<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d18703876\x26blogName\x3dOut+in+my+head\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://outinmyhead.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://outinmyhead.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-7488784439176053679', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
Friday, August 24, 2007
Love Don't Let Me Go



So after much thinking, talks with friends, and general musings (and nagging), I have decided to try and pursue a relationship. The other day I was speaking with a friend about how I'm still young and I should enjoy myself and the "dating" scene, but in all honesty, I'm pretty much worn out with it. Sure I get plenty of 'hibbidy-jibbidy' (*cringe*) but I remember a time when I was in a real relationship and how happy I was.

So my first step on the 'road to relationships' was to delete my gaydar profile. I've had that thing for about 9 years, and have met plenty of men, but the time has come to take things a little bit slower. So bye bye gaydar (or shagdar as I called it) - you will be missed for a while, but nothing that a little therapeutic shopping can't fix.

Ladies and gentlemen (and those who have yet to make up their minds) - I am now officially single. And Looking.


You are reading this post on a blog is no longer maintained - please visit www.outinmyhead.com instead!
Friday, August 17, 2007
Choli Ke Peeche



The title of this post is actually the name of a Hindi song, which literally translates to 'behind the blouse'. Why the reason for this rather 'international' title to my post? Well a friend of mine was talking to me recently about sex education, and I realized that when I was growing up, we never had any such thing. As far as our parents were concerned, we didn't need to know anything about sex. Now being Indian myself, if I had asked my parents about sex, they would have said "Shee shee...sax? Dirty dirty! Why you want to know about sax? No need to know! Where you heard about sax?". Plus, being a Catholic Indian doesn't help much, because the above response would be quickly followed by something along the lines of "When the time is right, the spirit will come to you and you will know all". But seriously speaking, my 'sex education' didn't come from uncomfortable classes where a 65 year old buddi would show us how to put a condom onto a banana. My sex education came from good old fashioned experience, and let me tell you this, there were no bananas involved.

I often do wonder why people refer to sex as 'birds and the bees'. The way I see it, birds and bees are the two worst couple examples you could give. They're not even in the same species, let alone the same zip code. That's like saying "Amma, can you tell me about the monkeys and the elephants?" Just say "Can we talk about sex please?" and watch your mum drop the chopping knife onto her foot.


You are reading this post on a blog is no longer maintained - please visit www.outinmyhead.com instead!
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Faster Kill Pussycat



Women always know when they've caught a good man. The perfect alpha male specimen - the cream of the genetic pool. I believe that the term 'trophy husband' was coined on behalf of all the straight women. Women believe that finding (and keeping) a husband is like going hunting. You have to track him down, lure him into a trap, and then shoot and skin the fucker. Nah I'm just kidding about the shooting bit - that only comes into play once he's been caught in bed with his secretary.

But seriously, with every other couple I see today, the husband is a trophy husband. The woman has her arm firmly in his, and has a look on her face that says 'Come with 10ft of this man and I will trip your hair out'. A woman with a trophy husband typically will introduce him as if he were an object. "Oh and this is my husband Frank" - the poor husband's sole duty at this point is to smile and shake hands, while mentally sending out the message "Please get me away from this deranged control freak!"


You are reading this post on a blog is no longer maintained - please visit www.outinmyhead.com instead!