Flirt 3
In the end, she knew, and he had always known. Nothing happened, in the long run. In the short run, events transpired, but we're all wasting the short run anyway. The end.
Word of the week
Updated!
Word of the week: Engiologicism(en-jio-loji-cizm). noun. The belief that countries can be NGO'ed into prosperity. The belief was proven the same year Nessie the sea monster was allowed to be cloned and kept as house pet, and fluffy the three-headed dog who sleeps at flute music died in the Singapore museum. Uses:
1. Did you watch The Engiologicist? It's the scariest thing I've watched lately-- the Sachs character is creepily scary-- Heath Ledger couldn't have done it better.
2. So you daughter is engiologicisting in Geneva? I'm so sorry-- I'm sure she'll find something better-- it's just a phase and she's always been smart...
Update:
(Added after HiroHiralal's comment to this post)
3. Hero advised Hiralal, "If you can not be a yuppie, then you'll have to settle being an engiologicist."
Word of the week: Engiologicism(en-jio-loji-cizm). noun. The belief that countries can be NGO'ed into prosperity. The belief was proven the same year Nessie the sea monster was allowed to be cloned and kept as house pet, and fluffy the three-headed dog who sleeps at flute music died in the Singapore museum. Uses:
1. Did you watch The Engiologicist? It's the scariest thing I've watched lately-- the Sachs character is creepily scary-- Heath Ledger couldn't have done it better.
2. So you daughter is engiologicisting in Geneva? I'm so sorry-- I'm sure she'll find something better-- it's just a phase and she's always been smart...
Update:
(Added after HiroHiralal's comment to this post)
3. Hero advised Hiralal, "If you can not be a yuppie, then you'll have to settle being an engiologicist."
Relationship Runil takes your questions
As a former advice columnist (I was the Agony Aunt who advised the girlfriend to smear her bf with dark chocolate and lick him to spice their grade 10 love life, idea was changed into 'talk to him about your feelings' by the supervisor), an aspiring columnist (you like Dan Savage? then you'll absolutely lovee Randy Runil where the r-word is in english), and an awesome human being in general, I am asked relationship questions by people of all ages, races, orientations and levels of attractiveness. So here I'll try to take a few questions. You're free to ask your questions in the comment section, and I'll answer them in later posts. Here it goes.
Dear Runil,
-Girl With The Invisible Unicorn Tattoo
Dear GWTIUT,
-RR
Dear Runil,
-mallock, 14
Dear mallock,
Dear Runil,
How do things work? I mean, I am an otherwise confident, self-assured and stable person, and I have gone out with a couple of people. But there's this guy, who I met the other day, who really-really screws me up-- or rather I wish he did, heheheh. He's single, and it seems ready to mingle, and I want to ask him out, but when I see his social media profiles, he's like this awesome person who gets inside-joke-posts on him couple of times a day by his female friends, and he seems to be doing a lot of stuff. I know he's not too good for me, because damn, frikkin' James Deen is not too good for me, and I could ask that sonaofabitch out anytime I want to, but whenever I think about this guy, my legs start shaking and I never get enough courage to do anything. I feel I'm going to make an idiot out of myself, and he's probably not into relationships anyway, since he's got so many women and stuff... HELP!
-Girl With The Invisible Unicorn Tattoo
Dear GWTIUT,
Do you know what I think when I see young couples getting intimate in a temple? I'm like get a room, you cheapskates.. or get a friend with a big house whose parents are not often around, you shitheads!
Anyway-- wanted to get it out of the system. To get back at your problem. GWITIUT, you should realize that you're an idiot already. So am I, and so is everyone else. Yeah, you're an idiot and a stupid shithead and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. Having established that, there's nothing to lose by asking him out. You're already the person you fear you'll make yourself, so you should go ahead. Don't fear evil, for evil is here already. Quote me on that!
There's two ways you can live your life-- you either make a fool out of yourself and die an idiot, or you don't make a fool out of yourself and die an idiot. He's an idiot too, so make a fool out of yourself and reach to him!
About your James Deen comment, yours truly has a friend-of-a-friend who claims to have spent time with him. She tells interesting things, a lot of which would likely disappoint you. Sometimes, the idols you make out of people are big only in your head, and unless you're looking explicitly for certain things, you should keep them in your head until you're really sure. My unasked two cents.
-RR
Dear Runil,
Is it true that girlslikesextoo?
-mallock, 14
Dear mallock,
Please don't rape anyone.-RR
The subject has been brought to the recent public attention by the book 50 Shades of Grey which apparently describes depraved female fantasy in graphic details. The interesting thing is that it's been selling like hot umm cakes, among women, specially the above-30 crowd. Which makes many a man wonder, how did all the women suddenly become so horny?
I understand your curiosity mallock-- cultural perception of female sexuality is fucked-up here. The other day I read in the papers that women in western Nepal don't complain of vaginal pain until their vagina prolapses and literally comes out of their body because they don't want their men to sleep around with other men. A female friend of mine was very disturbed by an Al-Jazeera video were a disappointed father calls his daughter a randi and shouts other obscenities at her moments after she is born. So under those circumstances, it seems natural for the uninitiated to wonder if women are even people, sexually, or just you know, baby-making extension of the male dick sexually.
It might come as a surprise to you mallock, and other people are to blame for your ignorance, but yes, girlslikesextoo. And I'm made to believe they enjoy it just as much as you or I would. So for all intents and purposes, girls like sex just as much as you do.
And to clarify things, they have just as much right to say yes or no as you or I or any man does. Hope that helps!
Flirt 2
He may not know where he is going, but she knows for sure-- after some serious thinking and prioritization, and so he does too now. Everyone is happy and happily ever after until something comes up. Then things could screw up. But lets be optimistic.
A most amazing day or, How to Catch a Frog-- A lesson for Growing Scientists
This was written four years ago. Only slightly edited. This was when I was in 10(?)-11th grade.
This one day, out of random, I wanted to actually be useful to the society for a change. So I went to my most attractive girl friend, and offered help for her school-day experiment. There's always been this awkward love-hate sexual-platonic tension between princesses and frogs, and it manifested in her experiment -- she was doing an experiment involving frogs, and needed few. I knew what I had to do-- I took the water trough and frog-jar from her and went to the school’s new 'pond-ecosystem' to catch frogs.
On the way, I asked people I knew if they wanted to help me catch frogs. Some refused outright, others were interested but busy then and promised to help later. Few thought it was some kind of sick joke and pretended they didn't know me. I found a found a group of junior girls that had nothing better to do than walk around, and they were excited by the thought of getting to know the frogs. They couldn't control their excited giggling to the pond-- those selfless helpful little women. They realized that they could mention the experience in moral science as 'selfless' help to others.
The only thing you will ever need to know about frogs is that they don't like noise. If you live next to them and play loud music, even on weekends and in early afternoon, they will call the cops on you, and if that doesn't work because duude, wtf are you even talking about, noone does that in Nepal, they will try to overload you electrical system and blow the fuse. So to avoid such situation, we tried keeping quiet at the pond.
When a frog feels it's safe and noone's going to annoy it by talking loudly on the phone or blasting LimpBizkit over the sound system, it comes to the surface, and you have to slowly scoop the water below it using the water trough. You have to be very fast at this stage: if the frogs figure out there's something fishy going around, they dive right back in and stay in there for a long time, resurfacing only when they think it's safe again.
The frogs that came to the surface dived right back in because of the excited squeals of my helpers, which frankly I can't blame the frogs for, because that kind of act is really annoying-- you're trying to do something productive finally and they undo several minutes of your patience by getting excited at the sight of a frog. Get a life! Go to Sauraha and squeal at the Tigers, ok?
The deal with working with young women and getting their help is, if you're working 'with' them, you're already screwed, because you enlisted their help since no one else wanted to do anything with you. You can't let them go, because heyy, at least you're not a lonely weirdo looking for frogs on your own, and letting them stay is such a pain because they just wont stop squealing like a frikkin' Dolphin in the heat. It was fortunately lunch time, and I dug into my hidden stash of expensive candies, gave them more than their 'pay' for the time, and got them on their way. Getting them out of the way made me look crazy, but my catch significantly improved without their squeals that were pretty much emergency sirens for the frogs.
My math teacher, who was passing by, was interested by the commotion, and was offered help. He literally got dirty-- he folded up his sleeves, and got into the game. He then started with his backintheday, and told this story about how he and his friends used to catch frogs backintheday backinthevillage, back when everyone was 10, the panchayat was on, and the King was the villain and the netas were the heroes. Strange times they were, he told us, and we had no reason to suspect his tales-- in the few minutes he helped, he doubled the standing catch from two to four.
He covered the frogs with the trough, and carefully created and opening in the trough and caught the frog that tried to escape lightly with his hands. We then put the frogs the jar. As s rule, when a frog escapes, the trick is to not get nervous, run around in circles and unknowingly crush it but be cool and try to recapture it. If it gets too far away-- it's not worth it. There are other frogs in the pond ecosystem.
By then, a small crowd of onlookers had formed around the us. Since it looked like we were having fun, everyone wanted to help now. They all wanted to walk into the pond, pants folded, and catch the frogs barehanded; someone offered to bring his fishing net so we'd catch all the frogs in the pond in a go. A classmate who was doing an electrical experiment for the school-day offered to bring the portable power pack and run current through the pond to stun the frogs. All the ideas were stupid so I refused them, specially the offers for help from those older than fourteen. The frogs somehow knew instinctively that fourteen-yearolds were the easiest way to escape back to freedom, and would jump to one of them when they could. The crowd was getting bigger, and I shouted many times at everyone to keep their frikkin' mouthholes shut. There were already several people fishing for frogs now, including the school guards who were in regular rounds around the campus and friends who had laughed when I'd asked for help.
After collecting seven frogs, which is enough for any experiment( frog zombification anyone?), we got the trough and the jar together and called the crowd to get a life now, since the drama was over. I took the frogs to the experiment, to the delight of my attractive and intelligent female experimenter friend. She was rather surprised; she had not been expecting so many frogs, and stuttered while trying to thank. (Everything after this is a lie, but it looked good on paper when I first wrote) I explained to her that I rather doing it, and thanked her instead. Took a quick bath—the pond water looked toxic! After the experiment was over, I returned the frogs, and we went to the movies with her. Learnt to catch frogs. The most amusing day of my life.
Flirt
She flirts shamelessly with him until he, the older, experienced, and well into legal adulthood, one, blushes and shushes. She's not sure what she's getting into, he better hope he knows what he may not get into.
How to get into MIT-- A dummy's guide for Nepalis
Here's a question I've heard too often for my comfort recently, exactly in this form: Dude, wow! How did you get into MIT?
The answer to that is, by not asking stupid (and unintentionally demeaning) questions to other people, ok? Good enuff?
The question's not asked at me, obviously.
PS: for those who are here because of my linkbaits, I know 5 people from Nepal who go to MIT right now, and 5 other Nepalis who went to MIT. And 10-15 other random MIT kids. Rs. 1800 per person, and I'll introduce you to them; 3000 for introductions to introductions to the Kuires per person. If you talk to them, they'll probably tell you how you got in, and you can too! Get to me right now
The answer to that is, by not asking
The question's not asked at me, obviously.
PS: for those who are here because of my linkbaits, I know 5 people from Nepal who go to MIT right now, and 5 other Nepalis who went to MIT. And 10-15 other random MIT kids. Rs. 1800 per person, and I'll introduce you to them; 3000 for introductions to introductions to the Kuires per person. If you talk to them, they'll probably tell you how you got in, and you can too! Get to me right now
Maya's Bar/Malati ko bhatti -1
Atti achamma tarika le suru bhayeko thiyo. No, seriously. Hear me through.
The little girl brings the bhatmas-chiura. There are three unsqueezed hemispheres of lemons there-- the sahuni didn't want to take a chance with my toleration of sour.
fiction, fyi.
My favourite physics teacher's sister lived in Taplejung, her husband had an aunt whose son did something in the shipbuilding industry in Vishakhapatnam, and the brother of his wife's maternal uncle's son-in-law was a husband of my third girlfriend's mother -- she had married someone else before him but he was a drunk good-for-nothing; thankfully his daughter, my then-girlfriend, was not.
School sakye dekhi chyang khaana gaa thiyena. Ekloi jaanu man thiyena, ra sangai janey manche sab jana dherai tadhaa gaisakeko thiyo. I never liked chyang so it was not that I wanted it... I wanted to drink some for old time's sake-- like an old friend.
Patan ma Mangalbazar ma Honacha cha, right next to the Durbar Square. Everyone goes there-- it's like a five-star as far as chyang khaane bhattis go. Not the place you would go alone-- you would be the lone weirdo while everyone else is in their groups of fours and fives and tens. There's this tiny bhatti in Mangalbazar, take the road right across the main road from Mangalbazar, and keep going; turn right when you see a tiny door. Stoop in and get in there-- that's the place you would have found me the day I met the Dhankute keti.
Dui jana gori, gaala bhukka pareko, i-phone ma geet sunne keti haru tyaha k gardai thye, I don't know. They had chhoyela-chiura in front of them, and two bronze glasses. The moti sahuni and her lean daughter of not more than 14 were working on the gas, so presumably the place was female-friendly. Besides, even jadyahaasi have better things to do than go to bhatti at three in the afternoon on a wednesday.
Both were rested against the grimy wall with legs on the bench, and had shut their eyes to the music before I got in. I noticed, because once I went in, they shuffled around-- the shirts were pulled up and hairs touched.
I asked for bhatmas-chiura and two glasses of chhyang.
Outside I can hear the usual mangalbazar cacophony of tempos and taxis and rickshaws and hagglers and peddlers and the garrulous mics all competing with one another to form this quiltwork of saandeko sound, if i may. It's not entirely pleasant, but you don't feel at home when it's not around. On the wall next to the gas are the posters of King Birendra and Queen Aishwarya (amusing, I tell myself, royalists midst the original ethnic communists and maoists), now faded and dirty with decades of grime, and beneath them some 'Vaani' by Birendra about education. Girl education probably.
The walls must have been blue when they were painted, but they were now black-brown above the dirty-hand-line and yellow-orange-red, from all the paan and oil and whatnot, beneath it. A little white dog lay cuddled below one of the wooden tables.
The radio is playing a song-request program. The host asks the caller what Imraan Khan's first movie was. He's from Naya Baneshwar, and he gets it right-- his reward is a gift hamper from a recording studio which is trying to unload old CD's and cassettes from its inventory. He will receive 40 cassettes and 4 CD's of unsold Nepali songs. That's his punishment for having the knowledge of such stupid trivia. The radio is now playing some bhojpuri song.
Outside I can hear the usual mangalbazar cacophony of tempos and taxis and rickshaws and hagglers and peddlers and the garrulous mics all competing with one another to form this quiltwork of saandeko sound, if i may. It's not entirely pleasant, but you don't feel at home when it's not around. On the wall next to the gas are the posters of King Birendra and Queen Aishwarya (amusing, I tell myself, royalists midst the original ethnic communists and maoists), now faded and dirty with decades of grime, and beneath them some 'Vaani' by Birendra about education. Girl education probably.
The walls must have been blue when they were painted, but they were now black-brown above the dirty-hand-line and yellow-orange-red, from all the paan and oil and whatnot, beneath it. A little white dog lay cuddled below one of the wooden tables.
The radio is playing a song-request program. The host asks the caller what Imraan Khan's first movie was. He's from Naya Baneshwar, and he gets it right-- his reward is a gift hamper from a recording studio which is trying to unload old CD's and cassettes from its inventory. He will receive 40 cassettes and 4 CD's of unsold Nepali songs. That's his punishment for having the knowledge of such stupid trivia. The radio is now playing some bhojpuri song.
The little girl brings the bhatmas-chiura. There are three unsqueezed hemispheres of lemons there-- the sahuni didn't want to take a chance with my toleration of sour.
fiction, fyi.
NPP ko sausage
The trick with the achaar is to put a little bit of the red one, and to pour the yellow one like dal, mix them and then dip everything into the concoction. Goes well with everything, including fried rice, c-momo, non c-momo, buff sausage, chicken sausage, goat sausage, potatoes, tofu, 'shrooms, chicken chilly, chicken sekura, bara, etc.etc.
Politicks
Insects eat insects eat insects.
A roach on a roach on a roach.
For a wimp, you're a good coach.
Things turn around,
And when they do
they will eat you.
A roach on a roach on a roach.
For a wimp, you're a good coach.
Things turn around,
And when they do
they will eat you.
things and other stuff that shouldn't happen
This was going to be titled 'A Tale of Two Cities' and it had 728 words about two cities, where the cities were euphemism for something else. Then I realized cities be fked, I didn't really care about euphemistic cities and their tales, and cities are organic usually and it's really good if you keep your pesky sh*ty writing away from them and stop writing about them entirely, and stay away from them in general, to everyone's benefit. Thus, euphemistic cities shall never be mentioned again, euphemistically or otherwise.
There was very disturbing news from India today-- a minor girl was pretty-much gang-raped by a mob in Assam out in the open for perceived promiscuity. Someone on twitter wrote this:
The police defended that it was a one-time incident and that's not what Assam is. Things moved to Delhi and the wealthy brats wrote somewhere that the phoren media doesn't like india because Delhi is really a safe place, i swear yaar, look my friend has never been raped yet and we party alll the time, and she doesn't even wear anything if you know what i mean hehehe, but seriously, Delhi is a safe place yaar, if not wouldn't all my friends be raped, they are all ignorant idiots of dehaat, doesn't happen in Delhi, doesn't happen to us, and beside, how do you even define rape, sir ji, because me playfully playing around with the girl who was out the other day was anything but rape, and now you are attacking me because you can't prove your point, so I know all about lafangas like you or i'll call the police or I'll just take out my HK.22 ok.
There was this joke the Indian girls make in college. It goes, if you're a girl, and in Delhi, and you're returning late from a party, sleep on the bar, sleepover at the toilet, or cover a boraa over yourself and sleep on the streets, because if you take a cab, you will be raped. The punchline was, someone asks 'Why don't you take cabs?' to which they answered 'Oh, because we get raped if we do that.' You would laugh if it caught you off-guard and you thought they were not serious.
There was very disturbing news from India today-- a minor girl was pretty-much gang-raped by a mob in Assam out in the open for perceived promiscuity. Someone on twitter wrote this:
"If you hadn't worn the skirt,..." -> "If you hadn't gone to the pub..." -> "If you hadn't gone to co-ed..." -> "If you hadn't been born..."and I agreed. There's a lot to be said about the culture and the guys and India and Nepal and mentality and women and respect but they shall not come up here because the war has been lost. The best women can do today in this region is pray to the fking 330 million deities, a lot of them women, that they be not raped. This is horrible and defeatist and it should change and yadayadayada, but they will hide their daughters and wrap them under layers of clothing and then go out to look for any lesser-clothed women to judge/rape. So it is. Runawayforyourlives yaars, runforyourlives.
The police defended that it was a one-time incident and that's not what Assam is. Things moved to Delhi and the wealthy brats wrote somewhere that the phoren media doesn't like india because Delhi is really a safe place, i swear yaar, look my friend has never been raped yet and we party alll the time, and she doesn't even wear anything if you know what i mean hehehe, but seriously, Delhi is a safe place yaar, if not wouldn't all my friends be raped, they are all ignorant idiots of dehaat, doesn't happen in Delhi, doesn't happen to us, and beside, how do you even define rape, sir ji, because me playfully playing around with the girl who was out the other day was anything but rape, and now you are attacking me because you can't prove your point, so I know all about lafangas like you or i'll call the police or I'll just take out my HK.22 ok.
There was this joke the Indian girls make in college. It goes, if you're a girl, and in Delhi, and you're returning late from a party, sleep on the bar, sleepover at the toilet, or cover a boraa over yourself and sleep on the streets, because if you take a cab, you will be raped. The punchline was, someone asks 'Why don't you take cabs?' to which they answered 'Oh, because we get raped if we do that.' You would laugh if it caught you off-guard and you thought they were not serious.
Unreliable Natraj
"Sir he cheated you, hahaha, that is not gandhi, that's an african man," the shopkeeper tells Jack.
"No, this is Gandhi. Look, tall thin, stick and glasses, bald man, all point to Gandhi. Besides, the guy in the counter told me it was Gandhi," Jack says.
"Haha, no, he saw you were a white man, and he cheated you. 800 for a metal african man is too much sir, you can get same size african man for 600 in the shop next door sir. African man doesn't get to eat, they are starving like gandhi, so they are thin. Look at the face sir, that's not Gandhi's face, that's an African man," the shopkeeper says.
He points at the neighboring shop that sells metal african men.
It is Gandhi, that Jack is sure. African men don't carry stick exactly like Gandhi's and they don't wear Gandhi glasses, and they don't have lungis (or do they) and they don't have the Gandhi cut. Scratch that, actually. Gandhi and African men have exactly the same haircut.
"Sir, my gods are very reasonable. Cheap and small, and perfect gift for anyone. You might think 50 rupees for so small gods is too expensive, but metal is getting very expensive these days sir. 1800 rupees for a kilo, can you belive that, it's very expensive. China is buying all the metal at high prices, so we have to keep with the high prices sir, " he explains as he shows a Bhairab with fantastically large dick. "This one is 800. It's small, but lot of work put into it. Everyone is interested by this one," he says.
Jack wants to buy a big Natraj. The shopkeeper doesn't have it in the size he wants, so we move on.
"No, this is Gandhi. Look, tall thin, stick and glasses, bald man, all point to Gandhi. Besides, the guy in the counter told me it was Gandhi," Jack says.
"Haha, no, he saw you were a white man, and he cheated you. 800 for a metal african man is too much sir, you can get same size african man for 600 in the shop next door sir. African man doesn't get to eat, they are starving like gandhi, so they are thin. Look at the face sir, that's not Gandhi's face, that's an African man," the shopkeeper says.
He points at the neighboring shop that sells metal african men.
It is Gandhi, that Jack is sure. African men don't carry stick exactly like Gandhi's and they don't wear Gandhi glasses, and they don't have lungis (or do they) and they don't have the Gandhi cut. Scratch that, actually. Gandhi and African men have exactly the same haircut.
"Sir, my gods are very reasonable. Cheap and small, and perfect gift for anyone. You might think 50 rupees for so small gods is too expensive, but metal is getting very expensive these days sir. 1800 rupees for a kilo, can you belive that, it's very expensive. China is buying all the metal at high prices, so we have to keep with the high prices sir, " he explains as he shows a Bhairab with fantastically large dick. "This one is 800. It's small, but lot of work put into it. Everyone is interested by this one," he says.
Jack wants to buy a big Natraj. The shopkeeper doesn't have it in the size he wants, so we move on.
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