frustration at breaking point

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the perfect evening

He entered the room with the expert walk of a tiger out on a prowl. With the air of a veteran he cast a roving eye over the crowd. He knew just where and how he would spend the rest of the evening. He had already selected those who would have the honour of his company. And he had selected his corner. A vantage point overlooking the room and an arm’s length from the much needed bar. The bar was his anchor. In this mind-numbingly boring party he knew the only way he was going home at the end of the evening was copious amounts of alcohol. He hated these events. All these socialites attempting to be so cool. Delhi was fun. Delhiites were the devil reincarnate. All those Punjabis ladies with derrieres needing two chairs. Dripping with gold. Dressed in flashy saris. And their wonderful, faithful husbands. Who looked at women as if they were a piece of meat. He couldn’t take it. He admired women. He loved women. All sorts. Well, the nice sorts anyway. And he showed his appreciation all right.
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Because I can't sing an angst-filled rock ballad and make people fall in love with me

I'm in that mood where I can't decide what to type due to the sheer frustration I feel. I don't get it. How can one person be so absolutely contrary to what you are and still stick around to annoy you. I typed-backspaced-typed like a zillion times until deciding not to say anything because status updates are a sham. You type in some heartfelt message good or otherwise and later on when unsuspecting viewers ask you to explain yourself, you realize you can't. No one would understand and more often than not, it's a really stupid reason and it's embarrassing to reveal it. Which is why I like my blog. No one really reads it. Not even my family or my best friends. Not even me. But I write this crap; I can't be expected to read it too. Let me just turn schizophrenic and start conducting conversations with myself. Out loud.  I do speak to myself in my head; they're very intelligent conversations too. It's very hard to find someone who likes Marqu
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"I don't like you." "who the hell likes you?!" and she walked off. One day. One day i will hack her to tiny little pieces and stand and laugh. and i will be the happiest person alive. That nauseating; suffering idiot will have died and i could then live my life in peace. yes, i hate her. and you probably are right now going: wha-? So i will tell you everything. starting with that floating piece of fluff's name. her name is namrata. we're family friends. now we study together. she detests me. i hate her with a passion i never knew i possessed. but why? one asks us, quite often. why? because that foolface is my best friend. and no one infuriates me more.                    * jackass. jackass. such a jackass! what the hell! I gets the highest mark, he fails. and it is my fault?! oh yes, because i study. and i'm supposedly a "floating piece of fluff". jackass!!!!! who? arjun. family friend and now "best friend".
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