Teenagers

Know what I realized just this morning? That there is one feeling (is it a feeling?) that perpetuates my every waking moment... ok, maybe not every moment, but like 90% of the time. I'm perpetually annoyed. Everything annoys me, waking up annoys me, doing almost anything annoys me, not able to do something annoys the hell outta me, forgetting things annoys me, people annoy me but here's the kicker... Kids on Facebook (who are especially related to you!) annoys me the most these days!

Ok. Seriously. Who gave permission to these kids to have FB accounts? No. Seriously. Especially since their parents are NOT monitoring the incredible trash these kids post. And ok, now really really seriously... who the fuck do these kids think they are, typing complete and utter gibberish that only horny monkeys can understand (celibate monkeys use sign language... I swear) when they shorten every damned word till its unrecognizable (takes you a few minutes to fill in the missing letters and/or unravel switched letters) and assume they have the right and the godfucking authority to pass the most juvenile and actually just incredibly lame comments!?!?

I get it, you are a teenager and you have disdain for just about everything and because you are a teenager you also have giant egos that allows you to assume you are smarter than all the adult population put together and go about making complete asswipes of yourselves simply by opening your mouths. But you are not smarter, cause if you were you would know how to at least SPELL simple words cause admittedly anything longer than 6 letters is Greek to you! And NO! you are not clever either! I know you think you are, and you might even be to your fellow dimwitted teenagers but to the rest of the world you are the exact opposite of whats clever and funny, which is boring and annoying. For fucks sake you like Shin Chan!! And you are not even having a real discussion with each other- tremendous name calling, abusing, narcissistic delusions about how loveable you are, egotistic delusions about how wise you are, your role models are Hanna Montana and Michael Jackson. Jesus fucking Christ!

It's embarrassing as hell when these asinine comments show up in your news feed, not to mention ANNOYS THE EVER LOVING CRAP outta me. And you can't have a normal conversation with them, cause they don't want to talk or listen to you, they want you to listen to THEM go on and on about nothing really, their heads are filled with vapid vacuum... I'd rather talk to a tree and feel like I really connected with someone instead of just wanting to slap them silly.

What's really annoying is that these boogers will grow up eventually and still be just as lame and stupid with nary a credible thought or concern and... they will go forth and procreate.

I shudder.

Groupie

I have started to read again. On the lappy. Last week I downloaded nearly 400 books from various sites, free and "otherwise". Some nights I will give watching a movie a miss and prefer to read, although reading on the lappy isn't such a great experience. But I prefer it to the discomfort of buying books; they cost paper and once you read a book and say it didn't really appeal to you it's stuck with you till you manage to get rid of it by lending or selling it to kabadiwala. I like the option of reading- didn't like it? Delete it! Plus paper books are not portable, they need lights on at nights, storing them is a giant issue and you cannot adjust font-size.

Recently I discovered a free stories website, of the adult kinds. :P Heh. Heh. I have been overdosing on it but obviously. I have no shame in admitting that I read most "romance" novels for the adult content in it. Hee. Of course I'm interested in plot and character development but hey my life has enough plots and sub-plots to deal with and my character is by now well-done. I want to read of things that isn't... well a daily occurrence of my life. Sad as that is. But goody I found this baby eh. Isn't internet the best? Here there are like a zillion stories, short stories and novels, and you can read from like 20 categories and if you didn't like it... click for another one! You are not forced to read through the entire book hoping to hit upon a story that is your secret fantasy only cause you paid for 300 pages of boring melodramatic ass wipes.

Last week I read this story, which just had Chapter One, and was about a man who is forced to act out his revenge on a woman. Most stories of these kinds are whacked. Not kidding. He's a big strong male, who wants this weak yet blindingly beautiful woman who doesn't know she is blinding people randomly or knows and is hoity-toity about it and so it falls up on our big strong brute to teach her a lesson and as a bonus she inadvertently likes his brutish-ways and encourages him to be more of a jerk to keep the story going.

But this one. My Gawd. This was a wowser. This guy is... reluctant. Really. And he isn't a jerk. The female doesn't know that initially but the way the writer paints the scenes, how its all drawn out, each detail so maddeningly delicious, how he questions his very motive and how he doesn't want to hurt her. *sigh* Yeah. Yeah. I know it's only possible in fantasies but man... wow. It's a tough subject. How do you separate the negative issues like revenge and highlight the positive points like how he doesn't want to scare her or scar her. When the reader starts to empathize with the anti-hero... *applause*, Dear Writer you have won my heart.

So.

I was so happy to be reading this and sad as heck that it was only Chapter One that I wrote to the writer. Fan mail. Ha. I got her (I think it's a her) response back and wrote back and got another response back today. Hee. It's so exciting to be able to communicate with a person who touched upon such a sensitive subject with such understanding. To be able to tell her that Hey! THIS is what appeals to me. THIS is the man that lives in my head. You brought him to life. Thank you *tearful gushing*.

I am begging her to write more. And she has such a wit about her. We were discussing how writers of this genre tend to make the stories exceptionally crude and contrived just to get off on it and do not pay enough attention to the build-up, the sexual tension, letting the readers identify on some levels with the characters.

I'm a groupie. Ha!

Alls well... if it ends well.

I had been avoiding putting a perspective on what happened with NishuDi and me. Majorly so, cause the entire incident has made me feel that I'm utterly idealistic and naive... and not in a complimentary way.

I had wanted so badly to make things right, to change lives as they show in movies. That is perhaps what my problem entirely is. I want happy endings. There are none in life. Just happy moments and then it passes and then you have just... moments. Sad, uncomfortable, bitter, frustrated, lonely... these moments you have to wade through till you get to another happy moment. The wading through parts sucks ass.

After countless threats, abuses, sleepless nights, long lectures, scoldings, advices, anger, helplessness, fear... I had to make peace with the fact that people will do exactly as the please. Their consideration for you will only extend to the point that is comfortable for them. And sometimes not even till there. It doesn't matter that they are family. Or perhaps it is cause they are family. Perhaps being family allows people to hurt you in ways that strangers wouldn't.

My emotions have bounced around like a yo-yo this past half year. From an avenger and savior to a control-freak who is difficult to live with. Not that I am surprised. I already knew that about me, I advertise it enough. But it hurts a bitty when it comes from a person you literally laid your life, your sanity on the line for. And like all epic movies, it wouldn't have been complete without the well-meaning interference of God himself. Ha.

Anyhoos. Alls well that ends well. Right? I wish NishuDi and the kids well. I am over my anger and pain, enough anyways to still laugh about the good parts. This is a major "grown-up" moment for me! I normally do not forgive. I never forget. But I am happy that she is becoming more independent, more self-reliant. She needs to cause this entire fiasco should not end up being one, but should be life-altering, give meaning and make things better for their lives. I want the kids to grow up knowing that someone cared enough to get up and take action, made some of the abuse stop, fought for the right the good things.

Haze did clear her finals. She scored first division, her report card riddled with A and B +'s. I'm happy and proud. I want her to succeed and prove to the world that if you fight hard enough you can make it. She is on her way now. I hope she stays strong.

I hope they all stay strong.

Is it real?

I was walking Cher the other day and on the way back, this lady with a toddler wanted to know if it was ok to let the kid near the dog. I said, sure!

So the kid is petting the dog and Cher is all happy and wagging her itty bitty tail, the mother is happy the dog's not mauling her kid after all, so she goes... "How sweet, is it real?"

Eh?

Did she just ask me if my dog was REAL?

Ah. No lady. This here is the latest Japanese Robodog, with real fur from a real dog (who was merely shaved not skinned for his fur mind you), and has a super computer inside that will make it do everything real dogs do, even poo.

Jesus Frickin Christ.

Do not litter

So all the maid had to do was hand the 5kg bag of icky litter, I had kept under the sink to be disposed off, to the garbage man and be done with it. I have no clue why she slung it over the railing, into the lil' flower beds below our staircase.

So I'm walking down the stairs and as I near the flower bed I can oh my gawd! smell the smell from hell. Good grief, it's IN my nostrils methinks, I can smell it everyfuckingwhere now? That's when I spotted the ruptured bag of litter and its spilled contents all over the lil' lawn. Eh.

So I stand there for a few minutes even though I'm running late for office, debating with myself on what should I do: info the society's secretary and request a clean-up, ignore it, clean it up myself, ignore it, make the maid clean it up, ignore it. It's no great mystery... I ignored it. I'm not proud of myself, but I wasn't feeling too guilty either. A topic for deeper analysis perhaps, but one that I don't have the time for.

So I come home from work and I'm passing the lil' lawn now, looking for the mess... and its somehow gone... the ruptured bag had been removed, and the litter had been spread out in an oddly orderly fashion... as if it was okay... as if it was meant to be... as if it was fertilizer.

So I concluded, as I chuckled to me self all the way up the stairs, that the gardener prolly thought it was some awesome form of fertilizer and distributed it nicely all over the flower beds so the plants can suck in the goodness of Snow's pee.

Hee.

What's that smell

I have been plagued by the stink of Snow's piss as I wake up every morning and go to bed every night for the past few months. Partly due to the fact that the lil' bugger insists of pissing everyfuckingwhere and partly due to the fact that his litter box is in my bathroom and no matter how much I keep it clean, it insists on stinking.

Sunday, when I woke up yet again to the deadly stench of cat piss, I vowed to take the entire mess out, wash, scrub the box with scalding hot water and detergent, add fresh litter, deodorizer and then dare the heavens to ever tease my abused nostrils with the foulness again.

On that mind numbingly cold morning, I dragged my reluctant self from my warm bed, dug around in the closet for a pair of shorts, discarded my furry socks and donned icy rubber slippers and proceed to deliver on my vow.

Two hours later, we had a squeaky clean litter box. Snow was aghast at my ferocious attack on his throne of excreta and kept mewling unhappily just outside the bathroom door. When I placed the dry box back in the loo and went to get fresh litter, he promptly jumped in it and settled down as if if he didn't I would make it my own and start pissing in it. Bhondu.

I went to bed last night, woke up this morning... ahhhh! so this is what it smells like in other households. It's wonderful!

Gotta have faith, faith, faith-AH!

Imagination is evil. Apparently.

Boggles my mind the way just about everything threatens the Christian way of life. Few that I have had the misfortune of being educated on : laughing Buddha's, people of other faith praying in your home and refusing to sleep in the room they pray in, eating "prasad". And Harry Potter. That skinny kid on the flying broom is evil. Harry Potter books and movies have been banned, with the blessing of the good Pope, in many regions, schools and households.

Why?

Well according to the religious figure who currently "leads" a local prayer group that NiDidi frequents, Potter promotes an unhealthy interest in witchcraft and magic, leading to... ready for this?... imagination in children. Imagination is evil. Children cannot be allowed to imagine cause imagination leads them to believe that fantasy and whimsical meanderings will ultimately bring them to the burning door of hell. Children need to be educated on practicalities of life. Yes. Agreed. But what defines practical? Is flying in a metal tube thousands of miles high up in the sky practical? Wasn't it just a few centuries ago that people believed the world to be flat and sneered upon anyone who wondered otherwise? Is Mickey Mouse practical? Why isn't Alice in Wonderland banned? Are talking dancing animals an acceptable form of imagination? Why the heck hasn't the good Pope banned Disney? Why hasn't he burned the Sistine Chapel to the ground? What practical proof does anyone have that Michael Angelo really did witness the figures in reality that he painted on the ceiling? Are all the painted, sketched depictions of Jesus authentic cause he never looks the same in two pictures together!? Or are they valid ONLY cause they depict Jesus and Genesis and since it deals with *ahem* God, it is A-Ok.

Is Christianity such a flimsy faith that, the mere imagination of one woman who planted a bespectacled kid on a broom and lets him whip out potions and other magical thingies, threatens a belief system spanning centuries? Yet they contest that Santa is a saint albeit commercialised as a fat man in a ridiculous red suit. Eh.

What scares me is that NiDidi apparently swallows this tripe down whole just cause its spewed from the mouth of someone who is religious, attends retreats, is blessed with the Holy Spirit, can see visions, yada yada yada, and oi yeah, is practical in life as well, so dognammit it MUST be true! Why would she be wrong? Let's not try and question it, or rationalise the statement and come to a conclusion ourselves, lets just take it whole and shove it down our throats cause the Pope himself banned it and religious magazines have published it all over the holy world. It has to be true, cause anything else would mean that hey! I can think for myself and since anything that involves thinking independently is evil as well. I am but a lowly sheep. And sheep do not think, sheep do not imagine, sheep bleat and follow wherever the good Shepperd and his border collie lead them.

Meh.

What saddens me is that this ugly tripe is being fed to Haze as well. She is being told that to have a mind that can explore the possibilities of thought, that does not exist in the living world as we know it, is wrong. If the mind cannot be allowed to explore and create a world that defies logic then Christians should not fly planes, let them walk on water and travel instead. Let us burn our brushes and never paint again, let us burn our books and never seek to understand a poem again, let us never watch movies, let us burn the Taj Mahal cause how dare anyone ever build a monument that was but an imagination prior to laying down the first marble. Why can't we try harder to educate our children to understand which parts of magic or witches are evil, the parts namely that are selfish, or teach them what sets reality apart from fantasy, which parts of whimsy should be encouraged and which parts discouraged. But oh no! that would mean discussions, rationalisations and *gasp* parenting! It's easier to kneel down and pray of course.

And then they wonder why this very faith bothers me so much. They get the answers in their visions of course, so they need not ever discuss it with me. To be so insecure and narrow minded, I pass. Cheerfully I imagine myself walking down the brick road, paved brilliantly yellow all the way to the burning gates of hell.

Apologies to Jesus in my boat, don't spank me yet. Bleat.

Stinks

Real men stink. NO matter what, they stink. And it's not really their fault, or ours. It's the books. Books stink. And movies. Movies stink. They fill your head with unrealistic expectations about relationships and men and love that of course when reality checks-in, it stinks. They never live up to this man in your head, this being you have fed and fattened up with fantasies you borrowed and stole from stinking books. They never really know you, even when you explicitly spell it our for them, they just never get you. Cause, they don't read these books and watch these movies that stink, that fills their head with stinking goo, that makes them sigh at odd intervals, that makes them stare off into the distance unfocused on a whimsical thought, that makes them look at you with this small soft half smile. You can practically give them an instructional manual with bulleted steps on how you want to be treated, what you want to hear, when it's time for a comforting back-rub, how you want them to hug you close, why they need to kiss you often and they will still never get any of right. They will huff and puff and blow you away. Men stink.

Howling

Um no, this is not about vampires. This is about a dog who thinks... um no, she doesn't think she's a vampire either. This is about a dog who thinks... ready for this? Thinks she is pregnant. Yikes!

Ok, not the first occurrence for me, Sweetie used to think that too from time to time. But maybe a first occurrence for Cher. If all the whining, scraping and howling is any indication. The howling especially is a bitty funny, cause she howls when:

• The Phone rings
• Any song with whoo-whoos in it
• Snow yowls
• I yawn loudly

I always burst out laughing when she looks up all surprised at the noise and starts howling with gusto. I have to then quickly answer the phone, switch songs, shut Snow up and cut myself in mid-yawn. The better aspects are, a lotta snuggling and a lotta smoochies.

When she gets rather antsy, I always try to soothe her with belly-rubs and I love the way she presses herself close, lays her head down and sighs. At peace.

Reading. Finally!

As it would seem, the movie influenced me enough to want to read the books it was adapted from. Movies inspired by books always make me want to read the book, cause I know the book has got to be a zillion times better, only because you cannot cram 300-500 pages worth of any subject matter into 2 hours of a movie. Certain elements of the movie the viewer takes for granted and cannot entirely focus on, these elements in the book are exactly what sets the mood, the tone, the dept of what the subject matter is.

Sooo, I *ahem* "got" a copy of the ebook of all 4 novels, including the 5th unfinished one, narrated from the vampires point of view. Unfinished cause apparently some chapters from the manuscript got leaked. I have started on 1st, and it was like... succumbing in to an addiction you had somehow inadvertantly given up on. I don't know... no ok... I DO know precisely when and why I had pulled back from reading, from being perpetually greedy, voraciously hungry for the printed words into... well into this self-afflicted reading-fast of sorts.

I opened the file with this barely controlled anticipation and as I read the first few sentences of first chapter, I felt a satiation unlike... well almost unlike *snicker*... I have ever felt. As if the words I consumed were these incredibly delish morsels of the sweetest treat. Infinitely satisfying and yet left me craving for more. Much more. I couldn't stop. Cannot stop. Read through the night, which was not all that comfortable, cause reading on the laptop is well... awkward. And I miss the feel of a book in my hands, the scent of paper and ink and the comforting mustiness books have, earthy and warm. I missed how my fingers had to scroll instead of flip over a page. Still, I was reading.

And the story definitely is engaging, as I knew it would be. More taut, more detailed, more intense... *sigh*