The Adventures of a Serial Killer

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Just saw the official trailer of Dexter season 8, which by the way is going to be the last season of the series, and now I have a hole the size of a spaceship in my chest. There is something so heartbreaking, so poignant about the trailer, that I have a lump in my throat that just won’t go away. For those who don’t watch the show, Dexter is a serial killer who works for the Miami Police Department as a blood splatter analyst, and has made it his mission in life to kill the criminals who escape the clutches of the law.

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There is nothing heartwarming about the show, it merely feeds on your deep seeded psycho-pathological tendencies that you are terrified to explore, and so want to live them through watching Dexter act on his own tendencies. However, after watching seven nerve wracking seasons, you do grow fond of this psychopath, and his sister, Debra Morgan, who has the personality of swearing sailor and a devil-may-care attitude that is hard not to admire.

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This final season is not going to have a fairytale ending, everyone knows that, it just wouldn’t make sense. We all know that Dexter is either going to go away for life in prison, or is going to die. Chilling as it may sound, these are the only two possible and sensible endings to this show, unless they decide to let him live the life of an outlaw, constantly on the run.

Speculations apart, this finale is going to be be heart wrenching, and emotionally draining. Watching the strong and dynamic Debra Morgan crumble after having killed Maria Laguerta is just too much to bear. No matter what, one thing is for sure, that this final season is going to be the death of all the fans, and is going to stay with you long after the show ends.

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Doctor Who Ruins Me

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Last night I watched the finale of Doctor Who Season 2, and man, was that emotionally excruciating or what! Its been a while since I have experienced such an intense emotional upheaval, and it was a refreshing change from the zombie-like mental state that I usually am in. the last 15 minutes of the finale will get your tear ducts running overtime, so if you have an emotional capacity of a thimble, then you might not really get the point of it all.

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There is a lesson in there somewhere, that maybe loving someone is actually knowing exactly when to let go. The whole phenomenon of sacrificing for the greater good is no longer something that resonates with the idea of a sermon on a mount, but with ordinary people doing the most selfless things. Rose Tyler, who had been the Doctor’s companion for two seasons, was madly in love with him, but in the end she risked it all for the greater good. Just before she is transported into the parallel universe for good, there is a small window where the Doctor could have pulled her back, if he had tried, but he couldn’t risk it, knowing that his role in the preservation of the universe was far greater than saving his love. When Rose Tyler says, “Please don’t leave me”, it just rips your heart into two. Hell, it would rip a zombie’s heart into two!

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I know I sound preachy, and believe me I want to be anything but that, however, I cannot help marvel at what happened in those last few minutes of the finale. I haven’t felt that hollow in my chest for a long time now, and watching that episode taught me more about love and sacrifice than any B-grade Mills and Boons novel (yes, I have read one, only one, and I gravely regret it). Love isn’t always easy, like falling in love with an elusive billionaire, and finally making him fall for you (for those who haven’t read the MnB crap galore, this is the basic plot of all of the books in that series), its more than that. When the Doctor cannot tell how he feels to Rose in the end  because the connection breaks, there is nothing worse than that, nothing worse that not being able to tell  someone how much you love them before the time is up.

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No one gets why I love Doctor Who so much. What they fail to understand is that it is a one stop shop for all your nerdy and emotional tendencies, with its sic-fi themes, and the spaceships, aliens, cyber men, and best of all, the tragic and cursed fairytale that just cannot have a happy ending, and yet it will tug at your heart, or rather wreck it. It makes you want to find a man who would  burn up the sun just to be able to say goodbye, and not leave like a fucking coward without a backward glance (if you are looking for a logical reason behind this outburst, then read “The Ass Wipe Diaries” from the archives). The TV show is exactly like the Doctor explains, “It’s the stuff of legends”.

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The Ass Wipe Diaries

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Worry not, I am not going to bore you with inconsequential details of all the trivial things that I did or didn’t do in the past year; no insights about my cycles or anything of that sort, instead this is more like a summary for myself, and if you find that too much to read, then hop, skip and jump away from this page at once. Not to sound dramatic or melodramatic, it has been an entire year now since Ass Wipe asked me out saying he wanted to date me. For those of you who are a little daft, Ass Wipe is the obvious nick name I have bestowed upon the shit head who is responsible for some of my worst moments on this planet.

Like every other damsel who reads historical romances (guilty!) I had envisioned the whole knight-in-shining-armor scene unfolding just for my benefit. Instead what I got was a douche-in-skinny-jeans scene that more like beat the living day lights out of me instead of sweep me off of my feet. He was no tall, dark, handsome prince; instead, he was average built, fair (yeah, my bad), with average looks. Then what was it that attracted me to him? Well, it was nothing other than his big, massive, huge, wait for it, brain! Sorry to disappoint, but yeah, it was his intelligence and wit that attracted me to him in the first place.

For four years I put up with all his crap just to be friends with someone whom I thought was a match for my intelligence for a change. At the peril of sounding immodest, almost all the men I have ever met have simply bored me within the first five sentences out of their mind; and trust me I am worst than Sherlock shooting at the wall when bored. For the first time I had found someone who was smart, witty and could hold a conversation without referring to something tardy or making me feel like an object.

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However, it was obviously too good to be true, as Ass Wipe thought it was his birthright to be with a girl who looked like something ripped out of a Ralph Lauren brochure. Can you beat that? He himself looked like something puberty chewed and spat out, with his skinny physique and average height, thought that he was automatically entitled to a smoking hottie without looking like one himself. The nerve! Well, I may not be a hottie in the regular sense, but I have a rack that can stop oncoming traffic before the traffic cop can so much as spell the word STOP. Despite that if he wants to hang out at a tennis court, I prefer to leave him to his chosen misery.

Things went south and one day, after I struck a few well delivered verbal blows to his bloated ego, he disappeared, just stopped talking altogether. It is beyond fathomable human imagination the kind of hurt and bewilderment he left in his wake. The confusion and anger along with self loathing and hurt is indescribable, so I am not even going to try. All I will say is that if I could watch him burn alive right before my eyes, screaming in agony, it wouldn’t even measure up to a fraction of the pain and misery the Ass Wipe put me through.

It took months of support and love from my never wavering girlfriends who tirelessly and patiently let me vent, dragged me out of my own personal hell hole of self depreciation and made me survive, live one day after the other. They never let go, never gave up. For all of that and more, I will be eternally grateful to them. What was my fault that the Ass Wipe refused to take responsibility for his words and actions? Did I hold a gun to his dick and make him ask me out? Nope. Did I threaten to break off all contact unless he dated me saying that I couldn’t be ‘just friends’ anymore? Nope. Then why?

Anyhow, all of that is behind me now. Some bit still remains, memories have an ugly way of rearing their heads and annoying you at the worst possible time, but sometimes you just have to tell them to STFU and stay put. Today I have a couple of blogs that are more like my little babies to me, TV shows are my go to drug, and books are my never failing companions. People around me say that leave the Ass Wipe to Karma. The hell I am going to let Karma do my dirty work for me! And who do you think taught Karma to be such a bitch in the first place?

I can love a man who is a borderline narcissist, who can be self centered and at times behave like a douche, because come on, don’t we all? But I could never love a coward who refuses to take responsibility for his words and actions, deflecting blame so that he can clamber onto the self-righteous high horse and gallop off cruelly without so much as a backward glance; at least, never again!

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