rut-ted out

I’m having a terrible time at work. I do not like the attitude of most people around me. I have zero help (I am literally the only writer in the team). I have not done a single piece of good work for the last 10 months. And what’s bothering me most of all, I am not getting any money.

I’m fed up. And I want to quit.

But I don’t want to join another advertising agency. I want to really do something I love. I want to maybe start a little restaurant or own a fun store with fun things in it. Maybe paint and sell my paintings and have an art show.

Here in lies the rub.

For all these dreams you need to have mounds of the green.
For which you have to work.

Damn you vicious circle.

it's normal

I woke up this morning feeling alright.

Then my aunt asked me what my ex ex boyfriends last name was, and I told her.
She showed me a picture of in the newspaper.
It was a marriage announcement.

I know everyone my age is getting married, so it’s not that I am shocked.

I’m just sad, even though it has been almost 8 years.

And it’s normal.
I'm sure it is...

shock

I’m not one for grapevine gossip. I don’t like it and I think most of it is just made up rubbish.

But when you hear something over and over again, about a few people you know, and it’s all within the advertising fraternity…one tends to have no choice but believe.
I’m hearing more and more stories of people in advertising who are cheating on their wives/husbands. Most of the time I dismiss it, but then it comes back stronger and with more details.

I don’t know if it is this industry or is it the people? Does this happen in every line of work, and so blatantly and rampantly? I could blame it on the industry, with its long office hours and days spent away from home on shoots and researches and meetings. But come on, just because you have work away or a late night doesn’t make you a cheater.

In the past week I have heard of a couple, both in advertising, who are now getting a divorce because he has realized that he is not compatible with her. I have also heard of a married man sleeping with anyone who is willing in his office. While his wife, also in advertising is oblivious to it. It’s disgusting.

I may be sounding like a pious soul who has not a wrong-doing to my name. But I guess I am one of those people who believe in the sanctity of marriage.

So sue me.

plummet

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…

anti-body

For the first time in my life, or perhaps after the longest time, I am having a huge complex about my body.

I past a Mad Over Donut shop the other day, and I had a mini craving. I walked in and I looked at all the delicious chocolate filled donuts and I had a vision of myself as an obese woman stuffing my face with donuts. It was not pretty. And I walked out immediately.

I am beginning to despise my shape. And that’s not all, I have begun to obsess about other women’s bodies in comparison to my less-than-perfect one (and that’s a first)
Everyone around me seems to be whizzing past me to the ‘Slim Side’, leaving their chubby-ness behind. And the aforementioned chubby-ness is losing grip of them, slapping on to me and clinging desperately on for dear life. Okay, not literally, but I was having one of those Ally McBeal moments.

Speaking of chubby friends moving to the ‘Slim Side’: My cousin, who has always been a large girl has suddenly rapidly lost tons of weight. So much so she is being complimented all the time by people around us. When I asked her how she was doing it, she merely said she washes her clothes everyday and that’s how the weight is staying off. That’s bollocks. And I am jealous.

My colleague has lost an amazing amount of weight too. She is being complimented every single day too. She only eats sprouts though, or rather, that’s all I have seen her eat. I say you can’t live on sprouts for the rest of your life right? Right? But I am jealous.

Another friend is losing weight every minute, or so it seems. She is doing yoga and walking. So what is she doing that I am not? I walk too. And run sometimes. But she is looking so good and I am still a ball. Yup, jealous.

And then there are those friends who are just lucky and shaped wonderfully by default. My friend has a gorgeous body. Of course she is younger than me, and has age on her side (ahem, ahem) But, having said that, she’s one of those bodies who don’t seem to put on weight. Ever.

Jealous.

And then I think, “You’re a horrible person, she is your friend, I should be ashamed of myself”

It’s not like I am obsessed with being thin. Nor do I think I am extremely fat. I just do not like my shape the way I used to.

In fact, another friend, an older woman, (who I am also extremely jealous off, by the way) has three children and what I consider to be an amazing body. She is well-endowed on top and not so petite on her bottom, and man, she is hot. I wouldn’t mind having a body like that too.

I don’t want to be a size 0: I just want to have a shape I like for God’s sake.

am i?

I have this friend who I consider to be a very close friend. Or at least I did until something very bizarre happened.

I was invited to a party, I was one of the few non-family members that were invited. I thought I was being a good friend when I tried to help her serve the appetizers etc.

I was wrong.

The next day, when I called to tell her how fabulous everything was, the food, the drinks… the whole party, she said something very strange.
She said, I’m saying this because I love you, but I will never invite you to a party again. You annoyed me. You kept coming into my kitchen and you were always in my way. I hated it, and I couldn’t handle it at all.

I was so hurt. Then I became angry. Then just plain sad…

I haven’t called her. And neither has she called me…
I’m not sure who is wrong anymore.

It lead me to remember a quote…

“A question that sometimes drives me hazy: Am I or are the others crazy?”
~ Albert Einstien

Am I?

rimmer

Dear Rimmer,
It must be awfully tiring to be such a sugar-coated, ass-licking suck up!

not so happy to me

I turned 29 about two months ago. One step closer to thirty and eight years farther away from my twenties. Days prior to the birthday, I prepped myself—I have always had a tremendous amount of fun on my birthday, and I have always been surrounded by close friends who love me and vice-versa, so why should I be irritable?

So I accepted the day. I woke up happy, I stayed happy, I was happy on the phone, happy in ‘Thank You’ texts to friends who wished me… and even apologised to those who tried to wish me at midnight, because I was fast asleep, like old people are at midnight.

The evening came, and I was still happy. I dressed and was up and ready to leave. I reached the club with two of my closest friends and I waited. And I waited some more. And then some more. Almost one and a half hour past and no one came.

Hurt, depressed and feeling extremely old, we left the club. Feeling like a piece of old poop, I snapped at one of the friends who was there. And she left too. So it was me and one other person who stuck around. And then I cried. And I cried some more.
Finally an hour later, a friend called and said he was waiting outside the club. Then I got another call and some more people said the same thing. So in about an hour I was back in the club pretending to smile and have fun all over again. Pretending that the last two hours did not happen.

About seven people showed up eventually. Not a bad turn out really, I guess I should not have expected all 20 that I invited.

So I vow that when I turn thirty there will be no big party. There will be no expectations. And there will only be a handful of friends who really matter to me around me. If they care enough, they will be there. And if they are not there, then when I turn 31, I will have an even smaller group.

And that’s the bottom line.

Theory: The older you get the smaller your circle of friends become

who says love never killed anyone...

Who says indeed...

pre-mental syndrome

Yesterday I took PMS to a whole new level.

I left my office all ready to go to meet the new guy in my life. I stood at the same spot I stand at everyday to get a cab. And I waited. And waited. And waited. For about twenty minutes I waited. And not a single cab was willing to go to where I wanted.

The poor sod who stopped his cab for me did not know what he was getting into. He slowed down in front of me, I told him where I wanted to go. He said no. I told him there was a new rule and he cannot refuse a passenger. He said he didn’t have any gas left, and the gas that he has would not even take him as far as the next road.
So I asked him why he asked me in the first place. He said if I was going somewhere which was convenient for him he would have taken me.
This is when I began to lose it.

I opened the back door and sat in the car, and in a low, calm voice I said, ‘Drive’.
He turned around and touched me on my knee, trying to explain to the ‘crazy lady’ that he didn’t have gas.

I told him not to touch me. I told him I did not care if he did not have gas, he was going to drop me where I wanted to go. I told him that there were two gas stations on the way and he could stop at any of them and fill his cab up.

He told me that he was not going to go and that I was only wasting my time.
Then I yelled. I told him I had a lot of time to waste, it was only 7:30 in the evening and I would sit in his cab until he started moving.

So he did. And miracle of miracles he dropped me right to where I needed to go. On an empty tank, mind you. He was not happy, but then I don’t think he wanted to mess with the sniffling, slightly psychotic lady in the back seat.

Good for me. I got mine.

this too shall pass

My father just had a bypass surgery. This week was full of stress, appreciation, anxiousness and hurt, in different measures for different people at different times.
The incompetent trainee nurses poking him on the arm leaving bruises, the writing of wrong prescriptions with spelling mistakes, the rumbling air-conditioner and the fan that creaked all night long in a supposedly deluxe room, the callous security guards at the ICCU and the general apathy of the staff—Stress.

The brilliant doctors, the kind-faced physiotherapist, the anonymous friends and acquaintance who donated 10 bottles of blood voluntarily, the support of my aunts and uncles, my parent’s friends, the constant prayers, the genuine caring without pretence, my friends who called and cared and constantly showed support—Appreciation.

Spending four nights in the SICU waiting room, the single phone in the waiting room that would ring in the middle of the night with an emergency, the constant fear that it may be your father’s bed number that is called out, the wait outside the operation theatre wondering if everything is ok, knowing that your father’s heart is being operated on—Anxiousness.

Walking into the office and having your closest friends not bother to ask about your father because they are too wrapped up in their own lives—Hurt.

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?

the height of insensitivity

Sitting in a brainstorming session, she looks up at us and says, “What if we have this really old man, who is, like, dying of Cancer or some shit.”

We stare at her, I’m thinking of my mum who has just gone through several sessions of chemotherapy, and the other girl, whose dad died of cancer a year ago.

I’m not sure if she didn’t realise, or if she just doesn’t care.

I’m leaning towards the latter.

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.

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.

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.

clarity

I’m watching a show on TV. About a bunch of doctors who are possibly having the worst bout of luck with their patients.

This is what they do though, this is their life: In one room, an intern holds gauze after gauze against a man’s bleeding artery until he dies, and she could do nothing to prevent it. In another room is a man who has been crushed under an ambulance, he’s watched his partner die and his heart is volatile. And in a third room a black doctor refuses to stop operating on a white supremacist even though it is compromising her marriage. Why? Because she took a vow as a doctor.

I am reminded that what they do, is so important to everyone around them.

The program breaks. And I see one teenage girl telling another teenage girl how they should wear a silly fake nose ring to their show. But the other girl can’t wear the silly fake nose ring, because she has oily skin. But luckily, her friend has a handy tube of face wash that washed the oil right off and lucky for her friend, she can now wear the silly fake nose ring to the show.

And suddenly, I am reminded of what I do.

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.

infatuation

"When you develop an infatuation for someone you always find a reason to believe that this is exactly the person for you. It doesn't need to be a good reason. Taking photographs of the night sky, for example. Now, in the long run, that's just the kind of dumb, irritating habit that would cause you to split up. But in the haze of infatuation, it's just what you've been searching for all these years."

The Beach (movie)

(far from) happy ending

This weekend I watched three very different movies about how male protagonist fights for the woman he loves, eventually getting her and living happily ever after. And they all made me sick.

The guy who supposedly adored me for two whole years did not get the girl. He did not even begin to fight for her. He left me instead, hopefully watching these movies wondering why he did not fight in the same way for me. Making me assume that, perhaps, I just wasn’t worth the effort.

Going by the movies I saw— my break up should have hurt me so bad, that I somehow meet the man of my dreams on a bus or in a store (when I least expect it) and we go out and I realise that the break up was the best thing that happened to me, which is when my ex realises what he terrible mistake he has made. Or I make such a huge impression on this dreamy dude who falls completely in love with me and does everything he can to keep us from never leaving each others sight.

I know, I shouldn’t be using Hollywood as my relationship benchmark. I know that the script has to be happy to make a blockbuster—which makes me oftentimes wish I was living in a movie, instead of this crap, lonely reality that I exist in.

God damn it, I want my happy ending.