Observations I'm making when I'm not sleeping

1.  All men are gay until proven otherwise.

2.  There's nothing like the look on your mom's face when she's just seen you watch dirty dancing and then you tell her that you're going dancing. 

3.  When I find out that the guy I like has a girl,  I don't hate the guy, I start liking the girl.  Talk about hopeless.   

4.  Assignments are unnatural. Surely, man was created with a higher purpose than to argue why one -ism cannot replace another?  

5. A strange foreboding that I'm going to ape the Chicago cousin and marry a Tambrahm. Venda god, venda!  Don't let it come true. Not that. 

6.  Switchboards are evil. They make you feel like an intruder in your own house. 

7.  How do I find out the one thing I want?  And, not the hundred things I don't? 

8. Wolf is a mega cute techie from Delhi going to the States to become a corporate cockroach. What a waste.

9.  I'm going back to Chennai to sit at placements for a job I don't want and a degree I have no use for. Yuck. 

10.  Not being able to sleep before 6 A.M every morning is turning me into an incomprehensible but certifiable nut-case. 

Martians and Nightmares

Do you believe in Karma? No? Well, you should. Because I do. Strongly.

I laughed at people who had boring topics to do for their dissertations. Now, they are all going to be doing fine.  No one cares about those topics, no one even wants to read 'em.  Even if the evaluators do, by the time they get to the end, they're going to be so out of it, they'll remember just the A of the alphabet and give them that. 

But, I couldn't choose something like that. Like the art of face reading, advantages of fish spas. sexual patterns of earthworms. Or why humans can eat dogs, is earth really round or could it be flat, should garlands be made of 1000 rupee notes or 10 rupee coins?  

No. 

I had to go and choose Michael Jackson -- the one celebrity in the world you'll love or hate but are incapable of being neutral about.  And, the dissertation went to the one person in the entire world I prayed for weeks it wouldn't go to -- The Martian. He's from outer space. There's almost nothing he doesn't know about. In the off chance that there is, he'll look it up. Not how like you and I earthlings would look it up, a glance in the Wikipedia or something; no, sir, not these Martians. 

They volley satellite signals with their counterparts across all planets in the galaxy, (they recognise Pluto as a democratic republic even if Earth doesn't) urging their comrades to look up all recorded files about the subject since the beginning of time from hieroglyphics to the yet to be written records (including the back up files of the crystals stolen by Lex Luthor) and cross check them with their records at home base. Then they transmit these gazillion Terabyte packets back to Earth through the Martian's own laptop with endnotes citing related articles on how-to-deal-with-suicidal/homicidal-students-after-Martians-grade-their-dissertation-papers.

I have nightmares about the Martian.  Like in the Minority Report, I can see him on a I-wall in my head - hawk-eyeing every misplaced comma, every undotted i and every uncrossed t, every word, sentence and line. Every flaw, every loophole, every error. 

Be that as it may, considering that it's out of my hands, now I have new ones about the viva voce. 

The Martian: Why this fellow Michael Jackson?

Me:  I like his hat. Nice, no?

The Martian: Why should I read your dissertation? 

Me: 'Coz you can't do anything else with it? 

The Martian: Why is it so vague?

Me: It's strictly on a need-to-know basis. 

The Martian: Why is so badly written?

Me: Ask the guy who wrote it.  

The Martian: So, do you think Michael Jackson likes young boys? 

Me: I like young boys. Don't you? 


The Martian: Was there something you were trying to convey? 
Me: Yes. I don't like dissertations. 

The Martian : I'm giving you an F

Me: A+ ? 

The Martian: C+

Me: A-

The Martian: C

Me: A

The Martian: B+

Me: B+

*** Notice Board... Grouchy: F ***

Me: I thought we had a deal?

The Martin: In your dreams. 

You Know

Read My Friend Sancho.

There. I said it.

I couldn't wait until I got through with three paragraphs of my lifely woes before I came to it. It's my book. I mean, if I ever wrote a book, this is how it'd be. I'd pretend to have a plot -- because it's a novel -- but care really only showing off my wisecracks, get bored half-way through and finally give up the pretence and give it an excuse of an ending. But hey, it's still brilliant writing, his. Almost like mine, you know.

By the way, I have a love life that's almost bursting at it's seams, did you know? Yeah, me either. But well, I do. I'm always on the phone with the first or the second boyfriend. When I get off, I'm online with number three. Or otherwise, I'm with the fourth who I go out with every other night. And, I have something on with someone in class. What can I say? "Not guilty, your honour. It is not what it seems. We're just friends?" I think not.

Exploring the food scene in Chennai has been the theme for the last couple of weeks. Now, I know places that are nice to sit at and places that have good food. Discoveries include a decent Dhaba, a cozy continental place overlooking the beach, a restaurant that serves "contemporary Indian cuisine" and a stall that sells Irani Samosas. Can you imagine the implications of these discoveries? Of course, you don't. It means that maybe, I will survive this rot after all!

Brain food for the week? I've been chancing upon all kinds of things I never knew about people I've known a long time. It's made me wonder about if we ever really know anybody. Not just know. But know. You know.

And then there's this whole thing about live-in's in My Friend Sancho and Wake up Sid and stuff that I've been thinking. I have a theory -- I'm sure it's named after some bugger already -- that everything else being equal, if a man and a woman (Doubt: Is it even politically correct anymore to say a man and a woman without including LGBTs?) are confined to a space and are given enough time; irrespective of how different they might be, will end up together in the end. Not much of a theory. But nevertheless, kinda works...doesn't it?

It's official. No matter how many ever courses I take, it's wasted. I was never, am not, will never be likely to be feminist. Blame it on my all-girls education or the guys in my life, I like my men. That's the bottom-line. It's another matter altogether if I still don't find a guy at 35, start growing plants instead of adopting cats, and turn lesbian. Maybe then, I might turn feminist. But of course, with the current state of my love life, that's never going to happen.

Like all roads lead to Rome, all my posts lead to going home. I'm off to mongooses' tomorrow and to Hyde for the weekend. See you guys on the other side.

To all, a kickass Diwali! Play safe.

Madras Madness

I spent a whole afternoon today learning to use the comma. That way, I gotta admit -- I have some great classes here. Some. We are currently doing the 377 case, you know, the Naz Foundation v/s Union of India one. The lawyer guy who came to speak to us about it is awesome. He started by telling us a story about the origin of love according to Greek mythology and tied it up all neatly to homosexuality! The wimpy female in me totally fell for it. It was by far, the coolest lecture I've ever been in. It'll take way too long to write about it here, but if you know me well enough, ask me about it. Men and women being two halves of a whole and all that comes from here. So go figure.

I just realised that I haven't talked too much about my life here, have I? Let's rectify that.

It seems like I've taken to it pretty well. Why else would I find some guy sleeping in my room and not even be fazed by it. He had slept in my bed the previous night, I heard, and yet I still feel nothing. I've been living without drinking water for the past two weeks so I now drink cheap packaged water. I walk into people making-out in the common room and I sit next to them and watch T.V. After a month here, nothing surprises me anymore. Pretty cool, huh?

Chennai is cruel. I haven't changed my mind about that. I have a list of all the things I hate about the place; I'll put it up the moment it touches 100, which I'm sure it will in the next week or so. Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little. But its true, I do have a hate list and I will put it up whenever I update next.

Aside: A certain someone I met in a supermarket. Decidedly cute and funny. Definitely not from Chennai. A design student, I learned. What are the odds we'll run into each other again, you reckon?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

_________________________________________________________________________________

***My reply to a special letter to the author***.


Dear grauchy,

>>Dear X,

I got mad about you first time I seeing you. I remembering every thing of you. But I don't think you will remembering me. You didn't even answering to my hellos and byes. I thinking you got shy.

>> I'm sorry because of me, you went mad, dear X. I did forgetting you, sorry again. You are right, shy must have been coming on me which is why I didn't hiing, byeing you. Thousand sorries for that also.

I finding out this two months before and again I loving your writing also. Youre so intelligent and so funny. Its your beautifulness that I liking very very much. Youre no like no other girls. Till now I staying inside closet but I come out now.

>> Great to know people like you like my writing. A pity I made you come out of the closet. Please go back inside. And thank you for liking me; I didn't know I had so much beautifulness.

You writing again and again of your boysfriends this blue shirt and that rr, I making you forgetting them forever. I giving you everything.

>> Thanks for offering to erase my memory for me, dear X. Neither this Blue Shirt nor that RR has ever wanting to do anything like this for me.

I am loving you now. You loving me also. If you saying no I still loving you but I leaving you but you writing here why. If you saying yes give your phone so I calling you. After I marrying you.

>> I'm flattered like anything that you chose me, dear X. It being very hard for me but I cannot loving or marrying you. I loving my boysfriends. So, I can't giving you my phone. You leaving me now.

See, now I byeing you.

Yours Lovingly
XXX

>>Goodbye,
Grouchy

A Potpourri of Posts.

Okay, so I know it's crazy but I can't seem to stop myself from obsessing over it. Man, I'm so hooked. I've been playing it for an hour now and I can't get past the second stage. What?! Yeah, you think you can do better? Go ahead, try it. I dare you. Pacman awaits. Tell me if inky, pinky and blinky didn't bite your ass by the end of stage 1. I swear, I used to be better at this. Demon Kid and I would game for hours as kids and yes, he would fuck my happiness in games like Contra and Street Fighter but I was always tons better at Mortal Combat, TMNT and all!

Oh, if I didn't tell you guys already, you should know that I have an addictive personality. Coupled with an OCD, if you want to get technical. Seriously, I do. I'm hooked on to so many things, its not funny. Thankfully, they dont include coffee, booze, dope, sex or cigarettes. Yet. Well, the cigarettes mainly coz I know I won't quit if I start. Still, I'm entitled to be extremely proud of myself, I think.

Now about the things that I am addicted to currently. Let's see. Travel & Living. Batman. Orbit. Ayn Rand. Pani Puri. Yahoo Pool. Moon Sparkle. Cell phone. Day Dreams. Money. Sarcasm. Lidor truffles. Slothiness. Floaters. Laptop. Dove. Happy endings. Dexter. Cold Stone. A/C. Undercolors. Crossword. French Open. Superlatives. Wet wipes. Memoirs of a Geisha. Fight Club. Volini. Trebuchet MS. Passion Berry. Lists. Pac-Man. Blog.

Phew!

And this is just the censored stuff. Excluding the OCDs. What the hell, I might as well admit it, this is pretty much it. Not too many additions to that list either. What can I say? I'm in this weird never-been-in-before phase of crushlessness. It's true. Not one single reel or real life interest. And that has never happened before. Then again, that was a time when Roddick hadn't married some bimbo named Brooklyn (C'mon! that isn't even a real name forgodsakes!!!) and I was stupid enough to get involved with Blue Shirt. Mercifully, those days have passed and I'm now free, free, free.

>>Aside: Note to interested parties, if any. If you strongly think that I might even think you remotely interesting, write to me with your particulars. (Height. Elder brother, dimples, surname. Almost forgot - Rich, yes? That sorta thing.) If not, please just disappear! Now, if on the other hand, you satisfy (all the stuff mentioned in the last parenthesis), please ignore this tiny little outburst. I'm usually the gentlest of creatures, really. I would never hurt anything except a cat. And, I never lie about anything. Except for trivial things like lying. But that's the only one, truly!

Aaaha! Something else I've been dying to write about but could never remember. So, here's what. Boxer sent me a link to a real story recently, in which this chic got hitched to one of the commentators on her blog! Admittedly, only a handful of people read the blog. Even fewer bother to ever comment. I don't even get a few anon comments. How rude! And how damn depressing! I think, I will stop writing altogether or start a new blog which I'll keep completely anonymous and maybe silently market until I'm getting at least 20 comments a post. At least that way, I'll know my readers are all not just sick voyeurs and care maybe just a teeny weeny meeny bit about what I write!!!

*Takes deep breath*. Mutters So-ham (meditation AOL style) repeatedly until she's can't make out if she's saying so-ham or ham-so or ho-sam .

*Shakes head in disgust.*

*Gives up*

*Goes to Bed*

*Is Still Fuming*