From Letters Past

We wove stories into time.
Little stories, never meant to be told, only to be lived and forgotten. 

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.

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?*

hmm...

was reading the fountainhead(again) and dint finish it(again)...but had to give this excerpt a mention....right in the beginning, on pg. 16, is one of Roark's first bit of expression that gives u an insight into his "monstrous" ideas.

"Every man creates his meaning and form and goal. Why is it so important- what others have done? Why does it become sacred by the mere fact of not being your own? Why is anyone and everyone right- so long as it's not yourself? Why does the number of those others take the place of truth? Why is truth made a mere matter of arithmetic? Why is everything twisted out of all sense to fit everything else? There must be some reason. I don't know. I've never known it. I'd like to understand."

This got me thinking.
Why do I not accept my self-worth? Why must I deny my abilities and fake humility in order to be a good human being? Why do we thrive on acceptance? Why is there is a right and a wrong way of being offbeat? Why does the system get me down? Why is something cool and something else not? Why have I always been told that the competition is better than me? Why does the competition affect me? Why is it that when I know my purpose, suddenly I'm insane? and why is it that if realization of that purpose happens to bring me worldly success I'm eccentric, a genius?
You would probably say something redundant like, "man is a social animal." Well, is he?
Why do we make such general statements?

Why is everything so B&W???
Where do I put my shades of grey???

LOST!

Once again this morning I was faced with what seems to be the bane of every girl’s existence- what should I wear today? I decided it was time to shop as all that I owned was probably last century. Not one to follow tiny ripples in the stream of fashion, I dragged one of my fashion-slave-friends along. She went on about how this was all the rage right now and how that was sooooo IN!!!!!!! By the end of the day I decided to go back to my basic grey denim capris and black top.
None of the clothes I’d seen had suited my individual style at all. That’s when my blatant idiocy struck me like a water balloon. I was looking for my unique taste in the very clothes which practically everyone was going crazy over… I can see where I had trouble. But then again don’t we do this with life too? We try and please everyone by doing what they like and expect personal happiness at the same time. This is why we’re so confused, with the world and within ourselves. We’re trying to gain acceptance from our peers, become the pride of our parents and conform to the norms of society, all the while wanting to leave a mark, make a distinct impression in the sands of time, full of footprints.
The reason we teens are misunderstood today, and always, is because of all this self-contradiction, all this internal conflict. We cry when we are alone, abuse our minds and bodies, all for some respite. We worry, we dramatize, we rant and we weep. If only we knew what we wanted out of ourselves, there would be no need for all of this. But if we did know what we wanted, we wouldn’t be human now, would we?

“Oh, why d’yu havta go n make things so complicated
I see the way ur actin’ like ur somebody else gets me frustrated
Life’s like this you
N you fall n u crawl n you break n you take whatcha get
And turn it into
Honesty and promise me I’m never gonna find you fake it…no, no, no…”
-Complicated, Avril Lavigne

Sweet Addiction

I knew of a professor of English Literature who used to wash dishes to vent frustration. She had told us that she imagined each plate, bowl, spoon to be a face of one of the myriad mischief-makers of the class. And when she explained the poem, Two Tramps in Mud Time by Robert Frost, to us, I realized that my habit of releasing pent up emotions on the last pages of my notebook wasn't exactly without reason. The poem begins with a man chopping wood to destress, I knew then that the pen was my axe. Over time this pen has turned into the keyboard of a Compaq Presario M2000 and my notebook into, well, still a notebook but a digital one. Everytime i have a particularly gratitude-worthy day or a moronically frustrating one I get myself some coffee and chocolate and let the juices flow. Everytime I learn from an especially stirring experience it's converted into a new page in my digital novel on life. The experience need not be a great loss like a death or a happiness like a new life into the world. I don't have them, not too often at least. What I mean by 'stirring' is slight turbulence in my equation with those around me. Sometimes the most subtle of things can teach you an invaluable truth which you failed to see while floating on clouds of happiness, your sight distorted by the mist that had settled on your judgement.
Blogging is free therapy...and with demands for psychiatric help skyrocketing, blogging is a relief to the economically challenged. Personally just writing down my troubles is such a weight off my head, it's like having spoken to Oprah about it. And the comments you get from anonymous well-wishers is another bonus. The "Blogopolitan" is a place where there's room for every intellectual, every moron, every terrorist and every zen aathma. 'Your opinions are your's and no one can change that' is the principle that the blogging world flourishes on.
Devdas drank himself to death to beat frustration, Hitler destroyed half the earth and Marilyn Monroe popped pills. I blog. Sweet addiction, isn't it.