Touching my happy place

Procastranation

Since every blogger worth his/her web space has done a post on exams/board exams/final semesters I thought I’d might as well jump on the bloody BEST bus (I have never seen a bandwagon myself; however, I have ridden a BEST bus, that felt like my waistband after an all-you-can-eat, countless times)



Ya, so I’ve noticed I’d do anything to not study



item 1: call people: I’m anti-social once home, I hate phone calls. plus I’m half-gujju, so this one’s BIG!



item 2: calling people I wouldn’t call even if my life depended on it: sad, but true



item 3: meeting people I wouldn’t usually be caught dead with: if you think this is you, it probably is it’s not. It’s that other moron I can’t stand.



item 4: housework *the horror*



item 5: go shopping: ha ha almost got you there! No child, shopping comes AFTER bunny torture and crash dieting.



item 6: writing worthless blog posts that no one’s ever going to read. probably not even me.




p.s.- Procrastination is known to have led to castration. Be Warned! 


*********THIS IS NOT THE END, THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING*********

Why Baileys is better than Milk

Since you can’t get straighter than I have with the title let’s just move on. Full steam ahead !(hope you didn’t have a heavy breakfast)




1) It’s sweet. Adding sugar/chocolate/caramel to milk doesn’t have quite the same effect.


2) After a dinner of chicken in fancy sauces, 3 kinds of wine and Peking duck you’d be glad to round it off with a nice little bout of Bailey’s. Milk, not so much.


3) If taken in adequate quantities can take you to a happy place. Milk will only make you thank god for coffee beans.


4) Makes for some damn good coffee. There’s just so much you can say for milk.


5)Karen* puts it in her cereal. ‘nuff said!









*ref- Will & Grace’s very own friendly neighbourhood “high”-flying  socialite





p.s.- I do realise the above is painfully obvious, but I harbour a deep love for Baileys. And Milk Karen.

Sparkling Sprite II

You say tomato, I say to-mah-to

While looking for pictorial representations of my feelings in regard to previous posts I came across some really sexist ketchup ads. Not really sexist, but then if you want to be a bra-burning feminist, i say let’s get this party started! (i’ll participate if you let me burn the cheap stuff, you’re not touching my nice knickers!)


oh anyway, here it goes





by the size of those pupils and that look on her face I’m assuming her pills don’t come packed in ketchup bottles *likes her lip and nail color, must remember for friday night skank*


oh and here’s another,





It just makes my heart happy that women still want to cook for men. Or this ad is from the 50’s. Either way I like Heinz (so thick!) and I could really use a good sandwich right about now.


I like the lil birdie in this picture. So ‘early Archies’ Betty and Veronica’ ^_^

Musings- French Fry Ramblings

The greatest blow to the ego is being replaced by someone else or having someone else picked over you. This fundamental shift in importance causes us more anguish than anything else. Because that’s what failure is, isn’t it. Not being good enough. Or maybe just not being the best around.


What’s funny is that we seek this without. Why do we expect someone else to pin us on their priority list if we can’t be on the top of our own? It’s a little stupid to want someone to want us. Want yourself. Ya but why would i want myself when I know exactly just how many things are wrong with me(when i say me here, i’m talking about general audience member, not myself. I’m fantastic). So you want someone else, whose flaws you don’t know about yet, to want you more than anyone else in the world. It’s funny coz it’s sad…and true. However, it’s always going to be that way. Great.


p.s.- the title has no connexion to the post. enjoy! *where’s the old woman who has my ketchup?*

Strange fits of passion have I known...

The above being the first line of the verses I intend on talking about, is what drew me to 'Lucy' in the very first place. Wordsworth has always been a poet after my own heart, seeing how he upheld emotion and nature as two of the most awe-inspiring subjects of life. At 11 when i first read The Solitary Reaper as part of my syllabus, it left a little something with me. I still remember the little sigh in my heart when I read the last few lines of the poem,

"I saw her singing at her work,

And o'er the sickle bending;

I listened, motionless and still;

And as I mounted up the hill

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more"

I once spent a lazy afternoon thinking about how experiences are defined by their very memory. The incident itself passes in a haze and never affects you as much as the memory of it does. So in a way, Living is Remembering. This must suck for patients of amnesia, Alzheimer's and all those other little troubles that make your head feel like a blender with bits and pieces of thought floating about. Really makes you grateful, doesn't it?

So yes, back to Willy(can I call him Willy? No I do NOT want to call him Bill! I don't care if you think I'm perverse.) Yes, Willy was a fine chap who understood this years before I had my great epiphany. Willy also loved chiseled, pretty boys but we won't be getting into that. Willy was a magician with descriptors and a hypnotist with the lovesick. He doesn't intimidate with obvious loftiness nor does he serve "fickle fare". His work has a fluidity that plays a little tune in your head, which will disappear when the night light has been put out and the pages laid to rest. But hold them in your hand once again and your eyes will dance to a tune, I don't know if it's the same as before, I won't ever be able to tell. But then, this is not a game of recognition, nor a quest for the thinker. He poses no challenges, assumes no gravity. Willy is content to be what he is.

Back to Lucy. Lucy is what every man would want and every woman would want to be. Lucy is the quintessential young woman. Fragile, lovely. I shall stop here as no description of mine could match that of Wordsworth. In my mind, Lucy is that little girl in our heads, who awaits twilight not for the end of the day's shift, but for the magic of purple mist and sleeping blaze. Who flies with her exquisite tips brushing the sky, who knows she cannot fall, for in her world she decides. Her spirit soaring, flighty but not callous. Passion and dignity. Freedom and grace.

Lucy in the sky with diamonds.