Tis the season, apparently

I know this has nothing to do with jingle bells or Christmas spirit but I have been watching it for the past two years on the 25th of December.

I wish Guy Ritchie would adopt me and teach me everything he knows. WHAT a Bad-ass. 

Merry Christmas. It took me about thirty minutes to type this as I'm supah wasted but I wish everyone love,light and miracles.

Today I went to visit my incredible canine friends at Friendicoes, but because of my usual lack of a camera (except for the one on my phone for which the cable is god knows where) I have no photographs. I also do not have a thousand words. 

2011 is the year of taking more pictures. 

I have posted about this movie before and I know I might seem of finite variety but it makes me SO HAPPY.  I am indeed certain that it happens all the time.


I just got driven home in really scary supernatural fog, and can't help but worry if the person who dropped me is home and alive. It was intense, nonetheless. 
Despite all my negative winter apprehensions, I think I love Delhi in the cold.
If jolly translates to drastically drunk, then tis definitely the season. 
I am taking this particular line too seriously as an excuse to not study at all about a week before my exams and keep chillin like a villain.
Time to pass out. It's been emotional. 

About ten minutes back I had one of those moments in which you forget about your life and are seized by an epiphanic happiness that cannot be explained. I was looking at my computer looking at this man's face 

(Leonard Cohen in his young pictures is just yummy. I would love to grow old and drunk with him)

when suddenly I was grinning like an idiot and my head felt light and my heart sailed away, like the way you feel the first time you smell the hills while driving up to them. This lasted exactly forty seconds. 

Speaking of surreal, I would be betraying my self important self if I didn't write about this. At the Jazz Festival thing, I met someone. He was visiting from Germany as the bassist in one of the bands. All it took was one Almost Famous van ride with the band and a drunken after-party(SO much free wine) for me to learn that intimacy doesn't at all depend on language,color, time or distance. Sometimes it takes a dream sequence(it ended as quickly as it had begun) to make you believe that the world could maybe be right. 

I will stop being overtly cheesy now. (To all girlfriends- more later!)

Despite all the getting high with a little help from my friends over bonfires and unceasing swearing, I had to wake up to the real world. Sometimes, only sometimes, ignorance could be better.

http://www.tehelka.com/story_main48.asp?filename=Ne251210Coverstory.asp

Tehelka Magazine uncovers a cruelty that only human beings that could be capable of. It's devastating, I don't even know what to say.

This is one of those days that I've been at the computer so long that I feel like my eyes and the screen are one. My biggest problem with the internet is that it makes you believe that you can be in more than one place at once. 

Speaking of which, here is something Zadie Smith wrote on my favorite topic of debate in the whole wide world. (starts with face ends with book)

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2010/nov/25/generation-why/

All the linking is because I am lazy and presently incapable of writing anything myself.

I realized today that we see our blogs like we see our bodies( when i say we, i mean me and people like me). It never looks good enough. Excessive examination makes it worse. Everyone else's seems better. Also,with apologies to my loyal friend blogger, I must say that tumblr has some pretty cool fancy shit going on. 

Gone back to not reading and procrastinating like a dingbat. All my friends from out of town have decided to return (with massive amounts of whiskey from duty free, and constant guilt trips of ' abbe main itne din baad aaya hoon yaar!!') about a fortnight before my exams start. All curses are of course directed at the morons at Delhi University exam planning committee whateverthefuck who insist on trying to ruin our December every year. Emphasis on trying.Thanks to our irresponsible determination to party, it ain't gonna happen bitchezz!! I am not going to pass on the opportunity to say my favorite combination of three words in the English language. 

FUCK THIS SHIT!! :D

After an absolutely surreal weekend at an annual Jazz festival at Delhi of drinking and more drinking, getting back to college was harder than ever. The Jazz fest is a perfect collaboration between artists and capitalists, which explains it's constant success. Volunteering is awesome fun because we get in for free and get to chill with the bands(sometimes a young, intensely hot bassist from across the continent who is kind of interested in you shows up). Chunni and I, excited as ever to be part of anything musical, were lurking in corners, smoking cigarettes, checking out random people, giving each other the 'look,cool person/thing' signal and getting inexplicably high with every coming moment.
I have a lot of friends, but C is my only bro. We're so different, but that becomes the whole point. We don't judge, we just party. You can only know a bro when you have one. She is to me what Seth Rogen is to James Franco, Kumar is to Harold, Vince and the guys are to each other, Timbaland is to Justin Timberlake, Roger Waters was to David Gilmour.

You and me, bro. Forever and for always.

My biggest problem with being a wastrel literature student is that I stop reading, because there is so much I am supposed to read. I used to think I hated poetry and didn't understand it. This man, poet and intense romantic, is one of my favorite things about going to college.

At a time when white bed covers were used on the wedding night to prove a woman's virginity, John Donne went on to defy norms on love, religion, and existence. He wrote about love as the combination of affectation and sex. He said it was unachievable without either. He was also one of the very first ambassadors of angst, which explains why I like him so much.

It were but madness now to impart
      The skill of specular stone,
When he, which can have learn'd the art
      To cut it, can find none.

Speaking of angst, on this very day about forty seven years ago, a man was born who went ahead to change every single adolescent life for all of time to come. 

Happy Birthday Jim. 

This is the first song and video by The Doors I ever watched. I was nine and we were at my uncle's house in Bangalore. He was such a raving lunatic that I couldn't help but love him. So I found my will to be weird. 

I've been dancing around to this video for about three hours. Glee FTW. 
(DO NOT watch or search for the original. It's by this hot piece of ass )
My not-so-well planned holiday with my friends to sunny beaches and boys and booze and bliss is crumbling in front of me. Life,is abysmal.
Smoke break. From nothing at all.
The times they are a wastin'.

My mother has built a bed for my dog for which he has abandoned mine.

I am unable to deal with this abandonment.

Mega Death

It is not only a person's life that is important, but also his/her death. The ancient Romans believed that the way you DIED can conquer the way you lived. According to Plutarch- Mark Antony killed himself by falling on his sword- going down in history as the greatest Roman general that ever lived. 
Kurt Kobain wouldn't be what he was to me in high school if he hadn't allegedly shot himself. Suppose he had slipped from the top of a staircase one morning and crashed his head. Then would anyone think- 'That guy knew pain, man'
With the lights out, it's less dangerous


Shakespeare often talks about triumph in death. A great man lives a great life, and dies a great death. His end - is the rest of his life. I know psychology says that suicide is downright cowardly, but why do life takers become heroic leaving us not only with our own anguish, but forcing to reflect on theirs. It is not death, but the manner of death that makes a point, creates an impact.
Suicide is painless 
It brings on many changes 


This movie takes twisted to a new level. I wasn't aware that Robin Williams could be scary. 



I don't particularly like studying psychology. I don't like knowing that if i do THIS, then I have a particular kind of problem. With a technical term to it. What if someone just wants to be a person, and not a list of mental disorders. 
But my therapist(ex) is freakin god sent and I guess I'm glad some people are studying it. 

The only thing worse than a bad throat is gargling to get rid of  it. 

My friend just told me that what she wants to do on her birthday is watch sex and the city and get 'take out'. 
I know I don't love America, but I know I live it. It's all rather confusing.

This is bloody brilliant.

http://www.tehelka.com/story_main47.asp?filename=Ne131110Damn.asp

Virtual Insanity

I just watched The Social Network. Mark Zuckerberg is insane. 
I have all the symptoms of an honest facebook victim- I know everyone from 'somewhere'. I check first thing in the morning-last thing in the night. I refresh my home page at least three times when I've logged in. At my worst times of addiction, I have found myself deep into the night staring at a complete stranger's face-physically incapable of clicking the logout button. I curse facebook ON facebook.
Everything is fast and pretty and in your face and it's always calling on you to click and know what it's saying. You can be anybody. Know anybody. 
What should take a second continues for endless hours.
You don't need to worry about making a first impression anymore. You've already made one.
Everyone else's life is just a click away. As is yours.
I cannot decide if facebook is good or evil, but what I do know that is a complete and absolute social and psychological revolution. For better,  or for worse.
When I know how to put this better, I will.
And please don't tell me that you're ON facebook but it 'doesn't matter'. I'm too deep inside to buy that shit.

Jesse Eisenberg is pretty damn good.

The world is not a small place. Facebook is.
Now if you will excuse me, I need to go update my status. 

It's Saturday Night and I can't feel it getting hot. After making and re-making several plans with my friends for regular weekend getting drunk I still find myself on my chair looking at the computer for something exciting to happen.
Oh, but something exciting DID happen. 

My house has that automatic lock system-the kind of door that locks as soon as you shut it. So at least twice a month, me, my sister or my mom- whom I inherit my absent mindedness from-get locked out of the house. Mostly it happens because my dog makes a run for it as soon as he gets the chance and all three of us-after much screaming and blaming each other-run after him. Three women and a mad dog locked out of the house waiting for rescue.
In case of this very frequent occurrence, we leave a duplicate key in our neighbor's house. TWO pairs of keys actually. 
It happened again today. I was talking on my phone to some damned insurance policy caller when I walked out with my dog slamming my door behind me. Realizing immediately what I had done I called my mom telling her to return NOW because I was in a fix. 
My mother and my sister decided to let me 'learn a lesson' so it was me and my beagle-hand in paw-all alone against the world.
This isnt the exciting part.


We had to go look for a key dude but we only found a number. A total sport, keydude decided to abandon dinner( unlike my OWN mother) and come save me. He got along with him- UNIMAGINABLY HOT son plus assistant.  I don't even remember for how long I sat in the lobby of my house waiting for him to make a new key. But what I did know, is that I had fallen in love.
People tell me that I don't know real love, because it happens to me around in around ten minutes, almost every day. Goes as quickly too. The REAL lovers, the ones I've been with-were epic failures, the ten minute ones are the ones worth remembering. 
I had felt it before. It was the same sudden happiness and swooping in the stomach and non-existence of time. Ek pal mein zindagi sorts.
My sister immediately knew what I was doing and was rather indignant and said 'OMG man sharanya. you're totally G' 
G would be gross. Like J is jealous and R is radical/remarkable/raunchy. anything you like.
For some time no one said anything but then my mom decided to do her school teacher routine. She asked him if he was training to become a key maker and he told her confidently that he had mastered the art when he was ten and was now studying and working. My mom, a little embarrassed at realizing he had probably understood all the smart-ass comments she was making in English said 'very good beta.padhai tho karni chahiye'. He then told her a story of how he landed his job (He repairs printers. A printer-mechanic) which I KNEW was meant for me-listening keenly from the corner. My mother listened, polite and bored. She doesn't understand too much hindi and screams things that 'thok doongi!' on the road when anyone is pissing her off. She doesn't like to go with my usual 'chutiya' or 'kya hai'. She says it is inappropriate and not ladylike. 
He just sat there smiling at our strange happiness of being locked out of the house and my mad mother and my mad dog playing a mad game. And I sat there being rather obvious in my infatuation and hoping the door NEVER opens because when it does, his door will be shut forever. I asked them if they wanted water, tea even and pretended to not understand how to unlock the door so he taught me but stopped when his father-the key dude-gave me a murderous look that said 'stop pretending to be stupid bitch, i'm hungry.'
It sucks. Almost all the guys I meet are idiots. The usual recitation of philosophy, politics and drunk stories from here and there was NOTHING in comparison to the silent smiling of key dude's son. I mean sure, all the knowledge of Nietzsche, Shakespeare, and girls and drugs in Thailand is great but they just don't got it like he do.
Social stigma works in a lot of pissing-off ways.
Now he is gone back to his humble abode and I am still thinking about him in mine. I don't know how to explain it. WHICH is why I know it was true. 




I used to think fish were peaceful but after I got them I knew I was wrong. There is continuous war in my tank. Big fish does literally eat small fish.
I have three- a parrot, a jewel and a blue peacock. 
The peacock is about one a half times the size of the other two and spends all it's time chasing them. My parrot's tail now looks like a mowhawk and the jewel only stays in one corner avoiding him. He has also moved the plants around and dug himself a house in the gravel under the rock I have put in the fish tank, marking his territory but not letting anyone mark theirs.
And as I saw the parrot shivering with fear, and the jewel-fierce but small-shrouded in a corner looking most annoyed I realized something needed to do be done about this godforsaken big blue peacock.
There is no place for a tyrant even in a 3 feet by 2 feet world. 
And no, fish aren't boring or stupid. If you think that yours are, you probably have goldfish or some such or don't spend enough time with them.


I forgot to mention that the man with the key to my heart had arms like Achilles.

Who da man?

Last week I was in my popular fiction class and we were studying Gone with the Wind.
The book is awful, but my professor is awesome, so it makes it bearable. She asked me what she thinks of the Rhett Butler-Scarlett O Hara relationship and I was like Rhett's the shit, come on. Ashley Wilkes, in the novel is Scarlett's other lover. He is a pianist, philosopher, and a 'fine' man while Rhett is rich, 'broad shouldered', and better in bed.
Immediately I hated Ashley and was like Rhett's the shit man, come on. 
She told us that all women— smart or stupid,independent or suppressed , are schooled from the beginning to like a protoype of man.
We all wait to BE taken. It explains a bad-boy fetish that many of us have. 


Are they Pussycat Dolls lying when they say- I don't need a man to make it happen?


If a woman is more attractive if she wears high heels, wants to be told random rubbish about the world, needs the man to hold her hand through everything then
does a man need to have a fast car, know how to stand up for himself and his chick,  fight the bad-guys from time to time.
Are we constantly fighting parts of ourselves to be more man or more woman?
Why is there a rule book that defines us as either and where did it come to exist.


I started watching Mad Men yesterday- recommended to me by a friend and neighbour- and love it. All the women are fantastic, but I hate mostly all the men- with the exception of Don Draper. Like many times already, the superficialist in me was confirmed.
Why was Don D allowed to cheat on his wife, behave like a narrow minded jerkoff , assume that a woman's dream is making a family, and still get away with it. 
Because he's sexy. He's strapping, nonchalant and mends things from time to time. I noticed everything wrong with him, but I was not angry. Only disappointed. Don to me was some sort of tragic hero, a great man fallen because of his own flaw. Essentially wrong, but attractive.


My friend Sid one day, over beer and pointless conversation said to me-
'you're really confusing man. you're pissed off because that guy keeps checking you out. (that guy being nerdy frustrated engineer from i dont know where) but if a cute guy walks in right now and does the SAME thing then you'll think it's awesome. really Shanno... WHAT do you want'


Peggy Olsen, Don's new girl secretary immediately starts sleeping with the asshole young dude in the office.  As a single woman, she is seen as controllable and vulnerable, and proves theories right. 
There's many times when I've let a dude do damage and sacrificed feminine pride, disappointing girl friends immensely.
'I can't BELIEVE HIM dude. why did you even let him!'
But only on instances when I have been madly in love, or madly drunk.


I was left wondering about what Sid- not really a man of wisdom- said. What DO we want?
Sometimes we want to be dropped home, looked out for, feel pretty, feel small, but at the same time we don't want to be undermined and overprotected. 


Being a chick is no easy job (especially in THIS city). Men believe that it is a basic human right to examine you from head to toe like you were a creature from outer space, you are ALWAYS expected to be the 'bigger person', your watchman never looks you in the eye when I have a complaint but says 'aapke papa kahan hai'.
I am yelling, arguing, swearing- trying everything that makes the people of the world take me more seriously. At the same time that I was trying to fight my way through into a man's space, I was working out because I didn't want to get fat, freaking out about having no clothes, TRYING to be the bigger person, crying and making big eyes when I was caught by cops.
There were two struggles- to break out of being just a woman, and being MORE of one.
I also realized that we cross our gender restrictions from time to time but mostly are we comfortable in these places that we are in - man or woman, boy or girl, girlfriend or boyfriend?
Is there realism in our feminism....or we still getting there?

Shakespeare says that the ideal lover is not man OR woman, not both, but NONE.
I have more questions than answers.
Mad Men is fantastic.

For more gender based confusion derived from Madmen, check out my friend what my friend Chunni has to say.

My friend M very excitedly told me about two 21 year old American girls who came to stay at her house. These girls back-packed from the north to the south, travelling in trains, eating in dhabas, and did it all the 'real way'. After seeking savage solace in the third world, they  returned to their NYC apartments and BrownBerkeley whatever. M and her dad were deeply enamored by the boundless courage of these American voyagers. 
I just don't get it.
We need to stop pissing our pants with excitement each time a gora does anything outside their bloody bubble.  
I remember having read this one day and being very pleased. 


I asked my sister to read the blog and tell me what she thinks and this is what she said- 
'It's like nice...but why do you LIKE sounding like a loser? Because you're totally not one'. It doesn't take powerful rhetoric and fancy vocab to preach wisdom.

I am going to stop trying to make myself look bad to make myself look good. 

Myeh

I hate non smoking sections. Always so frikkin quiet and fidgety and pissing off. It makes me want to stand up,scream, throw my hands in the air and run into free smoky world.


Reasons why I feel like a dumbfuck-

I believe that if I looked like this my life would be better.

Sometimes, I cannot get myself to click the 'logout' on my facebook.

Despite promising myself that I WOULD NOT check out bizarre random human beings on fb I still proceed to do it everytime.

I can't help but like this song. 

After much self examination I am still unable to see the bloody bigger picture.

I still don't read the paper everyday. or watch the news.

VH1,MTV, Zee Cafe and Star World are the only channels I watch on TV.

I cannot stop eating. Even if  I hate it,I still eat it. 

thesaurus.com is on my most used websites.

I have two hundred films on my computer but I only want to watch Mean Girls/Superbad/500 days/10 things I hate about you.

I am living without a cause,motivation or ambition. 

I don't, know anything.

In my life I have lost two ipods, a gazillion phones, a school bag, some wallets and a passport.

I am still waiting for the man of my dreams to appear at my saamne vaali khidki.

I drink too much and read too little.

I feel like I'm smarter than all stupid people but stupider than all smart ones.

My friends are the greatest people in the world but I still complain about not having a social life.

I need to switch on the AC but I cannot get up from my bed. (wireless keyboard and mouse-oh yeah)

I wish I was in a band.

My mother read my blog so I had to tell her that I lie on it about being a smoker because I want people to think I'm cool.

Then she found my gun-shaped lighter.I told her I bought it in Bombay so people in HardRock would think I was cool.

Wake me up when September ends is playing on itunes and I am doing nothing to stop it.

It's only alright to be losin your direction when you're Crispian Mills,man.

Daddy cool

 There has not been a day that I have not fought with my father. His obsessive compulsive fatherly madness drives me crazy. Every morning he'd come in to DUST my pillow for his own peace of mind. Like all delhi-fathers before I went out he'd say ' 'kya pehna hai?har ghante ek sms kariyo'

He exercised polite constraint at boys who i was seeing,shaking their hands but dreaming of breaking their legs. 
Dads are weird. Unlike my mom, he understood my constant restlessness, but he just didn't want to let me go out into the big bad world, which had given him so much shit. When I wanted to 'take a walk' at 1 am with my dog he'd remind me that I was a jawaan ladki and if i was out of my mind strolling on the streets in shorts in the dead of the night.

Everyday I'd storm out of the house telling him 'YOU CAN'T CONTROL MY LIFE I'M AN ADULT NOW FOR FUCKSSAKE' but end up getting lost on the road/caught driving without my license/get drunk and stranded somewhere and he would have to come rescue me.

My dad stopped drinking and smoking when I was ten. From a relatively chilled out,long haired, bearded human being he became starkly clean shaven and restricted his social life only to us and my grandparents. When I asked him why we never had any parties at home, and why he wasn't all the other 'cool dads' who gave their kids sips from their whiskey- he told me it wasn't his scene. 

As I grew into a more irrational, know it all, teenager I was convinced that my parents just would never get it and as soon as I could, I'd leave to become the great person they were stopping me from being.

We moved from Delhi to Gurgaon. I was estranged from all my friends and boyfriend that I thought was the first and last love of my life.

All the morons I thought were my friends today are people I walk on the street and cringe to the fact that I ever knew them. loveofmylife cheated on me, left me for someone else, and has on me the same cringing effect.

Recently, my father moved to Bombay for work. My mother went insane but my sister and I went on with our comfortable lives, missing him at times but not realizing his complete absence.

Last week I entered his crumbling, pink-walled, one room apartment with one fan and the bed the size of my dog, all I could do was go into a stunned sadness. He had neatly hung all his boring corporate clothes neatly on the window, and the house was as clean as it could possibly be.

For the first time it struck me, that my father- the man whose life ran on the three uncontrollable women in his life, was taken far away from his sole purpose. He was living away and doing his dumb job that he hated only so I could continue to have drunken nights in Khan market and buy a new pair of Zara shoes.
I wonder how that when people have kids, they go from being normal human beings to just...parents.

Tarun Tejpal in the Alchemy of desire says that there is no such thing as a rational Indian. As we strive towards intellectual liberalism, turn into atheists, cynics and non believers somewhere unreason and emotion creeps in. We track our lives between the paths of rationale and baseless faith.

 So I know that if I do become the great person I am supposed to, and find love, luck and meaning, it will all not matter if I have pissed off my dad and walked out. 
I know that nobody wants to read about this kabhi khushi kabhi ghum type bullshit but but I'm feeling lucky to have the baap of all baaps.

Still feeling like I can’t write and am at a serious loss of intelligent phrasing.

My holidays are ending and I am as always unprepared to take on the world.

Don’twanttogetoutofbed EVER.

Just want to stay inside for good. I'm going to let Brandon say it-then it all makes sense.

Today I read that falling in love is like sex and huger-a primitive, biological drive.
this book is splendid.

Howl

Can't write.
don't know why.


James Franco is Allen Ginsberg.

I am seeing the best minds of my generation being destroyed by madness.

Travelling riverside blues

Everyone's losing their minds about the Common wealth games inaugral ceremony.
I'm still wondering why this wave of patriotism hasn't hit me. A little bit of dancing,singing and shiny things and everything will be forgotten. Tis all you need for a happy ending.
All villainy has been forgiven and overlooked.


This is how my dog looks at me when I leave the house for anything

Actually not really. That's just his face-it's the only photo I have of it. In real life it's more upset and accusing.
It is a face that makes me question what sort of person I am, and the tragic act of betrayal I was going to carry out by going to college/work/drink/smoke/eat- performing the basic functions of life. It is not an easy face to forget.


I have finally gotten over my travel anxiety problem. Till last year, when I had to leave for a holiday I used to feel- nervous about where I'm going and what I'm going to do but mostly freaked out that everything I am leaving behind might change or collapse. Maybe my house will burn, all my friends will make new friends and forget all about me, or somebody will read my diary and reveal my secrets to the world.
Since I have discovered the world-basically around the time when you are losing your minds to teenage angst and drama-I have been afraid of the unfamiliar.
When I was thirteen,I was in class 8C. I couldn't make it for the class trip to Ranthambore, so later my teachers let me make up by going to Jaipur with 8A.
Instead of taking this oppurtunity to make new friends, talk to new people, or maybe just SEE a new city, I chose to feel like shit about the fact that my 8C friends must be partying without me and called them everyday from the hotel. One day I ran off from the hotel to an std booth to seek solace.
Of course, when I got back and sat down with everyone to watch a semi-porn show called Wild-on (remember that shit that came on AXN? it was basically topless people getting it on at beach parties or somesuch)
I also sang at the bonfire and got involved in many issues. 'She likes him, but he likes me. DON'T tell her.she'll feel bad.you SWEAR?'
I was the one being told the secret.A big mistake on someone's part.


But as I came into college and I realized how fucking great it was to travel and just get away for a bit because after a while where you are starts driving you crazy. My wise friend once told me that the best way I could make my life better would be by trying to make more memories, than to clinging to the ones that are familiar.
Finding out that there is so much to see in the world, so many people to meet, so many places to go to, so many insane things to eat,drink, so many guys a million times hotter and smarter than the one asshole you had been thinking was the beginning and end of your existence- is important.
And whenever I've been somewhere new, I always feel happy to come back to what I know and love.
This is one of those times I am stoned when I feel sentimental,insightful but a little akward about what I am saying.


But the sun won't stop getting brighter...and my feet are getting lighter.

People think I'm a crazing 

Lot about how they're-a-lazing 
Sunshine's all day long 
Narcotics far too strong 
Well I stroll 
On down 
On down the highway

All we wanted to do was have a girl's night in. (no, no one has pillow fights in their underwear)

It had been a hard day and my friend and I decided to eat lots of sweet things and watch a chick flick.

Like most women, I need my occasional dose of mush, and airy sentimental crap to keep me going.
Chick flicks are typically films that are heavy with emotion, contain themes that are relationship-based and are made and appreciated only by a woman audience-which of course, is a lie.

The opposite of a chick flick, is a dick flick. Dick flicks are usually about guys sharing their inner feelings with the world- having an erection when a cute girl smiles at you from across the cafe, fantasizing about your best friend's girl, not having a condom when a really hot girl throws herself at you, having an erection (get over that thing already, doods) when a the hot receptionist shakes your hand. Apart from erections and boobs, there are also drugs, usual stock market crashes and fast cars.

There are more good dick-flicks than chick-flicks. And nobody in chick-flicks smokes pot. Which is disappointing, and rather strange.

My friend insisted we watch The Back up Plan plan,starring JLo and hot-guy-who cannot act, recommended to us by her mother who laid its appeal in 'tum log ko achhi lagegi, tum bhi toh aise hi ho'.

Jlo, is a smart single girl in New York (true story) and is sick of being alone, single, smart and independent (shocking). Deciding that all men are scum, and there is no man that will ever accept her for the intimidating intelligent,independant woman that she is-she decides to get inseminated, and have a baby.

On the day she is injected with a strange random man's sperm, -she is walking down the roads of Brooklyn in sunny motherly glory, gets a cab and what does she see! A tall-blue eyed-hot guy who cannot act claiming it is his. After a brief argument with vivid sexual undertones, Jlo decides to be the big guy and give it to him (no, not like that, yet).

Hot guy follows Big (if you know what I mean) J all over town but she blows him off with a smile. The next day J runs into hotguy at a fair (?) and it is revealed that hotguy is infact, a cheese...err... maker. (FREAKIN UNREAL)

In two days, after a disaster date where they shower each other with water pipes and exchange extremely cheesy flirtatious, horrible jokes, they have fallen in love. They then go 'off for the weekend' and J blurts out that she is preggers. Hot guy obviously freaks out (jerk!) and JLo freaks out in return and begins to leave. But hotguy tells her he wants her no matter what. They live happily ever after for four months, as he gets hotter, and she gets fatter and unattractive. She has begun to stuff meat into her mouth like a freaking savage, run around throwing up all over his shoes, eat pretzels in bed, burp while they make out. (A woman DOES NOT turn into Gerard Butler when she's with child, man.) I kept waiting for her to scratch her balls.

BUT hot guy wants her no matter what.

In the middle it is revealed that J is having twins. Hot guy freaks out and makes a black married rapper friend in the playground who tells him how bad it's going to be to never 'feel her ass like that again'. In the middle of the of Big J turning into a tramp, and hot guy shitting his pants, the film brings in a birth scene. Basically, Big J is part of a single mothers support group which consists of loser ladies who are either fat, control freaks, lesbians but not ready to deal or husband killers. Hotguy and J as 'support' are forced to witness a childbirth, which is presented in the style of an African Voodoo ritual. As all these woman chant creepy shit and dance around, Big J falls into holy birth tub because she is dizzy. Hot guy is at the peak of freaking out and Jlo is soaked in birth water.

The next day the hot guy tells somebody that the babies 'aren't his' and J loses her mind. WHAT a jerk, dude. J spends the next month wallowing and being the independent woman she was until she realizes that she needs to start trusting people and 'letting them in'. So, on the day of her grandmother's wedding (AAAAAAA), her water breaks WHICH IS WHEN she decides it's time to find blue-eyed-boy.

Hot guy, though hurt goes back to her because like dude...no matter what, remember?

A famous person, I don't remember which, once said that you must write about your nightmares.

I could not think or breathe or move for about ten minutes after it ended. I had not laughed, or cried, but had just been merely aghast at the 2 hours of monstrosity that this movie had unfolded for me.

Sometimes when I sleep, I can still see the African birth ritual in my head and I wake up and my mind does not rest again.

It should have just been hot guy parading around with his shirt off in a sea of cheese.

And Jenny should really go back to the block.

Today I watched this film. It stars Ranbir Kapoor and Priyanka Chopra and is easily one of the most predictable hindi films ever made. But I laughed, and cried, and felt a connection of either affection or sympathy or just 'oh he's such a loser but he's so sweet', with almost everyone in the film.

I feel like our cheesy romances are way better than theirs.

At least we don't put in gross crude shit or have weird mid-life crises, and the main dude is actually interested in the woman and not just her ass. And our music is kick-ass.

Now I think I have had my dose of occasional sentimental crap and I am going to go read.

My constant reference to Bollywood in first person is an effect of my deep bond with it.

Floo-red

I hate the flu. It's not bad enough to be glamorous- watch endless TV,get take out,have hot sympathetic visitors etc. But it is bad enough to not want to do anything but lie around and look at the ceiling, eat bread sticks all day, feel pissed off, make cheese your best friend, and (a sign that I need a fix cause i'm going down) spend all your time on facebook(UGH).
I wonder what happened to an interest in books,films,music,food,news,animals,bizarre tales of love and life,and REAL people-instead of these smiling unfamiliar faces with drinks in hand glowering at me from my computer screen.

The only good thing about the influenza(apart from influenza being a coolasshit word), is the fever-drugs. 

I love this film I love this song I love this video.
It makes me want to fly.
But I'm still sitting in an english garden,waiting for the sun.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
I wish the floo would floock off.