The Perils of Being Unable to Say No:

1. Unable to Say No to Food

- When one of your best friends is pregnant and goes through mad cravings, you run to the supermarket with her in 50-degree weather.

- You try cucumber sticks with peanut butter, carrot sticks with nutella, goats’ cheese with EVERYTHING.

- You gain more weight than she did during her pregnancy.

2. Unable to Say No to Friends Who Are Leaving

- You go out every night with them.

- You go out every night with them and do mad shit that ensures you look like a wreck in the morning (and throughout the day…week...nevermind), but have a blast doing said mad shit.

- You log in late to work every day for a week as a result of only getting to bed at an hour that is both too late and too early to be sane.

3. Unable to Say (a Loud, Rude, Vociferous) No to Guys Who Ask You Out

- Your polite refusal is taken as a sign of weakness.

- They keep pestering you, even when they have a chickie baby on the side (honestly, am I the only one who sees something wrong with that???)

- They eventually turn into psycho loonies who make up mad shit* about you.

(*not to be confused with the more pleasant, enjoyable mad shit referenced in point 2. This mad shit is all bad and bound to earn someone a kick in the nuts).

4. Unable to Say No to Shopping Expeditions

- You get to a point where you’re scared to look at your bank balance.

- Your shoe collection could make Imelda Marcos say: “Whoa there, a little restraint please!”

- You cannot open your closet door for fear of being buried in the fabric avalanche and not being found for a week.

5. Unable to Say No to Books

- Your overflowing bookshelves make your closet look pristine in comparison.

- When an idiot at a club tries to strike up a conversation using the lame-ass line “You know, the dress you’re wearing is the druidic colour of healing!”, you’re actually in a position to say “Um – no, lameass – that’s green, not purple.”

- You can quote William Shakespeare and Pablo Neruda alongside J.K. Rowling and Charlaine Harris, but no one else gets that and you just sound pompous anyway.

So, lesson learned: the new word that I will wear out, and I mean really wrestle down to the ground and make my bitch, is “No.”

Life’s too much bother otherwise.

Things I Have Recently Learnt About Myself: Part 4,782

- It’s amazing winning a shitload of money during the weekly poker session, but it sucks to take most of it off one of my closest friends.

- It’s gratifying to know my friend hates winning money off of me too. Abby, you’re sweetheart.

- It’s SUCH a turn-off when guys talk about their new Porsche / Ferrari/ Lamborghini/ Any fancy-schmancy car 5 minutes into our first meeting.

- It’s also a turn-off when they refer to said car as ‘baby’. Just massively creepy.

- It’s possible to miss my little brother so much that my heart physically aches. And still possible to remind myself that he’s having the time of his life, so I HAVE to be upbeat instead of mopey when I talk to him. Even if I can’t bring myself to walk into empty room now.

- It would be kinda interesting to have an all-vampire episode of ‘Glee’. And they could cover the songs from the ‘Nosfaratu’ musical, or ‘Lestat’, or even- OOOH, the musical episode of ‘Buffy’. Please, Mr. Producer/ Director/ Writer, hear my plea?

- The thought of a brand-new as-yet-unread book will get me through the toughest, crappiest, most horrible-no-good-very-bad day at work. And if it happens to be the new Charlaine Harris, MaryJanice Davidson, Kim Harrison, Kelley Armstrong or Janet Evanovich? Even better!

- I have fantastically pathetic taste in the men I choose as eye candy. This was brought home to me when I bumped into one piece of candy a few days ago and thought “Ew. On a scale of Cough Drops to Godiva Hazelnut Truffles, he’d be a chocolate laxative pill: ergo, so far below the lowest point on the scale, I don’t know what I was inhaling when I thought he was cute.” If hindsight is 20-20, I have Superman’s X-Ray vision.

- I love saying “Ergo.” Why? Dunno, just do.

- I am ADDICTED to fashion blogs! fatsandchints, highheelconfidential, purplepeeptoes and, of course, fashion bombay. And to supplement my daily fix, I’ve taken to trawling Yahoo’s OMG site for their weigh-in on various celebrities’ outfits at appearances. It’s madness, I tell you! The next thing you know, I’ll be watching Joan Rivers on ‘Fashion Police’. Oy vey.

- I love saying Oy Vey, even though I’m about as far from Jewish as a person can get. Why? Dunno, just do. Must be a hangover from a childhood spent religiously watching ‘The Nanny’.

Just Because I Need To Complain....

...doesn't mean I can't do it in rhyme :)

I'd give all the money I have to just take a nap;
I think I'm coming down with the flu, I feel like crap.
There's rivers of snot pouring out of my nose,
And I feel sick from my head right down to my toes.


Phlegm has clogged up my throat and deepened my voice,
And every cough makes a tremendous thunderous noise.
My trumpet-like sneezes evoke no sympathy, no pity:
They’re so loud they make elephants seem dainty and pretty.


But worst of all is the look on my face:
Part stoner, part loner, part alien from space.
I’m blotchy and red and look like I’m holding in my pee,
Oh this cold really will be the death of poor little me.

Apparently I Repel The Undead Too...

How a conversation would go between my best friend and me if he was a vampire:

Me (terrified): “AAAAAAAaaaaaa……”

Him (holding head in pain): “Stop that screaming! I have super-sensitive hearing as a result of being an undead sex god.”

Me (terror subsiding, replaced by curiosity): “….aaahhhh!!!!....Wait. What does the hearing have to do with being a sex god?”

Him (trying to look superior, but a little uncertain): “UNDEAD sex god. And it’s one of the perks.”

Me (in full-fledged nerd-mode): “How would you even know you’re a sex god? You just came back from the dead an hour ago. Scaring the crap out of me, I might add, since I was mourning your supposed death and whatnot.”

Him (annoyed): “Gee. Thanks. That’s touching. And it’s a given. Vampires have undead sexual magnetism. We HAVE to be sex gods.”

Me (logically): “Uh-huh. Or vampires could just use their hypno-crap to CONVINCE people that they’re sex gods.”

Him (completely abandoning all pretence at logic): “Oh for…! I FEEL sexier!”

Me (moving into super-geek mode): “That’s another thing. Vampires don’t cry. Don’t pee. Don’t poop. Don’t bleed. No bodily functions, basically. So how can they …you know, get it up? To do stuff?”

Him (looking heavenward for patience): “We just can! We don’t ask questions about it!”

Me (skeptical): “Riiiiiight. Oh, wait, so if you do it with a live person, then would that person be a necrophiliac?”

Him (rolling eyes): “That’s not very original, I’m sure others have asked that question.”

Me (not giving up): “Yes, but have they gotten an answer?”

Him (grinning hopefully): “Probably not a verbal one. Maybe a practical demonstration.”

Me (rolling MY eyes): “Hmm. Yeah, that’s not going to work.”

Him (whining): “Not even with the hypno-crap?”

Me (my turn to be annoyed): “I can’t believe you’re dead and still trying get in my pants!”

Him (aggrieved): “It’s UNdead!”

Me (curious again): “And that’s another thing. How come you’re not decomposing? Why aren’t your bits and pieces rotting and falling off?”

Him (horrified): “You keep my bits and pieces out of this! Of course I’m not decomposing, I’m not some common zombie!”

Me (even more curious): “So how come zombies decompose but vampires don’t?”

Him (almost crying with annoyance): “ I DON’T KNOW!! I’ve only been back from the dead for an hour!”

Me (oblivious to his mental anguish): “If a vampire and a zombie had to, you know, do it…would something rot and fall off?”

Him (with a mixture of awe and horror): “It’s amazing that you are even more disgusting than the prospect of drinking human blood.”

Me (blushing): “Awww, you’re sweet.”


So in a fit of boredom, my friend and I were talking about my vampire fixation, and went through this hypothetical scenario. The above conversation is actually ours.

End result, he decided that if he DID come back from the dead as a vampire, he’d kill me just to shut me up. And wouldn’t drink my blood, because he’s pretty sure there’s something seriously wrong with me.

Hmph.

The results of boredom at work

Oh the pain, oh the woe!
Oh the sprain in my little big toe!
Oh that I must wear such heels!
Oh that style matters more than how it feels!

But truth be told it is my choice:
For sensible shoes are not so nice;
So my shoes are pretty and dainty and jewel laden -
And stab me more than an iron maiden!

Oh that I choose to eschew
Ugly, but comfortable, flat-heeled shoes;
Ah, that beauteous straps and laces adorn
Shoes that are leaving me bleeding and torn.

So my beautiful and deadly stilettos
Are forcing me to walk on my tippy-toes,
And adding to my strained arch’s woes:
So the price of beauty goes.

Alright, so I'll never be Dr. Seuss, but it helped pass the time...well, the 5 minutes it took me to come up with that.

Now I'm bored again!

Today's Morning Routine

(Slightly, but only slightly, different from most mornings)

Cellphone alarm goes off. Groan. Activate snooze settings for 15 minutes. Bury head under covers.

Alarm goes off. Groan. Snooze for another 15 minutes.

Alarm goes off. Glance at time, shriek at how late it is, scramble out of bed, get tangled in covers and thud to the floor. Every. Damn. Day.

Brush, shower, shampoo, condition. It’s been 3 weeks, so pull out lawn-mower style razor to shave legs and curse hairy South Indian genes inherited from father.

Scramble out of shower, slip on tile floor (at least once a week), unfortunately get glance at self in mirror and further curse South Indian genes for unwanted curves (also known as flab, fat, jelly, blubber) in unattractive places.

Glance at time, shriek again, throw on clothes, forego drying hair, jam on shoes and race down stairs.

Wolf down breakfast (something that used to be skipped earlier, but is now mandatory. Sad…used to save at least 10 minutes before). Notice that long hair has created uncomfortable wet and see-through patches on white shirt. Curse.

Race out of house, hop in car, get stuck in traffic for 20 minutes (despite work being only 10 minutes away), and stop-drop-and-roll out of car when it pulls up in front of office. Very commando-style, kinda cool. Or would be, if my heels didn’t get stuck in my trousers and send me tumbling head-over-ass.

Jam at lift button for few minutes, curse at sloth-like elevator and generally terrify the mild-mannered natives, abandon the foyer area and race up the back stairs.

Clock in with 17 seconds to spare.

Collapse at desk. Only to find computer won’t start. And when it does, the screen’s wonky. And when that’s fixed, the internet won’t work.

What’s the point of waking up everyday??

Bah.

Near-death accidents: 2. Words that would make sailors and truck drivers blush: 8. Bruises on body: 5. Colleagues/clients/IT People/other innocents scared: countless.

And it’s only 10 in the morning.

Apparently I'm A Shameless Praise-Whore...

...since all it took was a few complimentary words from Abby to get me back to my neglected blog after almost a month. Shallowness, thy name is Namrata.

This recuperation business is for the birds, I can vouch for that...sitting at home twiddling my thumbs and going "la la la la la-di-da" is most definitely not for me. And now that I'm unemployed, there's even less to do! About the unemployment - the governing bank authority here has deemed that the banks in this country have not been giving enough opportunities to the local population, so to build up the levels of local people (the ratio has to be 90% locals, 10% expats), the banks have had to cut short the contracts of expatriate employees. Guess who that means? (Here, envision me taking a bow and then shooting myself in the head). However, the monetary compensation was well worth it, the recommendation letters are superb (they should be, since I supplied all the complimentary adjectives myself...refer to title of blog-post), and I have a slew of interviews lined up for the coming week. So really, I'm complaining for the sake of complaining. Good at it, aren't I?

Honestly, though, it's REALLY boring being at home when everyone else is at work! My mom's always said I had too much energy and too little sense to enjoy a well-deserved holiday (and I would take offence to that, but sadly it's true)...so of course I've been driving her nuts everyday by waking up and saying "What are we doing today? Huh huh huh? Where do we go? What do we do? Tell me tell me tell me!" It's only a matter of time before the poor woman cracks and murders me. She staged an act of mini-vengeance today, though, by taking me to the fish market. May I just say, ugh? Smart lady, that.

Until something exciting happens, I guess I'm just going to have to be content with watching TV and hurling shoes at it when Raj Thackeray's interviews come on. More on that turd and how he's ruining my beloved Bombay in the next post.

Whew!

Final check-up with the doctor today, whereupon it was deemed that I've made a full and final, if miraculously quick, recovery. He pronounced himself reasonably baffled by the fact that it's taken my lungs 2 weeks to clear, when it takes healthier people about 6 weeks, apparently. Me? I'm not questioning why or how, I'm just grateful that I can get back to normal life! Bring on the parties! Well, okay, after Ramadan, since all the clubs will open only post-Eid.

Although I have to admit, it's just a little bone-chillingly terrifying to have an esteemed doctor tell you, and I quote: "I was worried about you when we first admitted you...we didn't think you were going to make it. We rated your survival chances quite low, actually." Yeah, this basically echoed what the head nurse told me when I was leaving the hospital (to which my response was stupefied, silent blinking), but still - it isn't less scary the second time around.

Typical me, though. Figures I'd have a near-death experience and be too spaced out to realize it.

But! I can drink Coke again! Not 6 cans a day, as per the norm, but still! Coke!

In the immortal words of Ren and Stimpy: Happy, happy, joy, joy!

Cupid's Helpers

So I was sitting around with D, A and Abby at A's place last night, catching up after A's fortnight-long vacay in the UK. As was usual, the subject turned to R and me, and why it is we've been "dancing around each other for the past 2 years without doing anything. It's frustrating!" Direct quote there. Now, A and Abby have girlfriends, and were offering long-winded, experience-backed reasoning of why it is that at the age of 26, I should be in a relationship, or at least "enjoy being young and fool around a bit!" D was more succinct: "Just get on with it already, Zulu!"

Against my better judgement, I decided to indulge them and went about collecting pearls of wisdom on how and why they thought R and I should get together. And all I have to say is "Oy vey!"

- According to D: "Well, it's pretty obvious you belong together..I mean, he discusses poetry and shit with you! I never discussed poetry with anyone except my English teacher…although, okay, I didn’t want to date him…hmm…nevermind."

- A and Abby: "Neither you nor R are the type to have flings, and you guys, you know, gel…I mean, he's a liiiittle less dark and broody with you…so why not?" Can't argue with logic like that!

- All of them: "What's the harm in trying? It doesn't work out, c'est la vie…nothing ventured, nothing gained…carpe bloody diem, sieze the day (or something else)…jump on him already," and other assorted cliches, delivered in true, inimitable boy-style.

Now, how to go about it:

- D and A: "R's a little reserved, no? So you have to send out hints, but be subtle."

- Abby: "Flash a little cleavage!"

- D and A: "No! No bazookas. You'll scare him off!" Bazookas. Hah. I haven't heard that since I was in 10th grade.

- Me (playing devil's advocate and inadvertently screwing myself): "But R likes…you know…voluptuous women."

- All of them: "Oh, okay, then you fit the profile." Boys! Bah. "Anyway, nevermind all that. You have to be a bit more out there. Flirt a bit. Laugh at what he says. Sort of casually rest your hand on his arm." I wonder what chick flicks they've been watching. "Call him and tell him you're in the mood to go out for drinks, just the two of you. Badmouth the rest of us if you have to, but make sure it's just the two of you!"

- Me: "Uhhh..how?"

- Them: "SUBTLY!" That didn't really help.

This went on for a couple more hours, with positive re-inforcement via long-distance phone call from A's utterly sweet girlfriend as well. And several more tips along the lines of "Bat your eyelashes…but try not to look retarded" and "Laugh more…but can you do something about those teeth??" until eventually it was decided that if I didn't comply with their wishes, I would (sometime in the near future) find R and myself locked in a convenient room in V's place after being sneakily presented with Viagra-laced drinks.

But, they sweetly stressed, that was a last resort.

I love my friends, but they scare the bejeezus out of me.

My "Get-Up-And-Go"....

....got up and went. For a hike. Over the edge of a cliff.

Meaning, "writer's block".

Plus, I'm up to my eyeballs in proposals (of the banking variety) and it's not rare for me to wake up from a less-than-sound sleep spouting off names and account numbers of overdue customers and classified loans.

God, even my nightmares are boring. No wonder I have nothing to write about.

In The Past 24 Hours, I Have...

....Fought with my Risk Manager;

....Skipped the gym (but I went the day before!);

....Eaten the best pizza EVER, loaded with extra cheese and eggplant and zucchini and roasted chicken and sundried tomatoes, sprinkled with chilli flakes and chilli oil, each mouthful the PERFECT bite...mmmm;

....Witnessed an Indian boy at Karaoke Night, thinking he was black and rapping like Pee Wee Herman just learned to talk street. No...just...NO;

....Lost my temper;

....Been confused;

....Been comforted;

....Had the most inane, insane, evil, chaotic, flat-out-crazy-fun conversations imaginable;

....Received impromptu sex-ed lectures from at least 4 different friends (for no reason whatsoever);

....Hung out with NV and RV, whom I will miss HORRIBLY while they are away;

....Crept into not one, but two shady, seedy, utterly disreputable dance-bar type places and been both scandalized and saddened at human nature;

....Realized that I'm most definitely not cut out for that much-talked-about planned visit to a Vegas strip club;

....Stumbled into bed and stumbled out again after what felt like only 10 seconds but was actually 4 hours (I think I might be getting old. 4 hours of sleep used to tide me over for a WEEK when I was in college);

....Been an unreasonable grouch all day because the restaurant screwed up my order for 6 Cokes by bringing me..erm..NOTHING, so I've had NO sugar and NO caffeine and NO sweet Coke-y goodness and I swear I'm dying....

....Goofed off at work by writing this blog;

....Fought with my Risk Manager.

Don't you love it when life comes full circle?