I was talking with one of the guys in my office when a senior walked by. He continued to talk as she passed, but he kind of got lost and mumbled some rubbish. I snapped him out of it and said, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He looked at me and said, “Oh sorry, I was staring at her ass”
“You find her hot?” I said, mildly surprised. She is a rather attractive woman.
“Smokin’” was his eloquent reply.
He continued, “All the guys think so…and they think the same of (cannot-be-revealed name here) too!”
“What? Wow… Do they think I’m hot?” I asked coyly.
He hesitates, “Er… yea, of course you are.” Comes his fake but over enthusiastic reply. I stare at him, hoping to penetrate his brain with my Truth Eyes.
“You have a GREAT personality! And amazing eyes… and a sense of humour…”
Hmmm, he lost me at Great Personality.
I plummet into the depths of depression…
Showing posts with label crush. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crush. Show all posts
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
on a completely unrelated note...
So on a completely unrelated note: Allow me to update you about my man friend. He is funny, sweet and extremely cute. So cute in fact that I have to slap myself sometimes because I daydream about how cute he is.
And what’s more, he looks so good in a suit. So good in fact, that sometimes I day dream about him in a suit, looking cute and walking down the aisle. Which is when I have to slap myself again because if he ever found out he would run away. After all, it’s only been nine months.
But nine super months. So super, that sometimes I daydream that we have already walked down the aisle and I have already seen his cute-self looking so good in a suit and it is now one year later and we have two babies and I have picked names for them also… a boy and a girl...But I cannot tell him this either, because then he will definitely run away, if he did not already.
And speaking of running, he has a very nice butt.
Which I also day-dream about…
But only sometimes…
And what’s more, he looks so good in a suit. So good in fact, that sometimes I day dream about him in a suit, looking cute and walking down the aisle. Which is when I have to slap myself again because if he ever found out he would run away. After all, it’s only been nine months.
But nine super months. So super, that sometimes I daydream that we have already walked down the aisle and I have already seen his cute-self looking so good in a suit and it is now one year later and we have two babies and I have picked names for them also… a boy and a girl...But I cannot tell him this either, because then he will definitely run away, if he did not already.
And speaking of running, he has a very nice butt.
Which I also day-dream about…
But only sometimes…
Friday, May 28, 2010
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
stuff and nonsense
I have not had a lot to do this past weekend. And when I don’t have much to do, I start thinking. Now, mind you, this is never a good thing. But, and this is the proverbial silver lining, I do unearth some precious thoughts that ought to be archived.
Thought 1: If I wear a white, poofy dress, throw myself a huge party, invite all my family and friends, be the centre of attention and enjoy it, pose for pictures, get presents, dance the night away, vow to love myself through sickness and health and end it all with a nice long vacation...do I still need to have a man in a suit to be my groom?
Thought 2: This can hardly be attributed to me, because it came from the mouth of a very pregnant woman: It is a myth that you feel like a ‘woman’ when you are pregnant. In fact, you are manlier than ever before. First you have a beer belly at leaves you wondering if your feet have changed. At best, the most you want to do is sit in front of the television and vegetate. You crave junk food. You’re moody. You’re horny, but because of your giant-sized belly no one wants to sleep with you. You have neglected facial hair. And what’s worse, you have constant gas that seems to follow you around.
Thought 3: Recently, a friend and ex-colleague and I exchanged work. I needed a line and so did he, so we decided to do each other’s work with a fresh perspective. I know, it’s probably against all company policy, anyway, the line I did for him got approved in a flash. The line he did for me did not. Instead I had to write another line, which is not stuck in some advertising purgatory. This is an especially crap case of the grass being greener on the other side. (Okay, this is not a thought; it’s just an excuse to vent a little.)
Thought 4: Have you ever noticed how married people always tell you how awesome marriage is, and urge you to do it as soon as possible? It’s almost like a peer pressure to join the ‘cool’ crowd. This gave me a thought. What if marriage is a secret cult, which is only about stress and persecution? What if, every time a couple gets married, they have to take a vow to urge at least 3 other couples join this cult and then they get some bonus points or something...like a referral scheme?
Thought 5: I read this article about how women should not wait for their ‘Prince Charming’ because he doesn’t exist. Instead, settle for Mr Right Here and Now, who ticks most of the boxes you have in your head about what your perfect man should be. What happens if no man ever ticks the right boxes? What happens if you have 12 boxes and all the men you meet only tick an average of 5? Would that mean women around the world are so desperate not to wait anymore, they settle for 5/12?
I have to get back to work now. And besides, three days of idleness can only come up with so many pearls of wisdom, right?
Thought 1: If I wear a white, poofy dress, throw myself a huge party, invite all my family and friends, be the centre of attention and enjoy it, pose for pictures, get presents, dance the night away, vow to love myself through sickness and health and end it all with a nice long vacation...do I still need to have a man in a suit to be my groom?
Thought 2: This can hardly be attributed to me, because it came from the mouth of a very pregnant woman: It is a myth that you feel like a ‘woman’ when you are pregnant. In fact, you are manlier than ever before. First you have a beer belly at leaves you wondering if your feet have changed. At best, the most you want to do is sit in front of the television and vegetate. You crave junk food. You’re moody. You’re horny, but because of your giant-sized belly no one wants to sleep with you. You have neglected facial hair. And what’s worse, you have constant gas that seems to follow you around.
Thought 3: Recently, a friend and ex-colleague and I exchanged work. I needed a line and so did he, so we decided to do each other’s work with a fresh perspective. I know, it’s probably against all company policy, anyway, the line I did for him got approved in a flash. The line he did for me did not. Instead I had to write another line, which is not stuck in some advertising purgatory. This is an especially crap case of the grass being greener on the other side. (Okay, this is not a thought; it’s just an excuse to vent a little.)
Thought 4: Have you ever noticed how married people always tell you how awesome marriage is, and urge you to do it as soon as possible? It’s almost like a peer pressure to join the ‘cool’ crowd. This gave me a thought. What if marriage is a secret cult, which is only about stress and persecution? What if, every time a couple gets married, they have to take a vow to urge at least 3 other couples join this cult and then they get some bonus points or something...like a referral scheme?
Thought 5: I read this article about how women should not wait for their ‘Prince Charming’ because he doesn’t exist. Instead, settle for Mr Right Here and Now, who ticks most of the boxes you have in your head about what your perfect man should be. What happens if no man ever ticks the right boxes? What happens if you have 12 boxes and all the men you meet only tick an average of 5? Would that mean women around the world are so desperate not to wait anymore, they settle for 5/12?
I have to get back to work now. And besides, three days of idleness can only come up with so many pearls of wisdom, right?
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
damn
Is there anything hotter than a nice buff man, with a nice footballer's butt and a witty sense of humour who likes love songs?
I think not...
I think not...
Friday, October 23, 2009
the scary alphabet
I’ve developed a theory. Again.
Most men, wait, let me rephrase that, most men I end up meeting, are afraid of every possible aspect of relationships. So afraid that they can’t even bear to hear the words referring to the aforementioned aspects.
The A-word:
This is the scary one. When a woman calls her boyfriend and squeals on the phone: “Do you know what day it is? It’s our annniiivvverrrsarryyy…”. You can be sure the guy has just pissed in his pants. One whole year with the same woman is just not normal for a nomad like him. Stupid nomad.
The B-word:
This is kind of funny. But if you ask a guy if he likes children or babies, he just assumed you want to have his babies. In a flash he has a vision of you, double, no, triple your size, carting some 4-5 screaming babies around yelling over the commotion—“But you said you LOVED children”.
The C-word:
This is the spookiest of them all. Commitment. Most men cannot see themselves in the same relationship for a really long time. I recently met a guy who said something like: “I don’t like to plan my days, things always come up, I can’t make a commitment to meet.” He couldn’t make a commitment. Mind you, I said ‘meet’ not ‘marry’.
The F-word:
Blame it on sci-fi movies. That’s the only possible theory to explain why men are so afraid of the future. Planning the future scares them so much it’s almost like you’re telling them to plan for their brain to be operated on by tiny little green men.
The G-word:
Well, to be honest I hate this word too: Girlfriend. I hate being introduced as someone’s girlfriend. So, it’s no surprise that the men who are afraid of the c-word are petrified of even thinking the g-word.
The L-word:
See that little spec in the horizon? That’s your man running for his life because you said it a little too soon into the relationship. When a man actually falls in love with you, he’ll say it all the time every day. But if he’s not, and you say it first, he’s envisioning the c-word, the b-word, the a-word and of course, the m-word.
The M-word:
All men believe that women are just dying to get married. It’s true that we size up most men and subconsciously place our name in front of their last name just to see if it has a nice ring to it. But we’re not that obsessed. But men think we are, so they make it clear how they are free birds who are not about to have the m-word or the c-word or the r-word pressure them.
The R-word:
For some random reason men are afraid of rings. Like buying a ring for a girl means that you HAVE to marry her. This is not true, unless it’s a diamond platinum ring. But if it’s a silver ring with dolphins on it, it doesn’t mean anything. Honest.
The U-word
There are four words that can get a man to cringe and run for cover: “Let’s talk about US”. For some reason, using the u-word too much, makes men think of the c-word and the m-word…this leads to paranoia about the a-word, the b-word, the f-word and the r-word.
I know there are some alphabets missing. I’m sure men are scared of a lot more.
I’m sure I’ll eventually figure out the whole alphabet.
Wait for it. It will be legendary.
Most men, wait, let me rephrase that, most men I end up meeting, are afraid of every possible aspect of relationships. So afraid that they can’t even bear to hear the words referring to the aforementioned aspects.
The A-word:
This is the scary one. When a woman calls her boyfriend and squeals on the phone: “Do you know what day it is? It’s our annniiivvverrrsarryyy…”. You can be sure the guy has just pissed in his pants. One whole year with the same woman is just not normal for a nomad like him. Stupid nomad.
The B-word:
This is kind of funny. But if you ask a guy if he likes children or babies, he just assumed you want to have his babies. In a flash he has a vision of you, double, no, triple your size, carting some 4-5 screaming babies around yelling over the commotion—“But you said you LOVED children”.
The C-word:
This is the spookiest of them all. Commitment. Most men cannot see themselves in the same relationship for a really long time. I recently met a guy who said something like: “I don’t like to plan my days, things always come up, I can’t make a commitment to meet.” He couldn’t make a commitment. Mind you, I said ‘meet’ not ‘marry’.
The F-word:
Blame it on sci-fi movies. That’s the only possible theory to explain why men are so afraid of the future. Planning the future scares them so much it’s almost like you’re telling them to plan for their brain to be operated on by tiny little green men.
The G-word:
Well, to be honest I hate this word too: Girlfriend. I hate being introduced as someone’s girlfriend. So, it’s no surprise that the men who are afraid of the c-word are petrified of even thinking the g-word.
The L-word:
See that little spec in the horizon? That’s your man running for his life because you said it a little too soon into the relationship. When a man actually falls in love with you, he’ll say it all the time every day. But if he’s not, and you say it first, he’s envisioning the c-word, the b-word, the a-word and of course, the m-word.
The M-word:
All men believe that women are just dying to get married. It’s true that we size up most men and subconsciously place our name in front of their last name just to see if it has a nice ring to it. But we’re not that obsessed. But men think we are, so they make it clear how they are free birds who are not about to have the m-word or the c-word or the r-word pressure them.
The R-word:
For some random reason men are afraid of rings. Like buying a ring for a girl means that you HAVE to marry her. This is not true, unless it’s a diamond platinum ring. But if it’s a silver ring with dolphins on it, it doesn’t mean anything. Honest.
The U-word
There are four words that can get a man to cringe and run for cover: “Let’s talk about US”. For some reason, using the u-word too much, makes men think of the c-word and the m-word…this leads to paranoia about the a-word, the b-word, the f-word and the r-word.
I know there are some alphabets missing. I’m sure men are scared of a lot more.
I’m sure I’ll eventually figure out the whole alphabet.
Wait for it. It will be legendary.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
shame on us
I have come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as ‘pure love’ between a man and a woman anymore. It doesn’t exist, especially if both the man and the woman have had previous, failed relationships. We tend to dwell so deeply in the mistakes we’ve made because we were naïve and in love. The bitterness leads to a simple case of ‘hurt me once shame on you, hurt me twice shame on me’.
When I was 18 I was dating a guy who was older. I met him at a wedding and we instantly hit it off. He called, asked me out and for a year, we were seeing each other. He used to hang out a lot with his friend, who was a girl. They studied together and I, at that time, thought nothing of it. Why should I have any reasons to doubt him? I realized much later, that for the year that he was dating me, he was also dating this study buddy. We had alternate days with this jerk. And mostly, she had the weekends.
Ten years later, at 28, I cannot help but get horrible thoughts in my head when I hear that the guy I am dating has a really close friend, who happens to be a girl, and that he wants to spend time with her too. I have been hurt and that scar will never fade.
Another guy I was dating used to lie about who he was talking to on the phone. I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, but he would insist it was a guy later. He would get text messages that he would quickly delete so I wouldn’t see them. Now, if the guy I am dating happens to walk away when he gets a mysterious phone call, I cannot help but think that he is lying to me about 'something'.
The games that couples play with each other today are not fun and light-hearted anymore. They only serve to screw with your mind. Why should you allow yourself to be hurt over and over again, when it is so clearly avoidable, right? Absolutely. But sadly, in building the high walls of self defense, you tend to miss out on all the genuinely nice things that make it all worth while—making that pure, unadulterated love between a man and a woman cease to exist.
Really, shame on us.
When I was 18 I was dating a guy who was older. I met him at a wedding and we instantly hit it off. He called, asked me out and for a year, we were seeing each other. He used to hang out a lot with his friend, who was a girl. They studied together and I, at that time, thought nothing of it. Why should I have any reasons to doubt him? I realized much later, that for the year that he was dating me, he was also dating this study buddy. We had alternate days with this jerk. And mostly, she had the weekends.
Ten years later, at 28, I cannot help but get horrible thoughts in my head when I hear that the guy I am dating has a really close friend, who happens to be a girl, and that he wants to spend time with her too. I have been hurt and that scar will never fade.
Another guy I was dating used to lie about who he was talking to on the phone. I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, but he would insist it was a guy later. He would get text messages that he would quickly delete so I wouldn’t see them. Now, if the guy I am dating happens to walk away when he gets a mysterious phone call, I cannot help but think that he is lying to me about 'something'.
The games that couples play with each other today are not fun and light-hearted anymore. They only serve to screw with your mind. Why should you allow yourself to be hurt over and over again, when it is so clearly avoidable, right? Absolutely. But sadly, in building the high walls of self defense, you tend to miss out on all the genuinely nice things that make it all worth while—making that pure, unadulterated love between a man and a woman cease to exist.
Really, shame on us.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
he's just not that into you...
This is a mail dated 14th November 2006, written to a guy I had a huge crush on:
Hello You.
It's four thirty two in the morning and I have just finished the last
bit I had to do before the presentation this morning. Yes, I am still
in the office and soon will enter the sleepy room and make genuine use of it.
There is no greater pleasure than to see your hard work being printed
- no wait - scratch that, there is a greater pleasure and that is SLEEP. Which i intend to do in five minutes cause my eyes are already half closed.
I hate sleeping in the office. I am constantly worried about who enters - Is my ass looking too big? Is it sticking out in the air? Has my top ridden up? Am i drooling?! Is that the Hammerman? Can I take off my bra? Will people notice? Does that camera work? Is the security guy a psychopath? So I end up having this fitfull sleep that doesn't really mean much in the scheme of things.
My boss has a bottle of whiskey in his drawer which he consumed steadily since 8pm... he is now not only slurring, but with bloodshot eyes, yelling at his computer. I think it also may be the Acid I believe he has every morning. He just came up to me and told me he has a nose (which either means he just grew one or he's in the know, i can't be sure)
My other boss, the fat one, has gone home - at about 8pm claiming to have 'finished everything'. He's all about the work, but when someone mentions food, cake or calories, he is the first to get up from a "really important" meeting to stuff his face.
Don't ask me while I am maling you. Guess I haven't spoken to you in a while and feel the need to vent? Maybe it's cause no one talks (and by that I mean, let me talk) non-stop.
Remind me to tell you something very funny about ponies. Trust me its frikking funny. I think the one thing i know is funny. I mean, I know a good funny thing when I see it. Like for example - the Ghendu thing i messaged you yesterday. I was talking about my boss in my head and said he was a FAT ASSHOLIC .. errr..errr HIPPO -which means hes a GHENDU... Cause Ghenda is hippo and ... (it's one of those dot dot
jokes - like the cunning stunt one)
So I was thinking of a couple of more reasons we should get married. One was so we didn't have to miss each other.
Anyway, Before I turn into a slurring, bald, acid-consuming, computer-yelling, work-shirking GHENDU - I'm off to bed. Well maybe not. Maybe I will surf the net and learn something of Wiki.
Shucks. I took a while to write this. It's almost 5am.
Goodnight.
This is his reply, dated 16th November 2006 (two DAYS later)
Hey. Thanks for the mail, it's always nice hearing from you. You shouldn't work so hard, by the way.
Ugh. I've realised I haven't changed one bit. I will still be perfectly nice to every asshole that comes my way.
Damn it.
Hello You.
It's four thirty two in the morning and I have just finished the last
bit I had to do before the presentation this morning. Yes, I am still
in the office and soon will enter the sleepy room and make genuine use of it.
There is no greater pleasure than to see your hard work being printed
- no wait - scratch that, there is a greater pleasure and that is SLEEP. Which i intend to do in five minutes cause my eyes are already half closed.
I hate sleeping in the office. I am constantly worried about who enters - Is my ass looking too big? Is it sticking out in the air? Has my top ridden up? Am i drooling?! Is that the Hammerman? Can I take off my bra? Will people notice? Does that camera work? Is the security guy a psychopath? So I end up having this fitfull sleep that doesn't really mean much in the scheme of things.
My boss has a bottle of whiskey in his drawer which he consumed steadily since 8pm... he is now not only slurring, but with bloodshot eyes, yelling at his computer. I think it also may be the Acid I believe he has every morning. He just came up to me and told me he has a nose (which either means he just grew one or he's in the know, i can't be sure)
My other boss, the fat one, has gone home - at about 8pm claiming to have 'finished everything'. He's all about the work, but when someone mentions food, cake or calories, he is the first to get up from a "really important" meeting to stuff his face.
Don't ask me while I am maling you. Guess I haven't spoken to you in a while and feel the need to vent? Maybe it's cause no one talks (and by that I mean, let me talk) non-stop.
Remind me to tell you something very funny about ponies. Trust me its frikking funny. I think the one thing i know is funny. I mean, I know a good funny thing when I see it. Like for example - the Ghendu thing i messaged you yesterday. I was talking about my boss in my head and said he was a FAT ASSHOLIC .. errr..errr HIPPO -which means hes a GHENDU... Cause Ghenda is hippo and ... (it's one of those dot dot
jokes - like the cunning stunt one)
So I was thinking of a couple of more reasons we should get married. One was so we didn't have to miss each other.
Anyway, Before I turn into a slurring, bald, acid-consuming, computer-yelling, work-shirking GHENDU - I'm off to bed. Well maybe not. Maybe I will surf the net and learn something of Wiki.
Shucks. I took a while to write this. It's almost 5am.
Goodnight.
This is his reply, dated 16th November 2006 (two DAYS later)
Hey. Thanks for the mail, it's always nice hearing from you. You shouldn't work so hard, by the way.
Ugh. I've realised I haven't changed one bit. I will still be perfectly nice to every asshole that comes my way.
Damn it.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
the shape shifter
I’m really not into office cliques. But I do have a set of really nice friends in my workplace and I enjoy their company very much. However, in the last year or so, there has been a new addition to our little group— a loud, intrusive, overly in-your-face people-pleaser addition.
I know I sound like I complain a lot about a lot of people, but honestly I have tried my level best to like this person but I just cannot seem to do it no matter how hard I try. There is something about this person I just cannot seem to like.
The saddest part is, this person, whom I will now refer to as ‘X’, doesn’t seem to annoy the rest of the group, which is why X is always around—at every party, every outing, every lunch, every tea break and, in effect, every god damned waking moment of my life.
X has to be the center of attention. X has to be the one that laughs the loudest; the first to give a ‘high-five’, the first to feign concern if you’re having a hard time and the first to poke its nose into other peoples lives. X shows off their work— something that I never can do. X never says no. X has also complained to my friends about how it thinks I don’t like it much. The pity vote.
X is a shape-shifter. X changes its personality with different company. X mimics your thoughts and acts like you until you think, “Oh my God, we’re so similar, she should be my best friend…” X has done this with all of my friends leading them to believe X is one of them.
I am not afraid of admitting it, I do not like X one tiny bit. But my friend’s do, and I love my friends, after all they are my core group at this point in my life. I wouldn’t dream of making them pick one over the other because I don’t want to be that person. X annoys me so much sometimes, that my mood just gets ruined entirely. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work at all in my favour because X looks all jovial while I am portrayed to be the moody, easily-angered, uptight person—making X more fun to hang around with.
So I am living with it. And I am working on trying to like this person and not nurture thoughts of ripping X’s head out.
I know it’s my issue and I need to stop letting it affect me so much. I’m working on it. But until then, let this be my catharsis.
I know I sound like I complain a lot about a lot of people, but honestly I have tried my level best to like this person but I just cannot seem to do it no matter how hard I try. There is something about this person I just cannot seem to like.
The saddest part is, this person, whom I will now refer to as ‘X’, doesn’t seem to annoy the rest of the group, which is why X is always around—at every party, every outing, every lunch, every tea break and, in effect, every god damned waking moment of my life.
X has to be the center of attention. X has to be the one that laughs the loudest; the first to give a ‘high-five’, the first to feign concern if you’re having a hard time and the first to poke its nose into other peoples lives. X shows off their work— something that I never can do. X never says no. X has also complained to my friends about how it thinks I don’t like it much. The pity vote.
X is a shape-shifter. X changes its personality with different company. X mimics your thoughts and acts like you until you think, “Oh my God, we’re so similar, she should be my best friend…” X has done this with all of my friends leading them to believe X is one of them.
I am not afraid of admitting it, I do not like X one tiny bit. But my friend’s do, and I love my friends, after all they are my core group at this point in my life. I wouldn’t dream of making them pick one over the other because I don’t want to be that person. X annoys me so much sometimes, that my mood just gets ruined entirely. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work at all in my favour because X looks all jovial while I am portrayed to be the moody, easily-angered, uptight person—making X more fun to hang around with.
So I am living with it. And I am working on trying to like this person and not nurture thoughts of ripping X’s head out.
I know it’s my issue and I need to stop letting it affect me so much. I’m working on it. But until then, let this be my catharsis.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
omg
I just watched Eric Forrester make out with a woman, who I concurred to be his step-daughter, who also happens to be thirty years his junior. He then proceeded to have a heart attack after a romp in the sack and now he is in a coma.
Is it just me, or should they rename the show—‘The Bold and the Perverted’?
Is it just me, or should they rename the show—‘The Bold and the Perverted’?
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The worst week of my life
I woke up at six in the morning today. I left my house at 7:45 to arrive at a meeting at 9:45am. I had to travel from New Bombay to Goregaon, across the city twice over and change three trains to get there. When I finally reached close to the place, I got lost and couldn’t find the office. I was on time, but lost.
Instead of helping me, picking up my calls or something, the servicing people in this ‘team’ ignored my calls and started the meeting without me. My so-called creative peer reached the meeting, switched of her cell phone and didn’t bother knowing where I was, or if I was lost. Two hours of travel to be treated like I don’t really matter at all. Is it wrong for me to be extremely pissed at this?
I left my favourite grey jacket in the office on Friday. I come in to work on Monday and realize it has been stolen. I sent a mail out to everyone in the office saying please, please give me my jacket back. But it hasn’t come back. I have lost it forever. And it’s depressing me.
I have potentially ruined an amazing friendship by telling the person how much I like them… no, not in a friendly slap-on-the-shoulder kinda like, but the hardcore kinda like. The like that is bordering on a serious crush. He, of course, said, in these exact words—“dude, no…I don’t think I will ever see you like that… ever, never”
Now, I don’t blame him at all. He has seen me snot up because of my ex boyfriend, and seen me hysterically jealous over some silly women on the internet. I mean, I wouldn’t date me either! And now, because of my own idiotic behavior, I can’t seem to talk to him right now. I am avoiding him like the plague. Which I honestly don’t want to, but whenever I see him, I hear a giant ‘No, no way, no, never’…and it hurts all over again.
And today I had a shit day. And I would have normally grumbled to him about it. But I can’t because I had to go and stuff my stupid foot into my stupid mouth.
I’m having the worst week of my life. And it’s Tuesday.
Instead of helping me, picking up my calls or something, the servicing people in this ‘team’ ignored my calls and started the meeting without me. My so-called creative peer reached the meeting, switched of her cell phone and didn’t bother knowing where I was, or if I was lost. Two hours of travel to be treated like I don’t really matter at all. Is it wrong for me to be extremely pissed at this?
I left my favourite grey jacket in the office on Friday. I come in to work on Monday and realize it has been stolen. I sent a mail out to everyone in the office saying please, please give me my jacket back. But it hasn’t come back. I have lost it forever. And it’s depressing me.
I have potentially ruined an amazing friendship by telling the person how much I like them… no, not in a friendly slap-on-the-shoulder kinda like, but the hardcore kinda like. The like that is bordering on a serious crush. He, of course, said, in these exact words—“dude, no…I don’t think I will ever see you like that… ever, never”
Now, I don’t blame him at all. He has seen me snot up because of my ex boyfriend, and seen me hysterically jealous over some silly women on the internet. I mean, I wouldn’t date me either! And now, because of my own idiotic behavior, I can’t seem to talk to him right now. I am avoiding him like the plague. Which I honestly don’t want to, but whenever I see him, I hear a giant ‘No, no way, no, never’…and it hurts all over again.
And today I had a shit day. And I would have normally grumbled to him about it. But I can’t because I had to go and stuff my stupid foot into my stupid mouth.
I’m having the worst week of my life. And it’s Tuesday.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
the five stages of grief
For the last two weeks, I have been reduced to acting like ditzy sixteen-year old girl with a giant crush—giggles included. The object of all this affection is a delicious young trainee who has a body to die for. For the week that I spoke to him, I was convinced that he had a thing for me too, which made me pay more attention to my clothes, my hair and my general demeanour. He was my reason to go to work (besides work of course).
Sadly for me, I have only just found out that he has a giant crush on this really tall Amazon girl who has the personality of a gnat’s arse and the fashion sense of a 60-year old woman. She also walks like she has an invisible pair of wobbly stilettos on. When I heard, my first reaction was—No, this cannot be true. This is Denial.
Now, mind you, I’m not that upset that he didn’t pick me. Ok, I’ll admit I am a tad upset, but I am more perturbed by the lady-giraffe he chose over me. Not often does a gorgeous man walk into my office, and honestly, he would have at least 3-4 fairly hot ladies to pick from, and she would never qualify, not in the top 10 even. This is called Anger.
But he picked her.
He’s gone out with her, they talk on the phone they chat on Facebook and heaven only knows what else they’ve done outside of the office. I know all these tit-bits because of the multiple spies I have planted in every corner of the office—mostly because initially I wouldn’t take no for an answer. Bargaining?
I know all this is none of my business, but it physically hurts me to know that I have been outwitted by a dim-wit, that I have been sidelined by a floozy, that I have been disregarded for an Amazonian with zero charm. What’s worse is they are just such an odd looking couple to look at—He is 5ft nothing, it’s like a chiwawa dating a lion. The stage is called Depression
After being suitably outraged and comforted by my close friends who called her nasty names to appease me I have decided that he’s no catch either. He’s short, he’s not very smart (when I made a joke, he didn’t get it and I had to explain it slowly to him until he finally got it and gave me a half chuckle. Oh, and he called me a ‘mannequin’ because I am so ‘animated’. Duh!)
And at last comes the Acceptance.
I have accepted the fact that they are meant for each other. Why? Because basically, when they come together they have one brain between them. That’s a plus right?
Sadly for me, I have only just found out that he has a giant crush on this really tall Amazon girl who has the personality of a gnat’s arse and the fashion sense of a 60-year old woman. She also walks like she has an invisible pair of wobbly stilettos on. When I heard, my first reaction was—No, this cannot be true. This is Denial.
Now, mind you, I’m not that upset that he didn’t pick me. Ok, I’ll admit I am a tad upset, but I am more perturbed by the lady-giraffe he chose over me. Not often does a gorgeous man walk into my office, and honestly, he would have at least 3-4 fairly hot ladies to pick from, and she would never qualify, not in the top 10 even. This is called Anger.
But he picked her.
He’s gone out with her, they talk on the phone they chat on Facebook and heaven only knows what else they’ve done outside of the office. I know all these tit-bits because of the multiple spies I have planted in every corner of the office—mostly because initially I wouldn’t take no for an answer. Bargaining?
I know all this is none of my business, but it physically hurts me to know that I have been outwitted by a dim-wit, that I have been sidelined by a floozy, that I have been disregarded for an Amazonian with zero charm. What’s worse is they are just such an odd looking couple to look at—He is 5ft nothing, it’s like a chiwawa dating a lion. The stage is called Depression
After being suitably outraged and comforted by my close friends who called her nasty names to appease me I have decided that he’s no catch either. He’s short, he’s not very smart (when I made a joke, he didn’t get it and I had to explain it slowly to him until he finally got it and gave me a half chuckle. Oh, and he called me a ‘mannequin’ because I am so ‘animated’. Duh!)
And at last comes the Acceptance.
I have accepted the fact that they are meant for each other. Why? Because basically, when they come together they have one brain between them. That’s a plus right?
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
don’t you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?
I have never once denied that I was the jealous type. Sometimes, (practically all the time,) this insane (and mostly unwarranted) jealousy gets the better of me.
Today my boyfriend is going on a lunch date with some girl he met online, a month or so before he met me. Initially, I kind of freaked out a bit (quite a bit—more like a drama queen) but then I told him that I am perfectly ok with it and in a surprisingly mature way, said that he is free to do whatever he wants. Little did I know that he was already on his way to this lunch rendezvous with this mystery chick.
Talking to a close guy friend at work, I asked him (a guy’s perspective) if her name was a ‘hot’ name. He told me that he’s only met one other girl with her name and she was very hot. And so the drama began again.
I went online and Goggled her. I found a semi-informative interview she apparently gave, but I wasn’t sure it was her. So I went on Orkut and snooped into his friend list. I found her, but no information and an illustration where a photograph should be.
Right about then, I started to panic (oh yes, everything before this was normal behaviour, I kid you not.) I tried another social networking site and finally found some useful information—a guy from my office was listed as a mutual friend. Yay.
Casually I asked him if he knows her and he says yes. Then he points to the colleague I have been confiding in, and reveals that he has met her too. Turns out, she is ’the’ one other girl with the same name he has met (annoyingly small world isn’t it?).
Now that it was all in the open, I began to prod him for details. Things like ‘is she prettier than me?’, ‘what does she do?’, ‘what kind of hair does she have?’ He began to tell me what an amazing person she is, so multi-faceted. She listens to metal music, a rare woman indeed. A couple of his friends (her acquaintances too by default) joined in—she paints and DJ’s on the side. She oozes attitude, and that’s so sexy.
The more they spoke of how wonderful she is the more my lunch started to surface. The more I envisioned them having a wonderful time at an intimate café. The more I pictured her hair glistening in the sun (stupid lunch date!). I pictured him smiling, enjoying himself a little too much for my liking.
I found myself consciously trying to not be sick. And seeing as how it’s only 2:45pm, and the lunch date is still on... I’m still working on it.
Today my boyfriend is going on a lunch date with some girl he met online, a month or so before he met me. Initially, I kind of freaked out a bit (quite a bit—more like a drama queen) but then I told him that I am perfectly ok with it and in a surprisingly mature way, said that he is free to do whatever he wants. Little did I know that he was already on his way to this lunch rendezvous with this mystery chick.
Talking to a close guy friend at work, I asked him (a guy’s perspective) if her name was a ‘hot’ name. He told me that he’s only met one other girl with her name and she was very hot. And so the drama began again.
I went online and Goggled her. I found a semi-informative interview she apparently gave, but I wasn’t sure it was her. So I went on Orkut and snooped into his friend list. I found her, but no information and an illustration where a photograph should be.
Right about then, I started to panic (oh yes, everything before this was normal behaviour, I kid you not.) I tried another social networking site and finally found some useful information—a guy from my office was listed as a mutual friend. Yay.
Casually I asked him if he knows her and he says yes. Then he points to the colleague I have been confiding in, and reveals that he has met her too. Turns out, she is ’the’ one other girl with the same name he has met (annoyingly small world isn’t it?).
Now that it was all in the open, I began to prod him for details. Things like ‘is she prettier than me?’, ‘what does she do?’, ‘what kind of hair does she have?’ He began to tell me what an amazing person she is, so multi-faceted. She listens to metal music, a rare woman indeed. A couple of his friends (her acquaintances too by default) joined in—she paints and DJ’s on the side. She oozes attitude, and that’s so sexy.
The more they spoke of how wonderful she is the more my lunch started to surface. The more I envisioned them having a wonderful time at an intimate café. The more I pictured her hair glistening in the sun (stupid lunch date!). I pictured him smiling, enjoying himself a little too much for my liking.
I found myself consciously trying to not be sick. And seeing as how it’s only 2:45pm, and the lunch date is still on... I’m still working on it.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
update
I have often been told that heart break makes for great copy.
I think I finally realised that this, is indeed true.
For the past four months or so, I have been happy. Satisfied. Pleased, contented even.
And it’s scaring the crap out of me. The unrelenting cynic within me occasionally creeps up like a little ugly thing. And then I push it back down, with the help of a sweet, gentle man.
Here are some confessions:
I turned 26 yesterday
I’m smitten
I have a feeling he is smitten too
I’m not sure where it’s going, but I’m happy
I’m so happy; I haven’t written a blog in a month.
I don’t think I’m used to being “taken”
I find myself not staring at the hot guy in the gym.
I’ve been reformed. I’ve been changed.
And what’s more, he’s so gosh-darn pretty
:)
I think I finally realised that this, is indeed true.
For the past four months or so, I have been happy. Satisfied. Pleased, contented even.
And it’s scaring the crap out of me. The unrelenting cynic within me occasionally creeps up like a little ugly thing. And then I push it back down, with the help of a sweet, gentle man.
Here are some confessions:
I turned 26 yesterday
I’m smitten
I have a feeling he is smitten too
I’m not sure where it’s going, but I’m happy
I’m so happy; I haven’t written a blog in a month.
I don’t think I’m used to being “taken”
I find myself not staring at the hot guy in the gym.
I’ve been reformed. I’ve been changed.
And what’s more, he’s so gosh-darn pretty
:)
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
paani
The person you love is 74.8% water
Think about it. More than half of the person you cannot live without is made up of a colourless, tasteless liquid. More than half of this person is something that is so common, it’s hard to see why you love them. And more than half of this person is something we take completely for granted.
Isn’t that something? Makes you wonder what the whole ‘love’ thing is anyway. What does it feel like? How does it manifest itself? And, have you ever felt it?
I think I’m too cynical to ever get answers to any of these questions. Which kind of sucks, cause I wouldn’t mind knowing.
Really.
Think about it. More than half of the person you cannot live without is made up of a colourless, tasteless liquid. More than half of this person is something that is so common, it’s hard to see why you love them. And more than half of this person is something we take completely for granted.
Isn’t that something? Makes you wonder what the whole ‘love’ thing is anyway. What does it feel like? How does it manifest itself? And, have you ever felt it?
I think I’m too cynical to ever get answers to any of these questions. Which kind of sucks, cause I wouldn’t mind knowing.
Really.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
mcshit with a side of lies, anyone?
I can blame it on the fumes from the fireworks at New Years. I can also blame it on my biological clock that seems to be stuck in a metal box that is amplifying the ticking and making it really, bloody annoying - driving me to lose all better judgement. I can also blame it on my complete lack of judgment. But then why play the blame-game? Especially, when it’s me I’m playing with?
This is in reference to The Guy I was supposedly, sorta, kinda seeing in the beginning of the year.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen he turned out to be a McShit with lies on the side, and Lady Luck decided to super-size me.
Not only did he put me through immense mental trauma (I’m talking about the jealousy-kind) he has now decided to bad mouth me to his posse – within ear-shot of mine – just so I can find out the nastiest way – through the grapevine.
If that wasn’t enough, I have to deal with his smug ‘I’m-so-super-cool-with-my-long-bloody-hair-and-my-big-bloody-Mercedes-and-my-bloody-tattoos’ attitude every bloody day.
Apparently I sure know how to pick ‘em. In fact I think I am like honey to the B’s (and F’s and C’s and M’s – and all the other nasty words you can think of)
Just for once I would like the big deli in the sky to give me my order.
Super-sized McNice - Happy Meal, hold the nasty.
This is in reference to The Guy I was supposedly, sorta, kinda seeing in the beginning of the year.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen he turned out to be a McShit with lies on the side, and Lady Luck decided to super-size me.
Not only did he put me through immense mental trauma (I’m talking about the jealousy-kind) he has now decided to bad mouth me to his posse – within ear-shot of mine – just so I can find out the nastiest way – through the grapevine.
If that wasn’t enough, I have to deal with his smug ‘I’m-so-super-cool-with-my-long-bloody-hair-and-my-big-bloody-Mercedes-and-my-bloody-tattoos’ attitude every bloody day.
Apparently I sure know how to pick ‘em. In fact I think I am like honey to the B’s (and F’s and C’s and M’s – and all the other nasty words you can think of)
Just for once I would like the big deli in the sky to give me my order.
Super-sized McNice - Happy Meal, hold the nasty.
Friday, March 23, 2007
you know you’re ready to mingle when…
You overhear some management colleagues talking about hiring a new account director and you ask if he is cute, rather than qualified.
You are almost willing to forgive all the crap that someone put you through, just so you can snuggle.
You are on the treadmill and a foreigner hottie is doing crunches on the floor behind you, and you peer at the mirror in front trying to get a glimpse inside his shorts.
You think your taxi driver has nice eyes. And you justify it by exclaiming “they looked really intense through the rear-view mirror, okay!”
You think every guy is hitting on you. It’s not true, you’re just hormonal.
Some grey haired man in the gym seemed cute to you. When you mention it, your gym buddy thinks the blood has rushed rapidly out of your head.
You flirt with a child-man in your office – he’s a summer trainee for god’s sake, Mrs. Robinson, you.
You have train acquaintances – because you’ll go home at the same time everyday. Indicating you have no life.
You go for an exclusive launch party and the waiter slips you his number.
You contemplate swinging over to the opposite sex. Just so you can snuggle. It’s all very pathetic isn’t it?
You start making lists of why you are ready to mingle, hoping some smart, intelligent, stud reads it, finds you insanely interesting, comments and the both of you meet, have instant connection, love each others company and make sweet history together…
Crap.
Woe is indeed me.
You are almost willing to forgive all the crap that someone put you through, just so you can snuggle.
You are on the treadmill and a foreigner hottie is doing crunches on the floor behind you, and you peer at the mirror in front trying to get a glimpse inside his shorts.
You think your taxi driver has nice eyes. And you justify it by exclaiming “they looked really intense through the rear-view mirror, okay!”
You think every guy is hitting on you. It’s not true, you’re just hormonal.
Some grey haired man in the gym seemed cute to you. When you mention it, your gym buddy thinks the blood has rushed rapidly out of your head.
You flirt with a child-man in your office – he’s a summer trainee for god’s sake, Mrs. Robinson, you.
You have train acquaintances – because you’ll go home at the same time everyday. Indicating you have no life.
You go for an exclusive launch party and the waiter slips you his number.
You contemplate swinging over to the opposite sex. Just so you can snuggle. It’s all very pathetic isn’t it?
You start making lists of why you are ready to mingle, hoping some smart, intelligent, stud reads it, finds you insanely interesting, comments and the both of you meet, have instant connection, love each others company and make sweet history together…
Crap.
Woe is indeed me.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
certifiable
After going to town to meet a friend who was leaving for the States, I took a cab to my old school. My mom, who was a teacher there for almost thirty-two years, was invited to an alumni function. There were mails going around for the last two months about this big function, but I was totally uninterested in going.
Thinking I would just pop in to tell my mom I was outside waiting for her, I ventured in, dressed in old jeans and a ratty black tee and my big basket bag. I walked around aimlessly looking for my mom, and looking to see if I recognised anyone from school. Some guys did look familiar – you know, just older with facial hair, the girls were dressed up to the nines. I looked completely out of place.
I found my mum surrounded by a group of big hulking men, all asking “Miss, do you recognise me? Class of ’89?”. My mother was in her element – it’s amazing how much she remembers. A man walked up to her and asked if she knew who he was – she looked at him and said – “Ali, Blue house, in the second grade, you looked up Mrs Wilma’s skirt and yelled out what fat thighs she had!”
Needless to say, Ali, now an airline captain and his wife were both amused and suitably embarrassed.
I told my mother I was going to wait outside for her, cause dad was coming too and we’d have dinner together. As I talked to my mom, I heard a table whisper my name, when I turned around I did not recognise any of them, “Juniors”, I thought, smugly.
As I was leaving, clutching my big bag, trying to look down and hoping against hope that no one would recognise me, being grossly under dressed and all, I looked up for a minute and was met with a big smile.
He used to be in the green house. Never tall. Always cute. I had a huge crush on him for a while. He was in my mother’s class when he was in the first grade. Now, twenty seven, dressed in a white shirt and grey trousers, he looked, well, smashing.
We talked for a while, he met my mother and we talked a little about what we were doing now. I sat for a while at his table, with all his batch mates. He then asks, “Remember when we were in the first and we had a full day of school, and you were in the nursery, and had only half a day? You used to come and hang out in our class with your mom... you were so cute”
I didn’t remember that detail. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. This guy was talking about me like I was a bitty baby in bloomers. I did wear bloomers at that time, cream and white chequered bloomers. I think he had that image in his head. The horror.
As we talked he asked me for my number. This was a good sign. It meant he was not thinking about the bloomer story anymore. Then he dropped another bomb. Turns out he knows the current guy in my life – although he doesn’t know about me and him.
He said we should all go out together. And I grunted a disillusioned ‘uh-huh’. But he took my number, So mixed feeling were running through my head– messed up about the new guy issue, and really giggly and gawky at the old guy.
Later, giggly and gawky prevailed. He said we should definitely catch up and go out sometime. I sputtered a “sure, that would be awesome”. He half hugged me and then left.
Damn he was cute.
I think I can definitely be classified as boy crazy.
Yup. Definitely boy crazy.
Thinking I would just pop in to tell my mom I was outside waiting for her, I ventured in, dressed in old jeans and a ratty black tee and my big basket bag. I walked around aimlessly looking for my mom, and looking to see if I recognised anyone from school. Some guys did look familiar – you know, just older with facial hair, the girls were dressed up to the nines. I looked completely out of place.
I found my mum surrounded by a group of big hulking men, all asking “Miss, do you recognise me? Class of ’89?”. My mother was in her element – it’s amazing how much she remembers. A man walked up to her and asked if she knew who he was – she looked at him and said – “Ali, Blue house, in the second grade, you looked up Mrs Wilma’s skirt and yelled out what fat thighs she had!”
Needless to say, Ali, now an airline captain and his wife were both amused and suitably embarrassed.
I told my mother I was going to wait outside for her, cause dad was coming too and we’d have dinner together. As I talked to my mom, I heard a table whisper my name, when I turned around I did not recognise any of them, “Juniors”, I thought, smugly.
As I was leaving, clutching my big bag, trying to look down and hoping against hope that no one would recognise me, being grossly under dressed and all, I looked up for a minute and was met with a big smile.
He used to be in the green house. Never tall. Always cute. I had a huge crush on him for a while. He was in my mother’s class when he was in the first grade. Now, twenty seven, dressed in a white shirt and grey trousers, he looked, well, smashing.
We talked for a while, he met my mother and we talked a little about what we were doing now. I sat for a while at his table, with all his batch mates. He then asks, “Remember when we were in the first and we had a full day of school, and you were in the nursery, and had only half a day? You used to come and hang out in our class with your mom... you were so cute”
I didn’t remember that detail. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. This guy was talking about me like I was a bitty baby in bloomers. I did wear bloomers at that time, cream and white chequered bloomers. I think he had that image in his head. The horror.
As we talked he asked me for my number. This was a good sign. It meant he was not thinking about the bloomer story anymore. Then he dropped another bomb. Turns out he knows the current guy in my life – although he doesn’t know about me and him.
He said we should all go out together. And I grunted a disillusioned ‘uh-huh’. But he took my number, So mixed feeling were running through my head– messed up about the new guy issue, and really giggly and gawky at the old guy.
Later, giggly and gawky prevailed. He said we should definitely catch up and go out sometime. I sputtered a “sure, that would be awesome”. He half hugged me and then left.
Damn he was cute.
I think I can definitely be classified as boy crazy.
Yup. Definitely boy crazy.
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