Saturday, May 29, 2010

Berry much sadness.

The last time I blogged, it was about a Blackberry. That very evening, I lost my own Blackberry. I was utterly irresponsible and am having severe withdrawal symptoms from the same. I suck. But not as much as the bastard who found it and decided to (presumably) sell it. He who kept cutting all my frantic calls and ultimately switched it off to avoid me. Hah. Hopefully, he got woken up the next morning at 5:45 am by my loud annoying incessant alarm which rings even when the darn phone is turned off, that I had kept with the vain hope that I would get my ass out of bed and into the gym. (Note: Not happening, rapid bloating is currently taking place). Some tiny floating-in-a-corner-somewhere shred of sadistic satisfaction. Sigh.

On a completely unrelated note, I would like to mention that there are few things as absolutely peaceful as hanging out of an uncrowded compartment of a fast train at night, with the wind blowing through your hair, watching the lights of the city streak past you in a blur. Joy.

Speaking of peace, I had a conversation today with JD about peace in places of worship. No disrespect meant whatsoever to anyone or anything, so please, control. Churches are not peaceful. Churches are quiet. Too quiet. The silence is so loud you can practically hear it. It's an overbearing, overpowering silence that makes you (me) restless. It's like it's building up to a crescendo that will never actually be reached. Kind of like the remixes they make of Akon songs, where they repeat the last line of a stanza again and again and again in higher and higher pitches till you (I) just hold my head and wait desperately for the chorus to begin.

I had a dream yesterday. There is an empty airport. More specifically, the baggage claim area of the airport. There is a stationary conveyor belt. The part in the middle of the conveyor belt is stacked with hundreds of small glass bottles of glycerine. Soon, they neatly arrange themselves into two rows and move onto the conveyor belt, which then starts moving. The rest of the dream is just the rotating conveyor belt with two rows of glycerine bottles on it, with not a soul to claim them. Deep, what?

I leave you now with a quote from a friend: "We need to go out and buy fruits. And tights. Which, if you think about it, sounds like the name of a gay bar."

Thursday, May 27, 2010

I want Superman chaddis

My boss has a hot Blackberry. Sleek and thin and unbelievably black. What is axshully very fabulous about it, and him, is its ringtone. Which is a extremely-familiar-but-I-can’t-quite-place-it-right-now cartoon type music. It's the kind of music I would imagine playing when Superman whizzes into his little telephone booth to remove his magic disguise glasses and slip his extra chaddis on over his pants. So every time the boss person's phone rings I feel full affection towards him. Like, aww. Till I remember I haven't finished his work yet. Then, The Great Switcheroo of pheelings.

Also, the cell phone of the adjacent canteen keeps ringing every 15 seconds. If I hear bachna ae haseeno once more I shall start a food fight in said canteen, and run around in circles pulling my own hair and reciting The Walrus and the Carpenter. Or burrow deeper into my seat, hum unintelligibly and grumble to myself. One of the above. Definitely.

(Update: I just found out that the phone extension of said canteen is 666. Tres apropos, I think)

No wisecracks about the title. I really do want it. And by it, of course, I mean with one the logo on the front. Tch. Must I explain everything?

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Old School

I used to be in day care when I was a lot younger. I was in a girls school then, so the very first boys I ever talked to, I met there. There was one particularly nice boy there, Bharat, possibly my first crush ever. He was really nice to me unlike the other brats who pulled my hair and then made fun of me when I cut it really short. He taught me how to do "fugdi" (I still kick ass at it :D) and taught me how to make roses out of ribbons. I completely hero worshipped him.

When I was in the first standard, he was in the third and I remember waiting impatiently till I became two years older so I could "catch up" (?) to his age and be in the same class as him. I'm not sure what exactly I thought that would achieve but well, I was 6. First standard done, I entered the second and experienced a rude shock when I found he had graduated to the fourth. Yes, I know, like duh.

So, when I was 6, I wanted to be older for some strange reason pertaining to the first guy I ever liked, presently unbeknownst to me. Later, I wanted to be older so I could be allowed to go out alone, stay out later, start dating, start drinking, start having my own opinions, start taking control of my own life. And now I have all that. And now, that's quite enough, methinks. This getting older business is overrated.

Damn you, Bharat.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Stay young, stay selfish.

It takes you more than enough effort to keep yourself happy. Or in any case, not actually unhappy.

Don't even try bothering about anyone else's happiness.