I Half-heartedly Crushes! Oooo <3

Jon Stewart on Fox News, which pointedly insisted on covering Bush going home, while all other channels were watching Obama:

"Let it go. If you love an administration, let it go. If it comes back to you.. well, we're all moving to Canada."

I think he may just have won himself a provisional position on my (sadly underpopulated) Sexy Persons List.

--

A little late, I know. But dah-links, you know I can only find the time to watch American comedy show clips absolutely irrelevant to my syllabus and cumulative grade point (which shall be INSTRUMENTAL in getting me a JOB, and do I want to end up as a HOBO in these HORRIBLE RECESSIONARY TIMES?! Yes, I love you too, thank you ma.) the night before an important assignment.


But a girl needs a little romance in her life, ya know. Even if it is (temporarily) wrinkly, pink and slightly (very) meh. Like a dried prune.


Not to mention one-sided.


(So that would be half a dried prune?)


Hm.


I'm going to die alone, aren't I.

The One where We dream of Vanilla-Butter Cookies and Plot to Sneakily Eat Brownies.

Quite the spoilt one, I am, I should think. The mess food is pretty damn decent and the different-dessert-with-every-meal scheme they have during the winters is a stroke of fucking genius. Four rasgollas with lunch and four jalebis with dinner? Yes, I see one very happy fatass waddling into the girls' hostel. But you know, their baking is not up to the mark. Their baking, in fact, is non existent. Efforts in this direction are restricted to the buying of crumbly yellow cupcakes with disgusting tutti frutti bits within and oily plastic wrapping without, from local manufacturers, no doubt, who'd be unable to tell their muffins from their mawa kachoris (sidenote - YUM.) Hell, I'd be unable to tell their muffins from their mawa kachoris.

Here, then, is the reason I dream about my mother's sunny yellow vanilla-butter cookies the diameter of my palm and the taste of a hundred happy vacation mornings (and afternoons and evenings and midnight snacks and after-breakfast-but-before-lunch snacks and so forth.)

I could, of course, go down to Uncle Sam's Pizza, the Jodhpuri abode of surprisingly good kimchi and pizzas infused with the delicate taste of cardboard, where, for the princely sum of thirty five rupees they will pack me a slab of THE BEST BROWNIE EVARRRR, which I will hold to my heart and protect with my soul, all the dusty way back to campus.

And which I will sneak quietly into my room, without bringing to the attention of fellow resident hyenas that I have in my possession an edible of the chocolate kind (the smell draws hostelites like blood draws sharks.)

And which I will eat sneakily and quietly, crumble by crumble, nibble by nibble, quiet as the proverbial dead man, on my bed.

And whose evidence I shall dispose of with speed and efficiency by springing in two graceful (and ninja-silent) leaps to the floor-dustbin, thus completing my crime.*

I think I may be just a little hungry right now.

--

* hostels usually follow the Communist Approach to food. Alternatively known as the Pulp Fiction rule (mi casa su casa.) Unless it is bad food. Then it's all yours.

Are you part of a Louving Relationship?

If you are, firstly, hello. Thankyouforvisitingmyblog. Pleasecomeagainsoon.

Secondly, please remove your intolerable self from my line of vision. I don't like you. I am possessed by a barely controllable urge to throw stones at you when I see you. And while it is undeniable that I have the hand-eye coordination of an arm-amputee, I am PERSISTENT. And there are MANY stones.

Are you celebrating your anniversary? Don't tell me. Are you celebrating your monthiversary? I will slowpoison you. (It hurts more apparently.)

Your cuteness repulses me. Your love is retarded.

Do not rub your coupledom in my face. I will rub your face in the ground.

--x--

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA GOD THAT FELT SO GOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDD :D :D :D

*zen-like happiness*

Kindly speak up, Treasured Visitor, what did you say? You think the blog is just a smidgeon too ranty?

On the one hand I could agree. Alternatively, I could say - Suck it up. It's my party, I'll cry if I want to.

Oh and if you're the guy from Denmark here looking for "sexing like bunnys" again, what do you know, you just might be in luck this time. Love....rabbitlike sex... here in Mandore, Jodhpur, you'll never know the difference. Try once and see! :D

--x--

If you're part of a couple I know - pretend you never saw this and I'll pretend I never said it ;)

The Inside of my Head..

..is a perfectly fine place to be. A little dusty, true, but fits one person perfectly. With all the other voices that live in here.

Yes, I can feel the walls coming up, the bolts falling into place. Sounds of comforting finality.

I like it in here.

Tag thingy.

Yeah I know it is almost 4 in the morning. So what. I'm feeling oddly awake. Not so much in the sense of 'very awake' as in the sense of how-could-i-be-awake-at-all. Anyway, I am. Everything carries a moral, and this one's is that six teas in an hour (is?are?) a very bad idea. Not even the sight of my fabulously pink and delightfully fuzzy Tinkerbell blanket is making me sleepy.

However I could deflect the blame for this wide-awake-ness on the fact that I am freezing my unmentionables off. Have I mentioned I live in the desert? Yes? Well I would like to point out to all my dear readers, in whose minds visions of sand dunes cluttered with camels and men in frocks (both tending to an excess of facial hair) no doubt manifest as soon as I say "desert", that yes, certainly, the desert can be hot, very hot, oh-god-i-am-evaporating hot, and it is, too, for most of the year. Then it changes its mind and decides to be cold. And when I say cold, I mean cold. Cold. Cold. I cannot sleep in the cold. Having absolved my six teas of any blame in keeping me awake (They're dip-dip. As much caffeine-content as baby formula, and about as much random particulate matter), I have decided that I am awake because of the cold. Thus I have attired myself in two pairs of socks, and three layers in everything else, as also a locally made ugly fat black muffler and a large green knit cap. My nose, only, is exposed to the elements. Which would explain its healthy red colour, abnormally large size and shiny tip. I would cover that as well, but then I would have to stop breathing. An interesting side effect of such is that I would die. I am brought almost to tears at the thought of the waste of all that potential; at the altar of humanity, then, I sacrifice my nose.

(also my nose doesn't like being bundled up. It is big-ish. Note the '-ish'.)

(anyone who says anything to the effect that the fat nose is less due to the cold and more due to the fact that it is actually fat, shall be spammed. And I mean it.)

I am, for lack of anything else to do, going to pick up the tag Divya left me. Here:

RULE #1 People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by themselves.

RULE #2 Tag 5 people to do this quiz and those who are tagged cannot refuse. These people must state who they were tagged by and cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by. Continue this game by sending it to other people.

1. If your lover betrayed you what would your reaction be?

An overwhelming sense of pity for him. He has deprived himself the fabulousness that is me.

2. Whose butt would you like to kick?

Ooh several people's! But first, Big Butt's. I want to test the bounce-back quotient. I want to see if it bounces back nicely like I believe it will or caves in like the beanbag it looks like. Purely scientific venture, clearly. I'm the ideal student. Excuse me for a moment. I believe I am overcome by my own awesomeness.

3. What would you do with a billion dollars?

Wait patiently for the IRS to make it into half a billion dollars. Buy myself a tropical island, a boat and Johnny Depp. Spend rest of my life taking advantage of said boat and said Depp, on said island.

4. Will you fall in love with your best friend?

Have.

5. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?

I have to have both to be happy.

6. How long would you wait for someone you love?

I wish I knew. Especially now.

7. If the person you like is secretly attached, what would you do?

Nothing. Mostly because they're secretly attached. Dumbass.

8. What takes you down the fastest?

The sensing of a real probability that I might not be as fabulous as I believe I am. In other words, loss of conceit.

9. Where do you see yourself in 10 years' time?

Someplace with a toilet that has a FAUCET. And (dare I hope..?) a shower with RUNNING HOT WATER!!!!

I've been told such places exist! Really!

Stay strong, fellow inmates. We shall see this faucet-ed and hot-water-ed heaven soon. Hallelujah.

10. What's your fear?

Losing faith in my ability to pull anything that I really want, off.

11. Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?

Single and rich.

12. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who would you pick?

Someone else entirely, and have torrid affairs with both. :) I am nothing if not impartial.

13. Would you give all in a relationship?

I have.

14. What's eating you now?

Literally, nothing. Since I am effectively spherical right now due to the abundance of clothing, not even the most diligent of insects can get close enough to me to matter. But usually "what's eating you now?" can be answered by "i don't know, i think it's a new species, its bites look like a series of ginormous hickeys, and that fraud-doctor on campus is treating me for leukoderma. With Crocin." The desert is not short of crawlies of the more malevolent and less known kind, have I mentioned.

But figuratively? The fact that I am misspelling almost everything I type, the first time. This is mostly because of the (deadly!)cold. But I am also firmly convinced that it has more than a little to do with my fingers themselves, which are roughly four miles long each. And then the nails start. Instructions given at one end are lost by the time they get to the other. I'm glad I don't play the piano. I'd be Lady Divya Banana-hands. Charmingly succinctly descriptive, but nothing I'd be happy about, you understand.

15. Tag 5 people...

Ah just do it if you've read it, no. I'm too bored to think.

---

See, Divya. Indignant at your allegation that I will probably be funny even in answering such an unfunny tag, I have applied myself as seriously as I can. Aside from the occasional ramble, I've managed, no?

Also, I NOW UNDERSTAND WHY I AM AWAKE.

I'm hungry.

For the LAST time.

To you, you miserable engineering student from the college that is possessed of both the size and academic repute of my parents' bathroom; you, who stuck your misshapen nose into the air, and asked me, why are you doing law?, labouring under the delusion that you were being original, witty and interesting, here is your answer.

I am not 'doing' law.

Law is having its violent way with me.

I heart Internship.

This is for everyone who asked about my internship. You will remember I'd said it was uniformly boring. I forgot to mention that it has its points. This is one of them:

"My client is having so much of affaction and is a santimantally smooth man, not enjoying any of the bad habits and a very ordant, desiplined and extinct son. Thusly it is urged of this Learned Court that the petitioner has brought an unclean suit and relief of (---) is subsequently prayed."

This is an extract from one of the more delightful plaints that it was my job to read, enjoy and...well... they said "edit" but I thought that would simply kill the dramatic effect. And that would be criminal, would it not. I love the telling little details. That the respondent is a man who may possess the odd bad habit, sure, but he is very careful not to enjoy them. If that isn't virtuous I don't know what is. Not, also, for our dashing respondent, the attractions of modesty; he is quite clear that he is not only ordant and deseplined, but also extinct. I am not quite clear how being extinct is interpreted as being an argument in his favour, but perhaps it has something to do with the exclusivity of it. ;)

I had no intention of editing this plaint (amongst several others), and I do not regret it. The only thing I do regret is being unable to catch this particular case in court. I'd have loved to hear that judge on this one. This judge has been known to question advocates' knowledge of the CPC in open court. Advocates knowledge of pretty much everything, actually. In much detail, with much glee. He is an evil, evil old fart. I love him.

Ha, yes. I think I quite liked this internship.


Even though I've worn my legs six inches down by dint of walking around the same staircase thrice in the same twenty minutes. Which reminds me, is it some sort of tradition to lose your way the first ten times you visit? Or do the traditions merely stop with the distinctly unflattering polyester waistcoats and tacky gown-thingies? And damp towels slung across the backs of judges chairs? And drinking rose - or badam or chocolate - flavoured milk (i kid you not.) in the lunch break?

Have I mentioned that I have completely eliminated any idea I may have had about practising in the Madras High Court.

(the filter coffee is phat, though. And free. That makes it double-phat. Very phattening, basically. Eh heh heh heh. Sorry. I'm shutting up now.)

Next.

I swam today.

It's been two years.

The water was as beautiful as always, the pool fabulously, invitingly, empty. Cold sapphire coloured water distorting the cheap granite facing on the tiles underneath. Little orange buoys bobbing at the other end, asking to me to lift a leg, stretch an arm, cut through cold fluid, come over. Come over. Little drops of water'd coalesced on my stubbornly brown skin, paling now because of the cold. Fine black hairs standing up on the tips of tiny white goosebumps. Orange sky. Faintly oily, slightly slick skin. So much for waterproof sunblock. Oily rubbish. Cheap shit.

The water is so cold, I love it, so cold. My arms are freezing. My mother will kill me. I began to swim. I swam. I was done in an hour or so.. I left.


I hated it. I'm never doing it again.


Inexplicable, really, how you can be so completely indifferent to something you once felt so much for. For all that I loved to swim once, I felt nothing close to enjoyment this time over. This is it, then.... swimming bores me now. I've been wondering when it will happen. It's not often that I sustain an interest in things as long as I have in this.


I wonder what's up next. And how long I will take to tire of it.