A 100 hugs

Once every now and then I want to hurl my cherished jar of marbles at the mirror in front of me, to hear the crash of glass, the marbles hitting the floor and bouncing with such ferocity.

These pent up emotions…sometimes its sadness, like I’ve lost something dear.  Sometimes anger, because of my stupid fear.

The past couple of days I’ve been in a tepid state, trying to find reasons for my misery. I’ve also being reminiscing and it seems that I have lost myself along the way. The journey, remember? I’d have my tuck shop stops and you’d have yours. They were never the same but at least we knew we were heading in the same direction. That was what made it comfortable and secure, our childhood game.

Now everything’s blurry, like the time you opened the bottle of pepper, sneezed and then the whole thing got into my eyes.

I still think of that night you left me, at the hospital. You told me to live my life, in a tone you always used when you told me something of utmost importance, the tone I’ve come to respect over the years. I hated you for saying that, the command, for making me venture into a world that I’ve never known. I hated you for weeks after that, mostly because you refused to talk to me. But with time things healed and it wasn’t so unbearable. Then life was a different chapter, a chapter I enjoyed for a few years. You were happy because I was happy and I was happy because you were. We are two odd creatures looking out for each other in a strange mangled sort of way.

Then came the time you left me, again, with a frightened embrace, a quick kiss and a few empty words. It wasn’t a proper goodbye because you lied. I was bitter for a while because it was the first time you lied to me. Then I began to realize that it was hard for you and tough because I wasn’t making it any easier. As always you were ever ready to forgive, tell me that you’ll always be there and then suddenly life went back to being normal. I’d miss you, you’d miss me but we’d both reminisce and wait for an opportunity when you’d be back here again.

Now things are slightly different, you’ve graduated, you’re moving to a place where I always wanted to live, Missy Independent, you used to call me. A dream that once was mine has become your reality. It hurts, because things are not the same. It hurts, because I’m envious. It hurts, because we are apart, two twenty-odd-year-old’s separated by distance with a lifetime of memories.

I know you’re not coming back, I hear it in your voice every time you speak to me. I’m learning to deal with that and hopefully someday I’ll join you and live out my independent dreams but for the moment I choose to battle my inner demons amidst familiar territory.

Until we meet again Gypsy Boy, a 100 hugs.

Where’s my muse?

The past couple of weeks have been inspiration-less. Now it’s starting to get to me. The problem is I can’t work without being passionate about work. I guess that’s how any creative person feels when they’re hit with a writer’s block or an idea block, but when that happens it’s the chopping block for me!

Meeting the boyfriend’s parents

GASP!

Don’t GASP because I’m not meeting the boyfriend’s parents but it did get your attention, I hope. Oh and boyfriend hope I didn’t give you a scare . Well this drastic topic was provoked by a similar caption in the Vogue magazine (yes I’m a faithful reader of the VOGUE) which after much deliberation was read by an overeager me. The article had a lot of brand names that could be utilized when some poor girl goes to ‘meet the parents’. Unfortunately since I live in Sri Lanka and don’t care too much for brand names (but, Body Shop rocks) I decided to reveal all in my blog about what I think is the perfect way to meet the parents.

(SFX: Drum Roll) Don’t meet the parents!!

Ok joking I wish life was like that but unfortunately most men are momma’s boys so one day Mother Dearest will have to be dealt with. When that day dawns I’m going to hide under my bed, and anyone who comes looking for me will be unmercifully poked with a broom.

Actually come to think of it, I haven’t met a parent who hasn’t liked me, most of my male friends parents love me so much that they think I should marry their sons. Which makes me wonder what they used in their tea (because they sure don’t know what I did with them when they had their backs turned (kidding, I’m not a bad girl, just kicked the family cat and occasionally kicked the guy)).

Anyway the last episode of meet the parents was when I liked this guy and he liked me (whatever happened with that no one knows, or rather I do but won’t tell) and then one day I ran into him at a mall. He was with Mother Dearest. I froze because I was in my scruffy sneakers, with the laces undone, hair all in a mess and a tee which said “Rock on”. Boy what an impression!! Picture this… I saw him, had this big smile on my face, then I saw his mom, tried to do a U turn, stumbled on my laces, and did a little ‘oopsie I nearly fell but I’m alright dance’. He came up to me and asked me if I was all right. So I casually remarked saying I was but my shoes weren’t, lame! His mom, who had caught all this, walked over and said “hello, I’m (So and So) mum”. I nod and (So and So) quickly introduces me to her, So and So also decided on the spur of the moment to invite me to lunch with them. I mean come on… so I politely say I can’t but mom insists that I come. Oh boy!! So I go and we have a really good time and guess what I didn’t have to behave all prim and proper, I was just myself, I even managed to spill sauce on my ‘rock on’ tee. So the point of this story is basically just be yourself, dress conservatively though, heard short skirts and cleavage showing tops are a big no in today’s parent meeting society. But I’m all for meeting the parents somewhere else apart from home. And damnit I will wear my jeans when I meet them.

My mum: For goodness sake wear the white dress with pink flowers

Me: No, black dress and that’s final!

Mum: Are you going to a funeral?

Me: I will be if his parents don’t like me.

This conversation will never happen because secretly she will wish that ‘his’ parents won’t like me because she doesn’t like him. So jeans it is then!!

A pearly white piece of wisdom

The difference between a man and a boy is that a man will always ask a woman (who is obviously in a lot of pain, physically or emotionally, doesn’t matter) if she’s all right while a boy will always make a remark and leave it at that.

Psycho Girl discovered this little known fact; I guess it’s the wisdom tooth talking or is it cavity?

…

Every morning on my way to work I see 4 little girls walk to the top of the road to wave goodbye to their mom. They are aged 9, 7, 5 and 1 ½ and every morning without fail the youngest girl’s eyes would well up with tears as she raises her little hand and says “bye mamma”. As I look on at the ritual my eyes brim with tears too. I always wonder whether I’d be able to leave my kids behind and pursue a career, it’s insane to be thinking about stuff like that but I can’t help but wonder.

C cried the day she left her baby at home to start work after her 4-month maternal break. Apparently she cried buckets. Today I was greeted with a corridor filled with co-workers in tears. I search for Poppet’s face until I find her, her green eyes filled with tears, she quickly tells me “C’s baby died”. How did it happen? I had lunch with her yesterday and she was full of stories about her little one. In shock I go upstairs, switch on my Mac, check mail, check Facebook and then when everything sinks in I start to cry.

I called my mom, told her what happened and told her not to tell my sister-in-law. I worry about my nephew, I worry about my 3 other co-workers newborns, I worry for the pregnant co-worker, I wish no one told her about this. If I feel so devastated by it, I just can’t imagine the anguish C must be going through. When my uncle died early last year, I knew how difficult it was for my grandmother who’s 85 to see her son being buried. Then to silence my thoughts I felt that because my uncle was old it wasn’t too bad but now I think about how difficult it’s going to be for C when tomorrow dawns and the days that follow.

Office is quiet, the silence is killing me, not even Pokey’s lame eyebrow dance can lift my spirits.

Tomorrow is the funeral; I don’t want to go because I’m not strong enough to deal with this. Gosh life is cruel!

Love, actually?

Nice to ponder on with a Caipirinha in hand, the nicest mocktail I’ve had so far. I look around the pub to make sure no one heard Mellow’s outburst. Sometimes I wonder what people think when they eavesdrop on our conversations, sometimes I wish he wouldn’t speak as loud as he does and sometimes I hope he’s not insensitive when discussing sensitive topics. Focusing back to my little bunch I’m greeted with bewilderment written across their faces. Mellow continues his tirade dramatically moving his hand, barely missing my drink. He seems awfully in the mood to get his point across, and at times like these I sit back, listen intently and let him talk.

As the clock quickly ticks away the minutes, I can’t help but wonder about everything he said about love. I already knew that love is not changing the other person to fit your idea of the perfect person but that thought triggered so many other thought processes. If love means not changing a single thing about the other person, that means 99.9% of people haven’t being in love. Stewie looks perplexed and I look utterly baffled as realization slowly takes a hit, for me maybe it’s the Caipirinha. I shake my glass and look at it in dismay, its over and I really need another one but there’s no chance of that. While I awaken from my reverie, the gang seems to be discussing the best restaurants in town, I suggest that we try Japanese. Mellow thinks it’s a brilliant idea and yes I’m always full of brilliant stupid freaking ideas (I hate Japanese food!!).

Now at Sakura’s I’m still pondering while trying to eat with chopsticks. I’m the most ungraceful creature you’ve ever had Jap food with, seriously. As I struggle to grasp a piece of tempura, Mellow pokes something raw into my mouth and  since I’m pretty much zoned out, I bite into awful raw food and gasp “Shit Mellow this freaking thing’s raw”. He looks at me and says “Sushi”. I swallow it in disgust and point my sticks at Stewie, he makes a silent but audible remark about how I’d walk away with them when we leave.

Love again…that thought stuck in my head. Love for me is the following list of things,

Love is putting up with the toilet seat, I’ve grown up with a older brother sharing my bathroom so I’m pretty much used to it sometimes being down and sometimes being up (the toilet seat, for goodness sake!!). So it really doesn’t bother me.

Love is having an argument, slamming the bedroom door and then opening it to let the dog in

Love is when you’re told not to touch the brand new car and you touch it, drive it, crash it and then he looks at you and says “It’s amazing how much damage you could do in 5 minutes”.

Love is when you repeatedly listen to someone with a bad case of hysterical giggling while telling a joke.

Ok I’m going to stop now, this post started off a tad bit seriously but now I’m starting to find it all too comical. Well before I go, love for me is everything other than what people describe when they think of the 4 letter word and Mellow you may be right and you may be wrong, I don’t know, what I do know is that I walked away with the chopsticks.

I’m an aunt

To a beautiful baby boy!!! He’s such a treat, I can’t wait to cuddle him and kiss his cute little button nose and look into those dreamy brown eyes…

URGH!

Sometimes I think that life is ’someone up there’ silly little idea of a joke. What’s funny is that he’s not laughing with us but at us!  Bugger, if mom ever reads this, I won’t have a home to return to after tonight’s episode with my friends.

I’m terribly upset so this is just a rant, please bear with me until all hell’s broken loose, well when that happens you’re supposed to call for tranquilizer darts, seriously ask Gypsy Boy in New York he knows all about my violent tantrums and I hate to say this Davy Jones PMS is not a freaking myth!

The reason for such abusive ranting? Well as you may all know, if you’ve read ‘what if’ I’m dating a guy (just in case you get the wrong vibes) whom I shall fondly refer to as Cookie, much like the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. He’s not blue though, maybe he’ll turn blue if I choke him, but I won’t do that because I’ve got the muscle power of a mouse and well I love him too much. We’re completely opposite, we are so opposite that as soon as I think I love something I know he’ll hate it. I guess its funny in the beginning but I doubt it will funny a lot later on. I’m periodically insecure about the whole thing, about the fact that we’re so different and especially because of his strong opinions on politics. I hate politics! (Load the darts)

Things are happening all around us, he wants to talk about it, I make mocking comments about stuff and he shuts off completely. When it happens to me I do the same thing. Yippy I found something in common! Moving on…I hate the fact this post is extremely personal and I hate the fact that he’s going to see it on whatever alert that pops up on his screen but I need to vent.

And I need to vent before I leave work today because I don’t want to ruin my uncontrollable bubbly excitement of hanging out with my friends after such a long time and besides if I’m upset they’ll know and they’ll want to know why and shit like that…sometimes friends won’t let things be…

Ok done

Over and out!

Flings and things…

My definition of a fling:

Short-lived affair that’s purely selfish but utterly satisfying.

It’s also terribly evil Poppet. I’ve done the odd fling or two and I must say it was everything I defined it to be but sometimes when I run into the odd fling-ed person or two it makes everything very awkward and strange. So I guess there’s the good, the bad and the ugly. But in your case of the cradle snatching dilemma you feel the flutter-by’s for, well he’s great but not good material for a fling, he seems more like ‘keep forever’ kinda material. I think you should just maybe not have a fling but just randomly chat a guy up or be mischievous and go out on a blind date. Remember the time I went out on one and thought my heart couldn’t take the pressure, and I felt violently ill and you started yelling at me saying how you think my life is full of drama? Such thrills I tell you make up spellbinding stories to corrupt your grand children with, so go ahead hottie and have fun. You don’t have to snog or do nufthing, it’s more like flirt not fling. That won’t be too bad neh? If you ever need pointers on how to flirt, well 216 it is…

Oh Poppet, there’s something else you should know… I don’t fall in love easily and I don’t fall out of love easily either. Well I just can act pretty darn well…

Crap I’m such a lousy friend with super naughty advice…anyway while I’m at this post, I thought I should let you know that you’re an absolutely terrific person (you don’t need me to tell you that) and I’m constantly amazed that you absolutely believe in me and believe everything I tell you, like the boob prayer (yeah if you pray everyday it works, I’m living proof ). You’re one of a kind and I hope you meet Prince Charming soon. I’m sure he’s just lost somewhere in the woods, see men never ask for freaking directions!

P.S I’m not a jew and I love you.

Love : Hate

Love the fact that Gypsy Boy has finally graduated.
Hate the fact that he is having an absolute blast in New York, without me!

Love the fact that Ifuz has found independence.
Hate the fact that she will soon leave the shore.

Love the fact that Cookie loves me.
Hate the fact that he’s avalanched with assignments.

Love the fact that Dysfunctional has gotten over me.
Hate the fact that he’s moved onto Psycho Girl.

Love the fact that Psycho Girl is Psycho.
Hate the fact that I’ll have to keep my babies away from her.*

Love the fact that work is chilled out.
Hate the fact that I don’t have anything to do.

*She’s threatening to throw babies into tubs of water swearing that they’ll learn to swim.