I really can’t quit you, personal blogging. I get to do my most favourite activity: talk about myself at length without being interrupted by someone else. Shut up and publish all my terrible posts, blogger dot com.
I remember when I started blogging in December 2007. I was such a different person at that time. For one, I was only ugly fat and not morbidly obese like the present. Second, I wrote things here I couldn’t even admit to myself (eg: I liked British sitcoms! BUT BUT THEY WERE RACIST TO US TILL 1947?).
And of course, there was the community. I “met” a lot of people through the blog. Some, I’m still in touch with. Some I’m friends with. Some got freaked out by something I said and vice-versa. Some are lost in the past. Some have disappeared into the abyss of the internet. Some are getting married to their version of the anti-christ. It’s all good.
I hate to use these words because, REALLY?, but blogging also helped me to find a little bit of who I am. Turns out I wasn’t the broken shell of a human being being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever. In reality, I was a broken shell of a human being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever who also likes to write sentences who only he finds amusing! WHO’DA THUNK IT?
Nowadays, even though I do most of my blogging in my diary - because even I’m not that narcissistic to put so many banal things on the internet - it always feels good to come back here.
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I can’t believe I actually wrote the words
I’m not afraid to be real in the last post. Ugh. Who am I? A contestant on
MTV Road Rules? Such a fucking drama queen! What’s next? Shouting
I’m not here to make friends! to random people on the street? (To be fair, I did say that once to a dick co-trainee during the second week of my first job so that wouldn’t be such a stretch. Can’t believe I was in denial about being gay at that time. I mean, HELLOOO!).
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Also, writing more blogposts in one week than I have written in three years? If it was still 2012 I would have made an ‘ARMAGEDDON MUST BE NIGH’ joke.
Hi!
Hey, welcome back! How have you been?
Good, good. What about you?
I’ve been good too. What’s going on?
Nothing much. Remember when I texted you from ____ that I had something to tell you?
Yeah . . . .
Well, the thing is, I’m getting married. To a girl!
Umm, congratulations?
* * *
It didn’t upset me that you were marrying someone else, cause I got over you a long time ago.
It didn’t upset me that you didn’t reply to my questions when I asked you if you were dating somebody.
It didn’t upset me that you didn’t tell me about such a big decision about your life that you made twelve months ago and yet only told me nine days before the fact because you wanted to tell me in person so that you could – what you imagined – see the pain on my face and were reasonably upset when there wasn’t any.
I found the fact that you expected me to attend your sham wedding quite hilarious.
And don’t worry “buddy,” you didn’t change me a bit. Just because I let you in and got burned doesn’t mean that my next experience will be be affected by it.
I’m not afraid to be real, anymore.
You are.
It has been bought to my notice that lately, this blog has been focussing a lot on Winter. I hadn’t really noticed. Although, to be fair, I don’t notice many things. Once, when I was a kid, I didn’t notice that an actual monkey was biting my hand. I only realized that when all the other kids started running away from me. Hey, don’t blame me. It was my birthday, and all I could think about was cake.
As it was obvious from my last post, Winter isn’t a huge part of my life anymore. Not that he was for a long time. But I could only write about it once I was over it. I did spend a few months sequestered from the rest of the world trying to get over him last year (how is that different from my usual sequestering? Well, firstly, I had a beard. No, not a fake girlfriend, an actual beard. I KNOW! Secondly, lots of baths were avoided! HEY, I WAS AN EMOTIONAL WRECK, I WAS ALLOWED TO SMELL LIKE A HOBO. And, thirdly, needless to say, there was lots of food involved. Lots and lots of it. Hey, wait a minute, you’re right. That is no different from my usual sequestering. Sigh.).
However, I’m still glad it happened. For one, my unrequited feelings were wasted on a gay guy! So, PROGRESS! I also learnt what all not to do when you’re trying to date someone. Previously, before I came out, whenever I had a crush on someone, I used to get really douchey around them. Like belittle their life choices, roll my eyes at their hilarious joke and generally make them feel small and unwanted. Granted, I still do that to everybody, but this was with an extra zing. Like putting chilli flakes on your jalapeno dip, if you know what I mean.
Thanks to Winter, I am not a total nervous wreck around new, potential mates [Tip #1: DON’T CALL THEM THAT TO THEIR FACE. SEE, I’M LEARNING!]. Not that there have been many opportunities. As if being fat wasn’t enough of an albatross around my neck, I am also jobless and have cheeto breath. Strangely, that is not what a lot of people are looking for! Even freaks avoid me!
Winter probably deserves some of the credit in my finally leaping out of the closet. When I realized what I felt for him, shit got real. It feels strange to think and talk about now, but it was the first time I actually felt like I was gay. The way I could relate to Winter, I could never ever have that with a woman. Or a straight guy.
I know these things come easy to some people, but when I think back to a time when I was terrified of expressing how I felt about a guy, even to myself and then I remember how nonchalantly I referred to Winter as “babe” in public, I realize how far I’ve come.
I once gave a gay friend a really hard time when he told me that love was not all about sex. I chided him for his naiveté, because I really was that cynical. And then, this whole Winter thing hit me and I realized that it really was not about the sex. I had never been able to connect with someone like I was able to connect with him.
I always used to scoff at all those stupid people in love with their puppy dog eyes and their doing things for each other that they wouldn’t do for anyone else and thinking that every song is about them but ZOMG! I was one of those stupid people with puppy dog eyes walking around assuming that every song was about me and doing things for Winter which I could never imagine doing for another human being!
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was ….er……umm…cough….ahem…cough.... wrong.
Just don’t tell anybody I said that!
You meet a guy. You call him Winter, because you met him in errrr, winter and this is supposed to be an anonymous blog and you just saw 500 Days of Summer the other day and well, you put two and two together and voila.
This is how it all began:
One day, out of the blue your friend introduces you to a guy. By introduce, you mean asks you whether he can give your phone number to this great guy he met. You shrug your shoulders and say yes because, your friend knows that you are too much of a wuss and would never call him if you had his number.
Day 1:
So Winter, finally calls you one day. Both of you have a great fifteen minute conversation and then hang up. You don't think much about it because you know that nothing can happen with this guy because you're fat and no one likes fat people anyway.
DAY 2:
You're checking something on your phone and you chance upon Winter's number and you decide to call him. What's the worst that can happen anyway? You call him and he actually sounds like he means it when he says that it was nice of you to call. You have another great conversation with him and you reference the fact that you're fat about a gazzilion times, just to make sure that he gets the message.
Day 5:
It’s Winter’s birthday. You end up playing an un-deliberate game of phone tag with each other and after getting fed up, you wish him through a text message!
Day 6 to Day 12:
You and Winter continue talking to each other for a week, getting to know stuff about each other.
Then you decide to meet.
Day 15:
You don't call it a date, because it's not a real date. Both, Winter and you are uncomfortable calling it a date.
Actually, it's just Winter who is uncomfortable. In your mind, it's a freaking date.
You head out for lunch. You don't go to the place you promised Winter you would take him to because you CAN'T FIND IT. You mentally punch yourself in the gut, freak out as always, but are still thankful to Winter when he politely asks you to choose another place.
At lunch you try to make Winter comfortable and keep reminding yourself that you're out on a non-date date and you shouldn't pig out, because you look even grosser than usual when you do.
When lunch arrives, you pick up your fork and proceed to pig out.
A minute after you've stuffed your face with food like a redneck at a wings buffet, Winter looks at you and smiles.
You realize that the reason he's smiling is because you've started eating his order.
You smile in embarrassment, and continue to apologize profusely, something, unbeknownst to him, you would be doing for the rest of the day.
You then pay for lunch, over Winter's loud and ardent protests, because of the pre-pubescent alpha-male bullshit you got going on in your head.
You then ask Winter if he wants to go book shopping. He says yes, and that makes you full of unimaginable glee because: ZOMG! HE LIKES BOOKS!!
You try to contain yourself and thankfully prevent a catastrophe of epic proportions by not asking Winter to move in with you.
You head towards the book shop. You do not find the entrance by which you came in last time, even though you've circled the damn building three times. Then you realize that the entrance is closed.
You apologize again, and you go around the other end of the building.
After five minutes and ninety million stairs later, you finally reach the bookshop.
You're huffing and puffing like you're going to blow down the house of a pig from a fairytale.
Winter asks you if you're okay. You force a smile, look up, try to stand straight, stop leaning on your knees for support, and give him the international sign for "S'okay". He shakes his head and asks you to sit down. You act like you're not getting a fucking seizure and refuse to sit down, because your ego is larger than your ass.
Anyways, you proceed to browse the bookshop, and you discover that he shares your distaste of he-who-shall-not-be-named, among other undistinguished authors. During the course of the three and a half hours you spend at the bookshop with Winter, somewhere "Should I get this book?" turns into "Are we getting this book?"
And then, you commit the biggest piece of dumbfuckery anyone has ever pulled.
You turn to Winter and tell him "I think I want to gift you a book".
MAYDAY!! MAYDAY!!
HOUSTON, WE HAVE A MORON!!
READY FOR LIFT OFF!!
MAYDAY!!
You immediately realize what you've done.
SERIOUSLY, ASSCLOWN, WHO DOES THAT?
ARE YOU HIS AUNT SHOSHANA?
THEN WHY DID YOU JUST OFFER TO BUY HIM A GIFT?
ON A FIRST FUCKING NON-DATE DATE.
THIS IS WHY YOU'RE GOING TO DIE ALONE, SLUMPED OVER A COUCH, WHILE WATCHING 30 ROCK RERUNS AND EATING YESTERDAY’s LEFTOVER FRIED CHICKEN.
You try to explain that you’re trying to make up for not being able to wish him on his birthday and that you aren’t that guy, even though you just presented him with evidence to the contrary. Winter turns to you and politely refuses, not making you feel like a total freak.
But you know what you have done. You start banging your head on one of the bookshelves. You end up knocking down a semi-huge pile of books.
You immediately withdraw yourself away from the situation and pretend to be as horrified as the bookshop employees who rush to pick up the books. You look towards a guy talking on his phone who has his back turned towards you and shake your head, immediately grabbing the higher moral ground.
Or so you think.
The cold stares you get from the bookshop employees trying to clean up your mess enlighten you about the fact that you may not be as suave a liar as you think you are.
Fortunately for you, Winter is somewhere else and does not notice your handiwork.
You ask him if he's done shopping. he says yes. Both of you proceed towards the counter, to pay for the stuff you bought.
You go first. You pay for your stuff and then since Winter is standing behind you, you try to be nice and all and ask him to hand you his books, so that the bill-guy can tally Winter's stuff while the packing-guy packs yours.
Unfortunately, Winter takes this to mean that you just offered to pay for his stuff, AGAIN.
You realize that because THAT'S WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT.
THAT’S IT. YOU’RE THAT GUY. CONGRATULATIONS!
DO HUMANITY A FAVOUR, GROW A LARGE BEARD, ADOPT A DOZEN CATS AND MOVE INTO A HAUNTED HOUSE ALREADY!
You take your stuff and step away from the counter, because you've already done all the damage that you could do.
After paying for your books, both of you decide to head to the coffee shop next door.
Things go of well, you're getting along, having a nice conversation, even though you end up saying a lot of corny stuff, but you save yourself (kinda) by mentioning how corny the stuff you just said was, and how you meant it "ironically". Then you ask yourself when you became a FUCKING HIPSTER!
Then you insist on ordering some thing to eat along with your coffee, because (a) You're hungry and (b) Since it took you a bit of time to get the table, you feel it's inappropriate to just sit there and have coffee. So you decide to order some cookies.
The guy gets some weird looking thing which doesn't even look like what you ordered.
You eat that weird thing.
Then, suddenly, you don’t feel that good. No, it’s not the usual feeling of disgust, which you even get for small things like a Jay Leno joke. It’s the real thing, like the one you get when you realize that a poor person is somewhere in the vicinity. In short, you want to throw up!
You look up, Winter is talking about something interesting. You nod along, but you concentrate hard on not trying to puke all over the coffee shop. Even though there is this irritating lady on the next table who deserves to have puke all over her botoxed face, you resist. Then you immediately get up and run to the washroom.
You come back after ten minutes, looking like hell.
You apologize to a confused Winter.
He signals for the cheque, and you don't say anything, because even you are not that dumb.
You head outside.
Then, you discover that both the car and the driver are missing.
The driver isn't at the designated spot and is not picking up your call.
You and Winter roam around looking for him.
You find him after half an hour, sleeping in the car, which is parked a thousand miles from where you told him to park. A person who looks like your driver is sleeping in the car, oblivious to the ringing phone.
You don’t tell the driver anything, at that precise moment, because Winter asks you not to. However, to paraphrase Russel Peters, SOMEBODY GONNA GET A HURT REAL BAD.
You finally proceed to go home. You drop Winter off. You see him go, probably for the last time ever.
You think to yourself that, well, at least you have a what-not-to-do guide for a first non-date date.
Day 16:
You still thinking about yesterday’s disastrous non-date. You spend the morning moping.
Well, more than usual.
Then, just when you are about to dig in to your compensatory steak, the phone rings.
It’s Winter.
He called!
But that’s a story for another day.
