Thursday, December 31, 2009

Happy New Year, fools. :)

It doesn't feel like it's the eve of a new year.

On the contrary, it feels like any normal Thursday evening.

Minus the citizens of Madras who have decided to stop hating each other and have joined in merry-making and some other happy celebrations.

What are you doing for New Year's? Have you jotted down any resolutions?

I haven't. For lack of better phrase, I can't be bothered. I never keep them anyway.

So, you unicorn turds.

Have a happy new year.

Don't get hit by a bus!


No, really.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

I've utterly ruined the meaningfulness of this. Sorrypleaseforgiveme.

Yeah, so I kinda just realized that Makuluwo tagged me for the "write a letter to your 16 year old self" thing. On the 27th of November. It's now the 23rd of December.

Aren't I the most tech-savvy person in like ever? -.-

& I KNOW. I'm not over the age of 16. Who knew, right? :)

& I KNOW. I think everyone's already moved on from this tag.

BUT I still want to do it, OKAY? Thank you.

So I'm just going to do what I do best.

Bear with me. :D

Dear 16 year old me-

FIRST of all don't open letters from people stating to be you and shizz. What if it's some psycho bio-terrorist sending you an anthrax sample? :O I reprimand you.

So let's get back to you. Me. Us. Whatev.

I'm currently at this point of time 30 years old. I know. You actually made it to this age. We're all surprised.

So now you're probably out of school, and headed to university. You skipped a grade, right? You lucky girl, you.

Some pointers- Drop anything mathematical. But you knew that, right?

Start going to the gym- which won't work, btw till you're 27. & even then... :[

Oh and invest in some rabbit cages. Don't ask. Just do it.

You'll end up the CEO of a major children's publishing company. By day, you're printing Lucy And The Shiny Red Firetruck.

But by night you're publishing anarchist pamphlets for 7 year olds.

You'll remain a spinster for the rest of your miserable life.

NO YOU WON'T. You're engaged to be married to a billionaire who owns a Coca-Cola factory. & a Jolly Rancher Lollipop manufacturing company. I'll give you 2 minutes to do your "Squeeeeee! Dance".


Okay yay.

By age 23, you would have written a novel. I know that you're now really stuck on ideas, but it will come to you sooner or later.

You will never publish your novel. Ever. Because it is really too awesomelyawesome to be understood by common plebeians like Barbie.

Yes. The Barbie you know and loathe is still alive. You haven't killed her yet, but it's only because of the restraining order she filed against you.

Damn that 100 feet.

Okay, now I'm bored.

So, I'll just leave you to be.

Remember to look both sides before crossing.

Because maybe Barbie will suddenly appear 98 feet from you and the cops will come and put you in stinky jail. Especially when they find out about the anarchist pamphlets.

Hubby won't be happy, hun.

Not that this has ever happened to me before. Not at all.

With lots of love,

You. Me. Us. Whatev.

PS- You know that feeling you get all the time? That you're being watched?

It's true.

I live in your closet. It smells nice in there. Bahahaha.