Dear God Almighty
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 13 May 2008, 10:27pm
Dear God (or whatever Your Holiness is calling Him/Her/Itself these days),
I know I’ve made you a considerable number of promises for a variety of things before.
I still vaguely remember back in high school, I did promise you that I would go work in Africa and teach the natives to read the Bible, and that I would always take precautions, if I got an admit into a good college.
Personally, I think we’re square on that one. Sure, I got into CET, but I’ve labored for four years over a degree, which only qualifies me for positions wearing a corporate monkey suite, asking the well-dressed CIO's and investment gurus who drives Lamborghinis and Tri-Star’s of the world, whether they “want a free management software with the car.”
Then there was the time I promised you I would dedicate my life to the orphans in Calcutta if you would make that cute blue-eyed Anglo-Indian thing amongst the junior batch talk to me. Three weeks, a restraining order and a fairly public ragging case later, I was finally free of her.
Did I forget to say a “Thank You” for that?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. You work in your own mysterious ways. I get it. You’re hilarious.
And, God, I won’t pretend that I don’t remember those early college times when I promised you I would never EVER drive even the slightest bit intoxicated again if you got me home safely…
Damn. I guess you got me on that one.
But, seriously this time, O Lord, I promise - cross my heart, needle in the eye, yadda yadda yadda - that if you can somehow make it so that I'd always live alone (like how I'm living now!!) and never have a roommate again, I will stand on a corner of each temple in the city, one-by-one, on all weekends (including Saturday Nights) proclaiming your holiness and distributing cheap sweets to all and sundry.
Don’t get me wrong here, I’ve really enjoyed living with my old true-blue roommates. Well, except for Tall Bose (*names changed in fear of life; their and mine!*) who told the same three super lame stories over and over and over again. He was always using my laptop too, which I didn’t mind except when he downloaded three and a half gigs of Creed and Iron Maiden MP3s on my computer. Then there was that time he tried to record my video under *highly compromising circumstances* using "MY" webcam. Creepy!!
Except for his huge collection of Axe Deo bottles, Jacs was a great second roommate. It didn’t even bother me too much that he played Backstreet Boys for 24 hours. Again… creepy, but not too bad.
Paddy was a great roommate except for his abnormally little-girlish fear of spiders. He called me frantically from the side of the road once:
Padz: Hey, Abi, whatcha doing?
Me: Umm about to hit on some random chic across the building.
Padz: Do you think you could do me a favor?
Me: Can it wait?
Padz: Not really.
Me: Well what is it?
Padz: There’s a spider in my car and…
Me: Sigh...I’ll be right there.
Bros before hoes, Dear Almighty - I think you said that first.
Sid, of course, was my favorite roommate ever. He didn’t mind that the chocolate muffins got ants in it and that I refused to throw them away and just scooped them (the ants) out and ate (the muffin). In turn, I didn’t mind that he got drunk and broke the huge French window and voided our security deposit. If heaven is half as cool as sitting in our living room (without the windows) with the paper-thin mattress eating Sunday Night Special from the nearby Dhaba and watching F-1 in a 15” black ‘n white TV, then I’m going to stop being such an asshole, so maybe I can make it in there.
My last set of roommates, when I freshly moved into this new city lately; God; are something of a different breed. As you know (since you know everything), I was always the messy roommate. It was always MY clothes lying around the room. It was always MY desk that was covered in wrappers (all kinds), biscuit bits and *stuff* that people generally deposit in dust bins. If there was a funky smell coming out of 101, chances are it was my fault.
But these guys here, whom I used to live with... they’re unbelievable. I don’t really mind that I always overpay for cable, but the cleanliness of our apartment is a totally different issue. Basically, it doesn’t happen unless I do it; and I never do it!!
The kitchen is downright disgusting. One of my roommates routinely used to cook full course meal for himself and then throw the stained dishes into the sink. The gas stove invariably has enough food residues on it to feed the population of Zimbabwe and Ethiopia combined for months. I refuse to clean it anymore; the residue is forming a union.
The sink...oh my dear God, I use the same dishes over and over, because honestly; burgers, biscuits and dry fruits don’t really make too much of a mess. Therefore, I figure that I should only have to do dishes a couple of times a week. But my roommates use them; I mean the entire cupboard every 18 hours. The ENTIRE cupboard!!! I know I sound like a woman now, but I wouldn’t mind so much if they f**ing rinsed them off ever. When I finally break down and do the dishes it smells so bad I’m gagging for an hour.
Every once in awhile, one of my roommates used to take five of his precious minutes to clean four or five plates and a disgusting yellow-colored plastic bowl. I almost wish he wouldn’t. I can always tell which ones are “washed” because when I pull them out of the cupboard they still have food on them. God, I wish I was kidding.
Apparently, I’m the only one in this tinsel town who knows how to wash a utensil where milk is boiled; again, I know it sounds like I have sand in my snatch, but I consider it a well-honed skill.
We have real summers here in this metro city. It routinely gets into the high 40's. I came home one day in the middle of the afternoon and the heat was on. I literally ripped the thermostat off the wall and embedded it in the head of my retarded roommate and told him to put on his pants. I mean, holy shit, Your Holiness, I couldn’t afford to pay for heat in the winter. I’m tired of bartering my best swimmers to keep his no-sweatshirt-owning, shorts-wearing ass warm.
I guess I should thank You that I had my own bathroom. I once poked my head into the one that they shared and I almost passed out. Again, I confess that I am no cleanliness freak, but I for sure had a nice little conversation about the discoloration of their bath tub 'coz of wet clothes accumulated in there for months altogether without being washed and they’ve named the sentient pile of hair in the corner Tommy; synonymous to our neighbor’s hairless dog.
So anyway, if you could somehow find the time to grant my request, I’ll up the ante. I promise to pass out brand-new cassettes of devotional songs and a copy of Gita (in English, Hindi and Sanskrit) to every woman I manage to sleep with.
Oh yeah, by the way; can you help me out with that too?
Amen
Current Mood: Relieved
Current Music: Unforgivable Sinner
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Dear Liquor...
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 27 April 2008, 8:16pm
By no one in particular.
Dear Liquor,
I thought I'd take a minute of your time to discuss some troubling factors with respect to our long standing intimate relationship with you. No please, continue fermenting, I'll do all the talking.
First and foremost, let me tell you that I'm a huge fan of yours...your many sides and dimensions are mind-boggling (different than beer goggling, which I'll touch upon shortly.) Yes, my friend, you always seem to be there when needed. The perfect post-work cocktail, a beer with the game...and you're even around during the holidays: hidden inside chocolates you warm us when we're stuck in the midst of endless social and family gatherings.
Yet lately, I've been wondering about your intentions. You see, I want to believe that you have my best interests at heart, but I feel that your influence has led to unwise consequences...
- Phone calls: While I agree with you that communication is important, I question the suggestion that any conversation of substance or necessity occuring at 3 AM.
- Eating: Now, you know I love a good meal and, though my culiniary skills are not even worth mentioning, why you suggested that I eat a sundried vegetable with chili sauce coupled with a pot noodle and some stale fries(washed down with peach flavoured absolut and topped off with a Milky Bar) is beyond me. Eclectic eater I am, but I think you went a bit too far this time.
Special note to Mr. Jack Daniels: Please do not entice me to pick fights with bouncers...and then follow through.
- Clumsiness: Unless you're subtly trying to tell me I need to do yoga more to increase my balance, I see "NO" need to hammer the issue home by making me fall upside down the stairs. Completely unnecessary. Similarly, it should never take me more than 30 seconds to get the front door key into its lock - a genuine and completely fair request, I shall assume!
- Pictures: You seem to think that it is a blessing in disguise, but let me tell you in unequivocal terms; the following costumes are heretofore banned from being placed on my head in public: wigs, bows, ties, boxes, upside-down cups, inflatable balloon animals, traffic cones, old lingerie...
- "Is she my old batch-mate" syndrome: If I think I may know her from my old school / college days, I most likely do not. PLEASE do not request that I go over and see if in fact, I do actually know that person. This is similar to the old "Hey, you're in my class" syndrome and should heretofore be rendered illegal. Coupled with this is the phrase "Let's go make-out (or any kinda shit that amounts to mean the samething)". While I may be thinking this inside, please ensure you reinstate that all-important brain-to-mouth block to keep this thought coming out in any kind of decipherable statement form, especially in public.
Furthermore, the subsequent hangovers have GOT to stop. Now, I know a little penance for our previous nights' debauchery may be in order, but the "2PM-Hangover-Immobility" is completely unacceptable. I ask that if the proper steps are proactively taken on my part (i.e. water, vitamin B, bread products, aspirin, lots of curd) prior to going to bed / passing out facedown on the kitchen floor with a bag of popcorn, the hangover should be quite minimal and in no way interfere with my daily Saturday or Sunday (or any day, for that matter) activities. Come on now, it's only fair—you do your part, I'll do mine.
Mr. Alcohol, I have enjoyed our relationship for quite some years now, and want to ensure that we remain on good terms for the future. You've been the invoker of great stories, the provocation for many a laughter, and the most needed companion when I just don't know what to do with the extra money in my pocket. In order to continue this relationship, I ask that you carefully review my grievances mentioned above and address them immediately. I will look for an answer no later than Friday at 6 PM (pre happy hour, of course) with your possible suggestions and solutions so that we can continue this fruitful partnership (hopefully!!).
Thank you in advance for your prompt attention to these matters.
Sincerely - your biggest fan,
Me.
Current Mood: Retrospective
Current Music: Run - by Collective Soul
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Back after "Normal Relationships"
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 20 March 2008, 7:58pm
So, Yea... I started writing again... It is not like I ever stopped writing... I stopped putting them up for everyone to read and go around smirking... But then I realized, a year and thrity five odd days of abstinence is all that I'm capable of!!
These introductions were always the hardest parts of the blog to write. I wanted them to be funny, so I could get people's attention, but I didn't want it to sound like I was trying too hard. Also, I almost never have anything to say here, and since I'm generally so laconic you can understand how I could be uncomfortable writing crap just to fill space. Not this time, though. I'm proud to announce my revival... and arrival.
Without sounding like too much of a braggart, I do believe this is the greatest site on the internet. You should definitely check it out and tell all your friends. My global fame and fortune depends on it. I promise I'll donate half of my wealth to Bill & Melinda Gates foundation (a.k.a Mr. Warren Buffet)
I've held onto this column for a while now. I'm still not sure I should publish it, but then again, what's the difference anymore.
The question is-
Have I ever been in a "normal" relationship? What would such a thing look like? Feel like? If it smells like ice-cream, feels like ice-cream and tastes like ice-cream, then what you probably have is an ice-cream in your hands; but what about the "thing" that two people share? If it feels like a relationship, is it? If it is, is it a "normal" one?
Confused, I went and did what an average internet buff of my generation always does... Type "normal" into Google and see what it comes up with. Since I know none of you lazy pricks would anyway do it; read on to know what I found-
Here are some definitions culled from what came back to me:
- Something regarded as a normative example
- Conforming with or constituting a norm or standard or level or type or social norm
- Not abnormal
- In accordance with scientific laws
- Forming a right angle
- Conforming to a type, standard, or regular pattern
- Containing neither basic hydroxyl nor acid hydrogen
- Occurring naturally
If something is not normal it is abnormal. Though this may seem to be very circuitous at first, it's not a bad measuring stick. If I were to run around wearing an scream mask and all black waving a knife, that would be easy to define as "not normal". However, if I was to wear black clothing and white makeup and hum around my office, you could call me weird, but "abnormal" may be a little harsh. If nothing else you could say that I was more normal without the mask and knife. Now we're into relativities and perspectives.
As far as I know, I have been in accordance with scientific laws when I have been in my past relationships. I always observed the Law of Gravity. Natural selection has come into play a couple of times as well. If this was the only definition, I would have to say that all of my relationships have been normal. However, I realize, this is stupid. Scientific laws and relationships should not be discussed together.
While I may be scientifically normal, I have never formed a right angle in any relationship I have had. I'm just not that flexible... but that's another topic in itself.
Furthermore, no relationship I have ever been in has contained hydroxyl or acid hydrogen. At least not that I know of - Beer, Liquor, Tequila et al; but not that other crap. This was supposed to lead to a funnier punchline about being an engineer and not a chemistry major and the only physics I like is the physical kind, but you'll have to just imagine it. I'll pause to give you time to chuckle.
Better? OK...
I had been single now for... well... that would be difficult to determine. I don't know when my last girlfriend stopped returning my calls, but I would have to say I considered myself single about a week or two after that. While we were together it was magical. I never had to pretend to be anybody else and we had a great time together. I loved cuddling with her. I loved the smell of her hair. I loved the way the moon reflected off of her cheek. Wait. I'm reciting some cheesy novel, but you get the point.
Now that I think about it, I didn't love her. But; hey hold on, before you write me off as a bad person, let me finish.
From the beginning, it was more like an arrangement than a relationship. Sure we liked each other and had a great time together, but it had a built in self-destruct. At some point I was moving off and she was was staying put. What we formed was a special friends-with-benefits, but with our schedules, it was hard to schedule even that in. Who thought it would be so hard to schedule sex into your day? I either worked or pretended-working during the day into the evening. So did she. We both had "other things" that we did apart from each other.
Now the phone-call dilemma - one person has to call the other. I know this doesn't sound like much, but believe me, it was. She didn't have voicemail, so I could never leave a message. I had her on a special ring so I always knew when she was calling so I could run to the phone, but sometimes she would wait for me to call. Once we finally got hold of one another, we would have to make small talk about the day. Then we decided if we were going to get together and "watch a movie or something" or not.
Trust me; it wasn't all about sex. I knew exactly what my "job" was as a boyfriend. I took her on some fabulous dates. (Okay... two or three fabulous dates.) I made her dinner a couple times. Took her dancing on a riverboat for Valentine's Day. We went to the movies a couple of times. Both of us were very busy and poor. I asked myself, "Why not skip the going out part and just hang at one of our places?" Brilliant. We'd cook and watch F-1 and get high. It was a good time.
I'm not sure when the bottom fell out. I didn't think I was being too demanding, but then again, I should have known something was wrong when I didn't want to call her for a week because I knew she had some exam that she was studying for. A simple "Hi, how ya been?" from either party would have done it. So eventually, we faded. I'm not sure when we "broke up." I'm not sure what it was to begin with. I know that we actually had a talk at the beginning where we agreed upon calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend so that other people would have something to call us.
I don't regret a second of it. Maybe hindsight is covering up all the little things that used to bug me. I've romanticized it all by now, but that's a good thing as far as I am concerned. In the role of "boyfriend," I think I did a pretty good job. I was funny, sexy and charming; but I was also needy, petty and horny. A good mix is important. I didn't want to be the "one-that-got-away" but I wanted her to have happy memories of us... of me.
I did it all right, but it still ended. I know that was the plan. If we would have had a contract, the expiration date of what we had would have been in there. I comfort myself by telling myself that I know I'd do it all again
A relationship is never "normal," or maybe it's always "normal." Whether you ever say it or not, it's always an arrangement of some kind. Relationships are organic. They either grow or they die. They stay fresh by continual renewal or they stagnate. They evolve or they get left behind.
I'm trying to draw a parallel from "organic" to "occurring naturally," which is the last definition in the above list. it's there.
Comedians make a living out of joking about their pain. I'll never make a dime off of this. This started as a column about all the whacky relationships I've been in and the crazy women I've met.
Now it's... it is what it is... and that's life!!
Current Mood: Relieved
Current Music: Unforgivable Sinner
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Back, Not Necessarily in Black...
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 15 February 2007, 8:22pm
We all know what it's like to suffer withdrawal symptoms. Whether you're giving up cigarettes, alcohol or girl-friends, the pain of giving up your favorite fix can be difficult to handle. With this in mind, it is my rehabit-forming pleasure to announce the return of Shadows. Don't act like you haven't been sitting in the fetal position for the past 10 months, shaking and sobbing intermittently. I know I left you high and dry, baby, but don't worry, I won't leave you again. I promise.
First, I suppose I owe you an explanation. I changed my job, my city, my car, my girl-friend, my hair style... No no no... I was not arrested. I just wanted to hide somewhere. Now I show up wearing a fur coat and carrying a diamond-topped cane.
I am in a "non-violent" city living with non-violent people, except that by "non-violent," they mean, "fall asleep at your own risk."
A lot of gambling went on during my self-imposed exile, and because I'm pretty good at poker, I was able to ensure that a lot of people were in debt to me. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't out to collect a fortune, but I found that by forgiving certain debts, I'd earned the protection of the right people. And at last I breathed a sigh of relief. By keeping my head down, I actually could spent more than two months in this city. I was able to convince the world that my internet writings were not only a stable source of income, but also a positive contribution to society. Which just goes to show, the world will just about believe anything.
But I don't want to dwell on the past. Allow me to take a look around, and see what I've missed here at FULLHYD. Other than the obvious things,like "earn from home" blogs and a deep decline in the popularity of 'hunt4myspace'; D Raw El Payne is still clicking away to glory and impersonating a 'writer. Good to see some things never change. I've also just learned that some guys have retired and went on to get a life. What this really means is that they are out of ideas, something you guys would have noticed since my second article.
And there are a few new guys. These days it's probably hard to write comically about sports, politics, body-building and sex. it's actually impossible.
Now that I'm back, Do not take to the street in a spontaneous show of how much you missed me. Resist the urge to riot joyously. However, you do have my permission to get wasted in whatever manner you like best. When you sober up, I'll still be here.
Current Mood: Sloshed
Current Music: I Fought the Law
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Retiring...
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 2 April 2006, 12:09am
Nothing gold can stay. The brightest stars burn fastest. Even the mighty mountains lament the days they reached their peak. It's lonely at the top, but even lonelier on the way down..on some girl you randomly met. The bittersweet taste of nostalgia. Prickly regrets assault my face as the moans of lost glory echo around me, almost as if they weren't my own.
Is this to be the fate of an internet columnist? No.. But only because I'm not so lucky. Here's where it all went wrong: Abstract wording got lost in the confusion, boner puns grew stage fright with repeat performances, and there are only so many ways to ridcule the things that happen around you. Yes, it's true. If you miss him as much as I do, you can find him at TDS. "Cut your hair, ya damn junkie!" he'll yell, then proceed into a story about his better days. No one is for sure what he's talking about. But what is for sure is that he's not happy.
- Getting It Right
Thanks for the memories...most of which were confusing and contorted..
It's sizing up to be a disaster if you keep talking to this man, but you feel a pang, and get the feeling that he needs you. His words strum a beautiful melody that you just cannot ignore, your ears hanging on for every chord. He recounts the days when he had friends, even girlfriends, and life was but a dream. He says he was once a beautiful woman, but that can't be right. He corrects himself, saying that he is just a lonely man who wishes that just once he had spent all night making soft, sensuous love to a beautiful woman. It never worked out that way, however, and he is everything but content with his life.
You start to feel bad for the old man, clearly everything in his life has been a struggle. You take a good, hard look at all the things in your life that you're taking for granted. You have no trouble picking up women. In fact, you even had a fling last night.. Then Why?
- Getting It Wrong
You snap back to the here and now, and find that same forlorn look on the old man's face. His eyes are shiny with the constant threat of tears, flickering as if an old film of all the happy moments of his life passed them by. His brow sits heavy over them. Like an awning weighed down with snow, it exists as a catalog of rejection and drama. His beard, grown out over the years, breathes with stories of drowning sorrows in strange drinks, and living with strange people. This man is in serious need of some hygiene.
The old man rambles on with conceited monotony, but you are entranced with the notion that there may be something to learn from his woes. He continues, purging himself of stories long locked away. His years have been spent toiling endlessly on the internet, making people laugh, while never letting himself crack a smile. People loved him, but he never loved himself, nor ever let himself be loved. He tells you that he was foolishly obsessed with his dreams of being a star. He wanted the whole world to know his name, and exhausted himself in the process. He tells you that he hit bottom..rock bottom...rock on the ocean bottom at its deepest point. And then he hit molten rock bottom swirling beneath the earth's crust. He has known personal hells that make the Great Depression look like Christmas. As you feel the sadness radiate from his soul, you have to wonder if this man's haunting life is due to his birth under some cursed zodiac. You walk away from this man confused because he literally sat with his junk out the entire time, and didn't notice...
When you touched it.
- Getting It At All
Who was that old man? Why is he affecting you so much? What was the point of meeting him? You go back to your life, and try to have fun with your friends and family, but it just doesn't feel right. You barely even touched your dinner, and a wrenching feeling has sunk into your stomach. You wish you could have done something for that poor, decrepit old column, but it's just his time to go, and you start to compile a mental list of why:
- His articles were infrequent and runny.
- He abandoned everything that was 'His'.
- He was tired and drained.
- He had gone farther than his legs could carry him.
- Even now the reader is getting annoyed.
- Being male, how much more abstract can you get?
- Being female, how much more in the clouds can you get?
- Girlfriends, wait does that mean that he ever had one?
- Yes, He had!!!!.
- His column had the most hits, the day it gets posted
- He grew jaded with fame, thought he was hot shit, and then lost touch with his audience.
- He mocked everything in this world, and it became too self-aware in a modernist sense in which the writing itself, rather than merely the content, became part of the humor. The result was a work which was readily more difficult and time-consuming to produce, with an audience that just could not latch on to the evolving state of his self-absorbed notion of humor. In essence, his standards became so high that he could no longer write to make anyone laugh but himself.
Abi: Guys, I'm sorry, but I'm retiring, The shadows will now cease to talk.
Fans: Please, Abi NO! We love you!
Abi: Look it's not you all, it's me. I've got some things I need to work out.
Fans: But what about all the great times we've had?!
Abi: I know, I know. I just need a break. Maybe someday I'll start writing again.
Fans: My friends were right. They warned me this day would come.
Abi: You think I like this any more than you? Well I don't, okay! It's hard enough leaving this behind without you putting all this on me. So you just take your guilt trip with you and show me tail lights...
Abi: Hey Guys, I didn't mean that. Come back here. I'm sorry... I'm just late, as always!!
Current Mood: Cold
Current Music: I wanna live my life!!!!
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An IM etiquette!
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 5 November 2005, 10:03pm
Introduction: You've seen the phenomenon. During the weekends & public holidays at least 75% of your buddy list is online. Then the weekday or summer hits and your buddy list is hit by an apparent bubonic plague. Because IM is so popular among us, it is befitting that we should set forth a list of rules, nay commandments, to abide by. So here, in no particular order, is the prevailing IM Dogma.
- In your Yahoo / MSN profile, there's no need to throw in loads of advertising space about your girlfriend/boyfriend/horse. Granted, I may be a jaded, single fool, but when your profile looks like this:
Baby, I love you. I love you. Oh baby I love you and miss you. See you soon. I love you. Baby, baby.
[Insert rows of nonsensical IM kissy-faces]
It's just annoying and disturbing. A subtle message is fine, but if you use either MUAH or those god-awful IM faces (more on those in a sec), then Yahoo / MSN should spike you and you should not be allowed to create a profile in any of the Messengers for three years!!
- Please stop using LOL. Only about 0.04% of people actually "Laugh out Loud" and they are retarded. And don't give me this ROTFLMAO (Rolling on the floor laughing my ass off). I'd actually like to see you try this just so you can snap your neck as you fall out of your chair. Good. Nothing to LOL about now, is there?
- Don't IM just to say "HI." Talking on Yahoo is the fast food equivalent of actual conversations. Keep the messages short and sweet. I assure you, you are not that interesting of a person. And if you were, why am I talking to you behind a keyboard and miles of bandwidth?
- You don't have to IM someone every time they are online. Nobody is that interesting. The average person spends more time wiping their ass than talking to their parents. No one can be conversational every time you IM them.
- Stop with these oblique away messages like "Not here", "Away", "Gone", or using an Yahoo emoticon. If you had to shit, fine. Tell us, we're concerned for your well being. And for the love of god don't use the default away message: "I am away from my computer right now." Don't you get disappointed when you see that?
- If you are talking on a cell phone with someone and IMing that person simultaneously, you deserve the impending radiation cancer.
- Don't ever send more than 5 messages in a row to someone. All that beeping could give someone a brain hemorrhage. It sounds like a damn Star Wars movie on my computer!
- Stop using Yahoo / MSN faces (emoticons). This is the lowest point of human interaction. It is more evolved to go to your friend's house and throw your own shit at their face.
- If someone sends you a link or a song to download, you are not obligated to ever visit that link or download that song. Making a suggestion is fine, but don't pester them about it for days to come. You are interrupting their porn time.
- Blocking someone is about the cruelest thing you can do to them. Worse than murder. So if someone pisses you off, don't block them. Ignore them. Fill them with doubt as to whether you are still at your computer. Blocking is savagely cruel, use only when necessary.
- One "Bye" is all that is needed to end a convo. Too many convos drag on and on like the first hour of Pearl Harbor. They look a little like this:
Asshole69: Ok man, later.
Buttfuk27: Yea, take it east.
Buttfuk27: easy*
Asshole69: Yeah I will
Asshole69: Later
Buttfuk27: Later, dude
Asshole69: Goodnite
Buttfuk27: Oh hey
Asshole69: Yeah?
Buttfuk27: Did you finish your dinner?
Asshole69: Yeah
Buttfuk27: Oh okay, cool
Asshole69: ok, seeya later
Buttfuk27: Yep, bye
Asshole69: Bye
Buttfuk27: Night
Previous message was not received by Asshole69 because of error: User Asshole69 really left this time.
- Don't try to describe your looks in your screen name. If your screen name is SexyGurl25, and you look like Whoopie (no insult!!), that's false advertising. Besides, it really isn't nice to trick MegaStud21, who is actually a 40-year-old unemployed bald man who installed a webcam in your shower while you were at office.
- Girls, it is not necessary to make your profiles look like the lost works of Emily Dickinson. A couple of clever lines is fine, but honestly, no one's turning to your profile as their daily source of sonnets.
- Don't just type "yea" to your friend when you have nothing to say. I understand the flashing IM is intimidating, and a lot of people need to have the last word, but the "yea" is basically IM code for: "I have lost a lot of interest in this convo, and was kind of hoping we could just drift apart peacefully."
- No more than two numbers in your screen name. Three is okay, but only if it's to signal your birthday. It's already hard to remember what you decided to call yourself online, we really don't need the first 100 digits after the decimal point of PI. If your profile id is: Queef67483857, just shorten it to Queef67. Or just Queef. I can't imagine too many people picking that one, it's too honest.
- Don't type "BRB" then drive off to Afghanistan. BRB has a 10 minute window. After that, it's away message time. Yahoo should install a feature that will automatically send gay porn to all your friends under your name once your comp is idle for 11 minutes after a BRB.
- You can tell the mood a person is in by how much they type. Example:
PeeWee12: Hey, man.
Meat10: Yo, what's up, dude?
= Happy
PeeWee12: Hey, man
Meat10: Hey
= Melancholy
PeeWee12: Hey, man
Meat10: Go f**k yourself.
= Not happy.
- Don't put quizzes in your profile. What is the goal, exactly? To figure out who is your most prolific stalker?
- If someone sends you one of those IM's that say you must IM 10 other people, in order to save a child dying of leukemia in Indonesia, drive to his house and beat him to death with his own keyboard. Then, take a deep breath, and go check your email.
Current Mood: Preachy
Current Music: Vanessa-Mae - Tequila Mockingbird
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Hey you there..!
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 27 September 2005, 1:08am
Common sense and pronunciation lose all meaning when it comes to getting other people to identify you correctly
My name's Abi; What is so difficult?
It's a simple name. It's not like my name is Bartholomew Montalbalm Cathetermew. Abi. Just Abi. An A followed by a B (just to make things really simple for people who have started picking up alphabets) and a poor and harmelss I. Still, one trouser stain after another has a problem. These are the same assholes who can't read my driver's license because there's a slight bend in the plastic which means you actually have to devote .40596 of a second to make out what it says.
Dumb A******: What does this say? Andheri or Andhra?
Me: Umm, Andheri.
Dumb A******: It looks like Andhra.
Me: Have you ever heard of a place called Andhra in Maharashtra?
Dumb A******: No. it would be cool though if there was one.
Murder of stupid people should be made legal.
People at work do this all the time. I realize I work in an office with nearly one thousand employees, but my theory is if you're going to make me do something, know my fucking name.
Asshole I work with: Can you fax this, Ravi?
Me: My name's Abi.
Asshole I work with: Really?
Me: Nope. I'm lying. I just wanted to see what it felt like to be named Abi for only a brief second. And it felt great. It really did. Sorry for the confusion.
This is why people get shot in their offices.
I love it when people want me to do something, don't know my name, and try to play it off.
Prick Boss of the other team: Hey, uh, you. Can you call the Security?
Me: (Not paying attention because I'm not Chineese and Yu isn't my name.)
Prick Boss of the other team: Excuse me? Excuse me? You. YOU!
Me: (Playing Yahoo! Pool, still not paying attention, scouring the office for Chineese or Japaneese.)
I think Chineese and Japaneese people have retarded names. I'm serious. What's wrong with Rohit and Rahul and Abi? Chang Tzu? Shih Pao? Those sound like noises my neighbour's dog makes when it has an indigestion or something. Do dogs get digestive disorders? Next week, I'll run my post by Animal Planet, I swear.
I love when I give my name to someone in America who hasn't grasped noun-verb-object-predicate. I went to this Mexican house when I was at Austin last year, and they needed my name so that no one takes my delicious "Large Mexican Caesar Wrap with extra cheese and without feta". Me and the guy behind the counter, Mexican Joe as I call him (anyone who can't speak English in the US is a Mexican, stay with me plz) had this exchange.
Mexican Joe: Wrap Caesar, meat no, more chesse, feta no, name?
Me: Abi.
Mexican Joe: Avie?
Me: Abi.
Mexican Joe: Babi?
Me: Abi.
Mexican Joe: Abi?
Me: (Resigned to the fact that I'm going hungry, go hell with him.) No. Babi.
Mexican Joe: Wrap Caesar, meat no, more cheese, feta no, Babi?
True story.... :-)
Current Mood: Confused
Current Music: nothing..really!
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Disheartened Hostile Smiling people
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 5 September 2005, 3:59pm
People always ask me: How do you come up with ideas for a post, week after week? Well, one of the sweetest things about writing a blog like this is that it requires, besides a severe lack of judgment, me to go out and experience things. It's easy to write about things that happen to me. It's not as easy to sit at a computer and make up juvenile jokes like some other internet shut-ins I could mention. Some people don't believe that everything I write about is real, which is probably fair since I'm a pathological liar by nature, believe me!! Here's what (may have) happened:
-The other day I turned on the magic box to my favorite 24x7 music channel, for my daily dose of country music. Much to my chagrin and appall, I found that my favorite channel had been dismantled and replaced with a much inferior channel that doesn't play country, it plays Hotel California THREE TIMES IN A ROW. I have no idea what happened, but my best guess is that sometime during the night someone who REALLY liked shitty synth tunes from the 80s stormed into the Hathway building and seized the turntables, possibly following a violent struggle. It's been 3 days and I still don't have a clue as to why are things always so messed up for me. This shocking turn of events got me so depressed that I headed out for a 'peaceful' drive...
-Frequent readers of this blog know that I am culinarily impaired, and hence eat out a lot. It's pretty rare that I eat at Ohri's, though. It's hard for me to pinpoint the reason. Maybe it's because the food out there is expensive.
-On this particular day, I elected to eat at Ohri's because I had been issued a free coupon for one free Big Cheese Burger with the purchase of any soft drink. This, to me, seemed like a fair and sensible deal. I wasn't expecting a problem, until the Disheartened Hostile Smiling cashier submitted this week's Quote of the Moment: "I've never seen this kinda coupon before. What is it?" Seems I found the single non-participating Ohri's Restaurant in the whole of South India.
-I've never worked for the Ohri's Corporation, so I can't say for certain what the cost to them would be of a free Big Cheese with purchase of a regular-sized coke, but if I were to harbor a guess I'd say the loss probably won't keep their children from going to school. But when I tried to explain this very sensible and not-at-all insane concept to the Disheartened Hostile Smiling Employee, he blinked a few too many times and then said, the only thing I can think of, that could top his previous Quote: "I'll have to ask the manager." Nothing is more humiliating than holding up the line while the Ohri's crack forensics team analyzes my coupon. I should probably also mention that this particular Ohri's food court had the television tuned to the All-New 24x7 music channel that was still playing Hotel California!!!
-After a few minutes, the manager, look-alike of a 16-year-old boy whom I used to beat up in high school, came over to see me. He had clearly been hardened by years of people trying to pass off counterfeit coupons, and was hell-bent on keeping me from obtaining my Free Burger with Purchase of Regular Soft Drink. He accused me of causing a disturbance. I tried telling him that if I really had the motivation and cunning to make my own coupons, I would at least have the sense to make the drink free as well. Unfortunately, I was so worked up that the only sounds I could produce were a few yelping noises, followed by a shriek of defeat and the sound that coins make when you throw them as hard as you can in the direction of a Disheartened Hostile Smiling Ohri's Employee. I had essentially been blackmailed into purchasing a Big Cheese Burger.
-With the matter of the coupon peacefully resolved to its inevitable win-win conclusion, I proceeded to place my order. Here's a transcript: ME - "I'd like a Big Cheese Burger Combo with an ice tea." CASHIER (smiling) - "Is that for here or to go?" ME - "For here is fine." CASHIER (smiling) - "Alright, what will you have?" ME (irritated) - "I told you. A Big Cheese Burger meal with an ice tea." CASHIER (smiling) - "Would you like to have a Super-Size combo for an extra 40 bucks?" ME - "No thanks." CASHIER (smiling) - "And was that a parcel?" ME (agitated) - "For here! Goddamn you!" CASHIER (smiling) - "And what would you like to drink with that?" ME (smiling) - "The blood of your first-born, if it's fresh." (the blood, not the kid)
-You may be wondering why I did not, as any other sensible God-fearing person would have done, flee the restaurant as quickly as I could. I guess I just wanted to see how the whole thing would play out. I was starting to think that the Disheartened Hostile Smiling Ohri's Employee and his prepubescent boss were going to accuse me of kidnapping the RBI Governor before the day was through. I don't even know what I would do with him if I did somehow get him locked in my house, but I imagine it would have something to do with creating false coupons.
-Off-topic note: I have to stop going to the movies. Every time I'm at the theater, I meet someone I haven't seen for years and don't want to talk to. So I always make a dive for the bathroom, but it never works, and then I end up in some horribly awkward conversation about why I hadn't spoken to them in so long. ("Hey, you! I remember you! F*** you!")
-And, finally, when I wanted to pay for my purchase with a 500 rupee note, they told me they couldn't accept 500s because of the high counterfeiting rate. I told them that I knew that MY 500s were ok because I made them myself. They didn't laugh, and continued to refuse my money. So I gave them fake 50s instead...
Current Mood: Shocked
Current Music: Crazy in Love...
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So Yeah..I am late!
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 27 July 2005, 10:52pm
So yeah, my column usually comes out twice a month; mostly on the first and last of the Sundays - God's day, but here's the thing. I was 'pre-occupied', all the Saturdays. I had the worst sore throat - and since I was popping Coldarins, Halls Menthalyptus, and Crocins simultaneously, Sunday wasn't any brighter. I spent the whole day coughing and sneezing around - creating a major havoc among the panic-stricken denizens around me (you should have guessed appropriately that I'd be surrounded by people from Uncle Sam's land).So I was sick all day Sunday, and then watched Michael burn his backside off at Silverstone & Hockenheim , my fingers hurt from constantly clicking refresh on the formula1.com live timing page because apparently the cable operator's grandfather decided to marry again and he went away switching off all the transmission; at least he didn't bother to give us any substantial explanation - so we assumed this (Ha! I feel so much better now!). Before I knew it, it was 12 p.m. and I didn't have a post. So, yeah, sorry... But hey, better late than never, right? And besides, it gives me a nice little gimmick to kick off this month's festivities.
I am late. Always....
I don't know how this happens. I try to be early. I really do. Often, I make a conscious effort to be on time, but God hates me (probably because I stamp on ants regularly). So the other day, I was getting ready for work. I generally start from home at 10:45. So I shave at 10:15; Comb my hair at 10:20; Iron at 10:27 (Ironing being the primary reason why I need an extra-girlfriend. Please help!!) That gives me roughly 15 minutes to chill out and then leave. So I was chilling...as 10:44 rolls around. I'm about to leave. Literally a foot out the door, Shit. I can't find my cell phone. (This is ironic because I traded away my last cell for a bigger one so that I'd never lose it. I never ever came close to losing my old one. I lose this piece of shit every fucking day.) So I spend 10 minutes looking for my cell. I find it, of course in the middle of my desk in plain sight. I get ready to leave again. Literally both feet out the door, Shit. I can't find my ID. I traipse around my apartment looking for another 5 minutes. It's in my backpack, which I take to work anyway. I get ready to leave again. Literally three feet out the door. My roommate stops me. "Hey, you owe me for the elec bill." That becomes a 5 minute conversation about 'The Ashes' and my daily adventures with Sphynx, my imaginary friend.
I'm fucking sick of everything, and if you don't know why, you're either a woman, or you're gay...
I finally get into my car. Of course I am stuck at all signals the because the fat traffic guy takes his own sweet time in manually changing the signals - all the bloody effort in automating those signal lights based on the traffic intensity has just been kidnapped, raped and murdered in public! Then there are these HI-TECH CITY roads. At the risk of sounding racist, I am sick to death of Americans, especially those Chinese-Japanese-Americans; who have the audacity to rent out cars in here and drive through our roads. They simply upset me for a variety of reasons other than their exploits with the four-wheelers. First of all, their language is stupid. with all those phony Chinese-American garbage incorporated and cutely nicknamed as 'accent'. Second, they should learn to fucking walk. They don't look where they are going, and they bump into me constantly, and since none of them crack the five foot barrier I'm terrified of stepping on one.
So of course, after all the Chinatown stunts I show up to work at 11.30, as boss after boss stares me down, not accepting any goddamn excuse. I'm late and it gets written in stone - day-after-day! Again, I'm not a racist, these people just upset me, like Communists. Just relax.
So I'm always always late. And it's not my fault. Because I always try to be early. But I'm stupid sometimes. During my academic days - My exam will be in 10 minutes. That gives me time to get a cup of coffee. But that coffee from the Nescafe machine in the campus won't do the trick. I've got to look for our favorite roadside cafe, which is hardly a 10 minute walk. I can assume that if I walk fast, which I do anyway because I'm not a girl, I can make it there, have a cup of coffee and get back in no time. Wrong...Wrong...Wrong!!!! Of course, everyone and their mother is at the cafe and not just ordering coffee. I finally get my coffee...five minutes late. Shit. I run back, figuring what the hell, it's only five minutes late. Then I remember, I had planned to study almost everything required for the exam in the last 10 minutes before the exam.
I had a date. It's at 7 p.m. I leave time to shower (10 minutes), shave (4 minutes), hair (6 minutes) and other 'extra curricular activities' (15-30 minutes). It's 6. Gives me time to work up my confidence, get all the pre-pubescent voice-cracking out of my system, make up a list of shit to talk about with her that doesn't include why my left testicle could beat my right one in a fight. I do all that. 6:45. I'm early. I grab the flowers. I spray on the imported cologne. I'm set. I'm money.
I walk into the girl's house. I knock the door, 4 minutes early, looking and smelling great. She answers the door. I say I'm here to pick you up for our date and I'm EARLY! She says we never had a date, she doesn't even know me, stop sending her friendship requests, stop staring at her from afar, stop peeping thru her window every 5.7 seconds, stop giving her blank calls, not saying anything but just breathing heavily, and stop showing up early for dates that don't exist.
How embarrassing. But at least I was on time for once. I gotta go..I'm late again. Sorry I was late....
Current Mood: Thoughtful
Current Music: Someday Somewhere...
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This Post Wont Open, Try F5 to Refresh!!
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 27 June 2005, 9:27pm
My computer is a whole lot of garbage collected and warmed into a steaming pile of shit. Seriously, it's like 60K for a flappable box, only that the box is populated with a CPU, a few shiny things, and a drunken jird...and the drunken jird runs the show. Over the years, my computer has caused me an inordinate amount of uncontrollable rage and heartache, more than any, and I'm including girls, Americans, the last half hour of "A Walk to Remember," and the current state of F1 combined. It's awful... How does it piss me off? Well let me count the ways: - The sound card just sucks: If I run too many programs, the sound will actually start skipping. So when I'm listening to "Mr.Lonely", I have to put up with "lllllonnnannananellyy I'm ssssssoooosssoooo lllllllonnnnannanananely..." It's worser than few of those DJ's at the local dance bars! - All that wireless shit: My computer has wireless everything: mouse, keyboard, internet...it's extraordinary. And I know it sounds cool. Good for all those times, when I want to check my stock stats on a day when the market touched an all-time high and my portfolio touched an all-time low, sixty feet away from my laptop. But I've finally discovered the dirty little secret of wireless. "Wireless" is Latin for "Might work, Might not." I'm not kidding, if any kids are reading, wireless is to consistent as inconsistent is to consistent. I swear! - Speaking of wireless I could not have missed mentioning the wireless router that goes with my Internet. This in my humble opinion is the technological equivalent of Marxist interpretation on trade laws and Common Minimum Program (at least I am told so). I sometimes feel that the cobbler (who has finally settled down under our apartments) could devise a better router with his set of tools and old boots!!! Seriously, I've had people take me off their address books because they are sick of me constantly being signed in and off in YAHOO. It's not fair. My Internet is costing me friendships, and that's not including those perverted-drunk-offline messages. Sorry guys. Please put me back on your buddy list... - Random websites won't open: I love this. I'm trying to access tubgirl.com so that I can have something interesting to entertain me during dinner, and all I get is that famed "Cannot reach server" nonsense, or H404 (or some shit like that), which is computer code for "You wasted 60k!" Speaking of "Cannot reach server" I love the troubleshooting tips they give you. Step 1. Try clicking refresh Step 2. That didn't work? Well, you're shit out of luck. - The freezing thing: It isn't bad enough here during the winter and the temperatures never dips into freezing levels. But my computer is intelligent; it compensates and freezes, only it's idea of freezing is to plumb stop working. Then, you try Ctrl-Alt-Delete, the Gita-Bible-Khuran of computer troubleshooting. But at times that doesn't even work, so you very calmly take out that little Lithium-Ion shit from the bottom and place it back. (Just like Business as usual!!) - Those random bugs: Actually, this is quite interesting. My Winamp currently has this weird bug where it randomly picks a song upon startup, but here's the crazy thing: it always picks a great song, and I have like 1400 songs. So, in essence, my computer has the same musical taste I do. After all I guess it's not so bad...
Current Mood: Confused
Current Music: Zion - Fluke
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Take me drunk, Im home!
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 8 June 2005, 3:03pm
Mother nature always, inevitably seems to come out on top. She consistently finds a way to make everything balance out, and a perfect example is 'The Hangover'. Why can't we get sloshed at night, and then feel great the next morning? Why couldn't the morning-after a wasted night be something (read: anything) other than sickness, dizziness, and an absolute inability to remember something (read: anything) from the night before? For example, why couldn't things like strength, enthusiasm, great hair, and an ability to see the future happen? Can you imagine that? Oh Man!
But it doesn't happen, Momma Nature ain't that stupid. The hangover is the one thing that makes us think twice about really whacking out our brains 'coz we all know the simple math equation:
Really good times + Lots of alcohol = Really bad (read: f**** up) times + Lots of regret.
C'mon, I didn't have to take Advanced Operational Research as my elective to figure that one out. Though I did take OR and was surprised to learn they teach it there too.
And of course, I personally believe that the worst hangovers are the ones when you have something (read: anything) important to do in the morning. Mine was when my aunt and cousin sisters were coming to visit me in the evening all my good luck for the year expired as they turned up early in the morning. It doesn't matter how 'cool' your parents/relatives are, you just don't usually want them to see you hunched over a bathtub with your hair messed up (and no pants on). You don't generally overhear your Dad bragging.. "Man, Am I proud of my boy! Look at him bowing down to the toilet in perfect form! We did groom him up well."
So when they arrived at my apartment, I took several steps to avoid looking hungover. I put the eye drops in, wore a Ferrari cap down low, drank a lot of water (and curd), brushed my teeth for three straight hours. And I thought I was doing a pretty good job until they decided to take me out to a 'south Indian special breakfast'. A loaded plate of various green/white/yellow chutneys ghee-coated dosas etc. are probably the last thing you want to see five hours after collapsing in a heap on your bed with no feeling left in your tongue and the room spinning violently around you faster than 'mother earth'.
I for sure, did get a hangover despite trying every anti-hangover trick in the book. (It's a short book because nobody feels like reading when they're wrecked.) Every other friend of yours will definitely have a unique 'fool-proof' way to avoid hangovers. Some say, take Vitamin C before you go to bed. Some say, drink lots of water. Some say, eat lots of fiber and make out with a leprechaun just before he sits down for lunch. Everybody has a different technique. I've even had the fortune of having friends who tell me to drink a beer in the morning. I swear you'll always have someone saying, "Man, I know it sounds ridiculous. I know it sounds irrational, but it weally rorks. When you wake up tomorrow's morning, chug a beer, and you won't eee hungover atall." That person is probably one hundred percent right — you won't have a hangover because damn it! you'll be drunk! If you wake up from a night of drinking and then start drinking, there's obviously no time for any hangover. Avoiding a hangover by getting more drunk probably isn't a tip you’ll find in any Healthy Living shows. Then again, what does those show makers know about getting a head start on the next night, right?
I used to do the rhyming thing that everyone learns in college. It goes, "Beer before liquor, never been sicker. Liquor before beer, you're in the clear." Apparently we thought that as long as it rhymed, we were gonna be alright. However, after seven long years of extensive, painstaking research on the matter, I've learned it's not true. One time I did try "Tequila plus a Cinnabon equals tons of fun," but it didn't work at all! Tequila plus a Cinnabon instead equals Cinnabon all over the back of your friend's car. Of course, I did the math myself. I eventually learned that it's going to be a bad party when things stop rhyming. For example, the party's going steep downhill fast when you hear a friend yell, "Beer before liquor, never been…so messed up duuuuude!!" Such a sage maxim is usually followed by the potted plant getting watered with something other than water.
But I often wonder, why haven't scientists gotten to work on this problem yet? I'd love to turn on the magic box on a cozy Saturday morning after a whole course the last night and hear this in CNN.... "There's been a significant breakthrough at UC-Berkeley today. Researchers there have discovered that beer before liquor does not actually make you sicker, but instead gets you trashed quicker. Supplemental findings show that in order to avoid a hangover, drinkers should consume two glasses of orange juice in the morning, followed by a game of speed chess with any drunken internet chat buff. In their final finding, Berkeley researchers have revealed that contrary to popular belief, people who can't dance when they're sober, still can't dance when they're drunk. Researchers say they're excited by the results and have plans to find a way to reduce the 'dude' quotient in test patients high on marijuana. That's all for now from CNN Headline News...."
I hope I've shed some light on the mystery of the hangover. And at this point I can't help but boast about the resolute journalistic investigative efforts I put forth in order to complete this post. I hope you appreciate just how much "research" I did indeed execute for the sake of this article. That being said, this post would never have been a reality without being a part of all the drunken misadventures of my friends (and foes) during my graduate years...
So here's to you Sid, Prashant, Ben, Ashwin, Binu, Akhshay, Resmi, Cini & a host of others whom I'll always be indebted to...
"Stand by the tree. It gives off oxygen so it will cool us down."
-really hot and really drunk
"Whoa man! The light is so bright, are you god or something?!"
-wasted, while getting a picture taken
"I will fuck you up you tall bastard."
-before punching a tree
"I'm gonna go explore! (Falls on his ass) Hello, Mr.. Floor. Thank you for catching me."
-on a short drunken adventure
"Turn off the light, its giving me a sunburn."
-the first time with a JD, on the rocks
"I'm walking around the room so I live."
-immediately after taking seven shots
"I just had a great conversation with myself in the mirror."
-drunk as hell
"I'm not as think as you drunk I am."
-after a couple of shots
"I don't have anything to do with her..I chapter that, close,
I fash my wace"
- On reminding of his ex-girlfriend after having a bottle of Blender's Pride
Hey, WHAT are you doing?!
I'm gonna lay here on this asimaphalt.
You mean asphalt?
Man, I'm DONE! D-U-N, DONE!!!!
-after encountering a friend plastered on the ground
Buddy, you're drunk, you don't need another beer.
No, I'm not. I am going to prove to you I'm not drunk by having another beer.
-after having two bottles of beer, mixed with whisky
Ya know...today is just one of those days when you wake up.
And??
What? Oh no, that's it.
-In the Morning...after a long night of drinking
"Boss... my shoes grew legs and ran off."
-lavishly drunk
Am I dead?
Uh....no?
Yes, because this isn't my voice. I mean, it's me talking, but it's not ME!!
Are you ok?
That's what I fucking want to know!
-Extremely intoxicated
"Second fucking highest percentage in the college and I can't find my fucking beer hole!"
-on the inability to get beer in his mouth while drunk
"The light switch told me good night when I flipped it off."
-cleverly writing a "note to self" on a piece of paper as "proof" just before passing out at an in-house party
"It's such a nice night. . . if only the sun were out!"
-severely intoxicated
Current Mood: Itching For One
Current Music: Run - Collective Soul
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A futile attempt at sensitivity
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 20 May 2005, 8:29pm
About three years ago, I lost a friend in an accident. Well, I wasn't the only one who lost him. A whole bunch of living people lost him, including his other friends and family. He was easily the funniest human being I ever met, and the thing is, he never really knew it. I guess people all over the world loved to hang out with him; many cops let him slide without tickets; girls let him into their lives (and pants) quicker than even he could believe. He was just, for lack of a better term, lively. He was the kind of guy who, upon his arrival at a party, could lift the mood of a room full of people. When he entered a room, you could just feel the "Cool, Sid's here" vibe throughout the party. He was that much fun.
Anyway, he's dead.
The other day, I had dinner with his mother, a woman who had genetically handed-off to Sid his smile and wit. She's always been a great lady, always pushing me with my writing and comedy and telling me (unlike my family and friends) not to waste my time with a career but to have fun spreading (what she considers to be) my "gift" throughout the world. After we finished our dessert, she removed an almost shredded piece of folded paper from her bag and gave it to me. I read it at the table and I damn near cried. Then I read it again and I laughed my ass off. It was a note written to me (that I never received) back when Sid and I used to share a room together.
Anyway, without any further ado...I'll try to get Sid's letter up in here.
Dear Abi-
We’re couple of weeks away from moving to bigger and better places with smaller and better smelling people, and I just wanted to get this on paper because it's funny and cool and because it shows a prime example of why I kinda liked being with you.
Back in January, when I was trying to sleep and you weren't polite enough to let me sleep peacefully with your lousy, loud snore and melodramatic SOB; I spent a few hours wandering some of our rougher neighborhoods so that you could snore away to glory. Don't say I never did anything for you, you long-haired son of a sheepherder on acid. At the time, I was seriously considering snapping all my ties with you which allows me the privilege of telling every girl you know that you'd be such an ass-hole to sleep with. But then the very thought that I'll not be able to even count all of 'em in my lifetime scared me out of it.
Anyway, while I was out walking, trying to make sense of why a skinny ass like you always had someone and I didn't (I chalked it up to the fact that I have higher standards than you — what's new?), someone pulled out a 6-inch silver instrument in front of me asked me to take my wallet. While that stupid knife was pointed at me, the following thoughts went through my head, all at the same time: "I'm not dying over eighteen bucks, I'll bet that knife isn't real, if I die, at least I won't have to do my final paper in OR; fucking you get holed up with some whore while I brave this town to give him some privacy, ah forget it, let's die, what's life worth anyway? Shit, give him the money. It's good karma."
So I gave him the eighteen bucks, and the next day, you came in from class and said, laughing while talking (which you always do and which I have finally grown accustomed to): "Hey, some idiot pulled a crappy silver knife on me and tried to rob me. I fucking grabbed the knife and slapped him. Check this out. I made over two hundred bucks. Party is on me tonight."
As we drank that night, I never let you know the truth about that bum with the silverware. You never told the story again because I guess you felt bad about stealing — or maybe you were just drunk and forgot you stole. Anyways, the subject was never again broached. I never got my eighteen bucks but I did get my karma.
During one of our wine-drunk rap sessions, you once asked me why you're not a nice person — whether it was environmental or genetic? And I said that it didn't matter really because you won't change. And I was right, but not completely.
You see, people like you may not be nice or especially kind, but they can recognize when a knife isn't real and who needs a slapping. If there was no one like you, there may be no way to ensure that the nice guys in the world get what they deserve. In short, you’re Karma's Asshole. You're there to keep people in check, to let them know that life is fun and that every action has a consequence.
So it's best to do nothing at all.
Pleasure living with you bro. Now crack that best-sellers list..
Your favorite drink smells,
Sid...
Current Mood: Sad
Current Music: Complicated - Avril Lavigne
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A Procrastinators Official Guide of "Being Effective While Being Lazy"
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 3 May 2005, 2:37am
It's about this time of year that people start to get worn down and stressed out because its hot and getting hotter. I believe one reason for the annual stress 'epidemic', other than not knowing which tree to plant for Gandhi Jayanthi, is that people try to do to much. People don't know how to take it easy and drift along anymore. Everywhere I look; I see people on the verge of a nervous breakdown, some reason ot the other— either that or Westside is having a mega-sale that I don't know about. The solution is easy my dear friends. You don't have to do stuff to accomplish stuff. Look at anyone from reality shows or Paris Hilton. They haven't done anything different than me or you. The only difference is that they have no shame in allowing people to market them as idiots. Not to worry, I am willing share the secrets that have allowed great men over the years in history, to live a life where the less they do; the more they accomplish.
- Lower Your Expectations
I would say; If at all possible eliminate all your expectations. This way you will lower (eliminate) any chances of your disappointment. Now that you don't have to worry about being disappointed, you can take it easy and do things at your leisure. This is also a good idea if you are guy and thinking about going on a date. Trust me.
- Make Everything Look Like a Major Achievement
You don't have to do something important for it to be an accomplishment. You just have to make people believe that it is. Tell people that you stayed up all night up writing some proposal that you actually got from a friend who works in a rival corporate. Tell people that you are gonna be a little late because you're working out. They don't have to know that your workout includes laying on the couch with a Men's Journal "50 Sit-Up Exercises" article and a bag of Lays open on your stomach. If people think that you're constantly doing something then they are less likely to bother you, and isn't that what we all want? Remember, you're busy and important.
Practice exercise: Recite "I'm busy and important" three times.
- Limit Your Tasks
This one is pretty much self-explanatory. The less you take on, the less you have to do. If by chance you have to do something, make sure you can make it seem more important than it really is (see Rule #2). If someone asks you to do a favor, make it seem like you're really going out of your way to get it done for them. Then the next time you have an unavoidable difficult task, have them do it. They owe you one anyways.
- Know the TV Program Schedule
TV is the key when you want to get the most out of doing nothing. By knowing what is on TV and when it comes on, valuable energy is not wasted on channel surfing.
- Do Only What is Asked of You
When you think about it, there is really no reason to go out of your way to do more than what is expected of you. Everyone's expectations of you should be low by now anyway (Rule #1). Don't worry about doing any extra shit for people...if they wanted other stuff done too; they would have asked you to do it in the first place.
- Choose Your Hobbies Wisely
There are plenty of hobbies to choose from that don't require any excessive use of energy. Running, walking, rock climbing, collecting porn...all require too much energy to be fun. Keep it simple: stick to sitting, laying, lying, dreaming of rock climbing, and mental pictures.
- Why Walk When You Can Ride
Cars, buses, bikes, and autos were created for a reason. Don't let a little excuse like "it's only down the street" stop you from hopping into or onto a vehicle. You never know when you might just pull a hamstring. Play it safe, a healthy body is the only way to remain voluntarily and perennially lazy.
- Sleep Obsessively
Ok, Let's face it, spending an entire day watching TV and avoiding tasks can wear a person out. So take a nap...you deserve it. It's not like you have anything to do anyway..
Current Mood: Preachy
Current Music: zzzzz.......
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Matinee
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 22 April 2005, 8:04pm
Summertime is a wonderful time of year where families all over the world get together to celebrate togetherness like it was Christmas or something. Unless you're in one of those whacky and weird hemispheres like the Northern Hemisphere where all the seasons are reversed and the toilets flush backwards and people get eaten by polar bears on the way home from school. At least, that's what I hear from other people who, like me, have never visited that particular hemisphere because it's really, really far. I mean, it might as well be on Neptune or something, because I hear these days interplanetary travel is more convenient and hassle-free than a trip to the Northern Hemisphere. Anyway, here's what happened:
-If you're a clean, neat and sensible 'family' guy (and I know you're not) you probably think that going to a movie with your family on a weekend is a wholesome and fun-filled thing to do. This is true, provided that the year is 1956 and the family you're going with isn't mine. If you do not fall into one or both of these criteria, the movie-going experience will be a terrible one akin to being locked in a concentration camp with Rowan Atkinson. Whatever happened to that guy? I haven't seen him in anything since "Johnny English", where he played the 'unscrupulous' detective; laughing the ass out of everyone who dared to even walk by the movie halls that played it. Is he dead or something?
-The existence and well-being of crappy comedians aside, I thought I'd warn you that if you have the guts to go to a movie with your aunt (heretofore referred to as "my aunt") and her little kids and (to add to the misery as if this wasn't enough) my own little brother, be prepared to be the only family at the theatre. Families don't go to movies anymore. Now only guys (and girls..of course)on dates go to movies. And the guy, attempting to impress his zit-encrusted girlfriend who's wearing a "Stop Staring at my Chest" or "Site Under Construction" baby doll t-shirt, will laugh and point at you as you walk into the mega-multiplex with your aunt, her kids and brother as if in a tow. If you live in a particularly unrelenting neighborhood (like my native city) then the guy may even throw a few kernels of popcorn at you as you walk by. But my Aunt will be completely oblivious to all of this, because we're GOING TO A MOVIE; GODDAMN IT!! AND WE'RE GONNA ENJOY OURSELVES EVEN IF IT KILLS US. Ah, Summer!
-Many people may have noticed that the cost of purchasing a meal at a movie theatre is often comparable to the cost of constructing a major suspension bridge across Brahmaputra. However, if you are dumb enough to go to a movie with your family, you are probably dumb enough to pay Rs 25/- for a bag of cold, stale popcorn. I bet some theatre executive got paid a lot of money to come up with this brilliant marketing strategy: "Hey, if we charge more money at theatres, we make more money!" We must find this theatre executive (I'm sure he'll have his name embedded in the pack, somewhere)and bludgeon him to death with his own Nobel Prize in Economics..
-After spending your next year's whole salary on food; that even homeless people would think twice about before eating; for the 'little' brother, you will proceed into the theater proper. There, your family, into which you were praying, you were adopted, will insist on sitting in the front row. Now, here's the thing: 10 years ago, the front row was a coveted theatre position. That's because all the seats were directly behind each other, like you were on some kind of bus, and if someone who was over 4'7" sat anywhere in front of you; you would lose approximately 50% of the total viewing area. And back then, let me tell you, viewing areas were a lot smaller. The TV in my den is bigger than what a movie screen was when I was a kid. Boy, those were the days. When things were done right and you could get a glass of nice non-flavored mango juice for a rupee. Never mind.
-Now that I've effectively finished up writing the rather unstructured rant part of the blog, I wanted to tell you that modern theatres no longer cherish the front seats. Modern theatres implement what's known as "stadium seating", which means that the back row is 400 feet up, directly in front of (and often blocking) the projector, while the front row is no more than 3.5 inches from the actual screen. But my brother wanted to sit in the front row, which was cool, because it meant that while the movie was going on I could actually see the characters' individual DNA strands.
-Remember when you were little and you went to the movies and before the movie started you just kind of patiently stare at a blank screen for a half hour like some sort of a monk? Well, the movie industry decided that people were getting bored, so they decided to put something on the screen for you to gaze at before the movie starts. This is, of course, a PowerPoint slideshow for a Honda Accord. Oh boy! That's so much better than a blank screen! Do you know what a PowerPoint slideshow looks like from the front row of a movie theatre? Remember 'Asteroids'?
-Quote of the Moment: A guy comes up to an empty seat beside me, asks "Is this seat taken?". I say "No". He says "Of course it isn't! It's in the front row!" Then he walks off, laughing maniacally, no doubt to go make out with his date. Hey, girls love a guy with a sense of humor. I should know; I read about it in one of the Friday supplements.
-The average movie is two hours long. That's twenty minutes of movie, and an hour forty minutes of previews. There will come a time, mark my words, when people will pay 50 bucks a head, to just sit down and watch previews for the entire two hours, without even having the pretense of a movie to see. I'm not saying this is a bad thing. I'm just saying "Be ready"!
-At some point during the movie, your brother is going to have to go to the bathroom. Maybe it's because his bladder's too small. Maybe it's because he just drank 6 liters of watered-down coke. I don't know, I'm not a doctor. Whatever be the reason, you're going to have to get up and miss a good portion of the movie standing outside a bathroom stall looking like a registered sex offender despite the fact that your brother is fifteen years old, because your aunt, who is, in no offense, quite overprotective, will not have it any other way. That's OK, though; You're probably only missing the previews.
-As I left the theatre, family in tow, of course, I realized I was probably being a little immature. I mean, sure, it's embarrassing hanging out with my aunt, her two kids and my little brother on a weekend. And sure, all the tough neighborhood guys with their dates will probably beat me up the next time they see me, but Gosh Darn it, I'm twenty-five odd years old and I can be pardoned for doing something nice with my family every now and then.
And, hey, I know hanging out with your family isn't 'cool' or 'hip to the groove', but neither is writing over 1500 words complaining about it...
Current Mood: Heroic
Current Music: Tales of Brave Ulysses - Cream
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Wear Your Attitude..Really!?!?!?
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 8 April 2005, 10:03pm
Help!! I'm all surrounded by fashion elitists!! According to them, I am to fashion what Donald Trump is to hair. I walk among these elitists, talk with them daily, eat with them, drink with them, even inhabit in the same dwellings as they do. They are my friends and I am the fashion enemy.
The elitists I speak of don't come from the high-class fashion districts of Paris or NY; not even from the brazen Bombay fashion scene. I'd like to say that they mean well, but what they mean is far from well. They stand for all that is evil and uncomfortable with their odd shaped wide-for-feet shoes and their skin-tight torn and oily t-shirts. Most of my crimes of fashion these days, like the failure to know the difference between casual jeans and dressed up jeans, are of the forgivable kind. Accordingly, the elitists insult me in a joking, friendly manner. Had they known me before; in my college days, I guess; a friendship would've been impossible.
School Days - Sweating it Out
I've got a history of bad fashion choices dating back to elementary school when I fought my Mom daily on outfit choices. I was miserably proclaimed to be the one (in the family of 8 school going kids; include my cousins here!) who refuse to wear anything that even resembled 'neat', Nothing really mattered; the color, the style, the shades, the state of the buttons...Nothing! My poor Mom never ever had a chance to get me into those unheard of things called jeans, acid-washed for whose pleasure I don't know. I also used to sport some kind of gargantuan, shade glasses that spanned my brow to the middle of my nose. I still refute the claim that these frames were my choice, mainly because the sun glasses were the root of my everlasting emotional scars. It's possible they're even the cause of my unfashionable style today. At that point, it didn't matter what I wore because all anyone noticed was the huge alien force that had landed and taken over my face. I was a hopeless wreck.
Middle School - Neon to Normal
With my glasses far behind me, I started off middle school with high hopes for a new reputation. I remember my first day of sixth grade well. I had more than enough things in my mind; forget about choosing out of brown or blue shirts . Finally some white trash that I picked up to wear had 'gone out of fashion at least 10 years ago' according to my cousin. In eighth grade I began hanging around with the "elite" clique and started dressing normal for a while. But normalcy was just the brief phase before "gangster."
College - G-Funk Era
My gangster phase came with its own line of floor-scrapping, baggy Jyncos that were always at least three sizes too big, a variety of No Fear t-shirts, and 'cool' shoes. The clothes and the attitude lasted into my Inter days when I realized that girls didn't like guys who looked and acted smarter than they did. I attempted normalcy once again but faltered occasionally as in the day when I wore two completely different shoes and failed to notice for the major part of the day. From then on I thought I had it together but the elitists continue to accuse and prosecute me for fashion crimes.
After College, at Work - Guilty as Charged
It's painful getting ready for a day out with the elitists. My first choice of any outfit is always a no-go, sealed by a disgusted look and the simple phrase, "No." A shirt change is the most frequently suggested provision, so I venture back to try again. I grab a more daring piece: To my dismay the elitists were "never a big fan of Reds" Now I'm too tired to try anymore so I go with a basic, pre-approved blue v-neck with a black jeans. The boring, predictable, and most importantly, safe choice.
If I've got any nice shoes, it invariably is because of some accident (refer the post that describes SHI for more details). I used to pry over various footwear stores day-in-day-out and finally manage to buy one that was 'decent' looking according to me, and present them proudly to prove my attempt at improving my fashion sense, only to be told that I've got a characteristic "grandpa style" to my shoe choice.
"My uncle would love those shoes. In fact, he probably has a pair of the exact same ones!" one elitist proclaimed. I couldn't argue because my uncle loved them, too; he was the one who suggested I get them. To me, "grandpa/uncle style" is better than forcing my foot into something so dangerously designed it may mould my foot into a legitimate weapon.
I also don't understand the whole matching thing. I'm forbidden to wear anything but black shoes with a black jeans. Why?! How can I be expected to constantly change shoes bcoz my jeans have started fading. And who said navy or midnight blue can't go with black? Half the time I can't even tell the difference between black and midnight blue because it's midnight, and everything's dark anyway. Belts can really get ridiculous. The whole premise of a belt is to keep your pants up, right? Not only does the belt have to match the shoes and the pants, but it needs to be exact, scientifically exact. If my belt happens to be a little darker than my shoes, the whole outfit's a joke to the elitists. But I wear it anyway.
As I continue to defy the laws of fashion I can't help but wonder if I'm really so deviant. The elitists are the ones spending all their money on clothes, constantly revamping their wardrobe. They are the ones that must stay on top of the trends, never satisfied with their current attire.
No thanks, I'll just keep the shoe on the same foot.
Current Mood: Confused
Current Music: I am still alive...
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