We’re back!

May 15, 2008 at 11:50 pm (being a girl, bitchery, crushes, eyecandy, love, night) ()

I stumbled across my blog and felt an irrepressible urge to start posting again. I like this baby. Because, since, for me, this is the one place where a very conveniently small number of rules apply, I am not compelled to be myself. I can pretend to be The Queen if I please. I can also be something only a tiny number of us get to be- frightfully, truly, ourselves.

But oh! I forget! This is the internet.That which spurred a generation of truth- Be it in our profile pictures or About Me descriptions. So much, that when confronted with a lot of truth, the flies stuck to The Web had not quite had their fill.

Just to make our lives sound a little more realistic, we took to blogging about our fantastic sex lives, our unbelievably bitchy girlfriends and suchlike. Sigh. If I see one more Indian woman talking about her liberated carnal rendezvous in that tone visibly meant to say “Come on chumps, this is the 21st century”, I will go off to live in a hermitage. They would have liked to relate: “Sex is so oh-kay” with online equivalents of raised eyebrows and high-handed disapproval of the others. If their love-lives are so okay being public and neo-millenia, I wonder why the defensiveness reeks so much of the 18th century.

Having antagonized half the female blogging population, I will now proceed to talk about Sex myself. Not actually. But sooorrttta tangentially, I will admit. In my defense, this post is about luuurrve not lust. That’s bullshit, If I will be allowed to confess. Cos’ what difference does it make when you are hitting on good-looking members of the opposite sex; all the while feeling slightly uneasy about the insincere interest some not-so-good-looking members of the opposite sex throw your way? love? lust? primal curiosity?

Just in case you noticed, I described their interest as insincere while terming my own designs perfectly licit. I see no objection, in case you do. I can only forgive my own shortcomings. I am not Mother Teresa, nor Saint Francis of Assisi, I assure you.

I ran into one such good-looking (come on! Intelligent, too!) kid today while loafing around in school. The apparent interest in this person has always been made to seem indiscreetly minute. I think I recklessly smiled too much while trying to sound as impassively friendly as possible this evening. Well, he smiled too much too. What the heck. That may have been the last time I saw him anyway.
Another kid, while extracting a few undue favors from me, resulting in The I running all around town in the savage sun, tried to make it look like HE was doing me a favor by being so good- humoredly flirtatious. Beat it buster!

One more kid tried to sound extremely pally with The I while The I was trying to get some work done. A different imp played around with my name evoking nothing but matronly correction from my side. I was rather tactless. All in a day’s work.

To not make this an entirely trashy post(literally!) I should get down and dissect a few issues of academic interest. Do women totally loathe being hit on so much? The answer quite flatly is a No. That is if, the questioners agree to “totally” being made the operative word in that query.

Most women find the attention rather amusing and flattering. Of course, we would also like to be acknowledged as people that can think and act on our own principles sometimes. It wouldn’t hurt to look genuinely and-or appreciatively impressed when we come up with some good work instead of sporting looks of incredulity or astonishment. If all that concerns ‘looks’ is asking for too much, we insist the men of the world,at the very least least, look at our faces when they talk to us.


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February 9, 2008 at 11:50 pm (being a girl, night, sadness)

Not being able to write is a pain in the ass. Especially when you are bursting to say something, or rant, and the whole idea of writing drives you nuts, it’s all a despicable state of affairs to have. I do NOT understand my mood swings. Yea, they’ve been around for a long, long time, but that hasn’t really helped my understanding of my quirky states-of-mind.

So life has been moving on(I just checked the date on my comp’s calendar) I had NO idea, whatsoever about what today’s date was. :O Guilt, guilt, guilt strikes me about all that I have messed up with school. Aaargh, I don’t like the idea of doing badly, this term as well. That aside, school is summat peaceful. It’s alright. Let’s hope it STAYS that way.

People are bugging. Nothing is as it seems. Now if one is inclined towards Le Logique (Even fraudulent French sounds romantic, Oui?) then, it is quite something to be fascinated by layers of reasoning. But but but, I do not like people with too many layers to their intentions, their speech and their actions-Evidently that is. WTF is the magique in it all when you are obviously smiling, when I didn’t even crack bleddy a joke? I’m disillusioned as ever. It feels like it has been AGES since people have been honest with me. It’s been a while since a genuine smile No! wait! A genuine anything has come my way. To make it all a little less cryptic to my own memory, when I read this later, this part of the rant-fest is suffixed with a Men Suck aphorism.

A very common sequence in most works of humour include some insecure person sticking onto a particular part of their past, not wanting to let go. Just like there is the middle aged woman, whose times of pinkish youth, gravity-defying feminity, are long gone, she turns up in a beach dress with garrulous make-up, never realising the fool she is taken for. Continuing in that line of thought, I feel like the kid that refuses point-blank to grow up. Yes, there have been times when it felt like life had dragged me out of my childhood and heaved me onto the cold, open street. I remember thinking, in bad times, that I wanted to stop being coldly logical about perspectives, and turn more human. I remember very well, resenting that stand almost as soon as I’d made it.

I hate hating the people I’ve loved all my life. I hate it when they behave insolently, when people display the maturity of juveniles when all I want is a wise person that can solve MY confusions. I don’t want to be 42 at 24. I don’t feel like most people my age. Until recently, that used to be a good thing.

I’m given to frequent outbursts these days. None that are relieving, as they are meant to be. Is it me or is it them?

These mood swings are so caustic, they don’t even let me read, or walk, or talk, or sleep. Hmmm music should help. Right! We shall try.


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