. if it wasn't laziness or depression or general procrastination, it was/is my health. my kidneys (which have been fucked since childhood, thanks to the incompetence and greed of desi doctors) are going downhill. that in itself isn't alarming because i have 'chronic renal failure' - they are going to deteriorate inevitably, we just have to ensure that they do so at as slow a rate as possible. so there i am, trying to control the madness exhibited by two dumb kidneys that decide to throw out all the proteins from my body and keep everything toxic inside. i am currently popping 11 pills a day, and will have to start self-administering an injection once a week to boost my red blood cells, because aside from suffering from high blood pressure and having hideously low levels of calcium & iron in my body, i am also anemic.

real pretty, huh?

on top of all this crap, because of my illness, my immune system is pretty fucked and is not helped by the fact that my diet is severly restricted. so i have been falling ill every other week, without fail, for the past 4 months.

so yeah, briefly:

1. no money because i haven't been working much.
2. fucked up relationship.
3. fucked up health.
4. loss of 10 pounds that i couldn't afford to lose, making me look anorexic, weak and dull and making my already small body, especially my chest, resemble that of a very young, very skinny boy - leading me to feel absolutely ugly.

i don't know why i am finally letting this all out here. i guess its because i'm up against yet another weekend that will be spent at home popping pills because i really don't feel well enough to go out and besides, no one in this town would dream of doing anything other than hardcore clubbing tonight.

i wish i was the blaming sort. hell, i wish i was the believing sort - at least i could pray to god or curse him. but there really is no one to blame for the place that i'm in nor anyone to really rescue me. and fuckin' hell, thats honestly what i really, really need right now. i am so ready to be a typical girl, flash a smile, bat my eyelashes and beg the next man that walks past to fix my life.

i sat around three people a couple of weeks back who were blaming their problems and their bad marriages on black magic (they had all gone to some tarot card or tea/coffee reader who had spelt it ALL out for them). i wanted to get up and slap all of them and order them to take some responsibility for their own mistakes and their fuck ups. yet secretly i also wished it were that easy for me, to just turn around and announce that all this is due to the fact that someone has cast an evil eye or done some stupid magic but i'm afraid i don't believe in any of it. but i am also afraid that i don't believe in myself anymore. thats the only faith i used to have...in myself. but i've been on such a low for what seems so long that i no longer know whether i have the strength to get myself out of it.

all my problems are silly and none are fatal or terminal. at the end of the day, it actually ISN'T a big deal and some days, i find it all very funny. it's all perspective and it's all relative, isn't it? i can compare myself to someone worse off, someone who has lost a child, someone stuck in a war zone, someone homeless, blah blah blah. sorry, i am just not feeling up to that kinda logic today especially when i am faced with another evening of watching 6 episodes of scrubs until i fall asleep, and all i really wanna do is tear my hair out, or better yet, find a god, spit on him and perhaps shoot him with my trusty bazooka.

sorry, it WAS better when i wasn't writing, wasn't it?

i'll try and come up with something more 'me' (fuck knows what that is anymore) when i am in a better mood.

xx.

guest post time: the gallant twin rescues me

hello! sorry i haven't been checking in on your blogs or mine - it's mainly been thanks to crazy workload, terrible health and a load of other nonsense (like getting back with pb, breaking up with pb, getting back and breaking up again).

so yeah, i'm not feeling up to facing the virtual world just yet and my awesome twin (the red baron) sent me a guest post, without me even having to ask/beg him for one (now that's what you call looking out for one's sibling!).

presenting...

The Sock Monster

Some while ago I decided I needed some new socks, I had never been able to figure out where all the old ones went but vanish they did without fail, or at least one of any given pair did leaving the other bereft and useless for all but the most hungover of days.

I was naive and thought that if I bought loads of pairs of socks I would have enough to wear a new pair every day and cycle them through the washing so that I was never without clean socks. It all seemed so simple. I bought 20 pairs of socks. It was naive because I had long since suspected the involement of the sock monster but was never quite organised enough to ascertain for sure that I did genuinely put both socks in the wash at once.

The sock monster is a rapacious predator, it lives in the washing machine. Every now and again it may turn its attention to some other item of clothing but generally it feeds on socks. Its aversion to ever taking the second sock in a pair has long since baffled observers, even if said remaining sock is put into the wash again in the future this sock has an immunity to it and will never be taken by the sock monster.

There are actually 2 different types of sock monster, the species in the washing machine is ruthlessly efficient whilst its relative in the tumble dryer is more sloth-like and without the same efficacy in digestion. The tumble dryer sock monster tends only to eat the choice parts of the sock whilst excreting the remainder into the lint trap.

I used to think that the sock monster had an implicit prediliction to black socks and thus was particularly partial to mine but it appears that children's socks are something of a snack for the sock monster and a tasty one at that and they are vanishing with the same rapidity that mine have always done.

Now you might think, "dozy old fool, he's probably dropping one on the way in/out of the washing machine." Of course were that true I would now be up to my knees in discarded foot atire. Besides which I have long since been meticulous in counting the socks going in so as to test the extent of the appetite of the sock monster. It is as a result of this scientific observation that has enabled me to learn more about this well-known but not well-understood animal hence the discovery of the secretion on the second sock in the pair that prevents it from ever being eaten.

The sock monster has one other trick and this again is something that would not have occurred but for my procurement of a large number of socks, I thought, since all the socks I bought were the same that even were the sock monster to devour 1 of each pair I would still be left with 10 good socks, thus 5 pairs from the original 10 pairs I had bought. A-ha sock monster I have sussed you out, you can't eat those 10 and therefore I have all the socks I need. Not so says the sock monster, and proceeds to render said 10 socks so different as to be unwearable with one another. The sock monster has made the elastic in one all loose whilst making one of the other's so tight it is a leg tournique. Another one has faded badly to grey, another has had chunks taken out of the heel, whilst another has withered in the sole area causing a premature ageing effect.

This all shows some level of intelligence and subjection to the Darwinist notion of survival by adaptation as the sock monster has evolved to counter the changing environment that I have thrown at it. Whilst this is admirable and scientifically interesting it is most annoying for me the wearer of the now sub-standard attire! The battle will continue although the realisation that I am dealing with a being of both resource and sagacity leads me to wonder whether or not I am fighting a losing battle.

assimilation

while generally considered to be a key aspect of becoming a part of your new country, assimilation also has a ton of negative connotations for immigrants. it can not happen without one losing bits of their identity that the hosts aren't comfortable with or used to.

many of these conditions are imposed: in saudi, one must wear a veil and get used to being driven about by a man because as a woman, you just can't drive (an opinion most men share, all over the world!). in pakistan, it means that you should leave your super comfy shorts in your suitcase unless you're comfortable with being leched at or felt up. in many european countries, it means leaving your headscarf at home, unless you want to be looked at as just another 'oppressed muslim woman'.

i read everyday about european expats in the middle east demanding that things be done here the way they are done back home. they expect the same standards, they write in everyday to the editor, complaining about one thing or the other and eventually, they want to turn their part of town into a mini-england or mini-europe. they get mad when they aren't allowed to sun bathe nude, or kiss on the streets and they have trouble understanding why it is frowned upon for them to wear excessively revealing clothes.

the muslims have a similar issue when they go to europe. they want to enjoy everything it has to offer without giving up any bits of themselves that their hosts may not be comfortable with. also, unfortunately for them, more often than not, they lack the education or rational thought to bring about change with sending in letters. they would much rather prefer to stick with feeling victimised, staying in their own groups or praying for Allah to unleash hell on these infidels.

yes, i know i am generalizing.

anyway, is it possible for assimilation to occur without ones own culture or traditions being forced to take a backseat? is it fair to expect that your new country accept you as you are and acquiese to all your demands of mosques and churches and freedom to preach your chosen faith on the sidewalk? and is it fair of your host country to refuse to accomodate your history, your faith or your way of doing things?

as most of you know, i generally keep away from any and everything political. it just doesn't interest me simply because i know i am powerless. no matter how much i applaud efforts of those who march or protest or sign petitions, i see little change taking place. it is depressing enough without me participating in any of it and experiencing defeat and hopelessness after nothing changes.

however, the recent events i.e. the cartoons and the uproar over them have just got me so worked up - i haven't felt as affected or pissed off in ages.

i feel like i am stuck in the middle of all this. i shouldn't but this is a part of my world, my parents are believers, i have grown up surrounded by this very religion and its followers and my passport firmly states that i belong to it. it is very, very difficult for me to distance myself completely from this madness, much as i would like to.

rationally, i am leaning more and more towards the view that muslims can not integrate into societies that are not based on laws they are comfortable with. they want the best of both the worlds - they want the comfort, education, healthcare and quality of life that the west offers but they would much rather do away with everything that contradicts the teachings of their religion.

of course not all of them are like that. we all know that. but where the fuck are the moderates when you need them? why aren't THEY taking to the streets? why aren't they writing letters that say something more eloquent than 'mohammad is our prophet and we love him more than we love our parents and will kill for him' (a comment i have read over and over and over again on many sites)? why is my father (the epitome of a good, laid back, peaceful muslim) sitting at home, watching cricket, playing solitaire over and over again, instead of defending his faith which has been hijacked by retards?

i am angered by the insanity of this situation. i am pissed off by the media that is on a mission to highlight everything that makes muslims look like a crazy bunch. i haven't witnessed a single demonstration and i live in a muslim country. why are newspapers and news websites carrying stories on the front page of 16 deaths over the cartoons and not of the 1800 people that died in a landslide in philippines? why the hell are muslims still whining about this? where the hell is their faith? don't they think that their almighty god would be able to take care of these 12 cartoonists himself if he were actually so pissed off by their acts? why can't the lazy moderates get over and done with their endless armchair politics and dinner table chats over how they could improve the situation and actually DO something? REPRESENT, bhenchod - this is YOUR faith that is being bastardized by a bunch of maniacs, this is your prophet and your god too - don't they realize that the situation will just escalate until perhaps the only solution WILL be one put forward by many juvenile bloggers (nuke 'em all!).

i wish i could talk sense into everyone - the mullahs, the followers, the anti-muslims, the xenophobes, the host countries that feel threatened, every single person on the planet. but what would i say? "stop! they're just misunderstood!" or "stop, they're just doing this because they have nothing better to do - no jobs, no education, nothing to do all day except listen to mullahs rant about the evils of the west". in any case, who the fuck listens these days? and who the hell am i to speak on anyone's behalf? i'm not on either side.

i just wish i didn't give a damn.

happy v day!

for the coolest anti-v day cards, go here

to check out more like the ones above (the second one is my favourite card in the world), go here or here

hope everyone gets some sweet lovin' tonight!

top tip: if you're single (and wanna get lucky), hit the bars NOW - all the singles are gonna be out tonight and looking for lurrrrve.

may the force be with you.

baby got blog!

guess who has finally succumbed to two years of my nagging and whinging and started not one, but TWO blogs?

ALI BHAI!!

yep, we're now going to hear, hopefully on a regular basis, from our favourite paki, without me having to resort to bribing, threatning or begging for guest posts.

for his political views, head to brain kichri and for his personal posts (yes, can you believe it, we actually get to know about ali bhai's personal life - hopefully, he will be full of dirty, dirty details), go here (i don't think he has put up a post yet though). he also has a flickr account all set up so we get some visuals to go with our mystery man.

like i said to him, this has been the best news so far this year.

now stop reading my crap and visit brain kichri immediately.

disjointed, tangential rambling @ 4 a.m.

now that the big love affair has sort of ended (or is on hold for the moment), i can go back to my favourite topic on earth - the fucking pakis!!

i think they're mad. honest. i've been reading quite a few paki blogs lately, or rather, i read a few entries on about a dozen paki blogs. and guess what i discovered? they're obsessed with marriage. or at least the girls are. what horrifies me about this is that they're so young (most have just hit 20).

i don't know why there is such a huge pressure on girls to get hitched at such a young age in pakiland. i remember even when i was around that age and my sister got married (at 22), i knew i was next and accepted it, without any questions or issues.

luckily for me though, her marriage was a disaster and she came back 6 weeks later, ensuring that the subject of 'arranged marriages' turned into an extremely sensitive one at our house. and of course, no one wanted to marry us (me or my other sisters) anyway, because if the eldest got divorced so quickly, something must be wrong with ALL of us (didn't you know divorce is contagious?!). we were all quite happy with this and always joke that the eldest took one for the team.

but i am still not sure about the 'why' part. my grandmom is in town and was telling me about all our little cousins that are now engaged or married or pregnant and i couldn't help telling her that i thought it was insane. according to her, thats the way its always been and will always be. i can see why she and others of her generation think its such a good idea - they don't want horny 20 year olds running around, indulging in pre-marital sex and following 'western ways' (every paki parents biggest fear). but i don't get how these young girls themselves can be so okay with it and in fact, so OBSESSED by the idea? why would they want it? how can they be ready to sign themselves off for life, to some doctor or engineer or programmer chosen by their parents? i mean honestly, how can they even judge someone they will have to fuck every night for the rest of their lives, based on his degree or job?

may be i am just too far removed from all the desi drama to be able to understand this phenomenon. may be i just don't think that anything other than love is a good reason for marriage.

i know by bringing my anti-paki nonsense up again, i'll get the crazy pakis back on the site or on email, cussing me and my entire family. i'm kinda looking forward to it though, especially the hate mails. i am really bored and all the mail i get lately is from people trying to sell me shit.

oh, someone DID leave this rather funny comment the other day (on one of the other blogs of mine):

Fuck you bitch.... Dun use the word pak, with u.. Coz its pure, and you are most unpure insect. You hate Pakistani male, coz they must have showed you mirror.. You bitch...

I don't know why these retards get SO offended. so many of them think i am lying about being paki, which REALLY makes me laugh. in fact, even poor sin got that one some time back. his angry paki commenter even went so far as to say that sin HAD to be a hindu spy sent to destroy our religion, since you know, the pakis from the 'land of the pure' (his words, not mine, i swear) could never be gay.

i don't think he keeps up with the news cause otherwise he would have read all about that gay marriage in pakistan (yep, we had ours way before elton and his boy, cause we're THAT cool!).

such psychos really need to learn to be a bit tolerant. they're obviously off their heads, but i don't go around telling them that they couldn't have come from the same super pure land as me. i deal with it - its unfortunate but true. shit happens, mate.

okay, i'm all done now. yes, i know this anti-paki rant lacks the venom that the earlier ones used to have but its a bit difficult to come up with that kinda (ignorant) hate and anger after one has fucked (did i say fucked? i meant loved) a paki.

i'll find something or someone else to hate that much again. promise.

in the meantime, i'm off to bed - see y'all tomorrow.

guest post time - alibhai reflects on entering the world of 30-somethings

S emailed me a couple of days AFTER my birthday to congratulate me on crossing the big 30 milestone. Not that I had any say in turning 30. I don't live in Baghdad or south central LA so surviving to this ripe old age is not an achievement. Nor was it my decision to turn 30 on Friday the 13th or any other day. If it were up to me, I'd still be 15 and have a world of opportunities and possibilities on my horizon. The date of my birthday was set invertibly, .. invariably? inversely? invertly? invertebrately??? OK I know they are members of the phylum invertebrate, or is it vertebrates?, in a lustful night by my 'rents who were presumably still in newly wed heaven. Regardless, I will accept all congrats and well wishes with fake smiles and gratitude. The bankruptcy induced personal moratorium on gifting does not preclude receipt of lavish gifts. And well wishes don't sell for jack on ebay, bitches.

I have a love hate relationship with emails from S. I love getting them because there is a hint of mischief. I think she laughs or at least smiles at what she is sending. And mostly I love them cause they were typed while sitting on a hot little ass. But I hate them because all of our conversations include a demand for a guest post. There is always a string attached with these Hot Ass Walis. And that sends me in a tizzy. Writing is hard for me. Neither the words nor the composition come to me easily, or at all. Whole days are spent jotting down a few lines and then going off road on a completely different path. Who needs chemicals when my thought process is naturally disjointed.

This time she wants me to impart some of my newly attained 30 year old wisdom. Yeah! like you are supposed to turn smarter with age. Shows you how much she knows. I firmly believe that I reached peak brainage at 16. It has been a slow and mostly painless loss of brain activity ever since. I suspect I am losing brain cells every day and new ones stopped forming a long time ago. I don't have any data, or other tangible proof of my suspicions. But there is ample circumstantial evidence, that is my life, to back up my hypothesis. I say hypothesis because I think the same holds true for the majority of people. With the right set of medical scanners and monitors we will have a working theory. Look around your self and you'll find many people peaked even earlier and are either stuck at that point or slowly retreating. Some seem to have peaked at four. It is a good thing then that in her email she mentioned my 'joys of taking a crap outdoors' guestment. The bar has been set very low. I would limbo underneath were it not for my bad back. Instead, I'll have to crawl. For those with a bollywood frame of reference may I suggest imagining me slithering on the floor ala 80's snake dance routines. Those without the reference consider yourselves lucky.

I am not one for milestones. But for some reason I had developed a real fear of the big three O. The melancholy set in well before the new year and I was morbidly depressed the week leading up to the day. All waking and sleeping hours were consumed with my life thus far. The huge failures, the major disappointments, and the cruel heartbreaks clouded my thoughts for days. Then, I walked into the very much expected surprise party. Had half the cake and bubbly aplenty. With a slight buzz going and a massive sugar high the mind started to clear. Flashbacks of small successes, minor achievements, and moments of unadulterated joy.

There hasn't been a eureka moment of clarity upon turning thirty. The weeks of introspection and self depreciative auditing have however made my focus on priorities keener. Life is more than a sum product of convenient milestones and arbitrary metrics. But there has to be a sense of direction, a purpose, a passion. And it has to be true to you. Life is too precious to be wasted stranded in the past or trudging mindlessly through the now. Get a plan. Get focused, Get better.

At the same time I might as well be talking out of my ass. What the hell do I know. I am just an old kook. I am over 30 and can't be trusted. And everyday I get closer to 40 and further from 20. Senility here I come.

everyday i write the book*

warning: skip this one if you're in a happy mood and looking forward to the 31st.

i should come up with a few resolutions. it's standard around this time, isn't it? reflect on the the year gone by and make a list of things you would like to do next year.

i have sunk into a bit of a depression. i really can't come up with any reason to look forward to next year or write down things i should do which i know i wont get around to doing. i feel like this year was completely wasted. i know i shouldn't say that or think it, but that's how i feel. i foolishly poured all my energy into my relationship and that was the only thing i was looking forward to for next year. i envisioned us moving in together and all that crap.

and now, there's nothing.

even if things take a turn for the better, that magic is gone. somehow, when you see the downside or ugliness of a person or a relationship, its very difficult to pretend it never happened and go back to normal.

i'm disappointed, with myself and with the world and with its inhabitants. i know this is another lesson learnt (blah blah blah) but you know? i really wouldn't have minded skipping this class. i've had quite a few lessons of this sort, honestly and obviously i didn't learn from them so enough already! can we just move on to the happy bits? please?

i've realized that the only thing that makes me happy in life is my relationships with people. this also makes me extremely vulnerable because i can never exert any control over them and consequently, my state becomes completely dependent on their actions. i'd like to change that but i don't know what the hell to replace people with. others have hobbies - kristie likes to play the guitar and sing, baron loves politics, my sis loves beautifying herself, T (real life friend) loves aikido and drawing/painting, goru spends his free time illustrating brilliantly, and i spend my free time falling in love.

no points for guessing which is the most disastrous/ self-destructive hobby.

i guess this is what happens when you're one talentless beyatch. i would have thought that at twentymotherfuckingseven i was too bloody old to embark on that stupid 'finding myself' quest but as it turns out, i was wrong. i thought i knew myself, inside out but i really have no clue what i am capable of. my lack of experiences has ensured that i know myself only as much as my surroundings allow me to. remember fight club and that line about how much do you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? well, how much do i know about myself if i haven't ever traveled, learnt a new language or skill, danced naked, been to japan, had a one night stand, played an instrument, done my stint as a bartender or a stripper, tried acting, singing, directing, skinny dipped, bungee jumped and shagged edward norton?

i seriously need to stop being afraid, lazy, and getting distracted by men who eventually cease to matter and do ALL of the above (especially shagging ed norton).

sorry to bring up the whole tired whiny rant against myself and my pathetic life but it had to be done; the end of the year always depresses me because its a reminder of how little has been accomplished AGAIN.

my only resolution this time is going to be this:

2006 should be all about ME.

and i need to conquer my fears.

and consequently, the world.

i'm out...

hope you have an incredible and magical new years eve and year.

p.s: tell me your resolutions, if you have any.

*post title is stolen from the title of an Elvis Costello song.

on boys, burkas and bazookas

i hate boys.

and men.

you're not surprised because i just broke up and am bound to be bitter.

right?

wrong.

i don't understand why they stare at women as if we are freaks or a double chocolate fudge brownie, with vanilla ice-cream and molten chocolate on top. or a beer bottle, perhaps. i honestly don't get it. and it's always asian men (from far eastern to south asian) - the goras don't really bat an eyelash when a woman passes. they may politely open the door, make an inane comment about the weather or even go as far as to compliment you but they do not STARE. or whistle. or hum. oh my god, that humming gets on my nerves more than anything on earth. i enter the elevator, and the desi guy starts humming:

tujhe dekha toh yeh jaan sanam, pyar hota hai dewana sanam
(since i saw you darling, i learnt that love is mad, darling - yes, that's a VERY literal translation).

are women supposed to feel flattered by this?? you know how i feel?

i want to pull out my imaginary bazooka.

no, not that bra which turns every females non-existent tits into a 36DD chest (and no, it does not work for me, i'm one of those way beyond help cases) but THIS bazooka and shoot the humming mofo down.

honestly, this humming and staring phenomenon drives me insane. it doesn't matter what the woman wears or what she looks like, asians just fucking LOVE staring.

but its different when it comes to the hijabis (the burka clad women). they actually never stare at a hijabi - not because there isn't much to see because you can still tell that underneath all that black cloth, that is one hot ninja. they don't stare because they're too afraid - the hijab signifies something to them (don't ask me what that is, i have no clue how the male mind works - oh wait, it doesn't, does it?!!). so anyway, i am convinced that we, the non-ninjas, get to bear the brunt of the raging hormones because to their perverse thinking, we must want this attention since we are not fully clothed in black.

i know i make it sound funny, but believe me, its a bloody pain in the ass when all these obviously married men or old men or ugly men (yes, i'm superficial, fuck you) hear the click of heels going down an empty corridor and whirl around, and proceed to stare you up and down like they want to devour you. its even worse when you see that many of these men are muslims coming out of the 'prayer room' or just going into it! on a daily basis, this sort of disgusting and repulsive behavior becomes a serious downer. it actually makes me question my dressing and wonder whether going down the old hijabi route isn't such a bad idea. it pisses me off that i feel objectified in the worst way and i feel almost guilty and naked.

this is the oldest possible argument in favour of the hijab by muslims - they always talk about the objectification of women in the west and blah blah blah. there IS an element of truth to it obviously, but far more obviously, the fault is of the man for not learning to recognize that there is a time and place for checking out chicks or singing songs to them and the work place or parking lot REALLY aren't appropriate venues.

until they learn though, i have to continue doing what i do, and say:

kya dekh ra hay bhenchod??

(what you looking at, sisterf***er)*.

*while that is my favourite urdoo cuss word and one i am prone to shout often, in english, it just sounds so wrong and literal that i'd much rather not type it - plus i really dont need any more site hits from perverts googling such terms.

and so it is...

after i broke up with pb, i had a long conversation with a friend here, who knows me pretty well. he laughed when i said i was afraid of pb coming back, because i know how gullible i am and that i would end up getting back with him. he told me it was the stupidest excuse he had ever heard and told me to look in the mirror and repeat 'i am too gullible and too weak to walk away'.

it did the trick.

sort of.

one of my biggest issues with myself is that no matter how easy i find it to be an absolute bitch to most humans, i can not be mean (truly mean) or unforgiving or cruel to someone i care about. everyone close to me knows this about me and obviously, whether they want to or not, they often end up walking all over me.

i know i have to take responsibility for the issues that pb and i had. i allowed him to use me as his emotional punching bag, i was more than happy to be the mommy, the babysitter, the cheerleader and the girlfriend, all rolled into one. i should have put a stop to it myself, a long time ago.

i don't know why i have so much faith in the inherent goodness of humans. i've never really held a grudge against anyone, been bitter towards exes or given up on people completely, no matter how badly they fuck up. it might not be the wisest way to live, but it has worked for me; everyone always did come through to prove that they were worth my faith.

and so i have pledged my faith once again.

i have not gone running back, i have not been a complete pushover (or so i tell myself) nor have i forgiven all. but i HAVE given pb a chance to show me that he is capable of being the man i deserve. he seems to think he is and i have to admit i am curious as well. he has six months to fix up, deal with all his personal problems (which had been our biggest issue since they were always prioritized over me or us) and sort himself out.

in the meantime, i can concentrate on myself and my life again and figure out what i want. i don't like the finality of good byes and break ups. i am so much more comfortable in this grey area, where our options are open. i am free to choose either path, at the end of 6 months, a time period which will also hopefully allow me to ask myself the right questions and figure out the answers.

i have also realized that for someone who falls in love so frequently, or perhaps especially because of it, i really don't have a damn clue about what the word means to me.

it looks like its time for both paki boy and paki girl to grow up and figure out what the fuck they want and whether they ought to be together or not.

on deceiving oneself

this past year, i've been pretty smart. whenever i have had a (relationship) problem, i've shared it with a different friend. i knew that if i unloaded all the problems on one friend, they would tell me things i did not want to hear. by confiding in different people about different issues, i successfully managed to minimise the issue.

no one could hold the mirror up until i had to do it for myself.

i wrote kristie a mail in august where she tried to hold it up for me. i never confided in her again. she was too smart for me, and even with being told a single issue, she picked up on the language and the (virtual) vibe and offered an honest opinion.

obviously, i wasn't ready for it.

for a year, i wrote only when i was happy, i only said nice things (mostly) and i deluded myself into believing that everything was the way i said it was.

i've always been terribly good at faking it. i'm faking happiness and strength right now. i faked the role of the girl in love and faked the role of the supportive, understanding partner.

once again, kristie was right - with pb away, i could remind myself of stuff i needed reminded of. it wasn't necessarily in that context but it was what i ended up doing. i took account of the entire year and thought a lot about everything. i realized that i feel unappreciated, unloved, and i feel its all wrong, more often than not. i never voice these thoughts, except in anger which is why they are usually brushed under the rug as just 'angry words', not real ones but unfortunately, they were and are.

another friend who constantly teases me for falling in love too easily (funny how that was the title of the post to pb's introduction to this blog, on this date, last year) is unfortunately right. and this time, i fucked up big time. i fell in love with the comfort of having someone, i fell in love with the beautiful domesticity of our relationship, i fell in love with the possibilities, i fell in love with almost everything but the boy...

i know that contradicts everything i've written here or said, but like i said, i am pretty damn good at deceiving myself, faking it and illusions.

...so yes, another one bites the dust, ladies and gentlemen.

it's been long overdue (in all honesty) and i am glad i summoned up the strength to voice those awful three words (it is over). now i just need to make sure i have the strength to stick to it because anything else would be a disaster.

so much for serenity and happy places

i've had the dullest week of my life.

pb has gone off on holiday for ten days. i've made it through five, barely. almost every day, i refuse to get out of bed. i bet you feel like going 'awwww, must be true love' but that's really not it (sorry pb). it's ME. i've been so anti-social and wrapped up in my own life for a year (oh yeah, did i tell you guys? we hit a year on the 25th of last month!) that i no longer 'belong' in my own city, without pb. all my friends seem to be busy, all the guys that i thought were friends quit calling me six months back when they figured i wont be breaking up any time soon and shagging them instead and everyone who is left is basically either coupled off as well or anti-social like me.

bhenchod.

thats right, i said bhenchod.

my anger and ranting are back.

i HATE men. and women. and myself. and this whole obsession with sex. i know of quite a few (male) friends who would be more than happy to go out with me for a drink right now, if i said i was single (because the prospect of sex dangles like a carrot in front of them).

i hate myself for forgetting all that i keep going on about, about how we all need to be complete and independent and blah blah blah and basically having my head stuck up pb's arse for a whole year, only realizing it when he is away.

i hate women because they suck.

and even if all my so called friends were willing to meet me or rather, dying to meet me, i wonder, would it be okay to meet them? i mean, is it 'okay' to go for a drink with a friend who is in lurrrve with me? is it okay to have dinner with a friend who wants to shag me? is it 'okay' to meet my exes who may or may not have an agenda? is it okay for us to flirt with other people (even if it makes your partner jealous)? is it okay to dance or dance intimately with someone else?

god, being in a relationship also poses so many complicated questions. thats truly the one thing i loathe about it.

oh my god, i know what i should do! i should start calling up all those nice, warm, sensitive and loving boys who have sent me their pictures and numbers through friendster! that should get me through the next five days!

...i wonder if that would be 'okay'?

sorry, your (not so) daily dose of incoherent rambling is officially over. i'm going to go play scrabble online. and sulk. and take naked pics of myself and send them to pb. may be that'll make him come back sooner.

or not.

boomerangs

he is one of the most amazing and talented artists i know and i fell in love with the above illustration (i also begged him to make a blog template out of it for me, but he refused!).

it reminds me of this lyric from a bright eyes song (bright eyes, by the way, have the best lyrics ever, even though their actual songs are a bit...weird) :

You're a boomerang, you'll see
You will return to me

all my past relationships and connections are 'deep rooted'...but as more time passes, i realize that i am moving further and further away from being that boomerang until i no longer am one. i would not trade where and whom i am with right now for any moment in the past. i used to hope (during my extremely difficult break up with the boyfriend of 5 years) that i would one day move on completely but i truly did not see it happening.

"When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us"

i used to read this quote over and over again during that break up and try my best to act on it. it amazes me sometimes to realize that i actually did manage it. and it also amazes me when i run into my exes and realize that walking away was the best decision ever.

that's the really funny thing about endings, isn't it? at the time, we feel so terrified at the thought of change, of losing a person, of that inevitable void that replaces the comfort of 'having' someone. yet, months, may be even years later, one almost always realizes that that ending was quite possibly the best thing that happened to them.

i am in a happy place...thus the total lack of regular updates on a blog that was mostly used as a place to whine about everything (i know, i know, i've used that excuse to death over the last year). i have to admit i miss the way my blog used to be. i was going through my archives today and laughing over some of haroon's comments, blushing over the (sweet) stuff tim said each time, giggling continuously over alibhai words of wisdom and as always, was impressed with the baron and kristie's eloquent responses to my most mundane entries.

this post is for kristie (see darling, you made the cut!) who is really upset that no one updates their blog anymore. unfortunately, not all of us are able to churn out witty posts (and poetry) about our lives in cubicles, happy relationships and driving back home!

i'll keep trying (in my own way) though...

also, in other news, i am going to start a photo blog so you'll get to see my city, bits of my life and me (this one is going to be shared with only a handful of people though, sorry)!

xxx.

all your asses are belong to us

i am so pissed off.

paki boy has been kicking my ass at scrabble lately. i'm a terribly sore loser anyway but losing over and over again to someone who can't spell and constantly makes the maddening mistake of mixing up 'their' with 'there', amongst other unforgivable errors REALLY hurts my ego.

even worse is how he wins by making two letter words, over and over again!

i refuse to admit defeat and have been on a mission all day to hunt down a list of all the acceptable two letter words (can you believe 'aa' and 'ch' are allowed?!), the kick ass seven letter ones, hooks containing heavy letters (who would have thought that dzo would be a fucking word?!) and discovering new words like 'mulism'.

the only other entertaining factor in my life right is the many offers of 'making nice friendship' that i keep getting on friendster. every desi that reads my profile instantly becomes a fan and sends me their mobile number, their msn id, their hotmail address and says that they'd love to chat to me.

case in point 1:

Hello sweetie
Well Howz life going on with U, if u asking me the same question then let me tell u that Im so cool. So what do u say can we start creating a sweet relationship together ??? Plz let me know either yes or NooOoOoOoo. Until that just take care of ur self. Ciao for now

case in point 2:

Hi,
how are you ? hope you doing great there.. i`m just watching ur profile.. I love your Profile and i really like ur Picture. i found u very sweet n loving. so i decided to msg u.. about me? I am XXX*. 6`1" tall, i`m very loving, caring, honest, friendly, sensitive in relationship, very open minded, easy going and down to earthm confident, trustworthy and optimistic. I believe I can bring you joy and happiness and warm, I am very romantic single, indipendent and avalable male. and for more details pls have a look at my profile u can get more details about me n also can see my pics there.
Waiting for your mails and I am really sincere and serious.my mail address is amazing_XXX*@yahoo.com

*names removed to protect the retards.

so anyway, as you can see, this is almost as much fun as registering on shaadi.com (a desi matrimonial site). i've come to the conclusion that i get so many mails because of the mention of my love for flavoured condoms and agent provocateur in my profile (obviously not the wisest of moves but then again, i hate self-censorship).

also, in other, not so inconsequential news:

i've decided to marry the boy.

there.

i said it.

we discussed it a few months back, dropped the idea, picked it up again, and now its there to stay. he still hasn't gotten down on one knee and pulled out the biggest fucking diamond on earth (which is the ONLY materialistic demand i have made and will make in my life)!!

i could say 'fuck it all' and have a big fight with the parents and just move in with him (given that i don't really believe in marriage) instead but i'm not that girl. i adore my parents too much to put them through all that drama (its a REALLY big deal in desiland to "live in sin"). more importantly, i want to do it because i am mad about the boy - i love the idea of living with him, doing up our place, cooking together, waking up together every day, building the best wine collection and fighting over what music to play (he loves R&B - UGH!).

i mean, honestly, how is that i could fall for someone who doesn't read (much), can't spell, hasn't watched 'in the mood for love', didn't know bukowski or nina simone existed until i shoved them down his throat, is mad about beyonce, drags me to 'destiny's child' concerts, loves beef and seafood (i don't touch that stuff), is a morning person, prefers white wine, gets the 'kid with candy' look when he plays golf or gets any golf related present, thinks he's six feet tall when he's actually at least 3 inches shorter (no, the delusions about size do not extend to other areas) and loves rocky??

stranger things have happened...and the strangest of them all - me marrying (something i could have never predicted last year) a PAKI (remember how much i hated them?) may actually happen soon.

truth is stranger than fiction.

p.s: you know what? i KNOW why i am so insanely in love - it's his ass. this is going to be the union of the two best asses in the world and our baby will have the bestest ass in the universe.

bleu

is freedom imposed really freedom at all?

you hate your job but were you to be made redundant today, would you really celebrate? you long for the days you used to spend doing nothing but shopping and having coffee with friends, before the husband, your wifely duties and the children ever came into the picture but were all that to be snatched away from you, would you lament what you had lost or what you had gained?

i just finished watching trois couleurs: bleu.

it asks a few of these questions by showing a woman who has lost her husband and daughter in a car accident. she rids herself of almost everything connected to her life with them and her past to help her deal with her new freedom but realizes that one can't really ever be 'free'...or rather, most people don't want that kind of freedom.

this is freedom, at its darkest.

helps put things in perspective, doesn't it?

that's what i love about french cinema - its ability to make me think, with just colours, concepts, and moods rather than the (generally) script and action driven garbage coming out of hollywood.

i read bob dylan's autobiography and he spoke about his father as this extremely pragmatic man who always used to tell him:

"even if you don't have all the things you want, be grateful for all the things you don't have that you don't want".

damn good advice there, isn't it?

perhaps it IS time to be thankful that i am not free, i can not do whatever the hell i please, when i please. the people in my life who i feel are always stopping me are also my anchors in the very best sense of the word - the responsibilities and ties weigh me down often but i would, in all likelihood, sink without a trace, without them.

i don't want freedom, if it comes at such a high cost.

And though I have the gift of prophesy
And understand all mysteries
and all knowledge
And though I have all faith
So that I could remove mountains,
If I have not love...
I am nothing.
(zbigniew preisner, trois couleurs: blue - song for the unification of europe).

on a happier note, here's an excellent exercise for all or most of us (a list of things that give us the most pleasure / happiness):

Cure for despair: keep your own list of simple splendid things. . .

here are mine (in no particular order):

stars, low yellow moon, cute babies (yes, some babies just don't make the cut), my stupid new dog that almost bit my lip off but still manages to look adorable, pb, pb, pb, pb, freedom and the lack of it, bob dylan, echoes, bhai, first coffee of the day, scrabble, bubble baths, red wine, good poetry, cinema and literature, wong kar-wai, broccoli, my super duvet, water, scented candles, staying up late, breeze, tabasco, g-strings (and all lingerie, especially agent provocateur), text messages, love at first sight, birds, irises, chicken biryani, sea shells, cooking, souvenirs, old love letters and cards, journals, my-soliloquy, marlboro ultra lights, photographs, memories, edward norton, my dvd collection, belonging (a book my twin and favouritest virtual person sent me - one of the best gifts i've ever received), strawberries, vincent, haagen-dazs' belgian chocolate ice-cream, my ipod, bukowski, rain, stir fried vegetables, squash, fighting and then making up with pb, strawberry body lotion, david lachapelle, watermelons, desperate housewives, the manipulator, fresh bedsheets and towels, the city in which i loved you, the colour pink, the sense of achievement after all (and i mean ALL) your laundry is done and you realize that you thought you did not have any clothes only because most of them were lying in the hamper for well over two months!

phew!!

all done, i think.

have a go, its definitely a 'cure for despair'!

newton's third law

you know that old question? the one where they ask you whether you have any regrets? the one where you feel really proud as you answer "no, not a single one"?

i wish i had some.

i don't know...to me, it feels like what sort of a life is it if one doesn't have ANY regrets at all? how much has one lived if one hasn't made any huge mistakes or done something they REALLY truly don't feel proud of?

i've never fucked someone over. i've never done anything really BAD. and i know that's supposed to be good but...it also implies that i haven't done much. so many things that remain undone or are realms never ventured into, are ones that could possibly cause too much conflict or hurt. they are chances, never taken.

i learnt in grade 8th physics that every action has an equal and opposite reaction and i guess it stuck in my head. perhaps slightly misguided in my notion that anything i do has the power to affect those around me, i always chose the course that would cause the least amount of change in lives interconnected with mine - never allowing myself to take chances or make huge mistakes also meant missing out on opportunities.

i SHOULD go out there and fuck up, big time, just to see what happens. are the consequences as terrible as i fear? or am i just big headed and no one really ultimately gives a shit? or are people stronger than i presume and will get over and on with it?

i really want to move in with pb. i am not ready for the whole marriage deal yet but i am sick of leaving him behind every evening. i am sick of keeping two sets of shampoos, conditioners, toothbrush, etc. - one at his and one at mine. and most of all, i hate sleeping in my big fat bed without my big fat boy!

this move would be one big fuck up and mistake, when viewed from my family's perspective. perhaps, in retrospect, from mine as well. but me being ME, i wont ever do it, because i CAN NOT make mistakes. i am too busy being the perfect daughter.

what i would really love to know is which one of the two would eventually end up being the "big regret" - moving in or not moving in...?

it doesn't really matter...at this rate and given my lack of balls to take such chances, you will definitely find me blogging about these same issues when i am sixty.

*shudder*

in other news, i am obsessed with bob dylan.

in honour of this new love and obsession, i present the lyrics to my favourite song:

I'm walking through streets that are dead Walking, walking with you in my head My feet are so tired, my brain is so wired And the clouds are weeping Did I hear someone tell a lie? Did I hear someone's distant cry? I spoke like a child; you destroyed me with a smile While I was sleeping I'm sick of love but I'm in the thick of it This kind of love I'm so sick of it I see, I see lovers in the meadow I see, I see silhouettes in the window I watch them 'til they're gone and they leave me hanging on To a shadow I'm sick of love; I hear the clock tick This kind of love; I'm love sick Sometimes the silence can be like the thunder Sometimes I wanna take to the road and plunder Could you ever be true? I think of you And I wonder I'm sick of love; I wish I'd never met you I'm sick of love; I'm trying to forget you Just don't know what to do I'd give anything to Be with you (love sick, bob dylan)

plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose

before going into a relationship or in between relationships, most people become experts at it, dispensing advice and spouting theories like there's no tomorrow. you just have to go through my archives to know that i certainly thought i knew what it was all about.

quite a few months into one and i find myself at a loss on how to handle myself, my partner, my emotions, his emotions and everything else that comes into play.

i am in one and i have no clue.

we admit that there is no excitement anymore. there are a lot of other things which are nice but there is no adrenalin rush. and that leads me to wonder...if this isn't heading anywhere, why should i 'suffer' through the lack of excitement, why should i miss out on that feeling of looking forward to a weekend often with dread and often with anticipation - the feeling that you MIGHT meet someone, might go to a crazy party, you might start off at one place but have no clue where you'll end up at.

the predictability kills me. but you know - i always bitch and moan...thats just the way i am. its not right but its me and fuck it, you know? the fact or rather, the possibility that the predictability kills HIM hurts - it wasn't something i was ready to hear.

when a couple reaches a point where there really aren't any more surprises, do you start faking it? shall we start surfing the net for tips on "keeping your relationship" alive? should we force the romance and enthusiasm? or should we just walk away?

how many times should or CAN one walk away??

i hate the cycle.

i hate the inevitability of it all.

i hate putting myself into something, knowing it will end.

i hate how it scares me that this one just might not end...

*****************

you can probably see why i quit blogging here, now.

alibhai (in his last comment on the previous post) quite rightly judged that it had to do with the new relationship.

i had really meant for my "comeback" post to be stronger...more like the old ME, more about about external stuff.

i used to feel strongly about a lot of things. i need that feeling back; thus, the resuscitation of this blog.

lets hope it works.

the death of my-soliloquy

it was inevitable.

i've moved on.

i loved this place and i've been more attached to it than a lot of 'real' things in my life. however, i really have nothing to say here anymore...all the recent entries were repetitive, whiny garbage.

thank you so much, for reading and participating.

y'all rock.

xxx.

ennui

The gods were bored, and so they created man. Adam was bored because he was alone, and so Eve was created. Thus boredom entered the world, and increased in proportion to the increase of population. Adam was bored alone; then Adam and Eve were bored together; then Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel were bored en famille; then the population of the world increased, and the peoples were bored en masse. To divert themselves they conceived the idea of constructing a tower high enough to reach the heavens. This idea is itself as boring as the tower was high, and constitutes a terrible proof of how boredom gained the upper hand.
(Kierkegaard)

what bores me:

the internet.
this blog.
the prospect of writing.
life.
people.
pseudo-intellectualism.
work.
clients.
phone calls.
friends.
art.

"those who do not bore themselves usually bore others, while those who bore themselves entertain others".

i bore myself.

does that mean that i can entertain you?

i doubt it.

i am going out with the girls tonight - for champagne and strawberries. i haven't had a ladies night out in ages...it is probably because such nights are about meaningless gossip and i no longer have any. no more delicious little dirty details about booty calls, revelations regarding girth versus length, delving into the pros and cons of pursuing an ex or his best friend, or that bartender...

i fear that 6 months into a 'proper' relationship, i have become a bore.

is it any surprise that i run away from the idea of marriage and babies?

i'll turn into someone who only talks about her kids.

eew.

actually, ladies night out reminds of me an interesting discussion on this blog. the sentiment expressed by most who commented was that the hot women in clubs are usually dumb and the rich guys are uninteresting.

i find it silly to judge anyone based on their behavior or dressing in a club (or the contents of their wallet) - if a girl is dressed up in a club, it is because the situation demands it. lets be honest here - more often than not, going to a club has a lot to do with 'getting some' which is sort of like a sport (we are not talking about relationships here, because only a complete moron would expect to find true love in a club). and each sport has appropriate gear (like golf, basketball, tennis, swimming) so if you're out there, in a miniskirt, fuck-me boots and lacy booty shorts that show just a bit, each time you bend, then good for you, you've got the gear down pat and will probably be able to pull.

now if you're in a club to demonstrate that you are extremely intelligent and expect to have a decent conversation while the dj spins some deep house at a level dangerously close to noise pollution, then i would say that you need to reassess the flattering results of that online IQ test.

of course, you may meet someone interesting but generally, that is thanks to their appearance, their random comment, while both of you wait at the bar to get served or cause you're wasted.

you may go on to exchange numbers, send a few texts back and forth, meet the next weekend at the same club, different dj, different beats, make out in the corner, go back to their place, drunk, and wake up the next morning, next to a stranger and wonder why you feel so empty inside and wish you could find true love.

you drive back home a few minutes later, listening to k.d. lang sing "made love last night. wasn't good, wasn't bad. intimate strangers make me kinda sad" and it hits home.

but you go back to that bar next weekend, in your fuck-me boots and pick someone up again.

rinse.

repeat.

does this mean you're dull and uninteresting? not really. it means that you're alone, like most people and are trying to fill up the emptiness, the void. you are dressing up, playing a part, in order to avoid the deafening sounds of silence in your empty apartment, which are much worse than the stupid deep house, which (in all honesty) you don't even like.

jesus, i'm sorry, i went off on a tangent, didn't i?

i really meant to say something about how all rich guys aren't boring and all dressed up women aren't bimbos.

basically, get that chip off your shoulder - just because you're minging or poor doesn't mean that you're a friggin' genius and anyone who makes an effort with their appearance or is wealthy is a dumb, uninteresting bastard.

stop perpetuating silly stereotypes.

you know what bugs me the most about this generalization?

to be taken seriously by these 'smart' people, all one really has to do is dress badly and name drop.

been there, done that; too fucking easy and too fucking boring.

boring is (obviously) the word of the day.

meme time!!!

since kristie did it, matt did it, ghost did it, and i'm a lame ass follower who will use anything to distract herself from the pressures of a REAL post, here's a meme with lots of useless things you didn't need to know about me:

full name:
are you kidding?
nicknames:
different people call me by different names - it ranges from churail ('witch') (that's what my youngest sister fondly refers to me as) to choto (shorty), moto (fatso), evil, kaali (black), rundee (whore). i am none of the above...or so i like to think.
birthday:
19th august, 78
how old do you look:
some people say 18, some say 20, some say 25. i think i look my age.
glasses or contacts:
neither
braces:
blessed with an okay set of teeth.
eye color:
brown or black - not sure...dark brown, actually.
hair color:
naturally, its black but i get red, pink, brown, or whatever i feel like out of a bottle, every three months.
tattoos:
none yet but i can't wait to get 'tatakuyo!' (japanese for 'spank me') stamped on my ass.
piercings:
just my ears. i'd like to get my belly button done. and my eyebrow!
siblings:
quite a few...apparently, the condom burst each time (too much information?).
pets:
none, but i'd like to get a cute little doggie.
FAVORITE
band/bands:
portishead, radiohead, faithless, tool, r.e.m., franz ferdinand, too many...
musicians/singers:
nina simone, miles davis, damien rice, tori amos, janis joplin and so many more.
song:
the blower's daughter, i'm feeling good, dissolved girl, sound of silence...
food:
chicken biryani (desi food rocks my world), steamed broccoli or vegetables.
movie(s):
in the mood for love, ikiru, before sunrise, godfather, trois couleurs: rouge, fight club, grave of the firelies, snatch, requiem for a dream, trainspotting, fallen angels, spirited away, talk to her, delicatessen, amelie...
color:
red, pink (because it is the color of passion!), gray.
actor/actress:
edward norton / angelina jolie is HOT, but not much of an actress.
sport/extreme sport:
i like playing basketball and i like watching football.
LAST
movie watched:
bladerunner
show watched:
O.C.
song listened to:
half light, athlete.
song stuck in your head:
lover i don't have to love, bright eyes.
person talked to:
p.b.
wish:
i could take a holiday RIGHT NOW.
time you talked to your mom:
last night.
compact disk listened to:
outrospective, faithless.
compact disk bought:
chemical brothers (galvanized is a brilliant track), athlete, faithless, rabbi.
FOR OR AGAINST
gay relationships:
FOR!!!
(as banky said in 'chasing amy': all everyone wants is some serious deep-dickin'!).
long distance relationships:
for (been there, done that).
online dating:
not my thing, but i'm not against it.
explicit lyrics:
fuck you, you hoe, i don't want you back!!! (that means, hell yeah! i'm all for profanity).
suicide:
i'm not FOR it, but i guess people should have the right to take their life, if they want to.
killing people:
against (unless we're talking about killing monkeyface).
using someone:
against.
DO YOU
have a crush on someone:
not really...well, i have dormant crushes on random people, but no one i really fancy (aside from p.b.).
think about suicide:
never!
hate yourself:
i LOVE myself (someone needs to!).
wish you could live somewhere else:
sometimes.
stand out:
i have no clue.
write in cursive or print:
cursive.
skateboard:
tried it but i'm too clumsy for such things.
snowboard:
i wish...i've never even seen snow!
surf:
there are fish in the sea, and fish scare me, so i never go swimming (or surfing) in the beach.
want more tattoos:
yes!
HAVE YOU
ever cried over a friend:
yes.
ever cried over a girl:
yes.
ever cried at a chick flick:
probably.
ever lied to someone:
yes.
ever broke a compact disk:
no
WHAT
shampoo do you use:
garnier fructis, for colored hair.
toothpaste do you use:
aquafresh.
shoes do you wear:
right now? sketchers. i'm not into shoes.
do you want to be when you grow up:
porn star.
makes you happy:
me.
makes you sad:
fighting, religion, hypocrisy, monkeyface.
NUMBER
of times you had your heart broken:
once.
of times you have been in love:
three.
of times you had your name in the paper:
never.
of things you wear on your wrists:
none (i'm not a jewelry or watch kinda girl).
of belts you have:
one or two...don't know...i'm not a belt kinda girl either
(the only thing i love buying is lingerie).
PERSON WHO LAST
made you cry:
can't remember, i don't cry often. probably p.b.
saw you cry:
no one - i never cry in front of people (no matter who it is).
went to the movies with:
friends.
sent you an email:
alibhai!
yelled at you:
can't remember...i haven't gotten yelled at in ages!
THIS OR THAT
apples or bananas:
this shit is bananas - b.a.n.a.n.a.s.
red or blue:
red.
walmart or target:
how americanised IS this meme?!
halloween or christmas:
how about eid or diwali? HUH?!
mouse or rat:
mouse, of course (think stuart little vs. splinter).
lord of the rings or harry potter:
ummm...pass.
care bears or tellytubbies:
care bears!
black or white:
black.
HAVE YOU EVER
said you loved someone and meant it:
all the time.
gone out in public in your pajamas:
i don't wear pajamas, they look too boring.
been on stage:
yes.
been to japan:
no but i would LOVE to.
been to hawaii:
no.
california:
no (i was too paki, too young and too single to qualify for the visa).
china:
no.
alaska:
no.
england:
yes.
india:
no.
mexico:
no.
brazil:
no.
canada:
no (but i will, soon).
wished you were older:
not really.
FRIENDSHIP & LOVE
believe in love at first sight:
no, that's LUST.
want children:
no.
most important thing in a relationship:
laughter, love, happiness, trust, understanding.
Best friends:
mona and moto.
longest relationship:
almost 5 years
FINISH THE SENTENCE
i miss:
p.b. (i haven't seen him yesterday morning).
i wish:
i was a little bit taller.
i am:
therefore, i think.
my style is:
retarded.
people describe me as:
retarded.
i am tired of:
answering questions.
i want to be:
in amsterdam, smoking up.
i will always be:
ME (unapologetically retarded).

let me love you

i think they're out to get me.

the musicians, that is (not the aliens).

i wanted to slap the singer, as he whined on the radio about how the girl was with someone horrible and how he would treat her like a princess if she were with him.

If I was ya man (baby you)
Never worry bout (what I do)
I'd be coming home (back to you)
Every night, doin' you right
You're the type of woman (deserves good thangs)
Fistful of diamonds (hand full of rings)
Baby you're a star (I just want to show you, you are)
You should let me love you
Let me be the one to give you everything you want and need
Baby good love and protection
Make me your selection
Show you the way love's supposed to be
Baby you should let me love you, love you, love you

i call bullshit, asshole: if you were her man, you would most probably turn into the same kinda guy that she's with right now.

WHY do guys promise so much crap? why do they put women on such pedestals, before they're with them? why do they set themselves up, for that big let down?

it's funny how the one we desire seems flawless - we imagine that we'd have a perfect life together, we daydream about white picket fences, beautiful sunsets, insatiable lust, meaningful conversations...utopia.

reality usually brings with it evenings where you're tired and couldn't give a shit about the sunset, lovemaking that gets interrupted by ringing phones, an attraction that has faded, fit men who develop beer bellies, DD tits that begin to sag, farting and burping, ugly cotton panties on the clothing line and conversations that revolve around who is going to do the dishes.

his 'baby' is a REAL human being, with real flaws. he goes on to say how her true beauty is so good that it hurts (?!) and that everyone stops and stares, everywhere she goes. and that HE appreciates it, and HE would be there every night.

doesn't he remember?

behind every beautiful woman is a guy who is tired of fucking her.

chutia.

i remember a guy i dated commented in the first couple of weeks that i was SO fucking incredible that he couldn't understand how any boy before him had let go of me...i laughed my head off, not only because that was corny, but because i knew he would discover 'why' soon enough.

i want a REAL song - i want a song about how he loves the girl because she's an anal control freak and a demanding beyatch. i want a song on how he loves her morning breath, or her snoring or how he adores her for her monkey like eating habits (ok, yeah that one was about me!), or for her constant criticism of him leaving the toilet seat up. write that he loves how real she looks in the morning, with her mask off, her mascara smudged, her skin washed out and pale. write how she doesn't look cute when she's angry, she just looks fucking scary. write how it's kinda sweet that she's a terrible cook, and he finds it difficult to fathom how someone can make eggs that bad.

write me a real fucking song, mario.

i don't want a fistful of diamonds and a handful of rings, especially if in return i'm required to be that woman on a pedestal, who has to live up to these expectations of constant beauty and perfection, like a lifeless mannequin or a whore on call.

i want to be loved for my demons, for my retardedness as well as the usual oh-so-nice bullshit.

and if you can't step up to that, then you're just not 'man enough for me'.

it's not personal, sonny. it's strictly business.

you know what the date is today?

05/05/05

kinda cool, isn't it?

little things make me happy.

i bought the godfather DVD set. i collected my pay yesterday, skipped work completely, (well actually, i'm not THAT evil, i did have to run around town, doing work related errands, so i decided not to go back to the office) ran straight to the mall, and indulged in some major retail therapy!

i have to rid myself of the habit of blowing my money as soon as i get it.

no wonder i failed finance three times.

fuck.

probably shouldn't have admitted that; i had really planned on taking it to the grave.

so anyway, the guys at virgin got really excited when they saw a girl hugging the godfather DVD set close to her chest (read: tiny tits or rather 'love muffins' as the boobie name generator has seen fit to name my titties). one of the sales guys came up to me and hit me with his best line:

"so...godfather, huh?"

no shit, einstein.

then another one tried to warn me - he said that the film contained too much violence. i think he was trying to imply that it was too much FOR A GIRL. i wanted to show him 'too much violence' right there, but just settled for smiling sweetly and saying that it was one of my favorite films and i had already seen it before, but THANKS FOR THE WARNING, RETARD.

i bought a CD of this guy (rabbi shergill - pronounced rub-bee, not rab-bi) who sings in punjabi - it's not a language i understand, but he has a great voice, and the poetry (once translated) is beautiful. there's a bit that i really liked in one song (about the search for 'the one'):

some asked for my time,
some were fascinated with my face,
some demanded my fidelity,
none wanted my demons

for once a desi singer has come out with lyrics worth paying attention to and a voice to match.

on another note, i remember reading on some site the other day about a guy commenting to his girlfriend on how clean, white and spotless the ass of a porn star in a magazine was. apparently, you can get an ass like that through an ass crack bleaching cream (or photoshop).

fascinating, isn't it?

so anyway, the girl ran out, and bought it and everyone got real mad, and there was a huge, heated debate (how DARE he say that, and what sort of a stupid bitch would go bleach her ass for a guy, who is OBVIOUSLY a member of the 'no-good-sons-of-bitches' team?).

what struck me about it was the amount of anger directed towards the whole idea of one's mate asking you to change something about yourself. while i understand that it could be quite offensive or a blow to ones self-esteem if your partner asks you to lose weight, shave or wax, remove or leave on your southern hair, enhance them titties, wear less or more make-up, get surgery etc., shouldn't there be a line? and if there already IS a line, who has drawn it? like, is it okay to ask your girl to lose weight, but not okay to suggest that she gets breast implants? is it truly that bad if the guy says that he'd prefer if you wore less make-up than you do, or if he tells you to make more of an effort to dress up?

should it not be between the couple, as opposed to something that the whole world decides to judge? why are we so eager to jump on a bandwagon that loves to point fingers and go "OH MY GOD, he asked you to do THAT?!!! dump him IMMEDIATELY, cause if he can't love you for who you are, then he's an asshole".

that sentiment makes sense, but it's not very practical. for the sake of an argument, lets say my sex life sucks because my boy wishes i wasn't that skinny - wouldn't i naturally want to put on a few pounds? yes, we all know, in reality, he'd only say that if he had a death wish, and i'd shout 'vaffanculo' in response or throw back 'i'll put on weight when you enlarge that danda of yours'!! but this is all hypothetical and i'm playing devils advocate.

so what if, for example, i have a thing against hairy backs, and the only thing that stops me from dating someone or highly reduces my physical attraction towards them is just THAT, then is it such a crime for me to suggest that they remove that hair? and is it bad if they listen? why take it so personally? isn't it impossible for someone to like EVERYTHING about you (physical and otherwise)? is it such a crime for them to ask you to change it?

isn't it all about choices? can't one just say no to the request or comply? why are we being forced to be PC even in our bedrooms? is it worth hanging on to our way of doing things (like a brazilian wax versus letting it go), if it is at the cost of our sex life or our marriage?

and finally, why can't we all just love each other and get along??

you're all ignorant, this is ignorant (said in wacko jacko's voice) (you need to watch south park to understand that).

nevermind.

damn, i went from godfather to pubes to a pedophile...in ONE entry.

i make myself proud.

p.s: had to share - bloggers spellcheck did not recognize pedophile, and gave me two choices: pedophilia and BEDFELLOW! i don't know why, but that made me laugh.

i swore i'd do some work today...

...but my favoritest (yes, it is a word...NOW) person from my virtual world has 'tagged' me. i couldn't understand the last comment he left ("sorry hon, I have to tag you, it's not my fault, I can't apologise enough!") - i figured he must have gone mad or perhaps it was just goraspeak for something.

anyway, as it turns out, it's one of those blog things. i have to pick and complete 5 of the sentences below and then choose 3 people, who will in turn have to complete 5 of the sentences below, choose 3 to torture further, rinse, repeat.

If I could be a scientist…
If I could be a farmer…
If I could be a musician…
If I could be a doctor…
If I could be a painter…
If I could be a gardener…
If I could be a missionary…
If I could be a chef…
If I could be an architect…
If I could be a linguist…
If I could be a psychologist…
If I could be a librarian…
If I could be an athlete…
If I could be a lawyer…
If I could be an inn-keeper…
If I could be a professor…
If I could be a writer…
If I could be a llama-rider…
If I could be a bonnie pirate…
If I could be an astronaut…
If I could be a world famous blogger…
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world…
If I could be married to any current famous political figure…

1. If I could be an athlete…i'd be the shortest basketball player on the best team, and totally kick ass.

2. If I could be a musician…i'd be shagging all my groupies.

3. If I could be married to any current famous political figure…i'd marry the monkey and kick his motherfucking ass.

4. If I could be a scientist…i'd invent the male me (and end up killing him - probably).

5. If I could be a librarian…i'd be super happy (i've ALWAYS wanted to be a librarian).

now i'm supposed to pass it on to 3 people:
kristie
dirty dan
kabooke quantam fighter

i'm not sure why i chose you guys...don't hate me.

also, i have found the most glorious way to waste those hours at work (i didn't need to find MORE ways though). i'm warning you, this game is highly addictive...i spent hours trying to keep my drunk lover from falling (i've only managed 78 meters so far)! it's almost as bad as that helicopter game - i swear, i did little or no work for at least two weeks after discovering it!!

enough messing around, i'm going back to work on my score - i'm sure i can do better than 78!!!

random nonsense - don't bother

the day is almost over. i woke up at eleven this morning, showered, changed, put on sunblock and a little bit of make up, but forgot to look in the mirror again so i don't know whether i need to do my eyebrows or whether the mascara is off. i don't really like mirrors. well, that's not true. i enjoy catching a glimpse of myself unexpectedly, as i enter the office bathroom or the elevator (damn, i sound like a narcissist)...but a reflection is not something i seek. that probably says something about me (wanna-be shrinks, feel free to go wild with your analysis).

i got into work close to one in the afternoon, which has become a bad habit. that said, the luxury of being able to do that, since i work for daddy, is brilliant. however, if daddy knew that i did this everyday, he'd kick my ass.

the day is almost over and i haven't done anything all day, AGAIN.

p.b. and i celebrated our 5 months together yesterday. i can't believe it's been that long. honestly, it's motherfucking long for me. a REAL relationship. damn. i wanted to break up yesterday, just because it's been too long. even while i'm in one, i find relationships quite pointless. they always end. sometimes, it feels like you're better off alone. perhaps this was brought on by lunch with an ex, who was telling me hilarious stories about his single life. i envied him so much, because i remember a time where my evenings with the girls or even my blog posts used to be full of weird/funny/crazy anecdotes.

opportunity cost, i suppose. or a trade off? what would be the right term? i don't know. it's all about economics. always hated that subject.

so last week my sister almost got married. again. she meets a new guy every few months and they make plans to get married. the guys make these plans because they can recognize a girl like my sis from a mile. say you want marriage, and she may put out. be honest about your lack of interest in committing and she'll run for her life. i don't blame the men - you gotta do what you gotta do.

so she has almost gotten married quite a few times.

at least her life makes for more interesting stories.

i just got off the phone with her - she told me that marriage had been put on hold with the latest almost husband because the guy lives in pakiland and if she moves there, she wont be able to buy her skincare range, or shop in fancy malls.

my sister is a really nice person, but she can be quite retarded at times. i told her "dude, please get married (so i get the room we currently share), and i'll send you shisedo's creams every month, i promise".

i hope she takes me up on the offer.

i celebrated my anniversary yesterday by playing basketball with p.b. - yeah, i know i'm a real romantic for suggesting that. so anyway, i kicked his (hot) ass, as long as we stood in one spot and just did the 'lets see who gets the most baskets out of 5 attempts', but otherwise, he ran circles around me. to get him back, i started to do weird stretches, claiming they were all yoga positions and invited him to try doing them. inflexible cow couldn't manage.

i win.

i might be going to thailand for a holiday. we chose that destination only because the tickets are real cheap and the visa should hopefully be less of a hassle than a paki trying to get to Europe or USA. i mean, if even thailand refuses me, i really should curl up and die.

i hope i go, it'll add some excitement to my life. i'll write all about the adventures of the two retarded paki sisters in bangcock.

ugh. i bet she'll get almost married there, as well.

i doubt i'm going to get anything done today (at work). i should just give up. plus i'm hungry. and horny (that's probably thanks to a picture someone took of p.b. and me at a club, and just mailed me. i've spent the last 10 minutes drooling over my boy, who looks unbelievably hot).

i can't concentrate on work anymore.

my stomach's growling. it needs attention.

as do other parts.

time to call p.b., just to grab a quick bite.

lunch. food. khaana.

GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER.

or not.

and with that, i'll end this boring insight into a regular day of your host.

it must be my ass

i don't know anyone else with as many stalker stories. i am a psycho magnet. i've been at the receiving end of the craziest pick up attempts, series of e-mails, phone calls, messages, etc. it got so bad a couple of years back that i actually had to change my number.

i wish i knew what it was. when we used to discuss it at my old office (which was quite often because 'sarah and her stalker stories' had become everyone's favorite joke), it was concluded that i either smile too much and appear too friendly/approachable, or i give off this 'i'm gagging for it' vibe. my sis suggested last night that it was the opposite - that i give off an 'unattainable' vibe.

i still have no clue what the fuck it is, but i have the most retarded stalker story to share.

i got a string of weird text messages last october (from a mobile in india), starting off with 'i'm at the most romantic place on earth, i wish you were here with me'. i sent a text back, letting the guy/girl know that they'd sent the message to the wrong number. he sent back a few more texts saying that he knew exactly who i was, that he loved me, he knew me better than my parents knew me (??!), that he'd been to my work area more than 200 times, just to see me, and that he'd fly me down to this place that he was at, cause he knew i'd love it.

i ignored the texts, and figured it was another random idiot.

a couple of days back, i got a missed call and a text (i love you, i need to talk to you) from that same number. it threw me off to know that the psycho from 6 months back was still at it! i called back and a guy picked up and hung up as soon as i said who i was. he started to send texts again. so i called him again, cause this was starting to get on my nerves, and yelled 'who the fuck are you?!' at him. he hung up again.

then he sent a text saying: 'don't get tensed. i love you. get your UK visa, we will fly together'. and then another text: 'i am seriously in love with you, i need soft caring approach. call me in 15 minutes'.

i was in the middle of playing scrabble with my boy (who was kicking my ass!) and decided to forget about this idiot. 20 minutes later, he called me and asked if i could talk. i figured i might as well find out who the fuck this is, and said yes. he started to tell me how much he loved me, how he wanted to be with me, blah blah blah. i stopped him and said that i didn't know him at all and he didn't know me, and that he was wasting his time. he said he knew me, and i also knew who he was but he didn't want to reveal his name. this went on for a while, he kept on asking WHY i couldn't be with him (and i wanted to state the obvious 'cause you're a fucking psycho!' but he seemed too 'fragile' for me to be that bitchy) so i told him 'dude, there's no point, i'm not interested, i'm in a relationship'.

he was close to tears when he heard that and it honestly scared me because i realized that i was trying to handle someone who was obviously quite disturbed. he kept on asking if i was lying, if i could be with him, if i was in love, if there was any point. then he apologized, said he couldn't talk, he was too depressed and he had to go.

he called back 5 minutes later, saying that he just didn't know what to do, he couldn't handle it, he really loved me, etc. i was sick of this by then, and said that i was sorry, i couldn't help him and i had to go. i really wanted to lecture him, explain how and why it was absolutely retarded to claim love for someone you've had ONE conversation with. i mean, for fucks sake, have more respect for the word/emotion. and i really wanted to suggest that he get some therapy, because he sounded so suicidal and psychotic, but i just kept my mouth shut.

he called back again, and said he had decided to tell me who he was. i don't know why - may be he thought it would change things. he said his name, waited for my reaction (gasp!), and then hung up with a 'i'll speak to you when i'm back in town'.

the stalker turned out to be my sister's ex boss!

but it's not that simple.

i called up sis to discuss this and she admitted that she knew he was in love with me (she never told me because it was his little secret). he'd admitted to her that he'd been in love with me for years and he used to go to the same restaurants that i had lunch in (during work hours) every day, for those three, four years, just to see me.

as we discussed it more, we realized that he had 'created' that job opening in his company, because one day, out of the blue, he had called me up to offer me a job. i told him i wasn't interested but i recommended my sis, who got hired. my sis left the job after being there a month though, because there wasn't ANY work for her. it seems obvious now that he'd made up that opening hoping to get me to work with him and since that didn't pan out, my sis was the next best thing. he used that one month to get as much information as he could from her, and he'd constantly ask her to invite me for lunch, or over to the office.

so basically, stalker has been following me around for about 4 years, tried to hire me (buy me?), tried the anonymous psycho messages route, and then finally got the guts to admit that he is who he is and is in lurrrve with me.

i'm not sure what he plans to do next...his last text was 'i want to be with you, i need you, i want to have you, without touching you (??!). please help me'.

gross.

i hope he gives up.

oh and you know what? he's a REAL prize.

he has a wife and a 6 year old kid.

honestly, WHY ME????

randomness

1. the monster that wasn't there: there's something in my wastebasket. something ALIVE. i'm such a pussy, i'm too scared to check what it is, and am sitting with my legs pulled up on my chair, avoiding it. help has been called - p.b. is on the way to solve the problem.

update: p.b. came and seemed more scared than i was, and figured it must be a rat. with p.b. around, i felt more confident and competitive, and decided to show him that i was THE man, and got up, pulled all the papers and wrappers out, and saw a stupid little COCKROACH was the source of five hours of noise.

ugh.

2. veiled and dangerous: i was watching a talkshow yesterday - it was amusing because it was more like a shout-show. i don't know who dreamt that putting 4 paki women on TV and getting an idiot trying to moderate them could work! they were talking/shouting about religion, trying to get their point across, all at the same time, and not one could be understood. i know it doesn't sound funny now, i wish i could put up a video here, because honestly, it was extremely comical.

3. blind faith?: a stupid thought occurred to me the other day (as it often does) that a lot of the cheating that goes on in relationships results because one partner meets someone more attractive. could it be that the 'wandering eye' can be taken literally? do you think that a blind man would cheat less?

4. the beauty myth: i read an article about the camilla-charles marriage - some woman was quite pleased with it because it seemed like a victory for 'her kind'. she said that all the 10's were pissed cause he married a 5 (i'm going to assume she's rating women based on looks). the 10's couldn't believe that camilla, with all her wealth, hadn't gotten her teeth done. and this woman said that she didn't need to, because charlie boy loved her regardless. point taken. but she seemed to think that a '5' knew what love was, they were more self-assured because they knew their man loved them for who they were and not for their glittering, fairytale beauty.

i felt like slapping her. she's basically as pathetic as the kind she hates, because to judge someone's ability to love or how they're loved back, based on how they look is ridiculous. stupid cunt. a woman with perfect teeth could have been just as good for charlie boy, but he chose one with bad teeth. it doesn't say shit about either kind. it's so incredibly shallow to think that the love of beautiful person is any less than that of an 'ugly' (less traditionally attractive) person.

retard.

5. a life built around shoes: i was catching up with the last season of sex & the city (yes, i watch it and love it, leave me alone) last night and i felt such envy for carrie bradshaw's glamorous life! she writes a column about sex, love and relationships, keeps on finding new, interesting men and has a massive shoe collection. she wears incredible clothes and is the ultimate 'new york girl'.

you know, i'm not really a shoe girl (never paid more than a hundred dollars for a pair) but it would nice if i were. it would be nicer still to run around town in manolo's, dress in prada, lunch with girlfriends that mean something (and won't turn around and bitch about you the moment you leave) and to live in a city that actually inspires you. something about the fact that i will never live that kinda life REALLY pisses me off.

6. noise pollution: i want to cry, while sitting here at work because there's a cafe across my office and they've been playing a celine dion CD all day - the bloody thing is on repeat. and her screaming/whining is hurting my ears. somebody needs to tell them that she can't sing. actually, i just remembered that i used to like her when i was a little girl that believed in love - i bought her 'power of love' CD and used to listen to it every night. i even knew the lyrics.

yuck.

i can't believe i just admitted that. anyway, now (supposedly as an adult who doesn't believe in love?) i just want to kill the skinny cow and break the cafe's CD player.

7. epiphany: i've realized that i'm a very violent girl. i need to grow out of this teenage angst and this instinct to kill everyone that pisses me off (it must be the muslim in me!!).

your sex was whack

sometimes, i really wonder about my sister's taste in music. her excitement, head bobbing and singing along to horrible bollywood songs often makes me want to cry like a little baby and deny any relation to her.

anyway, i've been driving around in her car for the last few days and had to put up with her CD collection because i am too goddamn lazy to take out ten of those bad CD's and put in ten of my precious good ones, especially since all of my CD's mysteriously disappear from her car (i suspect she throws them away - bitch).

the point?

i was torn between amusement and appreciation as i listened to a track on one of her slightly bearable compilations. i think it was the excessive profanity that got me hooked. or the (probably unintentional) profound lyrics.

i present:

See i dont, know why, i liked you so much
I gave you all, of my trust
I told you, i loved you, now thats all down the drain
Ya put me through pain, i wanna let u know that i feel

Fuck what i said it dont mean shit now
Fuck the presents might as well throw em out
Fuck all those kisses, it didnt mean jack
Fuck you, you hoe, i dont want you back

You thought, you could
Keep this shit from me, yeah
Ya burnt bitch, i heard the story
Ya played me, ya even gave him head
Now ya askin for me back
Ya just another hag, look elsewhere
Cuz ya done with me

Fuck what i said it dont mean shit now
Fuck the presents might as well throw em out
Fuck all those kisses it didnt mean jack
Fuck you, you hoe, i dont want you back

but it doesn't end there...in the next track, the girl responds with HER song:

You know there are two sides to every story.

See I don't, know why
you're crying like a bitch,
Talkin shit, like a snitch,
Who are you, write a song 'bout me,
If you really didn't care, you wouldn't wanna share
Telling everybody just how you feel.

Fuck what I did, was your fault somehow,
Fuck the presents, I threw all that shit out,
Fuck all the crying, it didn't mean jack,
Well guess what yo, fuck you right back,

You thought, you could,
Really make me moan,
I had better sex all alone,
I had to turn to your friends,
Now you want me to come back,
You must be smoking crack,
I'm going elsewhere,
And that's a fact

Fuck all those nights, I moaned real loud,
Fuck it, I faked it, Aren't you proud
Fuck all those nights, you thought you broke my back,
Well guess what yo, your sex was whack!

there's a liberal dose of whoa oh no no no uh oh oh oh uh hun yeah oh oh oh thrown in.

anyway, i'm not, well okay, i'm just slightly ashamed to admit that i liked this song. i was THERE, screaming along with the guy "fuck you, you ho, i don't want you back" and i LOVED the looks on the faces of pedestrians as i passed them by, with my windows rolled down and all this cussing blaring from my speakers. the shock value, in my city, was just brilliant (picture lots of conservative hijabi mommies putting their hands over their children's ears).

this song, with its childish lyrics, illustrates a very simple fact: most love stories/affairs end bitterly (and THAT is why it's almost profound). it is especially relevant to me, because the morbid bitch that i am, i obsess over how p.b and i will break up, who will fuck up, who will fall out of love first or who will cheat on who. the end, while inevitable, is usually never pretty, and the aftermath is even worse. i could be the bitter girl in that song, who turns around, gets real petty and picks on the guy's lack of skills in bed. or he could be the guy who decides that the world needs to know what a bitch i am. all the love poems that we wrote in our heads for each other materialise into mean songs (like the one above), the sweet letters and cards get torn into a million tiny pieces, while we sit and construct new, rude ones, with line after line on how much we hate each other.

eventually though, we all get over it, we decide that it just wasn't meant to be, even though while we were in it, we were the poets of the century, declaring each other as 'the one', claiming we had never felt THIS strongly, or THIS passionate before. a few years down the line, we run into those who used to be the love of our life, laugh together over the good times, avoid the bad ones, and silently wonder what the fuck we ever saw in each other.

you have to hand it to love - it is so complicated, so beautiful, so retarded, so enduring...and SO much fodder for bad music, writing and art.

cry for help!

i want to make this site fancier - since the content is going downhill, may be i can distract you guys with fancy sidebars, better layout, categories and lots of other shit. hmm...i doubt you can be easily fooled but i intend to give it a try!

if someone kind, patient and techy enough would like to help me, and give me tips on how to export three years worth of posts AND comments to squarespace or wordpress or movable type or anything that doesn't look so shit and is a bit more functional, please drop me a line.

thanks.

on another note, i was in an argument the other day about priorities and values (from here on referred to as p & v - well actually, that V should be a W, if i want to be true to my heritage).

i can't decide whether a relationship can work even if one's p's & w's are poles apart.

does it boil down to how much love there is, which will supposedly conquer it all?

or is the starting point similar p's & w's, goals and commitments that strengthen your bonds, love, etc?

my opinion is that similar p's and w's are VERY important.

certain someone's stance is that it's all about understanding each other's p's & w's and getting used to them.

another certain someone helped break it down into family p's & w's, monetary p's & w's, and finally moral p's & w's, with monetary one's being the least important to have in common.

what does the general public think?

(i'm sorry, i know i tend to get very repetitive and consequently on your nerves, with all my nonsensical, grade school sort of questions about relationships, but i like to use this medium to get different opinions. besides, no one is forcing you to read this shit).

also, my random observation of the day is that i eat like a fucking animal that has been starved for a week. i caught sight of myself in a mirror, while devouring my delicious mexican wrap, and realized that my mom had been right all along. she used to nag me constantly about my lack of ladylike eating etiquette, and for once in her life, the woman knew what she was talking about!!!

ok so, that's it. i promise to update soon with something slightly more meaningful than the fact that i eat like a monkey.

girl power?

one of the main reasons that i began to lose faith in the religion i was brought up with was that everything seemed to be in favor of men.

i got tired of questioning why women were asked to cover their bodies (the answer was always: because men would stare, lust, think 'dirty' thoughts). i couldn't understand why god wouldn't just punish the man who ogles, instead of the woman who displays her flesh.

a similar sort of rationale was used recently to explain why a woman should not lead a prayer (story).

"A woman's body is private," Sheik Sayed Tantawi wrote in a column in the Egyptian newspaper Al-Ahram in which he was asked about Wadud's planned prayer. "When she leads men in prayer, in this case, it's not proper for them to look at the woman whose body is in front of them. Even if they see it in their daily life, it shouldn't be in situations of worship, where the main point is humility and modesty."

so basically, ONCE AGAIN, because men are too horny and can't stop themselves from checking out an ass in front of them, even when they're praying, a WOMAN should not be allowed to do something she wants.

there's a big uproar over this - most moslems can not fathom how any woman can be allowed to lead a prayer. no one knows exactly WHY they're pissed - they claim it's in the hadith that women can't lead, or the prophet said it or it's totally unislamic. i haven't seen a single actual fact, so far - in any newspaper or blog. in any case, the authenticity of hadiths CAN be doubted (whereas, as a believer, one can not doubt anything in the actual holy book).

in the end, THAT is basically what this religion has become. believers (and i use that term VERY loosely) don't really know much - they just talk a lot. they never really pay attention to their own actions, to their own unislamic lifestyle, to their own sins but they love to judge. so when a woman does her research, sees no evidence that states that she can not lead a prayer and goes for it, she is immediately branded as a 'feminist', a woman with her own agenda, she is told "mix gender prayer today, hell fire tomorrow" (because you know, these believers REALLY know what they're talking about, they know exactly who god will punish).

believers are like my good ol' ex-maulvi, who used to teach us how to read the holy book when were kids - he had a hard-on the whole time he sat there, with the book between us. he'd tell us how we'd go to hell for our sins, while he happily sat there with a 6 inch penis quite visible through his maulvi clothes, right in front of the koran.

he was completely, blissfully oblivious to his own sins.

i personally think those who judge so harshly and declare so arrogantly that god will punish someone else are missing the point of a religion based on blind faith. they're meant to TRUST their god. they're meant to believe that god knows what he's doing and he will punish whoever he feels the need to - it is to be left to HIS discretion.

this woman wanted to lead a prayer, people who wanted to be led by her showed up and prayed behind her. good for them. that should be the end of the story...all this nonsense over anyone else knowing better is exactly that - NONSENSE.

some priceless quotes on this:

"She is tarnishing the whole Islamic faith. If this was an Islamic state, this woman would be hanged," one man, Nussrah, told the Associated Press.

"Prophet Muhammad and all the scholars did not allow the woman to lead ... mixed congregations, not even to allow her to pray at the side of the man", al-Khyat said. "She can only pray behind him".

"Women were not allowed to (have) input in the basic paradigms of what it means to be a Muslim," she said, adding that while the Quran repeatedly puts men and women on an equal footing, men quickly distorted its teachings to leave women with no role other than to "please them as sexual partners".

"The Quran itself does not address the issue of who leads prayer," said Khaled Aboo Al Fadl, am Islamic jurist and professor of law at the University of California, Los Angeles. "The Prophet said the most learned should lead."

past imperfect

i couldn't sleep the other night. reading didn't help, so i decided to try and clean my insanely messy room. i found a few notebooks, with a lot of my 'blog notes' and walked over to the cupboard to deposit them in the last shelf which has all these boxes full of relationship memorabilia. i haven't touched anything there for two or three years. insomnia practically forced me to dig through archives, for lack of anything else to do (flipping channels is really the lastalternative - in retrospect, it would have been the wiser choice).

i found journals, full of terrible poetry that i'd written for my ex. i found a passionate letter i'd written to the first boyfriend (never gave it to him cause he didn't deserve it). i smiled as i saw how i used to keep everything - movie stubs, receipts, shells, little toys that come out of kinder eggs, even gift wrappings and ribbons.

i am no longer that sentimental.

all the pages of my journals revealed how much in love i'd been with the ex's. they took me back to the time i used to cry like a baby each time we fought or how happy i used to be.

it begged the question: is my love fake? i seem to have said the things i'm saying now, over and over again. is it all a lie? i felt so strongly EACH time, but where are my feelings now? where are the ex's? "i will love you, always and forever" was such a massive, naive lie. does it matter that i meant it at the time?

is love doomed? is it always destined to fail, to end, leaving only a bittersweet aftertaste?

am i truly (as it has often been thrown at me) in love with love? does the object of my desire simply get replaced, every other year?

does love ever last forever?

paki boy often tells me that he doesn't believe in my love, because i've been in love too many times before. i hate it when he says that, because it demeans my feelings. but is he right? apparently, it doesn't take much for me to fall in love, and it really doesn't take much for me to fall out of it. yet each time, like a fool, i believe in it, and in myself and in my emotions.

"the worst of having a romance of any kind is that it leaves one so unromantic" (so said harry, in the picture of dorian gray, by oscar wilde).

true, true.

whenever my boy talks about the future, i, the great cynic, don't really say much. i now lack the faith in my own feelings to declare undying love for the third or fourth (or is it the fifth?) time in my life, and make any sort of promises for the future.

i have quit saying 'i will love you, always and forever'. i am no longer the great romantic, who saves every little token from her boys, because if i did, i would have had to buy a warehouse for it by now.

is it a case of simply not having met "the one"? i never ever believed in that concept or that of soul mates (ugh, so corny!), but perhaps it's just a case of sour grapes. perhaps people do meet this elusive figure that they can actually conceive spending a lifetime with.

or perhaps it is just that - my search for this mate makes me spend a while with those who intrigue me, hoping that they could be it and i end up discovering amazing things about them, and fall in love. but they're never "the one".

or may be i just expect too much from this elusive figure. may be a person like that does not exist. may be my search is doomed, and i will end up sad, lonely, bitter and bitchy (well, at least i'm the last one already).

or may be this one is it? how the hell am i supposed to tell, in that case? or does time tell? that could be it - may be i just don't ever give anyone enough time, may be i walk away too soon. is the love that lasts forever not a test of the strength of the emotion, but the strength of the person? or are they the same thing? is long lasting love simply a relationship with a man/woman with high levels of patience, tolerance and endurance?

i'm all out of (stupid) questions for now (and i don't have any answers).

guest post time!!

we'll make a lover out of you yet

Sarah's one-word guest post request -which I initially thought was simply a rather clever pun, and not guest-post-related at all- was "prostituition".

Well, I thought it was funny.

See, my last post announced that I was taking up prostitution to combat ennui, by writing only guest posts for other people until further notice. It's working out quite well, so far. I'm not bored and other people get to lie back and take it easy for a change.

I tend to write at tedious length when left to my own devices, but while I am a guest in Sarah's house, I will try to be a little more focused. I'm going to talk about two different things now. First I'm doing to talk about whoring, and then I'm going to talk about the joke, and I'm going to break the golden rule of punning, which -as the immortal Dogbert once noted- is that one should never apologize, and never, ever explain.

Hi. Most of you probably have no idea who I am, so I'm slightly out of my comfort zone here. I've been on Sarah's blogroll for a while now, as a somewhat enigmatic "6". Ever noticed that? That's me. My name's Forge, and I'm a prostitute.

Well, no. Not exactly. I'm not talking about sex, you understand. Or perhaps I am. Intercourse, maybe. It seems like there should be an "inter-" in there somewhere. Somewhere between intercourse and discourse lies a largely uncharted red light district. I'll return to that, in a moment.

If you put all the whores in the world in a bottle -it would have to be a big bottle- and then you took out, one by one, all the commercial sex workers, and then took out everyone who was in that bottle because of sex -because they were having too much sex, the wrong kind of sex, sex in the wrong places, with the wrong people, whatever- then you would find that your bottle was still full to bursting. You'd find that the people you'd just let go were just the smallest fraction of the original catch.

The dictionary will tell you that a prostitute is someone who engages in sexual activities for payment, or maybe recognize also the metaphorical usage, as in to "prostitute" your skills or talent for gain. The dictionary is wrong; or at least, terribly incomplete. Most dictionaries are whores, you see. They give you what you want, yes, whores do that, but what's important is not that it is done for cash; what is important is that it is done without principle. To give pleasure without care for what is right or true. To forget -or ignore- that what is pleasing is not the same as what is good, and then to give undeserved pleasure, anyway.

All writers are born whores. Novelists, journalists, webloggers, all of us are born in sin. When first you write, you write in order to make people like you. You tell them things that make them feel good, that they may love you for it. You encourage them to love the things that they love; you encourage them to sneer at the people they hate; you encourage them to live the lives they are already leading, without reflection, without examination, without uncomfortable thought. You validate them, feed them, shine their shoes and send them out into the world, smug, satisfied. An ouroboric circle jerk; while you do this, they're doing the same to you. As long as the cycle persists, we all belong in the bottle, unrepentant.

Some day, perhaps, when your knees begin to hurt, you'll redeem yourself from your original sin by first learning to read what it is that you've been writing, and knowing yourself for what you do, and knowing that you can make your way higher in the world. Maybe. The first step in not being a whore is in not letting other people whore to you. In learning why any of this even matters. In figuring out what exactly a writer is supposed to do.

Somewhere around here, if you have the heart, if you make it this far, you might join that thin trickle of ex-prostitutes leaving town. They're on their way to someplace else, and they're going to have a much harder time of it out there than we do. Pity them. Or maybe not. After all, do they pity us? Do they even remember our names?

This is why I laughed when Sarah said "prostituition". "Tuition" is the most fascinating word ever. It means instruction; it means teaching. It also means, in contemporary usage, the fee you pay to your educators, your institutions of learning, so that they'll edumacate you. Teaching as payment. In the old days, it was customary to take a bag of gold to your guru, so that he knew that you were ass-kissing scum like the rest. Thirty pieces of silver should be the going rate now. After all, education, as practiced, is whoring, and for education to be prostitution is a bitter betrayal.

And if you look at the oldest, most ancient meaning of "tuition", it once meant "protection", or "guardianship". This is what "genius" once meant, too; protector, guardian spirit. Funny, that. That meaning of "genius" split off into "genie" a long time ago as the modern meaning of "genius" took over. Genies may not be guardian angels, but maybe we've fallen too far for angels. Maybe it's a leg up we need, not a helping hand from above. Whores though we may be, maybe we're also genies in the bottle.

Someday we'll be out there, when we've learned to read, when we've learned to write. Without prostituition. Without whoring. Helluva sight that would be, eh? Imagine, all the people... talking sense for once.

No, I can't really imagine it either. But I'm a prostitute, and I want to make us all feel better about this, so I'm gonna pretend I can.

Shazam.

Forge Smith · 02:47
You have been reading a Special Guest Edition of Six O'Clock. All Rights Ridiculed.

don't hate the playa

i don't think i am ever going to be one of those girls who feels the desire to or proud of herself for taming a 'player' (i'm sorry, i HAVE to resort to using this retarded word, for i don't know a good enough substitute).

too many women go out with players (i cringe each time i type it, trust me) thinking that he will fall in love with them and they will live happily ever after. i've never seen it happen. i've seen too many girlfriends try their level best, i've seen them pull all the moves and tricks from giving the best sex/blow jobs to holding off sex and blow jobs, from being incredibly sweet to playing hard to get. they've cried, ranted, thrown fits, jealous rages, played coy, done the perfect wife routine, cooked, ironed, spoilt him silly. really, they've done every damn thing.

but it ain't gonna happen, sister.

if someone doesn't want a relationship, they just don't want it. it's as simple as that.

somehow, the whole 'player' thing disgusts me just a bit. a man or a woman's lack of discrimination when it comes to who they jump into bed with just shows that they have different values from mine. from the onset, it becomes obvious that we have polarized views towards sex and intimacy. if you've had 50 partners and i've had 5, then there's definitely a massive gap between us and our mentality.

i can't do one night stands. i can't ever have sex with someone that i don't have SOME sort of a connection with. while i laugh at friends who can't remember the names of people they've shagged, i can't relate to them and a part of me gets absolutely shocked!

does anyone else get turned off by the number of partners your potential/present interest has had? how much are our views towards sex, in this day and age, shaped by our culture, religion, and peers, given globalization, exposure, open mindedness and freedom of choice? how much of it is gender related? do women consider sex a more sacred act than men? does it differ, depending on how attractive one is, and how easily one can "pull"? what is the norm? is the average, accepted number of partners different in different countries (i.e. 15 is normal in america, 30 normal in scotland, and 10 too much in pakistan)? is the guy/girl with only three names on his/her list prudent, ugly or merely unlucky?

i'd love everyone's views on this.

she might as well charge for it

a friend called up my sister the other day. i've mentioned her a few times here, as the girl who has tried stealing everyone's boyfriends. we considered dropping her from our "circle", but we haven't done so because:

a. we feel bad for her cause she's all alone here.

b. moreover, she is SO fucking entertaining (unintentionally). we have actually scheduled drinking sessions (with other friends) just so that we can sit and laugh over her latest escapade (yes, we're such bitches, fuck off).

so anyway, she called up sis, after ages, to ask her this:

friend: hey, how are you? long time. sorry to bother you, but i just wanted to ask you something...do you remember whether i slept with A or not?

my sis snorts coffee out of her nose and wonders whether she is on some cheap reality show, remembers who she's talking to and realizes that the friend is entirely serious and then calmly tells her: no babe, you just made out with him, you guys didn't actually shag.

friend: oh wow, thanks - i really couldn't remember. ok speak to ya later, bye!

jesusfuckingchrist.

no, she doesn't drink. EVER. so it's not like one of those cases where you get wasted and can't remember what happened. it's just one of THOSE cases where you've shagged so many people, one after the other, that you can't remember what happened with each.

and to call out of the blue, just to ask someone else who you've shagged is fucking retarded, isn't it?!

we've quickly scheduled another bitching session to laugh over this latest incident. that and the fact that she has been crying for the last one month because she fell madly in love with someone who loved her back madly, but dumped her cause she went and shagged someone else one night when he wasn't available and then asked him to pick her up from the guys place the next morning.

she *obviously* has issues. what i find most amusing is her insistence that she wants a marriage, babies, a nice muslim guy, the works. she can't manage to keep a check on her hormones in a 2 week relationship - i doubt a lifetime commitment is for someone like her.

oh and by the way, i LOVE the hypocrisy. she doesn't drink because she's a MUSLIM. she shags like sex is going out of style, she puts out within two hours of meeting ANY guy, she wears what she wants, but in ramadaan (fasting season), she tries to refrain from sleeveless clothes and goes for heavy petting sessions (no penetration during those 30 days, please).

this sort of convenient approach to religion just drives me fucking insane.

i feel like telling her, "girl, you're a SLUT. it's not a bad thing, its a choice YOU make; who you share your body with or have sex with is YOUR business (it IS stupid to advertise it but if telling everyone how many men you've slept with is your thing, that's cool), but don't fucking argue with ME on religion, and get shocked about my lack of faith (and believe me, she has argued for hours with me about my ex-muslim thing) when i don't see you doing a very good job of following it unless it's convenient."

i see this as the biggest contradiction - i am not saying that one can't be muslim if they have pre-marital sex, because lets face it, then no one would be able to call themselves muslim. but indiscriminately shagging every guy who compliments you all year, and then turning choosy during ramadaan, cause apparently muslim god only checks in on his followers during that month, just shouts hypocrisy, and an inability to understand the religion and in fact, absolute disrespect for it (religion).

stupid cow.

conclusion

i haven't put up a single real post for all of this month. i think my block has to do with the fact that i suddenly seem to have too many secrets. and none of them are mine. my writing has always been absolutely uncensored. in the past, i've written about my work, my sex life, my boyfriends, my mistakes and absolutely anything i wanted to. most of my writing has revolved around the men in my life, my loves or the lack of them. and now that i'm in a relationship, everything seems too sacred to discuss and dissect on the internet. and i don't know how to write about anything else...

also, i think i NEED to stop writing about personal stuff, thanks to the influx of visitors from my city. i've refrained from mentioning where i live intentionally, but i think almost everyone knows, and that scares the living shit out of me. it would be so weird to run into someone new, who already knows everything about me through my blog and i know nothing about them. it puts me at a disadvantage.

my boyfriend also discovered my blog...which on its own isn't such a big deal. i had allowed him to read a lot of the posts from a pdf file, but i hadn't expected him to take the initiative to find it on his own later. while there's nothing here that he doesn't already know about, i don't like the idea of him reading certain things i've said about myself, primarily because i keep changing, or growing. i don't want to explain each time that that is not the way i am anymore, because that's a bit silly. my diary/journal/blog or whatever the fuck one wants to call this, is a place for confessions, for weak moments, for those frustrated few seconds of furiously typing away while i'm angered by something, and realizing the next day that that same thing doesn't bother me at all once it has been 'penned' down.

my ex, the one who used to read this blog while we were going out, used a lot of the material to throw at me in anger when we broke up. he told me i didn't know what love was because i used to keep questioning it (on my blog). i don't want that to happen again...

the sensible thing to do would be to abandon my-soliloquy, start something completely anonymous and be a bit more discreet.

but when the fuck have i ever been sensible?

so here's the tentative plan. i'm going to start a completely anonymous, private one, for those days that i need to talk about the personal shit (and i am not sure whether that address will be handed out but since i often need advice on said personal shit, it may well be) and my-soliloquy will continue to be the place for all the harmless stuff: things that piss me off about my species, how love sucks ass, how much i rock, how my city is still the shallowest shithole on earth and how bush is the biggest, ugliest and dumbest monkey on earth.

i think this sounds like a good plan.

so yeah, if you want to read my nonsense, stick around, cause i'll start churning out rubbish on a regular basis once again!

rock on, motherfuckers.

xx.

happy vagina day

i'm in love and i still think v-day sucks. it says nothing about the emotion or relationships to me.

if you're like me and loathe this hype over today as much as i do, there are some fantastic anti v-day cards here - go now and send out a few to your loved and not so loved ones!

plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose

my blog seems to have developed a personality that i can't really fight anymore. there's more to me than this; it appears that i have finally outgrown my-soliloquy. i want to change the direction, but i don't want to do it here. i'm not sure why.

i'm going to start something new, although i don't have much to say (so don't hold your breath!).

i'll keep you posted.

xx.

birthday nightmare

is it better to make sure that the birthday boy has an amazing and memorable day or that he gets a great gift?

(it's paki boy's birthday, day after tomorrow. i haven't come up any good ideas yet. you guys are the last resort - i want all your brilliant, unique, crazy suggestions NOW. Please).

HELP ME!

question of the day

What great thing would you attempt, if you knew you could not fail?
(Robert H. Schuller)

what the hell happened to forgiveness?!

i can't get my friend's voice out of my head. she could barely talk, as she cried on the phone, early this morning, saying that she had lost her whole family. i couldn't understand at first, i thought they must have had an accident.

i think it may have been easier on her than this.

she has been ostracized. she has been 'thrown out'. she fucked up in their opinion and they decided to get rid of her; a FAMILY member, just omitted from their lives, as if she never existed.

i've heard this story before. it's the favorite premise for a bollywood flick. the typical scenario usually runs somewhat like this: girl or guy marries someone parents don't approve of, and both the sides pull filmy stunts and spout equally filmy dialogues and when that doesn't work, they nicely pack up their bags and throw the kids out.

i put the phone down. it was seven a.m., and i was still in bed, in my comfortable, safe bed, under my super soft duvet. my sister was sleeping next to me, and my other two sisters were sleeping in the next room. my bro, parents and granny were all in their rooms. the cat and the turtles were somewhere in the house.

i swear i haven't ever felt that blessed or secure in my life. i wanted to run to my parents and thank them for being tolerant. they could have thrown my sister out when she got divorced, they got have thrown me out when i told them i didn't believe in their religion, they could have thrown us out when we broke the curfew for the ten thousandth time...

they never did.

i can't understand parents who can't forgive their own children. you gave birth to them, for gods sake! did you decide that you'd love them only if they did everything you wanted them to do? did you not expect that they might fall in love with someone you don't approve of? that they might not have the same sexual preferences as you? that they may not want to become the doctor or lawyer you dreamed of? did you think that just because you gave birth to them, for you own selfish desire to see an image of yourself and leave a legacy behind, that they should make YOUR dreams come true at the expense of their own?

children fuck up. parents fuck up. sometimes, parents are selfish and follow their own desires which go against the best interests of their children. and sometimes, children decide to follow their hearts instead of what mommy papa told them to do.

but what the fuck does it matter?? how can you actually cut someone off? i find it difficult not to forgive my friends or boyfriends or even acquaintances. i don't hold a single grudge against any one and no matter what they've done, i've ultimately been able to forgive. i can't imagine how someone can not forgive their own blood! how can you prefer getting rid of them to dealing with your own issues and accepting them for who they are?

i cried so much for my friend and i still can't get her voice out of my head. i want to go and bitchslap some sense into her parents.

they should have never bothered having children if they were going to be so heartless.

santa would be nice

it was eid this weekend. the BIG eid. the one where the muslims are required to sacrifice a goat. there's a great story behind this practice (no, i'm not going to tell you the whole story, i'm too lazy so google it) that is mandatory on all muslims that can afford it. lately though, i keep coming across muslims (the younger lot) who aren't very fond of this celebration and honestly, i can understand why.

i grew up watching goats being slaughtered in our backyard in pakiland (only on eid, relax, we're not completely retarded). that's primarily why i quit eating mutton/lamb/beef. trust me, when you watch that goat that was running around happily in your lawn the night before, when it was bought for 3000 rupees (after being inspected thoroughly), and then you see it being dragged out, a couple of men holding it down, and then slicing it's neck while the goat makes scary sounds that only a dying goat can make...ugh.

you'd give up meat too.

or perhaps not.

when we'd make the rounds, visiting relatives, they'd excitedly bring out the cooked meat and go on about how yum, tender and fresh it was and it used to gross me out completely.

my brother was introduced to the reality of the big eid for the first time ever this year and was absolutely traumatized. he went to the abattoir with my dad, to see the 'process' of how the lively, spirited goat becomes little packets of meat stored in our freezer or little pieces of flesh in our curries. it started out nicely enough, with buying a healthy goat, which according to my bro was a very cute li'l thing. and then he (the goat, not my bro) was sent off to the assembly line style butchering which could be viewed through the glass. it was all very high tech since we're no longer in pakiland. he watched it being sliced in the halal manner, then the skin being peeled off with the machines, hung upside down to drain the blood and then the butcher cut it up into neat li'l edible pieces.

my bro returned to the car with the goat in three packets.

and he decided to give up meat, too.

i came to this conclusion a couple of years back and was even telling the baron about it the other day: islam's lack of appeal to many has a lot to do with its 'celebrations'. i mean, look at the christians: they have a jolly, old fat man in the cutest suit ever, giving away gifts and holiday cheer, being led by reindeers on a sleigh, and they even have the christmas tree, with the fairy on top and gifts underneath. it's all so pretty and happy. the hindus have their diwali, holi and daandia (festivals of light, color and dance).

and good ol' islam has goat slaughtering and the gift of calves and other meaty parts on its side!!

yuckkkk.

no wonder the new lot of the so-called muslims is not so enthusiastic about this eid!

more or less...

Oh will we pass the test? Or, just as one loves more and more, will one love less and less?
(the priest by joni mitchell)

there is such a romance in all this. he is away on holiday and i'm the girl left behind, pining for my boy. i've returned to being a girly girl, back in the skin of the teenager in love, some thing i haven't been in many, many years. i blush as i talk about him or us, and feel silly when i realize how often i mention him, and how increasingly everything goes back to 'paki boy and i'. it's even worse because it's hasn't even been two months. yet i am already beginning to relate every place in my city to him and to us. i pass starbucks and smile as i remember how we were there a couple of nights back and i knocked over my coffee, and made a huge mess. i pass the creekside, and smile as i look at the ferris wheel we sat in, and decided that we just had to shag there next time we went in it! i pass the mall and remember how we tried going shopping together and how i couldn't do it, because i'm one of those run in and out shoppers while he's the leisurely, let's look around type (talk about a role reversal). it feels like we've already been to every place in my city. and everything that we haven't done together or been to yet gets noted as something we just HAVE to do when he gets back.

i send him a text every few hours, saying many things, but all i really want to tell him over and over again is that i miss him so much. i try and find different ways to say it because i don't want to bore him with those same old words but i'm at a loss. i feel hopelessly inadequate. i feel terribly childish. i'm a drama queen.

i'm going to turn twenty seven this year, i'm going to be so old. i got asked for my id when i went to buy cigarettes, they thought i was under 18. something's wrong, i feel like a teenager, i look like one, apparently, and yet i'm growing older. i'm acquiring more lovers, more heartbreaks, more experiences, more post-coital conversations, more stories as each year passes. my life becomes richer and richer, as do my memories, but i may exhaust my feelings.

is it true then? "just as one loves more and more, will one love less and less?" i think so. i think i am trying to force myself to be free. i am romanticizing my relationship, i'm almost glad he's away so i get to play this role. i just desperately want to be THERE; i want to feel that insanity again so badly. and i know i can't force myself but i try. i know there's less that i have to give away this time, too much has been done before, my heart feels tired. the tears and the breakup seem like they should be around the corner. i KNOW they are. and i guess that's where the difference lies. as a real teenager, i somehow believed in lasting romances. i believed that this could be it. i believed in love. now i want to believe in all that, but deep down inside, i don't. so each time, less is shared. less is told. less is revealed. less is expected.

even my daydreams get less and less fantastical.

i sometimes wish i hadn't been in love before. i don't know whether i'm in it now or not, but i do feel like i've been there too many times, and i know how that story goes.

i tread real carefully now. perhaps too carefully. i admitted to my friends that i would be a step behind this one. i don't want to get ahead of myself or him, and say anything. i will be responsive, i will let him lead - but i don't want to go anywhere he doesn't want to go and i don't want to be anywhere he isn't ready to be.

i want both of us to be in the same place, at the same time, whether that happens to be 'in love' or too scared to ever go there...i know my control over my feelings is just an illusion, but i find it easy to fool myself. it's better than admissions that lead to disaster.

guest post time: alibhai saves the day, once again!

How did I volunteer for this when my mind is completely devoid of any ideas for a blog update. Ah! yes, the beautiful lines from Sarah for my birthday. I am a sucker for good lines. Now, it is a known fact that I don't read books and can't write worth a damn. I have an acute shortage of brain cells and cannot spare more than three neurons to handle the blog business. Two of those are involved in the synaptic
circuit that orders my fingers around the keyboard. Thus leaving a grand total of one, yes you read write one, brain cell to handle this job. No, I am not fishing for reassuring compliments or consoling remarks. Although, a few wouldnt hurt. The real purpose of the above bs is to lower your expectations of what follows. Despite three days of non-stop brainstorming I haven't been able to come up with anything. So I just made a stupid little list. You can count on a list to save a day.

Ten things that bring a smile to my face everytime:
1. Pakistani food, the best in the world by far.
2. Memories of hot sweetened porridge for breakfast before leaving for school back in Pakistan.
3. My first, thanks Sadaf.
4. Kiran in 11th grade. The most beautiful girl I have ever seen and what perfect posture, thanks for making a stalker out of me.
5. Mom saying I am the favourite, sorry dear brothers.
6. My brothers accepting the maternal bias and still loving me unconditionally.
7. My cousin S, who always makes me feel smarter and hotter than I am.
8. Taking a dump outside at 3 am in below freezing temperatures while camping in the Big Bear Lake area. And hoping that the aroma wouldn't attract a bear.
9. Getting pulled over at 70 mph on interstate freeway 101 last year and getting a raging hard-on as the female cop wrote out the citation.
10. Going 120mph on an uphill section of the 2 freeway today morning.

So Come on people dig in. Share atleast one thing that does the same for you with the rest of us. Sarah, have read those lines more than a dozen times so next time I either dock one from the above list or make it eleven items. Thanks again.

(written by the one and only alibhai)

that time of the year!

every regular here must be familiar with alibhai. he's the funniest, most random commenter around, and has even honored my blog with a few guest posts (which were some of the best moments here).

and guess what? it's his birthday!!!!!!!

so happy birthday, alibhai.

you renew my faith in paki men.

i hope every single day of yours is filled with lots of love, laughter, happiness, sex, booze, joy, gorgeous women, and all that you desire.

oh and here's a corny quote that i have to admit i love, for you:

Stay loose. Learn to watch snails. Plant impossible gardens. Invite someone dangerous to tea. Make little signs that say ’’Yes!’’ and post them all over your house. Make friends with freedom and uncertainty. Look forward to dreams. Cry during movies. Swing as high as you can on a swing set, by moonlight. Cultivate moods. Refuse to be responsible. Do it for love. Take lots of naps. Give money away. Do it now. The money will follow. Believe in magic. Laugh a lot. Celebrate every gorgeous moment. Take moonbaths. Have wild imaginings, transformative dreams, and perfect calm. Draw on the walls. Read everyday. Imagine yourself magic. Giggle with children. Listen to old people. Open up. Dive in. Be free. Bless yourself. Drive away fear. Play with everything. Entertain your inner child. You are innocent. Build a fort with blankets. Get wet. Hug trees. Write love letters.
on how to be an artist by Sark

guest post time: queer rage!!!

(i could have sworn i had an introductory paragraph declaring that the following post is by sin, and how much i love him and how hot he is, etc...but apparently i fucked up. so anyway, the post that follows? yeah, the gay love of my life wrote it. and if you haven't read it yet cause it looks like it's too long and you're too lazy, then DO IT NOW, cause it's worth the read - as is anything he writes!)

*******

So, what the hell is the deal with straight girls? Isn't there some sort of code of conduct that exists between them (and their gay best friends)? If the hag fag is willing to make sacrifices for his girlfriends (accompanied by appropriate "I'm a big sassy angry sistah!" hand gestures, including the hula gesture of "Whatevah, BEE-yotch"), then shouldn't the fag hag at least keep her queer in mind when it comes to doing things that could potentially be problematic?

Of course, I'm exaggerating a little bit. Not every straight girl is a fag hag, not every gay man is a hag fag, and at the end of the day, the average relationship between a gay man and a straight woman is that of girlfriends. You know, "My boyfriend broke up with me/That bastard, you poor thing/I know, I feel like crap/I'll be right over with a gallon of butter pecan", that sort of thing. Inevitably, there's a bond formed, a very urbane "I'm watching out for you", a dynamic in which each party is concerned for the other's welfare, a situation that lends itself to nurturing, mutual support and growth.

And then bloody straight men enter the equation and fuck everything up.

I mean, seriously. What is with heteros? I'm not heterophobic, seriously…some of my best friends are straight! Occasionally, they even let me call them "breeder"! I'm down with this whole procreation thing, but what sort of urge travels through the synapses and neurons of straight girls of (as my mother and assorted elderly female family members would say) marriageable age, when they come face-to-face with an eligible bachelor?

I am, of course, jesting; but only in part. For people who don't get it yet, *ahem ahem* I'm kidding. Alles klar ja?

Coming back to the topic ("Today, on 'My Soliloquy', backstabbing female friends and how they stole my baby daddy, sort of!"), I'll give you an example of what's been going on in Sin-world. In the middle of November, one of my best friends came to visit me. We were at university together, and I've spent umpteen hours in her household, frequently having my name mispronounced by her adorable mother, snuffled at by her equally-adorable dog, and every once in a while, doing laundry there. When she came to Karachi to visit me, I introduced her to an acquaintance of mine; they hit it off, and for the last day or two of her trip, they were doing the nasty.

All well and good, until I'm asked if it'd be OK for her to return to Karachi in December, ostensibly to see me again, and also to hang out with my mother (they get along VERY well). I, of course, was delighted to have her here again; it was a bad time for me, I hated what I was doing, was feeling supremely lonely and miserable, and really needed someone who knew me around. Agog with anticipation for her visit, I happened to discover from the Acquaintance that she would be spending some amount of time with him. You know, all-night shagfests, that sort of thing. I acquiesced, since what with her staying at my house, it would have been awkward trying to smuggle her in and out of my good Muslim household, and I certainly didn't want her to not enjoy her trip. The assumption, of course, was that she'd enjoy herself with him, and then we could get down to the serious business of partying and bonding; she'd spend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with him, then Monday would be my house.

She arrived Friday. Saturday night was the first Karachi social scene ball, the Sind Club Winter Ball. I struck on the idea of her pretending to be staying at the US consulate in Karachi to provide her with even greater latitude in terms of getting to see the Acquaintance (and forming the Beast with Two Backs); much to my chagrin, outside of the occasional glimpse and half-hour's association at the Winter Ball on Saturday evening, I barely saw her that night. The next time I saw her for any length of time was Monday evening, after I and a friend of mine had been stood up by her for coffee. We went to another friend's place, then to a small party (about two hundred or so people), and finally, I took her to a shindig where the Acquaintance was. And she went home with him.

OK. Fair enough. No worries. I was teaching Tuesday anyway, we'd only be sleeping, big fucking whoop. It's all good.

Tuesday evening, I receive a phone call. She comes over. The evening is, once again, spent mostly with the Acquaintance and his friends, while he shows her off to everyone as his girlfriend, and I sit quietly in a corner with a cigarette and a drink (both of which commodities I could SERIOUSLY use right about now), chatting with random strangers, but mostly just keeping silent and to myself because I know NO one at these events. Finally, we go home. We chat until three in the morning. My tensions dissipate. All is good. Or if not completely copasetic, at least better. The emotional equivalent of deep breathing.

Wednesday comes about. She spends the day hanging out with me and my mother. All is well. We are happy. And then on Thursday, I'm asked if she can be dropped off to the Acquaintance's place while I teach. Sure thing, I think to myself, happily. It'll keep her occupied and entertained while I'm at work! Yay!

Then I get a phone call to pick her up. So I do. We come back to my place, and have dinner, which takes about an hour. And then "Can you drop me back to his place so I can spend the night there? I'm just kind of tired, I think we're going to go to his friend's wedding and then hang out at home." I make sure she has all her items (a polite way of escorting her out of the house), and then take her back there. Look dispiritedly at the tickets I have to a party that night, tickets I got for both of us, and decide to not go, because it won't be any fun without her. Get a call at three in the morning from another friend, asking me how come I'm not there, and she is. Seethe silently, have a cigarette, go to bed.

Don't hear from her on Friday. See her a bit on Friday evening. Still roiling internally. Invited to another party, but decide, once again to not go. Make weak overtures at hinting "Perhaps we can spend some time, you know, TOGETHER." Am given the same story as last night. And it progresses with the same, tired, beaten-to-death old plot, with another phone call in the wee hours of the morn: "Why aren't you here with her? She's having a blast!!"

Saturday. Christmas Day. Sleighs, bells, boughs of holly, blah blah blah. Sin is channelling Scrooge at his worst. "Bah! Humbug!" all around. Small children cry at the sight of my face, kittens squeak in fear, puppies cringe and let their tails droop sadly. I punt innocent fuzzy things out of my way, perform appendectomies on teddy bears, and force pedestrians into ditches with my car. At around 1:00 in the afternoon, there's a phone call. Are you at home? she asks. Merry Christmas! Lets have Christmas lunch together..

I have a private class to teach from two to four. At her urgings, and in my head, carrying out some fucked-up, misbegotten attempt at trying to patch things up, I shifted the class forward, moving it into a six to eight timeslot. At 1:30, there's a phone call, she has to go to the airline office to extend her stay by one day. She'll call me when she gets done, is that cool? Sure it is.

2:45, a text message arrives on my phone. "Oh, Acquaintance and I have to go to Acquaintance's cousin's place for lunch. I didn't know about it. He'd actually already committed us both to it, so we kind of have to go there." *awkward silence* "Come with us." No thanks, I think to myself, and text back. Why the FUCK would I want to hang out with the two of you together? In the last eight days, every time the two of you and I attend the same social function, I wind up being the asshole in the corner who won't talk to anyone, while you twats schmooze and kiss-kiss everyone in sight. Yeah, that sounds like a REALLY fun lunch: you can go and chat, while I sit in a nook somewhere and chain-smoke. Like I can't do that at home. Assholes. I reschedule some poor kid's classes, I'm kept waiting for about two hours, and I'm expected to change my plans to coincide with what's convenient for you? FUCK YOU.

So I say "Thank you, no. Not really my scene. I'd feel awkward there." After hanging up, I struggle to throw something large and heavy at something fragile and breakable, but despite my best efforts, I can't bring myself to hurl a small metal sculpture at my favourite frosted green vase.

2:55, a text message arrives again. Oh, just pick up the fucking phone. "Will be done here in an hour, and will come by." I stew for a minute, then respond. "Don't bother, I'll meet you somewhere else. Coffeeshop."

4:15, I get into the coffeeshop. She's already there. Tries to hug me, I channel my (now) three year-old nephew and stiffen up, refusing to let her get her arms under mine and around my ribcage. She settles down looking slightly reprimanded, I get an unseemly surge of glee. Yeah, it sucks when someone isn't throwing themselves at you, doesn't it?

She starts. "I didn't mean for it to turn so…I mean, for this to be so much about spending time with…" Shut the fuck up. You KNOW how much it means to me that you're here, and you can't possibly be so thick that you are completely ignoring the amount of drama that you're causing here, just by being an inconsiderate human being.

So I say "You know what? I'm kind of over it. As things stand, it's taking every ounce of self-control I have right now to not reach over and bitch-slap you into the tail-end of next year, so why don't we just let this go?" She starts to say something, then smiles weakly and keeps sipping her coffee. I chain-smoke my way through a packet of Davidoff Lights, and pay the bill.

My house. She says goodbye to my mother and my aunt. We leave, and I drop her back to the Christmas lunch for which she had been pre-committed by someone she's probably never going to see again, leaving a close friend in the lurch for the umpteenth time in a row. When I get home, my mother, who is—despite occasional appearances and actions to the contrary—a remarkably intelligent woman, tells me that I shouldn't be so upset with her. That sometimes you need to take what you can get, and even though my friend may have come to see me originally, her priorities obviously changed; it sucks that she didn't make me aware of that in so many words, instead of treating me like her backup plan, but that's OK too…at least she's come all the way to Karachi, and I should make an effort to enjoy what little time I do have with her. I smile and nod. Should I really bother showing her any more consideration than she's shown me so far? Probably not, but what the fuck. I'm better than this.

So I say "I'll think about it Ammi. Thanks." We hug. Apparently hugging is very in this winter. My phone comes out, and not yet trusting myself to call, I instead send off another SMS. "I think we should talk and get this shit over with. I'll be teaching until eight, so lets meet up after then." I get an affirmative response. She'll call me.

8:30, half an hour after I come back from explaining mitochondrial energy release and the functions of the endoplasmic reticulum on cristae, I call her. "I'd really rather not have this conversation tonight hon. I drank too much." Oh, NO FUCKING WAY. You know I'm pissed off, you're completely aware of how tense things are between us, and you still decide to get shitfaced so you can avoid having to deal with this? By Bast and Ishtar, what am I supposed to DO?

So I say "Fine" and hang up.

We talk on Sunday. "Miscommunication," says she. "Being a bitch," say I. "Thought I could spend time with both of you together," says she. "Leaving me alone while you're whisked around and socialising doesn't count as time with both of us," I point out. "You could have joined us" she snaps. "I DID," I hiss. "The only problem is that the two of you would simply not make any effort to include me in the conversation. I had STRANGERS asking me if I knew Acquaintance's girlfriend, and obviously wondering why I was there!"

Silence. We open a bottle of Riesling and put it away. Apologies. Love. More hugging. Some sort of resolution?

Nope. That night we end up at Acquaintance's friend's place again. Lather, rinse and repeat, ad infinitum. I'm left behind exactly the same way again. Eventually, bored with coddling the 14 year-old black cat that's taken a shine to me, I get up and leave. "Thank you so much for coming!" she coos at me. I just snarl and walk away. Unbelievable.

The next night, after 5 weddings, I show up at the last one, where I see both of them again. Again, there's a minute of apology and several hours of avoidance. I flirt with some of the cute foreigners (and their wives). Playing head games is fun. Check out the bride's brother (see entry on "taut buttocks"). Ask how she's getting to the airport. "Oh, Acquaintance is dropping me." Well, can I come along
as well? Would like to say goodbye to you (and HOW). "Sure, we'll call you in the morning before we leave; we're planning to be out of the house by about 7:30."

7:45 another fucking text message. "Oh, actually the flight's not until later on. Will call you when leaving."

14:22, no phone call, and a request from another friend arrives. "I have to go to some parties this weekend, could you return the tops and dresses she borrowed?" Sure I can. Go to the Acquaintance's restaurant, grab the stuff. Sheepishly "Oh, well, we woke up late, and had to race to the airport."

And you couldn't fucking call me? You live a minute away from my house. You had to go PAST my house to get to the airport. And even if you were late, you couldn't call and say goodbye?

Fuck you all. Fuck you, girlfriends who don't give a shit about their friends' feelings, and even if they do, decide that they take the back-seat to how you feel. Fuck you, people who put up with this (including myself), for going out of your way to try and rectify things. Don't show anyone more consideration they show you. Don't put up with this HORSESHIT. Girlfriends? Don't lie about why you arrive. Don't lie about what you're doing here. You want to change your plans, that's fine, but tell the other person. We're not your backup plans. Friendships are works of effort and art, not just impulse; but their ruination is a matter of capricious ineptitude. If things change, you tell the people for whom you ostensibly care. If you want to spend more time with a relative stranger, fine. He shags you well, that's great. But don't treat other people like backup plans, don't take them for granted, because they WILL NOT put up with it beyond a certain point.

Thank you for once again validating my general opinion that human beings, as a race, are puerile, shallow, selfish people who can't muster the necessary energy or purpose to correct their mistakes. Y'all suck.

Kisses, and much love. It was good knowing you.

alone with everybody*

i was in my favorite reading place yesterday (the bathroom), having a smoke and reading bukowski and as i read his poems on loneliness, the most amazing thing occurred to me: there are over six billion people in the world - yesterday, someone, somewhere could have been reading the exact same poem in the same book, that i was reading - may be he/she was also in the bathroom, having a smoke. isn't that fucking brilliant?

it took the edge off the feeling that i'm alone in my worship of his words. you know why i love him? he writes about things that all of us feel and can relate to, without dressing it up; no metaphors, no analogies, no flowery language, no bullshit. and yet, so fucking profound.

all of us are lonely. all of us are searching. for someone else, for ourselves, for something, anything to fill the void, the emptiness that constantly plagues us. we find temporary fillings, we find someone we think is permanent, or we often just give up, and wither away, without hope.

i know it's corny and such a cliche, but honestly? a lot of the beauty lies in the search, in the process, in the journey. perhaps the constant in our lives was never supposed to be happiness. it was never supposed to be satisfaction or contentment. i think it was meant to be drab, often difficult, often painful, often meaningless, and a struggle. we were wrong to expect perfection or true love or happiness. those are the rare pleasant surprises, that are usually momentary. and if we quit expecting so much, may be if we quit looking at it the way we have been, and realize that there really aren't any happy lives, or any perfect lives, just moments, we'll be better off. there really isn't any soulmate, but a lot of people who touch our souls, who pass through, who make a difference. but they, just like our perfect moments, were never meant to last.

perhaps if we quit expecting or wanting everything good to last forever, and just marinate in the moment, and realize how precious it is, right then and there (and not long after, when it's over), perhaps then one would almost automatically quit worrying about the 'what ifs' or 'what next', because nothing more is expected anyway.

perhaps if we come to terms with our constant loneliness, we'll appreciate the times that we connect with someone else so much more.

i really want to be free of expectations.

i want to want nothing...

i want to "at last be alone, without being alone".*

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.*

(* bukowski's words).

the meat market

i think i've bored everyone enough with stories of how insanely happy i am, so it's going to be back to regular programming now - the bitching resumes in 2005!!

...i'm completely shocked at the desperation of women. i've never been a big fan of making girlfriends because i have trouble trusting them. and with good reason, obviously. two of the friends that i consider really close fucked up recently, and i was completely shocked.

one of them got asked out for drinks by my ex (the one i dated for 5 years). i had introduced them a few weeks back, when we were all out together. and so my friend called me up and asked me whether i was still interested in him. and i said 'no, of course not'. and she kept on insistently asking whether i was okay if she went out for a drink with him, she spoke about how one thing always leads to another, and how she didn't want to screw up our friendship because of some guy. i finally came out with it and asked whether she wanted to know whether i was uncomfortable with the idea of her shagging him, and she said yeah. and i was absolutely stunned. i know i'm terribly naive at times, and expect people to think and behave the way i would, but i just couldn't get how a good friend of mine would think that it would be okay with me if she shagged someone i'd been in love with for so long??! i hated her for putting me on the spot and making me say that it would be weird for me to hang around her and her new boyfriend, if the new boyfriend was THE ex of my life! i would have thought that it's just common sense...

the other girlfriend of mine actually called up paki boy and asked him to join her at a club on a night when she knew i wasn't out. i would have disregarded this if it had been someone else, but she's someone who has a bit of a dodgy past (i've written about her before), and in any case, i could sense that she has taken a bit too much of a liking to my boy. i always thought though that she'd respect the barriers, because this guy is more important than some of the idiots that i've dated.

i don't understand girls. i seriously don't. i find it so disturbing that they would do just about anything to run away from their loneliness. resorting to shagging their friend's ex's or boyfriends is really the lowest form of trying to fill that emptiness. i wonder why women can't think of some other way to make themselves happy? yes, we all need love, i chase it all the time as well. but at the same time, one has to make their life as fulfilling as possible and keep discovering things that they like to do, so that they don't expect ALL the happiness or satisfaction or contentment to come from one source.

i go out all the time here, and i am so much a part of this whole 'scene', but it always disgusts me to look around and see all of us parading up and down clubs, trying to outdo each other, to attract some guy who'll shag us and forget about us. there are too many of 'us' out there...there are too many girls who want so much more than they're willing to admit, and they're looking at all the wrong places, and then they sit and cry about their broken hearts. i know i've been one of them more often than i'd like to admit, but at the very least, i had the common sense to not allow my desperation to sink to alarmingly low levels and start hitting on men so important to my closest mates.

honestly - no more girlfriends. the whole sex & the city kinda friendship is a myth. in reality, samantha would have shagged mr. big and charlotte would have eventually gotten him to marry her, and carrie would have been left all alone, heartbroken and fucked over by her bestfriends.

nice one, girls.

because pink is the color of passion!

oh and by the way, guess who got a new hair cut and retarded pink highlights??! 

mix tapes

it's almost like being back in college and in your first relationship ever. perhaps because its the first time he's liked someone so much, so quickly (or that's what he says). the flowers, the CD of songs that i love, the adorable garfield (which represents my laziness), and the surprise trip to the mall to see the fake snow (he said it was the closest he could get me to snow in our city).

we were lying in bed, and he ran to put on a CD. he came back in the room, with 'my girl' playing in the background. he reminded me so much of a teenager in love, with the happy, cheesy grin on his face, dancing in the silliest way possible, trying to make me laugh. we lay in bed, and one after the other, my favorite songs came on. i couldn't believe he had been able to guess what kinda music i'd love. there was portishead, massive attack, and there was that obscure paul weller song that NO ONE (except my ex, who had introduced me to it) knew about, 'you do something to me, somewhere deep inside' - it's such a sexy song.

we spent a lazy, silly, afternoon at home, boxing (yep - i can throw a mean punch) in his lounge, wrestling (i got my ass kicked), throwing cushions and water at each other (i think that was a sneaky way to get me out of my clothes), screaming, jumping and singing along to 'sweet child of mine' (remember that guns'n'roses track?), 'brown eyed girl' and ended with me standing on his feet and trying to slow dance!

it's all extremely cute, extremely corny, extremely cheesy - it's got disaster written all over it, but it's well worth it...i haven't had this much fun, haven't laughed this much in a while!

p.s: i discovered (through the love of my life) two wicked new blogs (yeah, i said 'wicked' - i'm hanging out with a london boy now, you're probably going to see a lot of retarded new words - at least now i can understand half the shit roony (my li'l baby) says!!):

presenting:
livingHIGH (check out his dec 28th post).
my state of existence.

i cried. last night. i haven't cried because of a boy in ages. haven't cried while talking to one. haven't cried over something silly in forever.

he did the typical boy thing, and turned up with flowers and apologies this morning.

we're already in the second phase.

i should get out now, i only want a relationship if it stays in the honeymoon phase forever. but they never do...

i hate relationships. i hate feeling so much for someone, allowing him to affect me so much. i want to run away from it. it's been too long since i allowed all my emotions to run as free and wildly as they are doing now.

it's not good.

but i feel more alive.

i'm a sucker for the highs and the lows. i always went on about my cardiogram analogy - it's time to live the way i've been saying people should live. it's time to face my fucking fears, head on.

may be it's time to get rid of all the walls, barriers and chains, and allow myself to fall in love.

peer pressure

don't you think new years eve is terribly over hyped? it's a great excuse to get pissed out of your head, it's the best time to come up with resolutions that you'll forget about the next day, to kiss a random stranger (never done that, though), and all that crap. but the pressure to have the best night of your life is insane (and ridiculous)!!

there are too many events on that night (at least in my city). and everyone wants to party. all the events are over priced and will be crap anyway. i had a good new years eve last year, when the ex-mr. right came down to see me, and we just went to a friend's place, got drunk on a nice bottle of wine, and slept. the year before, i intentionally slept through midnight, and woke up at one a.m. and went partying then (it was SHIT - i should have stayed in bed). this year, i wish i could just have a small party, get all my friends together, get drunk and be silly. but my friends are stupid and want to go to the 'most happening' club, which will be over crowded, will play shitty music, and the bar will be impossible to get to.

i hate new years eve - the hype is so irritating. but i'm as stupid as my friends and will give in, and go where they go.

next year, i'm going to find friends who are as boring as me, so that i bring in 2006 at a sweet little house party, with good conversation, good music, good wine.

watch out for my resolutions though - i come up with a few good ones every year, and never manage to go through with it.

may be this year, my resolution should be to actually work on last year's resolutions...

does anyone else hate this time, as much as i do?

merry christmas!!!!!!!!!

i had an awesome christmas eve. went to a music fest here, where i played around in fake, styrofoam snow like a retarded little child, while jumping and dancing wildly to hip-hop. they had one of those bouncy castle things, and i made all my friends jump with me on it - that was SUCH a work out for an unfit 26 year old buddhee (old cow) like me! it made me laugh so much that the only person dressed in red (from the tube top, to the sweater, to the belt, to the lingerie), a santa hat, screaming excitedly over fake snow, throwing it around and wishing everyone a merry christmas every two seconds was a desi, "muslim" (well, that's what it says on my passport, at least) girl!! everyone else was too cool to get into the spirit, i guess. i hope i celebrate christmas somewhere else next year; it's such a happy holiday, i love everything about it! and in a muslim country, it DOES get celebrated (far more than one would think) but it's definitely not as insane as other (non-mullah) places.

in other news, things with p.b (paki boy) are still magical. i'm falling for him, a little bit more, every day. it's still extremely scary. i become a little bit more vulnerable each day. but i think he's in the same place that i am, which helps. i keep wondering whether we'll burn out, though. we both want to see each other every single day, and even then, it's not good enough. and i wonder whether it's like how you buy a new CD, and listen to it over and over again, for two months, every single day, until you get bored of it and never listen to it again? that's what i did with damien rice. well, he lasted three months. and then some. but will i do that with p.b? and will he do that with me? should we not see each other ten thousand times in a week, just so this magic lasts a little longer? but why prolong it artificially like that?

yes, i know, i'm SUCH an over-analytical bitch. i wonder if the boys that read my blog get scared by this insight into a girls head? don't worry, i am pretty sure i'm far more psychotic and over analytical than a regular girl.

anyway, fuck all this nonsense! today is CHRISTMAS!!!!!!! have an amazing day, everyone!! i hope you're all happy, and healthy and looking forward to new years!

hugs and kisses.

on fantasies

"You get Lacan's point. Fantasies have to be unrealistic. Because the moment, the second that you get what you seek, you don't, you can't want it anymore.

In order to continue to exist, desire must have its objects perpetually absent. It's not the "it" that you want, it's the fantasy of "it". So, desire supports crazy fantasies.

This is what Pascal means when he says that we are only truly happy when daydreaming about future happiness. Or why we say the hunt is sweeter than the kill, or be careful what you wish for - not because you will get it, because you are doomed not to want it once you do."

(the life of david gale)

i want:

- to live in paris for a year, in a tiny apartment, exploring the city, and writing.
- to live in new york for a while, in soho, making a living as a bartender.
- to meet a desi male version of me.
- to meet all my virtual world friends.
- to get out of my city.
- to run/own a tiny dvd and book store in my city, where you can sit and read, and watch movies. one which actually has bukowski. one which has an amazing poetry section.
- to get my dad a mercedes.
- to send my bro to study film.
- to go skinny dipping.
- to see snowfall.
- to meet (= have insane sex with) edward norton.
- to have the best dvd collection on earth.
- everyone to be happy.
- to have someone sing me a song.
- to wish on shooting stars.
- to be in a romantic city with someone i like.
- to write something that i like, something good.
- to LIVE.

what do you want?

boyfriend/girlfriend

it's really strange to be in a relationship. it's really strange to have a "boyfriend", someone who is actually there, and someone who behaves like he's a boyfriend. it's been a while. it's been four years. and so much has changed since i last had a real boyfriend. i'm really unsure about how to handle it now. i feel so torn sometimes, because i've built a life for myself, one where i didn't need someone. i have a lot of friends, i have a lot of interests, i have a really strong relationship with my family and i have my work. and now, suddenly, i have a someone in my life who is important, and has to be prioritized. it's almost a reciprocal prioritization though...does that make sense? i have to give him that much importance because he gives me a lot. i have to make time, because he always makes time. i also do it though, because i want to. but the lines get blurred.

i felt so annoyed yesterday. i haven't spent any time at home lately. i haven't had a chance to start reading my bukowski books properly (except in the bathroom!), and i think my girlfriends are getting a bit mad cause i haven't been around as much as i used to be. plus, my work is insanely demanding (dammit! i started working for daddy so i could be a lazy beyatch and blog all day - really didn't turn out that way!). i haven't even been able to keep up with my virtual world, i haven't been responding to mails, and checking blogs as often as i used to and i have been so fucking preoccupied and selfish that i actually missed the baron's (my twin's) birthday!

suddenly, it all feels like its a bit too much...i want to be there for everyone, be ME, have time for myself, my blog, my friends and be the way i used to be, but its impossible!

and it makes me wonder whether for all my whining, and craving for a real guy, a real relationship, and some love and affection was just crap? i have it now, and it's brilliant but it requires me to change so many things!!! i'm so selfish, i know, i just want EVERYTHING, without having to do anything for it.

the weirdest is how i suddenly feel guilty now. i have pictures of the scottie on my phone, in bed. i have messages from him, and from the ex mr. right (N) and from D, the long term ex. i am still friends with all of them. VERY good friends. in fact, both D and N are my closest friends, and know about the paki boy and are really encouraging. in a way, its amazing that i have such a great relationship with them, but at the same time, it's not something that paki boy can really understand. he naturally feels a bit jealous if we run into D, and he sees how well we get on, or if he sees my messages or pics or when he run into someone i've dated (my city is too goddamn small). he's had an overdose of my ex's and thinks i'm a PLAYER now!

am i a player? i've always had a guy in my life, yes. but i've always been in monogamous relationships. i've never lied to anyone, and never cheated on anyone. and if all my ex's are on such good terms with me, then i couldn't possibly have been that bad, or ever hurt them terribly. what the fuck is a player, anyway?? i thought i knew, but i guess i don't.

i guess too much seems to be changing, too fast. i stumble over my answer when someone asks whether i'm single, because i'm not used to saying 'no'. i feel bad later when i realize that the night before, at a club, i barely spoke to anyone, because i was too busy being with paki. i don't know how to deal with this need to see him everyday, or the stupidity of missing him, the moment i walk away from him. i feel so stupid and corny. i feel like i feel too much, too soon. i feel so scared!

the funny/weird/good thing is that i haven't picked on anything he has said or done as 'paki'. i really thought that if i ever dated someone from my country, i'd constantly be looking for signs of pakiness, but i'm not. or perhaps he hasn't acted that way. either way, surprisingly, given my biases, fear, repulsion, and phobia of my fellow countrymen, it hasn't been an issue with this guy at all. he's absolutely fantastic, in spite of being or perhaps BECAUSE he is, PAKI!

sorry, i know i've done nothing but ramble. quality updates, or rather, angst ridden, whiny, bitchy updates shall resume after a couple of months. let me enjoy my silly, girly, brainless mode for a bit :).

blah, blah, blah

i've been so busy lately. you know when nothing really exciting is happening in your life, and you are so bored by it? and then suddenly, things get really interesting, and you're out everyday, and having a lot of fun. and you're getting completely burnt out and just wish things would go back to being boring.

yeah, i'm really pathetic, aren't i? classic case of a 'can't ever be happy'!

but all of you know i'm happy...like the wise alibhai noted, there's a lack of updates or there are lousy updates when i'm happy. bitchy, whiny, pissed off sarah can churn out a lot more posts! it's no wonder that all the best authors were the most miserable, unlucky in love, depressed ones who generally ended up killing themselves. so if i want to be the next Bukowski, i need to be super unhappy and cynical. if i want to be the next Plath, i need to be constantly depressed and then stick my head in the oven, at the end and become famous for it.

i've had a good week, actually. we had a film festival in my city, for the first time ever. i went for the premiere of finding neverland and walked on the red carpet, two feet behind morgan freeman (yeah, i'm so cool!). also watched a danny boyle film millions, an old omar sharif and barbara streisand film, funny girl, and an off beat indian flick called raghu romeo...you have NO IDEA how unusual it is to watch decent films in the cinema in my city!! all we get is really mainstream hollywood and bollywood bullshit. that's the main reason why i want to get out of here - i feel like an illiterate village girl, because i am not exposed to any fucking culture. everything is SO fake here, it's unbelievable. everything is imported, even the fucking grass and trees. i guess that's the price one pays for living in a desert that wants to become the next new york. i don't know how they'll ever get there if you can't be seen outside with a beer or can't kiss on the streets!

anyway, i also got two books by bukowski!!! that's the best thing ever. i had to order them because obviously, bookstores here have never heard of him (you gotta be a sidney sheldon or danielle steel to be in a bookstore here). so i'm going to go and fall in love with my old man all over again and dream about meeting his younger version.

and now, i know all you guys really want me to write about is my paki boy, but i refuse to indulge you - let me be, for a little bit longer. suffice to say that i'm happy, and he's awesome...the next couple of months look good, before the inevitable heartbreak. it looks like i am going to fall for him. and i'm scared because i haven't fallen for someone 'real' in a while...i haven't even had a 'real' relationship in 3, 4 years. i am slowly discovering how i'm still who i used to be four years back. and that's not really a good thing. i don't want to lose who i've become, yet i can't seem to help myself. my 'i don't give a fuck' attitude is disappearing. he said yesterday (in response to my comment about how i'm scared) that he won't ever try changing me, i'm the one who's already changing myself. and that sucks. it's all very confusing. then again, it's a nice confusion. it has replaced my emptiness and my numbness. it's a sweet feeling, and i hope it lasts for a bit.

on another note, since i'm your holy fucking highness, and you're my followers, i COMMAND you to click the following link and vote for the love of my life. his is the best blog on earth, yet some random female with a PINK blog and pictures of herself (god, it makes me want to puke) is beating his hot ass at the Weblog Awards. so please, please, please, vote for him, he really is the hottest, smartest, funniest, most intelligent man on earth, and deserves to win.

you will be repaid in kind.

never say never

guess what?

he's paki.

i fall in love too easily...

i know you read that title and nodded your head. i KNOW you agree with me! but you know what? i don't care!

go listen to that track (the one i stole the title from) by miles davis. it's the best.

i want to share, i want to tell, but then again, if i try explaining it, i'll sound like the worst chapter in the cheesiest, trashiest romantic novel you've ever read.

so we'll just leave it for now.

i'm just on such high.

i wish i could get some work done.

my own father will fire me soon, at this rate.

*must stop day dreaming and wipe that stupid smile off*

it's not hard to fall, when you float like a cannonball*

and i'm falling.

and i'm walking two feet above the ground.

and i have a silly smile on my face.

i'm so scared and so fearless.

i'm in trouble!

[edit]
for matt:
*thank you, damien rice, for the title.
[/edit]

fade, made to fade - passion's overrated anyway...

keeping passion at bay or surrendering blindly to it - which of these two attitudes is the least destructive? i don't know.*

it's over. you didn't say the words, nor did he. you didn't even say goodbye. it didn't seem necessary. you just drifted out of his life and he didn't stop you.

you keep wondering whether you wish he had. you know the relationship was dying. there wasn't much to begin with and certainly not enough to last more than a few months. it ran its course. as with all things in life, it died.

you feel like you made a mistake. you feel like you found someone perfect and let him go, because of your inability to let them inside your head and your heart. you tried. you really tried, a lot of times, to open up, to let your guard down. you didn't quite manage.

nor did he.

you miss him. you miss the easy conversation, the quick smiles, the laughter, the sarcasm, the humor. you miss his rambling. you miss him being inside you. you miss him breathing heavily on top of you. you miss him whispering things in the night. you miss watching him sleep and waking up to see him smiling at you.

but you don't miss him enough to cry about it. and you always cry, at the end of each relationship. lately though, it feels like you cry less and less. you wish your heart were breaking right now, but it isn't. it wasn't even really involved throughout. and that is also something that happens more often.

lately, all you do is go through the motions. your heart's becoming an unreachable place. or an empty place. you want someone to touch you, your soul, be inside you, in all the ways possible, but you've worked so hard on preventing hurt, that now, even when you're craving hurt, pain, or any sort of feeling, it seems impossible.

you think you loved him. just a little bit. you love each man you've been intimate with. but you love them less and less.

is it all getting reduced to just the act then? will eventually, all you'll have left is sex, devoid of any emotion at all?

you don't want to share your body with anyone now. you just want life to stop right now. you want to get off this train. you bought into the poster, the preview, the sales pitch, you bought the ticket thinking you'd get true love, each fucking time.

all you're left with though, each time, are some memories.

it's not even him. it's the fact that another relationship is over. and you'll have to start all over again, with someone new.

it is so fucking tiresome.

you wish we all came with manuals. these are the right buttons to push, this is our past, these are our happy memories and things that made us sad, and on page 62 are things that we feel strongly about.

just the idea of sharing everything again weighs you down.

you're thinking 'never agian' but you already know that's a lie.

*post title from 'dissolved girl' by massive attack and quote at the beginning from 'eleven minutes', paulo coelho.

on war and dangerous men

i went to this blog today, and i read his post. i read the subject, and i immediately started to cry. i knew what it was about before even researching it. another absolutely innocent hostage killed in iraq.

i went to mike's blog...and i read his post about the unarmed iraqi killed by a marine.

great.

i know this is war. i know this happens. we've had this debate before.

but it's just not right.

Nietzsche on the teachers of the purpose of existence:

"Whether I contemplate men with benevolence or with an evil eye, I always find them concerned with a single task, all of them and everyone of them in particular: to do what is good for the preservation of the human race. Not from any feeling of love for the race, but merely because nothing in them is older, stronger, more inexorable and unconquerable than this instinct—because this instinct constitutes the essence of our species, our herd. It is easy enough to divide our neighbors quickly, with the usual myopia, from a mere five paces away, into useful and harmful, good and evil men; but in any large-scale accounting, when we reflect on the whole a little longer, we become suspicious of this neat division and finally abandon it. Even the most harmful man may really be the most useful when it comes to the preservation of the species; for he nurtures either in himself or in others, through his effects, instincts without which humanity would long have become feeble or rotten. Hatred, the mischievous delight in the misfortunes of others, the lust to rob and dominate, and whatever else is called evil belongs to the most amazing economy of the preservation of the species. To be sure, this economy is not afraid of high prices, or squandering, and it is on the whole extremely foolish. Still it is proven that it has preserved our race so far

I no longer know whether you, my dear fellow man and neighbor, are at all capable of living in a way that would damage the species; in other words, "unreasonably" and "badly." What might have harmed the species may have become extinct many thousand of years ago and may by now be one of those things that are not possible even for God. Pursue your best or your worst desires, and above all perish! In both cases you are probably still in some way a promoter and benefactor of humanity and therefore entitled to your eulogists—but also to your detractors. But you will never find anyone who could wholly mock you as an individual, also in your best qualities, bringing home to you the limits of truth your boundless, flylike, froglike wretchedness! To laugh at oneself as one would have to laugh in order to laugh out of the whole truth—to do that even the best so far lacked sufficient sense for the truth, and the most gifted had too little genius for that. Even laughter may yet have a future. I mean, when the proposition "the species is everything, one is always none" has become part of humanity, and this ultimate liberation and irresponsibility has become accessible to all at all times. Perhaps laughter will then have formed an alliance with wisdom, perhaps only "gay science" will then be left.

For the present, things are still quite different. For the present, the comedy of existence has not yet "become conscious" of itself. For the present, we still live in the age of tragedy, the age of moralities and religions. What is the meaning of the ever new appearance of these founders of moralities and religions, these instigators of fights over moral valuations, these teachers of remorse and religious wars? What is the meaning of these heroes on this stage? Thus far these have been the heroes, and everything else, even if at times it was all that could be seen and was much too near to us, has always merely served to set the stage for these heroes, whether it was machinery or coulisse or took the form of confidants and valets".

(from 'the gay science')

i know war is nothing new, nor are the killings. and perhaps the evil men like the monkey, laden, saddam, and their stupid, blind followers are all necessary. perhaps this is all leading to something we don't yet understand...

i can't really believe that, though. surprisingly, in spite of what i thought were my violent desires and evil thoughts, i am a pacifist. i can't advocate humans killing humans. i can't help but cry each time i read about these unnecessary murders. i can't help but be filled with rage and hate, and wish that there was some way to just lock up the three most evil people right now, preferably all in one cage. but there will always be more evil people like them. even if we manage to educate the whole world, and eradicate religion, the evil ones will find something else to manipulate the masses with.

we're constantly looking for a leader. more often than not, the only man willing to become one is a power hungry, maniacal, egotistic, evil asshole with his own agenda.

there is no solution, is there?

...see? it's much better to be girly and worry about french manicures and silly boys than what the fuck is happening to our world...

bitchin'

i had a four day break, thanks to eid holidays. that's the festival at the end of ramadaan. my weekend started off perfectly, i took the scot out to dinner, and we had a great time. i chose a steakhouse, even though i don't eat steak - the retard that i am, i go there for the mashed potatoes. anyway, the days after that were spent with relatives, which i'd rather not comment on. suffice to say, desi relatives tend to be nosy, overbearing, opinionated and dumb. a very dangerous and headache inducing combination.

my weekend was also kind of weird. my ex D. (the one i dated for almost 5 years) left for a holiday on saturday and in the evening, sent me a message asking me to call him. i did and we spoke for a bit, he told me all about how gorgeous the city he was in was, and how he wanted to come back there with me. he also said that he missed me. i have NO idea where the fuck this came from - he and i have been talking more often than we used to (we broke up two years back and didn't speak much for the last year and a half), we also see each other more often (once in two weeks) (always in a group). but nothing so far indicated that he wanted anything other than a friendship, in fact it looked like he was being really careful to make sure i don't get the wrong idea.

i have no idea what the fuck is going to happen when he's back in town. i hope nothing does. i am extremely weak and powerless when it comes to him, so i'm scared. i don't want to start anything with him again, because the only thing he and i have in common is our past. we are totally wrong for each other, in every way. but i know that if he goes all out, i'll forget everything and fall for him. i always used to tell him each time we broke up that it would take only 24 hours spent with him for me to fall in love with him again.

i hope he's forgotten i ever said that.

in other news, the ex-mr. right who i shall refer to as N. from now on, is getting on my nerves. he and i have been in touch too, and i was actually considering going down to visit him next month for my long overdue holiday. he knows about the scottie and has been dating other girls as well. things were really normal until he got laid a few days back. he's been acting like an over excited child about it!! he told me about how hot the girl is, about her awesome g-string collection, and how incredible "paki runds" are in general (that's paki whores) (yes, he has an absolutely disgusting habit of referring to women as runds - he thinks its funny, i think he has issues). and now that i am turned off because of all this extra information that i really didn't want to hear, he thinks its "sooo cute". it's not jealousy, it's just a lack of interest in his love/sex life...i hate it when any guy friend of mine goes into too many details about the women he's with.

IRRELEVANT GENERALIZATION ALERT: you know what i hate about desi men and what i love about the goras? it's been bothering me for days now!! desi men think it's so cute when a girl has brains. or some of them think it's so hot. it's all so unexpected, to them. and the thing is, honestly, hardly any of them have brains. N and i never had a single intelligent discussion because each wanna-be intelligent remark of mine was drowned with an "aww so cute, baby, i can't believe you know that" as opposed to something more fitting that would lead to an interesting discussion.

the scot, on the other hand, tells me it's cute when i pout and act girly. but if i talk about religion, poetry, films, books, or anything, he responds with HIS opinions. he talks back.

and that's the case with most gora guys. they tend to listen to your opinions, to your thoughts. desi boys are so fucking illiterate themselves (in most cases) that they respond with silly remarks or if they're smart, they get a hard on cause you know what they know or more than they know, and they wanna shag your brains out right there (which admittedly isn't such a bad thing).

god, i'm sorry, this is such a silly, whiny post!! i did give you a couple on topics other than the boys in my life, so i guess i'm allowed this one? i just need to get all this irritation out of my system!

by the way, eid mubarak to everyone - now all my friends will become normal and go drinking with me!! yay!

p.s: also, in other irrelevant news, i got a french manicure for the first time in my life - i felt like the girliest girl on earth. i also felt like the one with the ugliest hands and feet at the nail bar (yeah, they have parlours JUST for getting nails done - how retarded is that?!). it was awesome though. however, since then, i've been getting nightmares (i swear, i am not kidding) about the polish chipping off, or me painting some hideous color over it or my nails breaking. AND i end up looking at my hands and feet every five minutes to admire them.

YUCK. i am such a girl.

NEVER AGAIN. it may look nice, but i can't turn into something cosmopolitan would approve of.

life out of balance

ko.yaa.nis.katsi
(from the Hopi language)
n. 1. crazy life. 2. life in turmoil. 3. life disintegrating. 4. life out of balance. 5. a state of life that calls for another way of living.

i watched an absolutely brilliant film the other day, one of the best i've seen in a while.

according to the director, "Koyaanisqatsi attempts to reveal the beauty of the beast! We usually perceive our world, our way of living, as beautiful because there is nothing else to perceive. If one lives in this world, the globalized world of high technology, all one can see is one layer of commodity piled upon another. In our world the "original" is the proliferation of the standardized. Copies are copies of copies. There seems to be no ability to see beyond, to see that we have encased ourselves in an artificial environment that has remarkably replaced the original, nature itself. We do not live with nature any longer; we live above it, off of it as it were. Nature has become the resource to keep this artificial or new nature alive."

the initial footage, of nature, was absolutely gorgeous - it was so free, so beautiful and it made the remainder of the film, that showed our life as it really is, appear all the more jarring in contrast. i honestly felt like crying at a lot points in the film.

i know its such a cliche to say this but i feel so sad each time i look at what we're doing to the world. the re-election of the monkey means more war, more nonsense, more death. we're going to spend another four years fighting over religion and gay marriage. none of the religious will rest until they're the only ones left on the planet.

we're ruining ourselves. i watched the film, with so many words running through my head - i could see beauty, nature, life, harmony, and then in marched the humans, and all i could see was construction, destruction, death, civilization(?!), living like ants, boxes, packages, discord, hurt, pain, grimaces, hate, a hurry to be somewhere unimportant, election of idiots, branding, advertising, working, digging, building, destroying, wasting, serving, killing, desperation, a slow death, attempts to amuse ourselves, a mechanical life, routine, so much routine...i could see our existence, and it was empty, so, so empty.

it was incredibly depressing.

i know i'm as much a victim and as much a propagator of commercialization and as much a part of this horrible consumer culture as everyone else. i know i won't even change overnight. i know i won't become a tree hugger tomorrow and abandon my life to go save the planet. i know i can't do much anyway - the monkey and his nemesis are more powerful than i am, and they'll see to it that we all wipe each other out.

i know i'm a useless hypocrite.

but i almost know no other way.

i feel like we're too far gone, and it's each man for himself now.

might as well be selfish and have a good time while we stab our planet in the back...

i really want to end this post on a positive note and say that 'i will try and make a difference' but i know i wont...

i may cry during those movies but i'm one of those ants who is in too much of a hurry to get somewhere unimportant to worry about stupid things like the planet.

most of us are.

blasphemy

i was going through a phase most of last month where i felt terribly empty. it was reflected in all i'd been writing, and the way i was searching for more than what i had with the scottie, in an effort to fill a void. i kept thinking how easy it would be if i had faith, if i believed strongly in something, someone.

i wish it were that easy for me, often. i'd like to do what others do: sit on the prayer mat and feel close to a higher power, and feel taken care of. even if everyone else abandons you, and you're too weak to take care of yourself, this faith that there's a god out there, looking out for you, keeps one going.

i can't do it. it's not that i don't believe in a god. i do believe someone created us, i just don't think he's a god in any religious sense of the word. i don't think he's looking out for us, or gives a shit.

i think the prayer mat makes us weak. our strength is supposed to come from within. my lack of faith constantly makes me more self-sufficient. i keep trying to be more complete, whole, as a person to ensure that i need less and less from any other source, especially one as vague as a god.

it's ramadaan and everyone is fasting. even the ones who had been drinking and partying with me all year. and i get asked again and again about why i don't fast. i have to explain that i'm apathetic towards religion. i get a lot of funny responses like 'how long have you been pathetic?'! some people sit and argue with me about it. muslims are never really very comfortable with someone having abandoned their religion - they tend to take it personally.

i tell them i can't be the way they are...i can't lead a normal, non-islamic life, i can't drink, shag, and wear what i want and become a muslim once a year, for a month. every muslim defends his unislamic lifestyle by saying that they try and do their best, that they're good people, and there are many ways of interpreting the 'rules' and the do's and don't's. they say that they can't do everything.

i'm sorry, but that's the POINT. the book says it all - you can not drink. no ifs, no buts. you can not have pre-marital sex. you do those two, and you're out, darling.

i wish such people would stop fooling themselves. i wish they'd actually sit and think about whether they're muslims only because they're too scared to be anything else. i wish they'd see how many flaws there are in their religion, and that there are none in nature. god COULD NOT have sent down anything that was so flawed, when he created a perfect system. god is not that evil and sadistic that he'd fry you or boil you in hell for following your desires, and giving into pleasures. god is not going to make so many babies, send them to random houses, of random religions, and then punish ALL the non muslims for not converting and then cook them in hell. god is not a magnified version of your 1st grade teacher who gives you candy for doing something good and a slap for something bad. how can people believe in this childish point system anyway ("yeah, umm, duh...my GPA with god is at 3.67 today cause i gave mommy a massage and rescued a stray cat but its probably going hit an all time low tomorrow, cause i'll be getting some, tonight")?! how can people believe that if they bribe god with extra prayers, he'll listen to them?? he is not a desi government officer.

he's someone who CREATED you. give him more credit than that.

i don't see how these people can worship someone sounds like such a sadist.

i don't worship him; i don't think a god would need me to kneel down five times a day anyway, i don't think he's starving for attention.

i don't know...i think my lack of faith in these religions is only a way of giving respect to 'the creator' (for lack of a better word), cause they just make him sound scary, needy, vengeful and cruel. honestly, i prefer my version of a god, who basically created us for the heck of it, and occasionally looks down to see what we're upto, but is mostly doing his own thing (smoking a joint, laughing over the silly humans, non-humans and aliens, all of whom believe they're the only ones around and who constantly fight over him) and is over all a pretty cool guy.

ok, i'm not ENTIRELY serious. relax. breathe.

anyway, my point, which i failed to make, is that religion is quite black and white. if you claim to believe, stop being a hypocrite and follow the book properly. otherwise, just grow some balls, admit that you suck at it and move on with your life.

/the end.

p.s: if i disappear, you know the madmen issued a fatwa on my head and took me out.

bastards.

and this is exactly how i feel...

This years crop of kisses
Dont seem as sweet to me
This years crop just misses
What kisses used to be

This years new romance
Doesn't seem to have a chance
Even helped by mr. moon above
This years crop of kisses is not for me
For I'm still wearin last years love.
(nina simone)

enough said...

vodka redbull is EVIL EVIL EVIL!!

you know why mona is my bestfriend? cause that girl ALWAYS makes me laugh. don't go by her super intense blog, she's honestly the funniest girl on earth. and humor, i believe, is the first sign of intelligence. and with her, thats all i have to go by, cause she hasn't displayed any others (aww, i'm just kidding, you do have decent taste in music and books).

anyway, i was whining about my money problems to her earlier on chat and her response just cracked me up:

s:
i still haven't gotten paid, i am SO fucking broke
m:
shit! are you serious.
s:
yep, it sucks ass.
m:
and you don't even have a kidney to sell
m:
you know that's the paki solution to all money problems?
m:
kidney baich do (sell your kidney)
m:
khoon baich do (sell your blood)
m:
bacha baich do (sell your children)
m:
everything sells in pakistan

hahaha! the girl just cracks me up. of course, the scary thing is that it's true. nothing is sacred there. actually, that's increasingly true of everything, everywhere, isn't it? and perhaps it isn't such a bad thing. perhaps we need to lose all these notions of what IS and isn't sacred, we need to un-learn and then develop our own ideas and opinions.

anyway, i ended up telling her about my shameful drunken night. i have to admit that i omitted that from the blog because it is too bloody embarrassing. i have NEVER been as drunk before, i actually don't remember bits from the evening. or rather, i had to be reminded about everything that happened.

it was my friend's birthday, girl i used to work with. i was extremely excited, cause she's absolutely the nicest, smartest, coolest girl ever and i adore her. i've been bugging her for three years to party on her birthday but she refused. this year, she gave in and invited us all over to her place.

i got there, at around nine and started with redbull and vodka. a couple of those had me feeling pretty 'happy' and i got increasingly giggly and silly. we were having a blast, trying to make the goras understand the concept of bollywood romances, by placing a plant in the middle of the room and dancing around it. umm...yeah, i was SOBER then. by midnight though, i was a bit tipsy, and all i remember is that my friend cut the cake, and we all sang a very drunken happy birthday.

apparently, after that, i called up the scottie and asked him to join us. he had told me he couldn't make it but i guess i was quite compelling in my drunken state, because he showed up around one. by then, i had forgotten that i had ASKED him to come, so i was extremely excited to see him (i thought he'd come to surprise me or some shit), and i practically jumped him and told him about a thousand and one times, "i can't believe you came, i am so glad you came, that's so sweet of you".

honestly, i remember that we stayed at the apartment for only 5 minutes after that, but we were actually there for another hour. an hour during which i apparently kept on slapping my sisters ass, asking her to stop finishing all the food and bugging her each time she spoke to anyone by telling her to stop bothering people.

after that, scottie and i left.

i wish that were the end of the story.

it's not.

i molested the boy in the car. i get extremely frisky when i'm drunk and i was all over him. i don't know how we made it back to his place, given how i was distracting him (think the worst, darlings, think the worst). we pulled into his driveway, and i jumped him again, and suggested that we shag in the car. going by the bruises on my thighs the next day, i obviously tried quite hard to, but as far as i remember, that didn't really work out, cause i was wearing trousers.

in his bedroom, i proceeded to absolutely rape the poor boy. and tell him how sweet i thought he was, how glad i was that he came (context may have changed), how talented i thought he was, how hot he was and how much i loved his danda.

oh goddddddddddddd!!!

don't ask what danda means.

i blame that episode of 'goodness gracious me' ('but how big is his dandaaa?!').

i didn't let him go to sleep for hours and kept on repeating myself until he told me that i was scaring him, i was being so sweet (is that what they call horny, these days?) that he couldn't recognize me!!

i woke up the next day, thinking "shit!!!!! how the fuck did i get HERE???".

i started to remember bits and pieces.

and then i wanted to DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i had gone from being super cool, laid back, 'i couldn't really give a shit about you' to 'spank me, punish me, make me your bitch, i want you so bad, and i love your danda' in ONE night. months of hard work at that image shattered in one drunken night.

that was just SO wrong!!

i am going to sue smirnoff and redbull.

bastards.

so anyway, i thought i'd put this episode up here, if only to remind myself to not go over 4 glasses of vodka redbull ever, EVER again.

god, i'm SUCH an embarrassment to myself.