Am I Not “Woman” Enough?

I was dragged to Sears the other day.

It was all at my mother’s insistence: “Just a quick stop to pick up a shirt for your brother”, she said.

Fine.

Once the pre-packaged “Sears Brand” dress shirt was firmly in her grasp, I noticed her inching her way towards the escalator.

“Uh, mom?  The exit is on the ground level”.

“I know, I just have to look at a kettle they have on sale”.

Oh…holy…hell.

Ask me to paint you a picture of hell, and you won’t see any fiery pits or a muscular red-skinned Devil; instead I’ll draw you a grid of the “Housewares” section.

The small appliances…the miles of cutlery…the (gulp) dishes; these are my triggers for self-mutilation.

According to the chicks on television though (which are the obvious benchmarks for realism), buying crap for your house is supposed to be fun.  Not only is it supposed to be fun, but it’s supposed to be addictive.  Whether it’s the crazed, twitchy-eyed woman stocking up at the “Sale of the Year” (Advertising), or the chicks on the sitcoms swapping their wedding gifts (and purchasing ten more items along the way), women love their house-related products.

But why don’t I love them too?  It’s yet another reason why I strongly suspect that I’m twenty-percent “man” (I’ll reveal the rest of the clues another time).  My gender confusion is an awkward topic, and it’s making me a little bit worried.  It’s just that…when I find a man and I finally lock him in…what if I’m expected to buy all this crap?  I don’t want to seem like a “can’t do” wife right away (I’ll save that for later), but I honestly don’t have a knack for this garbage.  In fact, I hesitate to say that I refuse.  No wait, correction: I can probably handle the purchase of bed sheets (as I need to know which ones I’d like to roll around in), but that is the rare exception. 

So what’s the damage? Am I suddenly “unmarriageable” now?  And before you answer, let it be known that I was raised to clean the house from age nine (thank you very much).  But spending hours and hours in the Housewares section, while I melt from the heat and my sweater scratches my skin and I can’t decide on a casserole dish so I shove the nearest fork in my eye?

Too much.  In fact, just leave me to buy the comfy pillows, awesome couch, cuddly “blankie”…and top-notch home entertainment center.

Sooo…who’s the man that’ll take care of  all the household goods?…I need you please.

And It’s Settled: An Indian Wedding!

…well it’s not MY Indian wedding, but my sister’s.

It happened the way it was supposed to happen: my parents found a fella on the Internet, my sister and he got to know each other, and somehow…they didn’t mutually despise each other!  She even loves him by now!

Ever since this “match” came to light, my parents have been off the hook in euphoric frenzy.  They even called eight different families this morning, only to brag of the engagement.  So from Los Angeles to England to India and back again, it’s all across the CNN news.

To watch my folks experience so much joy over ”spreading the news” (and to have witnessed them as so very unimpressed when there wasn’t any news to spread), it makes me realize…

…my parents have an endless regard for what other people think.

It’s the sort of thing that can set off a righteous monologue by yours truly, but then I have to stop myself because…don’t I care what other people think as well?

Let me put it another way: If I don’t give a hoot about what other people think, then why have I purchased twelve different kinds of mascara this year? (and I still haven’t found the perfect one)…Or why do I remove prickly hairs from my body?…Or why did I start to lose weight when my parents said I’d gotten fat?…Or why won’t I stop trying to be a man-magnet? (for dates, not for immediate marriage)

The answer is, I care more about what other people think than you could even imagine.  The only difference is, my parents and I don’t care about the same things…it’s the lifelong challenge to find a common ground where there isn’t one.

This leaves me on the edge of another dilemma: now that my sister is packaged up and ready to go, where does that leave me?  Am I suddenly off the hook for a while, since my parents have a giant wedding to plan?  Or will my parents now focus every ounce of their matchmaking energy on me? 

It’s difficult to tell right now, what with my parents’ intentions so blurred by their joyous drool (drool which currently covers their entire upper bodies…).

Once the drippy drool slides off their faces, I’ll have a much better concept of where I stand…

And on another note: I have nine months left to extract my abs from the inner depths of my stomach, ’cause as the “unmarried sister of the bride”, I’ll be rockin’ a slutty sari in July 2009.

Ohhh yeeahh…

A Memo To My Husband-To-Be

I’ve been thinking about engagement rings lately, thanks to my good friend Talea.  Contrary to her, I would indeed like to get myself married.  This has nothing to do with the fact that my parents will disown me if I don’t, but it’s more that I enjoy the ”forever” idea that marriage represents. I’m sure that un-married folk can hook-up forever too, but I like institutions that lock you in for life, ’cause once it’s on paper, you’re in it for eternity  (please join me now, as I turn a blind eye to the divorce rate in North America…ahhh, now wasn’t that fun?…).

So I will definitely scrape, beg, thieve, and drop-kick my way to a husband, but there’s one thing I don’t really care about:

-the engagement ring.

This is the part where an army of chicks will knock on my door, pull out my hair, and probably punch me out.

I believe this will happen for the following reasons:

#1: If I call out the superficial nature of “the ring”, I will seem more noble than my fellow chicks, which will certainly piss them off.

#2: Once news of #1 hits the presses, I will instantly become a wicked catch (“Wow, that chick doesn’t want a ring? Where do I sign?“); this will piss off the chicks even more.

So this is definitely a dangerous game to be playing, which is why I must tell the truth:

-Just because I don’t want a ring, it doesn’t mean I don’t want…”stuff”.

That’s right, if it’s not gonna be a ring worth thousands of dollars, he should still spend thousands of dollars on “something”…right?

Right.

But what?

Well I’m a big believer in the unifying bond of marriage, so if someone popped the question, I’d want a present we could both enjoy.

And hey, guess what? I already know what it is:

-I want matching ponies.

Don’t look so confused, it’s the best idea ever.

Now granted, ponies have a strong association with children, but they’re actually an untapped symbol of romance and soul-mates. 

Still not convinced?

Well consider the following scenario:

My fiance and I will get ourselves a couple of chocolate-brown ponies, from the finest pony-farm in the world.  In addition to being wickedly hot, our ponies will be strong and husky, like the ones that are pumped full of steroids (so they can cart around our grown-up weight). 

Once we get a hold of our muscular ponies, our lives will change for the better…

…Each and every night, my man will grab my hand and take me to the stables.  We’ll bring out the ponies, and brush their silky manes in synchro-strokes.  This soothing activity will reduce our levels of stress, which will naturally result in a lot less fighting and WAY more cuddling (ohhh how I love to cuddle!).

And of course, the scenery of a pony-ride is romance personified.  And no I’m not talking about sunsets (yawn), but what about enchanted forests?  That’s right, where there’s trees, there’s an enchanted forest, and with the help of ponies, my soul-mate and I will drag our sorry selves from the HDTV, to see what the trees (and little wood nymphs) have to say. 

In the pony-ride I envision, we’ll make a little stop by the babbling brook, and set up a romantic picnic, complete with chocolate cake and a whole lotta liquor.  Once we’re good and drunk, we’ll shoot some talking deer for sport (I’m gonna aim for Bambi).  Then we’ll gallop home, fire up some deer on the B.B.Q., and call it another night in “pre-wedded bliss”…

…Any questions?

Good.

So there you go Mr. Future-Husband, now all you gotta do is find me…

My Arranged Marriage: Progress Report

As you may recall, I recently decided to get married (in that classy “arranged” kinda way). 

I was hoping to be engaged by December 1st, sooo…wtf?

Well I got a bunch of hits on my profile, so it wasn’t that.

 Oh, and in case you were wondering…

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Profile for SpicyCakes41:

Height: tall (but not so tall that it’s emasculating)

Weight: like a Bollywood actress

Face: like a Bollywood actress

Skills: laundry-with-a-smile, shoe-polishing, making tandoori chicken, mending husband’s shirts, speaking softly, etc.

Extras: warm and welcoming uterus; good for 5+ babies…

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So again, wtf?

Perhaps it was the strength of my physical/domestic assets…was it a little too much for the fellas???

I couldn’t figure it out, and I was almost inclined to shut-down PLAN: Arranged Marriage.

But then I found it:

-My saving grace

It came in the form of this story, where an Indian man got married to a grade-A bitch (of the canine variety). 

That’s right, decked out in an orange sari, this bitch’s dream came true (i.e. the dream of “human dong”).

Before it became official, the family reviewed the bitch, as is custom in Indian culture (Is she a virgin? Is she carrying fleas? Is she likely to stray? etc…).

Once she received the stamp of approval, the couple exchanged vows, surrounded by family and friends:

I KNOW, doesn’t that picture leave you speechless? 

“Arranged Marriage transcends species“, what a concept!

In other words, there IS hope for Romi yet! 

So forget human males, the population of animal dudes is probably 1000x greater!  And like hellllooo…talk about variety eh? I’ve got the ENTIRE Animal Kingdom to solicit now; lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

I should probably begin by spamming my personal profile; I’ll start with the “big ’n trendy” Zoos, ’cause I only want the top-notch “captives” (and between you and me, I sure wouldn’t mind a little ”elephant”…mmm…)

So wish me luck, and let’s say engagement by…January 1st, ’08?  

I’ll update you then with good news or bad news… 

Why Arranged Marriages ROCK—The Top Ten Quotes That Swayed Me

This post is blazing right out of me, and much like diarrhea, I ain’t gonna fight it.

My name is Romi, and I am of Indian descent (not the “casino” kind, but the “elephants/saris/cab-drivers” kind).

My parents were born in India, but I popped out of mother’s vagina HERE—in beautiful syrupy Canada.  This basically means a couple of things:

#1: My parents expect me to be a nice little Indian girl, like the ones from their native tribe

#2: I’ve spent my whole life being influenced by Western culture (sometimes for better, sometimes for worse)

The most important thing I can do in life, is marry some Indian dude, with super-wicked stats (lotsa money, good family, good genes, good values).  Once this is done, I can turn into an ethnic baby-making-machine, thus fulfilling my spicy destiny.

Since my parents don’t understand/believe in dating (as they associate it with sluts/white people (…sorry) ), my future will come in the form of an arranged marriage (like this one below).

 (look how happy they seem…is that how my future will be?)

Now since I’m already 26, the clock is ticking loudly (side-note: according to “brown years”, my ovulation days will be over by age 28).

All this pressure is making me very nervous.  If anything, I’ve always considered myself to be a passionate, free, and open-minded person; so why all these restrictions?

I just don’t get the “arranged marriage” concept, or at least…I didn’t get it. 

That’s right people, the winds have finally changed, and it’s all because of THIS.  It’s a touching anecdote, where an Indian woman tells me her story, and here it is in a nutshell: she grew up in India, she was “chosen” by some rich-ass Indian/American, she married him on the 3rd meeting, she banged him (awesome), she moved to Manhattan, and she lived happily ever after.

Wow.

If that’s not enough, she left me with a bunch of inspiring quotes. 

So here they are: The Top Ten quotes on why I should get ”arranged” (complete with my enthusiastic reactions ).

(once you’ve read them, tell me what you think: Should Romi get an arranged marriage?  Should you?)

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Why Arranged Marriages ROCK—The Top Ten Quotes That Swayed Me

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#10:  There was something about his demeanor, his soft, lilting voice, and the pleasing way he interacted with my family — frankly, we all fell for him.

I am ALL about my family falling for my dude.  That’s right, “familial orgies”; complete with high tea, soft whispers, and baby oil.  Yeahhhh…..

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#9:  One week later, his mother called my mother, and by the end of the phone call, we were engaged.

You mean…we can get our moms to propose for us? That is SUCH a weight off my shoulders; seriously, I am NOT very good at talking to dudes directly; thanks mom!

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#8:  Shouts and hugs were exchanged throughout the neighborhood — you’d have thought I’d won an Olympic gold medal.

I’ve always felt a void in my life, saying to myself: “I think I’m happy in my life, but am I making my neighbours happy too? What do they want?”  Well now I know how to make their dreams come true; Olympic medals all around!

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#7:  On my wedding night, a sense of calm finally washed over me, as I made my leap from bride to wife (armed with the Kama Sutra, which my cousins had downloaded onto my PDA as a gift).

I have always been nervous about having “relations”, but if marrying a dude of my parents’ choice means a downloaded copy of the “Kama Sutra”, I say “YES”!  A thousand times yes!

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#6:  I eyed his walk-in closet, courageously moving his suits into a smaller armoire. Judging from what remained, I had married an avid golfer, skier, and board-game player.

I like surprises, and nothing would surprise me more than finding out my husband’s hobbies AFTER we get married.  Five points for mystery!

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#5:  My husband bought me fashionable, sometimes sexy clothes, and we tested each others’ boundaries.

I have never worn sexy clothes before; I’m excited for my husband to buy me some.

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#4:  It was just like dating, only we were already married.

Why didn’t I realize this before?  It’s all the joys of dating, but you never have to go into “why won’t he call me?”-mode, ’cause you’ll already have him ”locked-in-for-life”.  Sucka!

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#3:  Slowly, I was getting to know my husband, even starting to fall in love with him.

WHAT!??!?! Does this chick mean to tell me I can “fall in LOVE” with my arranged marriage!?!?!?  Do you know what that means for a hopeless romantic like me???  WOW, arranged marriage = “You’ve Got Mail”…I am SOOO friggin’ excited

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#2:  Although my husband doesn’t always agree with his opinionated and selectively liberated wife, he openly expresses his love

I’ve only ever been interested in being “selectively” liberated (all of you already know this); so if I can be THAT, and still find a man who expresses his love, then colour me ecstatic!

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#1:  I discovered that having an arranged marriage was a great icebreaker, and my social circle mushroomed each time I retold my story.

Okay, THAT right THERE puts it over the top.  Honest to goodness, nothing means more to me than expanding my circle of friends, so if I can attract the masses by telling the world how I “married a stranger”, then sign-me-fucking-up!

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Alright then, if you’re reading this Mom and Dad, I’m ready; now get your asses to MarriageExpress.com, and find me a frickin’ prince!!