Stories

6 Comments Posted on by Mata Life Stories, Stories

JawkwardLOL Marriageable Prospects

The first time I met Jess’s mum was on Jess’s Graduation Day. Actually no, scratch that, the first time I met and spoke to Jess’s mum was via Skype. Jess and I were having an intelligent conversation about university life (we were discussing how hot Matt Bomer was most probably) and Jess’s mum walked in and stuck her face in front of Jess’s screen. Jess was not too impressed, I on the other hand waved excitedly and I said ‘Hi Jess’s mum!’

Fastforward to Jess’s Graduation Day where her mother and I bonded. Yeah, I bond with people’s mums all the time- wait. Stop it. Rude.

It was on this day of Jessica’s Graduation that I learned Jess’s mum had a dream for her dearest, eldest, and only daughter. It was her dream to see Jess in a sari. For anyone not familiar with Indian garb, below is a woman in a sari. Isn’t that lovely?

This, of course, is not her only dream for Jessica. Not unlike Miranda’s mum, Jess’s mum wants to see her daughter happily married before (and I quote verbatim) ‘She is over 25 and no one is interested anymore.’

Now, I am obliged to make, and make you make, the distinction between encouragement to marry and being forced into a marriage. Jess’s parents are ready for her to be married off and to begin popping out grand-babies, however there will be no such thing as an ‘arranged marriage’ for the ever eligible Jess. We must differentiate between ‘arranged marriage’ and ‘possible meddlesome matchmaking.’

And that difference is choice, no one in their right mind would try to force Jess to marry anyone she didn’t want to anyhow. With all the height of a hobbit and the rage of a Honeybadger who don’t give a shit, Jessica is a force to be reckoned with. I mean, she’s Hufflepuff man, don’t underestimate the black and yellow, black and yellow.

Now, Jessica’s family has been tasked with the very important responsibility of finding eligible bachelors for Jessica who match the following criteria:

  • He must be a graduate and a professional. For example a pharmacist.
  • He must be Indian. Well, Fijian Indian to be exact, he doesn’t have to be born there but his lineage must originate from the motherland.
  • He mustn’t be white. (Sorry Matt Bomer, not that it matters as Matt bats for the same team, if you catch my drift. Do you though? I’m not sure I do. I’m not sure I understand that baseball reference so I’m not sure I’m using it in the right way. You get me though right? He only likes bowlers who have balls.)

That’s basically it. That’s the criteria he must fit in order to be considered by Jess’s family to be good enough to have facebook conversations with so that Jess may determine whether or not she likes him. The problem is that no normal person uses facebook chat. Guys. We need a professional who can handle the spitfire that is @_JessK1 and that Jess actually likes.

Jess may even be willing to don a sari, right Jess? (Go to hell, Mata.) I’ll take that as a strong maybe!

1 Comment Posted on by Mata Jawkward, Stories, Writing

Jawkward does Romance: Stop and Stare

She didn’t know his name, but he had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen in her life.

They were a dark blue hue tinged in a darker green. They were lovely.

Almost as lovely as the word lovely.

Yet he never spoke to her, he would just stare at her whenever they were near each other.

It was most disconcerting.

Especially because she didn’t like being stared at, even if the person had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

She attempted to speak to him once, just to ask why he stared at her.

She wasn’t very surprised when he didn’t say anything.

He merely smiled secretively and brushed past her.

She wasn’t surprised, but she didn’t like it either.

And it wasn’t like he was mute, she’d heard his voice before; slightly scratchy and deep, it was a rather nice voice.

So why didn’t he speak to her? It made her self-conscious when people stared at her, but on top of that wouldn’t speak to her?

It was irritating, and she didn’t take irritation well.

So one morning while eating breakfast at a diner she spied him outside, just staring at her.

And she decided to stare back, gripping her knife and fork in each hand as she concentrated.

She strained the shit out of her globular organs that morning.

It was a staring competition to end all staring competitions.

But because he was very skilled in the art of staring, she lost.

The staring competition wasn’t the only thing she lost, however.

Placing down her knife, she stood up and calmly walked outside.

She took a deep breath and asked why it was he stared at her.

When he didn’t reply, she stabbed him with her fork.

4 Comments Posted on by JawkwardLOL Book Reviews, Book Talk, Jawkward, Stories

Jawkward Forbidden Fiction

When did you first hear about Fifty Shades of Grey? Was it when it blew up and everyone’s aunt, grandma and mum started reading it? Or when they decided, hey this book has an excellent ‘oh my’ to ‘every other fucking word in the book’ ratio, let’s make it into a movie!? Either way, here we are, discussing the popularity of something I’ve heard described as ‘Twilight Smut Fanfiction’ and ‘Mommy Porn.’

Now, I’m not averse to smut or S&M, not at all. It may not be my cup of tea, but that’s not what made the book so damn fucking awkward. I’m averse to horrid writing and cardboard characters. I’m averse to poor prose and shitty vocabulary. And you can bet your bottom dollar that I’m a-fucking-verse to the underlying storyline that seems to promote not only a misogynistic ideal, but one so naive and farfetched that a better storyline would simply have been if she met him, stabbed him in the face and walked out. Instead we got a 500 page book that could have been summed up with:

Her: Oh my, you are so beautiful and rich and dark and brooding and I must needs fix you!

Him: Bitch, you better be a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets! Let me cane you.

Her: I wish you wouldn’t physically assault me, but I feel like this could lead to something more.

Him: I wanna gag you.

Her: You’re the one.

Except she’s not a freak in the sheets is she? What’s her face, Anna McNeedsAThesarusSTAT ISN’T a freak in the sheets. She’s a Vampire-less Bella Swan cut-out of an English major with the vocabulary of a 12 year old.

I’m getting into a rant aren’t I? Somebody stop me.

The thing is, people are eating this shit up like it’s good, but I’ve seen better fanfiction. It seems fitting that Fifty Shades stems from D Grade fanfiction. I can’t with the world. Unfortunately[?], I wasn’t strong enough to make it through the entire novel, forgive me fellow critics but I was weak. But what I did manage to read made me cry salty tears of red-hot regret.

Okay, I’m getting a ‘slit throat gesture’ vibe from the wonderful Jessica, so I should probably get to the point. And no, the point wasn’t to rant about the success of the misogynistic, poorly written Fifty Shades of Shit.

Here’s the real deal. Remember how the Edge was running a competition called ‘Forbidden Fiction’? Jess and I decided it would be high-larious to submit our own entry. We got together and decided our entry had to be the most ridiculous thing we could come up with. Just a quick disclaimer: We do not in ANY way condone the breaking of the Health Code, even if it’s for hanky panky. Come on guys, be Health Code wise. (I may have riffed on the Fire Wise motto a bit there.) Also, any resemblance to any institution or fast food brands are purely coincidental.

Jawkward Forbidden Fiction Entry.

You know, it’s not true what they say about Asians, because Chang was big. I could tell, he was a big bucket, if you know what I mean.

“You take the breast, I take the thighs?” He asked from behind the counter as we locked up after work, his slightly high voice cracking. Like a cookies and cream krusher poured down my pants, I melted. Walking towards him, I knew what I was about to do went against both company policy and the health code but I didn’t care. He made me feel like wicked wings, hot and spicy.

“No, you take the breast.” I said breathily, grabbing his hand and putting it on my chest. “And I’ll take…you.” The radio started playing the only song that got me hot and bothered, Flo Rida’s Whistle. “How about I blow your whistle baby?”

Finally he got the hint and ripped my uniform open, I gasped and unbuttoned his pants. He lifted me up onto the chicken bench, before he dipped his hand into the pot of lukewarm gravy and lifted it up to my mouth for me to lick off; there was so much of it that it dripped down throat and onto my breasts, soon our tongues were playing oral twister. Our hands, his hot and sticky from the gravy and mine moist from the chicken grease, were all over each other.

I licked the gravy off of his fingers and he tongued the gravy from my chest, murmuring ‘Say my name!’ I tried to form it, but my world was dissolving as we became one. “Say it!” The sensation was overwhelming and I gasped for air,

“Yes! COLONEL! COLONEL CHANG!” I screamed. I fell back against the chicken rack, spent and trying to catch my breath.

Chang bent down to pick up his cap, which I had knocked off in the throws of passion. “How was that for you babe?”

I took out my inhaler, administering it before wheezing, “God, that was finger lickin’ good.”

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Yes. That was Jawkward for all of us.