Of Jerks, Idiots and Assholes!

Despite what your reactions maybe, I am just going to say it! This post IS a result of a lot of soul-searching. I say Soul Searching because for almost a week I deliberated over the fact whether I should go on and bitch like this or not, and how it would reflect upon me. But enough Soul searching. After meeting the amounts of characters (read jerks) that I have, I had no choice but to vent out in the cyberspace. But there is anther reason that has prompted me to write this.

Believe me you, but the guys are getting intelligent, and they are coming up with new ways and new lines to get you into their trap. One of the lines that sort of seem to be reoccurring a lot is how much these guys love my blog. (One jerk even subscribed to my blog for the duration of the time we were friends. He unsubscribed the minute I lost interest in him.) And since this is the new opening line I have decided to write this post so they may know that they too, will be victims of my fury like this. So future jerks, beware. Past Jerks, this is pay back! So let me – at the risk of humiliating myself in the process – reveal the latest line up of jerks in my life.

The So-Called Intellect:

I ran into this guy on a Friends FB wall.. Her status had ignited a debate and he and I were on the same side. So I think here is a guy who could be nice to talk to. The guy emails me on FB and soon he is in my list. A gay friend of mine (thank God for him) who checks my list every now and then (for obvious reasons) told me that the guy who was in the profile picture was gay. Why is this a problem? Because he is flirting all the way! So I confront him.. And then comes Lie#1.. “That is not me in the picture..that is a friend of mine..But I am sure looks don’t matter to you, so why are you making a big deal of it?” but the detective in me is on! Through a friend of mine who also works in the same office as him, I find out that no guy by his name works in the office.. HE IS A FAKE.. Lie#2: “Of course I work there, but that guy just doesn’t know me that much thats why I am sure he said that”. Enough Bullshit. I sever all ties with him, I delete him from my FB, MSN, the deal! So a few months into this event, I am checking out my FB inbox, and there is a message from a guy who I don’t ever remember talking to.. Wanna guess who was the guy? Yes, he was the FAKE GUY! Apparently he hadn’t only put some one else image, he was even lying about his name to the whole world. LOSER!

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Lolita: My Beloved!

Since the moment I turned the first page, I have been completely captivated by the thoughts of Lolita. I feel in love with Humbert on that night in the “slender leaved mimosa groove” where he and Annabel shared a few moments of young innocent love. It was from this point on that I kept saying to myself that “No this man can not be a Child Molester. A man with such a sense of love just can’t be.”

Then came that day when he was to meet Lolita, and it was then that I was completly split. I asked people around what they thought of it. Most of them simply went on to define it as “an expression of love”. But I couldn’t agree with that. For me to agree with that, would have meant to validate the sins that people commited against me.

Despite all the love that Humbert might have for Lolita, in the very end for me, he is a molester who took advantage of a little girl. For some reason, I kept finding glimpes of known emotions. For some reason, I kept finding signs that were all too fimiliar.

I think it was in the account, after Humbert had visited Dolores Schiller, that I truly understood and connected with her and her feelings. How she just lies there with “her grave, gray eyes more vacant than ever”. Had Lolita written a memoir, she must have mentioned how in that moment she – defeated – just lied there, her body presented for whom ever. She would have written about how she had to understand to take advantage of what she had, to make a life for herself, she must have written about the helplessness that one has to go through every single day. She must have written about the distrust that seems to become a part of your life after such incidents. About how a simple act of love takes so much effort from your part. Is this why she never got interested in boys? Is this why she found this stuff over rated? Is this why she took pity on a guy and married him? Did she ever get free from her past? How I wish Vladimir Nabokov could have written a memoir about her!