♫ ♬These are a few of my (least) favorite things!♩ ♪

I recently  came across this list of things which are an absolute no-no in a man I may want to meet/marry/divorce  someday. The obvious things like pathological lying, cheating, wife-beating, drug using, snobbery, eating noisily with mouth open, being shitty at parallel parking etc., I am leaving out. Okay, so this is more a specific hate list based on a guy I did  know once. Before he skunked out.

1.) Doesn’t eat meat: I don’t want to mention the “V” word/s. This is sacrilegious. How on earth are we expected to peacefully co-exist if we cannot enjoy a matrimonial meal mostly comprising of bacon? No collective sighing over the sight of grilled chicken? No astonishing amounts of pâté on toast on Sundays? No synchronized gasp over steak?  This is absolutely unacceptable. Though…in hindsight…no one to steal bacon from my plate when I am not looking (meat-gasming). The grilled chicken is mine, all mine (my precious…muhahahha!) and there can be gasps over other things… like great works of art, or new technology, a sale at (tch tch, get your minds out of the gutter). But, seriously, watching the one constant person around eating quinoa and kale for the rest of my life? No, I’d want to share all this goodness (albeit begrudgingly).

2.) Fidgets: If there isn’t  a medical condition to excuse your constant fidgeting, I don’t want to know you. I cannot stand people who can’t sit still. Head twitching, finger tapping, constant leg shaking, shifting around on the couch, pacing about for no apparent reason. Ugh. I swear it gives me the shakes (No. It doesn’t. Seriously, no fidgeting.) It’s like you’re constantly bursting to pee! Have you done something you’re nervous about? Are there corpses in your basement I should be aware of? Are there red ants in your pants? (Them black ones do not bite, so not a valid reason.) Electrotherapy, counseling, meditation, 20kgs of prozac – I don’t care what is it that you need to do to sort this problem out, but please, do, be still.
3.) Bad with directions: There are some people who are perennially lost, you know? And they are so spatially challenged, both indoors and out, they will invariably point at the exact opposite direction when talking about a street or location. This is the most maddening thing even and always drives me up the wall. I recently read that there is an actual positioning system, an internal GPS if you will, in your brain, which controls this. Well, if it ain’t functioning in yours, please get lost. (Oh, I know you so will.)
P.S.: Asking for driving directions is fine. But if you don’t get it in three tries, then, boy…we have a problem.
4.) Scoop-less: Always being oblivious to gossip is not endearing. I need a man with some input on the current going-ons of the rich and famous (must be super tabloid worthy) or at least be willing to pretend to do know Kimye (Yes, I said ‘Kimye’.) You can’t scoff at my need for scoop. Scoop is important. If we’re talking about cats in boxes that are and aren’t there, we’re also talking about Amanda Bynes’ latest exploits. Okay, no, maybe not her. But sneakily watching Wrecking Ball and Bound 2  and then pretending to be above it all is lame. Okay, I am kidding (we all do that). What I would really appreciate is having something to contribute to a meaningless, fun conversation once in a while. Lord knows I can make up most of it, but that remaining 20%, that’s on you, man.
5.) Doesn’t wear color: Which law states that if you’re male you cannot wear any color beyond black, white, blue and gray – or a grim combination of these? Someone please tell me where it’s written down. Are you a vampire? Or are you just the biggest sexist ever? (A bit much?) Okay, but seriously color CAN be part of your wardrobe, not just a bit of pattern on your tie or sock (and sometimes, sadly, it’s not even that to be honest!). Being able to wear color says something about a man, methinks. And, please, no tacky ‘gay’ jokes. Rise above, people, rise above.
6.) Doesn’t read: Inexcusable: Just newspapers and Upworthy does not count.
7.) Doesn’t like swimming: Being the one sport I can abide (and somewhat excel at err relatively) I would appreciate someone who appreciates the sport/hobby. Okay, so it’s not an important point (or remotely interesting). I was running out of issues to hate at this point.
Okay, that is it. Apparently. Now I know why I am single.
#doomed #stilldoesnotknowhowtohashtag #stilldoesntcare
Oops, before I forget: 8.) Cowardice: Burn, fool!!
Over and out.
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Of cowardly mice and mad cats :D

How does one remake one’s life to get out of a godawful funk? Well, that’s easy, you just… err…

Okay, so here it is. There is no, forget easy or hard, ‘way’ to remake/reboot one’s difficult situation. You can try and think for a short delusional time that you’re putting on a brave enough front of the world and more importantly in front of friends who know you as well as they do their yesterday’s sun dried underwear, hoping to fool them into thinking that you’re suceeding, but the fact of the matter is, the only thing you can ever really do is pick yourself up, dust yourself down, delete some annoying people from your Facebook friends list who cannot resist sending you stupid game invites, and feel like you have taken charge of your life and, move on. To move on, when you’re older and maybe wiser, means A) Not acting out. It’s hard but you got to do it. You inwardly curse and bitch and plot bloody murder but you just cannot act out. Outwardly there’s this beatific smile that belies the vile pit of red hot anger you deal with until one day it simmers down to a cold forgotten pile of ashes, much like the person who inspired it. Thought-to-spoken word filter process is at an all time optimum and an implacable aura of quiet surrounds you like a black thundercloud before an Assamese monsoon. You see it. You know it ought to bode well but actually means an evil spate of torrential downpour where sommboddy gonna get a hurt real bad. Then comes B) Eating cake. Or whatever you can buy with the Sodexo meal coupons you’re foisted with every month cause there’s no way else you can rid yourself of them. You’d buy groceries but you are really not in a mood to cook/create edible items meant for sustenance. You’d rather watch things burn and daaaiiiii. And then to the happy sighs of roommates and friends, the final, natural progression for me is: C) You blog about it. Simple!

So, anyway, coming back to the point of this piece : new beginnings and slightly less morbid things than that ranty bit above, I have sought change by attempting to socialize more, which in my case amounts to socialising. Period. And also, more recently, maybe too recently and hence too early to proclaim to the world at large, but I’ll do it anyway cause I’m dumb like that (which may have caused all this to begin with), indulging in a craze that has up until now always evaded my dithering interest (and increasing bulges): joining the gym. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I have after all been all of once. Whether I manage to drag myself out of bed at 6.30 am tomorrow to make it for the second time is something yet to be determined. But I am optimistic. And that’s what counts, really. Optimism and the courage to follow through and take a goddamn chance…. Okay here we go again. The rant is beginning to break through.

Go scampering back into your comfort zone. I banish you, my spell of bad luck.

To my gym trainer, good luck.