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O Jeez Girl!
Oh jeez girl! Why do you have to come bouncing happily (or rather not so happily), back into my life at precisely the wrong moments?
I mean, achhi khaasi uncomplicated existence ki maa behan karna koi tumse seekhe!
Now for no fathomable reason that I can conceive of, I am obligated to be nice to you. Aaaarggh!
Why can’t I be left unhindered in my hunt for the utopian one night stand type babe?
I was happily beginning to assume that you no longer existed and being my happy bouncy self, hoping that you would leave me to my own devices but no!
Why would you?
You have to come back like the proverbial bad penny and give me your usual load of bullshit about your life being hell. I mean come on, that’s the way life is. No bed of roses exists, lady! Deal with it! Preferable on your own at that, and fast!
I ain’t no shrink! This is not part of my job description as Mr. Arjun Venkatraman, BooBoo man, first class.
I can keep women happy on a superficial level. That’s what I’m good at. And I prefer to hone my skills rather than learn new ones. You want extra sensitive soft squishy type boy next door, then you at the wrong address lady!
I am not equipped to handle your problems. Get with the program. Go see a psychiatrist.
Or better yet, get married.
Pick some poor empty headed jock, who brings home the bacon, loves kids and studiously avoids scandals, and get married.
You want a roller coaster ride, come to me. Do NOT look at me for stability and security.
I do NOT work with nets. I prefer the high pressure high intensity fast lane, that’s my style. You are definitely NOT going to be able to put up with it.
I am not going to be the kind of guy who comes home at six thirty sharp, hugs his wife, helps the kids with the homework, and then has dinner and watches Kyunki Saas… in an involved manner, then goes to bed in preparation of the same, mundane routine for the next day!
I’m more on the lines of the dude who works six days a week non stop, round the clock, with lots of dinners out and a few parties for good measure, and then spends Sunday partying like a wild maniac, with occasional vacations in Europe.
I do NOT intend to live in a three bedroom house with a cute dog in the backyard, and three kids playing in the lawn.
I don’t even like kids. They cost too much to raise, and then there’s the added bullshit of setting good examples.
Maybe sometime but I definitely do NOT intend to spend my youth wiping baby shit!
You want secure stable existences with the usual scrimping and saving for that bigger house and the better scooter go find a dipshit who finds that kind of existence exciting.
But why am I even discussing this.
This is not the time or the place to talk about this shit.
I should be working. But NO! Why would I wanna do that? I am the booboo man. I have to be sweet. I cannot be smart. I cannot say fuck off. Which is what I should have done the minute you opened channels of communication.
But NO! I have to say, “That’s okay baby, you can talk to me!” HAH!
What intelligence. Whoever said people learn from their mistakes?
I guess I don’t love myself too much.
Jeez!
How’d you like to listen to me crying over the phone for a change you stupid little……… so and so?
Maybe I shall do that once just for kicks. You know, give you a taste of your own medicine.
And lookee what we have here! This is the time I should be planning sweet revenge. I am definitely in a position to get it. But am I gonna do that? NO! Why? Because…..and this is a big secret folks…..I….am…..The booboo man!
No personal smarts whatsoever!
I mean finally I find this babe who appears to have some semblance to the kind of female I might be interested in getting to know better. I finally manage to start up a few, minor, mostly unintelligible conversations, which appear to hold some promise but at the exact moment when I can contemplate moving a little further, I am stopped in my tracks!
HALT! ACHTUNG! Directive # 443: Thou shalt not pursue the next babe until all past issues are fully resolved. Failure to comply will result in an enduring guilt complex.
Divvy baby, you gonna have to wait for a little while, while I sort out my skeletons in the closet, you know sort of arrange the bones in likeable order, before I get back to you, or should I say, at you.
And you! You happen to be an issue. A very large (five foot four, apprx 55 kgs, Christ I cannot believe I retain such information) issue, but an issue none the less.
And I deal with issues. I do NOT as a rule, fall in love with issues. So I shall deal with this and speedily. I do NOT have the time or the patience to go into an involved analysis and derivation of appropriate solution. I shall do whatever I can with minimal thought, and that’s it.
For Christ’s sake! Why do I have to do this? What’s that good for nothing oaf, who claims to be your everlasting love, doing? I mean this is part of his job description, handling your violent mood swings!
I mean hell, I am not even gonna get paid for this! So basically I do his work for him and he gets to have all the fun! No fair, I don’t wanna play!
Life sucks. I want my safety blanket and I want my stuffed monkey and I want a cup of hot tomato soup, no lemme correct myself, make that chicken soup.
And I want a good cartoon show on television. And I want to go to sleep and not be woken up for ANYTHING, least of all, girlie problems.
Or, if I HAVE to play the “I am an adult” game, then I want a babe. And a no holds barred, no issues, no hang ups babe at that.
The kind who doesn’t call me, doesn’t message me, hopefully doesn’t even think too much about me on a normal day.
I do not want snivelly, moany groany, “I have emotional cramps, so be sweet to me” type babes.
I cannot deal with cramps, of any kind. I do NOT get cramps and I cannot relate to them on a metaphysical level.
Okay that’s it. I cannot keep writing till I fall asleep. I have to work.
Go get a life!
Adios!