Lola chechi, you are jest simbly fentastic!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOaEfWOQpcI
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Monday, April 9, 2007
This or that? Or how about that one at the back?
I hate fish.
No, I don't mean the kind you plate up, or Nemo, and certainly not my pet goldfish(es), whose long life was not, as I'd imagined, the result of the impeccable care I'd extended (which I had patted myself on the back for, many a time), but due to timely and discreet trips to the pet store-courtesy my parents.
No, my wrath is directed at the two fish that symbolise my time of birth astronomically. Pisces is a water sign, ruled by the raging sea, by Neptune, and by two silly fish that constantly swim in opposite directions. And it is to these fish, some wise guy's pictorial metaphor for conflicting views, that I attribute a rather unpleasant trait of mine-that of being extremely indecisive.
True to my sign, I am a creature that is constantly torn over deciding which road to take. Give me a list of options to choose from, and I end up looking like a monkey who has been given a math equation to solve. While I'm certain my primate cousin would fare better, deciding on a, b or c is just not my thing.
And the world we live in does nothing to soothe my predicament, but instead hatefully rubs salt into my painful wounds. Everywhere I turn, I am plagued by choices, hundreds of them. Shopping leaves me in a tizzy. Hundreds of colours, fabrics, and designs scream out at me. The surge of visual stimuli overloads my brain, which then promptly decides to take the easiest way out, and stops working altogether. I then find myself yearning for the days of Eve, when all she probably had to choose from were either fig or apple.
Ordering a cup of coffee can be a monumental task, when words such as decaf, mocha, latte, espresso, small, regular, large, enter the picture. I stand chewing my cheek, assessing the options, sometimes long enough to make me go cold turkey on caffeine. And don't even get me started on restaurant menus. Choices over what drinks, starters, main courses, and desserts to order make me bug-eyed and happy to chew on just a bread stick for the enitre meal.
Now while I take no responsibilty for this incapacitating trait of mine, (it's those darned fish), I have however come up with a way of dealing with it. The solution to my problem works on the principle of probability. The probability that I might inadvertently choose the right answer. While others might depend on logic, practicality,perhaps even rational thinking to help rid themselves of many a decision-making quandary, I am a firm believer in the power of 'eenie meenie miny, moe'. Now while there have been a few mishaps- like a bikini wax that I accidently opted for, ordering a bowl of steamed broccoli, or buying a dress which I believed was flattering, but ended up looking like a giant pink muumuu, this system has more often than not, worked rather well for me. Perhaps the decision-making Gods have taken pity on my plight, and have ensured that every now and then, I make the right choice. And so it is, that I have chosen the right partner, the right house, the right dog, and yes even the right ficus for my living room.
So while my fishy friends strive hard to impinge chaos, and do win occasionally, all is not lost. For don't I have a strategy that works, and the Heavens on my side?
No, I don't mean the kind you plate up, or Nemo, and certainly not my pet goldfish(es), whose long life was not, as I'd imagined, the result of the impeccable care I'd extended (which I had patted myself on the back for, many a time), but due to timely and discreet trips to the pet store-courtesy my parents.
No, my wrath is directed at the two fish that symbolise my time of birth astronomically. Pisces is a water sign, ruled by the raging sea, by Neptune, and by two silly fish that constantly swim in opposite directions. And it is to these fish, some wise guy's pictorial metaphor for conflicting views, that I attribute a rather unpleasant trait of mine-that of being extremely indecisive.
True to my sign, I am a creature that is constantly torn over deciding which road to take. Give me a list of options to choose from, and I end up looking like a monkey who has been given a math equation to solve. While I'm certain my primate cousin would fare better, deciding on a, b or c is just not my thing.
And the world we live in does nothing to soothe my predicament, but instead hatefully rubs salt into my painful wounds. Everywhere I turn, I am plagued by choices, hundreds of them. Shopping leaves me in a tizzy. Hundreds of colours, fabrics, and designs scream out at me. The surge of visual stimuli overloads my brain, which then promptly decides to take the easiest way out, and stops working altogether. I then find myself yearning for the days of Eve, when all she probably had to choose from were either fig or apple.
Ordering a cup of coffee can be a monumental task, when words such as decaf, mocha, latte, espresso, small, regular, large, enter the picture. I stand chewing my cheek, assessing the options, sometimes long enough to make me go cold turkey on caffeine. And don't even get me started on restaurant menus. Choices over what drinks, starters, main courses, and desserts to order make me bug-eyed and happy to chew on just a bread stick for the enitre meal.
Now while I take no responsibilty for this incapacitating trait of mine, (it's those darned fish), I have however come up with a way of dealing with it. The solution to my problem works on the principle of probability. The probability that I might inadvertently choose the right answer. While others might depend on logic, practicality,perhaps even rational thinking to help rid themselves of many a decision-making quandary, I am a firm believer in the power of 'eenie meenie miny, moe'. Now while there have been a few mishaps- like a bikini wax that I accidently opted for, ordering a bowl of steamed broccoli, or buying a dress which I believed was flattering, but ended up looking like a giant pink muumuu, this system has more often than not, worked rather well for me. Perhaps the decision-making Gods have taken pity on my plight, and have ensured that every now and then, I make the right choice. And so it is, that I have chosen the right partner, the right house, the right dog, and yes even the right ficus for my living room.
So while my fishy friends strive hard to impinge chaos, and do win occasionally, all is not lost. For don't I have a strategy that works, and the Heavens on my side?
Friday, March 16, 2007
26 things about me..
1. I am directionally impaired. If travelling from point A to point B, entails walking along a straight path, I would still get miserably lost.
2. I once had a chick called Birdie Num Num as a pet. He followed me everywhere.
3. Birdie Num Num died tragically. Following me everywhere proved to be fatal, when my right foot accidently met with his feathery head. I have been in therapy since.
4. I used to sleep walk as a child.
5. I don't anymore.
6. I find puppets, especially the kind that ventriloquists use, to be creepy.
7. I get partially blind during a migraine. Freaked me out good and proper the first time it happened.
8. I was placed in an incubator for a while after birth. It took me ages to realise the light bulb was'nt my mom.
9. I was nicknamed ' Olive Oil' in school for my uncanny resemblance to Popeye's main squeeze.
10. I can raise both my eyebrows alternatively. I call it 'eyebrow aerobics'
11. I once swallowed a mosquito during a yawn. I thought I would die a horrible death but fortunately I lived to tell you all about it.
12. I use two squeezes of toothpaste when brushing, one for each side of my mouth. I'm psychotic I know.
13. I can hear better in my right ear than my left one. So stand on my right when speaking, or yell really loud when you're on my left.
14. I can't spell words out in my head. I need to write them down first.
15. I hate crossing rope bridges. I break out into a cold sweat when I have to.
16. I wanted to be the superhero ' Fire Star' as a child and join Spiderman in saving the world. I still occasionally do.
17. I break out in weird red spots when I'm exposed to extreme cold. It keeps getting weirder does'nt it?
18. I have a heart shaped burn on my right hand where I accidently spilled sulfuric acid during biochem lab. I did'nt realise till I smelt burning flesh. That's concentration for you.
19. I had my first ( and only!) lesbian experience when I was kissed by my best friend in the sixth grade. Hmm..Mybe I should look her up.
20. I once played a cow in a school play. Or at least I played half a cow, the rear end. Sigh. Was a gross misuse of my bountiful acting skills.
21. I need to speak to my mom every day or else I get withdrawal symptoms.
22. I usually doodle when I'm on the phone. It's either a bunch of flowers, or a human eye.
23. I need to have warm, not cold milk with my cereal.
24. I'm one of twins.
25. I'm the evil one.
26. I turned 26 yesterday. Yay!
Gosh, you actually read all the way down to the bottom of the list.. That's two minutes of you're life you're never getting back...
2. I once had a chick called Birdie Num Num as a pet. He followed me everywhere.
3. Birdie Num Num died tragically. Following me everywhere proved to be fatal, when my right foot accidently met with his feathery head. I have been in therapy since.
4. I used to sleep walk as a child.
5. I don't anymore.
6. I find puppets, especially the kind that ventriloquists use, to be creepy.
7. I get partially blind during a migraine. Freaked me out good and proper the first time it happened.
8. I was placed in an incubator for a while after birth. It took me ages to realise the light bulb was'nt my mom.
9. I was nicknamed ' Olive Oil' in school for my uncanny resemblance to Popeye's main squeeze.
10. I can raise both my eyebrows alternatively. I call it 'eyebrow aerobics'
11. I once swallowed a mosquito during a yawn. I thought I would die a horrible death but fortunately I lived to tell you all about it.
12. I use two squeezes of toothpaste when brushing, one for each side of my mouth. I'm psychotic I know.
13. I can hear better in my right ear than my left one. So stand on my right when speaking, or yell really loud when you're on my left.
14. I can't spell words out in my head. I need to write them down first.
15. I hate crossing rope bridges. I break out into a cold sweat when I have to.
16. I wanted to be the superhero ' Fire Star' as a child and join Spiderman in saving the world. I still occasionally do.
17. I break out in weird red spots when I'm exposed to extreme cold. It keeps getting weirder does'nt it?
18. I have a heart shaped burn on my right hand where I accidently spilled sulfuric acid during biochem lab. I did'nt realise till I smelt burning flesh. That's concentration for you.
19. I had my first ( and only!) lesbian experience when I was kissed by my best friend in the sixth grade. Hmm..Mybe I should look her up.
20. I once played a cow in a school play. Or at least I played half a cow, the rear end. Sigh. Was a gross misuse of my bountiful acting skills.
21. I need to speak to my mom every day or else I get withdrawal symptoms.
22. I usually doodle when I'm on the phone. It's either a bunch of flowers, or a human eye.
23. I need to have warm, not cold milk with my cereal.
24. I'm one of twins.
25. I'm the evil one.
26. I turned 26 yesterday. Yay!
Gosh, you actually read all the way down to the bottom of the list.. That's two minutes of you're life you're never getting back...
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Hee hee!
I'm offically this stupid...
I always knew I was smarter than I looked...now I have the experts on my side :)
I always knew I was smarter than I looked...now I have the experts on my side :)
Monday, March 12, 2007
Those *&^%!!!! moments in life
Dont you just hate it when:
-The only reason why all those people in the street where smiling at you, was because your fly was open, and not because you're the dashing devil that you think you are
-That t-shirt bra that swore to give you smooth lines-lied!, and you wonder why people keep asking you if you're cold
-When that skirt that you thought was a 'lovely lemon green' in the shop, turns out to be a shade of mucous , when you come outdoors
-When those shoes 'that are to die' for, and which made your dad go slightly purple in the face at the price, turn out to be, in reality, instruments of toe amputation, but you have to wear them all the same, cause you can't POSSIBLY have your dad prove you wrong
-When you're feeling sexy and SOO cool, and you make a visit to the ladie's room, only to realize that you have a boogey, the size of a meteor in your left nostril
-When the fact that you're directionally impaired ( it's a disease I tell you! ), becomes mortifyingly evident, when you have to ask your 5 year old nephew for the way back home from the mall
-When the day that that gorgeous hunk-a-burning love, who you've been worshipping for ever, finally decides to speak to you, is the ONE FREAKIN DAY, that you forgot your deodarant! ARRGHH!!!
there's plenty more where these came from...
-The only reason why all those people in the street where smiling at you, was because your fly was open, and not because you're the dashing devil that you think you are
-That t-shirt bra that swore to give you smooth lines-lied!, and you wonder why people keep asking you if you're cold
-When that skirt that you thought was a 'lovely lemon green' in the shop, turns out to be a shade of mucous , when you come outdoors
-When those shoes 'that are to die' for, and which made your dad go slightly purple in the face at the price, turn out to be, in reality, instruments of toe amputation, but you have to wear them all the same, cause you can't POSSIBLY have your dad prove you wrong
-When you're feeling sexy and SOO cool, and you make a visit to the ladie's room, only to realize that you have a boogey, the size of a meteor in your left nostril
-When the fact that you're directionally impaired ( it's a disease I tell you! ), becomes mortifyingly evident, when you have to ask your 5 year old nephew for the way back home from the mall
-When the day that that gorgeous hunk-a-burning love, who you've been worshipping for ever, finally decides to speak to you, is the ONE FREAKIN DAY, that you forgot your deodarant! ARRGHH!!!
there's plenty more where these came from...
Life-crisis? Bring it on!
'It's happened' I declared, to no one in particular. 'My mid-life crisis has set in early.'
Now, this premature onset would have been deemed to be a timely event, were our coffins still been nailed shut at the age of 50, give or take a few years. But humans these days, through the right combination of white coats, pills, the right genetic makeup or just dogged determination,do increasingly live to blow out their 100th birthday candle. And so I concluded, that at the age of 26, this latest development was indeed precocious in nature.
'How else do I explain how I've been feeling lately?' I later moaned to a reluctant audience. ' Why do I have this maddening urge to reinvent myself, this restlessness to be seen and noticed, this constant desire for change?!!'
' Hormones?' my mother suggested helpfully.
'Ants in your pants?' said my wisdom- encrusted brother.
' Last week's left overs' my husband nodded firmly, leaving no further room for discussion.
Leave it to family to make light of a potentially catastrophic and fatal ( I could dehydrate from all those tears I've been shedding could'nt I? ) emotional event.
And so I found myself doing some research, just to confirm my suspicions.
'A midlife crisis' Wikepedia tells me, 'is an emotional state of anxiety and doubt, where people experience a strong desire to make changes in their lives'.
Why, they practically took the words right out of my mouth! I gleamed, delighted that I had made the right diagnosis all along.
I then proceeded to try and match the information in the article to my own list of signs and symptoms, determined to further prove that I had hit the nail hard on the head.
' Certain characteristics displayed by individuals experiencing a midlife crisis, include but are not limited to the following:
-search of an undefined goal or dream' - Which explains why I had been contemplating whether I wanted to write a Pulitzer winning book, or fulfil my childhood desire of swinging like a mad monkey from a trapeze.
- feelings of profound depression or anger'- Six boxes of tissues in three days and a broken mirror. Need I say more?
- 'acquiring of unusual or expensive items items of clothing, jewelry, cars etc.' - The perfect excuse, ahem, explanation for those gorgeous £100 boots I bought the other day (they called out to me, seriously).
- 'a deep sense of remorse for goals not achieved'- All those parties I never went to, the boys I never kissed, the pounds I never lost- they plague me everyday. Sigh.
- 'paying extra attention to physical appearance'- My appointments with 'Ugly Duckling no more Ltd.- Cosmetic gurus extraordinaire! '- is self-explanatory.
- 'an underlying desire to initiate new sexual partnerships'-* Blush*- no comment.
Right, so now that I have ascertained that I am indeed suffering,un desevedly so, I then ponder over how I can relieve myself of this quandary. Why, you did'nt think I'd want to be a tearful, boot wearing, tummy-tucked, crisis endurer for ever did you?
Wike came to the rescue again. ' Sufferers should start looking inwards, to try and understand themselves better', it preached. 'Reflect on your lives regularly. Set new goals and develop new hobbies. Take care of your mental health. Try and live each day to the fullest'.
Ah. Yes. Five weeks down the line and peace has once again restored itself to its rightful place in my life. Gone is the negative chi; instead, good karma reigns. Life is once again beautiful.
And what, might you ask, has proved to be the cure to my once seemingly intractable phase of emotional suffering?
Weekly visits to a shrink (who has the softest couch in the world), a pink tutu ( ballet can be a beautiful thing ), meditation (sometimes wearing the tutu), or a bottle of Prozac. I honestly can't decide which.
Now, this premature onset would have been deemed to be a timely event, were our coffins still been nailed shut at the age of 50, give or take a few years. But humans these days, through the right combination of white coats, pills, the right genetic makeup or just dogged determination,do increasingly live to blow out their 100th birthday candle. And so I concluded, that at the age of 26, this latest development was indeed precocious in nature.
'How else do I explain how I've been feeling lately?' I later moaned to a reluctant audience. ' Why do I have this maddening urge to reinvent myself, this restlessness to be seen and noticed, this constant desire for change?!!'
' Hormones?' my mother suggested helpfully.
'Ants in your pants?' said my wisdom- encrusted brother.
' Last week's left overs' my husband nodded firmly, leaving no further room for discussion.
Leave it to family to make light of a potentially catastrophic and fatal ( I could dehydrate from all those tears I've been shedding could'nt I? ) emotional event.
And so I found myself doing some research, just to confirm my suspicions.
'A midlife crisis' Wikepedia tells me, 'is an emotional state of anxiety and doubt, where people experience a strong desire to make changes in their lives'.
Why, they practically took the words right out of my mouth! I gleamed, delighted that I had made the right diagnosis all along.
I then proceeded to try and match the information in the article to my own list of signs and symptoms, determined to further prove that I had hit the nail hard on the head.
' Certain characteristics displayed by individuals experiencing a midlife crisis, include but are not limited to the following:
-search of an undefined goal or dream' - Which explains why I had been contemplating whether I wanted to write a Pulitzer winning book, or fulfil my childhood desire of swinging like a mad monkey from a trapeze.
- feelings of profound depression or anger'- Six boxes of tissues in three days and a broken mirror. Need I say more?
- 'acquiring of unusual or expensive items items of clothing, jewelry, cars etc.' - The perfect excuse, ahem, explanation for those gorgeous £100 boots I bought the other day (they called out to me, seriously).
- 'a deep sense of remorse for goals not achieved'- All those parties I never went to, the boys I never kissed, the pounds I never lost- they plague me everyday. Sigh.
- 'paying extra attention to physical appearance'- My appointments with 'Ugly Duckling no more Ltd.- Cosmetic gurus extraordinaire! '- is self-explanatory.
- 'an underlying desire to initiate new sexual partnerships'-* Blush*- no comment.
Right, so now that I have ascertained that I am indeed suffering,un desevedly so, I then ponder over how I can relieve myself of this quandary. Why, you did'nt think I'd want to be a tearful, boot wearing, tummy-tucked, crisis endurer for ever did you?
Wike came to the rescue again. ' Sufferers should start looking inwards, to try and understand themselves better', it preached. 'Reflect on your lives regularly. Set new goals and develop new hobbies. Take care of your mental health. Try and live each day to the fullest'.
Ah. Yes. Five weeks down the line and peace has once again restored itself to its rightful place in my life. Gone is the negative chi; instead, good karma reigns. Life is once again beautiful.
And what, might you ask, has proved to be the cure to my once seemingly intractable phase of emotional suffering?
Weekly visits to a shrink (who has the softest couch in the world), a pink tutu ( ballet can be a beautiful thing ), meditation (sometimes wearing the tutu), or a bottle of Prozac. I honestly can't decide which.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Pregnancy loves elastic
The joy of learning that I am soon to join the ranks of those who have, knowingly or unknowingly, created little fledglings of their own, was rudely cut short by the realisation that my once size 10 frame, would never be the same again.
I have never been petite by any standards, but I have always managed to maintain a semblance of a waistline. I attribute this to the genes that I share with my paternal aunt, and to the body suit ( which smooths out the flab, at the cost of cutting off circulation temporarily), which I occasionally, but discreetly wear.
And so it was to my dismay, to see that my body was stocking up on fat, with a vengence that was both alarming and oddly fascinating. I steer clear of all mirrors thesedays, or anything that can produce even a vague reflection.
Panic set in, when all my regular clothes seemed a tad snug. Putting on my favourite pair of jeans involved a good five minutes of cursing, breath holding, wiggling, and cave women grunts. Only to find myself looking like a sausage that had too much stuffing in it.
It was therefore decided, that I go shopping to get a more befitting wardrobe. It was either that, or opting to wear my husband's boxer shorts, or a skirt that I had fashioned out of spare bedspreads. Now while I found the latter two quite suitable and comfortable alternatives, my husband, being the more conventional sort, thought otherwise.
And so it was, that I found myself standing at the Maternity section at the local mall. I was lost. There were rows and rows of elasticated pants ( elastic!!! ), jumbo sized sweaters and blouses, and trousers that would go around the equator. These clothes made a statement- come pregnancy, and your sense of style has to die!
With a heavy heart, I chose a pair of elasticated jeans, which looked like a bad fashion relic from the 80's, and a top which I thought had promise. I was wrong! As I ventured out of the dressing room, looking like I was wearing a bedouin tent, I saw my husband's jaw drop and swing from it's hinges. I was'nt a pretty sight.
While I am still on the search for maternity clothes that are not fashion faux pas, I did not however, go home empty handed that day. And, I put those pants to test that same evening by polishing off a full tub of ice cream. 'Elastic', I threatened, 'do your thing!'
I have never been petite by any standards, but I have always managed to maintain a semblance of a waistline. I attribute this to the genes that I share with my paternal aunt, and to the body suit ( which smooths out the flab, at the cost of cutting off circulation temporarily), which I occasionally, but discreetly wear.
And so it was to my dismay, to see that my body was stocking up on fat, with a vengence that was both alarming and oddly fascinating. I steer clear of all mirrors thesedays, or anything that can produce even a vague reflection.
Panic set in, when all my regular clothes seemed a tad snug. Putting on my favourite pair of jeans involved a good five minutes of cursing, breath holding, wiggling, and cave women grunts. Only to find myself looking like a sausage that had too much stuffing in it.
It was therefore decided, that I go shopping to get a more befitting wardrobe. It was either that, or opting to wear my husband's boxer shorts, or a skirt that I had fashioned out of spare bedspreads. Now while I found the latter two quite suitable and comfortable alternatives, my husband, being the more conventional sort, thought otherwise.
And so it was, that I found myself standing at the Maternity section at the local mall. I was lost. There were rows and rows of elasticated pants ( elastic!!! ), jumbo sized sweaters and blouses, and trousers that would go around the equator. These clothes made a statement- come pregnancy, and your sense of style has to die!
With a heavy heart, I chose a pair of elasticated jeans, which looked like a bad fashion relic from the 80's, and a top which I thought had promise. I was wrong! As I ventured out of the dressing room, looking like I was wearing a bedouin tent, I saw my husband's jaw drop and swing from it's hinges. I was'nt a pretty sight.
While I am still on the search for maternity clothes that are not fashion faux pas, I did not however, go home empty handed that day. And, I put those pants to test that same evening by polishing off a full tub of ice cream. 'Elastic', I threatened, 'do your thing!'
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