Tuesday, October 31, 2006

You know what I hate…

I hate it when you cannot be close to the people whom you care about, because of distance.
I hate distance. Both geographical and emotional – I hate it when you feel so far away from someone with whom you once bonded so well.
I hate it when two girls only start talking because you talk to both of them, and they end up bonding and leaving you out of most things.
I hate it.
I hate it when you are an afterthought, when you are called just because someone feels they should “do the right thing”.
I hate it when you know a situation is so bad for you, when all you’re better judgements scream “run, fool, run” and you don’t, instead you wait and take it all in.
I hate waiting. Waiting to be picked up, waiting to be met, waiting for a phone call, waiting for a plan to be made, waiting for results. I hate waiting.
I hate it when you get that overwhelming feeling that your friends are not telling you something.
I hate it when you think that overwhelming feeling maybe just your paranoia playing with you.
I hate it when people make fun of where you live. Whether it’s the distance or the name – Do they realise you had no say in the matter when it was ‘christened’?
I just hate it.
I hate it when people comment on what you are wearing when you just walked into a place.
I hate it when your so-called ‘girlfriends’ talk to you, then talk to each other online, minus you.
I hate being a third wheel.
I hate pretending I am happy for couples who are happy.
I hate happy couples.
I hate the fact that the friends I had in 2004 are not my core group anymore.
I hate it when the guys you hate give you attention, and the guys you like, don’t.
I hate the fact that friendship is based on time/place/circumstance.
I hate hating where you live.
I hate it when you’re sleep is ruined because of some random electricity cut.
I hate it when you have to pretend that all the jokes about where you live don’t bother you at all.
I hate that I am petrified of falling in love, getting married and having a baby.
I really hate it.
I hate that sometimes all I think about is doing all three of those things.
I hate being weak and cranky.
I hate negative vibes.
I hate it when you just stop bonding with the people you used to love hanging out with.
I hate feeling left out. And I’m beginning to feel it more. And hate it more.
I hate having to use humour as a defence mechanism.
I hate it when a once big group segregates into mini groups and you don’t know where you belong.
I hate it when you don’t want to belong.
I hate not telling people how I truly feel.
I hate not having a friend I can talk to. Someone who is not just around for the moment. Someone who will be there for me when I am sixty-four even.
I hate when you have nothing to write about and the one thing you decide to write about it how much you hate everything. I hate that ‘things I hate’ becomes a topic for my blog.
I hate hating so many things.
I hate when you bear your soul, and then wait for it to be stomped on over and over.

I hate it.

I despise all of it.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

time flew

The bean in the womb
The bean, three weeks old
The bean, 8 months old - and counting.

All I can say is : WHAT THE HELL?

Sunday, October 15, 2006

qwerty and happy

I just downloaded the original Pac man game onto my home PC.

It’s quite a fun game really, it succeeds in getting the heart pumping and the energies flowing even on those particularly boring Sunday afternoons. But there in lies the rub, I cannot play it to save my life. And I have just realized why. I’m too neat. I have to eat all the little green globules in one area before I even think of moving to the next, which makes me inevitably have a fatal encounter with Blinky, Pinky, Inky or Clyde, that much more often.

Which explains why I have passed the ‘qwerty’ level and just barely made it to the ‘happiness’ level (ironic isn’t it? That this is in a game and not in real life?)

The masters of Pac man play a messy game, random green globs left for no reason lying around at every level, blinking strawberries and twirling cherries – the ones that I foolishly go back for even though Clyde is at my tail.

I realize have a lot of these little stupid things that I just have to do. Another one is eating French fries. I just have to eat two or three at a time. This makes sharing a pack with me very awkward for the sharer. If I am eating a fried egg, I have to break open the yolk and smudge it around the whole egg so every part has the yellow. I feel the need to brush my teeth in front of a mirror. I have to squeal while I stretch in the morning; a stretch without a squeal is no stretch at all. I have to put my alarm for half an hour before I actually need to wake up – this is my snooze time. I have to fold my underwear, not necessarily my clothes. I won’t even begin to get into the quirks I have with my arch-rivals, the ant world.

I’m rambling again. There, that’s one more thing I do. Ramble on when no one really cares to know what I do with my underwear and my fried eggs, in all honesty. I think I should go and master the art of Pac man now. Or maybe I should just give up and shoot some men instead.

In a game, not in real life.

As much fun as the latter sounds right now.

The way my life is going, I think I'm still at the ‘qwerty’ level.

Friday, October 13, 2006

double 'C' theory

I’m PMS-ing. There. I admit it.

My mood-swings, cravings and over-emotional behavior today has finally been justified. I almost cried several times today, once when I was really happy and once when I was really sad. Then some childish boy in my office threw something hard at my neck and that gave me an excuse to run into the ladies room and cry. That’s one indication of PMS.

The second was in the evening when I ate an entire bar of milk chocolate and then almost immediately ate bread dipped in really spicy chutney.

The third was when this sweet guy in my office asked me what was up with my life. Instead of smiling and saying everything was fine, I unleashed a bevy of reasons about why I am so incredibly depressed. I even told him that there was nothing wrong with me, and that I do not want to merely have fun any more, and I deserve a boyfriend.

At which point he said something that stumped me. He called it the ‘Double C Theory’

He said that the way men see me now is like this funny, sweet, bubbly little, ‘one-of-the-boys’ girl, which is all really good according to him. But if I want to snag one of the said men, I have to suddenly, when he least expects it, turn on the ‘Coy’ woman act.

Apparently what men like is this outward extrovert, but a closeted introvert. I found this most interesting. That is my key to snagging me a man. But this is just according to one guy. There are a million guys who probably like the opposite, right?

Oh, but the other ‘C’ is ‘cleavage’. According to him, you should show a little cleavage and be coy at the same time.

That would work, right?

Sunday, October 08, 2006

a little more gaargh

I was reading some of my archives and i came across this post

It was then I realised to my utter horror, that my luck has still not changed. It has been almost a year and I have nothing to show for it.

How's that for a perfect end to a bad Sunday?

I need to weep into a big, fat pillow.


Sunday is a good day.

Sunday is a day when I read a book, eat my father’s food, drink tea and generally relax while I mentally prepare myself to be pissed-off all week.
But not this Sunday. Oh no, someone up there thought they’d make me just a little bit peeved on my day of rest.

I woke up in the morning at ten with an alarm that I had not set. This is very annoying. My phone just seems to be on its own trip and it is out to get me. It dies when I am on important calls. It rings for no reason sometimes. It is possessed.

I was talking to my ex online and he asked me some very inane question. To which I said he should really pay more attention to when we are chatting because it’s just annoying to repeat stuff over and over. At this point the profanities began and I was left speechless. My first reaction was to yell back. In capital letters. But I realised he may be just a little on edge. Which he was, and soon after apologised and gave me a virtual hug. I accepted but refused to virtually hug back until he washed his mouth. Also I told him if he ever spoke like that to me, it would be the last time.

Then I went to my room and lay down, when I realised to my horror that there were two happy-camper ants running around on my pillow. I almost fainted as I frantically dusted them off and had visuals of them entering my ears and building an ant colony, eating away at my innards, while I suffer and die slowly.

Bloody damned ants.

Sunday is also a day when I wash my hair and do my complicated deep conditioning treatment. It’s not that complicated actually - wash, shampoo, wash, shampoo, condition, leave on for 1 hour and wash.

Today however, as I got ready for my bath, the water in my village went. I say village because the water went. Apparently someone forgot to pump. Excuse me? Forgot? I’m sure all this person has to do all day is remember to pump. How come they forgot? Their job description is “pumps water”. How can you forget? So there I am, semi-shampooed, trying to use whatever little water that is trickling out of the tap.

The water eventually came. So I quickly rush into the bath to wash off my conditioner. I’m not sure what would happen if I left it on too long. Then I get a phone call. So I run out, in my towel to answer the phone. I thought it was important. I don’t know why. No one important ever calls me.

It is a service provider woman. Not only is she high-pitched and annoying, she is calling me on a Sunday. Don’t these people have any respect for Sundays? I asked her what day it was and she bubbly replied, and then I told her never to call me again and banged down the phone.

It’s almost 8pm now.
The day is gone.

And I am just peeved.