Desi Girl Called Isheeta

Intangible Love

You know what's the best part about liking someone who doesn't live in the same city as you?

The fact that *when* you know when it's going to be over (cuz lets face it... it will), every other dessert lounge/coffee bar/movie/favourite romantic spot that you have NOT frequented in town will NOT remind you of him. Because you guys never spent that precious time doing all those favourite things that normal couples take for granted.

Your memories have nothing to do with sharing that waffle cone of Jamoca Almond Fudge from Baskin Robbins.
Your memories do not entail you crying over that chick flick rental on a rainy night while he helped himself to some extra salsa and pizza.
Your memories did not involve subjecting that poor guy to endless hours of prime-time shopping companion on a Saturday afternoon.
Your memories do not compromise of you two sitting in front of the lake at the Harbourfront while you debated the merits of something silly like why cupcakes taste better when they have frosting.

What you did instead is spend endless weeknights talking on AIM.
What you did is giggle every time your Nokia phone let out that standard "1 New Message" because you know its not Fido telling you that you have used up all of your daytime minutes.
What you did is discuss over the phone why Denny Crane (from "Boston Legal") should run for President of the World and how Stewie Griffin (from "Family Guy") should be his VP.
What you did is visualize how you would plant a wet one on his cheeks and ruffle his hair when he finally came to see you in town.

What you did is reminisce about the events that never came into fruitition.

I don't know what is more of a consolation prize here - the fact that getting over someone in this case belongs to the category of "out of sight, out of mind" and hence crying in the pillow every night will be an event shorter than the season of Oprah's Big Give, or the fact that you are strangely calm knowing that you knew *in that time* that you were heading to a labyrinth, and so when it doesn't work out, you... just... get... over... it.... unfortunately.

I've never been one to covet long distance relationships. It just doesn't work with me. You would think that given my nature to forego all the pleasures in the world for a surreal, utopian kind of love that transcends time and distance, I would be all gung-ho about it. But the reality is the opposite, because I'm a little more messed up than that - to me, love cannot be complete without passion, and passion cannot be complete if you are unable to look at someone's eyes every time you feel  that inkling of desire for them.

I will admit, however, that I have been open to the whole long distance crap on more than one occasion.  That... is the irony, ladies and gents. I have tried, because the type of people I seem to be inexplicably drawn to definitely do not reside anywhere within 100 kms of me. Canadians - bah! They are either in America, or England, or South Africa, or the guy who owns some island in Bora Bora, or hell, or.... Australia.

As much as I love my fabulous life, sucks to be me sometimes.

But AJ, my Ozzie friend, you suck MORE because you KNOW that you're getting knee deep in some(thing/one) because you're doing it all within home base! Unless you pull an "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind", you're going to be stuck with more than just memories of favourite spots!

The Unsexy Six

I was tagged by my new girl crush Zen here and since my schedule just freed up considerably (I'M DONE POST-GRAD finally!!!!!!) and am job-hunting as we speak, I figured this would be a great time to ... procrastinate...blog post.. and talk all about something very interesting.. Me! (lol, what else?!)

Rules:

-Link the person who tagged you.
-Mention the rules in your blog.
-Tell us about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
-Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
-Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

6 unspectacular quirks about Isheeta:

1. I hate attending weddings. Sorry. You must understand where I'm coming from for this.. I mean, I'm single! I know people have great intentions when they invite you to their special day, they want you to share their days of 'happiness/prison guard'...but why do I have to give up my moments of happiness dressing and pimping up to attend their day of misery? It doesn't seem fair. Other reasons for this day of apocalypse is that I never have friends to attend with, these blasphemous weddings. I just went to one a week ago and it was AWFUL. AWFUL. I wanted to KILL myself with that floral centerpiece. I had to sit through BS speeches about how the lucky couple had found perfect love. Well dippidy doo dah! Thanks for rubbing it in my face! I am sincerely very happy that you will finally be allowed to walk down the public streets with a ring that permits you to.. to... to...wth, I dunno what is it that wedding rings do, honestly, I'm single yo I dunno. But the thing is...  I always get seated next to the screaming infants or the guy who brings his mom as a date or the woman with the perfect hot caring husband or the girl who is now engaged and is with her new beau, or... just about everyone who is of no interest to me because they have nothing interesting to talk about except weddings!

I'm sorry people who have invited me to their weddings, its not you, its not personal. It's me.

Marriages are different. Marriages, I approve. Weddings can go to hell.

2. I can fall asleep through jugs of milk, coffee and bars of chocolate. I'm very caffeine tolerant.

3. Once in a while, after a LONG BRUTAL DAY, if I fall asleep, I will .. *gasp* .... I cant believe I'm gonna say this.. I .. *snore*. I've been told its more like deep breaths, no construction loud snoring. HOWEVER, this makes me very self-conscious, and if my future husband doesn't mind me drooling or snoring, I will give up a lot for him.  Such as drooling on the pillow instead of drooling at him.

4. I don't get what the big deal is about Sex. It's not a phenomenon like Aurora Borealis. I don't understand why doing it.. or not doing it.. breaks off/initiates relationships. I would take a feet massage over sex any day. It is intimate, yes. It brings people closer, yes. But thats all there is to it. Life goes on. It's over before you know it. If people didn't make such a big deal about it, porn wouldn't be so taboo, and it wouldnt be one of the biggest industries in the world. I don't get why people aren't comfy talking about it. Especially desis. India with its taboos of sex, considering they are the land of Kama Sutra. It's the country with the 2nd biggest population in the world. 1,132,446,000 people just didn't spring out of their mother's womb by doing.. I dunno, singing and dancing in the rain or having segregated schools. Sex and relationships are beautiful AND messed up. One can write a book about it.. well, people do. Boooring. You can't pedestalize sex. It just is. Shame is nice to have. But if you had shamelessness... you can rule the world. (and I'm not talking about being a slut about it). Just dealing with it.

5. Sometimes I'm so blunt its ridiculous. See # 4. I also hate dumb girl bands. Like Pussycats or Girlicious... I'm all for women's empowerment too, but there's a fine line between women and ho's.

6. If a truck hit me right now, I'd have no regrets. Sorry that my life is over, but I'll die happy (as long as its quick).

I tag... I dunno. Anyone who's interested? Just let me know so I can hound you after u're done. In the meantime, I tag.... the guy who was in charge of deciding to issue Zimbabwe's Z$500m banknote..

I really wanna know how this guy thinks. How he has achieved his ...sense of utopia with his messed up head. I mean, I'm messed up... and I haven't achieved anything yet! How is it that a guy like Mugabe is still alive in the eyes of the free world and still allowed to drive a country to the ground with his ridiculous policies.

I couldve tagged Musharraf and 50 other politicians too, but thats old news.

Of men

Sometimes I feel.... no, I wish, I wish I was born a man.

Let's face it - somehow God mucked it up when he made me a girl. I mean, I'm sure he intended for me to be born a boy... my mother was already destined to give birth to 4 boys, would another boy have made a difference?

In a way, I'm more of a man than most guys out there even if I say so myself (if you're as strangely aroused as me at this point... you need help.. like me). I mean, I am the most craziest girl I know. One day I got tired of dry eyes so I walked into the laser clinic and the next thing I knew, I was getting my eyes X-Men cyclopsed. I got bored in the summer so I decided to go white whiter rafting.. and skydiving... and rock-climbing. I love sports. I've jumped off cliffs to dive. I've scuba-ed. I've jet skiied. I havent swum with the sharks yet, maybe one day I will. I love getting dirty (as long as its not my hair). I fall asleep on couches with the TV blaring like guys. I love cars. I've travelled *far* to see my guy AND girl friends when they were too cheap/chicken to make the trek. I love super heroes action flicks. I love comics. I love dumb sex jokes. I don't like porn or tech (hey 2 out of 2 million ain't bad). And most importantly, I love girls.

See, I might as well be an honorary man. It's only fair.

I think if I channelled my frustration with guys in a more productive fashion, I would've become some CEO or something. I mean, I waste SO Much of my time with useless shit like relationships. I mean, guys aren't rocket science. Lock. Key. Insert. How bloody hard is that. Not at all. I'm wasting this brain away... thinking like a girl just because I AM a girl. All the years of training and living with boys (my bros) have taught me nothing.

One of my very good friend told me that  I just don't meet the right guy because there just aren't enough men I meet who are man enough to take me on. Ew. What does that mean? How manly am I? I don't look like a man, as far as I can see. I have a nice face. I hope. Pretty eyes. Nice lips. Nose.. needs work. Hair ... debatable. I like my boobs. I like my butt. I like my legs. I even like my abs. I do hate my arms though (1 out of 10 million ain't bad). But then my friend also described me as "earthy", (I do wax, so not THAT earthy) self-confident and I am in a pretty good place, and somehow since that is somehow a whole in itself ie I am not 'fragmented' per se, apparently I scare off people.

Utter bollocks, I say. Isn't that how we all are? How many times do we go upto random strangers, or friends, and describe our innermost flaws? I will most certainly never go outright to the guy I have the hots for and state how much I hate my thighs and how I condemn them every day for not being Cameron Diaz like. He can very well tell me to my face how much he hates them, and proceed to never see me again. That is his job, not mine.

But apparently, that is where the fault lies.

The fact that I just take that for granted.  How can a girl be so utterly blasé about such trivial matters that a normal girl obsessed with the latest fashion mag be pulling out hairs for? But I am not! I just don't show it to people I barely know!

But then the guys I barely know don't know that.

They think I am immune. Invincible. And because of this, like a moth drawing closer to the flame, they hover. They come.

And then once they get to know me, its either sink or swim.

I have figured out that I may be a little.. overwhelming. Not overwhelming in a "ooh look at me Im so hot Im overwhelming". Maybe overwhelming in that I'm sort of there and.. I'm just there. Available. I'm not aloof any more. I'm not something to be ...working hard for any more. I'm not a field to be harvested any more. I'm just .. there. No more novelty. Just plain ol' me.

That sucks. Does that imply I have nothing to contribute anymore? Am I a token wear diapers, go to school, get to a good school, get married, wear diapers, die kinda person? I'm more than that. I have so much to offer. I am someone who will change your life because of my energy, my naivete even in a battlefield, my love for laughs, my innate sense of lovetillyougetjipped syndrome. I like to think for myself. I like to do stuff. I'm grateful for life. And I'm not completely ugly. I'm unique, in my own bubbleworld way.

So then it shouldn't be sink or swim to the dude getting to know me. But inevitably it is. I either get bored... or I become boring.... or guys don't keep up with me. For a plethora of reasons. They can't keep up with the facade. They thought I was someone else and I am not. They just don't fit into my lifestyle and vice versa. All these are the dumbest reasons I have heard. I'm going to go with the one reason I believe in - they're plain dumb.

I am not an enigma. I am as simple as an ABC book. I'm crystal clear. I am more transparent than Sue from Fantastic Four (that was one duuuuuuuuumb, albeit hot, costume). No riddles. How hard can it be to keep up with someone who is not a riddle? I'm so simple. Just like a guy.

Shoulda been born a guy.  I would have been checking out every girl on a Friday night if I was a guy.. instead of spending it composing a post like this.

This is why women give in to guys so easily

1. We don't have time to wait for you to figure out if you want us/like us or not.

Frankly, our biological clocks have been ticking away since we got introduced to Aunt Flo at 13. IF we wait around for that crucial time when you have finally figured out us.... when you have finally come at crossroads at 35 and have been to a million of your friends' weddings and are sick of clubs and have had that epiphany that YOU also would like to fall in love and have kids and someone to cuddle with at 3 am in the morning....  when you're convinced you want US to be carrying your sperms and carry on your bloodline... Aunt Flo would have come and gone, and Aunt Flo and us included would be 6 ft under. In a world where we consider a 5-second delay for an Internet page to load as blasphemous, this is indeed ... a *very* short time.

2. We pretty much know what we want the minute you open your mouths.

i.e. you. So we give in to you.

if we don't like you, we just ignore you.

You should be so flattered - unlike shoes, we have you all figured out before even hearing your vocal chords. Sometimes a look is enough. Sometimes the pheromones just do the trick. Call it women's intuition, or animal instincts. It is unfortunate that you tend to figure us out AFTER ..... just about everything. And still tend to be confused.

3. Relieving you from foreplay

Let's face it - foreplay is just not a guy's forté. NOT that there is anything wrong with it. Men lack the genes to master this exquisite game. In my lifetime, the only human being that I have come across who had actually delivered in this area was.... the lesbian woman who hit on me during salsa. Foreplay is like ballet - and for a man to admit that he is good at ballet is like him admitting that he knows quotes from Sex & the City. Case closed.

4. We don't ask for much

Sometimes a whisper is enough. Sometimes a joke here and there. Even dumb ones, we're not picky. Sometimes a thoughtful Valentine gift. Sometimes they cost money. Sometimes just opening the door. Sometimes it doesn't cost a thing.

5. Sometimes we like you just the way you are.

Sometimes it's just so simple.

So we accept. And we give in. And then we are considered as Easy as pie.


It's really unfortunate and ironic that we're considered easy because we like you as you are... because we don't think its rocket science... because we just go out of our way to make YOU happy.

The Paradox Of Our Age, by Dr. Bob Moorehead

(Not by me... but I had to put it up!)

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, yet more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion; big men and small character; steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce; fancier houses but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember to say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember to say "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak, and give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

Dr. Bob Moorehead is former pastor of Seattle's Overlake Christian Church. He retired in 1998 after 29 years in that post. The essay appeared in 'Words Aptly Spoken,' Dr. Moorehead's 1995 collection of prayers, homilies, and monologues used in his sermons and radio broadcasts.

Riptide

It's like this.

You know how sometimes in life, you go through an extremely dry spell where nothing just fits the bill or cuts it? You come home to an empty apartment where hydro bills, Columbia DVD spams, mail-order diplomas and post-it-notes on the fridge with grocery list-to-dos await you... and are a constant reminder that these are a more prominent fixture in your life? It's a sad realization when you remember that your idea of coming home involved coming home to that constantly blinking light on your answering machine (or cell phones) informing you of few missed calls and voice messages from friends reminding you of the get-together reminiscent of a Sex And the City episode.. and then somehow, somewhere, somebody... popped the bubble?!

Until one day, when you just let it all out.

You stumbled across one of those yoga sessions held in a swanky Soho loft with 20 ft ceilings where the guru is none other than Mahesh or Ramu from the corporate jungles of Mumbai (and also reknowned disciple of the famous Deepak Chopra or some other Westernized yogi out to make his millions with his bestsellers and audio tapes), and while sweating out your stress armed with the power of chakras or aashnas or other samosa sounding what-other-have-you names you've mastered thats not Bollywood, you've decided that "hey, I've found my true calling, my meaning of life?!" and you feel SO liberated that you just. let. it. all. out. for. the. whole. world. to. see.?

I am NOT talking about letting out your boy for some fresh air!

I'm talking about opening up your heart for all to dissect and see, to hold, to caress, to love while it is still beating palpably and ominously.  And in a weird, intoxicating way, everybody embracing it... with the atherosclerosistic flaws.

When I wrote the last serious post, I guess I just had it. Not in a "I'm fed up, folks, I'm divorcing you!", but more like, "I love you guys so much, but I'm so sorry for.."

I wrote, and wrote, and wrote.. about the disappointment I am assuming I have been, and apologized for future expected disappointments. I wrote with lumps in my throat, oblivious to how silly the whole concept was. I wrote in my blog. Because if I were to tell them to their face, they would think being single has evoked PMS symptoms in me everyday and I needed to be admitted to a mental institute (hai becchari, she's so lonely now she's talking about naansense!" Which is so not true, because I am not lonely! Just... bored!) Somehow somewhere in all that, readers commented, and within that..... I found my acceptance and my validation.

Validation that I'm not alone, validation that it's ok to go against the tide, validation that it's ok to be human and not the stereotypical desi girl. Welcome to the 21st century, baby!

I wanted to hold on to that feeling like a new mum holds on to her newborn. I just didn't want to let it go. I wanted to kiss it and smother it.  Do you know how hard it is to want something SO BADLY, and when you finally get it, you just don't ever want to let it go? I embraced....  no, I grabbed it. I held on to it. I wanted to smother it, bask in its new mum glow, and just enjoy every second of that ethereal feeling of that post-maternity leave because heaven knows when you will feel that sublime again.

And then you grow up and remember that if you don't speak up, your readers will leaaaaaaaaaave you and unbookmark you and write you off like next day's garbage!!!!

So here I am.

How you been? :)

I'm graduating in 2 weeks, and I can't wait to be kicked around the curb like every new post-grad out there!

WOW

I am seriously blown away.. gobsmacked.... at the depth of comments I've received in the last post.

YOU. ARE. FABULOUS. Your words, your thoughts, your openness.

I am .... as George Costanza would say.... speechless. I am without speech!

There is so much I have to say to each and everyone of you, maybe I dont need to, but I feel I should. Cuz thats just me!

Ive got a major project due Monday so Ive been slaving away all week (in between shoe modelling... *giggles*). I'll write my thoughts Monday night.

See you soon! :)

Thank you all, for existing.

Letting go of your dreams....

... to embrace reality.

This can be a hard sell, I'll tell you that.

Little white girls grow up dreaming of that beautiful wedding gown, hair done in a 'do with wisps of loose strands streaming down a sinewy neck laced with her mother's favourite pearls, her shoulders bare in a strapless wedding gown - sometimes the only bit of mystique being that beautiful but matching thin veil that adorns that lovely head. The setting is either a historic old church set in the countryside, or a garden bedecked with matching white patio furniture with white lilies. The 'wild' ones dream of having something close to the beach with the sun setting in the background and the waves lapping up the lovers' feet.

I grew up envisioning red. Lots of lots of red. And yellow. Not daffodil yellow in beautiful meadows, but the yellow that one associates with gold biscuits. Yep, not the bling that one associates with solitaire diamonds, but the bling that one associates with that tacky 21 carat jewellery. Along with those visions are plastered memories of a crying... no, thats too mild.. how about a sobbing hysterical bride as she is jettisoned off from her parents palatial grounds to a car adorned with roses and marigold. She is not waving to the crowds with a wan smile as she is sent off to her husband's home, carefully hiding her happiness at her honeymoon trip to Jamaica once the wedding guests leave. Rather, she is gazing forlornly at her parents.. and her brothers... and her uncles and aunts and nephews and sister's kids and her high school girlfriends sisters and her 10 auntijies who are all sending out the wrong message during this auspicious day by simultaneously bawling their eyes out at the precious little girl that they have seen grow up and now is bethrothed to a ....*gasp* man.

Is it ANY wonder that I had grown up to despise weddings?

I didn't want to be THAT hysterical girl crying and ruining her monkey make-up!

I come from a family of boys. For the longest time, my dad made sure I had everything that my brothers had, and more. I remember when I was getting my ears pierced (I was 10) and while it was a rite of passage for most young girls, to my dad it was a day with dark clouds. I guess he couldn't get over the fact that his only daughter was just not going to be one of his boys anymore. He began to accept the fact that one day, like all fathers, he would have to give away his daughter to someone else's hand in marriage (amid a sea of hysterical relatives).

I think my dad was sadly off with his timing - I'm sure he expected me to be gone MUCH sooner, but daddy's little girl is STILL home.. so he must be eating his words.

So coming to Canada, living the Canadian dream, graduating with an undergrad, getting Canadian work experience, and assimilating to the Canadian culture and lifestyle (party it up while young, get a good paying job, hanging out with desi buddies), I didn't envision anything less for me. I assumed like all my desi friends, I would meet someone... somewhere... who would sweep me off his feet with his hilarious sense of humour, his dashing personality and good looks, his keen intellect, his love of the East and the West, his zeal for girls with jhumka earrings and sexy shoes, to meet me. To acknowledge me. To accept me. To want me.

Reality couldn't even be close. Reality is not a glorifed camera that zooms into one's dreams with a 30mm camera (???) and focusing only one's emotions. Reality isn't about living up to stereotypical dreams. Reality isn't Hollywood... or Bollywood. Reality is a bloody documentary channel.

Reality does not provide clues to what's right and what's wrong. You can't rewind reality and fix it later. You can only review it once it has happened. Reality is honest, bitter.. not necessarily loving.

Reality, however, is truth.

I am so sorry, mum and dad, for not living up to your dreams. For having stolen that stereotypical bride-in-red vision from you. I'm trying, but....  I don't know if its the fact that I don't have faith in it anymore because I find the whole concept preposterous given the layers of cynicism that shrouds it, or because it is so hard to reach for it now that I don't even know if I can fathom going through that barbed wire again and again and again, for the umpteenth time, just to fulfill this dream that you have to appease your sanity.

Forgive me, but... I must do what I have to do. I must let go of your dreams, and accept my reality.

The funness in being stalked

Thank you, my precious South African readers from bringing me out from the cold!

So much has been happening...

++ The SUN is out. The beloved sun wanted my company all week.. how could I resist? mmmm, Ish has missed the sun like the roses missed the rain... purrrrrrrrrrr hehehe
++ I got lazy = facebook.. stupid @#@#$$% facebook
++ Working out - Ive been on the Abs Diet .. so-so. It's been tough, pretties! My rotund brothas and sistahs, I NOW know what its like, I am sorry for all of the name calling pertaining to lard in the past, forgive me oh ye of large natures! But I have lost 6 lbs and working out every day and eating healthy so YES! It MAY just work, sistahs.

And now, the mother of all posts...

Do you remember the guy who called ME clingy? No? Do your homework, here!

You know what I most like about being me? The fact that destiny is so true to me... so what if one day a butcher asks me out.. so what if married men with prams give me the eye... the very next day, the sense of balance is returned when people who have jacked me over get the s*** that is due to them.

2 weeks after the jackass who called me clingy made me realize how stupid it was of me to give hope to mankind for dating my beautiful ass, he sends me a random text message.

Now since I deleted this twit from my phone, I was kinda confused as to who it was... was it, errr, my ex who has recently ditched me a 2nd time around (also deleted from phone).. was it the talkative Sally I went on a date a few weeks ago.. was it the other guy who I can't even rememberthenamebutitwasinYorkdalemall... It is SO hard being so popular and not knowing who you are supposed to have ditched or vice-versa!

I am almost tempted to text him back with ... "who are you?"hahahhahahahahhahahaa... Im sure he would have been so pissed... wth are you supposed to say when you realize you've been deleted off someone's list?! OUCH!

Anyways, so he sends me a reply back... we are exchanging pleasantries on sms when I realize it is the moron who called me clinger (henceforth known as The Real Clinger). It is quite.. blah, to say the least so I cut him off by saying that I have a meeting. He asks me if he can call me later. I LAUGH so loudly that I almost pee at my non-meeting.. but I say yes...

Things can only get better. - show-time people! Take notes, The Art of Slow Torture by Ish and co-authored by Sun Tzu begins!

On clockwork, The Real Clinger calls me after he's done work. I am about to head to the gym... I look at the caller ID blinking... and then I click on "Reject call"

:D It's only begun.

I've come back from the gym, taken a shower,  watching telly, when I see a message from The Real Clinger asking me if I am free to talk. I tell him I'll call back in 10 minutes. I finally wait 15 mins, then call back.

And I call back, and it is the most boring convo in the history of stalking.

The Real Clinger asks me if I am surprised at his calling back. I tell him no, not really... I wasn't expecting it, but I'm not surprised either. I can hear his disappointment on the phone.. and I stifle a smile at the other end.

Then The Real Clinger asks me if I wanna do something over the weekend.. I tell him no, I've got more important things to do. He tells me maybe next week.. I tell him I'll see.

I finally tell him I have to wake up in the morning, and he lets me off.

Over the next few weeks, I kid you not, EVERY 24 hours at the very least... The Real Clinger has been calling me.. texting me... wanting to see me... stalking me to say the least!

And I've been ignoring him. Sometimes I give him hope, I respond to his texts, I talk to him... and sometimes I'm the opposite. I cannot help but feel this sense of insane sadism as I do this. Have I become The Real Bitch here? Naaaaaaaaaaah!!!!

I'm not sure what is it that he wants from me -  he's the one who told me that I was clingy, he's the one that admitted to having problems with commitment in our predictable future, he's the one who brushed me off and made me feel so small.. and NOW, he is running after me, a few times every other day. I'm thinking when he was telling me that I was clingy, he meant HIMSELF, not me and my ears weren't workng right!

To top it off, his messages border on pathetic. When I finally confronted him and told him that sorry, my priorities do not include him, I could hear him sob thru his texts:
"but can't we just be friends, can't we?"
"I like being friends with you, you're cool to be with"
"are you free this weekend to squeeze me in your busy schedule?"
"Hey are you awake? can I call?"
"hey how was your weekend, did anything fun? enjoying the weather?"

I'm just rolling my eyes here.

Since I have been ditching him, he has since resorted to the pity card - taking advantage of my kindness by making himself look pathetic and making me pity him... "I feel like you don't care for me anymore" (hahhahahahhahahahhaa, oh that was classic!) because when I finally realized how LONELY he really is, I pitied him. How desperate and lonely does one have to be to chase after someone who they chased away by calling them clingy when in reality, he's the clinger himself?! WOW, that is the lowest of all low in the realm of patheticness... and The Real Clinger is at the bottom of even that. 

The Real Clinger: "oh, you're out shopping, what are you getting me?"
isheeta: "nothing, whats the occasion?"
The Real Clinger: "None, just because."
isheeta: "Well, cmon, you gotta do better than that."
The Real Clinger:  "...pause... it would put a smile on my face"
isheeta: "you should have a smile on your face as it is with this gorgeous weather"
The Real Clinger: "Well maybe you can see it when you see me this week weekend?"
isheeta: "I have a date this week so I cant promise anything"
The Real Clinger: "ok"

I think that should finally stop him. It's been 2.5 weeks of stalking. I'm not sure how celebrities enjoy being hounded by paparazzi. I've got one local stalker and while its a great ego boost, it is also coupled with feelings of pity and I don't like doling out the pity card unless you're a homeless animal or a child in some war-torn country.

Before the stalker started stalking me, I felt amazing. Now that I ditched him, I feel like I'm on top of this world! Maybe the sun helped, I dunno, but I am funnier in person, happier, and loving every bit of life.... I dont care that RedBull cut me off AGAIN (hahahhaa, tooo funny... looooooooser cuz I rejected him AGAIN), I dont care that Im graduating and freaked out about job prospects, I dont care that my parents are looking for a boy for me from the homelands (a post in itself - those convos are coming soon, As'ad!), I don't care that I hated the last clubbing session with some dumb blonde girl, I don't care that my arms are big.. no, ok, THAT I care.

This initiative to be a bitch made me realize how nice I was to so many people for the ungodly reason that I hated confrontation, but now I realize it's been so good for me. I think for myself, I'm back in to the groove, and I love it love it love it!

And I love you, TaKilla, Kanai and Scrumplicious, for those beautiful comments in the last post! Esp Kanai :) You rock buddy.

Proof that Isheeta's life is going down the tubes leading to a river of toxic waste

It's a nice sunny day today. I put on my sunglasses, took my car keys, and took my car for a spin to the latest trendiest place to be for students for some school shopping - the Dollar Store.

I put away my cheap 1$ binders that I purchased in my car, rev  it up, and proceeded to back out from my parking spot.

2 parking spots away, I notice this hot hot hot yummy man opening his trunk (no, NOT the one down south, you dirty pervs, his CAR trunk!) and glancing at me at the same time... ok, not really glancing, more like LOOKING at me....AND smiling.

He looks like George Clooney.. oh that yummy salt-n-pepa hair *drool*, and a nice cut bod...and he's so tall.. oh how I love me a tall fit cut man... and even nicer hair than Mr Clooney and he's just.. LOOKING at me like I'm a celebrity (I checked, no booger in nose).

So I am backing my car out and decide to smile at him behind my shades.

He notices AND responds. Icks. Yummm.

By now I am thinking what I shall name our babies... I've always liked the name Adam for a boy, and Sara for a girl, and I really like the pish posh area at Bayview, those condos overlooking the 401 *giggle* maybe we can settle there with our 2.5 kids, with the breathtaking view of rush-hour traffic... he's taking out something from his BMW, ooooh I wonder what it is... there's a Home OutFitters right next to us, maybe he bought a swanky little ottoman for his condo and he's going to return it.... he's still looking at me with his dreamy eyes and the smile is plastered on his face while I envision various other furniture pieces for our little nest when my eyes fall on the contraption that he finally chugs out of his trunk.....

A baby carriage.

Proof that Isheeta's life is clearly going down the tubes

Today, while purchasing some beef from a desi Halal grocery store, I got asked out by a.... butcher.

The End.

A HAPPY POST

Had to put that title... I'm not sinking into an abyss of depression, just to clear the air. I mean, hating the world does not mean that I hate myself or anything stupid like that. I love me. I'm so hot. Maybe if I say it enough times, I shall believe it!

Today, like a cruel sledgehammer that is my karma, I came across a random someone who LOVES clubs.

The last post (Bitch Revolution part 2) happened because I CANNOT stand clubs.

First of all, like I need someone. I don't need someone or anyone anymore, at all. So buzz off! End of discussion. I am quite content with my fat cat for company, thank you very much. I am looking towards a solitaire life with a few more of those during my octogenerian years. Travel a few times a year. Buy a boat or something. Be a bohemian like Matthew McConaughey. Get a girl pregnant and put on your website that you are going to make a baby by the love of God. Plus at least your cat is ok with you being 'clingy' hahahaha.

I would  rather be in a fish market than be in a club. I don't get it. If you're like 30 (like Mr ClubLovah), shouldn't you be like taking your blood pressure pills and combing your hair from back to front? Shouldn't that process take a whole Saturday night?

Clubs are so fake. So superficial.
1. Everybody looks good when the lights are all pink or blue or other random color. But when you see them in real life lighting... ewwwwwwwwww, barf.
2. Dumb ho's and dumb ox'es - 'nuf said.
3. $$$ - this wouldnt be so bad if I had some of that.
4.There are no trampolines in a club. They should get those.
6. Lack of hot dog vendors or ice cream booth
7. Pretending to have fun when you just want to sleep
8. Porn star clothes. That is just sad.

But I guess they're good for one thing - you get to see how much infidelity, or lack of it, that you will likely encounter with said person when he/she's eyes will hover around at all the clubbers.

So Mr ClubLovah asked me out for the weekend.. I said I'll think about it.

But since we are in my new improved phase, I'm going to say I'm washing my hair.

If I was my own mother, I'd spew out tears of joy at my own protege.

R(E)volution of a Bitch - 3

The other day, I went grocery shopping (since a girl cannot live on pineapples and chocolates alone).

I was putting away my groceries in the trunk. The grocery cart was almost empty. I could hear this Indian family in the background, nattering away in Southie. They pass by me.. then they stop.

The matriarch goes, "Veel you want this?", while pointing to the cart.

She looks like a fragile little lady... surrounded by her clan of 4 little grandchildren, a son resembling an ox and his tiny little wife.

Old nice dumb Isheeta response: No, no, not at all, I'm done my shopping, take it why don't you? Oh the quarter, you don't have any? Thats ok, its just change, dont need it. The wheels are a bit shifty, you gotta turn it like.. so, yeah.. there you go! *giggles giggles* No no, no need to thank me, its just a cart, not the Queen's carriage. Oh you're going to take this trolley home because you guys dont have a car in this weather? Well, I'm almost done with my shopping, why don't I just drop you off after I accompany you with your grocery... you know what? Why don't you just take my car keys while you're at it and drive away with my groceries and yours? Yeah! Long live humanity!

New bitchy improved Isheeta: So, where's my quarter lady??? Pronto, chop chop!

Baby steps, my pretties, baby steps, the ice queen cometh.

R(E)volution of a Bitch - 2

Do y'all remember Red Bull?

The only guy who actually delivered eons ago, only to dump me by stealing MY excuse (i.e. the religion card)?

Red Bull and I have ... been friends since. On and off. On and Off. Like Paris Hilton's legs.

You know how some people become.. *gasp* fuck/bed buddies?

Yeah, gross. Not me.

So we have been strictly friends. He's been trying to get me for a while since.. some years are better than others. I always laugh it off. It's become a running joke.  I know he means it.. I mean, he's a guy and all.  What guy wouldn't go for a freebie? He's got nothing to lose. Stupid.

So yesterday, I did the unthinkable. I stiffed him.

I can't give you details. But I guess if I had to describe in .. many words.. you could say, it was:

humiliating
embarassing
expensive
hurtful
inconsiderate

to him. By me.

What I did last night.. after he was so nice to me all these years.. I wouldn't even wish to a first wife being cheated on by her husband for a young spring chicken.

Today, he deleted me off facebook.

*GASP* DING DING DING DING DING!!!!!!!!!!

I know, if youre a facebookie, you know IT MEANS BUSINESS!!!

A part of me feels awful. He has been nothing but kind to me, in all other aspects. To this day, he always pays for everything, he is always very gentle, he is still thoughtful to me.. about me. Except the part where he is self-obsessed.

A little technical difficulty there, but whatever, he is only human.

Another part of me feels....  like it was just desserts.  What part of "no" is so difficult to understand these days? What part of "we're over" needs to be translated from Swahili to English? What part of "I CANNOT BE WITH YOU, ISHEETA, BUT I WANT TO GO TO BED WITH YOU?" is so normal? How many times do you want to take my heart and rip it up to shreds for the vultures to scavenge on? How many times do I have to want to shoot myself when I turn to you for advice only to realize that you think this is an opportunity for you to get some wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am? What will it take for you to realize that if I spend my time with you, it is time wasted that I can look for someone else?

I dunno if it is the PMS in me...... or if I'm taking this being a bitch revolution a little too seriously.. but when I went to that rocking party last night.. and faced with the prospect of making small talk with random strangers for 'networking/getting to know someone', I just couldn't be bothered.

WHY should I go out of my way to make small talk with these losers who I have no interest in? WHY should I put myself out there and be in my best behaviour for others who won't remember me past their 2nd drink? WHY should I care about these yuppie generation people who have more baggage than Air Canada's Lost Baggage Department? WHY should I care what they do for a living, if their idea of a living constitutes of wanting to save the world/making contacts for the future/getting numbers/making new facebook friends? WHY should I care that they know Lenny Kravitz? How is Leny Kravitz going to contribute to MY future? WHY should I look like I have won the lottery when all I want to do is take off my heels and curl up to the sofa and watch something romantic like Reservoir Dogs? WHY should I pretend to be interested in their love lives, or lack thereof? WHY should I meet them for coffee when my first instinct would be to throw a steaming cup of one at them?

WHY should I pretend to be so goddamned nice to the world, when I am completely and hopelessly disillusioned by it?

R(E)volution of a bitch - 1

Since it has been established time and time again that I'm getting kicked to the curb way too many times because...lets face it.. I lack the wily charms of manipulative women and thus am being shatted on left, right and centre, I have decided that.. it is time, indeed, to become a bitch.

I was advised that I can be bitchy without being a bitch.

Not possible.. I think being a Libra this means a delicate balancing will be involved.. of which I am no good at... so the best thing for now, is to go all the way.

So I took my laptop to school today. My wireless isn't working. So I go to reception and tell the secretary if she can flag down this tech guy to help me out at it.

She pings him. She asks him, "Can you help a student with her wireless on her own personal laptop?"

The guy at the other end of the line (who is a nice guy that I have spoken to before) says he doesn't have the time.

The secretary hangs up the phone, and with a smug look on her face, looks up to me like she has won the BitchFest of the Year award, and tells me, "No, he won't be able to help you out with your wireless."

I go, "huh?"

LadyBitch looks at me like I am the spawn of Satan, shakes her head sideways, and with clipped tones that would have given Mrs Havisham a run for her money, goes, "He can't help you out. It is our policy that we only help OUR college computers, not student computers. Nope. Can't help you."

Did I mention that this she-devil has had it for me since I started school?

Once she was invigilating one of my exams. My pen ran out of ink. Mrs Dillhole was doing a crossword puzzle. So I ask her if she can spare a pen. She looks at me like I am asking her for her kidneys and rolls her eyes. She did not find a pen for me nor even make the effort. I wrote my exam in blood.

(kidding.. with my colleagues' pen).

Recently she handed me my tuition tax receipt.. with the wrong address. I told her that I do NOT live in the suburbs of Brampton. She claims that is what she has on file. I tell her that well that is a mistake because I don't recall setting buying a house in Brampton and commuting for 2 hours just to get a wrong tax receipt. With obvious frustration, she takes my driver's license and my address. When I go to her later to collect it, she practically throws the receipt at me.

This has happened every time I ask her for my tuition receipt. "Can I have a receipt please?" "End of the day." I have yet to see a single receipt.

By this time, I'm thinking I have had enough of men and women of this world - so I tell her, well, I NEED help.

Her response: "My computer is working."

I hold my tongue. SO WHAT? MINE ISN'T! YOURE A GODDAMN SECRETARY. It is your job to look at administrative matters. I am sorry to announce that that is all you will amount to be, since playing SOLITAIRE on the computer all day long doesn't require a functional brain nor an internet connection. Secondly, would it kill you to talk with some civility to a person and not like I stole her collection of lard?! It is not my fault that you have collected copius amount of cellulite by sitting on your ass all day reading trashy gossip columns and thirdly, YOU DO NOT HAVE A 20% project due tomorrow, I DO, so GET ME A TECH SUPPORT NOW BECAUSE MY 20K a year IS paying for your damned tech support and unless he is being run over by truck the size of your fat face, tell him to get his butt over here and help me!

Of course I didn't say any of this out loud. I've got more class.

I know she keeps her food in the fridge.

I just spat in it instead.

Being a bitch ain't so bad.