Polaroid Of A BitterGourd

Perhaps you have undoubtedly heard by now—as reported by Christiane Amanpour via CNN, speaking through choked tears of indignation and outrage—that my daily insanity was nominated for Blog of The Week, and—I am inscribing this in my own blood—I lost!

Embarrassing details of my degrading defeat reached me belatedly. The past few days have been a steady bout with hellish demands at work and I haven’t checked my status as regularly as I would have liked. My Knowledge of such devastating result happened only when I dropped by one of the bazillion wi-fi-enabled neighborhood Starbucks for my afternoon caffeine fix. I flipped my laptop open and torpedoed straight to the polling site. My giddy anticipation is met with a glacial polling stats result, which, all at once blared before my eyes: I’M BEATEN!

Suddenly the Starbucks began to spin, and as I was told later, I began jumping, shrieking and flinging diners with brown sugar packets.

The mall security subdued me and notified people in my phone’s In Case Of Emergency List, who brought me home, force fed me with sedatives, and buckled me to bed.

My cyberpolling disgrace can easily be summed up as blatant anti-intelligence, sexism, and the sheer tidal wave of envy directed at an appealing, smart, infuriating, paranoid individual who dares to have it all—I am the Anderson Cooper of bisexual blogging!

Nevertheless, being a scorned contender, I am not brashly complaining or going public of any suspicions of vote rigging, rumors of sexual favors or bribing voters and judges with Google stock options, Lamborghini Diablos, and prostitutes; though I feel strongly that my fictional army of mindless clique and cohorts must erupt into spontaneous outpouring of love, support and aggressive protests that is due any second from now.

With this glowering crush sympathetic kibitzers invoke Martin Scorsese losing to unworthy yet more popular competitors or that I should have consoled myself with the fact that the luminous Cate Blanchett (Elizabeth) lost to the sophomoric Gwyneth Paltrow (Shakespeare In Love). Fitting comparisons, only the injustice I feel is, of course, far graver. Cate and Martin can always have another year to trounce competition with another mind-blowing masterpiece. I, on the other hand only have this golden, shining beacon of an opportunity. They were only up against Hollywood mainstays. I am clawing for respect and recognition from bloggers and fellow voters who misuse the color pink to the point of overkill! I am Paris Hilton auditioning for the role of Mother Theresa!

My incredibly lofty anticipations for this competition are now but ashen hopes. I remember the very moment I learned of my nomination: I was so ecstatic I had a boner for a week! I even wrote my glowing victory acceptance speech in which I would forget to thank my quixotic friend Doc Ian, for suggesting I use the midget Mahal as my official blog mascot! I remember stealthily digressing into competing blogs and in the true spirit of sportsmanship and fairness, listed their flaws. I was to flaunt these blemishes towards the voting populace and ensure my unassailable deification. What I did not anticipate, however, is that they have something I do not possess: a legion of faithful thrall too eager to catapult them into the winning stratosphere! Given my dismal number of so-called friends, and my deplorable disability to make new ones, my obscure brilliance paddled along the competition like an asthmatic rower against the raging Niagara!

Now The Filipino Lesbian, a laudable opponent, stands shimmering on top of my fractured ribs. This is my thanks for subscribing to the feminist theories of Camille Paglia! This is my thanks for rooting for Portia Di Rossi! This is my thanks for encouraging the warped antics of Ellen!

Presently I gradually inch myself out the pit of unspeakable mortification. I am recuperating, and wistfully musing over at the idiosyncratic habits of the voting bloggers, and as I begin to feel exponentially sympathetic to Cho Seung Hui, I think this whole sordid, sad episode is a point of epiphany.

As I lie in bed, smiling bitterly, I drink in my defeat as a stirring hodgepodge of cruelty, hostility, jealousy, violence, glamour and heartache. I reach for a pint of Haagen Dazs and the clicker for pay-per-view porn.

Thusly beggining my slow, rousing path to healing.