First! $100 for doing a 35 in a 25 zone. No seriously, who drives at 25 mph?! Mean cop was very stern about it. Perfect record ruined now. Boo.
Ate a cheeseburger for dinner. Can't sleep. Prolly over guilt about the cheeseburger. Damn the temptation!
Wish you were here to play games with.
Nothing good ever comes from being on the phone. I swear, the day I have a nice normal conversation with a nice normal desi man on that phone I will buy drinks for the entire town. Isn't technology supposed to bring people together?!
Why can't I find normal nice desi men?! Why? Why? Why is every desi man I meet such a moron? Why? WHY?!?!?!?!?
Why the bloody hell am I still looking?! Why have I not given up yet? Wot the hell am I waiting for? It's not like it's going to happen. It's never going to happen.
ARRRGH!
I think I get in touch with you because I want to give you a chance to explain why things went awry. Ok, things didn't go awry, you treated my like crap but I'm in a polite mood today. But you never do explain. And it's not like you need me to call you to remind you to do that. I mean it's only polite to explain why you've been an absolute arse to the person you've been an absolute arse to. And admittedly I didn't say very many fabulous things as well but did it have to be so uncomfortable? It's very frustrating to feel like you're the only one trying to mend broken bonds and you get the feeling that nobody really cares and it's prolly best that bonds are broken but wot you morons who feel that way don't understand is that the ones who want to mend the bonds obviously don't want them to be broken. I mean is that so hard to understand? There goes my polite mood. No seriously, were you born wired with that idiot gene or does it come out of years of practice of being an arse to people? This is why I despise your kind. You're shallow and insensitive and moronic. Now you're going to be one of the many shallow, insensitive and moronic reasons why I stop caring about bonds - creating them or breaking them. I'm going to turn into that person who is an arse to people by not reciprocating when they reach out. In fact, I'm going to go one step further into arseness and be that person who doesn't even acknowledge when people reach out. There. You've turned me into you. Fabulous.
And wot is so bad about wanting to feel better about myself anyway?! Stupid moron. Wish I'd never met you. I hate saying that because I actually do think that it's never a waste when you meet people and spend time with them because you learn or you love or you give and get good stuff even when things don't work out but honestly, I really do wish I could turn back the clock and reject you when I should have accepted you and then we wouldn't be in this bloody mess in the first place. Correction - I wouldn't be in this bloody mess. From wot it sounds like, you don't even want to acknowledge there's a problem. Stupid moron.
I'm going to Jesse's place now for a lot of booze and some drunken Wii boxing and a lot more booze and I hope to God you trip and fall over yourself and bruise your bloody knee and there's nobody around to hand you an icepack. I'm one step closer to being done with the likes of you.
Stupid moron.
Have you noticed this about the Gulf News Tabloid - there are lots of pictures of people on pages 3-6. Everyday. At some random event. There are a lot of smiley faces. Of all types. And all the people are captioned by their first name. Shelly and Richard. Robert and Madhu. Tina, Sudha and Miriam. Abdul and Abbas. Tell me something. Who are these people? Why are they in the paper? Are they close personal friends of Gulf News? Additionally, and this is the important one, why do I have to see their shiny boothas in the paper? Can this real estate not be used for a better purpose? Like an expose on seals and their fishing habits or something. Maybe a picture of a lion eating a hyena. I mean, one is as random as the other so you might as well show us something remotely interesting. Who reads page 3?
I've been busy lately. About halfway through the stamps, Pops decides to clean out the picture collection that we have stuffed in the drawer in the absolute last corner-end of the house. The reason why we put them there to begin with was because we didn't want to deal with them but with Mum gone, Pops couldn't resist the urge to throw some junk out of the house. That and it was Friday and he was bored. Why, then, since he was the one bored, did he not do it himself and dump it on my desk is beyond me. But that is how it happened. And then we went looking for proper photo albums to put the blasted things in. Which was a bad idea at 1 pm on a Friday afternoon with nothing to eat since my food intake is being regulated because everybody and their uncle is concerned about the latest (albeit temporary) weight gain since good boys don't want to marry fat girls and one thing led to another and I promptly contracted some form of heat stroke combined with a tea bag effect with a dip in glucose levels and had to be brought back home and laid in bed with fans blowing and my toesies in ice water. At which point Pops says in his most plaintive voice, "Do you think I'm too controlling? Because I can always stop." This is after he yells at me for being weak, tells me how he's not weak even with a bad heart, assures me that I'm a worthless person and how he must suffer because of it.
The heat stroke business resulted in two days of migraines because of which I was rather useless to the general public so it was for the best that Mum was away because we all know wot's it like trying to relax around her.
Mum has returned. I'm done with the pictures and have put them away. She's cleaning. I'm trying to stay away from her. She follows me with the Hoover. It is not helping my headache. I have put the stamps away since they were not helping my headache either. Pops sneaked out the house and let me to my fate. Abandoned by my own. Tch. Life.
Now would be a good time to find some friends and get out.
I'm just... I don't know. Unsettled. That's all. I didn't sleep much and my head hurts and I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. I missed sailing class today but seeing as the Nor'eastern is still upon us, I don't think anybody went out on the river this morning. I may have missed my rigging test but I'm sure I can take that another time. This weekend maybe, when the sun is out and the winds aren't 17 mph.
I did get out of bed eventually. I'm showered and dressed now and looking quite nice in a pair of lovely brown pants with a lovely (but slightly itchy) red sweater and homemade earrings and me brown boots. I have a presentation to give for my Branding class and after that I shall go wander around Downtown Crossing to cheer myself up. After that I get to speak to a bunch of prospective BU MBA students to tell them how wonderful this place is and how they should definitely pick us over the competition. Considering that the competition is usually BC or Babson it's not too hard to convince them (oh no she didn't!).
I did speak to a lovely man named Keith from Macy's outsourced call center who was in New Delhi and I wanted to tell him about Boston and the weather and that I used to go to that Wimpy's near Jangpura Extension and troll the used book stalls on the footpath and that I have a friend who's office is on Barakhamba Road and that my Pa is from Delhi and I watched that outsourcing video and did he hear about the shootings in Virginia and how hard it can be sometimes for brown kids here and that I'm lonely and homesick and want to cry every time I think about being lonely and homesick and that he didn't have to put on an American accent for me because I would understand if he spoke like he normally does and tell him that I really desperately want to travel because sometimes I think that if I lose myself in a crowd of strange people speaking in strange tongues where I don't understand the signs then maybe I'll find myself and ask him questions about his life and his challenges and that I still don't know so many things that I wish I did and it's funny how some days you feel like you're the bees knees and some days you feel so utterly inadequate and if he ever bought anything from Macy's and if maybe they get a discount or something and tell him about all the things that make me want to scream and rant and cry and lots of other meaningless important things but I kinda got the feeling that he wasn't the chatty kind.
Besides, I'm pretty sure Macy's doesn't pay him THAT much.
I'm going to school now.
The wonderful thing about being on vacation with Bi and Vijlet is that you never have to worry about anything. It's the perfect step-out-of-the-plane into open arms scenario. Very heartwarming.
So the flight from Boston was delayed by 1.5 hrs because of bad weather in Chicago (it was drizzling). As we waited at the boarding gate and I watched Gilmore Girls Season Two Disc Two, my ears were assaulted by the sounds of loud and rather rude conversation. There was this one guy talking to another chap and a cow of a woman who were yelling speech at each other even though they were standing together. It was very annoying. They went on to complain about United, how the service is always bad, how they're always late, how their stock prices should be falling, how the company should just fold and go away because they're the devil-incarnate and how United has a personal agenda to make their life miserable. On full volume. In the middle of the boarding area. I wanted to slap them. So then, they were asked to keep it down by the woman sitting next to me working on her laptop and the main obnoxious bastard, without breaking the flow of conversation, actually glanced at her derisively and said, "sorry to interrupt your AOL chat session lady". I wanted to slap him. Then he looks at me and winks. I really wanted to slap him. I looked him up and down and made wot I hope was a face of distaste and went back to Gilmore Girls, wanting to slap him.
So we board. The nice United man moved my seat from 20E to 6F which is always nice. There was a man with a heavy German accent sitting one seat away with, unfortunately Obnoxious Man in front. No matter, I said. I shall put my headphones on and read my book and not let him bug me I said. German Accent Man had very odd boots on. They were heavy, almost like military boots and he was wearing dark green trousers, a brown shirt with a long brown coat. He walked funny too. Very stiff. He had a briefcase - a brown patent leather bit of business. He was short. With a toothbrush moustache.
I'll let that all sink in, shall I? So anyway, GAM spent the entire flight staring at me as I napped. It was very disconcerting. Well probably not the entire flight but every time I woke up he was looking at me. I had bad Hitler dreams.
So then I wake up at a point and I see we're about 20 minutes to land so I buzz mine hostess to get a drink and OM in front yells out that he wants another whiskey (another?! it's a two hour flight!). She brings it to him glaringly. He strangely realizes that he's lonely and must commune with his fellow man and gets onto his seat on his knees and peers over at me exuding whiskey breath. I ignore him, waving my hand in front of my nose. He begins to speak and sadly I can hear him through my headphones. I take headphones off and look at him questioningly. He grins like a deranged monkey. I say, "What?" He says, "What's that you're reading over there?" I say, "It's a novel concept. It's call a book." He swigs whiskey. I resume reading. "Is that the Osama fellow?" I look at cover where there is nice picture of Sidney Poitier. "How does this look like the Osama fellow?!" "Well he's black in't he?" I look at him in awe of his stupidity. He swigs more whiskey. I say, "this is Sidney Poitier, yes, Barak Obama is also black but that means nothing in this context and Osama is the man they're trying to find, I hardly think he would have written a book that has the words 'a spiritual autobiography' on the cover that could be bought at any bookstore in the US." He swigs more whiskey obviously not comprehending. I want to slap him. Seat belts need to be fastened and he goes away. I shake my head. GAM is smirking at me. I look out of window hoping for quick landing and speedy exit. We land. Everybody stands up to queue in the aisle to leave. I don't. (I'm in a window seat and there is no question of having enough head room for me underneath the oxygen mask compartments to be able to stand straight and they haven't opened the doors yet so why bother). OM leans over and barks, "so you're going to Minneapolis?" Same flight was carrying on. No, I says, I'm getting off at Chicago. "This is Chicago" he says. I want to slap him. "Hey give me your number so we can hook up sometime" he says. Mind you, he's dressed like any other travelling salesman in his khaki pants and blue shirt and striped tie with grey jacket and looks about 35. "You've got to be kidding me," say I. He does not respond but as he walks down to the exit he is heard clearly muttering, "stupid c*nt... needs to get laid". At which point I tapped on his shoulder and when he turned around, I slapped him. Then I picked up my bag, pushed him aside and walked out of the plane. I think I saw the air hostess grin at me in sister solidarity. Now, I'm not the slapping kind but I have to say that was quite satisfying. I highly recommend it.
Vijlet was there to pick me up and towards their new home we went (Lincoln Park, beautiful duplex condo, very nicely painted). Bi was there waiting with open arms and lots of yakking was done over some wine and very spicy lamb curry.
Yesterday we went to Devon St. for some shopping for the home and then to watch Eklavya and eat Indo-Chinese at Hot Pot Kitchen. Very delish food. Very disappointing movie.
Time has shifted ahead this morning and as usual I'm up at the crack of dawn waiting for the bedroom door to creak open and footsteps to be heard on the stairs going towards the tea preparation area.
Hello! I hear water being poured into a kettle. That's my cue.
It annoys the hell outta me that you think you can pop up on my screen after all these months and ask me seemingly innocent questions about my life. I don't care about your life anymore. I gave it my last damn two months ago when you popped up on my screen after two months of the last time you popped up on my screen. So don't do it. Don't pretend to care. Don't clutter my pristine desktop with your Ivy League sexist (not so sexy) ass. The only reason you want to know what's going on is because you're afraid I'm going to end up in the same place as you and kick your ass halfway to hell. Because you know that you left things in such a mess that if I ever see you again, I WILL kick your ass halfway to hell. So don't do it. Don't come anywhere near me. Even if it is online. I don't give a damn about you and I don't give a damn about your insecurities. So bugger off and don't bother me.
I have a strategy and business analysis paper due tomorrow and I'm stuck for inspiration and my lips are burning because it's 1800 degrees below freezing and I have no chapstick. I had two you know. The Glaceau ones. Those were so good. I gave one to Black Cobra. She stole the other one. Loser. Now she's lost them and I can't find a single place that sells the damn things and my lips hurt. I've been staring at this damn blank screen for hours now and I can't come up with anything compelling to say on my paper.
Arrrgh!
Ding-ding went the annoying over-the-door chime as I opened the door and slid in.
"Hello", said I.
"Hello yes", said little Chinese woman.
"Do you dryclean?", ask I.
"Enh?" spits little Chinese woman.
"Do you dryclean?", I persist in my pursuit of knowledge.
"Yes, we dryclean shop", affirms little Chinese woman.
"Fair enough, I'm convinced. I need this white jacket drycleaned", I say, courageouly pushing the lovely white winter coat across the counter, heart on sleeve.
"Yes, ok, we dryclean for you", the little Chinese woman grabs the article in question greedily.
"Splendid. You see these stains on the cuffs? Can you remove them?", I venture bravely.
"I not sure. Maybe. Sometime it no come out", says little Chinese woman, trodding painfully on my exposed heart.
"Alright, but can you make sure you pay extra attention to the cuffs?", I beg silently with my dark limpid eyes.
"Maybe. Maybe not." She's rather definite about her stance on the cuff issue.
"Oook. What about the inside? Can you clean the inside of the jacket as well?", say I, standing a clear foot and a half over her, making the distinction between me as customer and she as service provider distinctly felt.
"You want inside? Dry clean only outside", says her of little Chinese origins, very cautiously.
"Yes, I'm aware of that dry clean is only outside. But can you dryclean the inside as well?", persist I. I'm relentless today.
"We clean outside one time. Outside only. One time." You know, in case there was confusion on the issue.
"Yes, well, after you've cleaned it outside one time, you could, turn it inside out and clean it again. Couldn't you?", say I, ever logical.
"You want clean outside one time and then two time?", says she, not understanding the complicated techincality of my request.
"Yes, clean outside one time and then inside two time. Can you do that?" No need to lose my cool. Alls I have to do is speak her language. Soon she'll come around. Nobody can be that unfeeling.
"No no, we only clean one time", she says, unfeelingly.
"Alright, will the one time cleaning take care of the inside?" Perhaps I've been going about this all wrong.
"We dryclean only."
"Nevermind."
Ding-ding went the annoying over-the-door chime as I stormed out of the door.
I'm particularly tired of it being used in the context of the Indian subcontinent. Yes, Indians move out of India. They've been doing it for more than a century now. Get used to it. It's hardly diasporic now. People have settled down. Grown new roots. Some of us don't live in India anymore. About time people got used to it. And why the hell do people keep emailing me articles about the damn Indian diaspora?! I bet you they've keyword tagged it in Google or something and trigger email me anytime there's an article written on the subject. I know the diaspora. I'm part of it. Leave me alone.
In other news,
Soaring rents in Dubai have led to accommodation being offered in exchange for sex, according to a report by Gulf News. It found that adverts were targeting young, single European women with the promise of lower rents in return for favours. Rents in some areas have increased by 50% in the last twelve months.as reported by AME.
