oy!
happy birthday!!
i'll call, i promise i will. but it's the middle of the night and i can't call long distance now :(
so virtual wishes which you may or may not see in time are the best i can do.
but i do love you. and see i didn't forget. wheeeeeeee!! now run along and have a terrific day. and night. and miss me please :)
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
I can never explain why I feel bad. The hurtness comes out in words which don’t mean a thing. Most of the time it isn’t even a rational pain, just a strange feeling, like someone’s slowly squeezing my neck. Not like being strangled, just a lump that grows bigger inside my throat and won’t go away.
And I start howling if people try to be kind. Which is just sad when you’re supposed to be all grown-up and mature and responsible.
And I hate the word responsibility.
To be honest tonight I hate a lot of things. Including my memories of four and a half years. It’s not an easy feeling, the hurtness and the hateness which comes from love gone wrong.
When people call college a second home, half the time it’s an overdose of sentiment. The other half of the time they actually do spend more time in college than they spend awake at home. I’ve always called campus my first home. It’s not something my parents have ever been happy about. It just is that way.
Or rather was.
I don’t love you anymore. You were home but you’re not anymore. You’re just this fucked up place and I don’t wanna go back to you.
I thought I’d miss you when I left.
I won’t.
I doubt I’ll even remember you.
Right now the happy thought in my life is that I have barely two months left.
Afterwards I’ll concentrate on forgetting.
And I start howling if people try to be kind. Which is just sad when you’re supposed to be all grown-up and mature and responsible.
And I hate the word responsibility.
To be honest tonight I hate a lot of things. Including my memories of four and a half years. It’s not an easy feeling, the hurtness and the hateness which comes from love gone wrong.
When people call college a second home, half the time it’s an overdose of sentiment. The other half of the time they actually do spend more time in college than they spend awake at home. I’ve always called campus my first home. It’s not something my parents have ever been happy about. It just is that way.
Or rather was.
I don’t love you anymore. You were home but you’re not anymore. You’re just this fucked up place and I don’t wanna go back to you.
I thought I’d miss you when I left.
I won’t.
I doubt I’ll even remember you.
Right now the happy thought in my life is that I have barely two months left.
Afterwards I’ll concentrate on forgetting.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Over the last month and a half, I've yelled at enough people to deserve an eternity in Dante's fifth circle. I kid you not. I've been cranky, unfair, pig-headed and I was rather hoping to hell that people would be calling me really nasty names behind my back because I would completely deserve it.
People, being people, have instead gone out of the way to make me feel special.
Which is why at 3 in the morning I'm holding my head between my knees and weeping like a five year old.
umm pause while I blow my nose. and uh sorry about the incoherence, it's a nightmare putting feelings into words. but my heart's fit to burst, so i will try...
This isn't a blog post, it's a confession.
These last months have seen the most despondent moments of my college life.
It wasn't easy watching my classmates and my juniors cry uncontrollably because they couldn't believe the things they'd been accused of.
It wasn't easy watching the innocent being maligned and victimized and made into a public spectacle.
It wasn't easy controlling my temper when all I wanted was to blast every journalist whose vocabulary contained the words juicy gossip but not the simple word ethics.
It wasn't easy being answerable to everyone.
It wasn't easy not having the answers.
And it wasn't easy holding on to hope.
I've made more mistakes than I should have.
I've been paranoid to the point of driving people insane. Or at least of making them seriously doubt my sanity.
And I'm trying to say sorry. For hurting your feelings. For misunderstanding your intentions. For misjudging you. For misinterpreting you. For accusing you. And for ignoring you.
To each of you, a different you in each case perhaps, I have only this to say...You aren't just friends or classmates or juniors or acquaintances in the department. You're more than family. You are my tribe.
And if I had to tell the world about the tribe of JUDE, I would say...Beware.
Because we know what despair is but we don't know what defeat is.
Because we know what hopelessness is but we'll keep fighting long after the referees have packed up and gone home.
And because every JUDEan is willing to walk that extra mile, and sometimes more than once.
Coherence isn't happening. Sometimes when the emotional investment is too high my brain shuts down. So instead of blathering on, I shall end this happy night with our war cry...
IT IS OUR KUBLA!
People, being people, have instead gone out of the way to make me feel special.
Which is why at 3 in the morning I'm holding my head between my knees and weeping like a five year old.
umm pause while I blow my nose. and uh sorry about the incoherence, it's a nightmare putting feelings into words. but my heart's fit to burst, so i will try...
This isn't a blog post, it's a confession.
These last months have seen the most despondent moments of my college life.
It wasn't easy watching my classmates and my juniors cry uncontrollably because they couldn't believe the things they'd been accused of.
It wasn't easy watching the innocent being maligned and victimized and made into a public spectacle.
It wasn't easy controlling my temper when all I wanted was to blast every journalist whose vocabulary contained the words juicy gossip but not the simple word ethics.
It wasn't easy being answerable to everyone.
It wasn't easy not having the answers.
And it wasn't easy holding on to hope.
I've made more mistakes than I should have.
I've been paranoid to the point of driving people insane. Or at least of making them seriously doubt my sanity.
And I'm trying to say sorry. For hurting your feelings. For misunderstanding your intentions. For misjudging you. For misinterpreting you. For accusing you. And for ignoring you.
To each of you, a different you in each case perhaps, I have only this to say...You aren't just friends or classmates or juniors or acquaintances in the department. You're more than family. You are my tribe.
And if I had to tell the world about the tribe of JUDE, I would say...Beware.
Because we know what despair is but we don't know what defeat is.
Because we know what hopelessness is but we'll keep fighting long after the referees have packed up and gone home.
And because every JUDEan is willing to walk that extra mile, and sometimes more than once.
Coherence isn't happening. Sometimes when the emotional investment is too high my brain shuts down. So instead of blathering on, I shall end this happy night with our war cry...
IT IS OUR KUBLA!
Friday, March 23, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
some songs can always me cry. not in a tears-rolling-down-red-nosed kinda way (although that happens too, and i'm not even telling how often). just a lump in the throat and a memory out of nowhere. my happiness is always irrational and the pain just runs a little deeper and is a lot more illogical.
and sometimes when you make me feel really bad, i'll play a song in a loop and cry through the evening. and then feel stupid the next morning, because it was a waste of time and it won't seem important the next time i see you smile.
but sometimes crying just feels so good.
so this song, is for you. because you can always make me cry.
You took your coat off and stood in the rain,
You're always crazy like that.
And I watched from my window,
Always felt I was outside looking in on you.
You're always the mysterious one with
Dark eyes and careless hair,
You were fashionably sensitive
But too cool to care.
You stood in my doorway, with nothing to say
Besides some comment on the weather.
Well in case you failed to notice,
In case you failed to see,
This is my heart bleeding before you,
This is me down on my knees, and...
These foolish games are tearing me apart,
And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart.
You're breaking my heart.
You're always brilliant in the morning,
Smoking your cigarettes and talking over coffee.
Your philosophies on art, Baroque moved you.
You loved Mozart and you'd speak of your loved ones
As I clumsily strummed my guitar.
Well, excuse me, guess I've mistaken you for somebody else,
Somebody who gave a damn,
Somebody more like myself.
These foolish games are tearing me apart,
And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart.
You're breaking my heart.
Jewel
and sometimes when you make me feel really bad, i'll play a song in a loop and cry through the evening. and then feel stupid the next morning, because it was a waste of time and it won't seem important the next time i see you smile.
but sometimes crying just feels so good.
so this song, is for you. because you can always make me cry.
You took your coat off and stood in the rain,
You're always crazy like that.
And I watched from my window,
Always felt I was outside looking in on you.
You're always the mysterious one with
Dark eyes and careless hair,
You were fashionably sensitive
But too cool to care.
You stood in my doorway, with nothing to say
Besides some comment on the weather.
Well in case you failed to notice,
In case you failed to see,
This is my heart bleeding before you,
This is me down on my knees, and...
These foolish games are tearing me apart,
And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart.
You're breaking my heart.
You're always brilliant in the morning,
Smoking your cigarettes and talking over coffee.
Your philosophies on art, Baroque moved you.
You loved Mozart and you'd speak of your loved ones
As I clumsily strummed my guitar.
Well, excuse me, guess I've mistaken you for somebody else,
Somebody who gave a damn,
Somebody more like myself.
These foolish games are tearing me apart,
And your thoughtless words are breaking my heart.
You're breaking my heart.
Jewel
Monday, March 12, 2007
Random net-surfing led me to this picture. Intellectual copyright be damned, I'm posting it. And should the photographer ever accidentally stumble across this blog, my apologies and all that but I'm only posting cos I liked it.
And because if you ever asked me and I was not-drunk and not-stoned and not-a-lot-of-other-things, I'd probably tell you this was my idea of picture-perfect romance.
umm err. ok, i have nothing more to say. except...
*beeble*
tumi!
And because if you ever asked me and I was not-drunk and not-stoned and not-a-lot-of-other-things, I'd probably tell you this was my idea of picture-perfect romance.
umm err. ok, i have nothing more to say. except...
*beeble*
tumi!
Thursday, March 08, 2007
My Dad just asked me why there isn't a Day for Men. So I told him about the time when Alice met Humpty Dumpty.
Since I cannot put it better than Lewis Carroll himself, I shall copy-paste the relevant bit for those who haven't read Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There.
"What a beautiful belt you've got on!" Alice suddenly remarked. (They had had quite enough of the subject of age, she thought: and if they were really to take turns in choosing subjects, it was her turn now). "At least," she corrected herself on second thoughts, "a beautiful cravat, I should have said -- no, a belt, I mean -- oh, I beg your pardon!" she added in dismay, for Humpty Dumpty looked thoroughly offended, and she began to wish she hadn't chosen that subject. "If only I knew," she thought to herself, "which was neck and which was waist!"
Evidently Humpty Dumpty was very angry, though he said nothing for a minute or two. When he did speak again, it was in a deep growl.
"It is a -- most -- provoking -- thing," he said at last, "when a person doesn't know a cravat from a belt!"
"I know it's very ignorant of me," Alice replied in so humble a tone that Humpty Dumpty relented.
"It's a cravat, child, and a beautiful one, as you say. It's a present from the White King and Queen. There now!"
"Is it really?" said Alice, quite pleased to find she had chosen a good subject, after all.
"They gave it me," Humpty Dumpty continued thoughtfully, as he crossed one knee over the other and clasped his hands round it, " -- for an un-birthday present."
"I beg your pardon?" Alice said with a puzzled air.
"I'm not offended," said Humpty Dumpty.
"I mean, what is an un-birthday present?"
"A present given when it isn't your birthday, of course.
Alice considered a little. "I like birthday presents best," she said at last.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" cried Humpty Dumpty. "How many days are there in a year?"
"Three hundred and sixty-five," said Alice.
"And how many birthdays have you?"
"One."
"And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?"
"Three hundred and sixty-four, of course."
Humpty Dumpty looked doubtfuly. "I'd rather see that done on paper," he said.
Alice couldn't help smiling as she took out her memorandum-book, and worked the sum for him:
365
1
--
364
--
Humpty Dumpty took the book, and looked at it very carefully. "That seems to be done right -- -" he began.
"You're holding it upside down!" Alice interrupted.
"To be sure I was!" Humpty Dumpty said gaily, as she turned it round for him. "I thought it looked a little queer. As I was saying, that seems to be done right -- though I haven't time to look it over thoroughly just now -- and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you get un-birthday presents -- -"
"Certainly," said Alice.
"And only one for birthday presents, you know, There's glory for you!"
As I gently explained to my Father Un-birthdays and Men's Days are rather similar, given they're celebrated on every day that Birthdays and Woman's Days aren't. There's glory for you indeed.
Since I cannot put it better than Lewis Carroll himself, I shall copy-paste the relevant bit for those who haven't read Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There.
"What a beautiful belt you've got on!" Alice suddenly remarked. (They had had quite enough of the subject of age, she thought: and if they were really to take turns in choosing subjects, it was her turn now). "At least," she corrected herself on second thoughts, "a beautiful cravat, I should have said -- no, a belt, I mean -- oh, I beg your pardon!" she added in dismay, for Humpty Dumpty looked thoroughly offended, and she began to wish she hadn't chosen that subject. "If only I knew," she thought to herself, "which was neck and which was waist!"
Evidently Humpty Dumpty was very angry, though he said nothing for a minute or two. When he did speak again, it was in a deep growl.
"It is a -- most -- provoking -- thing," he said at last, "when a person doesn't know a cravat from a belt!"
"I know it's very ignorant of me," Alice replied in so humble a tone that Humpty Dumpty relented.
"It's a cravat, child, and a beautiful one, as you say. It's a present from the White King and Queen. There now!"
"Is it really?" said Alice, quite pleased to find she had chosen a good subject, after all.
"They gave it me," Humpty Dumpty continued thoughtfully, as he crossed one knee over the other and clasped his hands round it, " -- for an un-birthday present."
"I beg your pardon?" Alice said with a puzzled air.
"I'm not offended," said Humpty Dumpty.
"I mean, what is an un-birthday present?"
"A present given when it isn't your birthday, of course.
Alice considered a little. "I like birthday presents best," she said at last.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" cried Humpty Dumpty. "How many days are there in a year?"
"Three hundred and sixty-five," said Alice.
"And how many birthdays have you?"
"One."
"And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?"
"Three hundred and sixty-four, of course."
Humpty Dumpty looked doubtfuly. "I'd rather see that done on paper," he said.
Alice couldn't help smiling as she took out her memorandum-book, and worked the sum for him:
365
1
--
364
--
Humpty Dumpty took the book, and looked at it very carefully. "That seems to be done right -- -" he began.
"You're holding it upside down!" Alice interrupted.
"To be sure I was!" Humpty Dumpty said gaily, as she turned it round for him. "I thought it looked a little queer. As I was saying, that seems to be done right -- though I haven't time to look it over thoroughly just now -- and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you get un-birthday presents -- -"
"Certainly," said Alice.
"And only one for birthday presents, you know, There's glory for you!"
As I gently explained to my Father Un-birthdays and Men's Days are rather similar, given they're celebrated on every day that Birthdays and Woman's Days aren't. There's glory for you indeed.
The only time I remember bawling in public (or at least outside home) in my school years was in class nine, in the ground floor kindergarten loo; after losing in the semi-final of an inter-house basketball tournamanet. We lost for about five points and I had been the shining hope of the team. After the match and the handshakes I took myself off to the loo to change. Only instead of getting out of my sweaty (and inevitably stinky) jersey I collapsed into a dramatic huddle with all the pathos of an angsty teenager and shed many many tears before realizing I’d been sharing the bathroom floor with a very dead cockroach.
On the whole eeew.
On the bright side of course no one ever found out.
And if you Dear Reader try telling anyone who knows me this story I shall flatly deny it. So there.
On the whole eeew.
On the bright side of course no one ever found out.
And if you Dear Reader try telling anyone who knows me this story I shall flatly deny it. So there.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
random snippets of reality
Rgr : Jboi was afraid I might fall in Love!
Jboi : Yeah, yeah. That's bad shit man. Don't smoke it!
That is effing awesome advice. Now if only I would remember to follow it.
Happiness continues because I've written a story about a Pig. As an assignment for the Children's Lit course. That is to say, I havent exactly written it out yet. But I made up the story the other day to send a 21 year old bachha to sleep. On the happy thought that there is little difference between the mind of a 21 year old and that of a 12 year old, I shall type out the story and submit it tomorrow. If I flunk, I can always blame the Pig.
I haven't thought a name for the Pig yet. I think I shall call him, quite simply, Peeeg.
For those who are dying of curiosity, or not, the story is about a Pig who doesn't have a home. He gets one in the end, a nice little cottage.
And the moral is...you should not cut trees.
Slightly confusing that. But actually the moral was added when I retold the story to my mother at the breakfast table. It's all very complicated, like my life.
Jboi : Yeah, yeah. That's bad shit man. Don't smoke it!
That is effing awesome advice. Now if only I would remember to follow it.
****************************
On a happier note, I went and scored alone from a Completely Unknown Place. Bit of a first time that. Wheeeeeeeee!
****************************
Happiness continues because I've written a story about a Pig. As an assignment for the Children's Lit course. That is to say, I havent exactly written it out yet. But I made up the story the other day to send a 21 year old bachha to sleep. On the happy thought that there is little difference between the mind of a 21 year old and that of a 12 year old, I shall type out the story and submit it tomorrow. If I flunk, I can always blame the Pig.
I haven't thought a name for the Pig yet. I think I shall call him, quite simply, Peeeg.
For those who are dying of curiosity, or not, the story is about a Pig who doesn't have a home. He gets one in the end, a nice little cottage.
And the moral is...you should not cut trees.
Slightly confusing that. But actually the moral was added when I retold the story to my mother at the breakfast table. It's all very complicated, like my life.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Saturday, March 03, 2007
When I checked myself in the mirror around 2 this afternoon, I looked a little tired (as is inevitable after a nearly sleepless night) but very pink and clean. 8 hours later I’m still pinkish, but in a different way. In between I have been various shades of green, purple, golden, herbal pink and bright red.
Hopefully by Monday I shall stop looking like a cross between a scarlet mouthed baboon and a purple limbed monstrosity. Chances are however the light shade of delicately purplish pink in various discreet and indiscreet places will take a while longer to fade.
Still, it’s been an amazing twenty-four hours. Even if we had to drag Cassandra out of bed and her pyjamas at midnight. Even though we really missed Diva, who was at home being sick. Even though some people think it a really smart idea to pour half a bucket of coloured water down a fish's back thereby ruining pretty blue lingerie for life.
And afterwards I got home and discovered that the parents had also been living it up. Apparently the neighbours got together and went wild with colours. And it seems the fish-father was one of the wilder ones. At this point I shall discreet shush up and not disgrace the family name by revealing the exploits of the father. Let it be noted merely that we are all happy. Really. Perfectly. Happy.
Happy Holi World :)
Hopefully by Monday I shall stop looking like a cross between a scarlet mouthed baboon and a purple limbed monstrosity. Chances are however the light shade of delicately purplish pink in various discreet and indiscreet places will take a while longer to fade.
Still, it’s been an amazing twenty-four hours. Even if we had to drag Cassandra out of bed and her pyjamas at midnight. Even though we really missed Diva, who was at home being sick. Even though some people think it a really smart idea to pour half a bucket of coloured water down a fish's back thereby ruining pretty blue lingerie for life.
And afterwards I got home and discovered that the parents had also been living it up. Apparently the neighbours got together and went wild with colours. And it seems the fish-father was one of the wilder ones. At this point I shall discreet shush up and not disgrace the family name by revealing the exploits of the father. Let it be noted merely that we are all happy. Really. Perfectly. Happy.
Happy Holi World :)
Friday, March 02, 2007
Friday afternoon was spent at home, recovering from a test and preparing for the onslaught of a Holi-day. To be specific it was spent taking all sorts of blogthing tests. Since I took them and saved the codes I might as well post the damn results. One little word of warning though. Not one of these is right. Which just goes to prove that psychoanalysis in five questions doesn't prove a damn thing.
Here goes.
yeah right.
*snorts*
we're not even discussing this one. next please!
30% good? i ask you!
*rolls eyes*
hot? who me?! obviously you've never seen me. well yeah that's obvious anyway but nobody would ever ask me to tone it down. they might ask me to be less boring. dhuh.
the climax of course was the 'which goddess are you' test :
Here goes.
| Your Love Song Is |
 Yellow by Coldplay "Look at the stars, Look how they shine for you, And everything you do, Yeah they were all yellow" You're so in love, it's like a drug. |
yeah right.
*snorts*
| You Are Thong Panties |
 Woman, you are one hell of a ride! You're a total wild child - and you live for crazy times. Men are attracted to you like flies to honey, even though they know they should stay away. You need a expert cowboy who can keep in tune with your free spirit! |
we're not even discussing this one. next please!
| You Are a Bad Girl |
 You are 30% Good and 70% Bad You're a total bad girl, from your wild hair to tattooed toes. But you're too badass to even care if you're labeled "bad"! |
30% good? i ask you!
*rolls eyes*
| You Are Bad Girl Sexy |
 Girl, you are nothing but trouble. And that's hot. You've got the classic bad girl sexiness mojo going on. And your badass attitude makes men fear you - and crave you. Don't give into people who say to tone it down. You're perfect as is. |
hot? who me?! obviously you've never seen me. well yeah that's obvious anyway but nobody would ever ask me to tone it down. they might ask me to be less boring. dhuh.
the climax of course was the 'which goddess are you' test :
You Are Psyche! |
 Eternally in search of purpose and insight. You're curious and creative with a total sense of wonder. Totally empathetic, you pick up on other's moods easily. Just be sure to pamper yourself as well! |
sheesh. my faith in blogthings is gone forever.
Wheeeeee! I have been tested and I shall probably be found wanting but for now I'm done with venetian merchants. Wild relief.
Further relief at getting home from college unscathed. Campus today was a riot of colours. And not in a good way. Sundry people looked like they'd crawled out of exceptionally slimy seaweed or been mauled by some purple and fluorescent orange alien. I kid you not. The defining word was ugly. Call me a prude but getting felt up by random strangers on the pretext of putting abir is just not my idea of fun. I don't think it wildly exciting to throw buckets of muddy water from the jheel at people or break (possibly rotten) eggs on their heads but I suppose young people must be allowed to have fun in their own way. Speaking for myself, I'm perfectly happy leading a colourless life for today. Tomorrow of course might be a different story.
Further relief at getting home from college unscathed. Campus today was a riot of colours. And not in a good way. Sundry people looked like they'd crawled out of exceptionally slimy seaweed or been mauled by some purple and fluorescent orange alien. I kid you not. The defining word was ugly. Call me a prude but getting felt up by random strangers on the pretext of putting abir is just not my idea of fun. I don't think it wildly exciting to throw buckets of muddy water from the jheel at people or break (possibly rotten) eggs on their heads but I suppose young people must be allowed to have fun in their own way. Speaking for myself, I'm perfectly happy leading a colourless life for today. Tomorrow of course might be a different story.
I just went and rather reverentially asked this magnificent instrument of divination if I would pass my exam.
And it said...
Ye-es.
Which might sound a leetle hesitant but is good enough for me (and you must admit is a beautifully apt answer for once). Now on the assumption that Neil Gaiman does in fact know everything I think I'm due to pass this test. Although he did get a weather forecast very messed up last week. hmm..at this moment that's a very worrying thought for some stange reason.
Eta ki zaataa! I should be studying right now. An hour, ten minutes to go and I still know nothing. Even the Power of the Gaiman shall not save my sorry ass at this rate.
And it said...
Ye-es.
Which might sound a leetle hesitant but is good enough for me (and you must admit is a beautifully apt answer for once). Now on the assumption that Neil Gaiman does in fact know everything I think I'm due to pass this test. Although he did get a weather forecast very messed up last week. hmm..at this moment that's a very worrying thought for some stange reason.
Eta ki zaataa! I should be studying right now. An hour, ten minutes to go and I still know nothing. Even the Power of the Gaiman shall not save my sorry ass at this rate.
I have to take a test in an hour thiry minutes-ish. And there's the enormous possibility that it is the test which will ,in fact, take me. It isn't a happy thought. As of now I freely confess I have studied almost nothing. Which is a lot more than what I usually study. This time though (and I know I've said this before, but this time it's for sure) I'm flunking. Uh-oh.
In the meantime, if you've got three minutes and twelve seconds to spare, do go watch this. I got the link courtesy J.A.P. who never sends chain mails (unless they're related to Valentine's day of course) and because I howled lots I'm posting the link here. There's a cause of course. A good cause.
On a happier note, if I survive the test and holi I shall be back.
In the meantime, if you've got three minutes and twelve seconds to spare, do go watch this. I got the link courtesy J.A.P. who never sends chain mails (unless they're related to Valentine's day of course) and because I howled lots I'm posting the link here. There's a cause of course. A good cause.
On a happier note, if I survive the test and holi I shall be back.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Babel
I watched the movie.
It was a good movie. Possibly.
It being N*****, tickets were dirt cheap and rear stall seats were amazingly cozy.
Except there was a Ghastly couple sitting beside me.
begin whine...
contrary to popular belief it is perfectly possible for a boy and a girl to go to a movie hall and do nothing but watch a movie. i've done it myself, countless numbers of times.
to be honest, i don't really mind couples who confuse the darkness of a movie hall with the privacy of their bedroom. i might go so far as to sympathasize with them. then again i might not.
but but but BUT i loathe and despise and detest and would dearly love to castrate all men who feel it is their social/civic/moral responsibility to pass a comment on every second frame of a movie.
and i've met a lot of women who giggle, hysterically, compulsively and on ocassion uncontrollably. whattheheck i've done it myself. on occasion.
but nothing can be more nerve-wrecking than a woman who doesn't find a single dialogue funny in a 2 hour 15 minute movie but shakes with laughter everytime her male escort opens his mouth.
i felt like slapping the girl more often than the boy.
end whine.
thankyou :)
umm.
ho hum.
The movie itself was, as I said, possibly good. Possibly brilliant even. This isn't a review, this is a personal reaction.
For more than an hour after leaving the hall I couldn't say anything. It hurt. I have no idea why. But it did. Random.
It was a good movie. Possibly.
It being N*****, tickets were dirt cheap and rear stall seats were amazingly cozy.
Except there was a Ghastly couple sitting beside me.
begin whine...
contrary to popular belief it is perfectly possible for a boy and a girl to go to a movie hall and do nothing but watch a movie. i've done it myself, countless numbers of times.
to be honest, i don't really mind couples who confuse the darkness of a movie hall with the privacy of their bedroom. i might go so far as to sympathasize with them. then again i might not.
but but but BUT i loathe and despise and detest and would dearly love to castrate all men who feel it is their social/civic/moral responsibility to pass a comment on every second frame of a movie.
and i've met a lot of women who giggle, hysterically, compulsively and on ocassion uncontrollably. whattheheck i've done it myself. on occasion.
but nothing can be more nerve-wrecking than a woman who doesn't find a single dialogue funny in a 2 hour 15 minute movie but shakes with laughter everytime her male escort opens his mouth.
i felt like slapping the girl more often than the boy.
end whine.
thankyou :)
umm.
ho hum.
The movie itself was, as I said, possibly good. Possibly brilliant even. This isn't a review, this is a personal reaction.
For more than an hour after leaving the hall I couldn't say anything. It hurt. I have no idea why. But it did. Random.
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