Archive for February, 2010

Love is in the air, nananana.

Posted: February 28, 2010 in Uncategorized

Not really though. People around me claim to be falling out of love left and right, man. Such a lame condundrum because it’s like listening to a broken record. Of a Toni Braxton album. 

He’s not the man I met anymore! I thought it’d last forevaaar but look what happened! Life isn’t fair! She said she’d never leave meee! 

Okay okaaay, aapoh. Cuz it felt awesome at the start it sucks that it’s not anymore. Fine so. 

Being in their general vicinity these woebegone beings went and made the bad choice of asking me for my two pence on the matter. I’ve never been in love, though maybe dipped my toes in the stuff a coupla times. So not the pro on experience, but being a qualified pandithaya, I’d say, maybe this thing isn’t even meant to be forevaaar. Maybe that’s the whole problem with how we handle it. We go in thinking, wow what a sugar rush, I’m so high that I’m going to slip into the naive complacent idea that the high will last for eternity.

But then it doesn’t always, maybe sometimes it does. So perhaps the trick is to drop all expectations when you get into a lovey dovey thing with someone. Don’t expect them to stick around forever, don’t expect it to be even better in ten years, don’t expect a wedding ring, don’t expect flowers on valentines and your ideal gift on your birthday, just stop. And enjoy the awesomeness of just going to the mall with the foo’ that afternoon or to the movie later that week.

Is it safe to say that women tend to think about the future and inevitably have expectations in relationships way more than men do? I don’t know, I’m judging from the number of love-struck people who’ve come to talk to me about the matter, please don’t hit me, ladyfolk. Maybe if you don’t think of where you’re going all the time and all the what-ifs that might never even happen, the where-you-are-right-now might last a little longer and will seem more enjoyable. It’s like trying not to be that annoying person at the movie theatre who keeps trying to guess the ending of the movie.

What if it has a bad ending so? Shrug it off, it’s just a matter of time till the next fun movie comes along.               

I usually don’t have much of a stomach for the mushy songs. But I’ll make an exception for Ingrid Michaelson.  : )   

I like how exciting my blog titles sound.

I don’t know why you hire tuk-tuks but I hire tuk-tuks because of smart driving. By smart I don’t mean they follow the rules and stay safe, but the exact opposite of that, to get you to where you gotta be as soon as possible.

So there I was, hopping out of bed too-late-for-buses and making a run for it in regular fashion (ref. Aishwarya incident), telling the tuk-tuk man to hit the accelerator machang.

Every now and then, we have those gay days when people do the exact opposite of what you tell them to do. Whether this is either karma’s fault or if the said people are just being douches, is yet to be determined.

And that is how I found myself in the passenger seat of a tuk-tuk driven at 45 km/h and staying in his respective line, insolently disobeying the obvious mandate #1 of the Tuk-tuk Driving Manual: be too cool for traffic lines. If I wanted to move at 45 km/h and stay in this line whilst there is so much space on the sides to cut through and fly out illegally through that junction, tuk-tuk man, I would buy a paranoid female my mother a tuk-tuk and she would be my tuk-tuk man. Do I look like someone who is going to ask my mother to be my tuk-tuk man? DO I.

I said all this on the inside of course, while my face just did Da Face. But when I already was half an hour late and he slowed down in front of a pedestrian crossing and waited for people to walk onto the pavement and make it over the crossing (as opposed to being a real tuk-tuk driver and speeding past the crossing before they have the chance), it was the last straw. I finally blurted out, ‘monadha bung magey aachi vagey drive karandepa!’ (please drive faster, kind sir!).

The man was hurt. He looked like he was going to cry. All he wanted to do was to be a good civilian and carry his passengers safely from place to place in order to earn money for his family, and here was this mean kid comparing him to her grandm- uh I mean asking him to drive faster kind sir. Tragic. Words cannot express how.. little I care. He ripped some real rubber henceforth in his fit of silent invisible tears and soon I came to my stop.

Thanks man, I said. And complimented him on that orange-light he skipped, smooth move. And that classic cut he made from 10th rank in the traffic line to 2nd, despite the guy we cut giving us Da Face. Tuk-tuk Noob’s face lit up at these statements. Some day, Obiwan, I said, some day you will have your dream, you will be a real tuk-tuk driver, with pride and hope in my eyes.

Mokak? he said.

Mokak indeed, Obiwan. Mokak indeed.

The Wolfman: Summed Up

Posted: February 21, 2010 in Uncategorized

Spoiler Alert! (seriously though, you can’t spoil something already this bad.)

Man: Here Wolfman, come and get iiittt. I am a tasty piece of suicidal meat wandering the woods with a conspicuous lamp and no weapon whatsoever! Eat my brainz pls!

Wolfman: Ok. *eats Man*

Man’s Hot Wife tells Man’s estranged bro Lawrence to come find Man who went missing. Man’s Hot Wife lives with Man’s dad Anthony Hopkins in spooky house that is in no way a rip off of every other horror movie with a spooky house. Really.  

Lawrence comes home and meets dad Anthony Hopkins.

Anthony: Hi son nice to see you. Btw, your bro’s savaged body was found by the river today so you can go home now, thxbye.

Lawrence: No! I will stay! And I will find the monster who did this to Man, because despite my absence from Man’s life for the past 20 years or so, I suddenly feel like taking a hiatus from my theatre career to live in this creepy mansion where Mum mysteriously died and avenging Man’s death for no apparent reason. Maybe it is a midlife crisis thing or maybe it’s cuz Man’s Hot Wife is srsly hot.

Anthony: Awesome! Btw, this is my totally out of context Panjabi man servant.

Panjab: Eh balley balleeeyy!

Lawrence: Cool.

Wolfman bites Lawrence one night, which for some reason makes him turn into TeenWolf on fullmoon days. Gypsies are involved in some obscure way, specially this old lady with lots of eye liner and fake teeth who’s totally useless to the plot despite the camera’s intense close-ups trying to prove otherwise.

One night Lawrence follows Anthony into lonely shed. Anthony turns around and his eyes turn into laser lights in the night as he says stuff in a spooky voice. Anthony is therefore clearly either going to turn into a Transformer or Wolfman. We soon discover it is the latter.   

Lawrence turns into TeenWolf. Wolfman and TeenWolf kill lots of people, blah blah.

Lawrence: Anthony, youuuu killlled myyy motherrr?

Anthony: Yeah. Wow you sound really retarded when you say it like that. Btw, I became a Wolfman after Gollum from Lord of the Rings bit me. Yeah I don’t get it either. Bye.

Man’s Hot Wife: I want you, Lawrence/TeenWolf!

Lawrence/TeenWolf: Ok! It’s totally fucked up that Anthony who is a Wolfman killed your husband who is also my brother, and that on fullmoons I too go around killing husbands and brothers, but who gives a shit right now! Let’s make out! 

Suddenly Agent Smith from The Matrix knocks on the door.

Agent Smith: Mister Annnndersonn- wha? This isn’t the fucking Matrix, what the fuck?

Lawrence: Uh..

Agent Smith: Urgh Neo is such a bitch! I guess I’ll just have to arrest you instead, Lawrence. 

Lawrence bites Agent Smith and runs. Hobos run around with guns in the woods, looking for Wolfmen. Hobos die. Gypsies die. Neatly placed intestines and limbs lie everywhere, and we wonder, dude why do the Wolfmen keep ripping people apart and running away as opposed to actually eating them? Crazy mofos.

Lawrence/TeenWolf and Anthony fight on a fullmoon, ripping shit up and burning the spooky house down. Lawrence rips Anthony’s head off. Win.

Lawrence/TeenWolf chases Man’s Hot Wife into the woods to eat her in a fit of wolfy rage.

Man’s Hot Wife: Lawrence, it’s me, Man’s Hot Wife. Remember meeee, look into my loving eyesss.

Lawrence/TeenWolf: Ohai. (momentarily distracted)

Man’s Hot Wife: Die, mothafuckah! (shoots Lawrence/TeenWolf in the FACE.)

Agent Smith appears.

Agent Smith: He’s dead? Awesome. He bit me so I guess I’m gonna starr in the equally crappy sequel. Fuck you, Neo, I get my own show!

Walking down Galle Road with friends, I said, hey man let’s randomly wave at random vehicles and say byeee.

And the friends said, uh no.

So there I was waving at people driving by in their pajeros and what not, none of whom waved back. How rude. They all had reactions on their faces that was kind of like confusion and disgust made a baby who was mildly amused. Fucking weird, I know.

Now the tourist brochures and advertisements and all are always saying, Sri Lanka is ttly friendly, come here and we will be so friendly that you will go home and make more brochures and advertisements about our friendliness.

But people in Colombo don’t smile, man. Ok fine, randomly waving at them with a wide smile maybe a tad overkill and freakish even. But even mum, who is this rolly polly cute middle aged woman (I’m trying to say she’s friendly looking if you haven’t caught on, which you probably haven’t), says when she just smiles at a fellow rolly polly middle aged woman in the supermarket, they’re like,

The unibrow is just for the dramatic effect, but you get what I’m sayin.

And people stare. I don’t mean they look, they my-eyes-are-fixed-on-your-face-FOREVAR stare. I’m talking about people in the buses, with their heads looking out the window onto the streets? Ok I get that you’re bored, and there’s nothing much to do on the bus in the window seat except look at people on the road and maybe at the excitingly random stuff on the back of tuk-tuks (has anyone else noticed Bob Cat and Bob Marley tattoos on tuk-tuks are totally the in-thing these days?) But must thou look so intently and with such dedication?

I really did consider what’s going on in your head right now, snarky reader, that I must have been doing something weird and hilarious to call on the staring. Maybe. BUT, loadsa normal people I talked to for this survey have attested to have receieved similar rude staring! So HA!

The petrol station fellows smile, the kids smile, the pervs smile, but not like, the average general masses of working adults. Maybe it’s because it’s the middle of the day and everyone’s working and all FML-ey and what-are-you-smiling-at-is-it-because-I-look-like-shit-because-I’ve-been-working-since-9am-you-MOFO. Yeah.

But still. Everytime I just smile and they don’t smile back, I have to turn my smile into this weird gesture while looking at a tree nearby or something to save face. So it looks like I’m making faces at vegetation now. So you can see how this is cramping my style, surely?  

So as per perks of the job at la magazine, yours truly has been asked to undergo ‘spa treatment’ (my first) at an up and coming spa thingamajig in order to write a genuine piece about eet.

My first reaction was, LOL.

I’m not sure why. It might be partly because I’m one of those types who point and snigger uncontrollably at the lady spending Rs. 1,***** and 5 hours to get her eyelids the same shades of purple as her lips and shoes, aka self indulgence.

Or maybe it’s the hilariously awkward idea of females in towels getting back rubs from total strangers. Ok halt the oncoming gross lesbian jokes.

Or maybe its just


Either way, it’s supposed to be an experience of pampering and ‘physical and spiritual upliftment’, according to the spa. I swear, it’s going to be so hard to keep a straight face when they start rubbing mud on my face before placing slices of cucumber on my eyes.

It will be a great feat to resist the urge to say ‘I used to fool around with mud and vegetables on my face when I was 6; little did my furious and hysterical mother know it was but for my physical and spiritual upliftment’ with a sage nod.

Any of you guys been to a spa? Just let me know if there’s anything I should look out for, such as vegetables strictly meant for face usage. Once when I was in one of their lobbies, a Thai spa lady offered me some cucumber in a plate of tasty looking cream. Of course I thought it was food, how was I supposed to know they offer cucumber slices for your eyes in the lobby of a spa?!

Ah the facepalms I recieved. Fond memories.

I’m just hoping the forces of the pampering will overcome the forces of the awkwardness, resulting in spa-ey awesomeness.

Like the new header btw? I changed the layout a tiny bit since a lot of your suggestions, thanks.

The lonely ribbon cake

Posted: February 17, 2010 in Uncategorized

So from the results of the poll, turns out 35% of you guys like jujubees, 47% called me traitor swine, and only just 18% think my face is nize. The last one’s a real shocker, I will assume it is because most of you haven’t seen it.

Conclusion, I like jujubeees. Whatever. I shortly considered the option of moving back to Blogger since the anti-Wordpress uproar from friends, but then when I found Blogger had no Delete All option when it came to posts, I abandoned the thought in a fit of rage.

I had to delete each post manually, Blogger. Ok I had to pay a.. short person to do it.

Fine, I offered a nine year old Pepsi in exchange for clicking the delete button on each post. Don’t judge me, it is Blogger who triggered this corrupt act of child labour. That heartless bastard.

Onto more pressing matters. I took a long walk from Wellawatte to Dehiwela today and stopped at a cake shop. My natural choice was chocolate of course. Many children pointed fondly at the fudge cake and other popular choices.

In the corner I found the lonely ribbon cake. Dejected and lonely and attention craving in its pink and green and white, but a mere passing fad of the 90s. I asked the man, do people buy this ribbon cake anymore. And he said, no ma’am, they do not. I patted the glass in front of the lonely ribbon cake and thought I heard it utter a stifled sob.

It turned out to be the sound the jammed drink-machine was making, but nevertheless.

People always go for the chocolate or cheese or fruit, the more fashionable choices, whilst the dorkily coloured gay named cake sits all alone behind cold glass display doors, looking out upon a cruel inconsiderate world, wondering, hey man, when is anyone gonna give the ribbon cake a chance? I’m a cake too. I’m tasty and creamy too. What does that fgt fruitcake have that I don’t.

There, there, I said comfortingly, before buying it and erasing all traces of its existence. It’ll be ok. It doesn’t matter how pretty you look in the glass box, you’re all going to end up the same masticated blobs in someone’s belly, ribbon cake.

I wish I could say I meant that story to be a metaphor for life and its trivial temporaryness, but really it’s been my 6th piece of cake and this is most certainly the sugar rush talking. Whee.


Posted: February 16, 2010 in Uncategorized

by addictedImage

Welcome to the new bloggage. The old one being tikakpissu.

I thought the ‘tikak pissu’ thing is kinda redundant at this point, cuz it’s been a bit more than a year now since I started blogging and everyone has discovered the phrase is but a blatant lie. Hariyata pissu! declare the masses.

And shut uppp, everyone who hates me for moving to WordPress and takes it as some personal jab in the face. Yeah you know who you are! I KILL U.

No, really, whatzthabigdeal. You can still comment regardless of if you’re on WordPress or Blogger or even if you’re anonymous. Plus I find everything’s way cleaner and easier to read here, do not deny eet.
I don’t care about changing font sizes or colour or whatever WordPress doesn’t have and Blogger does, so I will totally go taikwondo on your ass if you don’t stfu about the abhorrent crime I have committed by crossing over to the darkside.

As long as WordPress doesn’t use some sort of jedi mind powers on me to trick me into giving up my dream of taking over the world with my pet cat or like, get a herd of angry lemurs to attack me in my sleep, I’ll prolly stick to it.
KTHXILY. Stay tuned.


A Valentine Story

Posted: February 14, 2010 in Uncategorized

Once upon a time, there was a naughty little boy with wings on his back who was really, really bored. He lived in the clouds with his mother who was a totally hot hippy, and his father who was always in and out of business meetings.
He was pretty neglected, what with his parents being mythological gods and all.

One day, while he was trying to decide whether to wear his white loin cloth or his grey one (the white one really brought out his complexion but little winged boys in the clouds in white loin cloths was so bourgeois at the same time), he stumbled across this awesomely golden bow and arrow.

He picked them up and went and asked his dad if he could use them. Son I’m busy being a mythical god ok gtfo, said a busy dad.
FUK U MAN!11 said the little boy, quietly in his child like voice, rosy cheeks reddening with adolescent rage. He flew over to his mother instead, wings fluttering excitedly.

Mum was braiding one of her hippy friends’ hair, while talking about love and carebears and looking gorgeous.
Mum whose bow and arrow is this?
Dude, I’m ttly busy talking about love, man. Embrace the love, feel the love, it is all around yooou. Also, white loin cloths are so last season, son.
WTF mum. WTF. said the little boy. He hovered away, one hand doing the facepalm, and the other clutching the bow and arrow tightly in his pudgy fist.

Hey man, wait! said a woman’s voice behind him. It was mum’s friend with the braided hair. She was really tall.
NO OK. JUST. NO. said the little boy, planting his feet into a cloud, assuming the woman was going to narrate to him yesterday’s episode of The Carebears.
Chill, maaan. I’ve seen that bow and arrow before, it’s a gift your mum got when she was little. At a frat party.
Really? said the little boy, looking over at his mum.
She was doing the MC Hammer dance.
She’s been smoking some crazy shit, son. said the tall lady. Anyway, do you wanna know what the bow and arrow does or not?
Yeah, wut.
Well you see those People down there?
Yeah.. said the boy, squinting down at the People thousands of miles below their cloud, running around like little ants.
Well, that bow and arrow was given to your mother by my cousin Pan.
What a gay name.
It’s short for Pandora, fgt. She likes messing with the People. You hit one with that arrow and BAM.
It’ll start a revolution. Soon the male People will be compelled to get their female lovers cheesy inane things like flowers and bad poetry or just stuff they can’t afford and the female ones will turn into raging ninjas of doom if they don’t.
Wow, it lasts forever? Every day?
EVERY DAY, if you like hit them with maximum dosage that is.
Dosage? It’s an arrow.
WITH an inbuilt system of tiny invisible nanobullets. We’re gods, not hobos from Georgia.
Harsh. Yet AWESOME. But.. if any of us up here go down there, we can’t come back right?
Technically. Wodeva. Just thought you should know kbye.
And with that, the tall lady gallopped away on her cloud-pony.
Cloud-pony? thought the little boy. Who’s the nutjob writing this story?
The thought of toying with a jillion People to kill his perpetual boredom was tempting. But.. despite his parents being neglectful buttheads, he did love them-

Oh baby baby, how was I supposed to know- mum was singing Britney Spears. Facepalm.
Ah fuck it. he jumped off the cloud and felt the air rushing through his hair as he zoomed closer to the ground.

He found a female target. POW POW. Two bullets to the jugular.
WHY DIDNT YOU GET ME A BUNCH OF ROSES, YOU MOFO, she billowed at the frightened man beside her.
Dear, wut-

The little boy snickered to himself. He would keep the nanobullets to 2 per person. More could create an apocalypse.
POW POW. A man felt a light jab in his side. Suddenly he felt his blood pressure rising. He felt if he did not buy his girlfriend a box of chocolates, he would die today. He screamed like a little girl and sprinted to the nearest confectionery.

BWUHAHAHAHAAA, cackled the boy with the wings. The World is his playground, and today… Today, he thought, aiming at the butt of his next victim, is Valentines Day.

Giving it all away.

Posted: February 9, 2010 in Uncategorized

All my stuff – clothes, books, shoes, miscellaneous blah – everything but a few Ts, jeans and a pair of flats, is hereby up for grabs.
Even the converse sneakers.
Sashi‘s already called dibs on the cam and Sabby on the phone.

Reactions to this declaration of ‘EVERYTHING I OWN IS URS IF U WANT K’ has ranged from ‘WTF I WANT YER SHOES’ and ‘you fucking hippy!’
Friends are demanding explanations and parents are squinting at me suspiciously and aunties are facepalming.

Why is everyone so appalled and surprised and nnnnggg-ey over the idea of giving all your things away?
“But it’s eeeeverything! It’s all your awesome, awesome stuuuuff! What will you do without themmm! O_O” said flabbergastedlady.
They’re just thingz, stfu.
I just woke up two days ago, and realized that. And that although they’re all very nice and awl, I don’t need or RLY want any of it.

Mum offered to take me on a shopping spree today, cuz yes, today marks the 20th year of my tyrannical existence on earth- and I said, no that’s okai.
In December my reaction would have approximately been, ‘YES PLS I KILL U IF U DUN TAKE ME NAO THX.’ Needless to say, mum is now still eyeing me suspiciously from across the hall.

It’s sorta freeing and I somehow feel.. lighter, not having thingz to obsess about and needing nothing but good company and music and a coupla fun memories. And notwantingsobad that absurdly expensive pair of blah in the shop window.
I dunno what happened but it happened.
Is it the sleep deprivation talking? Have I found enlightenment? Am I turning into a tree hugging hippy (O NOEZ)?
No idea. But it feels good.

Juju want a home.

Posted: February 3, 2010 in Uncategorized

hi I am Juju. teh lonely puppy.
yes ok I am not exactly lonely but that is besides the point. me and my siblingz and my mother woz living happily on the roadside near orsumlady’s college (I talk about orsumlady later).
but then yesterday kakkiman in stupid jeep killed my brudda. I and my mother and my siblingz and orsumlady and orsumlady’s friends saw the whole thing. :C
Juju sad.

Juju don’t want to die. Juju too pretty and fuzzy to die. see how Juju speak in third person, it make Juju sound slightly creepy becoz Tarzan talk in third person too, but Juju’s face is too cute to be creepy so it sound cute rly.
besides Juju’s obvius charm and erratic grammr problemz, Juju is also very cuddleh and loving like a fun monkey. Juju is only a few months old and have not yet seen monkey but orsumlady, whose blog I am using for this message to hoomans, says they are cool. she also say somethin random bout himal’s mother being fat but Juju not understand.

anyway. pls give a home to Juju, that is me, the puppy staring with silly face at you in above area on the left. or any of my other siblingz or my mother. we might not be colombo 7 dogs, all posh and barkey and stuff, but we are totally huggable and disease free. this is coz orsumlady will take care of vet or vaccinashun stuffs when you adopt us.

I would like to live with orsumlady coz she so orsum but she is putting cat in her home. Juju hate cat. I eat cat for breakfast. ok I eat sausage bunnis and occashunaly the mushy biskit or two for breakfast but you get whattimean.

Juju is happy for nao. but Juju don’t want me or mummy or siblingz to be ended under jeep wheel. it will suck. so pls consider thx.