Thursday, December 24, 2009

Let's just leave it at that!

A week after I came out to my Dad, guess who calls me up?


Remember her?


She called me.


I had already ignored 9,999 of her previous calls, therefore I decided to pick this one up. What can I say? I'm nice like that, sometimes.

So we chat for five minutes, ignoring the literal elephant in the room (hey, I was looking into the mirror).

She then declared that she wanted to meet.

I immediately regretted picking up her call. I just spoke to her after a long time of ignoring her calls, and now she wanted to meet? I then realized that this is a woman who has no sense of boundaries at all. The memory of all the really horrible things she had told me about herself a few years ago came puking back.

She clearly told me that if I did not meet her she would stand outside my house and shout out cuss words in victorian english, so I was left with no choice but to meet her.  Although, to be safe, I asked her to meet me in my family home, so that there would be witnesses just in case things got a little bit out of hand. I'm smart like that, sometimes.

Anyways, time passes too fast, the metaphorical clock ticks away to five, and I ask my Mom to make sure that my precious books are distributed according to the list I have prepared, just in case I am unable to "survive" this meeting. Of course, my Mom thought I was just being a tad melodramatic. I guess I can't blame her for that. I am the same person, who, a few months ago forced her get rid of half the plants in her garden because I felt like they were too judgemental. It might sound a little crazy, but under circumstances will I be judged in my own home. At least not by those green, freeloading basteds.

Right. Moving on.

The bell rings, I pray to the almost empty bottle of Vodka on the table to keep me out of harm's way, and then I go to open the door to meet her.

Okay, fine. I didn't exactly open the door myself, I might have 'politely' asked someone from the household help to do it, just in case she was carrying a weapon. Hey, they're poor and they live in a third world country. Their lives are probably less valuable.

So let's not lose focus here, people. 

After the door is opened, S-Girl enters the house. She has the aura of a lame serial killer from a Dan Brown novel. We sit down, she makes small talk. I continue to nod constantly, while also trying to be alert enough to watch out for any sudden movements.

The conversation keeps moving while my pea sized heart tries to exit via my mouth.

S Girl: You know, we really should finish what we started a few years ago.
Me: What?
S Girl: *head tilt* You know what I'm talking about . . .
Me: No, I have no idea. I have trouble remembering things. I drink a lot, remember?
S Girl: (Moving closer) Let me remind you then . . .
Me: (getting up) I'M mmmmmm GAYYYYYY . . . VERY GAY . . . . GAYER THAN A HUGH GRANT MOVIE . . .
S Girl: What?????????
Me: Yes. I'm gay. I like boys. Not girls. Don't like girls. I mean, I like girls, but just not in that way.
S Girl: But . . . how can you be gay? . . .
S Girl: Look at you . . . you're wearing Reeboks with corduroy jeans? What's up with that?
Me: Well, I haven't entered the being fabulous phase yet.
Me: Still working on that.
S Girl: Seriously? I hope so, for your sake.
S Girl: Only redneck farmers and 90 year old Belgian grandmothers are allowed to have so much facial hair.  
S Girl: Also, that tub of lard needs to go.
Me: Hey, I just haven't shaved in a while.
Me: And that's not a tub of lard, bitch. That's my stomach.
S Girl: Just letting you know stuff, buddy.
Me: Might I remind you that you were the one who was about to KISS ME a few minutes ago?
S Girl: Yeah, but I'm a married Indian woman. I take whatever I can get.
Me: I hate you, you know!
S Girl: Ha. Fine. Tell me something I don't know.
S Girl: So, since when have you known that you're a pole smoker?
Me: Offensive, bitch.
Me: And I guess I've known since as long as I can remember.  
S Girl: Ummmm, were you gay when we were going out? 
Me: We were never 'going out', per se. 
S Girl: Well, you know what I mean!
Me: Yeah, okay.
Me: Well, I did know, I guess, but I was deep in denial at that time. 
Me: Although, now that I think about it, you probably might have helped me confirm it.
Me: I might have been confused, but after our whole thing, I was pretty damn sure I was a 'mo.
Me: Don't wanna be rude, but you might have even turned me . . . hahaha
S Girl: *Looks like a piñata got stuck up her cervix*
Me: Just a joke. Kidding. I had a drink during lunch. Lighten up. Take a deep breath.
Me: Cookie?
S Girl: So you're definitely gay?
Me: Yup. I am. Thankfully.
S Girl: Yeah. Sure. What a "loss" to straight woman. Boo fucking hoo.
Me: Yeah, that's rich, coming from a desperate housewife.
S Girl: Touché.
Me: Thank you, madam.
S Girl: So you like boys, huh?
Me: Yeah.
S Girl: Then stay away from my husband. *stupid grin* hahahaha
Me: Please, even if he is the last man on earth, I'd never hit on that sad little fucker.
S Girl: WHY? what's wrong with him?
Me: Errrrr, nothing.
S Girl: Is it the hair? Or the moustache? Or the mole?
Me: NOTHING. He seems like a nice guy.
S Girl: It's the hair isn't it?
S Girl: Or is the way he talks?
Me: Okayyyyy. Let's just leave it at that, please? Great. Thank you.
Me: So the weather is being such a bitch, isn't it?
S Girl: Is it because of the way he laughs? Does it makes you want to join a cult, too?
Me: So have you read Wolf Hall yet? I'm hearing good things about it.
S Girl: Why wouldn't you want to do my husband?
Me: Cause he is your frikin husband!! Does that mean anything to YOU?
S Girl: Meh. He's probably gay, anyway.
Me: WHAT??
S Girl: Nothing.
S Girl: I think I'd better leave.
Me: Yeah. That would be for the best.

(Then I went to see her off, so as to make sure she doesn't come back)

Me: So this was fun.
S Girl: *Silence*
Me: Nice catching up with you.
S Girl: (gets into car)
Me: We should do this again sometime.
S Girl: (closes door, starts engine)
Me: Give my best to your husband.
S Girl: (speeds away, hopefully never to be seen again!)


Do you think I might have touched a nerve, somewhere?

Even if I did, well, she started it.

Friday, November 6, 2009

. . . One huge step for Whippersnapperkind Part 2

I never thought this day would come so soon. I had promised myself not to end 2009 without telling my Dad, but I spent most of the year ignoring that.

However, for the past month, I've had this intense feeling in the pit of my stomach (that's where my brain is I think. What can I say? I'm a medical marvel!) that I need to come out to my Dad.

This past week, I had almost come out to him but I didn't because he had some stuff going on with his sister. I thought I would wait for the right time. But, then I figured that it would never be a right time and that I would just have to bite the bullet and tell him the truth.

So day before yesterday, I decided that it was D-day. I gave my Mom a heads up, and then waited for my Dad to come home from his office.

Me: Dad, I need to talk to you.
Dad: Okay.

We head to my room.

Me: Dad, there is something important I need to tell you.
Dad: Wait, let me guess, your girlfriend's pregnant.
Me: No, Dad. I don't have a girlfriend.
Dad: So your ex-girlfriend's pregnant?
Me: No, Dad, no one's pregnant.
Dad: So you've been offered a job.
Me: No, Dad. No one's that crazy. Or that desperate.
Dad: Don't say that. There are lots of people like that out there. At least I hope.
Me: Okay, Dad I can't keep having this conversation again and again.
Me: I'm not looking for a job.
Me: Now, can we move on?
Dad: Sigh. Yeah, sure.
Me: Dad, I need to tell you something which I have been keeping secret for a long time.
Dad: Is this about that time you and your friends were almost caught by the police for being underage and drinking in your car and you bribed your way out of it?
Me: You knew about that?
Dad: Pretty much.
Dad: Your friends Dad had called me and told me about it.
Me: Uh-ok.
Dad: What do you think the great lecture of '98 was all about?
Me: Okay, so that was what you were talking about when you said that I wouldn't be able to "bribe my way out of everything and that I need to stop fooling around like that".
Dad: Yeah, what did you think I was talking about?
Me: Oh, I thought you were talking about when I tried to smuggle my mathematics answer sheet out of the classroom because I didn't know the answer to any question.
Dad: You tried to do what?
Me: Ahem. Nothing. Can we move on now?
Me: And will you please stop guessing?
Dad: Okay, what is it you want to tell me?
Me: *Silence*
Dad: Yeah, go on . . .
Me: *Silence*
Dad: If you don't speak now I'll start guessing again . . .
Me: Okay, Dad, this is not easy for me to say what I was going to say.
Dad: Did you "forget" to pay your credit card bill again, for six months?
Me: No, Dad, there is something else.
Dad: Then, do me a favour and tell me what's on your mind.
Me: Okay . . . .  Dad . . . . . . I, ummmmm, don't like, mmmmmmmmmmmm
Dad: You don't like what?
Me: Dad, I don't like girls.
Dad: What do you mean?
Dad: Do you like boys, then?
Me: Yeah, sort off.
Dad: That's sad.
Me: In what sense?
Dad: You do know this is a disease, right?
Me: What, being gay?
Dad: Yeah.
Me: What are you talking about, Dad?
Dad: Well, you should see a psychiatrist.
Me: Look, Dad, I'm not asking you for advice.
Me: It's how I was born.
Me: I could have gone my whole life without telling you and there was no way you could have found out.
Me: I'm not asking for your blessing or anything. I'm basically telling you that this is how it is.
Me: And I would expect someone as educated as you to keep an open mind.
Dad: See, I'm not forcing you to do anything. Just giving you my opinion.
Dad: It's your life, and your choice.
Me: Thanks.
Me: If you feel ashamed of me, I will move out in a few months or whenever I get a job.
Dad: You really don't need to do that.
Me: What, get a job?
Dad: No, move out.
Me: Oh, it's good that you said that. I wasn't gonna move out anyway and it would have been really awkward ...... for you.
Dad: *no reaction*
Me: So I guess we're not ready to joke about it yet.
Dad: *Gets up to leave*
Me: begin sarcastic tone\ Sorry for being such a disappointment. /end sarcastic tone
Dad: *Opens door to leave, looks back* No, there is nothing like that.
Me: *shrugs*

It wasn't as bad as I expected. He didn't shout or say anything really mean. And he was probably shocked, to say the least. But I am glad I told him. It was time. Even though I think he wishes that I rather had a pregnant girlfriend, I think it's going to be fine.

He's going to do what he usually does when I take decisions which he does not agree with (basically, ALL of them). a) Sulk b) Blame my Mom for "encouraging" me c) Fire someone in his office d) Begrudgingly get on board Team Ramby.

It took me such a long time. It's only fair I let him take his. 

Anyways, the important thing is that now, there would be no more secrets. No more half-truths. No more use of ambiguous words like "partner", "fellow-human" and "casual friend".

I guess the truth does set you free!


Although, I still am never going to tell him what really happened to his car in January 1996. That secret is going with me to the grave. Or whatever weird vegan ceremony I'm going to have when I finally log out and pass on to the big blogosphere in the sky.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

One small step for man, one huge step for Whippersnapperkind

I just came out to my Dad.

It happened like 10 or 15 minutes ago.

He wasn't happy about it, but he still reacted much better than I expected.

I am still shaking.

Will be back when I can write more coherently.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

It's different!

The other day, I was reading an article written by a famous right-wing journalist who is famous for being a right-wing journalist, in which he said that he is okay with "tolerating" gay people but he thinks that it was wrong of the high court to equate hetereosexual and homosexual relationships.

Now, at that point of time, I obviously disagreed with him.

However, yesterday after reading this post here and this article here, I sort of had an #epiphany. (Sorry about the "#", I've been really using twitter a little too much. I know, I'm addicted. #snapperfail. Sheesh.)

I seem to have changed my mind.

I think equating gay relationships and straight relationships is wrong. They are not the same.

Why do I say that?

Well, the answer dawned on me after huge amounts of generalising, stereotyping, pseudo-scientific analysing, hypotheticalising (I know that's not even a word. But let's just pretend that it is. There is a word for arbitrarily pretending something is true for the sake of argument. I just can't think of it right now.) and assuming my ass off.

Now, we know that most men in our country are bought up with a huge dose of entitlement. Since the day they are born, they are taught that they always get first dibs on everything because they can pee standing up. Now the mothers spend the rest of their lives blaming other people for her son's mistakes, while the fathers spend the rest of their life blaming the mother for the extreme love and affection that they showered their son with. Yes, if there was an Olympic competition for cognitive dissonance, then most Indian parents would qualify for the gold medal.

Alternatively, Indian girls are made to realize that everyone frowns around them because daddy wanted a little boy and mommy wanted a little boy and granny also wanted a little boy. And no one really cares what grandpa wants because grandpa is 80 and delusional and sharts all the time.

So after such a  warm welcome, while the girls are growing up  it is drilled into their heads that they really are second class citizens and were sent to this earth to cook, clean and put out whenever their husband wants to fall asleep on top of them.

And then when both of them grow up, then they are paired with each other and spend the rest of their lives resenting each other and each other's parents. And when things get really bad, they have kids. Because that's the solution to every problem in a marriage.

Now, this is where gay relationships are a little different.

Usually when gay people set out to find the person they want to have a relationship with, they aren't actually looking to fulfil the position of "house_maid" or "income_generator". They aren't looking for a "smart, fair, homely girl who can make three chappitis per minute" or a "thin, fair handsome man who makes income in excess of six figures and has been to different countries like New York and the USA".

Gay people usually seek out a relationship based on trust, love for each other, mutual respect and because both of them cry towards the end of When Harry met Sally.

So, yes, Mr Right-wing journalist, gay relationships are different from straight relationships.

Thank God for that. 

Friday, July 3, 2009

India's second tryst with destiny

I always wondered what it would have been to be an Indian pre-1947. Being born into the country decades after the British had left the country, I always wondered the euphoria the people would have felt at the stroke of the midnight hour on 15 August 1947, when the world slept while India awoke to life and freedom.

Perhaps it is the same feeling that I felt yesterday. While the rest of the country was freed of colonial rule on 15 august 1947, the members of the LGBT community in India was still being treated as second-class citizens in their own country, for simply being who they are.

The judgement of the Delhi High court on 2 July 2009 has finally freed the last section of the population which was still technically under colonial rule. The judgement is historic. It provided hope to millions of people. People who have been persecuted for being who they are. Persecuted for simply wanting to love and be loved. Persecuted for being brave enough to want the rights that were guaranteed to them under the constitution.

Yesterday was India's second tryst with destiny. At the stroke of the afternoon hour, while the world looked on, India awoke to life and freedom, one more time.

The achievement we celebrate today is but a step, an opening of opportunity, to the greater triumphs and achievements that await us. Are we brave enough and wise enough to grasp this opportunity and accept the challenge of the future?

This ruling does not bring with itself social acceptance. There will still be families and friends who disapprove. People will still make still snigger. Nevertheless, the past is over and it is the future that beckons to us now. We have to learn that there will always be people who will discriminate against you because of who you are. Whether it's because of the colour of your skin, your name, your shoe size, the way you style your hair etc.

We don't need acceptance from those people nor we need a "you're moral" character certificate from the "God-hates-you" crowd.

We only need our own acceptance, and the love and support of the people who appreciate us for who we are and not who they would prefer us to be.

Be fabulous. Always.




(Okay, for those who haven't figured it out yet, this post heavily borrows from Nehru's speech that he gave to the constituent assembly on 15 August 1947. I'm sure he would have wanted to say this. He was one of us, after all. Click here for the original. )

Thursday, July 2, 2009

BREAKING: Delhi High Court reads down article 377

I never thought I would see this day in my lifetime.

I think something happened over the past week. Somehow, the world around us has changed.

This is not the end of the fight, but it's just the beginning. We do have a long way ahead.

However, right now I would like to commend the Delhi High Court for being on the right side of history.

I would also like to express gratitude for everyone who did not lose hope and kept fighting and gave a voice to millions of others.

I'll be back when I can write more coherently.

Cheers, everyone. 

Friday, June 26, 2009

Not a Dangerous Thriller

When I was old enough to have my own room, I sort of inherited it from my elder siblings. They had a variety of posters in their room because I think that's what kids used to do back then. Now, I removed the Samantha Fox and Bruce Sprigsteen posters because staring at a chic in her drawers was never my thing. However, I let one poster stand. It looked exactly like the one pictured above.

Cause I knew who Michael Jackson was before I could even read or write.

There were many pop acts and artists who were the rage when I was growing up. However, no one was as big as Michael Jackson. Most of my good childhood memories have some kind of Jackson song playing in the background.

Whether it was being thrown out of class and being punished because I wrote the lyrics to Black or White instead of my cursive writing assignment . . .

. . . Or playing basketball with Jam blaring from the boombox.  (Oh, and the song was a pop culture phenomenon. It had the other MJ, Micheal Jordan and who could miss Kriss Kross!!)

I even remember watching him perform during the Grammy awards (back when they actually meant something) in 1988, on bootleg video of the DD broadcast!


My and my cousins were actually put his performance on repeat and were dancing along.

When I think about it, it seems so lame. At that time we thought were so cool and so funny! 


Hey, we didn't have cable TV or the internet. So how was a brother supposed to pass time?


Anyway, some of his songs told me stuff about me which even I didn't know was true!

Seems so ironic now.

Maybe these songs remind me of a time when I wasn't such a cynical, jaded, smartass gasbag. Maybe it's because these songs were our symbol of rebellion, PG-13 style.

Before yesterday, when someone thought of Michael Jackson, it was usually his Wacko Jacko persona.

However, he will be remembered by most people as someone who made great music.

I'd like to say that maybe we will learn from this. Maybe we won't make other children go through the life he went through. Maybe people will finally realize that that fame, celebrity and notoriety is not for everyone. I've read a lot of comments at various places which says that when people become famous, they sign up for the tsunami which is going to change their lives. That it's okay to dehumanise someone because they are rich and famous. Surely there is no schadenfreude behind such a train of thought?

Yes, the jokes and the sleazy tabloid stories will come tomorrow. People will huff and puff for a few minutes while pretend-serious media outlets will cover those stories while their anchors feign outrage all the way to the bank. Even in death, the Michael Jackson story is going to make a lot of people a lot of money.

But today, I'd just like to . . .



Tuesday, June 9, 2009

This post does not remember being a post

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 . . .


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?

Monday, May 11, 2009

This post has no idea how it got here

I stopped being technologically relevant quite a few years ago. Technology is a tricky thing. You can only keep up to it till a certain point of time. I remember back in the "day" when I all of us who had invitation-only GMail accounts thought we were the über-geek. We used to laugh at all those with just 5 MB (or was it 2 MB?) Hotmail and Yahoo accounts. "You're not using Gmail yet? Really? I don't know how you survive with measly 2 MB of email space. Okay, if you want it that much, I'll send you an invite". For the record, I barely invited less than a dozen people. Why? Because, well, I'm cheap like that.

Anyways, there is a fine line to going from being the only one in your training class to know the difference between 32-bit and 64-bit operating systems to one day tuning into a gadget-oriented TV show and going "They can do THAT now? Ama-fucking-zing!". One really does not know when that line is passed. Hell, I went from espousing the benefits of peer-to-peer networks to discovering BiTTorrent just late last year. Yes, I know. Shameful. However, thankfully, I have over compensated for that.

Of course, that doesn't imply that I've turned totally helpless. I'm Indian. Most of us are probably born with an embedded chip in our memory. I've seen little kids who haven't yet said their first words but have coded their own iPhone application.  Go, figure.

So my almost dead inner geek woke up this morning when I read about this:

   [AP Photo]

Screw WiFi and say halo to my little friend. That's right, bitches. It's called MiFi. The Novatel MiFi 2200. (Sounds less like a wireless device and more like a WMD!)

A wireless hotspot in your pocket.

*Obligatory they-can-do-that-now shrug and head shaking*

As you all know, I am kind of obsessed with the internet. And not just check-email-every-half-hour obsessed. No siree Bob. I need to carry it around with me wherever I go, lest the world starts to end and I miss reading about it. If some natural or unnatural event is going to kill me, I would like to either write a post about it beforehand or at least send a tweet. And if I do have some time, update the status on my facebook. Something like "______ is dying of a really strange disease usually only seen in M Night Shyamalan movies".

Currently, my mobile internet requirements are being serviced by my handy GPRS enabled phone. Now GPRS is good and all, but it's only two notches above a late-90's style dial up 56k connection if you're trying to use it on your computer. Although sometimes, it's a lifesaver. Last year, when i had gone to almost-remote hilly town, the only thing connecting me to the virtual world was my trusty GPRS.  Granted, sometimes it was so slow that you would have to combine web surfing with other activities like reading a book/watching a sitcom/shooting at the local population.

The sad news is that the MiFi device can only work on 3G networks, so it will take a couple of years before being launched in India. We are just getting started on 3G networks. And right now MTNL is the only company offering it. No offense, but I pity the fool who uses MTNL. It's like wearing a jockstrap two sizes smaller than your actual size. We still get an MTNL bill sometimes even YEARS after getting that connection disconnected.

Not that the private operators are better. Recently, my mobile service provider has converted my unlimited data plan to a limited data plan. And the broadband providers are going to follow suit. Now they are going to put caps on unlimited broadband plans. So, pretty soon, when you sign up for a plan which promises unlimited, uninterrupted internet, you are in fact signing up for a, rarely fast, limited-usage account. It's like using two condoms and still ending up pregnant.

I don't use a WiFi at home. That's because basically, I really can't figure it out. And since I'm cheap, I don't want someone else piggybacking on my internet. OMFG, that makes me sound like one of those people who wanted to tea-bag Obama.

However, I'm still looking forward to the launch of this card.

Why? For the simple reason that then I can watch You Tube videos while sitting on the can!

Oh, joy!

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

This post has absolutely nothing on it's mind

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?

Friday, April 3, 2009

This post has died and gone to Costa Rica

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?

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

This post has so much to give that it's almost bursting at the seams

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?

Sunday, February 15, 2009

This post has no idea where the comments section is

So I leisurely sipping my morning coffee and trying to stop brooding so as to try to be in a good mood because I woke up early for once. Well, early as per my standards. Other people refer to it as 3 p.m. in the afternoon. Well, you say potato I say pohtato. Anyways, so the bell rings and none of the help or other members of the family are around and I suddenly have to answer it. (Don't worry. Everyone was very regretful later on. They solemnly swear not to abandon me like that again. I was still sleepy. There was so much that could have happened. What if I had hit my head somewhere and died? No one would have been there to hear and chronicle my last words. Which reminds me, I need to add a clause to my will which specifies that no body parts of mine are to be donated after I die. I don't want my eyes to see how poor people live and my liver is so drunk that it has hangovers of it's own. My heart is so tired from working that it wants to retire to the Bahamas and if they cut up and cook my stomach it could feed three small African nations for a week. As for my brain, most of it is just like my love life. Hypothetical.)

So I open the door and it's someone claiming to be the guy who checks the meter for all the water we consume. Now, I presume he's faker because as far as I know, water is a natural resource and one does not need to pay for it unless it's made by Evian and why would we have a meter for something we don't need to pay for?

As I was still in a bad mood and needed to take it out on somebody, I let him enter, made him close the gate behind him and then set my family's dogs after him. Since I am a fair person, (have I ever mentioned that?), I called the dogs back after a few minutes and let this guy him explain himself.

He simply refused to tell me the truth.

Or so I thought.

Turns out, he was telling the truth. I called and checked with my parents. We do pay for water which is not made by Evian.

Who wuda thunk it?

Also, we even have a water meter. Go figure.

So shit happens. Get over it.

After conforming the location with my parents, I took the guy to where the water meter was.

So far so good, right?

Suddenly, this guy turns to me and passes a snide remark about how "my generation" has no idea about a lot of things in the real world.

I was enraged. How dare he accuse me of not knowing how the real world works? Me??

So I lived in a house for quarter of a century and had no idea that we had a water meter. Or that we paid for our water. That does not imply that I am clueless. Not by a long shot.

I know how this world works. I watch Oprah. And once, during a school vacation, I read a back issue of Reader's Digest. What else does one need to run through life, really?

Anyways, at that time, right after he said those words, not only was I furious, I was seething with righteous anger. I was more angry than that poor kid from Vietnam who found out that he was being adopted by Angelina Jolie. To me, this jackass from the water department represented everything that was wrong with this world (fundamentalism, lack of tolerance, bad sitcoms).

So I did what any responsible and mature adult would do in my situation.

I "erroneously" pushed the stool behind him, he fell, and then I "accidentally" let go of dog's leashes, and they "sort of" mauled him. A "little".

Relax. Nothing happened to that guy.

Well, nothing-ish.

He got some bruises and a torn shirt. Serves him right, though.

Since I'm all about being fair and balanced, I had the driver take him to a doctor to get the bruise(s?) checked and I gave him money to buy a new shirt.

See, I did him a favor. The shirt he was wearing looked like it hadn't met any detergent grains in years. Thanks to my timely intervention, the shirt got to have a dignified end.

Of course, then the guy from the water department threatened litigation and my Dad had to send someone to bribe him to keep his mouth shut.

But hey, look on the bright side.

At least now I know where the water meter is.

Friday, February 6, 2009

This post is very Zen about being err...umm... a post!

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????


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

Saturday, January 31, 2009

This post would have gotten beaten up if it had ever gone to a pub

So almost every politican and their hooch drinking uncle seems to have come out against "pub culture". Yesterday, our most exalted Health Minister said that he is coming up with a policy which will put an end to "pub culture". Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is all part of the government's plan to protect us from the terrorists. If we adopt the same laws as the taliban, maybe they wouldn't train people to come and kill us and all?

But why does everybody seem to change their mind suddenly? Not because pubs haven't existed in our country. They have been here for decades. The real wink,wink nudge, nudge reason why such a large number of people in power have been feigning this outrage is because they seem to have just discovered that young, "impressionable" woman are now regular visitors to these places which dare to serve decadent western values along with each portion of chicken wings. Our esteemed leaders were under the impression that only lose woman who failed their medical examination and had no choice but to marry a man with a regular source of income, who could only be found drowning his sorrows in a city pub, were the ones who frequented pubs, and not those young teenage women who are of marriageable age and who nowadays, because of "pub culture" know more about different types of Tequila than about different ways to cook eggplant.

Suddenly these people seem to have discovered that it's the twenty first century and that women refused to be treated as free vending machines who alternate between turning out food and popping out children.

Many of these "leaders" might not agree with the methods of the goatfuckers who attacked those women at the bar in Mangalore, but they all agree with the sentiments. Of course, now the horrendous act will be justified using crazy right wing nut job logic according to which the woman were asking for it because of dressing "to provoke" and stepping outside their house without the company of a minimum of three male relatives.

These people think that by just putting a girl and a boy in a room together means that they would end up having sex. Just because most of these people were born centuries before us (some of them literally. I mean how old do you think Arjun Singh is? Multiply it by a hundred. That's his approximate age.) does not mean they know better.

We "youngsters" (they say it like we're smug little assholes) can decide which jackass politician to vote for, we can decide which brokerage firm loses our money in the stock market, we can decide which pious neighborhood we would like to desecrate with our unholy presence. In fact we can even decide how many children NOT to have (unless of course we're living in a joint family. Then it's the decision of the joint family council. Just like they show in Survivor.) So, I think we can pretty much decide how much alcohol we require so that foreplay is minimized. I mean we're Indian. The sooner we "close the deal" the sooner we can go back to praying to God for forgiving us for having sex without the intent of having children.

Legislating your own sixth century morals is against the freedom that our constitution pretends to give us. What pisses me of is when I hear people our age talk the same drivel these old farts do. They also buy into this myth of "culture". Yes. Sure. Because it's served us so well over the past few centuries. *coughsecondlargestpopulationintheworldcough*

In our country, people can get away with murder, with creating mob hysteria, with forcing little kids to work below minimum wage, but the heavens will fall and the gates of hell will devour us all if two, law abiding, tax paying citizens just want to have a cocktail together.

Makes you want to hit the bottle, dunnit?

Monday, January 12, 2009

This post is so fat that you'd want to ask it to lose weight

For fat people, the whole world is nothing like an oyster. It's more like a banquet hall filled with people who offer unwanted, patronizing advise.

If I had a nickel for every time someone has counseled me or advised me or given me tips on how to lose weight or warned me that I'm dying, I'd have enough money to have my own 21 storey library.

We all know that most people have this dellusional, self-fufilling prophecy that they know how this world works and that they need to impart this knowledge to other, lesser intelligent life forms. So that fact that I need to lose weight has been pointed out to me by a thousand candidates applying for the post of Field Marshal Obvious. In return, I give them a gift of information. I let them know that they are ugly or that their daughter's a whore or that their fifteen year old son just stole my Dad's favorite Ming vase to finance his cocaine addiction.

Of course, my Dad does not have a favorite ming vase, I never consider anyone a whore and I'll probably have a cocaine addiction when I'm forty because that's considered like dying in gay years. But it's fun to watch people drop their jaw and have a nice, warm, hazelnut flavored cup of shut the fuck up.

The advise to lose weight is often accompanied by a collorary which states that unless I lose weight I would never be able to find a thin life partner (which in 15 Indian languages means a subservient Indian housewife). Yes, because that's what the world revolves around. Thin, "fair" husband worshiping, pseudo-slave wives whose primary destiny of existence is to keep having daughters until she manages to produce a male child.

The mere thought makes me lose my lunch. Or the very least my after lunch super meal.

This remindes me of an incident. A few weeks ago, one of our family friends was visiting our house with a so called "holy" guru. Now, my family has a lot of family friends and they keep visiting. I tried to educate them about being mean and petty but they don't care about values which are important to me. Then they accuse me of not trying to bond. The nerve.

So I usually don't go to meet these family "friends" unless food items from my favorite bakery are involved. So, unfortunately for everybody except me, on that particular day, my sixth sense told me that there was choclate truffle being served and I happen to enter the room where everyone was sitting.

So this schizophrenic (not actually diagnosed, but that's what I call people who claim to speak with God. Or claim to have met Clint Eastwood.) woman serves me the usual you-must-lose-weight meal along with a side order of thin-girl-logic. So as she broke the rule of not speaking to me when I am eating, which everyone knows is sacrosanct and must be followed even during earthquakes and hurricanes, I told her to get stuffed. I called her bigoted, short sighted and said that even the statue of the laughing buddha in our drawing room is closer to God than she is.

The woman ended up putting a curse on me. Well, pick a number, medusa.

Another irritating habit that people have is to make really bad fat jokes. The only thing people say about fat people is that they eat too much. All their jokes are based on that. The other day this school acquaintance pinged me on facebook and he cracked the same joke he did on the last day of school when I poured beer on his head. I mean, c'mon chuckles, if you can't make up a good joke then at least google for one. If you want to make fun of someone, at least have the decency to use jokes which are funny. Otherwise you're just a Jay Leno wannabe.

My point is (do I EVER have one? Are you surprised?) is that fat people got the memo on being classified as ugly and not desirable when they started using swimsuit models for adverts for tobacco companies. I believe that if I have to change who I am (a glorified food whore) to get someone to like me, then it's not worth it. At least that's what I read in the best selling book "The Monk who ate his Ferrari" (It's a good read, btw). Sometimes a tiny sliver of insecurity does creep in, but then on those days I simply order a ceaser salad.

I know I do have to lose weight someday because it's not good for one's health. And maybe someday I will. When they find a way to make diet fried chicken which tastes as good as the one made using the Colonel's secret recipe.

Until then, can you please pass the coleslaw?

Thursday, January 1, 2009

This post would like all of you to have a great new year!!

So the new year is upon us. I tried making lists but that's bound to be incomplete as I'm sure to leave something out. I can't take stock cause well, that involves thinking and analyzing and that's better left to people who are good at math. I even thought of doing a pictorial collage but then there are only so many different types of Vodka.

Although I was sedated through most of it and it feels like one long weekend where you run off to your cottage in the woods and get completely wasted, 2008 was momentous and unique in it's own little way.

So here's to mind numbing headaches, bouts of depression, slight loss of vision and one big-ass hangover.

Have a great 2009, y'all !!