I lost my ATM card yesterday. Well, to be more honest, I kind of forgot to take it out of the damned ATM machine. You can imagine the fright I got some three hours later when I realised what I had done. I went back to the ATM machine to check whether some honest soul had given it over to the security guard. But obviously, the guard had changed in the past three hours and the new guard had no clue.
I called up the Citibank help-line.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Hullo. I am Girish. How may I help you?
Me (Totally psyched out.): Hi. This is so and so. I just lost my ATM card.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Yes Ma’am. How did that happen and in what branch?
Me (Slightly embarrassed): Uh! Actually I lost it in the machine.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): In the machine?
Me: Yes. I kind of forgot to take it.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Forgot to take it?
Me (Defensive and irritated with his parroting): Yes. Forgot. So anyone could have taken all the money from my account. (Suddenly I realised the gravity of it. My salary has just been credited to the account) Oh please please help me out.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Of course Ma’am. Do you have your Debit card number?
Me (sadly): Uh. No.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Bank Account number?
Me (almost in tears): Nooooooo.
Girish (Obviously used to hysterical women): Do you have a transaction slip?
Me (brightening up): Yes. I gave him my bank account number.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Am I speaking to Ms. so and so
Me (Duh! That’s the first thing I had told him. My name!): Yes. Yes.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Ma’am I have cancelled your card.
Me: Thank you. Please please tell me if there is any money in my account.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): I am sorry Ma’am we are not in a position to give out that information.
Me: What do you mean you are not in a position to give out that information? It’s my account. I need to know.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): I am sorry Ma’am.
Me: Cummon. You can’t do this. Tell me something. Anything.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Ma’am your last transaction was for Rs x.
Me: What was the transaction before that?
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): I am sorry Ma’am. We are not in a position to give out that information.
Me: What do you mean you are not in a position to give out that information? It’s my account. I need to know.
Rajesh (in a sickeningly pleasant voice): I am sorry Ma’am. If it helps that is the only transaction today.
What a first class idiot! Couldn’t he have told me that in the first place?!!
Friday, August 27, 2004
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
I miss Tutu Singh :o(
I wonder what is it about dogs that fascinates me and makes me want to smother them with hugs and kisses? Be it my own little tootsie, others’ doggies or even the street dogs! Is it the shape of their snout, the turn of their lips, the whiskers that tickle when they lick your face and their floppy ears that seem to have a life of its own? Or it is because of the way they rub against my legs, the way their eyes talk; or their sloppy kisses.
When I was 4 or 5, my Dad told me he knew Tarzan very well and that he used to often visit him in the jungle, which was on the way to his office. Of course, I believed him and when he said that Tarzan would give me any animal from the jungle that my heart desired, I asked for a puppy. Every evening when Dad came home from work, I would demand to know where the puppy was. And every day Dad had a new excuse for not being able to meet Tarzan. This went on for a long time till I finally lost interest or grew up, whichever came first. I think it was the latter because the craving for the puppy refused to go away!
We did get Tootsie (a lasa apso) many years later. Tootsie won me over instantly with his big brown eyes and sloppy kisses. He was my best friend and every evening we would sit in the garden watching the stars as I gave him a "lowdown" on the day's happenings. He would listen intendly and nuzzle or lick me at appropriate intervals to indicate that he understood (every word!).
Its been almost sixteen years since Tootsie came into our lives. Even though Tootsie can no longer see very well, his big brown eyes are still captivating. They continue to warm my heart each time I gaze into them. I miss Tutu Singh :o(
Doggies bring out a love in me that I didn’t know I was capable of. Give me a dog and I will forgo all other human relationships.
When I was 4 or 5, my Dad told me he knew Tarzan very well and that he used to often visit him in the jungle, which was on the way to his office. Of course, I believed him and when he said that Tarzan would give me any animal from the jungle that my heart desired, I asked for a puppy. Every evening when Dad came home from work, I would demand to know where the puppy was. And every day Dad had a new excuse for not being able to meet Tarzan. This went on for a long time till I finally lost interest or grew up, whichever came first. I think it was the latter because the craving for the puppy refused to go away!
We did get Tootsie (a lasa apso) many years later. Tootsie won me over instantly with his big brown eyes and sloppy kisses. He was my best friend and every evening we would sit in the garden watching the stars as I gave him a "lowdown" on the day's happenings. He would listen intendly and nuzzle or lick me at appropriate intervals to indicate that he understood (every word!).
Its been almost sixteen years since Tootsie came into our lives. Even though Tootsie can no longer see very well, his big brown eyes are still captivating. They continue to warm my heart each time I gaze into them. I miss Tutu Singh :o(
Doggies bring out a love in me that I didn’t know I was capable of. Give me a dog and I will forgo all other human relationships.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
An Ant-i Attack!
Ants have made themselves at home inside my keyboard. I type, and they keep on creeping out! It is quite disturbing, and more than a little amusing. I have tried blowing hard between the keys to chase them out, and also poking them out with a pin, but all these measures have had but little effect. And I'm too scared to take the keys out and clean the keyboard properly - I just do not have enough faith in my ability to put the keys back together properly. What if I break something? Aaargh.
OMG there are three that I can see right now, creeping out from between the arrow keys. Holy flying pig - it's teaming with ants now!! Eeeeks!
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Horsing Around!
One advantage of being in Bangalore is that there are a plethora of activities one can take to. AC, a close buddy from my new office convinced to make time for (yet!) another activity, horse riding. Well! Well! Well! I can see a few smirks!! You can wipe those off before I do!!
So bright and early on Saturday morning, AC and moi landed up at the Race Course and enrolled at the Bangalore Amateur Riders Institute (BARI). About 1/2 hour went in locating BARI, which was at the far end of the huge field.
Several jockeys were out early morning racing their horses. Up close, I can tell you, they look a little scary, especially when they are galloping hard. And horses don't neigh as much as they wheeze. It's not a very pretty sound.
After doing the necessary (that is, paying up, filling form) we were led to Snowy, a 16-year-old mare. She seemed pretty calm, except for a strange noise that she would emit once in a while. I think she was irritated with the flies. Or it could have been me.
I had seen swashbuckling heroes getting onto their mares effortlessly (in movies, they don't exist in real life, sadly) so I had that romantic picture in mind. Up close, I realised that the horse was much taller than I had earlier envisioned. And I had to struggle getting my foot into the stirrup and hoisting myself into the saddle.
Now, I know, it should be relatively easy. Like the above mentioned swashbuckling hero. Not so!! After about 5-6 attempts I was huffing and puffing, looking furtively at Snowy to check if she had noticed my rather clumsy and unsuccessful moves. She didn't bat an eyelid.
Finally, with some help (and a hand on my backside to hoist me) I managed to get into the saddle. Wow! At the end of it, I felt I had achieved a major milestone in equestrianism.
That was, in a nutshell, my first and rather brief foray into horse riding. Next lesson: sitting on the horse and looking cool :)
So bright and early on Saturday morning, AC and moi landed up at the Race Course and enrolled at the Bangalore Amateur Riders Institute (BARI). About 1/2 hour went in locating BARI, which was at the far end of the huge field.
Several jockeys were out early morning racing their horses. Up close, I can tell you, they look a little scary, especially when they are galloping hard. And horses don't neigh as much as they wheeze. It's not a very pretty sound.
After doing the necessary (that is, paying up, filling form) we were led to Snowy, a 16-year-old mare. She seemed pretty calm, except for a strange noise that she would emit once in a while. I think she was irritated with the flies. Or it could have been me.
I had seen swashbuckling heroes getting onto their mares effortlessly (in movies, they don't exist in real life, sadly) so I had that romantic picture in mind. Up close, I realised that the horse was much taller than I had earlier envisioned. And I had to struggle getting my foot into the stirrup and hoisting myself into the saddle.
Now, I know, it should be relatively easy. Like the above mentioned swashbuckling hero. Not so!! After about 5-6 attempts I was huffing and puffing, looking furtively at Snowy to check if she had noticed my rather clumsy and unsuccessful moves. She didn't bat an eyelid.
Finally, with some help (and a hand on my backside to hoist me) I managed to get into the saddle. Wow! At the end of it, I felt I had achieved a major milestone in equestrianism.
That was, in a nutshell, my first and rather brief foray into horse riding. Next lesson: sitting on the horse and looking cool :)
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Anger management!!
Ought I say anything about the current mess I have miraculously gotten myself into. Thanks to my big mouth! No wonder then that people say I have F-I-M (Foot-in-the-mouth) disease. I wish I could be more diplomatic and phrase things differently but I usual say whatever comes to my mind (some times rather bluntly!!)
I do not like it. Just as I do not like saying offensive things (at best I say "so mean and horrid") even if I am full of venom and I am feeling pretty hostile right now. If you have heard me mouthing hostile words, it must be the moment when I lost my temper.
A lifetime ago, my dad once told me that I should not be using the word Hate flippantly, cause hate is an all consuming feeling. His words made me think, and then withdraw my words in turn. Today, however, I have truly understood the essence of the word Hate/Hatred. It is indeed all-consuming!
So far I had classified myself as a positive person with a live-and-let-live attitude towards people and life in general but the feelings of hatred that I have nurtured of-late, has taken me by surprise. I have tried reasoning with self, but to no avail. I have never wished anyone bad! but this time I wish the person (in question) would simply disappear from the face of the earth.
Yes, I am hopping mad but I don't understand why the hell some people (intended for AK!) force me to behave happy-happy, goody-goody when I am not feeling cheerful or upbeat. I do care about others but I hate it when some Silly Billy expects me to giggle at some corny joke when I am in a murderous mood. Also what the hell is wrong in brooding? I cannot be sugary honey bunny all the time. Sometimes I am mean and irritable, especially when I have a zillion things on my mind to keep me on my toes. Maybe I am wrong but when I am angry I cannot stand the sight of happy people. It bugs me and I am not apologetic about it. I give two hoots about what anyone feels on such occasions. There I said it. Awesome!
Hope the day passes smoothly. I doubt the possibility!
I do not like it. Just as I do not like saying offensive things (at best I say "so mean and horrid") even if I am full of venom and I am feeling pretty hostile right now. If you have heard me mouthing hostile words, it must be the moment when I lost my temper.
A lifetime ago, my dad once told me that I should not be using the word Hate flippantly, cause hate is an all consuming feeling. His words made me think, and then withdraw my words in turn. Today, however, I have truly understood the essence of the word Hate/Hatred. It is indeed all-consuming!
So far I had classified myself as a positive person with a live-and-let-live attitude towards people and life in general but the feelings of hatred that I have nurtured of-late, has taken me by surprise. I have tried reasoning with self, but to no avail. I have never wished anyone bad! but this time I wish the person (in question) would simply disappear from the face of the earth.
Yes, I am hopping mad but I don't understand why the hell some people (intended for AK!) force me to behave happy-happy, goody-goody when I am not feeling cheerful or upbeat. I do care about others but I hate it when some Silly Billy expects me to giggle at some corny joke when I am in a murderous mood. Also what the hell is wrong in brooding? I cannot be sugary honey bunny all the time. Sometimes I am mean and irritable, especially when I have a zillion things on my mind to keep me on my toes. Maybe I am wrong but when I am angry I cannot stand the sight of happy people. It bugs me and I am not apologetic about it. I give two hoots about what anyone feels on such occasions. There I said it. Awesome!
Hope the day passes smoothly. I doubt the possibility!
Monday, July 19, 2004
Books are your friends
When I was younger I used to throw books out of my second story bedroom window. With a flick of the wrist I would toss the book into the air and watch the pages flutter in the wind before hitting the ground with a soft thud.
It was fun, dangling my body halfway out the window just far enough so that the book could catch enough air to miss the flowerbeds. It was fun, seeing how many I could chuck outside before getting caught.
I didn't usually get to throw more than three books out before I was caught, reprimanded and told, "Books are your friends."
I've since stopped throwing books out windows and today I own a lot of books. Like three tall bookshelves worth, plus the books at my parent's house that I never got around to moving.
I am very protective of my books. Even the ones I don't like. I very rarely lend books to people and am always surprised when people lend books to me because I will be the first to keep your book forever and ever, “forgetting” that I had borrowed it, finding it a new home for it on my shelf. I once lent a book to my mother. I figured she was safe, being related by blood and all. As it turns out, she was not. For I never got it back. When I asked for the book she told me I never lent it to her in the first place. Honest engine. The book was "The Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood." I think I liked the book.
I keep every book I read from the stupid M&Bs crap that makes me wince when I think that I actually spent my hard earned money on such books, to the loads of weight loss books that I have bought over the years in search of a miracle cure.
I never re-read books. I tried once and liken it to picking food out of your back molars and eating it again. It's already been chewed and enjoyed.
I read of people who only keep the books that mean something to them. Or the books they really enjoyed. Or classics, or something. And after hearing this I pause to take a minute and think, "Wow."
I've been dreaming up some "get rich quick" schemes. Or at the very least, a scheme that will support my Coke habit. Selling some of my stuff, specifically my books seems to be the "easiest." I’ve been mulling it over for about a week. I’ll let you know if I get up the nerve to sell some of my friends. (God, that sounds so cheap.)
It was fun, dangling my body halfway out the window just far enough so that the book could catch enough air to miss the flowerbeds. It was fun, seeing how many I could chuck outside before getting caught.
I didn't usually get to throw more than three books out before I was caught, reprimanded and told, "Books are your friends."
I've since stopped throwing books out windows and today I own a lot of books. Like three tall bookshelves worth, plus the books at my parent's house that I never got around to moving.
I am very protective of my books. Even the ones I don't like. I very rarely lend books to people and am always surprised when people lend books to me because I will be the first to keep your book forever and ever, “forgetting” that I had borrowed it, finding it a new home for it on my shelf. I once lent a book to my mother. I figured she was safe, being related by blood and all. As it turns out, she was not. For I never got it back. When I asked for the book she told me I never lent it to her in the first place. Honest engine. The book was "The Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood." I think I liked the book.
I keep every book I read from the stupid M&Bs crap that makes me wince when I think that I actually spent my hard earned money on such books, to the loads of weight loss books that I have bought over the years in search of a miracle cure.
I never re-read books. I tried once and liken it to picking food out of your back molars and eating it again. It's already been chewed and enjoyed.
I read of people who only keep the books that mean something to them. Or the books they really enjoyed. Or classics, or something. And after hearing this I pause to take a minute and think, "Wow."
I've been dreaming up some "get rich quick" schemes. Or at the very least, a scheme that will support my Coke habit. Selling some of my stuff, specifically my books seems to be the "easiest." I’ve been mulling it over for about a week. I’ll let you know if I get up the nerve to sell some of my friends. (God, that sounds so cheap.)
Monday, July 12, 2004
Rise and Shine!
The sight of a sparkling pool early in the morning is the most exhilarating sight in the world. Been swimming every morning for the past few days now. It's a proper swimming class - coach, warm-up, technique... all the works. And it's FUN!
I have a thing for these sporty guys. (I mean the real sporty kinds - not the ones who ride BMWs and wear Adidas) They're full of beans, all peppy and energetic. My heart still skips a beat when I think of my hockey coach from college. ( Man, he was something :-) Current coach too is real c-o-o-l !
One thing about swimming is you end up with two coloured skin, like a zebra.
I have a thing for these sporty guys. (I mean the real sporty kinds - not the ones who ride BMWs and wear Adidas) They're full of beans, all peppy and energetic. My heart still skips a beat when I think of my hockey coach from college. ( Man, he was something :-) Current coach too is real c-o-o-l !
One thing about swimming is you end up with two coloured skin, like a zebra.
Saturday, July 10, 2004
Batman
His name was Shakar. But we called him bhaiya, my bro and I. And he'd call us baba and baby.
He was from Jammu and he could make the meanest rajma chawal I've ever had. He was tall, had big mooch and he always wore the same army-commissioned white t-shirt and olive green trousers.
We went to him when we needed an extra notebook. When we needed tamarind from the tree in the front lawn. When we wanted a chocolate bar or a library book.
He took bro for his tutions on his Avon cycle. A would sit behind him, holding on to the ends of his shirt while he raced down the hill our bungalow was situated on.
He taught me how to play basketball on our makeshift court next to the garage and he would bring his share of rotis from his langar because I loved them so much. He ignored the guy friends who'd come by when my parents would go out for golf or dinner parties. He never told on me, even once.
He flirted with my ayah when they would sit in the lawns waiting for my parents to come back after a night of cocktails, and she'd flirt back... and I'd observe them both from my room's window. He'd rattle off the hisaab (accounts) to my mother each evening. I remember trying to do homework over his tamatar-10 rupya, bhindi- 15 rupya, baby ka kitaab- 20 rupya, bread- 14 rupya...
He threw up when he found a dead lizard in my chest of drawers. He removed the lizard afterwards though, because I refused to go into the room otherwise.
He cried when his father died of a heart attack. He was just 25. My dad hugged him and told him to be strong. Mother passed him 200 rupees for his journey back to his village and I made him a card from a sheet in my drawing book. Bro just stood next to him while he cried his eyes out, saying, "baba, pata nahin kaise ho gaya yeh sab (I don't know how this happened).' I stood there in my verandah while he sat on a cane garden chair with his head in his hands. I didn't touch him, I wasn't supposed to.
He loved us. He never said no to anything, he would never get irritated or angry with us over our incessant requests but always smiled and said okay. He climbed high up on trees to pluck jamuns for me - my one constant requirement - he never collected them off the ground saying that they were too squishy to taste good.
And we loved him. We helped out with the daily dusting of the big house though we loathed it. We'd pass diwali sweets and christmas candy. We gave him our books to read so he could work on his English. We did all we could to show him that we cared, without actually crossing the line we'd come to understand over years of being army brats.
The afternoon I had an accident, he ran all the way from our house to the unit medical clinic; his cycle had a puncture and he couldn't reach my parents. He ran, I know, because the doctor told me so. I was 14... oblivious to anyone's emotions except my own, but I realized how much it meant to him... seeing us safe and happy.
I haven't seen him since we moved out of that city some six years ago. He's posted somewhere in North-East India and occasional letters to my mother, in broken but proud English, tell us he's doing alright. She always replies.
I grow older, childhood memories seem to fade with every passing day, but I try not to forget our batman. I hold on to the time we spent with him, because for the two years he was with us, he was family.
When I go back home now, there are other batmen who call me didi... but no one says it quite like Shakar. There were other batmen who will bring jamuns for me... but they'd never risk their necks for a handful of berries. And I haven't yet met someone who'd spend an entire night staying up with me, helping me stick pictures in my summer assignment projects.
He was from Jammu and he could make the meanest rajma chawal I've ever had. He was tall, had big mooch and he always wore the same army-commissioned white t-shirt and olive green trousers.
We went to him when we needed an extra notebook. When we needed tamarind from the tree in the front lawn. When we wanted a chocolate bar or a library book.
He took bro for his tutions on his Avon cycle. A would sit behind him, holding on to the ends of his shirt while he raced down the hill our bungalow was situated on.
He taught me how to play basketball on our makeshift court next to the garage and he would bring his share of rotis from his langar because I loved them so much. He ignored the guy friends who'd come by when my parents would go out for golf or dinner parties. He never told on me, even once.
He flirted with my ayah when they would sit in the lawns waiting for my parents to come back after a night of cocktails, and she'd flirt back... and I'd observe them both from my room's window. He'd rattle off the hisaab (accounts) to my mother each evening. I remember trying to do homework over his tamatar-10 rupya, bhindi- 15 rupya, baby ka kitaab- 20 rupya, bread- 14 rupya...
He threw up when he found a dead lizard in my chest of drawers. He removed the lizard afterwards though, because I refused to go into the room otherwise.
He cried when his father died of a heart attack. He was just 25. My dad hugged him and told him to be strong. Mother passed him 200 rupees for his journey back to his village and I made him a card from a sheet in my drawing book. Bro just stood next to him while he cried his eyes out, saying, "baba, pata nahin kaise ho gaya yeh sab (I don't know how this happened).' I stood there in my verandah while he sat on a cane garden chair with his head in his hands. I didn't touch him, I wasn't supposed to.
He loved us. He never said no to anything, he would never get irritated or angry with us over our incessant requests but always smiled and said okay. He climbed high up on trees to pluck jamuns for me - my one constant requirement - he never collected them off the ground saying that they were too squishy to taste good.
And we loved him. We helped out with the daily dusting of the big house though we loathed it. We'd pass diwali sweets and christmas candy. We gave him our books to read so he could work on his English. We did all we could to show him that we cared, without actually crossing the line we'd come to understand over years of being army brats.
The afternoon I had an accident, he ran all the way from our house to the unit medical clinic; his cycle had a puncture and he couldn't reach my parents. He ran, I know, because the doctor told me so. I was 14... oblivious to anyone's emotions except my own, but I realized how much it meant to him... seeing us safe and happy.
I haven't seen him since we moved out of that city some six years ago. He's posted somewhere in North-East India and occasional letters to my mother, in broken but proud English, tell us he's doing alright. She always replies.
I grow older, childhood memories seem to fade with every passing day, but I try not to forget our batman. I hold on to the time we spent with him, because for the two years he was with us, he was family.
When I go back home now, there are other batmen who call me didi... but no one says it quite like Shakar. There were other batmen who will bring jamuns for me... but they'd never risk their necks for a handful of berries. And I haven't yet met someone who'd spend an entire night staying up with me, helping me stick pictures in my summer assignment projects.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Congrats to the proud daddy!
gu gu ga ga! Incase some of you are wondering if I have gone crazy... I havent! This is how NG's baby talks and if you want to hold a conversation with her, you gotta learn the language too!!
Yep! The first baby in the group has arrived! NG became a daddy to a beautiful baby girl at 11:21:04 AM on June 23. Both the mom and the neonate are doing well, even though it was a C-Sec delivery.
Watching NG hold that tiny bundle was a beautiful sight indeed. I wonder if he realises he will soon have to worry about admissions, teachers, bullies and homework. He shall now have to spend sleepless nights changing nappies, wiping tears, watching toothless grins, staring at a beloved expressive face.
NG fell in love with his baby doll the moment he saw her. I distinctly heard him murmur something about tearing apart any boy who so much as smells the air his precious princess breathes. Looks like NG has forgotten the lustful leers he gave P!!!
Here's hoping that Angel finds super friends... Just like I did!! Friends who will deposit her in a cab after a party and warn the cab driver to be careful! Friends who will be ready to break her bfs nose if he so much as thinks of parting!
Friends like NG, RM and AK... 3 horrible grumpy, grouchy, mean, silent men, who will rarely open their mouths except to snap at you but if you can look through that charade mask, you will find wonderful people inside. Friends who will always be there for you... no matter what!
Nimish!! Congrats buddy!!! :o)
Yep! The first baby in the group has arrived! NG became a daddy to a beautiful baby girl at 11:21:04 AM on June 23. Both the mom and the neonate are doing well, even though it was a C-Sec delivery.
Watching NG hold that tiny bundle was a beautiful sight indeed. I wonder if he realises he will soon have to worry about admissions, teachers, bullies and homework. He shall now have to spend sleepless nights changing nappies, wiping tears, watching toothless grins, staring at a beloved expressive face.
NG fell in love with his baby doll the moment he saw her. I distinctly heard him murmur something about tearing apart any boy who so much as smells the air his precious princess breathes. Looks like NG has forgotten the lustful leers he gave P!!!
Here's hoping that Angel finds super friends... Just like I did!! Friends who will deposit her in a cab after a party and warn the cab driver to be careful! Friends who will be ready to break her bfs nose if he so much as thinks of parting!
Friends like NG, RM and AK... 3 horrible grumpy, grouchy, mean, silent men, who will rarely open their mouths except to snap at you but if you can look through that charade mask, you will find wonderful people inside. Friends who will always be there for you... no matter what!
Nimish!! Congrats buddy!!! :o)
Friday, June 18, 2004
Today, I am feeling.............
Kinda blah :o(
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
---- Dorothy Parker
I have some wonderful friends. Thank you lord! NG (that sweetie!) called me up last night and played me dont worry be happy - the Bobby Mcferrin number to cheer me up. Its small things like that get me all warmed up inside.
And then RM treated me at "little Italy" today to bring a smile on my grumpy face. Besides the food (which always cheers me up!), the sight of this girlie in her Lululemon did make me laugh out aloud. For the uninitiated, Lululemons are the craze of the season as all the hotties try to fit their asses into these body hugging, low waist, lyra work-out pants.
Anyways, this babe walks into the restaurant with her baguette purse under arm, Nokia in hand, and Lululemons on inside out. I just couldn't help but laugh out loud.
(Please excuse the superficiality and ignorant bitchiness of what follows.) Now sweetie, I know that flat seaming makes it difficult to tell one side from the other, but your size stamp goes on the inside. Unless, of course, you wore them that way on purpose so that we would all know you wear an extra small... in that case, I believe I've encountered a whole new breed!
On a seperate note, I'm proud of myself for starting on the new assignment already, but I'm still a little bit frightened by the amount of work I have to get done in the next three days. Otherwise my mood seems to be turning with the weather, cloudy with a chance of showers.
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
---- Dorothy Parker
I have some wonderful friends. Thank you lord! NG (that sweetie!) called me up last night and played me dont worry be happy - the Bobby Mcferrin number to cheer me up. Its small things like that get me all warmed up inside.
And then RM treated me at "little Italy" today to bring a smile on my grumpy face. Besides the food (which always cheers me up!), the sight of this girlie in her Lululemon did make me laugh out aloud. For the uninitiated, Lululemons are the craze of the season as all the hotties try to fit their asses into these body hugging, low waist, lyra work-out pants.
Anyways, this babe walks into the restaurant with her baguette purse under arm, Nokia in hand, and Lululemons on inside out. I just couldn't help but laugh out loud.
(Please excuse the superficiality and ignorant bitchiness of what follows.) Now sweetie, I know that flat seaming makes it difficult to tell one side from the other, but your size stamp goes on the inside. Unless, of course, you wore them that way on purpose so that we would all know you wear an extra small... in that case, I believe I've encountered a whole new breed!
On a seperate note, I'm proud of myself for starting on the new assignment already, but I'm still a little bit frightened by the amount of work I have to get done in the next three days. Otherwise my mood seems to be turning with the weather, cloudy with a chance of showers.
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