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3AM Maneuvers

3AM maneuvers

Our waking moments in bed were fraught with clumsy moves and clunky negotiation. But at night, long after you’d fallen asleep, I would listen to you breathe.

Do you know how many trips I took around the bed, to judge AC draft & sound? I would fine tune air and sound and light to give you perfection in sleep that I never seem to be able to bring to your waking hours.

The nights after we’d fought the worst, you’d snore the hardest, while I lay awake, failing, even in your sleep.

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Freedom at 30

For the first time ever,
in my conscious memory,
none of my dreams
or things that I look forward to
in the futureΒ with anticipation
have anything to do with a man.

Isn’t that something? Even if it did take me three decades to get to it.
It was so worth it.

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A version is posted on Yahoo! Real Beauty.

Adventures Of A Masochist

A free quarter-hour. Looking for a photograph. Browsing.

A chance encounter. Oh. Breath stuck in throat. Hand moves mouse in hypnotic state to click.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH……………………………….

Almost as in a frenzy, the photographs go racing one after the other. Click-Click-Click. You can peek over the cliff-face of your life to look down into your past but once you fall….gravity has the same rules inside your mind. Who needs horror movies when the dark dungeons of your mind house unmentionable horror?

End of album. Abrupt start. What next? Feels like my sweater caught in a branch jutting off the cliff-face. Deciding and telling myself not, not, NOT to look down again.

I shut the album. And the computer. And my mind down. In some cases you’re saved just before you crash and you can decide to climb back to safety. Goodbye abyss. Until I feel the urge for a killing thrill again.

Birthday lessons

While on a nostalgia trip about this bunch, here’s another nugget.

It was the happiest of times and the whackiest of times. My birthday at an age when there were still ‘landmark year’ birthdays. The rowdy bunch, quite uncharacteristically nice, decided to throw me a party and do everything themselves. So here I was at 11 in the morning, sitting around in a vacant flat that belonged to someone’s uncle with a disused fax machine for company. It was a ‘come as you are since the birthday girl won’t bother dressing up’ thing.

What are we waiting for?

I demanded and was told that,

X, Y and Z are bringing the birthday cake.

X, Y and Z being my best guy friend/lurrve, best girlfriend and her boyfriend. So we twiddled thumbs awhile longer and wondered WTF are they doing, hatching eggs for the cake?

They finally put up an appearance two hours later, laden down with parcels. Gifts I hoped and I was dismayed to see plastic bags and old newspapers instead. Till they proceeded to demonstrate.

First, X dipped his hand into the plastic mess and came out with…a big carrot

Great, I murmured…what’s this….diet cake?

Just something for those long, lonely nights!!!!

replied Y with an evil grin. I sat up.

The next thing to emerge from the bag was a big cucumber with those tiny light-green spore-y things on it.

For dotted pleasure…!

said Z with a flourish.

So it continued for a few minutes. The plastic bag was dipped into and each time a new vegetable came up for inspection with a lascivious comment following. The last thing to emerge was a vile looking karela (bitter gourd) and the presentation was concluded with…

For extra friction!

And if that wasn’t enough, my birthday cake was chocolate slathered all over with vanilla icing and the words,

Happy b-day gal…beware of the white stuff!

I went off veggies for awhile after that. πŸ™‚

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The Wedding Night And Other Friendly Stories

Heeheehee….got this picture off The Lady‘s post.

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It reminded me of the time my friend got married. The pre-wedding days were a time of much mirth for the cronies of the bride and groom. But of course. We were such a bunch of wits.

For the wedding night, we decided ‘as good friends’, we’d make things as comfortable and easy as we could for the two newly-weds. Aside from the usual decoration of the ‘love-boudouir’ and planned pranks (alarm clocks hidden around the room set for a different hour), one guy came up with the novel idea of directions. So we decided, we’d plant directions all over the couple to make it easier for them.

For her, there’s be arrows pointing to all the erogenous zones…ears, waist, breasts, neck, back of the knees etc. For him, we concluded all arrows would point to right below his belt!

Errrm. Am afraid to say that we reduced the bride-to-be to tears. Which, hopefully her husband did not on the wedding night. With our without our directions. πŸ˜‰

β€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”β€”β€Šβ€”β€Šβ€”

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History and chemistry

Rambler asks what we think of this crazy little thing called love…though he calls it attraction. Ah…a rose by any other name would have the same thorns..

Attraction, a thought which keeps baffling me day in and day out. what it about attraction which makes it hard to define?, why is it that we get attracted to few people and not to others, what makes them stand out in crowd to us. Something which might be as subjective as it can get.

I say it isn’t all that baffling after all. Or perhaps I’ve just traded in curiosity for resignation.

Do you ever notice how repetitive we are in our so-called free choices? Like we are creatures of instinct and habit rather than of balanced, objective desicions. Yes, it is true and never more so than in the mating/ dating/ love/ sex game. Those are after all called our basic instincts.

I believe in the interaction of chemicals…hormones, pheromones et al. Chemistry really does make this world go round. Chemistry has bizzarre results but it is perfectly logical.

I also believe in Oedipus and Electra. The world is spinning at far too quick a pace, sensation-a-second for us to be able to make split-second objective desicions every time. More often than not, we’re relying on past data, ancient wisdom, recycled ways of thinking.

I’m not opposing what Rambler says about attraction being in the mind. Indeed it is….even for the most hormonal, unemotional creature. If it weren’t so, then as Rambler rightly points out, we may as well go around grabbing any body that fits the requisite mold. But, I doubt whether it really is a matter of free choice either.

Yes, it is about more than just the body. I sometimes think, that I’m more attracted to a person’s body language than their body appearance. That’s just the same thing, isn’t it? Body language after all contains subtle complicated cues about a person. There are the obvious pointers to energy levels, restlessness, activity/passivity but also confidence, grace, tenderness, firmness etc. And….when you think about it…..really hard…..don’t they also gently remind you of something else, someone else long ago? Memory is too deeply rooted in us to not make its presence felt in something as basic as attraction.

After much pondering and agonizing and cribbing, after endless cyclic conversations, after all this reading and talking, I’m no closer to the answer to the question of

Why do we like the people we do?

Or rather….sometimes I know. But you know something? Just knowing why something happens is not enough to control it happening. And hence we go on being attracted to ‘the wrong kind of people’, stay in bad relationships, drift from one unhealthy obsession to another toxic addiction.

Interestingly enough, someone once told me that I was obsessed with intellectual masturbation. Well, what do I say to that? All these years later, I’m still drumming out the very same words, this time on an open forum and getting an unseen kick out of it.

The bitch about intelligence is that it gives you an illusory sense of power…that you can control your own destiny. I don’t think you can. Don’t hang me for being fatalistic, I did try going the scientific route in this inquiry too and it brought me to the same place. Ah well, all roads lead to the same exquisite hell.

What use is a question without an answer? Well, what use is an answer that doesn’t stop the question from being asked over and over again?

I say, no great mystery, it’s all just history and chemistry.

Justice is served

There will always be someone who recognizes you
even if they don’t really know you.

And then there are those who know you but don’t recognize you anymore.

I’ve met so friends in crowds of strangers
that it never occured to me that
a friend I didn’t recognize, could turn stranger.

Mea culpa. Tu quoque.

History

These things never go away.
If there has ever been history, it will show even if you are in the same room.

Yes, very dramatic. And perhaps romantic. Heartening, even to some.

But reality seems to indicate otherwise. Attraction, like everything else, is impermanent. Or perhaps I’m only thinking of fancy and not real lust.

And yet, the novelty is so much a part of the attraction, the first time round…I often wonder what keeps couples together after years and years and years. Sure, there is the comfort and caring and real depth of a good relationship. But attraction?

And if you don’t stay a couple and meet several years and other people later, is it a given that things wouldn’t have changed? I don’t think so. People change, times change, tastes change too. So who knows, a re-union could be a real re-union…or just a history lesson. I’ll lay my chances on the latter.

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A version is posted on Yahoo! Real Beauty.

Blue and Not Sweet

Meeing man who has been sternly warned not to exhibit any of the annoying behaviour that have so long been his joy and pride. We won’t go into the details of what entails ‘annoying’ here, it’s fairly wearing out. But said man has sheer genius talent in this and brings forth new annoying habits.

Blue squarish thing with buttons is flashed in my face at every opportunity. Let’s count the times it’s whipped out…oh, not, it’s strategically placed on the table in full view. Presumably since I don’t take adequate notice of it, it is snatched up every now and then to be tinkered with. Let’s count:

1. During discussion on when the said restaurant chain had been set up. Google search yields nothing. Waiter called upon to ratify my mostly accurate guess.

2. After picking up only one word from my sentence..’chess’. I am challenged to win a game against said blue-squarish thing. When I decline, I am treated to a long, involved description of said owner’s weekend itenarary spent losing to the said object.

3. On being questioned whether jhula-type chair on which man is sitting can break under his weight, I muse…dunno, the torsion… I am greeted by loud hooting and a proclamation that “THERE’S NOTHING CALLED TORSION. I can’t remember its exact definition just then so of course blue squarish thing is summoned to help again. Tch, tch pore thang he, it proves me right. But of course. Why do men invent toys that make them look like even bigger fools than before?

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(Click to enlarge on a new page)

Rude and Red

Yesterday I was called rude. And all I was doing was describing a revolutionary new idea I had. Hmph, no one ever accepts brilliant new ideas when they are first born. But whatever am I IdeaSmith for, if not to express new ideas, despite all opposition?

Transcripts from the conversation that resulted in my new name…..

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

So I was discussing with a few like-minded women and we decided that we would outlaw men!

Of course we’d have the Museum of Natural History and one specimen would be preserved for posterity there. Framed or bronzed or whatever. And my grand-daughters would take their grand-daughters there and point and say,

See that’s what your great-great-grandmother had to cope with!

To which the 6th generation would reply petulantly,

Really? What a loser she must’ve been!

And 3rd generation would defend saying,

Certainly not! In those days these creatures were running around loose with no one to control them!

And 6th generation suitably impressed would coo,

You didn’t say that! Oooh, what a brave woman she must’ve been!!!

After dramatic sigh, I sat back and then pointed out,

For the exhibit we’ll choose one of your species, but one that isn’t quite as depraved. So of course the alpha males are ruled out. And umm…you aren’t nice enough to be a beta male, so sorry but your application won’t be considered either.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

My listener had a faint smile on his face but I think that was more out of a lack of suitable reply than real amusement. Whatever. Thus newly christened ‘Rude and Red‘, I trudge forth on the path of new, revolutionary ideas. Hah!

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