Dear Tits...

It HAS been very long. I have been out of commission for a while, meaning I haven't had the split second required to update my blog.
Post arrival and grand news of fraternal foray into the higher reaches of Academia, the next bright spot in my last month has been esteemed arrival of my Parentals. They have brought with hem bonhomie, warmth and many many cheesy jokes which only us in our nuclear family enjoy and appreciate like nobody's business. We try it out on others as well, but.... No, no, let us not go there.

So anyway, the Mater has firmly entrenched herself in the kitchenette. So far, no one is complaining. Burping, yes. But complaining? No.
The Pater slowly imbibes the morning newsies from 0600 hours till well past 0900. With the tripe that our fascinating dailies have in them, I can only feel pained at what he has to sift through to make sense of the nonsense. With the grand exception of Jug Suraiya's JUGULAR VEIN for which I pine each week till its appearance in the Sunday Times.

Hope the Parentals don't get bored. We flock run out of the house to college and work in the mornings and return home disgruntled in the eves. What do they do in the meanwhiles? They relax, they have funs, and most importantly, they play cards against each oher! Moooahahahah. I love it.
We have taught them the way out of the back-of-beyond where my sister's digs are, so in case of dire boredom, they CAN always escape into a more meaningful part of civilization.

Yesterday we took them to a nice little resort out on Hosur Road. This place is not your run-of-the-mill weekend retreat for pampering and luxury. It is primarily an activity-related joint, and let me be more clear and say that these activites are sports. Hah.
So, we played badminton for a couple of hours, where Abba [being the Pater] whipped our collective arses and made us introspect sheepishly on our idea of our own fitness and skill. Then we took in a below par lunch buffet. Post lunch we all trudged to the tennis courts where we played an initial lacklustre few games, but towards the end we really had a nice go at it.
The Fraternal figure, being Usman, whupped our collective arses on this front.

The boys [being an Usman and a cousin Suhail] then frolicked and splashed about outrageously in the swimming pool while we sophisticated elders stylishly unwound on the sun loungers by its side.
Then the Rain gods had a party and poured like there was no tomorrow. In a bit we collected stray items of foowear, underwear, rainwear and other suchlikes and made our way back to Home Sweet Home. [When I say we collected stray pieces of miscellaneous, I of course mean to say that it was our stuff that had strayed and not any random pieces of underwear etc. that we found about the resort! Hmmph. As if.]

So today.... it is the morning after, and strange and interesting body parts are aching. I feel I have discovered several new muscles in my bum and back-shoulder region. Sorely, this shall soon be over!

I shall now get back to the first priority in my current life. Mins like, works is worships.
Byeeeeeee.

PS: Tits, have many funs in the Chennai, but don't you dare comment on pre-marital sex or safety measures to be used whilst so indulging! Take lessons from recent history.

Yay! My brotherly louww is now a college boy.
Let the games begin....

Qestion of the day: How hot is Anthony Hopkins?
Answer: Very.

ahoy

Frundhsips. Hullo, hullo.

Am updating at the behest of one kind Sir Vaibhav.
Unfortunately, have nothing to say really. Yes.... such is the excitement I experience in my life and times.

Let's say the most fun thing I've been doing in the past few weeks has been gallivanting around town with my little brother, who is now almost a foot taller than me. Life is unfair. Here's a 14-year-old strapping lad at 6 feet [what!!!!] and here am I, barely scraping the line at 5'3". BAWL!
We've been off for movies, to my favorite eat-outs, to musical almost-shindigs: TAKE 5 - a failed evening], to shoot hoops at the Amoeba stalls and win tonnes of tickets with which we then buy Snickers bars, and finally, we hang at home and play games on X-Box. He whups my ass all the bloody time.
He's a good lad. I have high hopes for him. He shan't be falling prey to the vices and immoralities of depraved drug-induced moronic somewhats. He has a steady head on his shoulders.
My main agenda in life for the anon is to get him into a nice scholl/college.
Where he will indulge in some curricular and many extra-curricular activities, thereby developing into a wholesome, well-rounded, interesting and not-annoying personality. Sigh. Yes. I have big smoky dreams for my baby.

How boring id this, I say. Do you guys really want to read bout my fermenting maternal instincts? Noooooo.
So.
Over and out.

PS: Sir Vaibhav, see you around, maybe.
[I might pop in to Bombay soonly. MIGHT. It's a plan in my head.]

Sigh. I know, I know. Had Fernando won this past weekend, I would have splashed my joy across all pages of the blog. Turns out that creep Schumi manged to keep him a nose behind for a lot of the time. Even to the end! Crikey.
Still. Now that I am well and truly over the bittersweet result of Sunday, here's my warm-fuzzy recipe. Guaranteed to bring a goofy grin on the mug of any aesthetically sensitive humanoid.Enjaaaaii.

Insipidity

May I just say it does not become an establishment to employ grumpy, snooty [and godawfully ugly] men as maitre des. Especially when said grumpy fart has no point to his existence except to annoy the bejeesus out of refined, suave, classy diners, such as ourselves.
Am making public the slip-shod treatment meted out to us jolly office-mongers, when we headed out to Mainland China, Church Street for much raved about lunch buffet.

All arrangements were smoothly executed the previous day. Over phonery items.

ME: Hi, yadda yadda yadda, nice weather, blah blah blah, do you still have a weekday lunch buffet at your fine dinery, kind lady?
KIND LADY RECEPTIONIST: Yes, of course, why not give it a shot? Alive and kicking as anything.
ME: Right ho, then expect around 30-40 of us from my orifice on the morrow. What shall be the financial damages?
KIND: INR 195/- per head, plus taxes.....

[long pause]

ME: Yes, I'm still waiting. So what will be the final financial damages, and let me be crystalline this time: how much INCLUDING taxes?
KIND: Oh, err, yes, of course. That comes to INR 219/- per head, Ma'am.
ME: [stiffly] Yes, thank you. It's a done deal, then. Let's shake on it.
KIND: Err....

So, anyway, any astute legal minds out there will notice that no stone was left unturned. All factoids were clarified, like butter. Weekday, check. Lunch Buffet, check. Cost per head, check.
In this glowing frame of mind, official invites were mailed out to orificers.

Come next day, and we folks [substantially lesser than 30-40, of course. That was just an empty threat] pranced off in the blasted heat to said restaurant. At the door we were kindly welcomed inside by a personality whom I assume was KIND LADY from previous day's conversation.

All looked rosy until then. The A/C had just begun to soothe frayed nerves. The faux Oriental music that they play in all such joints was mildly amusing. The ambience was building to a beautiful something-and-all when... when KIND LADY of our memoirs disappeared and a horrific substitution in the form of GRUMPY FART turned up. With nary a smile, and as if the weight of the whole weight rested on his podgy shoulders [and his podgy shoulders alone] he whisked us up and away to the 2nd floor of the dinery, away from the other human patrons enjoying their food items. His side of the story was it was "JUST FOR US." Aw shucks.

So anyway, that surprise being smoothly taken into stride, we were guided to a long row of tables attached bumper to bumper, so that at any point of time if Person A from the Left wanted to get up, the entire row of people on his side would have to shift base so he/she could move. This idea not being conducive to our sense of freedom and whatnot, we asked many times that the tables be rent asunder so that we, the jolly diners, could easily wander hither and thither. I mean, the whole essence of a buffet is you keep on jumping out of your seat to first survey the spread, then return to report your findings to your friends, then go back to clarify some minute details you had forgotten to check on your first soiree,and from then on, to get your first, second, third and fourth helpings. Right?
Wrong.
Our Lovely Shady Grumps had decided in his mind tha it would be better if we all just sat down at the beginning of our meal, and that instead of the Mahomet going to the mountain, the mountain would indeed come for us! That is to say, he said we should plonk ourselves fixedly on our seats, and that the buffet would be served to us at the table.

Ummm. Sorry, what?

Obviously, this threw the whole festive buffet atmosphere right out the window. But Grumps persisted. After our 3rd attempt at explaining to him that No, really, we'd LIKE to go for the buffet ourselves, we gave up. We were, after all, only human in the face of this monstrosity.

Only concession made: We got about a half foot of space in between tables. For what joy, I shall never know to my dying day.

So to cut a bloody long story short, the buffet came to us in painstakingly slow and unappetizing instalments. First, weak ,watered-down and warmish mocktails arrived. After about 3 years, the starters came. For a while after that again, nothing. Then soup. Followed by another thumb-twiddling episode. To preempt any further inexplicable waiting, we asked GRUMPO if he could please speed things up. Soddy fellow got slightly uppity. I believe he believes that the longer you take to serve your fooderies, the classier your joint will seem.
Sir? That is a fallacy. Please keep in mind for further use and pleasure.

The food in itself wasn't bad. Not to say it was excellentissime,, either. Just about so-so. And of course, we couldn't get rid of the niggling doubt that there were 13 more secret dishes on the buffet that they weren't letting us get a peek at. Grass-grosser-greener-side-theory.

All in all, on a scale of 1-10, that meal gets an overall rating of a piffling 4.78, purely on the merit of some good ol' Chinese fare.
The fact that we had to hand around spoons, knives, forks, plates, glasses and every other thing on the table for about half the time we were eating, didn't help matters. The waiters couldn't reach, you see. Too tight a fit. See above for half-foot spatial arrangements.

The clincher was, in the middle of all of this, a tragic incident occurred with a waiter shattering a glass of drinking water right at the feet [and trousers] of our belle of the ball that day- one Ms. L. Perfect shocked expression she had, as would make any thespian proud.

*Applause*

When the bill came, KIND LADY'S promise to me over the phone struck gold. 'Twas exactly as we had planned it. About the only part of the meal that was.
With a heavy heart we decided to leave tips for the poor incompetent waiters working under the whip of GRUMPS. For GRUMPS himself, we had no tip, no words, no nothing, no anything. We just wanted to leave him be.

Hope you read this someday, GRUMPO. And suffferrrrrrrr.....

My brotherly love has arrived in town!
Yay!
Yahooeeeey!
*supaar backward flip, triple somersault and perfect landing!*

Ranting. And also Raving.

Watched another couple of back-to-back Sex and the City episodes last night and realised why I don't try to catch it anymore. Am fully convinced that I completely dislike the show and the characters in it. Especially the whiny, confused, spoilt city-brat Sarah Jessica Parker-character. Or nympho blonde. Or deserves-to-have-sense-slapped-into-her-brunette. About the only bearable character is redhead. Sometimes. [She's one of them.....]
But really. This is a show I will never ever be able to relate to, on any level. Plus there's not a story line in sight anywhere. [Fans might argue that there isn't supposed to be one. Oooooooo-kay then!] Plus, when Whiny Parker does her laptop writing-narration bit, I find it puerile and silly as dammit. I mean, really, it sucks. More than anything else I feel like kicking myself for having wasted more time on watching the damned show.

PS: With the great big deal made about her [Aha! Her charcter's name is Carrie! I got it at last!] Carrie's sense of style, I find her wardrobe atrocious at times. Many times. Mins like, vaaaandi comes to me.


Disclaimer: This is not to say I have hostile feelings towards any of the actresses. I'm sure they'll do nicely elsewhere. I just find the characters in this show to be "eeeeyuk". I kid you not.

And again!

Nyahahahah. This is a guten year.

RRRRRRRRROOOOOOWWWRRRRR!!!!

And in other news....

Went to The Octopus on a Sunday Kroak Night for the first time, after hearing many nice things about it in the not-so-distant-past. Have to say, amidst heart-rending sobs and other whatnots, my insides did a double flip before finally taking the deep plunge into uber-cess.
The joint was flooded with Spinn-offs, bimbettes in contempt-inducing wardrobe and expressions, undergrown boy items with spwarks in their hair-ishtyles, flaky bits of coversation [vaaaandi!] and all-in-all, many many things that I utterly think ruin many a good evening. And have the potential to for many more.
Notwithstanding that my fruit punch costs thrice as much as a chilled-beeru, which I can understand if I'm given the right ambience and good music, the place was packed with humanities and most of its dregs. Plus, the music was, erm.... yes.

Give me lovely talentful nights of Boomsas, Ostriches, Shankies, Sherils, and yet others any old day. Mins like, so long as what I remembered of the nice old place can live peacefully in my head at least.

Ye gods, I cannot begin to tell you the horrors. And what's more, NO SHEESHAH. Waste, I say.

I asked Tits the other day whether she was overwhelmed by her new work-digs. Turns out she wasn't. Which is not to say she was underwhelmed. [Although that is what she claimed at the end of Day 1 there.]

I believe Tits was just about Whelmed. Which would mean she slipped in smoothly and comfortably into her new shoes. Same to same like me. I believe I was whelmed in just the right amount when I joined this here workplace. Like a smooth operator. Err, yes.

So what have we learned today?
Nothing.

Dear Thirtha

Happy Birthday. Very.

Hmm.

Err. This is what I have had to work on for the past week or so.
Highly substandard fare. C-Grade moving down to D-Grade.

But in retrospect, very amusing. Check out the interesting tint of green.

Nooooooooooooo!!!!!
Thy're stepping up software security at our workplace. And one of the silly measures being taken is cleaning out each system. That means our music. Naaaaaw! Not fair.
Don't they trust us? [Read as: I've already finished illegally downloading all the songs I want, they're stored beautifully in my D Drive, and I won't be secretly downloading more stuff in the near future, so Why? Why? Why?].
And anyway, how is my music going to hurt anyone? First of all, it's good music. And I swear upon many sacred things that my system hasn't slowed down any. Works like Speedy Gonzalves on speed. Eeks.

But... ugh.. sputter.. choke...

Take it away, ladies

Or Take 5 at least.

Much funs were had at a lovely shady joint [shady implying dim lighting] on 100 Ft Rd yestereve.
I had a Cooli Mooli. Need more be said?

Bye, Chy

Chy leaves this Saturday.
And we've had some great moments of utter and complete madness.
Have fun, longlegs. I shall miss you like anything and all.

Don't forget the masterplan. Earn millions in the Gelf, then come back here, collect me, and we head off to Japan for loafing, and just quite possibly, staying there.

Our earlier plan was a mansion in the Caribbeans, but we watched Memoirs Of A Geisha last night and it doesn't really take much to change our minds.

Speaking of which, it was a nice movie, and the surprise package [in addition to the obviouses of sweepingly beautiful visuals and soundtrack] was the actress who played Hatsumomo. Evil and drop-dead gorgeous. I think she's Gong Li or somesuch.

As for Ken Watanabe... I have loved you from The Last Samurai, good sir.
Hubba Hubba.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOVELY

To my dearest- HAPPIEST ON YOUR BIRD DAY.
(Mins like better late than never.)

Whooooopeeeee!!!@!##@#!!%$?? for the 22nd. Such larks, Tits, such larks.
100 points to Pinaki for getting the perfect chocolate mousse cake to stuff our faces with after magnificent dinner.
Lovely to see JJ and Kash Disco Balls, The Bomb and her Eveready Reddy [!!!]. And of course the madness that is Aloks. Deedan was just thrilled to see The Bomb HAD a boyfriend in tow. Yahahaha.

Tum jeeyo hazaaron saal... [why? why? why would anyone want that?]

PS: Oink, Tits. Here's an old, old pic from the old, old days... Skirts for all us ladies. Me in blues, you in pinks. A mad girls'-night-out and our crazy stroll at 4 a.m. through the HAL bylanes. *Sniff*

[Remember when we got back home from Boibabh's restaurant, you found you still had the price tag on your new clothing items? *Titter titter*]

Tits came over to see after me in my time of being an eye-sore. Or rather, of having one. Zo zweet. We went to nearby Arabic food joint to pick up, err, food, for her folkses. I wore my shades and looked shady. I hope people thought I was a superstar and not a freak. This truth I will never know for certain.

This brings me to a deep, dark, disturbing thought which I must share with you,
my dear readers.
I strongly believe, and have for many years now strongly believed,
that STEVIE WONDER IS NOT BLIND!!!
I swear, I get goosebumps [Not goosepimples- I never get pimples of any sort. Ha ha!] everytime I see him grinning maniacally, because I think he's having the last laugh. [Also because I don't really like any of his songs.]
This piece of information is not mend to offend anyone, but hey! We are SO BIG on freedom of expression nowadays. [$#@^^$@!!!!#^%&&$@@@!!!! with regards to that issue].

Dear Tits
Thanks for :
1]Coming to see me last eve. [Even if I couldn't really see you back.]
2]Getting me lovely bakery items.
3]Not giggling at me and my eyewear.
4]Cracking very bad jokes and larfing like 14 hyenas. [Abbreviated career!]
5]Attempted matchmaking dreams, in tandem with Jakkur Jazz.

6]But the clincher was..... *rolling on floor and choking to death types*... your lame-ass attempted lecture session, with expected catstrophic result. Please, Tits, nyahahahha. Tum bhi na kabhi kabhi.

Pls to come off anytime and all. It was much fun items.

This too shall pass.

Pig sty.
Eye.

=Big stye.
Ouch.

This kills my grand plans for promiscuous socialising over the weekend.