100 days of Winter

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.

Memo to the Indian media: Not everyone can be a “gay icon”

Most of the time, the Indian media is really clueless about gay issues. But, sometimes, they go so far beyond clueless that’s it’s embarrassing. Embarrassing for them, that is. Humorous for us.

Let’s start with this recent article about the poor man’s Aamir Khan posing shirtless for his movie posters:

Ever since Imran’s shirtless pictures were splashed in various newspapers, the phones at Dharma productions (Karan Johar’s company which is producing Imran’s next, I Hate Luv Storys) have almost been ringing off the hook with calls from gay fans requesting an autographed picture of the actor.

The whole article in short: Oh look, random shirtless person. Wait, he’s also showing a tiny part of his posterior. That’s it. HE IS A GAY ICON! Because isn’t that what “the gays” love? Pecs and asses? STOP THE PRESSES!

Also, this is the worst bullshit that has been ever written, even by the standards of the Times of India. Really? It’s 2010. There are millions of more ‘explicit’ and less photoshopped pictures available with a single google search. This is just typical self-loathing homophobe Karan Johar’s idiotic way of promoting his little movie.

These were the same people who just a few months ago annoited John Abraham to gay icon status.

Why? Well, because he was shirtless while starring in a messy movie mashup of Three’s Company and I Now Pronounce You Chuck And Larry. Also, he “exposed”, and showed a part of his butt! So, GAY ICON!

How does it feel to be a gay icon?
Today homosexuality is so open world over. To think that the same gender likes you is a plus.
Have you ever been propositioned then?
Oh, all the time. Be it Philadelphia where I came back from or Miami. Women and men have come up to me to chat. I have been asked ‘Are you single?’
That’s a compliment.
Listen, I can’t take this as a compliment. My trainer Mike Ryan used to go for walking with me and he is a tough guy. And when two tough guys walk together, people look at you and wonder. And before anybody said anything, I would say, ‘He is not my boyfriend.’ In Miami and San Francisco, the best looking men are gay. Can you beat that?

Yes, Bipasha Basu’s ho is really scared of being identified as ‘gay’. Ahh, what a nice “icon” to have.

And before Mr-One-Expression-Only, it was bearded Neetu Kapoor who was, you guessed it, a gay icon!

A little more than three weeks still remain for Ranbir’s first film Saawariya to hit the theatres and the newcomer from the Kapoor clan has already become very popular with youngsters, particularly girls and gays. The gay community in Mumbai has already labeled Ranbir as their new icon. On the other hand, girls can’t stop drooling over Ranbir wherever he goes to promote ‘Saawariya’.

Yup. Because in his first movie, he almost showed his butt, because the scene was cut by mean censor board, because they hate small butts and they cannot lie? [Btw, this article about Ranbir is a laugh-riot! Not only because of the bad english.]

Now, before you think this is limited to just random actors, you’re in for a surprise.

Rahul Gandhi emerged as a youth icon during the General Elections with even Prime Minster Manmohan Singh acknowledging his contribution to the Congress' thumping victory.

But it isn't only the youth that are looking to him for a voice. The country's lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans-gender (LGBT) community voted overwhelmingly for the Congress hoping that young Rahul would take up their cause.

"He's really cute... he's so good looking and young. He's like the Ranbir Kapoor of Indian politics. He has all the charm and he didn't even have to drop a towel," says a gay rights activist

*Facepalm*

BUT HE DID NOT SHOW HIS BUTT? HOW CAN HE BE A GAY ICON? THAT’S NOT EVEN CONSISTENT BY YOUR OWN DEFINITION!

I’d be surprised by their ignorance, but it’s nothing new. The coverage has always been this clueless.

Anyways, scribes, hacks and other idiots, let me break it down for you.

Firstly, contrary to popular rumours, all the gay members do not gather around in their secret gaycave every week and decide whom to elevate to the status of the next top gay icon. You’re confusing us with Tyra Banks.

Also, secondly, just because you talk to a few idiots looking to see their fake name in print, doesn’t make them representative of the gay community. Neither do editors of some small-ass internet or print publication. Or for that matter any random blogger.

See, the thing is that just because someone poses shirtless doesn’t make them an icon. Gay icons are people who actually do something for the community. Either they tread the road less travelled, or blaze their way through glass ceilings and never look back.

Okay, that sounded too dramatic. Even for me.

Simply put, gay icons are people who give something back to the community. Or they entertain us.

Like Harvey Milk, Lt. Dan Choi or Elton John or Ellen DeGeneres or our patron saint of the immaculate penis, Lady Gaga.

Hell, gay people loved Liza Minnelli so much, they even married her a couple of times.

Besides, we even take care of our non-icons.

Look at Antonio Sabato jr. Whenever he runs out of money, he takes his shirt off in a movie or reality show and we throw some gay coins at him. But, he didn’t become our ho in one day. Bitch had to work it. He did a couple of movies where he got naked, (and unlike Indian actors, he had the balls to show his, ummmm, balls), and had simulated gay sex. We appreciate him for that and hence he never goes without money.

Therefore,  the moral of the story is: You don’t become an icon just because you show some P & A.

But you can still be our ho!

Just remember to get naked. Often.

Otherwise don’t call us. We’ll call you.

Blog protocol requires that I put the word 'random' somewhere in the title . . .

. . . but fuck blog protocol (I really need to start using another profanity. I'm not Kathy Griffin at NYE, for crying out loud).

I finally sat through When Harry met Sally and saw it at one go. *Spoiler Alert* - They do end up together. Whoopti-fucking-do. Damn straight people. They have it so easy. All they need to is to start hating someone and voila!, they end up spending the rest of their life with that person. Why in the blue hell do gay people love this movie? I guess that's because all of us need some sort of myth to believe in. Like Brangelina. Or the secret of the universe hidden inside Lady Gaga's magic peen.

* * *

Speaking of stupid things people believe in, is it me or everyone is getting married this season? About four different sets people I went to school with choose to spend eternity with each other's cooties. Some were even younger than I am.

I usually try to avoid weddings like the plague that they are, but since a few of these people were my drinking buddies and a few of them might be useful for a few (future) cheap laughs, I sorta went along.

Everybody had an average of four large dinner parties. I can never understand why people have so many do's when they are getting married. It's like their telling the world, We're going to spend the rest of our forlorn miserable existence together. We would like you and everybody else we know to believe that we are good, monogamous people, even though one of us looks like a whore. So come celebrate with us and stuff yourself with so much food that you need to loosen your belt buckle. Also, we make so much money that we can afford to feed a thousand people some pseudo-exotic fruit which, let's pretend, came from some exotic country. Now shut your pie hole and eat something.

If I were straight, I would have actually run off and got married in Vegas or something. But hey, it's your money. If you want to spend it feeding more than a thousand ungrateful souls, half of whom are jealous and the other half just pretending to like you, then please go ahead. Who am I to judge?

Although, I did get to meet some people I went to school with and laugh at their sad little existence. One of them had a really nice and interesting wife. If I wasn't so gay, I would've hit that. Too bad she's married to that insufferable old coot. I'm pretty sure she's going to become a cougar in twenty years.

* * *

I think I might have a small crush on the Baskin Robbins delivery guy. Well, at least that explains the freezer full of uneaten tubs of ice-cream in this arctic winter we've been having. They really DO have 31 flavours, ya know? Pretty neat. Coming back to the guy, he's smart, educated and does not take any tips. It's against "company policy". Geez. What a dork! Just take the money and drop your pants, you fool.

Sigh. Porn movies make it look so easy. (Not that I would know. I heard it from one of my ..ummm.. friends.)

Why does the sort-of-romantic part of my life always involve food in one way or the other? I think I have issues. Freud would have a field day. Thankfully, that mofo is dead.

No, I don't know anything about psychology. I accidentally read up on him a few years ago on wikipedia while I was aimlessly surfing the interwebs.

I was at work at that time. What else was I supposed to do?

* * *

Let's just leave it at that!

A week after I came out to my Dad, guess who calls me up?

S-Girl.

Remember her?

Yup.

She called me.

Again.

I had already ignored 9,999 of her previous calls, therefore I decided to pick this one up. What can I say? I'm nice like that, sometimes.

So we chat for five minutes, ignoring the literal elephant in the room (hey, I was looking into the mirror).

She then declared that she wanted to meet.

I immediately regretted picking up her call. I just spoke to her after a long time of ignoring her calls, and now she wanted to meet? I then realized that this is a woman who has no sense of boundaries at all. The memory of all the really horrible things she had told me about herself a few years ago came puking back.

She clearly told me that if I did not meet her she would stand outside my house and shout out cuss words in victorian english, so I was left with no choice but to meet her.  Although, to be safe, I asked her to meet me in my family home, so that there would be witnesses just in case things got a little bit out of hand. I'm smart like that, sometimes.

Anyways, time passes too fast, the metaphorical clock ticks away to five, and I ask my Mom to make sure that my precious books are distributed according to the list I have prepared, just in case I am unable to "survive" this meeting. Of course, my Mom thought I was just being a tad melodramatic. I guess I can't blame her for that. I am the same person, who, a few months ago forced her get rid of half the plants in her garden because I felt like they were too judgemental. It might sound a little crazy, but under circumstances will I be judged in my own home. At least not by those green, freeloading basteds.

Right. Moving on.

The bell rings, I pray to the almost empty bottle of Vodka on the table to keep me out of harm's way, and then I go to open the door to meet her.

Okay, fine. I didn't exactly open the door myself, I might have 'politely' asked someone from the household help to do it, just in case she was carrying a weapon. Hey, they're poor and they live in a third world country. Their lives are probably less valuable.

So let's not lose focus here, people. 

After the door is opened, S-Girl enters the house. She has the aura of a lame serial killer from a Dan Brown novel. We sit down, she makes small talk. I continue to nod constantly, while also trying to be alert enough to watch out for any sudden movements.

The conversation keeps moving while my pea sized heart tries to exit via my mouth.

S Girl: You know, we really should finish what we started a few years ago.
Me: What?
S Girl: *head tilt* You know what I'm talking about . . .
Me: No, I have no idea. I have trouble remembering things. I drink a lot, remember?
S Girl: (Moving closer) Let me remind you then . . .
Me: (getting up) I'M mmmmmm GAYYYYYY . . . VERY GAY . . . . GAYER THAN A HUGH GRANT MOVIE . . .
S Girl: What?????????
Me: Yes. I'm gay. I like boys. Not girls. Don't like girls. I mean, I like girls, but just not in that way.
S Girl: But . . . how can you be gay? . . .
S Girl: Look at you . . . you're wearing Reeboks with corduroy jeans? What's up with that?
Me: Well, I haven't entered the being fabulous phase yet.
Me: Still working on that.
S Girl: Seriously? I hope so, for your sake.
S Girl: Only redneck farmers and 90 year old Belgian grandmothers are allowed to have so much facial hair.  
S Girl: Also, that tub of lard needs to go.
Me: Hey, I just haven't shaved in a while.
Me: And that's not a tub of lard, bitch. That's my stomach.
S Girl: Just letting you know stuff, buddy.
Me: Might I remind you that you were the one who was about to KISS ME a few minutes ago?
S Girl: Yeah, but I'm a married Indian woman. I take whatever I can get.
Me: I hate you, you know!
S Girl: Ha. Fine. Tell me something I don't know.
S Girl: So, since when have you known that you're a pole smoker?
Me: Offensive, bitch.
Me: And I guess I've known since as long as I can remember.  
S Girl: Ummmm, were you gay when we were going out? 
Me: We were never 'going out', per se. 
S Girl: Well, you know what I mean!
Me: Yeah, okay.
Me: Well, I did know, I guess, but I was deep in denial at that time. 
Me: Although, now that I think about it, you probably might have helped me confirm it.
Me: I might have been confused, but after our whole thing, I was pretty damn sure I was a 'mo.
Me: Don't wanna be rude, but you might have even turned me . . . hahaha
S Girl: *Looks like a piñata got stuck up her cervix*
S Girl: WHAT. DID. YOU. MEAN. BY. THAT?
Me: Just a joke. Kidding. I had a drink during lunch. Lighten up. Take a deep breath.
Me: Cookie?
S Girl: So you're definitely gay?
Me: Yup. I am. Thankfully.
S Girl: Yeah. Sure. What a "loss" to straight woman. Boo fucking hoo.
Me: Yeah, that's rich, coming from a desperate housewife.
S Girl: Touché.
Me: Thank you, madam.
S Girl: So you like boys, huh?
Me: Yeah.
S Girl: Then stay away from my husband. *stupid grin* hahahaha
Me: Please, even if he is the last man on earth, I'd never hit on that sad little fucker.
S Girl: WHY? what's wrong with him?
Me: Errrrr, nothing.
S Girl: Is it the hair? Or the moustache? Or the mole?
Me: NOTHING. He seems like a nice guy.
S Girl: It's the hair isn't it?
S Girl: Or is the way he talks?
Me: Okayyyyy. Let's just leave it at that, please? Great. Thank you.
Me: So the weather is being such a bitch, isn't it?
S Girl: Is it because of the way he laughs? Does it makes you want to join a cult, too?
Me: So have you read Wolf Hall yet? I'm hearing good things about it.
S Girl: Why wouldn't you want to do my husband?
Me: Cause he is your frikin husband!! Does that mean anything to YOU?
S Girl: Meh. He's probably gay, anyway.
Me: EXCUSE ME??
Me: WHAT??
S Girl: Nothing.
S Girl: I think I'd better leave.
Me: Yeah. That would be for the best.

(Then I went to see her off, so as to make sure she doesn't come back)

Me: So this was fun.
S Girl: *Silence*
Me: Nice catching up with you.
S Girl: (gets into car)
Me: We should do this again sometime.
S Girl: (closes door, starts engine)
Me: Give my best to your husband.
S Girl: (speeds away, hopefully never to be seen again!)

 

Do you think I might have touched a nerve, somewhere?

Even if I did, well, she started it.

This post does not remember being a post

Today, early in the morning: (okay, really early in the morning)

*Ring* *Ring* (not actually a ring, but the theme from Mad Men)

Me: Hello

Caller: Hey, watsup . . .

Me: Nothing much really. Long time, eh?

Caller: Yeah, I know . . .

Me: So how's the wife doing?

Caller: She's doing good . . .

Me: . . . When is the baby due?

Caller: What baby?

Me: Er. . . Aren't you guys pregnant?

Caller: No . . .

Me: . . . WHAT HAPPENED?

Caller: We HAD the baby, idiot! That's WHAT happened!

Me: CONGRATULATIONS! When? And why didn't you tell me?

Caller: Last month . . .

Me: LAST MONTH? . . .

Caller: Stop shouting.

Caller: I DID tell you . . .

Caller: . . . And YOU came to visit us in the hospital!!

Me: I did?

Caller: Yes. Twice.

Me: Are you sure?

Caller: Of course I'm sure. It's pretty hard to . . . forget the day your child is born . . .

Me: Yeah, of course.

Caller: . . . . specially because on the first day one of the guards got fired because you wandered in during non-visiting hours . . .

Me: That does sound like something I would do, yeah . . .

Me: . . . however, are you sure that you aren't pulling a prank on me?

Caller: Dude, for the past month I've been knee deep in dirty diapers, I have been dozing off during meetings because I barely get to sleep at night and if I see one more relative wanting to give "good wishes" to my child, I'm going to jump from the terrace.

Caller: So I am hardly in a mood to kid around and pull pranks on someone . . .

Me: Aright . . . chill, don't get so emotional, man . . .

Caller: And since you don't remember, you also gave us a nice gift . . .

Me: Really? I'm so glad you liked whatever I gave you. 

Caller: Yeah, even  ______ likes it. He plays with it all the time.  

Me: You HAD a boy????

Caller: *Click*

 

What'd I say?

How to be a dumbass in four easy steps

Step 1: Inspite of having a severe cold, shower with very cold water.

Step 2: Right after the shower, sit in your room with the AC on full blast and the fan running on full speed because "The weather is so bloody humid."

Step 3: Instead of having delicious chicken soup your Mom has made especially for you, go and have a cold can of diet coke. Add ice for extra dumbass points.

Step 4: Refuse to adhere to anyone's advice and have only those kinds of food which aid the frikin flu. Use your own "Hit a cold with loads of ice cream" dumbass logic.

Final Result: End up worse then before and have no one but yourself to blame.

Congratulations, you're now a perfect 10 dumbass. Please take your head out of your derriere and collect your prize.

A two day trip to Urreallyfuckednow town. Enjoy.