Sex is overrated.
From the time our parents fumbled uncomfortably with birds,bees, pollen, stork and other animal kingdom antics to explain our magical apperance on this planet- to nervous giggles in school, wide-eyed wonder at biology books, not much has changed. We still have so many emotions attached to sex. Maybe more us women than the cock-holders.
I ponder aimlessly sometime about such inane things. Like:
If we knew from the very beginning, i mean from the time the guy checked out our rack and studied us as a potential mate, that he wanted sex. Would we still do the whole flowers, no first date sex, the various bases, and the no-basis break ups? Or simplify it. He wants sex, i want sex. Is he ok to sleep with? (You know check the penis rating, disease quotient etc.) And if hes ok, will we just do it? Do we women have to continously, and most of the time to duck the 'slut' label, assure and convince ourselves, that he will fall in love with us? Or that there is more to it than the sex?
Does it strike you as funny that people have the best bed-breaking sex post a verbally abusive and volatile we-are-over fight? Whats the deal with that? and would this mean that a revolutionary approach in anger management is in the making?
Why is there no male equivalent of wham-bam-thank you ma'm? Is it to say that we women are not noisy enough to create the sound the likes of wham bam or that its ok for us women to forget our niceties post sex?
Sex is most fun when you love someone. Some man, pissed drunk and doing the roadside lady for a paltry sum, with a great sense of humour said this. Imagine his surprise when people took this to a whole new level. He wakes up one morning to find that people, due to lack of their own intelligence and miniscule depth of thinking, think that the statement holds true. The by-products we find till this date. Valentines Day, dating websites, blind dates, networking. All to meet someone to have great sex with.
Whats sexy lingerie got to do with sex? This is complicated. You wear sexy lingerie to turn him on. Turned on, he will take it off. Am I the only one who sees this as a pointless excercise? Lingerie, when sexy, is lacy, which itches the inner thighs leaving them pink and rashy=no sex. If not lacy, its nety. which shows off everything underneath. Is anyone dizzy from going around in circles?
See how much we complicate it?
Sex, as excitedly discussed as it maybe, is just another physical need. Just two people wanting a release. And its made out to be more. Much much more. It isnt.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Ooh..Ah..Ouch
This is my comeback post.
Not that anyone cares. But i mentioned in a previous post, i love believing someone out there is actively entertained by my verbal dysentry.
At this point, i deem it fit to explain my hiatus from planet blog. My heart, stained by tears and hurt, found solace in the washing machine, with the foaming fury and empty churning. It is now on the clothesline, drying out emotions.
Febraury 2008 taught me a few things though. Important lessons about being alive and how sometimes you would be better off being dead. And in this month, I could have got wrinkles and black hair (gone white with wisdom, promptly dyed black).
Things i know now...
1) If its a boy, even someone you have known since you wore cotton panties, dont depend on him. Unless you are now offering him your lace panties and everything underneath. Emotions, crying, holding on tight, leaning on heavy and toilet seat down are issues beyond the cognitive purview of the darker sex. And without the bonking. Hah!
2)They love me. Long before the tears melted the heart, they heard me sigh. They called to soothe me, only heard me sob. It hurt them so bad, they slammed doors with frustration. The shoulders that i was so used to, painfully away. Unhuggably far. (Fdyi, wipe your eyes)
3) Moving on to more practical problems , make up does nothing for your snot-infested face. Swollen, puffy eyes add a touch of glam and quivering lips foaming with saliva complete the look. I once met Disaster that looked better.
4) Not a good idea. Ignoring two wise souls, who recognise my heartbeat. Who are my raison d' etre. Pillars of strength. And unfathomably generous with their love. To Ma and Pa, who gave me the kerchief when the tissues went limp with exhaustion.
5) Sex can be an antidote to a breakup. Ugly, cheap bastards looking for a fuck can be an antidote to sex. Shag your ex.
Not that anyone cares. But i mentioned in a previous post, i love believing someone out there is actively entertained by my verbal dysentry.
At this point, i deem it fit to explain my hiatus from planet blog. My heart, stained by tears and hurt, found solace in the washing machine, with the foaming fury and empty churning. It is now on the clothesline, drying out emotions.
Febraury 2008 taught me a few things though. Important lessons about being alive and how sometimes you would be better off being dead. And in this month, I could have got wrinkles and black hair (gone white with wisdom, promptly dyed black).
Things i know now...
1) If its a boy, even someone you have known since you wore cotton panties, dont depend on him. Unless you are now offering him your lace panties and everything underneath. Emotions, crying, holding on tight, leaning on heavy and toilet seat down are issues beyond the cognitive purview of the darker sex. And without the bonking. Hah!
2)They love me. Long before the tears melted the heart, they heard me sigh. They called to soothe me, only heard me sob. It hurt them so bad, they slammed doors with frustration. The shoulders that i was so used to, painfully away. Unhuggably far. (Fdyi, wipe your eyes)
3) Moving on to more practical problems , make up does nothing for your snot-infested face. Swollen, puffy eyes add a touch of glam and quivering lips foaming with saliva complete the look. I once met Disaster that looked better.
4) Not a good idea. Ignoring two wise souls, who recognise my heartbeat. Who are my raison d' etre. Pillars of strength. And unfathomably generous with their love. To Ma and Pa, who gave me the kerchief when the tissues went limp with exhaustion.
5) Sex can be an antidote to a breakup. Ugly, cheap bastards looking for a fuck can be an antidote to sex. Shag your ex.
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