I'm counting UFOs, I signal them with my lighter

There’s nothing like a super day at work to put a smile on your face.

Shobs and I had one of our long days today, but damn it was productive. Working with kids can be both discouraging and greatly rewarding. Discouraging because the kids we work with don’t have the resources to learn the way we did and improvements are painstakingly slow to nonexistent. But it can be oh so rewarding when you teach them something and they come back the next day and remember it, or they show unrestrained enthusiasm towards learning something in particular. To top it all off, I was told that the kids had been talking about us at home and showing enthusiasm, and are in fact attempting to improve themselves. Nothing could have been better news for me today, still trying to recover from the b’day from hell.

I was starting to have serious doubts about the work we were doing, and my abilities in particular. I have a tendency to not like children. Ok honestly, I downright dislike them. But not these kids. They aren’t the Colombo bred, whiny, spoilt types; they have stories that make your heart ache. But how do we help them? Teaching them the colors of the rainbow isn’t doing much for what they go home to. Added to that I have no patience and a quick temper, and well, that’s probably not the best thing when working with kids. Luckily Shobs is sweetness personified, so she balances me out.

The kids know us now, and they like us, or at least I like to think so. I’m used to being called ‘teacher’ now; I cringed inwardly when they first called me that. I remember backing up in horror when they worshiped me at the end of my first class. That kind of thing makes me very uncomfortable, given that I am the last person in the world deserving of it. I’m better now I think; I do an awkward head-pat and mumble thank you, which is probably not what I’m supposed to do but its better than grabbing my bag and running out at the end of class.

I’m rambling I think, this is not what I set out to blog about, but there’s so much to say after every day, so much to think about and analyze, that even though I have a separate blog for work related stuff, I can’t help but want to share some of it with you guys.

Its been a tiring week, a bluesy one, what with an inexplicable bout of depression at my growing old (haha) and all. I honestly wasn't being angsty and attention whore-y in my previous post (boo to you Pissu), it was a real place I was in, as emo as that sounds. I love my b'day, I wait all year for it and this one just suddenly scared me. I'll try again in a month :)

Anyhoo, we're heading up to Kandy tomorrow for some good rugby and, hopefully, hot guys. Also to show Shobs the Maligawa but that is just a side attraction. Actually she'll probably enjoy that more than the rugby or hot boys but that is where she and I differ :) I haven’t got my hands on some booze as yet but hopefully that too will happen. And substances. Lots and lots of substances. In fact, a dark room, a case of Coronas, substances and an Incubus play list right about now would hit the spot. Anyway, have a good weekend all and maybe I’ll see some of you in Kandy.

22: whoop de fucking do

What a fucking useless b’day. 22 is such a useless number. And I’m in such a bad mood. Where’s the b’day joy for fuck’s sake?

I read last year’s post, the one done just before my 21^st b’day. Wow I’m dumb. It was all oooh 21, I’m all grown up, oooh look at me. One year later, I haven’t done any grownup things. I fucked up big time on a number of things and didn’t use my head, oh how adult of me. Ok, there were a few good times but I’m not in the mood to ponder on em. I’m old and I’m annoyed and this b’day sucked. Happy fucking b’day dumbass.

Round Two

In between researching PhDs and showing Shobs the sights and sounds of Lanka, I realized that the time has come, once again, to get inked.

Everything they say about the first one turning into an addiction is true. Luckily for me though, an effective combination of poverty, indecision and needle-phobia kept the urges at bay. Now however, having saved sufficient funds from my dead end job all through last year, I think I'm ready to go under the needle again. I had a pretty good idea what this second one would mean, but I was having a tough time finding an image that would contain all of it. And then I realized that symbols aren't really me. I'm not into star signs or ancient Mayan symbols or Chinese letters or any of that. A symbol with a singular meaning won't mean as much to me as something personal, something that's special to me, that can mean what I want it to mean. So finally I've decided what I want and have been going through to flickr to find the perfect picture.

While that's going on, I've still got to come up with a good spot. I initially wanted a rather large one on my upper back, but what I chose would probably look better in a small space so I've narrowed it down to either my ankle or my neck. Decisions, decisions.

There's time though; I want to get it done right before I leave so it'll escape the father's notice. He was cool about the first one, but I fear I would be pushing it with another. So I need to look at it from all angles and make sure it's perfect, because as Uncle N kindly reminded me, its there forever.

White Room




Black Magic Woman




Sunshine/Hoochie Man

I'll Be Here Awhile

When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

---------

How long before I get in?
Before it starts, before I begin?
How long before you decide?
Before I know what it feels like?
Where To, where do I go?
If you never try, then you'll never know.
How long do I have to climb,
Up on the side of this mountain of mine?

Look up, I look up at night,
Planets are moving at the speed of light.
Climb up, up in the trees,
every chance that you get,
is a chance you seize.
How long am I gonna stand,
with my head stuck under the sand?
I'll start before I can stop,
before I see things the right way up.

---------

In my place, in my place
Were lines that I couldn't change
I was lost, oh yeah

I was lost, I was lost
Crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed
I was lost, oh yeah

Yeah, how long must you wait for him?
Yeah, how long must you pay for him?
Yeah, how long must you wait for him?

If you go, if you go
Leaving me here on my own
Well I wait for you

It Was Here All Along

Because Sri Lanka has soul, N said to me, when I asked him why he wanted to come back here, and I remember thinking not anymore it doesn’t. Well, I was wrong, it does, I’ve just been looking in the wrong places.

I took a much needed mini break and headed upto Anuradhapura with the father and Shobs. The Poson festivities were something else and that deserves another post altogether. Thanks to all those who inquired about my well being; it really wasn’t necessary but appreciated all the same :)

This post, though, is about how I got my groove back. Because while there I realized that maybe even though a part of Sri Lanka is in the excitement and constant chaos that is Colombo, there is more of it outside; out here where people smile more and are less burdened by all the conveniences we have. Here where they live on the hallowed grounds trod by kings and queens and are surrounded by the ruins of ancient kingdoms.

If the sky is poetry, then the land is a lovely prose. The soul is here in the luscious green of the paddy fields, the gray-green mountains covered in an early morning haze, in the coconut trees swaying to a rhythm all of their own. There are forests, with the sunlight streaming in through the branches, forming a striped pattern of light and shadow; lotus groves with the flowers rising above the murky waters, a lovely stretch of pinks and whites. A stork flies in, a startling, pristine white against the green backdrop and delicately picks its way through the mud. There are ruins of ancient times; some carefully excavated and carelessly reconstructed, some overgrown with weeds and shrubs. No matter, nothing distracts from that feeling of awe you get looking around you, the tingling of nerves as you realize that everything you are, everything you come from was a result of the very people on whose bones you now tread. There is a reverence to the place, the silence of history, the charm of a time gone by.

So I’ve decided this is what I need. To get away for a few days at a time, away from Colombo and its gossip and mayhem, maybe do a Java and retreat into the mountains :)

The sister arrives in a few hours, then the brother, then the cousin, and AK on Sunday. All people I miss, people I’ll be glad to see. And Orchard Road calls. Maybe New York can wait a while.

You and I, We're Done

I want out. I want to go back to New York, away from the sweltering heat, the fuckwits who are my friends, the retards who run the country, the insane price of everything.

My life is an open book; you ask, I tell. If I don’t want to tell, then shut the fuck up and stop asking. Just stop talking about me. Insanely wild assumptions and accusations. How dare you speculate and then spread rumors about things you know nothing of? I’m not a violent person but damnit, I want to slap you in the fucking face till you get it through your thick skull.

Oh for the anonymity of the city, where no one gives a fuck. To be in a place where you are just you, not so and so. I was foolish to think that home would be the same. It can’t be when I’m not. Your stories don’t amuse me anymore and I won’t indulge you with a laugh and a then what happened? Why can’t everyone just mind their own business and leave well enough alone? Fuck all you gossips, and all those I thought were friends.

I miss you New York.

Better, at best

Ok calm down everyone, just calm down I say! Relax. The crisis has been averted. Everyone's friendly neighborhood blogger ChaarMax has come to the rescue. A panicked phone call, some tears, a wee bit of whining for good measure and he has fixed me up good. I am back on track, all photos, documents and music intact.

Thanks dude, you are my star. Rest assured, the next round of HBC and Pimms is on me. I luuurve you man!

Romanticizing a Balcony

My hands shake as I write this, the tears blurring the words on the screen. Salty droplets splash onto the keyboard, seeping into the gaps between the keys, creating havoc with the electrical components. Sparks shoot out at me and yet I continue, grimly determined to share my plight with you, my reader. A spark falls on a loose tendril of hair and begins to smolder. I watch in horror as it begins to char, smoke curling upwards towards the wooden book shelves. But I care not. Smoke is in my eyes as the book case catches fire and spreads. Flames crackle, the heat is unbearable but no! I must, must write this. My life is over as I know it, and this is my final testament.

Well, not really. Sigh.

I just lost everything I own. Everything. On. My. Computer. Through some evil twist of fate. Curse you technology! All my music, all my pictures, all my documents. This, after sleeping on the hardest floor known to mankind, since my bed had been taken over by a father who snores like a freight train. Not that a freight train snores, but you get my drift. So I threw a right old tantrum, tears and all, with lots of choice swear words. And then I calmed down and convinced myself it’s not the end of the world.

Start afresh, clean slate. Open new profile. Reinstall everything. Clever boy, that A, saved all his music on my C drive. And there’s lots of it. So I’m listening to Psapp, whoever the fuck that is. Relax indie lovers, I’m a mainstream kinda girl.

My balcony has a nice view. Not spectacular, but decent. Distant view of the harbor on the left, bunch of buildings on the right, cricket stadium up ahead, lots of trees below. Ok I take it back, that’s actually a pretty crap view. But I get to watch the sunset. And it’s pretty high up, and everything’s nicer from high up. The air is a tad cleaner and there’s a breeze. AND big plus, no mosquitoes. It’s also handy for doing bad things like drinking and smoking and spying on your cute neighbors. Except I have no neighbors, cute or otherwise, save for the men who take a bath in their undies in their garden (Why? Whyy?) and them I have no wish to spy on. Shudder.

So yes, balconies are nice. And I won’t get all Romeo and Juliet on you, but I have a sneaking suspicion that a balcony is a teeny bit romantic. Maybe it’s the altitude getting to me, but you can sit a while, distance yourself, and build castles in the sky. And for a brief moment, a cynic can believe in romance and good people and... meh I don’t know... things like that. Add to that the sheer awesomeness of the I can see you but you can’t see me factor. Yeah, I said it. Balconies are awesome. When I have a house, it’ll have a big balcony. And I will do... various balcony-esque things on it.

What does this have to do with my computer problems? Why, nothing at all. Obviously the trauma has got to me. Gah. Fuck you gadgets and gizmos. Fuck you, I say.

Gigs and such

And The Four Right Chords Can Make Me Cry

Joyousness! My laptop and I have been reunited. We celebrated by watching 27 dresses and eating Chinese food. The food was good, the movie was an awful cliché and James Marsden was sexy. A decent date in all.

April was a good month, music-wise. I went to see an old fave: Third Eye Blind, and a new fave: Kate Nash. Them I like because well, who didn’t grow up with them, and her I like because she is refreshingly quirky.

In a nutshell: Third Eye Blind are quite the performers and the lighting was fantastic. The crowd was a weird mix of old people, small people and.. brown people? All potheads, might I add; you could get high just breathing. In fact, one feisty lad decided to light up right next to us via a tin can. Children, I tell you. 3EB had a new album and sang too many songs from that; bad idea, how are we supposed to sing along? They did fit in all the oldies though, and they were golden. They did an extended version of Jumper and a couple acoustic numbers from a platform set up in the middle of the theater. Again, bad idea, since there were two levels, and everyone on the lower level i.e. us, were wondering where the hell the band had gone. Of course I fought my way through for my youtube material. Nothing comes between me and reliving a performance hours later. It also turns out that I am an irate audience member when not boozed up. This was, sadly, my brief I don’t like alcohol phase. So I quite unforgivingly elbowed and stepped on anyone who dared cross me. One conversation went something like this:

Drunk Irish Guy (turns around and sees me): Namaste!!!!!!!!!!! (Yes, with that many exclamation marks)

Me: *oh no he didn’t* *gives The Look*

DIG: SO, blah blah blah drunken babble showers me with saliva

Me: grimace and pointedly looks over his shoulder at the stage (yes, I am quite the conversationalist)

DIG: blah blah blah so if I jump on your foot, I’m sorry.

Me: so how about you just don’t?

DIG: don’t what?

Me: don’t jump on my foot jackass

DIG: yes but if I accidentally do, I’m sorry

Me: look, if you know you’re going to jump on my foot, how about you just not do it? Or if you must, move over there *points to rear of theater* I didn’t pay 40 bucks to be stepped on.

DIG: you don’t like me do you?

Me: not particularly. Btw if I purposely elbow you in the spine, I’m sorry.

Anyway, the point is, don’t be a jackass while at a concert. And for fuck’s sake, don’t get drunk and pick a fight. Put your dick away and watch the show. We all know you’re a prime example of the male species, you don’t have to prove it by picking on the little guy with the really expensive camera that now lies in smithereens at your feet.

Shobs, Meli and I went to watch Kate Nash, after having spent $40 on rice, parippu and ala badum at Sigiri. Sigh. It was a good show; lots of great energy and fun people. It wasn’t very crowded so we got within 10 feet of her, and she was very cute and girly and all that, in her little dress. Lots of acoustic songs with just her on guitar and then more with her band which was really good. The girl is very talented. My camera died a gruesome death so I couldn’t get any videos, but turns out others did, so I watched those instead.

We rounded off the musical extravaganza with NAS playing at school for a meager 10 bucks. Word. So off we went. The Dream opened for him. He was awful. He sang songs like this. Sean Singh* was there. He said hi and gave me a hug and we chatted. Siiiiiiigh.

*

*

*

Ahem. Aanyway, NAS was awesome. He managed to fit in all the best songs in to the measly allotted 40 minutes. [WHY, when The Dream (what a joke, he was a fucking nightmare) was given a half hour??? The mind boggles.] One Mic and Made You Look were crowd faves. Everyone was singing along, and it ain't easy to sing along to a rap song. Especially when the crowd is mainly white kids from Brooklyn. There were easily more white kids than black kids. I was a tad confused. Maybe music really is universal after all.

Or maybe the $10 tickets had something to do with it :)

*Incredibly hot Guyanese boy who I have a ridiculous crush on.
**Pictures and videos in following post.

So Lime Green Is Your Color

An anticlimatic final, at best. I waited all day, in the sweltering heat I might add (bloody powercuts) and Federer was, as TLF so aptly put it, underwhelming. Whatever semblance of fight he put into the second set was gone by the third; 6-0, what a shame. Nadal on the other hand, was on fire. Oozing confidence with every stroke as Federer's face drooped with every set. Fully deserved the win and then some. I just wish Nike had given him a new outfit for the final. But then, with a face like that, he could wear a burlap sack and still look sexy. I won't even go into that delicious body.

And this is for you Darwin.


It was delish. We did it the traditional way with fruits and lemonade, but I looked up more recipes, if you will, and there's loads more you can do with it. This just might turn into my favorite drink of the month :)

And So It Goes

Wake up call: 21 dead, 50+ injured. And I'm not even an early riser.

And tonight: Nadal vs. Djokovic.
My money's on Nadal but I'm rooting for the underdog. The boy got tricks. Hopefully he can pull off another AusOpen semi. Now THAT would be good tennis.

And Obama's got the Democratic nomination. Again, my money's on McCain but I hope Obama can pull off a miracle. Go underdogs!

Show Me Your's And I'll Smack You

Yesterday was the first time in a long long time I’ve needed a drink. Needed. As opposed to wanted. I was a bit worried.

Oh, and I hate boys.

And I've moved on to obscure blog post titles.

That’s all.

Dust in My Eyes

That's right. Dust. In my eyes. And I wish that were a witty euphemism for something deliciously scandalous but no. It's just what I say it is. All the dust in the world has settled in my room. This would not be a problem except for the fact that I am hideously allergic to dust. My eyes, in particular, have taken offense more than my lungs. They are red and scratchy and teary and shot to hell. The skin around them has been rubbed raw and is bleeding and suffering. I am concerned for my eyesight, because if the rubbing keeps up, it is highly likely that one or both my eyeballs will fall out.

And did I mention my internet sucks? So I have dust in my eye, and I cant even whine about it on my blog because the internet sucks.

Added to that I got The Call. I hate this call. I wait for it every day and hope it never comes. The last time I got the call was 5 years ago. I remember my mother running over; 48 hours later my grandfather was dead. It’s the Something’s Wrong Call. And I got it today. All she said was ‘baba can u come, I’m not feeling well’. Which, in independent old lady speak means something is very very wrong. I was there in 10 seconds flat. Oh, I’m talking about my grandmother, in case you hadn’t realized. She has sugar issues. Damn you, diabetes. Turns out, low sugar levels. So I handled it, as best I knew how, which basically included lots of sugar and bread and threats to call deadly Aunty N over in the US of A if she didn’t eat said food. That did the trick, N really is deadly. These damn hereditary diseases, I know its got its eye on me next.

The father figure is away for the weekend. Nuwara Eliya to be precise. I was invited to come of course, but the thing about NE is, if you don’t go with a crowd there’s pretty much nothing to do. In this case the ‘crowd’ included lots of bank fuddy duddies. Thanks, but no. So while the father is away… I think I will play *evil smirk*

VII

The rules :-

• Link your tagger and list these rules on your blog
• Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
• Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
• Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog

I've been tagged by DramaQueen, Dinidu, JD and Scrump (just wanted to acknowledge you peeps).I won't tag anyone afterwards because everyone has already been tagged. And I think there's something wrong with that last sentence but I can't put my finger on it.

1. I can touch the tip of my nose with my tongue. If that makes you think I have a really big nose or a really long tongue... then yes to both.

2. Sarcasm is my second language. Possibly even my first.

3. I have an incredibly dirty mind, honed to perfection by years of hanging out with the Ds and Ss.

4. Really nice hands turn me on.

5. I'm far too addicted to blogging and Kottu for my own good. I didn't have internet OR a computer for the last 2 days and nearly busted an artery wondering what was up with my favorite bloggers.

6. The more I like you, the meaner I am to you. That includes excessive public humiliation. If I'm really nice to you.. you should probably be concerned. Sometimes I wonder how I have any friends at all.

7. I think the Anne series is a timeless classic, and everytime I read it, I am in awe of LMM's writing all over again. I just got done reading House of Dreams for the 467th time which is why I thought of that particular fact.

Sunday Randoms

I’ll apologize in advance for how digressive and disjointed this post will be. I’m trying to let the music dictate the mood; it seems to be alternating between nostalgic, emo and fuck I need a drink. NeYo is singing some song about sex with his ex. Now there’s a thought.

It’s raining like a mother. I hope it never stops. I can say that because I’m snug and warm in bed. I hear further inland it’s flooding. There’s fuckall I can do about that, so I’m just gonna enjoy this right here. It’s cloudy and thundery and I’ve been reading this blog all day. What wit!

Met up with J and S for some hot butter cuttlefish and OR at SSC, finally. S just got back from her first year in Singapore. The girl’s been wilin out over there, she had some good stories to tell. We cursed a few people who’ve made it their business to know my business, and by making my business their business, have managed to come up with something completely distorted. If that makes sense. It’s good though, that feeling of meeting up after time apart and being reassured that you’ve changed, they’ve changed but everything’s still the same.

Went to watch a match at CR with B and the Duckling yesterday. ‘Twas good. I’m told we’re too old to watch school rugby anymore. Must be true, I read the RC match write up in the papers today and didn’t recognize any of the names. Gah, 25 days to the big 22. Will make it a point to go watch Royal next week. I’ll be damned if I’m made to feel old before I really am.

Love love Timbaland’s latest album. I’m a bit late on the uptake I think, about 380+ days late, but I haven’t been able to stop listening to it. Reminds me of NY club nights.

Completely unrelatedly (as has been the post so far), turns out a coffee here is more expensive than damn Starbucks. What are they playin at eh?

Jesus, won’t it ever stop raining?