Love Me Again

So the biggest thing that keeps me from coming back here is the feeling of abandonment. 
The absolute dong of certainty that everybody who knew and loved me here has left the building and is never coming back to drink my imaginary booze again. 
And you guys KNOW how needy and whiny I am. 
If I start blogging here again will you promise to love me the way you always did? 

I should blog more, no?

There's been a lapse in the server connection between my mind-blogger and web-blogger.

I'm trying to re-establish the connection.

Meanwhile, I'd like to distract you with this brilliant gem I found somewhere on Facebook -

Happy Birthday Shwetu

I'm sorry, I can't tell you how much.

I'm so late, that you might hate me forever.

I really meant to call, but I was embarrassed and so mad at myself that I couldn't think of a grand enough gesture to make it up to you.

I don't have many friends really, I can't afford to lose the few I have.

Shwetu, I love you, I'm sorry. You'll come here, we'll meet and everything will be fine. 

Hope this year and all the years turn out to be amazing and magical.

Nitwit Oddment Blubber Tweak

PS: Maggie,traitorous worm, just you wait.

Oh My God.

A Red Pulse

DISCLAIMER: Personal opinion. Take it or leave it.

There is a certain power in being alone. A calm that enables you in handling situations that will perhaps never come if you are dependent on somebody. A quiet development of inner strength that will slowly decay the moment you surrender to the giddy delight of enjoying somebody else's company a bit too much. If you are alone, you can deflect pain to the maximum extent possible because only those who are close enough hold the power to hurt you. Don't let anybody step inside that inner sanctum from where pain is the only thing that is pulsating. 

No, this isn't a bitter rant, rather something that I believe in and the only philosophy that I can place my trust in. I don't see any sense in letting yourself willingly falling prey to that demon that is best kept at bay. I'm not saying love doesn't exist. It does. Not for everyone though. And that is the truth. Don't fool yourselves otherwise. 

PS: I'm sorry for being so harsh. 


PPS: Happy Valentines Day!

The Force

I'm 22 years old. So it is quite unreasonable to expect me to be unaffected by the arrival of a new pimple on the calm environs of my cheek. Stuff like this shouldn't be happening anymore. I'm out of that cursed age-zone for gods sakes!! So you would, of course forgive me for being violently angry and moody for the rest of the week.

In other news, this week was Superbowl week. Now, as my brother was trying to insinuate, I'm not turning into an American (although American football is sufficiently violent to engage me); my interest in this mega-event was the commercials. An unsaid piece of homework assignment, which I gladly did.

My vote goes to:



The tiny Darth Vader (which I think is a girl btw) was the most darling thing on television that night. This commercial as heavily advertised virally with a 1 minute version hitting the internet a week before Superbowl and garnering more than 14 million hits. Then, the same commercial aired during the game with a 30 second spot. Very smart.

Another commercial worth checking out:



A 2 minute long advertising spot during Superbowl. Daimler Chrysler shelled out heavy and have gained a very favorable response in-turn. Brilliant ad, featuring Eminem, with a Detroit-nostalgia thing about it.

Other ads I liked: Doritos, Sleepys and NFL

Oh, by the way, the Packers crushed the Steelers.

Why I Suck - Part 1

So get this. Some of you may not have realized it so far, but I am perhaps the clumsiest and the most disaster prone person in existence. I know!! A shocker as it may be, it is an accurate representation of reality, my friends. A phenomenon making itself glaringly obvious in the light of present circumstances that can be summarized in two words: I Suck.

Some of you (very few, I admit) might be concerned as to why one is being so harsh to oneself, but you won't after you have been presented with sufficient evidence of one's appalling lack of basic competence in matters as simple as - lets say - walking.

We had a tiny furry visitor who we call Roxy. Roxy, the mouse. As much as we love him/her/his child/her child's nephew and are courteous enough to leave the dishes dirty and every available surface littered with unfinished food and trash we decided to kill him/her/his child/her child's nephew. My roommate skipped her way to CVS and resourcefully got sticky mousetraps that are reportedly very effective in luring the mice into its sticky trap. It seemed like a lot of fun in the beginning and we put it in all sorts of places which we deemed 'strategic' and put bits of precious peanut butter and cheese and salad dressing on it. All fine and dandy till the trap actually fulfills its purpose in life and guess what - you guessed it right - IT GOT ME!

Not once, not twice, but THRICE!

I'm a good sport you know, I cracked up the first time too. I'll admit it, it was funny to see a female adult hobbling with a mouse trap stuck to her foot and crashing into the wall as if to go out with a bang. Still, I laughed with everyone. Granted.

Second time, no one was around, I didn't laugh all that much.

Third time, decidedly not funny. It happened 15 minutes before I was leaving for my last class of the semester. Again, as you all might have gleaned, I'm also not the most punctual person in the world. I have almost never made it to class on time. So this was not the sodding time for a sticky mouse pad to deposit itself on the nethermost region of my anatomy. Result, it took so much time to get that thing off, I was 30 minutes late to class and this time Prof. wasn't very understanding. That isn't even the awkward part. The awkward part is when he asked me why I am late. You know how you always thought 'dog ate my homework' to be the lamest excuse ever? Try 'I got stuck on a sticky mouse pad in the closet while putting my boots on'. Not all that believable.  But it was the truth, so I delivered it. Via email of course. Could not bring myself to say it in person. Yea, even I was embarrassed. That bad.

How I managed to land those cursed little stinkers, don't ask. It was as if some sort of invisible string pulled me into it every single time.
If mice have a mice-youtube, I'm probably on it with some 600,000 hits and all of them laughing their tiny little arses off. Its probably titled - 'Stupid female human's pathetic attempt to trap us and failing every single time and not learning from her mistakes. Stupid female human'.

Rats.