Anything You Want, Girl.

How how HOW do people write up articles that are wanted, even adopted?

I'm expected to hand in a few articles - I definitely want to - I sat with a superior (er, only in jest, world... then again, maybe not) to 'brainstorm', threw up a few ideas and then... forgot. I forgot what I came up with. And what I recall isn't working out :| 

Am I expected to give in 250 words of SmartArseShweta? Funny Gal variant? That's beyond me. I can turn in one line a week, upper limit.

Any serious requests, I'll do my best, slog my butt off for them, I promise. Any specifics, I can phir bhi try. "Write about whatever"? NOOO!!

My Mother Is On Facebook.

Silence. The deafening variety.

She's on Facebook, she's on my list on friends, she's everywhere!

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my mother to bits and would live my life for her. I have this theory that living your life for someone/something must be infinitely tougher than giving it up for that particular whoever/whatever, but that's for another time, another post.

And she didn't track me down, sneak up on me, put on a "yo, imma hot dude, add me yu sexii chica!" disguise (that would never -wont ever- work, don't get funny ideas anyone...) and then do an India TV "parda faash!" gig at dinner one night. Au contraire, I'm the one who got her off VSNL and introduced her to Gmail and Facebook and my humble blog - I'm your modern-day saintly proponent of clicks and codes. I'm glad she's open minded and eager to learn the ropes on here, to see how these work best for her. I'm glad that it has given her an opportunity to reconnect with classmates, neighbours and friends from the years past. I'm glad she's being progressive about it and not giving me some "too old, too busy, and who cares anyway" concoction. 

I'm glad, glad, GLAD. Proud. I truly am. Come to think of it, I probably sound like a proud mum. Anyway, I think she's wayy cool.

But okay, picture this. Fictional situations all (so Ma, don't freak out.. nevertheless, CPR on hold guys!). Only for the sake of point making, ye get? So, for whatever reason, you upload on Facebook some pics of you and a bunch of friends downing criss-cross drinks or trying out some random grassy thing or in general playing the stupid/dangerous/perverted fool. Surprise surprise, your mom gains access to them! Oh and in case it hasn't crossed your mind yet, you're underage. HOW WILL YOU FEEL? I dunno know how you'll feel but boss, those pics will self destruct. Poof! And if that doesn't happen in time, haha, someone's gonna get hurt real bad tonight... 

Milder version of the same - you're flirting with whoever, and I'm talking serious flirting. The responses make you happy in the heart and mushy in the mind. And out of nowhere, Momma puts in an appearance. Potential poof situation. Not ideal, see? That's what I'm getting at. Virtual privacy ka popat.

Then again, this works both ways. Anytime she decides to crib about me, bitch or rant, I'll get those flashy red notifications. She decides to blog-rant, I can read. Random conversations with friends, I get updates, the inside scoop. 

We could go in for a cordial understanding that the other's profile is not to be looked at, updates to be ignored, but who am I kidding? We're sneaky pigs in that regard - do pardon the language, bas grasp the implication. And it'd get too boring, too soon. Guess we'll let things remain.

I'll just have to remember to flirt in private ;)

** This also holds good for college profs. Detected one on Facebook the other day. This might just turn into a series of "Who's On Facebook?" posts. :|

Paper For Seats?

WHAAAT is this thing females have about leaving the toilet seat down? :X 

A little tap works wonders. One word. Gravity. When you lift it up you're fighting gravity. Tap and the thing will whoosh-whack-bump its way down.  Easy peasy, innit?

I don't know where this is coming from. Perhaps I'm just turning into a reverse feminist, if that makes any sense. But boss, when something bothers you all day long, you bloody well hammer keyboards about it.  Life's a series of buttons being pushed anyway. 

And anyway, why does the toilet seat in particular get to decide a guy's standing on Le Scale de Chivalrie? Toilet paper would be a better option, no? Something like this -

Roll and guy dono laapata? Nevermind... that's why the women's mags advise against monogrammed ones anyway. Unless they're Gucci dahlings! Chanel? Pooh, you're better off without them.

Roll of toilet paper still to be seen? He isn't a petty thief. Then again, maybe it's just the CCTV thrill/scare you gave him earlier.

Roll seen in place? He cares.

Ripped but diagonally? Oh just them big, clumsy fingers...

Razor sharp, horizontal line? Keeper! 

Unused? Get the noose ready, he's putting your needs before everything else! Alternatively, he could be slid off the list clearing the bottom margin some. The trick is to decide on either funda and stick with it. 

See, that's all there is to it. 

Oh and that line about life being a series of buttons being pushed was profound. And original. You just don't know kitna... :P

Untitled. Suspense much?

It is sad when you can almost see your life following a book/movie ka storyline, eh? Matlab, scene by scene, thought by thought.. sad hai yaar. Yes, I've said that already. Get an idea of how sad that it? :| Ha yes, different lives-different stories, circumstances and all.. but still.  

On a nava note, I've realised that asking for a mixed tub of popcorn - a tub of mixed popcorn- is a bad idea.. they mix in everything except what you asked for. Tomcheese thing icky. Ask for caramel, sweet and straight. 

Ramble ramble. I need to delete this effing blog. And then go grab a pillow from Fame and hide my face in it. Those pillows were good..