Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Love lessons

Feel the wind caressing your cheeks,
Like the fingers of a lover running over your skin:
Gently, affectionately.
You feel like a delicate crystal
In the hands of a lover who won't let you break.
You're the most precious thing
A thing of beauty
Which gives joy to the eyes of the beholder.
The love poured into you makes you realize
The beauty within you that you had overlooked
Makes you conscious of the little faults
Which your lover sweetly calls "quirks".
The light being shone on you fills you up,
Reflected by your crystal eyes.
And others see the sparkle and shine in those once unlit orbs
And ask you if you're in love.
Yes, you are.
A love which taught you the valuable lesson
Of loving yourself once again.

Friday, July 26, 2013

I don't know why I'm writing about Domestic Abuse

I woke up today, thinking of Nigella Lawson. See, when I woke up, I was hungry (for food!) and feeling anxious. How I wished to hear her voice, whispering food nothings to me so that it would calm me down. I love watching her show, listening to her soothing voice. Ah, her voice. It sure would zenify me during one of my panic attacks.

She has it all, doesn't she? Stuff men pine for. She's voluptuous, confident, beautiful (with make up on, she may not look beautiful without that lipstick and teased hair. I'm not jealous (er, maybe a little). Just being honest), loves to cook and can cook, intelligent and has an angelic voice. She's everything a man would want in a woman. And yet her husband wants to divorce her after news of his domestic abuse broke out. (stale news, I know, it happened ages ago. But I wasn't anxious and hungry when I woke up on the day of the divorce announcement)

Domestic abuse seems to know no discrimination. And it's not just women who are victims. Men are, too. What is it that makes perpetrators of domestic violence abuse their loved ones? Many claim that they were victims of abuse themselves. I have no insight over this. I don't even know why I'm talking about abuse.

So, thou shalt go click happy. Here are some links, everyone! Click here, here and here (I'll link to an article later, promise)

Happy clicking, bitches! (I'm calling you so only because I sort of like you for reading the crap I've written. If you don't like it, please inform me. That's a hint, you *insert expletive here*, to comment)

Sunday, July 21, 2013


"Indians chase Caucasian donors for IVF" blares TOI's headline. I was intrigued. I may chase Caucasians for amorous purposes (though I must admit, I have eyes for my fellow Indians), but would I chase them for their sperm and ova? (Not ova, for obvious reasons. I would chase them for their sperm, if I had to choose between sperms and ova) Sorry, I'm a little too old fashioned for that. I don't even own a designer bag. Designer baby? No, thanks.

If a person isn't able to conceive by the conventional methods, they go for IVF/ fertility treatments. But now, we have future parents dictating whether the sperm/ovum should be fair (or dark), muscular, blue or brown eyed, blonde or brunette. Everyone is in the search for perfection. Perfect kids, perfect bodies. Perfect life? Perfection is such a screwed up thing. It's like walking towards a place at the end of an infinite road, you would never know when you get there if you get there. Sigh. I digress. Again.

The future scares me.As if it wasn't enough that I had to compete with natural beauties and brainiacs, then came surgically enhanced beauties and brainiacs. Now I have to compete with genetically superior beauties and brainiacs? This is deeply depressing. Could you wait a moment while I curl up into a fetal position and cry a little?


But if you flip the issue to the left, there's nothing wrong in choosing how your child will look like. In a way, it is similar to humans finding mates for themselves. You are attracted to, well, attractive people. How many times have you seen an intelligent and handsome guy and thought, "We could make such beautiful and intelligent babies together.(For me, it's usually "Is he rich? Is his grandpa rich?* ")" (Never say that aloud, though. Because that's just weird)

And in this day and age, looks are ridiculously important. Beauties have it much easier. Who doesn't like to be surrounded by beauty and beautiful things? (That's why I have mirrors all over my room *Smirks*) The unconventional looking ones can build character. (Oh, ways to build character, according to Calvin's dad. Here's an example:)

 Or go for surgery.

Oh, that reminds me of this exchange between George Bernard Shaw and Isadora Duncan:
I.D.: Would it not be wonderful if we could have a child who had your brains and my beauty?
G.B.: Yes, but supposing it had your brains and my beauty!

George Bernard Shaw
"No, thanks"
Isadora Duncan
"Are you sure, hmm?"

That would be unfortunate. Please don't risk it, GB and ID!
Variations of the quote here.

*That sounded so wrong. I'm not into grandpas, it's just that I'd like to know if the money is inherited or hard earned. Just curiosity. I wouldn't be attracted to a guy because his grandparents are rich. It doesn't matter who left him the money.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

9 Ways to be Happy

Remember getting something you really wanted after:
  1. Hankering after it.
  2. Sleeping with the necessary people.
  3. Kissing numerous asses. 
  4. Working your butt off for it.
Those were the good days, eh? But that wasn't my point. Remember feeling empty and thinking "This is it? I'll just jump around a little so that nobody around will see that I'm miserable."?

So I chalked up a list (I love lists! A friend compares my lists to bottomless pits. Maybe because they're cylindrical?) of things that make me happy:
  1. Lists.
  2. Horses.
  3. Bumping into a school/ college friend.
  4. Delicious clothes.
  5. Delicious food.
  6. Making delicious food
  7. Reading a good book.
It goes on and on. If you want the whole list, gimme your email id and I'll send it to you.

So, steps to be happy:
Happy golden dog
No rabies. Yay!
  1. Accept the truth that nobody's happy all the time. You may be happy for a second when you eat that ice cream, but brain freeze! Moral: Don't eat ice cream in one second.
  2. Live in slow motion. Eat slowly, love slowly, and savor the good stuff. Slowly. Exception: when a zombie is after you. Run!
  3. Be wrapped up in your own world. Don't let tongues wagging affect you. Exception: If the tongue belongs to a rabid dog. Run!
  4. Make a List-of-Things-That-Will-Cheer-Me-Up. If you don't like making lists, get a close friend to make it for you.  If you don't have a close friend, nothing to worry about! (uh oh. Reminds me of this) I'm (almost) always there for you. 
  5. Get off your butt and do something physical. Or maybe twiddle your toes now and then. Who doesn't like toned toes? Especially people with a foot fetish, if that's the crowd you want to attract.
  6. Be kind to yourself. Forgive yourself for the silly mistakes you've made, inappropriate things you've said or the bloopers you've made. 
  7. Don't compare yourself to others. You have your stuff and others have theirs. So if you look like a fish with human attributes on a Facebook photo you were tagged in, don't fret. (Hopefully) others will have fish days too.Unless you're better than others. In that case, gloat and be happy. 
  8. Oh, and point 7 reminds me of Facebook envy. Everyone posts their best moments, best pictures and best everything. So try to share in their happiness or don't use Facebook at all.
  9. Be kind to others too. Or don't be an asshole. Whichever works.
Peace and Joy!

Monday, July 15, 2013

Farewell to Armadillo.

You know what we need? A 30 second dance party. I think I'd heard it on Grey's Anatomy. And I love popping that at friends who haven't watched and they begin to doubt my sanity. Again. Why is what's normal for me not normal for others? Ah, I can hear cherubs. Momentary enlightenment. It's the reason why what's normal for others isn't normal for me. Cherubs are so whiny. That's why God made them extra cute.

I read about Hemingway and how he was a serial womanizer. He was a bundle of contradictions. I'd always imagined him as a sweet old man with grey, thinning hair and liver spots. And he'd go click- clack on his typewriter, each letter punctuated with wheezes and coughs. He'd have a homey nurse who thought the man was going senile. I never knew he'd be the guy who might pinch the nurse's bum. But I shouldn't be saying all this about him. I haven't met him, I haven't even read his books. Sorry Mr. Hemingway.

I shall read Farewell To Arms as a way of an apology. And the title does make me curious. Farewell to a beautiful woman called Armadillo? Excerpts from a conversation between Armadillo and me:
Armadillo: Friends call me arms. Just call me arms.
Me: Can I call you Dillo?
Armadillo: No.
Me: Dillo is such a cool name. Oh, it reminds me of something. Would you be offended if I tell you what it reminds me of?
Armadillo: Er.
Me: Yes or no? I think I heard "Er".
Armadillo: .......

That was a very short conversation. Huh. Farewell, Arms!

I'm really sorry, Mr. Hemingway.

I'm over thinking this title, so I'll just write some random shit

Lizard closeup
When I smile, only cuter, and less scaly, and less green
She's grouchy and keeps to herself. Smiles occasionally. With reason, she's not deranged. Er, I mean I'm not deranged. And then I don't look like myself anymore. I look beautiful. Or at least cute. Or presentable. Er.
Have you met people who don't seem to smile at all, and suddenly, they throw a smile your way? Don't they look absolutely resplendent in all their smiling glory? Like a beam of iridescent light shining down from heaven.

 That's why I smile occasionally. Because of Resplendence and/ or Iridescence.

  Smiles, they come in different styles,
  Some short, some they stretch for miles.
  So bare your teeth and at someone grin,
  And smile at strangers, just on a whim.

  Sometimes, I'm cheerful too. Occasionally.

  I'll never misspell "occasionally" ever again.