Here I sit, in the almost-morning of December 31, not sleepy, not quite wide awake. The end of 2004. Year ends are always so inexplicably sad, like the ends of relationships, or like slowly realising that time, no matter how hard you try, doesn't stand still.
Another reason the end of the year is so sad is because, if like me, you look back at the 365 days you had to live and to be alive, and you wonder how many of those you spent in just mind-numbing zombification, you realise that as far as the world goes, you're just another insignificant piece of dust whose living or dying isn't really going to make much difference in the larger scheme of things.
Oh, I know my friends and my family would care if I lived or died. But suppose, for a moment, I hadn't been born, or even concieved. Suppose my parents decided to marry other people. Then I really wouldn't exist and it would be someone different occupying my space, someone equally loved and it wouldn't be me.
But, pushing depressing thoughts like these out of my mind, I look back at this year--perhaps the most up-and-down year I've ever had in my entire life.
January: I was with K, we were extremely happy, I was getting a little restless in my job.
February: I met an old friend of mine, Priya, from college at the World Book Fair. She mentioned she and another friend (Dee) were thinking of living together and were looking for a third roommate. I said I would be interested and we started looking for a house.
March: Priya, Dee and I moved into our bachelorette pad. K started acting a little odd about now, throwing strange tantrums and generally acting cold and withdrawn. He later said it was because he was jealous that I had so much freedom and independance and he had none, but our huge immense fights started around this time.
April: Priya started to act a little oddly, mentioning how living alone wasn't really her thing. Dee got a new job that required her to travel quite a bit. At work, we finished our anniversary issue and I got my first raise.
May: Priya all but moved out, following a tremendous fight with her boyfriend, Dee was still travelling and K and I fought quite a bit.
June: Priya moved her things out completely. Dee and I started looking for another roommate, printing up little flyers. We bought the first investment for the house--- a room cooler. I started a new passion in my life--blogging, under this URL.
July: K and I had our two year anniversary. He acted a lot better than before and I thought, "Thank goodness, now we can go back to normal."
August: Neeti, another friend of mine, decided to have a huge party on Friday the 13th. K said he couldn't go, we fought and he broke up with me, saying he didn't love me anymore. To drive him and the horrible numbness away, I went for distraction is the best policy and had a pretty extreme haircut.
September: Our grand roommate search turned up nothing, so I realised I'd have to move out because I couldn't afford it anymore. Dee got her sister to move in and I moved back home. I was still hurting from the breakup but ready to drive it out of my mind by dating again. I figured getting some attention from the opposite sex would restore my horribly bruised ego. Dee introduced me to a friend of hers, Shiva, and the two of us "had a scene", my first after K. My co-workers found the blog and some rather blunt things I had said about them and I realised that I couldn't just write about everything. I changed the URL and some other tracking devices and stuck to writing about my personal life. Lesson learnt!
October: Things with Shiva never worked out. I started having suspiscions about K and a friend of mine, Meg, because they were getting so close. I also started to get really restless in my job and decided it was time to look for something new.
November: I met up with several old friends, started re-forging relationships I had let grow all old and dusty. A new place offered me a job, with a pretty large salary hike and I decided to take it. At the end of the month, I met New Boy and we all know how that story ended.
December: I turned 23, I met more old friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in years. I realised that the dating vortex I had fallen into was addictive, but going nowhere. And now at the end of the month, I sit making a list and realise that this has been quite an eventful year.
I hope 2005 is as exciting, minus the heartbreak. Just, please, oh powers that be, let me feel every moment of this year, let me know and account for every month, week, day. Let some of my long-cherished dreams come true. Let me be a better person, a wiser person, a less frivolous person, a person who I would want to know.
Happy New Year to whoever's reading this and I hope the powers that be grant your wishes for 2005 too!
| My latest book is The One Who Swam With The Fishes.
"A mesmerizing account of the well-known story of Matsyagandha ... and her transformation from fisherman’s daughter to Satyavati, Santanu’s royal consort and the Mother/Progenitor of the Kuru clan." - Hindustan Times "Themes of fate, morality and power overlay a subtle and essential feminism to make this lyrical book a must-read. If this is Madhavan’s first book in the Girls from the Mahabharata series, there is much to look forward to in the months to come." - Open Magazine "A gleeful dollop of Blytonian magic ... Reddy Madhavan is also able to tackle some fairly sensitive subjects such as identity, the love of and karmic ties with parents, adoption, the first sexual encounter, loneliness, and my favourite, feminist rage." - Scroll |
Sign up for my newsletter: The Internet Personified
|
31 December 2004
26 December 2004
Things you probably didn’t need to know but for lack of amusing anecdotes I’m posting anyway
{Bullet Item One}
I’m in lurve. The object of my affection is the new Dove shower gel, which is called massage gel or some such and has little gritty “pearls” in it, so you can exfoliate as you moisturise and so, though probably the same effect as regular soap, makes you feel a whole lot cleaner and more scrubbed. Plus, since it’s winter and I put on my clothes as soon as I have a shower, when I undress at night, the smell has been trapped in warm clothing all day and I smell so good. Mmmm….
(Okay, that was a horrible self-obsessed moment, but I seriously love good smells on me. It makes me feel all straight-haired and girly. I guess I meant feminine there, didn’t I? Okay, feminine. Have it your way.)
{Bullet Item Two}
I’ve been having nightmares. About Anupam Kher. In my dreams he’s chasing me around with a gun, and I’ve just given birth to a small child of unidentifiable sex, who I clutch to my bosom as I scamper, screaming, “Don’t kill my baby!”It’s rather disturbing.
{Bullet Item Three}
Yesterday I was at Christmas dinner, hanging with a childhood friend, who has grown up into a certifiable hottie, leaving me plagued with insecurity every time I introduce her to someone I’m seeing.
Anyway so childhood friend was wearing lovely scarlet nailpolish, which, wouldn’t you know, looked bloody hot on her. So I borrowed the pot and tried some on , but I looked like I had hooker hands. (By the way, the nailpolish was called ‘Siren Red’. Siren red!!! Just call it the Hooker’s Hand Job Colour and be done with it already. Or Vamp Violet. Or Prostitute Purple. Or Whore Vermillion. Ya, so the last one wasn’t alliterative. I couldn’t think of a colour with ‘W’. And don’t say white, coz I just thought of it and I don’t feel like backspacing and restructuring this bracket. Which I should end.)
Anyway, so I set to work with earbuds trying to get it off, only it’s stained the sides of my fingers so now I look like I’ve been playing Holi. Or eating tandoori chicken. Take your pick.
{Bullet Item Four}
My dog has been nursing a stuffed puffin called Oscar for about a month now. She thinks she’s given birth to him and spends hours grooming him, trying to make him feed or tucking him under her chin and sleeping so sweetly that I would be tempted to hug her, except she Takes No Shit When She’s With Oscar. The whole world is out to get her puffin, she knows that, and so when she’s not looking all cute and angelic cuddled there, she’s snarling at me if I dare reach into the cupboard behind her futon (yes, she has a futon. It unfolds into a bed if she has visitors. And a leopard-spotted blanket. She’s a dog of some taste.) to pull out a coat.
Oscar, in puppy-puffin years, is now old enough to be taken for a walk. So she trots around with him in her mouth saying hello to people at the door, doing her “Yay! You’re home!” butt waggle for me, and even taking him to the balcony for some fresh air.
Cookie has given birth to stuffed toys before—a Pinnochio from a Happy Meal, a clown and even a walrus Beanie Baby. But she soon tired of them and ripped them into little shreds, burying them in our beds and forgetting about them. I’m surprised Oscar has lasted so long. We keep trying to take him away from her, but she does the most piteous whines and once even crawled into my cupboard in search of him that we gave up and gave him back.
{Not really a bullet item, but I like the mustache brackets. Hey, does anyone still remember BODMAS? I loved the acronym. It was around the same time I learnt VIBGYOR and wandered around whispering “bodmas vibgyor” to myself.}
And, oh yes, as a side note. I went clubbing this weekend with Iggy and her sister and her (the sister's) friends. Sister-and-friends were seventeen, I might add, and I have realised, only child or not, I totally rock at being a big sister. Iggy proceeded to get very drunk and it was me, me, ME who those kids came to, from “Where do I put my bag?” to “Oh no, I feel sick” to “My foot is bleeding!” and I was very mature and very cool. To all those who say I’m irresponsible or spoilt being an only child, HA and HA again.
I’m going to be such a great mom. :)
I’m in lurve. The object of my affection is the new Dove shower gel, which is called massage gel or some such and has little gritty “pearls” in it, so you can exfoliate as you moisturise and so, though probably the same effect as regular soap, makes you feel a whole lot cleaner and more scrubbed. Plus, since it’s winter and I put on my clothes as soon as I have a shower, when I undress at night, the smell has been trapped in warm clothing all day and I smell so good. Mmmm….
(Okay, that was a horrible self-obsessed moment, but I seriously love good smells on me. It makes me feel all straight-haired and girly. I guess I meant feminine there, didn’t I? Okay, feminine. Have it your way.)
{Bullet Item Two}
I’ve been having nightmares. About Anupam Kher. In my dreams he’s chasing me around with a gun, and I’ve just given birth to a small child of unidentifiable sex, who I clutch to my bosom as I scamper, screaming, “Don’t kill my baby!”It’s rather disturbing.
{Bullet Item Three}
Yesterday I was at Christmas dinner, hanging with a childhood friend, who has grown up into a certifiable hottie, leaving me plagued with insecurity every time I introduce her to someone I’m seeing.
Anyway so childhood friend was wearing lovely scarlet nailpolish, which, wouldn’t you know, looked bloody hot on her. So I borrowed the pot and tried some on , but I looked like I had hooker hands. (By the way, the nailpolish was called ‘Siren Red’. Siren red!!! Just call it the Hooker’s Hand Job Colour and be done with it already. Or Vamp Violet. Or Prostitute Purple. Or Whore Vermillion. Ya, so the last one wasn’t alliterative. I couldn’t think of a colour with ‘W’. And don’t say white, coz I just thought of it and I don’t feel like backspacing and restructuring this bracket. Which I should end.)
Anyway, so I set to work with earbuds trying to get it off, only it’s stained the sides of my fingers so now I look like I’ve been playing Holi. Or eating tandoori chicken. Take your pick.
{Bullet Item Four}
My dog has been nursing a stuffed puffin called Oscar for about a month now. She thinks she’s given birth to him and spends hours grooming him, trying to make him feed or tucking him under her chin and sleeping so sweetly that I would be tempted to hug her, except she Takes No Shit When She’s With Oscar. The whole world is out to get her puffin, she knows that, and so when she’s not looking all cute and angelic cuddled there, she’s snarling at me if I dare reach into the cupboard behind her futon (yes, she has a futon. It unfolds into a bed if she has visitors. And a leopard-spotted blanket. She’s a dog of some taste.) to pull out a coat.
Oscar, in puppy-puffin years, is now old enough to be taken for a walk. So she trots around with him in her mouth saying hello to people at the door, doing her “Yay! You’re home!” butt waggle for me, and even taking him to the balcony for some fresh air.
Cookie has given birth to stuffed toys before—a Pinnochio from a Happy Meal, a clown and even a walrus Beanie Baby. But she soon tired of them and ripped them into little shreds, burying them in our beds and forgetting about them. I’m surprised Oscar has lasted so long. We keep trying to take him away from her, but she does the most piteous whines and once even crawled into my cupboard in search of him that we gave up and gave him back.
{Not really a bullet item, but I like the mustache brackets. Hey, does anyone still remember BODMAS? I loved the acronym. It was around the same time I learnt VIBGYOR and wandered around whispering “bodmas vibgyor” to myself.}
And, oh yes, as a side note. I went clubbing this weekend with Iggy and her sister and her (the sister's) friends. Sister-and-friends were seventeen, I might add, and I have realised, only child or not, I totally rock at being a big sister. Iggy proceeded to get very drunk and it was me, me, ME who those kids came to, from “Where do I put my bag?” to “Oh no, I feel sick” to “My foot is bleeding!” and I was very mature and very cool. To all those who say I’m irresponsible or spoilt being an only child, HA and HA again.
I’m going to be such a great mom. :)
19 December 2004
Tis the season to be not-so-jolly
Two Cures for Love by my absolute favourite poet--Wendy Cope
1. Don't see him. Don't phone or write a letter
2. The easy way: get to know him better.
And a Christmas poem, also by Wendy Cope.
At Christmas little children sing and merry bells jingle,
The cold winter air makes our hands and faces tingle
And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle
And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful, if you're single.
Mmm.. Christmas cake.
Someone gave my editor a huge plum cake with white sugar frosting and he shared it with the rest of us. As a result, I now have a sticky mouth and a lovely raisin-y taste lingering around my tongue. I love plum cake. When K and I were together, I used to love his house around Christmas time. Most of my friends are Hindu, so we don't really do anything at Christmas, except use it as an excuse to party and wear our Santa hats. But K is Catholic so that meant huge Christmas bashes, with carol-singing around the piano, egg-nog and rum punch, homemade ham and oodles of the most alcohol-soaked plum cake you can ever imagine. I used to stuff myself on that cake. And since his mom made so much of it, there was always some left over till the middle of January and so the alcohol got more and more potent, till only eating it made me a little giggly. I miss that cake.
I went to Delhi's hottest new nightclub--Athena---last night, feeling very proud of myself for venturing out of Turquoise Cottage's sweater wearing, sling bag carrying crowd into a world where all the women had identical straight hair, identical sulky expressions, all tucking teeny-tiny bags under their armpits. I conformed only in that I wore a halter. But I did wear a coat over it, and I didn't wear any make-up except for a little gloss and a little eye pencil. And I was probably the only girl there with short hair. Oh well.
Athena was nice, though they could have had more seating arrangements. I was ready to drop by the end of the evening. And oh, the loos! They were equipped with everything, from the ordinary (cotton swabs), to the luxurious (five different brands of perfume), to the practical (tampons and sanitary towels) and to the really rather bizarre (lollipops and condoms).
On to other news: New Boy and I are pretty much over. Yes, I know it was quite promising, and yes, sigh, I had a crush which is a terrible thing to happen to any woman (five points if you know what book that line is from), but it turned out thathe has family issues bigger than anything I could ever imagine. Now, my parents are quite an exception. They're liberal, we "discuss" my rules and priorities and as long as I'm safe and happy, they pretty much let me do as I please. Which is as it should be.
New Boy, on the other hand, had a big blow-out with his family (this after a night of being loved long and hard). Things got pretty melodramatic, with his mother bursting into tears (for fucks sake, all he did was party a little and cut his hair. Big sin.) Bottom line is, New Boy calls me and goes, "I think we should put us on hold for a while."
And I go: WTF?
Apparently they don't approve of his "new friends" (insert eM here) and they pretty much gave him an ultimatum--them or us. Wow. I swear, the next guy I date is going to have parents like mine. I can't handle this. Talk about a scene from Hindi cinema.
So I told him I refuse to be on hold for something that's technically not even a relationship. That meeting up is important to me, since I have not much time for personal calls during the day. That someday, whenever his "issues" were over, we could see what happened then. I did give him the whole "we can still be friends" thing, which I, for one, fully intend to implement. I mean, Shiva and I, surprisingly enough, find we can have friendly, non-sexual type interactions.
I feel bad, yes, but I have a feeling it's all for the best. I need right now to be with someone who will spend as much time with me as I want him to, who will not have "permission" and "curfew" hassles and who will, preferably, live alone, or if not, will have parents who work or who are cool with him bringing women over.
Will New Boy and I get back together? I can't say as of now. I gave him my little speech, if he cares enough, he'll do something about his parents, if not, then he's just not that into me (Sorry, but I just finished the book yesterday--- and it's fast becoming my bible).
~Heartily know, that when half-gods go, the gods will come~
But he really was pretty. Peh.
1. Don't see him. Don't phone or write a letter
2. The easy way: get to know him better.
And a Christmas poem, also by Wendy Cope.
At Christmas little children sing and merry bells jingle,
The cold winter air makes our hands and faces tingle
And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle
And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful, if you're single.
Mmm.. Christmas cake.
Someone gave my editor a huge plum cake with white sugar frosting and he shared it with the rest of us. As a result, I now have a sticky mouth and a lovely raisin-y taste lingering around my tongue. I love plum cake. When K and I were together, I used to love his house around Christmas time. Most of my friends are Hindu, so we don't really do anything at Christmas, except use it as an excuse to party and wear our Santa hats. But K is Catholic so that meant huge Christmas bashes, with carol-singing around the piano, egg-nog and rum punch, homemade ham and oodles of the most alcohol-soaked plum cake you can ever imagine. I used to stuff myself on that cake. And since his mom made so much of it, there was always some left over till the middle of January and so the alcohol got more and more potent, till only eating it made me a little giggly. I miss that cake.
I went to Delhi's hottest new nightclub--Athena---last night, feeling very proud of myself for venturing out of Turquoise Cottage's sweater wearing, sling bag carrying crowd into a world where all the women had identical straight hair, identical sulky expressions, all tucking teeny-tiny bags under their armpits. I conformed only in that I wore a halter. But I did wear a coat over it, and I didn't wear any make-up except for a little gloss and a little eye pencil. And I was probably the only girl there with short hair. Oh well.
Athena was nice, though they could have had more seating arrangements. I was ready to drop by the end of the evening. And oh, the loos! They were equipped with everything, from the ordinary (cotton swabs), to the luxurious (five different brands of perfume), to the practical (tampons and sanitary towels) and to the really rather bizarre (lollipops and condoms).
On to other news: New Boy and I are pretty much over. Yes, I know it was quite promising, and yes, sigh, I had a crush which is a terrible thing to happen to any woman (five points if you know what book that line is from), but it turned out thathe has family issues bigger than anything I could ever imagine. Now, my parents are quite an exception. They're liberal, we "discuss" my rules and priorities and as long as I'm safe and happy, they pretty much let me do as I please. Which is as it should be.
New Boy, on the other hand, had a big blow-out with his family (this after a night of being loved long and hard). Things got pretty melodramatic, with his mother bursting into tears (for fucks sake, all he did was party a little and cut his hair. Big sin.) Bottom line is, New Boy calls me and goes, "I think we should put us on hold for a while."
And I go: WTF?
Apparently they don't approve of his "new friends" (insert eM here) and they pretty much gave him an ultimatum--them or us. Wow. I swear, the next guy I date is going to have parents like mine. I can't handle this. Talk about a scene from Hindi cinema.
So I told him I refuse to be on hold for something that's technically not even a relationship. That meeting up is important to me, since I have not much time for personal calls during the day. That someday, whenever his "issues" were over, we could see what happened then. I did give him the whole "we can still be friends" thing, which I, for one, fully intend to implement. I mean, Shiva and I, surprisingly enough, find we can have friendly, non-sexual type interactions.
I feel bad, yes, but I have a feeling it's all for the best. I need right now to be with someone who will spend as much time with me as I want him to, who will not have "permission" and "curfew" hassles and who will, preferably, live alone, or if not, will have parents who work or who are cool with him bringing women over.
Will New Boy and I get back together? I can't say as of now. I gave him my little speech, if he cares enough, he'll do something about his parents, if not, then he's just not that into me (Sorry, but I just finished the book yesterday--- and it's fast becoming my bible).
~Heartily know, that when half-gods go, the gods will come~
But he really was pretty. Peh.
14 December 2004
Go Shorty, It's Your Birthday
I am now the grand old age of twenty-three.
Wow.
Twenty three isn't that old in the larger scheme of things, I'm sure some of you, who have passed that mark will look upon me as a mere fledgling.
But still, it's the oldest I've ever been, in that, this year I actually feel my age. All these years, I've felt younger than I actually am. But now I'm 23, I feel 23, even if I may not look it. Kinda sad actually, because I would love to revert to 19 or something. At an age where I can still look around and say, "Where are all the grown-ups?" That's not happening anymore, coz, ohmygod, I am a grown-up. *scary*
I had if not a brilliant birthday, a pretty good one, all things considered. Friday night, I had a party where I invited everyone I know, including Bastard Ex and Slut "friend" who proceeded to kiss all over the dance floor. Ew.
I looked quite nice, even if I do say so myself, in a tight white top, tight blue jeans and my friend bought me a peaked hat, the kind I've been eyeing forever. I felt like Christina Aguilera or something! :)
I've actually gotten a good haul of prezzies this year. My parents bought me He's Just Not That Into You which I'm quickly inhaling and memorising. They also bought me Sims 2, which I'm dying to play, but unfortunately my monitor needs an upgrade before I can. And a beautiful Mango shirt in a soft brown, made out of corduroy, which I abosolutely love. And this beautiful pen.
Dee, who I realise, knows me better than anyone, bought me three things for my car---a new hands free for my phone, a purple cd wallet and the best part--a packet of Benson and Hedges Lights! :)
Iggy's birthday was the same day as mine and we gave each other "sex gifts". I gave her a copy of The Kamasutra For Women and she gave me a barely-there-but-just-about-covers-your-cleavage black halter. I can't wait for it to get warm so I can wear it!
This is turning into a list of gifts, which is not what I intended, April after all, depends on me for her night life, so back to the party.
New Boy was gratifyingly appreciative of my oufit, murmuring, "You look really hot" into my ear and casually letting his hand drift to my ass as we stood around talking to people. He doesn't usually give me any compliments, so I treasured it as genuine. There was a funny moment when K walked in on us making out, and the expression on his face was beyond priceless.
But New Boy and I had another of our fights, when he noticed me notice K and Slut-Friend disappear and he said I obviously wasn't over K yet. I objected, I protested and finally, just to end the fight, I asked him to be my boyfriend. (Yes, yes, I know, but I had had the better part of a bottle of vanilla vodka and in the moment, I meant it). He blanched a little at this and said, "Well, we barely know each other and I'll need some time to think about it." He hasn't mentioned it since, and neither have I.
But, oh reader, he's so sweet to me, and nice and he makes such an effort. Yesterday, he was working on a presentation which he hadn't quite finished and he didn't think he was going to make it to my house. I was, obviously upset, it being my birthday and all. But then he called and said "I miss you."
"Really?" I asked unable to believe it.
"Are you surprised?"
"Yes..."
"Well, don't be."
And so it wound up that he did come over, despite the fact that his work wasn't finished, despite the fact that this meant he's have to wake up at 4.30 and go back to work, despite the fcat that he'd have to hang out at an intimate family and close friends gathering, which, I, in his place, would be a little antsy about doing.
But then, later at night, we had a conversation and I asked him to define us.
"I think it's a fling with slight added emotions."
Okay. Okaaaaaaaaay. A FLING??? After all this, after all the strange fights, after all the "I miss you's" and meeting the parents etc etc.
I said, trying to be casual, "Um.. okay but don't you think we've invested too much into this for it to be a fling?"
"Okay, so what do you think it is?"
I stumbled a little and then said, "I think its like we're dating without the 'boyfriend' or 'girlfriend' labels."
Long silence, then: "I guess we'll have to find a middle ground."
Reader, please explian to me what is going on. On the one hand he acts as though he likes me and on the other hand he says it's a goddamn fling. I hate boys for removing my woman of the world demeanour.
Help?
Wow.
Twenty three isn't that old in the larger scheme of things, I'm sure some of you, who have passed that mark will look upon me as a mere fledgling.
But still, it's the oldest I've ever been, in that, this year I actually feel my age. All these years, I've felt younger than I actually am. But now I'm 23, I feel 23, even if I may not look it. Kinda sad actually, because I would love to revert to 19 or something. At an age where I can still look around and say, "Where are all the grown-ups?" That's not happening anymore, coz, ohmygod, I am a grown-up. *scary*
I had if not a brilliant birthday, a pretty good one, all things considered. Friday night, I had a party where I invited everyone I know, including Bastard Ex and Slut "friend" who proceeded to kiss all over the dance floor. Ew.
I looked quite nice, even if I do say so myself, in a tight white top, tight blue jeans and my friend bought me a peaked hat, the kind I've been eyeing forever. I felt like Christina Aguilera or something! :)
I've actually gotten a good haul of prezzies this year. My parents bought me He's Just Not That Into You which I'm quickly inhaling and memorising. They also bought me Sims 2, which I'm dying to play, but unfortunately my monitor needs an upgrade before I can. And a beautiful Mango shirt in a soft brown, made out of corduroy, which I abosolutely love. And this beautiful pen.
Dee, who I realise, knows me better than anyone, bought me three things for my car---a new hands free for my phone, a purple cd wallet and the best part--a packet of Benson and Hedges Lights! :)
Iggy's birthday was the same day as mine and we gave each other "sex gifts". I gave her a copy of The Kamasutra For Women and she gave me a barely-there-but-just-about-covers-your-cleavage black halter. I can't wait for it to get warm so I can wear it!
This is turning into a list of gifts, which is not what I intended, April after all, depends on me for her night life, so back to the party.
New Boy was gratifyingly appreciative of my oufit, murmuring, "You look really hot" into my ear and casually letting his hand drift to my ass as we stood around talking to people. He doesn't usually give me any compliments, so I treasured it as genuine. There was a funny moment when K walked in on us making out, and the expression on his face was beyond priceless.
But New Boy and I had another of our fights, when he noticed me notice K and Slut-Friend disappear and he said I obviously wasn't over K yet. I objected, I protested and finally, just to end the fight, I asked him to be my boyfriend. (Yes, yes, I know, but I had had the better part of a bottle of vanilla vodka and in the moment, I meant it). He blanched a little at this and said, "Well, we barely know each other and I'll need some time to think about it." He hasn't mentioned it since, and neither have I.
But, oh reader, he's so sweet to me, and nice and he makes such an effort. Yesterday, he was working on a presentation which he hadn't quite finished and he didn't think he was going to make it to my house. I was, obviously upset, it being my birthday and all. But then he called and said "I miss you."
"Really?" I asked unable to believe it.
"Are you surprised?"
"Yes..."
"Well, don't be."
And so it wound up that he did come over, despite the fact that his work wasn't finished, despite the fact that this meant he's have to wake up at 4.30 and go back to work, despite the fcat that he'd have to hang out at an intimate family and close friends gathering, which, I, in his place, would be a little antsy about doing.
But then, later at night, we had a conversation and I asked him to define us.
"I think it's a fling with slight added emotions."
Okay. Okaaaaaaaaay. A FLING??? After all this, after all the strange fights, after all the "I miss you's" and meeting the parents etc etc.
I said, trying to be casual, "Um.. okay but don't you think we've invested too much into this for it to be a fling?"
"Okay, so what do you think it is?"
I stumbled a little and then said, "I think its like we're dating without the 'boyfriend' or 'girlfriend' labels."
Long silence, then: "I guess we'll have to find a middle ground."
Reader, please explian to me what is going on. On the one hand he acts as though he likes me and on the other hand he says it's a goddamn fling. I hate boys for removing my woman of the world demeanour.
Help?
8 December 2004
Goodbye today, hello tomorrow
Dear Boss,
Well, the time has come for me to say goodbye...
No, too sentimental
Dear Boss,
I have decided to accept the offer given to me by the ---------.
No too impersonal
Dear Boss,
Unfortunately, I have decided to resign....
What if he says "unfortunately" for whom?
Aargh.
As you can see, I've decided to take the job offered to me by another publication. Money had a good deal to do with it, since I'm now being offered almost double of what I make now.
But, oh, but. I'm so attached to this job. It's my very first job, when I was still tilting in indescion about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
My first office party, my first paycheck, my first raise. Having a column. My first byline. Errors like repeating the comic strip two days in a row that cost me my leave one year. My first press junket, where this one woman (incidentally from the publication I am joining now) told me I had to "grow up before I thought of being a journalist." Working till 2 am on a special issue. Working on the coffee supplement. Knowing what terms like "assignments" and "file your story" and "beats" and "press cons" meant. Quark Xpress, the bane of my existance. Keyboard shortcuts.
Learning and surprising myself by knowing things and people. The joy of having your story "followed up" by other papers.
Ooh, my press card. And my business cards, with "Features Writer" beneath them that I distributed to everyone I knew. My press sticker for my car.
Being a part of the media. Forgetting shyness. Learning a new confidence in myself and my abilities.
And now, moving on. Moving up. In me, there's a sense of betrayal, like leaving a relationship. Like cheating on someone. And my editor's words, "You're a good kid. You'll do well in journalism."
Well, I certainly hope so.
Well, the time has come for me to say goodbye...
No, too sentimental
Dear Boss,
I have decided to accept the offer given to me by the ---------.
No too impersonal
Dear Boss,
Unfortunately, I have decided to resign....
What if he says "unfortunately" for whom?
Aargh.
As you can see, I've decided to take the job offered to me by another publication. Money had a good deal to do with it, since I'm now being offered almost double of what I make now.
But, oh, but. I'm so attached to this job. It's my very first job, when I was still tilting in indescion about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
My first office party, my first paycheck, my first raise. Having a column. My first byline. Errors like repeating the comic strip two days in a row that cost me my leave one year. My first press junket, where this one woman (incidentally from the publication I am joining now) told me I had to "grow up before I thought of being a journalist." Working till 2 am on a special issue. Working on the coffee supplement. Knowing what terms like "assignments" and "file your story" and "beats" and "press cons" meant. Quark Xpress, the bane of my existance. Keyboard shortcuts.
Learning and surprising myself by knowing things and people. The joy of having your story "followed up" by other papers.
Ooh, my press card. And my business cards, with "Features Writer" beneath them that I distributed to everyone I knew. My press sticker for my car.
Being a part of the media. Forgetting shyness. Learning a new confidence in myself and my abilities.
And now, moving on. Moving up. In me, there's a sense of betrayal, like leaving a relationship. Like cheating on someone. And my editor's words, "You're a good kid. You'll do well in journalism."
Well, I certainly hope so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)