Love is in my pages

God has a funny of going about his divine interventions. I wonder if he crafts his plans out with painstaking detail or just poops it out sitting on the crapper, chewing through his cigar? And, although I believe that he has my best interest in heart, I have to wonder if he does not take a special glee in torturing my soul, dragging it through muck, nose smooshed into the ground to make his point.

More than Superman’s chaddi ka colour, it is public knowledge that my mother has wanted me to tie the knot for quit some time now. Since I was 18, actually. Find love. Settle down. Falana falana dimka. I have dodged the bullet till now. And, with the program I am currently studying, human contact let alone relationships feel like unfathomable phenomena.

But then, along comes an assignment. Wherein, I come up with an insight that for women, searching for boots is like searching for their man – the ONE. I come up with a few other strategies as well but the teacher likes this one so much, she insists I only work further on that. She does not even WANT to look at my other ideas, apparently so well have I nailed this strategy down.

Quite a victory, right? Go ahead silly girl, pat yourself on the back. NO. For now, I have been trapped into a maze of love. I have been staying away from love, avoiding a relationship to focus on this course. But for the very same course, I am neck deep in love research. It has become a full-time job. I am reading love poems, blogs, articles on finding your soulamtes, browsing through personals, love quotes, synonyms, love love love. Dripping in sweetness, dark night under the moon and stars, champagne and strawberries, cuddling in bed love. It makes me acutely aware of how not in a relationship I am, how I am only the proverbial “aadha”. That I am SINGLE.

And now, I really want to MINGLE.

Not cool, God. NOT. COOL.

(Bawls)

All in a night's work

Right now, I will tell you this is a thoroughly immoral, stupid post. But, it needs to be chronicled so here goes:

We started the night as a typical Circus Thursday night – meeting up for drinks at Moe’s and Joe’s – an old bar with wooden seats, a jukebox that was never updated from since the 70s, graffiti made from sharpie that has somehow become the staple haunt of Circus kids for the sol reason that PBR is sold here for really cheap. And, we are despicably broke.

It was a pretty good night to be out. The weather was pleasant and cool and we enjoyed a round of drinks sitting on the makeshift patio outside the bar. We even lined up against the gates, so people who were coming in thought we were the bouncers. Some even flipped out their IDs for us. We played along, asking them for an admission fee as well but fessed up when they actually started paying us. Damn you, conscience!

It was BG’s birthday and by popular vote, it was decided to take him to a strip club (ATL is famous for insane number of strip clubs and porn-related stores – I’ve never been to a more sex-obsessed city). Our party broke and we headed to M’s place while some other went and picked up more friends. On our way there, we decided that we had to count all the bumps on the road just like the Count would on Sesame Street (the show, stupid). At every bump we’d go, “ Onnnnne! One bump! Aa!Aa!Aa!”, “Twoooooo! Twooooh bumps! Aa! Aa! Aa!” “Threeeeeee!Three bumps! Aa!Aa!Aa”…you get the idea.

Then at M’s place, we got bored of waiting and D’s buzz was wearing out. So, M pulled out some Absinthe, a euphism really for Some Nasty Shit. The sadder thing is that we actually drank it- it smelt like black liquerish but that’s where the similarities ended.

Thereafter, M took us on a tour of his complex and we decided to explore the restooms in greater detail. As I came out of the women’s room, I saw K walking down the hallway with his belt flailing and pants unzipped. His shirt covered his gentleman parts. As I did a double-take and balked, he said to me, "What Did you see my underwear, no right?” Oh, the joy of being one of the guys.

You might think this is where the debauchery ended, but hardly. We were heading to a strip club remember. We did make it there, and we did remember to print out a coupon for free entry( yes, we are resourceful when it comes to not paying for anything - even boob watching). And, BG got about 7 lap-dances that night. His girl friend also got one. Honestly, she looked like she enjoyed it more than he did. Stripper seemed to be more comfortable letting her touch than him anyway.

The night ended with me and D walking home from the club. Not to fear, we live right down the block from it, next to the largest liquor store in the neighbourhood. Yea, we are pimpin’ like that.

Naat.