Posts Tagged ‘postaweek2011’

“He has to be Catholic,” I said. “Well Anglican or whatever. That’s a must. Can I give you the rest of the specifications?”

She did the arms-folding thing that people do when they’re thinking ‘Let’s hear it..’ and said, “Let’s hear it…”

“Okay so One: he has got to be Catholic. Two: he’s got to be, say, twenty-seven or twenty-eight…”

“I don’t know people that old!! All the guys I know are like around twenty-four or five! How am I supposed to find someone that age?!”

“I don’t’ know! You said you’d find me Mr.Right, so I’m giving you the specifications! Age is crucial! He has to fit into that age slot at least! You know how men are. They don’t mature. They just don’t. Thus we go for someone older than me with the hope that they would by some divine intervention perhaps, be a tad bit mature.”

“Really? You think being twenty-eight would make them any mature?”

Shoulders slump slightly. “A girl can hope surely?”

Eyebrows raised.

Shrug. “Okay well anyway, listen. Three: He has to be taller than me. I’m 5’4.”

Sighs. “I don’t know very many tall people. All the guys nowadays are pretty short. You know that! Besides, short people have their advantages…” said with a waggle of the eyebrows.

“So they do. I still prefer taller. Four: he has to be financially stable. I’m getting old and I cannot age while he gets his act together.”

Grins.

“Five: he has to be single,” holds hands up, “I know, I know, that should go without saying but trust me, I’ve figured out from experience that it has to be said. You need to be pretty clear about everything.”

“Ha!!”

“Six: he has to be sane. You’d be surprised at the number of psychotic people you get out there. It’s a scary world. Seven: he should have decent teeth and no stomach. Eight: he should be able to take care of himself. That disqualifies smokers and alcoholics. By taking care of himself, I mean physically, financially and publicly. I mean if he can’t take care of himself, how can he take care of me right?” *Breathes* “That’s it. That is it. Is that asking for much?”

“Of course not!  I mean a girl’s got to have her standards right?”

“Right..” *coughs*  “I’m going to end up single for the rest of my life aren’t I…?”

“Yup…”

I’ve got the hots for Blake. I don’t know if there’s a word for people like me but if there was, that word refers to me. The type that suddenly develops a devotion to something when the rest of the world has already been there and done that. Like cricket.

During that time when Saddam Hussein was the ‘in thing’, a bunch of friends were having a conversation about the subject and upon seeing my obvious obliviousness to the whole thing one of them asked to make sure I knew who Saddam Hussein was. I tentatively asked if he was a cricketer. Yes, I never lived that one down.

So I don’t always know what’s happening out there in the world and no I had absolutely no interest in cricket. I just didn’t see anything fascinating about watching a bunch of guys playing bat and ball. No, don’t psychoanalyze that. And suddenly, it happened…

I developed a liking for cricket. Just a couple of weeks back actually. I blame it on my Exs for it not happening sooner. They were lousy at explaining the game and answering the type of retarded questions that would only come from someone who at some point in life thought that Saddam Hussein was a cricketer. It’s a good thing I don’t hold grudges, sometimes. Anyway, my mother taught me, it didn’t take her long, she was pretty awesome. She knows the game. No, don’t analyze that either. Anyway, now I’m a fan. That’s short for fanatic. It took a while, but finally it happened.

Then there’s Blake. Dear Blake. Unbelievable Blake. Bloody Brilliant Blake. I think my teachers first tried to tell me about Blake when I was around six. It didn’t work. I was not too impressed. They kept trying, throughout school, and throughout university, but apart from a mild interest now and then, I was not convinced. There were no sparks. And suddenly, it happened. Two days ago actually. I have a paper on romantic poetry on Monday so I was forced to find out what my course content was and start doing some reading. And I fell uncontrollably and irrevocably in love. Blake, is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I think the term G-spot should be changed to B-spot as a tribute to Blake. Yes, I know how that sounds and yes I realize it might conjure disturbing images, but it just had to be said. There is something about the way his words splash around in music; somersaulting and diving in, surfacing, bobbing. And the dear man used to scrawl pictures and decorative borders around his writing and add colour to them himself. And he had a thing for illustrating the Book of Revelations too if I remember right. Isn’t that intriguing? Too bad he didn’t have kids. I would have devoted the rest of my life to tracing his bloodline, and marrying the first descendant I came across. And they thought he was mad! Imagine that!

*Makes a conscious effort to calm down* I shall now contain myself and share just one line from the infamous poem in which he muses about the creation of the tiger, which for some reason fascinates me. Here it is.

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

This picture (posted on facebook by a friend) is I think a masterpiece. And I know just the line to go with it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mind knows what’s right but my heart is being retarded and still cares.

 

Close your eyes,

Give me your hand, darling,

Do you hear my heart beating,

Do you understand,

Do you feel the same..

Or am I only dreaming,

Or is this burning, an internal flame?

I believe, it’s meant to be,

Darling, I watch you when you are sleeping,

You belong with me…

Here’s to the moments *lifting glass of juice in a toast* where you look into another human beings eyes and think that This, indeed is love; This, is what poets for time immemorial have been going on about; This, is home; This is it, the real thing, the calm after a storm, that far-off impeccable line in the horizon, a state of nirvana. The moments in time when for once, you know. You know what you want, and what you want is This, and you know that This is everything, and you know you have everything, and everything is This. When you feel the doors in the region of your chest where your mind tells you your heart is, open, open and evaporate. And all you feel, is This. The moments in time when you’re engulfed in love that it doesn’t even occur to you to disbelieve. When you give someone your trust. Unconditionally. That, I think, is what makes those moments what they are. The fact that you give someone your complete trust, the experience so powerful that it overwhelms you.

*Blinks* And… we all know what happens when one is stupid enough to give someone one’s unconditional trust.

It’s not right that only women (well certain women) are accused of not being able to keep their legs together.

Passing a prestigious bank a couple of years back, I glimpsed a spectacle that to this day remains etched in my memory and on that day wouldn’t have made the gardener who tends to the bank’s immaculately groomed lawn too happy.

It was a bright and sunny morning and welcoming the sunshine with its arms (or legs if you prefer) wide open, was a mangy brown dog, right there on the middle of the impeccably cut grass. I don’t know if it was playing dead, mocking the efforts of the gardener or simply (for some misguided reason) revealing to the world that it’s got balls (and not in a ‘I am a dog with a spine’ way either).

So that’s the picture that flashed through my mind in the bus recently when I had the misfortune of having to stand beside a man in a similar stance (in the dog’s defense, it may have had an itch on its back or have been merely drying off its tummy). In this case, the offender was sitting on the side of the seat closest to the aisle with his legs wide apart and one sticking out (in my defense, the person sitting next to him was not that big-made and neither was the offender so there was perfectly enough room for the two of them to sit comfortably without blocking the aisle. Besides, the bus was fairly crowded and not everyone standing had the luxury of picking a better spot to stand). Grrrrrr….. So maybe I need anger management tips but there is an almost manic fury that rises within me when I come across selfish people in public transport.

Why do men insist on sitting with their legs wide apart? Ok so this maybe a personal grudge I hold against all men, with its origins dating back to my school days. I always ended up getting squashed against the car door when traveling to school as my cousin brother simply wouldn’t keep his legs together – however much I chastised him and however much he obliged, those legs would involuntarily find their way apart.

Thus having my feathers ruffled, I decided to ask around. Apart from a few lewd and crude comments, the overall answer (from those trying to be helpful) was that it was rather uncomfortable to keep their legs right together, no they didn’t always realize that they were being a nuisance to society by doing it, yes it was possible for them to keep them together if they wanted to (easy for me to say apparently) and also a few other comments on a certain little man’s right to breathe. I guess I asked for that…

Ladies are expected to sit with their legs crossed (not cross-legged but so that the bottom of one knee is placed upon the other) or with their legs together – it’s usually acceptable to disregard this expectation if we have seduction on our minds *part from the movie Basic Instinct flashes across mind*.  And although I made fun of my uncle last week for sitting like a woman (in the posture mentioned above, with his legs crossed – in my defense, he was insulting a certain person’s masculinity and I had to say something and what I said was that my uncle couldn’t afford to talk while sitting like that), I realized my mistake when I was firmly put in my place, being told that it was the ‘refined’ way of sitting.

It is isn’t it? It is considered good manners for men to sit with their legs crossed or together or in any way that it wouldn’t be blatantly obvious that well… that they’re thinking inline with the dog mentioned above.

For all those men who protest indignantly that It’s just the way we sit or It’s just too uncomfortable or even The little man will die of suffocation! I’d like to make a little reminder that it’s manners! I’ve noticed that most men with prestige, power and status sit properly: presidents, CEOs, directors, heads of various organizations (well just the sophisticated and intelligent ones I guess). Anyway, I’m sure you get my drift. So the way you sit could very well be one of those things that tell people exactly which steps you frequent in the ladder of success.

So apart from the girly-men looking gay when sitting with their legs together, the real men (emphatic pause…) look refined. So all you real men out there, if you’ve forgotten your manners, it’s time to brush them up. At least in public. Not everyone is impressed with the fact that you people take up more public space just so your little guys can breathe.

Ok so I’m not a superstitious person. At least not when it comes to astrology. I read the astrology section for fun sometimes but that doesn’t mean I believe in them star signs or anything. Not that I’m looking down my nice little nose at people who do. But the thing is, I’ve always been a Scorpion.

Now knowing that I’m a Scorpion has made no big difference in my life. Only time it ever comes in handy is when I get those forwards which enlighten me on what sort of person  I am through my star sign. And I’m a Scorpion. Scorpions if you didn’t already know are uber awesome.  That’s what I’ve always been.  And now it seems that there’s been a shift in Earth’s alignment (WHY!!!!) and there’s now a 13th zodiac star – Ophiuchus. Sigh. And according to the new chart I’m no longer a Scorpion – I’m a Libra!! And for some reason, I cant seem to come to terms with that. That’s just not right!! That is not who I am!!! *Haves panic attack*

Libra: The symbol for Libra is the Scales. And according to Wikipedia, in Roman mythology, Libra is considered to depict the scales held by Astraea (identified as Virgo), the goddess of justice. *Haves another panic attack* I don’t think I can handle that!!

 

Should you be worried? Hell yes! Here’s the new chart:

Capricorn: January 20 to February 16

Aquarius: February 16 to March 11

Pisces: March 11 to April 18.

Aries: April 18 to May 13

Taurus: May 13 to June 21.

Gemini: June 21 to July 20

Cancer: July 20 to August 10

Leo: August 10 to September 16

Virgo: September 16 to October 30

Libra: October 30 to November 23

Scorpio: November 23 to November 29

Ophiuchus: November 29 to December 17

Sagittarius: December 17 to January 20

No longer what you were? Feeling out of sorts? Don’t give a shit??

I’ve calmed down. Hell with earth’s alignment, I’m going to side with the people who are going to stick with the old charts. I’m proud to be a Scorpion with all the traits that those annoying long forwards and little newspaper columns insist that I have.

So it’s a bit past ten and I’m sitting at the computer downstairs, blog-hopping the night away. It’s a cold night. And suddenly, Dog-a-doodle gets up from her nearby chair, where she had been sleeping for awhile, and goes upstairs. And I watch her climb the stairs and disappear out of view. I know where she went. She went to my room to sleep. On her own. And I’m still here downstairs! Now I know I may be babbling here, but that just isn’t right!!

Aren’t dogs supposed to be up all night guarding the house? And barking at random noises? Heck most dogs do all that outside the house! Mine used to sleep in the balcony, then moved into the living room during a rainy season and then due to her peeing under the stairway in the early mornings I had her sleeping in my room. That means that I’m often woken up at 3.30 in the morning where I have to stumble downstairs in a semi-conscious state and open the door for her.

The usual way it happens is that after dinner or around the time everyone goes to bed or when I’m done using the computer (which *sigh* is still not in my room) I go up to my bedroom to sleep and call Dog-a-doodle (my new roommate) along, who would get up from her chair where she usually sleeps after dinner and move to my rug. On cold days I cover her with an old shirt and tuck her in.

Now she just goes up to my bedroom on her own and goes to sleep, before me mind you, when I’m right here, all alone downstairs. I mean she is the dog of the house. That’s just not right, right?

Okay I just went up to check, and sure enough, there she was all snuggled up and fast asleep on my fluffy rug. I switch the light on and she opens her eyes lazily and gives me a “Can you not make too much noise, I’m trying to sleep” look. Me! I did the only thing I could think of; I tucked her in with the old shirt, switched off the light and came downstairs.  It is after all a cold night.