Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Girl Doublespeak

“Why can’t you be honest and be nice at the same time?”

I don’t mean to be sexist but only a woman could say that. Right so me, I seem to be vacillating between two different approaches. The past dictated that well, I be a bit sensitive and notice when she got her hair done and just generally be enthused about new clothes and I guess, avoid making her face fall (and it really used to, way down until here to poor girl) if I didn’t like the same stuff. So unfortunately I suffer from blowback.

Now, the ShortOne (I’m bored with this moniker but more tired than bored to actually change it right now) prefers if I am honest.

Guys just want a woman’s opinion, for better or for worse. Now, I mean if you buy something new and in style and I think its hideous, well, can I say as much? Okay, all women who have asked for an opinion, heard something contrary to what they hold and felt bad about it, stand up and admit it. Then admit to the fact that you confuse me.

“Do you like this?”

“No, I don’t”



So okay and admit it, when you have a new boy friend, you want your friends opinions on him but at the same time you want them to like him.

Well then well… I mean…(words wont cut it so all I have to say is)



There seem to be grey clouds (would the clichéd Chinese accent read ‘crowds’?...I’m tired, I have ADD) brewing in lovers land. At least for me, dunno about the rest of you.

I figure long distance is hard (duhhhhhhhh)

The thing is, it’s hard to really get under someones skin when well, their hide is a couple of thousand miles away. You don’t realize how much of a difference it makes to have the person around, to come home tired and rather than wait to make the phone call you wait for and realize nothing of any consequence has happened and narrate absolutely nothing, silence seems to grow larger when both of you are on the phone.

Okay, I should have thought that through before spouting truisms.

When in person, I can *be* with her. I can drape myself on her person and just vegetate and think and make off color sounds.

But take the flip side of that, come home tired and sit and just hang out, no calling card bills, no holding on to the phone as you walk about the house trying to fill the silence in it with the tinny on the phone… it ain’t the same.

And I effing hate it.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Work in Progress. Both, the Author and the Post

(lick the end of the pencil)
(stick tongue out)
(adopt thinking position, not to be confused with constipated look even though visually may be the same)

I am in a job that requires ADD. C calls for me while R is emailing me with work while I listen to a conference call while keeping an eye on Bloomberg.
Have you seen ‘Coupling’? Specifically the episode where Patrick keeps trying to go home after canoodling with his girlfriend and refers to a woman who want to snuggle after squelching as a ‘hairy sex octopus with hair and limbs everywhere’?
Right, so this is what is demanded of me. Without the sex bit.
But I am a sexy beast y’know (just throwing out another movie reference, 10 points if you get it)

Another thing I don’t understand is with you i-bankers, how come your models never seem to add up. There’s always one wise ass who has something funky in historicals.

Work had been butchering me over the course of the past three weeks including putting in 12 hours over a weekend when the parental units were in town. Any how, pictures to follow later…

But I think my company does owe me two new shirts. Mine have frayed at the elbows. I’ve never heard of anything like this but it’s ridiculous. Does this in any way tie in to ‘elbow grease’?

Right, so that’s that on the work front. I am trying desperately to get back to India so if any one knows of any openings in private equity or hedge fund, you have a willing grunt here, ready to sacrifice much sleep, sweat and tears to make you money. Yes, I am a sell out and damn proud of it. Now, if they would just give me a t-shirt that says the same (looks around for t-shirt…or cookie)


I skyped with the Ex a few days ago. We made small talk until she blurted out, “I got engaged”
Much appropriate felicitations were given (I can’t stop talking like this, I don’t know why).
While she said she picked out the ring, she expressed a concern that some people may think it too small.
I am always polite but I draw the line at making her feel better about the size of the ring that chappie gave her.
And last weekend she said she would be moving to San Diego (oh come, what the hell do you do in San Diego for petes sake…and who is pete?! Goddamnit, I’m rather floopy today, but I’m back baby!)
Right, so she asked if I would visit her and her fiancé in San Diego:
“You want me, to visit you, at his apartment?”
“Actually, we are staying with his parents”

Anyway, as much as I loved the girl, ‘twas what ‘twas, and never more it shall be.

Though I have to say, the age difference between her and me (if you don’t know what it is, ask…just to ping y’all and see who is curious) was thrown sharply into relief. Look, I will grow up when I have to. I’m still this age and I still want to have fun. Unlike two years ago, I can think about getting married but it still is some point in the future.
She’s going to get engaged engaged in November, move to the US in October…I think we are different levels and it’s a disconnect I can’t fathom


I was in need of a well deserved holiday so I did just that. I took the camera and set off to the Met.
My new favorite artist is Paul Signac.
At least I think it is. Or okay, it’s whoever did this piece:

For the bloody life of me, I can’t figure out who did it. If you know, the please tell me and you can have my first born (though I get all rights to call you Rumpelstiltskin forevermore)

Ah yes, then had a rather interesting red wine with cheese at the Met while the pianist played and I looked down on the people with a beatific smile albeit on a large table much to myself.

There’s a lot more to say on the pieces that I loved but will make a separate post on that


I have been vacillating lately between contentment (see lines above), happiness (under the influence of a rather deep red wine) and an oogy feeling.
I am in need of guilt free guilty indulgences. No Shorty, I don’t mean no-strings sex…(this is where I pause to debate if I wish to elaborate on the topic of bumping uglies and decide against it)
But for instance, I want to get really really pissed without wondering if I will hit on anyone, stumble through the sodden streets of the City, end up worshiping the great Porcelain God (which I havent done in a very long time) or boomed until I can move no mo’
I think it’s the oogy feeling, the restlessness that never left, just abated but washed over me again, inevitable. And I think I may have figured it out.
So you know how the Tolle’s and Dr. Phils say live for the “now” and all that mumbo-jumbo. Right, so what if I have spent every single day for the past 4-5 years trying to get to a point, in fact to such a degree that that point died out a long time ago? So where does that leave me now? And this job-hunt and trying to get back to India, well, I’m doing it again, risking it again for a future that may not even exist.
Oh yes, I totally hear you, but am I going to change that? No, I guess not. I mean it’s hard trying to get there, scrabbling every day and worrying every night. And of course, the inevitable doubt will it be the way I imagined it, as perfect?

Who knows, and what’s more, worrying about it, that isn’t getting me there

But yet, coming back to the first thought, I am in need of excess. As Tom Waits so eloquently put it, “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy”


Go watch Simpsons
It’s brilliant. Everything from Homer’s plaintive, “Homer do good?” to SpiderPig, all of it, brilliant. If you disagree, come back and we can discuss it in a civil way.
Then, I will jump you in the parking alley and bitch slap you and run away while saying “ha ha” Nelson style


I’m an ass and no woman should date me. Just sleep with me.

Her: i think im snappy because i miss you

me: so you say. Humph. i have reached the conclusion that this is some sort of setup and you are out to trap me. i dunno what your game is, but i see right through it
so there!
i'll give you this, it is a ploy worthy of moriarty but unlike holmes, i do not intend to go over a cliff


Her: im here
my sister is watching freaky friday

me: !!
(a bit flustered at having his damning accusation fall on deaf ears)

Her: and i have a headache

Really, I should have come with a warning label stuck to my ass when I came shooting out. I bet I was a wise ass even then and pee’d the doctor who smacked my bottom to get me to cry. Bitch

Things to look forward to:
1. US Open match tomorrow for free (few few perks of a job that damns me to 14-16 hour days)
2. US Semi-Finals, Mens (not free. Fuck)
3. Four days off this week given it’s Labor Day (ironic given I work at a job that made me sign a waiver giving up my right to a maximum hours per week of work)
4. ….

Come on, add to my list

Things to fear:
1. folks being in town for those four days which means I can’t sulk or be a bitch. It also means giving up the ciggies and maal and no drunken debauchery that would have inevitably resulted thanks to this 4 day vacation
2. finding a job and soon else my head will pop off from the tension
3. cleaning my apartment, to the Mother’s standards
4. going back to the gym after torturing myself yesterday

Thursday, August 23, 2007

The *Whiniest* post ever. but i needed this. so. f.u.

Right, so deal with it. This is where I bitch, moan, whine, squeal, say “shit piss fuck”, deal with it, don’t like it? Well go chance the bloody channel then why don’t you.

I’m FRUSTRATED! 16 hour days, a job that is pissing me off, trying to move to India, everyone telling me I have an exciting resume and still no luck there, no personal space coz my folks ( both of whom I love) are visiting, haven’t worked out, am tired and just fucking pissed the hell off so fuck you.

Plus I feel like I’m shit at relationships. I don’t know why the urgency to spill each time I talk, I guess it’s because you never know when the person will leave, when they decide they don’t want you any more thank-you-very-much.

I guess it’s that. At the end of a mini melt down, when all you can do is sit in the shower and hear the water splashing, trying to consciously relax the muscled, deep down, I’m concerned about how I relate to other people. Oh sure I can be all social and amicable, but am I someone heck I’d want to be with? I mean okay fine, call me effing self indulgent right now and


Fine, I know I am being self-indulgent. But there are a few things that honestly scare me. They really do and it makes me nauseous to think about them:
1. I am shit at really opening up
2. I have no short term memory which trust me, is a lot worse than it sounds when you remember the bigger picture but smaller details get lost
3. …..

I cant think!!!
Its like a million other things swirling about in my head…..each effing thought stumbling over the other, I cant stop any of them

I need a smoke.


Fine, I love her. I really do. And it’s things like during lunch………….FUCK!
I cant seem to think or stop thinking any more. Where’s the goddamn off switch

Okay. Let me try this one more time.
I’m tense to the point my jaw hurts.
Why am I tense?
1. I have had a horrible two weeks at work with 14 hour days. My folks were in town and I still put in 12 hours over the weekend
2. I hate this job.
3. I am trying to move to India or some place closer. Head hunters seem to love my resume but wont email back. Each time I get a new email, I can barely contain my excitement to see if it’s from one of them
4. I try desperately to make time to talk, to be in touch as much as possible to not repeat my mistakes. But then the quality suffers and im trying to navigate foot traffic with one eye on the clock while trying to order lunch and make sure I get back in time to not get yelled at.

It’s like if I concentrate on one thing, I drop the ball somewhere else. And it’s always trying to juggle so many things at once it makes me grit my effing teeth in my sleep. I need a fucking sock stuffed in my mouth when I sleep.

I’m trying to make something of nothing and it’s so goddamn frustrating and I try and keep cool about it.
And in the end, I wonder if it’s really me. I’m terrified it’s always been me.

I’m sorry to my folks for not spending enough time with them. I’m sorry that I can’t seem to make headway with this job thing. I’m sorry if you didn’t know the girl I love. I’m sorry I don’t have enough time for you. I’m disappointed I didn’t do as well as I should have on that exam. I’m disappointed I can’t speak with you as much as you deserve. It’s this awful lump at not being able to do what I want, to give what I so badly want to because of things that I cant control. But even those, I’m trying, I’m working on, I will give up a lot and I already have for this and I will cuss and fight and scrabble to make it happen and I’m sorry if I drop the ball in another part. It’s this awful tiredness of swimming against the fucking tide. It’s this awful silence when I wonder if there’s something more I can do.

It’s wanting to reach behind and rip the skin off and throw my head back and scream because I am so goddamn frustrated.

What * I * want:
I want to be with her. I want to have a job that challenges me and lets me think. I want to make money so I don’t go wanting again.
Right, so I’m working on all three the best I fucking can. But there are so many other people involved in this.

Oh lord, that felt good. I feel drained but I let it out at least. I have several flaws as mother dearest pointed out, not each one, just the blanket statement.
I have much to work on. I just hope I don’t hear, “It’s too late” again.

More to write. Much much more to write.