It's already March. How time flies. Even when you're not having the most fun. For a while now, there has been virtually nothing I could write about. Not only on the blog, but at work to. This is not a good thing. I am a writer, so writer's bloc for me is like hydrophobia for a diver, or vertigo for a pilot, or... you get my drift.
I have been stuck on this one thought for so long. Probably because I am not motivated by it. I have nothing to say about it. I don't relate to it, and I certainly don't understand it. This is not a good thing. Especially when I have to be creative about it. Especially because our new creative director and national creative director have joined us. So when we have these group meetings, and I have nothing to show, I end up looking like a complete idiot. "Who hired her", they're thinking. I'm sure.
To add to my stress, as much as I wanted a group change, it hasn't happened. I have continually asked and begged, so not my style, and when the list came out, I was still in the old group. This is not a good thing. Especially since my boss does not like me at all. And we are just civil to each other. Teamwork, commitment and vision, we have none of it. In fact those are just some of the things we don't have.
But what we do have in the office is a new girl. She has joined us in the client-servicing department. She spends at least three hours in front of the mirror everyday putting on her face. One inch of face. There is blush, eyeliner, lipstick and lots of bling. She has chemically straightened hair. She wears clothes so tight she puts a well-packed sausage to shame. And the boys love her. She has a silver handbag, and a mini-me of the handbag that carries her mobile. I'm serious. There is a tiny three-inch silver handbag, with a strap and buttons that she carries around because her jeans are too tight to stuff her prissy little mobile in them. I'm being a bitch again. This is not a good thing.
I think I have also been in this state of perpetual PMS for a very long time now. I have been rude, overly sensitive and highly moody. I have yelled at and hugged the same person in one day, leaving them completely confused and, I'm sure, a little scared. I have not been eating, then binging on something unhealthy like peanuts. I have lost my mojo. The thing that makes me want to wake up in the morning, and start a new day of my fabulous life. The thing that makes me want to live. I have lost it. This is not a good thing.
You know what else I have lost? The will to wake up at seven am in the morning and go for a nice, revitalizing walk in the mornings on Bandstand. Fresh air, sea breeze and aching thighs, that's what good mornings are made of. I haven't done it in so long, and now I feel fat. This is not a good thing. Because feeling fat leads me to think I am not attractive to anyone, which leads me to feel bad about myself, which leads me to not wanna meet anyone, which leads me to be all pissy. Which leads people into keeping away from 'that grouchy woman there'.
My tooth hurts. My weekend plans have been ruined. The new girl is pissing me off. My boss is an ass. My appraisal was bad. My head hurts because of my tooth. My fear is that all this is because of the chicken I ate last night. My hair is having a bad year. My desk is right under a loose light bulb, so it's going disco on me. My computer at work is too slow for even a blonde. I am too bitchy for my own good.
This is not a good thing.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Saturday, February 25, 2006
the fists around my heart
My parents have left for the States. They arrived safely and called about two hours after they landed at my sister’s house. They called to tell me how absolutely beautiful my little niece is. My father has not carried her yet, he says she is too small, so he stares at her from a distance. Like the proud grandfather he is. I miss my family terribly. I wanna cry every time they call me, because I wish I were there too. I miss my mother’s smile and I miss my daddy’s cooking.
And I miss my sister’s faces.
I read this blog about how one can literally feel the love for your siblings, like it is a fist wrapped around your heart, which tightens at their every joy and their every strife. I have had this fierce protection for my sisters, these two fists around my heart, for as long as I can remember.
When my sister Nicole was in college, she used to go for those extra classes and my dad would pick her up everyday. One day he didn’t and she said she would come home by bus. She was walking home. It was about eight pm. And some guy tried to kiss her. We were watching television, and from our seventh floor house we heard her cry. My dad, my mom, Vanessa and I ran downstairs. Between tears she told us what happened, and my dad ran to beat him.
I, all of 8 years old, ran with him. To kill him. To kill the guy who made my sister cry.
Every time she gets one of her asthma attacks, I get so paranoid, because I don’t know what to do, so I end up yelling at her to “breath goddamnit!” Which doesn’t help. It only makes her cry. And then I want to kill someone all over again.
My world crashed when my favorite doll, Gillian’s head fell off. Nicole ‘operated’ on her and made her all better.
She is so talented and has more creativity in her little finger than I have in my whole body. She is the fashion guru in my family. She gave me the first crochet flower she ever made. I carry it in my purse till today.
Nicole always thought she was the ugly one from the three of us, cause she did not have the light eyes and the light hair. To me she always looked like Snow White. With the fair skin, and the dark black-as-night hair, and deep brown eyes.
My eldest sister Vanessa looked like Cinderella. Eyes of the bluest skies, and brown hair. She is the most intelligent person I know. She works her ass off, she strives to do better, she gives great advice, she cooks amazingly, she is a perfectionist and she loves like there is no tomorrow.
She was like my parent growing up. She showed me how to put on a sanitary pad. She washed my bum when my dad was not around to do it. She taught me math. No, she tried to teach me math. I still can’t solve those stupid ‘trains-traveling-in –opposite-directions’ problems.
She was Nessa.
Nicole and I were once messing around with her hair. We combed it all in the front, covering her face. Then we put on some glares and moved the hair away from her nose so she looked like cousin It. We laughed so much at our “creation” and we could see Vanessa’s shoulders shaking. We moved the hair away and she was crying. She had had a very bad day. But she never stopped us from having our fun.
Nicole will agree that Vanessa is the best eldest sister that anyone could ever have. With just the right balance of fun and seriousness, and gives us unconditional love that I hope we never take for granted.
When I was little, I wanted to become a bus conductor. In support of my dream, my sisters, who used to travel to college then, collected their bus tickets and from their friends too, so that my dad could make me a conductors bag (out of my grandfathers old cigar box) and my mum gave me an old stapler as a clicker. I charged them to enter and exit rooms.
My mom once bought us all shoes from Bata. One pink, one green and one red pair. We created a S.O.S Treaty (share our shoes). We all signed it, and my mother was the witness. I still have that treaty paper.
Sure, we have had fights. Taking sides, pulling hair, crying, screaming, vowing never to talk to each other forever… forever being all of ten minutes. I have hit Vanessa, and then cried instead of her while she consoled me. I have said evil things to Nicole, and she has taken it.
But if anything happens, if anyone hurts these two people, I would hunt them down and torture them. If there is anything that they need, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to try and give it to them.
To the two greatest women in the world: I love you eternally and unendingly.
The fists only get tighter.
And I miss my sister’s faces.
I read this blog about how one can literally feel the love for your siblings, like it is a fist wrapped around your heart, which tightens at their every joy and their every strife. I have had this fierce protection for my sisters, these two fists around my heart, for as long as I can remember.
When my sister Nicole was in college, she used to go for those extra classes and my dad would pick her up everyday. One day he didn’t and she said she would come home by bus. She was walking home. It was about eight pm. And some guy tried to kiss her. We were watching television, and from our seventh floor house we heard her cry. My dad, my mom, Vanessa and I ran downstairs. Between tears she told us what happened, and my dad ran to beat him.
I, all of 8 years old, ran with him. To kill him. To kill the guy who made my sister cry.
Every time she gets one of her asthma attacks, I get so paranoid, because I don’t know what to do, so I end up yelling at her to “breath goddamnit!” Which doesn’t help. It only makes her cry. And then I want to kill someone all over again.
My world crashed when my favorite doll, Gillian’s head fell off. Nicole ‘operated’ on her and made her all better.
She is so talented and has more creativity in her little finger than I have in my whole body. She is the fashion guru in my family. She gave me the first crochet flower she ever made. I carry it in my purse till today.
Nicole always thought she was the ugly one from the three of us, cause she did not have the light eyes and the light hair. To me she always looked like Snow White. With the fair skin, and the dark black-as-night hair, and deep brown eyes.
My eldest sister Vanessa looked like Cinderella. Eyes of the bluest skies, and brown hair. She is the most intelligent person I know. She works her ass off, she strives to do better, she gives great advice, she cooks amazingly, she is a perfectionist and she loves like there is no tomorrow.
She was like my parent growing up. She showed me how to put on a sanitary pad. She washed my bum when my dad was not around to do it. She taught me math. No, she tried to teach me math. I still can’t solve those stupid ‘trains-traveling-in –opposite-directions’ problems.
She was Nessa.
Nicole and I were once messing around with her hair. We combed it all in the front, covering her face. Then we put on some glares and moved the hair away from her nose so she looked like cousin It. We laughed so much at our “creation” and we could see Vanessa’s shoulders shaking. We moved the hair away and she was crying. She had had a very bad day. But she never stopped us from having our fun.
Nicole will agree that Vanessa is the best eldest sister that anyone could ever have. With just the right balance of fun and seriousness, and gives us unconditional love that I hope we never take for granted.
When I was little, I wanted to become a bus conductor. In support of my dream, my sisters, who used to travel to college then, collected their bus tickets and from their friends too, so that my dad could make me a conductors bag (out of my grandfathers old cigar box) and my mum gave me an old stapler as a clicker. I charged them to enter and exit rooms.
My mom once bought us all shoes from Bata. One pink, one green and one red pair. We created a S.O.S Treaty (share our shoes). We all signed it, and my mother was the witness. I still have that treaty paper.
Sure, we have had fights. Taking sides, pulling hair, crying, screaming, vowing never to talk to each other forever… forever being all of ten minutes. I have hit Vanessa, and then cried instead of her while she consoled me. I have said evil things to Nicole, and she has taken it.
But if anything happens, if anyone hurts these two people, I would hunt them down and torture them. If there is anything that they need, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to try and give it to them.
To the two greatest women in the world: I love you eternally and unendingly.
The fists only get tighter.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
the abc of my weekend
A research got three girls in a Tata Innova bound for Pune.
Before reaching we stop for chai, coffee and Kotimbirwadi. The best thing you could possibly have in that Highway food deli.
Chalu Shiners. A term used, by our focus group (girls from 16-20) to describe girls who hang out with boys, are attractive to boys, and have no morals whatsoever. All of us fell under this category.
Daft. The weekend was daft.
E is for Elevator. Where L is for lobby and C is “obviously” for coffee shop. We couldn’t find the coffee shop, to Noojes, it was obvious that C was for coffee shop. She will agree that this was her “blonde” moment.
Fondu, oh the amount of cheese I had this weekend is not funny!!
Garlic Bread, Nachoes, Barbecue Chicken….
Hom, the way our waiter pronounced Ham. My club sandwich contained Hom and Baacone (Bacon) We could not stop laughing.
Indonesian Nasty Rice that is to die for!!
Koregaon Park. We shopped for silver and slippers. And passed the luscious German Bakery.
Lush. The club we went to. Packed with hot, stiletto-wearing, college girls, all drinking Bacardi Breezer, while we sat in our jeans and pink pajama’s
Moustaches. There was a longest, darkest, thickest competition going on. The parlours in Bombay are gonna make a lot of money on hair removal.
Natata Wada. It’s too much to explain.
Pune. What a city. I really wanna go there more often. Rent a room at Central Park. Have a yummy bubble bath, shop at Koregaon Park, and eat in Malaka Spice.
Red Wine. A bottle was ordered and brought to our room. Then we had more at dinner. Then more at the club. And more at lunch the next day.
S is for Swiss Cheese. The restaurant that we went to for dinner. We had white and red wine. And conspired against our driver.
To total wasted weekends. Pretending to work, but having a ball!
Underwear. And lacy, silk nighties…
Weekend party.
Yummy food.
Zzz catching up on some, Except for someone snoring in my ear. ;))
Before reaching we stop for chai, coffee and Kotimbirwadi. The best thing you could possibly have in that Highway food deli.
Chalu Shiners. A term used, by our focus group (girls from 16-20) to describe girls who hang out with boys, are attractive to boys, and have no morals whatsoever. All of us fell under this category.
Daft. The weekend was daft.
E is for Elevator. Where L is for lobby and C is “obviously” for coffee shop. We couldn’t find the coffee shop, to Noojes, it was obvious that C was for coffee shop. She will agree that this was her “blonde” moment.
Fondu, oh the amount of cheese I had this weekend is not funny!!
Garlic Bread, Nachoes, Barbecue Chicken….
Hom, the way our waiter pronounced Ham. My club sandwich contained Hom and Baacone (Bacon) We could not stop laughing.
Indonesian Nasty Rice that is to die for!!
Koregaon Park. We shopped for silver and slippers. And passed the luscious German Bakery.
Lush. The club we went to. Packed with hot, stiletto-wearing, college girls, all drinking Bacardi Breezer, while we sat in our jeans and pink pajama’s
Moustaches. There was a longest, darkest, thickest competition going on. The parlours in Bombay are gonna make a lot of money on hair removal.
Natata Wada. It’s too much to explain.
Pune. What a city. I really wanna go there more often. Rent a room at Central Park. Have a yummy bubble bath, shop at Koregaon Park, and eat in Malaka Spice.
Red Wine. A bottle was ordered and brought to our room. Then we had more at dinner. Then more at the club. And more at lunch the next day.
S is for Swiss Cheese. The restaurant that we went to for dinner. We had white and red wine. And conspired against our driver.
To total wasted weekends. Pretending to work, but having a ball!
Underwear. And lacy, silk nighties…
Weekend party.
Yummy food.
Zzz catching up on some, Except for someone snoring in my ear. ;))
an introduction
This, my blogger friends, is Danielle Ria Patrick D'silva (bottom)
My neice, born on the 12th of Feb 2006.
Say hello everybody!
And this, for the purpose of some of my blogger friends, is Freddy Ljungberg (top)
Arsenal mid-fielder and sex -bomb extrodinare...
Say hello everybody!
Sunday, February 12, 2006
cool beans
I have had just three hours of sleep. But I have not felt this energetic and happy for a long time. Early Sunday morning, the 12th of February, 2006, I became a very proud aunt.She is seventeen inches long. She weighs five pounds and six ounces. And she’s got curly hair. She is a month early. So she is tiny. We don’t know her name yet. But I’m sure it will be a pretty one.
I know she will be a cool kid. After all, she is related to me. Yeah baby!
Yesterday I went for an office terrace pot-luck party (that would explain the three hours of sleep). The place was in the middle of Dadar, but you’d never know. It was so gorgeous. The perfect party place. We danced, I learned how to salsa a bit. I must admit I am quite good.
We sang. I played the guitar. I sang in public, this is the second time this year. I’m getting quite bold really. But I was damn good. I got an applause and all. I was told I should join a band, and train my voice. May be it was the vodka talking. But hey, I was good and I know it. I bonded with some work girls. A big thing for me, cause I don’t really get along with women. In fact, I kinda enjoyed it. The whole girly talk thing. Maybe it was the vodka talking. Again.
It was a good weekend. After eight months of anticipation, my little beanie is finally born. We called her beanie because she looked like a little kidney bean in her first sonography picture.
So for now she is called Beanie.
Happy Birthday Beanie ;)
Friday, February 10, 2006
seven and deadly
So, I was having this conversation with some people in the office. A question was posed to us, a rather interesting and very insightful question...
"If you and an excess of one of the seven deadly sins, which would it be?"
After contemplation... i muttered Lust. Definatly Lust.
Yea, sure sleeping is one of my favourite things to do, but I also love to dance and walk and go out, so it can't be Sloth.
Yup, I do love to eat, but hey my eyes are bigger than my stomach... not physically...jeez.. it's just that no matter how much I think I can eat, I only can manage one fourth of it... So Gluttony is out... And Greed I guess.
Wrath, there have been very few times that I have experienced complete Wrath. Intence anger.. This is only when I care about something enough to make my blood pressure hit the roof.
Envy, yes I am a jealous one. If looks could kill, there would be a lot of women and men dead right now. But, most of the time, I just don't bother. So it's not envy.
Pride. Ahhh. I am a Leo. I am the queen of my castle. I am the head of the jungle. But I am also a meek, gulible fool, who is often a door-mat, despite her own better judgement.. So, yes I have immence pride.. But it's not in excess.
So, I was left with Lust. I like to look at male posteriors. I like to have a picture of Fredrik Ljungberg on my desktop. It's the one of him with no shirt on. I love to flirt. I love that rush. I love boys. I love men. I am not going to deny it. Lust. Definatly Lust.
Then I went on line to look up these cardinal sins, the deadly ones, these capital vices.. I wanted to know the punishment. Damn.
Lust (Latin, luxuria) (fornication, perversion) Desire of the Flesh.
Punishment: Smothered in brimstone and fire.
Ouch! At least I won't be dismembered alive. Yay!
What are yours? Give it a go...
And just so you know how you're gonna end up.. give this a look see..
Gluttony: Force-fed rats, toads, and snakes
(The people up north would feel right at home.. they eat elephant pickle.)
Greed: Boiled in oil
(ahhh, the human fritter.)
Sloth: Thrown into a snake pit
(ok. Well, that's gonna make you run around and get you up off that lazy ass.)
Wrath: Dismembered alive
(oooo.. that's gotta hurt. But aren't you gonna be angrier post the dismemberment?)
Envy: Put in freezing water
(Huh? I think this would be a better Lust punishment for men. The "go take a cold shower" theory.)
Pride: Broken on the wheel
(Whatever this means.. I think it's one of those ancient punishment gadgets)
Now that you know...
Have fun in hell my pretties.... muahahahaahah(evil laugh)
"If you and an excess of one of the seven deadly sins, which would it be?"
After contemplation... i muttered Lust. Definatly Lust.
Yea, sure sleeping is one of my favourite things to do, but I also love to dance and walk and go out, so it can't be Sloth.
Yup, I do love to eat, but hey my eyes are bigger than my stomach... not physically...jeez.. it's just that no matter how much I think I can eat, I only can manage one fourth of it... So Gluttony is out... And Greed I guess.
Wrath, there have been very few times that I have experienced complete Wrath. Intence anger.. This is only when I care about something enough to make my blood pressure hit the roof.
Envy, yes I am a jealous one. If looks could kill, there would be a lot of women and men dead right now. But, most of the time, I just don't bother. So it's not envy.
Pride. Ahhh. I am a Leo. I am the queen of my castle. I am the head of the jungle. But I am also a meek, gulible fool, who is often a door-mat, despite her own better judgement.. So, yes I have immence pride.. But it's not in excess.
So, I was left with Lust. I like to look at male posteriors. I like to have a picture of Fredrik Ljungberg on my desktop. It's the one of him with no shirt on. I love to flirt. I love that rush. I love boys. I love men. I am not going to deny it. Lust. Definatly Lust.
Then I went on line to look up these cardinal sins, the deadly ones, these capital vices.. I wanted to know the punishment. Damn.
Lust (Latin, luxuria) (fornication, perversion) Desire of the Flesh.
Punishment: Smothered in brimstone and fire.
Ouch! At least I won't be dismembered alive. Yay!
What are yours? Give it a go...
And just so you know how you're gonna end up.. give this a look see..
Gluttony: Force-fed rats, toads, and snakes
(The people up north would feel right at home.. they eat elephant pickle.)
Greed: Boiled in oil
(ahhh, the human fritter.)
Sloth: Thrown into a snake pit
(ok. Well, that's gonna make you run around and get you up off that lazy ass.)
Wrath: Dismembered alive
(oooo.. that's gotta hurt. But aren't you gonna be angrier post the dismemberment?)
Envy: Put in freezing water
(Huh? I think this would be a better Lust punishment for men. The "go take a cold shower" theory.)
Pride: Broken on the wheel
(Whatever this means.. I think it's one of those ancient punishment gadgets)
Now that you know...
Have fun in hell my pretties.... muahahahaahah(evil laugh)
Thursday, February 09, 2006
spring board jinx
I went to Olive for a lovely four-course Italian meal with some friends the other night. We had a fabulous time. Apparently Olive is the place to be seen and all, I, on the other hand, was trying not to be seen because I arrived straight from work – in my jeans and a T-shirt glory.
The place is very nice and very lah-dee-dah as well. Those places are never really my scene but I had the pleasure of good, down-to-earth company. We were two single girls and one guy who is gonna be married in about 5 weeks. We had a great time talking and sharing stories.
When I told them about how the guy I kinda like has gone back to the States, she said, hey but you liked someone else who also went away, right? I, eyes lowered, sheepishly nodded the affirmative. So they laughed. And I instantly developed the ghastly nickname of “spring board”. Nasty aren't they?
Why? Because every guy I have met who is nice in the last two years have up and left within about two months of me knowing them. And two months is the maximum mind you. And they don’t go anywhere close. There was Kuwait, Canada, Australia, Sri Lanka and most recently Chicago.
So these “friends” of mine, began to giggle and make fun of me. Comments like, “Want a visa, why don’t you date her for a bit?” happened. Or, “Lemme kiss you. Oh damn it... It’s Canada, I wanted Australia. Can I kiss you again?”, “Hey, do you have a passport? How about an accent? Cool can we go out?” or “She likes it the intercontinental way, baby!!”
Even the guy who is getting married asked if we could go out a couple of times, cause he wants to settle abroad eventually. Apparently, I’m his only hope. Sigh.
Don’t get me wrong. I laughed my ass off at the comments. In fact I had a couple of super one-liners too, like maybe I should start charging: Visa Guaranteed. But I never really thought that much of it until I started counting. It was technically five in two years. But only three meant so much to me.
Even so, it’s sad isn’t it? Maybe it’s me. Maybe I see potential disaster. Ok, maybe it’s not so harsh. Maybe I see that it will never go anywhere. It works out well because I’m suddenly not afraid to commit. Because they would never ask. Right? I am suddenly devoid of thinking long term. I know I will never marry them, or get into that stage of a relationship when the fighting and the being nasty to each other begin. I know that I will never be taken for granted, cause it’s too short a time. I know they have only seen my good side and maybe a little of the bad. A very little.
So there is everything right with it really. It seems perfect doesn't it? Doesn't it seems foolproof?
It seems so.
But the cons out weigh the pros in such a big way. Because I want to show my bad side, sometimes. I wanna have those stupid little fights. I wanna make-up and I wanna know that the person is mine. That’s the reason I am sad. That’s the reason I feel empty everytime they go away. Because of the cons.
Damn those cons.
The place is very nice and very lah-dee-dah as well. Those places are never really my scene but I had the pleasure of good, down-to-earth company. We were two single girls and one guy who is gonna be married in about 5 weeks. We had a great time talking and sharing stories.
When I told them about how the guy I kinda like has gone back to the States, she said, hey but you liked someone else who also went away, right? I, eyes lowered, sheepishly nodded the affirmative. So they laughed. And I instantly developed the ghastly nickname of “spring board”. Nasty aren't they?
Why? Because every guy I have met who is nice in the last two years have up and left within about two months of me knowing them. And two months is the maximum mind you. And they don’t go anywhere close. There was Kuwait, Canada, Australia, Sri Lanka and most recently Chicago.
So these “friends” of mine, began to giggle and make fun of me. Comments like, “Want a visa, why don’t you date her for a bit?” happened. Or, “Lemme kiss you. Oh damn it... It’s Canada, I wanted Australia. Can I kiss you again?”, “Hey, do you have a passport? How about an accent? Cool can we go out?” or “She likes it the intercontinental way, baby!!”
Even the guy who is getting married asked if we could go out a couple of times, cause he wants to settle abroad eventually. Apparently, I’m his only hope. Sigh.
Don’t get me wrong. I laughed my ass off at the comments. In fact I had a couple of super one-liners too, like maybe I should start charging: Visa Guaranteed. But I never really thought that much of it until I started counting. It was technically five in two years. But only three meant so much to me.
Even so, it’s sad isn’t it? Maybe it’s me. Maybe I see potential disaster. Ok, maybe it’s not so harsh. Maybe I see that it will never go anywhere. It works out well because I’m suddenly not afraid to commit. Because they would never ask. Right? I am suddenly devoid of thinking long term. I know I will never marry them, or get into that stage of a relationship when the fighting and the being nasty to each other begin. I know that I will never be taken for granted, cause it’s too short a time. I know they have only seen my good side and maybe a little of the bad. A very little.
So there is everything right with it really. It seems perfect doesn't it? Doesn't it seems foolproof?
It seems so.
But the cons out weigh the pros in such a big way. Because I want to show my bad side, sometimes. I wanna have those stupid little fights. I wanna make-up and I wanna know that the person is mine. That’s the reason I am sad. That’s the reason I feel empty everytime they go away. Because of the cons.
Damn those cons.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
shhhh
We all have our little secrets. Things we don’t want anyone to know. Little thoughts or feelings that swirl in the depths of our minds. Deep, dark secrets.
They may be trivial things like not telling your mom what exactly you did when you went out or not telling your colleague that you have a bar of Cadbury’s in your drawer.
They could be repulsive secrets that you would never want anyone to know. Because if they did they would judge you. And look at you different. And think you were weird. So you would never tell anyone. Ever.
But what do you do when you need to spill it? Who do you go to when you’re about to burst? Whom do you trust enough? Who is that one person you could tell absolutely anything to and they would never judge you? Ever.
I don’t think I have ever had someone like that. I don’t think I have ever told someone everything. I guess it’s just the fear of being judged. Of being looked at weirdly. Of being exposed completely. I guess that’s why I have not given out my blog address to everyone.
Wanna know some secrets? Trivial as they may be?
In school, I used to pretend to be asleep when my Hindi tuition teacher used to come home. It used to work.
When I pass a group of people, I suck in my stomach.
I have peed in a men’s room.
I have pictured my funeral.
I have cried during Oprah. And Pretty Woman.
I sometimes forget what I look like, and then I pass a mirror and I wish I hadn’t. Mostly cause I am disappointed.
I fear that I will fall down a flight of stairs and break my legs.
Sometimes on Sundays, I forget to bathe. Gross.
I wanna trip a girl in my office so bad. Just so I can see her fall.
I am sad that my so-called best friend has another best friend. So what? Am I #2?
I am jealous of prettier women. Not cause I wanna look like them. But I’m just jealous.
I haven’t been a regular at church for a while. But I cried when the Pope died. Cause I liked him.
I have peed in a pool.
I should stop now.
Before the judgement starts.
Before the looks begin.
Before I am completely exposed.
Why this sudden bout of confession, you ask? I came across an amazing site, that I think everyone should read. It’s updated every Sunday. It is awesome.
http://postsecret.blogspot.com/
Why?
Cause everyone loves a good secret.
They may be trivial things like not telling your mom what exactly you did when you went out or not telling your colleague that you have a bar of Cadbury’s in your drawer.
They could be repulsive secrets that you would never want anyone to know. Because if they did they would judge you. And look at you different. And think you were weird. So you would never tell anyone. Ever.
But what do you do when you need to spill it? Who do you go to when you’re about to burst? Whom do you trust enough? Who is that one person you could tell absolutely anything to and they would never judge you? Ever.
I don’t think I have ever had someone like that. I don’t think I have ever told someone everything. I guess it’s just the fear of being judged. Of being looked at weirdly. Of being exposed completely. I guess that’s why I have not given out my blog address to everyone.
Wanna know some secrets? Trivial as they may be?
In school, I used to pretend to be asleep when my Hindi tuition teacher used to come home. It used to work.
When I pass a group of people, I suck in my stomach.
I have peed in a men’s room.
I have pictured my funeral.
I have cried during Oprah. And Pretty Woman.
I sometimes forget what I look like, and then I pass a mirror and I wish I hadn’t. Mostly cause I am disappointed.
I fear that I will fall down a flight of stairs and break my legs.
Sometimes on Sundays, I forget to bathe. Gross.
I wanna trip a girl in my office so bad. Just so I can see her fall.
I am sad that my so-called best friend has another best friend. So what? Am I #2?
I am jealous of prettier women. Not cause I wanna look like them. But I’m just jealous.
I haven’t been a regular at church for a while. But I cried when the Pope died. Cause I liked him.
I have peed in a pool.
I should stop now.
Before the judgement starts.
Before the looks begin.
Before I am completely exposed.
Why this sudden bout of confession, you ask? I came across an amazing site, that I think everyone should read. It’s updated every Sunday. It is awesome.
http://postsecret.blogspot.com/
Why?
Cause everyone loves a good secret.
Friday, February 03, 2006
blah and double blah
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Yea sure it does. Is that the reason I haven’t received an e-mail for almost two and a half days now? Yea I’m counting. Pathetic isn’t it? Well, welcome to my world.
I’m sure we have all pined and hoped and prayed for something. I’m sure we were all, at one time, willing to give it all up, trade it all, just to prove to someone how much we cared. And if we did, we probably spend our days regretting and blaming and finger-pointing. If we didn’t, we spend our days wondering what if?
It’s wrong to expect too much from anyone. I know that. But inevitably I do. I believe that if I give, I should get back. I believe that if I love, it should be reciprocated. Yea, it’s naivety at its best. It’s wishful thinking. It’s just plain romanticism.
I’m being nice. It’s stupidity. Out of sight is out of mind. Who ever wrote these damn proverbs wanted to cover all sides of the story. So in every situation you could chose which was more appropriate. Like Too many cooks spoil the broth, but many hands make light work? Stupidity!
Anyway, in this case there is no choice.
Out of sight is out of mind. That explains a whole lot. Doesn’t it?
Blah.
Wake me up when the heart break ends.
Yea sure it does. Is that the reason I haven’t received an e-mail for almost two and a half days now? Yea I’m counting. Pathetic isn’t it? Well, welcome to my world.
I’m sure we have all pined and hoped and prayed for something. I’m sure we were all, at one time, willing to give it all up, trade it all, just to prove to someone how much we cared. And if we did, we probably spend our days regretting and blaming and finger-pointing. If we didn’t, we spend our days wondering what if?
It’s wrong to expect too much from anyone. I know that. But inevitably I do. I believe that if I give, I should get back. I believe that if I love, it should be reciprocated. Yea, it’s naivety at its best. It’s wishful thinking. It’s just plain romanticism.
I’m being nice. It’s stupidity. Out of sight is out of mind. Who ever wrote these damn proverbs wanted to cover all sides of the story. So in every situation you could chose which was more appropriate. Like Too many cooks spoil the broth, but many hands make light work? Stupidity!
Anyway, in this case there is no choice.
Out of sight is out of mind. That explains a whole lot. Doesn’t it?
Blah.
Wake me up when the heart break ends.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
high hopes
I hope that this year is better than the last.
I hope that my work is good enough to get me a job somewhere.
I hope that I don’t die an old woman, surrounded by cats and poop.
I hope that if I do live with cats, I have lots of kitty litter to avert the stench of cat poop.
I hope that instead of cats, they are all puppies.
I hope that Sammy comes out ok.
I hope he remembers me.
I hope he is still the best graphic designer I know.
I hope my art partner is happy in her new agency.
I hope she misses me.
I hope that my ex’s new girlfriend treats him well and doesn’t hurt him.
I hope she is not prettier than me.
I hope my niece is a beautiful healthy baby girl.
I hope she looks like me.
I hope I don’t live to be a hundred.
I hope when I’m old I can still tie my shoelace and know where my home is.
I hope he likes me.
I hope he knows that when I say like, I mean love.
I hope I never run out of passion.
I hope if I do, I have someone who will rekindle it.
I hope Harjee doesn’t make a nasty comment about this post.
Actually, I secretly hope he does ;)
I hope I can afford my own home soon.
I hope that when I do, I get a little puppy.
I hope I never fight with my sisters about property.
I hope I never care about wealth more than them.
I hope I have enough wealth never to care about it.
I hope that some creative director reads this blog, loves it and offers me a job.
I hope his office is on Madison Avenue.
I hope I never stop writing.
I hope just cause this is a new post, the panty conversation doesn’t stop.
I hope that the thing they say about everyone having someone in the world is true.
I hope my boy is reading this.
I hope I never reach the stage where I don’t fit into my jeans.
I hope the friends that I care about, care about me equally.
I hope I get some soon.
I hope I always have enough money to shop.
I hope I never have enough bags.
I hope this wasn’t too boring.
I hope that my work is good enough to get me a job somewhere.
I hope that I don’t die an old woman, surrounded by cats and poop.
I hope that if I do live with cats, I have lots of kitty litter to avert the stench of cat poop.
I hope that instead of cats, they are all puppies.
I hope that Sammy comes out ok.
I hope he remembers me.
I hope he is still the best graphic designer I know.
I hope my art partner is happy in her new agency.
I hope she misses me.
I hope that my ex’s new girlfriend treats him well and doesn’t hurt him.
I hope she is not prettier than me.
I hope my niece is a beautiful healthy baby girl.
I hope she looks like me.
I hope I don’t live to be a hundred.
I hope when I’m old I can still tie my shoelace and know where my home is.
I hope he likes me.
I hope he knows that when I say like, I mean love.
I hope I never run out of passion.
I hope if I do, I have someone who will rekindle it.
I hope Harjee doesn’t make a nasty comment about this post.
Actually, I secretly hope he does ;)
I hope I can afford my own home soon.
I hope that when I do, I get a little puppy.
I hope I never fight with my sisters about property.
I hope I never care about wealth more than them.
I hope I have enough wealth never to care about it.
I hope that some creative director reads this blog, loves it and offers me a job.
I hope his office is on Madison Avenue.
I hope I never stop writing.
I hope just cause this is a new post, the panty conversation doesn’t stop.
I hope that the thing they say about everyone having someone in the world is true.
I hope my boy is reading this.
I hope I never reach the stage where I don’t fit into my jeans.
I hope the friends that I care about, care about me equally.
I hope I get some soon.
I hope I always have enough money to shop.
I hope I never have enough bags.
I hope this wasn’t too boring.
Monday, January 30, 2006
twenty eight men saw my panties
This is the best part of advertising. You learn what headline will make your reader curious enough to want to go ahead and read your copy. No but really, twenty eight men did see my panties. That was no joke.
I went for a workshop for the weekend. It was called Jazzvertising. It basically combined and compared jazz as a school of music and advertising. There were three men conducting it, all of whom played instruments, and played them bloody well too. They made the whole weekend so interesting, I was thoroughly excited through out.
We left work at about four in the evening and we reached this business school (where the workshop was being held) at about eight thirty. This is not because it’s far, but because we kept stopping to eat, to pee, to drink and finally we got lost.
When we did find the place, we were taken from the main gate to the business school, about 2km away, on a bullock cart. No wait, a speeding psychotic bullock cart! It was awesome. They handed us keys to our rooms and a letter saying that they hoped that the next two days would be as invigorating as the ride on the manic cart. I hoped so too.
That night we made friends with some other people from other agencies and also with some of the students. We kinda were the only highly enthusiastic people around… But with me that is virtually always the case. We didn’t stay up too late, slept by 1am. This is because our letter also said that there would be an amazing geo-physiological event at precisely 8:58am the next morning, and it would be in our best interest not to miss it, especially since it happens once every seven odd years. Lies!
The next morning, I and my equally enthused colleagues woke bright and early. When nothing happened at 8:59, I knew it. The amazing phenomenon was that they managed to fool advertising professionals into getting up that early, when we don’t do it even to go for a client meeting.
The days were good, the food was yum and the nights were awesome. We had a bonfire and a weird chant that by the end of it sounded like a Christmas carol. I made some friends, I met some people. I did weird things, I sang, I played dog and the bone and I enacted a cheap Bollywood movie and a sleazy love scene (me and a guy making sounds and stomping on a wooden stage while taking off our jackets and throwing them at the audience)
Also, the whole workshop saw my panties. We had to get women’s panties as a prop for one of the exercises. The only other girl in my group had bad ones. So mine were flaunted and paraded. But they were yummy orange ones. So I didn’t mind much. All in all, the weekend was fun and I think it was a super and very much needed break from the crap going on at work and Bombay.
So, what pearls of wisdom did I take from the weekend? What advertising gems did I discover? What did I learn? I can honestly and very happily say:
Absolutely nothing.
I went for a workshop for the weekend. It was called Jazzvertising. It basically combined and compared jazz as a school of music and advertising. There were three men conducting it, all of whom played instruments, and played them bloody well too. They made the whole weekend so interesting, I was thoroughly excited through out.
We left work at about four in the evening and we reached this business school (where the workshop was being held) at about eight thirty. This is not because it’s far, but because we kept stopping to eat, to pee, to drink and finally we got lost.
When we did find the place, we were taken from the main gate to the business school, about 2km away, on a bullock cart. No wait, a speeding psychotic bullock cart! It was awesome. They handed us keys to our rooms and a letter saying that they hoped that the next two days would be as invigorating as the ride on the manic cart. I hoped so too.
That night we made friends with some other people from other agencies and also with some of the students. We kinda were the only highly enthusiastic people around… But with me that is virtually always the case. We didn’t stay up too late, slept by 1am. This is because our letter also said that there would be an amazing geo-physiological event at precisely 8:58am the next morning, and it would be in our best interest not to miss it, especially since it happens once every seven odd years. Lies!
The next morning, I and my equally enthused colleagues woke bright and early. When nothing happened at 8:59, I knew it. The amazing phenomenon was that they managed to fool advertising professionals into getting up that early, when we don’t do it even to go for a client meeting.
The days were good, the food was yum and the nights were awesome. We had a bonfire and a weird chant that by the end of it sounded like a Christmas carol. I made some friends, I met some people. I did weird things, I sang, I played dog and the bone and I enacted a cheap Bollywood movie and a sleazy love scene (me and a guy making sounds and stomping on a wooden stage while taking off our jackets and throwing them at the audience)
Also, the whole workshop saw my panties. We had to get women’s panties as a prop for one of the exercises. The only other girl in my group had bad ones. So mine were flaunted and paraded. But they were yummy orange ones. So I didn’t mind much. All in all, the weekend was fun and I think it was a super and very much needed break from the crap going on at work and Bombay.
So, what pearls of wisdom did I take from the weekend? What advertising gems did I discover? What did I learn? I can honestly and very happily say:
Absolutely nothing.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
self obsessed
I got a call from Frankfurt airport. I couldn't stop smiling. And my day was going so well. I felt happiness. Then I realised that I am not going to see him for a while. And I was sad again.
Then I got online. And my ex was on line. We spoke and I told him about how I met someone after 14 years. Then he tells me, as a by the way in the conversation, that he is seeing someone.
Ain't that a kick in the head? For a few minutes I hurt all over. We have had conversations before about this, he'd ask me if there was anyone I was seeing and I would ask him, the answer was always "no" from him, and "i've been on a date, nothing special." from me.
What hurts is that he didn't tell me about it. I think I deserved to be told in a better way. I am over him, i think. I mean it's been too long for me to think about it. Almost two years apart. He is still a great friend and will always be. I would do anything for him.
I think it was more of an ego issue. It's always about me anyway.
Why not me first?
Then I got online. And my ex was on line. We spoke and I told him about how I met someone after 14 years. Then he tells me, as a by the way in the conversation, that he is seeing someone.
Ain't that a kick in the head? For a few minutes I hurt all over. We have had conversations before about this, he'd ask me if there was anyone I was seeing and I would ask him, the answer was always "no" from him, and "i've been on a date, nothing special." from me.
What hurts is that he didn't tell me about it. I think I deserved to be told in a better way. I am over him, i think. I mean it's been too long for me to think about it. Almost two years apart. He is still a great friend and will always be. I would do anything for him.
I think it was more of an ego issue. It's always about me anyway.
Why not me first?
drowning in a daydream
This last week has been awesome. There are so many words to describe what I am feeling right now. They are all swirling in my head. But none of them seem to be surfacing. Because of which I have been speechlessly happy from last Tuesday onwards.
Yes, I am talking about my long time crush, my bunch of grapes (that’s what he was for a fancy dress competition in school, I was a sweet – how intensely lame we were.. no wait, I think I still am..)
I met him practically everyday. We went shopping. He bargains like he’s been doing it all his life. And it was super to see the pure triumph on his face when he got things for hundreds less than the original.
He bought me a bracelet and then had it engraved. And he made me a pendant that will forever be my favourite accessory. But the best was the song. I love the song. No one has ever bothered to take time out to rhyme for me. He sang it to me too. I have never had anyone who sang for me. The one line I love – and the only line I am going to share is: “The little boy, who is now a man, becomes a little boy when he holds your hand” - The song is pretty darn good, according to him...hahaha.. modesty is not a strong virtue with him.. i loooovvve it.
I went to meet him on the evening he was leaving. He needed to get some last minute things done, so I followed him around doing that. Then we went for an annual get together of his aunt’s colony, the place he was staying. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I probably needed to absorb all I could.
He reached me to a rickshaw, I needed to go back home. As my rickshaw moved away, I sunk deeper into pain. Have you ever had something that you never wanted to let go of but you had to, not by choice but by circumstance? It could be a toy, a book, a picture or, in my case, a person.
I am stunned. It seems like some intensely real daydream I had. I will miss the constant jokes and the laughs, the rickshaw rides, the winks, the train to Bandra, the hand holding, the fun, the warmth, the comfort and the looks. I will miss his smile. Damn I wish I was looking at it right now…
Brightside? I am going to keep in touch with him. And if, after 14 years, he is back in my life, it is for a reason (can’t wait to find out what that reason is)
I have a new old friend. We had a past. We have a present. Now what we have in the future, remains to be seen. But I know it will be gooood.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
crushed
Today I walked into the office with a smile on my face singing, 'Soak up the Sun' by Sheryl Crowe. There was a reason I was beaming ear to ear. I met the guy I had a crush on when I was ten, after about 14 years. I'm still a little stunned. Still a little jittery. I can't stop the smiles.
It was a boring Monday and I was sitting with my art partner thinking about some ad that we needed to do, when my phone rang. I thought it was one of those stupid BPL service provider people who constantly harass you at odd hours during the day. So I pick up the phone, sounding slightly disgruntled. And he mumbles in an accent saying he doesn't know if I would remember him, it's been about fourteen years, he was a friend from school. When he said his name I almost fell off my chair.
I never thought I would see him again. He's only down for one week and then he is back to Chicago. I had a huge crush on him. He did too. It's the stuff movies are made of. It's like if Kevin met Winnie after fourteen years, when they are 24 and talk fondly about the Wonder Years. Ok, not that dramatic, but very close.
He remembers this one picnic we went for as a class. I was holding on the railing of the bus and he was walking to the end of the bus, when it jerked forward. His hand was on my hand for about fifteen seconds. And apparently we both stared at each other and then he ran to his mum, who was a substitute teacher.
I don't ever remember talking to him. But I remember one night when my parents invited his whole family, just before they left for Chicago to our house. And we were standing in my 7th floor balcony, and he gave me a flower (he confessed yesterday that he picked it for my garden)
For a birthday of mine, he gave me a Santa Clause bag. I still have that bag, it's in the same wrapping paper. According to him, all I did at his birthday parties was come and eat his cake and leave. And he wished that I would just talk to him. I told him, that every time I tried, he ran to his mom. He said, when he is nervous he sometimes still does that.
We met yesterday. I called him and told him that I was standing at the ticket counter, he said he was walking toward there.
I can't see you. Neither can I. Where are you again? The ticket counter. Wait I see you, is that you? Yes.
Big smiles. Big hugs. Fourteen years melt away.
It was a boring Monday and I was sitting with my art partner thinking about some ad that we needed to do, when my phone rang. I thought it was one of those stupid BPL service provider people who constantly harass you at odd hours during the day. So I pick up the phone, sounding slightly disgruntled. And he mumbles in an accent saying he doesn't know if I would remember him, it's been about fourteen years, he was a friend from school. When he said his name I almost fell off my chair.
I never thought I would see him again. He's only down for one week and then he is back to Chicago. I had a huge crush on him. He did too. It's the stuff movies are made of. It's like if Kevin met Winnie after fourteen years, when they are 24 and talk fondly about the Wonder Years. Ok, not that dramatic, but very close.
He remembers this one picnic we went for as a class. I was holding on the railing of the bus and he was walking to the end of the bus, when it jerked forward. His hand was on my hand for about fifteen seconds. And apparently we both stared at each other and then he ran to his mum, who was a substitute teacher.
I don't ever remember talking to him. But I remember one night when my parents invited his whole family, just before they left for Chicago to our house. And we were standing in my 7th floor balcony, and he gave me a flower (he confessed yesterday that he picked it for my garden)
For a birthday of mine, he gave me a Santa Clause bag. I still have that bag, it's in the same wrapping paper. According to him, all I did at his birthday parties was come and eat his cake and leave. And he wished that I would just talk to him. I told him, that every time I tried, he ran to his mom. He said, when he is nervous he sometimes still does that.
We met yesterday. I called him and told him that I was standing at the ticket counter, he said he was walking toward there.
I can't see you. Neither can I. Where are you again? The ticket counter. Wait I see you, is that you? Yes.
Big smiles. Big hugs. Fourteen years melt away.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
ring out the new (before i wring her neck)
So, basically I hate the management of seating arrangements in my office. Cause this guy I kinda have the hots for was sitting so far away from me... but (at his request) he finally came to sit just a desk away from me, so now every time I turn around, I see his butt... bending to write something on the comp, or print something... and oh and what a butt it is... it deserves to be a national treasure... to be protected and honoured... JLo be hanged!
Anyway that is not the point. Everything was A-ok when it was just me turning to take a peek.
Now this damned HR person has put a hot little, bubbly little, oh-so-friendly little Bi... errm... management trainee right next to him. Resulting in me catching a glimpse of flirting everytime I look behind.
She is from UK. She is thin. She is friendly. She's got nice hair. She's got a big smile.
But more than anything, She is new.
What is with men and new women?
They see a prospect, and their eyes light up for the kill. Suddenly they have a reason to wake up and put on that extra dab of cologne and get to office, only to be greeted by the smile of the new girl. They suddenly get overly friendly themselves, asking her to have lunch with them, asking her what she does for fun and giving her "tips" on how to survive in the agency....
This is not only at work. This is at parties too. I remember this one party we had with my ex agency colleagues... A new addition, one guys prospective girlfriend crashed the party... She wore a short black top and low rise brown courdroys... she got herself an entire beer bottle, she danced alone because she did not know anyone... And by the end of the night she had most of the guys drooling over her... getting her dinner, concerning themselves about how she will get home... and talking about her after she left. She was new. She never came to another party. They finally stopped asking where she was.
Men want to get to the new woman. It's not that they want to marry them, or even have a realtionship with these girls. It's just the thrill of being seen by your buddies.
Chatting up the new girl maketh thee a ladies man.
And what man doesn't want to be a ladies man?
The ladies man then walks up to the group of his colleagues. They give the usual, you-sly-dog looks and back slaps, ladies man confidently says, comeon... she's just a friend... And if he is truly a ladies man, he'll follow that sentence with a comment like... but not for long eh... At which the pack breaks into howls of laughter.
Anyway, enough with the anthropology lecture. There he is, my ladies man. He is putting on cologne. He is bending again, but not in my direction, he is competing for attention with the other guys around. He is telling her where her boss sits.
He has asked her to eat lunch with us.
I'm in the background. I watch the peacock dance.
My heart breaks. My blood boils. My head spins.
I over hear her saying she can't cause she has plans to go out for lunch. She passes my desk and squeeks a bubbly "bye, see you later", I fake a big smile. I do it well.
I sit at my comp, and pretend not to notice him behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and gently squeezes, asks me what's wrong, and tells me to come and eat lunch. I say fine.
I let him lead the way... only so I can stare at the national treasure again.
Anyway that is not the point. Everything was A-ok when it was just me turning to take a peek.
Now this damned HR person has put a hot little, bubbly little, oh-so-friendly little Bi... errm... management trainee right next to him. Resulting in me catching a glimpse of flirting everytime I look behind.
She is from UK. She is thin. She is friendly. She's got nice hair. She's got a big smile.
But more than anything, She is new.
What is with men and new women?
They see a prospect, and their eyes light up for the kill. Suddenly they have a reason to wake up and put on that extra dab of cologne and get to office, only to be greeted by the smile of the new girl. They suddenly get overly friendly themselves, asking her to have lunch with them, asking her what she does for fun and giving her "tips" on how to survive in the agency....
This is not only at work. This is at parties too. I remember this one party we had with my ex agency colleagues... A new addition, one guys prospective girlfriend crashed the party... She wore a short black top and low rise brown courdroys... she got herself an entire beer bottle, she danced alone because she did not know anyone... And by the end of the night she had most of the guys drooling over her... getting her dinner, concerning themselves about how she will get home... and talking about her after she left. She was new. She never came to another party. They finally stopped asking where she was.
Men want to get to the new woman. It's not that they want to marry them, or even have a realtionship with these girls. It's just the thrill of being seen by your buddies.
Chatting up the new girl maketh thee a ladies man.
And what man doesn't want to be a ladies man?
The ladies man then walks up to the group of his colleagues. They give the usual, you-sly-dog looks and back slaps, ladies man confidently says, comeon... she's just a friend... And if he is truly a ladies man, he'll follow that sentence with a comment like... but not for long eh... At which the pack breaks into howls of laughter.
Anyway, enough with the anthropology lecture. There he is, my ladies man. He is putting on cologne. He is bending again, but not in my direction, he is competing for attention with the other guys around. He is telling her where her boss sits.
He has asked her to eat lunch with us.
I'm in the background. I watch the peacock dance.
My heart breaks. My blood boils. My head spins.
I over hear her saying she can't cause she has plans to go out for lunch. She passes my desk and squeeks a bubbly "bye, see you later", I fake a big smile. I do it well.
I sit at my comp, and pretend not to notice him behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and gently squeezes, asks me what's wrong, and tells me to come and eat lunch. I say fine.
I let him lead the way... only so I can stare at the national treasure again.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
twinkles mc mini
I happened upon a site that has a whole list of really cute quizzes and stuff that people could put on their blog or just have for fun... FYI - my elf name is Twinkles Mc Mini... ain't that just so cute.. and virtually pointless to my existance?
Hey.. sometimes we all just gotta do something fun and something that won't eventually make a difference to our lives...
Why not take a couple of quizzes yourself?
Find out how Machiavellian you are....
http://www.blogthings.com/howmachiavellianareyouquiz/
Find out if you have ever been a pure kisser...
http://www.blogthings.com/kissingpuritytest/
And to wind things up.. find out what your name would be if you ever were an elf (or even a super hero..)
http://www.blogthings.com/elfnamegenerator/
have fun
be pointless
Hey.. sometimes we all just gotta do something fun and something that won't eventually make a difference to our lives...
Why not take a couple of quizzes yourself?
Find out how Machiavellian you are....
http://www.blogthings.com/howmachiavellianareyouquiz/
Find out if you have ever been a pure kisser...
http://www.blogthings.com/kissingpuritytest/
And to wind things up.. find out what your name would be if you ever were an elf (or even a super hero..)
http://www.blogthings.com/elfnamegenerator/
have fun
be pointless
yaayayayayayay
I love catholic weddings.
They have a certain energy and exuberance that other weddings don’t usually have. Everyone just gets into the celebration mood. It’s just pure fun.
So I went for a wedding this Sunday. I wore my sexy black Ramanika designer top and black pants. To me I looked alright, nothing special. But I must say.. Whatever I did, I was doing it right.. Cause I was raking in the compliments dahlings!! Yaayayayayayayayayaya!!!!
So I walked in and I found a old friend from college, so she took me straight to the dance floor and got me some wine. It was an indoor thing, so I was freezing in the air-conditioner. I walked with her to a group of guys and girls… I told her “Man, I am so cold!” someone behind me said... “No, you’re soo hot!”. I turned it was another old friend. We did the whole, “you-look-great, you’ve-lost-weight” thing.
Then his friend asked me to dance. I accepted. While on the dance floor, the brides uncle came up to me and said, “every time I see you, you look lovelier.” My dance partner asked if this was true. I said I wouldn’t know. He said he would have to find out for himself then. YAyayayayayay!!!
Anyway to add to this, we have this tradition where the girls circle the bride and she throws the bouquet, the girl who catches it is supposed to get married next. After this happens, the groom takes off his brides garter and throws it to the circling bachelors. The then girl that catches the flowers and the boy that catches the garter, dance on a slow mushy song.
I caught the bouquet. I was stunned.
When I caught it, one of the guys came up to me and said, "since you caught it I am going to join the bachelors!" Yayyayayaayyaaa!!
Long story short, some weird guy caught it and as soon as he was told he has to dance with me he told me he was engaged and so I led him to his fiancé and made her dance with him.
Some guy asked me to dance and as I was dancing, this other guy who was also dancing, from over his partners head (these boys have guts) mouthed the words, “you have beautiful eyes!” Flattered, I mouthed “thank you”. Then the same guy, deposited off his partner at the table and asked me to dance. Super! Yayaayayayayyayayayayaaa!!
So essentially my night was made because I was surrounded by very cute, single and Catholic boys ;-)) this does not often happen. Plus I was flattered more than once with compliments I don’t often receive.
I think I have exhausted my quota of compliments for the year 2006. So maybe the rest of the year I have to make do with thoughts of the compliments at this catholic wedding.
But damn. What a night. yayayayayayya!!
They have a certain energy and exuberance that other weddings don’t usually have. Everyone just gets into the celebration mood. It’s just pure fun.
So I went for a wedding this Sunday. I wore my sexy black Ramanika designer top and black pants. To me I looked alright, nothing special. But I must say.. Whatever I did, I was doing it right.. Cause I was raking in the compliments dahlings!! Yaayayayayayayayayaya!!!!
So I walked in and I found a old friend from college, so she took me straight to the dance floor and got me some wine. It was an indoor thing, so I was freezing in the air-conditioner. I walked with her to a group of guys and girls… I told her “Man, I am so cold!” someone behind me said... “No, you’re soo hot!”. I turned it was another old friend. We did the whole, “you-look-great, you’ve-lost-weight” thing.
Then his friend asked me to dance. I accepted. While on the dance floor, the brides uncle came up to me and said, “every time I see you, you look lovelier.” My dance partner asked if this was true. I said I wouldn’t know. He said he would have to find out for himself then. YAyayayayayay!!!
Anyway to add to this, we have this tradition where the girls circle the bride and she throws the bouquet, the girl who catches it is supposed to get married next. After this happens, the groom takes off his brides garter and throws it to the circling bachelors. The then girl that catches the flowers and the boy that catches the garter, dance on a slow mushy song.
I caught the bouquet. I was stunned.
When I caught it, one of the guys came up to me and said, "since you caught it I am going to join the bachelors!" Yayyayayaayyaaa!!
Long story short, some weird guy caught it and as soon as he was told he has to dance with me he told me he was engaged and so I led him to his fiancé and made her dance with him.
Some guy asked me to dance and as I was dancing, this other guy who was also dancing, from over his partners head (these boys have guts) mouthed the words, “you have beautiful eyes!” Flattered, I mouthed “thank you”. Then the same guy, deposited off his partner at the table and asked me to dance. Super! Yayaayayayayyayayayayaaa!!
So essentially my night was made because I was surrounded by very cute, single and Catholic boys ;-)) this does not often happen. Plus I was flattered more than once with compliments I don’t often receive.
I think I have exhausted my quota of compliments for the year 2006. So maybe the rest of the year I have to make do with thoughts of the compliments at this catholic wedding.
But damn. What a night. yayayayayayya!!
Thursday, January 05, 2006
glimpses
People I have noticed. Things I have seen.
Written about for lack of better things to do:
1.
Middle-aged and awkward, she wore an outdated suit design. Her wrinkled face anxious to get off the crawling bus, she awaited her stop.
Sitting upright at the edge of her seat as if she was being watched – twiddling thumbs, checking her lipstick.
A smear of red lipstick carelessly pinched on her cheek.
Makeshift rouge. Makeshift life.
Desperately aware of her own inadequacies.
2.
Instantly disliked.
She is fair and fat, stuffing herself with pop corn, the colour of her salwar-kameez, not stopping even for a breath.
She finishes her snack, she gulps down her drink. She crushes the cup and the packet together. They are carelessly flung outside the moving train. Perhaps this is what she does to people after she has got what she wanted from them?
Instantly judged.
3.
Thin, wry, almost emancipated. She squeezes herself into the three inches of seat left after three fat women have had their share.
Checks her sari, her bindi and in checking, displaces the latter with a hasty rub – the stickiness forsaken by the salty sweat of a long day. She buys five bars of chocolate for fifty rupees. I know she is not the recipient of these tasty treats. The bars are as thick as her arms.
She barely exists – each day traveling to work, looking after ungrateful children and a worse husband.
Doing it to support women’s liberation, knowing none of her own.
4.
From Jaipur:
Pigs eating garbage. Dogs chasing cars. An occasional calf suckling its mother under the shade of a pink parapit.
Inhale the cool morning air with a light whiff of stagnated dung and marble dust tickles your nose.
Palace ruins. Vandalism abound.
Stealing the gems from the precious walls of love.
Horse-drawn carriages and cycle rickshaws pulling along fatted pink tourists.
Camels basking, people baking in the sun.
Glorious Past.
Mindless Present.
1.
Middle-aged and awkward, she wore an outdated suit design. Her wrinkled face anxious to get off the crawling bus, she awaited her stop.
Sitting upright at the edge of her seat as if she was being watched – twiddling thumbs, checking her lipstick.
A smear of red lipstick carelessly pinched on her cheek.
Makeshift rouge. Makeshift life.
Desperately aware of her own inadequacies.
2.
Instantly disliked.
She is fair and fat, stuffing herself with pop corn, the colour of her salwar-kameez, not stopping even for a breath.
She finishes her snack, she gulps down her drink. She crushes the cup and the packet together. They are carelessly flung outside the moving train. Perhaps this is what she does to people after she has got what she wanted from them?
Instantly judged.
3.
Thin, wry, almost emancipated. She squeezes herself into the three inches of seat left after three fat women have had their share.
Checks her sari, her bindi and in checking, displaces the latter with a hasty rub – the stickiness forsaken by the salty sweat of a long day. She buys five bars of chocolate for fifty rupees. I know she is not the recipient of these tasty treats. The bars are as thick as her arms.
She barely exists – each day traveling to work, looking after ungrateful children and a worse husband.
Doing it to support women’s liberation, knowing none of her own.
4.
From Jaipur:
Pigs eating garbage. Dogs chasing cars. An occasional calf suckling its mother under the shade of a pink parapit.
Inhale the cool morning air with a light whiff of stagnated dung and marble dust tickles your nose.
Palace ruins. Vandalism abound.
Stealing the gems from the precious walls of love.
Horse-drawn carriages and cycle rickshaws pulling along fatted pink tourists.
Camels basking, people baking in the sun.
Glorious Past.
Mindless Present.
selfish
I want more
I have always wanted more than I got.
When I was a child, I wanted more ice-cream on my chocolate cake. I wanted more birthday cake in my plate. I wanted more dolls. More crayons. More.
When I was in school I wanted more friends. I wanted more responsibilities. I wanted more challenges. More.
When I was in college I wanted more boys. I wanted more love. I wanted more clothes. I wanted more popularity.
I want more recognition. I want more than just a “good work” statement. I want more than just a kiss on the cheek. I want more than just a flirty glance. I want more than just one mail. I want more than a conversation on MSN. I want more than just a compliment about my eyes. I want more compliments.
I want more than only one ad released. I want more than just to work. I want more books. I want more things. More music. More clothes. More bags.
More love.
I have messed things up by wanting too much. I have ruined relationships by being too selfish. I have often put people on the spot asking for more than they could give.
For that I am sorry.
I have always wanted more than I got.
When I was a child, I wanted more ice-cream on my chocolate cake. I wanted more birthday cake in my plate. I wanted more dolls. More crayons. More.
When I was in school I wanted more friends. I wanted more responsibilities. I wanted more challenges. More.
When I was in college I wanted more boys. I wanted more love. I wanted more clothes. I wanted more popularity.
I want more recognition. I want more than just a “good work” statement. I want more than just a kiss on the cheek. I want more than just a flirty glance. I want more than just one mail. I want more than a conversation on MSN. I want more than just a compliment about my eyes. I want more compliments.
I want more than only one ad released. I want more than just to work. I want more books. I want more things. More music. More clothes. More bags.
More love.
I have messed things up by wanting too much. I have ruined relationships by being too selfish. I have often put people on the spot asking for more than they could give.
For that I am sorry.
12:01
Wow. It’s been a while. Happy New Year people! I was in Pune for the coming of the New Year. I had a great time and I loved every minute of it. I only knew one person from the eleven people that were there. But I got along with them superbly.
My best gal and I decided that on the 31st of December, we are going to go out and look for some nice men. We didn’t want to be alone on New Year. Even if it lasted just till the next day… at least we would have someone to wish when the clock struck twelve. We didn’t. Instead when midnight came, I had to wish the guy standing behind me, who was, not to be rude, just blah. After which I tried making a call. He raised his eyebrows and asked wickedly who the ‘lucky guy’ was… I said my mother.
For that moment, the sixty seconds between midnight and 12:01 I felt intense loneliness.
My best gal came to me. She began to talk about her ex. Five years and she broke up with him. I spoke about mine. Three years, and just like that, it was over. We confessed we sometimes think we made a huge mistake by giving up something so solid.
Then a popular song played.
And we got up and danced until the loneliness, the pain, the guilt and the regret went away.
My best gal and I decided that on the 31st of December, we are going to go out and look for some nice men. We didn’t want to be alone on New Year. Even if it lasted just till the next day… at least we would have someone to wish when the clock struck twelve. We didn’t. Instead when midnight came, I had to wish the guy standing behind me, who was, not to be rude, just blah. After which I tried making a call. He raised his eyebrows and asked wickedly who the ‘lucky guy’ was… I said my mother.
For that moment, the sixty seconds between midnight and 12:01 I felt intense loneliness.
My best gal came to me. She began to talk about her ex. Five years and she broke up with him. I spoke about mine. Three years, and just like that, it was over. We confessed we sometimes think we made a huge mistake by giving up something so solid.
Then a popular song played.
And we got up and danced until the loneliness, the pain, the guilt and the regret went away.
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