Confessions of a Rambunctious WhipperSnapper

I really can’t quit you, personal blogging. I get to do my most favourite activity: talk about myself at length without being interrupted by someone else. Shut up and publish all my terrible posts, blogger dot com.

I remember when I started blogging in December 2007. I was such a different person at that time. For one, I was only ugly fat and not morbidly obese like the present. Second, I wrote things here I couldn’t even admit to myself (eg: I liked British sitcoms! BUT BUT THEY WERE RACIST TO US TILL 1947?).

And of course, there was the community. I “met” a lot of people through the blog. Some, I’m still in touch with. Some I’m friends with. Some got freaked out by something I said and vice-versa. Some are lost in the past. Some have disappeared into the abyss of the internet. Some are getting married to their version of the anti-christ. It’s all good.

I hate to use these words because, REALLY?, but blogging also helped me to find a little bit of who I am. Turns out I wasn’t the broken shell of a human being being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever. In reality, I was a broken shell of a human being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever who also likes to write sentences who only he finds amusing! WHO’DA THUNK IT?

Nowadays, even though I do most of my blogging in my diary - because even I’m not that narcissistic to put so many banal things on the internet - it always feels good to come back here.

* * *

I can’t believe I actually wrote the words I’m not afraid to be real in the last post. Ugh. Who am I? A contestant on MTV Road Rules? Such a fucking drama queen! What’s next? Shouting I’m not here to make friends! to random people on the street? (To be fair, I did say that once to a dick co-trainee during the second week of my first job so that wouldn’t be such a stretch. Can’t believe I was in denial about being gay at that time. I mean, HELLOOO!).

Also, writing more blogposts in one week than I have written in three years? If it was still 2012 I would have made an ‘ARMAGEDDON MUST BE NIGH’ joke.

It’s that sort of a day when you continue to listen to a song on repeat. Not just because you are too lazy to do something about it, but because you want to wrap yourself in the familiarity.

It’s that sort of a week in which you wonder how things you never imagined could happen to you actually happen.

It’s that sort of month which fills you with both excitement and anticipation.

It’s that sort of a year which feels like you are living someone else’s life and any minute now you will  snap out of it and then everything will go back to as it were before.

You still cannot really fathom what is going on in your life.

So you sit there and wonder, is this really you?

Today, early in the morning: (okay, really early in the morning)

*Ring* *Ring* (not actually a ring, but the theme from Mad Men)

Me: Hello

Caller: Hey, watsup . . .

Me: Nothing much really. Long time, eh?

Caller: Yeah, I know . . .

Me: So how's the wife doing?

Caller: She's doing good . . .

Me: . . . When is the baby due?

Caller: What baby?

Me: Er. . . Aren't you guys pregnant?

Caller: No . . .

Me: . . . WHAT HAPPENED?

Caller: We HAD the baby, idiot! That's WHAT happened!

Me: CONGRATULATIONS! When? And why didn't you tell me?

Caller: Last month . . .

Me: LAST MONTH? . . .

Caller: Stop shouting.

Caller: I DID tell you . . .

Caller: . . . And YOU came to visit us in the hospital!!

Me: I did?

Caller: Yes. Twice.

Me: Are you sure?

Caller: Of course I'm sure. It's pretty hard to . . . forget the day your child is born . . .

Me: Yeah, of course.

Caller: . . . . specially because on the first day one of the guards got fired because you wandered in during non-visiting hours . . .

Me: That does sound like something I would do, yeah . . .

Me: . . . however, are you sure that you aren't pulling a prank on me?

Caller: Dude, for the past month I've been knee deep in dirty diapers, I have been dozing off during meetings because I barely get to sleep at night and if I see one more relative wanting to give "good wishes" to my child, I'm going to jump from the terrace.

Caller: So I am hardly in a mood to kid around and pull pranks on someone . . .

Me: Aright . . . chill, don't get so emotional, man . . .

Caller: And since you don't remember, you also gave us a nice gift . . .

Me: Really? I'm so glad you liked whatever I gave you. 

Caller: Yeah, even  ______ likes it. He plays with it all the time.  

Me: You HAD a boy????

Caller: *Click*

 

What'd I say?

Recently, the most common question that I ask everyone is "What day is it today? No, seriously". I actually do lose track of what day, date, month or even what year it is. In fact, I have been using my own personal time standard, in hours are defined by the time left until the next meal and sometimes two, or three "normal" days are clubbed together because I really don't remember them as separate entities anyway.

Not that I am to blame. It happens when one is not gainfully employed. Everyday seems like a Sunday. And not a Sunday in which you know that the next day the grind starts again. No, a Sunday which is followed by another Sunday, which is followed by another Sunday, which in turn is followed by, no prizes for guessing, another Sunday.

So, to me, the past year and a half have been like an extended weekend. (Actually, some people I know would like to call it by a different name, but this is what I've decided upon. An extended weekend. Has a nice ring to it doesn't it? Hi, I'm on an extended weekend. What? Oh, that's part of my work actually. Yes, I specialize in extending weekends. It's a inborn talent, really. No, I don't have any branches. Yet.)

However, there is one thing that even someone as clueless & as intoxicated as me can notice.

I've come to realize that people treat those who are gainfully employed and those who take extended weekends which last more than a year, a tad bit differently. I know. Outrageous, isn't it?

I vividly remember the days when I used to work. By work, I mean laughing at every stupid forward people send and exploring wikipedia for useless trivia (Did you know Mata Hari was actually not a really good spy? Yup. Surprising isn't it? There is so much useless trivia out there, and so little time. Sigh. Also, it only sounds interesting when you are being paid to do something else. Otherwise, who really cares. Pshaw!)

It turns out that a job is like an ass. Everyone seems to have them.

So when you answer the question "So, what are you doing these days?" with the ominous word "Nothing", most people react in a very predictable way.

First, comes the indignation.

"What do you mean by nothing? So you actually aren't doing anything? Nothing AT ALL? Are you crazy?!"

Then comes the surprise.

"Why? What happened? You were doing so well! Are you crazy?"

Then, the weight of the information they have been provided with begins to settle in and a pattern seems to emerge.

"So you're sitting at home? Voluntarily? Why? Are you crazy?"

Then comes the search for plausible excuses.

"Are you sick? No?"

"Are you trying to lose weight? No?"

"Are you studying? No?"

"Are you helping out your family with the business? No?"

Then comes the slight tilt of the head and the first step towards the road of acceptance.

"Awwww. Oh! I'm sure you deserve it. I remember you used to be working so hard".

"Good for you".

"I would never have the guts to do something like this".

Then come the suggestions.

"If you're not busy, you should help out your family with the business".

"If you're not busy, you should study more and add to your resume".

"If you're not busy, you should try losing weight".

"If you're not busy, you should try writing a blog".

"If you're not busy, you should help my son get his wife pregnant".

Then comes the show of fake support along with a huge effort made in trying to encapsulate the overwhelming feeling of jealousy along with a naked attempt to try to make me feel like a loser.

"So you're staying home for the past year doing nothing? So you're doing NOTHING? How do you pass your day?"

"I would go bananas if I had to spend even a day doing nothing! Haha! How do you do it?"

"Aren't you yearning to go back to work?"

"You would have been an ________ by now if you hadn't left your job!"

"What's a blog?"

Then comes what I lovingly call the insane reasoning portion of the evening.

"This is not an age to take a break at. One should only take a break when one's sixty".

"Don't you want to get married?"

"You have to do something. Everyone does something or the other. You can't just sit at home".

"Don't you want to get married and give your parents a few grandchildren to play with?"

"You'll start losing the use of your mental faculties if you keep doing nothing for a long period of time. Stop laughing. It's true. I've seen it happen".

"No one does what they really want to do. So go back to work and get married. It's high time you got settled".

That sums up the conversation with 95% of the people.

One of the things about being jobless is that the "different" treatment you get from people. Suddenly, people find it really awkward to talk to me. And my opinion just does not hold the same value for them as it used to before. People really don't know how to start a conversation with me anymore. And there are so many topics they try to steer clear from. Things they presume that I would get offended by.

We are so used to identifying and associating people with what kind of work they do that it's really hard for us to look beyond that. Even when we introduce ourselves to other people, in most cases, the first thing that really comes out after our names is our occupation or whatever we do for a living. Because even personally, that's our yardstick for defining who we are. I used to do that too. But my "extended weekend" has made me realize that whatever job or line of work you do doesn't have to define who you are. We are so obsessed with titles, positions, the whole concept of "making a name for yourself" that we let it take over our lives. People define success not by how happy they are but by how many weekends they spend replying to work emails on their blackberry. It's in trying to "be somebody" that we lose track of who we really are. I know that because I did.

I'm not trying to knock anyone here. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I, for one, love being treated like a pariah. A few of my friends and some assorted family friends have tried to "turn me around" and "talk some sense into me" but most of the time, they end up projecting. It's funny how the same people who used to tell my parents that they were "so proud" of me, now avoid me like the bubonic plague, even using me as an example of explaining to their children on how not to do things. The general consensus seems to be that I've lost it and that this is more evidence that I am a "spoiled" brat. Well, not that there is anything wrong with that. However, as always, I'm too drunk too care. I don't give a flying f@ck about what these people think anyway!

Yeah, almost everyone treats me differently. Even God. He answers all my prayers with "I'll get to you in a minute, asshole". To be fair, all of my prayers revolve around food and sex. And I guess God thinks that you can only have one of them at a time.

*Chomp Chomp*

Is he trying to tell me something?

Recently, a few people I sort of knew have been visited by the grim reaper.

I only attended the funeral of one of them. Because I only go to funerals of people with whom I have some sort of emotional attachment.  Or if people I know have some sort of emotional attachment to the deceased. If I wanted to see people pretend to cry for no reason I would watch a woman-oriented film.

It's really revealing to see human nature at one of these things. The ability of the human race to be self-involved does not seem to surprise me.

At the funeral I attended, one of the "mourners" thought it was appropriate to inform me that obesity will kill me one day and tell me that she had recently completed a course and was now a practicing dietician. It's good she did not do a course in reading faces otherwise she would have known that at that very moment, I wanted her to drop dead.

The velocity at which people tend to move on is surprising. The speed at which they can turn their conversation from politics to how attached they are to the deceased and then to how the new pocket car from the TATA's is going to clog the already clogged streets of Delhi is mind boggling.

Not that I am above the fray. When the first of the deaths happened, the first question that came into my mind was, "Do I make fun of him anymore?".  Just because someone has passed away does not mean that they suddenly turn into a saint? We can still laugh at their expense, can't we? Nobody turns around and remembers Hitler fondly just because he's dead? No one really wants to build temples dedicated to Attila the Hun, do they? Has anyone tried to bring Lenin back to life have they? Well, actually, after they bought Dick Cheney back to life, they kind of ended the research on trying to bring back monsters to life.

I was also appalled by all the customs that need to be followed when someone dies. I find them really perverse. Our ancestors must have been crazy & heartless sumbitches to come up with such crazy shit.

Strangely, one thing common to all those people who have passed away is that they were sort of senile. Now,  personally, I would not want to live that long. And I would not want to die like that.

My death should be sudden. Like one minute I'm insulting somebody and the next minute I fall down on the floor while hitting my head on some piece of furniture which is modern & edgy. Also, I don't want any blood cause I hate to spill anything on my shirt. And red kind of clashes with black.

I imagine that when they carry my fat carcass to cremate, I might break the edifice and fall down and go rolling down the cliff. Note to self: Stay away from places which are near a cliff. That's one of the reasons I would prefer to be electronically cremated. That and because I'm allergic to smoke. I wouldn't want to add to global warming. I believe once you're dead, it's a good time to think about the environment.

And instead of having a priest read out some mumbo-jumbo in a language no one really understands, I would like a stand-up comedian to perform. Preferably someone who is funny. And has appeared on The Tonight Show at least twice.

That's because I might be dead, but I still got standards to maintain, you know?

Sometimes one feels so insignificant. You know, somedays you realize that there is so much happening out there. That there is so much more to life than random snarky observations about pop-culture.

A few hours ago, I got the feeling that I am not the center of the universe. Of course, then I come to my senses and realize that it can't be true. Everyone knows that's not even possible. Silly me!!

Sometimes I feel that I am missing out. That I should go out and see the world. Travel or something. But then, if I have to go somewhere I kind of need to pack my whole room and take it with me. I absolutely cannot sleep without my favorite pillow. And I can never decide which books to take along. it's so difficult. It's like choosing between your children. Hell, I think it's tougher. Choosing between children is easy. You choose the one who has the most potential for making money. Ignore the others. Or put those losers up for adoption. I'm sure Angelina Jolie or the Octo-Mom would want them.


Then I feel that I should try to do something for other people.


Yeah, I know. I can't even type that with a straight face.


No, seriously. I feel that I have so much to give, specially free advice. I think that I should join an NGO or something and lobby for political change. Although, when I think about it, I would never know what to wear to such a shindig. I'll be left wondering whether I need to color coordinate? Or do I go with black? Or should go ethnic or try the whole retro reporter look? I can never answer such questions. Dammit. There should be a course for such stuff. Or at least a wikipedia entry.


Then I thought I should teach the illiterate. Try to educate them. Teach them something and make a difference in their lives. However, I nipped this plan in the bud. Cause as I remember from my time in school when we were forced by our goody-two-shoes Headmaster er... lightly persuaded to teach poor children, illiterate people have a tendency to stink. Although I still don't understand why the other volunteers were flabbergasted when I kept using a room freshener during my class.


But then I realized that I already do too much volunteering. For example, I have joined over two groups on facebook which purport to bring like-minded people together so that they can post on each other's wall. What more can one do, really?

So I then thought that I should try to give back to my family. Although I strongly feel that my presence is blessing enough. Still, I thought I would help my Dad or Bro with their business. So I asked them if any of them needed an intelligent and hard working person to come work for them. They said sure and they also told me that if I knew such a person I should introduce him or her to either of them. When I said I was talking about me, there was complete shock, followed by awkward silence while everyone exchanged glances, and then after a break of a few seconds there was loud, uncontrollable, bringing-down-the-roof laughter.

This is what I get for trying to be helpful. And just because last time I went to their office and I mistook one of their managers for the driver and told him to get my car doesn't mean I would do that again. You only make a mistake like that twice. And in my defense, he was wearing a safari suit. How good a manger would he be?

Anyhoo, of they don't want me, I will take my talents elsewhere. Somewhere I am wanted and appreciated.

There has got to be someone who would pay top dollar/euro/rupee/monopoly money for someone like me. I have so much to give. And so much to share.

I can tell people exactly what's wrong with their life, just by looking at their face. Even if they didn't ask for my advice. So what if I may get it wrong sometimes, or I might have inadvertently started a family feud which might last a generation or two. You win some, you lose some.

I can also identify both the Simpson sisters. Jessica is the one who looks like a cow and was married to that gay boyband singer and Ashlee is the one who looks like a cross between Nicole Richie and Amy Winehouse and is currently married to that gay emo band singer.

Also, I once judged a book by it's cover. And I was right.

Maybe I should get one of those gigs in which I can buy nice looking stationary and get a really cool business card and tell people that I'm a "consultant". Or maybe a "freelance brain trust". Something which sounds new economy-ish and does not incite any questions.


Or maybe I should chill for a while. I've just started to think about it and I'm already tired. I think the best way to go about it would be in small steps.

It worked for Neil Armstrong, dunnit?

So a few days ago I finally went back to my ex-office one last time to finish the paperwork. It was weird to say the least. I didn't even get a chance to steal more stationary. Anyways, I was like Rockstar-ry and pointing and telling people that "Hey, you still haven't used the plastic surgeon I referred you to" or "Hey, you still smell like you haven't taken a bath since Elvis died." And they were all like "Why aren't you dead yet, asshole?".

Ah. I could almost feel the love.

Anyways, I finally managed to get all the paperwork done. It took me almost the whole day because that company had more red tape than a government office in a small Indian town in the hinterlands. And I also managed to visit the place where I spent more time while working than in my actual office, my favorite off campus coffee bar. They still remembered my "the usual" even after one and a half years. I would have cried if I wasn't cringing at the nose mole on the guy taking my order.

So while I was in the office I was looking at the people working there and to tell you the truth I have seen more cheerfulness at a funeral. The atmosphere was as tense as people coming out of the theater after seeing a Guy Ritchie movie. Maybe if I was in the rat race too I would have looked that sad. But thankfully I am not. I'm at the side, sipping big cups of coffee while I make snarky comments about everybody.

What that means is that I'm now OFFICIALLY unemployed. I'm not just a statistic. The best part about it is that I'm okay with it. I haven't had a single panic attack. I've even tried thinking about it while the two minute window of sobriety I had earlier today morning. And I got nothing. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Shunya. For the first time in my life, I am okay with not having a plan for the future. Not that any of my plans ever worked out. The plans I make have the same probability of working out that Paris Hilton has of becoming a nun.

I'm into my second gap year now. If I tell anyone that, they look at me like I've just drunk driven over their daughter's pet pony along with her ninety year old grandmother. So, if anyone asks, I say there are no jobs in the market for people like me (i.e. someone who wants to be paid without being asked to work) and I put the blame on the recession\George Bush\Working woman\China, depending on the person's intellect and political affiliation. It's not because I care about what other people think. It's because it's easier to explain and let's face it, when they offer me their unsincere support, it's quite entertaining.

*******

Last month, two NRI family friends came over to stay at our family home. By family home I mean anywhere in my house but my room. Now usually I don't like NRI family friends because most of them are douchebags in ethnic clothing. Nothing personal, but they pretend to be more white than actual white folks.

Anyways, I kinda got along with these two. Well, at least initially.

Let's call them K and M. I almost liked K until I found out that she is scared of "the gay". Therefore I ignored her for the rest of her visit for obvious reasons. It's not that I don't like to spend time with people who hate me for who I'd like to bore in bed, I already know too many homophobic people. Anyways, this is not about her.

Now, in a totally unprecedented scenario, I really got along with M. We hit of instantly and it was like we've always known each other. So me being me, I cracked a few jokes which kind of implied that I was batting for the homo team. Well, we never actually talked about it but I kind of assumed that she knew. We kept in touch even after she went back home. Yesterday, while we were texting each other, the following conversation happened:

M: hey how goes? I have the snuffles :( ..
Me: Wha hpnd? .... *hugs*
M: sore throat etc, btw I saw luck by chance yday and it's good and farhan akthar is a really good actor
Me: Oh yeah, I so have a crush on Farhan Akhtar!! :P
M: Oh, I can totally see why you have a crush on that one he's a hottie!!

So when I read her message, I realized that I had inadvertently told her. But I didn't come out to her per se, but it was just a given part of the conversation. And there was no regret, no panic attack, no afterthought. Nothing.

The reason why this is important because my gay self has finally been integrated into my sorry personality. They are not two separate entities anymore. No more secret shadowy life. I am not paranoid about people I know finding out. It's those little subtle changes. The other day I went book shopping and I didn't feel conscious picking up a book which talked about same-sex love in India and waving it to my friend on the other side of the crowded shop and showing it to him. Nor did I feel the need to talk to him about gay stuff like we were discussing cold war secrets when we sat in a crowded cafe. I was loud and obnoxious like I am when discussing everything else. In fact, there was this lady on the other table who was listening to our conversation and looking at us with disapproving eyes. I looked straight at her with my second-most angry expression and she turned away and started to disapprove the straight couple cuddling on the table in front of her.

Nowadays, I don't flip windows when someone walks in while I'm reading something "gay" nor do I clean my tracks on my own computer. I don't even stay silent about gay rights in front of people who are conservative, and believe in the the don't-talk-about-anything-related-to-sex doctrine. I know I said I'm comfortable with being gay, but this is a whole new level of oneness with the gay universe for me.

******

Now, in a related story, a few weeks ago, in conversation with one of my friends, I discovered that I'm fine with being 26. I don't get choked up when I'm saying it out loud. I'm not twenty something. I'm twenty fucking six. 26. tWentY SiX.

Saying that does not make me nauseous and giddy and my legs don't feel like they are about to fall off. (Well, that maybe because I stopped filling my Valium prescription from a guy who looks like the son of a deposed Nigerian prince. But still. Bigger picture, people. Bigger picture.)

So I'm okay with being twenty six, fat, single and alone. None of this makes me want to listen to Coldplay the whole day long. Nor do I feel like watching old episodes of Scrubs.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Does this mean what I think it means?





Am I growing up????

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


Uh-oh. Suddenly, I don't feel so well.

So I got an email a few days ago from "that" site. It said that I haven't used it for about four months and they were wondering if I forgot my password. I know, I know. I am to blame for not trying and blah blah. That's not the point right now. It's that I wonder if I can ever get over myself long enough to actually try to find someone, and if by some divine miracle I do, I just wish I don't get turned off because he starts every second sentence with the word basically or thinks that being a vegetarian will slow down global warming.

Yes, I have issues. Lots of them. Duh.

Which, by the way, is another fear. That when I actually let someone in, he'll find out how neurotic and fucked up I am and run as fast a gay person used to run in biblical times when he was being chased by a congregation of catholics waiting to stone him.

In fact, my life right now is like a Merchant-Ivory film. Everybody is in their own self-imposed misery and the fat guy never gets laid.

****

I'm really going to print out a big sign which says "I don't work right now. Ask me why and I'll kill you and get an alibi". People need to stop thinking their Oprah. Some people just don't get it. I mean, if looking through a person while they are almost choking to death on a piece of sushi doesn't get the message through, I don't know what will.

****

Remember when I was in a funk and had nothing to say? The voices in my head have still not returned. I kind of miss a few of them. Specially Victor. He always made me feel that there is something on my shirt which is making me look funny which in turn is causing everybody to point and laugh at me.

Again, Issues. Clusterfucked brain. Crazy.


Run, baby, run.

Although by now we all are familiar with Proposition 8 and our stand on it, there are other lesser known propositions on the ballot which do not garner the same attention.

Proposition No, Hoff, No - This proposition makes it illegal for David Hasselhoff to appear in public without his shirt ever again.

Proposition 90210 - This proposition prohibits any further remakes of series originally broadcast in the last century.

Proposition Palin - This proposition requires a that a person nominated for the vice president of the United States be at least smarter than a fifth grader.

Proposition Can we talk about something else now - This proposition requires the people of the United States of America to recognize that it should not take two years for an election. It's not that you can't do short elections. American Idol, anyone? A sub-note of this proposition requires certain bloggers to stop making stupid election jokes in their posts and try to do something a little more constructive with their lives.

Proposition Blubber - This proposition requires people around the world to recognize that double chins and fat stomachs are sexy too. It also requires hot, six pack surfer hunks to date at least three fat people per year. In fact, usually, I am very careful about espousing my opinion, however, I put all my weight behind this initiative.

Proposition Shave that mustache, woman - This proposition requires women to keep their facial hair out of public purview cause ewwww. Unless of course you're a bearded lady at a gypsy fair.

Proposition People who wear magic underwear cannot make rules for other people - This proposition recognizes that it's hard to take people seriously when they beleive in the story of the serpent and the poisoned apple. Instead of spending all that money to prevent two guys from doin' it, get some help for your neurological disorder you call a religion. You know the last guy who interpreted the Bible to mean that certain people do not deserve equal rights? He was called Hitler. And we all know how well that turned out.

So I ran into this old school friend of mine. Actually, I shouldn't really say friend. More of an acquaintance. I mean I don't even have him listed as a friend in facebook. How much of a friend would he be?

Anyways, we got to talking, and by talking I mean he was saying something while I was nodding along trying to remember his name. Which, by the way, I couldn't. So the words "dude", "buddy" and "bro" were used a lot.

Anyways, when I finally gave up trying to remember his name, (to be fair I even tried word association but all I came up with was Freckles, which I think is self-explanatory), he told me he was getting married. I looked at him with the same expression of shock and disgust that is usually reserved for when I hear Sarah Palin talk. Anyways, after a few minutes of silence, I asked him why he is getting married and wondered aloud if I should congratulate him or feel sorry for him.

So, my old buddy, whatishisname, told me that he was getting married because, and I quote, "All his friends are getting married too". He applied the same excuse I gave my parents when I got bored of my atari and wanted a Nintendo (that's pre-playstation gaming consoles for those young fucks who don't know) to marriage.

After I fake numbered him and sent him packing, I realized he is like most people. Those who take major life decisions because everybody else is. For them, life is like walking into a resturant, sitting down, looking at the table on the right, and telling the waiter "I'll have what he's having."

These sort of people spend their whole life keeping up appearances. You know, people who just want to be like everyone else. People, who if you look at from far away, will all look the same, right down to the bad haircut and the mass-market trousers, because all they want in life is to be normal.

This is why i think being gay is like a blessing in disguise. The mind numbingly painful teenage years and social ostracisation aside, part of the reason why I can see things from a refreshingly different angle, is because I am gay. Hey, my point of view may not be plausible and might have resulted from too many blows to the head and a little extra vodka in my orange juice, but it's still my own.

As Jodie Foster once said, Normal is not something to aspire too, it's something to get away from. Boy, I always knew good ol 'Jodie was a lesbian.

Lastly, for those who are wondering, I did congratulate him. And I asked him to offer my condolences to his fiance

He thought I was kidding.

So due to some unforeseen circumstances, I was sitting with my family, while they were having a conversation and I was nodding my head to assure them that I haven't slipped into coma. At least on the outside anyway.

Then suddenly this bit about me getting married comes up. Now, my family knows that this subject is not broached with me. But it was a joke, and everyone was having tea, so I let it pass. Another nail in the coffin of my happiness. Why bother, really? Anyways, it was something about building a separate apartment for me in a few years/whenever I get married whatever comes first.

It was assumed that I would actually be staying with my family whence I go back to wasting my life again.

Now don't get me wrong, I wouldn't like anything better than living at a place where the food is good and there is ample parking, but really I don't see this scenario happening.

This is because, well, all the members of my family who are not my mom don't know for sure that I am gay. Of course, they might suspect and hope and pray that it's just a phase and one of those things that boys do like install a basketball board in their yard and never use it or get a weird haircut.

I figure that when I do tell the rest of my family that I am gay, I do intend to move out of this place I currently call home. No, it's not because anyone would say things to me. They know better than that. If I had really cared for their opinion and advice, I would've lost weight ten years ago. That's not the point.

It's that I don't want my family to suffer a smear campaign because of me. I mean I'm used to people looking at me and whispering (Oh, that's his third helping, you know or who the hell wears reeboks with corduroy trousers?). So it's fine by me. I am immune to other people's opinion. That happens when you consider yourself know that you are a superior life form. Anyways, this is not about me. It's about how I don't want my parents to go through all that because of me. Because they have always been respected and spoken about fondly. Even though they have a son like me.

And secondly, when that mob comes to kill me, I just want them to focus on me. Nothing major, I just love the attention.

Hey, turns out I do care about my family. And here I was thinking of selling their secrets for short-term personal gain. Damn you, Oprah.

No, Oprah's got nothing to do with this. I've just always wanted to say that.

So I'm not dead yet. On the outside anyway. I died on the inside a few years ago, when I found out that John Cena has a girlfriend.

Anyway, I'm away from home at this mountain retreat. Sort of needed a break. "A break from what?" some of you may asked each other, in a hushed tone. Good question, however, history teaches us that some questions are better left unanswered. Like Who killed Peter Pan? and Why did the chicken cross he road?

So this hilly town I am in just has the basic bare necessities one needs to survive in the world. Like an alcohol bar, two espresso bars, a bookshop, a baskin robins, two pizzerias, and an out of this world bakery. It's safe to say I'm roughing it. I mean the hotel only has basic cable and no satellite TV. That's equivalent to camping in the wild or trying to climb Mt Everest.

And this place always has a strange effect on me. It's like Bizzaro world up here. I do unusual things like walking for fun and pouring my own glass of water. I even almost smiled to someone. Also, when the reception gave me a wake up call, which I had not asked for, I actually did not beat them up within an inch of their life and did not even have Satan confisicate their souls for the next three eternities.

Another weird thing I've seen is that ugly people only mate with other ugly people and good looking people only mate with other good looking people. There are very few people who really stand out as a "What-the-fuck-is-behind-nose-no-1 and Oh-fuck-look-at-that-ass" couple.

Which is both a good thing and a bad thing. Good thing is that I might have a chance and bad thing is that he would be as ugly as me, which means I'm going to die alone, because I would certainly not date me. I have standards, ya'know.

Maybe I should look into this "wife" thing. If I am going down, I'm taking some poor, unsuspecting, soul with me. Or at the very least I will have someone to polish my shoes when other help is busy. You can never have too much help these days.

Anyyywayyy, I still like it here. The weather is nice and most of the employees at the hotel I'm staying in have the same name. In fact, it's common to almost all service employees. Everyone answers to "Excuse Me". How very thoughtful of the tourism department. That's called putting your customer first. When you don't need to know the names of people who bring your morning cuppa tea or serve you dinner. That's what keeps bringing me back here everytime. That and the fact that I can ignore almost everyone here and not give an excuse.

If only there was a Gay bar here somewhere, this would be a perfect Paradise. Even the chicken crossed the road because there was a gay bar on the other side.

You know what people lack in this day and age? In fact, something that has been lacking since the dawn of time. Ever since Adam fell in love with Eve's brother, Evan.

A sense of humor.

I don't mean a sense of humor like the ability to crack funny jokes, but the ability to lighten up.

People take themselves way too seriously. The reason there is so much sadness everywhere we turn is because (a) People voluntarily remain sober and (b) Most people let others define who they are.

It's so easy to label someone. And when you do, that someone does his best to live up to that label. Consciously or subconsciously. For example, we somehow have come to the notion that pink is gay. Everything pink is now associated with being gay. Gay rights is called the pink revolution. Wtf, right? Why not magenta? Or coffee brown? Maybe not. Coffee brown sounds too straight.

People also let other people define what is right or wrong. There is this ideal person that everybody wants to be. Someone who by a conscious majority is deemed as an ideal citizen and a moral authority. Someone who always does the so called "right thing" and sacrifices his happiness for others. Personally, I would rather soak my nuts in boiling hot water than sacrifice my happiness for someone who is not me.

Some self-righteous morons have the tendency to define what standards certain people need to uphold to qualify for a particular label. Like if you don't like bollywood or cricket or don't speak your "mother" tongue, you ain't truly Indian. It's like saying that if you prefer to listen to Lupe Fiasco or enjoy a pizza more than you enjoy *insert name of Indian food item* then you might as well go and piss on the memorial of the unknown solider. Personally speaking, I'd rather eat vegetarian food than care about what label other people put on me. And by the by, I only eat vegetarian food when a gun is put to my head. Or if dry humping is involved. It depends on the situation, really.

I am of the opinion that anybody's signoff of "acceptance" on who you are is not required.

I'm not trying to diss anyone, even though I love to do that. Everybody has their own definition of right or wrong and that's how it should be. Like I believe that breakfast is best washed down with a light cocktail. A few might disagree. That does not change my mind.

There is also this irritating habbit that people need to have similar opinions to hang out. There is this notion that people with opposing ideas cannot be friends. I have many friends who completely disagree with my heavily medicated point of view most of the time. But then that doesn't stop me from being good friends with them. And being a good friend I mean not screwing them over for material gain. Well, err... maybe a little. Tee-hee.

Like my brother's beliefs about religion are the complete opposite of mine. But I don't hate him for that. That would be ridiculous. I hate him because even though there is a half-decade age gap between us, the fuck looks younger to me. Grrrrr.

So people need to lighten up and come down from their high horses. People literally jump from their fucking seat to stereotype someone. It's the easiest thing to do. People don't realize that there are always two sides to a coin. My side and the other wrong side.

My Jerry Springr-esque conclusion is that people need to stop marinating in their own pool of self inflicted misery and need to get lighten up. Laugh a little. It's simple and easy. If you find it difficult, please signup for my simple and easy eight-step program.


p.s. I realize that most of my analogies revolve around food, drinks and nuts. But I can't help it can I? I'm fat, alcoholic and gay. So sue me.

So I heard some lady on CNN talk about glass ceilings and being what you want to be and so I thought it would be great to have a career, once again, even if it is for a week or two. Don't wanna try too hard, too soon, y'know.

I thought I'd be a politician but then I realized that it involves being nice and telling ugly people that "Beauty is skin deep" and doing other crappy things like kissing babies and shaking hands. That's really not any fun. Plus if you're in the system, it's pretty hard to criticize it and blame it for your unwillingness to do something about all the shit floating around in the world.

I wondered if I could be an activist working to change society and uplifting the poor and the downtrodden. Then I realized that it would mean that I would need to go to places which don't have air conditioning or bottled water or an espresso bar. Without these things, it's really impossible for me to exist. And I'm allergic to fresh air anyway. Also people who look like they haven't had to eat in ages freak me out.

So I thought that maybe I can try to be a lawyer. While I was reading article 1 of the constitution, I realized that why try to change things which already have a system? Poor people vote rich people into office. That's democracy. Poor people come into office and rob other poor people. That's socialism. And when poor people come into office and become rich by killing all the rich people, that's a revolution.

Then thought I'd become an actor. However, there's not enough money in the world to make me pretend to be a straight guy again. Unless it's straight guy who does other straight guys on the side. Then I'm up for it. Alas, to my utter disappointment, I found out that in the reel world, fat people don't have sex. So that ended all my silver screen dreams.

So on a bright, sunny day, I thought I'd take up a gig as a motivational speaker. Then, when I was getting ready to write my first speech, it dawned on me that telling unsuccessful people that there is still hope in their life and giving them a reason to live is really not my cup of decaf mocha. I mean with one stupid speech, I can't change their destiny, right? There is a reason lethal prescription drugs are sold at most pharmacies. I'm not suggesting anything, just pointing out some facts. Don't shoot the messenger.

Then I thought I'd become a psychologist. Why the fuck not, eh? But something made me realize that if I hear one more person bitch about how fucked up their life is I will go ahead and beat them with their own arm after I tear it out from it's socket. And then shave them bald and write "this mind is clusterfucked" on their big, bald head. Finally, just when they think it's over, I'll make them watch John McCain speeches in an endless loop. Nothing can be a more fitting punishment for such people.

Afterwards, when I was flipping through CNBC, I thought that I can try to be a successful Investment Banker. However, good sense prevailed over me. It's not that I won't enjoy wiping out the life savings of unsuspecting shareholders right when they need it. I just don't see myself spending the rest of my life copy/pasting things into a Microsoft Excel speadsheet. And all this talk of bulls and bears puts me to sleep. It also turns me off for some reason. Maybe because it's so unsexy.

So I came to the conclusion that I should stick to my current career path. It's the only thing I'm good at. And the only thing I want to do, really. Being fat man passed out on bar stool.

Sounds like a perfect profession for me.

*hic*

So I was half asleep, lying on my bed, out of sheer exhaustion, having been working the whole day. And then ...

Fine. I know you folks wouldn't believe me anyway. So let me rephrase that.

So I was lying on my couch, almost passed out from having had a little extra to drink than usual, when suddenly I found myself privy to some strange conversation.

I have always suspected that animals speak to each other and just pretend to be dumb in front of us. Yesterday, I got proof. I heard my family's pets talking amongst themselves. Coincidentally, it was about me.

So let's call these pets M, D and S.

Here's whatever part of their conversation I could remember:

M: So he's passed out again on the couch.
D: I'm getting sick of this shit, ya know. This guy has no life.
D: I mean, I'm not trying to judge here, but get a job, buddy.
S: I know!! He just lies around all day doing nothing. What a bum.
M: What are you guys talkin about? Don't you see him typing away on his notebook most of the time?
D: He's probabaly seing some porn again. What a fuckerhead.
D: That's the good thing about being a dog. You don't need porn. You're always naked.
M: You're such a dweeb, you know.
S: Shut up both of you, you'll wake him up.
D: Oh, don't worry. He's not going to wake up for another few hours.
D: Even a bazooka wont be able to wake him up right now.
M: That was funny, *giggle*
D: I'm funny like that, sometimes.
S: Oh, shut the fuck up asshole. I already hear him say that the whole day long.
S: Now you don't start. If I hear it one more time, someone's going to need a rabies injection.
M: I know. He thinks it's funny. Someone needs to tell him that it's the best seller at the lame-o-rama.
M: Lamer than his joke about calling us "Sons-of-Bitches" the whole day long.
M: I mean, for the love of the big woof in the sky, get a new joke. It's been two years, jackass.
D: Oh, he thinks he has a sense of humour.
S: Well, I don't know where he gets such weird ideas from.
S: And he's really been unstopable the last few weeks.
S: Someone's been giving him the wrong idea that he's funny.
M: You know, sometimes, when I hear him talk, I want to kill myself, just to feel a little better.
M: I agree. It's just not worth it.
D: You guys, you should start meditating.
M: Where do you get such weird ideas from?
D: Well, I was hungry and got one of his books to eat, but it was this new age spiritual book and it got interesting.
D: I now know three types of meditation. Yay for me.
D: And, I started my second bok already. I'm currently half-way through something called The Secret.
S: What's it about?
D: It's about positive thinking and shit like that.
D: You need to tell the universe what you exactly want and it ends up giving it to you.
M: Like a drive-in McDonalds?
D: No, not exactly.
S: Then?
D: Well, it's complicated. Too deep for your primitive minds.
M: Who died and made you a neo-guru, huh?
D: You know M, you can be such a bitch sometimes. Bow.
M: Yeah, like totally.
S: You dogs are crazy, you know that.
S: You're stealing and eating too many of his "special cakes".
S: I think you're getting delerious.
M: Oh, man, fuck, those cakes are delicious. They take me to a place I never even new existed.
M: Like a higher ground or something.
D: Forget that. I was talking to you about catharsis.
D: Whenever you get angry at him, just go and pee on his car.
D: He hates that.
D: And I love it when he gets a panic attack everytime I leave my man-juice on his car tires. The expression on his face when he discovers that is priceless.
D: It just makes all his bad one-liners worth listening to.
M: D, stop licking you own balls. You should know how to behave in front of a lady.
S: Like you're a lady. Ha!
M: Well, I'll have you know, that I pee sitting down. Hmph.
S: Oh yeah, that's the most important thing for a lady. You're right. My bad.
D: I'm hungry. I need some chow.
M: Well, I think he got a new batch of his special cakes made today. It's on the table in his room.
S: Let's go.

So I'm kind of in the middle of an important decision about which book to read next and then suddenly I get informed that there are some people who have come to see me. I wonderd who they were because usually people are polite and well mannered enough to call before coming to see me. This way I can make an excuse to not meet the people I don't want to. Nothing personal, but I just don't like to meet people who just love having the same conversation over and over again. I mean, college and school were a few years ago, get over it and learn to talk about books, music and politics. That is why it's important to screen your visitors.

Anyway, I go to receive these people and I am surprised to see them. Because I don't remember who they are and what connection I have to them. And the worse thing is, they are very happy to see me. Then in my mind, I eliminate various possiblities about their identity. First, I rule out the possibility of them being my cousins. Clearly, these people look like they survive on two meals a day, so I cannot be related to them and even if I was, they wouldn't be happy to see me at all. So then I think that they must be from my ex-workplace. Because I remember I used to ignore most of the people there under the pretense of "working". And I used to avoid going to office parties by telling them I use my off time helping orphans. Helping how, you ask? Well by having all the vodka I can get my hands on so that there is none left for the kids. I'm nice like that, sometimes.

Moving on, I'm thinking that either they are from my school or college, albeit from the section of those people that I ignored. Which could a lot of people. Or maybe they are printer salesmen? Who the fuck knows? So I thought I'll find out.

While I'm thinking and trying to figure out their identity, those two people extend their hand, which after pondering about it for two minutes, I shake. Then, they proceeded to talk to me as if they were good friends with me. I am really surprised because I don't think I know them from Adam. I take out my phone and send a text to my brother and Dad to keep an ear open in case they hear me shouting for assistance. Not that I would need any, these people look like I could take them both and still have one hand free for eating ice cream, but people have all sorts of weapons these days.

Anyways, they tell me some story of being our neighbors once upon a time and me playing with them when I was a kid and teaching them english and about rolling their r's or something. Sounds like me. Though I wasn't paying much attention to what they were saying because I was appaled by the shirt one of them was wearing. It clearly looked like it was made from three other shirts and some leftover tablecloth. Anyways, I don't judge people like that, so I tried to make conversation. Maybe they wanted money? Anyways, one of them told me about his sister's wedding. Since I assumed both of them were brothers, as they had the whole "I-need-a-job" look going on, I congratulated both of them. I'm nice like that, sometimes. Turns out they were just friends. Doesn't matter, no harm, no foul.

Anyway, they wanted to inquire about one of the people who I supposedly worked with. I told them I really don't know much about 95% of the people I worked with, except maybe rating them on the bad emails they write. I also add that if he still works at my ex-workplace even after 4 years, he must be either very patient or have no talent whatsoever. I also told them that they could've just called me and asked me all this and that there was no need to come so far (I assumed they live somehwere far off, I didn't bother to ask where). Then they asked for my number and I think I gave them one of my out-of-work numbers because I really don't want to be their friend. Nothing personal, but I just don't see ourselves having anything in common to talk about. I mean, clearly they don't have time to read books or watch and understand Boston Legal.

And as I always do, I took the opportunity to educate them on calling beforehand when coming to meet someone. Just dropped a hint or two, nothing major. As I said, I'm nice like that sometimes.

Warning: The following blog post is not suitable for people with low tolerance quotient for the f-word and for those who have a weak heart because of language and content. Skip it if you fall in any of the above demographics. For the rest, come let's all get angry together and box a punching bag. And if you still read it and find it offensive, well, pardon my French.
------------

- People have got to enter rehab for facebook addiction. No, I don't care if you're out shopping for your wedding dress or you just broke your arm. It really would make no difference to my life if you didn't invite me to contests which ask such high-brow questions like which serial killer you think like or what your blond index is. Also, there is a reason I have not contacted you in the past five years, I fucking don't want to. Superpoke this, , bitch.

- I beseech people to stop making the same old fat jokes. Aright. We're fat. We eat. Try to think of something more original, you malnutritioned moron. At least don't insult my intelligence and move your lazy ass to google for some new material. I love to laugh at myself but at least go beyond the "haha!! you will break the chair" or the classic "Do you want to supersize that? Lol." joke. I'm really not amused. The only thing that is supersized is the duration of your stay at the lame-o-rama motel. And the next guy who looks at me when the lift beeps because it is overloaded, as there are more people than it can carry, is going to have to get my shoe surgically removed from his ass.

- I really don't understand how people can talk about stuff they don't know with such authority. If you fucking don't beleive in same-sex marriage, then don't marry someone of the same sex. It's as simple as that. Elementary, my dear homophobe. Or do you want me to spell it out for you, you sanctimonious, righteous, self-loathing, miserable, unhappy, son of a bitch? It's not a fucking disease you moron. You're kids are not going to catch it.

- People have to stop getting so hyper over the iPhone. It's a bleeding phone, dammit. Were you drugged as a child? Is it really that important to you that you stand in line, without any food or water, without using any facilities, from 5 am in the morning, for more than 4 or 5 hours, and then being told that the store is out of stock? Don't you realize that the iPhone is nothing but an iWash and a real iPain in the ass? No offense meant, though.

- People from my old workplace have got to stop calling me and complaining. I mean, if you really feel that you're being screwed and not being recognized for your hard work and shit, then do what I did, RESIGN, motherfuckers. Don't keep crying like a little girl. Even if you are a "little" girl.

- People need to stop doling out free advice. Do I really care what big-loser-with-no-life-and-three-kids thinks about the virtues of marriage? Do you really beleive that I'm going to take someone who has a hairdo which was in vogue in 1925 seriously and heed his career advice? The only people whose advice I care about are the ones who can tell me to go "Do what you want and go fuck off and die" after I consistently don't listen to them and all the people who read this blog (give yourself a big hug, dear reader). Besides them, unless you're asked, please have a nice, warm, hazelnut flavored cup of shut the fuck up. For example, I don't go around telling certain people that they if they have kids it would be a crime against humanity because the kids will be born ugly and dumb and no one deserves that. At least not to their face. I write them letters on a nice piece of stationary. Common courtesy biatch.

So who do YOU want to rant against?

* The God running the earth electronics department does not like me anymore. First my cellphone conks off. Then I learn that 'conked off' is written with a c [fine that is not about electronics per se, however spell check told me, the bitch is technology, no? and it has to be female, right?] and the other phone which WAS working fine till yesterday suddenly gives up on me. And my internet connection keeps losing it's connectivity to the server and the darn computer keeps beeping and my landline phone got broken 'accidentally'. Except there are no accidents. The electronic God and his minions on earth have decided that they somehow don't like me and that I have bad electronic karma. And I once almost took up technology as a career. *Feels Smug that didn't take up technology as a career*.

* My friends have got to stop calling me for advice on relationships. I mean dude, have you heard me talk about any girlfriend for the past two years? Have I even said the word 'boobs' in a non-medical sense or in a non-nonchalant way? And right now, when I think about it, they also haven't noticed that I am gay. Some people can be so self-involved [of course, bloggers are NOT self involved]. And how come my advice actually helps them? All I do is give some rehashed advice I read in a Paul Coelho or Robin Sharma [A few months ago, I thought he was good. What can I say, I was not myself. Not anymore though. So stop judging, okay?] book. Sheesh, just like in a cheesy romantic comedy its always the fat friend who comes to the rescue.

* One of the books I ordered last month, which I was told would be delivered within seven days, is still not here. And I received an email yesterday that I can expect the book to be speedily dispatched [their words not mine] by 25th May and I can expect to receive the book in the first week of June. I wrote back to them saying that even though my sucks I still know that by no possible logic 7 days can be equal to 60 days. (Even if you are watching the darn Harison Ford movie by the same name). No reply back. Dude, I can practically walk to your frigin warehouse and then walk back home with time to spare to have 3 kids before you deliver that book. Even the Earth was created faster.

* I just don't get the stuff I used to when I was younger [Gawd!! I'm already using this line. Now I'm scared]. I mean I was a big fan of Ally McBeal. And now, when I see it, I'm like .... Meh. And I don't even like the same books. Or the same alcohol. Another example Iis that when I was a kid, I was a big passionate fan of wrestling. And now, I couldn't be bothered. I don't even watch much TV anymore. Not that there is much on. I can just sit and watch Brothers & Sisters, I looove Boston Legal and of course, Entourage. And a few episodes of Keeping Up Appearances here and there. And I keep you tubin my favorite stand up comics.And sometimes a bit of Scrubs isn't bad. And on a slow day I can watch How I met your mother and Two and a Half Men. [Talk about not watching much TV. I'm so full of it sometimes. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is my John Kerry moment].

* Looks like David Archuleta has all but wrapped up the Idol crown. No, I did not watch it. Not after I made such a hue and cry about it here. I just happened to bump into some news stories about Idol on google. I usually don't go back on my word unless it involves money or sex. Or both.

* Do not read The Japanese Wife. The book is just drab. It's like Lord of the Rings to the power of 1500. And I never dis books. That's like a cardinal sin in my book [horrendous pun not intended]. Unless the book sucks. Wow. Now I'm doing Mitt Romneyesque contradictions. And I don't even like republicans.


* I just realised a few minutes ago that when I was a kid, I had a crush on Joe Hardy from the Hardy Boys books!! Of course, not anymore. That would be creepy. :P :P



* Why is 4 Minutes so catchy? I can't get the frikin song out of my head! And I had just begun to forgive myself for liking Sexy Back!!


So this has been my life for the past few days. What have you guys been upto? And that is not a rhetorical question.

We're feeling random and superficial and frivolous today.

****
Gather around children, while we tell you a little story. About a young boy. About a young, handsome boy who loved good high end phones. So one day two years ago, on his birthday, on a whim, he gifted himself a Nokia communicator. He was happy with his equipment. It was big after all. I mean the phone children. Don't exercise your dirty minds. So a year after that suddenly his phone stopped working that day. Since it was around his birthday again, he dropped hints to his family for a new Nokia N** he liked. And by dropping hints I mean the boy drove them crazy until they got him one to shut him up. Then yesterday, the handsome boy's less than a year old phone conked off leaving him to use his trusty communicator again [which mysteriously started working fine the day after the new phone was purchased]. And now, the boy reminds himself that someone's birthday is coming up in a few weeks. So the boy puts hand under chin and begins to think.

******
We have somehow arrived at the conclusion that we are still in our teens. Though, chronologically we may be 20-something, however, seeing that we still haven't had our first gay date yet, we declare that we are still in our teens. Just outside of gay puberty. Doesn't make any sense but it makes us feel better. So if we can delude ourselves to feel happy without the aid of any external substance then why shouldn't we. We shall calculate my exact teenage age [see what I did there; thou even I don't get it ] at a more appropriate time and reveal it in a more structured and less precious-brain-cells-depleting post.

*****

We are totally having a lame day. Writing lame stuff and writing lame comments on other blogs. Or maybe we just are lame. [subliminal message: we are kind of fishing here].

****

So we were over at Chandni's blog, and she did this great 55 fiction story. For those of you who as unfamiliar about 55 fiction as we are, it's basically a story within 55 or less words. And since we love to bore you with our stories, we thought we'll attempt to come up with something: --------------------

He couldn’t believe it. After years and years of waiting, he finally met the person he used to see in his dreams.

He couldn’t believe that he was there sitting right next to him.

Although he was shocked to know that God sucked at playing Guitar Hero.

-----------------

Okay. Okay. I said that we are having a lame day. We will find another day job. Don't quit on us. We may get better. Sigh. Fine. We'll go then.

So my brother is upstairs with his girlfriend. I sorta helped him sneak her in. Wow. Sigh. (Sigh = when-will-i-be-able-to-sneak-in-my-boyfriend).
I've been in such a state the last few days. This sooo helps. Will my brother help me sneak in my boyfriend? No way hozay!! He'll be too shocked to do that. Funny thing, my brother was giving me a lecture on pre-marital sex when I was sick a few months ago. I told him that (a) It's hypocritical when you give the speech and (b) ha!

I have been up the whole night for the past few days. Been sleeping at 8 or 8.30 am. Waking up at 6.00 pm.

I've suddenly been consumed by the need to listen to old (70s, 80s, 90s) songs. I mean I've been listening to That's the way I Like it, The way we do it, You can't touch this (Nooooo) and Superfreak!! What's wrong with me?

Also, I found two songs of Bow Wow... I Mean Bow FUCKIN Wow which are so apt for my situation right now. (1) Shorty like mine (2) Outta my System ........ I never thought this day would come .... I'm finding common cause with Bow Wow ..... *bangs head on table* Though Chris Brown is sooo hot *bangs head on wall*

My work friend just stole my callback tune. I mean a life-threating accident does not give you the excuse to do that. Just because you have seen the white light you cannot just go around copying people's callback tunes. That's just wrong. Motherfucker. I now have to change mine.

I'm so overwhelmed by the response to this post ........... (and I mean to say that in the most sarcastic British accent possible. Thanks.)