shaken

There were tremors in Karachi as well. It seemed appropriate, because how could a city a thousand miles from the epicenter remain unshaken by the tragedy?

Places have stopped accepting volunteers. The first day when no one knew about the PAF, it was merely disorganized. With the onslaught of teenage and twenty somethings it became a full blown mela with 800 people standing around doing nothing. Then the boredom set in, and the ass pinching and butt groping began. People began to get hungry and eat rations from the donation boxes.
I signed up for a waiting list at the TCF. They have too many people, they don’t want to be swamped with bodies they can’t handle. So I keep giving money, to anyone who would ask in the hope that it will help.
I gave blood, all the while feeling sick with the knowledge that they had no refrigeration to keep the blood of the 500 people they were collecting it from, and that they had no refrigerated trucks to transport the blood to the quake effected areas. That they probably didn’t have all the needles they required and were clearly reusing them. I gave it anyway, and then blacked out at the ATM and then again at sehri the next day. I’d never given blood before.

There are too many lootings, too much anger, too many predators taking advantage of what they perceive as weakness. Shopkeepers raising supplies of medicines, rations and kafans, people looting homes vacated after tremors. Quake effectees robbing trucks before they reach their destinations. People continuing to spend thousands on one meal at restaurants and plan their Saturday nights not shaken by the earthquake that seems too far away.

This is a mess of our own making. We have raised these ass groping, myopic, unidealistic mercenaries because we have been apathetic about social reform. We have raised generations without teaching them right from wrong. We haven’t taught them that queues are civilized, that helping others in need is good, that dirt is bad, that what’s wrong is wrong. This is a failure of people who know better. This is our fault.

I leave for Islamabad tonight. And like when I was giving blood, I know it won’t help. The roads are bad, there is no transportation, and once you get there, there are no supplies or places to stay or things to eat for your relief efforts to be sustainable. They need able bodied men right now, or doctors; people who can carry goods and help people. They don’t need a woman from Karachi who blacked out twice the day before and is there just because she’s held helpless by conscience.

meeting twain

She bends over the sink and busily scrapes the brush across her teeth, lathering the bright blue gel into a cheery foam that drips down her chin. She notices a bright stripe of red that has gushed across the white froth just as she openes her mouth to spit out.
She coorlies and then opens her mouth and watches the water curl into the drain, making sure she keeps tapping her foot on the orange tiles hoping the vibrations keep the cockroaches at bay.
She gathers the trickles of water from the tap into her hands, and then splashes it onto her face. She puts a tiny amount of the pot of cream onto her cheeks, and then wiggles into her comfortable see-through cotton shawar kameez, adjusting the AC vents so that the blast isn’t directly on the bed. She goes out to get a last drink of mineral water from the fridge perched in their sitting room, and then puts her head into her parents room and says “shabbakhair”.
She makes sure there aren’t any stray mosquito’s to torture her in the middle of the night, and then shuts the light.
She says her ayat-ul-kursi (to ward off bad dreams and what not) as she snuggles into bed, and falls blissfully asleep.

************

Shes talking on the cordless as she watches TV standing in her loft as as she brushes her teeth, and then neatly spits and gargles into the convenient kitchen sink just outside the bedroom partition. She fills a glass with tap water and takes a drink, and then walks over to her bedroom and strips down to a tank top, then hunts around the newly laundered basket and snuggles into fresh boxers.

She hangs up after making plans for next weekend. She slathers her face in night cream, puts eye pads on her eyes, and collapses amid the dirty clothes scattered on her bed, and falls blissfully asleep.

Sometimes. All the time.

I hate you, I hate me. I hate the world. I hate my parents, and even though I thought I’d never live out this cliché sometimes I hate you too God. I’m sorry. I hate myself.

Hate is a strong word. “I’ve never hated anything you know? We haven’t felt fucking life. The strongest thing I hate now is that bastard for giving me a A- because he doesn’t like me”.
I have no strong emotions in this diluted grey washed out one-deadline-to-the next life I have. I have no energy, I have no friends, I have no time.

Every morning I lie in bed and half asleep I think if I could only wake up now and go to work early then I’ll get the stuff done. Then theres the haze of existance and then I look up at the clock and damn its seven in the evening and I take work home in the hope that it’ll finish. I eat, and then I can’t bear the thought of staring at a screen so I watch a little TV and then I look at the clock and damn its 12 and its time to sleep. Where did two years go?
I have measured out my life in planner pages.

I stay awake long into the early morning hours. I can’t help it sometimes. I need to feel, I need to live, I need time, and the only way to catch up is to wind myself up till I crash and burn and then finally sleep in exhausted bliss. I need to feel. I need to drink, I need to dope, I need anything that will make me feel. Why do princeples remain behind when everything else has been leached away?

I hate you. sometimes. All the time.
I hate you for making me stay. I wanted to get out, i remember feeling the choking oppression. I don’t notice it anymore. I’ve forgotten what it felt like.
You’ve made me into this corporate whore. You made me a slave to evaluating every decision on the basis of a paycheck, you’ve made me sneer at people who still might have ideals (do people still have them? Yeah right). I hate myself for becoming the person I said I never would.
I hate you for your princeples. I hate you for your self sacrificial goodness and the silent fucking matyr you’ve tortured me with my whole life. I hate you for making me feel inadequate, for not doing the simples things you’ve done for me my whole life.

I hate you. I hate myself.

random self involved musings

Why do I look at you, and why can I imagine some perfect woman for you other than me? I can see you and this unknown woman as a pair; see you two have your first baby, see you buy your first house, see you send your first born to school for the first time. Its sad, because I envy that, I want that, and somehow I know its not with me, we’ll never have it together, with me you’ll just end up delaying your destiny, one of us will end up hurting further down a bitter path of resentment and misunderstanding.
I look at you, and I know you don’t see that now. But I’m used to that. You’ll see in time, and we’ll both pay the price, so its better if you to just leave now. Trust me on this one.

I gave in to self doubt once, and it wasn’t good. I didn’t mind the detour, he was so young and he had years and years before he stopped screwing around and actually found out who he was and what he wanted. When he used to talk about marriage and kids, I would just humor him and play along even though I didn’t see anything, deluding myself for just a small while, and it was nice being so uncharacteristic. When he would talk about ‘feelings’ and ‘where we were going’ I would avoid the conversations so blatantly that he started joking about the girl-guy role reversal in our relationship. I convinced myself it was because he was taking things too fast.

Do I, like everyone else, simply shut people out because they have the ability to hurt? To have expectations is only to be let down? Or is it something more perceptive, does it come from an innate knowledge of knowing people, of knowing myself, and knowing the absolute certainity of how it will end?

DAMN ii

this is the second time i re-write this so that i don't sound as obnoxious and shallow as last time. worldcall better comply

One of the first pioneers of my blog tagged me. So in the spirit of joie de vivre and fellow bloggership camaraderie I will commence:
(1) 5 years ago: first year college, sleep derived, deranged, derogatory (of life, people, naiveté, men and ideals)
discovered event management, forgot how to draw and write

(2) 1 year ago: first job, hating single digit IQ creep of a boss
still sleep deprived, deranged, and a little less derogatory
discovered retail therapy and decided life was worth living as long as clothes were being sold
forgot how difficult it is to be Alone

(3) 5 songs I know all the words to:
grade 5: ice ice baby
grade 8: Mr vain
o levels: macarena
a levels: bomboleo
college: we didn't start the fire

(4) Snacks I enjoy: strawberries (NO CREAM), dark chocolate, OPTP tangy fries, Tabasco straight from the bottle, carrots

(5) Spend a $100 million dollars on:
Clothes: $1m
shoes: $2.5 m
house: $30m (france, new york, london, italy, spain, pakistan)
cars: $1m (diablo, the yellow supercar, the green little car with the white stripe) :)
investments: $ 98m (microsoft, apple, yahoo, google, anything else my advisors suggest)

(6) 5 places I would run away to:
my bed
in case my bed isn't available: any place my parents are at
in case my parents aren't available: any place with books & a TV
in case books and a TV aren't available: any place with art supplies and a laptop
in case art supplies and a laptop aren't available: any place with a view

(7) 5 things I would never wear: thong, thong, thong, thong, shoulder pads (no connection to thong)

(8) 5 fav TV shows:
it would be easier to mention the TV i would never watch:
the bits in fear factor when they eat gross stuff
soap operas
texas lone ranger
anything with chuck walker

(9) 5 greatest joys: eating, reading, writing/painting, doing math, hugging someone i love

(10) 5 favorite toys: dinkies (sp? the toy cars), the car with the pedals i could sit in and drive, the toy kitchens that actually had running water, the barbie with the cinderella shoes, the hairdryer for barbies

(11) 5 people i'm tagging: hmMm the three people who read this blog have already been tagged. so anyone reading this who thinks they know who i am.. you're tagged :)

fuck

fuck blogger and fuck worldcall

updated

The story of Black and White

Black met White at a party. White was wearing something black and skimpy, and Black was wearing something gangster like in white. They ignored each other most of the evening, but looked up each other on orkut and decided that they were soulmates.
The scrapped each other for a couple of days, and then decided to get married.
Black got a red suit stitched for the occasion. White obviously wore red too.
They ended up living together and going to parties and theatres and plays and operas.

Then White got pregnant and so divorced Black.
Up till now everything had gone according to plan. They had reached all the right steps and done all the right things. They had made all the correct sacrifices to the rituals of the gods of Black and White.
But a terrible tragedy was about to hit the poor Black and White family.
The baby was born, and terribly, the baby was a shade of Grey.
Doctors and Nurses tried to explain to the bereaved divorcee that Grey sometimes happened. That plastic surgery might be able to fix it. White tried everything, but to no avail.
White tried to raise little Grey on her own, but it became too difficult, so she ended up in her White bathtub one evening several harsh years later, and slit her wrists till she sat in a pool of red.

Grey started living with Black, who was a father with a terrible anger management problem.

Finally she grew up one day and while waiting for her laser Whitening appointment met Dark Grey, and fell in love. They married and through genetic engineering had lots of Black babies and White babies, and only wore Black or White. Grey and Dark Grey eventually died, and the Black and White babies continued to live and procreate more Black and White babies who would grow up, fall in love, and wear Red on their weddings.

And so the circle completed, and balance was regained in the Black and White world.

rockstar INXS

(1) i don't know how Mig gets votes. i really don't. its one more piece of evidence of how mankind should never trust democracy to the masses because masses are stupid. only the intelligent elite should rule the earth.

(2) J.D epitomizes so many cliches. he's hot, and has a "bad boy image" that he first establishes and then feels he can tone down by playing up his family lovin side.
however, because he's so hot, anything he does comes across as phoney and over smooth. J.D. is the asshole you always want to date but maturity and experience teaches you to stamp out any such urges.

(3) Marty is - to put in politically incorrectly - ugly. but that really helps because his talent and brains are then taken to be the real mc coy. (JD might be able to sing (doubtful) but really.. can someone that good looking REALLY have talent?) he's the kind of guy you would never want to date but you would eventually want to marry when you reach a higher level of maturity.

who has my vote? its hard to tell... :) i'm bordering on immaturity and maturity

coffee being

I had coffee with the archangel, and he said he’d try to pencil me in for lunch with God. The liar.
Sucker that I am, I call up my lunch date and postpone. I get his voice mail instead. I leave a message and hope my voice doesn’t betray my two timing. “Hey Satan, I’ll meet you for dinner instead. Got a client”.

I trudge to work to the yogi’s sublet; my first customer. He doesn’t even bother turning off the TV as he goes about his business, happily dropping maply syrup into the whorls of hair matting his chest.
I try not to throw up as I wrestle coconut oil down his chest, but he’s too busy watching Regis and Philbin to bother.

Next stop with the bored rich housewife who enjoys wearing nothng but her diamonds, and treats her servants and me like we’re animated pets. I overcharge her by the minute, and she happily pisses away her husbands checks as he screws his secretary in the building across town. So trite. I decide to take the day off and go wait for God. I’ve been waiting months for this.

I’m walking, when I get a call from an unknown number, “Hello?” I try to keep the eagerness out of my voice. Is it Him? Could it be?

“Hey darling, there is no way you can cancel on me, I’m having the shittiest morning. I’m picking you up immediately. Where the hell are you?”

Satan! husband. lover. demon.

Exasperating man. If only he wasn’t so sexy. “I’m about to go uptown honey, have to cancel. About to cross over in three steps.” And even as I say it, I can hear the roar of an engine pull up behind me.

I turn around, and he’s jumped out of his convertible, suit and all, and grabs me from behind. “Gotcha!” he nuzzles my neck, and I try not to squeal too loudly on a public sidewalk. Damn.

“Got you a present!” he’s holding a House of Graff box. My knees go weak. I’m sure Gabriel can pencil me in some other time.

I get into the car, and try not to think of the aftermath.

I Will Never Be With You

James Blunt - You're Beautiful

This ones for you:

My life is brilliant.
I have the worst case of the shits. My hitherto commendable digestive tract has finally been breached by all the crap I stuff myself with regularly (my friends hate me because I’m thin). And then theres the stress and the caffiene and insomnia and the back breaking exhaustion I’m sick of writing about.

My love is pure.I saw an angel.Of that I'm sure.
Ever since I’ve been little, I could always connect the dots faster, catch random patterns in clouds and pea pods and dropped coins. Umbrellas in stars, dragons in clouds, ten dimensions in the air surrounding me with an infinite possibility of ifs. Long before it all became text book in basic level quantum mechanics and cryptography and statistics. Astromony and astrology, chinese leap years and birth years and centuries and after hijrats.
She smiled at me on the subway.She was with another man.But I won't lose no sleep on that,'Cause I've got a plan.
Talked myself into a box. Wrote myself into a trap. Walked into a close ended room, with no space for answers. The haunting familiarity of strangers and the echoing lonliness from best friends long gone till hollow skeletons of friendships remained and rattled cheerily in beach huts not our own and ball gowns long grown out of.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.You're beautiful, it's true.Her turquoise hoop earrings with a high pony tail, his lean stomach hugging ribs and they lounged on the beach chairs silent, thoughts hidden by sun glasses. Idly playing with bracelets on wrists, watching volleyball and shrieks splashing by and the music starting with the generators in the dark. His younger sister and her guy best friend whispering together giggling at the possibilities. Sun slanting through grey clouds, white gulls cawing in the distance and then dissapearing into the sunset.

I saw your face in a crowded place,And I don't know what to do,'Cause I'll never be with you.She picked up a pebble, remembered writing on a large flat beach stone with fabric paint and mailing it to her best friend oceans away. She tried to make it skip, and as always, failed.
He came and sat beside her, “You know, this is so much more civilized then I ever expected it to be”.
“Because you’re an imbecile. Because you never knew me and never bothered to find out. Because you’re stupid and immature and I feel cheated because you showed such promise and claimed to be the one.”
“I still love you.”
“Fuck off”

Yeah, she caught my eye,As we walked on by.She could see from my face that I was,Fucking high,And I don't think that I'll see her again,But we shared a moment that will last till the end.The hash burns holes in brains, the mochiato sozzles grey matter till time slows and bonfires rise as high as the stars and you blink and think you can see the milky way. But you can’t, its only your retinas that haven’t adjusted from city lights and golden memories.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.You're beautiful, it's true.I saw you face in a crowded place,And I don't know what to do,'Cause I'll never be with you.
She’ll be younger, she’ll be impressionable, she’ll think you’re the One and be blind to your lack of any morals. She’ll party with you and drink with you and be cool and fun and not tax your little brain with moralities and philosophy. She’ll wax eloquent on your greatness and make pretty little ego pies for your appetite, and you and your white picket fence and weak mediocrity will continue to populate the earth.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.You're beautiful, it's true.There must be an angel with a smile on her face,When she thought up that I should be with you.But it's time to face the truth,I will never be with you
I slam the car door shut and walk out. I don’t bother saying goodbye. The sand is gone, the music’s over. The ghosts behind every resteraunt and every song and every sandwich have dissapeared. The dots between the cars have been erased and the lines between lonliness yearning and hunger have been washed away.

he scuttled out like a cockroach. i ignored him because he looked a little harmless and weatherbeaten as he apologetically hovered under my chair.
then he suddenly flicked open wings leapt up in one giant repulsive leap that makes your soul shrink with a replusion only insects can make you feel.
and i lifted my heel and smacked it down. green goop stuck to the base of my arch.
i wiped it on the carpet of ashes, and he bothered me no more.
why do you bother? why do i?

step on a crack break your own back

exhaustion. pure, unadulterated exhaustion.
stress. coffee fueled, foot tapping, gut twisting frantic stress.
pain. toe pinching, back hurting, sight blinding pain.

traleeleep, traleepleep of the phone, interspersing of the sex and the city dum ta tana of the cell. never ending time twisting body hopping things to do.

me at the end of the day that has no ending: "hi mr. ceo of large catering organization. you sound young, and you have a sexy voice. i think i remember you as the hot senior guy from school who used to date that hot bitchy chick a year junior to me. you've turned around daddy's business and single handedly doubled the organization capital and snob value in the three years you've been working. but i'm delirious from my weekend right now so i'm not intimidated, and i need three quotations for this event we're doing. i need help desperately, and i'm going to run to the bathroom and bawl any second now because nothing is finishing and more stuff keeps piling up and i don't KNOW three people in the entertainment business who i can get the proposals from. no one knows ANYTHING and the bastard who has to handle this has dumped everything on me and is refusing to help me because he's a petty peanut minded MAN with ego issues and doesn't want me to do well"

him: "i completely understand ms. feet. i will proceed to be the guiding light in your day, will tell you exactly what you need to hear and its clear that guy who i normally deal with is a total asshole: you could (a) handle this internally and hire my team to provide food and the hire a third party like X and Y to do the stage and lights, or (b) hire the event coordinator like the one you're in contact with. since your corporation probably has the 3 quotes procedure, in which case you'll need to call up ABC - this is his cell number... and XYZ: this is her cell number. this should do the job.

oh and please don't tell th event coordinator you're dealing with that i gave you ABC and XYZs number. she's going to kill me."

sheepish purely male chuckle like drowning in chocolate.

me: i love you. marry me now.

stress, lies and videotape

i hate my blog. i hate myself.

this was just a dream so no one get any ideas

the stranger came to me when i was walking in the garden. the first thing i noticed was that he was very good looking, and very familiar at the same time. his eyes were black. i couldn't stop staring.

he simply walked up, and licked my ear. his tongue - it was forked.

"i can give you anything you want" he hissed.

and i looked up, and in front of me was a mirror.

it was a metal plate actually, polished by little hands to a high shine. it distorted my nose, so it looked humungous, made my ears look huge, my eyes squinty, my teeth yellow, my knees crooked, and my back obviously, was twisted like quasimodo.

i could feel his tongue snaking through my ear drum. a hissing sound drowned out all thought.

through all the hissing, my head cleared a little and i laughed with scorn. did he think he could tempt me with looks? i had them, and hated myself anyway.

the tongue, it wiggled further. the mirror dissapeared, and before me stretched vast deserts of lonliness. my knees buckled with the sorrow, the loss, the aching lack of companionship. his nails, they dug into my back, gripped the base of my spine till i gasped in pain, and then he kissed my ear: "you can have anything you want my love. anything"

the hissing... it didn't stop. i was screaming at him to wait. i didn't have time to think. why did i have to? only the desert awaited. temptation of an oasis. no. i would not give in. i've seen the movies. i've read the books. the devil's always slippery.

the tongue is purple. i can see it as it tickles my lower medulla, and i stop thinking.

"yes. you can help me." how do i ask to stop the lonliness? how do i close end this request?

"give me sex"

i hear laughing, shrieks of it. i think its my own. its inside my head anyway. i let him in. i'm the one doing the hissing now.

"ITS DONE THEN" and the deal is sealed.

my arms, they go numb. with horror, i feel them start moving downwards. i'm in my bed, i'm trying to wake up, but its too late. its done. my hands, they do the deal.

i wake up screaming.

the little girl used to say 7 ayat ul kursis every night. she would say a extra secret 7 ones, would imaging the holy words solidifying into glowing arabic script across the cosmos, and would close her eyes and concentrate with all her being, reach out across the space, and put them in this glowing bag she would lock away in her chest.

she used to pray very often as well. she would go down into sajda and squeeze her eyes shut and her entire being would shrink to one thought and one thought alone: save me from That. Please. Please don't test my faith, I won't be able to stand it. Please God, save me from That.

Then one day, after years and years of planning, the secret bag with the secret holy words was full. she sent her soul to go to God to give it to her mother. she thought it would make a nice surprise when her mother died and then God told her that this is what her daughter had done. it would make her mother less sad about dying.

God immediately told her mothers soul: "this is what your daughter has done. aren't you proud? i will give you the sawab for it, but she will have to wait for her reward" the mother bowed her head in acceptance, even though she had questions, she knew better than to question God.

and then came sad times on the earth, because the little girl grew up and forgot the holy words and forgot about the secret bag that lay empty for so long it lost its glow. and because she started walking the dark path, unprotected by the bag, the words, or any light at all, she fell pray to the devil. he went into her mind, and saw her greatest fear, the one that would make her shatter if she got it. and then he laughed, and sent her That.

but God in His infinite wisdom had obviously forseen this. he stopped time, and called the mothers soul to Him: "you have been praying to save your daughter. you have prayed to save her from any harm because you have seen her walk to the dark path. now is your chance. the cost is one bag of the holy words"
the mother didn't even think. she had created her baby, she would not let That effect her child.
she gave the bag, and in return, bought herself one of That.

it grew in her for seven years before others found it. it started growing outward destroying the tissue and making her sick before they noticed something was wrong. but all that time, her soul had known, and her body was calm in acceptance of her fate.

they gave her surgery and radiotherapy to fix That. and it eventually worked, but at a heavy price.

at a very heavy price.

i wonder what happened to that little girl. i wonder if her life was worth it.

Q&A & W&Z

to You know who you are:
I’ve burnt everything up and then buried the ashes under the carpet. Haha.
It was funny when you tried to lift it up and only gray dust poofed up to mock your face. Haha.

Let me tell you the problem that stuttering awkward silences don’t reveal: you don’t even take off your masks for yourself. when you live in hiding, how do you expect other people to discover you? until you discover the concept of honesty, nothing will make you feel better. Nothing.

I gave you peace even though you don't deserve it. you came back and took one more bloody thing from me i didn't want to give.
but I’m safe now. Too bad, you’re too late.


Why did you call?

a lion, a witch and a wardrobe

i just reread the first of the chronicals of narnia :)

for me a lion stands for nobility. a panther, a black one with a startling pink tongue licking its paw, stands for aloofness. an eagle, its beaked nose, stands for the breathtaking wheelies it does alone in the wind a million miles above the world.
i think i could be all of them.

KISS

why isn't anyone looking into why the bombings happened?
when people have their country destroyed, when people have their families and their lives destroyed by foreign forces, who will they blame? how many terrorists did the devastation in iraq and afghanistan make? how many terrorists from palestine and bosnia are there? when you take everything from an entire nation, what gets left behind?

i hope the british have more evidence than they're letting on. reading the articles it really feels like they just picked a group of four random islamic mullahs and decided to pin in it on them. the only thing they seem to be basing their entire hypothesis on currently is on cctv footage of four guys with bagpacks (woooo terrifying) and that those four guys visited pakistan in 2004 (thats it then! they must be the ones! what are the odds!?).

how will the west get rid of al quaeda? the more people they destroy the more will come and take their place, till the world stands in the ashes of charred nations and smoking guns. how about funding education programs in developing countries? how about "aiding" by not making the guns and bombs the wrong side ends up using?

"with great power comes great responsibility peter"
its sad that even comic book writers know the basic things the leaders of the free world don't

cue

for self involved monologue:

(1) my scars: there are three obvious ones. the biggest one i don't bother talking about, the second one is a tiny perfect dead circle on my arm a little below where my elbow bends from the inside (wasp sting: payphone, falling into hair then onto arm, being bit, entire being shrinking to vicious burning circle, hanging up payphone because couldn't speak, then sitting on bench to catch breath, couple of days later hearing girl screaming so loud people took her to hospital when it was actually the same type of wasp sting). the third one is a group of tiny half cresents that were made by my sister trying to gouge out a piece of my hand while we were fighting. there are several unobvious ones, most of which effect me in ways i haven't figured out for myself.

(2) my friends: theres a part in war of the worlds (watched the Pakistan "premiere" on friday) where tom cruise and his beautiful butt look out onto a vast vast landscape with nothing, absolutely nothing in sight, except for red bloody guts and dead people entrails. sitting in one corolla packed with nine healthy adults half an hour later, i felt exactly like him sans the butt. i feel like that standing in the middle of a "totally rocking" party, i feel like that sitting in my soulless cubical churning out golden jelly for the queen bee. the only time i manage to erase that feeling somewhat is with a few people, very few people, none of who ease it away totally, but who manage to make the time pass and the loss of someone who understands me easier to bear.

(3) my life: its probably never going to be better, i'll probably look back with envy at the 'golden days' i am defining blah blah. i wake up every morning and look in the proverbial mirror and i know i can say two things: "i love my life" and believe it. in exactly the same tone i could also say: "i hate my life" and i would be able to convince myself of that too. the fact is i am Jaded. I am indifferent to my life to an extent where the indifference consumes on my energy and my enthusiasm and my passion, and pisses on every thing i could ever be interested in. i lie there and make the motions and put up pretenses and society is happy, and every day i think to myself: "one day..."

one day.

women101

10 easy steps to avoid revealing you're an asshole:

(1) don't tell women stories that start with: "one time i got so wasted i .. ". this isn't high school or college. we're not interested. grow up.
(2) don't tell women stories that end with "and so i beat that guy up". just dont.
(3) don't talk about a movie or a book if you don't understand it. really. don't.
(4) avoid the word "steal". do not share stories about shop lifting, stealing in a resteraunt, or taking stuff out of someones else washer at a laundromat. not cool. not cool at all.
(5) if your driving involves (a) ANY hand gestures (yours or others), (b) horns blaring in your wake (c) you honking at little old ladies driving (d) agressively high beaming the guy in front of you, you need to stay OFF the road. do not have women in the car. they WILL get pissed off.
(6) do not share stories about how you were mean to the nerd kid school. we'd rather go out with him than hang out with you. really.
(7) resist the urge to talk about yourself. resist it. RESIST.
(8) do not scratch any area covered by underwear. none.
(9) wear underwear. please.
(10) shower regularly. anything involving less than fifteen minutes and no soap doesn't count.