Tuesday, November 23, 2010

No fractures this year. Touchwood.

Stewie Griffin: The best thing to have happened to babies since diapers.

I've been gone long, huh? It's fucking year-end already!
This year's New Year Resolution of learning how to tie a tie (?) crashed and burned ages ago and I have no such ambitions as giving it a shot now.
However I did master another art, that is just as tricky and requires just as much concentrated power of will.
I... have learnt... how to get... a screenshot!
Woot! I'm the King of the worrrrrrrld! Wooohooo! xD

Newsflash: So, my new poll is up.
Kindly vote.

Erm. Apart from watching good sitcoms, bad movies and stuffing my face with meat, I'm not doing much these days. Guess a semester straight out of hell usually has such an impact. Whatevs.
Plans of giving my room a "total makeover" went kaput. As did my much-dreamt-about trip to Mumbai did. 36 hours in that city and I was down with a case of food poisoning. Uggh.
Guhhhreat place to shop though!
That reminds me. *tears rolling down my quivering lips*
I saw the coziest... snuggliest... and by every measure the hottest Arsenal FC pullover ever.
It would've cost me a bomb but...



Waaaaaaaaaaahh! x'((

Shopping budget, die.

* * *

Three things no one has said to me in the longest time:

"Bon appetit!"

"You're beautiful..." (Hey it's absolutely OK to want to hear that sometimes, alright? Don't you judge me! Wait. What? Are you judging me? Are you really judging me on that?! Haha whoa, that's low. No, no that's really low like. No, really? Alright go ahead be a bitch. Yeah go for it. If it helps you sleep at night, go ahead alright? Judge. It's whatever. I don't care care anymore. Judge me. Yeah. Pooh! I don't give a rat's fucking ass. I don't. Go ahead. Whatever alright. WHAT. EV. ER.)

"Just stop talking for fuck's sake!" (This, I never get. I mean NEVER. Honest.)

* * *

Mirror mirror on the wall... What the *%^&@!# happened?
Note to self: You're becoming fat, bitch. Get out and run or you will die alone and friendless.
Yeah so I've been doing a lot of research on french fries. Yeah, bollocks.

* * *

This post is second in the series of clues being thrown at you to remind you that I'm yet alive.
I'll be back soon, lovelies, have a great thanksgiving!
And cheers to whatever is left of November- my second most favourite month on the calendar! :D


PS: Check this. FTW.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

I think I just fell in love with Marlon Brando

Yes, it's true. I'm not saying anything more. I may just wet myself.

* * *

It has come to my attention (and stayed there long enough so writing this post was possible) that:
Almost everyone on facebook has an album called "random". Even boys.
So bleeding gay. That's not even it. There are gay-er variants:
randoms, random clix and randomzzzz: Uggh! Get a thesaurus fuckers.
And this is the worst:
Similarly, almost every girl on blogspot has written a post about a boy who's left her heart broken and scarred for life and how as a result of that she is drowned in sorrow and cannot eat/sleep/fart like before and how she wishes she'd never ever met him in the first place.
Guilty as charged.
I think it's a phase thing. Ah well.
Talking about phases, remember "the phase" when you wanted to cut your hair short and wear black eye make up and get tattoos and body piercings everywhere to rebel against society's ridiculous norms? Wait, that's not a phase- that's just gay. Mpfft hahahaha! I should totally be a stand up comedian. I'll just kill people with my jokes... Wow!
Eeeks. Nothing. Ignore me. I'm a retard.

Me: More facebook bashing, who's game?
From inside my monitor: *roars, thunderous clapping and wolf-whistles*
Me: Ok let's go!

#1 So this bitch of an application tags me in random photos.
"Who's been viewing your profile the most this week?"
Wtf?! I haven't once visited this person's sorry excuse of a profile full of Farmville news.
So shove it. I'm untagging.
But, well, that's not to be:
I hit remove tag and instead of removing the picture right away,
"A validation error occurred" apparently.
Er? I don't think you heard me. REMOVE TAG.
"A validation error occurred".
REMOVE TAG, bitch!
"A validation error occurred".
Aaaaaaaagh! Irritating. I have NOT "visited XYZ's profile 66 times this week". What the fuck.
20 minutes of brainstorming and I decided to report abuse.
Problem solved. Case closed. The photo doesnt show on my profile anymore.
Master stroke eh?
Well :D

#2 IPL-related status messages :|
Yeah. Ok. We all watch the matches and we all read the papers. Stop flooding my homepage with updates of who won and how "superbly" they won. Stop telling me how you almost "died of tension" and how unbelievable that 108 m sixer was. AND STOP DOING IT EVERYDAY.

#3 The chat widget: Do we even need to discuss this? :|

* * *

Dear God,

My heart is broken and I'm scarred for life and as a result of that I'm drowned in sorrow and cannot eat/sleep/fart like before and I wish...
Wait. Shit! Didn't I already use that for the heartbroken blogger chicks' bit?
Hmm. Lets start over.

Dear God,

There was a time when I was not gay. I used to drink like a fish and remain perfectly stable all night. I used to chug down white rum- neat. I used to drink three Long Island Iced Teas and ride back home safely. I used to smoke weed and have a good trip. I used to laugh like a mad girl and slowly calm down.
But these days- one, ONE, joint and I hit rock bottom. I fall quiet and all I see are alphabets and symbols. My mouth stops working. I cannot move and stay rooted to the spot. I feel like I'll die if I don't sleep that minute. I fucking pass out before 2 am.
By the time I wake up, the party is over, the sun is shining and all my friends are leaving.
It's happened twice already.
No more! No more!
Is this how men with serious ED feel?
I completely sympathise with them.
I want my capacity back.
Please. Help me. :'(

* * *

LAMB OF GOD will be in town in less than a month.
I. Cannot. Wait.

*bows down low*

* * *

Come back next time to read about "a date gone horribly" wrong and other stories.
Be good, leave comments.
Bye! :)

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

For your nostrils only

It's better than George Clooney deciding to show up on my doorstep.
It's better than the thought of him kissing me passionately.
It's better than sex.

That smell: It is intoxi-fucking-cating. It's crazy.
I'm talking about Naphthalene balls. Moth balls, if you will.
I'm addicted to them. Period.

So addicted, that I stuff my nostrils with them and t

But seriously- I discovered an unopened box of these precious little babies while cleaning my room last week. I ripped it open and sniffed:
Something seized every cell in my body; twisted it upside-down-inside-out at the same time and I was orgasming for 20 whole minutes.
I couldn't put the damn thing down till I started writhing and my dog almost called the ambulance.
So good. SO GOOD. Oh!
It got me thinking:
Is there a way I can, surgically, make them a part of my body?
You know... Get tiny naphthalene ball implants somewhere up my nose?
Or tweak the olfactory lobe in my brain so I get the feeling of inhaling it all day long? Ahh! *drools*
(complete silence)
Er? Someone please tell me something can be done? Hello?!
Hey! Science and technology has surely advanced that much!

Reactions I got regarding this "situation":
Friend 1: The hell?! Weirdo!
Friend 2: Dude! Its like that Erazex shit! You'll fuck yourself over!
Friend 3: I've to post a letter. Bye.
Pen-pal: Er. It's not normal you know.
Mum: ॐ भूर्भुवः स्वः तत्सवितुर्वरेण्यम्...
Sister: Cancer! Cancer! Cancer! Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh!
Dog: I'll put the doctor on speed dial.

In my defence: It's not a big deal. I only spend a few hours with them daily and I seem to be functioning OK. Sigh!

* * *
Bloggers, bloggers and Roman bloggers, lend me your ears; I come to talk...
and I won't take long, I promise. So here goes :P

Girls make the W.O.R.S.T. friends. It's true. *puke*

Taco Bell opened a few blocks from my house. Guess what I've been doing?

I'm part of this theater group called Cult. And my tiny little theater debut happened this month- I was part of a play called GOD by Woody Allen. Grand eh? :D
I played a cougar. Ahem. I'm skipping this part when I'm telling my grandchildren the story.

Anne Robinson is just fucking annoying.

I finally saw Avatar in 3-D. Visually: EPIC.
Story? Wow, Bollywood's done better. Honestly.

Arsenal plays Barcelona in the UEFA quarter finals :'(

I saw the funniest Facebook status update. It went:
"XYZ is on a cram-overdrive... and hallucinating.
I think my notebook just barked at me! =O

For more laughs check out www.failblog.org.
Oh and please go get a dekko of The Annoying Orange on YouTube. The earlier episodes are dope! xP

Mmm... What else what else what else?
Oh yeah! Zoozoos! The latest set of Zoozoo ads are pretty sucky.
They are not cute anymore. Not even clever. They've lost their charm. Sigh.
I hate the stupid ugly yellow tiger and hate the stupid green trees.
Is it just me? Bla.

That's all I wanted to say.
So be good, you guys. Get drunk.
I'll write soon... ish. Found myself an internship you see! ;)


P.S. What's happening in Bangalore on the 15th of May?
That's right. It IS true.
\../. .\../
Couldn't help myself. Wait for the next post.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Horror Show (Vol. 1)

You know your weekend will jump straight into a pool of shit when:

You decide your second date with a Brazilian dude should be at a nightclub.
Tequila's on the house.
don't have to drive back.
This guy you randomly made out with sometime back
, knows your date. (!)
Tequila's on the house.
You're drinking like the world's ending in 1.46 minutes.
You're high and deny it.
Your date starts looking like a hazy blur.
On your way to the loo you trip and fall.
Tequila's on the house.
On your way to the parking lot, you trip, roll down an entire flight of stairs.
You puke in the backseat of his friend's shiny new Merc.
You puke some more. Where? You don't even remember.
You're passed out right through the drive home;
marinating for an hour, in your vomit.
Once the car stops, you stumble out, fall flat and scrape your knees.
Your friends put you to sleep and clean your wounds with whiskey.

And... And. AND:

Your friends tell you that while you were passed out, they caught you

*heart fucking attack*
There are moments in life when sheer embarrassment renders you incapable of normal speech and makes you want to head to a town
where nobody knows you so you can adopt a couple of puppies and grow old in absolute anonymity.
This was one such.

Rot in hell, tequila, you motherfucking bitch!

Image courtesy: Photoshy's photostream @ FlickR.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Wanted: Internship!

Waaaaaah! x'(
Waaaaaaaaaaaah!! x'(

Dear Santa,
I've been a good girl:
a) I got drunk a lot
b) I did not chew up anyone's furniture, and
c) scammed my daddy for Rs. 1000 only twice
Then why-oh-why didn't I get what I asked for? I made, but, one simple request.
One. Simple. Request.
And you- of all the people- know this is something I wanted with all my heart:

*Spongebob Squarepants socks*
I mean, seriously, was that too much to ask for?
You've let me down Santa... *sniff* No, you've really let me down :'(
Well, anyway...
Until next year when I'll want favours from you,

Suck it, bitch!

* * *

You know you're headed for intellectual doom when:
You know every song on Vh1's Top 5 Party Songs of 2009 (with complete lyrics)

* * *

By the way, all these "salesmen"? You know... The ones that go door-to-door trying to sell you funny stuff?
Who buys from them? Ever?
Forget buying- have you ever observed people even open the door more than 3.4 inches for a salesman?
...So there's him dying to sell you (in screwed up English) his Set of 6 Cook-Books @ 50% off or that "electric bat that swats mosquitoes" which he swears you'll never-ever find in any showroom.
And there's us, trying to force the door shut saying "illa illa... beda..." taking care that his nose doesn't get squashed in the process.
Entertaining eh?
I'm thinking ke bhaiyya, paapi pet ka sawal hai...

* * *
What's been up eh?

-First year is almost over. I have to step into the "real world" and find an internship.
Reminds me of those scenes in Bollywood movies:

... a young lad of 22-23 (sole support of an ailing mother and blind sister) stands all day in queues outside those tall buildings hoping to get a job; he's just about reached the front of the line and a funny looking man (fully conscious of cameras around) enters and slaps the "NO VACANCY" sign on the front doors. The sun scorches on mercilessly, as a drop of sweat trickles down the hero's forehead...

HAHA! Just a thought!
So yeah.. "Internship". Top bug of 2010.

-I'm thinking of giving Wordpress a shot. I've heard its pretty cool.
But... I'm so afraid that it will do to this blog, what Facebook did to my Orkut usage, that I refuse to think about the idea and call myself a retard thrice a day to have thought such a thing.

-College is bustling full-speed-ahead (or not) : We had to write a jingle for a "hair restoring gel" today. Ahem.
My jingle sucked komodo-dragon balls.

-I think the lady next door knows that I smoke! I was smelling like an ash-tray and got stuck in the lift with her; she covered her face with her saree ka pallu and made retching actions. The asshole.

-Joke of the day:
Q: How is Santa Claus different from Tiger Woods?
A: Santa stops at 3 Ho's.

-I'm seeing someone! :D
Yup. An artist pretending to be an automobile engineer. He's obsessed with music and we smoke pot together. Haha!

* * *

The year so far?
Runny nose, pending projects, unfinished poems, and a leaky faucet.