Decluttering

well, more like a painful separation that i'm forcing myself through.

As a shopaholic fashionista (yup, self proclamation) I seem to have amassed quite the wardrobe. Enough to overflow out of the confines of my size 8 shoe box bedroom. It must be a cruel cruel joke played by the powers that be (and my insightful father) - because I (the girl with waaay too many clothes/jackets/wearable items) got the smallest room in the house sans a closet of any kind. So i've been McGuyvering it to make it all work.

Until recently, that is.

I realized that the more I hold onto - the less space I have to fill up. Which theoretically should make me happy considering my unemployed state of being. But no siree - not me. I've embarked on a journey that I should've aeons ago - one that involves decluttering my closet in the hopes of decluttering my life. Organization my ass! This is painful people.

Think of someone maliciously pulling out every single eyelash on your pretty little peepers and then letting it kiss a flame from a defunct zippo. Yup. That's the feeling. Painful.

Most of the things i hold on to and never ever wear come complete with cobwebs and memories. Ones that i can't bear to part with. Call it immaturity or gluttony but regardless of what you name the beast it comes down to the stripping of walls. Well built, well placed walls that protect the Jana fortress. Much like my suit of armour, my act of bravado - so is my closet. Filled to the brim with old memories allowing me to believe that my life is full and complete. With no extra place for newness.

Should work again - theoretically. It works with the emotional and pyschological hoarding. Not so much with the clothing. I still go out and blow my pittance of a savings account on clothing. An addiction. So today - I'm decluttering.

(Note to self: wear protective armour while partaking in this activity. I have a tendency of hurting people (including myself)who try to throw out my precious belongings) - brackets within brackets - I am a veritable scholar.

So long story short - here is a little something that was plastered on a once gorgeous black tee. It's from the early 90's - when i was pro-feminist to the point of puking, obviously had no style (this tee could be a dress), wore lots of lycra regardless of my chunky behind and figured it all made sense in my head. Boy was I wrong...but some of the RULES on my tee (think it was a souvenir from our first trip to Niagara Falls - don't judge people - even diva's were fobs at one point)still ring true.

--
Here they are:

The Rules
1. The female always makes the rules
2. No male can possibly know the rules
3. If the female suspects the male knows all the rules, she must immediately change some of the rules
4. The female is never wrong
5. The female can change her mind at any given point of time
6. The female has every right to be angry or upset at any time
7. The male must remain calm at ALL times, unless the female wants him to be angry, or upset
8. The female must under no circumstances let the male know whether or not she wants him to be angry, or upset.
9. If the female has PMS,all rules are null and void
10. The male cannot diagnose PMS.

--

Sad isn't it? Yet, still funny. Got a little chuckle out of me.

But adios long-black- overly-stretched-out tee, you've been good to me. Through years of all nighters, ugly bouts of "I'm pmsing buzz off", prolonged sad sessions and heart breaks. You will be remembered fondly but all good things must come to an end at some point.

And this would be THAT point for you.

Urgh...back to work jana. Chop Chop! After all decluttering is a humane activity. It lets your once useful recently defunct clothing rest in peace. And simultaneously welcomes your brand spanking new items into a spacious home.

I wonder if this would count as my good deed for the day...

Dolly's heaven bound

A condensed version of the weekend - my attempt at chronicling an all around feel good vacay!

Friday's Festivities

Friday night was tremendously entertaining - I attended a Taize prayer session at Aunty M's local church. Now now, hold your horses there girlies - Nope, i'm still not switching religious teams but there's nothing wrong with a little extra curricular flirtation. It was calm, peaceful and soothing. An hour of latin chants, candle lighting and no touching of strangers (that's the one thing that irks me about Jesus' clan - they actively reach out and shake each other's hands in the hopes of passing on peace). All in all it was lovely. Dim lights, a near empty chapel, a gorgeously understated hour of spiritual R&R. I relaxed and let the sonorous chants wash my woes away.

We closed up friday night with a viewing of North Country (definitely an Oscar contender) that was both inspiring and angering. Women take too much crap and it's about time some of us stood up and claimed a little bit of dignity back from them XY chromosomed creeps. Although, as the words leave my fingertips I'm quick to realize that this world is also filled with vicious women who have contributed more than their fair share to all sorts of discriminatory practices. Perhaps next time around, I'm going to ask to come back as water - real yet transcending this reality. A late night chow down at Tremendous more than filled the void that the ridiculously good popcorn didn't - and with that Aunty M chased me out of her peripheral vision and welcomed some much needed shut eye.

Saturday Stories

*** i think i waited too long to complete this entry because I can't for the life of me recall what happened during the rest of this weekend. However, stay tuned folks - lots has happened and with the new year you're bound to find a whole slew of new and hopefully entertaining posts. Until then - godbless***

P.S. I got me a fotolog: www.fotolog.com/soulsysta - niiiiice.

Creme de la creme

today an oxymoron swaddled me like new borns are - part suffocation, part comfort -
part joy, part sorrow as i realized the one truity in my existence:

while i know many - i only love a few.

and whilst one might believe that with age you gather the bag of tricks that is necessary to form a larger (and cohesive) group of buddies - i disagree because if i didn't that would mean that i've failed. And THAT my dear friends would be a damn shame.

however, the few that are loved and adored and revered in my circle will always be accepted - flaws, ticks, quirks and all.
i know, i am quite giving innit?

what brought this suffocating realization on?
blogs.

i stumbled upon a group of blogs - strong, eloquent south asian women across the USofA - who have fallen in the throes of friendship with each other - going as far as travelling thousands of kms to grab a weekend bite and make a few cherishable memories. awww right?

well guess what - i don't have that.

a part of me, the imp that lives within, wishes i did.
a group of people to whom appearances don't matter - to whom words, experiences, revelations set the tone, demeanor and interactions that ensue. a group of people not bonded by the activities they partake in but in the collective emotional growth and failures that they experience.

huh.

reeks a lot like the relationship i have with the inner circle.
and perhaps that's my larger woe - i'm too afriad to realize that i've already got everything that i'll ever need to make this life memorable.

this weekend - i promise to conquer that beast of emotional dissonance.

and if that fails, heck - at least i'll meringue my ass out of this insiduous funk.

Give and Take

or is it just take take take?

These days, considering how far most of us single gals have come - I wonder if we have lost the ability to have a relationship that's filled with equity. An equal measure of give and take. I wonder if we've grown overly accustomed to catering all our needs first and foremost thereby, forgetting the needs of those that integrate themselves into our existence.

Being in a monogamous relationship for two and a half years and counting - I speak from experience when I say that it's probably the toughest hurdle that one must overcome. I got lucky you see, I have a man who understands that I'm not the greatest at giving and sadly, well equipped in the "taking" department. My wonderful man goes out of the way to school me on the art of balance - a man who is deliciously wrapped in patience and tolerance. Unfortunately not all of us get that lucky.


So how does one deal?

A) Take until the giving runs dry and move on to the next veritable well of generosity
B) Change our inner sanctum of beliefs (Blasphemous I know! but really, more like nudge things around to give a little)
C) Give up. Call it "hard work". Deem it unfit in relationship terms and kick him to the curb.
D) Compromise (the ugly ugly c word for most independent minded singletons)
E) Sift through all those options, look into his eyes and realize that small concessions must be made in order to bask in that blessed divinity.

Huh. Options. Options. Options people.

And at the end of the day - it all boils down to how badly does this one person matter? Is the family outing, the boys night out, an all testosterone poker party - little things - do those matter more than the comfort of the nook you find somewhere between his side and his arm?

Guiltily, I admit I expect my boytoy to go out of his way to attend all family functions, cultural outings, events that make him squirm in his undies and leave him itching to flee - and when he refuses - I balk. I stare at him and think - the AUDACITY to even attempt to duck out of an obligation. Gosh, shouldn't he love me more?

Yet, that very same sentiment is lost when it's his turn to ask a favor. The double standard does exist and I think that every relationship harbors it in its own special secret hiding place. All this was brought on by a mild confrontation that lil R had with B - two souls trying hard to integrate two lifetimes into one love story. Lovely isn't it? Human beings are damn interesting - especially when their emotions are involved. We become children drawing that imaginary line that separates the "us" from "them” all the while forgetting that at the end of the day - we're on the same team just trying to make things peachy for everyone involved.

Dilemma's galore. If anyone figures it out, please feel free to drop me a line and edumacate my broke ass soul.

Im drenched. Literally. The gods that be must be brawlin about something fierce because they've unleashed their watery wrath in bucketfuls. And unawares, I caught myself amidst their row. Not the first and certainly not the last. But, as my fingers freeze over I realize - I relish these moments of absolute clarity.

God Bless.
J

Another shot at stardom

This evening I've got a meeting with a certain CD of a very reputable ad agency. I've heard great things about both the shop and the people that work there.

While, the word on the street is that they may be looking for a jr. copywhore - im not going to get too excited. After all, cautious optimism is the way to go.

Goodluck me. I hope we kick some serious behind.

But in the offchance that we don't, just remember - we will be fine.

Cheers.

Rubbish or trash - talking?

In a world where people focus on fulfilling the "right now" - with things such as disposable camera's, disposable lunch boxes and disposable diapers (to name a few) - how disposable are people?

In a recently heated debate, two star crossed lovers (read: 54 kms apart) debated the pros and cons of just that sentiment. The estrogen, alive and kickin for over a 1/4 of a century - proposed that people are replaceable. They have to be in order to survive. At least from her limited experiences. Situations have painted her into a corner - into believing that the only people you can't replace in this world are the people you are born with. Ultimately, they are also the only people you can truly trust. Because other people such as friends, acquaintances, shit - boyfriends even, have to be deemed replaceable in order to protect the frail spirited. You see, people who are disposable can't possibly bludgeon your heart and shatter it to smithereens because well, you can replace them before reciting the entirety of the alphabet.

Now, is that horribly jaded or just plain pragmatic?

Does one have to feel obliged to deem someone indispensible/irreplaceable if they happened to love the said other? Can't we just get along by agreeing to disagree?

A tiny voice in one lonely crevice cries out against this blatant stupidity. "Hell no" she screams. "You cannot believe that the love of your life is replaceable"

And then reality kicks in.

I thought my grandma was for eternity and loved her as such. Loved her in ways that only 6 years olds can. And lost her to a context that made absolutely no sense to me. So lesson 1: when you love someone like they are your own they become indispensable - thereby leaving you seriously screwed when they disappear.

You can't blame a girl for self preservation. It might be childish to some - or heck, even most of you - but honestly - inside this twenty something year old woman searching to establish an identity lies that emotionally raw 6 year old. Still clutching on to an imaginary hand that had already let go.

So disposable or not - that's how the story ends.Unfortunately while some of us brave the realities of heartache and admit to never being able to replace or dispose of certain ties that bind...others of us find solace in knowing that only a handful of people in the entire world have the ultimate power to completely annihalate them.

Preservation - good. Extinction - not so much.

Having said that, i sincerely hope that one day that "said other" will become part of my real family - and when that happens - he will bring with him a pod to connect. And while net sharing can be a gloriously generous activity - pod sharing can get quite complicated. So here's me - eager to share my pod and my home with the love of my life all the while knowing that i have just opened myself up to being hurt by 4 more people.

Note to self: Don't fall in love again. This is a deceptively dangerous activity especially for a chicken shit such as said self.

Yet, another dilemma locked into the vault.
God Bless.

P.S. The yorkdale trip left my inner fashionista starving. Stella's stuff was gone within the first half hour of her debut. She was ravenously devoured by a pack of hungry chic wolverines leaving me remnants that couldn't be recycled. Three bikini's and a chain link purse - yup, that's all they left behind. And even that had a waiting list of piranha's willing to bite. Oh well. Adios Stella - we shall meet again. And next time - maybe it will be in person. ;)

Whew

over-reacted.

called yorkdale
there's a tiny weeny little selection left
some returns from yesterdays madness

so new plans for the afternoon
drive to yorkdale

im not vain people
i just keep it real'

;)

SOLD OUT

So, imagine my wrath when i called H&M at Scarborough Town Centre to inqure if they were carrying McCartney's hot new budget line of couture - only to find out that THEY ARE SOLD OUT.

SOLD OUT on BLOOR
and
you guessed it
SOLD OUT at Yorkdale

How do you sell out of an entire LINE of clothing and accessories in HALF a BLOODY EFFIN DAY.

grrr.

now my dreams of owning ONE measely piece of McCartney will wither and die in oblivion.

to the biatches who bought all the shit - i hope you trip, fall and possibly rip the McCartney that should've been mine.

anger.
yup, it's still red.

Seven.

Okay, this insightful quiz is courtesy of Sibil, (aka, In Transit). Lucky number 7!

7 things I plan to do before I die:

1). Write a book. Publish said book (s).
2). Travel the world & capture it all on black&white film
3). Buy my baby 3rd row courtside basketball tickets for an entire season
4). Own a beautiful house and turn it into a sensational home complete with all my loved ones
5). Live in New York for a couple months and just write.
6). Acquire a few pieces of couture (Coco Chanel, Luis, Blahnik..etc)
7). Have good credit (well, this might be something that I carry over into my next lifetime)

7 things I can do:

1). Spot a new trend in almost anything
2). Write deliciously (albeit when the mood strikes)
3). Be the protector of my litter
4). Get lost even with the greatest directions
5). have a great conversation.
6). cook yummy meals (so long as there’s cable modem in the building).
7). Sell snow to an eskimo/convince myself of anything

7 things I cannot do:
1). Be away from my family for prolonged periods of time
2). complicated numbers – especially while I’m shopping
3). stop drinking coffee.
4). be quiet (unless it’s early morning).
5). resist a great author, a great cup of coffee and a little me time
6). be alone for long periods of time.
7). tolerate stupidity or fools

7 things that attract me to another person:

1). A great smile (the kind that tickles your pupils)
2). Smart/witty repertoire.
3). Manners/etiquette.
4). Individuality/ Comfort in their own skin (quirky)
5). Spontaneity (something I sorely lack)
6). the ability to think outside the box (especially with fashion)
7). Authenticity ( an inimitable spirit)

7 things that I say most often:

1). Shit outta luck
2). Hey buddy
3). OMG!
4). Innit!
5). No freaking way!
6). Now, that’s fabulous!
7). I’m sorry. (what? People are sooo overly-sensitive)

7 People I want to do this:
1). Mikes
2). My dad (that’d be interesting)
3). My sisters
4). Subashini
5). Aunty Madge (she’s crazy banana’s)
6). Priya/Sherry/Mich/Tash (cuz I know lots of little things but not the important ones – like these – insert eye rolling here)
7). Abu ( she’s blood but I still don’t know her very well)

Unemployed or on-vacation?

This is the question that's been plaguing me since the unfortunate event of my dismissal. Yes I know, I wasn't fired - I was merely restructured out of a job. Yet, these days, that certainly gets lost in translation as I parlay the news to friends, family and the general public. It seems that a lot more people are strangely curious about my employment status now that I find myself shit out of luck on the job front.

So how does a seemingly well adjusted, articulate young writer make a buck in this city? Is it re-jigging my life? My brain? Trading something in or up? Or merely letting go of everything?

Perusing through the dailies one thing is for certain. Successful writers are successful only after they have succumbed to the wrath of the powers that be. That to be successful (in terms defined by society and Webster’s) one must undergo hardship, chaos and general pathos. Tragic isn’t it? So I’ve lifted the ban that I’ve tacked on myself. I am no longer enslaved by mere verbiage. Instead, I’ve found solace within that very term.

I am woman, albeit an unemployed one, hear me roar!

Meow.

Okay, so perhaps the battle cry needs a little more oomph. But that's merely a technicality of life isn’t it? When one door closes another one opens - in some cases, it’s just a window. Not one of those beautiful see-the-ocean- feel-it bay windows where you can swiftly enter without crumpling up your new "take on the world" suit, not even a nicely sized see-the-world-through-this-hole window that you can make it through crinkle free but a grungy attic window. The type that requires a certain sense of agility to crawl through. I reckon being anorexic would also help.

Unfortunately blessed with a healthy gait, a dislike for crawling and a fear of creepy crawlies (that inevitably live in such environments) - I have decided to take this time off. Now, now, there’s no reason to freak out. It's not like im refusing to apply for jobs (both inside and outside the confines of the alphabet) but merely, to take things as they come along. To help my brain learn to let go of pre-conceived bliss that comes with a pre-requisite of achieving certain goals on a certain someone's deadline.

Reading through Oprah's magazine (she is my spiritual bible) I read an article that focused on goals, more specifically the benefit of lacking goals. It basically said that defined goals are similar to putting blinders on - they hinder you from seizing the day and exploring the back roads in life. Written based on the experiences of 200 successful entrepreneurs, philanthropists and business folk - it brings to light their journey to success. None of them ended up where they thought they would. None of them partook in the straight road instead winging it through a circuitous path to bliss. The pith is as follows: Being aspirational is okay. Being goal oriented is damaging. And in those 2000 words (no, I didn't count them - I mean I'm unemployed but I’m still not a loser - that's tomorrows task) I realized that's what I’ve been doing.

I've been waiting for my elusive "In a few years" - I’ve used and abused that term in the worst of times. I've cluttered my advertising existence with "well, its hard now and draining but in a few years I'll be happy"/ "I've gotta succumb to the decision makers now and stifle my spirit but in a few years it'll all be worth it". But honestly, will it? Will it really be worth it? Will I really find utter joy in being accomplished or will it merely open another window/door or mail slot into a world of more goals? OR at least chasing more goals. Will I ever be happy if my joy is dependent on achieving goals that are largely defined by the context my situation?

Any takers? Because I for one realized that no I probably won't. With a type A, obsessive-compulsive, extremist personality such as mine - happiness will always evade me. Always. Because I wouldn't know how to recognize it after all the hunting, chasing and stalking of those very goals. See the vicious cycle? It’s scary how much control my brain has over my life. It is. Especially because my brain wants to control the world without ever giving me the chance to take a chance. Without ever realizing that to write I must be inspired by smelling the roses or the coffee or the stench of putrid poo (whatever the case may be). My brain has me trapped.

So I’m going to take a break. Re-program my brain waves. Let myself realize that if I happen to fall into something that isn't advertising - that's fine. That perhaps that is what life is. Finding a lot and making a garden.

Although considering my sore-nurturing skills - this promises to be a task in and of itself.

So for the next few weeks - I’ll be filling this space with a lot more writing and a lot less hiding.

I tend to do that - hide when my goals are threatened. God, you'd think they control me. Maybe that's why writers/artists/us creative types have such a hard time before we embrace success. We tend to let our goals, our perceptions of joy, our over-blown grandiose productions of what life should be and what happiness should mean overshadow the reality of it all. We miss out on real things because we're preoccupied in the imaginary. Escapism at its best.

While my imagination paints a happily ever after only in advertising - I wonder if I could find that happily ever after in other things. Time is of the essence people - and if the sagging breasts aren't a great indication of that - the tiny lines that cocoon my peepers of times past certainly is.

Explore my little minnow - that's my new mantra. Let’s see how long this gimmick lasts. Because if I know my brain, and I do, it rarely settles for life without a deadline driven plan.

I am forcing my brain into introspective mode, aka vacation mode. Woo-hoo time to bust out some flip flops and a girly magazine. And a small piece of scrap paper in the event I feel the need to re-write my five year plan.

hrmph. There it goes again. Oh brain, why won't you ever listen to pinky.

Until tomorrow, god bless.

Unrestful

nights.

followed by restless days.

I'm starting to think that i missed one piece of vital information somewhere alongst the chain. I keep calling all these creative directors - leaving them all these messages and 2 - COUNT THAT 2 - people have gotten back to me.

and it's haunting me.

i can't sleep at night because of this blessed trinity of reasons.
1. im worried about the suckyness of my book
2. im worried that nobody seems to return phone calls
3. im scared out of my mind that im going to be unemployed forever

man. what can i do?
what should i do?
this is probably what a man shooting blanks feels on a daily basis.


help.

First shot out of the gates

and it was hell.

i expected comfort but instead i was welcomed by approximately 7 mins of disappointment.

1st meeting and it already seems hopeless.

the soundtrack in my head is actually a mantra: have faith lil minnow. have faith.

grr.

boredom killed the jana

ironic.
that's the new definition of my life.

i'm stuck yet unglued.

feels like this is what happens when a hair thin crack appears on exquisite porcelain
it's perfect to those who haven't studied it
and revoltingly real to those who have.


i feel that way right now.
wrinkled, cracked, damaged
yet strangely still intact.

grr.
help.

Last rites

it's ironic really.
that the middle of the day
right before a long weekend
would be spent saying goodbye - not for right now but for a long long time.

today i will be making my last "official" trip into work.
ex-work.
M & I will pack up my wares
and move to hawking it elsewhere.

this certainly feels like the end of something..
and i just might need some kleenex

right now feels like a time of mourning

mourning over the loss of a partner
more than a job
mourning over the loss of great people
more than a great creative shop
mourning the end of idealism
but realizing that it was inevitable..

BUT i have to remind myself that
this is merely the end of one chapter
and i'm certain that whatever awaits me
will be filled with loveliness
be it within the realm of advertising or not.

so that's me folks.

vulnerable again

but this time, i realize the number of lovely people i have in my life.

my immediate fam, M's fam, S&Magic
The girls: Princess, Pri, Bear, Mich, D and their respective men
T&J and Baby R and all the rest of them (R&V, R&N, H2O, Lady Hawk, Noto and others) who've made it a point to reach out and pass on a big ole "get better" hug.

i appreciate it you guys.
so much.
and the older i get, there's one more thing i'm certain of:
i'm blessed to be so loved.

the next time i post, i'll be a free :{ writer.

peace.

Let go

huh.

that's pretty much the resounding feeling on my end.
huh!

unexpected.
it dropped yesterday
B's fine, i however, not so much.

i will be cleaning out my things
and moving on - solo
tomorrow.

wish me luck people
yet another scary chapter awaits my arrival

now if only i can peel myself away from my hiding place of tears
i should be okay.

guess karma is a bitch
except i dont remember what i did to deserve this

forecast: better things to come in the near future
or atleast that's what i keep telling my poor shoddy self.

for those who know me and love me - my new email address is the following:
firstname.lastname@rogers.com

please keep in touch, cuz i need all the comfort i can get.
especially right now.

bleh.

Keyword: compromise.

OMG: 5 more days until Appa and R get home. The countdown begins.
--
This weekend was a learner. Nope, not a euphemism for anything. It means exactly what it says. I learned a lot more this weekend about “realationships” than ever before. I finally, yes I know it took me a while, figured out this compromise thing or at least what I need to do to make things bearable and shoot, even just kosher. It’s a lot of work people, this relationship thing. That might also explain why I shyed away from being committed during the bulk of my 20’s. It’s just too much work.

Friday: Magic’s Big Chill birthday night. He loved the magic bullet and I’m mad excited to drop by and test it out. The crowd: so so. The food: absolutely scrumptious. S: such a diplomatic wifey. I learned a lot from her that night. I realized that sometimes you’ve gotta grit your teeth and grin through the unbearable. To realize that you might not have much in common with your partners pals but to understand their importance in his existence. And to let it flow. That’s what I learned. You have to let things go. M&I got into a massive kerkuffle after we abruptly departed from their crib. You see, M doesn’t dig the whole scarborough scene. Unfortunately, I was born into it. While “ghettoness” doesn’t define any of the members of the inner circle, we’re all well versed in adapting to it, tolerating it and oftentimes feigning enjoyment through it. M was born with a defective gene – he can only take so much ghettoness. (according to my mom that’s a blessing in disguise – I guess I should feel lucky in the knowledge that he’d never subject me to uncomfortable situations) Yet, I’ve broken the pack. And I, blind to this fact, subject him to the ghetto-ness he despises on a weekly basis (or so it seems) in the name of “love”.

Moral of the story: I promise to ask him if he’d like to join in on the ghetto rumble before subjecting him to it. And in the event he doesn’t feel up to it, I promise to let it go and enjoy the evening solo. Pinky swear. Finally, he can look forward to choices and options. ☺

Sat: completely chill. Took care of my dear momma whose got 5 stitches between her thumb and index finger. A duel she had with a green pepper and an obnoxious knife. She’s been out of commission for the last 5 days. I never realized just how much she does for us – how much she does to make sure that the house runs as smoothly and as seamlessly as it does. She works hard to make our brick house, a home. And it’s been another well deserved lesson. I’d also like to thank the powers that be for R who so willingly abandoned his own mom on moving day (rip:203) to drive mine to the emergency. And to M who chauffered her to some vital appointments on Friday even though he’s got a huge FA4 demon to slay. And to little R whose trying her best to keep up with all these changes. Oh yes, and we also watched A lot like love on sat night. Surprisingly, okay. I’d watch it again. Me thinks. I also spent a good chunk of the weekend shopping for baby R’s birthday basket. While I’m sure that everyone is going to bombard her with tacky outfits and gold jewelry, M &I are hell bent on making the kid smart as a whip. Hopefully, she’ll take to all the educational cajoling.

Sun: Spent the morning with baby R, T&J in their beautiful “almost” Brampton home. It was fun just kicking it with her. She’s so animated now – full of expressions and hours of watchable fun. I can see her emerging personality – she promises to be quick witted, quick tempered and incredibly possessive. Woot! Another little me. After a lunch of jerk chicken and some more crawling on all fours, we headed out to M’s house. And of course, it was a pleasure seeing Aunty. I haven’t actually chilled with her in so long.
Another lesson: When I first met M’s mom, I thought to myself – she will be my undoing. She seemed remote, removed and just cold. And now, I can’t believe how loved I feel whenever im with them. They try their hardest to make me feel like I belong and I am so lucky. Cuz honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better family to hang out with. I watched my usually-shy mom hanging out with Aunty and Uncle and realized that things will be okay. My life, if it were to change in a unionized manner, would be a-okay. My fam will get along famously with my extended fam. I think last night, I stumbled upon the realization that I kinda sorta love them. Weird. But, true. It felt a lot like love. I’m not sure if it truly was but it sure had the same type of accompaniments. I saw all of em sitting in the living room shooting the shit and it whacked me upside my head: OMG, I’m so in love with this.

This being that feeling of purely seamless integration. Scientifically speaking, it’s the super-gene. When two totally unrelated strands are joined together and they take to each other. A transplant almost – but of a mutual nature.

Blissed out. It almost makes me forget that my blood sugar is out of control. Almost makes me forget that I still need to tackle this beast that breathes inside me. It also almost makes me remember how badly I want to stick around to see all this play out. So, new resolution for the day. Oprah says you can do anything once you sit your brain down and say “I decide to…”. So, I decide to quit smoking. I had what I hope is my last one (for a while) today. I’m not going to purchase a pack (as I often do on a Monday). The hardest part is not the cravings. It’s the habitual nature of this game. Its ritualistic. And that’s so much tougher to crack. But heck, no pain no gain.

So wish me luck as I try to ween myself off this crap. My clothes will thank me and hopefully, if I’m strong enough about this I’ll be around to watch all this loveliness unfold. I mean, I’ve got baby R to train into the nouveau fem intellect she promises to be. I’ve got Rsquared and their epic to follow. And R&B’s love story to watch unfold. I’ve got so much to do and I just hope that my self control doesn’t fall through.

I already feel brand new.
No I don’t. I just figured that was a good way to end a piece like this.
The sad truth: my throat is closing in at the thought of changing things.

The older I get the more I realize how much I hate, change.

Happy Monday.

Alas, the scent of autumn is here.

The weather is our seasonal cowbell. Ringing torturously, it signals the changing time. In this case, the coming of fall.

It’s quite the foreboding sign when you wake up and realize that it’s too bloody chilly to walk out wearing a tank top with no cover. For people like myself who didn’t consider the recent tornado alert and flooding to be a sign of seasonal change – the wardrobe re-think certainly is. And if that’s not enough – its CNE time.

Quite frankly though, a secret part of me – that hides in fear of public flogging – loves the fall. The sense of change, of evolution, of something anything to mix things up. However, that secret part of me hides quivering behind the truth that with fall comes the torment of winter. Brrr.

Philosophical meanderings aside – here’s the synopsis for the weekend.

Friday night we convened at Red Lobster – the regular crew to celebrate M’s new job. As always we shared lots of laughs, our hidden fears, a few friendly jabs and tones of unwanted advise. M starts her gig today. I’m sure she’s going to be wonderful at it. Her nerves are a sign that her psychological self understands the hugeness of this step – we’re all grown up. Literally.

P & S are my very own Bridget Jones’ – minus the overt desperation that the aforementioned wears as her cloak. These girls are smart, sexy, salacious, strong and surprisingly single. Go figure! This city is either filled with men who are bordering on legal blindness or metrosexuals too afraid of a strong woman. I’m willing to bet it’s a little bit of both. After all, I’d be afraid of painting myself into the idiotbox with an opinionated woman as well. No matter, things will be exactly as they were destined to be – unless you build a fort and hide behind it for fear of getting ouched. We’re gonna run a little experiment that mirrors ABC’s (or is it NBC’s) Hooking Up. Independent women sifting through profiles of hopefully independent men, online. I still have to work out the semantics of it all before I open a veritable pandora’s box. Stay tuned.

Sat – the big chill. Mom, R & me ran some errands, did some chores and then plopped on her bed and watched a hindi movie. Yup, it was soo nice. The movie itself was sub-par but the actual activity of relaxing with my mom was amazing. I tend to forget how awesome she is – how much she does for us – how badly she wants to shelter us from everything – how much she misses dad. I tend to forget all the reasons why I should be forever indebted to her – and why I should be grateful for having the privilege of being one part Mrs. R.

Sat night: S&Magic, R (minus his R) and M&I showed up massively late for a surprise birthday party. Surprise! It was nerve wracking. Tamil people (young or old) mixed with alcohol never makes for good clean fun. Instead, it was a bombardment of noise, chaos and drunken misbehavior. Magic and I decided that we hate surprises. No massively embarrassing moments for us thank you. We’ll just do regular chill sessions minus the drunken unmanageable crowds. R, we decided loves to be in the thick of things. Poor kid, he misses my sister madly. However, he is quite smart because he told me straight up – once R gets back – I get her all of Friday. Woo! After the fete we went back to S&Magics place and hung out on the front porch. Now, that was an awesome way to end a hectic evening. Flare magazine had this article on “hiving” – it’s this phenomenon that’s taking the twenty something to thirty something generation by storm. Instead of going out and getting lushed – the trend is to invite friends over to your home and get lushed. A variation of cocooning but heck, it’s far more enjoyable than screaming “excuse me, would you mind taking your massive girth off my feet?” at some anonymous club.

Sunday – work. And work is still love, actualized. Oh and M surprised me with a stopover. Gosh, i love him to pieces.

I slept on dad’s side of the bed last night. I miss him. The way he loses his temper. The way he shakes his head in disappointment for the tiniest little thing (like finding the milk jug empty) – just everything. God I miss him. And I miss R even more. I never realized how lonely this life can be without a best friend around. But whining aside – 12 more days to go.

Work calls. Well, she’s actually like a banshee – screaming her lungs out.

Perspective

it seems to have shifted by 180 degrees.

after trimming the blubber off my emotional drama, i dawned upon the simple realization that - it will okay.

R left me a love note filled with comfort and i was grateful that she hadn't forgotten.

today promises to be one hectic day - actually scratch that - this week promises to be nutty.

in work, i will renew my solace.

god bless.

Eureka

i just discovered this:

[A girl crush] refers to that fervent infatuation that one heterosexual woman develops for another woman who may seem impossibly sophisticated, gifted, beautiful or accomplished. And while a girl crush is, by its informal definition, not sexual in nature, the feelings that it triggers - excitement, nervousness, a sense of novelty - are very much like those that accompany a new romance.

that's it.

In 1981 on July 21, i felt the first stirrings.
in time, it blossomed into a fully functioning girlcrush.
not a new phenomenon - i mean gosh, there's a muthaeffin definition for it.

that's the woe people: i have always had a huge crush on R. MASSIVE. we tell each other all the time - if nothing else and nobody else existed in our lives - we'd still be fine. idealistic? probably so. But heck, it's the only thing thats been consistent and stable in my existence. She happens to embody my roots.

she is my family. my bestest friend. my bestest half. all of the that and more.

i know, it sounds like i'm certifiably nuts - but quite frankly, im gonna live this high of having discovered that other people are just as fond of lunacy as i am.

gnite.

stuck in the middle of nothing.

Today has been horrific.

For the first time, in a long long long time, i cried inwardly. Only to realize how effin lonely and pathetic that truly is. It resembles my first months at university - still looks, smells and feels the same. the putrid odour of flying solo.

R&R dropped me off at McCowan this morning. Hours before my special friend and appa would board a plane and revisit our roots. We hugged for what felt like a miniscule eternity, on the street, admist stares - holding back tears.

I got on the RT and rode my route to work in complete shambles.

I know it's a 19 day trip.
I know they're gonna have tones of fun.
I know it will fly by.

but none of these things that i happen to know seem to be enough.
nothing fills this gaping void.

I take comfort knowing that my family is safe in our little haven that is fort 1278.
i take comfort in knowing that Appa is merely a phone call or a shout away.
I take comfort knowing that i will see and speak to R through the course of my day.
these are things that i know yet, i've also taken for granted.

gosh i miss em. and it shows.

its been less than 24 hours and its been brutally tough.
partially because i hadn't really prepared for this feeling of utter loss.
i hadn't fully realized how awful it is to feel this alone.
(yes i know, im not ALL alone - i've got friends and stuff - but whatevs)

overly dramatic? sure it is.
why shouldn't it be?
she's my best friend - sometimes, my only one - and she's continents away for 19 days.

i'll be fine.
i always am. i just have to shake this cloak of misery off.
time will fly - because well, thats how time operates

but today was misery
a memorable sort of misery
the type that grips you and keeps you suspended in time

and i unflinchingly let myself wallow in it.

being strong is something everyone does. so why not be completely weak? takes a stronger person to know exactly where their weakness rests...mine is so obviously my inner circle.

so the moral of the story is:
the grey cloudy part: gosh, i should be an adult about this. a grown woman crying because her sister and dad are on vacation? grrr - its enough to make me grind my teeth in sheer anger.

the silver lining: man, i love hard. i love fully and completely and without abandon.And while i don't love many, the few people i do bring me tremendous joy - and im such a sucker for a moment of happiness.

today has been miserable.
but tomorrow is definitely a new day.

i can barely verbalize, vocalize or rationalize anything on a page right now
im such a mess. torrid and dramatic. that's me.

tomorrow, common sense will ensue.

i promise.

but in the meantime, can i bum some of that valium please?

Exhausted.

Emotionally.
Physically.
Mentally.
Creatively.

And to make bad– worse :

I’m getting sick, AGAIN.

Hooray for me!
--

this calls for a semi-hiatus.
a mini break which will hopefully result in introspection
because at this moment
it seems to be the one thing i lack

time alone to think.

Turn the Barbie up!

Saturday was R’s official birthday barbeque. And this year, we decided to veer away from hard core poultry as the main entrée and spiced things up with assorted kabobs. While it was our virgin run with the skewers from hell, it was surprisingly easier to maneuver around them.

S introduced me to this mega-chinese grocery store T&T, which was stocked with all the things necessary to have a good wholesome meal on the cheap. The girls got dresses for this most spectacular event and we readied ourselves for a backyard fete.

Needless to say, all great days are punctuated with moments of distress. My beloved M got into a tiny little fender bender that left him and his mom straight but his car most definitely bent. Hence, aunty decided to bow out of the celebratory night to calm her frazzled nerves down. I’m glad they’re okay. Righteously, karma has a way of playing horror in sets of three – the trinity of ill will, you could say. B (R’s British man) also got into a couple spills – totaling his audi and making way for a new one. Looks like the boys will be pimping new rides this fall – all three of em. M/R/B – nice one guys!

Tia actually showed up this time which I was absolutely tickled pink about because with the baby she’s playing a whole different ball game. One that involves strollers, baby bags, books, and all the appendages that seem to be vital for the little one. R is soooo adorable. Her little chubbalicious arms, her vivacious laugh, her ear-splitting cries – it was all joy. J brought along some jerk chicken and exposed a few of our guests to a fan-taste-ic experience. Unfortunately, due to no fault of their own, they only brought enough chicken to feed a few. Leaving the many, me included, salivating at the mouth every time the story of the carib-tamil poultry was mentioned.

S&Magic – wowzers. Mr & Mrs. Finally. I expected a huge difference – something that screamed out “look guys, we’ve changed” but thankfully, nothing has changed at all. Except for sharing the same destination, they’re both exactly the people they were before they became one. I’m overjoyed. They came, infused tones of life into the celebration and filled the house with joy. That’s usually the norm with those kids – they make certain that everyone is comfortable and having fun. Magic joined the familial unit a while ago and was discovered purely accidentally. And now, with the recent developments of international love affairs, the possibility of S becoming family is also very real. I can’t wait. I absolutely adore this couple – singularly and in their purest plural form.

My cousins showed up as well. A decision that we were wary of initially considering that we rarely make the effort to extend our hands in friendship. They’re great people and came out in good spirits. R was excited. And it was definitely a good time.

R’s R brought along a couple of his friends as well. The booze overflowed leading to much debaucherous verbiage, People bonded over Ballantines and Blue. I swear he’s the poster child for drinking too much too soon. And his determined behavior only makes it that much harder to keep our sanity alive. As always, R decided to live it up and act a fool. I’m just glad he did it in the company that was there that night. He got home safe, in one piece and happy. And at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.

And then of course, my folks. As they age, I find them beginning to embrace all things collegial. They love having people over. Especially Tia & the baby, S& Magic – they absolutely adore it. I looked at my dad holding Tia’s little one and something tugged somewhere in the vicinity of my chest as I realized how lovely they both looked. Experience met innocence and a new connection was born. Dad’s smartly aged hands holding the super-soft bubblicious baby was too much to bear. I promise you dad, at some point, one of us (S is included in the us) will have one. And he/she will be all yours.

All in all, another well spent night. The food was awesome. B was missed, tremendously. He was there through the phone waves – enlightening us about the practices and etiquette of barbequing. And as he so eloquently suggested – a winter barbeque is definitely in the making.

For one moment in my life, I stepped off my annoying self and observed my familial unit. We’re blessed. So blessed to be surrounded by people – born with and hand picked- who emanate genuine goodness. People that you can count on at the best of times and the worst of times. People that don’t need shout outs because they will always know exactly how much they matter to each other. People who will be bound for life and blanketed by memories quilted collectively. I am so lucky…

And maybe some of that luck will rub off on me today. The agency is having an off-site golf day. 12 hours of bonding on a golf course. Sounds like fun? Sure it does. Until you factor all the golfing into the equation.

A review will follow – at some point in the near future.

Be blessed.

Unpredictable air travel

R was scheduled to arrive from her sojourn in London at 2:30pm yesterday. And she would’ve too except for the slight mishap that befell her aircraft. Skyservices aircraft number 211 was derailed (the term of their choice) due to mechanical difficulties. The god damn mammoth of an aircraft was leaking oil and much like a pre-pubescent girl dealing with her first bout of woman-hood, it needed a mutha-effin time out. So R found herself, her 3 pieces of luggage and her fellow passengers stranded in Halifax.

The land of umm fish? I’m not sure. Because well, I’m largely ignorant and quite okay with that.

So she finally got into pearson at 11:45pm. I swear this must’ve been the world’s longest flight. Afterall she left Heathrow at 10 am her time (well their time). And she seems happy. Different. Mature. Calmer. As if somehow she stumbled upon a realization that made her more comfortable in her skin.

I’m ecstatic for her. Actually, that’s an understatement. I am over-joyed, over-the-moon, over- the- infinitesimal- universe. I realized quite a few things when she was gone – so perhaps this was a necessary break for all of us. Here are things I hope I don’t forget in a hurry:

• She is so precious – her insides emanate this intense sense of goodness – and yet, we tend to harp about all that isn’t well.
• We are so selfish. We seem to appease ourselves with the knowledge that she’s broken and hence we don’t treat her with the same honesty that we treat each other.
• We (R&I) expect her to live up to our expectations. When in reality, we have no right to expect that of anyone. Yet, we do. Time and time again, we judge and perceive people on our scale of morality/intelligence and superficiality.
• We are lucky to have her – and we suck for not knowing how to be there for her. (im such a hypocrite - i'm all about living life on my own terms yet, i have a hard time letting her do the same - pathetic)
• And perhaps, just perhaps, we’ve casted her as the “broken” one thereby trying to make ourselves look and feel better.

Siblings – joyful innit?

I’m sorry R.
For all the times when I slapped you down unknowingly.
For all the times I wasn’t 110% honest with you.
For all the times I assumed you couldn’t handle the truth.
For all the times I treated you like you were a baby.
For all the times I expected you to live your life on my terms.
For all the times I sheltered myself under the pretense of sheltering you.
For all the times my heathen lips spewed hateful words.
For all the times I’ve felt sympathy as opposed to empathy.
For all the times I chose not to walk in your shoes.
For all the times I didn’t give you my hand to hold on to.
And most of all,
For all the moments I missed by being a pig headed brute.

And if you will still have R&me as your friends – we'd love to take another shot at it.
And this time, we promise to get it right and do right by you.

Gosh, Im glad she’s home.

The trinity is once again complete.
Malfunctioning at times but complete nevertheless.

Peace.

Fred’s not here.

But we were.
( I wonder if I’m ever going to surpass the urge for cheese)

The group convened to celebrate Summerlicious at Fred’s on King West. The food was debatable – depending on what you ordered it was either off the hook or barely palatable.
Our loud and rowdy chatter filled the cozy restaurant and build an impenetrable bubble around our table of 9. Everyone showed up!

Snippets of our night:
• Shopping at H&M with P&S – fun as always. P lingered in the lingerie section for much longer than what’s considered normal. Hot date? We think so. A mysterious one at that. I invested in a pair of comfy jelly pink flips to commemorate our trek back to king west.

• Timmies with the crew. M looked adorable – she was all fit and tings – and flaunting it too – good on her. C was as he always is – calm, cool and collected – after all we hadn’t gotten to the food part yet. D looked nice as always – god, I haven’t seen her in ages. N&J joined us part ways and the group was almost complete except for M – busy man/busy life.

• Conversations regarding rings and weddings: P is right – a big rock comes with a big commitment – what if I lost it? I’ve decided (and declaring it at this point) that I’m going to let M figure it out on his own. After all, that’s the way it should be. I’m sure he’ll do right by me – but honestly, if the boy was to propose with a ring pop – I’d still seriously consider saying yes. So alls well. After all, he’s got a lifetime of opportunities.

• Weddings: D has decided not to join L&T at their reception. Grrr. That leaves me with the task of making new friends. Thanks buddy! My own wedding: will most definitely be after M&C’s – just so that P&S don’t feel the need to pick and choose. I plan on inviting you guys u know – to everything.

• Clearing up Oct 24 2004: My incognito birthday. The reason I didn’t make a big deal about it was simply because I was unemployed – feeling down and dumpy and not really looking forward to celebrating my “funk”. That’s all. It wasn’t a personal diss, a pimp slap, a declaration of acquaintance-ship that belies the friendships I’ve built with them – it was just me needing to be alone. Now this year on the other hand, everyone is invited – if they still want to come that is.

• Last night on the train I discovered that P&S might not attend my possible wedding that might possibly happen if I ever possibly get proposed to. I hope they were joking cuz quite frankly, I’d want them to – be there.

Wee. Apart from that. M& I drove home in the sweltering humidity. Briefly hugged as my mom watched us from her bedroom window and ended the night with a tame kiss on the cheek.

I hope everyone had a good time. Because I know that I did.

Ho-Lee!

One would imagine that having a condition is laborious.
One imagines wrong.
This condition of mine surpasses hard work.
It also left self control crying like a little pu**y.
Come to think of it, it even made good intentions hit the road.
I’ve succumbed to my horrific reality.

I.AM. BROKEN

And whilst it took me years to beget this disease
And make it fully ownable.
I only owe it the respect to say it will take much longer
Than 3 months to fix it.

It is fixable. (right?)

I promise to be patient.
And tolerant of my short comings.
I can’t control everything.
And once again, it hurts like bleepin hell to realize that.

What I can do however
Is to not give up on myself.
Right.
There it is again.
Faith in the guise of medusa
Each serpent hairline yet another hurdle
Another test
Another truth to unfurl my precious balance.

R spewed profound philosophies on our way home.
According to her:
The androgynous being that lays awake amongst clouds
Likes to pepper human lives with miniature hurdles
Creating his own miniature-obstacle course
And we are merely the pawns in this game.
Hence, when one thing is going well – really really well
Something else breaks
Nothing is stable. Nothing stays the same.
And that’s what we have to learn to take comfort in.
Everything changes. Which gives us fickle minded people a chance to react to each situation individually.

She’s so smart.
And so right.

Looking back in the past year.
I stressed over a job – that was my issue.
That got resolved.
Then I stressed over my man – that was another make believe issue
That got resolved.
I found a moment of joy.
Foolishly assumed it would stretch into a lifetime.
That got dissolved.
I found the dormant beast that lives inside me
And that’s my newest struggle.

Pattern: shit happens and then you learn to deal with it.

Hence, right now, the future looks fixable.

Amen.

17.3

a random number or the bane of my existence?

Unfortunately, the latter.

As a stickler for all things that reek of academia – today, I embarked on a brand new type of edumacation. The sugar-free variety. Well, that was my first thought – sadly, the second, third and fourth one – didn’t do it justice.

Course - Intro to diabetes: How to manage your diabetes

First thought: nice. Information. I can finally join the living – maybe learn some tips on sneaking sugar into my diet. Shhhh jana. You don’t want people to figure it out.

Second thought: umm 6 classes? Word. By the end of it – I will be a mutha-effin guru.

Third thought: Self administered glucose test. Huh. Now what do they mean by self administered? And what kind of a test needs administration? Huh.

Fourth thought: perforate my own skin with a lancet and then squeezing out a sizable droplet of blood many times a day!!!!!! Please, tell me that biatch is on crack!

ARGH. No such luck.

Yea. Three picks later I discovered that nothing is working.

And believe it or not, that’s quite the humbling experience.

I’ve been eating right (99.9% of the time – god promise)
I’ve been working out at least 4 times a week with daily scheduled walks and everything – no word of a lie.
I’ve been diligently taking my meds – obsessively.
And my blood sugar is at 17.3
That’s 1.3 points higher than it was.

I feel helpless.
Powerless.
Out of control.
I need someone to guide me on this course because this journey just got infinitely harder.

And all I ate this morning was HALF a multigrain bagel.

The reality is slowly but surely seeping into my brain matter. I might have to give myself insulin shots. However, before I jump into the jana-routine and pronounce myself prematurely dead – I’m going to stick it out for the next two weeks – and then ask my family doctor to switch my meds – something stronger perhaps.

I’m falling apart.
And while my brain comes to terms with more schooling in September for my diabolical disease – my finger throbs with the threat of frequent “self administered” piercing.

A self inflicted punishment for all the naughty things my fingers have been part of. I knew I should’ve read the fine print before I accepted this body.

Excuse me mister, this one is broken – it don’t work so hot. Can I get another one?
Mister?

No answer. No surprise. The heavens above rarely open up to resolve their boo-boos.

Woo-hoo.
I’m so lucky.
I get to endure a lifetime of subdued stings.
To feel like a cork board…now, I know I am truly blessed.

Wedged between smoldering days

Was an unflappable and totally chillaxed weekend.

Friday: M was in a end of the week funk. A little bit of shopping therapy polished his waning veneer and presto! He was born anew. He’s absolutely precious when he’s sulky and even more adorable when he’s not. He scored a pair of casual black metro-esque shoes at Bata for under $40 and jeans from Roots for less than $20. Go figure – the boy has the best retail luck that I’ve ever known an XY to have. He also bought me july’s gift (yes, im spoilt rotten – my super-duper fly man buys me a present every month- go ahead, I won’t begrudge you the drool factor) – 2 pairs of hot pants from La Senza – another great buy.

Saturday: An M free day. He spent the day cerebrally cavorting with a married woman’s brain matter. Bah! He was actually putting his beaver-like skills to the test by attacking his case study project – a day of academics minus his whiny girlfriend. I spent the day bonding/scrapping with R’s R and my dwindling bank account. We went birthday gift shopping for R – and after a wonderfully air conditioned day at Markville mall, we sauntered into Asiyans. Yards and yards of fabric that costs yards and yards of coin. Serious coin. No matter, the search continues for that one breath taking (and affordable) moment. My purchases for the weekend:

A black skirt – embroidered cotton with a ruffle – Dynamite.
An ice green pleated skirt – im rocking it today – Dynamite
A black twill blend skirt from Winners – For under $15
A pale yellow blazer from Reitmans
A funky bracelet
Some presents for upcoming birthdays.
And – that’s it.
Nope, I lied.
An army green Roots hat.

A total of $110.
Yeah, not so bad eh?
Unless you factor in the reality.
I didn’t have that much to spend
Hence I dipped my wicked fingers into my savings account.

Eegads.
My boyfriend was not pleased.
Im sure he thinks im a retail hoe.
And the sad truth is that
I AM.

No more.

Saturday night: M and I got into a verbal brawl. To continue the pace that R & R set up for the weekend – we spatted it out and cleaned ourselves off. Fighting with him is emotionally draining cuz I like him waaaay more than I should. I can’t in good conscience go to sleep knowing that he is pissed at me. Anyways, I managed. We patched things up on Sabbath day.

Sunday: Hung out. Recovered from the retail sidewalk madness that seems to have taken the province by storm. R & I hung out during the day. M joined us part ways. We scrapped some more. Wiped ourselves clean. And got dirty again. It’s fun fighting with the boy. Then R’s R joined us. And we caught the over-animated shrimp Cruise in his must-see flick - war of the worlds – yikes. The best part of the movie was the popcorn. Sad but true. Introduced a salt stained track to my face. We finished the night with some chicken kothu and butter chicken. Yum.

Another weekend lost in time.

Oh and R is having a blast in England.
She sounds older. More mature. And happier.
I couldn’t be more thrilled.

Weekend of absolute debauchery

and S's wedding.

No doubt.

I mean, I slapped the backside of my head for having thought that it might be anything but. After all, S’s wedding was sure to be a fete worth remembering. With her extended fam down from the land of bad teeth and copious amounts of tea – it was surely a time to remember.

Brief synopsis for memory’s sake.

Friday:

Time up: 5:00 am (remind me never to have a MORNING wedding – S got 2 hours of sleep the night before – no matter though, the girl pulled through and turned into a smashing butterfly)

Sari: 6 yards of iridescent lavendar – wrapped with enough pins to hold my kanjivaram fort together – complete with R’s lavendar set (minus the headpiece) and gold sandals (a winners find from Thursday night - $22 taxes included).

Makeup – minimal (as in vaseline and eyeliner)

R’s outfit: sheathed in a shimmering luxurious blue, complete with all things that make R the perfect tamil chica – she looked gorgeous – no surprise there. Gorgeous people tend to do that effortlessly.

Time at S’s: 7:00 am – we were two extra bodies in a sea of thousands (ok, slight exaggeration – it was more like a sea of hundreds)

Crystal Fountains – absolutely breathtaking. I believe that R used the terms “posh” and “lavish” to describe it all. I agreed fully.

Dressing Room: S looked gorgeous. Orange and cream and yards and yards of nervous energy wrapped her securely. She was blinging like it was nobody’s business. I think Maharani’s couldn’t have competed with her that day. Her foot thumping a consistent beat of anxiety, ms. S spent her last moments as a veritable Miss worrying about all the nitty gritty deets. We got some candid shots of her in the dressing room – absolutely priceless.

Wedding: We (R, A & myself) walked out with her and the cackling crowd of multicoloured aunties to Mangalyam (R’s absolute all time favorite Alaipayuthe track – I guess S likes it too) and i was swept away by salt water spreading willfully from my eyes, down my cheeks and into the crevices of every feature. I stopped. Wished I could’ve dropped. But instead just ran out before I turned into a blithering mess. Apparently the girls felt the same way. I would’ve scoffed if anyone had told me that I was going to be all emotional at S’s wedding – scoffed. Smirked even. Probably would’ve accompanied that with a rip roaring laugh. But no such luck – I cried. Balled. Absolutely broke down. Magic looked so manly at the mandapam. Donned in his super-filmi suit complete with the groom’s head-dress, the tangy little cherry dropped on top of this sundae of delight as I realized – OMG, everything’s changing.

EVERYTHING.

S (might as well be one of our own) – married. I doubt this will change anything but the moment that miruthangam music kicked in and Magic fumbled with the thaali – it happened. Life paused and changed courses. A new route was formed. Her last moment as Ms. C were sent packing with the jingle jangle of traditional matrimonial music. And then it was over. Mr & Mrs. Y. phew.

Joy was punctuated by relief.
Pure and simple.
I stole away with the ruckus causing Brits to smoke a much-deserved fag.
A couple toozes later, R walked out to join me.

Dad had given him the “news”. M either stepped it up or stepped out.
Scary how group thinks work in familial situations.
Seeing S (one he considers like his own) get hitched got him thinking about the fate of his own.
I love him to death. And that’s punctuated with trepidation and anxiety.

The rest of Friday was nice and balmy.
The weather cooperated. The universe acquiesced. And the training wheels were back on, for different reasons.

Friday Night:

Besharam

Shamelessly I coerced Rsquared to join the chica’s & C at Fly nightclub for our monthly flirtation with racial homogeny and sexual diversity. Good times were had by all except Rsquared. They were fascinated by the ridiculously pretty men gyrating on other insanely goodlooking XY’s. Unfortunately all the alcohol laced drinks at the bar couldn’t stop them from feeling claustrophobic and borderline suicidal. Hence, the good times with the chica’s was cut short as we headed out to Markham station. After some much needed grub, we rolled into our beds at 4am. Absolutely spent.
------------------------------

Saturday:

RIBFEST

Ribfest with the fam. Pigs. Cars. Vendors. Cheapie – everything. What more could a pack of browntings need for a hot and muggy Saturday afternoon? Not much I tell you. I walked away with a silver ring accented by a smidgen of blue topaz ($5), a white tunic ($6) and some smoked chicken wings in my belly. R & Dad indulged their cheap-shades fetish by investing in more. M (being the reasonable one he is) told me to start saving up for one of the cars on exhibition. And Mom, she strolled, ate, got incredibly hot and asked to leave the scene pretty soon. Without R (in England) things were different. We didn’t even touch an entire rack of ribs – we missed her and her tiny rib loving teeth.

S & Magic’s Reception:

Outfit: Highlighter blue with silver accessories and gold sandals (yup, my $20 blingers)
R was adorned in orange and green with flat-iron straight hair and little touches of rani-royalty. Gorgeous. M wore a pretty shirt to match his date, R, with his black suit.

The couple: Magic looked like big daddy pimp with his ivory suit. All he needed was a cane and a fedora to complete the look. He was glowing – in joy I think. Although he kept blabbering about “final sales” and “no refunds” – I assumed it was the bliss of being groomy that led to those verbal scatterings. S wore pink and green. Absolutely breath-taking. Everything from her hair to her shoes were perfect. So much worry for something that looked effortless and perfect.

The night: I was caught in a delirium of drinks, smokes, accents and bald headed men. My man was busy escorting my fantabulous sister for the night (totally understandable) and that was a-okay with me. They are so cute together. And apart. R’s R joined us later in the night and I had the pleasure of dating my man again. After some speeches, some eats and some serious dancing..we shut down the hall at around half past one. Everyone looked great. Everything went smoothly. And it seemed like everyone had a memorable time.

We got home – exhausted. Another night without an ounce of life left in me. I cuddled into M’s arms and slept like a little baby.
-----------------------------

Sunday:

Wimbledon. Federer kicked Rodicks ass. Big time news for die hard tennis heads. Im not one. But M is. Which means that by association, I was too.

S’s “have a happy honeymoon” bbq:

S& Magic in the open. Exhale. Normal. Together. In love. And in the open. It was refreshing. So this is what marriage is like – liberating. They looked happy. The fam was overflowing with food (enough to feed numerous villages in Srilanka), booze (im sure they bought out a few beer stores) and all things typical of an S family jam – and things were great. The Brits were homebound and we conducted all the necessary info swaps needed to keep in touch. R drove the navigator around - a parking lot - but drove it nevertheless. M& I discovered B's secret - pre-rolled tings. Entire kits for the lazy mans spliff. The boys had a blast. M included. He's getting more comfy with this familial unit.
And we hugged S&Magic away on their most romantic honeymoon.

Phew. Relief. One magical weekend drenched in more debauchery than this synopsis could hold – done. Completed. Approved. And seriously certified.
---------------------------

Monday:

Chores with dad.
Lunch with M and his mom.
Our first look at rings. – yup. That’s what I thought. RINGS! Oh my god! Rings.
More to come on that.

It’s time to put my head down and get back to work.

:)

-----

the rapids

awww man,
i knew this day would come.
where i would have to publicly concede defeat and say:
i miss my baby.
all of him.
his arms
his voice
his cheeky grin
all of it.

he's white water rafting this weekend. the complete antithesis to all things brown.
he loves this rush of adrenalin that accompanies death defying activities
and i, i love him.

so hopefully he's having a great time - im sure he is
and please oh please let him come back to me in one piece

after all, a half assed boyfriend is not as much fun as a full fledged one.

last night was tasha's birthday soiree
laid back. mellow. and yummy.
the girls were all present in fine form
and as always they were a pleasure to hang with.

it was nice having R there - for myself
and she had a good time as well - thankfully

next weekend promises to be craaaazy
s's wedding
besharam
s's reception
and a couple days to recuperate

oh shizat.
next week is a short week
and so is the following one.

summer hours rock.

--

now, i must return to writing something
anything actually

i seem to be fighting the godzilla of all blocks

perseverance is what i need.
anyone got some?

Excavating Humanity.

Or the lack thereof.

It’s ironic how the perception you have of people can change in an instant. All it takes is one look, one misspoken phrase, one wayward email to turn that switch off and drop the perp into a vat of sweltering hate. It’s barely 9 am and I’m in the throes of banishing yet another colleague into that bottomless pit of scorn.

One of our business peeps decided that it was socially acceptable to send out an email berating the creative teams for their lack of professional attire at client meetings. Now this might seem kosher with those of you who exist in the world of suits, day timers and conferences – but, it’s different when you’re nothing but a lowly creative. You see, we work insane hours. Our meetings are usually held amongst ourselves and our CD. We dress comfortably because with comfort comes a certain sense of uninhibited thinking. We create ways to inspire ourselves be it childish games, ringing cat calls, loud tunes, whatever gets the juices flowing. So yea, we dress down. I don’t think I’ve worn a pair of black pants to work in months. And I like it that way. I like rocking flip flops and beat up tee’s – it’s the ad game folks – get with it or get out of it.

I suppose the more annoying reason regarding this email is the sheer fact that we don’t get told that we have a ‘client’ meeting until a few hours before its scheduled. So what? Are we supposed to walk with a suit in our bag? And is it really necessary for us to look spic and span when we’re just there to present our ideas? After all, that is what they pay us for. Ideas. Nothing more than idea makers – knowledge architects if you must. What we look like – shouldn’t matter so bloody much that you get your knickers in a knot! I mean yes – we have to look presentable – which we do – boho chic or not – but no jeans? No shorts? No tee’s? well then. I guess I’m gonna need an allowance to buy myself an alternative “stay at work” wardrobe chock full of monkey suits and bow ties.

Grrrr.

Sometimes the divide is ginormous (bigger than huge) and cavernous and no amount of niceness seems to fill it permanently.

I feel like a rat in a lab. Do this. Do that. Change this. Fix that. And voila – she’s nothing like she used to be.

Perfect.

Skeletal Posing

Today, I have the ghastly pleasure of enduring an ultra-sound. A special imaging opportunity for my over-active thyroid. Say cheese for your 15 seconds of fame beyotch– bleh. The over-active part was an original add-in. I’m not sure if its over-reacting but, I assume that it would. After all, everything about me and my life is reactionary – melodramatically so. My body, im assuming, is no different.

The weekend was bliss.
Monday – the initiation of misery. Everything is horribly wrong today. From the moment I woke up, to the obviously abnormal dude who randomly flexed his whistling skills - loud and clear (I could hear him through janet belting out a tune on my ipod) to the moment when he exited the train after touching me and waving goodbye. Strange. He reminded me of that hilarious guy from Office Space. The one who never understood he had been fired - regardless of the countless clues. This is just another thing I love about the Tdot. The crazies that ride the subway along side the obviously anti-social ones (with an ipod and dark givenchy shades – a weekend score- what else could you call me?).

And now – radio drama. Not particularly interesting drama. After all, with the client in question there’s nothing even remotely interesting that gets bought. A curse or an inherent foible? I’m not sure. But most definitely a psychosis of some sort.

But before the manifestation of bad scripts – I must confront my fear of hospitals – again. After the bruise the resembled the Indian peninsula (my last blood visit) – I am rightfully perturbed. And anxious. Did I mention apprehensive? Oh. I meant, scared shitless. Yes I know, it won’t be painful. But I’m sure to feel slightly violated – you can never guarantee a perfect pose with a skeletal shot – I wonder if I can ask for proofs and retakes.

Note to self: buy R a card. My little one is testing her wings in another continent. She leaves tonight. God bless the people that have to put up and work through her jitters. I’m sure Dad’s expecting some kind of request for payment from my currently ignorant Aunties. Having said that, she will be missed. But a month – pshhh! – 30 days will fly by. I’m certain of it.

I’m off in the hopes of meeting more Office Space characters. After all, today feels like it’s my lucky day. Yup, all mine.
:(

Trustworthy rhetoric

Books that I’m itching to visually assault:

Freedom Song – Amit Chaudhari
Midnight’s Children – Salman Rushdie (my most loyal concubine)
A Mystic Masseur – VS Naipaul
Half a Life – VS Naipaul
Vernon God Little – DBC Pierre
Life of Pi – Yann Martel
Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
The Known World – Edward P Jones
The Book of Secrets – MG Vassanji
Polished Hoe – Austin Clarke

I’ve vowed to put my meager earnings towards purchasing a book a cheque. After all, vernacular seems to be the only entity I can truly trust. Especially these days. When people never fail to disappoint, I’m constantly wishing that I could just turn the page and move on. Inhale. Exhale. Walk out.

More to follow.

Twitching eyeballs

Never make for great meetings.
On the regular at least.
However, our meeting with our brand new client went fabulous!
I love clients that actually get the value of great advertising. People who look at ads the way they look at art in motion – its awfully endearing. Especially when you know the flip side of that coin – clients who view advertising as nothing more than a vehicle of obligation. They don’t get the ideas, they don’t understand the target and yet, they almost always feel that their bad ad – is the way to go.

Tonight promises to be entertaining. A bunch of like-minded sistrens are joining in support of besharam – a once a month south asian extravaganza of great fusion music and cheap booze. Nothing says Indian like a bunch of hidras (asexual people oftentimes predominantly XY looking folks dressed as females) shakin their groove thang to bollywood ballads. The high point: definitely catching up with those like minded individuals. They’ve been on far reaching adventures (a la Mexico) and im ready to get the inside scoop.

Saturday promises to be relaxing. And since im sleeping over at M’s tonight, im pretty sure that by tomorrow evening im gonna be itching to go home – to my bed, my family and most of all my morose puppy.

Sunday – nothing but goodness – get my eyebrows done, do my nails, write some radio – oh yeah shit, ive gotta work.

Until then and maybe later – be blessed.

knackered. out. of. my. mind.

if Shemar Moore (those who know me, know the power of that name) was to inappropriately proposition me,
i would turn him down without even thinking about it.

that's how tired i am.
err, not to mention the fact that the only dude that turns my crank these days is M.

(phew~ nice save eh)

the last 48 hours went like this:
31 hours of work. actual work. (Monday: 7 - 10 = 15/ Tuesday: 6:45 - 10:45 =16)
4 hours of travel
3 hours of eating/showering/bathrooming
---
38
yup, which left me with 10 hours to sleep. read. listen to tunes. be inspired.

i.am.tired.people.

but i'll be fine with a couple more chugs of coffee..i meant JUGS.
and a few nic-sticks later - a 10am meeting.

cross your fingers peepz.

God Bless. (err me)

Strife.

Weddings are apparently these joyous fun filled occasions that halo a milestone. Apparently.
Hence the hoopla to make it ab-so-lute-ly perfect. Everyone turns into a valley girl when it's their turn.
I cerebrally get that.

But come on people! Must it really turn into a three ringed circus?

Memories of T's wedding gives me the chills. Lord, I have never travelled from Pickering to Etobicoke that many times in my life as i did that summer. Practically every weekend was spent at her house. Every conversation was about her wedding. Every minute was spent dealing with the minutia of her impending nuptials. I almost lost my mind that summer. I think i was happier than she was to see her get married on the big day. And that's when R& I sighed in relief. Yes, no more wedding speak. It truly rivals babyspeak in its atrocity. Gawd, like fingernails on freshly wiped chalk board.
But karma has a way of kicking back the past. And now, i'm stuck in a tortilla of the same ish with a handful of weddin- happy peepz.

I’ve got three important weddings this summer. Well four if you count the one that I can’t financially afford to attend. And quite frankly after the bridezilla’s I’ve encountered and the groorilla’s I’m forced to work with, I’m about ready to give up on getting married.

According to Dad and M, people transmute into these crazed beings once its their turn to hit the alter. The pressure of perfection drives them up the wall, into a cocoon and inevitably gets their too big heads stuck up their behinds. And that’s understandable, I suppose. But quite frankly, I wonder if people truly realize that a wedding is just one day. One measly day. A day that most people will barely remember what with being inebriated and all.

So the question is then, what is more important the wedding or the marriage?

As simple as the answer may seem, I don’t think that it is as straightforward as it needs to be. Because obviously, if it was common knowledge then people wouldn’t find themselves entrenched in the drama of their own weddings or the weddings of friends. They’d be more focused on celebrating the impending union as opposed to the big ass party.

A few things that I’ve noticed:
• The grooms often try to avoid the eye of the storm. The storm usually being their soon to be wives and their larger than life dreams of a perfect wedding day.
• In this country, a large number of marriages end in divorce. So one would think that people would be wary of spending heinous amounts of money, undergoing unduly stress and generally be lax about the commotion of throwing a fabulous “talk of the town” wedding. Nope, nothing of that sort though. The stat doesn't seem to matter. Cuz i guess inside every cynic is an optimist that believes in forever. :) Okay, now im truly ranting. When i was a law school contender, i used to justify my un-hinged state to relatives by spewing witty stats about the divorce rate in the country. And then i'd flip the script on them and say something completely childish like "now, you wouldn't want me to get divorced would you?"...gawd i was so naive. People don't care. They just want another wedding they can attend, chat through, get completely wasted at and bitch about after the fact. Yup, that would be a sliver of bitterness peeking through the veneer.
• Being brown means doubling the stress of the planning process. Consider the 300 people you’re roped into inviting, the hideous traditional “mores” that one’s culture subscribes to and thereby is obliged to follow, the seemingly unnecessary “events” that one is forced into hosting/attending…it all adds up to a serious case of quick to implode dementia.
• Does anyone want a massive wedding? Okay, apart from R and the likes of her generation raised on rice and dreams of dum dum dum – one is forced to question the logic that drives this wedding business forward – cuz that’s what it is – a money making business. From the mandaap to the three gazillion sari’s – everyone is out to make a quick buck. The laws of capitalism facing off with the horned being of over-consumption that’s rife in our cultures. Oy-vey.
• The list can certainly go on but im gonna quit while im ahead. Oh and honestly, if I ever get egotistical enough to believe that a choice of flowers can make or break an event, please bitch slap me and remind me of this post.

Urgh weddings!
Apparently, when its my turn, I’ll understand.

Although for my sanity, I certainly hope I don’t.

Time is trippin out…

Forcing me to inhale the smoggy cloud of smoke that its inevitably left behind.

Everything is on fast forward.

Work: a general shortage of minutes, hours and days. I need more time. Time to give things the attention they fully deserve. Im floundering at times, choking because of my sheer inability to breathe in this oftentimes radioactive slump. I want fraggle rock to come back. I think that might just ease my nerves.

Family: R is driving everyone up the wall. Everyone including dad. Her job ends in a few weeks. She hasn’t decided on school. She’s paralyzed by the fear of failing. Funny how everyone is, to some extent. I called that very spot home for years. Too afraid to truly try. And too cocky to completey fail. I tried to shield myself from the seemingly inescapable ouch of not becoming anything. She’s there. I understand. I’ve tried to help but, I think it might be too late. And that realization kills me. Like giving up on tadpoles still learning the doggypaddle. Like flushing your fledgling of a goldfish into its white ceramic demise. I want to help her. But I think we’ve collectively hurt her too much. We’ve protected her, coddled her, held her and shielded her. We’ve fought her battles, taken on her responsibilities and ultimately, we’ve stunted her growth. So why on earth, does it freak Dad out when I bring this up? I feel like I’m the worst fucking sister in the world because I’ve resigned myself to letting one of our own lag behind. Its frustrating and the fact that time is making its super sonic way to nowhere certainly doesn’t help.

Weddings: R is getting married in 3 weekends and S is getting married in like 34 days or something crazy like that. I’m hobbling to catch up with all the hoopla. It’s nuts.

And my new diabolical friend, the infamous diabetes, is working its magic on me. Regardless of my gym visits, regardless of my no saccharine diet – regardless of how hard I try – I still get these piercing headaches that make me feel absolutely spent. I don’t know what’s wrong but, it will certainly get checked out on June 7th (I have a physical scheduled with my family doctor) – nope, don’t get your hopes up – I didn’t find one. I just merely borrowed my mum’s.

The weekend synopsis:
• Friday: doctors appointments – Dr. A is ageless. This woman is truly ancient folks. She was our family doctor when we first came to Canada (like 17 years ago) and she still looks the same. It gives me the willies. Also watched monster-in-law with R (who was convinced to skip work) at Rainbow Cinemas in Fairview Mall - $4.50 tickets. Enough said.
• Saturday – hanging out with M. He’s the sweetest man ever, The more time I spend with him the more I realize how lucky he is to have me. Hehe. Cocky? Nah, just merely honest. We went to Vaughn Mills with his mommy. Big whoop. People hyped it up waaaay more than it deserved to be, leaving me totally disappointed. I picked up a shirt at H&M and some mad sexy lingerie for $12.50 at La Senza – can’t beat that. Obviously buying lingerie with your boyfriend’s mum isn’t the most ideal of situations but, considering the deal – I lied. Told her it was for someone else. Yup, hell I’m on my way. But at least I’ll be sheathed in the sexiest black 40’s inspired number…woo-hoo.
• Sunday: Family barbeque in Cambridge. Uncle R lent us his van ( what a sweetheart) – I love the man but his van definitely needs to be dunked into a vat of fabreze. We got there – and of course the entire gang was in attendance. It was okay. More fun than I expected. And just long enough to still leave me sane.
• Monday – Uncle R and Aunty made me a hammock bag. Believe it or not, they actually designed and made me an ab-so-lutely adorable orange sheathed piece of bliss. I love it.

So that was that folks. The weekend much like the rest of my frikkin frakkin life felt like it was on fast forward.

Work calls. Bloody hell.

☺

The game

Last night was ihaveanidea’s 3rd annual Canada wide portfolio review. After fighting a losing battle with a pesky brief – I waged war by packing up my things around 7:30 and heading out to meet B at his soiree. I told myself that I would hang out for 30 minutes and then bounce. In my defense, I’d like to point out that the intent of leaving early and on time was there – initially at least.

I got there and it hit me. Like a mobile brick wall. Last year I was there. Clutching my portfolio, shaking in my sandals and smoking like nicotine was the only air my lungs could handle. I was absolutely terrified. And I left balling my eyes out. Not because my work should be in the crapper but because there were more “that’s nice” as opposed to “that’s fucking great”. And I realized that if I was serious about being in advertising, I needed to work twice as hard to reach that elusive pinnacle. I also remember calling M right after my session, balling my eyes out and vowing to make it work. He picked me up, drove me home and consoled me as I fell asleep in his arms.

Yup, nice, smart, funny, charming, hot and he’s nurturing. Swoon.

Back to last night – it was intense. I ran into a bunch of CD’s that we met on our employment circuit. It was nice to feel included. We are actually part of the industry that we both love so much. It’s intense folks. I had this conversation with these two Seneca students and it was strange to hear the passion in my voice as I spoke to them. I love this business. Every little dark nook and cranny of it. I get to change perceptions. Granted, right now we’re doing piddly little project but every go is an opportunity and every opportunity is a learning experience. Last night, I realized how hard we toiled to get here – to this legitimate writing gig – and I also realized how much farther we still need to go. Nothing is forever people but as long as we’re having a great time (most of the time) – this is heaven.

And of course time flew. M was waging his personal war against T+2 and was at work until after 10pm. He got his first ever cab chit. Weee. Loved it. He drove me home (which was totally reminiscent of last year) but this time there were no tears, no need to console a weeping girlfriend – just absolute and utter bliss.

Of course he told me this would happen. I never really believed him. But like the shaman that he is – he once again proved that the pesky little gremlin named faith and the grueling beast they call hard work is all it takes to make your dreams come true. Oh and ironically, a sprinkling of luck certainly makes the broth - brothier. :)

Thank you guys (all of you). For all the yesterdays, the todays and the joys of our pregnant tomorrows.

Be Blessed.

The musings of a self-prescribed lunatic.

I’m mulling over some ‘made for tv’ estrogen infused lunacy.

After a long and languid walk through the rectangle of chaos: King and Spadina with a friend, I left questioning our collective sanity. You see, after two years of back and forth with a disgusting reptile she fondly calls her ex – she has finally met a man, worthy of verbiage. He’s nice. Italian (so is she), friendly, super-established, passionate about his work, respectful to women and the list of pleasant characteristics go on. So what’s the problem? He’s slightly older, 6 years older than her in fact. And she’s using that as a scape goat.

So the question is as follows:
Are we, as young single hip urbanites, so jaded by our own experiences with all the XY’s in our lives that we would willfully sabotage a seemingly perfect blossoming relationship?

Now to most urban women who are busy building careers and routing their destinies, a nice man is a rarity to find, especially in Toronto. It seems like the number of asshole-egotistical-high maintenance XY’s are far more rampant than the stable-low-key-mellow-i-got-my-shit-together ones. So it’s acknowledged that when you find a dude that treats you with respect, showers you with chivalry and makes you feel like a princess (without stifling you) – he’s a keeper. Sadly, most of us don’t act on what we believe. We’re cynics – some of us wear it on our sleeves and other’s of us feed it in secrecy.

We all have these pre-conditioned notions of what we deserve or don’t. My friend, much like most women, has been through tumultuous relationships in the past. She’s had to be motherly (god bless her because I don’t have the patience for that shit), the stable one, the care taker, the provider and protecter. So obviously, meeting a man that doesn’t require someone to compensate for his lack of character or skills has thrown her for a loop. She’s trying to conjure up issues to poke holes into something that’s blossoming in it’s own innocent perfection.

I seem to know a whole lot of women just like her. Women who subconsciously sabotage themselves with negative self talk. Who willfully (sans clarity) make the game harder to play and thereby harder to win. Who find fault where no fault can be found. Who over-analyze and over-assume the under whelming realities of any situation. Damn, I know a whole lot of women who fuck themselves over by simply trying to protect themselves from getting hurt. Ironic innit? That which you actively avoid is what you inadvertently dole out for yourself by active avoidance.

Brilliance in a nutshell folks.

Thinking back to the way M and I started out, I recall my nervous twitches. Being accustomed to controlling everything in my life, I had to learn how to let things go. He doesn’t appreciate being told what to do (im still learning that), he doesn’t need someone to take care of him, he doesn’t like it when I micromanage our relationship – and these thorns led into heated discussions and wayward arguments. It was hard accepting the fact that he was a genuinely nice guy who has his shit together. An anomaly in my world! And now, he’s spoiled me rotten because I would never settle for anything less.

So the answer seems glaringly simple – yes of course. The human condition dictates that you fear what is unfamiliar and that which you can’t control. But at what cost?

The flip side to that is - do you miss what you’ve never had? Probably not.
And if so, does being open minded even matter?

Sometimes, hiding behind those self-constructed walls perpetuates that condition. So is faith the adequate resolution? Because I’m bloody well tired of the cliche – have a little faith.

Here’s the thing – if anyone knows a doctor in the GTA that can scratch out a prescription for some ez-faith tabs– please drop his/her contact info into my email box.
Because I for one, know at least two other people (apart from myself) that are in dire need of them.

More to follow.

But in the event that it doesn’t – here are two things that I must document.

Sideways: incredible movie – tragically comic. It takes the reality of life and brings each moment and all it’s subtle nuances to gleaming brilliance. An absolute must-see.

Gym: today makes it a week since I’ve had this blasted cold/flu – surely the death of me-viral infection. A week since I’ve worked out. A week since I’ve sweated for ten more minutes. Tomorrow this will change – so watch out flu buglets – ready or not, here I come.

Peace.

Snap, Crackle and Kaboom!

This weekend was filled with familial love, amongst other things.

Friday night proved that I am a fully clairvoyant being – my predictions were totally on the money.

M & I met up after work and after some rather embarrassing pda’s we made our way to the cinema’s at yorkdale. While the plan was to initially pop the cherry on “a lot like love” – the totally wack scheduling at Famous Players propelled us towards watching ‘the interpreter’. Now, that was one happy accident that we both enjoyed. The movie was dramatic, thought provoking and interesting enough to keep me awake for the whole two hours. Those who know me are sure to know that doesn’t happen too often. Yup, im a sleeper. At the most inopportune moments, my body decides to shut down and take a nap.
After overdosing on popcorn (sans extra butter) I found myself once again nursing the urge of writing/filming/directing an expose on the brutalities that define my people.

My people. Sounds elitist doesn’t it? It also sounds like I’m segregating myself. And unfortunately, in this case – I am. Because that’s our reality. I will forever be defined by the struggle that has ravaged my country. The struggle for basic freedoms that has somehow gone sadly awry.

Now, why is it that the ideology of a revolution is always theoretically sound but the practice and application of it flounders like a fish that didn’t pass its swimming lessons?

That’s how I feel about most revolutions.
Socialism – great idea. In theory.
The fight for equal rights in Sri Lanka – a great game plan in theory and then it got side tracked. It’s the travel down a tangent that politically fucks up an entire nation. The LTTE were on the money – theoretically. In practice, egos and alter egos have marred its basic premise – leaving us with a nation torn on the grounds of hurt feelings and miscommunication. Someone needs to document these things. Appropriately. In a way that leads us to reconnect with the struggle as it happened. In ways which help the diaspora feel the girth and the strength of this monster. In a way that will make us all feel equally responsible for the unified survival of our island.

Yet, nobody has or ever does.

Sri Lankan authors seem to come in two varieties. Those who wax poetry about the struggle of balancing and juggling two cultures. Or those who document the historical and meticulous statistics of the war. I have yet to read a novel that inspires, informs and moves people through invective. I’m incensed people. Because I have that opportunity.

A fully functioning pen. Pounds of blank paper. Minus the balls to actually birth it.
Or maybe it’s a matter of fear.
But someone’s got to write this out. To write not only about the dark, grimey nature of war in a small island but to bring the motivation behind it to light. The only book that has come close to re-creating those feelings would have to be Cinnamon Garden by Shyam Selvadurai. Woven magically into his plot lines, he briefly grazed upon the large cavern that seems to separate the Tamils from the Sinhalese.

One day folks. One day I’m going to stumble upon that maturity I so desperately seek to pen the novel of a lifetime. One that will reveal the real consequences of this war in Sri Lanka. One that will touch on our collective experiences. One that will paint the Tamil culture in its true colors – not as trigger happy rebels, not as gang banging crack heads but as intrinsically cultured, naturally passionate and inherently multi-faceted individuals. One day people. And until that day comes, I guess I’ll take a number and join the rest of them arm chair critics.

I hate my powerlessness. Well, there’s one thing I hate even more than those feelings and that’s the fact that I am aware of it and yet, haven’t done much to alter that situation. A result of the human condition? Hrmph.

Back to the diaretic entry.
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Bottling small doses of wine. And not to mention some saccharine sweet love.

Saturday’s wine bottling was incredible. I love learning something new through application. S&Magic meant business – they were totally focused on the act at hand. We filled, corked and packaged 200 bottles. It was awesome. A was wonderful enough to show us the ropes and help out. And QC is pretty cool – I don’t think I’ve ever had the opportunity to get to know him before – so all in all – good times. Oh and the wine: how sweet it doth taste – it’s ice wine (a taste sensation for your palate) and acts as a dessert. It was mind numbingly sugary but I sampled some for the good of the larger group! Purrrrfeck.

I can’t believe that this shindig is merely 6 Saturdays away (as L pointed out in her email). HOLY SMOKES FOLKS! My lil sister is getting married. And she couldn’t have picked a better match. I’m so happy for the two of them and I can’t wait to share in all this joy. All this seemingly unbearable stress, chaos and planning will come to fruition when she walks down that make-shift aisle wearing that gorgeous sari of hers. My jaw almost hit the bed when I saw it – it’s absolutely stunning. And she will surely look like a Rani on that day decked in nothing but 6 yards of bridal pleasure.

The Family Do

I had to break the news to the masses. Which was hard enough. Couple that with the usual insensitivity that my extended family is well known for – and you’ve got the makings of a great melodramatic episode. I’ve always wondered how the dude upstairs links and pairs people together. Yes, I know I’m intelligent enough to realize that science disputes those celestial theories but, come on people – you look at my family and you quickly realize that some of us just stick out like sore thumbs. We have no patience for the collective gossip, the friendly mud slinging that inevitably turns ugly and the general backstabbing.

My family is filled with motormouths. Amma tells me it’s because they don’t really mull over what they’re about to say hence end up saying the wrong thing at the most inopportune of moments. I got the usual “you should lose some weight”/”when are you getting married”/”when are you going to let your parents retire” etc etc. It never ceases to amaze me that my family can make me feel like shit – I feel small, powerless and cornered when I’m with them. And that’s on a good day. So I left, balling my eyes out and vowing that my own family will never mutate into the pack of blood-thirsty piranha’s that my extended fam can be.

The mantra is as follows: Real love survives through the roughest of times.
Well, that’s what I keep telling myself at least.
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Sunday: Absolute and utter heaven.

I rode the metro in the morning to M’s and hung out with him and his mom. I swear it was the most relaxing time ever. I usually feel like my best self in that house. Unless uncle is making some insensitive comment which aunty chalks up to his lack of sensible genes. Boys are oftentimes afflicted with that condition. Well according to Aunty at least. And I am quite comfortable accepting that reasoning. Thank you very much.

I watched Meet the Fockers at their place. It was rip roaring in both content and comedic value. So funny. And more funny because aunty was watching it with us. Good times.

Oh and lest I forget – aunty bought me the most gorgeous black chiffon skirt – it’s tiered. Yup, sequins and tiers of silky smooth black paradise – I feel like a primadonna straight out of the forties. Gawd, I love a great skirt. And it was on sale. Yup. Heaven.

I ended my night with a friendly pow-wow with the members of the inner circle. Rejuvenating to the spirit and easy on the ears.
All in all, a nice relaxing weekend. I needed it too cuz this morning we got a couple briefs which means a comfortably busy week will be on rotation. Woo-hoo.

I love it folks.
Life with all its disparities, extremities and complexities tickles me all shades of pink.

And leaves me jonesin’ to don that sensational skirt with some slightly glorified flip flops. (WTF, where did that come from!)

Peace.