Three things in my head.

1) The hot preacher leaves today. I'm heartbroken.

2) Got a dinner-party-thing planned at home tonight for a whole bunch of people. And I'm working till at least 7 p.m. Worried? Me? Naahh. Everything is in order. Food? Check. Drinks? Check. Dessert? Check. Messy, cluttered, almost-pig-sty home un-cluttered? Oh shit.

3) Saw a quasi-ex last night. Quasi-ex because we were only quasi-dating. We were doing the whole hanging out/ flirting/ late night phone calls thing for a while without an official "dating" tag but it didn't work out. He was still into his ex and I felt he was too over-conservative for my own free spirited, independent self. But damn, last night he looked good. My little heart actually skipped a beat. Too late though, he's already been hooked by one other. I'm surprised by the heart flutter, it's only happened once before. And I certainly didn't expect to feel it for him. Or wait, it could be that I'm weak from all the fasting. Yup, I think that's it.

Crush on a preacher

Every year, every Ramadhan, I end up having a major crush on atleast one of the religious speakers at the local mosque. It's not like any of them have been exceptionally goodlooking (except for that Robert De Niro lookalike 2 years ago.) (Yummy.) (Robert De Niro is THE hottest older man alive) (as is Sanjay Dutt, who I have seen TWICE, and who is just as smokin hot in real life as he is on screen.) (Okay, enough of the parentheses, I could've had a whole seperate post with just them.) (But then they wouldn't make any sense on their own.) (Okay this is really it.)

So I realised something. Along with being attractive and intelligent and witty and successful, (I realise I'm asking for the earth and the stars here) I also want my man to be religious. (and now the moon.) Not extremist bin-laden religious, (who really isn't religious, just insane with a touch of derange (can you say that? Derange?)) but a more moderate (normal) level of faith.

I like a man that believes in a supreme being. I like that he prays and fasts and does the things he does, because he believes God deserves to be worshipped. I like that a man can go out of his way to research and read up on an ideology he has faith in, that is not a hobby, but a way of life. In the wise words of Paris Hilton (whose song 'Stars are blind' I'm embarrassed to admit I quite like, and who really does have a pretty decent voice), "That's hot."

"Religion is essentially the art and theory of the remaking of man. Man is not a finished creation." - Edmund Burke

King of the Ants

Midas* was one of the most vain, conceited, arrogant guys I've ever known. Also one of the most annoying. We met through mutual friends and became sort-of pals. Sort-of because he sort-of liked me and I sort-of didn't. Not that he was bad looking or stupid or anything. Infact, when a friend told me he liked me, I remember thinking hmmm...

Then I got to know him.

Every time we'd run into each other, he'd smile, toss his head back and smoothen his hair with his fingers. Toss. Smooth. That was his peacock preen. Toss. Smooth. Just seeing him in action I'd want to swallow my teeth in irritation.

He'd send pages and pages of romantic (or so he thought) poems that he'd written, offer me a ride home every single day, and when I'd refuse, follow me all the way home. Like a bodyguard. Or an obsessive stalker. Every few weeks he'd send me seven cards, one for each letter of my name. And when I asked him to quit pestering me, he wrote me a long letter declaring his unending love. In blood.

EWWWWW.

After four and a half years of incredible crazy-ness, his father found out just how much he was troubling me and put an end to it. He gave me his number and asked me to call him if his son ever bothered me again. He promised he'd break his bones.

Midas did not harass me again. I did not call up his father. His father did not beat him up.

Sometimes I'm just too nice.

Midas now lives on a different continent. He is married but continues to email me regularly from different addresses (with IDs like onlyyours and made4u). ((ugghh)). All signed, your secret admirer.

More like, well-known-stalker-whose-dad-I'm-so-gonna-call-up.


*Obviously not his real name. And unlike the original Midas, everything he touched, wilted.