Daaaaaaaay tripper!

(Posted here first!)

* You know summer is officially over when..
1) The waiters start asking you whether you want ice in your drink, instead of just bunging it in.

2) There is a low lying mist over the cement rooftops when you wake up in the morning.

3) You start turning the fan speed down from four to two.

4) You start pulling out all the long sleeved clingy tops you had retired to the back of your cupboard and are contemplating opening the "winter clothes bundle" in Tall's closet.

5) You curl your fingers around mugs of hot coffee and feel distinctly full of well-being.

* You know your twentyfifth birthday is coming closer when..

1) You stay home more often because you just want to sleep.

2) You have a horrible old woman cough which isn't going.

3) You fantasise about marrying Future Mr. eM in Neemrana with lots of booze and pretty people.
a) You no longer think you're too young to get married.
b) Your mother's matchmaking offers sound appealing in weak moments of angst.
c) You think you're outgrowing the Angry Young Men you keep meeting.

4) You read a Femina article about how wrinkles start appearing after you hit your twenties and start massaging your skin upwards every time you lotion in the morning.

5) You think you look pretty damn good for your age.

Sigh.

* You know you have ARRIVED in the internet space when..

(only one point) You get Skype! Yay! And chat with beloved Hobo in London for two hours! And the world is shrinking!

* You know your house is your home when...

1) You realise you've been living there for an entire YEAR. Wow.

2) You love just hanging out at home, feet up, watching Grey's Anatomy on your laptop.

3) When you visit your OLD home, your ORIGINAL home, where your mother lives, you realise you miss a lot of the conveniences you have in your new home. Like having a TV that broadcasts more than three channels you like to watch.

4) You're proud of it, and like showing it off to other people.

5) Your flatmates know everything about you, and that's okay. Even the fact that they see you in the morning, hair on end and squinchy eyed is okay. And that's a pretty big step.

* You know you hate the rest of the world that isn't Delhi when..

1) You realise you have lost two friends to London, one to Washington DC, and will shortly lose one to Hamburg.

2) And it's not like exotic destinations are the only things beckoning them away--you might soon find yourself minus one friend because of bloody Bombay.

3) As a result you are desperately trying to make new friends, as fast as you can.

4) Meh.

* You know you're only funny when you have a keyboard in front of you when..

Conversations like this one happen with old friend.

Chitgo: so do u want anything from pakistan?
me: yes!
Chitgo: ?
pray tell.
me: something nice
and thoughtful
Chitgo: hmmm
ok
me: :)
Chitgo: i dont know if they have that in the shops there
me: :P
something MEANINGFUL
and pakistani
Chitgo: ok
ill think of something
me: yay!
you rock
Chitgo: i know
hey! its ur party this saturday isnt it?
me: yes
and you can't make it :(
sigh
Chitgo: i know :(
will stil try though
its ok if im not in costume right?
me: well TRY to be in costume
anything
even wind a turban around your head
just try and not look normal
which should be easy for you
:)
Chitgo: hahah so obvious
u could do better than that
:)
me: it was begging to be said
it said please eM
please please please
Chitgo: hahahaha
even though i am an obviously cracked, overly used, horse flogged joke
me: it looked so sad
Chitgo: please 'say my name' one last time as i drown in the sadness of my own ubiquity
me: no one used it anymore
it went where old jokes go to die
all old and crumpled
would you deny that?
Chitgo: u saved it from its humourless grave
me: would you?
i did
i am saviour type person
Chitgo: u saviour u
me: like the second coming or something
jokement day
Chitgo: hahahahah
me: repent all ye punners!
repent!
Chitgo: let the fury of my ageless argon strike ye down with not so funny force
jokement day
guffaw
me: *looks up argon quickly
Chitgo: hahahahaha
*argon was a mythical dragon
* not too many people know that
*feels kind of foolish as he made argon up right now
me: a colorless, odorless, chemically inactive, monatomic, gaseous element that, because of its inertness, is used for filling fluorescent and incandescent lamps and vacuum tubes. Symbol: Ar; atomic number: 18; atomic weight: 39.948.
which is what i thought it was
Chitgo: HAHEHAEHAEAHEAHEHEAHEAHAEHEAH
me: but dragon works
Chitgo: lol
yeah its just dragon spellt differently
without the d
so its like argon-d
like dragonball-z
me: the organdy even!
Chitgo: hahaha
me: ooooh, it's a girl dragon
with eyelashes
which blink
Chitgo: no its not
me: yes it is
Chitgo: girl dragons dont do much
me: girl dragons can be fierce
and roary
Chitgo: balls
me: like yours have done you a big fat good
:P
Chitgo: they sit around bitching about the diminishing flames of their boyfriends
me: he was an old flame
the spark has gone
Chitgo: my balls are quite the vanquishing heroes, thank u very much.
hahaha
me: come on baby light my fire
Chitgo: yeah thats like the 'lets get it on' for dragons
me: your.. balls? are vanquishing heroes?
Chitgo: yes
me: like with lances?
Chitgo: arthur and sir lancelot
me: and horses?
Chitgo: only one lance
me: huh
Chitgo: to bind them and to rule them all
ha
me: good to know
Chitgo: hahahahaa
yeah if they challenge u to a duel randomly in the middle of a club
dont be surprised
just say your last prayers
me: and i'm assuming fair women are rescued
Chitgo: well, fair and worthy
me: oh i couldn't be challenged
Chitgo: rescued from dragons
me: i have no lance
Chitgo: would u kneel?
HAEHAHEHAAEHEAHAE
me: it is in my chaddi drawer :)
Chitgo: in my case i dont knight, i 'mount'
me: oh cheee
you are so DURRTY
tsk tsk
Chitgo: hahahahaha
ur laughing
me: i am laughing
you are right
but it's still dirty
Chitgo: sure
and u ofcourse bathe daily in the holy ganga naa?
my little puritan
me: i bathe in the yamuna
that might account for the third arm i seem to have grown
hmmmmm
Chitgo: yikes
me: but i am pure
Chitgo: hmmm three arms
me: i am virginal
i have halo even
Chitgo: yeah and im the pope's bastard child
me: REALLY
Chitgo: yeah
me: does he know
Chitgo: no
im planning to tell him during the assasination
what a way to go
me: when you say our father you really mean MINE ALL MINE YOU SOBS
Chitgo: i am your son
me: luke, i ammmm your faaaaaaaaather
noooooooooooooooooooo
Chitgo: hahahahaha
me: *pwussssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Chitgo: pwush?
me: (that was falling down noise)
Chitgo: dude
where do u fall?
on a bed of neatly laid dandilions?
me: it is whistling through sky noise
Chitgo: nonsense
me: then when you land you go crunchity crunch
splaaaaaaaaaat
Chitgo: splaat?
is this batman and robin revisited?
biff baam boom
me: like an extended splat
Chitgo: tananananananaananana BATMAN
me: holy ravioli!
but i would pwush
i would splat even
i'm so blogging this conversation

Well, WE thought we were funny. And incredibly talented and witty too. So there.

Sex toys, Fun With (subtitled: the post that made even ME blush crimson hues)

(As promised, the 24-hour cross posting here. Originally posted here. And yeah, since this IS job, this is how it's going to be. Although the content stays unchanged, so, frankly, I don't really see what the big deal is. Really.)

I have debated about putting this post up into a public domain. I mean, toys, the way they're used are really just for me. And my personal pleasure. Buuuuuuut, sometimes I need to step out of my comfort zones, to reveal just a little bit more into the internet, to sort of like bungee jump, you know? Or do a strip tease. Like the more vulnerable I am, ironically, the stronger I will be. Anyway. Whatever the reason, this post is about my new favourite thing.

Sex is fun, sure, but if you're at a certain stage in your life and/or you're a little bit picky about who you allow to see you naked, there's only so much action you can get anyway. And though (whisper) masturbation (unwhisper) is something everyone does and no one talks about, it just makes you feel sadder and lonelier and a little bit more like a loser, if your Saturday night involves a Bacardi breezer and Anais Nin. It's a little bit closer to admitting to old age and death and the fact that eventually you're going to be huge and obese and your butt cheeks are going to meld into your leather arm chair and they will find you, with Cheetos spilt everywhere, an inquisitive cockroach on your nose, dead, with your mouth hanging open and your underwear around your knees.

I bet everyone has a 'first time experimenting' story. The first time you realised ooooooooh-if-I-touch-THAT-I'm-exploding. And then, with the years and the abstinence, you perfect what moves work best for you. Hand showers, for some people. Sitting up for others. That sort of thing. Sometimes, if you're REALLY lucky, you find someone who likes the same sort of stuff, who knows what buttons you push to make yourself feel excellent, and give you a little help. Why is it okay, well, not okay, but okay-ER, to write about sex but people think writing about masturbation is like risque and not something you mention? I mean, I know very few people who admit to like doing stuff, although they lay on the deets about their sex lives. Hmmm. And mainly women too, they seem to think it's DIRTY somehow to get pleasure and doing it on their own? Oh, I would never do that. Bullshit. You would think though, that you'd admit to masturbating (and even I, fully of hypocrisy, cannot write this word without blushing deeply) over sleeping with many people, because hell, at least you're disease free. And it may not clean up your SKIN or anything, but it will make you happy. Like a cup of coffee.


Toys, though, have never been my cup of tea. I improvise with other people, this ONE time, I had access to a whip, I flourished it with great glee, cracking it over my head and almost took my by-then-not-so-willing partner's eye out. Then he took away the whip. Damn. I was having such a GOOD time, too. Handcuffs, meh, though they've always fascinated me are a little bit scary, I once saw this Baywatch episode, where this chick tells the guy, "Kiss me underwater," and when he goes into the pool to do that, she handcuffs him to the railing of the pool and leaves him there TO DIE. This is clearly what happens when you use handcuffs. Dangerous things. I was fourteen, and scarred for life, I tell you. And THEN, I read this one Stephen King, I forget which one, where this guy ties up this woman and he's getting too aggro, right? So she kicks at him, only she kicks at one of those spots they keep telling you about in self-defence class, you know, the ones that can kill you? And he dies and she's still handcuffed to the bedpost and then this DOG comes in and starts eating the corpse and she can't get free and oh, HANDCUFFS are BAD. Blindfolds are good fun, and they don't require too much preparation either, you can just use any old thing. Gags, I would not recommend (see handcuff reasoning above). But while I'm all for the imagination, at the end of the day, plain vanilla just appeals to me way more than anything else. Which is why I was not a full on vibrator supporter. Why spend money when you can do it on your own, she asked sensibly.

But then, Ragini returned from the UK bearing presents and she got me mine, demurely wrapped up, hissing, "Don't show this to your mom, or mine!" and when I unwrapped it, there was this red box with a cutesy little red girl devil on it, looking over her shoulder and smiling. And when I opened THAT, there was this thing--looking like, well, you know, only white! With sparkles! I love the sparkles. "I couldn't find pink or purple," Ragini told me regretfully, "And this is only a very basic one." "I like the white," I assured her, "I think it goes with my virginal type soul." And basic or not, duuuuuuuude. Fucking hell.

It's called the Rabbit, apparently, made famous by Sex and The City and known so because right underneath, you know, the thing, is something shaped vaguely like a fork, only with only two, very small, round tines, which look a little like rabbit ears, but are actually, well, you know. It's not very large, only about the size of my hand, from the tip of my middle finger to the base of my palm, but since I don't use it for (again) you know, it's all good.

And while I wait for the blood supply to leave my face and start moving normally again, tra la. I recommend one to everybody, because there's nothing like multiples right before you go to sleep. I mean, it's one of the cool things about being a woman, right? Like one of our advantages, etc.

Also, yeah, if you know me in real life and you bring this up, I have noooooooo idea what you're talking about. Indian girls don't masturbate.

Obligatory sex-post, 2006 version

The dating whirl, my darlings, she said, with a sigh, is not as easy as it appears. Or, try not easy at all. One tries, of course, one must, one even deludes oneself that there are a bare minimum of decent datable men in this city that one has not already saturated, but, ohhhhhhh, if only they would make it a little easier for me.

For example:

I think each man I meet should either fill out a questionnaire or have a pre-filled questionnaire with a list of all possible things that could rule him out. Not into a "relationship"? Go to point D. A complete fuckwit? Go to end. Can you at least promise good sex? No? Please turn over. So long and thank you for your interest in dating me. Due to the large volume of calls and applications, you are, at this point, not on the waiting list. Try again in a couple of years.

The problem:
There isn't a large volume of calls and applications at all. In fact, the volume of calls and applications can be best described as a trickle. And that's on a good day. Erm, make that a good month. So the men I meet can be broadly divided into two categories: a) the ones I may want to/definitely want to see again and b) the ones I cannot imagine myself with, no matter how much I use my imagination. And I have a fairly active imagination, as you can imagine. (Heh, just got that after I typed it). In the last couple of months, category a has been divided into meh and okay-perhaps.

What distinguishes the meh from the okay-perhaps? Well, since most of these Boys/Experiments/Ways To Assert Sexuality are usually only after ONE thing and one thing alone, breaking them down is fairly easy. I just have to rely on my own groin flutters to figure out whether or not this is happening.

But groin flutters can be unpredictable. You could have a flutter at the beginning of an evening, when he comes to pick you up (which, by the way? ALWAYS wins brownie points from me) but then he could screw up ALL the groin flutters by picking his nose (amazingly, a lot of men do this. It's a little odd. Do they think I can't see them? Do they think it looks like they're just rubbing their noses? Because I can totally see like the fingers going in and stuff. Ick.) On the other hand, I could decide very early in the evening that I just wasn't attracted to the dude, and then, something in the evening could bring on serious butterflies. Like the other night, I went out with this dude, friend-type, and I had pretty much decided earlier that I wouldn't flirt with him, but then he leaned over to kiss me hello and I got a whiff of whatever cologne he was wearing, and oh. The evening was suddenly filled with sparkly, spangly excitement. Such fun when that happens.

Then, the more tricky part. The carrying it over from just groin flutters to Doing Something About It. That can be most tough. First of all, who kisses who first? And if the guy seems too chicken to make a move, do you lean in for a kiss, even though that might implicate you as someone who is, um, up for anything? Or do you drop steamier and steamier hints and watch him turn awkward and shy? And why the FUCK are they turning awkward and shy anyway? Damn metrosexuality. Completely ruined gender roles.

But, if the guy decides to own his balls and be all proactive, then there's the How Far Will You Go question. Personally, I never got the whole I-won't-kiss-on-the-first-date theory. Because sometimes the chemistry only exists on the first date, and by the time the second one rolls around it could be GONE. And since I am being the boy, I also want to get into people's pants, but unfortunately I'm a girl so I have all these totally girl type emotions and feelings and oh will he respect me tomorrow. Meh. And making out, I can tell you, is only fun when there's chemistry.

SO. Anyway. It's not really as exciting as it sounds, because there are like days and weeks without activity and then suddenly, three engagements in a row, but not quite so often as I would like. But, I'm having a good time. Enjoying the singledom. Enjoying the flirting and the raised eyebrows and the things you only imply but don't say, and doing repertoire of geisha type expressions with new people.

I think, then, beloved readers, the trick to this whole thing is to be detached. Like amused spectator. Like fond godparent. Or something. Zen-like I wait and see and the universe's goodness slowly unfolds. Well, a little anyway. I'm still a good girl, after all.

Related edit type thing: The first of my "extra" posts is up over at ibibo. I'm going to make this a regular feature, with different posts over there from here. I hope you like it. :)

I went out on semi-date with this guy once, I think it was this summer, and we went to a club, where there was dancing and I don't dance, unless I'm very drunk, which I wasn't this night, so I stood around near the bar and smiled as he shook his thang next to me and I swear to god, he made these low, grunting unh-unh noises with each butt thrust.

Read more here.

I'm the rum in the rumsoaked girl

It was October in 2001, I think, and the English department in my college decided to take their annual trip. We voted (although I was rooting for Goa) but Dharamshala won hands down. Although, maybe that's just because it was closer. And cheaper. I had never been to Dharamshala before, but all my friends from college were going, and it promised to be fun. It was also going to be the first time ever, we were smoking something other that cigarettes, and the little baggie of hashish was taken out and examined several times, before, paranoid, we hid it among tampons and shampoo.

Several sleepy girls clambered into the old bus, and of course, we were late starting. So, most people pulled out the chips and stuff they brought for the road. I attempted to sleep, but pretty soon, with the giggles, and with the picking where we were going to sit (we chose the very last seat, so that we were all together in one line, only it was also the bumpiest seat, so most of the ride was spent getting up and attempting to get someone to switch with us) I settled for dumping my backpack on my lap and smoking a cigarette, which I thought was so daring of me, seeing as the bus was still parked on campus, and technically, I was breaking rules. This was college for me, all about the rule breaking. I was very, very good all through school, and I realised sometime in class 12 that I had never done anything I shouldn't have. I had never bunked the entire day while pretending to go to school, I had never cheated on an exam, I had never made out with anyone on campus and though I tried to fit it all in in my last couple of months, meh, what with it being class twelve and all, I didn't want to bunk in case I missed any important classes, because the teachers were doing a lot of extra work. See, I told you I was good. Anyway. So college was all about being grown up and doing as I pleased, and that sort of went to my head a little bit. I skived off so many classes, that I wound up signing bonds--which in our very strict college, meant that I had to make up the attendance in the following year, or risk having to repeat a year. And they meant it too. They did that to a couple of chicks each year.

So, back to going to Dharamshala. And smoking endless cigarettes, shared when we started running out, drag by drag, till only the very burning tip was left which we sucked at, till we nearly blistered our lips. And finally falling asleep, when the drive got too long, in the way only women can, comfortably resting against each other, your friend not moving too much so they didn't disturb you. Plugging in your discman, which ran out of battery four hours later. And then finally, awake and bored already, trying to figure out how to pass the time. The bus had a cassette player and some of us fished into our very well-stocked bags and pulled out all sorts of stuff, the kinds of things that were popular then. Pink Floyd, Creed, lots and lots of the Doors, with that picture of Jim Morrisson that's everywhere, arms outstretched, beads around neck, so sexy that it's no wonder that most of the men I'm attracted to now, that any of us who went through the same stage together in college are attracted to now, look slightly, if not completely, out of it, with, sometimes, an additional curly crop thrown in. No beads though, thankfully, most twenty something men should not attempt beads. In fact, it was Pieces's surprise birthday party at Laidbackwaters this weekend, the first time she's been in Delhi for her birthday since college and her boyfriend flew in from Bombay to add to the festivities and he has, just to prove my point, very long, very curly hair. So there ya go. Q.E.D. Although sadly, none of them has ever held a candle to old Jim. Now that man was delectable. Mmmm.

Anyway, so this one girl pulled out this blue and white cassette out of her bag, and really it looked like one of those jazzy Indian devotional remixes that are so popular, but suddenly there was a flurry of excitement and someone went up to the front of the bus to give the conductor the tape and then everyone was singing very strangely and very out of tune and getting very excited and me and this one friend of mine who still seemed to have a sense of melody, looked at each other and rolled our eyes and "What the fuck is this, dude?" she asked the girl whose tape it was and she looked at us pityingly and said, "You haven't heard this? Everyone's heard Kandisa." "Well, not us," I said, "And can we listen to the U2 album now?" But everyone was too busy yelling "Alam, alam, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalaaaaaaaaaam!" to pay any attention to us. But finally the song finished and before they could go into any more tunelessness (and trust me, nothing is more tuneless than a busload of women) we, being fairly loud, shrill small people, threw mini-diva-type tantrums and I don't think anyone else had heard any of the other songs, so it wasn't that hard.

[An aside: What I don't remember is when Indian Ocean grew from being terrible to being brilliant. Oh, of course I realise it wasn't them, it was me, blah blah blah, but one moment I was making fun of the strange noises on their album the next I was chanting as loud as the next person when they came to play at our college festival. Quite odd. And I got their album for myself. AND now I make an effort to go for their concerts, as I did last night at the IIC festival, which really had the oldest Indian Ocean audience I have ever seen. And all sitting still! Old people are really strange. ]

Dharamshala was perhaps the most perfect place the English department could have picked. They let us pretty much do our own thing, which we did with a vengeance. Once we got to the hotel and all five of us decided to share a room, the hash was brought out and rolled according to instruction ("Break off a piece the size of the Nokia switch off button," said the provider) in a cigarette, which was all we knew how to roll in then. (Well, me still. But then after crazy tripping type experience in Goa which I will write about some day, as soon as my memory is less foggy, I stopped "doing drugs" completely. And looked disapproving when other people did. Which does not very much for my popularity). Once we smoked one and the other four lay giggly and still, I decided this hash was not very fun. Like, dude, it wasn't doing anything, you know? So, I took the next prerolled joint, while the others shovelled raw Wai Wai noodles into their faces and flamed/boomed/toked it, till I smoked nearly half of it, inhaling greedily, standing in the cold balcony. The others roused themselves and came to claim their share but by this time I was all wheeeeeeee! The joy! The funniness! I must've chugged three big bottles of water by the time they came back inside and I lay on the floor and laughed at them till my sides hurt. "I cahn't feel my thongue," I said (I think), sticking it out to look at it, "And my mouth is all fujjy. And you guys, I'm so hot." "So strip then," suggested one of them, stopping laughing for like three seconds. "You are so smart," I said, admiringly, and stood up in the middle of the bed, kicking off shawl and jacket and jeans and finally sweater, till I was standing there in socks and underwear and bouncing on the bed, marvelling at the joy that was my body and oooh (bounce) this is fun (bounce). We have pictures somewhere, of that evening (once I put my clothes back on, of course) and our eyes are bloodshot, and most of the pictures are out of focus, because everyone is so giggly and joyful, and there is much affection in the air until, as if on cue, we all tumbled into (separate! jeez, you guys have dirty minds!) beds and passed out happily. And so Dharamshala went on.

This weekend, at Laidbackwaters, Amulya and Iggy and I watched Pieces as she said hello to people and then we turned to each other and talked about our jobs and Amulya raised her glass, "Here's to us," she said, "Who would have thought in college we'd be doing something with our lives?"

Oh, Mr Internet, you are sexily wonderful. But also? A little bit strange

* So, I wrote about my enamour for Orkut, right? A little while ago? But what I didn't realise about Orkut--or any other social networking site--is that you have to be careful or it can consume your entire life. And, oh dudes, it so has. I am so bouyant with testimonials (which incidentally, I also think are hilarious, imagine arm-twisting your friends to say nice things about you) and like, seeing how many fans I have, and it's doing wonderful things for my ego, but still at the same time reinforcing how much validation I need at all times. And online. Which makes me slightly (but only very slightly) pathetic. And then people are doing strange things like sending me party invites on Orkut! I ask you! Party invites? I still have a cell phone (a new Nokia which I have just acquired, biding my time till I can splurge on another Razr) and people still have my number, so shouldn't I be getting messages? Or phone calls? When did the internet replace my ENTIRE REAL LIFE?

* The answer to that question and many others can be found on my new favourite website, rather underplayed in India but still. Craigslist is here! We have arrived! (Well so have Hyderabad, Pune, Chennai, Calcutta and Mumbai, but you know we're still the coolest). What I like about Craigslist is despite the obvious userfriendly type things (like me advertising for new flatmate) there are sooooooooooo many obviously insane people out there. Granted not as crazy as New York or San Fransisco, but crazy enough. A brief sample, because I was surfing through the site this morning:

i like aunties - 38

hi i am neeraj from hyderabad. 38yrs.single.male. i like to meet matured broadminded married women.
this is in or around hyderabad.

Okay, not from the Delhi Craigslist, but I thought this guy was so simple and so, so straightforward in his requests, that it was almost touching. But, only, he's 38 right? So a "mature" married woman would be? 50? 60? Grandmother sex--it's not for everyone.

What the heck?? - m4w - 88

What is a platonic relationship anyway?
Can a man and a woman ever have a platonic relationship?
What would they talk about?
Tampons and razor cartridges?
Or the middle eastern situation?
Or Reservations?
The Economic boom?
Films? Books? Eating out? Drinking?
Will they do all this and not miss the other person?
Never feel the rush of wanting to hold hands?
Laugh?
Connect with old jokes?
never have shared memories (even if weeks old) of places and things?
Do you want to test it?
Since you know the dangers (most of them anyway) are you a risk taker?
this is in or around Delhi/Gurgaon

That's a lot of things to talk about, no? I think talking about all these things would definitely make us friends. Sooooooo, what exactly am I testing? But, dude, tampons and razor cartridges? Really?

i love womens - m4w - 22

hi to all womens, i love to do massage on your sexy body with littlebit hot oil.
regards
rocker

This one even had a picture. Oh, joy.

One last one, promise:

BRAZILIAN/AMERICAN LOOKING FOR INDIAN BEAUTIFUL MAN - 42
I LOVE INDIAN PEOPLE AND I HAVE DATED SOME BUT THEY ARE RACIST AND NEVER TOOK ME SERIOUSLY,I ENJOY EATING INDIAN/PAKISTAN CUISINE AND I HOPE YOU CAN ENJOY MY FOOD AS WELL. I AM VERY FUN LIKE TO GO OUT AT NIGHT WITH SOME WELL EDUCATED,INTELLIGENT GUYS SOMETIMES,LIKE TO DANCE,SING AND ENJOY OUT DOOR. LOOKING FOR SOMEONE SERIUOS,MARRIAGE AND FAMILY;I AM DIVORCE FOR MANY YEARS AND I HAVE ONE PRE-TEEN (11 y old ) IN THE HOUSE,BUT HOPING TO FIND MY HALF AND START ALL OVER AGAIN.

One preteen in the house, eh? The rest, I'm assuming are out door.

UPDATE, AND ONE I COULD NOT RESIST

small breasts? wow! - 31
looking for small breasted women, any age... you turn me on, and i know what you do with you.... no strings attached.
this is in or around delhi

This one leaves me speechless. But in a happy kind of way. How small is small, do you think, and do you think I qualify for him knowing what I do with me?

* But Craigslist Casual Encounters may not be the very best way to find out about people. And then there was the meme. (Which I still don't know how to pronounce. Meem? Meh-Meh?) The lovely, and recently, rather absent Mint Chutney has tagged me, and though I don't always do these, because some are just boring, this one just pandered to my already ginormous ego. Anyway, so I'm supposed to like talk about eight things you haven't already gleaned about me from this blog, and blah-di-blah and this must be really boring for you, I know, so go take a walk or something. Smoke a cigarette. C'mon, you KNOW you have a nicotine craving. By the time you get back, I'll talk about something else.

Right. Now that most people except for my beloved alcoholic reader (I know statistically I should have at least ONE of those) have left, you just set that glass on a coaster and don't spill it on the keyboard. K?

secret thing one) I love surfing some very topic specific websites. At any given time, three of the windows on my taskbar will be open to a) a product blog; b) a celebrity gossip blog and c) *sigh* a mommy blog. I get the products and the celebs, really, because I LOVE looking at the strange things Americans spend their money on, but the mommy blog? That fascination is beyond my comprehension.

secret thing two) I really, really, really like the song Hips Don't Lie. Despite the "come se llamas, bonita, mi casa, su casa" bit.

secret thing three) While we're on shameful music confessions, I went to Pitampura to see Shaggy live in concert. Dee and I got really close to the stage and yelled, "Take your top off, Shaggy!" AND. He smiled and winked at us. AND. This made us happy.

secret thing four) When I was very, very, very, very young, I used to want to be called Jennifer. And have very long, very gold hair.

secret thing five) When I'm drunk, I get uber-friendly. And, if you're a boy, and we're drunk together, chances are I will drape myself gently around you. This has led to many embarrassing morning-after moments when I'm lying in bed with terrible headache and going, duuuuuuuuuuuuuude. WHY?

secret thing six) I have once or twice, in friendships and relationships, done the fade-out slowly technique of breaking it off, by not calling back or emailing. It wasn't very nice of me, but I'm terrible with confrontation. If someone ever did that to ME, I'd be mortally wounded.

secret thing seven) I am fairly brown, but I have four freckles on my nose. I really like them.

and finally, secret thing eight) I worry about death more than I think is normal.

Who shall I tag? Who? Oh, what the hell. You're ALL invited.

Another edit, because I have nothing else to do at 7.24 pm: And technically, this is still covered by the whole internet-theme of this post. So the exboyfriend? K? Who used to be here a lot till I decided not to write about him anymore because I HAVE MOVED ON? Who I suspect reads this blog, but have been too chicken to ask? So, my messenger client is on and I see, whee, he's online, and I see little picture thingie next to his face, and because I'm the kind of person who clicks on little picture thingies next to people's names on IMs, I move my mouse over to his avatar and graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! It is picture of him and new girlfriend! And because I'm all, you know, sadomasochistic type, it's the way I am, deal with it, I peer closely at him and new girlfriend and then call colleagues one by one to my desk to ask whether they think she is prettier than I am. Which, by the way? No one answers. Hmph. Who has pictures of them and their lovers as their avatars I ask you? It's almost like saying, "Ha ha, look at me, I'm in a relationship and you're not, eM, so you must suck."

Yeah. Because, did I not mention? This is all about me.

(And because they pay me and you don't, teeny-tiny word about New Job. Actually, teeny-tiny link. You will find a mirror of this blog, also, but other very cool things too. Go see!)

In which one realises one's life is not so bad after all, and this is mostly because my cold has gone. Hallelujah!

Why no one likes new template? Nice, only. Pretty purple and orange. Favourite colours type. You raise hands if you like, okay?


Anyway, excellent weekend. Saturday spent on furniture shopping (well, sort of, we looked at furniture) with the flatmates, and then for very fun housewarming party of friend, and then Sunday went for concert at the Qutab (Minar, not Hotel) with the qawwali, which was all cultured etc and then quickly degenerated into dance party when Shankar Ehsaan Loy took to the stage and sang "Where's da pardeeeeeee tonight (somewhere down the road!), where's da pardeeeeeee tonight (on the dance floor!)" Which was fun, I admit.

I was thinking about being single this past weekend, mostly because there's this new book of essays out--my mother is one of the contributors, on single-marrieds, which is nice--on singledom. I can't find the link now, but as far as I remember, it's called On Living The Good Life. But. BUT. My one grouse with it was that all the contributors were old people, talking about failed marriages-blah-blah-Suhel-Seth-sex-bathrooms-alone and all that. And by the time I reached the last essay, I was, well, rather depressed. This was not what I wanted my life to turn out to be, a sort of rant against the system, oh poor me, I'm a single woman, but I have friends, and my ex and I still sleep together and you know? If this book was meant to justify that singledom was cooler than coupledom, it didn't really serve the purpose, because the first thing I wanted to do was go and get married.

"You make me miss being single," said an old colleague to me, when I staggered in one morning, still a little pale from the night before and drinking water like it was going out of style. But, not really. For her, missing being single, was missing the all night binges, the possibility that lingered in every evening, the gal pal bonding, all that. But at the end of the day, you receive no validation for being on your lonesome, for running your household by yourself and so on. Another ex-colleague said something once about how we (the single girls) had no excuses for not getting more stories. After all, we had no responsibilities. And, sadly, though I looked daggers, though she took it back etc, I'm sure she still thinks that. Oh, look at her breezing in at noon, all perfumed and low waisted jeans and hungover and oh look at her leaving, all excited about some night out when I have to go home to kids and husband and responsibilities.

Another thing I get a lot of is, "How come you're still single?" It's not that I don't meet boys. I do, really. After a bit, after college anyway, where the only criterion for dating someone was you thought they were hot (seriously, ask most people about their worst relationship ever, and they'll point you at a college/high school romance), you realise that sometimes it's better to be alone than to be with someone you can't talk to. Or hang out with. Or can't imagine introducing to your friends. And so on. It's gotten really complicated now, and mostly, yeah, I prefer my own company, or the company of the smart, intelligent, funny people who I have a platonic relationship with, ya know?

So, there are many things about being single I don't like. It's true. But, as the years go by, and I see that this year, 2006, marks TWO WHOLE YEARS of being pretty much, more or less, on my own, I was thinking this morning of all the things I will miss about being single. I will miss coming home tired and not having any plans, and having the only whisper in my bed from my comfortable lilac flowered comforter which snuggles up to me and lets me sleep without worrying about whether I'm supposed to do a little snogging or, even worse, whether I'm sleeping with my mouth open and there's drool all over my pillow. I will miss watching television in my nightshirt, eating something, and just chilling and knowing my phone isn't going to ring in a bit. I will miss dressing up for me, because that's what I do now, and don't tell me I can still do that when I'm with someone because I know subtly or otherwise their tastes will somehow influence what I wear. I will miss (okay, perhaps only a little) getting to places on my own, and (a LOT) making my own agenda with what I want to do with a free day, and not feel guilty etc about spending time with someone else. I will miss not agonising about someone else, not playing games, feeling grief free and guiltless at all times. This last one, I think I will miss the most.

As for not having reponsibilities, I may not be dealing with family type shit, or parenting, but I do do stuff. I make sure, for instance, that the maid cooks in the morning. I make sure she doesn't make anything the other two don't like. I keep an eye on the groceries and see when we're low on stocks. I check how much water we have in the fridge and always make sure our reserves are okay, when we run out of boiled water. And so on. Small does the technical stuff--getting plumbers, electricians, reminding me when the rent is due and the maid and car cleaning guy need to be paid, remembering at Diwali time that everyone needs to be tipped and all that. Tall has no responsibilties yet, but she's quickly doing grocery type things. And furniture. She's making sure we have more to our living room than just two beanbags. We look out for each other, my flatmates and I, and we may not be married or have given birth to each other, but still, we're, you know, family. And in a single person's world, family is important.

I think your new template is...
	FABULOUS! Just like you!
	Really classy and understated
	A bit much for first thing in the morning, but my life needs a little excitement anyway
	I liked the pink better, but I'll get used to it. You, after all, know best.
	AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! My eyes! Have been blinded! Send... ambulance.. now.
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