Hasta la Vista, Baybay

Hmm ... i hate to do this.

But i'm going to go.

Just when I thought this blog was starting to get sort of popular-ish, I think I need to shut it.

I'll start another one, in a few days. If you want to know what it is, for some reason, email me at : fasterjamesfaster@yahoo.co.in, and i'll tell you what my new blog is, when I do get around to making it. If I've linked to you, don't bother writing, i'll tell you anyhow what my new blog is.

And now, a good-bye song. I'm not really sentimental, its just a nice song.
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Lullaby

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Good night my angel time to close you eyes

And save these questions for another day

I think I know what you've been asking me

I think you know what I've been trying to say

I promised I would never leave you

And you should always know

Where ever you may go

No matter where you areI never will be far away

Good night my angel now it's time to sleep

And still so many things I want to say

Remember all the songs you sang for me

When we went sailing on an emerald bay

And like a boat out on the ocean

I'm rocking you to sleep

The water's dark and deep

Inside this ancient heart

You'll always be a part of me

Goodnight my angel now it's time to dream

And dream how wondeful your life will be

Someday your child will cry and if you sing this lullaby

Then in your heart there will always be a part of me

Someday we'll all be gone But lullabies go on and on

They never die that's how you and I will be

wishlist

So, my car has been whacked. Sneezy was staying over... he woke up this morning, and said, ``Do you need your car? I have work to do, i'll be done by 1.30.'' Now he says 5.00. I have a date sometime today, and I thought i'd be impressing her with an open jeep. Now I'll have to impress her with a very stylish flourish as I pull my wallet out of my back pocket.

Well, anyhow, i've been Tagged by Juice. I dont normally do tags... and I still have one lying undone. But I'm doing this anyhow.
---------------------------------------
I am thinking about ...
Women. All of them. The short ones, the tall ones. The Cute ones, the not so cute ones. The ones that wanted me, the ones that didn't. The ones the could flirt. The ones that yelled at me. The ones that cried. And, as an afterthought, i'm also thinking a little bt about work, and how I'll probably get fired if I dont get this very unlikely story today.

I said ...
Me: You know what I really want to do?
Her: hmmmm?
Me: Make love to you.
Her: why?
Me: eh?

*In my head, i'm thinking, what the hell sort of question is why? For the record, i didn't have an answer*

I want to ...
Drive the Raid de Himalya.
Ride the Khardung-la.
Mountain bike in British Columbia.
Go to Elevate.
Sky dive.
Walk to Bhrigu.
Snow-board (I think i'd be good. I'm naturally good at this stuff)

I wish...

I wish I was a neutron bomb, for once I could go off

I wish I was a sacrifice but somehow still lived on

I wish I was a sentimental ornament you hung on

The Christmas tree, I wish I was the star that went on top

I wish I was the evidence, I wish I was the grounds

For 50 million hands upraised and open toward the sky

I wish I was a sailor with someone who waited for me

I wish I was as fortunate, as fortunate as me

I wish I was a messenger and all the news was good

I wish I was the full moon shining off a Camaro's hood

I miss ...
Pune. I Miss the hills. I miss having friends that I can run with. Its a really nice city, you know. And people care more about things like the rains than about getting to work on time.

I hear...
Noises in my head. All the time. Really.

I wonder ...
Why, in gods name, why, why, why anyone would want to marry her.

I regret...
I didn't go with Biren to the Army entrance exam.
The New aunt.
Not going to the gym this morning.

I am...
Really fast down hill. Ok, i was, there's no hills in Delhi, so I havn't done that for a while.

I dance ...
With my sister. We do the silly dance, and then hit each other.

I sing...

No, i don't, actually.

I am not always ...

Dependable. But I can always pretend like I am.

I make with my hands...

Cow-dung cakes, that you can plaster your house with to keep flies away. And pots. And paper. None of it too well, but i can do that.

I write...

About dead people. About roads and potholes. About rapes. About stolen money. About funding for schools. Some lies. Some innacuracies. Very little thats 100 percent correct.

I confuse...

Myself a whole lot.

I should try...

A threesome :) With 2 girls, of course... I don't want to see a naked man up close.

I finish...

Very little very well.

__________________________

Ah. That tag is over. Formatting was a bitch. Now that i've done it, I have the privilege to tag as many people as I like. I decree : Sexy Indian Bitch, Bloggerhead, Mahi (when she's back), AQC, and Vijayeta.

On your own blogs, please, not in the comments section!

Confessions of a Lifeguard.

The problem with me is, I'm a nice guy.

Yes, that is a significant problem.

See, some time ago, I'd decided that all the relationships i'd wanted were completely superficial. Only flings. Nothing serious. Now the problem with that is, you need to be a bit of an asshole to pull that off right. But you see, the bit of asshole in me is a little bit too little.

Now that we're on the topic, I have a nice ass. Or arse, as my now-british friend says.

But coming back to the original asshole, I don't have enough in me.

Like, for instance. There's this girl. A couple of years younger than me. She was an intern at our office. Now, i'm not bragging, but she's in love with me. She messages me all the time. Calls me. Messages me to say that I didn't answer. And I still don't answer. She still messages. The most asshole I can be, is to not answer her calls.

Anyhow, one day, she messaged me, telling me, and I quote, ``I really `dig' you''. First of all, who says `dig' anymore. Secondly, why the hell was the `dig' in single inverted commas?

So i answered : ``huh?''

So she said something about how she really liked me and how she thought about me all the time.

So I said, ``I'm sorry, i just dont feel the same way.'' I couldn't be really rude, so i said, ``its not you, its just, i'm not ready for a relationship.'' But it was her. I mean, she was cute and all, and reasonably smart (ish), but I just couldn't see myself with her. So I said, ``I'm sorry''.
So she said, ``How about just a fling then?''
In my head, i could
a) See a new post for this blog
b) See that, if persued, things would not end well.
It would have been easy for me. Have the fling, and then say, ``Look you said just fling, so, ta ta.''

Time out : I said to my roomie, ``Dude, this chick keeps messaging, like what do I do?'' He answers, ``Just fuck her and get it over with.'' I just went, ``huh?'' So he answers, ``Yea, after a guy fucks a woman, she's not interested in him anymore.'' I had to laugh at him...

Anyhow, so its very easy to have a fling with this girl. But i can't. Maybe if I liked her a little more. I'd put my principles aside for some women.

It all seems a little pointless when youre main aim in life is to have meaningless relationships, but you're just too principled. It's like, having a Dodge Viper, but refusing to drift, because its unsafe for oncoming traffic.

Ok, i'm a nice guy. Thats settled. But the problem is that the asshole in me keeps popping up every now and then.

This wednesday, I went to TC with some people from work. I havn't been there in ages. For a wednesday night (which is Media night, for all you non delhi folk) it was really empty. Like i could walk around, and if i wanted to, dance like a cossack, and breathe.

If less people from work were reading this, i could have a longer story, but I'll just say that this new girl from work brought her TOTALLY hot friend. In a little Tube top. I was totally trying to hit on this new girl, whose name i can't remember.

But if you studied my post about strategising women, you'll know that all women want what a) They can't get, and b) what other women want. So since I wanted hot tube-top woman, new girl from work wanted me. And since new girl from work wanted me, hot tube-top woman was automatically more interested in me.

But i keep remembering Sneezy's parting words :``Never play where you work, and never work where you play.'' I know that if I fool around with someone from work, it can't be good. It has to be awkward. Something has to go wrong.

I think too much. That's my problem.

I have so many problems. Aargh.

---------------------------
Also in this issue :
* Sneezy's visiting me tomorrow. ``Arrange me women,'' he said. I can't. I have to pick up the schmuck at 9am from the airport, dressed in formals. Then the two of us have to drive to New Okhla Industrial Development Authority (aka NOIDA) and make a presentation to a multinational company. I have to pretend to be ``his associate''.
* I saw MI:3. It has to be the best movie made this year. Its so fast paced, you never stop to think that the movie makes no logical sense.
* I'm totally broke.

Ambition.

So, here I am. Sitting at home. When I should be working. I called my boss and said, ``I'm going straight to PHQ (Police HQ), so I won't make it to the meeting... is that ok?''. But here I am. Not at PHQ.

I have no idea where I'm going. Maybe I should go to another city and work. My choices are between one city that's full of reporters, but also has a lot of pretty women, some of whom I already know, and one city that doesn't have so many reporters, but no women either. Work ... women ... work... women... so difficult is the choice.

Whenever my daddy thought he should have a conversation with me, he said, ``Son, what are you going to do with life?'' Now my daddy and me didn't have a lot to talk about, so everytime we were in a room with each other, he decided it was the right question to ask.

So here I am, dad. Here's what I want to do :)

In case you think I'm going to list out my career and professional goals here, sorry no. ( But if you must know, i'm going to be a Media Mogul.)

These are the women that I would like to date before I die. Of course, i could die tomorrow. Like Gautam Buddha said, nothing is permanent. So, my list doesn't actually have any names in it. Instead, i've made this list profession-wise. Since i'm a professional-and-all-that myself. Of course, there may be women outside these professional brackets. And this list may change as I grow older... Like Gautama Buddha said, `Nothing is permanent'.

And, if you read my last post, I'd outlined a strategy for women. That's what i'm going to use. Everytime I meet a pretty girl, i'm going to say, ``Sorry, i dont want you.''
-----------------------------------------------
1) The model. Ok, this is a pretty obvious profession. Every man worth his Homer Simpson boxers wants to date a Model. But since i'm being realistic, i'm not looking for a super-model or anything. Just a normal, even struggling struggling model will do. She could be in a Close-up ad. Liril, oh yes Liril. Ramp, good too... except then she might be taller than me... which is ok with me, since I've had a 6foot tall gf, who was some 4 inches taller than me. Ok 3.5''. But i dont want a really bad model... I'm really shallow. So sue me.

2) The corporate. You know, the kind that wears black suits and high heels to work. With no time for a family. She shouldn't even have time for me. Maybe an investment banker.

3) The CNBC anchor. No no, not like Jay Leno. Like the ones on CNBC-TV18. Has anyone noticed that they are by far the cutest of any TV channel? NDTV has some cute anchors too... but i'm sticking by CNBC anchors for my list. This EXCLUDES cnn-ibn anchors... I'm not interested there at all... except for that one REALLY hot one... but i dont think she's interested in me at all:)

4) NGO activist. You know, the kind that has glasses, and wears Khadi stuff thats NOT from Fabindia? She should talk about things like why the Lower Subansiri dam is bad for the people of Upper Assam. Or how archaic india's laws regarding undertrials are. Or that article 377 of the IPC should be scrapped. Things like that.

5) A writer. Not a recreational, write-short-stories-for-the-Telegraph type of writer. One with a proper book already out... and even better if it's sold a few copies already. Only, I don't want to date someone who doesn't write fiction... at least not till i'm 40, anyway.

6) A Ph.D Student. Yeh, you know. With glasses and all. Possibly someone studying solid-state physics, or the lineage of the Shaka Clan in africa.

7) A lesbian. Ok, i know this is not exactly a profession, but think of all the possibilities. And i also know that options 4 & 5 might also be option 7, but ... er.. think of all the possiblities!

8) A pilot. No no, not one for Jet Airways, or Spicejet. One that flies for the Indian Air Force. In fact, i even met a cute one in Bidar Air Base... but all she said to me was, ``Sir yes sir.'' ``I'm going to be an Air Warrior, Sir.'' And pilots in the IAF can't fly fighters yet, though all the senior pilots i've met said they should be allowed to. But for now, i'll be happy meeting a Mi-17 or An-32 pilot.

9) Hiker. You know, with green shorts, fit, dreams about making love under K2 when she goes to bed. There's something about an outdoor girl that city girls just can't match.

10) Computer Geek. This includes graphic artists, web-designers, software gurus, all of them.

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So, that is the list for now. I'm sure there's more, but I just can't think of any. If any of my dear readers fall into any of these brackets, you can apply. Just send in a resume, accompanied by a video or two colour photographs to fasterjamesfaster@yahoo.co.in. And please, no men.

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Also in this issue.

* Who's the smoodle who said something about yellow? Look at this : http://www.rsportscars.com/eng/cars/civic_type-r.asp . Can't you love that? It's a Civic. You know, you get those here. Not the concept, but the Civic.

* Fanaa is the most shit-assed movie ever. The pity is that it could be great, but its not.

* I want to se MI3.

Psychology class

This post is for the men.

--Disclaimer : This post has a disclaimer at the bottom. Please read it after you're done. Dont kill things, its not good Karma. Don't be mean to bicyclists, its not good Karma. Don't eat too much Pizza, its not good for you. --

I know what women want. I've figured it out, and i'm going to impart this knowledge to all you men, and some of you women that may want it, out there. Before I begin, let me tell you that I have all the theoretical knowledege, but putting it into practical application is hard... even for me. Its like removing a crank from a mountain bike. You KNOW that you should use the crank-puller, and gently remove, and never use a hammer... but you just have to hammer, just once. And, that, my friends, is what kills the bottom-bracket.

But first, children, lets deal with a few common misconceptions about what women really want.

1) Money. Well, it helps. But its not everything. It can buy you a lot of good things, but not all good things. You can have all the money in the world, but if you've never slept in an Alpine meadow in the himalayas, you haven't been anywhere. Coming back to women. Yea, women like money, sure. But there is advantage in being the underdog with no money. And its cheaper.

2) A hot body. Well, i'm sure it helps. But you can do without it. I've seen and known all sorts of men, tall and skinny, really short and reallu skinny, fat, plumish, pear-shaped, wobbly, jiggly and even hunchbacked get hooked to hot women. That said, its not a bad idea to work out a little bit. (in case anyone says i work out for the women, no I don't. I work out for me.)

3) A hot face. Well, yea, that may help too. But there is no clear consensus amongst women on what exactly a hot face is. So some women find Vince Vaugh hot, some find Brad Pitt. Some find Billy Bob Thornton. Some overlap, yes, but some even find our own Paresh Rawal hot. Some like Rajnikant even. So this is really a moot point... every face is bound to have some likers.

4) A nice car. Ok, this might help too. But not really. I mean, a bike is sexier than a car. And men and women differ vastly on the subject of cars. Ok, you need to have some transportation to drive her somewhere, and a scooty pep isn't much class. If you were in goa, you could get Lambretta.. that would be cool. But you can get by without it. Really.

5) Superpowers. No point. Really. If you have them, use them. But if you don't, its ok. Unless you want to date Storm. Which you could even without superpowers, if you used my knowledge.

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And now, for the moment you've all been waiting for.

Bum da bum bum baa bum.

Women want, what they can't get.

Simple. Thats how easy it is. If they cant get you, they want you. Simple. If you're all over a woman, and saying ``take me take me please'', they dont want you. Simple.

So now that you have this almost ethereal piece of knowledge, you have to change your strategy to incorporate it. If you meet a woman you like, don't call/message her incessantly. This is something i've been guilty of, and it doesn't work very well, i know. Let her call you also. If she doesn't call, find someone else that cant get you.

If you meet a girl at a party, don't stick to her like a leech, trying to make intelligent conversation. Even if you're a phd in agro-physics, leave it out. Go chat with the other women. That works double because

bum da bum bum biddy bum

All women want what other women want.

So if you're at a party, and you like this one woman, go talk to the others. The others will like you, cos you don't really like them, so subconsiously, they know they cant get you, so they want you. If all the others want you, and Ms. (or Mrs., if you can be that smooth) thinks she can't get you cos you're hardly talking to her, then she'll want you.

So strategy for such a situation should be, -go say hi to the girl - say something funny - move away - chat up the other women - come back and say hi occasionally - flirt with the other women - get flirted back - make your move on ms. x.

How's that eh?

So if you meet her professionally or something, ask her once for coffee... not like everyday. If she says 'I'm busy', you say, `ok call me when you're not' and move on.

If you want to succeed at this, its imperative that you develop a samurai like state of mind. Those guys left home everyday with incense in their helmets, so if hey were to be beheaded, it would smell sweet. Be ready to not get women. But remember, with enough practice, you'll get pretty good with them samurai blades. Remember Toshiro Mifune.

Remember, if you confuse a woman, she'll like you. Simple.

Oh, and, smell nice.

--Disclaimer : Don't take this too seriously. If you mess up, and lose the woman of your dreams, i'm not to blame. If you're a woman, don't get pissed off cos i let out your secret. Even if you didn't know it was your secret. This post has NOTHING to do with my previous post, for those of you that read me regularly. --

In Defense of yellow + A small dissertation on women.

When my font was yellow, a lot of people said ``eeks yellow'', even though, you know, i'd said it was temporary. What the problem with yellow is, i dont know. What pink is to girls, yellow is to boys.
Case in point : The Yellow mitsubishi lancer. Isn't that sweet?
Case in point 2: The Yellow Skoda Rally Sport. Isn't that also sweet. (And NOBODY give me crap about the skoda being downmarket anywhere outside India... its got a Audi TT engine, and i've seen it bite the ass off one. )

And to defy all those of you that didn't like the yellow, there's a little yellow line on the left side of my template, which will never go away. You can resize the box to make the car, the babe,everything go away, but not the yellow line :)

Now, coming to the women. I think i've figured out what the problem with women is. Well, most women, at least. Not all, i'll admit, but I will extrapolate this thesis to all women. Mainly because i'm in a particularly bad mood.

Here's what I think. Women love to be hard on themselves. They love to beat themselves up. They want to be with a guy thats wrong for them. They never take the easy way out, always hacking through a rain forest with a dull machete. When they should let go, they won't. Decisions that are obvious to any halfway-intelligent onlooker are carried around like water-coolers. Women, i'm telling you, are pointless. And very often, stupid.

How many women do you know that are with a guy that is obviously not right for them, and they're still saying, ``Maybe it can work?''
But how many men do you know in the same situation? Hmm?

When something's obviously over, for whatever reason, how many men do you know that are still hanging on, waiting for the wind to change? Men just go find another ship to sail.

I know a tonne of women, who will let a hundred good things go by, waiting for the wrong thing to become right.

When you give a woman good advice, she's not going to take it.

Which is why you see so many hot, intelligent women with fat ugly slobs. Except those with footballers as significant others. Footballers always seem to have supermodel girlfriends.

If you think about it, you'll see that a lot more women forgive their men for cheating on them than the other way around.

Ok. I know. Some of this is inaccurate. But some of it isn't. But like I said, i'm not in a good mood. Grr.
________

Also in this issue:
* I've been tagged. Yes, i will respond, albino :P
* I hadn't paid my phone bill for a while, so my DSL was down too. Expect more of me soon, and i'll probably be happier tomorrow, so expect a more sensible, better post.
* I didn;t work out for 2 weeks. But now i'm back. With protein shake, sprouts as snacks, the works.

slow down you craaazy child

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
you've got so much to do and only so many hours in a dayyyyayeaayyy

But you know that when the truth is told..
That you can get what you want or you can just get get old
You're gonna kick off before you even
Get halfway through
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?

You better.... cool it down before you burn it out...
Why don't you realise..... ooo oo ...vienna waits for you.


My last post had a few comments saying how disliked my template is :P

ok the lyrics may be a tad mixed up. But slow down, y'all. I already said that i still need to get the text colours (colors, if you're doing the HTML) right. The yellow was temporary, cos i couldn't get any other colour that would look ok on a grey background. There's way too much happening in the city and in my life for me to spend the time figureing CSS out.

Yes, freesprit, she's not in a bikini. I typed that out by mistake :) I'm close enough to hell as it is, don't tell god.

But mosilager.... dude, you're is the coolest idea. Will do asap. Say hi to the dogs for me.

Punkster ~ the next time you're in this country, i'll buy you dinner :P
Bloghead ~ the next time you're free, you can buy me dinner.
Mahi ~ You get dinner too. even though you weren't nice to my template. Its a grey bg, not white!

Men at work

UPDATE : OK people. this is mostly what it'll be. I made the background myself. I made the top image myself... i just stole the bikini lady from somewhere. If you made it, and want it off here, please tell me. I've the alignment just about right... now i just need to get the text colours right. Feedback?

I'm redoing the template a bit... so if things look odd at any point, ignore it, it'll be better soon, or if it doesn't work, back to the old default.

Life's little regrets...

There are few things I regret in life. I believe that whatever happens, happens and there's little you can do to make it unhappen. This little story, is one of those regrets, that i do actually regret.

A few years ago, my friend and me went to this guy's wedding. My friend, sneezy (I think i referred to him in a previous post as tall-boy, because, well, he's tall) was there with me. The guy getting married had just become a dentist, and was all of 24, and his wife was all of 25, and they were happily married. At 24 now, there's no marriage in sight for me, and Sneezy's 27, and is insistent that he only wants a quick fling. Not even a longish fling. ``A week,'' he says.

Well, anyway, me and Sneezy didn't know a lot of people... I didnt drink in those days, and i think he didn't feel like, so we just walked around, saying hello to some old people. Anyway, this young lady walks up to us and says, ``Hi *sneezy*.''

Now before this story continues, let me make it clear that she was pretty hot. Younger than both of us, but hot. It was some years ago, but I remember that she was in a black salwar-kurta thing. Sweet girl

She asks my dear friend about work, his sister, chats with hom very very warmly for a good 10 minutes... and the sweet man just leaves me out of the conversation. He chatting, smiling, laughing with her, and i'm just standing there. So eventally, i've had enough.

``So,'' i butt in, ``aren't you going to introduce us?''
Sneezy : ``Oh sorry.''
He looks at her, looks back at me, and says, ``This is *4wd*, and *4wd*, this is a very old family friend of ours.
Me :``Oh is that so?''
Sneezy : ``Yes''
Me : ``Well, doesn't she have a name?''

I have to confess that by this time I KNEW that he'd forgotten her name.

Sneezy : ``Of course she does.''
Me : ``Well, what is it.''
Sneezy : ``Its um. its... er.. ''
Finally, the hot woman speaks.
Hot woman : ``Well, what is it?''
Him : ``erm.''

She introduces herself to me, and walks away from us a few minutes later. I burst out laughing, he kicks me.

After this, everytime I met Sneezy, he never fails to remind me about this. ``You bastard, she doesn't talk to me anymore! She was so friendly with me you mother fucker!''

This is my regret. And here's why.

I'm home for the weekend, and spent most of my time with Sneezy. He remided me twice about this girl and called my a cocksucker. We were driving down the road to my house, outside a multiplex, when this amazing woman crosses the road. She's not walking, she's doing this little catwalk thing. She's wearing jeans and singlet, and a broad belt, and has the MOSTEST amazingest body i've seen in years.

I'm driving, and i'm forced to slow down... and I have to go, ``whoa.''

She's tall, and if she wants to, i know she could be a supermodel, she's that hot. If god wanted angel's or sub-goddesses for heaven, she could apply, and would get the job hands down. If the devil wanted a hot assistant dressed in a red bikini fanning the coals under the pots that people like me will be cooked in, she'd still get the job.

"You bastard!!" sneezy shouts suddenly.
"huh? what ? what happened?'' i say.
"You mother fucker!!"
"WHAT?"
"Thats her!!"
"what? who?"
"Her. see what you made me lose out on!"
Then it hits me. It is her. Shit.
We spent the next hour discussing her. I've decided that, since Sneezy's friends are good family friends with her's, if they ever want her to get married, my name should be suggested. Sneezy doesnt think so.

If i hadn't messed it up for him that night, he could have introduced me to her. He believes that he would have eventually got her to go out with him. I don't believe that. But now that story is over. Just cos i felt silly. Damn me.

Then we did the usual thing... drove fast in my dad's car and pulled hand-brake turns and scared the osho-ites in white robes. Those are the days i miss
-----------------
Life updates :
-I went to the Siachen Glacier. It was really cold. But HR wont let me post about work.
-I went home. Ate free food.
-My working out is begging to pay off. I've put on like 5 kilos, all muscle, and i started swimming at home, so i'm on the way to rippedness. Net time you're around ask to feel my arms or lats.
-I want to change my template.

Someone wrote about men's loos.

There's this new guy at work, who's a Master's in International Relations. He talks funny. All serious and big-wordy. Like last night, at my boss's party, i said to him, ``Dude, dude, can i get you a drink?'' . He said something like, ``Not presently. I'm don't consume alcohol.''

Anyway, after a long day of following Gurgaon's gangs yesterday, I came back to work. I went into the loo, to pee of course, and there he was. He was standing at urinal 3. urinal 2 was empty, and I took urinal 1.

This is an actual conversation.

Me : ``Hey bro, whats up.''
Him: ``Hello.''
Me:``How's it going?''
Him: ``Fine''
Me:``Dude, did you get new spectalcles?''
Him: ``Well, today I went to the markets. To get reactions on the Government decision. It was ok, but a little redundant.''
Me: ``oh''
Him : *smile
Me: ``Dude, no, did you get *slightly louder now* NEW SPECTACLES.''
Him : ``oh. thats what you said.''
Me: ``Yes. Well, did you?''
Him: ``The old one's broke down, so I had to take recourse of these.''

I swear he said that.

ps. sticking to my new promise, i only had one rum, and one straight up shot of run with my boss. When the big bosses arrived, i wasn't looney, and didn't say silly things about the appraisal system

its been a while .... but there's pics of me.

I havn't been here in a while. For a bit, I thought i was off blogging for good... I didn't know what to write about. Does everyone go through that after a few months of blogging? But for my loyal reader, (even the one who is from turkmenistan), i have pics of me :) No, you wont be able to identify me using the pics, but at least you'll know I can get cool pics and don't look like either Mable, Mo or Eminem.

First off, i have a resolution. I'm not going to drink all that much. It gets me in trouble. So the last time I had a drink, it was just one pint of beer. But it was a really expensive Corona.

Here's some of the things I did.

* I went to TC and set up two of my friends and felt really happy in my drunken state about it. Then i woke up the next morning less drunk and still felt happy. I feel so damn girly. Ugh. I need to shake this goody-cupid-feeling off. The two are not seeing each other yet, but i think there's a chance now.

* I got in trouble.

* Now this is bizzare. I went to dinner (the one where i had that corona) with my ex and her date. Ok, she's going to say he wasn't a date, just an old friend, but i'm sure that he was expecting a date. She didn't even tell him I was gonna tag along. I said to her, ``Are you sure I can come? its rude. And you two might get along better without me.'' She said to me, ``No come on. It'll be fun with you. Anyway, i could never want to go on a date with him. He's short, plump, and has really thick spectacles.'' ``Ha ha ha...'' said I.

Anyway, as it turns out, shorty did a little growing up. He certainly was a few inches taller than me. Being on the Berkeley (i dont even know if its spelt right) University squash team had made the plumpness come to his chest and arms from his tummy. And no sight of those damn `thick spectacles'. So he had this hoigty-toighty accent. Had a much earning job in california or something. Went on and on about being stalked by this girl. Lost a bet to my ex which entails buying her dinner. (He never offered me another dinner, though, even though he didn't pay for this one). This one is definately going down in my memoirs.

* Realised, once again, that my ex is really, still, my best friend, and i'm so happy for that. Shit i sound like a girl again. sniff sniff.

* Met my old bud from home (codename : tallman). We drove around, watched Ice Age 2 with his sister. Ate a lot. Wasted our money. Then we went off-road. Grr. Ignore all the mushy part of the blog above, and concentrate here, cos this is where the man part shows.

We went to my secret, little off road bit. Drove fast. Did donuts. Took pics. Talked about women, refering to most of them as, ``hottie-tottie'', ``bitch of a witch'', ``slippy-slidey'', ``slutty-putty'', ``picky-chicky'' or words like that. There was also the occasional ``Oh she's a nice girl. You should have stuck with her.''

Tallman's sister, tallishgirl, told me that they'd been ``looking for a girl for him.'' ``We met one yesterday, here in delhi. She's nice, could be pretty. Is a teacher in an international school... but in kurukshetra. She majored in english... but, um, the only thing is, um, she's not very comfortable with speaking English.''

Ha ha. Me and tallboy started laughing and spilt Jerry Wong's hot and sour soup. Later he said, ``Dude, i dont want to get married. I just met her because of family pressure. I dont want a relationship. I'm fling type. Anyway, this kurukshetra babe wont be to comfortable with us when we go to Goa. '' Ha ha i laughed, and lurched as the steering wheel spun around super fast cos we hit a big stone with the left front wheel. I learned a valuable lesson in life : When FourWheelHigh can't help you up a big rock, shift to FourWheelLow ... the steepest uphills become like downhills. Of course, i didn't learn this soon enough, and the engine (or 'injin' as tallboy says) got really hot and smoky. Like me. Except i don't smoke. Cos its bad for your lungs.

Then we talked about the time I ran away from home. No, i really really ran. I just ran out of my house after a fight with my folks at midnight, and kept running. I didn't stop running for many hours. My parents called him, and the 3 of them drove around the city looking for me. Eventually i came home. The next day, he took me out to coffee, and being a few years elder to me, said, ``Dude, we were worried.'' That's all he said. We talked about shit, but he didn't sermonise. Today, we just laughed about how much I ran that day.

Then we met another old friend, and took her to dinner. But there's no story there, except that i packed my chicken piri piri.

* People should be nice to themselves. Thats a valuable lesson. Not beat themselves up over shit. And not like people that want to make them beat themselves up over shit. See, look at me. I rarely beat myself up. If you want to be hard on yourself, join a karate dojo. I know a great one if you're in Pune.

* The car. If you've seen it, and you now know who I am, bravo. Don't tell anyone, dont walk upto me and say, ``wow, i've been working with you for the past 9 months'' (cos i'm expecting that) My anonymity is shot anyway. Other than the people that already know me from real life, including my spiffy ex, The Compulsive Confessor has known who I am for a while, and is responsible for many of my hits.

Thats all I have to say for a while. Rock 'n' roll, babes.

I'm a crush-ee

I've had a busy week. And I havn't gone out in ages. My schedule now goes : Get up - gym - drink protein drink with breakfast- bathe - go to work late - dont do anything spectacular - get sent somewhere - not get a great story - come back -check blogs - sleep.

Fortunately, the inverted pyramid doesn't apply to blogs (or to TV), so I can start my story now :)

Ok, we have all these interns at office. Two of them are very unfit, and not my type. My roomie, though, thinks they're ok. (Healthy hain yaar!) Anyway, they have an intern friend, who's in another department. Now she, is cute. Not my type, and I'm not interested at the moment. But she is quite cute.

Anyway, now here I am, sitting in my chair. Lounging (yes, i lounge in the newsroom. Sue me). Head tilted back, arms behind my head. Feet off the floor. I happen to swivel the chair a little bit, and there she is. Sitting on a table, just looking at me.

I'm looking at her, but she won't look away. She's just undressing me with her eyes. Ok I made up that last bit, but, you get the point. So, anyway, I wave, and she waves back.

Then later, i'm sitting around, and she'll come sit next to me. ``So, how was that assignment? I liked the story.'' Me: ``er, it was ok, nothing special.'' Pinky *thats what i'll call her*:``Must be really hard. I wish i could do that stuff.''

Ok, the thing here is that the assignment in question wasn't particularly hard. Pretty women are forgiven a lot of things, you know.

Then, again, later, i go to a private-ish place to make a phone call. The three of them are sitting there, chatting and giggling. That's what they do. They giggle. As soon as i enter, stage left, two of them exit, stage right. (If you want to imagine that in your head, you'll have to switch the left and right to match the geographical directions).

And she's just there chatting with me. ``Oh, that day when you dropped us in your car, we forget to ask you if you wanted to come to dinner with us!''
Me: ``That's ok. I had plans.''
Pinky: ``You had plans??''
Me: ``Yes I have a life.''
Pinky: ``Oh thank god.''
Me :``Don't worry, we'll get dinner some other time.''
Pinky:``yes yes... we should.''

Now i try and try, but I cannot, Can Not, get the point of that conversation.

Everytime she's in the room, and i'm walking around, I know that this girl is looking at me. I have no idea why. If I were a woman, i could write a post about sexual harrasment, and 132 comments and a fight. And about how I hate that my body is treated like an object. But i'm a man, so i actually quite am in favour of it.

And, i think that another woman has a bit of a crush on my. But more on that in another post :)

Ok ok, so i'm halfway cute, but i'm not like, a male Tyra Banks or anything. But who am I to complain. So I sit down, lean back in my chair, flex my biceps, and smile. It would have been better if my roomie hadn't suddenly said, ``Dude, you've been working out 2 weeks. You have no biceps.''

I'm not attracted to this intern, but it is a big ego boost to be a crush-ee. Bed time now, I have arms and abs at the gym tomorrow.

By the way, its a little late, but I've discovered LimeWire. Land Ahoy, me hearties.

ah shoes.

I know that somewhere, this blog comes with the promise of being funny and completly non-serious oftener than non-funny and serious. But i figure two funny posts, followed by one that's just half hearted, followed by two that are serious-ish, are a decent trade off.

If you remember my new shoes (if you dont scroll down to the previous post), they just got done with Baptism. Lots of standing around, some sprinting, lots of soot, some dead people. Looks like a promising start. I still have to get used to this anatomical insole though... feels a little uncomfortable sometimes.

I got sent to cover the meerut fire... one of my biggest spots yet. For you non-reporter types, a spot is when something happens... like salman goes to jail. The opposite of a spot is a special, like what salman and his cell-mate talked about, and the words that the the cell-mate used to describe Katrina. There are more types of stories, like stolen stories and plants, but thats another lesson.

Anyway, so I found myself, on my day off, in the back of an Indica, my photographer next to me, stuck in a traffic jam on the way to meerut. TV crews zipped one way, and ambulances the other. I was wearing what i call my `babe shirt'. Its brown corduroy, and supposed to be worn unironed. I had no notepad, no pen, nothing.

If you don't already know, there was a big fire in meerut, and a lot of people died.

All the way there, for some reason, I had this little cuticle-thing on my finger, and it kept pissing me off. I bit, and i scratched, but i couldn't get rid of it. I swear this is a true, inconsequential, but true story.

Anyway, 10 minutes before we reach the spot, my photographer yells, ``stop the car,'' and jumps out. ``I have to prepare for the night,'' he says.

Prepare for the night? eh? What's he going to do, arrange a room, fix up with a net-cafe to keep it open all night?

``What will you drink, is rum ok?''
Rum? I think? rum? people are dying here, and he wants rum?
`Sir, we're getting late, can't we get rum later?''
``We're already two hours late,'' he says, ``5 minutes can't change things.''

Ok, i seethe. Get the rum. Only later that night did I realise how much more 14 years of experience counted than my 1 and a half, and i thank god for that rum.

I've never actually sat down with a man, and drank alcohol for no reason. Its not something I see the point in. I'll drink when i'm out, wth friends. Here I was, with a 35 year old man in his underwear, and we finished a half bottle of rum.

I think that to get burnt alive is the worst way to die. When you die, your terror is frozen on your face, but every shred of humanness and dignity has been stripped from you. I think that its hell for a dead person's loved ones to come identify them, and seperate them from other people that all look the same. But I think that the after the first couple of times, you get used to it, and dont have to look away and cover your face. The smell though, you can't ever actually get used to.

And as an aside, i realised that if your MotoRazr V3i runs out of battery, NOBODY will be able to help you. They'll just say, ``Nice phone sir, no charger?'' or ``Ha ha ha, you should have got a nokia, then i could give you a charger'' or ``thats why i didn't get this phone''. Yes. Fuck you too.

Unfortunately, i didn't meet any pretty women on this trip.

hmm ok, this was quite a random post. I've run out of things to say.

and I should sleep. I've missed gym for 3 days now because of work. Ah well.

You can tell a man by his shoes.

For some reason, I have no idea what to blog about. Its not that I don't have anything to say ... I do. I'm not sure if I want to say a lot of this here. My blog isn't really anon anymore. Which shouldn't matter, since I just have an average of 100 people visiting everyday. (I also have someone from turkey!) But it does.
Well, anyway, I didn't have much to do last evening, and I was bored. So I went out and bought shoes and shorts. Its a man's version of retail therapy. I took my 15 minutes, and I spent a fourth of my salary.

Anyway, I thought that you (the reader) should meet my shoes. I suddenly realised that I have a lot of them. There's sporty, cool, and character in them. Shoes, meet the readers, readers, shoes. Now judge me.

_____________________ _____________________

These are my new Adidas shoes. They look like sherpa shoes. If you think that Sherpas don't wear expensive boots, think again. They wear expensive boots, they just buy them for cheap. These babies, I have never actually worn. So they have no history, no character. But they are quite comfortable. As I was buying them, the salesman kept saying things like, ``Sir, comfort insole''. ``Sir, bacteria resisitant.'' ``Sir, High quality leather''. Eventually i realised he was reading off the tag that came with the shoe.

____

Now these babies, are a testament to Why. Nike. Sucks. These, when I bought them, were the most expensive shoes I owned. But it took just four months for them to wear out. The right shoe started fraying, and the hooks for the laces tore, and they don't tie well anymore. Later I realised that they began fraying because of the friction with the gear-shift on my bike. (if anyone can guess which bike I had from that info, 10 bucks. Or dinner if you're a girl)(if you already know, then you get nothing. Unless you're a girl, in which case, we can arrange dinner.)
_____

Say Hello. I know they look terrible. I know they're torn. I know they're not waterproof anymore. I know the suede has rotted at one place. I know the laces are frayed beyond repair. But these are my favourite shoes. They're slightly uncomfortable now, but I love them for the way i feel in them. These are Salomon hiking shoes. My mom bought me these for 3500 bucks, when Salomon was owned by Adidas. They've lasted me more than six years now. I've lost count. And i'm not about to get rid of them anytime soon. I will cry when i have to let them go. They've seen me through so much. Like the time me and some friends got stuck in a flash flood, and I had to run 4 km back to the village, in the pouring rain on the side of a hill. Or the hike in the himalays, where I slipped and fell, only to look up and see a Monal Pheasant (a very very rare bird). These shoes have stepped in pools of blood. They were therewhen I made friends with Maratha Light Infantry Jawans in Uri. They were there when boys my age in Dibrugarh told me why they're so afraid of the army. They were there when we let leeches feed of us in Nagarhole (its just the bad blood that goes, and its not painful). The last time I wore them, my left foot went ankle-deep into a drain in a Delhi Slum, while people around carried charred bodies out through narrow lanes. These are my shoes. These shoes are me.
_____

These are clima-cool running shoes. There's more ventilation in them than actual shoe. The only place I've actually gone for long runs in these are in Goa, where I realised all the ventilation doesn't do very well with sand. I wear them to the gym. The cool thing about these shoes is, when I walk into a shoe shop wearing them, all the salespeople turn to look at them. I get things like, ``Sir, those are Adidas Clima-cool model number whatever. Beautiful shoes.'' Really. I swear.
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These two pairs are my black shoes. One of them I just bought, cos i realised I didn't have any shoes of this Genre. They're clunky, and not me, but they go with jeans. The other one are the shoes I wear to job interviews. I don't really wear white socks with them (the socks pictured are my roomies). I just put the white socks there cos i used to wear very similar shoes with white socks in school :) (st. mary's boys, by the way). No history here.
_____
These floaters and chappals... well, the chappals I just wear at home, and get pissed of if anyone takes outside my house. The floaters are partners in crime with my salomons. Except they just accompany me everywhere, and i wear them when I'm lounging. Yes, I lounge. They're adidas too, and torn as hell too. The good thing about floaters is that you dont need to pack them. You cn just hook them to the outside of your backpack, and you're ready to go. You can even lounge at a railway station. The velcro on them isn't so velcro anymore, so they dont stay on very well, which makes them all the better for lounging.
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Those are my shoes. Now i have to go to work, and I think i'll wear my new shoes today. But before I leave you, here's a pic of shoes I would kill for. (sorry for the image-heavy post. But hey, its my blog)

This is not funny (and some blog reviews)

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Happy April Fool's day, y'all.

I went to TC, again. For once, I did not actually enjoy myself here. I went for a friend's birthday thingy, but it was not really fun. There were too many people I didn't know, and too few of them that I found interesting.

I did have a certain amount to drink though, and there were some pretty girls, but that's not what this post is about.

For the record, by 1.oo am, i'd drunk about 4 vodkas, and a beer. Then, the birthday boy decided he wanted to leave. Always a bad idea, cos the best music starts at 1, when the DJ is done with the neo-rock things. I wanted to go home, cos i live down the road from TC, but the Birthday boy didn't let me. ``We have to go to last chance, in Gurgaon, and you're coming.'' So i went. I had So driving in the car with me... 2 minutes into the drive, she wanted to be dropped home, so i dropped her home, then i was driving alone to gurgaon, slightly drunk.

*** This is where the zen part of the story begins ***

I though I would drive badly, but I really wasnt. I was driving really well. I was shifting perfectly, always at the same RPMs, (even though i don't have a tachometre, i knew), I was dropping a gear at just the right moment before every turn. I was hitting the turns exactly at the apex, and powering out really well. At a few points, i could feel the rear wheel drive slide out just that little bit, and then find traction again. I saw the police barricades (you know, to stop speeding drunk drivers) and went past them at the perfect angle, so i didn't have to turn at all.

And i wasn't unsafe, I saw red lights, traffic intersections, breaks in the median, all coming, and slowed down the safe amount for them all.

Halfway through the drive, i realised i was going to blog about this. And i've been thinking about what to say since then.

The stereo was playing, but i wasn't hearing it. I was just driving. I know that just 3 songs played the whole way, the last was a live version of `Black Magic Woman'.

Just as i was about the enter gurgaon, i had one of those moments of clarity. I used to have them all the time as a mountain biker zipping down the side of a rocky hill, but this is the first time I've had one driving. I knew i was driving well. I knew i wasn't high anymore. I knew i should be home. ``What,'' I thought, ``am I doing?'' ``Why am going to a place i know i will not like to meet people i have already not liked? I think I began thinking too much, though, cos my moment of clarity went away, and I thought, sheesh, i'm here, in gurgaon, already.

***Zen part ends here, only to continue later***
Then I went to this place, which is on the top floor of a mall. As soon as I entered (i had to pay, more than my haircut), in my leftover-zen state, the first thing I realised, was that everyone at this place was incredibly ugly. (no offence to all the people there, but you all were, except me) The music was bad. The people were pushy. (no excuse me, smile, hello, just push, leave sweat on other person). I bought a drink for Rs. 300. I didn't drink it. I didn't want to, because I wanted to do the zen drive again. I left the drink, gave my leftover coupons to the birthday boy, and left.

As I walked to the parking lot, i knew i wouldnt drive like that again. I knew that was a once in a lifetime drive. It couldn't, nay - shouldn't- happen again.

***Zen part 2 starts here ***

But I was wrong.

This time, I drove back, doing the same things i did earlier. Except, this time, I did them out of instinct. I didn't have to look for the line at the turn, I just found it. I was constantly at 120 (which is a fair amount for a top-heavy 4X4), but at the corners, i was suddenly at 70. It was perfect. I felt like one with the universe. If i were driving to Jaipur, i'd be enlightened by now.

***Zen part 2 ends here***

Also in today's bulletin.
# I think i will drink less. Its part of my new fitness thing, even though i've never been a big-time drinker.
# A chick at TC asked me, ``If a person who loves bikes is a biker, whats a person who loves cars?'' (in my head, i'm still a biker, by the way)
# I have 2 days off. But my moms coming in for a sudden business trip, so i'm going to have to clean the house, get rid of the alcohol and my flat-mate's condoms.

-4

Deltoids, Biceps and forceps.

My cover is pretty much shot. My dear, sweet, gentle, very pretty, extremely fit, very generous, very nice, tallish (but not taller than me), very musical ex-girlfriend found my blog. And i'm sure she's going to be a regular visitor now.

I've joined a gym, here near my new house. I've decided to start a new life. Its not going to have a lot of change from my old life, except now i'm going to go the gym regularly. I'm not a first time gymmer, by the way. I worked out a fair amout earlier, and was all bulky and hefty once. But i'm skinny now.

The gym i've joined is called, very imaginatively, ``Fitness Centre''. It cost 720 bucks a month. And i've paid another 500 bucks to get a ``coach''.

The coach is a man named ``Nepali Singh'', and looks very much like one of these men:

Yep, he walks around like that too, with his arms held away from his torso. I think all body-builders do that, because their wings (laterals, i think) get in the way.

The man's bicep is as big as my head (though I must confess my head is not very big). His waist is about a little bigger than mine, but his thigh is like my torso. Its like two of my torsos stuck to my waist.

Except when he introduced himself to me, he said, ``Hello, i'm Nepali Singh,'' in a voice that was quite, whats the word ... sqeaky. If i called his house, and he answered, I'd think it was Mrs. Nepali Singh, or Nepali Singh Junior (both of whom, i'm sure, are a lot bigger than me).

A lot of the body builders i've met have squeaky voices. Except Arnold, except I never met him. Here's what i think, I think if you work out too much, there's a high chance that your thigh muscles will become too big, and squish your testicles. And hence, the squeaky voice. (if you don't get the connection, er, umm, go to another blog)

Which is why, i'm never going to be like that. I could be like that if i wanted to. So what if Arnold started training when he was 3? Seriously, though, I figure that in 3 months, I'll be back to my original form. I just have to watch what i eat, not drink too much beer, and go to bed early. which is kind of pointless, if you think about it.

Of course, all of this working out and then working for money has gotten me really tired, so i think I'll go to bed soon.

In other news :

* I stole. From my boss. Twice. Once i opened his drawer and took a Twix. Once i asked for his pen in the morning meeting, and didn't return it. Some things ae so much better on the sly. Now i just hae to have a fling with a married woman.

* My dad has brought me a dozen of the most amazing mangoes from home. All you north-indian and south-indian types don't know the joy of an Alphonso Mango from Ratnagiri.

* My ex is a really nice chick, and she lends me money. And I was evil, and once sold her a DVD player that i got free. And she has amazing dress sense.

* oh and if you ever run the spell-check in blogger ... it doesn't recognise the word `blog'.

My new haircut.

I've been hanging out with some gay guys this week. They were pretty cool, and I find i'm not as homo-phobic as i thought I was. What I do like about gay people is they wear their sexuality on their sleeves (at least the one's i know), and I think we would all be a lot better off (im talking about the straight people) if we all do that. And what i like about gay people is that they know real lesbian women. So cool.

I had a hair-cut. My theory is that men use hair-cuts to define their sexuality. Not the hair-cut, exactly, but where we cut our hair . Like me, and all my buddies from back home, all of us cut our hair in the same barber-shop. Its called cut-in-time, and they (now) charge 25 bucks for a job. At the end of it, they give you a nice, completely non-invasive, head-maalish. At one point, the store split into two, the other being `fine cut'. We chose our loyalties, dependingon whether we got along with the barbers or the owners.

On the other hand, all the `metro-sexual', and/or gay guys i know, all had expensive haircuts. Haircuts where the coiffeur gets you coffee, and doesn't cut, he `styles'. Where the man next to you gets a facial, and the woman next to you gets her eyebrows done. Sometimes even the man gets hs eyebrows done.

Its not about how much the job costs, its about the barbershop. Where I used to go, women are NOT allowed, unless they;ve brought their 3 year old kids, even though we're all completely clothed.

In my olde shop, I didn't have to tell the barber what to do. If i wanted something different, i'd just say, ``boss, thoda chota''.

Since I came to Delhi, i've had a problem with finding a decent barber. I knew that all my buddies would laugh if i told them i'd spent more than Rs. 25 on a hair cut, so i hunted, and found a guy that charged on Rs. 30. But the problem here is that a 30 buck hair cut in delhi means a small hole in the wall shop, where you dont know how old the blades are, and the barber chews (and spits) paan.

A year in delhi, and i've had just three haircute. The rest I had at home. The second time, i found this 30 buck guy... and I hated it. Other than smelling bad, the guy gave me the worst haircut i've EVER had. I don't obsess over my nothing-special hair, but this was the pits. I couldnt even comb it right.

So a few days ago, i decided I would spend some more money.

I did something i'd never done only once before. I went to a place where Men AND women can get a haircut. (I hope none of my buddies at home read this... oh wait they won't, they're not very good at reading)

As soon as i sat down, the barber ran his hands through my hair, and said , ``Too oily... should i shampoo?''. I'd been to tc last night, and hadnt bathed. And since i was already here, i said, ``ok". I hated it. He put me in a special chair, which i thought would make for good sex, if i had it at home. Except now my head was hanging into a basin, and the barber was shampooing it with shampoo i couldn;t recognise. I have NEVER had a man run his hands through my hair like that. If my hair was oily at Fine Cut, he'd just spray it with water, straighten it out, and chop-chop.

Then he sat me down, put cotton around my neck, a towel over my shoulders, and then tied an apron around me. Except my normal aprons were mono-chrome.. this one had a dragon on it. Really.

Then he put two clips in my hair. Clips? for a haircut. I felt... girly, almost. Then he gave me longest haircut I have ever had in my life. First he did one side, then the other, then took off one clip, cut, then the other cut, then levelled it out, cut. And all i wanted was a normal, short hair-cut.

Then he decided to massage my face. He spread some white moisturiser like cream thing on my face and spread it all over my face. WITH HIS HANDS. The he began to massage. I have never had a man touch my lips as much as he did. He decided to massage my nose also, and i couldn't breath for almost 45 seconds, twice. I couldn;t open my mouth, cos his hands were so near.

Then he wiped my face clean with a wet towel, and offered me tea or coffee, which i declined, cos i didn't know if it was to be paid for. So i'm cheap. Sue me.

But at the end of it, i think i'm satisfied with the hair cut. Looks just like Fine Cut, except at 6 times the cost.

Here's what i think. I think, that even though it may not be cool anymore, i'm being forced into metro-sexuality, against my will, all because i can't find the right barber. My next hair cut will be when i visit home.

And now, the weekend is over / my tag

I worked on saturday. All the people i knew were out of town that night, or maybe they suddenly stopped liking me since last week, but i didnt go anywhere.

Sunday night, me, my punjabi roomie, and another guy sat down in my living and knocked back a whole load beer. It takes a fair amount of beer to get someone high, so i figure we all must have had a fair amount. My roomie went to bed. The other guy and I, for some reason, watched women's weightlifting at the commonwealth.

Lessons learnt :
* not all weight-lifting chicks are uncute.
* cute weightlifting women are rare, and never win.
* I have to HAVE TO start working out again.
yes thats all the lessons we learnt. But letching at weightlifters is not very educative.
My friend, by the way, has been going out with this girl for 5 years, something that i have not ever come close to doing.

_____

I'd promised to come up with a tag thingy.
So here it is.
Rules (because life is about rules)
1. If you're a girl, you have to be just wearing your underwear when doing this tag. Even if you're in office. Don't worry, its a short tag.
2. If you're a boy, you have slap your belly 5 times and say, ``Ho diddly diddly'. If you have six pack abs, so do I.
3. When you're done, you have to make yourself a promise to plant a tree, not use too much plastic, and ride a bicycle to work when you can. Come on, if we don't the earth is going to kill itself.
4. Not mandatory, like the first 3, but if you answer this tag, drop me a line at fourwheelhigh.blogspot.com, or fasterjamesfaster@yahoo.com
5. Tag 6 people ( you know, that whole six degrees of seperation thingy?)

____ The 4wd tag :____

1) What kind of car/ bike person are you? This includes bicycles.
2) You opinion : Why are all men turned on by women that dig other women, when the man in question is not even in the picture?
3) You've been in a relationship for 2 years, and you realise you're not in love. What do you do? Be honest, or find some way to pin the blame on your soon to be ex.
4) Which is your favourite pair of shoes. Why?
5) What is the best way to bring up a conversation with your significant other about a threesome?
6) Did you ever run away from home?
8) Is it true that rum doesn't leave hangovers?

____

there. That is my tag. And my people are :
Ekta (cos she tagged me first), Bloggerhead (which is a cool name, like the shark, except with blogger instead of hammer), Shivangi (even though i'm a wee wee bit afraid of her), Jupes (or Aureliana Cortez, which is her hot latino name), Gautami Tripathi (i dont know her, really, but i think she needs to lighten up:} ) and Mahi (cos she's funny)

the weekend approaches.

And as it so happens, i now have a japanese name.

Your Japanese Name Is...

Shigekazu Matsumoto

What's" your Japanese Name?

-------------

In case I meet a hot brazilian chick in a little skirt and pouty lips, I also have a hot brazilian name.

Your Sexy Brazilian Name is:

Antônio Cabral

What's" Your Sexy Brazilian Name?

-----

Hai, matsumoto sensei

tagged. Like a non-flu-chicken.

So i've seen some people complain about being tagged. I'm not. I like it... and that its a first... so i'm happy. Thank you Ekta.

ok the rules :
1. The tagged victim has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover.
2. You have to mention the sex of the target.
3. Tag 8 victims to join this game and leave a comment on their comments saying they've been tagged.
4. If tagged the 2nd time, there's no need to post again.
__________________

Here goes.
Sex : er, female, as though anyone had any doubts about that. Better if its two females :)

point 1) She can't be physically unfit. She doesn't have to be, like the fittest ever, cos i'm not, but she cant be totally unfit. Tall is good... most of my exs have been tall, if not taller than me. So, i'm shallow. sue me.

point 2) Slightly slutty is good. just the right amount, you know.

point 3) She HAS to wear nice underwear. No granny chuddys. And Clean! Red is good. I mean, if i can wear nice underwear, why cant she?

point 4) Experimentation baby. Penicillin wasn't discovered by boring, old, staid jesuits.

point 5) She should NOT fall in love with me. Ok, she can, but she should NOT be suicidal. There is nothing harder than dealing with an ex threatening to kill herself.

point 6) She gets extra points if she can ride a motorcycle. Superpoints if she can ride a bullet.

point 7) If she has a boyfriend, extra points again. Married... man, i know we don't admit it often enough ladies, but being with a married woman (that is of course, not married to us) is every mans fantasy. Right up there with princess leia.

point 8) ok, i think this is my only sappy point. She has to be a good *hugger*. Cos i'm not, you know. I dont hug often enough. I dont like hugging most men, unless they're my really good friends, and i dont randomly hug women either. So there.

_______

I know i have to tag 8 people, thats a rule, i know, but I wont right now. Instead, i'll think up my own tag, and pass that on instead.

tres bien

I'm back again.

Like Rocky. You know, all the parts. Oh and by the way, there's a movie called `aryan' out soon. From what i see, it looks like all the rockys rolled into one. From the trailer, its got the running on cold streets (rocky 2 or 3?) Pushups (all of them) and the clincher, its got the exact same scene as in rocky 5, you know, when he lets the big mean guy smack him upside the head once, and then hits him when he tries it again?

Anyway, this post is short. I'm typing in a cybercafe with a keyboard that has only hindi characters. Good thing i've been typing since i was 5.

some quick takes :
* today's saturday. Don't have a plan yet, so if anyone (ladeez wonly, pliss) wants to hang out, post here, or email me at fasterajamesfaster@yahoo.com, before 6pm today ,leave your number.
* heh heh ok i know that sounded desperate :) But what the hell.
* Up until yesterday, i had never sat down and had a drink with my mom. She had a pina colada, and when my drink came, i wishd i'd chosen something other than a raging bull, which is just tequila and kahlua.
*I met one of the hottest women i've ever met. But her name's `Sandhu', and she's training to be a helicopter pilot, and when i said hi, she said, ``hello sir.'' ``So, do you like it here?'' ``Sir yes sir.''
* the net is still a little distance away from getting itself a portal inside my house. in a week or so, i should be posting merrily.

-4

i'm back.

Like a drunk jerry maguire. I'd rather be a stainless-steel-handed arnie, but he says, ``I'll be back.''

I havn't been posting cos i've been working. Travelling also. And busy with other things that make life busy. I was so much happier being a kid, climbing up trees, and hiding stolen copies of Hustler there.

I'm a littel freaked out. Cos someone claims to know who I am. I think they're wrong, but still, slightly freaked. Maybe i'll go into exile, and deny this whole thing. My stig-ness is slippiung away. You know what BBC did to the white-stig, right? they made him drive his car of the launch end of a Aircraft carrier .. INTO THE SEA.

Well, anyway, here's a woman story.

I went out with some buddies, and some of their buddies from Chandigarh. One of them was a hefty chandigarh chick... not fat, just, hefty. So anyway, i went to So's place, with a bottle of Bacardi. We wanted to drink it, and I asked for mine neat. ``Hah, drink like a man,'' I said.

Well, anyway, then someone got beer, and i was looking for a bottle opener... this chandigarh girl just takes the bottle from me, and pops it in the mouth, and POP, its open. I can't do that. She's more of a man than i am. So now i'm scared of her. anyway, her ex joins us, he's a big punjabi guy too. And I, am not a big punjabi guy.

Later, we go to TC, and we're drinking... she wants to pee, and she says, ``hey gimme company,''
I said, ``eh? I can't pee with you, they dont allow that here,''
She : ``ha ha ha ... i mean, walk me to the loo,''
If you've been to tc, the loo is not far. And its n ot dangerous cos those two big bouncer guys (who one told me to take creatine supplements) stand right outside it.

But i walked her... and there was this MIND BLOWING hot woman waiting outside the loo... so i waited and said, ''hello''.
And MindBlowinglyHOt said ``hello''.
and we made some inane conversation with the bigstronggirl not in it.
Anyway, so this hot woman's boyfreind joins her in the wait. ... and my friend says, ``oh you'll are together... so are we'' and she takes my hands (i'm standing behind her), and wraps them around her tummy... and i can feel her tires, like they'd do good on a TATA 407.

I tried saying ``No no ... we're just friends'' but it did n't work.. anyway the hot chicky's bf was getting all feely too.

Anyway, so, the last straw was when this wierd ass girl, tiny, like, really tiny, waled out and said to my friend
'' Oh your boyfriend is still waiting for you... so sweet''. My friend said, ``yeh, he's sweet, i like him''

So i thought : Hmm ... big girl, more manly than me, i'm not attracted.
And i thought : hmm ... big ex, also more manly than me, i'm scared.
So i said, ``fuck it'' again, and walked off.

And i spent the rest of the week working. It's the month end, and i'm poor.

-4

Come one come all to the lucky dip stall.

That's the stall I always avoided at the fete when i was a kid.

I like fishing-the-bottle... i always won.

So, here's a litte contest :)

All you have to do is answer one single question. Winner will get a free dinner for one, with me :) (conditions apply. See below)

--------the question--------

In the hit Hindi Language Film, Rang De Basanti, on what day of the week do a group of young nd not-so-young friend take over the All India Radio building?

---

If you havn't seen the movie, fear not. Here's another question (stolen of course, unlike the above one, which is original)

How do you make Donuts?

---------- ta daa----------

(Dinner for one award is only applicable to lady applicants. Gentleman applicants can feel happy that they have watched the damn move more than once and/or know about donuts. If the concerned lady applicant has a female lover, the award will be compounded to dinner for two with me without hesitation.)

Feb is a short month.

And most of mine has been quite anal:)

If anyone missed me, my internet stopped working at home. And I can't post from work. There's always people looking over my shoulder, trying to peek in on my mail (interns) or see what i'm filing (boss) or just curious (everyone else).

I've been ill. I havn't gone out anywhere at all. Lust hanging out around at home.

I read War For News... and i cant get it. I mean, ok, a lot of it is accurate... but how in hell's name, do these people get the damn time to post so much???? Don't they work? It must be hard for them to post from work too. Unless they're all on the desk, and free most of the time.

I want to go out tonight, but i probably shouldn't. I should sit and home and watch a shitty movie like along came polly or something.

Im sleepy, but i have to work. Why can't i be more like warfornews people and not have to?

Its saturday again :)

I saw Rang De Basanti. Very nice movie. Makes you think. Really, at some point in my life I was all, ``balls, i'm not gonna let him break the queue.'' But eventually, you give in and say, ``what the hell, its just one person, how many can you stop, and he so much bigger than me anyway.'' So I think i'm a little more inspired now. It would have liked the movie a lot more if Aamir Khan didn't make me and 200 other people who paid for the 10.30 show wait till 11.00. And none of them complained. Well, i didn't either, but i went across to tgifs and had a vodka.

I'd say more about the movie, but that would be a spoiler, and not much fun. So I won't.

Its been an interesting week. I went to TC midweek, where I got a little buzzed, and danced with some random woman. She said her name was `Mistree'. I didn't believe her, but i didn't argue cos of all the Vodka. (I love the russians)

I think I will just stay home today. My bad tummy is, well, bad. I think i'll sleep. and wake up tomorrow and go for a run. If i were in Bombay, i'd go to Priyadarshini Park and run. But this is not bombay.

Fun Friday

Thats a teeny tiny alliteration. Fun Friday.

So anyway, i've figured out my problem with getting hooked up : Women.
Well, not women as such, but that I dont know any. Well, i do, a lot, but not in this city. I've been here, for what ... two years now, but the whole time i've been with my ex. I havn't really met any new girls. So there. Now i have to find a solution to that problem.

So last night, i decided to bond with another guy. I called Z, who used to be a classmate, and now organises concerts for a lot of money.

Its funny, him and I were never really best friends, but this time he just talked for hours. Like about why he broke up with his ex, and the girl that caused it. Of course it was all manly talk, not girly girly. So it was peppered with expletives, car talk and money talk.
``So how come you guys broke up? you were going pretty strong,'' he said.
So i found myself in a place where i had to talk. I mean, he'd told me all. He'd broken the secret-barried (you know, men don't tell sad stories to other men unless they're really good friends).
So anyway i told. Not in full detail, though ... i guess i wasn't as ready as him.

Anyway, after that , i decided we needed to go offroading. So we drove around Sanjay-Van, looking for an entry. Eventually, we found one, and at 2 am, entered.... it was a slight climb, and at some points, i needed to switch to FourWheel.
After some blind reversing, some paint scratching, and some accidental hitting of the wipers, we were fairly into the forest.

I felt all man. I felt adventurous. I felt cool. I felt , er, a little scared.

``Dude, what if there are cops inside?'' Apparently, he was a little scared too.
Other than the cops, it was all dark, and you know...
Anyway, after driving for a while I said, ``Dude, you know we won't be able to reverse if we go in any deeper,'' I said. But since we were both men, and had to be brave, we kept going.
``Hey, i know where this road goes,'' he says, ``to the dirty nallah.''
oh.
``In fact, i think i can smell it now... man it reeks'' he says. So i stuck my nose out of the window and smelt. Nothing.
``Yeh man, i smell it too,'' i say. ``Yuck. Lets get out of here,'' Once i said that, i actually could smell it. I;ll never know if it was actually there, or my mind invented it to give me good reason to leave.

But i would like to go do that in the day. When its not dark.

whazzup ma nigga!!

I just realised, i'm part nigger. My uncle's wife's sister's married to a big black man. And they have a little kid too, who looks full black cos my uncle's wife's sister's a mallu, and most of them look like thin black people anyway.

So cool, is that not? Ok, so i may not have nigger blood, but at least i have some nigger sprit. I'm sure if i actually meet the addition to the family, i'll gain some more sprit.

So all you black people out there, welcome me to the hood.

Ladies : You know what they say about us niggers!!!!

Saturday night, daaance, I like the way you move...

What is it about days like New years day? Or every week, saturday day. Its strange, when I wasn't so single, I could do the same thing I did last night, and it wouldn't bother me at all. Same thing = nothing.

If I went to a club, that was good. If i went to a Priya-Village Roadshow theater and watched Shaadi No. 1 that was good. If I sat at home and drank wine with friends, that was good. If me and my girlfriend just chatted, that was good. Even if she was away and i sat all alone at home, downloading porn and playing NFS Most Wanted in turns, i still was ok.

so yesterday i thought, `hmm saturday night, the new year party hangover is still there, so lets do something.' Of course with work people, you can't party a whole lot, cos they don't wanna. So i thought, ok, maybe old college buds. Called. they were working. I can't go anyhwhere alone. Some people do. They're just wierd. So i went to a nice, vegetarian dinner, with friends that were dressed in trackies and sweatshirts. Yay.

I read somewhere that women are most depressed on new years day, christmas and valentines. I think christmas doesn't so much apply to apna heathen Indian women, but the other two, possibly. What about men, though?

Ok, i dont get depressed much. I just look at naked women on the net, and imagine i'm actually driving to fast-ass cars. But it can't be very good for single men either no?

I think valentines day is coming up. This will be my first single valentine in some five years.

--
oh , and as an aside, I was watching CNN-IBN yesterday, and there was a brilliant something on female infanticide and foeticide. Old story that was broken by the papers a week or so ago, but i think I saw this person doing a very long report. Very nice. And, this reporter if veddy veddy hot.

She doesn't have a comment thingy on her blog, but if i'm ever in her town, or she in mine (well, its not mine, but i live here) I should like have a drink with her.

Wimmen Lessons.

Maxim has a piece called '100 things you need to know about women.' Its actually enough fuel for some 50 blogs. Some are pointless like ``she's gonna outlive you'' or ``let her win arguments''.

Some are good. Like, ``Most wimen will not have sex for the first time with a guy unless their legs are waxed. If your date shows up and you spot hairs, she's trying to keep her self in line''.

My topic for today, though is. no 67: Kiss her before two dates have gone by or you'll be `friended'.

f.r.i.e.n.d.e.d

hmm. that, my friends, is a very scary word.

It's a phenomenon that you can't get past easily.

If you're friends, then life gets complicated.

If you're just two people, and you make a move on her, then there's two choices. Either she gets made a move on, or she says, ``what the hell are you doing'' or ``er, i think we need to slow down'' or ``I'm sorry, i'm married''.

If you're already friends, then it's like the mozzarella cheese on a pizza (not pizza hut, i think they use cheddar). You know, all sticky, and gooey.

The problem with me is, I have to be slightly buzzed to come on strong enough. And then it doesn't work, cos i probably wont know the girl at all :)

If i go to coffee with her, i just talk, well, nice things.

Damn, i have a problem.

Fiesta, anyone? its got 3 exciting options!

I bought a copy of the Indian edition of Maxim. Much more toned down, i tell ya. But i'm not gonna pay 450 rupayas for the furren one.

So, they list cars of the year (with pics and specs) as the ferrari f430, Bentley GT convertible, Porche Cayman S, Jag S type, Aston's DS (so hot), H3 (so passe), Impreza (here i come WRC). Bang in the cente is Abhishek Bacchan with `Ford Fiesta' tattood on his arm. Eh? What did they think? Random men are going to go through all those dream cars and say, ``oh well, I'll just take the 101 bhp fiesta, which stops pulling in third gear''?

Kanta's Feni.

So i spent New Years on a little, secret beach in goa. There were a lot of people, but not enough to disqualify the 'secret' tag.It was mostly a get back-back-with-old-buddies-new-year. There were some drunken women, but this post is not about that.

It's about Feni.

The national drink of goa, as you may all know. What's funny is that few of the locals I met seem to like it. Strange, because it's good stuff.
There are two kinds of Feni. `Branded' stuff, that comes in packaged bottles, with names like 'Big Boss', `Beach Bonanza' and `Mogambo'. Ok, the last two i made up, but Big Boss is famous. The bottles are made of plastic, and that is what seperates the men from the boys.We men drink `Local Feni'. It comes in glass bottles, and they have labels like, Royal Challenge, Real Whisky and Vat 69. What i mean is, its packed in old bottles by the local seller.

So, me and Horseyboy spent an hour looking for one such famous retailer. Near Baga Beach, while other, lesser men, were siping vodka or whiskey or some such lesser drink, we found this man.Kanta.

He was lean and wiry, and you could tell that in his day, he'd lifted his share of weights and beaten up random white people.

Well, anyway, we chatted with him and his drunk customers in the little country bar.

Us : ``What percent alcohol does Feni have?''
Kanta ``Very High degree. Ay patrao, what degree? "(to a drunk)
Old man, with broken teeth, as he gets his glass filled with a 200 ml shot of the stuff : ``180 degree''
Kanta : ``Pheh. Whatchasayin men? Nai nai... yeh 20 degree hai.''

When we asked him what was the difference between the local stuff and the properly bottles stuff, he poured some on a table, and lit it. Bright blue flame.

Anyway. we drank. A lot.

Happy new year all. Hic.