Why not men?

Disclaimer: Not fit for easily-offended people... Such people please stay away from this post. And contains content that is not suitable for children.

Why is it that when you try to abuse a man in english, you usually end up abusing their mothers and not them?
Look at all the examples :
Son of a b***h - You are calling his mother, a dog.
Bastard - You abuse his mother's character by implying that he and everyone else doesn't know who his father is.
Mother-f****r - You see what I mean?

This is to name a few. Why is it so? Is it because society is patriarchal enough to deem men as un-abuse-able? And are there any names to call men which aren't mother-related?

And thanks to everyone who has commented on my earlier post... But I'm not going to stop blogging till the very end.. till 8th night to be exact! that too, prob everyday... since I'll be at home...

Time

I wish I may,
I wish I might,
I wish upon a star tonight...
And yet... no matter how many stars I wish upon.. time will not go faster, will it?
It is most annoying when one is looking forward to something thats still quite some time away....
I know time is relative.. and I only feel like its getting slower every minute... But that doesn't dispel the mounting frustration I am feeling...
I am going to kerala on 9th... Hurrah! A visit to God's (and mine) Own Country that has been long awaited and one that has been pending for long... It is almost two years since I went to ente naadu!
For the one month I am going to spend frollicking in the green fields and mosoon rain.... there will be no blogging... I will miss it... But what has to be, has to be..
Pushing the needle on the clock... Encouraging it, pleading with it and doing all I can to make it go faster...
Oh! When will 9th come?!?!?

Thin & Thinner

Disclaimer: I mean no offence to fat men or thin men or diet-addicted females. I am just expressing my opinion.

A friend has written about women and weight loss. His views include a lot of very misogynistic comments, which I prefer to overlook, for now. But the part that interested me the most was where he talks about how almost every woman is jealous of every woman thinner than her.

Now this, I thought at that time, was absolute nonsense. And I still think it is. Only I am sure that a lot of women are jealous of those who are slightly thinner than them. The operative word here is ‘slightly’. No woman can be jealous of a stick insect. Here I exclude all anorexics and bulimics. I feel sorry for them but they definitely have a mental problem.
I too sometimes wish I had a slimmer frame, (to say the least). But I must say that I pity all those girls and women who starve themselves in order to lose a few pounds and since these starving sessions rarely can be sustained, and almost always end with a huge eating binge, they gain all those precious pounds in a matter of days. I have a couple of friends who do this and listen to no reason when they are on one of their ‘slimming strikes’. One of them even threw away all the chocolates in her fridge!I have no idea how she could do that when there are plenty of food-aholics like me surrounding her...
Another one proceeds to starve whenever it strikes her that she has put on weight. She also imagines often that she has lost weight. The rest of us just politely and patiently indulge her. What is the sad part of all this is that it becomes an obsession with these people. The only thing they notice about everyone and everybody they see is how fat/thin they are. Every time they pass any reflecting surface, they look at themselves to see whether they ‘look’ fat or not.

But this post was not about these silly girls. This post was going to be about how a lot of women don’t like thin guys. Thin guys. I wonder why that is so. Because most of the time we,women obsess about weight, it is to become thinner. Or slimmer. Yet slim/thin guys are not desirable. For prospective friends, there is no such issue. But when looking at a guy from a romantic perspective, I have noticed that ‘thin’/slim guys mostly go to the bottom of the list. (Or should I say ladder?) Why? The only proper reason I could come up with is that all women have a loathing to be fatter/wider than their better halves. This could be because if they were, they wouldn’t be able to protect her and keep her safe. After all, protecting her and keeping her safe must involve lifting her in his arms and running away dodging bullets in slow motion, shouldn’t it? This is not to say that most women like obese men. They don’t. In fact I am of the opinion that most of them loathe them even more than they do thin men. After all, a thin man can at least run with her at his side, whereas an obese man would probably slow her down as well.

And all that being said.. I would like to add that a thin, balding better half is one of my recurring nightmares! Add bifocals, protruding teeth and a really bad accent and you have my worst one, yet!

P.S. My friend, Lakshmi, has written about her views on smoking.. and they are strong views to say the least...It might also interest y'all to know, that I am the friend mentioned in her post...

Halve an incisor and what do you get?

One insecure, embarrassed, scared-to-smile, always fake-smiling, asymmetrically-faced girl.

I broke my left front tooth when I was in 8th std...
I was in boarding school and it was a cold cold day.

We had jogging everyday morning at 6. I think it should be made illegal to wake up kids (esp school kids staying away from their parents in a godforsaken hill station) before 7. It was sheer torture. And in spite of the jackets we were allowed to use, it became unbearably cold at that time of the morning. Sometimes there was so much mist and fog, you couldn’t see your own hand in front of you, let alone the person in front of you or the uphill path we were sometimes forced to go on cross country jogs for...
They were some who enjoyed it. But the more sensible people like me, loathed it. Considering I still dislike exercise in any form or shape (be it running up four goddamned floors in college to reach my class, or lifting my ass to go buy something to eat from the canteen), its quite surprising when I find I actually miss it - but that’s only when I'm in one of my nostalgic moods... In fact thinking about it, I think the root of my dislike for exercise has its beginnings in Munnar...
So anyway... like I was saying…

It was a cold cold day, and I hated the sound of the bell that was rung to wake us all up... As I curled back into my cozy blanket (yes - we had nice cozy warm blankets), I knew I was going to be late...
Just as I had dressed and was sleepily combing my hair... One of the early risers came in and announced that we didn’t have jogging but we had exercises.
Happy that I didn’t have to drudge up the shiny wet slopes tired and glad I didn’t have to listen to "You there! No walking! One lap extra! Jog, I say!" from the PT master, I ran down the stairs. Exercises were considerably better than jogging... Because, they didn’t involve much moving away from the same place.
I was quite cheerful throughout the exercises unlike the jogging days when I had a distinctly sullen and sour look on my face. Perhaps because I looked more forthcoming and positive, the PT sir chose me for a race. Sheesh! Me! Who hated physical competition of any sort, because I knew I would always come last and I hated losing...
But anyway this race was of a different sort. We had to race while doing exercises. Like 'frog jumps’ (which are sit-ups, I think) or hopping (which was easier than the rest) or 'bear crawls’ (which meant just that - crawling on fours-only not hands and knees but hands and feet).
But the one that would scar me for life was The Crocodile Walk.
How do I describe it? I cant, no matter how much I try. So I choose to source it from here.

Crocodile walk - You're face down again. This time the object is to crawl along the floor with your torso as close to the floor as possible without touching. It's hard to describe the leg/foot and arm/hand positioning. Just plop down and figure out what works for you.

What did work for my PT sir was dragging one's body along the floor (without touching the torso to the floor - of course... only I always conveniently forgot that little detail, and since no one can really make out.. I got away with it, too) with one's elbows.
I was in the first race. There was some rainwater, or some other puddle (I'd rather not imagine what. With my school's open corridors- it could have been anything.) And my elbow slipped. Just like that. Slipped! And because I was panting and gasping, my mouth happened to be open. All my weight was supposed to be on that elbow... Which slipped! Something else had to yield... And so my head flew forward, mainly due to inertia and not due to willingness to take the weight, and my tooth hit the hard stone floor.
When I got up, my head was dizzy and I knew something was wrong. And then I saw it. A bit of white porcelain on the floor and some powder alongside it too. Like it was broken off from something. Couldn’t think what it could be. You see - My mouth was still open and my hand was holding my nose, because my nose had hit the floor hard as well.
Then when I closed my mouth... I could feel something missing. Then I looked down and everything fell into place. And I started screaming...
Everyone thought it was because it had hurt when the tooth broke off. The secret I kept to myself was that it had hardly pained at all... Those were tears of dismay... How could I walk around with a half tooth? What would my dad say? Most likely he would be mad! Which brought tears...What would he think?!?!
One look in the mirror was enough to convince me that my new nickname would be Ms Dracula. And since I knew someone who I liked, liked me back, my first thought after my dad was whether he would ever like this new avatar of mine. And that brought even more tears.

In the end, however, my dad was too pre-occupied with other things to be mad about this, and other than for a small homily I escaped unscathed.
My crush was sensible enough to calm my fears and assure me that it mattered nought to him.
He even thought it was cute and continued to call me Ms. Dracula for months in spite of my many protests not to.
I got it fixed during my two month vacation and I was as good as new when I entered the 9th std confident and minus vampire phobias.
In 11th the cap fell off and I got it fixed permanently, this time.
Two months later, it fell off again, while I was chewing a pencil, earnestly studying for my boards.
My dad, has since then, been promising me that he would take me to the dentist. Unfortunately, he loathes exercise just as much as me.
I still have my half tooth. I have recently got over all my insecurities and have decided to smile properly. As a result all my recent pics look horrible. I am undaunted.
I am also in a bit of a muddle whether to fix it or not. I am comfortable with it and I think its ME. But do others? Yes. I am shallow enough to think about what others think.
So I have given my dearest daddy a deadline. "By this year or else...."
(But knowing him and his loathing of exercise.... *sigh* )

P.S. - I noticed I strayed away from the topic quite a bit. Sorry, please forgive the nostalgia!
P.P.S. - So since I have only have one and a half front teeth... when I say :-P I actually mean it!

Why do I feel so bad?
So what if I was the last one to come to know of something momentous?

Why am I so hurt?
So what if the person to whom it happened to is (was) someone I considered very close to me?

So what if I had to know of it through someone else minutes before i was told by the person concerned?

Why do I feel so left out?
Like I'm not in the circle anymore? Was I ever 'in' the 'circle' ?

So what if the person concerned is feeling terrible for not having told me before?
Why should I forgive him?

Now isn't this cute ???

http://img.tapuz.co.il/forums/8572800.swf

Why ?

I hate tuesdays.
Because everytime I go to that house, and see that person... Its a tuesday...

I hate pulsars.
I hate french beards.
I hate tattoos.
I hate so many things I like.

I particularly hate long auto rides which leave me mulling over what would have happened if I had followed my insticts and grabbed on tight on that short bike ride. And I particularly hate the hypocrite in me that keeps promising myself that I will never again put myself through such an ordeal as that. I break my pomise. Every single time.

And most of all, from the bottom of my heart, I hate, I absolutely hate that person.

************************

P.S. - I posted this thrice.
First time - raw and unedited.
Second time - just the first two lines - cos I thought it gave away too much before.
Third time - Edited and longer - cos it was too short.

P.P.S. -
To the anon who posted this(below) as a comment on this-

Four places I have vacationed…
Numbers 1 and 3 are amazing
Tv Shows…
Just the 1st one
Fav dishes
2 and 3 though I love my mom’s biriyani
Sites I visit
1 and 2
Places I’d rather be right now…
1 and 2 is where I always am
Books…
Only one person knows about the books I love
Movies
1 is super awesome that I got my mom a DVD cos she loves it to the core…
3 and 4 are good…though I love the 3rd one better than the 4th
About the jobs…
1 yes…
3rd…ive done that for my dad…
2nd..i’ve done that for my mom and sis when we rush for a wedding or to the church…
And the site that you had in your blog about the image changer is really good…
Nice blog…keep rolling…

Well.. glad to know that you and I like a lot of the same things. But I do wish you would tell me who you are, and what your name is and sorry for the late response.

A splash of moods

Blue. Black. Grey. A sudden whirl of stark red. Like a gash. And through the gash flows a calm river of purple. Soothing. Peaceful yet intensely strong. And if you look closely you can see that the purple is actually navy blue, pink and white strokes interwoven to form an almost perfect mesh of colour.
And somewhere on the edge, there lies a bright yellow sun. Orange and sparkling. And the sky around it shimmers with a rainbow. A riot of colour.
But the sun lies at an immeasurable distance from the red gash and the purple river. Eons of miles away. Minutes of metres away. Far away yet so near.

When will the sun rise above the river to drive away the black and the blue???
But not completely. Because white, the opposite of black, is plain, stark and dull.

OK Ok.. Enough about my eyes!!!
Now..
This is a sort of semi-post.. something for my faithful readers to mull over...
In general, I am not a great fan of blonds. (or blondes, for that matter). I, somehow, prefer dark haired guys to blonds... Maybe its because I am Indian and so I like Dark haired guys.. whatever, the reason, i've always had crushes on dark haired guys...
So thats why when I came out of the theatre after watching Harry Potter and The Goblet of fire I was real surprised that I had a sudden liking for the Weasly twins... Or rather the actors - James and Oliver Phelps. I had hardly noticed them in the other three movies, but this movie .. well... lets just say.. they stood out...
I'm not saying I suddenly developed crushes (always has to be plural with twins.. so tiresome...).. but I certainly did give them a lookover. Sure they look pansy and girly but so does Orlando Bloom... And they are not really blond.. so I've redeemed myself!