She moves in mysterious ways (It's alright!)

"I don't trust you,'' I said, teasingly.
"I don't trust myself,'' she said, also teasingly.
"Well, don't worry, I'm not going to kiss you tonight,'' I said, reassuringly.
"What? Bull shit. Do you expect me to believe that if I leaned in now, you wouldn't kiss me?" she said, challengingly.
"Yes,'' I said, confidently.
And so, she leaned in. I could see her face in the neon light that shone in from her window, and the soft whirr of the air-conditioner broke the silence of her small room.
Did i want to kiss her? Yes. Because she was tall, pretty, had a very hot body, was actually intelligent, and I had just had over four hours of great conversation with her, over cheap drinks at Janata Bar, and then a chain of cigarettes on the steps outside her house.
Did I kiss her? I won't say. Not because I don't kiss and tell, but because i don't not-kiss and tell.
So, what, then, was the problem? The problem was, that she had a boyfriend. Has a boyfriend. And he is actually a very nice boy. Decent, soft spoken, hard working, acts in plays, catholic even.
So why, then, was she sitting on her bed, which was really just a single mattress, with a boy who had broken the heart of one of her closest friends, less than two months ago? Obviously, because I'm the bad boy that her boyfriend isn't. Ok, ok, let me say it. I'm not a bad boy. I'm actually fairly good. But bad boy to her.

"You're such a player,'' she said. "Don't you just love that?" i said.

So. Since this post is tagged 'Lessons for Dudes', what's the lesson for you dudes here. The lesson, my friends, is this. Women, even devoted ones, will, if presented with the right opportunity, cheat on their boyfriends. Its true. I actually believe that its easier to seduce (i hate that word, but i don't have a better one) a girl with a boyfriend, or one who is soon to be wed, than a single girl. And this i speak from experience, plenty of mine own and those of plenty of my good friends'. Who are soon to be wed are very easy. Maybe they just want to get it done one last time? My experience with married women is extremely limited, so i won't comment.

Take a look at this. Its a piece by The Sun, brilliantly called `affairer sex'. Granted, it is the sun. But even so. Billy Crystal agrees. But this? I don't actually ever read it, but The Independent does sound like it has a lot more credibility. Do a little Blackle (that's an eco friendly google) search. You'll find that, indeed, more women are cheaters than men.

Before i get to why women cheat more, let me get to why men cheat less. Firstly, most men do have commitment phobia. Women love commitment. The only thing the love more than commitment is a is a man who doesn't. Men are naturally wired to be opportunistic. But for a man to commit to a woman, means that he's put some thought into it, and decided that he wants to be with this woman. He is with her because he wants to. (now I'm not talk about horny 15 year old boys that will go steady with a girl because its cool, I'm talking about horny 26 year old that will go steady with a girl cos its cool.) So for him to cheat, it means that he has to, in his head, overthrow all that he has thought and considered, and contradict his own emotion and hard work. Or, it could just be that he's extremely drunk and/or, she's incredibly hot. Unlikely, because women don't really love men who are incredibly drunk, unless they are too/

Second, i don't think men get enough opportunity as women. I do believe that the majority of women are naturally more attractive than men, especially since we start approaching thirty. Of course, some women do get fat (and I'm not apologising for using that word, use the bloody gym), but that doesn't matter, because there will always be a man to hit on a woman. All women, fat or not, get hit on. The same does not apply to men.

Now women, as I have always believed, are attracted to two kinds of men. One is the nice, sweet, gentle provider. The good looker, the stage-actor, the investment banker, the computer engineer. Which is who they marry and go to picnics with and cook with their moms and have kids with and go to the theater with. Then, they're attracted to the assholes. Which, is me, sometimes. The assholes don't even have to look extremely good or have great jobs or anything. Which, is also me, sometimes. We just have to talk smart.

So, as I was saying, they will marry the good boy, but want to fuck the bad boys. Its true. I'm telling you.

So, why wouldn't I kiss her? Because that is all they will ever want to do with the bad boys. Unless they're single. Well, then too, if they're smart, they'll get tired of the bad boy. If they're not, why the fuck would you want to be with them? They will never want to love you. They will never want to tell you about why they don't get along with their parents, and they won't care when you cry. You think you're using them, but no, really, they're using you.

And that sucks. So no more non-single women for me.

Lessons For [chick] Human Beings.

So, this post is part of my series of lessons for human beings. This one is for the Women. So there isnt much of a post here, there's just a lesson. But believe me, its true.

So here's the lesson.

-- If a guy says to you, 'I'm not the committment type', what he really means is, `I'm not the committment type with you. '--

The truth is, when a guy really likes you, for more than your ass, he will be the committment type. That is the simple truth. End of the lesson.

This comes from a hardcore committment-phobe, so you better believe it. Also, as an aside, for some stupid reason, the moment a guy says to a girl, ``i'm not the committment type'', she loves him.
-4

How to snag literary type chicks.

Today I will tell you, the young man, how to snag chicks that read, and especially chicks that read poetry. And the beauty of it is, you won't actually have to read much poetry to do it.

First of all, you must remember that chicks that read are many. But they all pretty much read the same stuff. Those that've studied literature in college all read Shakespeare and whatever else is in the syllabus. Many of them actually didn't even understand it (but, still, its good for you to memorise these lines " When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won." Spout these words randomly, but strategically. Eg. Lit Chick : Ok, its time for me to go, i'm supposed to meet my boyfriend, and you don't seem that bright. WannabePlayer : When shall we three...... hurlyburly's.... lost and won" LitChick : Wow. I didn't know you read Shakespeare. WannabePlayer : I don't. I wrote that. LitChick. Hee hee... ok i'll wait a little longer, you're funny, and cute. (See what happened here, you led her to believe that you read and are intelligent, and yet, when she brought up the bard [Shakespeare, you dolt] you cleverly brought the conversation back to you, so you'll can talk about you, and so you don't have to actually discuss the dead dude [Shakespeare, you dolt]. Now, get her to talk about sex.

Ok, now back to the main bit, which is, how to snag literary type chicks, without actually being smart. I'm gonna teach you how to kill lit chicks till they're naked (not kill them dead, kill them horny, you dolt). Ok, here's the big secret. Just remember this one one name, but remember it well. E. E. Cummings.

What's that you say? Who is this Cummings dude? Ok, so cummings is a poet who was born to help us score with lit chicks.

So, first, google the dude, and read up about him, and you will get your first conversation starter bits. His name. This bit works better if you'll are conversing on email or gchat.

For instance
LitChick : So, do you like the romantics, or the Naturalists? (There's nothing actually called the Naturalists, except the nude white men in goa, but I'm not the poetry type either, so i don't really know much about poetry, so just assume that she throws a poetic period at you that you know nothing about)
You: Well, i don't think poetry, well, really, all art, can be boxed into little periods... i mean... time isn't linear.
LitChick : (slightly confused, cos she's actually a bit of a poseur too) What're you talking about?
You : Well, if you must know, i do appreciate E. E. Cummings.
LitChick: Don't you mean e. e. cummings?
You: Well, you can say it as you like... you know he didn't really stress on the capitalisation of his name... and he meant is as a mark of humility, really, not as the preferred orthography for others to use ... (she probably won't have read up about cummings on wikipedia, so she won't know that you're paraphrasing)
LitChick: well, what do you like about him?
You: I'd like to say that i like his versatility, and how he really says things in a way that makes me think, ``that's exactly what i was thinking'', but the truth is, because the guy's really a horny bugger ha ha.
LitChick : (ideally seeing the humour) ha ha so typical. You like a poet because he's `horny'.
--See what you've done here, boy? Not only have you showed her you're smart, and that you read, and introduced a bit of humour, but you're also slowly steering to topic around to sex, so you increase your chances of eventually doing this woman.
You : Well, typical, yes, but of what?
LitChick: Of the average, testosterone fuelled yada yada...
You : (cutting in) may i feel
LitChick: huh?
You: said he... ill squeal said she ...just once said he... its fun... said she.
LitChick: So thats why you like cummings...
You : ha ha... well... look i have to go soon, but i just want to say, that cummings really had such variety. I mean, he wrote about sex, yes, but also about love. And he wrote beautifully... very intense. Even if you ignore the punctuation, and the structures he builds with his words... very beautiful...

--remember to use these words : Beautiful and intense. Chicks dig these words.
Here, the chick will agree with you. Trust me, she will. and you continue.

You: Well, i can't stay much longer... my buddy's waiting for me... but we should continue this ...
LitChick: yea yea... I should go talk to my friends... my boyfriends not here today.
You: Well, we'll continue this later... life's not a paragraph, you know.
---Remember this life's not a paragraph dialogue, ok? its important

Remember, you're not actually going to go away. You're just saying you're going away. And now you're going to steer the conversation around to sex. Try not to do it with poetry, though. eg, you can say, ``Boyfriend? I thought you were lesbian?''. If you must use poetry, you can continue the life's not a paragraph bit with : and death i think is no parentheses... and neither are threesomes. (ok, dont fuckin ask me what parentheses are, cos i don;t know, and the threesomes bit isnt actually in the poem.)

If you can get thru this bit ok, then this chick is yours. Just remember never to talk more poetry with her. Like, you can say, ``Words, really, only limit expression. There are only so many words, and so many more feelings. Not my opinion... Parmahansa Yogananda's.'' Or say, ``Look, i dont really feel like talking now... lets just enjoy the silence for once.'' Or even, ``I'm really more the prose type...its always easier to carry prose when you're on motorcycle trips''

So, thats how to handle Lit Chicks. Just remember, they're not really that bright either, and want to get laid as much as you. And because they're lit chicks, will probably be more likely to be open to a threesome with another chick, and probably have lesbian lovers. Definately do if they're from LSR.

Thats it for me today. But just for your own happiness, check out this poem by cummings.

-----

it is at moments after i have dreamed

it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed
with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds
the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;
moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:
one pierced moment whiter than the rest
-turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

---

And also, any man who writes this, below, has to be a stud, and we all can learn a lot from him

---

the boys i mean are not refined

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

Milk boy! Save us, Milk boy!

Please allow me to introduce myself
Im a man of wealth and tasteIve been around for a long, long year
Stole many a mans soul and faith
And I was round when jesus christ
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate

See, now the thing about me is, that I have fairly decent Game. I don't pick up women in bars (this is India, i know very few people who do, cos women can be really prissy here), but I do have conversations with them, and i do flirt with some fairly succesfully. I can't charm the pants of any women you point out at me, but i do know if i get into a conversation with a woman, i have at least a 70% chance of scoring. Its another matter that i'm very picky, and really dont want to score unless they're very pretty or very intelligent.

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
But whats puzzling you
Is the nature of my game

The unfortunate problem, i think, with all men, regardless of the quantum of Game we may or may not have, is this : when we meet a woman we really really really like, we lose all game, and become charmless, tactless fool with the Game of a 14 year old hedgehog. (for those of you'll who are wondering what i mean by Game, if you don't know, erm, what can i say? Read a nice book by a dude called neil something or the other).

I stuck around St. Petersberg
When I saw it was a time for a change
Killed the Czar and his ministers
Anastasia screamed in vain

So, when you deal with a lady. Or a girl. Or a woman. Or a child, i am told. The rules to be successful are always the same. Their application may be varied a little, but they essentially stay the same. For instance, don't fawn over the woman. Don't get her gifts. Don't ever ever let her know you like her. Let her do all the work. Be confident. When you see the signs, do something about it. Don't be a wuss. And don't ever, ever, ever be afraid of rejection. And of course, develop `samurai mind', don't care if she never calls you. Of course these don't really apply if you look like that tall dude in Rang De Basanti, or a certain Mr. Pitt, or a certain, now deceased, Mr. Dean. They don't apply if you drive a Bentley in Bombay, or have a penthouse on Marine drive. But if you're an ordinary journo, with nothing more to his name that a car (with the bolt that holds the windshield in place missing, as I have recently discovered) and a personality, then well, they do apply.

I rode a tank
Held a general's rank
When the Blitzkrieg raged
and the Bodies stank

And honestly, i've had my share of women. A lot less than a lot of men, but that is because I have very strict standards. Most guys i know, even incredibly nice guys who are my best friends, will sleep with anything that moves. Or moved. I have the same policy for food, but not for women. If i've been in any sort of relationship with a girl, thats testimony to the fact that she's got something special about her (except for one...the only thing special about her, was her boobs). Allright, enough of blowing my own trumpet.

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name, oh yeah
What's puzzling you
Is the nature of my game, oh yeah

So, why, i ask, why? Does a young gent such as myself, forget all that he's learnt, and do everything he really shouldn't, the moment he meets the one girl who he would like to date for a little longer than three weeks? Why does he buy her gifts, and pay for coffee at the Taj Blue Diamond(two cups each). Why does he write her an email telling her just exactly how he feels. Why does he feel like he's the one being judged, rather that let her feel like that. Why does he care if he gets her or not? Is it because, he actually likes to watch her laugh? Is it because he actually likes to hear about her childhood, and isn't thinking about how he can steer the topic around to sex (which happens anyway, when she says, ``tell me two truths and a lie about sex'' which is a game he made up). Is it because she challenges him so much? ("I'm not going to fall for the strategy. There's so much more to you", she says) Is it because it doesn't matter to him that she is, actually, quite pretty. And why does he feel like he's setting himself up to lose this one? What is she doing? he knows she does like him, somehow, but she's not letting him win.

I watched with glee

While your kings and queens

Fought for ten decades

For the gods they made

I shouted out, "Who killed the Gandhis?"

When after all It was you and me

Men dig their own graves you know. They set themselves up for failure. They build it up in their heads, they make the task impossible for themselves. They have it in control, and then they let it go. When they don't care, they do great, but the moment they start, they shoot themselves in the foot. Some of us grow balls, and take the bull by its balls. Some of those that do, get trampled, and some, strangly, get loved by the bull. And the thing is, they can have been with a hundred women, but when they meet the woman that they could fall in love with, they turn into idiots. They say things like, ``she could never like me'', or ``i'm not into committment'', or ``she's got a funny tooth'', or ``it'll never work'', or ''we're friends'', or ``i don't know if she likes me or not''.

Let me please introduce myself

I'm a man of wealth and taste

And I laid traps for troubadours

Who get killed before they reached Bombay

So i know what i must do to get her. a) Stop being such a wuss. b) Stop caring about whether i get her or not. c) Game her a little, charm her a little. d) Make her want me, rather than the other way around. But the problem is, i know i could get her like that, but I might not want to. I want to care, and i want to be afraid, and i want her to want me for what I am, cheesy as that sounds!

Pleased to meet you

Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah

But what's confusing you

Is just the nature of my game

Love, or more precisely, the possibility of it, i tell you, ruins a man. It leaves him begging, when he should be demanding. Women don't beg when they're in love. They only demand when they're not. When its just about the sex. But then, when it's not about the love, and not about the sex, i think maybe, they don't demand then too, but this I can't say for a fact, and thats what fucks us all.

Just as every cop is a criminal

And all the sinners saints

As heads is tails

Just call me Lucifer

'Cause I'm in need of some restraint

So if you meet me

Have some courtesy

Have some sympathy, and some taste

Use all your well-learned politesse

Or I'll lay your soul to waste, um yeah (woo woo, woo woo)

Pleased to meet you

Hope you guessed my name, um yeah (who who)

But what's puzzling you

Is the nature of my game, um mean it, get down

My house was vacant for a month, and the last people to visit were my sister and my bestbuddy (seperatately, with his girlfriend). One of them left a copy of Filmfare. So i opened it, and leafed through it. There were a couple of hot pics of Mughda Godse. And a photo-type-feature about an ageing model called Rahul Dev, who chooses a young model from a bunch of pictures and `grooms' him.

Now both of them are fairly good looking guys. But Rahul Dev puts the young'un through a ritual which involves a hair expert after saying, ``something must be done about his hair.'' The hair expert says, ``the problem was that he had re-bonded hair...so we had to touch up the base and correct the re-bonding.''

So here'r my questions.
What the fuc* is re-bonded hair?
If you have to re-bond hair, dont you fuc*ing have to bond it first?
And if you correct re-bonding, shouldn't the fuc*ing thing be called 're-re-bonding'.
Who the fuc* comes up with these things?

shite... i'm really out of date, no? But i still believe men should know only two kinds of hair for themselves. Hair, and no hair.

I've been thinking of posting for a while. And i think this is the perfect time to do it, considering i have a deadline for a story looming large, and i'll get screwed if its not in on time.

As usual, i'll write about a woman. This time, my sister. A former girlfriend who professed to having a thing for women says is very cute. I, of course, don't think so, cos that's just sick. So I will just say that she's smart. And i've just realised that she's smarter than me. And i'll post this g-chat conversation that i had with her to demonstrate.
---------


Sis : (in response to my status message 'Crabs are cute'): and yet u eat them
Sent at 12:03 PM on Wednesday
4wd: i'll show you the whole poem
Sis : show show
4wd: crabs are cutecrabs are sweet
they are full of delicious meat
when u eat u feel like ur in heaven
then u realise that u've gobbled up eleven!
with butter or with chilly or even just with curry
with crabs crabs crabs... never worrryy!
Sis : hehehehehe so cool
4wd: hee hee
whats up
Sis : when you comin home?
then i go offline for a bit, and then come back

4wd: yo supp
Sis : yo yo yo blubber brudder (i dunno why she calls me this, i'm pretty fit)
4wd: hows it hangine
Sis : hangin ok chucky chucka psycho .. how bout u ?
Sent at 7:05 PM on Wednesday
Sis : have u ever heard the whine of those boars that live near the office ? its like the fingernails on the blackboard of the bottom of your soul
Sent at 7:11 PM on Wednesday
4wd: i like it
it sounds like the prelude to a ballet of the making of pork sorpotel
Sent at 7:28 PM on Wednesday
Sis : pork sorpotel from those little buggers seems like it will end in the sonnet of the simmering soup of puke
Sent at 7:34 PM on Wednesday
4wd: true art is never understood in its own time. The ode to the buggers will be deified on the altar of gluttony
Sent at 7:39 PM on Wednesday
Sis : cant argue with the most pious of devotees..whose life is a to and fro pilgrimage between the altar of gluttony and the shrine of shit
Then i dont answer for a bit...because I don't know what to say.

Sent at 7:53 PM on Wednesday
Sis : well bro .. hope ya'll be chillin' at da crib dis weekend coz me thinkin' o' spendin' some fly time popping em c's widy
4wd: c's?
Sis : umm .. i dunno .. hehe
Sent at 7:56 PM on Wednesday
4wd: you're a loon
Sent at 8:02 PM on Wednesday
Sis : thankfully im also also a crab. so im cute . yaay.
---
Damn it. I am no longer the smartest in my family.
-4w

Hasta la Vista, Baybay

Hmm ... i hate to do this.

But i'm going to go.

Just when I thought this blog was starting to get sort of popular-ish, I think I need to shut it.

I'll start another one, in a few days. If you want to know what it is, for some reason, email me at : fasterjamesfaster@yahoo.co.in, and i'll tell you what my new blog is, when I do get around to making it. If I've linked to you, don't bother writing, i'll tell you anyhow what my new blog is.

And now, a good-bye song. I'm not really sentimental, its just a nice song.
--------

Lullaby

---------

Good night my angel time to close you eyes

And save these questions for another day

I think I know what you've been asking me

I think you know what I've been trying to say

I promised I would never leave you

And you should always know

Where ever you may go

No matter where you areI never will be far away

Good night my angel now it's time to sleep

And still so many things I want to say

Remember all the songs you sang for me

When we went sailing on an emerald bay

And like a boat out on the ocean

I'm rocking you to sleep

The water's dark and deep

Inside this ancient heart

You'll always be a part of me

Goodnight my angel now it's time to dream

And dream how wondeful your life will be

Someday your child will cry and if you sing this lullaby

Then in your heart there will always be a part of me

Someday we'll all be gone But lullabies go on and on

They never die that's how you and I will be

wishlist

So, my car has been whacked. Sneezy was staying over... he woke up this morning, and said, ``Do you need your car? I have work to do, i'll be done by 1.30.'' Now he says 5.00. I have a date sometime today, and I thought i'd be impressing her with an open jeep. Now I'll have to impress her with a very stylish flourish as I pull my wallet out of my back pocket.

Well, anyhow, i've been Tagged by Juice. I dont normally do tags... and I still have one lying undone. But I'm doing this anyhow.
---------------------------------------
I am thinking about ...
Women. All of them. The short ones, the tall ones. The Cute ones, the not so cute ones. The ones that wanted me, the ones that didn't. The ones the could flirt. The ones that yelled at me. The ones that cried. And, as an afterthought, i'm also thinking a little bt about work, and how I'll probably get fired if I dont get this very unlikely story today.

I said ...
Me: You know what I really want to do?
Her: hmmmm?
Me: Make love to you.
Her: why?
Me: eh?

*In my head, i'm thinking, what the hell sort of question is why? For the record, i didn't have an answer*

I want to ...
Drive the Raid de Himalya.
Ride the Khardung-la.
Mountain bike in British Columbia.
Go to Elevate.
Sky dive.
Walk to Bhrigu.
Snow-board (I think i'd be good. I'm naturally good at this stuff)

I wish...

I wish I was a neutron bomb, for once I could go off

I wish I was a sacrifice but somehow still lived on

I wish I was a sentimental ornament you hung on

The Christmas tree, I wish I was the star that went on top

I wish I was the evidence, I wish I was the grounds

For 50 million hands upraised and open toward the sky

I wish I was a sailor with someone who waited for me

I wish I was as fortunate, as fortunate as me

I wish I was a messenger and all the news was good

I wish I was the full moon shining off a Camaro's hood

I miss ...
Pune. I Miss the hills. I miss having friends that I can run with. Its a really nice city, you know. And people care more about things like the rains than about getting to work on time.

I hear...
Noises in my head. All the time. Really.

I wonder ...
Why, in gods name, why, why, why anyone would want to marry her.

I regret...
I didn't go with Biren to the Army entrance exam.
The New aunt.
Not going to the gym this morning.

I am...
Really fast down hill. Ok, i was, there's no hills in Delhi, so I havn't done that for a while.

I dance ...
With my sister. We do the silly dance, and then hit each other.

I sing...

No, i don't, actually.

I am not always ...

Dependable. But I can always pretend like I am.

I make with my hands...

Cow-dung cakes, that you can plaster your house with to keep flies away. And pots. And paper. None of it too well, but i can do that.

I write...

About dead people. About roads and potholes. About rapes. About stolen money. About funding for schools. Some lies. Some innacuracies. Very little thats 100 percent correct.

I confuse...

Myself a whole lot.

I should try...

A threesome :) With 2 girls, of course... I don't want to see a naked man up close.

I finish...

Very little very well.

__________________________

Ah. That tag is over. Formatting was a bitch. Now that i've done it, I have the privilege to tag as many people as I like. I decree : Sexy Indian Bitch, Bloggerhead, Mahi (when she's back), AQC, and Vijayeta.

On your own blogs, please, not in the comments section!

Confessions of a Lifeguard.

The problem with me is, I'm a nice guy.

Yes, that is a significant problem.

See, some time ago, I'd decided that all the relationships i'd wanted were completely superficial. Only flings. Nothing serious. Now the problem with that is, you need to be a bit of an asshole to pull that off right. But you see, the bit of asshole in me is a little bit too little.

Now that we're on the topic, I have a nice ass. Or arse, as my now-british friend says.

But coming back to the original asshole, I don't have enough in me.

Like, for instance. There's this girl. A couple of years younger than me. She was an intern at our office. Now, i'm not bragging, but she's in love with me. She messages me all the time. Calls me. Messages me to say that I didn't answer. And I still don't answer. She still messages. The most asshole I can be, is to not answer her calls.

Anyhow, one day, she messaged me, telling me, and I quote, ``I really `dig' you''. First of all, who says `dig' anymore. Secondly, why the hell was the `dig' in single inverted commas?

So i answered : ``huh?''

So she said something about how she really liked me and how she thought about me all the time.

So I said, ``I'm sorry, i just dont feel the same way.'' I couldn't be really rude, so i said, ``its not you, its just, i'm not ready for a relationship.'' But it was her. I mean, she was cute and all, and reasonably smart (ish), but I just couldn't see myself with her. So I said, ``I'm sorry''.
So she said, ``How about just a fling then?''
In my head, i could
a) See a new post for this blog
b) See that, if persued, things would not end well.
It would have been easy for me. Have the fling, and then say, ``Look you said just fling, so, ta ta.''

Time out : I said to my roomie, ``Dude, this chick keeps messaging, like what do I do?'' He answers, ``Just fuck her and get it over with.'' I just went, ``huh?'' So he answers, ``Yea, after a guy fucks a woman, she's not interested in him anymore.'' I had to laugh at him...

Anyhow, so its very easy to have a fling with this girl. But i can't. Maybe if I liked her a little more. I'd put my principles aside for some women.

It all seems a little pointless when youre main aim in life is to have meaningless relationships, but you're just too principled. It's like, having a Dodge Viper, but refusing to drift, because its unsafe for oncoming traffic.

Ok, i'm a nice guy. Thats settled. But the problem is that the asshole in me keeps popping up every now and then.

This wednesday, I went to TC with some people from work. I havn't been there in ages. For a wednesday night (which is Media night, for all you non delhi folk) it was really empty. Like i could walk around, and if i wanted to, dance like a cossack, and breathe.

If less people from work were reading this, i could have a longer story, but I'll just say that this new girl from work brought her TOTALLY hot friend. In a little Tube top. I was totally trying to hit on this new girl, whose name i can't remember.

But if you studied my post about strategising women, you'll know that all women want what a) They can't get, and b) what other women want. So since I wanted hot tube-top woman, new girl from work wanted me. And since new girl from work wanted me, hot tube-top woman was automatically more interested in me.

But i keep remembering Sneezy's parting words :``Never play where you work, and never work where you play.'' I know that if I fool around with someone from work, it can't be good. It has to be awkward. Something has to go wrong.

I think too much. That's my problem.

I have so many problems. Aargh.

---------------------------
Also in this issue :
* Sneezy's visiting me tomorrow. ``Arrange me women,'' he said. I can't. I have to pick up the schmuck at 9am from the airport, dressed in formals. Then the two of us have to drive to New Okhla Industrial Development Authority (aka NOIDA) and make a presentation to a multinational company. I have to pretend to be ``his associate''.
* I saw MI:3. It has to be the best movie made this year. Its so fast paced, you never stop to think that the movie makes no logical sense.
* I'm totally broke.

Ambition.

So, here I am. Sitting at home. When I should be working. I called my boss and said, ``I'm going straight to PHQ (Police HQ), so I won't make it to the meeting... is that ok?''. But here I am. Not at PHQ.

I have no idea where I'm going. Maybe I should go to another city and work. My choices are between one city that's full of reporters, but also has a lot of pretty women, some of whom I already know, and one city that doesn't have so many reporters, but no women either. Work ... women ... work... women... so difficult is the choice.

Whenever my daddy thought he should have a conversation with me, he said, ``Son, what are you going to do with life?'' Now my daddy and me didn't have a lot to talk about, so everytime we were in a room with each other, he decided it was the right question to ask.

So here I am, dad. Here's what I want to do :)

In case you think I'm going to list out my career and professional goals here, sorry no. ( But if you must know, i'm going to be a Media Mogul.)

These are the women that I would like to date before I die. Of course, i could die tomorrow. Like Gautam Buddha said, nothing is permanent. So, my list doesn't actually have any names in it. Instead, i've made this list profession-wise. Since i'm a professional-and-all-that myself. Of course, there may be women outside these professional brackets. And this list may change as I grow older... Like Gautama Buddha said, `Nothing is permanent'.

And, if you read my last post, I'd outlined a strategy for women. That's what i'm going to use. Everytime I meet a pretty girl, i'm going to say, ``Sorry, i dont want you.''
-----------------------------------------------
1) The model. Ok, this is a pretty obvious profession. Every man worth his Homer Simpson boxers wants to date a Model. But since i'm being realistic, i'm not looking for a super-model or anything. Just a normal, even struggling struggling model will do. She could be in a Close-up ad. Liril, oh yes Liril. Ramp, good too... except then she might be taller than me... which is ok with me, since I've had a 6foot tall gf, who was some 4 inches taller than me. Ok 3.5''. But i dont want a really bad model... I'm really shallow. So sue me.

2) The corporate. You know, the kind that wears black suits and high heels to work. With no time for a family. She shouldn't even have time for me. Maybe an investment banker.

3) The CNBC anchor. No no, not like Jay Leno. Like the ones on CNBC-TV18. Has anyone noticed that they are by far the cutest of any TV channel? NDTV has some cute anchors too... but i'm sticking by CNBC anchors for my list. This EXCLUDES cnn-ibn anchors... I'm not interested there at all... except for that one REALLY hot one... but i dont think she's interested in me at all:)

4) NGO activist. You know, the kind that has glasses, and wears Khadi stuff thats NOT from Fabindia? She should talk about things like why the Lower Subansiri dam is bad for the people of Upper Assam. Or how archaic india's laws regarding undertrials are. Or that article 377 of the IPC should be scrapped. Things like that.

5) A writer. Not a recreational, write-short-stories-for-the-Telegraph type of writer. One with a proper book already out... and even better if it's sold a few copies already. Only, I don't want to date someone who doesn't write fiction... at least not till i'm 40, anyway.

6) A Ph.D Student. Yeh, you know. With glasses and all. Possibly someone studying solid-state physics, or the lineage of the Shaka Clan in africa.

7) A lesbian. Ok, i know this is not exactly a profession, but think of all the possibilities. And i also know that options 4 & 5 might also be option 7, but ... er.. think of all the possiblities!

8) A pilot. No no, not one for Jet Airways, or Spicejet. One that flies for the Indian Air Force. In fact, i even met a cute one in Bidar Air Base... but all she said to me was, ``Sir yes sir.'' ``I'm going to be an Air Warrior, Sir.'' And pilots in the IAF can't fly fighters yet, though all the senior pilots i've met said they should be allowed to. But for now, i'll be happy meeting a Mi-17 or An-32 pilot.

9) Hiker. You know, with green shorts, fit, dreams about making love under K2 when she goes to bed. There's something about an outdoor girl that city girls just can't match.

10) Computer Geek. This includes graphic artists, web-designers, software gurus, all of them.

-------------

So, that is the list for now. I'm sure there's more, but I just can't think of any. If any of my dear readers fall into any of these brackets, you can apply. Just send in a resume, accompanied by a video or two colour photographs to fasterjamesfaster@yahoo.co.in. And please, no men.

-------------

Also in this issue.

* Who's the smoodle who said something about yellow? Look at this : http://www.rsportscars.com/eng/cars/civic_type-r.asp . Can't you love that? It's a Civic. You know, you get those here. Not the concept, but the Civic.

* Fanaa is the most shit-assed movie ever. The pity is that it could be great, but its not.

* I want to se MI3.

Psychology class

This post is for the men.

--Disclaimer : This post has a disclaimer at the bottom. Please read it after you're done. Dont kill things, its not good Karma. Don't be mean to bicyclists, its not good Karma. Don't eat too much Pizza, its not good for you. --

I know what women want. I've figured it out, and i'm going to impart this knowledge to all you men, and some of you women that may want it, out there. Before I begin, let me tell you that I have all the theoretical knowledege, but putting it into practical application is hard... even for me. Its like removing a crank from a mountain bike. You KNOW that you should use the crank-puller, and gently remove, and never use a hammer... but you just have to hammer, just once. And, that, my friends, is what kills the bottom-bracket.

But first, children, lets deal with a few common misconceptions about what women really want.

1) Money. Well, it helps. But its not everything. It can buy you a lot of good things, but not all good things. You can have all the money in the world, but if you've never slept in an Alpine meadow in the himalayas, you haven't been anywhere. Coming back to women. Yea, women like money, sure. But there is advantage in being the underdog with no money. And its cheaper.

2) A hot body. Well, i'm sure it helps. But you can do without it. I've seen and known all sorts of men, tall and skinny, really short and reallu skinny, fat, plumish, pear-shaped, wobbly, jiggly and even hunchbacked get hooked to hot women. That said, its not a bad idea to work out a little bit. (in case anyone says i work out for the women, no I don't. I work out for me.)

3) A hot face. Well, yea, that may help too. But there is no clear consensus amongst women on what exactly a hot face is. So some women find Vince Vaugh hot, some find Brad Pitt. Some find Billy Bob Thornton. Some overlap, yes, but some even find our own Paresh Rawal hot. Some like Rajnikant even. So this is really a moot point... every face is bound to have some likers.

4) A nice car. Ok, this might help too. But not really. I mean, a bike is sexier than a car. And men and women differ vastly on the subject of cars. Ok, you need to have some transportation to drive her somewhere, and a scooty pep isn't much class. If you were in goa, you could get Lambretta.. that would be cool. But you can get by without it. Really.

5) Superpowers. No point. Really. If you have them, use them. But if you don't, its ok. Unless you want to date Storm. Which you could even without superpowers, if you used my knowledge.

-----------------

And now, for the moment you've all been waiting for.

Bum da bum bum baa bum.

Women want, what they can't get.

Simple. Thats how easy it is. If they cant get you, they want you. Simple. If you're all over a woman, and saying ``take me take me please'', they dont want you. Simple.

So now that you have this almost ethereal piece of knowledge, you have to change your strategy to incorporate it. If you meet a woman you like, don't call/message her incessantly. This is something i've been guilty of, and it doesn't work very well, i know. Let her call you also. If she doesn't call, find someone else that cant get you.

If you meet a girl at a party, don't stick to her like a leech, trying to make intelligent conversation. Even if you're a phd in agro-physics, leave it out. Go chat with the other women. That works double because

bum da bum bum biddy bum

All women want what other women want.

So if you're at a party, and you like this one woman, go talk to the others. The others will like you, cos you don't really like them, so subconsiously, they know they cant get you, so they want you. If all the others want you, and Ms. (or Mrs., if you can be that smooth) thinks she can't get you cos you're hardly talking to her, then she'll want you.

So strategy for such a situation should be, -go say hi to the girl - say something funny - move away - chat up the other women - come back and say hi occasionally - flirt with the other women - get flirted back - make your move on ms. x.

How's that eh?

So if you meet her professionally or something, ask her once for coffee... not like everyday. If she says 'I'm busy', you say, `ok call me when you're not' and move on.

If you want to succeed at this, its imperative that you develop a samurai like state of mind. Those guys left home everyday with incense in their helmets, so if hey were to be beheaded, it would smell sweet. Be ready to not get women. But remember, with enough practice, you'll get pretty good with them samurai blades. Remember Toshiro Mifune.

Remember, if you confuse a woman, she'll like you. Simple.

Oh, and, smell nice.

--Disclaimer : Don't take this too seriously. If you mess up, and lose the woman of your dreams, i'm not to blame. If you're a woman, don't get pissed off cos i let out your secret. Even if you didn't know it was your secret. This post has NOTHING to do with my previous post, for those of you that read me regularly. --

In Defense of yellow + A small dissertation on women.

When my font was yellow, a lot of people said ``eeks yellow'', even though, you know, i'd said it was temporary. What the problem with yellow is, i dont know. What pink is to girls, yellow is to boys.
Case in point : The Yellow mitsubishi lancer. Isn't that sweet?
Case in point 2: The Yellow Skoda Rally Sport. Isn't that also sweet. (And NOBODY give me crap about the skoda being downmarket anywhere outside India... its got a Audi TT engine, and i've seen it bite the ass off one. )

And to defy all those of you that didn't like the yellow, there's a little yellow line on the left side of my template, which will never go away. You can resize the box to make the car, the babe,everything go away, but not the yellow line :)

Now, coming to the women. I think i've figured out what the problem with women is. Well, most women, at least. Not all, i'll admit, but I will extrapolate this thesis to all women. Mainly because i'm in a particularly bad mood.

Here's what I think. Women love to be hard on themselves. They love to beat themselves up. They want to be with a guy thats wrong for them. They never take the easy way out, always hacking through a rain forest with a dull machete. When they should let go, they won't. Decisions that are obvious to any halfway-intelligent onlooker are carried around like water-coolers. Women, i'm telling you, are pointless. And very often, stupid.

How many women do you know that are with a guy that is obviously not right for them, and they're still saying, ``Maybe it can work?''
But how many men do you know in the same situation? Hmm?

When something's obviously over, for whatever reason, how many men do you know that are still hanging on, waiting for the wind to change? Men just go find another ship to sail.

I know a tonne of women, who will let a hundred good things go by, waiting for the wrong thing to become right.

When you give a woman good advice, she's not going to take it.

Which is why you see so many hot, intelligent women with fat ugly slobs. Except those with footballers as significant others. Footballers always seem to have supermodel girlfriends.

If you think about it, you'll see that a lot more women forgive their men for cheating on them than the other way around.

Ok. I know. Some of this is inaccurate. But some of it isn't. But like I said, i'm not in a good mood. Grr.
________

Also in this issue:
* I've been tagged. Yes, i will respond, albino :P
* I hadn't paid my phone bill for a while, so my DSL was down too. Expect more of me soon, and i'll probably be happier tomorrow, so expect a more sensible, better post.
* I didn;t work out for 2 weeks. But now i'm back. With protein shake, sprouts as snacks, the works.

slow down you craaazy child

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
you've got so much to do and only so many hours in a dayyyyayeaayyy

But you know that when the truth is told..
That you can get what you want or you can just get get old
You're gonna kick off before you even
Get halfway through
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?

You better.... cool it down before you burn it out...
Why don't you realise..... ooo oo ...vienna waits for you.


My last post had a few comments saying how disliked my template is :P

ok the lyrics may be a tad mixed up. But slow down, y'all. I already said that i still need to get the text colours (colors, if you're doing the HTML) right. The yellow was temporary, cos i couldn't get any other colour that would look ok on a grey background. There's way too much happening in the city and in my life for me to spend the time figureing CSS out.

Yes, freesprit, she's not in a bikini. I typed that out by mistake :) I'm close enough to hell as it is, don't tell god.

But mosilager.... dude, you're is the coolest idea. Will do asap. Say hi to the dogs for me.

Punkster ~ the next time you're in this country, i'll buy you dinner :P
Bloghead ~ the next time you're free, you can buy me dinner.
Mahi ~ You get dinner too. even though you weren't nice to my template. Its a grey bg, not white!

Men at work

UPDATE : OK people. this is mostly what it'll be. I made the background myself. I made the top image myself... i just stole the bikini lady from somewhere. If you made it, and want it off here, please tell me. I've the alignment just about right... now i just need to get the text colours right. Feedback?

I'm redoing the template a bit... so if things look odd at any point, ignore it, it'll be better soon, or if it doesn't work, back to the old default.

Life's little regrets...

There are few things I regret in life. I believe that whatever happens, happens and there's little you can do to make it unhappen. This little story, is one of those regrets, that i do actually regret.

A few years ago, my friend and me went to this guy's wedding. My friend, sneezy (I think i referred to him in a previous post as tall-boy, because, well, he's tall) was there with me. The guy getting married had just become a dentist, and was all of 24, and his wife was all of 25, and they were happily married. At 24 now, there's no marriage in sight for me, and Sneezy's 27, and is insistent that he only wants a quick fling. Not even a longish fling. ``A week,'' he says.

Well, anyway, me and Sneezy didn't know a lot of people... I didnt drink in those days, and i think he didn't feel like, so we just walked around, saying hello to some old people. Anyway, this young lady walks up to us and says, ``Hi *sneezy*.''

Now before this story continues, let me make it clear that she was pretty hot. Younger than both of us, but hot. It was some years ago, but I remember that she was in a black salwar-kurta thing. Sweet girl

She asks my dear friend about work, his sister, chats with hom very very warmly for a good 10 minutes... and the sweet man just leaves me out of the conversation. He chatting, smiling, laughing with her, and i'm just standing there. So eventally, i've had enough.

``So,'' i butt in, ``aren't you going to introduce us?''
Sneezy : ``Oh sorry.''
He looks at her, looks back at me, and says, ``This is *4wd*, and *4wd*, this is a very old family friend of ours.
Me :``Oh is that so?''
Sneezy : ``Yes''
Me : ``Well, doesn't she have a name?''

I have to confess that by this time I KNEW that he'd forgotten her name.

Sneezy : ``Of course she does.''
Me : ``Well, what is it.''
Sneezy : ``Its um. its... er.. ''
Finally, the hot woman speaks.
Hot woman : ``Well, what is it?''
Him : ``erm.''

She introduces herself to me, and walks away from us a few minutes later. I burst out laughing, he kicks me.

After this, everytime I met Sneezy, he never fails to remind me about this. ``You bastard, she doesn't talk to me anymore! She was so friendly with me you mother fucker!''

This is my regret. And here's why.

I'm home for the weekend, and spent most of my time with Sneezy. He remided me twice about this girl and called my a cocksucker. We were driving down the road to my house, outside a multiplex, when this amazing woman crosses the road. She's not walking, she's doing this little catwalk thing. She's wearing jeans and singlet, and a broad belt, and has the MOSTEST amazingest body i've seen in years.

I'm driving, and i'm forced to slow down... and I have to go, ``whoa.''

She's tall, and if she wants to, i know she could be a supermodel, she's that hot. If god wanted angel's or sub-goddesses for heaven, she could apply, and would get the job hands down. If the devil wanted a hot assistant dressed in a red bikini fanning the coals under the pots that people like me will be cooked in, she'd still get the job.

"You bastard!!" sneezy shouts suddenly.
"huh? what ? what happened?'' i say.
"You mother fucker!!"
"WHAT?"
"Thats her!!"
"what? who?"
"Her. see what you made me lose out on!"
Then it hits me. It is her. Shit.
We spent the next hour discussing her. I've decided that, since Sneezy's friends are good family friends with her's, if they ever want her to get married, my name should be suggested. Sneezy doesnt think so.

If i hadn't messed it up for him that night, he could have introduced me to her. He believes that he would have eventually got her to go out with him. I don't believe that. But now that story is over. Just cos i felt silly. Damn me.

Then we did the usual thing... drove fast in my dad's car and pulled hand-brake turns and scared the osho-ites in white robes. Those are the days i miss
-----------------
Life updates :
-I went to the Siachen Glacier. It was really cold. But HR wont let me post about work.
-I went home. Ate free food.
-My working out is begging to pay off. I've put on like 5 kilos, all muscle, and i started swimming at home, so i'm on the way to rippedness. Net time you're around ask to feel my arms or lats.
-I want to change my template.

Someone wrote about men's loos.

There's this new guy at work, who's a Master's in International Relations. He talks funny. All serious and big-wordy. Like last night, at my boss's party, i said to him, ``Dude, dude, can i get you a drink?'' . He said something like, ``Not presently. I'm don't consume alcohol.''

Anyway, after a long day of following Gurgaon's gangs yesterday, I came back to work. I went into the loo, to pee of course, and there he was. He was standing at urinal 3. urinal 2 was empty, and I took urinal 1.

This is an actual conversation.

Me : ``Hey bro, whats up.''
Him: ``Hello.''
Me:``How's it going?''
Him: ``Fine''
Me:``Dude, did you get new spectalcles?''
Him: ``Well, today I went to the markets. To get reactions on the Government decision. It was ok, but a little redundant.''
Me: ``oh''
Him : *smile
Me: ``Dude, no, did you get *slightly louder now* NEW SPECTACLES.''
Him : ``oh. thats what you said.''
Me: ``Yes. Well, did you?''
Him: ``The old one's broke down, so I had to take recourse of these.''

I swear he said that.

ps. sticking to my new promise, i only had one rum, and one straight up shot of run with my boss. When the big bosses arrived, i wasn't looney, and didn't say silly things about the appraisal system

its been a while .... but there's pics of me.

I havn't been here in a while. For a bit, I thought i was off blogging for good... I didn't know what to write about. Does everyone go through that after a few months of blogging? But for my loyal reader, (even the one who is from turkmenistan), i have pics of me :) No, you wont be able to identify me using the pics, but at least you'll know I can get cool pics and don't look like either Mable, Mo or Eminem.

First off, i have a resolution. I'm not going to drink all that much. It gets me in trouble. So the last time I had a drink, it was just one pint of beer. But it was a really expensive Corona.

Here's some of the things I did.

* I went to TC and set up two of my friends and felt really happy in my drunken state about it. Then i woke up the next morning less drunk and still felt happy. I feel so damn girly. Ugh. I need to shake this goody-cupid-feeling off. The two are not seeing each other yet, but i think there's a chance now.

* I got in trouble.

* Now this is bizzare. I went to dinner (the one where i had that corona) with my ex and her date. Ok, she's going to say he wasn't a date, just an old friend, but i'm sure that he was expecting a date. She didn't even tell him I was gonna tag along. I said to her, ``Are you sure I can come? its rude. And you two might get along better without me.'' She said to me, ``No come on. It'll be fun with you. Anyway, i could never want to go on a date with him. He's short, plump, and has really thick spectacles.'' ``Ha ha ha...'' said I.

Anyway, as it turns out, shorty did a little growing up. He certainly was a few inches taller than me. Being on the Berkeley (i dont even know if its spelt right) University squash team had made the plumpness come to his chest and arms from his tummy. And no sight of those damn `thick spectacles'. So he had this hoigty-toighty accent. Had a much earning job in california or something. Went on and on about being stalked by this girl. Lost a bet to my ex which entails buying her dinner. (He never offered me another dinner, though, even though he didn't pay for this one). This one is definately going down in my memoirs.

* Realised, once again, that my ex is really, still, my best friend, and i'm so happy for that. Shit i sound like a girl again. sniff sniff.

* Met my old bud from home (codename : tallman). We drove around, watched Ice Age 2 with his sister. Ate a lot. Wasted our money. Then we went off-road. Grr. Ignore all the mushy part of the blog above, and concentrate here, cos this is where the man part shows.

We went to my secret, little off road bit. Drove fast. Did donuts. Took pics. Talked about women, refering to most of them as, ``hottie-tottie'', ``bitch of a witch'', ``slippy-slidey'', ``slutty-putty'', ``picky-chicky'' or words like that. There was also the occasional ``Oh she's a nice girl. You should have stuck with her.''

Tallman's sister, tallishgirl, told me that they'd been ``looking for a girl for him.'' ``We met one yesterday, here in delhi. She's nice, could be pretty. Is a teacher in an international school... but in kurukshetra. She majored in english... but, um, the only thing is, um, she's not very comfortable with speaking English.''

Ha ha. Me and tallboy started laughing and spilt Jerry Wong's hot and sour soup. Later he said, ``Dude, i dont want to get married. I just met her because of family pressure. I dont want a relationship. I'm fling type. Anyway, this kurukshetra babe wont be to comfortable with us when we go to Goa. '' Ha ha i laughed, and lurched as the steering wheel spun around super fast cos we hit a big stone with the left front wheel. I learned a valuable lesson in life : When FourWheelHigh can't help you up a big rock, shift to FourWheelLow ... the steepest uphills become like downhills. Of course, i didn't learn this soon enough, and the engine (or 'injin' as tallboy says) got really hot and smoky. Like me. Except i don't smoke. Cos its bad for your lungs.

Then we talked about the time I ran away from home. No, i really really ran. I just ran out of my house after a fight with my folks at midnight, and kept running. I didn't stop running for many hours. My parents called him, and the 3 of them drove around the city looking for me. Eventually i came home. The next day, he took me out to coffee, and being a few years elder to me, said, ``Dude, we were worried.'' That's all he said. We talked about shit, but he didn't sermonise. Today, we just laughed about how much I ran that day.

Then we met another old friend, and took her to dinner. But there's no story there, except that i packed my chicken piri piri.

* People should be nice to themselves. Thats a valuable lesson. Not beat themselves up over shit. And not like people that want to make them beat themselves up over shit. See, look at me. I rarely beat myself up. If you want to be hard on yourself, join a karate dojo. I know a great one if you're in Pune.

* The car. If you've seen it, and you now know who I am, bravo. Don't tell anyone, dont walk upto me and say, ``wow, i've been working with you for the past 9 months'' (cos i'm expecting that) My anonymity is shot anyway. Other than the people that already know me from real life, including my spiffy ex, The Compulsive Confessor has known who I am for a while, and is responsible for many of my hits.

Thats all I have to say for a while. Rock 'n' roll, babes.

I'm a crush-ee

I've had a busy week. And I havn't gone out in ages. My schedule now goes : Get up - gym - drink protein drink with breakfast- bathe - go to work late - dont do anything spectacular - get sent somewhere - not get a great story - come back -check blogs - sleep.

Fortunately, the inverted pyramid doesn't apply to blogs (or to TV), so I can start my story now :)

Ok, we have all these interns at office. Two of them are very unfit, and not my type. My roomie, though, thinks they're ok. (Healthy hain yaar!) Anyway, they have an intern friend, who's in another department. Now she, is cute. Not my type, and I'm not interested at the moment. But she is quite cute.

Anyway, now here I am, sitting in my chair. Lounging (yes, i lounge in the newsroom. Sue me). Head tilted back, arms behind my head. Feet off the floor. I happen to swivel the chair a little bit, and there she is. Sitting on a table, just looking at me.

I'm looking at her, but she won't look away. She's just undressing me with her eyes. Ok I made up that last bit, but, you get the point. So, anyway, I wave, and she waves back.

Then later, i'm sitting around, and she'll come sit next to me. ``So, how was that assignment? I liked the story.'' Me: ``er, it was ok, nothing special.'' Pinky *thats what i'll call her*:``Must be really hard. I wish i could do that stuff.''

Ok, the thing here is that the assignment in question wasn't particularly hard. Pretty women are forgiven a lot of things, you know.

Then, again, later, i go to a private-ish place to make a phone call. The three of them are sitting there, chatting and giggling. That's what they do. They giggle. As soon as i enter, stage left, two of them exit, stage right. (If you want to imagine that in your head, you'll have to switch the left and right to match the geographical directions).

And she's just there chatting with me. ``Oh, that day when you dropped us in your car, we forget to ask you if you wanted to come to dinner with us!''
Me: ``That's ok. I had plans.''
Pinky: ``You had plans??''
Me: ``Yes I have a life.''
Pinky: ``Oh thank god.''
Me :``Don't worry, we'll get dinner some other time.''
Pinky:``yes yes... we should.''

Now i try and try, but I cannot, Can Not, get the point of that conversation.

Everytime she's in the room, and i'm walking around, I know that this girl is looking at me. I have no idea why. If I were a woman, i could write a post about sexual harrasment, and 132 comments and a fight. And about how I hate that my body is treated like an object. But i'm a man, so i actually quite am in favour of it.

And, i think that another woman has a bit of a crush on my. But more on that in another post :)

Ok ok, so i'm halfway cute, but i'm not like, a male Tyra Banks or anything. But who am I to complain. So I sit down, lean back in my chair, flex my biceps, and smile. It would have been better if my roomie hadn't suddenly said, ``Dude, you've been working out 2 weeks. You have no biceps.''

I'm not attracted to this intern, but it is a big ego boost to be a crush-ee. Bed time now, I have arms and abs at the gym tomorrow.

By the way, its a little late, but I've discovered LimeWire. Land Ahoy, me hearties.

ah shoes.

I know that somewhere, this blog comes with the promise of being funny and completly non-serious oftener than non-funny and serious. But i figure two funny posts, followed by one that's just half hearted, followed by two that are serious-ish, are a decent trade off.

If you remember my new shoes (if you dont scroll down to the previous post), they just got done with Baptism. Lots of standing around, some sprinting, lots of soot, some dead people. Looks like a promising start. I still have to get used to this anatomical insole though... feels a little uncomfortable sometimes.

I got sent to cover the meerut fire... one of my biggest spots yet. For you non-reporter types, a spot is when something happens... like salman goes to jail. The opposite of a spot is a special, like what salman and his cell-mate talked about, and the words that the the cell-mate used to describe Katrina. There are more types of stories, like stolen stories and plants, but thats another lesson.

Anyway, so I found myself, on my day off, in the back of an Indica, my photographer next to me, stuck in a traffic jam on the way to meerut. TV crews zipped one way, and ambulances the other. I was wearing what i call my `babe shirt'. Its brown corduroy, and supposed to be worn unironed. I had no notepad, no pen, nothing.

If you don't already know, there was a big fire in meerut, and a lot of people died.

All the way there, for some reason, I had this little cuticle-thing on my finger, and it kept pissing me off. I bit, and i scratched, but i couldn't get rid of it. I swear this is a true, inconsequential, but true story.

Anyway, 10 minutes before we reach the spot, my photographer yells, ``stop the car,'' and jumps out. ``I have to prepare for the night,'' he says.

Prepare for the night? eh? What's he going to do, arrange a room, fix up with a net-cafe to keep it open all night?

``What will you drink, is rum ok?''
Rum? I think? rum? people are dying here, and he wants rum?
`Sir, we're getting late, can't we get rum later?''
``We're already two hours late,'' he says, ``5 minutes can't change things.''

Ok, i seethe. Get the rum. Only later that night did I realise how much more 14 years of experience counted than my 1 and a half, and i thank god for that rum.

I've never actually sat down with a man, and drank alcohol for no reason. Its not something I see the point in. I'll drink when i'm out, wth friends. Here I was, with a 35 year old man in his underwear, and we finished a half bottle of rum.

I think that to get burnt alive is the worst way to die. When you die, your terror is frozen on your face, but every shred of humanness and dignity has been stripped from you. I think that its hell for a dead person's loved ones to come identify them, and seperate them from other people that all look the same. But I think that the after the first couple of times, you get used to it, and dont have to look away and cover your face. The smell though, you can't ever actually get used to.

And as an aside, i realised that if your MotoRazr V3i runs out of battery, NOBODY will be able to help you. They'll just say, ``Nice phone sir, no charger?'' or ``Ha ha ha, you should have got a nokia, then i could give you a charger'' or ``thats why i didn't get this phone''. Yes. Fuck you too.

Unfortunately, i didn't meet any pretty women on this trip.

hmm ok, this was quite a random post. I've run out of things to say.

and I should sleep. I've missed gym for 3 days now because of work. Ah well.

You can tell a man by his shoes.

For some reason, I have no idea what to blog about. Its not that I don't have anything to say ... I do. I'm not sure if I want to say a lot of this here. My blog isn't really anon anymore. Which shouldn't matter, since I just have an average of 100 people visiting everyday. (I also have someone from turkey!) But it does.
Well, anyway, I didn't have much to do last evening, and I was bored. So I went out and bought shoes and shorts. Its a man's version of retail therapy. I took my 15 minutes, and I spent a fourth of my salary.

Anyway, I thought that you (the reader) should meet my shoes. I suddenly realised that I have a lot of them. There's sporty, cool, and character in them. Shoes, meet the readers, readers, shoes. Now judge me.

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These are my new Adidas shoes. They look like sherpa shoes. If you think that Sherpas don't wear expensive boots, think again. They wear expensive boots, they just buy them for cheap. These babies, I have never actually worn. So they have no history, no character. But they are quite comfortable. As I was buying them, the salesman kept saying things like, ``Sir, comfort insole''. ``Sir, bacteria resisitant.'' ``Sir, High quality leather''. Eventually i realised he was reading off the tag that came with the shoe.

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Now these babies, are a testament to Why. Nike. Sucks. These, when I bought them, were the most expensive shoes I owned. But it took just four months for them to wear out. The right shoe started fraying, and the hooks for the laces tore, and they don't tie well anymore. Later I realised that they began fraying because of the friction with the gear-shift on my bike. (if anyone can guess which bike I had from that info, 10 bucks. Or dinner if you're a girl)(if you already know, then you get nothing. Unless you're a girl, in which case, we can arrange dinner.)
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Say Hello. I know they look terrible. I know they're torn. I know they're not waterproof anymore. I know the suede has rotted at one place. I know the laces are frayed beyond repair. But these are my favourite shoes. They're slightly uncomfortable now, but I love them for the way i feel in them. These are Salomon hiking shoes. My mom bought me these for 3500 bucks, when Salomon was owned by Adidas. They've lasted me more than six years now. I've lost count. And i'm not about to get rid of them anytime soon. I will cry when i have to let them go. They've seen me through so much. Like the time me and some friends got stuck in a flash flood, and I had to run 4 km back to the village, in the pouring rain on the side of a hill. Or the hike in the himalays, where I slipped and fell, only to look up and see a Monal Pheasant (a very very rare bird). These shoes have stepped in pools of blood. They were therewhen I made friends with Maratha Light Infantry Jawans in Uri. They were there when boys my age in Dibrugarh told me why they're so afraid of the army. They were there when we let leeches feed of us in Nagarhole (its just the bad blood that goes, and its not painful). The last time I wore them, my left foot went ankle-deep into a drain in a Delhi Slum, while people around carried charred bodies out through narrow lanes. These are my shoes. These shoes are me.
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These are clima-cool running shoes. There's more ventilation in them than actual shoe. The only place I've actually gone for long runs in these are in Goa, where I realised all the ventilation doesn't do very well with sand. I wear them to the gym. The cool thing about these shoes is, when I walk into a shoe shop wearing them, all the salespeople turn to look at them. I get things like, ``Sir, those are Adidas Clima-cool model number whatever. Beautiful shoes.'' Really. I swear.
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These two pairs are my black shoes. One of them I just bought, cos i realised I didn't have any shoes of this Genre. They're clunky, and not me, but they go with jeans. The other one are the shoes I wear to job interviews. I don't really wear white socks with them (the socks pictured are my roomies). I just put the white socks there cos i used to wear very similar shoes with white socks in school :) (st. mary's boys, by the way). No history here.
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These floaters and chappals... well, the chappals I just wear at home, and get pissed of if anyone takes outside my house. The floaters are partners in crime with my salomons. Except they just accompany me everywhere, and i wear them when I'm lounging. Yes, I lounge. They're adidas too, and torn as hell too. The good thing about floaters is that you dont need to pack them. You cn just hook them to the outside of your backpack, and you're ready to go. You can even lounge at a railway station. The velcro on them isn't so velcro anymore, so they dont stay on very well, which makes them all the better for lounging.
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Those are my shoes. Now i have to go to work, and I think i'll wear my new shoes today. But before I leave you, here's a pic of shoes I would kill for. (sorry for the image-heavy post. But hey, its my blog)