Then news arrived

its sheer implausibility chased me across the forest like some hateful spirit. without a sense of 'where to' till my legs gave way. wilderness beyond which nothing. anesthetized by the countless spears of the tiny grass soldiers under my person, i fell. quiet. i prayed desperately for loss of sensation. i am made to subside. Nothing to do, then, but. bide. my. time. closed eyelids did nothing to help. dragging me--by the hair-- back to that nauseating

the chaos within.

i see the big silver sun, is n't. like drops. collected in leaves, like orbs of wet dew, merely warmed by the sun; and not sun herself. she is a million glimmering mirrors instead. web of leaflets overhead. grateful. deeper into the grass, begging for numbness. an insignificant lapse of time. my skull was tightening. the insides of my face an oven. blink. 

The image persists long after. The sun was a million glimmering mirrors instead. Komorebi, the  hardly-accurately-translatable Japanese phrase comes to mind even as the very glimmering orbs of dew swell then well in my eyes. When I let my eyelids fall some break ranks and charge toward the countless spears of the tiny grass soldiers under my person. Pain that tastes like salt is the worst one of them all.

Legs for Trouble

Late at a friend's, with all that Red

Goodnight kisses. Forehead stroking in absentia. 

Awake in the quietest room.
The party outside are breathing their last.

The raging inside my head will spill out of my ears.

*rinnnnng*

Jump out of my skin.
System Updates

bloodshot eyes spot me: glued

*crickets*
make sure we're okay?
I don't like the rapids!
Must. Not. Stop.

But the light begins to ebb and flow. 

Then my rubbish track record comes to mind.

My thoughts have now clotted entirely.

I roll over to cozy up, but I go and meet ice.
This has been my night.

Enough to ruin eagerly anticipated brunch?
Yes
But
sangria

Design Nerds, hola!

Everyday is inspiration for design nerds.

Today I woke up feeling calm, yet with this strange buzz.

I put on the most oriental colours I own and floated around the house for a bit (my day off) and halted near the shelf where I stash my paint brushes and watercolours.

At that very moment, if you sliced open my mind and spilled the viscera on a sheet, this is exactly what it would look like:

However, since these two fish here are already part of a commissioned artwork of Christy Freeman's, I decided to google around for more inspiration to paint when I stumbled upon this piece of art:

My frenzied brain was awash with wave after wave of excitement at the detail on this one - the scales - WOW. The barbels and mouth deserve a hat tip.

Further reading revealed 'Moneygami' was indeed the bomb, and this artist - Won Park - has created more such delightful works of art using world currency.

Wicked skills! And yet we are barely getting to the cool part:

This cool idea was lapped up by a design studio in Seattle and used for the rebranding of a payment technology and software providing firm. Such a stunning idea.

Gotta love design! Speaking of it, Behance.net is rapidly becoming one of my favourite places on the worldwide web to check out the work of vizcom artists. It's a treat for the eyes.

Parting shot today - it's an installation idea found on the web:

Colour + transparent string + a third dimension = absolute WOW.

Stay inspired :)

Things I meant to say

...but couldn't quite:

• You there, creepy Twitter follower. Will you climb out of my ass? And stop being the ONLY person favourite-ing every damned tweet. Gaaaah! #sheriffonspeeddial Also whats up with all these bots.

• Hallo, random Indian man on street. Your instinctive+unsupressable itch to offer parking advice to a car pulling over, with a woman behind wheel - yeah, fucking KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS. And fuck you. Twice.

• I like to talk lyk dis now. Finger -snap and everything. I love it. Listen! You also talk lyk dis and tell me you nah lyk ih.

• I can't keep in touch for nuts. But I love you guys. Honestly. 

That's all for now.

PS: The magazine that every stylish dog should read

#gottaloveDoge

Finding our feet

These long and awful days at the plant are protracting still.

9 pm and I am just about done for the day.

Me, my mild OCD and my wife - we live without complaints in our 900 square foot flat that smells of incense

and earthy, vegetarian fare on most days.

Neat, tidy.

"I'm home."

A tall glass of orange-y Tang.

A few moments of unfamiliar silence while you nervously flit from room to room.

You gesture me to follow while I relive a strange anecdote starring my boss.

You are discreet as you arrange strewn-about things the particular way I wish them to be - distracting me with animated facial expressions for every twist in the tale I'm telling you.

I'm careful not to let my eyes follow your hands and what it is they are doing.

You're encouraged; you know your diversions are working.

You smooth out the sheets and fold our blanket when it's your turn to engage me in a wide-eyed narration of the day's events.

The items of clothing that hang suicidally from your shoulder tell me you've just picked 'em up off the floor and other places. Into the machine they go - out of sight and mind.

You're relieved when you look at me - you're beaming.

How well you know me, darling.

Yes, absolutely nothing is out of place to tick me off today.

Not a thing to point out to you... yet I notice...

The blades of every ceiling fan in the house,

presently spinning to a halt, in concert,

even as I nod away, at your exploits in the supermarket.

Empty bottles stashed by the water purifier.

All emptied out, then left unattended

till mere moments ago.

Flyaway paper bits, scribbled notes, print-outs

- your academic pursuits -

peeking from underneath today's daily.

Two turkey towels shoved hastily,

still damp from your late shower,

into the guest room cupboard.

How well I know you, my beloved.

You are disarray, come alive.

You are chaos, in the flesh.

Yet you are the yin to my yang and you're making me better.

And how I thank you, for trying so sincerely.

So tirelessly.

I'll fill these eight empty bottles and continue talking... dissolve that guilt on your face with more accounts of my coworkers... dissolve some of my own, while at it.

I'll leave your notes untouched, like I never saw them.

As for your towels, I hope you will find a less weird hiding place next time.

Well done, Times Of India! [slow clap]

I wanted to get to the sports page. Yup. That's ALL I wanted. But, no. Not before making a forced stop at a gaudy jewellery store first! 

This ad should come with a warning for the photosensitive. I have softened the blow for your benefit.

My eyyyyyes!

Late post.

Ooops I did it again? *sheepish*

Vignette

The haze of brown that I was not really looking at thus far, slid all of a sudden into focus. Before my eyes, a tacky frame, crammed with fake croton plants. My entire being ached to remain in the bittersweetness of the reverie playing in my head.

I let my eyelids fall.



Yellow rain.

Tens of thousands of tiny yellow leaves. Dried out... yet soft when they fall on your face.
A long stretch of street, dotted with houses the kind that are not occupied for most parts of the year but look tremendously inviting.
Sparing a mason in the distance, the street is dead.

Muffled sounds of barely intelligible words. Two voices; arbitrary excited cries. In progress, a game of 'catch me, won't you?'. 
Much running, dodging and the sweaty foreheads of lovers, far too much in love.

Alas, their last day together.

Two young, absolutely clueless kids. Scruffy.
With leaflets in their hair like yellow snowflakes.

He was always too quick for her. 
So, with the winner of the contest now declared, they sit down. 
He takes her hand and puts it to his burning forehead. 
She puts on a great show of courage and pats his arm. 

Wordlessly, they mourn their togetherness.

A brief passage of time before they are up and facing each other.

Walking away without looking back even once was agreed upon after much rational "talk".
Seemed doable at the time. 

The parting shot: sign language for "All systems go" and a couple of brave smiles.

When, after a bit, he couldn't hear her footfalls anymore - he ran his hands desperately over his mismatched clothes for something she may have forgotten or left behind on his person... 

Zilch.

And there she was, walking cheerlessly, like a child who had let the heartless wind snatch her favourite coloured balloon away.

She bawled as she sat in a tuk-tuk. She covered her entire face in her scarf and bawled loudly. The unbearable noise of the vehicle was drowning out every last one of her cries of protest.
For reasons he couldn't understand he felt angry. It wasn't the ground that was shaking beneath his running shoes. He knew it was him. 
She wouldn't hear him now even if he bellowed.
She never once could.

It was over for these two.
Because life is cruel and fate is...well... such.

***

I open my eyes I and I see the constituents of the fake garden - the pride of my workplace - are all but a blur. I look down at my notepad and with an uncontrolled immediacy, two large teardrops crash onto the graffiti and splash against my elbows that extend all the way to my forehead - my moist fingertips quivering against my rapidly pulsing temples.

Tear-free, my eyes see clearly once more.

Autumn, again.
How many years has it been?

I need coffee.

Bad, pantry coffee. The sugar content, its only plus.

16 floors above the ground, I meditate on an idea. A powerful one that, at best, has you wishing for a time machine; and at its worst, chips away at you from the inside, out.

The weak paper cup I had been sipping coffee out of, had left a stain beneath.
With the blunt end of the pencil I compulsively carry everywhere, I tortured that bulging ringlet of coffee at the base of my cup into spelling out a word

NOSTALGIA

Today's Special

Since the truly shocking and untimely passing of Cory Monteith (the total cutie from Glee who wowed me with his guts to carry on dancing the way he did) his on-and-off girlfriend and his on-and-on screen co-star, Lea Michelle, has had a lot to deal with. She is reported as seeking solace in some old-school therapy that has stood the test of time and helped heal many a broken heart. 

Recent Hollywood snapshots reveal Lea Michelle sporting a blonde mane and fuller cheeks. Definitely fuller.

"She is dealing with a lot right now and this treatment is definitely helping her cope" said Ben N. Jerry - her family friend and long-time therapist.

Well, the picture is more than telling of just how much her coping method has helped her. I don't know about her anguished soul, but am pretty damn sure that this treatment will help her never break her bones, ever, courtesy the cushioning effect of all that.. well.. cushioning.
"She's going to bounce back, strongly" quipped Dr. Jerry.

Congratulations. Your troll-fest ends here. Lea Michelle?! The girl in the picture is Rebel Wilson. Australian funny girl who loves to tickle those ribs.

Reader (gasping to self): "Shit isn't that Lea Michelle? Fuck, it's not?? I swear I thought it was her for a second. Poop. Trolled."

 Seriously though? You didn't even call this bluff when I said Dr. "Ben N Jerry"? Pfft!

Moral of the Story: The world wide web is gaining infamy for trolling innocent netizens... I hope you have the strength and courage to get through it when it comes to getcha. Amen. 

* * *

Dear Readers, 

I'm in the middle of overhauling my blog.
Patience, oodles of support and comments needed.

Itchy and Scratchy

Not these guys.

ME.
I'm all itchy.

My blogger's itch kicks in at the random-est of times. Seriously.

I am at my workstation trying to brush up on Instructional Design Theory for a new project at work. The Global Delivery Director sits across the desk from me. I have a deadline on at least two sets of PPTs that I have to send out to the Graphics team before it is proofread (by who else but Yours truly) and declared "good-to-go".

Yet at such a critical time my fingers have decided to start twisting backwards and the voice in my head is telling me to sign in to my page and broadcast to the world the goings-on of my life.

I had the full weekend to myself. Not fighting with the hubby-bi *for once*. A super-stable internet connection was in place. The weather had been conducive and the only laptop at home was just lying there - as free as the second pizza from Domino's on a Wednesday night. Still, somehow, the thought of blogging was on holiday then...

And even though today, at work, it will take me upwards of 60 minutes to type, edit and publish a new post
I JUST CANNOT HELP MYSELF.
I slyly, compulsively open an incognito window and start to type.

The swiftly approaching deadline rears its ugly head at me in the form of a fugggly Post-it, fluttering gently while I am gazing at nothing-in-particular at mid-distance...
What will become of me today?

This out of the blue itch to update my blog is not just today, by the way:

1. While commuting to work on Bangalore's very bumpy roads - bumpy enough to rattle the thoughts around in my head
2. At the bar having a good time with friends...
3. Every single time I am without pen, paper or phone

4. Never mind where else

The coolest blog ideas come to me when I can't do a damned thing about it. I try hard to hold on to them, saying to myself all the while "do not let go of these words; hang on to these thoughts; they will make you rich and famous" but even before the flushing noise stops, they are just gone.
Fleeting thoughts... gone... words... puns... all gone.
Shreds and bits of comprehension that torture me for days to take shape... Never quite return to Momma.

Which is why today I am putting an end to all the missed opportunities and just doing the deed of blogging, yaaron.

But hang on, somewhere in the middle of all the cool YouTube videos I was going to tell you guys about... My brain latched onto thoughts about the time when I celebrated my blog's first birthday right here...and the times when I used to deck up this very webpage in Christmas-ey colours come December and go mad with it during Diwali... Oh and the constant bimbette bashing.... I remember how religiously I would update the Poll questions and my "Currently Lusting Over" section, over on the right hand side here (on the right a couple of scrolls up)... And the good amount of responses too... 

Sigh this blog was sooooo very special to me.
Still is... it kills me that I have no time for it anymore.

Maybe this is precisely why I start turking during office hours and around important exams etc. and suddenly there's a new blog post. I'm going to call this my Blog-stagnation Defense Mechanism. Voila!

"Just let it happen, my friend" said Charles Backes said so famously in his times.

OK this long-winded story is almost over - patience.
And no, I'm not exactly going anywhere with this.

#reflecting upon the #sillyteenagedme

I went back and read some of my old posts - my pride, joy etc.
I sound like a struggling-with-her-teens girl confused in life and on periods for approximately 6 months straight. Eeeep.
*squirms*

A whiny ranter.
That wasn't me.
Whoa.
Fuck no.

After feeling sufficiently awkward for a while, I realise that this blog is a fully custom growth chart! Of sorts.
For me to go back and see who I was at a given point in the space-time coordinate system thingy. (Digression Alert: I don't even know whether the usage is correct, but "space-time coordinates" sounds so nerdy and oh-so-sexy at the same time that I'm wetter than Craig Kieswetter's last name right now.) To see what I was like, what my world was about... and such... And the smile that accompanies the sudden recall of a nearly-forgotten memory....  is quite worth it.
Hmm. I need to post more often.
So a couple of years down the line (if not now) I can finally decide whether referring to the man I married as "Hubby-bi" sounds more wrong than The Cap'n or vice-versa.

Just wondering... what are other personalised  life-o-meters (if you will) available to show you how much you've sort of changed over the years?
If you unintelligently said "photographs, duh" I'm going to laugh out loud, you know it.
Yes Sherlock, something with more dimensions than 2.

If however you Googled Charles Backes (from a short while ago), I have just one thing to say to you.

"

"

Because "Hole-mates" is a creepy title

I have TB. No, not the chronic-cough-with-blood-tinged-sputum-clogging-my-lungs kind. God, no.
I'll go again.
I have a TB. Tiny Bladder.
And this condition led me to stumble across an earth-shattering discovery.

I think, by some permutation and combination in nature, there comes to exist, for each one of us, what I like to call a bladder-mate.

And I have found mine.

It's true.
I joined this new workplace - little over 3 months ago. The building is designed all funny.
There is *one*  restroom for ALL the women. Albeit its huge and pretty, it's just the one.
There's about three different offices here in our building - ours, one other and a Tommy Hilfiger design studio.

In the last three months, every time I have had to pee-pee, I have rushed out the office, into the restroom and come to a dead halt just at the sign reminding everyone that behind that door lies a place where "Women" could walk in and relieve themselves in order to be able to breathe again without wetting their trousers and DEFINITELY NOT for twisting over in agony and letting it all go right there. Of the latter happening, there was the more chance.

It was one balmy Thursday. Waiting outside the girls' room, I was pacifying my fully full bladder screaming inconsolably like a baby that hasn't been changed in hours. And then it happened. My mystery loo-occupier stepped out. I barely registered her face and dashed in. After a mighty deluge, my brain started working. She was cute. And taaaaaallllllll. Probably Delhi chick.

Three times over the next three days, she was in there before I. Three times over the next five days I stepped out of the loo and found myself staring straight at her. It's never, ever anyone else, damnit. *how the fuck?*

Then there's that mischievous 'it's-you-again look' she gives me with a smile.
Why does she give me that mischievous 'it's-you-again look' with a smile?
Oh my god, I think I have a girl crush on her. It's either that or the exotic fruity-floral perfume she floods the chamber with.

I was so weirded out about how this could keep happening. One day, as she stepped out the main door just as I was stepping in, I said to her with an incredible smirk "Our urinary bladders are in perfect sync!"

What I'd said to her actually sounded like "aahr urhyjry blahdeh byahin puffit sink!"
I know this because it rang in my head three and a half times after.
Dannng.
That perfume again.

After this, nearly every single time I have randomly wandered off to the loo - sometimes idly replying to a flood of texts, other times racking my brains for a presentation idea - I have always - surely and without a miss - had to get past her.
I didn't dare say anything smart-ass about our chance encounters EVER again though.

The days she isn't in though [and I know this because a pervy colleague knows exactly where her desk is in her office and keeps track of her attendance] I have never had to wait out. A free pass. The restroom door is ajar... waiting, for me to step right in and take care of business as usual.


If this was NOT the "toilet"and we weren't both women, it would've made a rather cute how-I-met-your-mum-kinda-story to tell the kids.

But the fact remains that even with the "toilet" and the homosexual equation, it is still better than the story of How I Met Your Mother.

***
All this wee-wee talk has made my bladder full. No worries though.
The pervy colleague struck again.
She isn't in today, it seems, so I can hold it in till it gets real bad.

Erm and while still on the topic, what the fuck is this ridiculousness?

I cannot get over the product title to even consider what the bleddy instruction booklet might look like. Bwaaaahahahahaha!

But seriously, #weird.


***

Have a nice day, someone should.

"When life chucks you lemons, make lemonade" is easier said than done.

Woke up with an annoying cold today and had to drive my mother to work.
Not a problem because I love driving and I love my brand new petrol powered pocket-rocket.

9:00 Mother starts hysterically screaming "It's late, it's late" while packing the lunch-dabba with her special for-diabetics-only food.

9:06 Mother starts hysterically screaming "It's late, it's late" while putting on lipstick and slipping into her work shoes.

9:09 Ten minutes behind schedule, I'm backing the car out of our basement assuring mum that it will be alright and that I'd get her to work on time. "It's late, it's late" See my mom is the punctual kind. A virtue that I missed out on during the whole inheritance deal. 

9:10 I opened the gates of the basement and bang across the opening, blocking it entirely was a silly turd of a car. No, it was literally turd-brown in colour. *Nothing* on the whereabouts of the person responsible for this brilliant display of human intelligence. Plus, the fact that there are 8 houses in our building wasn't helping either. A vein popped on my mother's forehead. Yeah, never a good sign.

9:11 My mother was now The Incredible Hulk and she can bellow alright. 

9:11 The owner of the car came scrambling down the stairs with an ominous wet spot around his crotch. He's moved to China, I hear.

We hit the tarmac and at ten, sharp, my mother was at her office. Smiling and no veins popping furiously about. 

After my little chauffeur routine, I usually stop by near my beau's office for a chai and dum pitstop - the working class hero's key to survival. Except today, thanks to Jet Airways' continued harassment, this quick catch-up session became a drive halfway across town. Never one to complain about postponing work to a much later segment of the day, I was driving when I decided to take a legitimate U-turn. Because Mc Donalds makes me happy.

Green light ✓
Rear view mirror ✓
Indicator ✓
*steer right*
Rear view mirrCRRAAASHHH.

Mr. Fat-guy-on-bike rushing to work wanted to rip straight past ahead of me but crashed into the car when I swerved right. After my body stopped shaking and the bike guy rode off claiming he was alright, my heart bled at the sight of the dents and scratches on my brand new shiny car. Fuck fuckedy fuck fuck.
And the McFlurry tasted like shit.

On my way back, this obnoxious paan chewing cunt who kept gleefully spewing red juices out of his mouth, every signal, got a mouthful from me. He was moving at 20 kmph for at least 10 minutes and refused to acknowledge he's holding up traffic because he was so busy talking on his phone through his dodgy little plastic bowl-like helmet. Cost me two consecutive green lights because he had to indulge in a fucking mating dance with his cell phone in the middle of traffic. I wrote down, somewhere, the reason for not having run him over. 

I reached home and noticed that one of our foolish apartment folk, who park their bikes at kissing distance from my car in the night sometimes had scratched my car. 

I saw this one coming but hoped people would be considerate while moving their ^%@#*!$%# vehicles about. I was soooooooooooo fucking pissed. Not so much because of the scratches but because there was no way of finding who did it and beat them to pulp, put that pulp into a 10 micron plastic bag and leave that plastic bag in the middle of the road so vehicles can drive all over it during peak hour. 

In a fit of frustration I pulled out the car tarpaulin from the boot and threw it over my car for some instant damage control... 

[cut to tragic story of how I begggggged my parents to buy me the Samsung fucking S3 and how they obliged.]

[cut back to today's kolaveri]

In a fit of frustration I pulled out the car tarpaulin from the boot and threw it over my car for some instant damage control. I heard a soft thud. My left hand felt lighter and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I walked over to the front of the car and froze.

What followed was a blur of light and sound. With steadily flowing tears staining my cheeks, I collapsed alongside the body of my baby, lying still and motionless on the ground. I picked it up and turned it around. 

Its Super AMOLED capacitative touch screen made from Gorrila Glass 2 - all 4.8 inches of it - had cracked and shattered all the way through.

I walked home slowly after having waved my white flag and took a nap hoping that this would all be a bad dream and that my car and phone were shiny and untouched once more.
I woke up. There was no power. No internet. No food in the kitchen. 

My phone beeped. Through the cracked glass I read.

Balance of your A/c xxx/SB/xx/xxxx has come to INR 96.50 below your desired balance

 Fuck.


P.S. Anger Management, the show, is soooooo not funny, no? Ueggh. I really had high hopes.
#charliesheen #disappointment #badsitcoms

I'm alive.

Just saying.

* * *

While I'm still here I just want to say something.

This is really personal but I'd like for you guys to hear about it too.

In any case, you can't keep such things a secret for too long, no?



True story.


* * *

You've gotta love the Internet.

* * *

I'll try and write something fun, soon, for 'tis the season to be jolly!

Note to self: SHIT. WRITE SOMETHING FUN, SOON, FOR 'TIS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY!


Cheers
x

Summer Love

It had been a while since I'd gone to that part of town...
...since I'd seen the building where he and I spent that one summer together.



Somehow, it didn't feel the same. Nothing was magical about it anymore.

Walking down that road, I found it hard to believe that there was a time when I'd put everything on hold and dash halfway across town...
to this building...
to walk through that painted wooden door...
to see him...

He felt so cold against my body that would be sweaty from all the running, warm under all that make up and all those layers of black clothes.

We hardly ever talked.
I loved it.
What would I say to him anyway? Discuss school?
I only remember this...
Our lips.... the cold spreading through my body... and then goosebumps.
It became routine. Like a drill, almost.
I loved it.
I had had my first orgasm.
I kept going back there, everyday.

He still lives here, I've heard. I'm sure he's found so many giddy girls since me.
I will just be that delirious 17 year old to him who was obsessed with him once.Life goes on, no?
But it was not his fault anyway... None of it was. Looking back, I can only sigh.

At 17, I was sure I had found love and even more sure that he and I would last forever and for always (like in that Shania Twain song.)

Then one morning, I wasn't able to slip into my jeans quite as easily as I usually would.


The bump started showing.
My belly was getting bigger.
It didn't matter how much I cut back on Nutella.
I needed maternity pants. Soon.

I think she read the guilt in my eyes (or she figured there was something the size of a giant panda under my shirt) but at any rate, my mother was the first to talk to me about it.
I burst out. I confessed to her. My mum. I told her what I'd been doing all summer long.
She was calmer than I thought she would be when it all came out into the open.
She held my hand and walked me through the biggest screw up of my life...


My beer belly.

Courtesy: Beer @ Pecos.
Rs. 275 per pitcher.
Buy one, get one. FREE.

* * *

Now of course, I'm a lot wiser... older.
"That building" is just another building to me.
I'm blissfully married to Whiskey.
We've had a couple of babies ever since- Judgement Impaired and Puffy McCheeks.
They are my world.
We have a third one on the way... We want to name him Ugly Zit Jr.
Life is good.

* * *
Disclaimer:
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.
Any resemblance to any biological process, natural or in-vitro is purely coincidental.

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.
*drumroll*
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. Thanks!

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...

but...

but...

IcouldntbuyitbecauseI'dshoppedforSOfuckingMUCHalready!
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

xo


PS: Check this. FTW.

Writer's block.

It's a lie.
There's no such thing.

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:
"R@|\||)OM!!!"
Thhu!
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.
*nauseous*

#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.
W00t!
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! :)

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
NEVERMIND.

But seriously- I discovered an unopened box of these precious little babies while cleaning my room last week. I ripped it open and sniffed:
GOD DAYMN!
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!
Hmph!

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 :'(
Dead.

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.

Well...
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! ;)

Bye!





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.

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.
You 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 snoring.

*heart fucking attack*
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
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!
Die!

Image courtesy: Photoshy's photostream @ FlickR.

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.
Whew!
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.
Bwahaha!

-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.
Sigh.