Well, lets see…. Embarrassing secret…. I once had a rape fantasy pleasure session. It involved the faceless guy. He’s the guy in every session. His body varies – from Jayne from Firefly all the way to Eric from That 70’s Show. I’m a complicated woman. Anyway, I don’t know if I ever actually want any of the things faceless guy does. Scratch that, I definitely want some of them things, just not the rape one. I guess one time imagined rape was enough to satiate this woman. No joke. So if shit happens to me, this is not, I repeat, NOT a testimony to my actually wanting whatever forcible peanuckle I may have the misfortune of facing in the future. Though knowing me and my reputation, that battle is already lost. Asshole society.
So that’s the embarrassing secret. And for the record, this is not a sign to send me “invitations” to the “BDSM Sex Chat Forum” or something. The BDSM Literature Forum is good enough for me, thank you.
I have been busy. I made props through the weekend, had my best beef steak yet, went to Blossoms in Bangalore and bought Moab is My Washpot (Rs. 200) and Curtain (Rs. 100), got happy high, and felt like a pedophile though I’m not.
I didn’t sleep last night because I was busy drawing something for friends. What was it, you ask? (Not really. You don’t really ask) It was a fat headless lecherous policeman from Bihar. Its part of the tableau for a film we’re making. Its not very high budget, so at some point they plan to use the life size fat man I painted over last night and digitize it. I don’t understand the intricacies but they’re gonna CGI the crap out of that painting.
Or it could to be used as a photo front for people in the Awadh Magadh Fest, i.e. U.P., Bihar, Uttarakhand, Jharkhand, etc. fest in college. I’m being told anyone I allowed to join in the fest, i.e. pay money for it, dance for it, and serve people food at it, if your jiya is Bihar ka. That deal sounds funtashtic. Pay, dance, serve, and be from poor ass state mentally. ‘Ppreciate the Wasseypur though.
Said fest was good, probably because it was the last one. That sucks about fifth year. All the silly things that were just silly things that I didn’t give a shit about before become important cause ‘it’s the last time’. I’m not even being sarcastic. Going soft in my old age. Soft in the brain. But watching three of my best friends get their groove thang going, Bihari style, was fun. Especially because two of them had to get their groove thang going with each other and they were very uncomfortable. That’s what friendship is – when you laugh your ass off at people to their faces.
Anyway, in (dis)honor of my coming out last week as an ex Edward-liker, I will be talking about all the things about me that I consider girly, largely by traditional definitions of girly. In the process we can analyze gender perceptions. Really, we can. Cause I’m qualified to do that. My non-straight friends have assured me of this. And you know, they never lie cause they’re gay. *fail
First, something I did just a while ago, and may or may not be doing right now, I wrap sheets around my body, gown style, while I’m in my room alone. And while this is largely for convenience, because bed-sheeted woman is the show I want to give peeping toms and not naked woman, it’s also secretly because it feels nice. In a girl way. There, I said it. What? Girls are not naked in their rooms sometimes? Yours truly begs to differ. And my parents and sister can testify that I was at least born a girl. I could get more witnesses to my girl parts in recent times but they made me sign some dumb contracts. Literally, I have to be dumb about it. Political Correctness wins again.
When I run into make-up, and if I’m alone, I often try it out just to see what it looks like and if I can do the stuff properly. I can. The steady hands are useful. Also, I do it cause it feels good. Down in the south cause it’s a girl thang *human beat box*. Not really. I just went on rap song roll. It does not feel good in my vajayjay. It feels good in my brain. Cause of endorphins. That get released because it’s a girl thing.
I try on clothes once I get them home and spend at least 10 minutes looking at myself critically. Then I read some Germaine Greer and feel my inner tigress. No, I get off my ass like a strong woman and realize that I’m beautiful inside and out. No, I just cry for ages. No, really, I just get distracted cause I think of something more interesting. Like Life of Pi being made into a movie. That’s the stuff.
I once had shitty self clicked pics. Still have one or two of them in my facebook. I took down the really shitty ones. I don’t wish to comment on that period of my life. I had just discovered digital cameras and hi5 and the lyrics to backstreet boys songs on the interwebs. It was a dark time. Say no more about it.
I remove hair a lot. I don’t want it cause I likes me skin smooth. Maybe not all the time, maybe I just go wild sometimes, but eventually, I take it all off. I will probably never stop and I don’t care what you say, mega feminists I meet every now and then. I don’t care if you don’t remove your body hair, so can you not bother me when I do? I do what I want, cause I’m a strong, brown woman.
Sometimes, I just feel shitty when I think everyone around me looks like a million bucks and I feel frumpy. Then I actually end up looking frumpy cause I have a frumpy expression on my face. This endless dark cycle of bad looks- bad feels is often spoken about in what girl magazines I have perused. As an asocial person forced to socialize every now and then, I can tell you what works for me here – A raging mask of bitch face. I get so frumpy that I get angry and pissed. So I put on a bitchface, wear whatever I want and ignore the fuck out of everybody and everything. This works for about a few hours. Then I come back to my room, watch some TV, and go to sleep, and wake up feeling better. Sometimes, you just got to let out the bad ass bitch. Even if that bitch doesn’t really do anything bad ass, but in fact, just sits around and reads a book in public to avoid looking at said public…. Said beautiful, happy, smart public that I will never be a part of…. Oh Oscar Wilde, I hate how your snarky little comic commentaries on life are so true. But then I feel good, cause I finished a book I wanted to finish for a while. Girl Power. Woot.
When I watch sports, for the most part I’m thinking stuff like, “He’s hot”, “gross, what’s up with his hair?”, “he needs braces”, “the fuck is going on? I don’t understand why these people play this stupid game”, “OH MY, that body…..”, “*humming Call Me Maybe”, “Shit, this is one ugly ass group of men”, “Holy crap… take me….-”
I have researched extensively, every single part of things of a sexual nature that can happen to me. I know weight distribution, positions, balance issues, clothes issues, birth control issues, pee issues, crap issues, teeth issues, hair issues, dirty talk issues, BDSM issues…. Literally, I think I became well versed with pretty much everything, what with the internet and the graphic Kama Sutra my friends gifted me. I have not read anything for about a year that shocks me. Call me anal (no pun intended, but go ahead if you want) but I will never have to be shocked into not bonking when I want to bonk. I’ll know what I want. Come on, that has to be something girls do, right?
What else? Oh yeah, when I have a crush, I do that 12 year old girl thing of ignoring the crap out of them for about a week. The next week I spend finding out stuff about the guy. The week after that I’m back to crushing on Jon Stewart and Tina Fey cause I found something irritating in the guy.
Man, I’ll run out of a lot of embarrassing things for future infractions if I keep this up. No worries. I’m sure I’ll keep doing/ saying/ thinking embarrassing things.
When I see a nice dress that I like, I imagine me in it with the body of someone who exercises, walking into a room where everyone goes quite – cause I’m that stunning bitches. I felt some intense as shit connection with Michelle in American Pie 3: The Wedding because of this. Oh yeah, I connect with American Pie characters. Eat shit if you’re surprised.
I watch Romantic comedies a lot. Half of the time because the guys are hot. The other half cause the guys are sad little pussies when they fall for the girls. That’s how I want guys to fall for me. Then, because they’re sad little pussies, I’d reject them. No joke. My friends can testify to this rather fucked up side of me. This is as close to romantic as my fantasies have ever gotten. It’s the basis of me liking desperate guy songs like “Cecelia”, “The Reason” by Hoobastank, “500 Miles” by The Proclaimers, “Jealous Guy”… you name it.
ME: Enough! Neuroses are only funny in small doses. This is overkill. Seriously man, just. Stop.
me: I think it as going rather well. And I hoped you were gone forever.
ME: Not when you’re bugging me into activity with this crap. This is pitiful. You were going to write creatively, but you’re too lazy and scared of being politically incorrect so you left that half way done and now you’re writing this fluffy piece of rubbish.
me: Hey! Just…. That would have taken time and I didn’t want to put off this week’s post also. I’ll run out of acceptable embarrassing secrets to tell.
ME: Damn right. And I know exactly why you stopped having me around. You can keep your safe secrets. I have better and you know it. The secrets I keep are anything but acceptable. They could seriously damage some calm.
me: Hey! Jayne reference!!
ME: Stop trying to distract me! My point is, you’re not bold enough.
me: Oh, I’m plenty bold. I got bold all over. I just refuse to upset things more than necessary.
ME: Fine. Just. Write the other thing so you can put it up next week.
Anyway, we’ll leave it there, shall we?