No really. I do not want to know. About the 50 best web sites or the Top 1000 things to do before you die or the TEN places you must visit before they electrically reduce your body to dust and then scatter your ashes into the smelly shit-based sewers of the city.
There was this one article I read which sought to explain why Facebook is so popular with desis. Something to do with how naturally inquisitive we are and all that rot. Oh how tempting it is to generalise.
I like ending phone conversations with an “okay bye”. Like a real crisp, short and to the point kinda “okay bye”. Wonderfully clear way of signalling the end of a phone call. Except most people don’t get it at all. So many times I have heard that silence after the “okay bye” as if the other person is expecting a more formal kind of bye. A good okay bye should sound like the knife of a sushi chef slicing through a big, fat fish. Kwusp!
I think talking stuffed animals and all are okay in the daytime. At night they became the stuff of nightmares. That horny stuffed teddy bear regaling his mates with stories of how he stabbed Jill (of Jack n Jill fame) 73 times. A low, raspy voice and evil eyes brooding over the memories of blood and spilt intestines.
Or Ken (don’t ask me how I know. I just DO okay. FUK OFF) talking aloud without even knowing it. A real crackhead who got dumped by Barbie. Turned to meth and rocks after that. Selling his body to feed his addiction. Crazy, desperate bastard.
The ants are back again. In full force. I have identified three separate sub-species. The fully red ones, the black ones and the ones which have red bums and a lighter shade other half. The black ones are alright but those red and semi-red fuckers are real vicious. Must hatch plan to destroy their Queen Mother.
Okay so I ain’t gonna be the next Jane Goodal of ants. Sue me.
It must suck to be the substitute fielder and then taking a catch no? The score card will just read “c Sub b Lilly” or whatever. Worse if your name is actually “sub”. Your t-shirt will actually read “sub”. Fuck. That would totally suck.
5 statements which would suck if your name was sub.
1. “So you want your sub to be 6-inch or footlong?”
2. “Shit, that sub’s second grade pre-cold war crap”
3. “And Sub is off the field, being replaced by…..”
I should definitely get out more often and let REAL people “experience” my humour. Sitting here, I’m laughing my ass off. Oh wait, I am lmao. Like a real hard-to-pronounce dish on the menu of an “asian” restaurant. “Yes one plate of lmao manchuarian please. Gravy.”
Just found out that the name “Bhogal” is derived from a clan of fiercely independent Punjabi peoples. Warrior tribe or some thing like that.
Also, if you are a single lesbian and Christian then it is even harder for you get a flat for rent than it is for other people.
The things I learn everyday.
Oh and all you people who take the Metro. Why the fuck must you stand in the fuking middle of the fucking bogey? What? Is there some sort of invisible fucking thread in between the entrance door and your assholes? Preventing you from moving INTO the fucking bogey? What the fuck stops you from taking those three steps sideways?
And its not like you have to get off at the next station is it? Oh nooooo I have seen you fuckers stand like numbnuts for four, five SIX stations. Where is the rationality man? Where are those soddy public-service advertisements asking you to move AWAY from the bloody door?
And you Punju aunties, stop elbowing your way forward. What the fuck lady, its not like I ENJOY being squashed between Mr.Stringed Asshole and Ms. Fat Elbows. So stop going all “mcch mchh” like those retards who honk at red lights.
There will be a metro station about ten minutes away from home. Pretty soon. Part of me is really looking forward to it. Part of me is not.
Oh and there is this nice “art cafe” at the corner where KG Marg meets CP Outer Circle. It is called Arts I or something like that. Owned by Religare. They have a nice, out door seating thing and the menu is quite reserved towards the wallet. Food is pretty average, service ok-wokay but the place itself has this nice, calm air to it. Can still go there in the evenings coz it aint too warm. Yet.
Oh and Dilli-wallas, no insult meant but you cannot make pao bhaji. I am sorry, but you just can’t.
The things I learn everyday.
I have nothing to describe your smile and
I don’t know what your smell brings to my mind
and your soft, sweet voice paints the images aloud and I am forced to wonder
if this is what love feels like to the blind.