I sat under the stars on my roof.
My special roof, that nobody else can seem to get on...
Musiq Soulchild serenades me, as I lean back against my window pane. A breeze danced around my hair, making me hug myself.
A smile crept up on my face.
It had been a while since we had spoken, and even longer since our last rendezvous, and as I sat, perched in the dark, each one of my nerve endings burnt against the crisp air.
I must put up a challenge; my pussy was wet with a few simple words from him.
I was reliving everything, from start to finish...
I wanted him like no other.
In the time that we disappeared from each other, he was still alive in my mind.
I thought about his life; what I knew and what I didn’t.
Being a curious cat, I wondered about things like what he ate for dinner, did we wear socks to sleep, where did he go for after works drinks.
My mind slithered into darker waters, too.
I speculated what he looked like as he fucked her.
Did he sigh as he came rushing into her mouth?
Perhaps, he thought of me as he lifted her arse and pushed himself inside, pulling her down so that he could whisper decadent filth into her ear as he took her deeply, completely?
I had imagined him parting her flesh with his tongue, slowly lapping at her swollen cunt.
Her hands scratching at his shoulders as she grinded against his nose.
His adept fingers tickling her clitoris, before sliding in and out of her slick pussy.
Was he provoked with thoughts of me as he pleasured her?
How much did I infiltrate his world?
It was a question I had asked myself over and over.
Countless times.
Would he sit down and contemplate the same about the little girl?
I found myself lost in visions of our coupling of flesh regularly;
his dick using me;
using each part of my body as he climaxed in me, over me, with me, no position unknown and every orgasm heady.
I saw him marking me. Slaps, bites, scratches, burns.
I imagined our lovemaking desperate and raw, our bodies thrashing together in the primal heat we had stoked over such a long time…
I wanted to know every part of him instead of the few fragments I had grown to love.
I wanted to learn him, just as he had begun to learn me.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Blab.
There's a new girly.
She seems hot.
...appears to have some sort of knowledge of Latin.
She asked about Literature and Books.
So, I blabbed:
Oh, shit.
She's mentioned my name, and now I feel the pressure to write something pretentious about my reading habits.
Truth is, I hated reading, words, English etc until I was 16.
My English wasn't even comprehensible until I was in Year 2, and it was only in Year 7 that I learnt that you can get improper and proper English.
My older sister was a Childhood Poet.
She put me to shame.
Pages and pages of rhymes and anecdotes...
She moved onto fictitious stories of a Dog named Lottie,
and eventually autobiographical accounts of how she spent New Years' Eve '94.
She hadn't even seen her 8th birthday.
She was the English Queen, so I shunned it all....
and I regret it.
Because, it turns out, I love to read.
Obviously, I have so much to read, yet, and haven't touched upon nearly all the books mentioned here....
but I do love Etymology.
Words are my world.
Technically, they're my thought carriers...
but I do love them.
As I've been slowly uncovering this reality, my writing has improved.
Gone are the days of trying to rhyme Orange with the Earl of Borange, ahem; poetry and creative writing is not about the order of the words you choose...
It is all about the words.
This all means Jack Shit, though, because I waste my time contemplating whether Aliens are invading my city because of the flashes of lights that I see, time to time...
Sometimes, rambling makes the most poetic sense.
She seems hot.
...appears to have some sort of knowledge of Latin.
She asked about Literature and Books.
So, I blabbed:
Oh, shit.
She's mentioned my name, and now I feel the pressure to write something pretentious about my reading habits.
Truth is, I hated reading, words, English etc until I was 16.
My English wasn't even comprehensible until I was in Year 2, and it was only in Year 7 that I learnt that you can get improper and proper English.
My older sister was a Childhood Poet.
She put me to shame.
Pages and pages of rhymes and anecdotes...
She moved onto fictitious stories of a Dog named Lottie,
and eventually autobiographical accounts of how she spent New Years' Eve '94.
She hadn't even seen her 8th birthday.
She was the English Queen, so I shunned it all....
and I regret it.
Because, it turns out, I love to read.
Obviously, I have so much to read, yet, and haven't touched upon nearly all the books mentioned here....
but I do love Etymology.
Words are my world.
Technically, they're my thought carriers...
but I do love them.
As I've been slowly uncovering this reality, my writing has improved.
Gone are the days of trying to rhyme Orange with the Earl of Borange, ahem; poetry and creative writing is not about the order of the words you choose...
It is all about the words.
This all means Jack Shit, though, because I waste my time contemplating whether Aliens are invading my city because of the flashes of lights that I see, time to time...
Sometimes, rambling makes the most poetic sense.
Words.
http://but-a-test.livejournal.com/
ManGrot's Blog.
...full of words.
http://but-a-test.livejournal.com/11209.html
The words speak to the alien that lives in my head.
ManGrot's Blog.
...full of words.
http://but-a-test.livejournal.com/11209.html
The words speak to the alien that lives in my head.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
...'Cause when I pack my bags, it won't be for Vacation.
So, Wednesday morning, I had a chat with Quasi.
The kind that we used to have.
The Deep Shit.
He feels that my family are holding me back.
He's not the first person to say that.
...but he's the first person I've taken seriously about it all.
It's got me thinking.
When's the right time?
When do I say, I'm not the person you think you know... I've been living a different life for several years... I have no intention of following the life plan that you hope, wish and pray for...
When do I mention that I have no interest in all the things that they push me towards...?
How do I build up that courage...?
Knowing fully well that there's a good chance it'll go belly up, and I'll move further away from where I want to be.
Today, whilst washing up, it hit me.
I can't carry it on with Quasi.
No matter how long I wait, it's not going to happen.
So, I should forget, right?
I should work towards pleasing the Parents.
Atleast, calm one part of my life...
Makes a bit of sense.
...but, I can't give up Ness.
I've spent the past three years building up Ness.
Creating the person who fits me best.
Growing into the mould.
More than that, I've spent the past five years working on myself...
Finding out who I am, what I believe, what I don't believe, when I feel happy, when I feel sad...
...Am I supposed to give all that away?
Go back to the girl who wears fleeces and has no opinion on anything?
Do I forget my desires?
My dreams to live in an apartment in a Cosmopolitan city... My dreams to work in Event Management... My dreams to live in New Zealand, go for a Yoga retreat in the South of Spain, learn to swim properly, take part in a musical of some sort, focus on my writing, work at a Summer Camp in America... and so many more smaller, unimportant dreams, like stay out until early morning and not worry about whether I should find a place other than my bed to sleep in, 'cause it's too late...
or, even, just spend the day out and not have anyone to answer to...
What about my desires as a girl?
The wishes, hopes and prayers that every girl has...
I don't want to get married...
Unless, it's with the right person.
That means Non-Bengali, and Non-Muslim.
I mentioned the other day, Quasi was talking about our possible children.
I woke up.
For so long, I've been so blasé about these things.
I don't want to get married, I don't want children, I don't care if I never fall in love, I don't want or need a family of my own...
I do.
I really do.
...but not how it's been written for me.
I wish there could be some compromise, where we'd be both happy...
But, the only compromises that I can think of, involve me bending over backwards and being unhappy, just so that they're not sad.
I can't ever make them happy, so I'm not even going to try anymore.
I'm rambling.
None of this is planned, at all.
...Free Thoughts.
Which is why, I can't remember what was said on Wednesday morning much.
I just know that I can't just up and leave, because my family are holding me back.
A day's going to come, when I'll just pack my bags... and it won't be for a holiday.
The kind that we used to have.
The Deep Shit.
He feels that my family are holding me back.
He's not the first person to say that.
...but he's the first person I've taken seriously about it all.
It's got me thinking.
When's the right time?
When do I say, I'm not the person you think you know... I've been living a different life for several years... I have no intention of following the life plan that you hope, wish and pray for...
When do I mention that I have no interest in all the things that they push me towards...?
How do I build up that courage...?
Knowing fully well that there's a good chance it'll go belly up, and I'll move further away from where I want to be.
Today, whilst washing up, it hit me.
I can't carry it on with Quasi.
No matter how long I wait, it's not going to happen.
So, I should forget, right?
I should work towards pleasing the Parents.
Atleast, calm one part of my life...
Makes a bit of sense.
...but, I can't give up Ness.
I've spent the past three years building up Ness.
Creating the person who fits me best.
Growing into the mould.
More than that, I've spent the past five years working on myself...
Finding out who I am, what I believe, what I don't believe, when I feel happy, when I feel sad...
...Am I supposed to give all that away?
Go back to the girl who wears fleeces and has no opinion on anything?
Do I forget my desires?
My dreams to live in an apartment in a Cosmopolitan city... My dreams to work in Event Management... My dreams to live in New Zealand, go for a Yoga retreat in the South of Spain, learn to swim properly, take part in a musical of some sort, focus on my writing, work at a Summer Camp in America... and so many more smaller, unimportant dreams, like stay out until early morning and not worry about whether I should find a place other than my bed to sleep in, 'cause it's too late...
or, even, just spend the day out and not have anyone to answer to...
What about my desires as a girl?
The wishes, hopes and prayers that every girl has...
I don't want to get married...
Unless, it's with the right person.
That means Non-Bengali, and Non-Muslim.
I mentioned the other day, Quasi was talking about our possible children.
I woke up.
For so long, I've been so blasé about these things.
I don't want to get married, I don't want children, I don't care if I never fall in love, I don't want or need a family of my own...
I do.
I really do.
...but not how it's been written for me.
I wish there could be some compromise, where we'd be both happy...
But, the only compromises that I can think of, involve me bending over backwards and being unhappy, just so that they're not sad.
I can't ever make them happy, so I'm not even going to try anymore.
I'm rambling.
None of this is planned, at all.
...Free Thoughts.
Which is why, I can't remember what was said on Wednesday morning much.
I just know that I can't just up and leave, because my family are holding me back.
A day's going to come, when I'll just pack my bags... and it won't be for a holiday.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Peaks and Troughs...
The past two days have been the first time I haven't had to worry about work (much), or family.
I've been able to be myself, and have fun for myself.
Yes. I saw The HunchBack.
I spent the night with him... but that's not the only reason for my being ever so happy.
I met up with a few other people.
...and I loved their company.
Tuesday, I was treated to Pizza Express, a walk down South Bank, and I was taken to Tate Modern... which I was a bit disappointed by, there weren't so many things that caught my attention, and even then, there weren't many pieces that were interesting or could be interpreted in a fun way.
But, hey, I saw a hairy muff.
That's got to say something!
Alchi was absolutely lovely.
I genuinely enjoyed his company, and didn't have evil thoughts in my head.
Not like when I met up with KbW on Wednesday morning... I was regretting asking him to meet me.
It pissed me off that he was still trying it on, when I was crying into his shoulder.
Yea.
Oh, before I forget.
...because I will.
I saw a Chandler/Matthew Perry Look A Like.
I also saw Mme. Douglas.
She didn't know who I was.
She obviously hates me. I remembered on my way home that she used to give us a months' worth of work to do in one night.
I never used to do them well.
I also went to the o2...
Watched a movie, watched people, watched myself dance...
I really enjoyed myself.
Ma protegé was absolutely amazing. She reminds me of my younger self so much.
But, with self-belief, determination and a direction.
...and yes, seeing the HunchBack was beautiful.
We went for Maki, Ice Creams and a walk under the London Eye...
Even someone like me, who hates Romance, appreciated the beauty of being with someone you have feelings for in the middle of a buzzing crowd, music of so many different styles, people of diferent ages, walks of life etc... Yet, for the first time, you don't people watch.
You're so into what's going on with you.
I hardly slept.
Well, whenever I did finally manage to drift off, I'd feel him between my legs again.
I'm not complaining, though; it was Heaven.
For a few hours, I was free.
I had no neurotic thoughts, no worries, no doubts... I wasn't thinking in the past or the future.
I was just being in the moment.
...and I experienced that moment with Quasi.
We discussed what we'd name our child if I fell pregnant. We discussed what options I would have, and that we should run away and get married.
All nothing but talk...
But, for a girl like me, the butterflies in my tummy just wouldn't settle.
Resulting in my not being able to stomach breakfast.
I told him about my OD story.
...it took everything in me not to cry and break down in his arms.
He told me how he had faith in me, and how he saw big things in store, if only I put my enthusiasm and love into whatever I do.
I have friends who say I'm capable of grand things, but it's all a bit superficial when people say thigns like that.
Even if it is Kenan.
Maybe I'm wearing Rose Coloured Sparkly Shades, but Quasi's conviction seemed genuine and heartfelt.
I spent most of Wednesday weeping.
..because I realised I still had hope.
I called him when I got home, to let him know I wasn't abducted by aliens.
He was out grabbing a bite to eat, and said he'd call later.
He did.
I was half asleep.
He turned cold.
It doesn't help when people like Grumpster and Pop are upset that you forgot to even think of them.
...and they don't even want to hear your apology, they just want you to suffer.
Well, congratulations.
An incredible high ended with a sharp low.
I've been able to be myself, and have fun for myself.
Yes. I saw The HunchBack.
I spent the night with him... but that's not the only reason for my being ever so happy.
I met up with a few other people.
...and I loved their company.
Tuesday, I was treated to Pizza Express, a walk down South Bank, and I was taken to Tate Modern... which I was a bit disappointed by, there weren't so many things that caught my attention, and even then, there weren't many pieces that were interesting or could be interpreted in a fun way.
But, hey, I saw a hairy muff.
That's got to say something!
Alchi was absolutely lovely.
I genuinely enjoyed his company, and didn't have evil thoughts in my head.
Not like when I met up with KbW on Wednesday morning... I was regretting asking him to meet me.
It pissed me off that he was still trying it on, when I was crying into his shoulder.
Yea.
Oh, before I forget.
...because I will.
I saw a Chandler/Matthew Perry Look A Like.
I also saw Mme. Douglas.
She didn't know who I was.
She obviously hates me. I remembered on my way home that she used to give us a months' worth of work to do in one night.
I never used to do them well.
I also went to the o2...
Watched a movie, watched people, watched myself dance...
I really enjoyed myself.
Ma protegé was absolutely amazing. She reminds me of my younger self so much.
But, with self-belief, determination and a direction.
...and yes, seeing the HunchBack was beautiful.
We went for Maki, Ice Creams and a walk under the London Eye...
Even someone like me, who hates Romance, appreciated the beauty of being with someone you have feelings for in the middle of a buzzing crowd, music of so many different styles, people of diferent ages, walks of life etc... Yet, for the first time, you don't people watch.
You're so into what's going on with you.
I hardly slept.
Well, whenever I did finally manage to drift off, I'd feel him between my legs again.
I'm not complaining, though; it was Heaven.
For a few hours, I was free.
I had no neurotic thoughts, no worries, no doubts... I wasn't thinking in the past or the future.
I was just being in the moment.
...and I experienced that moment with Quasi.
We discussed what we'd name our child if I fell pregnant. We discussed what options I would have, and that we should run away and get married.
All nothing but talk...
But, for a girl like me, the butterflies in my tummy just wouldn't settle.
Resulting in my not being able to stomach breakfast.
I told him about my OD story.
...it took everything in me not to cry and break down in his arms.
He told me how he had faith in me, and how he saw big things in store, if only I put my enthusiasm and love into whatever I do.
I have friends who say I'm capable of grand things, but it's all a bit superficial when people say thigns like that.
Even if it is Kenan.
Maybe I'm wearing Rose Coloured Sparkly Shades, but Quasi's conviction seemed genuine and heartfelt.
I spent most of Wednesday weeping.
..because I realised I still had hope.
I called him when I got home, to let him know I wasn't abducted by aliens.
He was out grabbing a bite to eat, and said he'd call later.
He did.
I was half asleep.
He turned cold.
It doesn't help when people like Grumpster and Pop are upset that you forgot to even think of them.
...and they don't even want to hear your apology, they just want you to suffer.
Well, congratulations.
An incredible high ended with a sharp low.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Pussy
Apparently, I ended it with The HunchBack a few days before my birthday.
...Which is why I'm still up at 1.45 am on a Tuesday morning, hoping that by some form of telepathic wizardry, he'll know that I just want to... well talk.
to him.
..and be in his company.
Yes.
I am a girl.
I think about cuddles, and sweet nothings.
I have tears in my eyes, yet I feel that I have nothing substantial to cry about.
I don't even know whether he still has feelings.
for Ness.
Is it right to get so worked up over an almost relationship?
Who am I kidding when I talk about our goings on?
Apart from me, clearly, obsessing about him, there's not much to it.
Is there?
I hate it.
I build myself up like this everytime.
I tell myself that I should let it go.
Not let it affect me.
If we fuck, we fuck.
That's it.
Pure Fuckage.
I toughen myself up, become that confident girl who carries on carrying on.
I have fun, and become that girl who oozes contagious enthusiasm.
...Then out of nowhere, he pops up again.
and I'm a girl, again.
...and I can't even tell him about these thoughts, the frustration that I have no idea what's going on.
I don't know whether to say I like him, or lust him.
The fact that I still don't know the basics about him, yet I've told him more than anyone could find out even if they were stalking me.
I know I always mention the Sex.
Yes, I love it with him.
...but I don't just miss that.
It's never been about Sex.
That was just my cover up.
I am a stupid girl, with a poonani and bastard feelings.
I remember how easy it was to start talking to him.
It was like rearranging your room, and sleeping in a new corner for the first night.
Safe, but, exciting.
We probably spent four months texting back and forth, before we did anything.
Then Summer stole him away... and I got him back that Autumn.
It was light and fun for two years.
The dynamics changed during Christmas.
Feelings were mentioned, and things weren't so carefree anymore.
WhirlWind.
I got caught up in the silent promises that were never spoken.
The assurance that made me take the first step to facing my fear of heights, the sincerity of his condolences...
Fuck it, even the amount of time he spent devoted to making me comfortable, rather than forcing himself upon me...
...and everytime I yearn for him and then realise that there's nothing, I feel like Cameron Diaz in The Sweetest Thing.
The scene after she finds out, that after travelling over three hours to find the guy she went crazy for after meeting him for ten minutes, and just screams.
I feel like that.
Only, I don't have a suitable time nor place for it.
Pop asks all the time about the other guys.
KbW and Taylor... and to some extent the guy who calls me Nuno...
They don't do anything for me.
I need 'Modo, if I want to.
...pathetic.
...Which is why I'm still up at 1.45 am on a Tuesday morning, hoping that by some form of telepathic wizardry, he'll know that I just want to... well talk.
to him.
..and be in his company.
Yes.
I am a girl.
I think about cuddles, and sweet nothings.
I have tears in my eyes, yet I feel that I have nothing substantial to cry about.
I don't even know whether he still has feelings.
for Ness.
Is it right to get so worked up over an almost relationship?
Who am I kidding when I talk about our goings on?
Apart from me, clearly, obsessing about him, there's not much to it.
Is there?
I hate it.
I build myself up like this everytime.
I tell myself that I should let it go.
Not let it affect me.
If we fuck, we fuck.
That's it.
Pure Fuckage.
I toughen myself up, become that confident girl who carries on carrying on.
I have fun, and become that girl who oozes contagious enthusiasm.
...Then out of nowhere, he pops up again.
and I'm a girl, again.
...and I can't even tell him about these thoughts, the frustration that I have no idea what's going on.
I don't know whether to say I like him, or lust him.
The fact that I still don't know the basics about him, yet I've told him more than anyone could find out even if they were stalking me.
I know I always mention the Sex.
Yes, I love it with him.
...but I don't just miss that.
It's never been about Sex.
That was just my cover up.
I am a stupid girl, with a poonani and bastard feelings.
I remember how easy it was to start talking to him.
It was like rearranging your room, and sleeping in a new corner for the first night.
Safe, but, exciting.
We probably spent four months texting back and forth, before we did anything.
Then Summer stole him away... and I got him back that Autumn.
It was light and fun for two years.
The dynamics changed during Christmas.
Feelings were mentioned, and things weren't so carefree anymore.
WhirlWind.
I got caught up in the silent promises that were never spoken.
The assurance that made me take the first step to facing my fear of heights, the sincerity of his condolences...
Fuck it, even the amount of time he spent devoted to making me comfortable, rather than forcing himself upon me...
...and everytime I yearn for him and then realise that there's nothing, I feel like Cameron Diaz in The Sweetest Thing.
The scene after she finds out, that after travelling over three hours to find the guy she went crazy for after meeting him for ten minutes, and just screams.
I feel like that.
Only, I don't have a suitable time nor place for it.
Pop asks all the time about the other guys.
KbW and Taylor... and to some extent the guy who calls me Nuno...
They don't do anything for me.
I need 'Modo, if I want to.
...pathetic.
Sunday is Family Day...
So, for most people, Sunday is the day to spend with your family, and do stuff.
Not mine.
Usually, the parents go out after then wake up and have breakfast, they usually take the SheDevil with them.
The older sister makes her plans, and I remain at home with Little One.
So, the Sunday just gone has left me feeling very weird.
I woke up to get ready for a wedding.
...I must say, as much as I remind myself of Narcissus, I genuinely do think I looked beautiful on Sunday.
Figures, the day you wear your mother's sari, and not your own BubbleGum clothes, you feel like a Goddess.
So, we went to the Wedding, ate, mingled, took pictures.
The Dog, the Baby, Natiska and my Twin were there.
What is it with Gujjus coming to Bengali weddings?!
I should've done a Kenan and been more confident... but that always ends up in self doubt, leading to me looking in pain...
So, I just went and made small talk.
I hello and a smile is surely better than a full on air smooch and fake pictures...
Father, once again, made us leave before the ceremony even took place, just like NoorJahan's wedding.
We had a tag along fmaily who wanted to go to the Mela near our house, so they were going to make a pitstop and pray at ours.
Usually after weddings, us siters get together to take pictures.
We couldn't 'cause it was Bin Laden's family who wanted to use our house.
It's not that I hate extremists, I think they're actually trying harder than the moderates to follow their religion... It's just they're so fucking awkward!
You make small talk, and they point out several sins in your one sentence.
So, they come, they see the mess, and they conquer our kitchen and bathroom.
I, in the middle of it, have a lightening speed tidy up, find some gaviscon for the smoker "uncle" and set the prayer mats for everyone, all whilst in the sari and heels...
I think that deserves Kudos.
Uncle tells Little One about the Mela.
Little One wants to go.
FFS.
So, I get out of my sari, take my slap off, and chuck my jeans on.
Yea, I was slumming it.
My parents went along, too.
So, our two families, minus the evil sisters, went along to an Islamic Mela...
Little One and I ditched them as soon as we got in, but they wouldn't leave us alone.
I had countless phone calls, and kept bumping into them.
There's about five sisters, so it was hard trying to avoid them.
Little One and I enjoyed a Slush Puppy and a Hot Dog together, and he had a game of football and a donkey ride, too.
Not bad.
...and we timed it just right, as we joined our parents and the other family at the exit.
Small talk, small talk, small talk...
and they left, and we made our way back home.
In the car.
Even though it takes five minutes to walk.
I get home, and finally get into decent clothes.
Mother suddenly wants to go to the Balloon Fiesta.
We've lived in this city for more than a decade, and they've never given two shits about Summer fayres etc.
Why on Earth did she want to go on the last day of the Fiesta, and who on Earth did she find out from?
So, we make our way to the lovely place that I want to take the HunchBack...
Only, we're directed 15 minutes around the grounds because we took the car, and didn't use public transport.
So by the time we found parking, it was all over and people were returning to their cars.
We took the scenic route home, we passed Brunel's attractions, the Posh part of town...
The Matthew.
... which reminded Ma Soeur Ainee about the production we did in Junior School.
How very apt!
"...headed back East, headed back East.
Head. ed. East.
That adventurous lot!"
We chuckled the rest of the way home.
I spent most of the day in the car.
With the family.
With hardly any arguments.
Not mine.
Usually, the parents go out after then wake up and have breakfast, they usually take the SheDevil with them.
The older sister makes her plans, and I remain at home with Little One.
So, the Sunday just gone has left me feeling very weird.
I woke up to get ready for a wedding.
...I must say, as much as I remind myself of Narcissus, I genuinely do think I looked beautiful on Sunday.
Figures, the day you wear your mother's sari, and not your own BubbleGum clothes, you feel like a Goddess.
So, we went to the Wedding, ate, mingled, took pictures.
The Dog, the Baby, Natiska and my Twin were there.
What is it with Gujjus coming to Bengali weddings?!
I should've done a Kenan and been more confident... but that always ends up in self doubt, leading to me looking in pain...
So, I just went and made small talk.
I hello and a smile is surely better than a full on air smooch and fake pictures...
Father, once again, made us leave before the ceremony even took place, just like NoorJahan's wedding.
We had a tag along fmaily who wanted to go to the Mela near our house, so they were going to make a pitstop and pray at ours.
Usually after weddings, us siters get together to take pictures.
We couldn't 'cause it was Bin Laden's family who wanted to use our house.
It's not that I hate extremists, I think they're actually trying harder than the moderates to follow their religion... It's just they're so fucking awkward!
You make small talk, and they point out several sins in your one sentence.
So, they come, they see the mess, and they conquer our kitchen and bathroom.
I, in the middle of it, have a lightening speed tidy up, find some gaviscon for the smoker "uncle" and set the prayer mats for everyone, all whilst in the sari and heels...
I think that deserves Kudos.
Uncle tells Little One about the Mela.
Little One wants to go.
FFS.
So, I get out of my sari, take my slap off, and chuck my jeans on.
Yea, I was slumming it.
My parents went along, too.
So, our two families, minus the evil sisters, went along to an Islamic Mela...
Little One and I ditched them as soon as we got in, but they wouldn't leave us alone.
I had countless phone calls, and kept bumping into them.
There's about five sisters, so it was hard trying to avoid them.
Little One and I enjoyed a Slush Puppy and a Hot Dog together, and he had a game of football and a donkey ride, too.
Not bad.
...and we timed it just right, as we joined our parents and the other family at the exit.
Small talk, small talk, small talk...
and they left, and we made our way back home.
In the car.
Even though it takes five minutes to walk.
I get home, and finally get into decent clothes.
Mother suddenly wants to go to the Balloon Fiesta.
We've lived in this city for more than a decade, and they've never given two shits about Summer fayres etc.
Why on Earth did she want to go on the last day of the Fiesta, and who on Earth did she find out from?
So, we make our way to the lovely place that I want to take the HunchBack...
Only, we're directed 15 minutes around the grounds because we took the car, and didn't use public transport.
So by the time we found parking, it was all over and people were returning to their cars.
We took the scenic route home, we passed Brunel's attractions, the Posh part of town...
The Matthew.
... which reminded Ma Soeur Ainee about the production we did in Junior School.
How very apt!
"...headed back East, headed back East.
Head. ed. East.
That adventurous lot!"
We chuckled the rest of the way home.
I spent most of the day in the car.
With the family.
With hardly any arguments.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Impulsive...?
So, we decided to meet up today.
Grumpster and I.
...but he had to shoot off to court.
Yes, I have a thing for people who have an invisible chain that drags them to the courts all the time.
So, I went and had a wax.
A bit more pleasurable than usual;
Sally touched my clit, and then pressed into it each time she ripped out more hairs...
Hers fingers gently stroked against it whilst she worked on my lips.
I think she was doing it on purpose, because I knew I was wetter than usual.
She did my ArseCrack really weird, too.
It felt like she was ringing my sphincter, as if to tickle it.
On a normal day, I have to change my knickers after a wax session.
Today, I had to peel my knickers off because I was so wet.
I decided to get my hair cut today, too.
Just because I was walking past Kenan's hairdresser.
I walked up the steps, and in a matter of seconds I was leaning against the sink and having bosoms thrust in my face, whilst the lady washed my hair.
I only wanted a bit of a trim and shape put back in...
I really didn't want to change it much.
I mentioned how it had become a mop and was really heavy.
She said she'd thin it out...
My hair is now short and really thin.
But I like it.
I then walked back into Town.
I was meant to go to New Look for a new pair of Pumps.
Instead, I went for Sushi...
...on my own, may I add?
I've always found it hard to dine on my own.
...but a place like Basaba or Yo! Sushi makes it quite fun.
I'd never sit down at KFC on my own, though.
I managed to do a Mind Map for BAYS and sort out some paperwork.
Things I didn't need to do, but felt I had to, right at that moment in time.
Vatti called then, and I gave some blasé story...
I realised, I had only meant to pop out for an hour... It had been three.
I paid, and left.
...and lied.
I said I'd take the next bus back, when in fact my feet were taking me towards New Look.
A cardigan, strapless dress, pumps and bags of SuperDrugs and Boots goodies later, I was waiting at the bus stop.
I pulled the cardi out of the bag, and put it on straight away.
Bright Pink.
I ran up the stairs as soon as I got home.
My neon pink heels.
I hadn't touched them since I bought them.
I laid them out in front of the mirror, and I stripped.
Everything.
Clips, socks, nail varnish.
The heels were too bright to battle with anything else, but my body.
I slowly started to put on the different clothes I had accumulated in the past Summer months.
I cloaked myself in Vanity, and the camera started flashing.
Yes...
I texted Quasi... and read that I arranged to meet up with him on Friday night.
Spend the night.
It won't happen, and I never would ask something like that, but today Impulse took over.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Snippet.
When you kiss, you don’t know what to do with his body.
“What do you want?” he asks you, and he has his hand in your panties.
Instead of saying “I want us to 69 and then I want to fuck you in the ass with your dildo,”
you decide to take things one step at a time and say, “well… um… you could… perhaps penetrate me”, meaning with his fingers, but he misunderstands, and smirks.
“Right. I’m going to fuck you,” and gives you such a smoldering look that you’re too embarrassed to correct him.
When you fuck, you retreat into yourself, suddenly shy. You’d already ridden out your drunkenness and so are no longer bold.
He enters you from behind, the two of you kneeling, and his hands cup your breasts and move down your body, urgently, like his hands were meant to cruise all over your skin.
You feed off of his pants and jerky body movements,
feeling like you’re being worshiped,
...feeling like this is worship.
There has to be something spiritual about all of this concentrated attention.
Religious, even.
You end up on your hands and knees, and your body feels nothing except red hot shards of pleasure at your core.
He grunts.
Swears.
Comes.
You don’t.
But you revel in the fact that you’ve reduced him to this.
This articulate,
overly-intellectual
person
to
one word:
Fuck.
Time for sleep.
He rolls away from you, turns out the lamp, says you can feel free to stay.
Not that he wants you to; but that you can feel free to.
He plays classical music on his iPhone.
You close your eyes.
Afterwards, you’ll look back on that moment as the moment that he lost interest.
But, for a few minutes at least, nothing else existed for him except you; and your quota for… whatever it is, was filled a little more.
“What do you want?” he asks you, and he has his hand in your panties.
Instead of saying “I want us to 69 and then I want to fuck you in the ass with your dildo,”
you decide to take things one step at a time and say, “well… um… you could… perhaps penetrate me”, meaning with his fingers, but he misunderstands, and smirks.
“Right. I’m going to fuck you,” and gives you such a smoldering look that you’re too embarrassed to correct him.
When you fuck, you retreat into yourself, suddenly shy. You’d already ridden out your drunkenness and so are no longer bold.
He enters you from behind, the two of you kneeling, and his hands cup your breasts and move down your body, urgently, like his hands were meant to cruise all over your skin.
You feed off of his pants and jerky body movements,
feeling like you’re being worshiped,
...feeling like this is worship.
There has to be something spiritual about all of this concentrated attention.
Religious, even.
You end up on your hands and knees, and your body feels nothing except red hot shards of pleasure at your core.
He grunts.
Swears.
Comes.
You don’t.
But you revel in the fact that you’ve reduced him to this.
This articulate,
overly-intellectual
person
to
one word:
Fuck.
Time for sleep.
He rolls away from you, turns out the lamp, says you can feel free to stay.
Not that he wants you to; but that you can feel free to.
He plays classical music on his iPhone.
You close your eyes.
Afterwards, you’ll look back on that moment as the moment that he lost interest.
But, for a few minutes at least, nothing else existed for him except you; and your quota for… whatever it is, was filled a little more.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Yoga
So, I've been religiously Yogaing since November.
Atleast once a week.
Next week is the last session with my instructor, then it's down to me.
Fuck.
I don't have much patience with Yoga on my own.
If I feel discomfort, I won't breathe into it. I'll just move onto the next position.
During my Friday Yoga Sessions, I can stay in a painful pose for more than twenty counts.
Most of it because I have no distractions, but a big part of it is that I don't want to look shit infront of the others.
I'm actually quite alright at Yoga, and the instructor always compliments me... I don't want her to give a negative comment.
Yea, being a girl I have a bit of Pride, I guess.
So, now, I have to look for the next cheapest Yoga session.
Kenan goes to one, so I may ask her... but she lives on the other side of Bristol and it takes over an hour by bus to get to her.
I was getting so close to getting my ankle up to my head, as well...
Atleast once a week.
Next week is the last session with my instructor, then it's down to me.
Fuck.
I don't have much patience with Yoga on my own.
If I feel discomfort, I won't breathe into it. I'll just move onto the next position.
During my Friday Yoga Sessions, I can stay in a painful pose for more than twenty counts.
Most of it because I have no distractions, but a big part of it is that I don't want to look shit infront of the others.
I'm actually quite alright at Yoga, and the instructor always compliments me... I don't want her to give a negative comment.
Yea, being a girl I have a bit of Pride, I guess.
So, now, I have to look for the next cheapest Yoga session.
Kenan goes to one, so I may ask her... but she lives on the other side of Bristol and it takes over an hour by bus to get to her.
I was getting so close to getting my ankle up to my head, as well...
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Missing HunchBack
So, it's been almost six months since I last saw Quasi.
It's been almost three months since I last had a decent conversation with my 'Modo.
I miss him.
But then, isn't this how I've spent the past two Summers?
He gets busy, I get busy, we forget about each other and go about our lives until one day during September we decide to check if the other is alive.
Why should this Summer be any different?
What, because I opened my legs to him?
Or caught myself wanting to say those three poncy words to him a few times?
Or because when he told me abouthis famil's plans, he mentioned how he had developed feelings for me?
It shouldn't change.
It doesn't stop me from missing him, though.
He's the only person who makes me feel like a vulnerable person.
Everyone else sees the Ness who takes care of her family.. the Ness who uses a screwdriver better than she does a dustpan and brush.. the Ness who has depended on no one but herself for the past four years.
They don't see the Ness who runs crying to Quasimodo whenever the tiniest thing upsets her... the Ness who needs Quasi's reassurance that her ideas and decisions will work... the Ness who depends on her 'Modo to keep her calm and focused.
So, I guess he's a weakness.
...and I should get rid.
...but this is the battle between desire, free will and sense.
With all the shit that's been going on recently, I really just wanted a good fuck session and get all the tension and emotions out of my system.
...but, how can I do that when I know that he's probably busy with rishta meetings, one after the other?
That, and we always miss each other on the phone.
I spoke to him briefly last Wednesday night, and I broke into tears straight away.
I said it was because I had an awful day, with driving and my uncle and stuff... But, I actually didn't know why I was crying so much.
Looking back, I guess it was then that I realised how much I had actually missed him since I last saw him in February.
Everything about the DeepNessy situation was fucked.
I hate not being able to talk to anyone about it.
Even Kenan gets pissed off when I mention him.
Smushy doesn't want to know.
...and all I want to do is offload.
I want to tell them how amazing he is in bed, and how much I miss him biting me.
I just don't have that chance, though.
Common sense tells me what to do.
I'm just too fucking stubborn to listen.
I am a three year old who keeps thinking about that toy on the adverts.
I want to stomp my feet, and scream until I get it.
...but I can't.
...and I know I can't.
That's what's even more upsetting.
It's been almost three months since I last had a decent conversation with my 'Modo.
I miss him.
But then, isn't this how I've spent the past two Summers?
He gets busy, I get busy, we forget about each other and go about our lives until one day during September we decide to check if the other is alive.
Why should this Summer be any different?
What, because I opened my legs to him?
Or caught myself wanting to say those three poncy words to him a few times?
Or because when he told me abouthis famil's plans, he mentioned how he had developed feelings for me?
It shouldn't change.
It doesn't stop me from missing him, though.
He's the only person who makes me feel like a vulnerable person.
Everyone else sees the Ness who takes care of her family.. the Ness who uses a screwdriver better than she does a dustpan and brush.. the Ness who has depended on no one but herself for the past four years.
They don't see the Ness who runs crying to Quasimodo whenever the tiniest thing upsets her... the Ness who needs Quasi's reassurance that her ideas and decisions will work... the Ness who depends on her 'Modo to keep her calm and focused.
So, I guess he's a weakness.
...and I should get rid.
...but this is the battle between desire, free will and sense.
With all the shit that's been going on recently, I really just wanted a good fuck session and get all the tension and emotions out of my system.
...but, how can I do that when I know that he's probably busy with rishta meetings, one after the other?
That, and we always miss each other on the phone.
I spoke to him briefly last Wednesday night, and I broke into tears straight away.
I said it was because I had an awful day, with driving and my uncle and stuff... But, I actually didn't know why I was crying so much.
Looking back, I guess it was then that I realised how much I had actually missed him since I last saw him in February.
Everything about the DeepNessy situation was fucked.
I hate not being able to talk to anyone about it.
Even Kenan gets pissed off when I mention him.
Smushy doesn't want to know.
...and all I want to do is offload.
I want to tell them how amazing he is in bed, and how much I miss him biting me.
I just don't have that chance, though.
Common sense tells me what to do.
I'm just too fucking stubborn to listen.
I am a three year old who keeps thinking about that toy on the adverts.
I want to stomp my feet, and scream until I get it.
...but I can't.
...and I know I can't.
That's what's even more upsetting.
Awkward
Salman Khan used to be my boss.
He's also a good friend of my father's, and classes himself as my friend, too.
He is a perve.
Everyone knows it.
He admits it himself
He loves girls from ethnic minorities.
He's a sucker for a girl of "colour".
So, it's worrying when you pick up the phone and he says something along the lines of, "Hi Babe, Gorgeous, Fitty etc etc".
It's awkward when he sends you promiscuous texts, when you just invited him to your uncle's funeral.
It's plain damn scary when he stands a few centimetres behind you, and then raches around you to help with the computer, when your father's in the same room.
How the fuck do I politely kick him in the balls?
I hate him.
He's an arrogant bastard, who speaks too much and doesn't understand what personal space is.
Yes, I used to enjoy his company, and ignored the cockiness...
But, the pervyness has become too much now.
I guess I might have encouraged him, by being quite open about myself, but that doesn't mean it's ok for a 48 year old to smarme around me with my dad watching.
Quasimodo warned me about him.
He said he had a funny feeling.
Ma soeur ainee told me to watch out.
I totally ignored them, thinking that Salman helps all these domestic abuse ladies, he'd never take advantage like that...
Naive Ness.
He begged me to join them for the Youth Event today, but I didn't go.
He picked up the keys, and when he came to drop them off, I hid behind the fridge.
He blatantly saw me walking around the kitchen as he walked to my door, but I honestly didn't know what to do.
He makes me feel uneasy.
Not many people to do that.
Most people just scare me... as in they're mean and horrible.
I've not really felt this sort of awkwardness before.
I'm so glad he's not working at the office anymore, but he's still go working links, and usually holds seminars downstairs.
I can't wait to leave in August.
He's also a good friend of my father's, and classes himself as my friend, too.
He is a perve.
Everyone knows it.
He admits it himself
He loves girls from ethnic minorities.
He's a sucker for a girl of "colour".
So, it's worrying when you pick up the phone and he says something along the lines of, "Hi Babe, Gorgeous, Fitty etc etc".
It's awkward when he sends you promiscuous texts, when you just invited him to your uncle's funeral.
It's plain damn scary when he stands a few centimetres behind you, and then raches around you to help with the computer, when your father's in the same room.
How the fuck do I politely kick him in the balls?
I hate him.
He's an arrogant bastard, who speaks too much and doesn't understand what personal space is.
Yes, I used to enjoy his company, and ignored the cockiness...
But, the pervyness has become too much now.
I guess I might have encouraged him, by being quite open about myself, but that doesn't mean it's ok for a 48 year old to smarme around me with my dad watching.
Quasimodo warned me about him.
He said he had a funny feeling.
Ma soeur ainee told me to watch out.
I totally ignored them, thinking that Salman helps all these domestic abuse ladies, he'd never take advantage like that...
Naive Ness.
He begged me to join them for the Youth Event today, but I didn't go.
He picked up the keys, and when he came to drop them off, I hid behind the fridge.
He blatantly saw me walking around the kitchen as he walked to my door, but I honestly didn't know what to do.
He makes me feel uneasy.
Not many people to do that.
Most people just scare me... as in they're mean and horrible.
I've not really felt this sort of awkwardness before.
I'm so glad he's not working at the office anymore, but he's still go working links, and usually holds seminars downstairs.
I can't wait to leave in August.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Blah.
He's gone.
He took his final breath on Saturday afternoon.
He had an almost smirk on his face.
Islam says that you mustn't mourn for more than three days.
I used to think it was ridiculous, especially if it was someone you loved and cared for dearly...
But, on this occasion, it made sense for me.
His funeral was on Monday.
My father took us to see him for one last time.
As we entered the Masjid door, my bhabhi and father started reciting
Ash hadu Allah ilaha illalahu
Wa ash hadu anna Muhammadan abdu hu wa rasooluh
The tears started immediately.
They say you should recite the declaration of faith near the dying/dead person.
I couldn't even say it properly.
I was scared.
Really scared.
I don't know what of.
...but I just felt fear in my stomach.
...and then I saw him.
Cloaked in white material, and smelling of rose water.
The smirk.
His wrinkles had vanished, and his skin was glowing.
He looked so... Pure.
So peaceful.
So... Happy.
The fear had gone.
I was sobbing.
A bittersweet moment.
In my eyes, it was evident that uncle was no longer suffering in any way.
He was happy.
However, it meant that that was it. I'd never see him again.
My uncle, who listened to my plans to marry Salman Khan, really had gone.
I really wished to kiss him, or stroke his head one last time.
...but I didn't want to dirty him.
Instead, I carried on trying to recite the two lines, and calmed myself down.
There's no point in crying, it will only hurt his soul.
It doesn't mean that I'm not upset, though.
I do miss him.
I've missed him for ten years.
...and now I miss him even more, because I know that I can't hop on a train and go and see him if I need to.
Not that I ever did, but the option was always there.
Death always brings up religion.
...and questions of spirituality.
I've been praying Salah the past week.
It's my own wish, my own desire.
I should respect my uncle enough to pray for him the way he taught me...
If what he believed is true, then I don't want to disappoint him when he looks down at his relations and sees who's doing what for him...
I finally finished reading the Qur'an.
He taught me how to read arabic, I owe it to him to atleast read it once.
I'm glad that I managed to finish it before he passed on...
All of this doesn't mean that I'm Muslim, though.
It doesn't mean I'm not Muslim, either.
I'm just doing what I think is right by my uncle.
...and I hope by doing so, he's able to rest in peace.
He took his final breath on Saturday afternoon.
He had an almost smirk on his face.
Islam says that you mustn't mourn for more than three days.
I used to think it was ridiculous, especially if it was someone you loved and cared for dearly...
But, on this occasion, it made sense for me.
His funeral was on Monday.
My father took us to see him for one last time.
As we entered the Masjid door, my bhabhi and father started reciting
Ash hadu Allah ilaha illalahu
Wa ash hadu anna Muhammadan abdu hu wa rasooluh
The tears started immediately.
They say you should recite the declaration of faith near the dying/dead person.
I couldn't even say it properly.
I was scared.
Really scared.
I don't know what of.
...but I just felt fear in my stomach.
...and then I saw him.
Cloaked in white material, and smelling of rose water.
The smirk.
His wrinkles had vanished, and his skin was glowing.
He looked so... Pure.
So peaceful.
So... Happy.
The fear had gone.
I was sobbing.
A bittersweet moment.
In my eyes, it was evident that uncle was no longer suffering in any way.
He was happy.
However, it meant that that was it. I'd never see him again.
My uncle, who listened to my plans to marry Salman Khan, really had gone.
I really wished to kiss him, or stroke his head one last time.
...but I didn't want to dirty him.
Instead, I carried on trying to recite the two lines, and calmed myself down.
There's no point in crying, it will only hurt his soul.
It doesn't mean that I'm not upset, though.
I do miss him.
I've missed him for ten years.
...and now I miss him even more, because I know that I can't hop on a train and go and see him if I need to.
Not that I ever did, but the option was always there.
Death always brings up religion.
...and questions of spirituality.
I've been praying Salah the past week.
It's my own wish, my own desire.
I should respect my uncle enough to pray for him the way he taught me...
If what he believed is true, then I don't want to disappoint him when he looks down at his relations and sees who's doing what for him...
I finally finished reading the Qur'an.
He taught me how to read arabic, I owe it to him to atleast read it once.
I'm glad that I managed to finish it before he passed on...
All of this doesn't mean that I'm Muslim, though.
It doesn't mean I'm not Muslim, either.
I'm just doing what I think is right by my uncle.
...and I hope by doing so, he's able to rest in peace.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Random Words.
Restless. Tears. Panic. Sleep. Memories. Itching. Gulping. Planning. Fretting.
Nytol. Music. Phone. Messages. Sweating.
Nytol. Music. Phone. Messages. Sweating.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Experiencing Death...
...of a loved one.
The past year, I've lost over 6 people in my life.
But, I didn't visit them when they were dying (some died immediately, and those who died in hospital were in different countries), I didn't see them during their last days... I didn't hug them, stroke their foreheads, I didn't tell them how much they meant to me.
I didn't experience the sense of knowing that they're not going to be here much longer.
My uncle is currently dying.
That sounds odd, doesn't it?
I mean, I know in a general sense everyone's dying; every second gone, is another second closer to death.
...but according to doctor's, my uncle is dying very quickly.
How do you get your head around that?
I mean, once they've gone, they've gone.
That's it.
You slowly understand that they're not coming back again.
But, when the only thing you know is that they're going.
...you don't know how or when...
How do you understand that?
That possibly in a couple of days' time, a week's time, maybe a month's time, he's not going to be here...
But he's here now.
...but not here, 'cause he's unconcious.
You could ask, is he already dead?
But that's too much of a horrible question, and I'm no where near ready to even think about it.
He's my uncle.
He put me in the store room when I refused to read Arabic.
He spent ages making a picture with me for Eid.
He used to let me wear his hat and waistcoat jacket - something he didn't let anyone else do.
He used to compare bicep sizes with me, and always tell me that my muscles were like eggs.
I learnt the word "fotha" from him, and he introduced me to the world of fasting... and Bran Flakes.
I haven't seen him at all for the past 10 years.
Ten years I've missed out.
...and all I can do is hope that they're giving him morphine... that he goes with dignity... that the pain stops.
I can't hold his hand, I can't sit next to him, I can't talk to him and remind him of all the naughty things I used to do that would irritate him.
I can't stroke his forehead or massage his legs, I can't feed him water.
Not for his comfort, but for mine.
Yes.
I am Selfish.
My uncle's dying, and all I can think of is what I have been and will be missing.
The past year, I've lost over 6 people in my life.
But, I didn't visit them when they were dying (some died immediately, and those who died in hospital were in different countries), I didn't see them during their last days... I didn't hug them, stroke their foreheads, I didn't tell them how much they meant to me.
I didn't experience the sense of knowing that they're not going to be here much longer.
My uncle is currently dying.
That sounds odd, doesn't it?
I mean, I know in a general sense everyone's dying; every second gone, is another second closer to death.
...but according to doctor's, my uncle is dying very quickly.
How do you get your head around that?
I mean, once they've gone, they've gone.
That's it.
You slowly understand that they're not coming back again.
But, when the only thing you know is that they're going.
...you don't know how or when...
How do you understand that?
That possibly in a couple of days' time, a week's time, maybe a month's time, he's not going to be here...
But he's here now.
...but not here, 'cause he's unconcious.
You could ask, is he already dead?
But that's too much of a horrible question, and I'm no where near ready to even think about it.
He's my uncle.
He put me in the store room when I refused to read Arabic.
He spent ages making a picture with me for Eid.
He used to let me wear his hat and waistcoat jacket - something he didn't let anyone else do.
He used to compare bicep sizes with me, and always tell me that my muscles were like eggs.
I learnt the word "fotha" from him, and he introduced me to the world of fasting... and Bran Flakes.
I haven't seen him at all for the past 10 years.
Ten years I've missed out.
...and all I can do is hope that they're giving him morphine... that he goes with dignity... that the pain stops.
I can't hold his hand, I can't sit next to him, I can't talk to him and remind him of all the naughty things I used to do that would irritate him.
I can't stroke his forehead or massage his legs, I can't feed him water.
Not for his comfort, but for mine.
Yes.
I am Selfish.
My uncle's dying, and all I can think of is what I have been and will be missing.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Weddings and all the crap it brings with it...
So, there was a wedding this weekend.
Both families from my city; both families that we know.
We were the mediating family.
(Does that even make sense?)
The messengers.
The ones who, basically, had to do everything.
In South Asian culture, there's a mendhi night.
Benglish tradition is that you do fruit carvings or food decorations for display.
My mother and I spent all Friday night and all Saturday day making birds, peacocks and trees to display.
I also had to fart off to the Mendhi venue and help make it look pretty.
:\
A very difficult thing to do, seeing as the centre is the local Bengali community centre, and is used for kids to shit everywhere!
I am glad, though, that I spent so much time and effort.
My dishes really did stand out.
...and I had people coming up to me all night to talk about the peacock.
Being the vain idiot that I am, I loved it, and soaked it in.
I also spotted a few ladies eye me up.
I should've hated it and shrinked back into my seat, but I did the opposite.
I played up to it.
I helped with giving out the food, I played with the kids, I chatted to the ladies.
Hell, I should be damn ugly if the thought didn't pass atleast one person's head.
Then I saw The Dog and The Baby.
What were Gujjus doing at a Bengali Mendhi?
I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned The Dog before, but at Kenan's 20th, we basically danced together... really close...
Let's just say, I did give the dog a bone.
... and a kiss on the cheek. I still don't know why I gave in.
But yes, after that night, he thought I really fancied him - when really, I was just dancing and having fun.
So, he avoided me on another night out, and told Kenan that "he's not like that" and he doesn't get with girls so easily.
So, I guess, looking the other way wasn't such a bad thing to do on Saturday night.
I just really didn't want him to see me.
He might've thought I was drooling over him!
He was only there for a few moments, though.
There were these two Welsh girls, who looked really nice.
...in other words, not so typically Bengali Fresh.
They were so helpful, and so lovely to chat to.
...and one of them had back combed hair! I don't know why she gets extra Kudos for that, but she does!
We didn't get much chance to talk, though.
Everyone fucked off to the bride's house, and a few of us were left to clean up.
My Goodness, I felt like I was in Bangladesh.
There was rice everywhere!
Took us about an hour and half just to hoover the place.
So, I'm glad I didn' t have to hoover, I had an extra hour's sleep before pampering myself and getting ready.
For some reason, in my head, I kept thinking about talking to The Dog.
So, I dolled up.
Father put me on the reception so I could take in the gifts.
There were only two.
Well, we all knew that this was a budget wedding, so no one even gave two shits.
Guys kept lingering around the area though.
No, not all the guys; that would suggest that I'm amazingly hot.
No, just the married and desperately perverted guys.
... married with little children, may I add.
I did notice, though, that there are quite nice looking Bengali boys in my area.
Whether they're decent people is a whole other matter, though.
After about 45 minutes, I gave up and just went back to my table.
The food was alright, much better than I expected actually.
(Budget wedding, remember?)
One of the Welsh girls came up to me (BackCombed Girl) and my friend, Hana, and started chatting.
She was so lovely!
I found out that she lives a few roads away from the cousin who I used to spend my Summers with.
She was really inquisitive; kept asking us about how old we are, what we're doing, what we study etc etc
We didn't think nothing of it, and asked her stuff back!
...then I saw The Dog.
Being the tart that I naturally am, when I caught him looking at me, I flicked my hair and then smiled at him.
He smiled back.
God knows why I'm such a slag, but I liked it.
I spent the rest of the day slagging people off, and bitching about everyone and anyone that I saw.
It's good to be a bitch sometimes.
...and there were random and odd people there.
After what felt like an eternity, the bride and groom finally left.
So we followed them out, naturally.
The Dog came up behind me.
I turned around because the wind was blowing my hair around, and immediately he said, hi.
It felt like he was waiting for me to turn around.
It was strange.
Moreso, because Hana's mum was next to me.
I would've chatted, it's not like social settings have ever stopped me from talking to/hugging male friends, but it felt very awkward, so I commented on the strong winds and excused myself and went in.
RAI Affa grabbed me and asked about the girl who I sat next to.
Hana.
So I said family friend.
She told me about her match making plan.
...The Welsh Girls' brother was eligible and looking. Hana had recently just come round to the idea of marriage, so I carried on listening.
Well, not really, I was pretending to listen,
...until I heard that they initially were asking about me.
Wow.
A proposal.
...and not through my mother.
It's not the first proposal I've ever had...
...but most of the time the proposals are misunderstandings or from desperate people.
The guy saw me and thought I was nice, apparently, the guy's sisters like me and the mother was eyeballing me up from the night before.
It then made sense why BackCombed Girl asked so many questions.
But, I don't believe in marriage, and I can't see myself with anyone Bengali, so I'm glad they asked about Hana.
Yes, I'm still caught up on Quasimodo.
Both families from my city; both families that we know.
We were the mediating family.
(Does that even make sense?)
The messengers.
The ones who, basically, had to do everything.
In South Asian culture, there's a mendhi night.
Benglish tradition is that you do fruit carvings or food decorations for display.
My mother and I spent all Friday night and all Saturday day making birds, peacocks and trees to display.
I also had to fart off to the Mendhi venue and help make it look pretty.
:\
A very difficult thing to do, seeing as the centre is the local Bengali community centre, and is used for kids to shit everywhere!
I am glad, though, that I spent so much time and effort.
My dishes really did stand out.
...and I had people coming up to me all night to talk about the peacock.
Being the vain idiot that I am, I loved it, and soaked it in.
I also spotted a few ladies eye me up.
I should've hated it and shrinked back into my seat, but I did the opposite.
I played up to it.
I helped with giving out the food, I played with the kids, I chatted to the ladies.
Hell, I should be damn ugly if the thought didn't pass atleast one person's head.
Then I saw The Dog and The Baby.
What were Gujjus doing at a Bengali Mendhi?
I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned The Dog before, but at Kenan's 20th, we basically danced together... really close...
Let's just say, I did give the dog a bone.
... and a kiss on the cheek. I still don't know why I gave in.
But yes, after that night, he thought I really fancied him - when really, I was just dancing and having fun.
So, he avoided me on another night out, and told Kenan that "he's not like that" and he doesn't get with girls so easily.
So, I guess, looking the other way wasn't such a bad thing to do on Saturday night.
I just really didn't want him to see me.
He might've thought I was drooling over him!
He was only there for a few moments, though.
There were these two Welsh girls, who looked really nice.
...in other words, not so typically Bengali Fresh.
They were so helpful, and so lovely to chat to.
...and one of them had back combed hair! I don't know why she gets extra Kudos for that, but she does!
We didn't get much chance to talk, though.
Everyone fucked off to the bride's house, and a few of us were left to clean up.
My Goodness, I felt like I was in Bangladesh.
There was rice everywhere!
Took us about an hour and half just to hoover the place.
So, I'm glad I didn' t have to hoover, I had an extra hour's sleep before pampering myself and getting ready.
For some reason, in my head, I kept thinking about talking to The Dog.
So, I dolled up.
Father put me on the reception so I could take in the gifts.
There were only two.
Well, we all knew that this was a budget wedding, so no one even gave two shits.
Guys kept lingering around the area though.
No, not all the guys; that would suggest that I'm amazingly hot.
No, just the married and desperately perverted guys.
... married with little children, may I add.
I did notice, though, that there are quite nice looking Bengali boys in my area.
Whether they're decent people is a whole other matter, though.
After about 45 minutes, I gave up and just went back to my table.
The food was alright, much better than I expected actually.
(Budget wedding, remember?)
One of the Welsh girls came up to me (BackCombed Girl) and my friend, Hana, and started chatting.
She was so lovely!
I found out that she lives a few roads away from the cousin who I used to spend my Summers with.
She was really inquisitive; kept asking us about how old we are, what we're doing, what we study etc etc
We didn't think nothing of it, and asked her stuff back!
...then I saw The Dog.
Being the tart that I naturally am, when I caught him looking at me, I flicked my hair and then smiled at him.
He smiled back.
God knows why I'm such a slag, but I liked it.
I spent the rest of the day slagging people off, and bitching about everyone and anyone that I saw.
It's good to be a bitch sometimes.
...and there were random and odd people there.
After what felt like an eternity, the bride and groom finally left.
So we followed them out, naturally.
The Dog came up behind me.
I turned around because the wind was blowing my hair around, and immediately he said, hi.
It felt like he was waiting for me to turn around.
It was strange.
Moreso, because Hana's mum was next to me.
I would've chatted, it's not like social settings have ever stopped me from talking to/hugging male friends, but it felt very awkward, so I commented on the strong winds and excused myself and went in.
RAI Affa grabbed me and asked about the girl who I sat next to.
Hana.
So I said family friend.
She told me about her match making plan.
...The Welsh Girls' brother was eligible and looking. Hana had recently just come round to the idea of marriage, so I carried on listening.
Well, not really, I was pretending to listen,
...until I heard that they initially were asking about me.
Wow.
A proposal.
...and not through my mother.
It's not the first proposal I've ever had...
...but most of the time the proposals are misunderstandings or from desperate people.
The guy saw me and thought I was nice, apparently, the guy's sisters like me and the mother was eyeballing me up from the night before.
It then made sense why BackCombed Girl asked so many questions.
But, I don't believe in marriage, and I can't see myself with anyone Bengali, so I'm glad they asked about Hana.
Yes, I'm still caught up on Quasimodo.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Plateau
So, since coming back from Bangladesh, I've tried my hardest to sort out my lifestyle.
The first thing I attacked was my diet.
If Kenan could deal with full detoxes for over a year, I should be able to deal wiht cutting out crap and eating in moderation.
I've increased my fruit and veg intake, decreased my empty carbs, fats and sugars, and I eat more protein filled meals.
It's been good.
I no longer feel sluggish, and my acne is at bay.
I then decided to sort out my fitness.
Walking's been a daily thing for me since I was at college, so I knew I had to up the ante.
I started Yoga.
First it was once a week, only at the lessons.
Then it was light stretches every night before sleeping and the one hour lesson at the end of the week.
I'm now doing sun salutations every morning and night, as well as the one hour session.
I also started bellydancing for one hour a week.
(I've had to give it up for a while, but I'm hoping to start again soon)
As well as the Belly Dance session, I've practised infront of my mirror for 45 minutes atleast three times a week, if not every day.
I've even bought a Hoola Hoop and Skipping Rope.
I'm hideously crap at both, but I try every Saturday and Sunday, and any other free time I get outside.
Half of my belly has almost melted away.
I haven't been to the doctors since last year.
Although I've had coughs and colds - and er lost voices, I've not been ill.
My health is the best it's ever been.
My energy levels are amazing, and I'm flexible enough to attempt to do the splits.
But, my belly's still here.
I can't get any more of it to shift.
I don't want to have to decrease my food intake.
I am a very active person with high energy, I need the food that I eat.
...I'm thinking I should start running, or maybe get to a gym and do more CV work.
That would involve buying trainers....
I'm not sure.
Should I try Adios again?
It didn't help me, infact it made me eat more and lounge around more.
I could always start drinking Green Tea regularly again.
Weight training?
I think I've hit my brick wall.
My plateau.
It's going to take more effort now to shift the belly.
The first thing I attacked was my diet.
If Kenan could deal with full detoxes for over a year, I should be able to deal wiht cutting out crap and eating in moderation.
I've increased my fruit and veg intake, decreased my empty carbs, fats and sugars, and I eat more protein filled meals.
It's been good.
I no longer feel sluggish, and my acne is at bay.
I then decided to sort out my fitness.
Walking's been a daily thing for me since I was at college, so I knew I had to up the ante.
I started Yoga.
First it was once a week, only at the lessons.
Then it was light stretches every night before sleeping and the one hour lesson at the end of the week.
I'm now doing sun salutations every morning and night, as well as the one hour session.
I also started bellydancing for one hour a week.
(I've had to give it up for a while, but I'm hoping to start again soon)
As well as the Belly Dance session, I've practised infront of my mirror for 45 minutes atleast three times a week, if not every day.
I've even bought a Hoola Hoop and Skipping Rope.
I'm hideously crap at both, but I try every Saturday and Sunday, and any other free time I get outside.
Half of my belly has almost melted away.
I haven't been to the doctors since last year.
Although I've had coughs and colds - and er lost voices, I've not been ill.
My health is the best it's ever been.
My energy levels are amazing, and I'm flexible enough to attempt to do the splits.
But, my belly's still here.
I can't get any more of it to shift.
I don't want to have to decrease my food intake.
I am a very active person with high energy, I need the food that I eat.
...I'm thinking I should start running, or maybe get to a gym and do more CV work.
That would involve buying trainers....
I'm not sure.
Should I try Adios again?
It didn't help me, infact it made me eat more and lounge around more.
I could always start drinking Green Tea regularly again.
Weight training?
I think I've hit my brick wall.
My plateau.
It's going to take more effort now to shift the belly.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Random Words.
Phone. Reminiscing. Frustration. Absence. Musiq SoulChild. Darkness.
Glow. Yawn. Hunger. Shorts. Legs. Hot. Sex. Deep. Regrets.
Gentleman. NeYo. Emotions. Exhaustion.
Goose Bumps. on. Breasts. Check? Deep. Tears.
Glow. Yawn. Hunger. Shorts. Legs. Hot. Sex. Deep. Regrets.
Gentleman. NeYo. Emotions. Exhaustion.
Goose Bumps. on. Breasts. Check? Deep. Tears.
Monday, June 08, 2009
All Work and No Play keeps Ness from Blogging
So, I've been working full time for five months.
Today, I've started my reduced hours.
It feels weird, and I haven't got anything done.
Considering I've got a back log of things to do, this really isn't a good thing.
The past five months have been strange.
I've had no break.
Working 14 hours a day, 7 days a week really is something that I wish everyone would experience.
You're always looking for your next break.
You forget about lunch and dinner, and instead fantasise about biscuits, carrots and other nibbles.
You pride yourself on being able to back up files on to an external hardrive, yet, you still avoid analysing those surveys that are now gathering dust.
It's strange.
You're organised, but things get past you.
Day to day things run so smoothly, when everything else is falling apart.
You can't remember which meeting's minutes you have to type up next, so you just leave them all in your to do pile.
...and when the pile gets too big, you shove it under your desk and create another pile.
Your life becomes work.
You don't sleep... for days, weeks, months.
You stop being awake.
You're in a constant state of fuzziness.
You get to work early so you can print off things ready for the day...
You busy yourself with your administrative tasks, and when the office, the fun begins.
The meetings.
Three hours a night of absolute PakiNess.
Doesn't matter what organisation, event, project it is.
It's the same faces, same catchphrases, same food.
Rice and Curry or Pizzas.
Some days if you're lucky, the hosts might forget and go for a mad dash in Tesco and you get cream doughnuts.
Nothing is ever done at these meetings.
They just need you to attend and waste away your hours.
This is how I spend my weeknights.
Apart from Fridays.
Fridays are Yoga Days.
I have my full lunch in the day time, and spend the day preparing for the strenuous routines that the instructor will put us through that evening.
I used to have Belly Dancing evenings, too.
But they were sacrificed, for my Islamic School Lessons.
Yes.
I teach at an Islamic School.
The very thoughts and ideas that I hate with a passion, I am feeding to children in KS1.
In my eyes, I am Evil.
In the school's eyes, I am Evil.
I remember the story about the Crow and the PeaCocks.
I am not a Crow.
...but I have to pretend.
Ah, the joys of working in the community.
I have become a well known face.
A much loved person - this I say without any cockiness at all.
It would be impossible to keep anything from the city, now.
Yet, there are only three people in the city who know of my well kept secret.
No, not about Quasimodo.
The other secret.
The dangerous one.
The religion secret.
Imagine how it would go down, now, if I came out clean?
Disaster.
I'd lose my fan base.
I really do have to be "good".
...so, this Islamic School stint is good.
It lets people think that I am a "good" girl.
So, what, I don't wear Hijaab, and I don't give my salaam to you every five minutes... I'm not a naughty girl, am I?
Sometimes, I wonder whether I could make it in the world of Thesbianism.
Is that even a word?
My eyes have been able to water at the drop of a hat.
My skin can become pale at my every whim.
My sorrow can be masked by my outgoing persona... and my bubbly persona can be erased with frowns and make-belief anger.
Could even the leading actors and actresses do the kind of shit that I come up with on a daily basis?
I think not.
Though, I think I need to practise more on how to act when dealing with emotions and attachment.
Yes.
Quasi's seen real tears, and real smiles.
He's heard real disappointment and real hopes.
Which is why I'm glad that we don't speak as much as we used to.
He's busy, and I'm busy.
We can never catch each other.
Which is good.
I can wean myself off him.
...but it's meant that I've not played or has an orgasm since the end of April.
I've now learnt the true meaning of Frustration.
I walk around with sopping panties almost everyday.
Thank Fuck that it's been warm enough to wear skirts.
The smallest thing sets me off, and all I can do is think about having Quasimodo between my legs again.
More often than not, I fear that I'll never experience it again.
...and I try my hardest to cling on to memories.
But, I'm a crazy bat with memory issues.
When you wake up in the middle of the night, and find your bullet on your belly, still vibrating, you experience a new kind of low.
Have things got so bad... so hectic... so pushed for time that you can't even start a Play Time without knocking out?
Today, I've started my reduced hours.
It feels weird, and I haven't got anything done.
Considering I've got a back log of things to do, this really isn't a good thing.
The past five months have been strange.
I've had no break.
Working 14 hours a day, 7 days a week really is something that I wish everyone would experience.
You're always looking for your next break.
You forget about lunch and dinner, and instead fantasise about biscuits, carrots and other nibbles.
You pride yourself on being able to back up files on to an external hardrive, yet, you still avoid analysing those surveys that are now gathering dust.
It's strange.
You're organised, but things get past you.
Day to day things run so smoothly, when everything else is falling apart.
You can't remember which meeting's minutes you have to type up next, so you just leave them all in your to do pile.
...and when the pile gets too big, you shove it under your desk and create another pile.
Your life becomes work.
You don't sleep... for days, weeks, months.
You stop being awake.
You're in a constant state of fuzziness.
You get to work early so you can print off things ready for the day...
You busy yourself with your administrative tasks, and when the office, the fun begins.
The meetings.
Three hours a night of absolute PakiNess.
Doesn't matter what organisation, event, project it is.
It's the same faces, same catchphrases, same food.
Rice and Curry or Pizzas.
Some days if you're lucky, the hosts might forget and go for a mad dash in Tesco and you get cream doughnuts.
Nothing is ever done at these meetings.
They just need you to attend and waste away your hours.
This is how I spend my weeknights.
Apart from Fridays.
Fridays are Yoga Days.
I have my full lunch in the day time, and spend the day preparing for the strenuous routines that the instructor will put us through that evening.
I used to have Belly Dancing evenings, too.
But they were sacrificed, for my Islamic School Lessons.
Yes.
I teach at an Islamic School.
The very thoughts and ideas that I hate with a passion, I am feeding to children in KS1.
In my eyes, I am Evil.
In the school's eyes, I am Evil.
I remember the story about the Crow and the PeaCocks.
I am not a Crow.
...but I have to pretend.
Ah, the joys of working in the community.
I have become a well known face.
A much loved person - this I say without any cockiness at all.
It would be impossible to keep anything from the city, now.
Yet, there are only three people in the city who know of my well kept secret.
No, not about Quasimodo.
The other secret.
The dangerous one.
The religion secret.
Imagine how it would go down, now, if I came out clean?
Disaster.
I'd lose my fan base.
I really do have to be "good".
...so, this Islamic School stint is good.
It lets people think that I am a "good" girl.
So, what, I don't wear Hijaab, and I don't give my salaam to you every five minutes... I'm not a naughty girl, am I?
Sometimes, I wonder whether I could make it in the world of Thesbianism.
Is that even a word?
My eyes have been able to water at the drop of a hat.
My skin can become pale at my every whim.
My sorrow can be masked by my outgoing persona... and my bubbly persona can be erased with frowns and make-belief anger.
Could even the leading actors and actresses do the kind of shit that I come up with on a daily basis?
I think not.
Though, I think I need to practise more on how to act when dealing with emotions and attachment.
Yes.
Quasi's seen real tears, and real smiles.
He's heard real disappointment and real hopes.
Which is why I'm glad that we don't speak as much as we used to.
He's busy, and I'm busy.
We can never catch each other.
Which is good.
I can wean myself off him.
...but it's meant that I've not played or has an orgasm since the end of April.
I've now learnt the true meaning of Frustration.
I walk around with sopping panties almost everyday.
Thank Fuck that it's been warm enough to wear skirts.
The smallest thing sets me off, and all I can do is think about having Quasimodo between my legs again.
More often than not, I fear that I'll never experience it again.
...and I try my hardest to cling on to memories.
But, I'm a crazy bat with memory issues.
When you wake up in the middle of the night, and find your bullet on your belly, still vibrating, you experience a new kind of low.
Have things got so bad... so hectic... so pushed for time that you can't even start a Play Time without knocking out?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Pictures and a Thousand Words.
Thank you to my very lovely Bitch.
Possibly the best Birthday Presents I've ever received.
Wild Cherries Body Butter and All.
Random Words:
Tingle. Scratch. Neck. Bite. Mojito. Ice. Trickle. Quilt. Lick. Lobe. Towel.
Deep. Rub. Skin. Maki. Socks. Ness. Lotion. Red. Cock. Lips. Wrap.
Skirt. Trees. Sleeve Garters. Fingers. Thrust. Pillow. Wipe. Lady.
Chop Sticks. Stubble. Stroke. Coffee. Shower. Table. Alone. Heel. Gentleman.
Carmex. Wax. Nose. Cuddle. Vest.
Happy Birthday, Ness.
So I turned Twenty One two weeks ago today.
A bittersweet day, that in a few months' time will blur into just sensory memories of Good and Bad.
The week before, Deep and I had decided it was best to call it quits.
I spent the weekend weeping, out of helplessness... Who could I turn to (who wouldn't say "I told you so..."), why did I let it get this far...?
Sometimes it's best not to ask questions, and just cry and get it out of your system.
...Sometimes, that method doesn't work.
Especially, when you're fighting a losing battle with your family, and Deep was one person who could take an objective view and help you, rather than belittle you and laugh at you.
Mi hermana mayor and I hadn't been speaking since Snow Week.
No major reason, just the general build up of negativity.
It had been brewing since Bangladesh... or maybe before?
Mother, the day after my Birthday, arranged a counselling session with her best friend (who's also my Boss) to sort out my issues.
Glad it took you only 21 years to realise that I have feelings, too.
The fact that Mi HErmana mayor made such a big song and dance out of throwing me a surprise party pissed me off, too.
...and it meant that I had to try and be nice to her, otherwise, as usual I'd be the arse.
The night before my birthday was spent with the girls at Pizza Express.
Food, and lots of chatting.
Absolutely bullshit, but we had fun.
...and we bonded.
Schmymes finally met Kenan after so long!
Two of my closest friends were together in the same room to celebrate my birthday.
Just reading that back is strange.
Why would people want to celebrate my birth, my life, me?!
Sincerely... may I add.
It was a very loving night.
My actual birthday, I spent at work.
I dressed up pretty, and went in, no expecting anything.
I actually was gong to ask if we could eat lunch together, but I didn't get a chance, because my colleagues got together with a present and chocolate cake and walked in to the office.
It was a really lovely day.
I enjoy working where I do.
My colleagues are my friends.
I care for them, and they care for me.
It's a family, almost.
Walking back home, I really thought it was the end of my celebrations.
I called up Kenan, just for a chat.
Walked in, put my keys on the washing machine, and was ready to run to the loo; phone still stuck to my ear...
My dad stopped me and said "I think they want you to go to the living room", the living room door, I noticed, was closed.
Realisation swept through my entire body.
Why the fuck?!
I grumbled and walked in.
I did not expect, in a million years, to see Wazowski, nor Schmymes.
All the negativity left my body for the few minutes in which I was basking in the love of my friends.
Then I see ma soeur ainee at the table, with all the food she had made.
I felt so much rage, but all I could do was force a smile.
I've already said that I don't appreciate the FakeNess.
...but I did get to spend my milestone birthday with those who love me, and those who I care for...
So what if I didn't go out on a piss?
A bittersweet day, that in a few months' time will blur into just sensory memories of Good and Bad.
The week before, Deep and I had decided it was best to call it quits.
I spent the weekend weeping, out of helplessness... Who could I turn to (who wouldn't say "I told you so..."), why did I let it get this far...?
Sometimes it's best not to ask questions, and just cry and get it out of your system.
...Sometimes, that method doesn't work.
Especially, when you're fighting a losing battle with your family, and Deep was one person who could take an objective view and help you, rather than belittle you and laugh at you.
Mi hermana mayor and I hadn't been speaking since Snow Week.
No major reason, just the general build up of negativity.
It had been brewing since Bangladesh... or maybe before?
Mother, the day after my Birthday, arranged a counselling session with her best friend (who's also my Boss) to sort out my issues.
Glad it took you only 21 years to realise that I have feelings, too.
The fact that Mi HErmana mayor made such a big song and dance out of throwing me a surprise party pissed me off, too.
...and it meant that I had to try and be nice to her, otherwise, as usual I'd be the arse.
The night before my birthday was spent with the girls at Pizza Express.
Food, and lots of chatting.
Absolutely bullshit, but we had fun.
...and we bonded.
Schmymes finally met Kenan after so long!
Two of my closest friends were together in the same room to celebrate my birthday.
Just reading that back is strange.
Why would people want to celebrate my birth, my life, me?!
Sincerely... may I add.
It was a very loving night.
My actual birthday, I spent at work.
I dressed up pretty, and went in, no expecting anything.
I actually was gong to ask if we could eat lunch together, but I didn't get a chance, because my colleagues got together with a present and chocolate cake and walked in to the office.
It was a really lovely day.
I enjoy working where I do.
My colleagues are my friends.
I care for them, and they care for me.
It's a family, almost.
Walking back home, I really thought it was the end of my celebrations.
I called up Kenan, just for a chat.
Walked in, put my keys on the washing machine, and was ready to run to the loo; phone still stuck to my ear...
My dad stopped me and said "I think they want you to go to the living room", the living room door, I noticed, was closed.
Realisation swept through my entire body.
Why the fuck?!
I grumbled and walked in.
I did not expect, in a million years, to see Wazowski, nor Schmymes.
All the negativity left my body for the few minutes in which I was basking in the love of my friends.
Then I see ma soeur ainee at the table, with all the food she had made.
I felt so much rage, but all I could do was force a smile.
I've already said that I don't appreciate the FakeNess.
...but I did get to spend my milestone birthday with those who love me, and those who I care for...
So what if I didn't go out on a piss?
Monday, February 16, 2009
Popping Pills.
Is that where I find my solace?
At the bottom of a bottle of Piriton?
In the Packet of Nytol?
When things get hard, it seems I always reach for medicine.
"I've got itchy eyes"
"I'm having trouble sleeping"
I've been soo busy since I started full tiem work a month ago that I forgot about my tablets and potions.
...but tonight, I went back to Nytol.
It's 8pm.
What's the need for sleeping tablets at this hour?
Salman Khan has offered me an ear, and an analytic objective mind.
Why can't I take up his offer...?
At the bottom of a bottle of Piriton?
In the Packet of Nytol?
When things get hard, it seems I always reach for medicine.
"I've got itchy eyes"
"I'm having trouble sleeping"
I've been soo busy since I started full tiem work a month ago that I forgot about my tablets and potions.
...but tonight, I went back to Nytol.
It's 8pm.
What's the need for sleeping tablets at this hour?
Salman Khan has offered me an ear, and an analytic objective mind.
Why can't I take up his offer...?
Friday, January 02, 2009
Double Zero Nine.
How did I start this year?
Ill.
Again.
...and angry.
The last few seconds of last year and the first half hour of this year, I was angry.
I sulked.
My brows were furrowed.
Bastard Bitch Family.
(Lol).
Last year was an absolute nightmare.
Anyone who knows me knows what a shit year last year was for me.
Eight Deaths.
Uncountable hospital visits.
Friendships and ties lost and broken.
Losing Motivation and all the good stuff she brought.
The reappearance of my good old friend Depression.
...bearing gifts of Acne, Eczema and Grease!
- No. Not the musical.
Any fool would say, "I hope this year's better."
...but I'd hope that I'm a fool no more.
I always jinx myself.
It always happens.
However, I am hoping that I'll be able to cope with whatever shit's thrown in my face better than I managed last year.
But, hey, not all was doom and gloom last year.
I saw Backstreet Boys last year.
I went and saw the Yellow House (the one on the M32).
I fell in love with Paris.
I worked with the most amazing people last year.
- both, the children and the adults.
I finally started Yoga!
...and I'm sure there'll be stuff like that, this year as well.
I mean, I'm starting Belly Dancing next week!
How cool is that?!
Oh, and my new job that I'm starting in a fortnight's time?
It pays a grand a month!
...and it's not a bad job, I quite enjoy it!
Yes, I won't be able to wear my cute cute skirts, but, I can wear my PJ bottoms and slippers if I want to.
I'd hate to be a cliché and write my "resolutions" or goals for this year.
So, all I'm going to say is, 12 months is a long time.
Anything can happen.
Ill.
Again.
...and angry.
The last few seconds of last year and the first half hour of this year, I was angry.
I sulked.
My brows were furrowed.
Bastard Bitch Family.
(Lol).
Last year was an absolute nightmare.
Anyone who knows me knows what a shit year last year was for me.
Eight Deaths.
Uncountable hospital visits.
Friendships and ties lost and broken.
Losing Motivation and all the good stuff she brought.
The reappearance of my good old friend Depression.
...bearing gifts of Acne, Eczema and Grease!
- No. Not the musical.
Any fool would say, "I hope this year's better."
...but I'd hope that I'm a fool no more.
I always jinx myself.
It always happens.
However, I am hoping that I'll be able to cope with whatever shit's thrown in my face better than I managed last year.
But, hey, not all was doom and gloom last year.
I saw Backstreet Boys last year.
I went and saw the Yellow House (the one on the M32).
I fell in love with Paris.
I worked with the most amazing people last year.
- both, the children and the adults.
I finally started Yoga!
...and I'm sure there'll be stuff like that, this year as well.
I mean, I'm starting Belly Dancing next week!
How cool is that?!
Oh, and my new job that I'm starting in a fortnight's time?
It pays a grand a month!
...and it's not a bad job, I quite enjoy it!
Yes, I won't be able to wear my cute cute skirts, but, I can wear my PJ bottoms and slippers if I want to.
I'd hate to be a cliché and write my "resolutions" or goals for this year.
So, all I'm going to say is, 12 months is a long time.
Anything can happen.
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