To all the gays who dare cross my path

I dislike* you’ll. Really. Truly. And genuinely.

That doesn’t mean I’m racist or gay-ist because I don’t want you’ll dead or have you’ll tortured or call names or avoid you’ll like the plague**. I just don’t want same sex marriages legalized.

And for the sake of my sanity I would like you’ll to know a few things:

Please do not discuss your escapades during lunchtime. It puts me off my food. Since I have the courtesy of keeping things private, I expect you to do the same. That is also why I don’t want gay marriages legalized, then it would be a normal lunch conversation and I can’t slap you with sexual harassment.

Just because you’re gay don’t think you can get away with sexually harassing a member of the opposite sex.

Sexual harassment includes anything that makes a person feel uncomfortable. So talking about the intern’s yeast infection makes not only the person who has it but the entire room uncomfortable.

If you were normal and depressed, I’ll listen. If you’re gay and depressed, well that’s why you have psychiatrists.

Don’t pull the sympathy card because you’re recovering from depression. I have my own problems and no one grants me a 3-month paid vacation.

Also do please stop shouting in street corners and on the beach, there is enough noise pollution.

With this post I’m guaranteed to lose a few friends and most probably my job, oh what the heck I just had to say it…

*Hate I’m told is a strong word.

**But I’d like it if you’ll avoid me like a plague though.

Sun, fun and the not so fun

So I went and met the parents. I traded stories with the mother, had a Gin and Tonic with the father, gossiped about the lack of decent men with the sister and played softball barney with the nephew.

None of the above is true, obviously. In this day and age my expectations were just expectations.

I left home armed with my specialty pudding to show the family what a culinary goddess I was, but the vehicle my friend chose to drive was a steaming oven, so the once nice work of art turned into sludge, which after a very abrupt brake decided to land all over my jeans. Yes jeans and a tee was what I decided to wear. S laughed so hard because the substance that stained the crotch of my jeans reminded him of something, which he refused to tell me. Anyway after wiping it off along with the angry look that had made its way to the upper part of my anatomy, I went to face the awkward introductions. It didn’t go off bad and I found it funny when Cookie’s sister managed to serve me the drink first when clearly there were 10 others who should have got it before me. After casual awkward mingling, we decided to go on a boat ride on the canal. That was fun, in parts and places. We came back and stuffed ourselves with food; for once I enjoyed the food, in fact I loved it. The boys were very gracious with their comments about my leftover pudding and I wholly appreciate it. Makes me want to cook more. After that we played games, which we fought over and I evicted Cookie because he’s a sour loser. Went to the beach, came back and went home. So it was nice, and the family wasn’t anything like the Adam’s Family. Dang!

Onto other news, the Great White One left. I managed to blink away the tears and hold a wide smile throughout the goodbye speech. He was a great boss even though I had many an argument with him. The department organized a day out sailing as a final goodbye and it was the best Saturday in a long time. I absolutely loved it even though I’ve been taken sailing before. This time the guy who took us didn’t let us loiter in the water, he got me to tack and it was fun and tedious because we had to keep moving when the boom kept swinging. Also he got me to arch my back out of the sailboat, so basically I could feel my hair touching the water. Loved it. I also managed to kayak a few times, ran around playing fetch with Lucy and Nugi ( Springer Spaniel and a Dachshund), played pictionary and went on a speed boat ride. Did I mention that it was the best Saturday in a long long time?

Just a few days ago I also met up with my O/L computer batch. They’ve all grown up, become disconnected, some a little more blond than they were before. I was just glad that I met them, at least I know where they are and what they look like but I don’t think I’d be good friends with most of them like we were back then.

Yeah that’s it.

If you leave me, I’ll never fall in love again

Familiar words? Those men never fail to amuse me.

The last one who cried not too long ago, perhaps a little more than a year now surprised me completely out of my wits. When we were together, not to-gether and every other time he was virtually living as a voice inside my phone whined about how he’s the loyal type, bound to a girl like glue. That’s why he took 3 odd years to get over his ex and his misery at that time was directed at me because he’d take forever to get over our incomprehensible relationship. I laughed. Scoffed. Then held the phone far away from my ear.

One year and two months later he’s married!

Maybe I’m easy -to -forget material. I shouldn’t have laughed so hard.

The Family Stone

I feel a lot like Meredith, but I’m not like Meredith and my boyfriend is nothing like her boyfriend and there is no family stone that I’m after or rather he’s going to make me wear.
Gulp, I hope!
See, I’m going to meet his family on the 3rd and one day on the 3rd the 3rd of October would dawn and I will have to show myself. I tried in vain to pull all sorts of little stunts. I told him that I might get violently ill (somehow my caring nerves preferred telling him NOW about my impending illness) or I might have something else that warrants my attention. But unfortunately he has seen through the obvious lies and hasn’t been merciful, so I guess I must show up this Saturday.
Like Meredith I don’t know what the appropriate outfit should be. The confidence that I seemed to have when I whined about the perfect outfit to meet the parents in a post I wrote aeons ago seems to be of little use. So, I’m sitting here, wide eyed mentally going through my wardrobe.
The pristine white shirt? Too formal and too Meredith.
The rock tee? Too disturbing and too me. It’s good I guess to let them take me in small doses, after all I wouldn’t like it much if they all decided to freak out and have a heart attack.
The cute spaghetti top? Too revealing.
His family is somewhat conservative and we Burghers have a reputation for being everything else other than conservative. I can’t be bothered with the clothes, I’ll just probably grab whatever I see on Saturday and stomp there. But one thing’s for certain though it won’t be a dress!!!

Now that the clothes are sorted I have bigger things to worry about. Meredith had a hard time trying to make conversation at the dinner table, in my case it would be a lunch table (doesn’t sound as good as a dinner table eh?). The thing is I’m one to talk but the language worries me considerably, they converse in Sinhala and I on a normal day can mutter some strange thing. The problem is when I get nervous I tend to freeze and when I eventually thaw, I’d most probably say something stupid. So yes I worry about things like that, wouldn’t you?
I guess I’d also have to behave. I can almost hear mum giving me a rulebook of 10 things to do and a 100 things not to…
# No screaming and running in the house.
# No laughing loud.
# No slurping and guzzling drinks.
# Always smile.
# Be polite and nod in acknowledgment.
I’ll probably follow her advice closely, because I also tend to daydream constantly and it won’t be much of a surprise if a conversation did go like this…
B.F mum: Would you like some chicken?
Me: Yes please
B.F mum: Would you like some rice?
Me: Yes please
B.F mum: would you like a sharp poke in the eye?
Me: Yes please
Oh dear! I guess I’d leave them with a great first impression, one that spells ‘unintelligent neurotic dyslexic all smiling freak’! Well I dunno, maybe it would be fun, maybe it would go horribly wrong. On the bright side if it does, I’ll have another story to write home about.

No strings attached

Fashion and its fashionistas are funny things, watching high street fashion is like watching a sordid comedy series. The most recent revelation disgusted my brain cells so much that I thought some form of written disapproval was necessary.

What’s this newfound item of annoyance? It’s none other than the C – string. Well it’s like a G- string, only it hasn’t got any strings, instead it’s got a wire that promptly fits into the crack between your bum cheeks (apologies for being crass but how else would you explain such a monstrosity?)

I’m perplexed by this invention, as much as I was perplexed with the G-string. When I first heard about the G-string from giggly teenage girls, I was curious like most 14-year-olds forced to wear training bras. Then one day I caught sight of it in a yuppie mall, my surprise gave way to a yelp like someone had physically kicked me in the stomach. Yes I was that surprised! I took one out and dangled it in front of my mother, I knew a barrage of angry words would come flowing from her but she uttered “Disgraceful!’ and smacked my hand so hard that I let it fall back into the disgusting heap. I chuckled because I was happy, at least she wouldn’t force me to wear that, couldn’t win the battle with the bra though.

A good number of years went by until I couldn’t hold onto that firm resolution because see I had to wear skirts like all proper women and as all women know, visible panty lines are goday, totally gross, so yes G-strings were the way forward. Few wedgies later, I decided that I wasn’t going to put myself under so much stress, because trying to get rid of a wedgie in a car or a roomful of men is worse than visible panty lines. So I went underwear shopping and found cute boxer shorts or hot pants (whatever you wish to call them) and found that life was indeed comfortable.

On that note I’m NOT going to end my post, instead on a high note I’m going to continue my tirade about the disturbing G-string. Most women don’t wear them to hide panty lines. I know this because most women who do wear jeans. Now what’s there to hide when you wear a pair of jeans? I’m not talking about the obvious but yes if the obvious was hiding matter then a bunch of strings won’t do. So here’s what I think, G- strings have become a fashion statement became some strange woman decided to bend in front of a hot Adonis. That’s what these women do, sexily strut their strings wherever possible. Can’t blame the men who watch, it’s actually quite a show. The other interesting fact I’m amused with is the amount of women who claim that it makes them feel good, it’s like they ooze some sort of sexiness just by knowing that they’re wearing these sexy lingerie. All fine and good but why not choose a sexy French cut knicker then? It’s evident that the only reason why a woman would wear a G-string is to tease and please the male mind. So we choose to be swathed in a bunch of strings, uncomfortable as a man seated on a bicycle bar just for our sexual esteem. Oh dear, I feel like echoing my mother’s wise sentiments “DISGRACEFUL!!!”. Sorry, that must have been a bit loud.

I’m done with the G-string, I don’t want to talk about the C- string or the sanitary pad as I call it. It’s just putrid!!!

If you haven’t already seen a C- string, Google images. It’s far too disgusting to showcase on my blog!

…

Orange and red gerberas mixed with babies breath and pale white roses.

A beautiful bouquet sits on my table and I’m wilting away with displeasure.

Life is so- not- ordinary!

Captured with my manual Yashica

First time using a manual and these were the only two I loved from the 24 shot reel. Still figuring out how to avoid camera shake and make best use of the aperture…

People Watching- Part 2

Strangers speak volumes, if you look close enough. That is why I’ve still not given up on my hobby. Watching people.

It might come as a surprise to most people when I say that I actually enjoy my bus rides, specially the morning shuttle to work because its got a mix bag of characters with their own peculiar story.

A few days ago while I was busy observing everybody else, an old man gets in. The heavy bag on his shoulder and the lopsided hat makes my heart swell with emotion. But surprisingly he smiles, takes out a harmonica and starts to play. And it’s beautiful, not at all like the intrusive sounds of the beating drum or the screechy vocals of a beggar. I’m transported into my own little world where I day dream of stone paved streets and flamenco dancing as the music wafts throughout the bus. He continues to play while the people in the bus hand out money and I begin to notice how he changed the atmosphere of a greasy, heated surrounding.  This lovely old man is not a beggar instead he’s providing us with a service, good Monday morning entertainment. He was able to put a smile on everyone’s face, because they enjoyed, reminisced, forgot about their unhappy moment, or it transported them momentarily to another place. This is why I love my rides, and I’m sure he feels good about himself too. Making someone else happy is truly a rare gift and a double bonus when it’s also a way of earning. Off he goes, to another bus and if you ever pass Bambalapitiya junction in the mornings he’s there, playing his happy tunes.

Onto other things…

I’ve been busy, with work, with Cookie, with moving house… and I’m onto two new ideas. Will it work? I don’t know but for the moment I’m keeping ‘them’ a secret.

Will be back soon with something to write about.

21

Almost all grown up!

Today because it’s special, made me recollect our first meeting, the first 15 minutes. In that little window of time, you saw me. The ‘me’ that most people only long after got to see.

I’m usually picky when I choose my friends, but with you there was no hesitation, it was purely an instant attachment because I guess I saw a little bit of me in you.

Our shared zest for life and adventure is evident by our sudden outbursts of running along the street, the hunt for the wild boar in Kitulgala, the hike, the discussions, the elevator rides, Machan and the recent near death experience.

Also I must take this opportunity to say that if it wasn’t for your “you better not date him, because I’ll be mighty pissed” threat I might not have realized that the big cuddly cookie is the best thing in the world .I hope he’s not listening to this, otherwise his ego will inflate and we’d have to giggle about it as usual.

Just before I end this little note, oh and don’t worry this tragic blog post isn’t your present. I just want to say that I see you becoming a success one day. Maybe in the field of engineering, wire connecting, bridge or gadget building, or maybe as a wonderful husband, father, brother and friend. Whichever direction you’re bound, I wish you the best and an inspiring twenty-one year ahead.

Appy burpday!