Love is the prisoner’s dilemma


Okay, hear me out.

I have been watching this anime called “Kaguya-sama: Love is War”. It is a hilarious Japanese anime, and I am convinced about its premise: the first one to fall is a loser. This premise is strong that its exaggeration of it in different episodes totally makes for a good laugh, as you wonder if this is the state of heterosexual romance in general.

But before that, let me explain to you what the prisoners’ dilemma is. It is part of rational choice theory, and this example gamifies the situation into a riddle. The riddle is: if two robbers are suspected of committing the crime together, and investigated in separate rooms and thhese are the options presented before them: What would be the best choice you could make not knowing what your partner would do?

Remember, if the partner confessed & you remain silent, you go to jail for 20 years! So the punishment for staying silent like a fool is heavy, and ratting out (assuming your partner would also do it) is still something you could bear. But if you both remain silent, you both could be free! What would you do?!

prisoners' dilemma
Detailed Game theory explanation here.

Anyway, my larger point, inspired from Kaguya-sama, is that love is this prisoner’s dilemma.

  • The person who falls in love deeply is the certified idiot.
  • The person who doesn’t fall in love has nothing to lose.
  • If they both confess together, then it is happily ever after in prison!

For the miniscule possibility that the other person feels the same way, will you go all out and suffer like a fool?

Don’t fall in love, kids. It doesn’t look good for most of us. That’s that on that.

Yours certified idiot,
tame shewolf.

🔎 A fellow ethical slut


Dating culture has gone to the dogs with the pessimism and the need for a quick fix and the pervasive boredom and the sense of directionless that my generation suffers.  I have no problem with no promises attached sex. Been there, done that infinity times. But definitely, there is a person in front of you and not an object. But how we allow ourselves to treat someone as a means to an end will always remain beyond me.

Clearly, it has been very difficult for me to find a fellow ethical slutty person who is as forthright. So, I thought I should just write the things I value so that the next time a guy asks me I will just share a link to this blog and make him run away. 😛

First of all, I think it is important to not slut-shame. I literally have felt abandoned after I have honestly shared my sex-life. But sharing your history is part of a sexually healthy partnership. I am definitely not a risk-taker. I don’t know how to navigate being honest but not shamed or (in the other end of the spectrum) be treated as someone up for anything.

Second, and as important, communicate bitches! You may be an introvert, or a person with few words, but you have to speak up about what you want and don’t want; if you are bored and want to move on, or if you want something more; if you have a particular kink or fantasy.

My dating profile is very clear about what I want and don’t want. I still end up in situations I don’t want. If I ask clearly for what I want, there are still times when my needs are bulldozed over. (It sucks to date men). A lot of dating culture also normalises ghosting. I think, it is important to give the person closure. It will help you practice saying “No” even if it is on text. Then, if they can’t be mature about it, please by all means, BLOCK. Till then, in good faith, communicate your boredom, disinterest, and respect the other person’s feelings.

Open communication also entails, if you are comfortable at entering that level of conversation, to share your kinks and fantasies upfront. You definitely don’t want to be shocked or let down later. It helps you own your sexuality. Being open also doesn’t mean up for anything. So this conversation also helps in setting boundaries and actually being open to safe fun. (Plus, the way the guy talks is kinda a giveaway of how thoughtful he will be about your needs in bed later too. 🤞)

Hopefully, if your communication is free of any pretense, it also means that the chances of playing games with each other’s feelings reduces. So then, whatever the arrangement, there is a chance of both of y’all to reach a middle ground.

Also, I want to add one more underappreciated aspect of communication and that is — care for the person beyond your immediate needs. Be curious of other people and their stories and their daily lives. It doesn’t mean you have to talk everyday, but when you talk it has to be beyond “DTF?”. If you can’t do this, you are not ready to date. Basic human empathy required to be an ethical slut. Make lifelong fuckbuddies, not transactional ones.

Value empathetic consent. Don’t just value whatever has been communicated and agreed on. Be attuned to understanding someone’s discomfort in body language or temporary disinterest. It would requires empathy and also just keep checking in if you are in doubt. Slutty people don’t owe people sex all the time, even if they are up for it most of the time.

Know thyself, bitches– Dating is fun if you are clear about what you want from love and life. If you are with fellow confused people, there is bound to be hurt and confusion, because heterosexual romances are fraught with gender politics and then some more bullshit. Work out emotional baggage to avoid unloading it on others and missing out on good experiences. Don’t use sex as a means to feel better. You will not feel better, and neither will the other person enjoy it.

We deserve a better dating culture bcz it feels like we are doomed to be single in a bad economy. It is better to find a community that cares even if you do not find a single person who you could commit to. Learn from the queer community, you god-damn heteros! (I am a hetero too, and clearly I am suffering.)

Is this a dating manifesto?🦋
tame shewolf.


PS: fuck properly!

The breast story!


There was a project on Instagram called #Identitty by artist Indu. She was drawing and collecting stories of women’s relationship with their breasts! The project was a success but she was overwhelmed by the submissions (which included mine), and stopped before she could draw them all.

I thought my story was kinda funny and I want people to see my nooodz. So I drew myself on the basic Google Keep app because je ne suis pas une artiste.

So here is my #Identitty story–

My relationship with my breasts started to calm down after I googled— “normal breasts look like”. As a teen, I was freaking out about my breasts, but I had a stiff upper lip through it all.

My nipples grew suddenly. Or maybe, it is just how puberty makes it seems. Initially, I thought that it was my fault that they grew so large because I was constantly itching the bumps around my nipple. Turns out, it is really common. Relieved, I promised myself that I will tell my teen daughter/nieces, completely unprompted, that their nipples might itch and it is okay to feel that puberty has especially chosen you to be mean to.

Another thing that I discovered which was “normal” was for your breasts to grow away from each other, leaving only a shadow of the could-have-been-cleavage *even with the bra on*.So it made them seem more like mountain peaks than sculpted domes.

My info on what breasts should look like came from porn, and I had only seen white women nude so I was not really sure how to feel about dark nipples. When I had finally googled my query, I was directed to a medical site with a gallery of just *real* different types of breasts. (I wish I could link you to the site, but it is lost in the internet debris now). There were round breasts, long breasts, breasts like mine but still not quite the same, uneven breasts, prominent nipple hair, small but protruding nipples… you get the gist. I felt better. Everything is scary. Everything is sexy.

But do you know what they don’t tell you about? The goddamn cleavage hair. There are no images (NONE AT ALL) to make me feel better about this one. Because maybe you would have to zoom in and nitpick like me. Most days, I know that it is natural and my gender-queer ass even likes and owns it! Some days, I feel conscious of the split-second gaze on my collar and I prefer removing them.

I am not a teen now. Thank you, time. I am chilled about my body too. Thank you, feminists (and also, to all the exes.)

Now, you might look at this amazing drawing by @indu me(!) and think, “Damn you woman, those are statistically the most common type of breasts, get outta here..” I hear you but bear with me ‘cause I had to take this long and winding route to reach this calm.

IMG_20191018_230918.jpg

I wanted to be drawn amidst waves//water

The perils of online dating


Ugh, I have been online dating for 5 months now. I was never really curious about it for so long because I had a moral problem with consuming “personhoods” like commodities. Then, I realized this is here to stay and my protest is ineffective. I am already in the system reducing my personhood in some form or the other- my resume, social media presence, this blog and any conversation really— because we tend to prepare a face to meet the faces that we meet.. Besides that, I was also damn bored. I do (controlled) reckless shit when I am bored.

Obviously, I have become numb to it now. But I credit myself for handling it well. Still, here are few perils that constantly tug at my conscience now and then.

The classist/racist rigged game

Let’s be real— any social app will reflect the stupidity of real life in its purest undiluted form. It is classist because you’ve to create your profile in English. In this country, it is a fucking privilege. So, getting irritated with someone for broken, strong accented English is just classist. Also, my soulmate could be a person who doesn’t speak English at all, but in this app, I’d swipe left because I don’t have the patience to discover someone.

It is racist, you know, because this works only for good looking people with the European standard of beauty. Also, it bugs me to realize that my match-percentage is highest among white boys, and it makes me reflect— am I a white gyrle with white privilege and white sensibilities and a white worldview? Whhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy.

It hurts me, because I am suspicious that it might be true. :((

The cheap thrill of swiping

Initially, I used to open every message or look through a profile to swipe left or right. Because, again, I don’t want to reject The One just off-handedly. He might be completely opposite of me, right? But now, I know, he is not the opposite of me. Some political views I just can’t take. And if you can only message “Hi” to my amazingly funny profile, then we really have nothing to talk about.

Also, I get annoyed with beard and it acts as a filter and contributes to 90% of the left swipes. I don’t relate to that kind of masculinity. Also, why do men aspire to look like uncles? You’d ask, “K, but a beard can be shaved off? It is a temperory state”. To that I say, “If all your pictures have beard, that’s your self-image; and I don’t want to be the one telling you to shave it off because I prefer it that way.” That’s just mean. So, I save myself that trouble.

Also, like exams and interviews and fame, swiping right on someone is so god-damn arbitary. I might have already lost The One.

Men

I am sure that I would have had an amazing experience just looking at and reading about amazing girls. But with men, the categories are cocky or clueless or innocent. Men have no game. And if you have no game, the least you could be is earnest. And fuck off, if you’re going to mansplain me about something I joked about in my profile.

And because I talk about sex openly in my profile, it was supposed to act as a filter for what I specifically want, it actually has the opposite effect. It invites everyone to imagine that I am in for hook-ups. Please, I am not. I am paranoid about my safety.

With dating apps, of course you’d argue, the game is in the favour of women. But mate, at what cost? Fine, I do not get as many advertisements as guys get. I definitely get more likes on an average, because I am sure the ratio for women to men is super-skewed. But, I also get more weirder messages and an onslaught of alpha-males entitlement. Even after the infinity filters that I have, I still end up having bad dates and bad experiences. Men seriously have no game because they don’t have empathy.

Also, again, do only white guys clean-shave, ffs? When will the beard/mustache/goatee go out of style?.

The fatigue of emotions

Any app where you have to put yourself out there is really tiring! I sympathize with people who are looking for relationships here. Because, it is just as emotionally draining as a job search. You have to go there, smile, say how much about them excites you, what you want and have to offer, and then it mostly closes without any explanation, or fizzles out naturally. And, then the cycle repeats.

I try to be nice about it if it is not working for me. But only, if the person hasn’t been a douchebag.

I mean, why am I still on this app?

Anti-hope

I am still on this app because when you find someone you gel with, that’s the little push that keeps you going on. I found a new best friend on this app, and the emotional care that is needed— the regular check-ins, the venting about daily life, the teasing— that is fulfilled because of her! But guess what. My perfect friend lives all the way in Argentina! I told her that I am on this app hoping to find another strong connection that may translate into a relationship. And she pointed out that that’s exactly the reason I should not have hope. If I do find a connection like hers, it would be someone miles away. The app is an anti-hope app! I have to agree with my new best friend!

Inevitably, the anti-hope app has contributed to me losing my zaddy-cum-trophy husband. Zaddy had messaged me first! He was beautiful and tattooed and he had pictures of him without a beard too! We hit it off. I, in my mindless swiping, saw his profile come up again, and wondered why does he have a different account with which he is sending me a “hey” again; and I swiped left. To my horror, I realized that his old account is not there anymore and he tried to get in touch again, but I have lost Zaddy forever! He is a model (damn yes!) so he is contractually obliged to not be on social media sites. You see my twisted fate!

I hope y’all will empathize as I try to search for meaning again in my life. My new best friend reminded me that I was not going to do anything about Zaddy in the first place but now that I have lost him, I dwell in possibility.

PS: Requested by Rivulet*, the person to whom I bitch about online dating. If you are online dating, please have a friend to touch base with, the app will mutate you!

July Edit: Zaddy was a catfish account. Can you believe it?!

What is your personal credo?


This writing prompt made me laugh. But this personal credo makes me get stuff done!

A fool proof and mood proof personal credo

Seriously though, I just didn’t have it in me to write another free-association writing piece but here I am. I have to write regularly, that’s what I have decided! So, I tell myself —

You gotta do what you gotta do!

Having a bad day and daily chores sucking the life out of you? Move your ass..

You gotta do what you gotta do!

Your friend asks you why you’re being stupid and you don’t want to explain, mumble that

You gotta do what you gotta do!

The day beckons but you can’t get up, remember —

You gotta do what you gotta do!

A student tells you that they can’t complete the assignment, and you understand their pain but can’t budge because you are pretending to be firm and assertive, you say to them,

You gotta do what you gotta do!

Your mom is hesitating to block people but it will eventually help her to keep her sanity, you tell her —

You gotta do what you gotta do!

Your friend tells you about their kink, you embrace their nasty by saying,

You gotta do what you gotta do!

When you are know the sins of Amazon, but you order from it anyway because of discounts, you tell yourself that to stay afloat..

You gotta do what you gotta do!

A kid asks you for career advice ( and you know you have none to give bcz— kid, you be dreaming in this economy?) and you have to say something hopeful and realistic and open to interpretation, say —

You gotta do what you gotta do!

Somebody is being stupid on the internet, and you tell yourself that there is no point unless you want to entertain yourself by being an ant bully. Give in to the temptation, holler–

You gotta do what you gotta do!

Your friend is idealistic in his head but stuck in safe inertia at a dead-end job, the pep talk is–

You gotta do what you gotta do!

Reason no. 1 to dump that guy–

You gotta do what you gotta do!

I am comfortable with my body hair but why do I still wax. Because–

You gotta do what you gotta do!

When snack attack hits, and your sister gives you a shame-inducing stare, you stare back at the bitch, ‘cause.

You gotta do what you gotta do!

You’re reading me because you love me and well,

You gotta do what you gotta do!

..for love.

PS: Trying this block thing that WP is trying to swing at me.
Nope, it doesn’t save time. You’re welcome!

My first time away from home


I was actually pretty excited to leave Mumbai. It’s the year 2016. I remember friends and bf being sad about my departure because they were worried that I will find a new friend circle, grow without them and maybe the distance would break us. That didn’t happen, of course. But it was kind of annoying to think that my friends thought of me as a superficial social butterfly.

My mom was definitely worried that I am going to leave home forever. She didn’t say it and I tried to not mention how I was looking forward to be away and discover myself. She however made sure that I carried enough baggage from home, literal and metaphorical. She came to drop me the first time and the taxi was  stuck in traffic. We decided to race to the next station, instead of our scheduled station. We were running with so many bags in a accessibility-challenged railway stations! Like, we were literally carrying heavy bags on flights of staircases, over and over again. And at that point, I was really cursing my mom and her overbearing love, because I like to think of myself as a minimalist person. I reached that other station on time to catch the train. Boarded the train with rushed goodbyes, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Hyderabad, here I come!

I had to visit my local guardian first, so I got down somewhere near Secunderabad, which was far from the university. Elle aunty* was my mom’s best friend in college, and volunteered to help me out in this new city if I needed anything. I was confident that I didn’t need anything, as I had booked my flat, that I was going to share with four girls from Mumbai itself. But, mom. Plus, it is not really bad to accept help even if you don’t need it. Uncle, husband of Elle aunty, picked me up from the station. I remember that he was uncomfortable interacting with me initially and he served me cold food. I, otherwise a person who doesn’t want to touch things at other people’s household, just decided to warm the food for myself. It was a weird, awkward interaction but I don’t expect much from men anyway. He eventually helped me travel to my actual flat which was closer to the university. He was more than glad to drop me off the next day.

Anyway, that night, I spoke to Elle aunt for the first time about my gender and I think we even discussed god. It was difficult to convince her that I can survive without a god, but she kinda was more accepting of my struggles with gender. I had told her how, for me, wearing femme Indian dresses felt like wearing a costume. And I really detest it. And to think of it now, it is true for anything super feminine. I remember her saying– that’s an interesting way to look at it! And I knew that’s how far this conversation could go.

I moved into my new flat and the female flatmates there were annoying.. They were two office best friends, and one used to literally mother the other. The other was a b*tch. They had strict rules about no guy friends, they’d lock their cupboards with chain-locks for fuck sake, and I kind of lost my favourite windsheeter there. The larger story here is that I had three needs for a house. They were the 3 Ws- Wifi, Washing Machine and Western toilet. Clearly, the common bathroom was Indian- styled and I said that was a deal-breaker for me. They negotiated with me and said that I would have access to the Western bathroom in their room, and I was like– okay. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I finally left the house with stupid dynamics because the dependent other had brought her boyfriend disguised as “cousin”, and kind of locked me out of the bathroom I needed to use. I don’t care about boys coming into flats, because we all need a safe space to fuck, but I was annoyed at the hypocrisy. I told the Mother friend who had gone back to her hometown, and she messaged the dependent other and the boyfriend/cousin left. I enjoyed that. But I decided I must leave because this animosity is not sustainable. And did I tell you, dependent other would not even flush! It was literally akin to using a public bathroom. And the whole fucking point of not accepting a hostel room was to not have to use common bathrooms.

I quickly searched for another flat. Here too I asked for the same 3 Ws, I had it too for a decent price. The woman said that she was going to move to another flat in the same building. I went to see the flat, it was chill! Cool. I had my own room and bathroom. It was a little further from the other flat and my university, but there was a share rickshaw available, and the woman had all her furniture that she was willing to share! I was thrilled, happy! Good riddance to mother-dependent liar, even!

But guess what, the day I moved– this woman’s phone got stolen. So I couldn’t coordinate with her. I reached the building and the lift was not working. So I carried the same baggage again on another flight of stairs. This time, however, few children playing downstairs in the building, volunteered to help me! It was so cute! Maybe they saw me struggling and thought making a game out of it would be more fun. I even ended up day-dreaming about taking tuitions with such cool kids! Anyhow, I waited at the corridor for two hours and she finally arrived. She gave me a long story,and it turns out that the new flat is not ready to be shifted, and I am going to be staying with her in the current flat in the same building. Let’s call this flat, the lizard house.

This woman was eccentric, bubbly, kind of an exhibitionist. To my initial embarrassment, she used to clean the house only in a towel. I got used to her crazy and she would vent about her love story, or almost-love story and I would give her pretty good advice. She had her mom living with her too, but for the time I was there, the mom had gone back to Kolkata. I was having a good stay at Lizard house, until the damn dumb lizards. Literally, three lizards in my room! Dumb because they’d not even be chased away to safety outside the window. They’d just freeze behind a photo-frame or some fucking furniture. The house, in hindsight, had too much furniture. The woman refused to help me because she saw lizards as good omen, and I stopped giving her good advice in return. I stayed perenially in fear of stamping on a lizard, because yes, the lizards were so dumb (or close to death) that they had lost their ability to crawl on the wall. I kept following up on when we will shift to the new flat, and I realized that it is not going to happen and she has no plan. I came back to Mumbai for Diwali vacations, and searched for a new house online.

I did find one! This one was closer to the college! I booked it immediately. I came back and transferred my stuff with the help of a friend, who was excited that my house was so close to the college. Three Ws- check. Happy roommates- check. No lizards- Check.

Of course, lot of weird things happened to me in this flat too– police involvement, right wing idiot, angry moms, happy moms, sneaky neighbour, awesome terrace, lift noise, friends’ sleepover, and just piling dirt… Anyway, I ended up living here for almost a year. I got myself a cycle! (A nice friend from university stole an abandoned cycle for me, I got it repaired and used it till I passed it on to someone else at the end of the year for free! I am the socialist the world needs!) I cycled back and forth from university. That was it’s own side adventure.

Point being, I changed three flats in my first six month of Hyderabad. My diary reads that I was depressed during that time, but it was not because of these external factors, just general rumination I susceptible too. I did become a lot confident because of these misadventures. But the first year, I felt I didn’t make any exciting friends, was living my introvert life, and chilling alone. Which was a necessary healing period for me, because I was healing from the past and was bracing myself for Round 2389 of Hyderabad– living in a hostel.

I wrote this for a friend I met in Hyderabad, Incomparable*, who was curious about my initial stay. For the rest of it, he was present and mixed in the drama! 🙂

PS: A curious thing about Hyderabad is that you have to pay for drinking water. I spend Rs. 30 on drinking water every week. It used to annoy me a lot. People just accept bad governance and find a way to overcome it. Of course, I have more infrastructure and sociological observations on Hyderabad. But I’ll write about it as I get my writing groove back. Fingers crossed.

*names changed for fun

Pop music consumer


“When I drive to work, I listen to thuggish rap at a very loud volume, even though the lyrics are degrading to women and offend me to my core. I am mortified by my music choices.”

~Roxane Gay

I have a problem: I devour pop-culture- TV, songs, movies, whatnot. In this post, I shall specifically talk confess about my twisted consumption of pop music.

I have been embarrassed about it. It is okay if you feel cheated. I have been masquerading as a pseudo-intellectual when my one true love has been pop culture. I used to feel super-conscious of it (until recently). I was mortified at the prospect of somebody discovering my playlist. I remember when I used to sit in my friend’s car who plays pop music brazenly, I used to act all detached to the music while I am secretly really enjoying it. Clearly, it has been a really unhealthy journey.

Now, I realize my own fallibility and am more humble about liking stupid things. I have reflected about this and I think that pop culture helps me fan-girl unabashedly. Fan-girling helps me continue to be idealistic about things and people, despite evidence to the contrary.

Sell me sex, Justin Timberlake. Sell me super-rich lifestyle anytime, Bruno Mars; even if I really don’t understand what ‘uptown funk’ really means, and knowing full well that there can be no ethical consumption under capitalism. See, I am also critical of pop music while I enjoy it! I see Nicki Minaj and Beyonce as feminists who kick ass and make anthems for me to sing. I know for a fact* that John Mayer is a douchebag, and I will not even entertain such an idiot in real life, but I do enjoy his music. I can give you lyric by lyric decoding of the kind of douchebaggery it is, but I shall still sing it. Also, because pop music is easier to sing, and they make it intentionally catchy.

The newest earworm for me is this song.

At this point, this video is reparations for all the times women have been objectified in music videos; and I want a million more videos like this one to calm me down.  I don’t relate to the lyrics of ‘trashing a hotel lobby’, but I still sing it. Despite this video “objectifying” men, it is still so diverse and body positive and happy and queer and not even toxically masculine. Womankind is too kind to men, I tell you.

Despicable Me (Not!),
Signing off,
Tame SheWolf

“I’m a great pop culture lover, and I’m not a snob.”

~David Furnish

*don’t challenge me on this, I am the pop culture consumer, remember?

PS: I have deactivated my social media so I read and write instead of scrolling through timelines for ∞ hours.

That’s what you get


“We are stuck with technology when what we really want is just stuff that works.”

― Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt

So, I asked my friends on Facebook about what I should write since it is my blog’s anniversary. Some really tried to help me from my despair, some just mocked it. Instead of choosing just one, I thought why not respond to every suggestion, than just grudgingly “like” it.

This is all that I got by 12 midnight. This is what you get at 1 am.

“Me!”

It is not your birthday.  😐

“Why did you start the blog? What it has got you to? How not to take random advice online?”

  • I started my blog because I wanted to be reminded at each post that I am a good writer by friends and strangers, and that great things await if I keep at it.
  • It has come to the point where I accept that my friends are not going to read (forget like/comment/share) my blog; strangers will stop by, be kind, and leave; and that great thing await despite! But, I still have to keep at it.
  • Damn it creatively. (You see what I did there. I have succeeded to live up to my tag-line at just the right time. :D)

“Write about the year.”

2013- The year when I had tunnel vision for Justin Timberlake. Nothing more.

“Why anyone in his right mind should also write.”

Yeah, that. See, I believe every one cannot draw. Every one is not good at painting. Or sculpting. Or music. Or writing poetry. Or dancing. Or acting. Or photography (even if they really pretend to be.) Having said that, I believe that everyone is creative! We just tend to suppress our expression. If starting a creative endeavor feels intimidating; if being an arty person seems like a natural gift.. but you still want to find a way to express yourself you can always start that journey by writing. It could even be a personal journal! It helps you grow as a person, because for once, you can watch yourself outside yourself.

So, I think, anyone in her (ahem!) right mind should also write because they must explore their own thoughts, and articulate it.

“How beauty and looks are not the same thing!”

It is not the same thing. Looks are about first impressions, and beauty is the lasting one. I think I can really write more on this, so I am saving this for a topic for some other time, and leaving you with this quote:

“Beauty is not caused. It is.” 

― Emily Dickinson

“Perils of blogging”

The perils of blogging, from my experience, are as follows:

  • Your blog will be ransacked by over-enthusiastic admirers who’ll want to know all about you, from the time when you were a giddy-headed teen to the crabby, complaining tween.
  • If you even have a slight, quiet regard for any follower of your blog, you will die a little each time they read an old, embarrassingly raw poem or post.
  • You will lose your hair trying to come up with new things to say. (Yes, you always thought you had so much to say? Try articulating it. Words will refuse to come to you.)
  • You will only be driven to write when you’re emotional. And, then you are doomed to regret it.
  • You will fuss about blog anniversaries.

To, Whatever!

Signing off,

Tame SheWolf

WORDLY WISE:

“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.”

― Douglas Adams

Why I hate boys. (Part 3)


Read Part 1 and Part 2.

“Women don’t make fools of men most of them are the “do-it-yourself” types.”

-Anonymous

In no mood to repeat the disclaimer, I begin the last post of the trilogy! My compulsive categorization brings to you two types of attitudes boys hold in an argument they can’t win.

“You are a girl.”

Hindi version: Tu ladki hai isiliye main kuch nahi bol raha hoon.

A guy who resorts to this to end an argument is trying to be chivalrous, but you can see past that and notice the deep-rooted crap in his head. The move is equal to forfeiting. I don’t see the sense in it anyway. By ending it with this line, he is not only taking my right to fight for myself, argue back or question further but also forces me to be blinded to certain realities (apparently) “for my own good”. And if it is his Won’t-hit-a-girl policy that stops him, it just means he can’t argue with his intellectual faculties alone.

“You are such a girl!”

My ears turn red when I hear this sentence. If only I could beat such a guy up…

When a guy wants to end the fight pretending to be a victor, he’ll use this sentence to prove that I am the girl who is not understanding him and being irrational; or maybe point out that I am getting unnecessarily emotional. What is being “such a girl”? Is it when I can’t take a bad word in my stride?

I have just one guy in my life who serves my feminism to me on a platter. He gives me exactly what I ask for; nothing more, nothing less. I quite often have heated discussions with him. Sometimes I’ll gasp in offense, “I can’t believe that you just said that.” And he’ll say, “Yes, I did.” It is such a slap of perspective in your face. It just takes me out of my thought-rut and I suddenly appreciate the reality of the blunt equality I keep asking for. I like the hit of truth, even though sometimes it takes time to sink in. But when it does, I have so much more respect for him.
But he’s a school friend, and I have a Never-date-a-school-friend-however-awesome-he-may-turn-out-to-be policy. Now, that’s a subject for a completely new blog-post altogether! 😛

*****

Turning slightly off course and since I’ve been talking about boys, I might as well talk about men. For me, men too have their categories.

1.       The Committed

It is not like boys who are committed become men, or boys who are not virgins are men. No, that is definitely not the case. Like I’ve pointed out before, age or experience is not what makes men. It is something else. As soon as I am able to pin-point it, I will blog about it. Promise.

[Aside: What is the opposite of virgin? Not slang words, the exact antonym.]

2.       The Unreachable

A never-ending list under this category, but here’s a few:

All the actors that I am in love with. For example,

Robert Pattinson (Judge me!)

Hugh Jackman (Of course!)

Brad Pitt (Classic case of when you are beautiful, no one cares for your talent)

Shahrukh Khan (Like how Snape somberly says: “Always!”)

Ranbir Kapoor(I believe him in every scene. Every time.)

 

All the actors that I am in love with who turn out to be gays. I feel cheated when I invest so much of my emotional energy swooning over a guy and he turns out to be a Wikipedia-confirmed-gay. For example,

Neil Patrick Harris

Matthew Bomer

[Aside: Also my own observation: No Neil is ever un-handsome! Also included names in this foolproof list are Thomas/Tom and Matt/Matthew. 😉 Go check! :P]

Fictional characters in books and even movies. Currently, I am Sherlocked. 😛

 

Also musicians, yes!

John Mayer (I know he’s a prick, but I totally get his songs! :P)

Ed Sheeran (This guy is something else!)

3.       My Imagination

God, if only I could allow you inside my brain like Dumbledore does with his pensieve (technically outside his brain)! The perfect guy in my imagination is a glorious man with pride, masculine grace, and all the superheroes of the world combined. He doesn’t need to shout because he is heard.

My imagination is not restricted to the ideal world. I totally indulge in daydreaming in real life too. I am automatically starry-eyed over guys who voraciously read.  I cannot stop looking over at a guy who is reading. C’mon, how romantic is a guy turning pages and smiling over what he just read!
I also remember guys by the romanticized titles I give them like ‘Lion Head’, ‘The Musician’, ‘John Galt’ (Atlas Shrugged Hero) etc. etc. There have been times when I’ve blurted out the ‘Code name’ completely forgetting his real name. That becomes awkward sometimes.

Any guy I meet is subjected to these kinds of tale-spinning of how-awesome-he-must-be usually followed by dawning of reality. That guy (let’s call him ‘Humpty Dumpty’) has a great fall and yes, no one can fix him in this side of the parallel universe either.
So to save myself from the giddy crush-disenchantment cycle, I now repeat to myself, even before I begin making stories: He’s not Batman. He’s not Batman. He’s not Batman.
It has worked for me up till now. Seriously.

The perfect guy is also how Adele describes him in her song ‘Daydreamer’: He can change the world with his hands behind his back; or how Beyonce sings in ‘Single Ladies’: Be the man that makes me, then takes me and delivers me to a destiny, to infinity and beyond.

Coming down to reality, if I try to pinpoint my type of guy, it is ‘The Sorted’. They exist, right?

Or else I’ll have to patiently wait (punctuated by impatient rants) until some dumb boy grows up. Sigh.

Coping with Dysphoria,

Signing off,

Tame SheWolf

WORDLY WISE:

“You see a lot of smart guys with dumb women, but you hardly ever see a smart woman with a dumb guy.”

-Anonymous

Why I hate boys. (Part 2)


“If they can put a man on the moon they should be able to put them all up there.”

~Anonymous

Instructions for today: Guys, Identify! Girls, empathize! Both: Read Part 1, if you’ve missed it.

I shall continue from where I left off. So after clichéd types such as The Emotional, The Numb, The Liar and The Flirt we have a fifth type:

5.     The Self Involved *%#@!

The Self Involved *%#@! is so impressed with himself. If he could only hug and console himself, he’d be self-sufficient.

He can only talk about what he did, what he thinks and what he knows. If the conversation digresses to something he doesn’t know, he will turn it back into something he knows.

You’d think if you add your own tidbits, the conversation will be more enriching. But you are wrong! Why do you need to unnecessarily digress from what is more important? Give him a standing ovation once in a while, that’s sticking to the point.

He claims to be an introvert, but is more of a suppressed extrovert. He craves attention and constantly feels being watched or looked up to. (Imagine!) He worries too much of what people think of him.

Sometimes he’ll realize that you’ve been silent for too long. He’ll encourage that you share with him what you think. Of him. If your idea of him is any less flattering in comparison to his own self-concept, you will be bombarded with justifications or be corrected. You nod politely. Let him continue. Stifle a yawn.

Since you listen, remember he considers you a “good friend”. Reciprocate or else…!

The only thing he would enjoy is a chat about him, discussing his achievements/troubles/dreams/favorite stuff. Sometimes I feel people generally disclose more to me than they usually would because I am studying Psychology and they expect insight. (Or it may just be that I counter-question so much! :P). So the differentiating point is that the Self-Involved *%#@! can self-talk even in a group.

This *%#@! will surely think this post was about him. And honey, this time it is for you!

The problem with this type: The sun revolves around him. Save yourself from a sun-burn.

6.     The Patronizing Bastard

I hate The Patronizing Bastard. I hate him. I hate him. I really hate him.

Firstly, he disapproves of you because you don’t fit into his idea of what a girl should be like.

He always has advice for you. He always has instructions to give.

He thinks that the solution to worldly problems girl face is marriage or better still, dating a rich guy. Resist punching him when he says:

-“But why’re you worried? You’ll get married, no?”
Me: “Sooner or Later. Or never.”

-“You should get a boyfriend.”
Me: “Where are they selling them?”

-“Marry a rich guy! Problem solved.”
Me: “For whom?”

He is always right. On rare occasions when he sees your point, he’ll acknowledge that you are right. But he’s more right.

Since you resist his ideas so much, sometimes he’ll let you be. Of course, he’ll let non-verbal cues allow you to understand that he is disappointed and hold you in contempt in his garbage-head.

The problem with The Patronizing Bastard is EVERYTHING. Please if you find out, let me know, who made this Bastard king of anything??

7.     The Henpecked

Do I even need to describe this type?

He prioritizes girlfriend over friends. He really has no assurance of sex (assuming that sex is the prime motivation for acting stupid)

Except in rare occasions, The Henpecked is always a newly-committed guy. He is just so happy he is not going to die a virgin.

He is always trying to please the new GF. He will be with her as much and voluntarily sign up as her slave. He’ll do despicably trivial chores he’d rather not let his friends know about.

So the consequence is that he distances himself from friends. If he is with friends, he will constantly update his GF; even while he’s talking to you.

If you have been his friend, this aspect of his personality will be a shocking insight on how- when it comes down to it, basically, essentially, fundamentally, primarily- boys are stupid and easy to manipulate.

There is really no problem with this guy, except when his dizzying honeymoon period is on and things get awkward. If, in all likelihood, such guys become world leaders or something, then it is safe to say that Beyonce is right: Girls run the world! 😉

8.     The Kid

He’s the true bechara.

He can’t deal with growing up.

He feels forced in to taking responsibilities.

He didn’t expect life would be so cruel and disappointed that his first crush wouldn’t be his wife.

He imitates being an adult. Worse still, imitates being macho. Yuck.

I can’t crib more about The Kid. I just feel bad for him.

Problem: You can’t help but mother him. :/

There! I have summarized the types for you.

(Phew!)

I’d like to point out here, that a boy does not belong purely to one category. Yes, heart-breaking-ly and mind-numbing-ly, these categories sometimes overlap. For example, when The Kid tries to play The Flirt, The Self-Involved becomes The Patronizing Bastard or The Liar pretends to be The Emotional. Until they evolve into men, boys are stuck circling in their limited emotional range.

And girls, we see them through all this. We patiently wait while they figure out what they want from life. So, Yay to us!!! 😀

Boys may still be ungrateful jackasses until they evolve and believe that we’re screwing with their heads. Let them think that. It’s so much fun! 😛
Example: I had this 28-year old (Type: The Kid being The Patronizing Bastard) telling me and I quote, “Relationships f*** you!”.
My mental retort: Why did you get in to a relationship in the first place? To get fucked, I presume. Since when did dumb boys crave stability?

At such times, my friends, with whom I have already vented this imaginative frustration, shriek,

“What kind of guys do you keep meeting??!” “(Whimpers) I don’t know!”

-“Who will you have sex with?!” “(Amused by the concern) Not boys. With men.”

And I realize I talk as if “Men” come from some exclusive planet. Sigh.

Still more to come,

Signing off,

Tame SheWolf

WORDLY WISE:

“I was crying a little for the boy I had wanted him to be and the boy he hadn’t turned out to be.”

― Gabrielle Zevin, Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac

P.S: (SheWolf moans)

P.P.S: It was such an effort to not use abuses in this post. I succumbed.