Instead of wishing it would get better, you just get angrier

How was I to know? How? How? I'm not psychic. You're not my bachpan ki dost. We don't chat on the phone sharing secrets and gossip. I don't stalk you on Facebook or any other stalkable online place. I am not that-girl-who-doesn't-know-anything.

Also you [a completely different you] did not indirectly call me a bitch behind-my-back. Fuck. You.

Anyway. Reading FML always cheers me up. And reading MLIA makes me giggle. Google both if you haven't heard of either.

And I know this was a non-post full of ranting and whining and now you're regretting you're even reading this blog and you're wondering how you landed here in the first place and deciding to never come back again ever and you're also kind of hungry [broke the overusage of the word and on the internet rule with that sentence there]. That just makes me feel bad, except the hunger part. You're allowed to be hungry whenever you want. I'm kind of hungry too. But don't judge my blog by this post ok? I have happy sunshiney stuff all over the place. My blog oozes rainbows and unicorns. Really, it does. And to make up for the rantiness, here:



Sandra Bullock: We need a big finish!
Diedrich Bader: Maybe I should take my top off.

Are we friends again?

Of Haunted Appliances

I think my refrigerator is haunted. By an old bipolar ghost. It keeps wheezing a lot. And it randomly decides it's tired of working and gives up. Then it starts again for a few minutes. And proceeds to die. It also makes these sudden weird noises which to a person with an overactive imagination sound like a serial killer/rapist/creepy stalker dude/Edward Cullen hiding out in the kitchen waiting for me to let my guard down. And I do not want to be murdered by Sparkly McSparkles.

Of course the fridge is almost as old as me. But that just means old refrigerators are ghost magnets.

Sweet dreams are made of these

My mom snores. That's not the problem. Well that's kind of the problem 'cause she snores loud enough to waken the dead, but I've read that most people over 40 snore so she's just a statistic. The real problem is that she's in complete denial about the whole thing. When I accused her of snoring (ha, I just typed snowing for some reason and was mildly amused by the thought of my mom snowing), she got so offended that she very maturely retorted, "I don't snore. YOU snore!" Which is a blatant lie.

Once I dreamt she was snoring so much that I woke up. And then I actually woke up because she was snoring so much. Yes. After 3 days of disturbed sleep and being called a liar, I decided enough was enough. The next time she woke me up, I reached over for my phone and recorded her extremely loud snoring. I swear it sounded like an animal. I played it to her the next day. At first she accused me of fabricating evidence. She was then suddenly so fascinated by the sound of her own unbelievably loud snoring that she made me repeat the story of how I recorded her thrice and then continuously harassed me to let her hear the recording. I had to lie and tell her I deleted it.

She claimed she only snored because she had a bad cold. Stuffed nose or not, I wasn't going to lose my sleep over this. I made her buy one of those nasal strips you see on television to minimize the sound of snoring. An utterly and completely useless contraption. I was forced to banish her from the bedroom every time her snoring woke me up. Eventually, she got over her cold, I felt bad for poking her awake and sending her outside and we made peace. Mostly because she stopped snoring.

All this was a couple of months ago. Then just yesterday, this alarming habit reared its ugly head again. Just as I drifted off to sleep, her snoring would force me awake. But I found a brilliant solution. Every time she got too loud, I would reach over for my phone and play some really loud music. This did nothing to cure her snoring of course. It just woke her up long enough for me to be able to fall asleep. This amazingly brilliant plan tickled me so much I had to stuff a bit of the bedsheet in my mouth to stop giggling. It turned out to be her bedsheet that I pulled. She made an annoyed sound and pulled it back. I then went on to accidentally kick her. Twice.

I did get a very good night's sleep though so I must have done something right.

What are you looking at?

My computer is infected again. At least I think it is. Stupid piece of junk. Anyway, the engineer came by today to see what the problem is and to tell/cajole/threaten my lovely dysfunctional machine to behave itself. Because I had been to a sleepover yesterday and gotten no sleep whatsoever (OK 2 hours of sleep, but 2 hours of sleep is as good as no sleep at all!), I came home and zonked out failing to realize the potentially embarrassing situation I would be faced with. What situation you ask? My desktop background is a picture of the very delicious looking Josh Holloway. This picture actually.

Maybe I imagined it but I could swear I saw the engineer squirming uncomfortably. And I quickly turned my burst of laughter into a very convincing cough.

Will and Won't

Last week we called for a couple of chicken dishes from the restaurant we usually order from. The delivery boy who brought us our dishes was new and he'd spilled the contents a bit and made it messy. Mom threw a fit. She demanded to know how he could be so careless and then went on to tell him not to deliver here again. She told me this when we were sitting to eat. Now this might sound silly but I felt so terrible. I sulked at mom for half an hour because I thought she had been horribly rude. I kept grumbling about how bad that boy must have felt; on the first day of his job no less. I also demanded to know how she could go crazy over something so trivial. Then I pointed out how even she makes stupid mistakes and how nobody makes a fuss about that (Well fine, I do but I was just all round grumpy then OK?). The phrase put-yourself-in-his-shoes was thrown around a lot. By the end of it, I think she could have cheerfully choked me .

Anyway. This nice little story does have a point. I got round to thinking how I can be rude so often. Rude to people I know and even to those I don't. Unintentionally, but it does happen. This little waiter boy incident made me want to be a nicer person than I usually am. Don't get me wrong. I'm generally a very nice person. But sometimes my desire for entertainment and amusement makes me forget my desire to be nice. So I've made this list which hopefully covers all those areas in which I need improvement.

(1) If a stranger falls, trips down a flight of stairs, walks into a wall, bangs his head against a pole or otherwise physically embarrasses himself, I will not burst out laughing and then pretend I'm laughing at something a friend said. I will make sure he's all right and then move on.

(2) If someone I know does any of the above, I will help them up, yell at anyone who giggles and glare at everyone around me daring them to find humour in the clearly humourless situation. I will not start laughing so hard that I have to lean against a wall for support. Nor will I mock them by demonstrating the accident in a hugely exaggerated manner.

(3) If I see a woman who looks like a man in women's clothing, I will not smirk or giggle mentally. She has enough troubles as it is; she needs sympathy not laughter.

(4) If a friend accidentally inhales her nose-ring in the middle of a lecture, I will be very concerned, ask her whether she's all right and then tell her to go see a doctor as soon as possible. I will not start laughing hysterically with tears running down my face. When the panic-stricken friend asks me whether she's going to die, I will not say yes. I will also not ask her if I can have her clothes when she's dead.

(5) I will not harbour hopes of having a gay best friend. The sole purpose of a gay man's life is not to meet and befriend me.

(6) My life's ambition will not be having a gay son. My children will be free to choose their own sexual orientation. I will not be disappointed if my son decides he's straight. Conversely, he won't be my favourite if he decides he isn't. Mothers are supposed to love all their children equally.

Yes, that's it for now. I'm sure I'll come up with more things eventually.

P.S. Roadies today! Yay!