When I first rolled into Trinity Western University in my parent’s minivan on O-Day oh-two, it was only my second time ever visiting the campus. The previous January, I had taken a quick tour in the middle of a snowstorm with a friendly Egyptian named Sam, but all I remembered from that were the hours for the Mail Centre (9 am to 5 pm, Monday – Friday, if you were wondering) . I knew I was showing up for something called “Orientation Week”, but the name didn’t offer many details on what my First Day at College was going to be like.
My first day at college! Well, “university”, I guess, but that sounds too elegant to get excited about. Hometown kids returning from the big city used to spout stories of their time away at college – but from those guys, there are really only two First Days at College stories: the one about beer, and the one about feeling horribly awkward. I’d never heard the one about being surrounded and engulfed by a raging sea of forcefully helpful people in Hawaiian shirts, so I guess that’s why I was a little surprised when Cathy Chapplow led her squadron of SOS leaders to my van, battered the doors down and started carting my belongings away, like an ant colony with guerilla tactics.
Stepping out of the van was like stepping into the Moulin Rouge, except instead of can-can girls and Ewan McGregor, there were a bunch of people in flowery t-shirts telling me how to get to “RNT”. I believe these people were trained to speak only in acronyms. All I really wanted to know was “Where’s my room?” and “Where can I store my boxes?”, but it was like trying to talk to C3PO. They’d all answer my questions with indecipherable strings of nonsense syllables, saying things like: “Go to RSC and ask your RA or SOS leader to get the RD to FUBAR the BQQ with the FHQWHGADS.”
For every new Confused New Person (“CNP”), there were at least three Helpful Happy People (or “HHP”’s, as I believe they prefer to be called), making it impossible to get to know anybody without accidentally being assisted with something. All us freshmen and freshladies got to wear these fancy laminated name-cards ( “FLNC”s) around our neck (“NECK”), which allowed us to introduce ourselves without even speaking out loud. This didn’t stop people from asking questions, though. By evening, I was hoarse from non-stop question-answering, but the only things I’d said all day were my name, major and hometown, repeated over and over again, like I was some strange mix between Jacob Two-Two and that guy from the Aviator.
It took a few weeks, but after a while, we all started to settle in. By “settle in”, I mean we started feeling confident and comfortable enough to complain about things freely. We all tried our hardest to make other people see and comprehend who we were and why we mattered, struttin’ around like chickens with our heads glued on, finding dorms and d-groups and teams and parties and girl/boyfriends and other means of proving we were all grown up. The funny thing is – and this is the part that you don’t find out till later – with motives like that, it all only proves the opposite.
Explanation: one day, second year, I visited the Career Centre (I think the actual acronym is CFLCACD) for some help with my resume. Of course, my rez. included a little info on what high school I went to. The lady helping me took one look at it, glanced up at me and said, “Honey? I hate to tell you this, but…high school doesn’t matter anymore.” And with that, she took her black Sharpie, slashed it across the page, and thus obliterated my entire secondary school experience.
So it’s like that. High-school’s done, and so are all the games you needed to play. It’s not that this place is forcing you to change or grow up, it just means you can start again. University’s a new life, and maybe you can take the chance to figure out the person you actually are, rather than just being what people told you to be. Make less time for proving yourself and more time for listening and learning and changing. Or as we like to say around here, “MLFPYAMTFLALAC.”
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
How She Broke My Heart
When I was 14 years old, in the mournful winter days of a pre-millenium February, my very first girlfriend ever broke up with me after 8 months of earnest yet naïve dating. Of all possible days to break up with me, she chose Valentine’s Day. And she did it over e-mail. The e-mail consisted only of the lyrics to the song “Believe” by Cher, followed by the words “I’m…I’m sorry.” For a brief simulation of how this must have felt, please briefly visit this unknown person’s GeoCities page, and then come back right away.
Upon receiving the email, I hadn’t actually heard the song yet. It was brand new on the radio, so all I had were the words, detached from their peppy and empowering musical context. For those of you unfamiliar with the song, let’s experience it together.
In the first verse, we find out that Cher is: “So sad that you’re leaving / Takes time to believe it / But after all is said and done / You’re going to be the lonely one, ohh oh.” We go on to experience verse 2, in which she states: “I need love to feel strong / ‘Cause I’ve had time to think it through / And maybe I’m too good for you, ohh oh”.
These verses are punctuated by the chorus, during which Cher asks if you believe in life after love, because she feels something inside her say, she really doesn’t think you’re strong enough now. The song culminates in a brutal (yet catchy) victory cry, where Cher and my ex-girlfriend join together in a triumphant duet, proudly declaring: “I don’t need you anymore / Oh I don’t need you anymore / I don’t need you anymore / No I don’t need you anymore!”.
In the days following, I tried very, very hard to imagine what might have inspired her to do this to me, but I’m still a little stumped. The best I can up with is she was probably doing aerobics in her house, jazzercising around her room in sync to Cher’s peppy little pop tune and thinking to herself, “I feel empowered! I’ll break up with Kevan! Yeah! And I’ll do it by sending him the lyrics from this vicious and cold-hearted break-up song!”
I bet that synthetic whoosing sound in the intro and modulated auto-tune thing really made it seem like a good idea at the time, huh? Well, guess what: it wasn’t. Especially when the only thing accompanying the lyrics were the shattering sounds emanating from within my chest. Jeez, it’s been like, over 8 years since it happened and I still get all misty-eyed when I hear Cher’s digitally manipulated voice telling me she doesn’t need me anymore.
I guess I just wanted to advise you all to be careful. Whenever you feel that maybe a quote from a song might express your emotions better than you can, you are wrong. There are many songs out there which seem like nice songs when you first listen to them, but were actually composed by Satan himself in his special studio on the bottom level of hell. These songs include Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me A River,” that song “Too Little Too Late” by Jo-Jo (because I know one of you was thinking of using it), and pretty much anything sung by Bright Eyes or Chris Carrabba. As Bambi’s mother said, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t expect the lyrics from some pop song to say it any more tactfully. And good grief, don’t say it over e-mail.
Upon receiving the email, I hadn’t actually heard the song yet. It was brand new on the radio, so all I had were the words, detached from their peppy and empowering musical context. For those of you unfamiliar with the song, let’s experience it together.
In the first verse, we find out that Cher is: “So sad that you’re leaving / Takes time to believe it / But after all is said and done / You’re going to be the lonely one, ohh oh.” We go on to experience verse 2, in which she states: “I need love to feel strong / ‘Cause I’ve had time to think it through / And maybe I’m too good for you, ohh oh”.
These verses are punctuated by the chorus, during which Cher asks if you believe in life after love, because she feels something inside her say, she really doesn’t think you’re strong enough now. The song culminates in a brutal (yet catchy) victory cry, where Cher and my ex-girlfriend join together in a triumphant duet, proudly declaring: “I don’t need you anymore / Oh I don’t need you anymore / I don’t need you anymore / No I don’t need you anymore!”.
In the days following, I tried very, very hard to imagine what might have inspired her to do this to me, but I’m still a little stumped. The best I can up with is she was probably doing aerobics in her house, jazzercising around her room in sync to Cher’s peppy little pop tune and thinking to herself, “I feel empowered! I’ll break up with Kevan! Yeah! And I’ll do it by sending him the lyrics from this vicious and cold-hearted break-up song!”
I bet that synthetic whoosing sound in the intro and modulated auto-tune thing really made it seem like a good idea at the time, huh? Well, guess what: it wasn’t. Especially when the only thing accompanying the lyrics were the shattering sounds emanating from within my chest. Jeez, it’s been like, over 8 years since it happened and I still get all misty-eyed when I hear Cher’s digitally manipulated voice telling me she doesn’t need me anymore.
I guess I just wanted to advise you all to be careful. Whenever you feel that maybe a quote from a song might express your emotions better than you can, you are wrong. There are many songs out there which seem like nice songs when you first listen to them, but were actually composed by Satan himself in his special studio on the bottom level of hell. These songs include Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me A River,” that song “Too Little Too Late” by Jo-Jo (because I know one of you was thinking of using it), and pretty much anything sung by Bright Eyes or Chris Carrabba. As Bambi’s mother said, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t expect the lyrics from some pop song to say it any more tactfully. And good grief, don’t say it over e-mail.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Days were falling like leaves.
The summer of 1986 brought with it a new warm feeling. On March 3rd, I celebrated my 10th birthday; on 31st of the same month passed my primary exam; moved into a new house and a new neighbourhood; and in the early weeks of April, got admission in a new school which, unlike my previous school, had separate rooms for every class, electricity, fans and most important of all it had chairs to sit in.
New school brought new friends and there started the long history of my making friends. By the time summer vacations arrived, I had learnt that English wasn’t just reciting ABC, it was a language one could speak. During the holidays I formed a Cricket Club in my neighbourhood and… do I have to tell you who became the captain of the team. After a few matches I named it “Ittehad (Unity) Cricket Club” for it was the only thing missing in my team.
At that time of my age I was concrete in my mind that I was to become an astronaut. There was one minor problem though, I just didn’t know how to become one.
One day in 1987, my science teacher caught me squinting my eyes and glaring at the blackboard and informed my father. In the next few days, I was wearing glasses. I shouldn’t have been sitting in the last row I guess. But then I was always a backbencher; you can’t play games in the front rows or can you?
The community of my friends had started enlarging. Asher became my best friend ever. We witnessed countless sunsets together, standing on a dirty footpath of a busy street or sitting on a broken bench in a deserted park; we dreamed of making a difference one day. That day is still to come.
College__ this one word had all the charm in the world and in 1991, I finally got there; Government Gordon College, Rawalpindi. During that stay of four years in the college, I made many life lasting friends, played a lot of cricket, wandered all over the places, started going to cinema, skipped classes, had arguments with teachers, was thrown out of the classroom, stood first in my college in graduation, and in the final year, had my first ever crush.
Once in every three times that I saw her, she was wearing a shade of brown. It was raining the day I first saw her. After that it kept on raining and she kept on appearing like a rainbow from nowhere. Then one day it stopped raining, she disappeared and never came back. I still like rain and adore brown color.
It wasn’t until 1996 I realized that I could write. Inspiration came from Saadat Hasan Manto whose writings made me think and write. And then there were Gulzar, Javed Akhtar, Earnest Hemmingway and Krishan Chander. I particularly admire Gulzar for he writes the language in which I dream. It was a rainy day (again) of that year when I wrote my first ever short story the house. Since then rain has become a vital part of my writing.
And rain looked even more beautiful when in February 1997, I took admission in Quaid_I_Azam University, Islamabad. I became a part of the 1997-99 session of the Department of International Relations. I wasn’t a backbencher any more, now I would sit in the third row. So what if there were only four rows in the class. Again I found good friends there and good teachers as well. Sir Imran Hameed’s viva sessions would always remain in my memory as a pleasant tension.
Looking back at all those years, I find a lot to remember and to cherish. Life has taken many twists and turns but it has always been beautiful. My parents have always extended their unconditional trust towards me. And my friends have always been there for me with their untiring company. I have named this page About Us instead of About Me, as a tribute to all those who have treaded with me even for one step.
Once there was a time where every morning I would ask myself, when would life start? Now, life starts every day. There are so many things waiting to be done, so many stories waiting to be written. I owe a lot to life and to God.
Days are falling like leaves.
New school brought new friends and there started the long history of my making friends. By the time summer vacations arrived, I had learnt that English wasn’t just reciting ABC, it was a language one could speak. During the holidays I formed a Cricket Club in my neighbourhood and… do I have to tell you who became the captain of the team. After a few matches I named it “Ittehad (Unity) Cricket Club” for it was the only thing missing in my team.
At that time of my age I was concrete in my mind that I was to become an astronaut. There was one minor problem though, I just didn’t know how to become one.
One day in 1987, my science teacher caught me squinting my eyes and glaring at the blackboard and informed my father. In the next few days, I was wearing glasses. I shouldn’t have been sitting in the last row I guess. But then I was always a backbencher; you can’t play games in the front rows or can you?
The community of my friends had started enlarging. Asher became my best friend ever. We witnessed countless sunsets together, standing on a dirty footpath of a busy street or sitting on a broken bench in a deserted park; we dreamed of making a difference one day. That day is still to come.
College__ this one word had all the charm in the world and in 1991, I finally got there; Government Gordon College, Rawalpindi. During that stay of four years in the college, I made many life lasting friends, played a lot of cricket, wandered all over the places, started going to cinema, skipped classes, had arguments with teachers, was thrown out of the classroom, stood first in my college in graduation, and in the final year, had my first ever crush.
Once in every three times that I saw her, she was wearing a shade of brown. It was raining the day I first saw her. After that it kept on raining and she kept on appearing like a rainbow from nowhere. Then one day it stopped raining, she disappeared and never came back. I still like rain and adore brown color.
It wasn’t until 1996 I realized that I could write. Inspiration came from Saadat Hasan Manto whose writings made me think and write. And then there were Gulzar, Javed Akhtar, Earnest Hemmingway and Krishan Chander. I particularly admire Gulzar for he writes the language in which I dream. It was a rainy day (again) of that year when I wrote my first ever short story the house. Since then rain has become a vital part of my writing.
And rain looked even more beautiful when in February 1997, I took admission in Quaid_I_Azam University, Islamabad. I became a part of the 1997-99 session of the Department of International Relations. I wasn’t a backbencher any more, now I would sit in the third row. So what if there were only four rows in the class. Again I found good friends there and good teachers as well. Sir Imran Hameed’s viva sessions would always remain in my memory as a pleasant tension.
Looking back at all those years, I find a lot to remember and to cherish. Life has taken many twists and turns but it has always been beautiful. My parents have always extended their unconditional trust towards me. And my friends have always been there for me with their untiring company. I have named this page About Us instead of About Me, as a tribute to all those who have treaded with me even for one step.
Once there was a time where every morning I would ask myself, when would life start? Now, life starts every day. There are so many things waiting to be done, so many stories waiting to be written. I owe a lot to life and to God.
Days are falling like leaves.
Celebrity Worship Syndrome
3 am!
11 degree below zero. I sleep with my eyes open (a marvel I mastered to help me survive dentistry lectures). I realize that I’ve been watching the E! Celebrity marathon for the last hour and a half. And after the break, the special candid feature about Paris Hilton! My face lights up like some Peshawar bound truck loaded with 3,000 mini bulbs with those God forsaken colors.
Shut up Vincezero! That’s my dog, named after an Italian mobster. Brags on and on like a Turk, even eats cannoli like his mother was a peasant in the Vatican. I said shut up you mutt, the grand event is here. And I make a little movie in my head. But no! The theme is “Paris buys a lollypop for 20 dollars from a local kid”, and drives away in her SUV. (rap video?)
It occurs to me then, why hasn’t some telemarketer called me to sell me the same brand of candy she’s got. “Douh”! (in the vocabulary of my greatest inspiration Homer Simpson) they got to me. My masculine fantasies have infected me to the deadly celebrity worship syndrome (CWS).
A third of people in the Untied Kingdom alone suffer from "celebrity worship syndrome," a fascination in the lives of the rich and famous that for some becomes a potentially dangerous addiction, according to New Scientist magazine.
People obsessed by this syndrome ask themselves questions like "I am obsessed by details of my favorite celebrity's life", "I consider my favorite celebrity to be my soul mate" and "If he/she asked me to do something illegal as a favor, I would probably do it." In addition, celebrity fans are significantly likelier to suffer from anxiety, depression and social dysfunction than non-worshippers.
And here’s the interesting part, the condition isn’t just physiological, it goes on to become pathological. The devotee develops an "intense-personal" attitude towards an idol, such as the belief that he or she had a special bond with the star.
At this point, celebrity worship is becoming an addiction. Those in this category are often neurotic, tense, emotional and moody. At its most intense, celebrity worship is "borderline-pathological," a condition found in 1 out of 4 Britons. These include celebrity stalkers and people who are willing to hurt themselves or others in the name of their idol. They correlate with symptoms of psychosis, such as impulsive, antisocial and egocentric behavior.
Just worshipping a celebrity does not make you dysfunctional, but it does put you at risk of being so. There is this progression of behaviors, and if you start, we don't know what's going to stop you.
People tend to get interested in celebrities at times when they are looking for direction in life, as in their teenage years. The situation isn’t much different in Pakistan either. View any moderately good-looking to a knock off local singer’s discussion forum. One can see 14-19 year olds proclaiming their love for the marasi... I’m sorry... singer!
Let’s see now…? Who to blame? And we have a winner! It’s the breaking up or non existence of family structure. Adolescents and teenagers have no one to look upon for reference, no one they can identify with and most importantly no mentors or role-models. So now they do the obvious, yes! Turn to the celebrity for guidance.
So if you find yourself rushing to ebid.com to buy Ben Affleck’s used napkin, or Brad Pitt’s Gucci underwear (no fight club fans, he really does wear Gucci) or Tony Blair’s office stationary (yes, being in the spotlight makes him worshipped), then you my friend need help!
The worst part is, a decade ago, you were famous if you were special. These days you’re special if you’re famous. Hence to say, celebrities have no criteria.
As for me. I’ll go back to watching TV with Vincezero in the sub-zero Quetta winters. Damn you ever image changing pop artists; you get to watch it with your girl. Well, at least he winks like Neha!
11 degree below zero. I sleep with my eyes open (a marvel I mastered to help me survive dentistry lectures). I realize that I’ve been watching the E! Celebrity marathon for the last hour and a half. And after the break, the special candid feature about Paris Hilton! My face lights up like some Peshawar bound truck loaded with 3,000 mini bulbs with those God forsaken colors.
Shut up Vincezero! That’s my dog, named after an Italian mobster. Brags on and on like a Turk, even eats cannoli like his mother was a peasant in the Vatican. I said shut up you mutt, the grand event is here. And I make a little movie in my head. But no! The theme is “Paris buys a lollypop for 20 dollars from a local kid”, and drives away in her SUV. (rap video?)
It occurs to me then, why hasn’t some telemarketer called me to sell me the same brand of candy she’s got. “Douh”! (in the vocabulary of my greatest inspiration Homer Simpson) they got to me. My masculine fantasies have infected me to the deadly celebrity worship syndrome (CWS).
A third of people in the Untied Kingdom alone suffer from "celebrity worship syndrome," a fascination in the lives of the rich and famous that for some becomes a potentially dangerous addiction, according to New Scientist magazine.
People obsessed by this syndrome ask themselves questions like "I am obsessed by details of my favorite celebrity's life", "I consider my favorite celebrity to be my soul mate" and "If he/she asked me to do something illegal as a favor, I would probably do it." In addition, celebrity fans are significantly likelier to suffer from anxiety, depression and social dysfunction than non-worshippers.
And here’s the interesting part, the condition isn’t just physiological, it goes on to become pathological. The devotee develops an "intense-personal" attitude towards an idol, such as the belief that he or she had a special bond with the star.
At this point, celebrity worship is becoming an addiction. Those in this category are often neurotic, tense, emotional and moody. At its most intense, celebrity worship is "borderline-pathological," a condition found in 1 out of 4 Britons. These include celebrity stalkers and people who are willing to hurt themselves or others in the name of their idol. They correlate with symptoms of psychosis, such as impulsive, antisocial and egocentric behavior.
Just worshipping a celebrity does not make you dysfunctional, but it does put you at risk of being so. There is this progression of behaviors, and if you start, we don't know what's going to stop you.
People tend to get interested in celebrities at times when they are looking for direction in life, as in their teenage years. The situation isn’t much different in Pakistan either. View any moderately good-looking to a knock off local singer’s discussion forum. One can see 14-19 year olds proclaiming their love for the marasi... I’m sorry... singer!
Let’s see now…? Who to blame? And we have a winner! It’s the breaking up or non existence of family structure. Adolescents and teenagers have no one to look upon for reference, no one they can identify with and most importantly no mentors or role-models. So now they do the obvious, yes! Turn to the celebrity for guidance.
So if you find yourself rushing to ebid.com to buy Ben Affleck’s used napkin, or Brad Pitt’s Gucci underwear (no fight club fans, he really does wear Gucci) or Tony Blair’s office stationary (yes, being in the spotlight makes him worshipped), then you my friend need help!
The worst part is, a decade ago, you were famous if you were special. These days you’re special if you’re famous. Hence to say, celebrities have no criteria.
As for me. I’ll go back to watching TV with Vincezero in the sub-zero Quetta winters. Damn you ever image changing pop artists; you get to watch it with your girl. Well, at least he winks like Neha!
Don't go there: 10 places not to find dates
Volumes have been written on the best places to pick up a member of the opposite gender, but nobody’s written word one on where not to meet a mate. Most regular daters are aware you can comfortably approach somebody at a friend’s party, or your favorite coffee shop, or the local grocery store, but what sort of places should you by no means think about romancing?
Here’re ten of ’em:
A skanky, nasty, gross bar
It’s all fine and good to ask a hottie for their phone number at a watering hole that has a nice jukebox, some top-shelf liquor, and relatively clean floors. But if the tavern looks and smells like a toxic waste dump, or if it has blood on the walls, or if the bartender is covered with festering sores, chances are the person you meet there has issues. Then again, if you’re hanging out there, chances are you have issues.
In the “Military History” section of a bookstore
Do you want to always associate your first meeting with the Crimean War? Not so much.
Anywhere within close proximity of a public restroom
And that means anywhere. Not inside of. Not outside of. Not in front of. Not in back of. This especially holds true if you run into a girl in the boy’s room, or vice versa.
In the waiting room of your shrink’s office
If you ignore this advice, and go out with the goth-looking chick or the eyeshadow-wearing guy who has the timeslot right after yours, and if after two months, it goes south, that means your doctor will be hearing about the failed “relationship” from both sides. Yuck.
Via an online website named something like “I’mGoingToStalkYou.com”
Don’t worry, this site doesn’t exist, but you get the point.
A funeral
Even if she looks amazing in her form-fitting black dress, or even if he is sexy as can be in his double-breasted black suit, don’t do it, if only because the specter of death will always hover over you.
Wrigley Field
The Chicago Cubs haven’t been in a World Series in approximately 3,000 years. A meeting at their venerable ballpark will be fraught with loser-ness.
A police station
Say your cousin got busted for getting into a fight at the aforementioned skanky, nasty, gross bar. Say he calls you to bail him out. Say the girl sharing his holding cell is drop-dead gorgeous, and you want to get her number. Don’t. There’s a high probability that this woman is a criminal, and criminals don’t necessarily make the best girlfriends.
Behind a dumpster in an alley
A dark, dirty, smelly place isn’t the best venue to lay the groundwork for a positive, healthy love affair. Besides, what’re they doing there? What’re you doing there? Wait, don’t answer that…
Work
As the saying goes, “Don’t (you know what) where you (you know what).” Sure, some wonderful relationships have been forged at the office, but the majority of workplace romances fizzle, collapsing under the weight of your co-worker’s gossiping, and too much exposure to one another.
Here’re ten of ’em:
A skanky, nasty, gross bar
It’s all fine and good to ask a hottie for their phone number at a watering hole that has a nice jukebox, some top-shelf liquor, and relatively clean floors. But if the tavern looks and smells like a toxic waste dump, or if it has blood on the walls, or if the bartender is covered with festering sores, chances are the person you meet there has issues. Then again, if you’re hanging out there, chances are you have issues.
In the “Military History” section of a bookstore
Do you want to always associate your first meeting with the Crimean War? Not so much.
Anywhere within close proximity of a public restroom
And that means anywhere. Not inside of. Not outside of. Not in front of. Not in back of. This especially holds true if you run into a girl in the boy’s room, or vice versa.
In the waiting room of your shrink’s office
If you ignore this advice, and go out with the goth-looking chick or the eyeshadow-wearing guy who has the timeslot right after yours, and if after two months, it goes south, that means your doctor will be hearing about the failed “relationship” from both sides. Yuck.
Via an online website named something like “I’mGoingToStalkYou.com”
Don’t worry, this site doesn’t exist, but you get the point.
A funeral
Even if she looks amazing in her form-fitting black dress, or even if he is sexy as can be in his double-breasted black suit, don’t do it, if only because the specter of death will always hover over you.
Wrigley Field
The Chicago Cubs haven’t been in a World Series in approximately 3,000 years. A meeting at their venerable ballpark will be fraught with loser-ness.
A police station
Say your cousin got busted for getting into a fight at the aforementioned skanky, nasty, gross bar. Say he calls you to bail him out. Say the girl sharing his holding cell is drop-dead gorgeous, and you want to get her number. Don’t. There’s a high probability that this woman is a criminal, and criminals don’t necessarily make the best girlfriends.
Behind a dumpster in an alley
A dark, dirty, smelly place isn’t the best venue to lay the groundwork for a positive, healthy love affair. Besides, what’re they doing there? What’re you doing there? Wait, don’t answer that…
Work
As the saying goes, “Don’t (you know what) where you (you know what).” Sure, some wonderful relationships have been forged at the office, but the majority of workplace romances fizzle, collapsing under the weight of your co-worker’s gossiping, and too much exposure to one another.
5 FIRST DATE NO-NOs
It's happened to all of us at one time or another. We get excited about that first date, but it ends up being a total disaster.
A week or so later (maybe longer), we get to a stage where we can have a good laugh about it. So what went wrong?
Aside from some of the more usual mishaps such as gross exaggeration on the part of the other person (they don't work for MI5 after all), it's possible that too much unappealing information was given away. We'll make sure that you're prepared. Study this list of five things never to reveal before the second date.
1. The Ex-Files
There's nothing worse than a date who talks incessantly about a past love. "He treated me so badly but I really loved him" or "She was so good to me and I stupidly let her go."
Whatever.
This one is a no-brainer: the first date is not the time to drone on about all of your past ill-fated love affairs.
2. Silence Is Golden
If you're looking for a new love, chances are you may choose to hedge your bets and date more than one person at the same time before making your final choice. Whatever you do, don't let the cat out of the bag. So okay, technically you're not in a relationship if you're on a first date but it's still akin to saying, "this is a competition and you’re way behind." Nobody can compete with strangers - nor should they have to.
3. "Have my baby"
A female taxi driver picks up a fare and immediately goes all 'Fatal Attraction' on him. He tells her not to rush things because they've only just met and he's not ready - sound familiar? It's a funny advert on TV at the moment ramming home the point about a brand of lager's lengthy brewing process. However, it applies here too. There's no point stressing a desire for an immediate commitment because your date will feel your desperation and run a mile.
4. Family Ties
Hate your parents or your siblings or cousins? Keep it to yourself. We all have conflicts with our families, and most of us understand that family issues inevitably rear their ugly heads in intimate relationships as well. However, don't vent about your nearest and not-so-dearest in front of a date. First impressions count and the entire rant will probably be interpreted by the person with you as a sign of things to come.
5. I Hate My Life
Long, drawn-out monologues dwelling on a stagnant career (for example) certainly won't inspire confidence in your ability to respond effectively to negative life situations. Don't give the person you're spending the evening with ammunition to shoot you down.
It's great to talk about political opinions and other serious issues when you're getting to know someone new; how else will you figure out what you have in common? You really don’t have to keep it too light on the first date but keep in mind that if you're doing most of the talking — and if what you're talking about is mostly negative, you're probably not going to have a second date.
A week or so later (maybe longer), we get to a stage where we can have a good laugh about it. So what went wrong?
Aside from some of the more usual mishaps such as gross exaggeration on the part of the other person (they don't work for MI5 after all), it's possible that too much unappealing information was given away. We'll make sure that you're prepared. Study this list of five things never to reveal before the second date.
1. The Ex-Files
There's nothing worse than a date who talks incessantly about a past love. "He treated me so badly but I really loved him" or "She was so good to me and I stupidly let her go."
Whatever.
This one is a no-brainer: the first date is not the time to drone on about all of your past ill-fated love affairs.
2. Silence Is Golden
If you're looking for a new love, chances are you may choose to hedge your bets and date more than one person at the same time before making your final choice. Whatever you do, don't let the cat out of the bag. So okay, technically you're not in a relationship if you're on a first date but it's still akin to saying, "this is a competition and you’re way behind." Nobody can compete with strangers - nor should they have to.
3. "Have my baby"
A female taxi driver picks up a fare and immediately goes all 'Fatal Attraction' on him. He tells her not to rush things because they've only just met and he's not ready - sound familiar? It's a funny advert on TV at the moment ramming home the point about a brand of lager's lengthy brewing process. However, it applies here too. There's no point stressing a desire for an immediate commitment because your date will feel your desperation and run a mile.
4. Family Ties
Hate your parents or your siblings or cousins? Keep it to yourself. We all have conflicts with our families, and most of us understand that family issues inevitably rear their ugly heads in intimate relationships as well. However, don't vent about your nearest and not-so-dearest in front of a date. First impressions count and the entire rant will probably be interpreted by the person with you as a sign of things to come.
5. I Hate My Life
Long, drawn-out monologues dwelling on a stagnant career (for example) certainly won't inspire confidence in your ability to respond effectively to negative life situations. Don't give the person you're spending the evening with ammunition to shoot you down.
It's great to talk about political opinions and other serious issues when you're getting to know someone new; how else will you figure out what you have in common? You really don’t have to keep it too light on the first date but keep in mind that if you're doing most of the talking — and if what you're talking about is mostly negative, you're probably not going to have a second date.
I am Blogging!!!!
I don't know why but I always loved to write but somehow I have never been able to write what I have been dreaming and thinking. I have never blogged around and hence have no idea how and what a BLOG is and how to use that but right now I have planned to delve myself into blog and write whatever I have in my mind.
Anyways I am happy that Finally I am Blogging....
Who Am I?
A lot of people would be curious who am I?
Do I really need to have an identity to show people and for people.
Do names matter, for me it is the person that matters and hence let's call me nameless.
I am essentially a young cum old man, old at mind and young at heart as most of the people say it.
Let's see whether I would be able to do justice with you my Nameless identity.
Anyways I am happy that Finally I am Blogging....
Who Am I?
A lot of people would be curious who am I?
Do I really need to have an identity to show people and for people.
Do names matter, for me it is the person that matters and hence let's call me nameless.
I am essentially a young cum old man, old at mind and young at heart as most of the people say it.
Let's see whether I would be able to do justice with you my Nameless identity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)