TF, Jason Derulo? 

Okay, I don’t understand this generation, I don’t. I’ve said this a million times and I will say it again. Take the songs on the radio these days. Nicki Minaj started the whole new obsession with sausage. And it makes me so unhappy. 

Like, why would you collab with Jason Derulo and give the world a song called “Swalla”? The video had me going cringe cringe cringe every time Jason almost had sex sandwiches with like a thousand women. Check this out. 

I know that’s only two women, but trust me, the video has a thousand women trying to be centipedes. Now, back to the song. I understand it’s cool to cuss and be confident about your body, and that sex and sexuality shouldn’t be taboo anymore, I get it. What I don’t get is, why TF would anyone want to write a whole song about blow jobs? 

Like, what’s so special about it? Not to mention how gross and unappealing and tacky the whole thing sounds and how embarrassing it is to be with your mother in the car and the goddamned song comes on? Like I said earlier, CRINGE FEST. 

Now the next thing we know Jason Derulo is going to be fineapple-ing his way to the studio, singing about taking a dump and the glorification of crap covered toilet paper. And flushing. GOD. 

How Does It Feel?

Been weeks since we’ve hugged, or even said hello

Been days since I last saw you online 

I know it’s crazy, how I mold myself like Jell-O

How I pretend I’m okay and that I don’t really care 
When all I want to do is run back into the past 

Fix things, or maybe just try 

Or maybe just edit a few bits, maybe not move so fast 

Maybe it would just hurt a lot less then 
I know I’m just a doormat, 

Something you’d just wipe your feet on whenever 

So replaceable, insignificant as fuck 

So how does it feel 
Living in your own shadow

Without me looming around you all the time 

Don’t play with your next 

Don’t treat her bad, like you did me, after you called me, “Mine”
I hope she’s around to help you 

When you’re high from too much of everything 

I hope she never makes you feel blue 

And that she’s okay with whatever you do 
How does it feel, after me 

Does it feel great and do you feel free?

With nothing to hold you back, 

I hope you finally get to be what you wanted to be.

Dating Disasters

If you are in one of those relationships where your partner comes with a super desirable best friend, and you happen to find yourself falling for said best friend, panic not. It happens to the best of us. 

So what do you do?

1. Analyse the situation. 

The course of your action should be inversely proportional to the said person’s hotness. So let’s say they’re a perfect ten. Which clearly means run for the hills. They could be a perfectly made lasagna but you know too much lasagna bad for you, hunty. 

Jokes apart, ask yourself if you’ve fallen in love with the person, or it just merely happens to be a full-blown, rampaging rhino-esque crush. Scratch that. Lust. Are you horny over this person or you’re just in love love? The quickest way to figure this out is to determine the location of the butterflies that act like crazy old loons when they approach. Or just shows up. Are those butterflies in your upper belly or more closer to the nether regions? If it’s the upper belly, uh oh. You’re maybe in love. 


2. How serious are you? 

If you’re a girl and your boyfriend isn’t paying you enough attention, but his best friend always does – don’t jump to conclusions. He could be a easygoing cuddle bear of a guy who happens to be the exact same way with everyone. Observe him for a while before jumping to conclusions. 

If you notice he’s being extra nice to only you, and making it obvious he likes you too – weigh your options. Which brings me to point…

3. Is it worth it? 

You end up wrecking a friendship that’s probably as old as your Grandma and you make things awkward for everyone. Specially if you happen to ask them out and they say no and they totally blow you off. Ouch. 

So, if you’ve fallen in love with your partner’s best friend, put a paper bag over your head and pretend nobody exists while still spying on them. And oh, break up with your partner and emigrate to Egypt for a change. You’d get loads of better looking options. 

Happy Easter. 

Life Lessons, For the Umpteenth Time 

Okay, so I haven’t blogged in exactly thirty three days. Which is saying something, since this little corner of the internet that I actually get to call mine had been everything for me when I had nobody to talk to. Don’t get me wrong. I still have nobody to talk to, I probably have tuberculosis and I am definitely dying. 

March was a horrible month, you guys. 

I had no money, and I was basically living off loans. Life lesson, right there. While a bunch of people on the internet got together to make a huge mockery out of my depression, and said that the meds I was on were fake and that I was a compulsive, pathological liar, a couple of people, again on the internet, who I’d never met in real life, came forward to help me out. Yes, you heard me. They helped me out. No questions asked, even though they didn’t need to. Yes, good people do exist. 

You know who you are.

Never have I felt the need to talk about uh, issues, on social media. But now I have to. Just because someone is bored with their own lame life, don’t let them get to you. Life lesson two. You don’t owe anyone any explanation. Also, things happen for a reason. Which you’d understand later. 

This whole month has also taught me that some things are meant to be kept hush hush. Because talking about it? Not a good idea. So if you’re in a relationship, and unhappy as hell, and you find yourself falling in love with your partner’s best friend – don’t do it. I know, it’s hard but don’t encourage yourself. Life lesson three. I’ve seen friendships fall apart because of fickle partners (yes, these things happen. Yes, you aren’t at fault. Yes, it’s wrong so you need to stop it) and it wasn’t pretty. Stay unhappy, and well…

Depression isn’t cool, and yes everyone we know makes fun of it, but there are people you can talk to. I can’t thank Soumya Mishra enough for hearing me out. She’s awesome. Life lesson four. Misery does love company. It’s a crap idea to stew in your depression, so channel that into doing something else. Like, reading maybe. Petting a puppy. Or something. Talking to someone. If you have nobody like I do, get your ass over here and we can WordPress about it. 

I don’t encourage smoking.

Have a good week, guys!

Cash(less) Me Outside

Okay. So this is bad. 

It’s been more than ten days since my bank blocked my card. And they won’t unblock it. And they won’t help. So basically, I’m broke as hell’s belly in the middle of nowhere. 

Now, I don’t understand banking. Because I’ve always had the boyfriend handle my finances. And after he left, I had Paytm to help me get by. The crap hit the fan when I exceeded my Paytm wallet limit and had to resort to other apps like Ola Money and whatever to just pay off my bills. And I kid you not, Ola Money sucks bananas. Which means you’ll be charged if you make transactions more than INR 1000. 

So yeah, I was screwed. 

I have an SBI Maestro card from 2006 when I was like teenaged and naive and still am. On February 27 I tried to make a transaction and I got this text: 

These assholes can’t even spell ‘branch’ properly.

I panicked because when I tried using Paytm on March 1, they showed me that the phone number registered with this account was wrong. Like, WTF? Before my card stopped working, apparently my bank called me because I was making too many transactions. I should have known that something was wrong, because your bank won’t call you if you shop too much. And ask you for your address and what you do for a living. So yeah, I ignored that red flag and had my card blocked. 

I’m only writing this post because I need someone to help me out with this. I’d sent my Dad over to my home branch, since I can’t really go there – I’d have to take a flight and a cab – and they fed him some cock and bull story about some limit being exceeded. Wow. 

Does anyone on here know how ancient SBI maestro cards work? HELP. 

…me without my money. I have it, can’t access it. Gah.

I Maybe Actually Dying

Today’s been the cherry on top of a fantastic month. Wow. I believe I had a near-death experience. As per my usual blunt style, I’m gonna just tell y’all what did happen. 

So I woke up at my usual time, maybe earlier. Put on my glasses and turned on the lights. Couldn’t see anything. At first, I thought it was a power cut or something. But I could hear my fan going. So I thought maybe my lights weren’t working. Reached for my phone and still couldn’t see a thing. Now, I’ve had blackouts before but nothing quite as bad. This was full-tilt utter blindness. At this point I think I felt really nauseous and passed out. 

When I came to, thankfully my eyes were working again. I was lying in a pool of sweat. When I tried to get out of bed, nausea hit me again, pretty much like a speeding train. I live on my own, and the first thought that crossed my mind was, “Who’s gonna make my funeral arrangements, because I don’t want to die forgotten?” So I calmed myself down, and tried reaching out to my parents. And couldn’t get through. Ah, lovely. 

I believe I’m dying. I’m not kidding, because my health has been failing for quite some time now. I don’t talk to anyone about it. But this bottling up of things is making me rantier than my usual ranty self. I’ve been snapping at people unnecessarily. Been spending too much, going into debts because YOLO. And giving people reasons to believe I’m a pathological liar. And I’ve been trying to hide what I’m actually going through under my huge sarcastic personality. When all I really am is just really, really sick. Maybe dying. 

I’ve got tachycardia (not important) and depression (oh fuck it, she’s lying and depression isn’t gonna do Jack squat) and hyperthyroidism (blah, she won’t die of that shit). All diagnosed. My retinas are super weak and I’m at a huge risk of tearing holes in them. Prozac isn’t helping me, either. So please forgive me if all I want to do is live a little. 

I don’t expect you to understand, and I definitely don’t need your pity. This post was meant to be for those readers of mine who seemed genuinely concerned about my MIA status. And a huge shout out to my friends who are psych majors for being so… extra. If only you’d used your degree and applied it to me and helped me get through my issues rather than doing whatever I made you do. All my fault. 

Anyway. So this is what’s been happening with me, and I just needed y’all to know. 

Some Nights 

I know he’s emotionally not into me. 

And I know he tries. Oh, how he tries. And I know he’s slipping. 

It’s been five months of this, this charade. Holy matrimony, they called it, waving us goodbye. Holy crap, I told myself. I was right. 

You know how people say a marriage changes everything? It does. It changed me. I’m calm. Calmer. Sweeter. Kinder. Nicer. A lot more patient. A lot more vulnerable. I quit my job to come live with him. Lisbon is beautiful. And so is he. 

The problem is, the rest of the women think so too. 

His longish hair. Proud cheekbones. That nose. Those eyes. Everything. When it comes to the Indian custom of the famous arranged marriage, boy, did I hit the jackpot. My husband Raghav is perfection. Husband. Did I just say that out loud? Six months and I still feel…new. 

He’s asleep as I stay awake, thoughts chasing each other like crazy inside my head. This is the fourth time this week he’s talked in his sleep. I hear him say the same name. Like a prayer. Over and over. Pooja

Some nights he makes love to me and he’s so gentle I almost manage to ignore him saying her name – almost. 

Some nights I want to kill whoever she is. 

Some nights I want to kill him. 

Some nights, I want to set myself on fire.

And some nights, like this one, I look down at my belly and feel the life growing in there. And I can’t bring myself to do it. 

Do I lose my man to her? 

Do  I  lose to her

Some nights I know what to do. Like tonight. I let him go. I leave the signed divorce papers in the hall where he can see them first thing. They’re a tad bit wet with my tears, but that’s okay. I wish I could watch him watch the baby grow, but I’m barely showing anyway. He doesn’t have to know. 

Some nights you know it’s okay to lose, in the name of love.