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.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
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.
( 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.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
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.
:)
-----
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.
:)
-----
Saturday, June 25, 2005
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?
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?
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, June 20, 2005
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.
:(
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.
:(
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, June 03, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
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)
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)
Friday, May 27, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
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.
☺
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.
☺
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, May 16, 2005
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.
-----
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.
----
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.
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.
-----
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.
----
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.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Old age
sux.
because i even forget the important things
like verbal nirvana shout outs.
Happy Birthday B!
At 24, you are the loveliest, most balanced goof ball i've had the pleasure of knowing
and ultimately adoring.
You keep me sane and I keep you on your toes. You add colour in places that need it and sometimes in the ones that don't.
thanks for being the bestest art director in the entire world.
xoxo
J
P.S. Your present(s) will come on monday. Pinky swear.
because i even forget the important things
like verbal nirvana shout outs.
Happy Birthday B!
At 24, you are the loveliest, most balanced goof ball i've had the pleasure of knowing
and ultimately adoring.
You keep me sane and I keep you on your toes. You add colour in places that need it and sometimes in the ones that don't.
thanks for being the bestest art director in the entire world.
xoxo
J
P.S. Your present(s) will come on monday. Pinky swear.
Predictions for the weekend ahead.
I am the proud owner of the world’s weakest immune system. I have to be. After all, it’s quite miraculous that I’ve survived to 27 – my god! Absolutely everything health related has been downhill since the beginning of may.
Yup, im sick, again. Feeling stuffy and congested. Worst part is that I sound like a toad. I’ve always believed that when I’m sick I sound like one of ‘em. Ribbit Ribbit.
Okay, so toads are supposed to be these creatures with the hidden potential of transforming into prince charming – in my fairy tales at least. Using a kiss as a catalyst that is.
And yes, fairy tales are 1% make believe and 99% real&for sure. So it’s inevitable that I believe in them. I mean, that’s a better statistic than condoms offer.
But really, come on people – who would kiss a toad?
On the lips? Okay maybe a few times – in past lives
In the hopes of what? - (of not being single on valentines day)
A man that will eventually return to his former self by ways of attitude or physicality?
I don’t think so peepz.
I for one, don’t kiss toads (anymore).
However it’s quite tragic that I do manage to sound like one.
This weekend will be filled with bliss.
Here’s why.
I’m hopefully going to have a mindblowingly hot date with M tonite. Something about a movie, some din din (which now works out to be a whole wheat bagel or couscus) and some straight up lovin’. Well a girl can hope innit? I won’t be able to breathe mind you, courtesy of my congested sinuses. But who needs to breathe during the act – I mean, its supposed to be breath-taking no?
Although, I recently discovered that respiratory droplets have the endurance of traveling up to 3 feet. Yup, so when you’re on a bus and somebody sneezes across you – you just got sprayed with their germies. Germies that cause all sorts of diseases like E.Coli and Salmonella (to name a few). So perhaps I won’t be splashing M with my flu-droplets although with that boy – he never listens. He takes it quite personally (and offensively) when I refuse to share my sickly germs with him. C’est la vie!
Then Saturday – after a blood test (the fasting variety) yup requires me to give up food for 12 hours – R, R & I head out to S&Magic’s wine labeling/bottling event. Oh my god! They’re getting married in less than 2 months. That’s crazy. It’s scary and overwhelming and just so god darn adorable. I mean, S is gonna be a Mrs. I think I need a few moments to actually internalize all of that. But tomorrow will be loads of fun.
Sat night: my uncle’s birthday bash. N (my cousin and alibi) has decided to get married – in Sri Lanka in August. Yup, August of this year. We had a pact you see. We’ve both been using each other as covers. Each telling people that we’ll get married once the other one does. Well, the rat, went ahead and fixed his date without consulting me. I’m happy for him and stuff but really – what about me?
And me? Tomorrow night, I’ll the one scurrying away in the hopes of avoiding all the “oh it’s your turn now, when are you going to get married?” –esque questions. I actually despise them as I’m sure most adult women do. Initially it was – ‘why don’t you stay with one man for longer than 3 months” – now that I have. The argument has flipped itself and has become a whole new monster, “what’s wrong with M, why doesn’t he want to marry you?”
And I keep wanting to scream – god damnit! It’s not just him. It’s me too. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to leave the safety of my home. Definitely not ready to become ultimately responsible for another human being. Not ready to be a full fledged adult with real life responsibilities. Not ready to deal with Mississauga on a full time basis. Im just not ready people!
But I don’t vocalize these thoughts. I nod. Laugh. Giggle often and much. And cross my fingers and wish that time would fly. I console myself by tuning out the chatter. I actively fight their words in my head and remind myself that:
~I will get married. Hopefully to M. It will be my turn. One day. And that day will happen when we’re both absolutely certain and ready. Whenever that may be. ~
And Sunday – will be bliss. Nothing but pure chillaxing and recovering from the night before. I love my extended family but sometimes, I look around and realize that there’s got to be more than just this. Most discussions quickly deteriorate into friendly mud slinging matches where someone picks on someone and makes said someone feel shoddy for not following the invisible time table.
I keep reminding myself that when the three of us grow up –our family gatherings are going to focus on three things:
Love
Support
Encouragement
And the mud-slinging – we’ll do that in jest in the privacy of our own spaces.
It’s 3:32 and I am bored.
I can’t stand having nothing to do.
Being sick doesn’t help the situation.
I feel like a caged beast – my mind is turning on me!
I need some sugar. Oh yeah, I forgot. I can’t have that anymore.
Grrrr.
Yup, im sick, again. Feeling stuffy and congested. Worst part is that I sound like a toad. I’ve always believed that when I’m sick I sound like one of ‘em. Ribbit Ribbit.
Okay, so toads are supposed to be these creatures with the hidden potential of transforming into prince charming – in my fairy tales at least. Using a kiss as a catalyst that is.
And yes, fairy tales are 1% make believe and 99% real&for sure. So it’s inevitable that I believe in them. I mean, that’s a better statistic than condoms offer.
But really, come on people – who would kiss a toad?
On the lips? Okay maybe a few times – in past lives
In the hopes of what? - (of not being single on valentines day)
A man that will eventually return to his former self by ways of attitude or physicality?
I don’t think so peepz.
I for one, don’t kiss toads (anymore).
However it’s quite tragic that I do manage to sound like one.
This weekend will be filled with bliss.
Here’s why.
I’m hopefully going to have a mindblowingly hot date with M tonite. Something about a movie, some din din (which now works out to be a whole wheat bagel or couscus) and some straight up lovin’. Well a girl can hope innit? I won’t be able to breathe mind you, courtesy of my congested sinuses. But who needs to breathe during the act – I mean, its supposed to be breath-taking no?
Although, I recently discovered that respiratory droplets have the endurance of traveling up to 3 feet. Yup, so when you’re on a bus and somebody sneezes across you – you just got sprayed with their germies. Germies that cause all sorts of diseases like E.Coli and Salmonella (to name a few). So perhaps I won’t be splashing M with my flu-droplets although with that boy – he never listens. He takes it quite personally (and offensively) when I refuse to share my sickly germs with him. C’est la vie!
Then Saturday – after a blood test (the fasting variety) yup requires me to give up food for 12 hours – R, R & I head out to S&Magic’s wine labeling/bottling event. Oh my god! They’re getting married in less than 2 months. That’s crazy. It’s scary and overwhelming and just so god darn adorable. I mean, S is gonna be a Mrs. I think I need a few moments to actually internalize all of that. But tomorrow will be loads of fun.
Sat night: my uncle’s birthday bash. N (my cousin and alibi) has decided to get married – in Sri Lanka in August. Yup, August of this year. We had a pact you see. We’ve both been using each other as covers. Each telling people that we’ll get married once the other one does. Well, the rat, went ahead and fixed his date without consulting me. I’m happy for him and stuff but really – what about me?
And me? Tomorrow night, I’ll the one scurrying away in the hopes of avoiding all the “oh it’s your turn now, when are you going to get married?” –esque questions. I actually despise them as I’m sure most adult women do. Initially it was – ‘why don’t you stay with one man for longer than 3 months” – now that I have. The argument has flipped itself and has become a whole new monster, “what’s wrong with M, why doesn’t he want to marry you?”
And I keep wanting to scream – god damnit! It’s not just him. It’s me too. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to leave the safety of my home. Definitely not ready to become ultimately responsible for another human being. Not ready to be a full fledged adult with real life responsibilities. Not ready to deal with Mississauga on a full time basis. Im just not ready people!
But I don’t vocalize these thoughts. I nod. Laugh. Giggle often and much. And cross my fingers and wish that time would fly. I console myself by tuning out the chatter. I actively fight their words in my head and remind myself that:
~I will get married. Hopefully to M. It will be my turn. One day. And that day will happen when we’re both absolutely certain and ready. Whenever that may be. ~
And Sunday – will be bliss. Nothing but pure chillaxing and recovering from the night before. I love my extended family but sometimes, I look around and realize that there’s got to be more than just this. Most discussions quickly deteriorate into friendly mud slinging matches where someone picks on someone and makes said someone feel shoddy for not following the invisible time table.
I keep reminding myself that when the three of us grow up –our family gatherings are going to focus on three things:
Love
Support
Encouragement
And the mud-slinging – we’ll do that in jest in the privacy of our own spaces.
It’s 3:32 and I am bored.
I can’t stand having nothing to do.
Being sick doesn’t help the situation.
I feel like a caged beast – my mind is turning on me!
I need some sugar. Oh yeah, I forgot. I can’t have that anymore.
Grrrr.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)