BFF: Ask Sheryll, she’s really good with relationship advice.
Bob: Yeah, Things are so much clearer when you’re looking at things from the outside in.
Meet Bob.
Bob is an evil alien who took up residence in my voice box and is the reason for everything that’s wrong with the world. Well, mine at least. He’s like Superman only instead of being really buff and an all-round swell guy, Bob is invisible and strikes whenever there’s a lull in conversation. If there are awkward moments to be had, never fear, Bob’s here.
Here are some of Bob’s best in no particular order of preference.
1. So what are your feelings on vegetables?
Well, we were at the dinner table. And the guest (yes, the guest) was really quiet.
2. Work’s great coz I don’t have much.
Lie. Truth - Work’s great and I do have much. My boss reads this. Ahem.
3. I’m not laughing with you, I’m laughing at you.
I was.
4. Is he the guy who wrote seven habits of highly effective people?
Point 14. Enough said.
5. Even though it’s our car, it’s beautiful, no mama?
Hey, I was 8, ok?
6. No, YOU’RE tired.
It was in response to a guy who said I looked tired. I suppose he meant that in a good way. I didn’t say it out loud though. He was a big guy.
7. That’s the saddest thing I've ever heard
This was in response to my gym instructor’s incredible words of wisdom - Life is constant struggle. I had to do 10 extra push ups for that. Luckily I broke my foot and never went back to that gym again.
8. My name is Sheryll Sampson and I was told that they’d give me cake.
This was at a wedding. I was one of the M.C.s and we were told that we had to introduce ourselves like 5 seconds before we went on stage. Thankfully, some people laughed. OK, fine. Two. Thanks Mommy. Thanks Shiv.
9. Respected Princess, teachers, and my dear friends.
Opening line of my first assembly speech. My principal was really nice to me after that though. I wonder why.
10. Can I touch your face?
Yes, really. It was to an acquaintance. In my defense, she had skin that looked like she lit a lamp under it. Sniff, it was beautiful.
-
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Girl Gone Mild
This is not how I thought I’d spend my 20s.
I always thought that once I turn 21, I’d spend my Saturday nights channeling Lindsay Lohan and make monumental mistakes that I’ll regret for the rest of my life. Instead I’m at home trying to decide what I should bake for the church’s upcoming charity food sale. (For those who care, I’m leaning towards my usual marble cake but this time, I’m making them cupcakes. I know. I’m dangerous. Hmph.) It’s not like I’m in heavy pursuit of intelligent or scholarly activities either, the most spirited discussion I’ve had in the past month was with my mother… over whether or not I have dimples.
So I found this old photo album the other day. I also found out that beauty-wise, I peaked at 14. It’s been downhill since then. I still wonder though. When did I go from Ooh La La to Oompa Loompa? Was it when I chopped off all my hair and took to wearing bandanas every time I went outside? Or was it when I stopped shopping and started wearing my dad’s shirts instead? Either way, my mid to late teens was one long spiraling descent into bad fashion choices and even worse hair. 16 year old Sheryll would’ve been Tim Gunn’s Sistine Chapel. My poor mom. She really tried to instill good fashion sense into us. She always dressed us up real cute when we were younger. (Although the jury is still out over the brown corduroy overalls and blue sweater combo I wore as a three year old.)
Yet, even through that cloud of bad denim that hovered over my teenage years, I had a vision. I honestly believed that my life would change once I turned 21. I was positively biblical about it. I figured that when I was a child, I thought as a child (and dressed as Rosie O’Donnell), but once I’d become an adult, I’d put away childish things and I’d become beautiful, I’d become smolderingly hot, I’d become Jessica Rabbit – with hair and clothes that defied the very laws of gravity.
Yeah, that didn’t happen.
Today all that’s changed is that I have longer hair and wear clothes actually designed for women. It’s not ideal but at least no one calls me ‘Sir’ anymore. And I don’t get hit on by lonely Arab women. I get the stink-eye instead which in girlworld is definitely a marked improvement.
I think one of the most difficult things we have to face as we get older, is the fact that most of the time, ‘who we want to be’ and ‘who we really are’ are usually two very different people. While some are inherently wild and crazy, perhaps some of us are just born to be mild. I’m a little older now and a little wiser too. I realize now that I have a bigger chance of ending up looking more like Roseanne Barr than Jessica Rabbit. That I’m a little more country than rock ‘n’ roll. Maybe this too, is one of my phases. Maybe it’s not. I hope I get used to it anyways. I hope I eventually learn to embrace this new me. But most of all, I hope Steppenwolf makes a song about me. Sing it with me now - Booooooooorn to be Miiiiilld.
I always thought that once I turn 21, I’d spend my Saturday nights channeling Lindsay Lohan and make monumental mistakes that I’ll regret for the rest of my life. Instead I’m at home trying to decide what I should bake for the church’s upcoming charity food sale. (For those who care, I’m leaning towards my usual marble cake but this time, I’m making them cupcakes. I know. I’m dangerous. Hmph.) It’s not like I’m in heavy pursuit of intelligent or scholarly activities either, the most spirited discussion I’ve had in the past month was with my mother… over whether or not I have dimples.
So I found this old photo album the other day. I also found out that beauty-wise, I peaked at 14. It’s been downhill since then. I still wonder though. When did I go from Ooh La La to Oompa Loompa? Was it when I chopped off all my hair and took to wearing bandanas every time I went outside? Or was it when I stopped shopping and started wearing my dad’s shirts instead? Either way, my mid to late teens was one long spiraling descent into bad fashion choices and even worse hair. 16 year old Sheryll would’ve been Tim Gunn’s Sistine Chapel. My poor mom. She really tried to instill good fashion sense into us. She always dressed us up real cute when we were younger. (Although the jury is still out over the brown corduroy overalls and blue sweater combo I wore as a three year old.)
Yet, even through that cloud of bad denim that hovered over my teenage years, I had a vision. I honestly believed that my life would change once I turned 21. I was positively biblical about it. I figured that when I was a child, I thought as a child (and dressed as Rosie O’Donnell), but once I’d become an adult, I’d put away childish things and I’d become beautiful, I’d become smolderingly hot, I’d become Jessica Rabbit – with hair and clothes that defied the very laws of gravity.
Yeah, that didn’t happen.
Today all that’s changed is that I have longer hair and wear clothes actually designed for women. It’s not ideal but at least no one calls me ‘Sir’ anymore. And I don’t get hit on by lonely Arab women. I get the stink-eye instead which in girlworld is definitely a marked improvement.
I think one of the most difficult things we have to face as we get older, is the fact that most of the time, ‘who we want to be’ and ‘who we really are’ are usually two very different people. While some are inherently wild and crazy, perhaps some of us are just born to be mild. I’m a little older now and a little wiser too. I realize now that I have a bigger chance of ending up looking more like Roseanne Barr than Jessica Rabbit. That I’m a little more country than rock ‘n’ roll. Maybe this too, is one of my phases. Maybe it’s not. I hope I get used to it anyways. I hope I eventually learn to embrace this new me. But most of all, I hope Steppenwolf makes a song about me. Sing it with me now - Booooooooorn to be Miiiiilld.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Peeves. Pet Peeves
In case you’re wondering, yes, I are grumpy. Therefore I present to you:
Sheryll’s Mammoth(-ish) List of Pet Peeves/Hates
1. Automatic taps. For they do not obey me.
2. People who insist on pronouncing it 'arse' and correct me when I don't.
3. The word ‘economics’. Is it eh-co-NOH-mics or e-COH-no-mics or what?
4. People who say that love is blind. It’s not. If it were, gyms would go out of business.
5. Bathrooms with the door open.
6. Blond highlights on dark Indian chicks.
7. Guys who color their hair.
8. Fake accents.
9. People who move their hands too much. It’s so distracting. Although I’ll admit it. I do it too. Waddaya know? I’m my own pet peeve.
10. Auto drivers who try to race you.
11. Rainy days. Nothing good comes from rainy days except like, plants and trees and stuff.
12. People with 24/7 perfectly styled hair. It’s wrong and unnatural.
13. People who use big pretentious words like ‘juxtaposition’ or ‘plethora’. Who speaks like that anyways?
14. My insane pathetic need to make people think I’m smart. That juxtaposed (Heh heh) with my less than stellar memory for names, well… it sucks. Take the other day for instance. My boss and I were talking about management books, both network-wise and otherwise.
My Boss: So Walter Goralski’s written some really good books on management.
Me: You mean the guy who wrote ‘7 Habits for Highly Effective People’?
My Boss: (pause) No. I mean Walter from Documentation.
Fail.
15. People who fix their hair while looking at their reflection IN MY GLASSES. I want to take them outside and slap the road with their face.
16. When my jokes die.
All the conference rooms in my office are named after movies. The company’s spread over two buildings. So last Friday, my colleague and I were supposed to go to the other building for a meeting. It was in this conference room called Braveheart (I kid you not). We faithfully made our way there only to find out that they changed the venue to Finding Nemo (Still not kidding). In a strange twist of irony, no one knew when Finding Nemo was. The receptionists on the 3rd floor told us to go to the 4th floor. The folks on the 4th floor told us that it was in the 5th floor. The folks on the 5th floor told us to go to the 2nd floor. There is no 2nd floor. It’s occupied by another company. We finally found the conference room on the 1st floor only to be told that the venue was changed again. This time to a training room… which turned out to be right next to Braveheart (They may take our sanity, but they will never take OUR FREEDOM!!!). These two conference rooms literally shared a wall. Anyways, rants aside, we ended up arriving 20 minutes late.
Enter Sheryll and colleague (Big hug Preets!)
Me: Sorry we’re late. We couldn’t find Nemo.
Everyone else - *silence*
I hate everybody.
Sheryll’s Mammoth(-ish) List of Pet Peeves/Hates
1. Automatic taps. For they do not obey me.
2. People who insist on pronouncing it 'arse' and correct me when I don't.
3. The word ‘economics’. Is it eh-co-NOH-mics or e-COH-no-mics or what?
4. People who say that love is blind. It’s not. If it were, gyms would go out of business.
5. Bathrooms with the door open.
6. Blond highlights on dark Indian chicks.
7. Guys who color their hair.
8. Fake accents.
9. People who move their hands too much. It’s so distracting. Although I’ll admit it. I do it too. Waddaya know? I’m my own pet peeve.
10. Auto drivers who try to race you.
11. Rainy days. Nothing good comes from rainy days except like, plants and trees and stuff.
12. People with 24/7 perfectly styled hair. It’s wrong and unnatural.
13. People who use big pretentious words like ‘juxtaposition’ or ‘plethora’. Who speaks like that anyways?
14. My insane pathetic need to make people think I’m smart. That juxtaposed (Heh heh) with my less than stellar memory for names, well… it sucks. Take the other day for instance. My boss and I were talking about management books, both network-wise and otherwise.
My Boss: So Walter Goralski’s written some really good books on management.
Me: You mean the guy who wrote ‘7 Habits for Highly Effective People’?
My Boss: (pause) No. I mean Walter from Documentation.
Fail.
15. People who fix their hair while looking at their reflection IN MY GLASSES. I want to take them outside and slap the road with their face.
16. When my jokes die.
All the conference rooms in my office are named after movies. The company’s spread over two buildings. So last Friday, my colleague and I were supposed to go to the other building for a meeting. It was in this conference room called Braveheart (I kid you not). We faithfully made our way there only to find out that they changed the venue to Finding Nemo (Still not kidding). In a strange twist of irony, no one knew when Finding Nemo was. The receptionists on the 3rd floor told us to go to the 4th floor. The folks on the 4th floor told us that it was in the 5th floor. The folks on the 5th floor told us to go to the 2nd floor. There is no 2nd floor. It’s occupied by another company. We finally found the conference room on the 1st floor only to be told that the venue was changed again. This time to a training room… which turned out to be right next to Braveheart (They may take our sanity, but they will never take OUR FREEDOM!!!). These two conference rooms literally shared a wall. Anyways, rants aside, we ended up arriving 20 minutes late.
Enter Sheryll and colleague (Big hug Preets!)
Me: Sorry we’re late. We couldn’t find Nemo.
Everyone else - *silence*
I hate everybody.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
There's a Hole in My Bucket List, Dear Eliza, Dear Eliza.
I did not watch the Bucket List. So, in honor of that, I present to you-
“Sheryll’s Funky List of Things She Wants to Do/Learn… Eventually”
1. Learn to cook regular food… after all, man does not live on cookies alone.
2. Figure out how to wear a dupatta. My dupatta and I are like Oscar Wilde and the wallpaper in the room he died in– One of us has to go.
3. Learn all that I can about cars so that I’ll never get ripped off by another mechanic again! Right now, all I know is that the left wheel’s connected to the tail bone, and the battery’s connected to the femur. Wait. No. Huh?
4. Learn to play the guitar. Who knows? I might become the next Steve Vai, or the next Sid Vicious, or… Nancy.
5. Learn basic DIY skills and be able to fix things around the house… just to be able to say ‘Can I fix it? Yes I can!!’ (Bob the builder’s my hero.)
6. Learn to be competitive about things that matter, like my career and volleyball, instead of at things like charades and impromptu ‘walk-races’ with unsuspecting strangers.
7. Learn to not get monster annoyed when people call me ‘that girl’.
8. Learn to ride a bike. How awesomely bad-ass would I be then??
9. Learn to ride a bicycle. Yes. Yes. I am ashamed. But I was afraid of bicycles as a child. My brother tried to run me over with my tricycle when I was 4. I was so traumatized. OK, so it was just my toe. I’m sensitive ok? I’m a delicate lady and if you don’t agree with me, I’ll beat you to death with my pretty pink parasol.
10. Learn to walk like a girl. I’ve been told that I walk like a man. And not a very attractive one at that. Hmph. With family like this, who needs therapy? *slowly raises hand*
In other news, my darlingest baby sister, Shivonne, turned 21 this month. Ah Shivy, my voice of sartorial reason, I’d be running off to work in my jammies if it weren’t for you. At the risk of sounding totally Juno, you’re the cheese to my macaroni, the mavvadikaya to my pappu-korra (Hey, we’re Telugu. Get over it.) You’ve always been there for me even though I constantly embarrass you with my super-cool car dance moves. And after all this time, there’s only one question I want to ask you – What IS that strange ticking noise?
“Sheryll’s Funky List of Things She Wants to Do/Learn… Eventually”
1. Learn to cook regular food… after all, man does not live on cookies alone.
2. Figure out how to wear a dupatta. My dupatta and I are like Oscar Wilde and the wallpaper in the room he died in– One of us has to go.
3. Learn all that I can about cars so that I’ll never get ripped off by another mechanic again! Right now, all I know is that the left wheel’s connected to the tail bone, and the battery’s connected to the femur. Wait. No. Huh?
4. Learn to play the guitar. Who knows? I might become the next Steve Vai, or the next Sid Vicious, or… Nancy.
5. Learn basic DIY skills and be able to fix things around the house… just to be able to say ‘Can I fix it? Yes I can!!’ (Bob the builder’s my hero.)
6. Learn to be competitive about things that matter, like my career and volleyball, instead of at things like charades and impromptu ‘walk-races’ with unsuspecting strangers.
7. Learn to not get monster annoyed when people call me ‘that girl’.
8. Learn to ride a bike. How awesomely bad-ass would I be then??
9. Learn to ride a bicycle. Yes. Yes. I am ashamed. But I was afraid of bicycles as a child. My brother tried to run me over with my tricycle when I was 4. I was so traumatized. OK, so it was just my toe. I’m sensitive ok? I’m a delicate lady and if you don’t agree with me, I’ll beat you to death with my pretty pink parasol.
10. Learn to walk like a girl. I’ve been told that I walk like a man. And not a very attractive one at that. Hmph. With family like this, who needs therapy? *slowly raises hand*
In other news, my darlingest baby sister, Shivonne, turned 21 this month. Ah Shivy, my voice of sartorial reason, I’d be running off to work in my jammies if it weren’t for you. At the risk of sounding totally Juno, you’re the cheese to my macaroni, the mavvadikaya to my pappu-korra (Hey, we’re Telugu. Get over it.) You’ve always been there for me even though I constantly embarrass you with my super-cool car dance moves. And after all this time, there’s only one question I want to ask you – What IS that strange ticking noise?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Memory Glands
I found my 10 year old slam book last night. In my defense, slambooks in Bangalore ’99 was like ‘ohmigod so totally the bomb and stuff’. Actually, no. Back then, I was your average religious yet free-spirited 12-year old – which meant that I loved sparkly lip gloss, Wrestle Mania, and Jesus. Hmmm… no wonder boys didn’t ask me out a lot. They didn’t know if I was going to perform the Inverted Indian Deathlock on them, or quote scripture.
That slambook reminded me of how things change. I discovered that way back in ’99, most of my now super-cool and devastatingly trendy friends absolutely adored Britney Spears. AND Celine Dion. I still think that they’re super cool and devastatingly trendy. But that’s probably because I’m fundamentally and tragically unhip. I too, am guilty of a Miss Spears fixation. I even watched Crossroads. Twice! (What can I say? I have a thing for punishment. Audio-visual style.)
That slambook also reminded me of how some things never do change. Like my horrific drawing skills. My version of the iconic Kuwait Towers looks like a ballpoint pen. My coloring skills were so outré, it looked like the leprechaun from Lucky Charms threw up a rainbow on the page.
That slambook got me all nostalgic for the time when my friends and I would fight over who gets to be Scary Spice. (I was always Ginger because I was not scary or sporty or posh or baby-like.) It reminded me of the time when we’d nickname ourselves after nail polish shades (Mystic Mahogany. Oh, how wrong you sound now.) I remember the time when we’d spend 45 minutes after every Friday Vesper service trying to color-coordinate our outfits for Sabbath the next day. Ah, the five of us. We were a force to be reckoned with. Force of Nature that is. (It’s an inside joke. Don’t pretend understanding.)
That slambook also got me thinking. About how we can never completely ‘know’ who we are. Not when we change so dramatically every five to ten years. Perhaps the best that we can aim for is to understand the phases we go through and still like ourselves… somewhat at least.
P.S. Funniest Thing I’ve Heard on T.V. in a Long Time:
Where – The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brian
When – A while ago.
What – “In the year 3000, babies will listen to dance music when Lady Gaga joins forces with the Goo Goo Dolls to form the super-group – Gaga Goo Goo”
Fell off the couch laughing? Check.
Milk through nose? Check.
Bu-bu-but… I wasn’t drinking any milk. Doom doom dooooooom.
-
That slambook reminded me of how things change. I discovered that way back in ’99, most of my now super-cool and devastatingly trendy friends absolutely adored Britney Spears. AND Celine Dion. I still think that they’re super cool and devastatingly trendy. But that’s probably because I’m fundamentally and tragically unhip. I too, am guilty of a Miss Spears fixation. I even watched Crossroads. Twice! (What can I say? I have a thing for punishment. Audio-visual style.)
That slambook also reminded me of how some things never do change. Like my horrific drawing skills. My version of the iconic Kuwait Towers looks like a ballpoint pen. My coloring skills were so outré, it looked like the leprechaun from Lucky Charms threw up a rainbow on the page.
That slambook got me all nostalgic for the time when my friends and I would fight over who gets to be Scary Spice. (I was always Ginger because I was not scary or sporty or posh or baby-like.) It reminded me of the time when we’d nickname ourselves after nail polish shades (Mystic Mahogany. Oh, how wrong you sound now.) I remember the time when we’d spend 45 minutes after every Friday Vesper service trying to color-coordinate our outfits for Sabbath the next day. Ah, the five of us. We were a force to be reckoned with. Force of Nature that is. (It’s an inside joke. Don’t pretend understanding.)
That slambook also got me thinking. About how we can never completely ‘know’ who we are. Not when we change so dramatically every five to ten years. Perhaps the best that we can aim for is to understand the phases we go through and still like ourselves… somewhat at least.
P.S. Funniest Thing I’ve Heard on T.V. in a Long Time:
Where – The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brian
When – A while ago.
What – “In the year 3000, babies will listen to dance music when Lady Gaga joins forces with the Goo Goo Dolls to form the super-group – Gaga Goo Goo”
Fell off the couch laughing? Check.
Milk through nose? Check.
Bu-bu-but… I wasn’t drinking any milk. Doom doom dooooooom.
-
Thursday, June 25, 2009
If You're a Diva and You Know It, Clap Your Hands!
I’m not clapping.
I’m not a diva. Well, at least Facebook tells me I’m not. According to the Almighty FB, I’m not the beautiful Satine from Moulin Rouge. I’m not even Eliza Doolittle. Instead, it turns out that I am Mary “Spoonful of Sugar” Poppins. Great. Brilliant. I’m diva-stated. (Hyuk Hyuk)
Friends, Romans, countrymen, let me tell you one of life’s biggest truths- There’s nothing like a birthday to put you in one heck of a heavy duty philosophical blue funk. I turned 23 last Thursday and for the past whole week, I’ve obsessing over how little I’ve actually accomplished so far in my life. See, while the other 23-year olds are out changing the world one reality show at a time, the biggest challenge of my day is trying to figure out where Katy Perry fits on my Annoyometer. (Which, by the way, ranges from Level 1 - Slurred Vocals of Amy Winehouse i.e. surprisingly not, to Level 3 billion and 4 - Enrique’s sing/crying i.e. capable of inducing Chucky-like homicidal tendencies.) As of this very moment, she’s firmly entrenched in Level 4509 – Ross and Rachel’s story i.e. annoying… if I actually gave a crap.
Actually, truth be told, this past year hasn’t been completely uneventful. I discovered my inner prude this year. Now I can combat every one of my random friend’s “I got so wasted last night” story with an “Then I baked 5 dozen cookies and wrapped them in plastic wrap and apple green ribbons. It was just soo darling!” story. Great. I’m growing up to be Martha Stewart. Only less talented and/or street cred. Huh.
This year I also learned that while I do like to name drop jazz artists and listen to bands like The Beatles and Oasis on Imeem, it’s songs like Usher’s ‘Yeah!’ that make me want to shake my groove thang. (Did you wince at that 'groove thang' bit too? Groove thang, my foot - which, according to the Urban Dictionary, is not necessarily the same thing.)
You know how sometimes that pool of immobility (immobile-ness?) that your life languishes in becomes so overwhelming that you think that you’re either going to explode or implode with all the stationary-ness?
No? OK, guess it’s just me then.
Either way you know what happens then? When it gets to be more than you think you can bear? You'd think that suddenly outta nowhere something spectacular might happen, right? Some sort of epiphany at least, right?? Wrong. Nothing happens. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing is ever going to happen. Not unless we get up and do something about it. (I figure that if I say it enough, I might actually get up too.) But I have this hope. Yeah, yeah, the kind that burns within my heart. A hope that perhaps this year will be different. That this year I’ll finally find what I’m looking for. My erm... raison d'être I think it’s called. Truth is, I’d even settle for just finding out WHAT it is in the first place.
For those who HAVE found it, have you hugged your raison today?
P.S. A few people have asked me if all the events in my last post are true. OK fine. ONE person asked me that. But just to clear things up, yes, everything I mentioned in the last post is true. Down to the last, excruciatingly embarrassing detail. Well, except for the fact that I'm not delusional-ly optimistic. I'm not really a glass half full kinda person. Or a glass half empty one either actually. I'm more of a 'Drink up or Shut up' kinda person. So there.
I’m not a diva. Well, at least Facebook tells me I’m not. According to the Almighty FB, I’m not the beautiful Satine from Moulin Rouge. I’m not even Eliza Doolittle. Instead, it turns out that I am Mary “Spoonful of Sugar” Poppins. Great. Brilliant. I’m diva-stated. (Hyuk Hyuk)
Friends, Romans, countrymen, let me tell you one of life’s biggest truths- There’s nothing like a birthday to put you in one heck of a heavy duty philosophical blue funk. I turned 23 last Thursday and for the past whole week, I’ve obsessing over how little I’ve actually accomplished so far in my life. See, while the other 23-year olds are out changing the world one reality show at a time, the biggest challenge of my day is trying to figure out where Katy Perry fits on my Annoyometer. (Which, by the way, ranges from Level 1 - Slurred Vocals of Amy Winehouse i.e. surprisingly not, to Level 3 billion and 4 - Enrique’s sing/crying i.e. capable of inducing Chucky-like homicidal tendencies.) As of this very moment, she’s firmly entrenched in Level 4509 – Ross and Rachel’s story i.e. annoying… if I actually gave a crap.
Actually, truth be told, this past year hasn’t been completely uneventful. I discovered my inner prude this year. Now I can combat every one of my random friend’s “I got so wasted last night” story with an “Then I baked 5 dozen cookies and wrapped them in plastic wrap and apple green ribbons. It was just soo darling!” story. Great. I’m growing up to be Martha Stewart. Only less talented and/or street cred. Huh.
This year I also learned that while I do like to name drop jazz artists and listen to bands like The Beatles and Oasis on Imeem, it’s songs like Usher’s ‘Yeah!’ that make me want to shake my groove thang. (Did you wince at that 'groove thang' bit too? Groove thang, my foot - which, according to the Urban Dictionary, is not necessarily the same thing.)
You know how sometimes that pool of immobility (immobile-ness?) that your life languishes in becomes so overwhelming that you think that you’re either going to explode or implode with all the stationary-ness?
No? OK, guess it’s just me then.
Either way you know what happens then? When it gets to be more than you think you can bear? You'd think that suddenly outta nowhere something spectacular might happen, right? Some sort of epiphany at least, right?? Wrong. Nothing happens. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing is ever going to happen. Not unless we get up and do something about it. (I figure that if I say it enough, I might actually get up too.) But I have this hope. Yeah, yeah, the kind that burns within my heart. A hope that perhaps this year will be different. That this year I’ll finally find what I’m looking for. My erm... raison d'être I think it’s called. Truth is, I’d even settle for just finding out WHAT it is in the first place.
For those who HAVE found it, have you hugged your raison today?
P.S. A few people have asked me if all the events in my last post are true. OK fine. ONE person asked me that. But just to clear things up, yes, everything I mentioned in the last post is true. Down to the last, excruciatingly embarrassing detail. Well, except for the fact that I'm not delusional-ly optimistic. I'm not really a glass half full kinda person. Or a glass half empty one either actually. I'm more of a 'Drink up or Shut up' kinda person. So there.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
I Like to Sing-a, About the Moon-a and the June-a and the Spring-a, I Like to Sing-a!
When I grow up, while I DO want to be famous, want to be a star, yada, yada, yada, there are some things I just cannot do.
Things I cannot be when I grow up
1. Rock goddess
2. Folk singer
3. Cast member of Cats
4. Maria von Trapp
5. A waitress
Here’s why.
Imagine a CSI meets L.A. Law inspired opening scene. (Tan TAN!)
Date: 31st May, 2009
Time: 6 P.M. (or it’s thereabouts)
Place: Sunshine Orphanage, Bangalore
Victims: Sheryll’s ego and everyone’s ear drums
But, How?
The Adventist Youth dept put up a program at Sunshine orphanage that fateful Saturday evening, and one of the scheduled ‘events’ was that we had to teach the kids a song. Well, Shivonne had to anyways. She couldn’t make it so I bravely stepped forward. I mean, how bad could it be, right?
Wrong.
It was bad. Really bad. So bad that one uncle later told me that he had never heard ONE song sung in so many different pitches. In his vote of thanks, the church pastor thanked me for the lovely songs I taught them. SongS?? It was ONE song! Guess not everyone understands the musical stylings of Sheryll ‘Norah Jones’ Sampson.
So there I was, singing ‘I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, I love the… Baaaaah’
What the? A sheep? In the middle of campus?? How? When? Why??? And in all confusion, I blurted out (and loud) the first thing that came to my mind.
'It wasn’t me.'
Gah!
Turns out that one of the AY leaders was testing out the animal noises he’d downloaded for a Noah’s Ark skit which we were going to perform after my song.
But seriously Bean, sheep? What next? Elephant noises?
Yes. Yes indeed. I bravely smiled, joked with the audience, and continued singing ‘I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, I love the… pppppppppphhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwww...’
This is getting old.
Thanks to my awesome powers of delusional optimism (aka glass half full… with nectar of the gods… and magically slimming Lindt chocolate-itis), I see at least two upsides to this sad and sordid story.
1. I’ve got new material for Chapter 4 of my autobiography – ‘How I Became the Crazy Cat Lady’ (working title. Also called ‘How to Die Alone’)
2. I was so bad that the kids forgot that I was supposed to teach them a song and thought I was part of the regular entertainment. It’s like George Burns once said “If I get big laughs, I'm a comedian. If I get little laughs, I'm a humorist. If I get no laughs, I'm a singer.”
I got big laughs, people (person?), BIG laughs. Conan O’Brian better watch his back or the dude’s job is so Bangalored, baby!
Huh.
And why not a waitress you ask? Coz I’m so heavy duty clumsy I make my momma cry, that’s why.
Sing it with me, people! Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala...
Things I cannot be when I grow up
1. Rock goddess
2. Folk singer
3. Cast member of Cats
4. Maria von Trapp
5. A waitress
Here’s why.
Imagine a CSI meets L.A. Law inspired opening scene. (Tan TAN!)
Date: 31st May, 2009
Time: 6 P.M. (or it’s thereabouts)
Place: Sunshine Orphanage, Bangalore
Victims: Sheryll’s ego and everyone’s ear drums
But, How?
The Adventist Youth dept put up a program at Sunshine orphanage that fateful Saturday evening, and one of the scheduled ‘events’ was that we had to teach the kids a song. Well, Shivonne had to anyways. She couldn’t make it so I bravely stepped forward. I mean, how bad could it be, right?
Wrong.
It was bad. Really bad. So bad that one uncle later told me that he had never heard ONE song sung in so many different pitches. In his vote of thanks, the church pastor thanked me for the lovely songs I taught them. SongS?? It was ONE song! Guess not everyone understands the musical stylings of Sheryll ‘Norah Jones’ Sampson.
So there I was, singing ‘I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, I love the… Baaaaah’
What the? A sheep? In the middle of campus?? How? When? Why??? And in all confusion, I blurted out (and loud) the first thing that came to my mind.
'It wasn’t me.'
Gah!
Turns out that one of the AY leaders was testing out the animal noises he’d downloaded for a Noah’s Ark skit which we were going to perform after my song.
But seriously Bean, sheep? What next? Elephant noises?
Yes. Yes indeed. I bravely smiled, joked with the audience, and continued singing ‘I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, I love the… pppppppppphhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwww...’
This is getting old.
Thanks to my awesome powers of delusional optimism (aka glass half full… with nectar of the gods… and magically slimming Lindt chocolate-itis), I see at least two upsides to this sad and sordid story.
1. I’ve got new material for Chapter 4 of my autobiography – ‘How I Became the Crazy Cat Lady’ (working title. Also called ‘How to Die Alone’)
2. I was so bad that the kids forgot that I was supposed to teach them a song and thought I was part of the regular entertainment. It’s like George Burns once said “If I get big laughs, I'm a comedian. If I get little laughs, I'm a humorist. If I get no laughs, I'm a singer.”
I got big laughs, people (person?), BIG laughs. Conan O’Brian better watch his back or the dude’s job is so Bangalored, baby!
Huh.
And why not a waitress you ask? Coz I’m so heavy duty clumsy I make my momma cry, that’s why.
Sing it with me, people! Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala...
Thursday, May 28, 2009
My Name is Wha?
I was this close to being named Maradona. After the Argentinean football legend. See, while I was still erm… in utero, everyone thought I was going to be a boy. And of all names in the world, my mom came up with Shawn (Sean?) Maradona. Well, if it makes things any clearer, yes, I was born in June 1986 and yes, my mother IS a Malayali Christian.
I believe that Sheryll Marion is definitely a marked improvement over Shawn Maradona. I like my name. I think it’s purty. However, I do know several people who would disagree. I also know several people who cannot pronounce or spell my name correctly. I’ve been called everything from Shreyal to Sherly to Simpson (it’s Sampson) to wait for it… Poison! That last one was what my Electronics Circuits Professor used to call me in college. Well… at least I think it was poison. It kinda also sounded like moison. Apparently getting your PHD means that while you do learn to write, you also forget how to read.
So it’s been a month since they changed my name on the office nameplate to a Poornima Goswami. At first I totally freaked. I mean what if this is the company’s passive aggressive way of saying 'Ciao'? Who's going to support my snacking addiction now?? Anyways, after ten very hyper-dramatic minutes, I found out that I wasn’t going anywhere. Phew! (Cue Sally Field’s ‘You like me! You really like me!’ speech.) Either way, it’s been a month and my name (according to my cabin door, at least) is still Poornima. On the plus side, I am growing accustomed to this particular name. Mainly because all the Poornimas I know are confident, smart, and tall, which aren’t lousy qualities to have. And the Goswami bit does make me feel just a little closer to my own latent Bengali roots (my mom’s dad was a Mukherjee). It got me thinking. What if my name was Poornima Goswami? Would I be an entirely different person? What if my name was, I don’t know, Matilda? Would I still be lousy at sports and therefore super competitive at Charades? What IS in a name anyways? Sure, Shakespeare was all ‘a rose by another name would still smell as sweet’. But what if it were named ALottaStinkyPoo? Would it still be considered the flower of ‘romance’? After all, nothing kills romance like a lotta stinky poo.
I read somewhere that in some cultures, people wait three or four years before naming their child. Apparently since a name is the ultimate expression of self, it’s prudent to wait till your kid’s personality actually ‘surfaces’ before you ‘label’ it with a well, a name. I guess those folks are just really paranoid about mistaking their Zac Efrons for Elmer Fudds. We can’t have that now, can we? It makes sense to me though. Like most Indian kids born between 1970 to 1990, I have two names – my ‘real’ name and my pet name. When I was younger, I used to think that I really was two different people. Sheryll was the calm(-er), mature(-er), and more hardworking one, while Chinky (Chinka, Chinkla, and other derivatives) was the nutty, noisy brat. Of course once I grew up, I put away all childish things (such as schizophrenia), and so Sheryll and Chinky became one massive nutty, noisy, guffawing entity.
I’m still not entirely sure what my man Shakespeare meant about names, but either way, I’ll think twice before I order a bouquet of ALottaStinkyPoo and baby’s breath.
I believe that Sheryll Marion is definitely a marked improvement over Shawn Maradona. I like my name. I think it’s purty. However, I do know several people who would disagree. I also know several people who cannot pronounce or spell my name correctly. I’ve been called everything from Shreyal to Sherly to Simpson (it’s Sampson) to wait for it… Poison! That last one was what my Electronics Circuits Professor used to call me in college. Well… at least I think it was poison. It kinda also sounded like moison. Apparently getting your PHD means that while you do learn to write, you also forget how to read.
So it’s been a month since they changed my name on the office nameplate to a Poornima Goswami. At first I totally freaked. I mean what if this is the company’s passive aggressive way of saying 'Ciao'? Who's going to support my snacking addiction now?? Anyways, after ten very hyper-dramatic minutes, I found out that I wasn’t going anywhere. Phew! (Cue Sally Field’s ‘You like me! You really like me!’ speech.) Either way, it’s been a month and my name (according to my cabin door, at least) is still Poornima. On the plus side, I am growing accustomed to this particular name. Mainly because all the Poornimas I know are confident, smart, and tall, which aren’t lousy qualities to have. And the Goswami bit does make me feel just a little closer to my own latent Bengali roots (my mom’s dad was a Mukherjee). It got me thinking. What if my name was Poornima Goswami? Would I be an entirely different person? What if my name was, I don’t know, Matilda? Would I still be lousy at sports and therefore super competitive at Charades? What IS in a name anyways? Sure, Shakespeare was all ‘a rose by another name would still smell as sweet’. But what if it were named ALottaStinkyPoo? Would it still be considered the flower of ‘romance’? After all, nothing kills romance like a lotta stinky poo.
I read somewhere that in some cultures, people wait three or four years before naming their child. Apparently since a name is the ultimate expression of self, it’s prudent to wait till your kid’s personality actually ‘surfaces’ before you ‘label’ it with a well, a name. I guess those folks are just really paranoid about mistaking their Zac Efrons for Elmer Fudds. We can’t have that now, can we? It makes sense to me though. Like most Indian kids born between 1970 to 1990, I have two names – my ‘real’ name and my pet name. When I was younger, I used to think that I really was two different people. Sheryll was the calm(-er), mature(-er), and more hardworking one, while Chinky (Chinka, Chinkla, and other derivatives) was the nutty, noisy brat. Of course once I grew up, I put away all childish things (such as schizophrenia), and so Sheryll and Chinky became one massive nutty, noisy, guffawing entity.
I’m still not entirely sure what my man Shakespeare meant about names, but either way, I’ll think twice before I order a bouquet of ALottaStinkyPoo and baby’s breath.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Life, Love, and a Kettle of Fish
You know that ‘times are a-changing’ when instead of forcing you to read articles about higher education, your loved ones start handing you pamphlets on ‘How to get your Dream Guy’. Articles filled with golden nuggets of wisdom on attaining instant couple-y bliss.
Sample Nugget 1: Speak softly and always carry an attractive shade of lipstick. (Because you know, when it comes to finding your soul mate, nothing works better than Maybelline Moisture Whip in Wine Divine. Huh.)
Sample Nugget 2. Do not be a Know-It-All. Sure we’re annoying people, but if some random dude comes up to me and starts talking about Jane Austen, that firebrand Mexican author who wrote that great book ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’, I just might go all Nacho Libre on someone.
2009 has been the year of the wedding. About 5 of my friends got hitched this year and it’s only May. Being ‘next in line’ (*rolls eyes*) at the ‘ripe old age of almost 23’, I get asked the Question. A lot. The ‘So when’s YOUR turn?’ question. If I got a Kit Kat for every time I’ve been asked this asinine question, I’d be pretty well, rubenesque. Which I am. *Draw conclusion here*
But even though my life is a blooming Wet Wet Wet song (Because Love. It’s all around.), it took a silly forward to get me thinking about life, love, and a kettle of fish.
It went something like this –
‘He climbed the tallest mountain, swam the deepest ocean, and walked across the hottest desert for her.
She left him because he was never home.’
Silly though it may be, it really got me thinking. What IS this love we keep harping on about? Why this, quite frankly, sadomasochistic need to ‘cross a blazing hot desert’ to prove your ‘undying’, intense affection? What’s the point?
So one of the many things I’ve learned about myself is that I’m not essentially an overly romantic person. OK, so I DO buy into the whole Mr. /Ms Right concept. But I’m also aware that Right does not necessarily equal Perfect. OK sure, I love listening to how couples met and fell in love, but I also know that it need not happen to everyone. Sure, I believe in monogamy but – no wait, there are no buts for this one. I just do. End of story. The thing is I just don’t get the whole flowers and V-day candle-lit meals thing, I mean sure, it’s fun and all, but I really don’t see the point if you’re going to spend the rest of the year in an ungrateful, unequal, unpleasant relationship where one person does all the giving and the other, all the taking. Call me crazy, but while I WOULD like to be swept off my feet (Ha! Fat chance. Literally.), I’d like it even more if, once in a while, the floor got swept too. Of course, I don’t expect servitude (Although that would be kinda fun. Hail Queen Sheryll! Giggle.), but an occasional helping hand would be well, helpful. (Consider this last paragraph as a long winded explanation to why my answer to the ‘turn’ question is ‘Not any time soon’.)
But then again, contradictory as this may sound, like every other girl, I too look forward to one day hearing those three wonderful, magical words –
‘I have chocolate’.
-
Shout out to Princely! Coz I can. ;)
Sample Nugget 1: Speak softly and always carry an attractive shade of lipstick. (Because you know, when it comes to finding your soul mate, nothing works better than Maybelline Moisture Whip in Wine Divine. Huh.)
Sample Nugget 2. Do not be a Know-It-All. Sure we’re annoying people, but if some random dude comes up to me and starts talking about Jane Austen, that firebrand Mexican author who wrote that great book ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’, I just might go all Nacho Libre on someone.
2009 has been the year of the wedding. About 5 of my friends got hitched this year and it’s only May. Being ‘next in line’ (*rolls eyes*) at the ‘ripe old age of almost 23’, I get asked the Question. A lot. The ‘So when’s YOUR turn?’ question. If I got a Kit Kat for every time I’ve been asked this asinine question, I’d be pretty well, rubenesque. Which I am. *Draw conclusion here*
But even though my life is a blooming Wet Wet Wet song (Because Love. It’s all around.), it took a silly forward to get me thinking about life, love, and a kettle of fish.
It went something like this –
‘He climbed the tallest mountain, swam the deepest ocean, and walked across the hottest desert for her.
She left him because he was never home.’
Silly though it may be, it really got me thinking. What IS this love we keep harping on about? Why this, quite frankly, sadomasochistic need to ‘cross a blazing hot desert’ to prove your ‘undying’, intense affection? What’s the point?
So one of the many things I’ve learned about myself is that I’m not essentially an overly romantic person. OK, so I DO buy into the whole Mr. /Ms Right concept. But I’m also aware that Right does not necessarily equal Perfect. OK sure, I love listening to how couples met and fell in love, but I also know that it need not happen to everyone. Sure, I believe in monogamy but – no wait, there are no buts for this one. I just do. End of story. The thing is I just don’t get the whole flowers and V-day candle-lit meals thing, I mean sure, it’s fun and all, but I really don’t see the point if you’re going to spend the rest of the year in an ungrateful, unequal, unpleasant relationship where one person does all the giving and the other, all the taking. Call me crazy, but while I WOULD like to be swept off my feet (Ha! Fat chance. Literally.), I’d like it even more if, once in a while, the floor got swept too. Of course, I don’t expect servitude (Although that would be kinda fun. Hail Queen Sheryll! Giggle.), but an occasional helping hand would be well, helpful. (Consider this last paragraph as a long winded explanation to why my answer to the ‘turn’ question is ‘Not any time soon’.)
But then again, contradictory as this may sound, like every other girl, I too look forward to one day hearing those three wonderful, magical words –
‘I have chocolate’.
-
Shout out to Princely! Coz I can. ;)
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Twenty-Three
The countdown has begun.
I’m gonna be 23 years old in 2 months and 9 days. (Not that I’m counting, of course.) For those who care, 18th June Baby! For those who don’t, you’re dead to me. In ‘honor’ of my oh-so-estimable 22 years, I present to you –
1. When a guy says he likes you, ‘why?’ is not the appropriate sophisticated response. [still learning]
2. That one-year old murukku that you found in a rusty old tin while moving house? It will not taste good. [Age 16. So it took me a while. Bite me.]
3. Always keep spare shoes in the car. Especially if you plan to wear pointy high-heeled black boots. [Age 22]
4. Giant t-shirts and collared shirts are not feminine. [Age 18]
5. Don’t wear socks for at least an hour after you paint your toenails [Age 13]
6. It takes at least 4 pins to be comfortable in a sari. [Age 15]
7. Never sleep with your hair wet. You’ll have bad hair for a year. [Age 16]
8. Making funny faces at the camera is an awesome way to camouflage your un-photogenic-ness. [Age 11?]
9. Veggies are friends not foes. Well… unless they’re French Peas. (See
10. Movies based on books are almost NEVER as good as the books.
[Age 11. Movie–Ivanhoe]
11. Not everyone you meet likes you. Bummer. [All through college]
12. Teletubbies are creepy. [Age 14]
13. Brand new ballet shoes hurt like hell. But wear them a couple of times and they become the comfiest shoes ever. [Age 21]
14. Sneakers are always comfy. [Age 2]
15. The world doesn’t owe you any favors. Complaining about how the world is unfair is not going to help anyone. [Still learning]
16. Power is fun. Sure it corrupts but it's still fun. [Age 17]
17. Questions like ‘What are your feelings on vegetables?’ are not good ice breakers. [Age 19]
18. Just because someone calls themselves your friend, does not mean that they are. [Age 20]
19. PMS is the world’s best excuse for anything. [Age 15]
20. Tom and Jerry cartoons rule. [Age 3]
21. When something bothers you, find a way to fix it. If there is no possible way to fix it, deal with it. Whining is never helpful. [Still learning]
22. Developing a thick skin is vital if you drive in Bangalore. Because you will get yelled at, cursed, and THOOO-ified on. Especially if you drive like I do. [Age 20]
23. It’s dark and scary at 5:30 in the morning. Which is why I never wake up before 7. [Age 12]
I’m gonna be 23 years old in 2 months and 9 days. (Not that I’m counting, of course.) For those who care, 18th June Baby! For those who don’t, you’re dead to me. In ‘honor’ of my oh-so-estimable 22 years, I present to you –
23 Things I Learned In Life
1. When a guy says he likes you, ‘why?’ is not the appropriate sophisticated response. [still learning]
2. That one-year old murukku that you found in a rusty old tin while moving house? It will not taste good. [Age 16. So it took me a while. Bite me.]
3. Always keep spare shoes in the car. Especially if you plan to wear pointy high-heeled black boots. [Age 22]
4. Giant t-shirts and collared shirts are not feminine. [Age 18]
5. Don’t wear socks for at least an hour after you paint your toenails [Age 13]
6. It takes at least 4 pins to be comfortable in a sari. [Age 15]
7. Never sleep with your hair wet. You’ll have bad hair for a year. [Age 16]
8. Making funny faces at the camera is an awesome way to camouflage your un-photogenic-ness. [Age 11?]
9. Veggies are friends not foes. Well… unless they’re French Peas. (See
10. Movies based on books are almost NEVER as good as the books.
[Age 11. Movie–Ivanhoe]
11. Not everyone you meet likes you. Bummer. [All through college]
12. Teletubbies are creepy. [Age 14]
13. Brand new ballet shoes hurt like hell. But wear them a couple of times and they become the comfiest shoes ever. [Age 21]
14. Sneakers are always comfy. [Age 2]
15. The world doesn’t owe you any favors. Complaining about how the world is unfair is not going to help anyone. [Still learning]
16. Power is fun. Sure it corrupts but it's still fun. [Age 17]
17. Questions like ‘What are your feelings on vegetables?’ are not good ice breakers. [Age 19]
18. Just because someone calls themselves your friend, does not mean that they are. [Age 20]
19. PMS is the world’s best excuse for anything. [Age 15]
20. Tom and Jerry cartoons rule. [Age 3]
21. When something bothers you, find a way to fix it. If there is no possible way to fix it, deal with it. Whining is never helpful. [Still learning]
22. Developing a thick skin is vital if you drive in Bangalore. Because you will get yelled at, cursed, and THOOO-ified on. Especially if you drive like I do. [Age 20]
23. It’s dark and scary at 5:30 in the morning. Which is why I never wake up before 7. [Age 12]
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Ex-Large
It seems that I DO have a super-power.
Turns out that yes, I am super-girl and my super-power is that I can wheeze at will. SuperGirl! Fighting the forces of evil… and for her breath since 1986. Yay me. Applications for seedy sidekicks are now available. The line forms to my left. No pushing.
But really, I can. This one time, I was watching America's Sweethearts and there's this one scene where John Cusack runs up this pretty steep-ish hill-like thingie, and he was NOT at all winded by all that activity. I was so surprised and awed, that in the ultimate psychosomatic turn of events, I got out of breath instead. (I only just realized that they could have been two separate scenes filmed at two completely different times. Hmph.) Or more recently, I was talking to boss the other day, while climbing up a very short flight of stairs, and suddenly I thought ,"Wait. Some people would get tired walking up these steps, right?"... and consequently lost my breath. Huh.
Fitness has always been a sore point with me. Really. I even injured my humerus. It's not funny. I've tried just about every possible method short of surgery to help me lose weight. (For those of you I haven't met, or those I HAVE met but are living under a certain rock, I must admit, I am a tad erm…'rubenesque'.) I've tried everything from the no-carb diet to the no-dinner diet, from swimming to jive lessons (For those who care, two left feet baby!) One time, I even considered eating all my food with chopsticks! Yup, when it comes to weight loss schemes, I've been there, done that... for a couple of days at least. The Lord may giveth, but sometimes the 'taketh away' bit ain't half bad either.
So I'm starting a new fitness thingamajig tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll actually stick with it... for more than 3 days this time. But I shall persevere! I shall overcome! Like that charismatic, young leader often says, 'Yes, we can!' Obama says it too. I wonder if Bob the builder was his campaign speech writer. Or maybe, they're both the same person! Think about it, we've never seen them both together at the same time, have we? Cue Twilight Zone theme music and Voice-over: Picture this, if you will....
Doom doom doooom.
Turns out that yes, I am super-girl and my super-power is that I can wheeze at will. SuperGirl! Fighting the forces of evil… and for her breath since 1986. Yay me. Applications for seedy sidekicks are now available. The line forms to my left. No pushing.
But really, I can. This one time, I was watching America's Sweethearts and there's this one scene where John Cusack runs up this pretty steep-ish hill-like thingie, and he was NOT at all winded by all that activity. I was so surprised and awed, that in the ultimate psychosomatic turn of events, I got out of breath instead. (I only just realized that they could have been two separate scenes filmed at two completely different times. Hmph.) Or more recently, I was talking to boss the other day, while climbing up a very short flight of stairs, and suddenly I thought ,"Wait. Some people would get tired walking up these steps, right?"... and consequently lost my breath. Huh.
Fitness has always been a sore point with me. Really. I even injured my humerus. It's not funny. I've tried just about every possible method short of surgery to help me lose weight. (For those of you I haven't met, or those I HAVE met but are living under a certain rock, I must admit, I am a tad erm…'rubenesque'.) I've tried everything from the no-carb diet to the no-dinner diet, from swimming to jive lessons (For those who care, two left feet baby!) One time, I even considered eating all my food with chopsticks! Yup, when it comes to weight loss schemes, I've been there, done that... for a couple of days at least. The Lord may giveth, but sometimes the 'taketh away' bit ain't half bad either.
So I'm starting a new fitness thingamajig tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll actually stick with it... for more than 3 days this time. But I shall persevere! I shall overcome! Like that charismatic, young leader often says, 'Yes, we can!' Obama says it too. I wonder if Bob the builder was his campaign speech writer. Or maybe, they're both the same person! Think about it, we've never seen them both together at the same time, have we? Cue Twilight Zone theme music and Voice-over: Picture this, if you will....
Doom doom doooom.
Friday, February 27, 2009
My Random Randomness
I have a sports related injury. Playing Foozball. I just bruised my thumb but I feel very cool because this is my first ever sports related injury. No wait… Second. The first was when I broke my ankle playing basketball. Shivonne pushed me against the wall and I ahem ‘fell on my ankle’. We’re vicious when we play sports, which is why we don’t play. Well, that and because we tank at sports.
So Feb was not a good month for me, creatively at least. I wrote two of the worst poems ever written. Ever. Britney Spears ain’t got nothing on me.
I was tagged on Facebook (I like it coz it’s pretty. Don’t judge me! I’m shallow. Get over yourself already!) Yes, the tagging. So the point is that you have to write 25 absolutely random things about yourself. And send it to whomever. And the madness continues. It’s fun. And because my creativity is on a very long, unscheduled vacation, this is what I’m gonna write about.
So my dear readers, consider yourself tagged.
Facebook buddies! Fear not! This list is not the same as the list on Facebook. Well… not COMPLETELY. For one thing, I’m only writing 20. And some are totally new, because:
1. Yes, I am that self-absorbed.
So here’s my 20 randoms. Drum roll please.
1. I don’t know what kinda music I like. One day it’s jazz and the next day I’m drooling over Jimi Hendrix. All I know is that I hate polka.
2. I trip all over the place even when I’m barefoot. Actually, especially when I’m barefoot.
3. I have two signatures. One for bank stuff and one for when I become famous. They’re both hideous.
4. I write lists for everything. My excitement over anything is directly proportional to the number of lists I make for that ‘event’.
5. I have started going to the baby Sabbath school because – a. The kids are freakishly adorable. b. The Sabbath school teacher gives us treats. Woohoo!
6. I get very annoyed by T.V. shows like Family Guy and The Nanny. But I watch them anyway.
7. I wanna be a rockstar. My stage fright and the fact that I can’t play a single instrument are just minor trivialities.
8. I have two settings. Lazy and not. ‘Not’ is when I’m nice to people.
9. I want to throw Mika, Enrique Iglesias, James Blunt, and the Scissor Sisters into a bottomless, sound-proof pit.
10. My sisters are the most important people in my life.
11. I had a phase where I’d only wear men’s shirts, jeans and bandanas. I call it my Rosie O’Donnell years.
12. I don’t like wearing baseball caps because it makes me look like Wayne from Wayne’s world. No, I am not worthy.
13. When I was 5, Shivonne gave me a sandwich filled with actual sand. It turned me off bread and jam for years.
14. I hate Scooby Doo. I hate Scrappy Doo even more. I love the Powerpuff girls. Go figure.
15. I never judge a book by its cover. Just by its opening line.
16. I can never remember if I liked a particular song or not. So I ask Shivonne.
17. I think that bookstores are the most magical places on earth.
18. I love camping. In the living room. With tents made out of bed-linen.
19. I get annoyed really easy. But I rarely actually lose my temper.
20. I’m petrified of any kind of worm. So much that I’ve stopped watching Animal Planet.
Tada! Now you’re it. Happy 20/25 random-ing y’all!
So Feb was not a good month for me, creatively at least. I wrote two of the worst poems ever written. Ever. Britney Spears ain’t got nothing on me.
I was tagged on Facebook (I like it coz it’s pretty. Don’t judge me! I’m shallow. Get over yourself already!) Yes, the tagging. So the point is that you have to write 25 absolutely random things about yourself. And send it to whomever. And the madness continues. It’s fun. And because my creativity is on a very long, unscheduled vacation, this is what I’m gonna write about.
So my dear readers, consider yourself tagged.
Facebook buddies! Fear not! This list is not the same as the list on Facebook. Well… not COMPLETELY. For one thing, I’m only writing 20. And some are totally new, because:
1. Yes, I am that self-absorbed.
So here’s my 20 randoms. Drum roll please.
1. I don’t know what kinda music I like. One day it’s jazz and the next day I’m drooling over Jimi Hendrix. All I know is that I hate polka.
2. I trip all over the place even when I’m barefoot. Actually, especially when I’m barefoot.
3. I have two signatures. One for bank stuff and one for when I become famous. They’re both hideous.
4. I write lists for everything. My excitement over anything is directly proportional to the number of lists I make for that ‘event’.
5. I have started going to the baby Sabbath school because – a. The kids are freakishly adorable. b. The Sabbath school teacher gives us treats. Woohoo!
6. I get very annoyed by T.V. shows like Family Guy and The Nanny. But I watch them anyway.
7. I wanna be a rockstar. My stage fright and the fact that I can’t play a single instrument are just minor trivialities.
8. I have two settings. Lazy and not. ‘Not’ is when I’m nice to people.
9. I want to throw Mika, Enrique Iglesias, James Blunt, and the Scissor Sisters into a bottomless, sound-proof pit.
10. My sisters are the most important people in my life.
11. I had a phase where I’d only wear men’s shirts, jeans and bandanas. I call it my Rosie O’Donnell years.
12. I don’t like wearing baseball caps because it makes me look like Wayne from Wayne’s world. No, I am not worthy.
13. When I was 5, Shivonne gave me a sandwich filled with actual sand. It turned me off bread and jam for years.
14. I hate Scooby Doo. I hate Scrappy Doo even more. I love the Powerpuff girls. Go figure.
15. I never judge a book by its cover. Just by its opening line.
16. I can never remember if I liked a particular song or not. So I ask Shivonne.
17. I think that bookstores are the most magical places on earth.
18. I love camping. In the living room. With tents made out of bed-linen.
19. I get annoyed really easy. But I rarely actually lose my temper.
20. I’m petrified of any kind of worm. So much that I’ve stopped watching Animal Planet.
Tada! Now you’re it. Happy 20/25 random-ing y’all!
Friday, January 9, 2009
The New Year - Tis The Season To Speak Falsely, Falalalalalalalala
31st Dec, 2008
Sheryll’s New Year Resolutions
1. Start going to the gym
2. Cut down on sugar.
3. Plan for future.
4. Write more
5. Minimize food spillage
6. Believe in the wonderful things that life has to offer. Life is good. Everything’s going to be great.
9th January, 2009
Life’s bitch and then you die.
Well, so much for Resolution #6. Let’s see how I fared with the others, shall we?
1.Start going to the gym
I went, I saw, I left. The End.
2.Cut down on sugar
This one actually worked out for a few days. And then my colleague comes back from vacation and brings with her this insane Telugu sweet thing called Pootharekulu. No I don’t know what that means. What I DO know is that it’s starch and sugar. Literally. Dried sheets of kanji-like thingums filled with a mixture of powdered sugar and a liquid-y thing I suspect is ghee. It’s so insanely sweet, Willy Wonka would think it’s a bit much. It’s disgusting and I love it. Maybe it’s brings back memories of my childhood (Stealing munchies from the neighbors upstairs. What can I say? I started young), or maybe I just have a death wish. Either way, I fell off the wagon. All the bouncing and ‘amItalkingtoofast?AmI?AmI?’ that happened afterwards was just the sugar talking. I swear.
3.Plan for the future.
Oh I have this one down. First I gotta go to the pet store and buy a dozen cats which I will name Jefferson, Mr. Tibbles, and so on. Then off to Commercial Street and buy me some kitty cat motif dishes and about three thousand lace doilies. Give it a few years and my future as crazy cat lady is set.
4. Write more.
What? No?? Really? OK.
Hmph.
5. Minimize food spillage
‘She failed miserably’, said the mountain of rice dropped unceremoniously on the kitchen counter.
Sigh.
On the plus side, Christmas ’08 was wonderful. It’s been 8 years since we last celebrated it as a family, so this time we really went all out. The tree! The decorations! The food! The gifts! And of course, the inevitable drama over scented body lotion (You know who you are!! Stealer of gift meant for Sheryll!). Where was I? Oh yes, Christmas parties with silly games like hip charades (You try spelling out ‘sweet’ with your hips), french charades and ‘meow’. Actually, I was introduced to meow a year ago and I’m still reeling under its mushroom cloud-like aftermath.
Most thrillingly, we won the coveted ‘Best AY team’ prize. To all those who helped –THANKS!! Big shout-out to Willie, Rohit P. and my baby sister Shivonne (OK! So she’s 20. Sue me.)
Happy New Year y’all. And may the force be with you.
Sheryll’s New Year Resolutions
1. Start going to the gym
2. Cut down on sugar.
3. Plan for future.
4. Write more
5. Minimize food spillage
6. Believe in the wonderful things that life has to offer. Life is good. Everything’s going to be great.
9th January, 2009
Life’s bitch and then you die.
Well, so much for Resolution #6. Let’s see how I fared with the others, shall we?
1.Start going to the gym
I went, I saw, I left. The End.
2.Cut down on sugar
This one actually worked out for a few days. And then my colleague comes back from vacation and brings with her this insane Telugu sweet thing called Pootharekulu. No I don’t know what that means. What I DO know is that it’s starch and sugar. Literally. Dried sheets of kanji-like thingums filled with a mixture of powdered sugar and a liquid-y thing I suspect is ghee. It’s so insanely sweet, Willy Wonka would think it’s a bit much. It’s disgusting and I love it. Maybe it’s brings back memories of my childhood (Stealing munchies from the neighbors upstairs. What can I say? I started young), or maybe I just have a death wish. Either way, I fell off the wagon. All the bouncing and ‘amItalkingtoofast?AmI?AmI?’ that happened afterwards was just the sugar talking. I swear.
3.Plan for the future.
Oh I have this one down. First I gotta go to the pet store and buy a dozen cats which I will name Jefferson, Mr. Tibbles, and so on. Then off to Commercial Street and buy me some kitty cat motif dishes and about three thousand lace doilies. Give it a few years and my future as crazy cat lady is set.
4. Write more.
An Ode to Porridge
Porridge, you taste like milk and grit,
Fueling my flair for the dramatic.
Why Goldilocks broke into a house for it,
Seems to be a bit masochistic.
Porridge, you taste like milk and grit,
Fueling my flair for the dramatic.
Why Goldilocks broke into a house for it,
Seems to be a bit masochistic.
What? No?? Really? OK.
Hmph.
5. Minimize food spillage
‘She failed miserably’, said the mountain of rice dropped unceremoniously on the kitchen counter.
Sigh.
On the plus side, Christmas ’08 was wonderful. It’s been 8 years since we last celebrated it as a family, so this time we really went all out. The tree! The decorations! The food! The gifts! And of course, the inevitable drama over scented body lotion (You know who you are!! Stealer of gift meant for Sheryll!). Where was I? Oh yes, Christmas parties with silly games like hip charades (You try spelling out ‘sweet’ with your hips), french charades and ‘meow’. Actually, I was introduced to meow a year ago and I’m still reeling under its mushroom cloud-like aftermath.
Most thrillingly, we won the coveted ‘Best AY team’ prize. To all those who helped –THANKS!! Big shout-out to Willie, Rohit P. and my baby sister Shivonne (OK! So she’s 20. Sue me.)
Happy New Year y’all. And may the force be with you.
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