I'll Like to Teach the World to Shut Up

I'm sorry if you happen to be a Carpenter's fan and you're mortified that I stole that line and killed it so that I could use it as title.

It's amazing how people seem to think that it's okay to piss people off to a degree where they stop talking to each other for an extended period of time, only to have that person re-appear many months later like a jack-in-the-box acting like nothing ever happened.

H and I had a major fall-out last July. It had something to do with him being madly in love with me and me not feeling the same way and me sorting out issues with D, which eventually led to D and I splitting up and then me dating someone new afterwards.

Now what really got my goat was that H and I were never dating at any given point. We'd known each other for a long time and many, many, many years ago, we did have a thing that lasted for a while. It was a long-distance issue and it eventually ran its course with both us ending up with different people. Throughout all of the lapsed time, H and I remained in contact, discussed each other's respective partners, and basically were good friends. Now I don't know what got into that man but towards the end of my relationship with D, he decided to come out to Asia to travel and stopped over in SG to catch up with me. I had drawn my lines in the sand and made it very clear that there should not be anything between us. Let's face it, I had grown up a lot. I knew how different I was from what I used to be 6 odd years ago and over the years I had also come to the conclusion that H was too much of a drama queen, too much of a needy character and too much of a self-centered muppet for me to even consider rekindling anything with.

Unfortunately all my well-laid plans were pointless because he behaved like a lovesick puppy dog throughout his time here. Part of me was happy to see a friend because I was going through shit trying to end a 4-year relationship without breaking the other person. The other part of me wanted to strangle H for all the cling-on activity he was demanding. Eventually he went home and then read my blog and went completely ballistic without due reason.

He accused me of stringing him along, saying that I played him whilst I was juggling D and Spooner.

Reality check. D and I were splitting up. Spooner did not come into the picture until several weeks later. To be fair, I wasn't juggling anyone. The only juggling that was going on was the me trying to sort the mess in my head without going bananas.

In short, after the first barrage of accusations from H, I got totally ticked off and fired back at him. This exchange went on for a while, and then there was silence and then, *GASP*, he deleted me off Facebook. :P

Now if you think I am one of those people who gives a flying fuck about the number of friends I have on FB, then you got it all wrong. I don't give a shit. I very rarely go in search of people to add and usually don't add people unless I get an invite from them first. I hate imposing myself on people and somehow asking someone to be a friend on Facebook sometimes feels like an imposition. Bite me.

The irony is that H, for all his puffed up anger and rage against my supposed infidelity, merely deleted me and didn't block me. One would have thought that if you were THAT pissed off at someone, you'd never want to have anything to do with them ever again. Like my dear AJ, who after 3 months of silence decides to block me on Facebook. No worries considering I deleted him immediately after we split up. Again, bite me.

So H doesn't block me but chooses to keep some sort of communication channel open. In the last 12 months, he has sent me odd messages, most of which have ended in an argument of some description or another because it usually starts with either an accusation or some weird statement that sets me off like a hand grenade. I had washed my hands off that friendship permanently and was quite happy living my life whichever way I saw fit up until recently, when he decides to send me another message telling me that he will be in Bangkok during a certain period and whether I would be up to flying up there to hang out with him.

Are you fucking kidding me???

The short answer to that question was a no. The long answer to that is that H is bloody insane because apart from the weird Facebook contact (we're not friends by the way, just using the message medium), he sent me a couple of texts over the weekend that left me wanting to refer him to the nearest psychiatrist.



Seriously. Do you really think after 1 year of not talking to you, wiping you out of my consciousness, and basically forgetting that you exist, I'd suddenly want to fly 2.5 hours out of my country and hang out with you over a weekend?! Are you, or are you, bloody crazy?!



Put it this way mister. You weren't the only one who got hurt by all the ballast. I'm sorry, but there's no way in hell everything can go back to being the way it was. It's never going to. I'm not holding a grudge. I'm merely stating that I don't have enough kindness nor patience in me to try and make this all better. I will be polite,and I will be civil but you put me in a position where I had to shut the doors after being massively disappointed with your behaviour. I have every right to be angry and you may think that I'm taking a moral high ground here but I did everything within my power to explain myself above and beyond what was required in the hope that you'd understand. You failed spectacularly on that front. It was all about you, you, and your bloody feelings. Never did you once stop for a minute to ask yourself how I felt about everything. Never did you once stop to ask if I was okay. Never did you stop to think that maybe, just maybe, at that point, I needed a friend more than someone who was hell-bent on berating me for wrongs that were not even my fault. Well guess what. I've had enough. In fact, I've had enough for a while now, so I suggest you just shut up and leave me alone.

Because I deserve so much better.

Hairdryer Collection

I have this theory that there are a bunch of single men all around the world who collect hairdryers. No, they don’t it as a sort of hobby (or maybe they do), by going around and buying every single model that ever existed in the market starting from the first one invented by Alexandre Godefoy in 1890. Now what is really traumatizing is that the first actual hairdryer was... believe it or not, a bloody vacuum cleaner. For some reason known only to all the mad women from long ago, they dried their hair by connecting a hose to the exhaust of their vacuum cleaners. Apparently early models of the electrical ‘suck machine’ were designed to suck air in through the front and blow air out through the back. Moreover the hose could be attached to either end.



My theory requires a bit more complexity that just having men running out to buy the latest Phillips 50,000 volt dryer to add to their glass cabinets. Over the last 18 months I have managed to unwittingly donate not 1 but 3, yes THREE, hairdryers to the men I have dated. The first one is with D. Okay granted, I called the split after 4 years of togetherness and all other manner of relationship nonsense and he never returned any of my things, including my favourite Sunday dress and my weekend Louis Vuitton purse. Meh. The hairdryer that was sacrificed to him was one I purchased from Takashimaya because I had shopping vouchers and didn’t know what else to buy. In the interest of protecting my mane (have you seen the length of my hair?), I decided to buy a hairdryer. In fact I bought two. One for my own place and the other to be kept at D’s apartment because I spent a considerable amount of time there. Really, I was like some orphan shuttling up and down between my flat and his every week. Either way, it had got to a point where I was sick and tired of using the small little dryer that his previous ex had left behind and decided to grab the hair by the horns and buy a hairdryer (2,000 volts me thinks), that allowed me to dry my hair in 15 minutes as opposed to the usual 45. Seriously, small hairdryer and my hair = looking like cast member of the Lion King.

In any case, considering that D’s previous ex’s hairdryer was still in his apartment, I should have cottoned on to the fact that something was amiss or at least figured out that there was a hypothesis waiting to be tested out there.

Hypothesis:
Single man with hairdryer = Potential for more hairdryers to be accumulated as a result of other failed relationships

I didn’t realise the potential of this hypothesis until I dated Spooner last year. Now, the man lives up a freaking hill. Just heading down to the supermarket to get some beers and walking back up the blasted slope left me sweating like a rapist. And given that I wash my hair everyday (no it hasn’t fallen out, and it won’t, again, have you seen my hair?!), the idea of not being able to rinse it out of all that muck and sweat left me very, very grumpy. Ironically, he too had a hairdryer in his apartment, only his belonged to his mother and not some random woman he had shagged in the past. It was a good hairdryer too. Only problem is, his mother had brought it in from the UK when she had come to visit and the freaking plug would not fit into the local electrical wall sockets. Given that I am not prone to running around with a universal adapter in my handbag, I couldn’t use the bleeding piece of machinery. What did I do? I went in search of hairdryer. Duh. After investing 80 dollars, I had a spanking new Rowenta to deal with my rug. Hallelujah. Joy to the world. My hair is saved!

And then we split up.

The fucker never returned my stuff and definitely did not return my hairdryer. So technically, he too now has two hairdryers lying around in his apartment. Wanker. Stupid git. Toad jizz.

Well I should have figured something was up by now right? No I didn’t. My hypothesis was being tested right under my very nose and I was none the wiser. I can be a bit slow off the mark at times, I do admit.

So now we come to the present day situation. Despite the brevity of our relationship, AJ and I spent a lot of time together. This meant me monging at his place during the weekends and even going to work on Mondays from his. Yes, it was one of those romances where two people could spend more than 72 hours with each other and not want to throw the other person passing under a passing bus. I distinctly remember this conversation one weekend.

Me: I have to tell you something.
AJ: Er... what?
Me: I need a hairdryer.
AJ: I’ve got one. But it’s a bit wonky. It was my ex’s.
Me: Okay, I need a proper one.
AJ: I know. You have a mane hun. No worries, let’s go get one later.

And so we did. We went out and got a hairdryer. Again, I totally missed the sign blaring in front of my face. Single man has hairdryer. Said dryer belongs to ex. *WARNING! WARNING!*

When we called it quits, the man arrived with a COLD STORAGE plastic bag full of my stuff – a dress, a toothbrush, a roll of deodorant, a weekend purse, my flip-flops and conveniently forgot my hairdryer. Nevermind.

Given that I had to return his iPad and his jumper which I had borrowed for my trip to Europe, it was somewhat non-commitally agreed that we should meet up and swap our things in due time.
Now, I am generally a very, very patient person. My tolerance for bullshit from humans is quite epic. Alas, I waited the whole of last week and did a lot of thinking, soul-searching, mental-swearing and then decided, “Fuck this. I don’t want to see him. I am going to return his stuff... by courier.”

So I sent his stuff back to him today. About midday came a text. Enjoy the following exchange.



Okay, I admit I was a bit hasty with the reply and only realize the hairdryer return-policy was being brought up after I sent that text. Alas, the man is soooo sharp.



Seriously mate, if I would go through all the effort to get your things couriered to your office, do you really think I want to see your face? Do you? Huh? Huh? Huh??? But woe betide me! Some people are really, THICK in the head.



Yes, thank you. I too am very glad that you would 'literally' be willing to meet me for two minutes. God only knows how one deals with figurative meetings. They never taught me that in the UandI-versity. Is it me or are people really that dense these days? Or is the world filled with Muppets that only understand certain codes? Do I have to sing Fuck Off Far, Far Away to the tune of Elmo Song before you get what I am trying to say?

Urgh.

Either way, another hairdryer bites the dust. So ladies, if the next guy you date has a hairdryer lying about, please exercise extreme caution about leaving yours behind because you clearly will not be the last one. And there's no comfort for hairdryer loss. Trust me, I've been there. Thrice.

You Flaky Bastard

Apparently my subconscious thinks that matters between Spooner and I remain unresolved because it's spilling over into my dream landscape. Well, my dear subconscious, here's a memo. It's over. Deal with it. There's nothing to it anymore. But since you seem to think that matters are unresolved, then let me indulge you and RANT as I should have, would have and could have done in real life. This is the rant that never happened because I'm just too bloody adult, too bloody mature, too bloody patient and too bloody passive to actually do it.

WARNING: Seriously colourful language ahead.

Dear Spooner,

How's things? Isn't that what you always liked to ask? Well, things on my end are great. Even better now that I have managed to get over you and your abject stupidity. The only issue I have is the fact that it's been more than a month since we split up and you're still holding on to my clothes. Seriously, are you trying to fit your right arm into the right leg of my jeans? Or are you planning to donate my clothes to your next bedroom conquest? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Why don't you have the bloody decency to just return my things and get lost? I know procrastination is one of your greatest fortes but holding on to your ex girlfriend's clothes and shoes is just not normal. Maybe you're more demented than I give you credit for.

By the way, I have been dying to say this to you. I think you're a flaky bastard. What? You didn't get that? Don't worry, I am patient enough to repeat myself. I THINK YOU'RE A FLAKY FUCKING BASTARD. Why you ask? Seriously, do you want me to extrapolate with my prolific repertoire of words? Well okay then. You're a flaky fucking bastard because you're indecisive, childish, immature, moronic, disrespectful, stupid, and ultimately ball-less specimen of a man. Quite an insult to all the men out there really but well, you make a fine example of the type that no one should aspire to become.

No it's not a low blow darling. You seriously need to reconsider calling yourself a man because you're a spineless piece of shit. You accused me of being a cling-on. You accused me of being insecure. You accused me of wanting out of the relationship. (WHAT RELATIONSHIP?!) With all those things you said, you might as well have said that I had sprouted an extra three heads and a tail covered in scales. Wait, let's add in the ability to breathe fire out of my mouth whilst we're at it. A cling-on? ME??! A CLING-ON?!? You retarded swine. You stupid, fucked up moron. You half-witted piece of dog shit. Has it ever occurred to you that YOU were the one always clinging on? You were the one who wanted to see me all the time. You were the one sending texts everyday. You were the one introducing me to your friends and telling your parents about me. You were the one referring to me as your GIRLFRIEND. You were the one asking me to stay over during the weekends. You were the one asking me to wait around in your apartment whilst you were out playing football. YOU! DAMMIT. YOU ARE THE GODDAMNED CLING-ON. I think I need to get someone to hit you with a bat. And yes, you DARED to accuse me of being just that when I was the one ALWAYS running off in the opposite direction to have my own space. You're fuckwit I tell you. An utterly ripe and prime fuckwit.

How your last serious girlfriend tolerated you for 5 years is an utter mystery to me. Did you disrespect her the same way? Did you plan a boys-only trip and not tell her? Did you sabotage her trust in you in similar ways? What you did was in many ways UNFORGIVABLE. Not only did you disrespect me, you insulted me by saying you didn't have a proper reason for not telling me earlier. And worse, you planned to meet some girl behind my back. I don't know what your intentions were but let's assume the worst because after everything you did and did not do, I can't think of anything but the worst when it comes to you. Don't you even attempt to take the higher ground here because what you did was entirely uncalled for. You admitted it yourself. And you still had the nerve to turn around and pin things on me when I asked you if I was wasting my time. Oh, fuck you.

You're a ball-less git. First you blamed things on me. Then you said you were confused. After that you said you didn't know what you wanted anymore and then you concluded with not wanting to mess me around and agreed to call things off. Why could you not just man up and tell me that you weren't interested in me anymore and tell me that to my face? You cowardly, lily-livered prick. Fine. Go ahead and sabotage every possible relationship you will have. You know Miss Perfect doesn't exist and you also seem to live in this fairytale land where you will meet the 'right one' and things will all just fall into place and you will live happily ever after. Pray tell, which fucking children's book have you been reading the past 39 years of your life? Could you please let me in on the title because I really want to live in denial like you for the rest of my years too. Grow up man. A relationship takes two. And if you claim to have the attention span of a gnat, then I think you should spare all your potential partners the misery and NOT go out with them at all. Because we all know what happens when you get bored. You run off to Phuket.

I'm not going to blame myself for any of this. This is ALL YOUR FAULT. My only crime in all of this is not realizing sooner that I was being taken for a long and elaborate ride only to get kicked off the bus in the end. I did everything within my means to accommodate you. I actually liked you. In fact I liked you enough to give you the benefit of the doubt. And you returned my kindness, my time, my affection and my trust with what? "I don't know what to think or do... one minute I want to carry on, the next I am reluctant." Over email no less. You sickening, nausea-inducing twat.

*exhale*

You know, every single person in my life who has been privy to what transpired wants to either murder you or cause you grievous bodily harm. My brother wants to rearrange your facial features, my girlfriends want to rip you to pieces and even I would gladly pour honey all over you and stick you on a giant anthill. How did I get here Spooner? You were charming and cool and fun to be around. How did I get from really liking you and wanting to spend time with you to wanting to set you on fire and watch you burn very slowly? Either way, you've proved one thing bloody well.

You're flaky bastard. Goodbye.

When I Grow Up...

...I want to be wank fodder.

Seriously. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Yes sure, who doesn't want to be the sultry, heavy-lashed, pouty, long-haired, fine-limbed vixen in the corner that all the fellers are fighting to buy a drink for? Believe me, it's not what it's made out to be.

Last week saw an intense conversation pertaining to wank fodder. Apparently men categorize women into two distinct categories. Wank fodder. And non-wank fodder (NWF). Very insightful that.

For the uninitiated, wank fodder girls are the ones who catch your fancy as they sashay past in the club, at the train station platform or it may be just some random chick going to get herself a whopping 6 inches from Subway at lunch. Anyway, in short, you look at her and you fancy her and you think, "Man, I'd do that. On the couch, on the floor, hanging from a trapeze etc." In layman (pun unintended) terms, she's fuckable. And if you couldn't get your paws hands on her, you'd conjure her up in your head and choke the snake to death with your industrial size bottle of hand lotion conveniently placed nearby.

NWFs on the other hand, are the girls you'd want to bring home and introduce to Mummy dearest because she's sweet, nice, innocent and doesn't dress with her tits falling out even though you really, really, really want to get them out and play with them all the time because they're just sooo... floppy.

And after that explanation, if you still don't get it. Then here goes.

WANK FODDER


NON-WANK FODDER


Okay, if you still can't get it after this, then you need a new brain.

Anyway, the point of all of this is that the categorization is conducted in a completely senseless manner.

Apparently, if a girl is wank fodder, you spend all your time trying to get into her pants. If she agrees to it, you shag her brains out. Of course, the whole idea is to get more than just a shake and heartbreak. After which, you relegate her to your wall of conquests UNLESS somehow, between you chatting her up and shagging her brains out, you manage to glean that she has a brain and a personality worth getting to know further. In which case, if her brain outdoes her boobies or booty or both, you proceed to jot down her phone number into your iPhone and then call or text her two days later and ask her out for coffee. Or if you're a half-assed decent human being, you'd buy her dinner.

Now, though I do see merit in this method of eliminating the wheat from the chaff (my mother would be so proud of my biblical references), I am thoroughly flummoxed by when and how one decides as to whether there is more to the wank fodder you just bent over the balcony rail or not. Did you somehow manage to conduct an analysis that went along the lines of, *thrust* "So, she's hot as hell." *thrust* "Looks fine from all angles too." *thrust* "And she mentioned she went to Harvard. *thrust* "And she likes dogs." *thrust* "Oooh, and she likes playing XBox too. *thrust thrust thrust* "Hell yeah, she's a keeper." *thrust thrust* "Okay, turn over baby."

You see what I mean? *wiggles eyebrows*

On the other hand, you would not have to go through this with NWFs simply because you don't think of shagging them. In fact, you go all the way out to be nice to them because they are "nice" girls. Seriously, it's the nice girls that are complete freaks in the sack. (This is the part where all the fellers nod in sagely agreement.)

So once you get to know the nice girl and once you've dated her for about 3 months, you bring her home to Mummy and let Mummy feed the poor girl with her horrendous cooking and make inane conversation. And because NWFs are generally nice, they will pretend to like your Mum's cooking by not choking or gagging over the too-tough chicken and completely agree that your mother's blouse that is reminiscent of a curtain is just "sooooo in right now" even if it's from the 'Aunty Section' of the OG department store.

This is where it gets unfair. The hot girls aka Wank Fodderers need not be sluts. They could be really sweet, fun, smart women who just happen to look like they fell out of a dirty magazine. Sue the girl if she looks damn fine in a short skirt or a pair of jeans. Do you really think she's just worth a shag or 10 minutes of intense hand activity? BAH!

No. The answer is no. It bloody hell better be a no.

Then again, I have no idea why I am getting so irate over this. Maybe because I was labeled wank fodder and am thoroughly pissed about it.

5 Stages of Something or Another

So here I am, 28 days after my last entry. What has changed you ask? The short answer? Plenty. The long answer? Well that's coming up. Now before I carry on, I think I need to make a disclaimer here and warn you that there is a high possibility that this post might end up being one of my epic rants. I will try not let my inner ranter unleash hell but it's going to be tough considering how much I want to vent, combined with the fact that I am listening to the Tron Legacy soundtrack by Daft Punk whilst I write this.

Spooner and I have officially crashed and banged into nothingness. No wait, let me say that again. He crashed and banged into nothingness. I was just a bewildered bystander at the wayside. What happened? Nothing much really. One conversation set events in motion and things fell apart. It was the 12th of December and he had come home from football and was wasting away on the sofa. Now, I had known about the Phuket trip for a month by then and he still had not breathed a word about it to me. I was a bit, no, VERY sick of biting my tongue and the white knuckles that came with feigning ignorance by that point so I decided to bite the bullet and ask the pertinent question, "What are you doing for Christmas?"

If I had to describe the next few minutes of conversation that ensued after I asked that question, I'd ask you to picture a deck of falling cards in slow motion. Against all odds, he did not lie to me. I was bracing myself for a complex series of lies. Fuck, part of me wishes he HAD lied because things would have so much simpler to deal with. But he didn't. Damn the man. Instead, the next 5 minutes of conversation or should I say, interrogation that was carried out was akin to pulling teeth. The result? I took my bags and walked out of the apartment. The clincher? He did absolutelyfuckingnothing to stop me.

The following week saw a series of emails being dished out by both parties. Welcome to the modern world of dating and relationships. We don't even bother talking in person anymore. We bloody email. Let me get to the forgone conclusion then, we split up (over email, no less!), because his royal highness said, I quote, "I'm sorry, I'm messed up about this and I don't know what to think or do...One minute I want to carry on and the next I am reluctant...The last thing I want to do is mess you around so best we call it a day..."

Well that says bloody a lot doesn't it?

Firstly, I thought I was the female in that relationship. Apparently, I got it wrong. How does one person spend 4 months going out with another person and then SUDDENLY realize that they didn't know what they wanted? Pardon me for saying this, but was it that time of the month for him where his hormones were all totally whack?

Maybe I should also add that prior to that parting statement, he had accused me (yes, accused), of being insecure, clingy and demanding for commitment. I will now swear upon every hair on my head that every accusation he made was utterly baseless and total bullshit. I countered the arguments in my usual eloquent and succinct manner only to have ALL of it ignored. The man was grappling at invisible straws. Oh yes sireee, he was.

I didn't put up a fight. I may have initially but I lost steam because the more he dragged it out, the more apparent it became that all my efforts were pointless. Here was a man who claimed that he had not met someone he liked as much as he liked me in years. And here is the same man saying he doesn't know what he wants.

Truth be told, I completely disagree with the "I don't know what I want" excuse. It's such a lousy cop out. I know what he wants. I know EXACTLY what he wants because he wrote it down, clear as day, in an email to a strange girl he was getting to know a long time ago. Oh yes, I have literal evidence. In that email, he clearly stated that he wanted to settle down and start a family and that the hard part was finding someone worth the while to do that with. He then also proceeded to say that he understood that it got harder as one got older but that he was not going to impose any deadlines on himself.

Let me just sidetrack here a little and say that this is the type of man my father would have HATED with a vengeance. The indecisive, procrastinating, floater. It's like an annoying turd that refuses to get flushed down the toilet. I suppose this also explains why my little brother has taken a particularly aggravated stance towards Spooner's behaviour and actions (or lack of). The men in my house have always been extremely well-principled and this behaviour is not just frowned upon. It's simply not allowed. Why? No matter how you argue your point, procrastinating, especially when another person's feelings are involved, is never justified. In short, my brother would gladly sock Spooner in the face about a dozen times right now and then proceed to kick the shit out of him if he could.

Whilst having the regular Tuesday beerage with my colleagues last night, one of them mentioned that statistics have shown that most break-ups occur during the year-end holiday period and that one should technically go through the 5 stages of grief as detailed by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross from her book, 'On Death and Dying'.

Here are the 5 supposed stages:

1. Denial - The "No, not me" stage.
This stage is filled with disbelief in denial. If your partner asked for a break-up you think he/she will change their mind.

2. Anger/Resentment - The "Why me" stage.
Anger at the situation, your partner and others are common. You are angry with the other person for causing the situation and for causing you pain.

3. Bargaining - The "If you do this, I'll do that" stage.
You try to negotiate to change the situation. You might approach your partner who is asking for the break-up and say "If you'll stay I'll change".

4. Depression - The "It's really happened" stage.
You realize the situation isn't going to change. The break-up happened and there is nothing to bring the other person back. Acknowledgment of the situation often brings depression. This could be a quiet, withdrawn time as you soak in the situation.

5. Acceptance - The "This is what happened" stage.
Though you haven't forgotten what happened you are able to begin to move forward.

Let me just state for the record that psychologists collectively agree that one does not have to experience all 5 stages in the set order. I suppose this makes sense considering how you are more likely to 'bargain' with the other party whilst in the midst of breaking-up. In my case, denial, depression and bargaining have all come to pass. I am hovering between anger/resentment and acceptance. I am angry because I feel like a complete idiot for trusting that goon and being totally blind-sided by well, a number of things that I think I should keep private. I am also angry because Spooner has acted like a spineless git throughout the whole thing.

Well, here's to moving on then. To better times, better people and better days ahead. And if ever dares to come back and say, "Let's try again", there's no guarantee that I won't lunge forward and slap him. And he still needs to return my stuff. Dammit. And to quote one of my favourite bands,

I'm another ex-girlfriend on your list
But I should have thought of that before we kissed
No Doubt - Ex-girlfriend

Pop Goes the Bubble

Yeah I haven't written. And it's not because I've fallen off the wagon and decided that the wayside is a comfy spot. It's more like my writing demon has been stuffed with tissues and forced to shut up. Well, not forced exactly. It's just me, myself and I who decided to exercise totalitarian control over my writing demon and pressed the mute button. Temporarily of course.

Having been an on and off blogger since the age of 18, writing has served me well. It's the one outlet I've had the chance to completely abandon myself to. Sure, during the more-angst ridden years (some may argue that the correlation between angst and age is non-existent but...), I ranted, vented and went stark raving mad on my blog(s) because I could, I wanted to and in many a frustrating moment, I had to. There was also a slightly insane foray into poetry. Let's just say that I am a dead poet's society type of poet. Hence trying to find a word to rhyme with 'bastard' at 3:28 in the morning is not exactly cathartic. I stopped the poetry but I've never really stopped writing and for the sake of my own sanity, I hope I never get to the point where I throw my pen down and call it quits.

The only issue I have with writing as the years passed is the need to censor. Ten years ago (yes, I'm not THAT young), I had no qualms about letting my emotions go into free fall on a screen or on a piece of paper. In fact, the more I did it, the more I wanted to let it all out. It got to the point of almost being addictive. Even now, as I bang out this entry, I hardly stop to think about what I'm saying. It's pure, unadulterated relief to be able to open the dam and let everything pour out through my fingertips. Fortunately for me, I am a reasonably rapid typist who employs more than two fingers.

Alas, having grown older, I've come to value my privacy even more. I am, by nature a quiet creature. I hate loud noises, I hate loud people and I just hate situations where the ambient sound around me does not allow me to hear my own thoughts. Having said that, this means that I'm a quiet individual who prefers to keep a lot to myself. You could say that I live pretty much in my head. Those who know me in person would probably beg to differ. I'm quite well known for spouting my mouth and being generally sociable. This is not something I disagree with. I like being around people. People interest me. I like to be able to have a conversation and learn new things about people and expand my myopic view about well, everything. However, just because one is a sociable, it does not mean that the individual will necessarily be open about themselves. You can be very sociable and put entire groups of people at ease in any social situation without having to reveal fuck all about yourself what you're feeling or thinking. Don't believe me? Try it out at the next party you attend. Start a conversation with a couple of people. Ask questions. Talk about the latest video your friend posted on Facebook. Drive the conversation and then note how many things you actually reveal about yourself. You'd be surprised at just how little you give away. Not recommended for narcissists though.

In any case, I've been silent for a while not because I haven't got anything to say but more like I'm trying to figure out where the boundaries are. There's a lot of stuff floating around my head which is slowly driving me crazy but because I am now a responsible adult (fml!) I have come to realize that I can't always be spilling all as and when I want to, even though at times, I truly and desperately want to. You could say it's about like dating in your late twenties (oh yes, I speaketh from that fucked-up thing called experience). The older you get, the harder it becomes to meet new people that you actually want to go out with. And if that weren't bad enough, when you finally meet someone and start dating you run into a whole gamut of nightmares that make Freddy Kruegar seem like something from The Muppets. Let's face it. Dating becomes an uphill battle the older you get. There's enough emotional baggage on both sides to fill up and entire cargo plane and because of all that excess shit lying around, people have a tendency to develop weird trust issues. You just don't find yourself wanting to open up another adult. Weirdly enough, it's a bit reminiscent of being a teenager when you were pimply, and your raging hormones got the better of you. At least back then you knew for sure that you simply don't open up to adults. Because they are spawn of Satan. Well no, not really. More like, because adults just didn't 'get it' and by default, you didn't trust them because trusting them was akin to dropping yourself into a giant vat of boiling oil. Fast forward 15 years and into the dating world and you're confronted with the same effing beast from hell. Oh hello, we meet again, but this time I'm disguised as this thing you silly humans love to call 'trust'. And yeah, I'm as shitty as you remembered me to be.


Can you tell that I'm having a trust crisis?

I take no pleasure in saying this but trust is the be all and end all of most relationships. Unless you lied to your parents. Then yeah, they'll be disappointed but hey, they're your parents. You could be a child molester, a terrorist or Mel Raido from He Kills Coppers and they'd still bloody forgive you and trust you because you're their offspring. Unfortunately in most other human-human relationships, trust is a foundation ingredient and if it's laid too thin in the early stages, you are bound to realize at some point that the ground beneath your feet is shifting and you're falling off a precipice and about to hit your head. Hard.

The thing with the trust demon is that it doesn't work alone. It's got a band of mini horrors that it runs around with. Paranoia, lies, loaded questions, evasive answers and several other minions muck about at the trust demon's beck and call. At any point in time you've got about three of these little devils hanging around making you feel like total shit with the trust demon sitting on an armchair, sipping on a Mount Gay mojito and pulling the strings that make you want to go insane.

But let's not just blame the bloody demons. Let's allocate some blame to the damned humans themselves. The world would be a much easier and nicer place to live in if we all just opened up to people and were honest with each other. But that's a bit like asking for the sun to shine out of your arse so it rarely happens and you end up second-guessing, mistrusting and if you're really lucky, fucking up a really good thing. (Note: Fuck-up can be due to false accusation OR being lied to the face. Prior tests have revealed that the lying-to-the-face phenomenon tends to top the charts with a ratio of 10:2.)

Unfortunately, the trust demon usually cannot be banished by one person alone. The pesky thing requires combined efforts which means that all parties involved need to sit down with equal resolve and send it packing back to hell. But for this to take place, all parties first need to be aware that a trust issue exists. If one party or (several parties) are not privy to the existence of the issue then you might as well stab yourself with a fucking spoon because nothing, and I mean this in all seriousness, nothing is more frustrating that having a totally oblivious party.

Well, I suppose I could play the oblivious card too. For how long? No clue but being oblivious seems to be an easy option compared to all the others. Time for a fag, a decent coffee and most of all, time to give the cosmos the finger.

A is for Annoyed

Yesterday was a huge test to my patience.

1. I was annoyed at myself for being sick, wonky and not being able to think and function properly as I was drugged up to my forehead. (If you haven't realized by now, I am one of those people who does not like NOT being in control of her faculties.)

2. I was annoyed that despite being on sick leave I was worrying about work and ended up working from the middle of the afternoon til about 7pm because well, I had no freaking choice.

3. I was annoyed at a certain individual from work who, when approached for direction, gave none whatsoever and instead heaped a load of ridiculous attitude in my face. In my opnion, this one is a overpaid, fuckwitted cretin.

4. I was annoyed with Spooner. After asking me and reminding over the past month about his friend's birthday party which happened yesterday, he sends me a last minute text saying he was not in the mood to go but would bring me along if I were (quote) "gagging to go out".
(Hello, what part of 'I have been sick the whole week' did you miss in the memo? I thought that the whole premise of us attending the party was so we could hang out. What are you? A muppet?)

5. I was annoyed with my Mum and my Grandma. Seriously, sick person needs peace and quiet. Sick person does not need people talking at the top of their voices trying to decide how to invade Poland or Dhaka (whichever you prefer).

Hence, being annoyed on several counts, I didn't eat dinner, shoved my medication down my throat, crawled into bed with my book and waited for the drugs to kick in. But even as I was drifting off into the land of nod, my brain was still going through the annoying events of the day and I eventually fell asleep, feeling (you guessed it!) annoyed.

I woke up this morning feeling slightly better but not quite altogether thus explaining this entry. I am hoping that by itemizing my frustrations, I'd be able to let go of them by let's say, noon today. (Aren't I practical?)

The one good thing about yesterday was that I managed to not blow up at anyone and kill them. Had this happened to me 10 years ago, I would have exploded by the time I had reached no. 3 on the 'Reasons for Annoyance' list. I will not hesitate to tell you that my temper used to be legendary. I suspect my parents almost went crazy because my brother and I both had equally volatile tempers which were usually directed at each other because we're brother and sister. Believe me, it's not always sugar and spice and all things nice when you're teenagers or young adults.

Fortunately, I think both of us mellowed tremendously about 5 years ago, particularly after our dad passed away. Funny how it takes something like that to knock sense into people and force them to change their perspective. In any case, we've both managed to bring our tempers under control now and I think we're a lot smarter with picking our battles. Weird thing is, he and I don't get into disagreements anymore. The exact opposite has happened. Our relationship as siblings has developed to the point where we can talk about whatever is going on in our lives to each other with the knowledge that everything is said in confidence. And yes, it's very nice to be able to sit and talk to my brother without wanting to throttle him every 3 minutes. This is not to say that everything is rosy and perfect. We don't always see eye-to-eye on some things and we're both naturally impatient people so there are occasions when red flags get raised but it's a lot better now than it was before.

Alas, I cannot say the same about the other areas of my life. Oftentimes, when I get ticked off, I just don't say anything. Some people, usually the smarter ones, realize that I am annoyed and they give me a wide berth to cool off and don't push the matter further. Unfortunately, there are more stupid people than smart ones in my life and when faced with my mutinous silence, they just don't get the hint and usually say/do something that makes me want to reach out and smack them across the head or bludgeon them with a bat. (Personally, I prefer bludgeoning. Much more cathartic I tell you!) But being a member of polite *snort* society, I have to rein in my instinct to clobber people and bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying something that might land me in jail for slander.

The other issue is how some morons tend to take my silence as a sign of weakness and then proceed to attempt to walk all over me. I don't know how to help people like this. Doing this is equivalent to playing tag in a landmine. I'm not a doormat. If I were, you'd be welcome to stomp all over me. But if you insist of behaving like an idiot, my only advice is, be prepared to be shredded.

The good news is that I don't lose my head that often. It takes a hell of a lot these days before I completely lose it. Usually I hover between being immensely annoyed and immensely frustrated. This is still pretty far from pure, white rage. But honestly, I sometimes wonder if it's not healthy to put up with all the bullshit that people throw my way just to keep my temper in check.

Now where's my brother? I need a fag...