I Never Feel Earthquakes...

Do you remember back in the 90's the biggest problem men had when it came to dating was that talking to women scared the daylights out of them men? I remembering coming across a dozen articles everyday where someone had a brilliant advice how to break the ice-which usually was go-fucking-TALK-to-them. These days those articles have disappeared. We don't need them anymore, we now have the Internet.

*****
When I think about AB, I always remember the curt reply he gave me when I asked him if the Microprocessor lecture was cancelled; "apparently", was all he said and walked away like I was some lowly creature and he some God. He acted like one. At least that is what we all thought and hated him for it. He was one of those college topper boys and had an air about him that made people feel awe or hatred about him. As for me, I found him weird. And when Apeksha lost a bet, I asked her to go ask AB out for some Pineapple Milk**. She did and he said a "No" that sounded more like "In your dreams woman". (Appppuu! I am gonna meet you soon!!!!Yay! :) Baby! And we'll dance to the Pungi song! Fun times await.  Unless I die in a plane crash first :| )

Okay back to AB, I ran to the classroom, the ever late me, and true enough, the lecture was cancelled. And that's all the interaction I ever had with AB back in engineering college. Apart from throwing paper planes at him in the class when we got really bored and mean.

We graduated and went our different ways. Then one day Orkut came with the chat feature. Everyone on your Orkut list was added to your chat list on Gtalk. And suddenly, AB and I were chatting.

Today, not only do we chat regularly(I know, sorry for being tardy lately) and I must feature in his very small "girl friends" list, but also, I have come to understand him for the person he is and AB, sorry for throwing paper plans at you back in college :( You've been a darling of a friend, and one who's been always so, so practical! He's my "give-practical-unbiased" advice guy.


The whole point of this exercise was to tell you that the WWW has been really awesome, in bringing people together. I know so many awesome people, people I have never met, but yet who feature daily in my life, thanks to the WWW.

When I told my friends I was travelling alone all the way to Mysore to attend a friend's wedding, a friend I had known only on the Internet, every one of my friends thought I was crazy. But anyone who's been on the blogger and twitter has such friends and knows it's anything but crazy.


**We had the Aarey milk factory close to college which used to be one of our usual hangouts and the pineapple milk....simply yum!

*****
But as always, we have taken a good thing and turned it into a bad thing. In spite of having 1000 friends on FB, a thousand followers on Twitter, we are lonely and bored.


Boredom and loneliness is a problem today cause we choose to hide. And the WWW has given us that too. We choose to be lazy. We have lowered our standards and we are happy with it, cause not hiding and actually going and talking to people in person takes efforts, it means you can't be something you're not, you stand a chance of exposing your true self and you have to be vulnerable. It means we can go on pretending to be super humans in the online world and the real world doesn't matter anymore, cause look how many friends I have on FB! You can tweet about having a good time on twitter and post pictures you clicked last night with Katrina Kaif, but how many know that you're lonely? The WWW has given us that, a chance to be what we're not.


But why should we want to be something that we're not? Why are we so afraid? What do we have to hide? We have our BB busy status and we have the notorious invisible status on Gtalk. We have learnt to hide behind our FB walls and code life in our sly tweets. In a country of 1.2 billion people if you're lonely and bored, then the problem should be in you, no?


All you have to do is look up from your screen and at the people around you. So many interesting people, so many wonderful conversations await you. So many wonderful memories wilt and die, tired of waiting. I have a friend who's always busy on his BB, while I sit playing with my soup. I wonder if he'll miss these times when I waited for him and he was busy talking to people on his BB. And I see that happening everywhere. People enter clubs and restaurant in packs and then spread out in corners busy on their BB's. What's the POINT people? Retards.


When there's a person in flesh sitting from across you and you choose to talk to a machine instead, what times sweet lord! This is how these machines will take over us and this will be written as the beginning of the end of the human race. No, wait, I am not being dramatic here. You'll see! If you survive the talking-robot attack, that is.


*****
I am so exhausted that even the thought that today is the first day of my vacation doesn't excite me. Well, I still have to finish loads of work and pack!

But sigh, first travel of the year. God! I want more of these!!! I want more friends! I want to travel MORE! Argghh.

And God, if I don't get it in this life, I'll die and crib so much to you in heaven that you'll be forced to send me back to earth with the most awesome bunch of friends and loads and loads of awesome travel! Choose!

*****
And I am tired, I give up. Once I meet her, I am going to prostrate in front of her and tell her it's all in her hands now. She has to decide whether to revive or kill it. I am, tired.

*****
I want you to come and fold me into you arms and just let me be. Hold me tight and make me forget everything else. I am waiting, waiting, waiting :| Dude!

*****
I dreamt about you yesterday. You had written to me and you were telling me you were having some problems but now things are getting back on the track and you seemed happy writing to me, like you were not mad at me anymore. How are you sweetheart? Are you really so mad at me that you won't even talk to me?

You seemed happy in the dream. I hope you're so in real life too. I miss you, my Tarot lady.

*****
Look up from that screen and you'll notice the bare hill in front of your window, the blanket of purple flowers has disappeared and the wild grass has now turned brown, that summer has arrived and that it's time to go out and make new friends.


And while we're at it, I want to dance to this song with my new friends.

And I want to lie on grass under the midnight sky and listen to this song.

Extremely Loud...

What do women really want? I'll be damned if I know! Arghh!

Date A Guy...

Advice from a friend:
*****

Date A Guy......who is one hundred per cent a man.
Razor sharp, funny, adventurous.

Needn’t be an MBA but an encyclopaedia on two feet. Then let him be a college dropout, even.
Date a guy who likes comics, glass bottles, tool kits and old furniture.
Date a guy who loves books, music and outdoors. In any order.

Date a guy who’d be the first to wake up to a trek, a match or your 5 am flight with the same attention.

Date a guy who has male friends worth a fight for and doting girl friends who have loved him at some point in time.

Date a guy who is not afraid to hitchhike or eat by the roadside. One who is physically fit and restless, mentally.
Date a guy with warm big hands that can cup your whole face. Who holds a degree beyond eggs in the kitchen and can cook up stories, on short notice, well, better than eggs.

Date a guy who will write, at least to you, without hesitation or an occasion.

Date a guy who will use humour, even in a fight. Who loves his parents and some bike. And who would then convince you to stand in the queue with him to book the classic edition of that bike. Just so you're there to see the grin on his face when he’s signed the cheque.

Date a guy who always has a plan. Someone who is forever game for a bet and a trip out of town. Someone who’d either break loose on the floor or continue hating it secretly, because you love to dance.

Date a guy who will fool you into believing that he has an interesting profession. Secret Agent, Vampire Slayer, Movie Maker, Star Gazer, even better.

Date a guy who is hard working, you might mistake him for being a workaholic but he has dreams beyond one lifetime. Date a guy who is ambitious, fierce, but not obvious.

Date a guy who’d treat a stranger well, even if your patience fails to.
Someone with steely convictions and self-imposed discipline on why bills must be paid before time.

Date a guy who can’t sing, but sounds like the best thing on phone after you’ve switched off the mid night radio.

Date a guy who has a heart and often thinks with it. Date a guy who’s not afraid to splurge even if it’s a strange antique mask that no one else bought at the flea market or a dusty old record at a garage sale. It may seem like a tad waste but he’d like you to like them and tell you how he wanted it, always.

Date a guy who is cute enough to lie about hating super models because they’re anorexic. And thinks you need to eat more even if you’re 10 pounds overweight and can’t fit into that skirt you wore on your first date. Date a guy who knows how to spoil you and when to scold you. One who is good at Math, loves History and can bug you all day with conspiracy theories.

Date a guy who will never have to fight with you for the remote because it’s easier for him to trick you into watching a documentary on something you couldn’t pronounce earlier. And you will.

Date a guy who is caring. One who never lets your friends’ glasses be empty or thinks they live too far to be dropped home.

Date a guy who loves dogs and never smells like one. One who has a bath in Aqua Di Gio. Most days when he can afford it or has the time. That’s his way of staying with you, long after he’s gone.

Date a guy who has MPD, preferably. Why should you wish for the same day, every day?

Date a guy who knows his medium rare from well done. And can tell Rock salt from Black salt. Date someone who knows his single malt and even though he doesn’t like wine, will at least fake it in good taste. Be sure, he’d tell you later anyway.

Date a guy who is flirtatious. Till late 50s. Who knows when to hand a towel and knows that sex can actually, cure headaches. Date a guy with a touch that wraps you like lamb wool in wet Augusts and tastes like a loaf of freshly baked whole wheat bread. Date a guy who always complains that you never kiss enough and one who loves PDA. Even if it wasn’t meant to freak out the 4 year old and her mother, at the airport lounge the other day.

Date a guy who is honest about his feelings. Let him make fun of your relatives, soon enough you’ll find yourself laughing, because that’s exactly he was at.

Date a guy who grows every year but refuses to age.

Date a guy who knows how to invest money and pick a nice movie for an afternoon of nothing. Date a guy who likes clothes and surprises. Someone who keeps words like effort and imperfections outside his closet.

Date a guy who is 100% himself, before he’s into you.

Date a guy who knows how to make a random game out of tissues in a café or a lasting memory out of some dull terrace light.

Date a guy who is worth picking up after a party, every single night.

Woman In Progress...

In a world where more and more women are trying to be like a man, here I am, struggling to be more of a woman.

The Deprived Goat...

And as I sat alone in my empty flat, away from home on a festive day, more to punish myself than anything else, I realised a couple of things about myself that I never knew. Sometimes I wonder if people, normal folks, go through this too. Discovering new things, new facets of their personality, as often as I do.


But anyway, coming back to the topic at hand, I grew up on a healthy dose of romance novels. I saw more romance movies than action movies (though I love action movies too). Come to think of it, I was always lost in the beautiful locales to notice what the heroine was saying to the hero in an oh-so whisper-y voice. And when M, exasperated, said, how can you not know? I was forced to take a good hard look at myself and accept that maybe, I am just not a romantic. That came as a shock to me. All my life I believed myself to be a romantic. Somewhere, I still think I am, but maybe I am a closet(whatever that means) romantic you know? Does that make me sad? It does. (No the closet bit, but not being able to weave poetry all the time and not knowing what to say and  more importantly, how to say it).


Women are supposed to be romantic, you know? They are supposed to be born with all tricks of the trade. Getting men to do their bidding is a cake walk for most women and I am always left with my jaw on the floor. How do they know what to say and how to say it? Like is there some class I missed as a teenager? I can flirt all right, but when it comes to the real thing, I am always left fumbling. I'll either say something entirely stupid and spoil the moment or just not know what to say and keep quiet.


So when someone says you have such beautiful eyes, I'll stare blankly at him and say okay. (I still don't what the correct response should be).


And although it does make me feel less like a woman, that's who I am. I am artless. I am stupid. And I am, most of the time, scared.


So, I give up. Maybe I really should go up in the Himalayas and learn how to chant and stuff.


P.S: Next time you want to get all romantic with me, get a list of responses you'd like in return. I am good at reading.

Just Have Something In There...

“I want a soul mate who can sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don’t already know, and make me laugh. I don’t care what you look like, just turn me on. And if you can do that, I will follow you on bloody stumps through the snow. I will nibble your mukluks with my own teeth. I will do your windows. I will care about your feelings. Just have something in there.” - Henry Rollins

Where Did That Word Disappear?

Go on, I dare you. I can see you looking at me the way you are, just like that. What are you going to do with it then? Yes I’m challenging you; look at me standing here, I’m not budging, it’s your move. I’m an elven Liv Tyler steeling against a wraith—if you want me, you can come and claim me. I’m not even packing Hobbit over here, I’m just waiting casually for you to cross whatever obstacle you see in your path. See, I’m tired of touching your thigh just this way, or placing my hand over yours just so; I want you to romance me.

Now you know I’m not one for gender stereotypes, I’ve asked guys out in the past and I’ll do it again. I’ve paid for their drinks and their dinners and I don’t care. I’ve changed their light globes. I’ve been strong for them when they’ve been emotional. I don’t like it when people say women are so-and-so or men are so-and-so, but goddamn it I am tired of this realism. I don’t want to be politically correct any more, I just want you to romance me. I am empowered, educated, and aware, and now, just for a moment, I want to be the princess you think is worth slaying dragons over.

I want you, once you’re done awkwardly avoiding catching my eye, once you’re done pretending you don’t notice me, once you’re done with insecurely waiting for me to make the first move, to ask me out. I don’t want you to text me or email me. I want you to say it to my face. I want you say it in a moment that will catch me completely off guard, and I want you to stumble over your words and I want you to blush, and I want to do the exact same as I accept.

Or you could just skip all the formalities and just kiss me. When we’re laughing the way we do, you should just kiss me. It doesn’t need to be in the rain or with fireworks exploding in the background. It can be at the bar or in a crowded street or anywhere, I don’t care—just kiss me you fool. And let’s both be gleefully embarrassed afterwards and hold hands in silence for a moment while we both digest the euphoria of our first kiss.

I want you to not let anything stand in your way. I want you to come for me, to sweep me off my feet with a simple look. I want you to want me in this grand, clichéd way, but without doing any of those grand cliché things. We can just watch a movie and drink some wine, as long as you let me snuggle into your side while we do it. And then, because you listen to me when we’re talking and you’re getting to know me so well, I want you to let me have the last slice of pizza, or the last bite of cake (but I’ll insist that we share it anyway, because I’ll know you are romancing me).

You should be impulsive when you’re romancing me. You shouldn’t wait the requisite 3 days to call or text me, you should just do it when it hits you. When your desire for me, to see me, to smell me, to hear my voice is so compelling there’s nothing else for you to do. I want you to be constantly thinking about me, and to do innocuous little things that to me, are loaded with meaning because they reflect the ways in which you are learning me. I want you to be reckless and passionate and I want you to let me be reckless and passionate too. I want you to disengage your baggage for me, and I want you to romance me like you’ve never romanced before.

And when you’re romancing me, I want you to challenge me and argue with me about my opinions. I want you to romance me in this dangerous haphazard way which screams of imperfection—which makes everything all the more romantic, because it’s so wildly flawed, and present and LOUD. I want you to look at me like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen when I’m at my worst, and I want you to embrace all the sides of me as you get to know them, as part of some ineffable creature you can’t untangle. I want you to romance me because when you think about it, you really can’t see any other way.

From, Thought Catalog.

Imperfect Is Perfect...

How does Raymonds manage it always? Stay relevant and true to their product, and also touch that part of you that commercial ads never manage to?


On a different note, a man who does not love his mother, will probably never love anyone else. 

They've Been My Fiction...

I was talking to D sometime back and she asked me what I loved, like a physical feature, about the guys I have loved in the past. And I couldn't tell her a single thing about a single guy. I remember the long agonizing nights I spent crying over them, I could tell you the number of stars that twinkled every night or how the sea-green walls offered comfort, but I don't remember if I loved their eyes or hair or mouth or hands or what else.

I don't think I could paint them from memory if I had to. I found that weird in retrospect.

And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that I never took much notice of the physical form. I always loved the idea of them. The wondrous and magical place that existed between their ears kept me engrossed and busy enough for me to notice anything else.

And when they left, their dusty faces were easily washed away by the rain, but the idea of them stayed back for a long time.

Unbuttoned & Attentive Red Lips...

Throughout history, women have been depicted in great works of art. There’s the Venus de Milo, Mona Lisa, Virgin Mary and even the Statue of Liberty. One thing they had in common: They were all the vision of perfection through the eyes of a man. “Society has a problem with female nudity when it is not . . . ”—Badu pauses to get her words together; she wants this point to be very clear—“. . . when it is not packaged for the consumption of male entertainment. Then it becomes confusing.”

(Source)

True enough, womanly beauty has always been depicted and painted and poetised and talked about in terms that would appeal to men. You'll argue that beauty's whole purpose is to appeal to and attract the opposite sex, for a whole lot of evolutionary reasons. And fine, I understand the whole science behind "attraction". But we have been so brainwashed by what "men" find attractive in women, that we, women, have forgotten what we find attractive in us. We have come to see woman's beauty only through the male perspective. We don't understand beauty any way else. And everything from hair shampoo to foot crack cream is sold with a promise that it would make us women beautiful to men.


Ask me and I would talk about a woman's slender neck. Those delicate shoulders, those striking collarbones, the hollows at the base of her throat, the foot arch. I love curvy feet or then shapely calves or even a beautiful navel.


Why aren't there any women artists, women poets, women writers, women sculptors showing us what feminine beauty means to them? Has no one ever found it necessary to find out what women find beautiful about themselves?


Is a woman beautiful only if men find her beautiful?

The Unkindly Ones...

I have read and heard about the hijra community before. The book Beautiful Thing talks about it in quite a detail. But today I read this, and I wondered about the human struggle to be something else...

It seems that, most of us, are fighting to be something else. Struggling to be someone else. There are people like Mona, born male, but wanting to be female. There are females, who don manly clothes, walk with a swagger and expect the world to look at them with fear. And then there are people like you and me, comfortable in our maleness and femaleness, but still struggling to free ourselves. Still fighting with ourselves, with our families, with the society.

And while the hijras need a sex-change to be what they want to be, it's never too late for us to drop the past baggage and be what we want to be.

Everyone has a chance to be what they wish to be.

I need to remember that often. 

The 7-Year Itch...

A friend recently broke up with his 7 year old gf, who's also my good friend. Two of my best friends are unsure about marriage, after being together for 7 years (You know who you are :)). Another couple I know split up after 7 years. I am sure there are many more such couples, who have decided not to tie the knot with their long term partners. I am trying hard not to be judgmental here, cause in all cases, the people involved are dear friends and I know they are smart and good-hearted people.


And yet, I don't understand the math here. If I was with a guy for 7 years, I'd be damn sure about wanting to spend the rest of my life with him. 7 years is just too much time wasted in deciding, too much invested with no returns. Let's accept it, a relationship demands a lot of you, emotionally, mentally, financially and physically. Quitting after 7 years, is like bad math to me.


I know H is assailed with guilt and remorse, he knows he has betrayed N, the girl who's now coping with no job and no love, but he still took the decision he did. Same with all of them.


I wanted to slap H and put some sense in his head. What has N not done for him? It was for anyone to see how much that girl loved him, and he is a fool to let go of someone who has put up with so much for him for the last 7 years. What's wrong with him I asked him. He said he's confused. That was like a joke to me. How can anyone be confused after 7 years of dating is beyond me. I don't understand it. I really don't.


It's not like they found someone else, it's not like they have suddenly changed, it's not even that they don't like each other any more...but still...baffles me.



At 27, our parents had built a fortune already, had a family with two kids, and were already saving up for their retirement.


What are we doing today?


Somewhere I think it is the "Hey, I can do better than this. I can get a better girl/guy", thinking that's causing these people to split up.


With the world becoming smaller each day, with easy access to grooming, with easy money, it is easy to find a mate. Or that's what these people think. I have done that and I can tell you that it is a very potent argument and it's not so easy to brush it off.


It's easy to imagine that perhaps your soul-mate is somewhere else, maybe sitting at that cafe, maybe you'll bump into him at your friend's birthday party, maybe you'll meet her in MBA school, or maybe just maybe, you think, your parents will be able to find you a better one. Perhaps a hotter girl or perhaps a richer guy. The unknown will always be desirable. After 7 years, the temptation to explore will be strong.


I don't know who is right and who is not. But all I have to say is this: You might find a hotter girl, you might find a richer guy, but finding good, honest-to-god love? It comes rarely. Don't let people who love you walk out of your life.

It's Been So Long...

Dude, what is this?! How can this be?! 

I can understand Congo, Ghana, even Italy, but China?

My womanly Indian heart is in pieces! *sniff sniff*

A Private Message...

Friend: Welcome to the quarter life crisis.

Me: Damn, it's so fucked up.

Friend: This makes me immensely happy that u feel the same way and it totally is. But it is true, perspectives change so much these days...that I sometimes don't really know what do I believe in, again the whole discovery of the self...I'm so tired and exhausted...

Me: Yep, it's like you handle one thing, one emotion, one thought, you deal with it and you stow it away and there again, pops another one and you're back to staring at a stranger in the mirror.

Friend: Yea, such is life...I guess...

*****

And so these days I spend most of my time acquainting myself with my new thoughts.

Age, again, yes. A recent shocking one I found is this:

I remember there was a time when I would see nothing wrong with a man who "experimented" a lot. While I did not particularly like such a man, I thought, well, so what? His life. I never judged him. His this aspect never interfered with my dealings with such an individual.


These days, however, I find myself repulsed by the very idea of such a man or woman. For whom women/men are nothing but a notch on their respective bedpost. Who see nothing wrong in jumping from one to another. A new attraction every day.


Earlier, I could separate their such private behaviour, seeing it as just one part, unsavoury, but isolable aspect of their whole personality; even making allowances by saying to each its own. But these days, I find it increasingly difficult to like or trust such people, no matter how they are with others. No matter how truthful and loyal they are toward their loved ones. No matter how they conduct themselves in other areas of their life. I am finding it very difficult to talk to such men and women and not feel disgust.


And I am, not liking such prejudice on my part. I am hating it in fact. 

Burn Those Skirts?

Some years back when I was travelling on an international flight, I was harassed by an Arab guy. When I told my friends about the incident, everyone asked me why I didn't complain to the air hostess right that minute when it happened. It might not sound like a very intelligent answer, but I was petrified. I was so shocked I could not open my mouth. I had to cry to get out of the shock once we landed and I knew I was safe in the women's loo. In hindsight yes, I should have complained. Even later when the flight had landed. But you really can't be prepared for such incidents.


Back then when I told this to S, he first got angry at me(for not complaining, no words of sympathy there) and then he asked me what I was wearing(I was wearing a rather boring black jacket over a black spaghetti top with blue jeans and pumps. Nothing too sexy). Funny thing, which I now realise, none of my girl friends asked me what I was wearing. But a guy did ask.


For those who didn't know, there was a slut walk held in Canada on April 3rd. Here's the link.

Demonstrators take part in the "Slutwalk" protest in Toronto, Sunday April 3, 2011. Protesters hit the streets to protest against rape and sexual crimes in response to Toronto Police Const. Michael Sanguinetti, quoted as saying "Women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized."

The recent rapes in Delhi, the slut walk, and a recent conversation with a friend, reminded me of that incident on the plane. One does not necessarily have to be dressed provocatively to be molested. In a sexually charged situation, a man will jump on any woman, even a woman covered from head to toe. Or like A would say, even a man wearing a kilt with a cat. But time and again we keep hearing the same thing: dress properly, dress properly, dress properly. And I am forced to wonder, what does "dress properly" really mean?


I have thought a lot about this topic, dressing, cause it's a topic close to my heart. I love clothes. I love dressing up, always have. And when I have to think 10 times before deciding what to wear, I hate it.


Now I am an advocate of free will. Do what pleases you, as long as your choices do not harm anyone else, in any fashion. So, if some girl out there wants to dress up like a slut, by all means, she has the right to. It's her life after all, and no one should object to her choice.

But here's the thing, what do all those rights and all that freedom really amount to? I have realised, nothing.

As a 21 year old, I would have angrily told you to back off and not interfere in my life had you told me what to wear and not (which is why I never shop with guys). But as a 26 year old, and I hate that it should be this way, I understand that one can not always do as one pleases, even if one's choices do not directly affect another being. Sad huh?

One does not have to be as dramatic as this book suggests, but a woman, like it not, has to come to terms with the fact that:

"[..] a woman’s presence expresses her own attitude to herself, and defines what can and cannot be done to her."


As a woman you have to understand and realise that ultimately you and only you are in the end responsible for everything that happens to you. So if you want to wear that mini skirt, understand the responsibility you owe to yourself and realise the danger it could pose to your life, and then take the decision.


It might seem that by saying women are entirely responsible for their own safety, I am letting men off the hook. Which is not the case at all. No man, even your own husband, has the right to touch you without your explicit permission, no matter if you are sober or drunk, no matter if you are covered in a burqa or naked. But, can we really control anyone's actions and reactions? Nope. So what do we women do? We learn to assess risks and dress accordingly. In short, "dress properly." If you're going to a party with close friends to safe place, you can take that sexy number out of the closet, but you know you can not dress provocatively in a bad neighbourhood.


It is sad that even in civilized societies, supposedly safe environments like your own home, women are not safe. In an ideal world, a question like, "what to wear", would probably never arise. But lately, I have realised, that we might live in a free world but there are still invisible boundaries that we can not cross without getting hurt. So don't burn those skirts, but definitely throw away those quixotic glasses. 

Crazy Stupid Love...

*Oh Goddddddddddddddd*

Can I say the word? On a public blog? No need right?

Ryan Gosling, sweetheart, will you please please please be my slave? I swear on the G-spot I will treat you with love and utmost (non)kindness and lots of chocolate and whipped cream.

Promise.

And oh no baby, it's not bothering me at all. Nope. Not one bit.

Yours Lustfully,
A

Wilting Ears...

Dear Universe,

Why is it so bloody(forgive me!) difficult to find a decent man who is also a thrilling conversationalist?! Why? WHY WHY WHY? Answer me this dear Universe!

Why can't I meet a guy who can talk about geography, literature, history, economics, finance, science, politics and any and every topic under the sky and above it? When I can, why can't I find another one like me? Find me a man with whom I can talk till our ears bleed and jaws hurt and till we pass out from sheer exhaustion of talking. Send me a man with whom my conversations are so unbelievably awesome and interesting that even unbelievable good sex is the last thing on our minds.

If such a man does exist, parcel him right away dear Universe, and I shall forever be indebted to you.


Yours (most) loquaciously,
A

Blame It All On Oxytocin...

Love is indeed a many-splendored thing, but sometimes we all need to tie ourselves to the mast.

Whoa!!! Wait a minute, so according to this article, it is possible to fall in love with anyone with a help of a little squirt of Oxytocin? And it's also, therefore, possible to move on and not mope over a failed relationship, with the help of a drug that reverses the Oxytocin effect?

I am on the fence about the use of such a drug, ofcourse, cause it's not natural. Though, looks like, it won't be too far in the future when use of such drugs would be commonplace. What about all that romance and poetry then? Useless?

Link to the research quoted in the article above.

Also, interesting idea by Larry Young on why men love boobs. From Freudian, evolutionary, reproductive to now bonding eh? :)

Looks like, foreplay is the word :)

Frisson...

"I thought if only I had a keen, shapely bone structure to my face or could discuss politics shrewdly or was a famous writer Constantin might find me interesting enough to sleep with.


And then I wondered if as soon as he came to like me he would sink into ordinariness, and if as soon as he came to love me I would find fault, the way I did with Buddy Willard and the boys before him.


I would catch sight of some flawless man off in the distance, but as soon as he moved closer I immediately saw he wouldn't do at all.


That's one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket." 

—Sylvia Plath

Tall Shoes...

Real men don't need to bash/belittle other men to look good in front of the women.