The idiosyncrasies of a woman

E: I miss him so much, what do I do?

Curly: Well that’s his job. What did you expect from a pilot? Just deal with it.

E: I can’t! Now we have arguments all the time about his flight schedules.

Curly: Ok does he call every time he’s somewhere else.

E: Yes

Curly: How often do you meet him?

E: Twice a week.

Curly: What! You crazy wretch if I were you I’d just be happy meeting him twice a week. I need my space and I’m sure he needs his space too. You’re too freaking needy!!

E: (Wails) You don’t understand.

To hell I don’t!

URGH!

Chain mails. What the fricks!! I mean the ones where someone sends you a mail with 100 odd addresses and then people start replying to it by hitting the REPLY ALL button. It happens on bloody Facebook as well and I simply hate it because most people reply back with what they think are witty one liners like “Oh man, what have you been smoking?” or “what’s up your crack?”. CUT IT OUT! I stopped watching Simpsons when I was 10. If you must reply because everyone’s life depends on it then by all means do so, but make it interesting content because if it’s not funny, it’s cruel to insult my sense of humour. Plus you’re clogging my inbox. Also when you think funny means vulgar, that’s just not acceptable because I start getting spam alerts, repeatedly!

I’m Frank

Such a strange word! Such a strange name! Makes me laugh every time I hear it. Anyway the reason I chose that particular word is well because I’m frank, truthful, candid, blatant, honest and outspoken. This wonderful quality has always proved to be a fifty-fifty asset in my life.

In relationships, being frank is great. Men don’t have to read my many emotions because I let them know. It’s easy, no need to level my eyes, or arch my eyebrows, no need to enunciate important words or play with the inflections in my voice. “Just cut it out I’m pissed” would suffice, unless a verbal interplay is what I want because sometimes arguments are fun. Being frank is also what I expect from the guy ( whoever at that precise moment happens to be inter-mangled in a relationship with me) because if men can’t be bothered to read my mind then they can’t expect me to read theirs even though I read them perfectly.

At work, being frank has its disadvantages though I try to focus on the positives rather than the negatives. Also empowering others to be frank has been quite a lot of fun.

But frank got me into trouble last week, actually it was the lack of sleep, plus stress coupled with random emotional turmoil (a.k.a mother dearest) made me snap at a rather large but childish guy whom I like (as a friend). Then trying to recover and trying to be frank by telling that a childish attitude is unacceptable was difficult and resulted with him throwing a tantrum. So I guess frankness should be a little controlled and diplomatic should take on a more active role in my vocabulary. Oh dear frank, what do we do?

Have I ever?

Secretly gone to the rooftop of Mt Lavania hotel (restricted area) and made out with a gorgeous guy?

Danced in the rain?

Danced in the middle of Galle Road?

Mountain biked with a crazy boyfriend who crisscrossed his way through the rush hour traffic in Colombo?

Taken the bends in Nuwara Eliya while clinging to the sides of an open back truck.

Got lost in the jungle?

Surfed and nearly drowned?

Stood on the steps of a train and watched the scenery from Colombo to Nan Oya?

Pole danced?

Been spat at by a madman on the road?

Fallen into a drain (repeatedly)?

Got drunk and slept on the pavement?

Emptied the contents of my drink on a guy at a rave? (Damn that drink cost me 500 bucks)

The Whackster tagged me and this is my list of naughty (and not so naughty) things, must say that I’m quite proud of it. Oh and no I’m not tagging anyone

An awful friday

I’m stressed.
I can’t think straight.
There are so many things going on in my head.
Little sparks and lost thoughts.
Followed by a quick succession of flashbacks.

Tempted to rebel and let sanity escape.
Tempted to stay put and fight my way.
Confusing as it is, there seems to be either this or that,
and a tingling sensation to break that bitch’s neck.

Silence

Is a killer. Silence, but I can hear him swallow his tea. Silence, but I can hear the soft touch of fingers lingering over the phone keypad. Silence, and I can hear my heartbeat. Silence, and I shift in my seat. Silence, and I wish it was all over. Because, silence can be deafening.