Life’s all about control and I’ve got very little of it. I cry easily, and laugh just as quick. I lose my temper in ahem… the twinkling of an eye, and more often than not, I'll have a snappy response to just about anything you have to say. You could say I’m fiery, but I’m not really all that hot.
I have an evil alien living in my larynx. I call it Bob. It likes to rear its ugly head during intense and stressful moments in my life. Like job interviews. Especially job interviews. I remember this one time, when I was in my third year of college; I had this interview with this one company. The HR person asked me what I would do to improve the human brain. My oh-so-smart answer was *Drum rolls* - A lobotomy.
I blame Bob.
But think about it. Sometimes a lobotomy would be good. Not the scary, creepy ones they force on unsuspecting people in Sidney Sheldon books and old Hollywood movies from the 60’s of course. But what if we could magically eliminate all negative thought? (Ok... MOST. We don’t want turn into Stepford wives.) I can’t help but wonder how far we can go once we let go of all the fears, doubts and insecurities that we KNOW are holding us back. It’s easier said than done obviously, just like all the other things we should be doing.
I got baptized two weeks ago, which to an Adventist is a pretty big deal. And I, in true drama queen/worrywart fashion, spent the week before that living in total terror. I was petrified about, of all things, the pastor losing his grip and dropping me into the water (as opposed to well… not). After all, there’s only so much a man can take, right? Well he didn’t drop me. Woohoo. Wait, actually, I did fall… but that was much, much later and thankfully, it was OUT of the baptismal tank. It was still in front of a pretty sizable crowd though.
Oh well. You win some, you lose some.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
When Hips Do Lie
The family has served me with one of them cease-and-desist thingums. It’s from my secret stash of potato chips. Now I have a restraining order against my crunchy-munchies. As queen of the snackers, I can only cry, ‘TREASON!!’
Whatever.
My mom has a very scientific approach to dieting. She says, ‘Eat whatever you want. Just eat half the quantity. See? Basic Math.” So let’s see. Half the quantity would mean that I’m twice as hungry and therefore TWICE as cranky. Now that’s some freaky-deeky math you do NOT want to get involved with.
So my fitness regime is gonna start like all the others – carefully choreographed to ‘Eye of the Tiger’. I expect to see drastic results in about 20 to 40 frames. What?? You mean life’s NOT like in the movies??
No shit.
Whatever.
My mom has a very scientific approach to dieting. She says, ‘Eat whatever you want. Just eat half the quantity. See? Basic Math.” So let’s see. Half the quantity would mean that I’m twice as hungry and therefore TWICE as cranky. Now that’s some freaky-deeky math you do NOT want to get involved with.
So my fitness regime is gonna start like all the others – carefully choreographed to ‘Eye of the Tiger’. I expect to see drastic results in about 20 to 40 frames. What?? You mean life’s NOT like in the movies??
No shit.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The Good, The Bad, The Blah.
So yesterday, my dad threw an orange at me. In a totally playful, sporty, non-child abuse kinda way. Unfortunately, I 'flinched' instead of 'caught'. I've never seen my dad look so disappointed in me ever.
Disappointing mumsy and pops? Not my favorite thing. However there are things I do like. So I present to you,
'Sheryll's Sporadically Announced List of Thingums in No Particular Order of Preference'
The Good - Things I do like:
*Strawberry and Cream Alphenlibe lollipops.
You don't have to spell it right to enjoy it.
*People-watching
Not judge. Watch. OK.. sometimes judge.. but mostly watch. OK FINE! Always judge. Happy now?
*The smell of new Bata chappals.
I once bought a pair... not to wear. Just coz they smelled nice. True story.
*Watching small children crying on their way to the school bus in the morning.
HA ha. I like to point and laugh. Poor kiddos. What a life! Waking up at 6 in the morning to catch a bus to go to a place that demands so much dedication and effort. (The fact that I noticed all this from my cab that picks me up at 7:30 every morning to take me to work, only just occurred to me. Thanks a lot.)
*The feel of crisp, clean bedsheets.
Mmmm. Ain't nothing better than that.
*Curling up with a really good book.
Rainy day, comfy chair/bed, hot hot Kapi, and of course, the all-important awesome book. Nice. Haven't come across enough of those tho.. (the awesome books I mean) Recommendations would be welcome.
*Shoes.
Sheryll like pretty shoes. One day the shoe-makers of the world will realise that not every one has size 3 feet and that day, Sheryll will... Well, first stop talkin in the third person.
*The scent of my elder sister's old clothes.
It always smells warm and comfy and clean. Three of my favourite things.
The Bad - Things I don't:
*Waking up early in the morning.
I will not be human till 10. Don't try to make any intelligent conversation with me till then. If you do, you will be rewarded with.. nothing. Just Don't Do It.
*Watching TV with the parents.
What is with TV nowadays?? I was watching Saturday Night Live the other night and my dad plopped on the couch for some father-daughter-TV-watching time. (Well, actually my dad wanted to steal the remote and change to some annoying sports channel. Clever person that I am, I sat on the remote instead. Lala.
Current State of Remote Control: It don't move no more.)
Anyways, so I was watching tv with the padre, when suddenly the folks on SNL decide to do a spoof on.. wait for it.. Basic Instinct. Guess which scene was the erm... focal point? I wanted to die.
The next day, I was watching Private Practice with my dad (Smart I know.). And Tada! The show was about a 13 year-old kid who has gonorrhea.
My curfew is now 4:30 in the afternoon. Hmph.
*Walking outside during/after it rains.
I dont care how 'romantic' people say it is. It's mucky, yucky, and gross. Wake me up when the monsoon ends.
*UB40
Make them stop.
The Blah- Things that don't really bother me, but I can live without:
*My co-workers and a certain someone nick-named 'Stewie'.
So my friends at work have been teasing me with the afore-mentioned person... and they aren't subtle about it. Now this person actually thinks I like him, and has developed an attitude overnight. How do I tell this person, that the only reason we call him Stewie is coz he looks (unfortunately) like the evil, matricidal baby from Family Guy? And that the only reason they tease me with him, is because I said it first? How? How? Life is so difficult for us pretty folks. (Snort hehe.. must keep straight face. )
*Vegetables.
Barf.
Enough said.
Disappointing mumsy and pops? Not my favorite thing. However there are things I do like. So I present to you,
'Sheryll's Sporadically Announced List of Thingums in No Particular Order of Preference'
The Good - Things I do like:
*Strawberry and Cream Alphenlibe lollipops.
You don't have to spell it right to enjoy it.
*People-watching
Not judge. Watch. OK.. sometimes judge.. but mostly watch. OK FINE! Always judge. Happy now?
*The smell of new Bata chappals.
I once bought a pair... not to wear. Just coz they smelled nice. True story.
*Watching small children crying on their way to the school bus in the morning.
HA ha. I like to point and laugh. Poor kiddos. What a life! Waking up at 6 in the morning to catch a bus to go to a place that demands so much dedication and effort. (The fact that I noticed all this from my cab that picks me up at 7:30 every morning to take me to work, only just occurred to me. Thanks a lot.)
*The feel of crisp, clean bedsheets.
Mmmm. Ain't nothing better than that.
*Curling up with a really good book.
Rainy day, comfy chair/bed, hot hot Kapi, and of course, the all-important awesome book. Nice. Haven't come across enough of those tho.. (the awesome books I mean) Recommendations would be welcome.
*Shoes.
Sheryll like pretty shoes. One day the shoe-makers of the world will realise that not every one has size 3 feet and that day, Sheryll will... Well, first stop talkin in the third person.
*The scent of my elder sister's old clothes.
It always smells warm and comfy and clean. Three of my favourite things.
The Bad - Things I don't:
*Waking up early in the morning.
I will not be human till 10. Don't try to make any intelligent conversation with me till then. If you do, you will be rewarded with.. nothing. Just Don't Do It.
*Watching TV with the parents.
What is with TV nowadays?? I was watching Saturday Night Live the other night and my dad plopped on the couch for some father-daughter-TV-watching time. (Well, actually my dad wanted to steal the remote and change to some annoying sports channel. Clever person that I am, I sat on the remote instead. Lala.
Current State of Remote Control: It don't move no more.)
Anyways, so I was watching tv with the padre, when suddenly the folks on SNL decide to do a spoof on.. wait for it.. Basic Instinct. Guess which scene was the erm... focal point? I wanted to die.
The next day, I was watching Private Practice with my dad (Smart I know.). And Tada! The show was about a 13 year-old kid who has gonorrhea.
My curfew is now 4:30 in the afternoon. Hmph.
*Walking outside during/after it rains.
I dont care how 'romantic' people say it is. It's mucky, yucky, and gross. Wake me up when the monsoon ends.
*UB40
Make them stop.
The Blah- Things that don't really bother me, but I can live without:
*My co-workers and a certain someone nick-named 'Stewie'.
So my friends at work have been teasing me with the afore-mentioned person... and they aren't subtle about it. Now this person actually thinks I like him, and has developed an attitude overnight. How do I tell this person, that the only reason we call him Stewie is coz he looks (unfortunately) like the evil, matricidal baby from Family Guy? And that the only reason they tease me with him, is because I said it first? How? How? Life is so difficult for us pretty folks. (Snort hehe.. must keep straight face. )
*Vegetables.
Barf.
Enough said.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Fear Factor
I wanna be a rock star.
I do. Really. I can totally imagine myself rocking on stage with this insanely awesome outfit which would be kinda Gwen Stefani-meets-Joan-Jetts-without-any-of-the-Olivia Newton John. I've already got the diva-like attitude down so I'm very capable of throwing a hissy fit over my non-4000 thread count bedsheets and insisting on only red M 'n' Ms and seedless grapes in my dressing room.
The only thing I cannot imagine, is the singing.
It's not like I'm bad at singing. I'm pretty good actually. I can do the crazy trills and stuff, and I KNOW I'm sing better than of the Spice Girls, but then again.. that isn't that high a standard to live up to. I just have a teeensy weensy bit of problem with my pitch. Shivonne put it more erm.. succinctly. She said, "Sheryll. Your pitches are bitches." (I have such an encouraging family. Joy.)
Well, there's that, and the fact that I CANNOT sing on stage.
I can stand alone, on stage, in front of thousands of people, and talk about God knows what, for God knows how long. And I have. I can have a ridiculous role in a skit and act in front of any number of people and not get well, too nervous. Been there, done that too. But sing? No. I just can't.
I've been terrified of things most people don't give a rat's furry bottom for. For example, 12th grade sports day. Being student body president, I had to give the opening speech in front of a huge crowd. I also had to lead the march past. No prizes for guessing what scared me more. I was petrified of MARCHING. Marching! It's just walking! But easier! Still.
Fear's a funny thing. People are afraid of everything from things that go bump in the night, to I don't know, cheese. But the scariest thing for me is to just exist. Not live. Exist. If, like Shakespeare said, all the world's a stage and all people it's players, it would be just awful if my only part was as the tree in Act II, Scene 4. Easily replaced by Styrofoam and cardboard cut-outs.
What if no one missed you when you're not there? What if no one even REALIZED that you were missing? My best friend in my first semester of college was a great deal more popular than I was, so therefore, I spent a lot of time feeling like an extra. A prop that eats, if you will. And that wasn't an overly pleasant time for me, I'll tell you that. I haven't learned much from that experience, except that it sucks to be invisible.
Well, I'm not invisible now. At least I think I'm not. Which truthfully, is all that's necessary. I know that if people have trouble 'seeing' you, it's just that their eyesight wasn't all that great to begin with. End of story.
P.S. I just got my salary. Now it doesn't matter even if I were invisible. I'm invisible, but with money. And that's good enough for me. Woohoo!!!
I do. Really. I can totally imagine myself rocking on stage with this insanely awesome outfit which would be kinda Gwen Stefani-meets-Joan-Jetts-without-any-of-the-Olivia Newton John. I've already got the diva-like attitude down so I'm very capable of throwing a hissy fit over my non-4000 thread count bedsheets and insisting on only red M 'n' Ms and seedless grapes in my dressing room.
The only thing I cannot imagine, is the singing.
It's not like I'm bad at singing. I'm pretty good actually. I can do the crazy trills and stuff, and I KNOW I'm sing better than of the Spice Girls, but then again.. that isn't that high a standard to live up to. I just have a teeensy weensy bit of problem with my pitch. Shivonne put it more erm.. succinctly. She said, "Sheryll. Your pitches are bitches." (I have such an encouraging family. Joy.)
Well, there's that, and the fact that I CANNOT sing on stage.
I can stand alone, on stage, in front of thousands of people, and talk about God knows what, for God knows how long. And I have. I can have a ridiculous role in a skit and act in front of any number of people and not get well, too nervous. Been there, done that too. But sing? No. I just can't.
I've been terrified of things most people don't give a rat's furry bottom for. For example, 12th grade sports day. Being student body president, I had to give the opening speech in front of a huge crowd. I also had to lead the march past. No prizes for guessing what scared me more. I was petrified of MARCHING. Marching! It's just walking! But easier! Still.
Fear's a funny thing. People are afraid of everything from things that go bump in the night, to I don't know, cheese. But the scariest thing for me is to just exist. Not live. Exist. If, like Shakespeare said, all the world's a stage and all people it's players, it would be just awful if my only part was as the tree in Act II, Scene 4. Easily replaced by Styrofoam and cardboard cut-outs.
What if no one missed you when you're not there? What if no one even REALIZED that you were missing? My best friend in my first semester of college was a great deal more popular than I was, so therefore, I spent a lot of time feeling like an extra. A prop that eats, if you will. And that wasn't an overly pleasant time for me, I'll tell you that. I haven't learned much from that experience, except that it sucks to be invisible.
Well, I'm not invisible now. At least I think I'm not. Which truthfully, is all that's necessary. I know that if people have trouble 'seeing' you, it's just that their eyesight wasn't all that great to begin with. End of story.
P.S. I just got my salary. Now it doesn't matter even if I were invisible. I'm invisible, but with money. And that's good enough for me. Woohoo!!!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Trans-mortification
Trans-mortification (noun)- to be so ashamed that one wants to transform into another entity.
Sound familiar? Welcome to my childhood.
My life is one long trans-mortification after another, and I remember every single one of them. Here are a few.
5th grade- My very soulful rendition of 'All the colors of the rainbow'.
I found out from the recording. I did sound like a cat dying.
6th grade- Uniform skirt shows more loyalty to bench than to wearer.
My teacher asked me a question. I stood up. My skirt did not follow. Praise God for petticoats and overly-prudish mothers.
7th grade- Finding out why I was so good at musical chairs.
No one wanted to get in the way of my big caboose. I once pushed this guy out of the chair at a Christmas party. (I get ruthless while playing musical chairs.. who'd have thought?). We found him three days later under the tree. I used to have a huge crush on him. He never DID ask me out. Go figure.
8th grade- Getting ready for my annual class photo.
It was just after PT, and i was vain. So I ran to the nearest reflective surface to preen and adjust my uniform. Unfortunately, that reflective surface was the window of the Chemistry lab and every single 11th grade boy saw me fidgeting with and then tucking in my shirt. That taught me the 'perils of vanity'. I learned my lesson well. If u ever saw 'High school Sheryll' or 'College Sheryll', you'd understand. No one can look like that and still be vain. Actually, u can.. but then it would be call delirium.
11th grade- Pizza Hut.
There was a Pizza Hut in a nearby township in Kuwait. That was my family's 'place'. Birthday? Pizza Hut. Good report card? Pizza Hut. Weekend? Pizza Hut. So we went to India for vacation one summer and consequently, did not go there for amost two months. When we finally did go back (by 'back' I mean BOTH Kuwait and Pizza Hut... which to my muddled, muddled mind, is the same thing) yeah, so when we entered the restaurant, the entire staff clapped. GAAH!
Today- The fall and recovery
I fell down the stairs today. In front of my colleagues. I thought I recovered pretty well because I literally bounced back up and struck a pose. Apparently, that was funnier than my 'tumble'. How do I know? Because after my oh-so-esteemed colleagues 'regained their composure', they told my boss. In graphic detail. Hmm... Wonder if Gemini Circus is hiring.
Obviously, you can see that I embarrass pretty easy. I am also embarrassing. Very, very. But that, like 'The Cat in the Hat', is a different story.
Sound familiar? Welcome to my childhood.
My life is one long trans-mortification after another, and I remember every single one of them. Here are a few.
5th grade- My very soulful rendition of 'All the colors of the rainbow'.
I found out from the recording. I did sound like a cat dying.
6th grade- Uniform skirt shows more loyalty to bench than to wearer.
My teacher asked me a question. I stood up. My skirt did not follow. Praise God for petticoats and overly-prudish mothers.
7th grade- Finding out why I was so good at musical chairs.
No one wanted to get in the way of my big caboose. I once pushed this guy out of the chair at a Christmas party. (I get ruthless while playing musical chairs.. who'd have thought?). We found him three days later under the tree. I used to have a huge crush on him. He never DID ask me out. Go figure.
8th grade- Getting ready for my annual class photo.
It was just after PT, and i was vain. So I ran to the nearest reflective surface to preen and adjust my uniform. Unfortunately, that reflective surface was the window of the Chemistry lab and every single 11th grade boy saw me fidgeting with and then tucking in my shirt. That taught me the 'perils of vanity'. I learned my lesson well. If u ever saw 'High school Sheryll' or 'College Sheryll', you'd understand. No one can look like that and still be vain. Actually, u can.. but then it would be call delirium.
11th grade- Pizza Hut.
There was a Pizza Hut in a nearby township in Kuwait. That was my family's 'place'. Birthday? Pizza Hut. Good report card? Pizza Hut. Weekend? Pizza Hut. So we went to India for vacation one summer and consequently, did not go there for amost two months. When we finally did go back (by 'back' I mean BOTH Kuwait and Pizza Hut... which to my muddled, muddled mind, is the same thing) yeah, so when we entered the restaurant, the entire staff clapped. GAAH!
Today- The fall and recovery
I fell down the stairs today. In front of my colleagues. I thought I recovered pretty well because I literally bounced back up and struck a pose. Apparently, that was funnier than my 'tumble'. How do I know? Because after my oh-so-esteemed colleagues 'regained their composure', they told my boss. In graphic detail. Hmm... Wonder if Gemini Circus is hiring.
Obviously, you can see that I embarrass pretty easy. I am also embarrassing. Very, very. But that, like 'The Cat in the Hat', is a different story.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Yellow Bikes, Puff Sleeves and Asianet - Oh my!
I am a twisted, twisted person.
Why? Here's an example. I thought Russell Crowe was super hot as the troubled, emotionally stunted cop in L.A. Confidential, as opposed to (gluteus) Maximus in Gladiator. Maybe I couldn't get over the whole man-in-leather-mini-skirt thing. Thankfully i got over that by the time Troy was released. Come to think of it, I cant remember anything from that movie other than the fact that most of the characters wore my very favorite shade of blue. Well, that and Brad Pitt's thighs.
Well, there are some things I'll just never understand and in honor of those 'things' I give you
'Sheryll's Top Ten Things I don't Understand'.
1. Why my parents named my brother 'Swilin'.
Apparently it was supposed to be a combination of my parents' names -Sampson and Leena. But Swilin?? How did tat come?? WHERE did it come from?? What does it MEAN?? WHY?????
2. Yellow bikes and cars.
I hate yellow vehicles. Whenever I see one, I don't know whether to burn it, or do the Mexican Wave.
3. Elbow-length puff sleeves.
'Fashionistas'. Sure it may be/was in fashion. But elbow-length, puff sleeves look good on NO ONE. It just gives u super broad shoulders which, unless you're an NFL player, is NOT a good thing. So there.
4. My hair.
Why o Why must my hair misbehave so? I tell you, my friends, I'm not follicle-y challenged. I'm follicle-y FED UP.
5. Boys who diss girls who wear make-up.
From what I have heard, apparently girls who wear make-up are distorting their true looks (or beauty.. depending on who you ask.) I'm sorry guys, but girls wear make-up becoz we dont have any facial hair to mutilate into goatees/french-beards/Blackbeards.. watever. It's the same principle. Get over yourselves already.
6. Old people who say that the present generation is going to the dogs.
I'm sorry, was Idi Amin born in 1986?
7. The roads in Banashankari. And the route to Avenue Road.
I. Just. Dont. Get. It.
8. Wannabe 'non-conformists'.
'I'm gonna head-bang to Metallica, wear black and have an affinity to skulls and metal-link chains. Coz I want to be unique, JUST like everyone else.' Barf.
9. Asianet serials.
They begin every weeknight at 7 PM and end.. actually.. they never end. Want to watch American Idol on Star World? No! Because Enda Manasa Putri's on. World coming to an end? Not now, they just found out what happened to the baby-daddy on Swapnam. End ammo!!!
10. Newton's Third Law of Motion.
This one is really embarassing to admit. I mean.. here I am, an electronics engineering graduate and I still cant wrap my head around this one. 'Every action has an equal and opposite reaction'.
Q. So how do things move??
A. If the reaction is in the same direction as the force..blah blah Newton, apple, gravity, chandeliers, fuzzy woodland creatures.. I'm sorry, what?
And now for Sheryll's list of 'Things I DO Understand'.
1. Newton's First Law of Motion
I understand inertia. Anyone who's seen 'Sheryll at home' vs 'Sheryll at work' knows what I'm talking about. My motto in life was 'No fear, no inertia'. Erm.. Zero out of two ain't bad rite?? Oh to live in denial. (Just like most other Egyptians. Guffaw..)
2. Why I spend 75 bucks every two months and buy myself a copy of Cosmopolitan.
One word. Shoes. Glorious shoes. Clothes may come and go but a pair of high-heeled, red-soled, Christian Louboutin shoes is a joy forever. (My parents should fall on their knees every day, and thank the good Lord that He 'blessed' their oh-so-beloved-third child (that would be me) with feet the size of Godzilla's mother... the hormonal, pregnant one. Yay them. Bah.)
That's it. Obviously I don't understand much. Quelle surprise, I know.
Why? Here's an example. I thought Russell Crowe was super hot as the troubled, emotionally stunted cop in L.A. Confidential, as opposed to (gluteus) Maximus in Gladiator. Maybe I couldn't get over the whole man-in-leather-mini-skirt thing. Thankfully i got over that by the time Troy was released. Come to think of it, I cant remember anything from that movie other than the fact that most of the characters wore my very favorite shade of blue. Well, that and Brad Pitt's thighs.
Well, there are some things I'll just never understand and in honor of those 'things' I give you
'Sheryll's Top Ten Things I don't Understand'.
1. Why my parents named my brother 'Swilin'.
Apparently it was supposed to be a combination of my parents' names -Sampson and Leena. But Swilin?? How did tat come?? WHERE did it come from?? What does it MEAN?? WHY?????
2. Yellow bikes and cars.
I hate yellow vehicles. Whenever I see one, I don't know whether to burn it, or do the Mexican Wave.
3. Elbow-length puff sleeves.
'Fashionistas'. Sure it may be/was in fashion. But elbow-length, puff sleeves look good on NO ONE. It just gives u super broad shoulders which, unless you're an NFL player, is NOT a good thing. So there.
4. My hair.
Why o Why must my hair misbehave so? I tell you, my friends, I'm not follicle-y challenged. I'm follicle-y FED UP.
5. Boys who diss girls who wear make-up.
From what I have heard, apparently girls who wear make-up are distorting their true looks (or beauty.. depending on who you ask.) I'm sorry guys, but girls wear make-up becoz we dont have any facial hair to mutilate into goatees/french-beards/Blackbeards.. watever. It's the same principle. Get over yourselves already.
6. Old people who say that the present generation is going to the dogs.
I'm sorry, was Idi Amin born in 1986?
7. The roads in Banashankari. And the route to Avenue Road.
I. Just. Dont. Get. It.
8. Wannabe 'non-conformists'.
'I'm gonna head-bang to Metallica, wear black and have an affinity to skulls and metal-link chains. Coz I want to be unique, JUST like everyone else.' Barf.
9. Asianet serials.
They begin every weeknight at 7 PM and end.. actually.. they never end. Want to watch American Idol on Star World? No! Because Enda Manasa Putri's on. World coming to an end? Not now, they just found out what happened to the baby-daddy on Swapnam. End ammo!!!
10. Newton's Third Law of Motion.
This one is really embarassing to admit. I mean.. here I am, an electronics engineering graduate and I still cant wrap my head around this one. 'Every action has an equal and opposite reaction'.
Q. So how do things move??
A. If the reaction is in the same direction as the force..blah blah Newton, apple, gravity, chandeliers, fuzzy woodland creatures.. I'm sorry, what?
And now for Sheryll's list of 'Things I DO Understand'.
1. Newton's First Law of Motion
I understand inertia. Anyone who's seen 'Sheryll at home' vs 'Sheryll at work' knows what I'm talking about. My motto in life was 'No fear, no inertia'. Erm.. Zero out of two ain't bad rite?? Oh to live in denial. (Just like most other Egyptians. Guffaw..)
2. Why I spend 75 bucks every two months and buy myself a copy of Cosmopolitan.
One word. Shoes. Glorious shoes. Clothes may come and go but a pair of high-heeled, red-soled, Christian Louboutin shoes is a joy forever. (My parents should fall on their knees every day, and thank the good Lord that He 'blessed' their oh-so-beloved-third child (that would be me) with feet the size of Godzilla's mother... the hormonal, pregnant one. Yay them. Bah.)
That's it. Obviously I don't understand much. Quelle surprise, I know.
Friday, August 22, 2008
'Conspiracies' - a musical
The radio gods are against me.
How else can I explain them playing the songs of BOTH UB40 AND Wham! in the same hour?
'Bands' like UB40, Wham!, the BeeGees, etc. are like the Crocs of music - flashy, easy and unbearably offensive to anyone with good taste.
If music be the food of love, please.. Make. Them. Stop.
But not like I have such a refined taste in music. A certain friend (you know who you are!) decided that my erm... predilection for bands such as Aerosmith and Def Leppard is my most feminine characteristic. (Oh I feel pretty now! Pfff) I am what i like to call, a music adulteress. I rarely stay faithful to any one genre of music for very long. I still remember my Spice Girls and Aqua phase. That phase is over.
I do enjoy really cheesy music tho. The kinda music u'd want to 'disco- dance' to. Given it's at the right time and place. Coz tat's me - Eclectic by nature, flaky by choice. (Joy.)
This post was supposed to be entitled 'McQuirky' and I was gonna write about my oh-so-quirky nature (Because you know, I amuse myself so... Watever.) But that is for another day (Amen? How dare u!)
How else can I explain them playing the songs of BOTH UB40 AND Wham! in the same hour?
'Bands' like UB40, Wham!, the BeeGees, etc. are like the Crocs of music - flashy, easy and unbearably offensive to anyone with good taste.
If music be the food of love, please.. Make. Them. Stop.
But not like I have such a refined taste in music. A certain friend (you know who you are!) decided that my erm... predilection for bands such as Aerosmith and Def Leppard is my most feminine characteristic. (Oh I feel pretty now! Pfff) I am what i like to call, a music adulteress. I rarely stay faithful to any one genre of music for very long. I still remember my Spice Girls and Aqua phase. That phase is over.
I do enjoy really cheesy music tho. The kinda music u'd want to 'disco- dance' to. Given it's at the right time and place. Coz tat's me - Eclectic by nature, flaky by choice. (Joy.)
This post was supposed to be entitled 'McQuirky' and I was gonna write about my oh-so-quirky nature (Because you know, I amuse myself so... Watever.) But that is for another day (Amen? How dare u!)
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Sports, my Waterloo
Sports and I, we're not a good team. K.. bad puns (and lousy grammar) aside, I'm obscenely bad at sports. So bad, that I'm injurious to YOUR health. Really. I kid you not. I once broke my friend's fingernail while playing basketball. Not the pretty ,'Oh my manicure' kinda nail breakage. Oh no.. it was the bloody, potential infection type.. the really fun kind. Ooh.. she was mad then.. The fact that we're both still best-est friends is testament to what a nice person I am.. or She is (you chose.)
It always bothered me tat I was so dismal at sports. Any kinda sports.. basketball, football, cricket, even foozball. I mean, I'd gladly give up my learning-to-read-by-myself, never-had-to-study-for-a-math-exam-till-college brain (the pinnacle of scholastic achievement I know. Pff) Yes, I'd gladly give it all up just so I could be phenomenally good at sports. Or even marginally, for that matter.
The other day I was 'attempting' to play foozball in the break-room at work. So some young, hot-shot-like nerdy boys decide to play against me. No prizes for guessing who's ego/pride/self-respect died a painful, painful death.
When I was younger, it bothered me SOO much that I couldn't imagine guys having crushes on me. All because i was soo athletically challenged. The first time I was 'asked-out', my reply was 'I can't throw, I can't catch, I can't run, I can't hit. Can you deal with that?' (I thought it was really cool at the time.. i wasn't too bright as a child) I was so petrified of people finding out my evil secret ( like I've said before, i obviously wasn't too bright as a child) tat I never played anything at all. Shivonne, my sister still teases me for reading Tinkle at a beach picnic instead of playing.
Well, things have changed now.. comparatively at least. I'm still pathetic at any kind of sporting activity. And I still freeze at the thought of competitive sport playing. But I've learned to let go.. to an extent. Maybe one day I'll find a sport I'm really good at. Maybe I'll get over my lame-ass paranoia. Till then I shall take heart.. I kick ass at thumb-wrestling.
It always bothered me tat I was so dismal at sports. Any kinda sports.. basketball, football, cricket, even foozball. I mean, I'd gladly give up my learning-to-read-by-myself, never-had-to-study-for-a-math-exam-till-college brain (the pinnacle of scholastic achievement I know. Pff) Yes, I'd gladly give it all up just so I could be phenomenally good at sports. Or even marginally, for that matter.
The other day I was 'attempting' to play foozball in the break-room at work. So some young, hot-shot-like nerdy boys decide to play against me. No prizes for guessing who's ego/pride/self-respect died a painful, painful death.
When I was younger, it bothered me SOO much that I couldn't imagine guys having crushes on me. All because i was soo athletically challenged. The first time I was 'asked-out', my reply was 'I can't throw, I can't catch, I can't run, I can't hit. Can you deal with that?' (I thought it was really cool at the time.. i wasn't too bright as a child) I was so petrified of people finding out my evil secret ( like I've said before, i obviously wasn't too bright as a child) tat I never played anything at all. Shivonne, my sister still teases me for reading Tinkle at a beach picnic instead of playing.
Well, things have changed now.. comparatively at least. I'm still pathetic at any kind of sporting activity. And I still freeze at the thought of competitive sport playing. But I've learned to let go.. to an extent. Maybe one day I'll find a sport I'm really good at. Maybe I'll get over my lame-ass paranoia. Till then I shall take heart.. I kick ass at thumb-wrestling.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Picture Imperfect
I hate getting my picture taken. Hate it. I hate it so much that I've used the same passport photo for 5 years ... which was awkward since I had an extremely short boy cut then and looked well... like a boy. And whatever you say about post modern fashions, androgyny is not really the look for me.
I think it began when I was about 13 and went to get my passport photo taken. I went to this little studio near my house. Now getting your picture taken, especially those of the passport variety, is a pretty big deal in my family. It's this epic ordeal of hair washing and styling, make-up, a suitable outfit which wouldn't clash with skin-tone or make-up, even a dash of nice perfume (I know.. like the picture is gonna come out literally smelling like roses.. Pfff) All in all, trying to get that perfect blend of drama and subtlety.. JUST for a bleeding photo. So anyways, there I was.. 13 years old and full of hope.. walking into the photo studio and coming out, about an hour later, dejected, sad and clutching a photograph in which I looked like the unholy love-child of a cocker spaniel and a beaver, only uglier. And so it began, my intense aversion to cameras of any kind.
Things only got worse in the 11th and 12th. Then, in every picture, I came out looking like either:
So my cousins came to India recently.. and that spurred a whole string of photo-ops. Oh, how my cup overflows with happiness and joy. It helped that I acted so insane every time we hung out that now they probably think I've the IQ of a gnat (or flea.. or like Frenchie said in Grease, 'amoeba on the flea on a dog', well whatever's lower.) You really gotta love the 'I think she's like tat only' comment. It's such a great excuse. Yay justification!! Anyways.. so pictures.. yes.. Not. Pretty. Again.. It's like every photo should come with some kinda warning. Maybe something along the lines of 'Old people, young children and people with heart disease, please avert your eyes. The following pictures might be potentially detrimental to health.'
Maybe one day technology will bless us with a camera that makes everyone look amazing. Till then, Thank God for PhotoShop.
I think it began when I was about 13 and went to get my passport photo taken. I went to this little studio near my house. Now getting your picture taken, especially those of the passport variety, is a pretty big deal in my family. It's this epic ordeal of hair washing and styling, make-up, a suitable outfit which wouldn't clash with skin-tone or make-up, even a dash of nice perfume (I know.. like the picture is gonna come out literally smelling like roses.. Pfff) All in all, trying to get that perfect blend of drama and subtlety.. JUST for a bleeding photo. So anyways, there I was.. 13 years old and full of hope.. walking into the photo studio and coming out, about an hour later, dejected, sad and clutching a photograph in which I looked like the unholy love-child of a cocker spaniel and a beaver, only uglier. And so it began, my intense aversion to cameras of any kind.
Things only got worse in the 11th and 12th. Then, in every picture, I came out looking like either:
- A boy. (Wonder if my super short boy-cut style hair was the reason.. Hmmm... the mystery remains. )
- I was really high on some kind of narcotic/hallucinogenic.
- I really NEEDED some kind of medication.
- An unfortunately close relative of the canine family.
So my cousins came to India recently.. and that spurred a whole string of photo-ops. Oh, how my cup overflows with happiness and joy. It helped that I acted so insane every time we hung out that now they probably think I've the IQ of a gnat (or flea.. or like Frenchie said in Grease, 'amoeba on the flea on a dog', well whatever's lower.) You really gotta love the 'I think she's like tat only' comment. It's such a great excuse. Yay justification!! Anyways.. so pictures.. yes.. Not. Pretty. Again.. It's like every photo should come with some kinda warning. Maybe something along the lines of 'Old people, young children and people with heart disease, please avert your eyes. The following pictures might be potentially detrimental to health.'
Maybe one day technology will bless us with a camera that makes everyone look amazing. Till then, Thank God for PhotoShop.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Comfortably Numb, Conveniently Dumb
OK. Yes. I know. It's been two months since my last post. To all my fans (Yes, all two of you) I apologize. My beloved elder sister, in whom I am well pleased, came home for vacation with her son and husband. Therefore, I spent the month of May being pounced on/attacked by my 6 year old nephew. (Curse you Animal Planet and your documentaries about the Serengeti) Yes. During the month of May, I had a magical metamorphic transformation from 20 year old engineering student to African Water Buffalo. (Sigh... talk about ten years of therapy in the making) But I realized that I do like children... well, as long as they're not mine. (Egads!)
Ever heard a song that just reaches in and grabs your very soul? Like someone, somewhere, somehow listened to the meandering ways of your heart and put them to music? For me, it was 'Don't Cha' by the Pussycat Dolls. Naw, just kidding. But just imagine. Oh the humanity!
Anyways, so I was driving down Cunningham Road the other day, listening to the radio and cursing all the other errant drivers with erm.. how to put it delicately.. papillon d'amour (The great thing about foreign languages is that you can say the most vile and disgusting thing and it literally comes out smelling like daisies.) Papillon d'amour. I don't know what's grosser, the very idea or the fact that it's so common the French actually have a metaphor for it.
But I digress.
Anyways, I was listening to the radio and the song Comfortably Numb was on. I don't know what it was about that song. Maybe it was the fact that I was in a very introspective mood, or maybe I was just really bored. But it really worked for me then. Now I haven't listened to the song as many times as I'd like to have bragged about. But the title. It really got me thinking. About complacency mostly. See, I was always conflicted about the idea of complacency vs contentment. I mean, what's the difference? I've heard so much about how being complacent was a character flaw not an attribute. But contentment is an achievement. I mean, Huh?
From what I understood from the song, I figure it talked about how we sometimes shield ourselves from having extreme emotions, whether good or bad, about how we just exist in some kind of emotional limbo. How we become trapped in this comfort zone and no event, no matter how extraordinary, will jolt us out of that. It's a bit scary if you think about it.
Tomorrow's my very first day at work and I'm understandably super-excited. But I'm also a little nervous. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, a rat-race, a zoo, a random woodland creature petting farm, whatever. I fear that in that race to be No. 1 (coz u know, no one wants to be number 2. Say it with me.. AIYYO!!) Yeah. in that race, what if I lose sight of what really matters? What if i get 'complacent' with my position in life aside from work? I'm not against the Yuppie dream of a big house, car and paycheck. Heck, I want TWO cars! But still, what if I forget that while that holy trinity of materialistic awesome-ness is important, it's not the MOST important? I sure hope I don't.
I also really hope I don't stink at my job too. But dare I ask of so much?
To all who are/will be joining work in the near future, All the best and W00t! W00t!! We're gonna be earning.. we're gonna get caaash. *does the raise-the-roof move*
Ever heard a song that just reaches in and grabs your very soul? Like someone, somewhere, somehow listened to the meandering ways of your heart and put them to music? For me, it was 'Don't Cha' by the Pussycat Dolls. Naw, just kidding. But just imagine. Oh the humanity!
Anyways, so I was driving down Cunningham Road the other day, listening to the radio and cursing all the other errant drivers with erm.. how to put it delicately.. papillon d'amour (The great thing about foreign languages is that you can say the most vile and disgusting thing and it literally comes out smelling like daisies.) Papillon d'amour. I don't know what's grosser, the very idea or the fact that it's so common the French actually have a metaphor for it.
But I digress.
Anyways, I was listening to the radio and the song Comfortably Numb was on. I don't know what it was about that song. Maybe it was the fact that I was in a very introspective mood, or maybe I was just really bored. But it really worked for me then. Now I haven't listened to the song as many times as I'd like to have bragged about. But the title. It really got me thinking. About complacency mostly. See, I was always conflicted about the idea of complacency vs contentment. I mean, what's the difference? I've heard so much about how being complacent was a character flaw not an attribute. But contentment is an achievement. I mean, Huh?
From what I understood from the song, I figure it talked about how we sometimes shield ourselves from having extreme emotions, whether good or bad, about how we just exist in some kind of emotional limbo. How we become trapped in this comfort zone and no event, no matter how extraordinary, will jolt us out of that. It's a bit scary if you think about it.
Tomorrow's my very first day at work and I'm understandably super-excited. But I'm also a little nervous. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, a rat-race, a zoo, a random woodland creature petting farm, whatever. I fear that in that race to be No. 1 (coz u know, no one wants to be number 2. Say it with me.. AIYYO!!) Yeah. in that race, what if I lose sight of what really matters? What if i get 'complacent' with my position in life aside from work? I'm not against the Yuppie dream of a big house, car and paycheck. Heck, I want TWO cars! But still, what if I forget that while that holy trinity of materialistic awesome-ness is important, it's not the MOST important? I sure hope I don't.
I also really hope I don't stink at my job too. But dare I ask of so much?
To all who are/will be joining work in the near future, All the best and W00t! W00t!! We're gonna be earning.. we're gonna get caaash. *does the raise-the-roof move*
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Perceptions schmerptions.
I think I ate my inner punk rock star. Ok not really… Duh. But either way, it’s gone. I kinda imagined my style statement to be sorta emo-punk-meets preppy-diva. You know, with wild hair and attitude to match. Behenji-gets-accquainted-with-flared-jeans? No, not so much. Somehow mild-mannered EC student by day, manic depressive by night, wasn’t quite the dazzling future I had in mind.
Lately I’ve been wondering about all of us, and our perceptions of us. Who am I? Who or what decides what a person is or isn’t? (Waddaya know? Megalomania and manic depression. Yes folks, I am the perfect woman. The line forms to my left. No pushing. And no, I won’t hold my breath waiting.)
So a friend, whose opinion matters a lot to me, told me the other day that I wasn’t as independent as I claimed to be. This got me thinking. See, I’ve always prided myself on being self-sufficient, self-reliant, one of ‘em Destiny’s Child-esque Independent Woman. Reflecting on my friend’s not so well received comment, I got to wondering. Who does decide who you get to be? Yesterday I would’ve said “Me! ME!!” Now I’m not sure. Come on, everyone of us is a little delusional. (Obviously, some more than others) I used to think I’d be this bad-ass biker chick with leather pants, the Harley, the open road and bugs in my teeth... the whole shebang... (For some reason, I’d always be blonde in the daydream… Hey, I was 10 and admittedly, not that bright =D) Truth is, I’d rather bake than bike and my idea of a perfect vacation includes sun, sand and some brightly colored fruity concoctions. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love zooming down a highway with the wind in my hair and my foot on the accelerator. So does that make me thrill-seeking speed junkie or spoiled hedonistic brat? Like I said before, who decides?
Oscar Wilde said ‘Some people are other people’. (Well, he also said,” Crying is the refuge of the plain. Pretty people go shopping’. That doesn’t mean I reach for my MasterCard every time I get yelled at. I like to assume that I’m pretty. My blog, my delusions) But it was really apt for what I was feeling. How much of us is ‘other people’? How much of our attitude is defined by another person? How much of it is triggered by our obsessive need for approval or in some cases, disapproval? How much do we suppress for fear of being rejected? What’s the point?
I’m not half of the free-spirited wild thang I’ve wanted to be. But if there’s one thing I learnt in the past few years, it’s the capriciousness of the human mind. I learnt that no matter what you do, how nice you are, or how you look, people will bitch. About you. Behind your back, in you face, at a 45 degree angle, whatever. And it’s not worth trying to be those ‘other people’ just to gain acceptance. That I learnt the hard way. I guess the best thing we can do is deal and get used to it.
Here’s to dealing.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Sheryll and the Traffic Police - A Merry Adventure
Those *&^%@#% took away my license.
The title of this entry was supposed to be "My fun day at Leela Palace" but alas, because of certain beer bellies in brown, it was not meant to be.
The scene: Three well-dressed girls riding home in nice car after super fun boy/boyfriend-free day spent roaming around and intense picture-taking at Leela Palace
The characters: 3 super-fly girls (Hey.. my story.. humor me ok? please?), two bored/frustrated/insert-expletive-here traffic cops, one cell phone
The time: 5 30 PM, 14th Feb 2008 (Yes, i'm ranting a month late. Im lazy. Get over it)
The 'crime': Attending to phone call while driving
The penalty: Rs 1100/- (OK so my insurance papers died as well.. but ELEVEN HUNDRED???)
The outcome: Not nearly enough cash in wallet, hence resulting in confiscation of license till the fine is paid.
And then??: I had to bring my folks the next day, drive ALL the way to THAT police station, pay the fine and THEN when i asked for a receipt, was informed that getting a receipt would take THREE days (yes, coz they'll have to find someone and confiscate a pen too) and to come on Monday evening that is, IF i still wanted the receipt i.e. Policeman code for 'Check it out.. it's goin in my pocket and u cant do anything about it.. nyaaa nyaa'. Aah to know that my safety is in the well-oiled hands of such upstanding paragons of virtue. Joy.
I tell you. The ninth circle of hell is full of them corrupt cops and.. and.. and.. AUTO drivers!!!! They are truly evil.. necessary.. but evil.. with their SUPPOSED mono-lingual-ness(?), seriously tampered super fast meters (One kept on running.. even when the auto STOPPED!! True story) and ridiculous bumper stickers ("I date only models??? Love is sweet poison??? Hai Premalata??) But i have a plan. I will get my revenge
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Tea and Cake, or Death!
So I'm on a diet.
Love the day just before the start of one. So full of hope and faith that this time around I will actually lose the weight, everyone will love me, and there will be world of peace and happiness wherein people will gather around every fireplace/bonfire/burning-house/witch-burning-at-stake, clasp hands and sing Kumbaya. Kinda like New Year's Eve. HATE the third day of diet, which is like the 15th or so of January when you realize that you're not going to get skinny, people will still hate you, there will not be world peace and yes, Britney Spears will prance around with no clothes, hit everything in her path and STILL manage to conjure up a new car everyday (Ok, so I watch E! news. Sue me). And also that yes, you're still very hungry. TEA AND CAKE, OR DEATH! I love Eddie Izzard. He's so bizarre. Shivonne introduced me to his comedy clip thingies on youtube. Its soo super funny (waddaya know... my first product placement. YAY ME! I’m a Bollywood movie!)
I only just realized that this is my first journal entry of the year (of the year? or in the year?? Oh where is Wren and Martin when u need it? I remember when we'd cover tat book with really ugly sticking paper. White with orange flowers... no less) I learnt a lot of things last year- tat no matter what happens, I'll never end up old and living with six cats (I'm allergic) and that contrary to popular belief, studying for an exam is more important than carol singing and showing off newly acquired toe-socks. And also that yes, other than my very erm… fresh potato salad of yesteryears, I can cook. Here’s to learning new things in 2008. Happy New Year y’all!
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