He’s Just Not That Into You

Ever been approached by a guy or a girl for your e-mail? I’m sure you have you sexy, sexy muffins you. Now I’ve consulted with highly esteemed experts in social relations and asking for an e-mail is the easiest thing to do these days, more so than a handphone number and even more so than an address (eeeee stalker alert!). Chances are you’ve met the Undesireable, the Uninteresting and - the most feared - the Unrelenting. How do you maintain a sense of class whilst carefully giving a metaphorical little spritz of mace when propositioned by these three deadly beings? How do you brush them off firmly and politely with grace? How do you do it whilst hinting ever so politely that they should remove any notion of EVER getting to know you?

A restraining order is by far the MOST effective but they’re very hard to come by.

But fear not! The answer is this:

Give him/her your school email.

Why school email you say? Well school emails are generally reserved for e-mails from project mates, for receiving disgusting amounts of uni-approved spams from CCAs and for sending more stupid spam to the general population (CLICK REPLY, IDIOTS. NOT REPLY TO ALL). It’s a formal channel for the acquaintances and informal for the lazy friends who can’t be arsed to bring a hand phone.

So it goes without saying that giving someone (from the same uni as you of course) an e-mail address which they could have conveniently located themselves, would at the very least generate a resounding:

“………………………………EH?“

It’s strange.
It’s polite.
It doesn’t evade the question.
It’s perfect.

If the Interested is giving the Interesee the benefit of the doubt, s/he may come to the following conclusion:

1. S/he must be so technologically backwards that she doesn’t have an MSN in this day and age? OHMAFREAKINGGAWD!L0s3r!1!!exclamationmark
2. S/he must be just naturally awkward and socially inept.

It gives a whole new genuine dimension to the old “It’s not you, it’s me” diatribe eh?

Once the Interested finally do knock some sense into their heads they’ll realise that who, within the small scope of youths in Singapore, doesn’t have an MSN? In any case s/he probably has had two accounts: one you had when you were eleven with a username like pinksexybutterflyprincessglitter69@hotmail.com (or various permutation of those words) and of course your current one. So really, there’s no reason why s/he couldn’t just have given you his/her msn address. Abso-frucking-lutely no reason not to.

You see, giving a school email limits your interaction to emailing alone, not instant messaging and to me, it’s a deterrent like no other.

Getting to know a stranger over e-mail is something that I imagine only people who are dating online do with the comfort of anonymity and the urgency to spill your entire life story. OR at the very least the both of you have already established that you are friends. But for a casual, non-committal “hey are you awesome enough to join my elite legion of friends?” emailing is seriously not the way to go.

Bottom line is “WHO IN THE BLUE HELL DO THAT?”

Your pursuer will cease its modus operandi and you can pat yourself in the back for having brushed off someone politely. WELL DONE YOU!

Now of course this might not work for the Unrelenting who by their nature are shameless pursuer of their object of desire, oblivious to even the most blatant of all rejections.

In which case that restraining order would come in handy riiiiight about now.

Disclaimer: the above event doesn’t have any resemblance to the real life of the currently-annoyed-but-otherwise-somewhat-ego-bruised writer who is recovering silently between fits of maniacal laughter and angsty bouts of misandry. Nothing. Nada. Zip. No resemblance at all.

Overqualified

Overqualified:. A new letter every Tuesday

Quote:

“Looking for work is an exercise in selling yourself. You write cover letter after cover letter, listing the parts of you that you respect the least, listing the selling points that make you valuable in a buyer’s market. You leave out the little details that you tell yourself in the morning to make things okay. You don’t mention the way your heart flutters when you meet your lover’s eyes across the table, the way your feet felt like lead at your aunt’s funeral. You write cover letter after cover letter, listing the same store bought traits in the same wording, day after day, hoping to find another job.

And then maybe one day you just snap a little. You sit down to write a cover letter, and something entirely new comes out.

And you send it anyway.”

And this is what we’ll learn in school. (:

Delirium

Having crushes is the most fun a girl can have with her clothes on.

Girl meets boy, usually within a 5 metre radius or in my case, as far as my eyes can see without glasses - which is about 1 metre. Girl finds guy attractive and so the story goes.

The point of attraction, of course, varies from pure aesthetics to the most random, the most trivial and the most frivolous of reasons. That’s the insanity: to be so besotted over what could only be described as nothing. There’s a thrill in being so pointlessly giddy to see the sight of him and yet to feel so hopelessly frustrated when words simply escapes you. It’s the exchange of the mute, the subtle unspoken cues that begs for his undivided attention. Swish of hair here. An exagerrated giggle there. A swaggering hips here. An unbuttoned button there. Slicked lips. Rouge cheeks. All ruffled up and gorgeous, you think.

So lost in wanting the attention that you’ve somehow lost the track as to why he’s always on your mind and why he lies in every picket fenced fantasies. It’s irrational. It’s impossible. It’s madness. You say you want it to disappear. You say you don’t want the illusion. But you know the ache is insanely delicious and you want it. He’s the smile that hangs on the edges of your lips in the lone silent moments. He’s the guy that makes you quote the cheesiest pop songs and you can’t bear to admit it.

And you are scared. Scared that you want this more than reality could ever offer.

Still you wonder if that fantasy could be true.

It’s hard to think that you might not be real.
You’re in every word i see
… but do you see me?

Assistant to the Secretary of the Undersecretary of the Sub-Committee of the Sub-Sub-Commitee of the Department of Redundancy

In the middle of editing my dad’s book, I came across this:

“….. he was appointed Team Coordinator for Economy and Finance of the Staff of Personal Assistants of the Chairman of the Cabinet Presidium General Soeharto…..”

Bureaucratic titles make me giggle.