Powerpuff. Paapaf. Elphinstone. Elfistone. Can. Tin.

He got me a Bart Simpson bag with a Happy Meal toy inside it. My grin is bigger and huger. He is awesomer. Go read his blog now. Now. Happy DayAfterChristmas!

Want to be featured on my blog? Buy me things. A balloon will also do. Bonus points if it features Spongebob. Send me an email at fireflyer08@gmail.com and I will send you my address. Not if you look creepy and stalkery but.

Also, don't make fun of my email id. I made it when I was slightly mentally unstable even more unstable than I currently am. But now I'm very emotionally attached to it and can't let it go. So yeah. Bye!

Mamma Mia is our name at XYZ

I've decided I want to read all the books Paro Anand has ever written (oh get over it, I read bachcha books). My friend got me this one and it arrived today. So I have a bighuge grin on my face now. I also just realized that only one of the stories is by Paro Anand but the grin is still there. And I'm going to pimp his blog for free. So go read his blog! This one. It's awesome. Okay I don't know because it's about football and I care this much about football but he bought me a book so it must be awesome. If you want me to pimp your blog, buy me things.

This book is called Mom and Me and talks about quirky mothers and how can I mention slightly unstable mothers without talking about mine? The disturbing thing is that I'm starting to get the feeling that I might actually be turning into her. For one thing, I tend to lie wheneverhowever it's convenient for me/makes my life easier/prevents me from breaking out of my bubble of laziness. It's definitely hereditary. Mom frequently lies through her teeth not just to colleagues and friends but also to her only darling daughter. She once let me eat pakodas made of leaves after specifically leading me to believe it was brinjal. Leaves. Leaves!

Then there is my extremely low threshold of pain. I run for pain meds at the slightest headache and scream bloody murder when my tooth throbs even the slightest bit unnaturally. This I also blame on my mother. Her level of tolerance for pain was clearly demonstrated when I went to get my ears pierced. I held her hand looking for moral support in those difficult minutes full of emotional and physical trauma. And what does she do? Flings my hand aside like it's infected and holds her hands behind her back. "What if you squeeze my hand too hard when that man drills a hole through your ear?"

I had a dream once where my mom was trying to incapacitate me by pushing me out of our fourth floor window. When that didn't work, she tried to set me on fire. I wonder if my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

Cows go moo but crackers go BOOM!

It's Diwali. Instead of gorging on mithai, I'm online at 10 in the morning stalking random people's Facebook profiles.

One person's profile said she was 19 years old. I felt sort of connected to her because woh bhi 19, main bhi 19. Then I realized I wasn't 19 anymore. I'm 20. Bubble bursting happened. But it's okay. I can make loads more bubbles. Because I bought 3 cans of bubble making solution from chowpatty. [Edit: A certain someone thought this was a joke fail. It wasn't supposed to be funny Mister Tanuj Lakhina. I just typed the first thing that came into my head!] [Also, FOOL!]

It's Diwali and I'm dressed up traditionally waiting for mom to dress up untraditionally so we can go visit relatives. The last time I wore a salwar kameez was a year ago so I'm feeling fancy.

But mom is looking at me like she's painting a picture of my marriage. So I'm not going to be wearing this too often.

There is Facebook drama going on in my home page. But nobody is online. Who to discuss with?

I can't build sandcastles. I can build sand mounds and then stick a stick at the top. Then use the mound to bury a friend's foot. But I can't build castles.

My cousin (who is older than me by a whole 3 years BTW) just called me aunty because he thought I was my mom. At least it was over the phone so I'm not too offended. But he gets less mithai than his brother.

Happy Diwali!

Those retards I call friends: The Juniors Edition

Ex Facebook wife, current Facebook daughter, godmother of future children (because she's named them all), this blog post features my fabulous junior Anandita Rao!

She makes lameness cool. She comes up with toocoolforschool words [Me: I'm off! Her: Bata! (Bye+Tata)] and she makes up cooler-than-ice-cubes handshakes which make other people jealous. She's just too awesome for her boots, but she doesn't wear any so it's okay. (See even writing about her makes me as lo(o)l as her. That's the lame+cool word combo, like the ones you get at McDonald's. Also, stop thinking dirty thoughts).

We met way back when at Polaris (Blitz Krieg is cooler) last year. I was freaking out over Raj Singh Arora being there (yes) and she wasn't judging me so of course pre-friendship happened. Then we re-met at our college trip in Rajasthan where we bonded over my compulsive need of stealing milk powder packets. I shared some of my loot with her and the friendship was cemented.

Milk Powder: Bringing people closer since 2009

She is so awesome that I am officially adding her to my list of people I'd date if I were gay. The list includes a professor, Konkona Sen Sharma (who got married! Whenwherehow?) and a friend who once told me she wished I were a guy so she could make me her boyfriend. Best compliment ever? I think so.

Also, I made up a song for her. Okay so I wrote it last November but whatever.


[Must be sung to the tune of the Spiderman theme song]

Andy-Poo Andy-Poo
Doesn't like being called Anandu
Corrupts my puppets, bangs their heads,
Why can't she corrupt hers instead?
Look out!
Here comes Andy-Poo.

Lives in Vashi
Thinks it's cool
Defends it like a Vashi fool
Prefers Ad over the rest
Is in denial about Journo being the best
Hey there
There goes Andy-Poo.

Her awesomeness inspires me *wipes tear*

P.S. Now do I get a Blitz tee for free?

Dear World

Dear short-people-on-the-street,

Why are you so short? I'm sorry but it is really really annoying. Your shortness I mean. Not you personally. Your umbrellas tend to poke me. A lot. And sometimes really inappropriately. So please grow up (literally). Or at least hold your umbrellas up higher. Better yet, use raincoats. They're really fashionable these days. At least I see a lot of aunties wearing them so I'm sure you won't be ostracized or anything. Thanks.

Dear monthly-time-of-doom,

You suck. No, really. I hope you know how much I hate you. That will be all.

Dear aunties-in-the-train,

You get deodorants for Rs. 100 now. That's right, they're that cheap. That's like buying 10 packets of Lays. Or 5 bars of Crackle. Or 2 large bottles of Pepsi with money left over. Or one really cheap deo. Not that I'm implying you smell. Not all of you anyway.

Dear peacock feathers,

Is it true that a feather a day keeps lizards away? You creep the hell out of me but if you have the same effect on lizards too, I'm totally ready to decorate my house with you. Even if I do secretly believe that I was pecked to death by a peacock in my previous birth.

Dear How I Met Your Mother,

You, sir, are awesome. I didn't appreciate your awesomeness enough. But the episode where you left me teary-eyed totally opened my eyes. (Did you see that episode? With the whole blizzard thing and "We should own a bar"? And Lily and Marshall's six-pack-of-beer thing? How freaking adorable are they?! The marching band at the airport totally had me reaching out for tissues. Stop judging me.)

In other news, I've made a pact with a friend that if we're both single at 40, we're going to marry each other. And if he's married and I'm not, he's obviously going to have to divorce his wife and abandon his kids. The pact is sacred.

P.S. I'm totally saying totally a whole lot these days.

If you're happy and you know it =D

Humour is a rubber sword - it allows you to make a point without drawing blood.

- Mary Hirsch

A friend showed me this video and I fell in love with it.



Enjoy if not love.

Seriously? Seriously!

So today I heard something that might just have emotionally scarred me for life.

Ekta Kapoor (yes that Ekta Kapoor) is going to produce a television serial that, get this, has been adapted from the Twilight saga. YES.

You can't even make up stuff like this.

According to an article I read (which calls them desi vampires by the way), the show is titled Fanaa and has this guy playing Sparkles. Another article reports "If sources are to be believed, Ekta's desi Twilight (a phrase I never thought I'd hear) might not get to see the light at the end of the tunnel." Before you get too excited, however, the same article goes on to say "The viewers certainly will want to see this desi version of Twilight."

Really? Really? The only people who would not block Star One are those that have recently been hit by a very large train. No, no. Those retarded books and movies weren't bad enough that now Twilight has a television series? Produced by Ekta Kapoor no less? What? WHAT!

And I thought the world was going to end in 2012.

I am goldfish, hear me roar.

I watched Glee so I'm happ-ee.

My friend is sad so I'm feeling bad.

Also, I just realized the last two lines rhymed. I'm a poet and I don't know it.

One friend of mine has the habit of saying what to do? Habits are contagious so now even I say what to do?

Today I was almost hit by a taxi, a motorbike and a cycle. Universe, are you trying to tell me something?

I want to be a student in New York. I want to teach Creative Writing to kids. Not teenagers because they're mostly annoying. But kids because they're mostly not. I want to shop. I want non-ugly rainy day footwear. I also want new glasses.

Did you watch Inception? Do you want to? I didn't and I don't know if I want to. Avatar has put me off over-hyped movies. Except Harry Potter because Harry Potter is awesome.

The paper I work for shares its birthday with Harry Potter. We have an anniversary issue coming up. We also had a birthday party. With kids. And chocolate cake. And games. And chocolate cake.

My house is under attack. Ant attack.

I also realized I saw how random a lot. Just ... not on this blog. How random. There. Happy?

I am in love with Abhishek Bachchan and nobody came to watch Raavan with me and my friend told me he died. So I hate her.

But she is sad, so I also feel bad.

P.S. If you tell me what the title means, I'll send you an e-donut. Mmmm donut. (Doughnut? I don't know.)

P.P.S. Why are goldfish so creepy looking?

Five things I did not understand about the FIFA World Cup

1) The vuvuzela.
Who invented this instrument and why hasn't he been shot yet?

2) All the unnecessary excitement.
Everybody freaks out over almost goals and almost saves and corner kicks and swift kicks and whatnot. Even the commentators go crazy. WHAT?! They didn't actually score a goal. Calm down!

3) Scoring own goals.
How does the goalkeeper react? It's so crazy near the goal as it is. Everybody is freaking out and hyperly running here and running there. The goalie is trying to cover the entire goal all by his lonesome self. He sees his team member take possession of the ball. He breathes a temporary sigh of relief. And suddenly BAM! The team member shoots the ball into his own goal! Does the goalkeeper beat him up after the match?

4) Extra time.
As if ninety minutes weren't long enough, they have extra time? Why why why? They don't even show close-ups of the boys so how am I not supposed to be bored? It's just random figures in jerseys running around and what is the point of that?

5) Little to no dancing.
This Coke ad made me wait so excitedly for someone to break out into a quirky dance routine. But no. All people did was run around and jump on each other when a goal was scored. Waka waka was written for you guys. DANCE!

I liked watching the game right after it was over. Not the actual game. Not the highlights. The segment right after. That's when they only showed all the goals scored and nobody got excited over rubbishy corner kicks and almost goals. And there were cute footballers running and being all happy and sometimes, if I was lucky, they took their shirts off.

"I don't like jokes!" "I don't like you!"

Yesterday mom tried to coax me off the computer to go eat lunch with her by saying Kuch Kuch Hota Hai was on. As if that would work. It did but I didn't want her to know that. I got up five minutes after she gave me that piece of vital information - five agonizing minutes no less - because I didn't want her to think she'd won. Yes.

Anyway, as I was watching the movie (I giggled wildly at every single joke) I remembered when it first came out. I was eight and wasn't at that stage of my life where I had to watch every new movie yet (I'm still not but that's because of lack of funds more than anything else). But everybody had watched this movie. Everybody. Naturally I *had* to watch it too. Except I didn't. Or couldn't. I don't remember why but what I do remember is having to hear everyone go on and on about it as I smiled and tried not to feel like the loser I secretly knew I was.

What was my brilliant solution? I pretended I had watched the movie too. But since I was lying, I didn't really know what to say when everyone got into excited discussions about the plot and whatnot. I did the next best thing. Every time a discussion popped up, I would say "But Kajol looked so much better with long hair than the yucky short hair. Don't you think so?" Every single time. And then everyone would excitedly get into a discussion about that as I would stand and smile proudly at having overcome my loserishness by throwing around a piece of information I got through the posters. So smart I felt.

So to answer your question, yes I've always been a weird person.

P.S. I did end up watching the movie weeks too late in a very shady theatre with my mom after throwing a humongous tantrum.

Why yes, I *am* made of awesome

How was your week? Not awesome? Aww that's too bad. Well not really 'cause I like it when my week kicks your week's butt.

Why my week was awesome:

Reason no. 1

Someone accidentally recharged my Vodafone account with 400 bucks. So I had Rs. 333 more in my otherwise balanceless account than I should have had. Of course the stupidly efficient people over at Vodafone must have realized their mistake 'cause it only lasted a couple of days where I didn't take advantage of the free money at all but even then, the little time that I thought the good luck gods were smiling down at me was deliciously awesome.

Reason no. 2

I have a great job. And even though I'm just an intern who has to work five full days for no money, I love it. Love. I love the small coffee cups and the same tasting pulao-with-raita-and-papad that I eat everyday. I love the dog who's always sleeping at the bottom of the stairs. I love how it's a graveyard in the morning and buzzing with activity in the evening. I love reaching early and leaving late. I love eavesdropping on melodramatic conversations. And I love what I do.

Reason No. 3

My raita was finally enough for my pulao. Never had it happened before. My raita always ran out no matter how much I tried to save it to drown the not-so-bad-but-not-so-good tasting pulao in. But now I've mastered the art of saving the raita right up to the very end and I'm very proud of myself. Stop judging me.

Reason No. 4

I found out that the one bus I used to desperately wait for after work isn't my only alternative. All three buses drop me home. Or very near it. I discovered this when I was fed up of waiting for my chronically late crowd infested bus and just sat in the bus which annoyingly appeared every four minutes just to see where it went. And luckily I didn't end up in another part of the city. I was so elated that it dropped me in familiar territory, I didn't notice I was lost until I didn't know which way to turn. A nice aunty came to my rescue and helpfully told me how to get out of wherever I was to get to where I wanted to go. I even struck up a conversation with her and tried convincing her that I really did stay nearby but I just hadn't been to or known about the existence of this place I was at. I felt very Western too because hardly anybody in India strikes up conversations with perfect strangers. If a random boy so much as smiles at me, I glare suspiciously back. That's how I was brought up - to treat strangers with a mixture of distrust and hostility.

Reason no. 5

One of my co-workers left for Hindustan Times. Thursday was her last day and as she cleared out her desk, she found a lot of things she wanted to get rid of. The things included a lot of junk but also a Spongebob keychain, two Spongebob books and a Happy Meal toy; all of which I inherited. People couldn't believe how genuinely happy I was. Oh I also got yummy free farewell cake. Plus a yummy free farewell lunch. But what made my week was the surprise Spongebob surplus.

And after the awesomeness that was last week, how did this one begin? With a lizard on my bedroom ceiling. And now I'm paranoid that it's going to fall on my face. Even though mom assured me that she shooed it out of the bedroom window when I was hiding out here. But I know she's lying because she said we should sleep on the bed today and not on the floor. Mom doesn't sleep on the bed during summer 'cause it's so hothothot. When I suspiciously asked her why not on the floor if there was no lizard, she didn't answer and turned up the volume of the TV. I called her a liar and said that I hoped the lizard would fall on her.

So now I'm pretty sure the karma gods are going to make the lizard fall into my mouth.

I wish my leg was haunted but all I got was a stupid cold

In the words of Lorelai Gilmore:

Ugh, I hate having a cold. It's bad enough being sick, but anybody can have a cold. I mean, I'd like to have a good illness, something different, impressive. Just once I'd like to be able to say, "Yeah, I'm not feeling so good, my leg is haunted."

So yes I have a cold. And I'm not happy about it. What kind of person is happy to get a cold you ask? Phoebe Buffay that's who!

I am not a nice person to be around when I have a cold. I sneeze very loudly at regular intervals. I'm all disgusting with my runny nose and watery eyes. And I'm constantly grumpy with no qualms about stabbing people in the eye with my pencil if they so much as laugh too loudly. You wouldn't be averse to going on a murderous cold-induced rampage if you got colds like I did. My colds are never gentle with barely audible sneezes. My colds are violent and ruthless and everybody I come in contact with knows about them. I sport a permanent scowl and sniffle every few seconds which makes my nose itchy and my throat all scratchy and my head hurts and -- there! I sneezed again and nobody said Bless You. A legend holds that it was believed that the heart stops beating every time you sneeze and the phrase "bless you" is meant to ensure the return of life or to encourage your heart to continue beating (thank you Wikipedia!) So if my heart decides to give up on me due to lack of encouragement and I die, blame the people working in the City section of DNA.

My department people (all three of them) aren't here yet. The boss doesn't come in during the weekend (Friday is included) and I think the other two are following her lead. So now I'm grumpy about not doing anything productive today besides making a few phone calls.

Also, the canteen has jalebis today. I don't want jalebis, I want rasgullas! They had rasgullas yesterday but by the time I got around to ordering, the canteen was out of them!

Yesterday I happened to mention how I love Spongebob related merchandise. I was seriously considering buying childrens' DVD set from Crossword because you got a free Spongebob soft toy with it. So anyway, Nickelodeon sends a lot of goodie bags to ya! (lesson no. 1: ya! is always in bold) and my boss decided to give me a few Spongebob goodies. BUT THE STUPID OFFICE THIEVES STOLE THE SPONGEBOB COASTERS SHE WAS GOING TO GIVE ME! Yes, apparently my office has thieves and they deprived me of Spongebob! I hate them! Hate is too mild a word. I completely and utterly abhor them and (an idea I stole from the episode of Castle I watched this morning) I'd cheerfully pour honey on their eyes and set loose a nest of fire ants on their face.

I think the cold is hampering my ability to type 'cause I'm having to use the backspace key a lot more than usual. So I'm also grumpy about that. And it's so cold temperature wise too. Whoever controls the office air conditioner obviously thinks our bodies have copious amounts of fur on them because jackets do absolutely nothing to counter the cold.

Six sneezes in a row and not a single Bless you. Make that eight. Now I hope I die just out of spite. Their apathy and inability to utter two simple words will kill me and then they will have to live with that for the rest of their lives.

Stupid cold.

My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance

Edit: I just saw how long this post actually turned out to be. So you're not obligated to read the entire thing. Except you totally are because you'd hurt my feelings otherwise.

Mom put me on spring cleaning duty yesterday. I was supposed to clear out my monster shelf and make a pile of things to be given away to the raddiwala. Mostly because we're poor and need the money but also because our house is being overtaken by books. They're like these needy little things crying for a home and I have no space for them in my life! Well I do obviously but my house doesn't. Even though we ran out of shelf space for books a few months ago, I insist on buying new books and add them to the ever increasing pile of homeless books which are randomly dumped around the house in the hopes that someone, somewhere will take care of them. But nobody does. Until yesterday. Shelf cleaning = space = non-homeless books.

Every time we try to clear the house, mom insists on tearing out unused paper from my old notebooks and keeping them in a safe place in case I ever need to use them in an emergency. Or in college. Every. Single. Time. Yeah mom because I'm really going to scramble around looking for the papers you hid when I'm trying to take down an important telephone number or address. Or I'm going to carry sheets of paper to college to take down notes on just so I can promptly lose and/or misplace them and not find them when I really need to study or when I have a project due and only find them the next time we decide to clear out my old books and you insist on tearing out notebook paper again! Yesterday I almost had a hysterical breakdown trying to convince mom that we don't need any more paper. Of course she still mutilated my notebooks anyway and didn't even tell me where she stored the emergency papers. She never does.

I found awesomely random things while clearing out the shelf though so I'm still glad I did it.

Right off the bat I found these two books which I found so hilariously epic that I have to tell you the names.

HOW TO TALK TO ANYONE - 92 Little Tricks for Big Success in Relationships
and
PREMARITAL SEX - Morality of Dating, Courtship and Petting

And Petting!

You think I'm making this up don't you? I'll click a picture when I'm not sleepy and prove that I'm completely serious.

I also found:
1) Stationery - all of which I could have used during my exams.
2) Random bits of craft items
3) Folders. Oh the folders! I found so many I could probably start an office right here.
4) MY FYJC bus pass (for the uninitiated FYJC = First Year Junior College. Then there's SYJC i.e. Second Year Junior College. I'm semi-officially in TYBMM which is Third Year Bachelor of Mass Media. You're welcome)
5) MY SYJC fake I-card. By fake I mean they gave me a fake I-card when I lost my real one. I had to pay 500 bucks for a crappy piece of paper on which they stuck my photo. Stupid fake piece of crap.
6) My school calendar. I'm going to revisit some of my hymns later. I may or may not use them as blog posts.
7) Menus of restaurants in Colaba. I don't know why.
8) Notes dating back to SYJC
9)An envelope containing 4 Moserbaer CDs. Where were they when I needed them? Chilling out in my shelf apparently.
10) Old phone bills. Again I don't know why. Mom could have just as easily thrown them away rather than stashing them in my shelf. Then she made a big thing about how we should tear them up into little pieces before throwing them away because they have our phone numbers on them. I called her paranoid and didn't tear them up. Mostly because my number has changed.
11) Pamphlets that we had made for Cutting Chai last year as part of our P.R. strategy. Our contingent name was Chacha Chaudhary Champs. Yes, they obviously hate us. I also found a Chacha Chaudhary mask which amused me for roughly 5 minutes.
12) I also found P.R. stuff from Detour from the year before last. There our contingent name was No Parking. At least Jai Hind doesn't make its hatred to us known quite as much as Nationals does.
13) An empty photo album
14) Loads of empty printer paper. To go into the multitude of folders of course. Mom has stolen a lot of paper from her office over the years.
15) My diary from when I was 17. I read the entries and giggled. I was such a drama queen.
16) My diary from when I was 14. Slightly less of a drama queen then. And yes I had separate diaries because I could never keep up with the whole diary writing thing. I used to write for a few days and then get bored. I think I also have one of my 12 year old diaries.
17) A notebook which had a few snippets I'd written about this book series I was so determined to begin when I was 15. The whole series that I so meticulously planned was very embarrassing; so obviously I'll blog about it later.

My favourite find however was these letters and cards and scrapbook type things from my friends and my ex-boyfriend. One of the cards reminded me how my friends used to "tease me with" (it's in inverted commas because I'm not sure whether it's a grammatically correct expression but we use it a lot so I'm going to say it anyway) this boy called Calvin from our French class back in FYJC. Why? Because I'd gotten mad that he got more marks than me in one of our exams. My inner nerd pops out to say hello now and then. I read a few of the letters and laughed and awwwed like crazy. There were also these letters from my ex and scrapbooks that he'd made me too (yes, we were that couple) which I read a bit of and laughed and awwwed again.

So the moral of this story is that cleaning is not always the worthless exercise in futility I once thought it was. The End.

P.S. I probably made a lot of spelling/grammatical/logical/numerical errors. But I'm really sleepy and I'll check them tomorrow OK?

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!

Lost and Found

Losing pens is a universal phenomenon.

Losing footwear in the middle of a lecture and losing a band-aid stuck on the foot is apparently just my thing.

Absorbent and yellow and porous is he

Yesterday, I spent the entire day in agony thanks to my persistent toothache which still won't go away.

I was sleep deprived thanks to which I was just generally grumpy.

I was also very PMSy which upped the crankiness factor.

I was poked in the eye by a woman in the train which rendered me temporarily blind for about five minutes.

I had to sit through the most mind numbing lecture ever, which on normal days is bad enough, but given my state yesterday, it was nothing short of pure torture.

I wanted an MOD donut but I couldn't get one.

I bought a chocolate mousse pastry to make myself feel better about my donut deprived state but forgot to keep it in the fridge thanks to which it was sour when I finally got around to eating it.

I felt like a fool for not having bargained more than I did for the books I bought at Fort.

But looking at the Spongebob stickers I bought in the train made me all cheerful again. Yes, the magical power of the sponge.