I shall forever be the one who is much hated for her callous indifference towards cricket.Sigh.............
Honestly,is it so wrong to not be a part of the cricket frenzy surrounding the much sought-after world cup which is spreading faster than the Australian bush fires drenched in petrol and consumes all of the nation? Is it so wrong that when the whole country is slapping their foreheads in dismay,banging their heads against walls,pulling out their poor,hapless,messed up hair(which is ruffled by constant agitation and scratching of heads) off their scalps at the loss of a wicket,I find it only natural to keep my cool and look(and be) completely unbothered by it all? Is it so very wicked of me that I'm able to serenely read a book and mind my own business,look up and smile in front of the TV set,have a healthy appetite and eat heartily no matter who won or lost the match,have no problem getting up to go for a second helping in the middle of a critical over when the whole house hold is going ape and bananas over an umpire decision? Does it make me a traitor of the motherland to be so breezy and clueless about the whole cricket scenario? I hope not.
Cricket indeed sounds worse than ancient Greek inverted in to sign language and then translated in to Hebrew to me.Not that it's complicated,just that I've never been bothered enough to learn it,observe it closely enough to learn.It's not that I don't hate it either,just that I'm indifferent to it,I mean,I could sit and watch a cricket match if I don't have anything else to do and if it absolutely requires me to do so,no problem about it,but my lack of enthusiasm bothers many people.It's exciting if you can be there live within the premises.There is so much going on,the papare music(which I'm quite fond of) the aberrant clown heads who dance along,the ardent,demented cheering mobs going cuckoo over a lost wicket,a six,a four(I do know my sixes and four's by the way),the alcohol enthusiasts who make it an occasion to "put a drink" and commemorate the occasion and then perform the most tantalizing,the most titillating dance routines,the stray dogs who venture out on to the field and look around bewildered,enjoying all the attention(which I find quite endearing) and the drama that follows in chasing them away,the flags,the crowd,the whistles,the wolf whistles,the attempted whistles,the occasional string of filth which escapes a distraught fan's zealous mouth,it's just so alive.And the ambiance is definitely contagious I should say.I find myself dancing along and cheering as well sometimes(although I'm not often sure of what I'm cheering for I find myself carried along by music)
Some resent my lack of enthusiasm in cricket.By "some" I meant some people who are the closest to me.Sigh........Does that make me an ungrateful non-patriotic? Sigh.........It just makes me sad.
The Darling says that cricket shall be the only sport that we Sri Lankans shall ever be good at and that we should be supportive of it.He feels very strongly about my indifference towards the game and resents my lack of enthusiasm I guess.But what can one do when one doesn't feel enthusiastic about something? I believe in honesty.I absolutely refuse to fake enthusiasm(or anything else for that matter) It just doesn't feel right.
Ran in to Ajantha Mendis and Anjelo Mathews(found the names from Mother Dearest who wanted to stalk them around the exhibition to which I vehemently objected) at the Architecture exhibition at BMICH today and we had to wade through a desperate sea of people who either wanted to take photographs with them,get signatures and do things of that sort.I practically had to drag away a reluctant Mother Dearest who absolutely refused to budge from the place.Oh well........
Sitting here typing away at a computer keyboard,blowing my nose(Yes,I have a very bad cold which is bordering on feverish) sipping away at a very dark,scarily bitter looking Lak peyawa(Mother Dearest talked me in to replacing Samahan,which I'm used to taking and advised Lak Peyawa instead) nibbling on a piece of kithul jaggery(which makes it all better) I'm wondering.Would it make a significant difference in the world if I suddenly sprouted an interest in cricket? Would it be oh-so-awful of me if I did not give a rat's perfect round ass about the game while the whole country is going berserk over a LBW,a missed catch or something of the sort? Sure I'l feel sad if Sri Lanka did not manage to perform well,sure I shall feel glad if the country won the world cup(hypothetically) But it just won't stop my world from revolving around the sun or start rocking my boat all of a sudden however much I try.It's a game,not the end of the world.That's how I feel anyway.
We are all entitled to our own likes and dislikes aren't we?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
My wardrobe and I
I REALLY need to arrange my wardrobe.Seriously,it looks like a high voltage cloth bomb on devil's wings had exploded in there and I can't seem to separate my jeans from my tops and my tops from my bottoms.Really,everything's just tangled up and well,you can't really figure out a leg from a sleeve so to speak.It's like a mass grave in there,where cloths go to die.
I've always had a well organized wardrobe,but since of late,everything has gone awry what with the endless assignments,worries and complaints about the lack of lecturers( or the fact that the whole bloody system is being so bloody inefficient,hard-hearted and cruel),general fears about our poor four year degree going down the drain( talk about time,energy and blood being wasted in the most idiotic way possible) and all the rest of it.My wardrobe and I share a special bond.I need to have my wardrobe well organized in order to feel at peace,to feel like everything's as it should be,in it's element.So,do I even need to state that everything just looks so fucked up right now?
Well,my usual mug of afternoon tea seems to be calming me down for the moment(I just adore my new mug although Father Dearest always makes snide remarks about it saying that it looks like a barrel) Organizing the wardrobe would take up the whole evening (what with ear splitting music blaring out of the radio,me waltzing around the room in a frenzy and Mother Dearest complaining of sound pollution) but then,the peace that follows afterwards is worth much more than money or gold.I'm used to having things all hung up nicely on cloth hangers to avoid wrinkling( Cz I am never a one for ironing) I would wear something and go out even if it is unwearably crumpled and shabby looking(and Mother Dearest would go pale in the face as a ghost who just fell in to a giant powder compartment and fire out a whole channel of protests about decency and me looking like a servant girl and the sort and me being me,choose to dodge the bullets,completely ignore her and continue along my path) but never touch an iron for the love of life(or the love of some peace and quiet).It's just way too much complexity for my simple life,the ironing of cloths I mean.
I'm afraid that my mother will disown me one of these days.Oh well...........
Yeah well,now you know.Lady Grouchalot is gonna be cleaning out her closet tonight to the beat of some groovy tune or the other ( usually whatever that is playing on the radio at that time which I notice are always catchy as hell beats that I find myself dancing and singing along to) .Time to switch on the music and let it rip!! \m/
I've always had a well organized wardrobe,but since of late,everything has gone awry what with the endless assignments,worries and complaints about the lack of lecturers( or the fact that the whole bloody system is being so bloody inefficient,hard-hearted and cruel),general fears about our poor four year degree going down the drain( talk about time,energy and blood being wasted in the most idiotic way possible) and all the rest of it.My wardrobe and I share a special bond.I need to have my wardrobe well organized in order to feel at peace,to feel like everything's as it should be,in it's element.So,do I even need to state that everything just looks so fucked up right now?
Well,my usual mug of afternoon tea seems to be calming me down for the moment(I just adore my new mug although Father Dearest always makes snide remarks about it saying that it looks like a barrel) Organizing the wardrobe would take up the whole evening (what with ear splitting music blaring out of the radio,me waltzing around the room in a frenzy and Mother Dearest complaining of sound pollution) but then,the peace that follows afterwards is worth much more than money or gold.I'm used to having things all hung up nicely on cloth hangers to avoid wrinkling( Cz I am never a one for ironing) I would wear something and go out even if it is unwearably crumpled and shabby looking(and Mother Dearest would go pale in the face as a ghost who just fell in to a giant powder compartment and fire out a whole channel of protests about decency and me looking like a servant girl and the sort and me being me,choose to dodge the bullets,completely ignore her and continue along my path) but never touch an iron for the love of life(or the love of some peace and quiet).It's just way too much complexity for my simple life,the ironing of cloths I mean.
I'm afraid that my mother will disown me one of these days.Oh well...........
Yeah well,now you know.Lady Grouchalot is gonna be cleaning out her closet tonight to the beat of some groovy tune or the other ( usually whatever that is playing on the radio at that time which I notice are always catchy as hell beats that I find myself dancing and singing along to) .Time to switch on the music and let it rip!! \m/
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Baudelairean contempt and daring to BE
I think it would do me well to do something totally and inconceivably outrageous,rebel against the system,the cultural norms,the beautifully forged lie that we consider as our proud non-existent cultural and non-cultural values and whatever it is that are supposed to be the "accepted" standards of a hypocritical society,shock the parents,possibly go to jail and write a book,a couple of memoires about the experience from within the iron railings of a cold,hard prison cell.People love a bit of drama,a bit of scandal and an unabashedly rebellious soul that will spin out the unbelievable and tell them bizarre stories.Just a thought.
My desire for my life-long dream tattoo has raised its magnificently sexy head once again and stares at me seductively, provocative, beckoning me in the most tempting of all manners.I shall make sure I get it done this time around at the least.All my life I have longed for it,I have dreamt of it and now,the time is ripe to put aside all possible inhibitions,shrug away all the quizzical looks,the critical hmm's,the exaggerated gasps,intimidating judgmental looks of the society,the shrieks,parental fits and starters(which I always get victimized by so not much of a difference there) the shocked looks of relations and pursue what I want for once.All my life I had always done what they wanted me to do.I have become who they wanted me to become,ever so obediently like a good little girl.Time to let it rip and let out that side of me that the world had dreaded seeing.Lady Grouchalot is determined this time.I just hope there won't be much of an objection to handle.
Putting aside my thesis work for a while,the study of Baudelaire brings me the utmost,almost a sort of a sinful pleasure.It's like reading the amplified, scandalized version of my own thought process and fantasies in his work,it's almost like we read each other's minds.His imagery,his themes are almost so provocatively tangible that you end up nodding your head in agreement as if the dude had been talking to you all this while.That's what his words do,they speak to you,they lure you in this dark,suggestive,sensual manner that you find hard to resist.His imagery is unique,dark and sinfully sensual that you find yourself looking around guiltily like a child caught stealing candy.If he was alive today he would have indeed become a rather singular prodigy of a metal artist.
Baudelaire had been overcome with boredom all his life.Therefore he was on a constant look out for ways to overcome this monotony,the depression and the disappointments that life threw at him.Women,alcohol and drugs(Drugs,sex and rock and roll.Sounds familiar?) had only been mere pass-times for him.Baudelaire used them for the sole purpose of counting away the long and dragging minutes of his rather irksome,tiresome existence.Women were objects to be admired from far off.Once he came close to them,he lost interest.In fact,he grew to hate them,loath their very existence and believed them to be an absolutely repulsive object that drains you of your energy and finances alike(the state of unattainability,in my opinion is wayyyyyy kinkier than any fetish known to the man kind which I think is why Adam and Eve committed the original sin in the first place.Which is also why even today,we are STILL attracted to forbidden fruit,the fact that its "forbidden" giving you that much sought-after adrenalin rush,bestowing upon the object,an unreal alluring quality and an absolutely irresistible casing) It is when you get close to the object of your desire(that you previously thought to be perfect) that you notice it's many flaws,faults and deficiencies and grow quite repulsed(a repulsion evoked by sheer disappointment) by the imperfections that you later on discovered.But our imperfections are what makes us human which is why it is wise to reveal ourselves,our faults and inconsistencies to an outside world which in turn helps us build sustainable human relationships(avoiding disappointments).That is of course if you do not wish to live in your own fantasy world of perfect human beings.So the choice is ours whether or not to have healthy,thriving,not-so-perfect yet satisfying relationships with human beings that you know to be imperfect which are in every sense of the word,real and nurturing or live in your own little perfect world all by yourself not really letting anybody in,which makes it is in effect, a far cry from the reality.
Hashish,opium and absinthe had been Baudelaire's companions of boredom as he describes in his work,portraying them as an artificial paradise that can only be achieved through the use of these material.Baudelaire with his brooding,shifty,heavy,deeply set eyes,the set jaw,a pair of lips that weep downwards from the corners and that intense sourly expression that always remains the same.I wonder if he ever smiled.And if he DID smile,I wonder how he looked.Oh well,what does it matter,he's dead anyway.And some people lose their charm when they smile.So let em frown their souls away for their appearance's and personal charm's sake.
Anyways,the point is,it seems that one has to be disappointed one way or the other,regarding one aspect or the other in his or her life to become a good or a bearable artist.The lives of all phenomenal artists I know are just monolithically disastrous,it's almost like they do not have a personal life what-so-ever and they draw the courage to live and to create masterpieces of art from the very depths of these ultra sucky situations(not EVERY ONE if I may stress so).Or maybe it is the insatiability of their nature,their restless souls that evoke this kind of mastery and cook up some really humongous disasters for themselves and others too who dare to get involved in these roller coaster rides of their lives.For any peace loving individual,that would certainly be way too much drama to handle.Oh well......
All rebelliousness aside,I better get back to my work now,enough blabbering,at least for now.I guess there's no real harm in getting out of my comfort zone and doing something different for a change.Further thinking in order regarding the issue.Tata everyone.Have a good day :)
My desire for my life-long dream tattoo has raised its magnificently sexy head once again and stares at me seductively, provocative, beckoning me in the most tempting of all manners.I shall make sure I get it done this time around at the least.All my life I have longed for it,I have dreamt of it and now,the time is ripe to put aside all possible inhibitions,shrug away all the quizzical looks,the critical hmm's,the exaggerated gasps,intimidating judgmental looks of the society,the shrieks,parental fits and starters(which I always get victimized by so not much of a difference there) the shocked looks of relations and pursue what I want for once.All my life I had always done what they wanted me to do.I have become who they wanted me to become,ever so obediently like a good little girl.Time to let it rip and let out that side of me that the world had dreaded seeing.Lady Grouchalot is determined this time.I just hope there won't be much of an objection to handle.
Putting aside my thesis work for a while,the study of Baudelaire brings me the utmost,almost a sort of a sinful pleasure.It's like reading the amplified, scandalized version of my own thought process and fantasies in his work,it's almost like we read each other's minds.His imagery,his themes are almost so provocatively tangible that you end up nodding your head in agreement as if the dude had been talking to you all this while.That's what his words do,they speak to you,they lure you in this dark,suggestive,sensual manner that you find hard to resist.His imagery is unique,dark and sinfully sensual that you find yourself looking around guiltily like a child caught stealing candy.If he was alive today he would have indeed become a rather singular prodigy of a metal artist.
Baudelaire had been overcome with boredom all his life.Therefore he was on a constant look out for ways to overcome this monotony,the depression and the disappointments that life threw at him.Women,alcohol and drugs(Drugs,sex and rock and roll.Sounds familiar?) had only been mere pass-times for him.Baudelaire used them for the sole purpose of counting away the long and dragging minutes of his rather irksome,tiresome existence.Women were objects to be admired from far off.Once he came close to them,he lost interest.In fact,he grew to hate them,loath their very existence and believed them to be an absolutely repulsive object that drains you of your energy and finances alike(the state of unattainability,in my opinion is wayyyyyy kinkier than any fetish known to the man kind which I think is why Adam and Eve committed the original sin in the first place.Which is also why even today,we are STILL attracted to forbidden fruit,the fact that its "forbidden" giving you that much sought-after adrenalin rush,bestowing upon the object,an unreal alluring quality and an absolutely irresistible casing) It is when you get close to the object of your desire(that you previously thought to be perfect) that you notice it's many flaws,faults and deficiencies and grow quite repulsed(a repulsion evoked by sheer disappointment) by the imperfections that you later on discovered.But our imperfections are what makes us human which is why it is wise to reveal ourselves,our faults and inconsistencies to an outside world which in turn helps us build sustainable human relationships(avoiding disappointments).That is of course if you do not wish to live in your own fantasy world of perfect human beings.So the choice is ours whether or not to have healthy,thriving,not-so-perfect yet satisfying relationships with human beings that you know to be imperfect which are in every sense of the word,real and nurturing or live in your own little perfect world all by yourself not really letting anybody in,which makes it is in effect, a far cry from the reality.
Hashish,opium and absinthe had been Baudelaire's companions of boredom as he describes in his work,portraying them as an artificial paradise that can only be achieved through the use of these material.Baudelaire with his brooding,shifty,heavy,deeply set eyes,the set jaw,a pair of lips that weep downwards from the corners and that intense sourly expression that always remains the same.I wonder if he ever smiled.And if he DID smile,I wonder how he looked.Oh well,what does it matter,he's dead anyway.And some people lose their charm when they smile.So let em frown their souls away for their appearance's and personal charm's sake.
Anyways,the point is,it seems that one has to be disappointed one way or the other,regarding one aspect or the other in his or her life to become a good or a bearable artist.The lives of all phenomenal artists I know are just monolithically disastrous,it's almost like they do not have a personal life what-so-ever and they draw the courage to live and to create masterpieces of art from the very depths of these ultra sucky situations(not EVERY ONE if I may stress so).Or maybe it is the insatiability of their nature,their restless souls that evoke this kind of mastery and cook up some really humongous disasters for themselves and others too who dare to get involved in these roller coaster rides of their lives.For any peace loving individual,that would certainly be way too much drama to handle.Oh well......
All rebelliousness aside,I better get back to my work now,enough blabbering,at least for now.I guess there's no real harm in getting out of my comfort zone and doing something different for a change.Further thinking in order regarding the issue.Tata everyone.Have a good day :)
Monday, February 21, 2011
Rumble,grumble,tumble,mumble
Daddy Dearest came home from Yalpanam yesterday.He brought back red onion and green chilly.Needless to say,Mother Dearest was delighted.It's been a long time since any of us saw a red onion.
He's been to Jaffna so many times before on duty and each time he would bring mangoes,grapes,that strange sort of flat-as-a-deflated-ego wadeis that look like somebody had sat on them before frying,palm roots and palm jaggery as a costume.But this time,he had more valuable stuff on his mind. Mangoes and grapes are the luxury food of the past it seems.The statues of the present kings *cough* rulers of Sri Lanka shall be sculpted as being fed with red onions and chillies rather than grapes and whatever it is that kings *cough* rulers eat.How the times have changed.
Looking at the pile of photocopied notes cum photocopied God-knows-what on the table,getting depressed and feeling sorry for ourselves.If we collected the money that we have spent on photocopies during the whole course of our gloriously torturous university years,we could have bought a couple of photocopy machines by now and started a thriving business of our own,making money out of wretched,miserable souls just like us.Yes,we don't have lecturers but we have plenty of assignments to submit.It seems that these days a lecturer is the equivalent of a photocopied paper/papers/whole piles of books.They are interchangeable and one can easily be replaced with the other.The bitter truth about the free education I suppose? Or maybe its just the way things are done at UOK.I dunno.
It used to be better though.Life used to be easier earlier and everybody seemed so kind and supportive.That was the golden age of our department me thinks.With the depart of one extremely supportive and incredibly understanding lecturer who was much more than a mere lecturer to us,everything started falling apart,everything.That was the beginning of the end.
No regrets though.What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.Precious lessons learnt throughout the whole experience so yes,the eternal optimist in me whispers ever so softly that everything happens for good and it usually does.Let's just hope that we don't end up in neck high shit by the time we are done.
Wish I could be insensitive,wish I could not care about other people's feelings.Wish I could shut out other people so that their actions/words don't hurt me.Wish I could remain indifferent whatever life throws at me.Sigh........Life would have been easier then.Much,MUCH easier...............
Feeling so lost and confused.Nothing makes sense.Let alone the assignments,life itself doesn't make sense right now.But then again,WHEN did life EVER make sense? You are born alone,you fight your own battles,you make your own messes,you tidy them up yourself and ultimately,you end up digging your own grave and lying in it,dying alone as well(if you don't die in a plane crash and the like with hundreds of others in it that is) Question-How does a girl who falls, no,actually JUMPS eyes wide open, down a rabbit hole, plummeting into chaos come out unchanged? Answer-She doesn't (courtesy Little black book 2004) She comes out bruised,sullied,exhausted yet hardened up and wise enough not to jump in to rabbit holes again.She will watch out for rabbit holes,pot holes,man holes(pun totally intended) and holes of all sorts and do her very best to avoid them like Justin Bieber with or without the plague.Truth is,once you fall down a rabbit hole,you should come out the same end from where you fell in.Or else you'll end up a hundred gazillion times more lost and confused than you started with in the first place.
It's not easy and it most certainly is never pleasant,but the least you could do is try.Lady Grouchalot is positive.Not sure whether the positiveness is the result of the flabbergastingly colossal amounts of unadulterated caffeine consumed within the past couple of hours or the positive angel finally fluttering her flimsy wings and whispering sweet,mint-flavored nothings in the ear.Aaaargh! Coffee always makes me go hyper and make me wanna dance along with the penguins to the tune of manamana...yeeeey!! :D
Me and my unpredictable mood swings,I know......... Sigh.......
He's been to Jaffna so many times before on duty and each time he would bring mangoes,grapes,that strange sort of flat-as-a-deflated-ego wadeis that look like somebody had sat on them before frying,palm roots and palm jaggery as a costume.But this time,he had more valuable stuff on his mind. Mangoes and grapes are the luxury food of the past it seems.The statues of the present kings *cough* rulers of Sri Lanka shall be sculpted as being fed with red onions and chillies rather than grapes and whatever it is that kings *cough* rulers eat.How the times have changed.
Looking at the pile of photocopied notes cum photocopied God-knows-what on the table,getting depressed and feeling sorry for ourselves.If we collected the money that we have spent on photocopies during the whole course of our gloriously torturous university years,we could have bought a couple of photocopy machines by now and started a thriving business of our own,making money out of wretched,miserable souls just like us.Yes,we don't have lecturers but we have plenty of assignments to submit.It seems that these days a lecturer is the equivalent of a photocopied paper/papers/whole piles of books.They are interchangeable and one can easily be replaced with the other.The bitter truth about the free education I suppose? Or maybe its just the way things are done at UOK.I dunno.
It used to be better though.Life used to be easier earlier and everybody seemed so kind and supportive.That was the golden age of our department me thinks.With the depart of one extremely supportive and incredibly understanding lecturer who was much more than a mere lecturer to us,everything started falling apart,everything.That was the beginning of the end.
No regrets though.What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.Precious lessons learnt throughout the whole experience so yes,the eternal optimist in me whispers ever so softly that everything happens for good and it usually does.Let's just hope that we don't end up in neck high shit by the time we are done.
Wish I could be insensitive,wish I could not care about other people's feelings.Wish I could shut out other people so that their actions/words don't hurt me.Wish I could remain indifferent whatever life throws at me.Sigh........Life would have been easier then.Much,MUCH easier...............
Feeling so lost and confused.Nothing makes sense.Let alone the assignments,life itself doesn't make sense right now.But then again,WHEN did life EVER make sense? You are born alone,you fight your own battles,you make your own messes,you tidy them up yourself and ultimately,you end up digging your own grave and lying in it,dying alone as well(if you don't die in a plane crash and the like with hundreds of others in it that is) Question-How does a girl who falls, no,actually JUMPS eyes wide open, down a rabbit hole, plummeting into chaos come out unchanged? Answer-She doesn't (courtesy Little black book 2004) She comes out bruised,sullied,exhausted yet hardened up and wise enough not to jump in to rabbit holes again.She will watch out for rabbit holes,pot holes,man holes(pun totally intended) and holes of all sorts and do her very best to avoid them like Justin Bieber with or without the plague.Truth is,once you fall down a rabbit hole,you should come out the same end from where you fell in.Or else you'll end up a hundred gazillion times more lost and confused than you started with in the first place.
It's not easy and it most certainly is never pleasant,but the least you could do is try.Lady Grouchalot is positive.Not sure whether the positiveness is the result of the flabbergastingly colossal amounts of unadulterated caffeine consumed within the past couple of hours or the positive angel finally fluttering her flimsy wings and whispering sweet,mint-flavored nothings in the ear.Aaaargh! Coffee always makes me go hyper and make me wanna dance along with the penguins to the tune of manamana...yeeeey!! :D
Me and my unpredictable mood swings,I know......... Sigh.......
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Nothing like an occasional dose of spicy attitude to uplift the mind :)
This indeed is a grouch blog,so not every blog post is happy-yappy,sun-shiney as you can see...I want to put as much attitude as I can in to this post,be as bitchy as I can,be unfair,exaggerate,put totally unrelated crap in to this just because I feel like it and just because I can(because its MY blog) because face it darlin' ,life is never fair,always blown over to be more than what it really is and as always,full of crap.
I have always believed that I should be able to express myself freely about what makes me happy,what makes me sad,what displeases me,what gets on my nerves.But it seems that of late,that freedom has been throttled(not exactly taken away,but sort of smothered) in the most ridiculous way possible.I don't want to be smothered,I want to be free,I want to be the vibrant person I'm used to being and I can only do that if I'm allowed to be free,with no inhibitions.
I should be able to make witty remarks without random people going all childishly and ridiculously ballistic over them.I mean,grow up and take a chill pill will ya....
I am rather protective about people I care about and I don't really see how that should concern others.But on the other hand,the people I care about should understand that I care about them so much so,that I don't give a flying F*** about what the rest of the world thinks.Their opinion isn't needed.So sue me.
I'm a human being,an individual with my own attitudes and opinions about things and the world,so take me or leave me,I don't really care because I really shouldn't be caring about people who find it easy to simply up and leave,just like that.But if you do take me,please understand that its just the whole package,attitude and all.Cz I'd rather be left alone than lose my identity for nothing.Actually,solitude is the ultimate bliss me thinks,with no additional responsibilities and zero pressure.
Me also thinks that responsibility and additional pressure is well worth the effort IF the object of our commitment is well worth it.And that worth comes from how much importance the above said object gives you in his/her life,how well he/she treats you,looks after you and whether that person recognizes,appreciates you for what you really are and what you do for him/her.Everybody deserves to be treated like princes and princesses in their lives.And you end up falling in love over and over again with the one who treats you like you deserve to be treated.
I'm not very good at holding grudges.I never will be.I forgive quickly and easily.Maybe too easily me thinks.....Gosh,I hate that.
The world is no longer your kindergarten mafia(its alright if you're a five year old with only your imaginary friends to keep you company or a teenager who(seems to) know it all) But if you're an adult,sorry to burst your shiny little bubble(and mine too) cz there's a whole world out there and people got their own lives to live and they won't give a rat's shiny ass about you when it comes to their own business.People are never what they seem.Multifaceted as they come,manipulative and pure evil(not that evil is a bad thing) Evil is good if only evil is presented as evil itself.I like people who call themselves as evil and not try to hide the evilness under sugary cotton candy clouds of I-care-so-very-much and I'm-such-a-moralistic-goody-goody-that-you-can-eat-rice-off-my-puritanic-ass.Bloody hypocrites!
I shall write about evil in a whole new blog post because evil is good,its great actually and totally DESERVES a separate note.But my darling Evil,this post is about attitude,therefore,I banish you off this land.Now get the F*** out! :* :)
Anyways,that's all the time I have for attitude I think,because I should get about doing stuff in the real world(which is so far apart from the blogging world.Sigh....)
It does feel good to be bitchy once in a while(Happy sigh.....) Must write more posts like this.I LOVE Grouchalot!!!! :)))
I have always believed that I should be able to express myself freely about what makes me happy,what makes me sad,what displeases me,what gets on my nerves.But it seems that of late,that freedom has been throttled(not exactly taken away,but sort of smothered) in the most ridiculous way possible.I don't want to be smothered,I want to be free,I want to be the vibrant person I'm used to being and I can only do that if I'm allowed to be free,with no inhibitions.
I should be able to make witty remarks without random people going all childishly and ridiculously ballistic over them.I mean,grow up and take a chill pill will ya....
I am rather protective about people I care about and I don't really see how that should concern others.But on the other hand,the people I care about should understand that I care about them so much so,that I don't give a flying F*** about what the rest of the world thinks.Their opinion isn't needed.So sue me.
I'm a human being,an individual with my own attitudes and opinions about things and the world,so take me or leave me,I don't really care because I really shouldn't be caring about people who find it easy to simply up and leave,just like that.But if you do take me,please understand that its just the whole package,attitude and all.Cz I'd rather be left alone than lose my identity for nothing.Actually,solitude is the ultimate bliss me thinks,with no additional responsibilities and zero pressure.
Me also thinks that responsibility and additional pressure is well worth the effort IF the object of our commitment is well worth it.And that worth comes from how much importance the above said object gives you in his/her life,how well he/she treats you,looks after you and whether that person recognizes,appreciates you for what you really are and what you do for him/her.Everybody deserves to be treated like princes and princesses in their lives.And you end up falling in love over and over again with the one who treats you like you deserve to be treated.
I'm not very good at holding grudges.I never will be.I forgive quickly and easily.Maybe too easily me thinks.....Gosh,I hate that.
The world is no longer your kindergarten mafia(its alright if you're a five year old with only your imaginary friends to keep you company or a teenager who(seems to) know it all) But if you're an adult,sorry to burst your shiny little bubble(and mine too) cz there's a whole world out there and people got their own lives to live and they won't give a rat's shiny ass about you when it comes to their own business.People are never what they seem.Multifaceted as they come,manipulative and pure evil(not that evil is a bad thing) Evil is good if only evil is presented as evil itself.I like people who call themselves as evil and not try to hide the evilness under sugary cotton candy clouds of I-care-so-very-much and I'm-such-a-moralistic-goody-goody-that-you-can-eat-rice-off-my-puritanic-ass.Bloody hypocrites!
I shall write about evil in a whole new blog post because evil is good,its great actually and totally DESERVES a separate note.But my darling Evil,this post is about attitude,therefore,I banish you off this land.Now get the F*** out! :* :)
Anyways,that's all the time I have for attitude I think,because I should get about doing stuff in the real world(which is so far apart from the blogging world.Sigh....)
It does feel good to be bitchy once in a while(Happy sigh.....) Must write more posts like this.I LOVE Grouchalot!!!! :)))
The Lady is stuck for words
Lady Grouchalot has a lot to say.But for the first time in life,she finds herself quite speechless.
It's not a nice feeling to be stuck for words when all you want to do is write,write and write.Maybe the muses have tired themselves with all the published/unpublished posts that were written last night.Ah yes,last night.The reason why I'm suffering from this outrageous headache and the feeling of nausea right now.Phenomenal indeed.
Grouchalot indeed has a lot to grouch about but doesn't posses the strength nor the creativity to do so right now.Feeling absolutely drained,partly due to the fact that she hasn't eaten the whole day,haven't slept a wink since the night before the last not to mention the emotional strain and the stress.Life's not so easy it seems when everybody's out to get you and you have to trod extra carefully as if you're walking on glass.Or on a mine field.You never know what and when something will blow up in your face and disfigure you for life.Even the most innocent of all steps,the most light and delicate of all steps would suffice for it all to blow up and change your whole life.Funny thing is,people who cause it are not even aware of what it could do,how it would affect another person's life.It's been a while since the war ended and yet,mine fields exist among our very selves.Sigh.....
So friggin' tired.A big,tight hug would do wonders for me right now.Physical strain I can endure but emotional strain is harder.Grouchy as she is,Lady Grouchalot is quite sensitive,perhaps ten times the average amount which enables her to see things and write in a more intimate level.The sensitivity has reached such a level that right now,that the Lady is stuck for words and cannot feel anything anymore.That is the numbness that overcomes you when sensitivity becomes unbearable that it hurts so very much and you would do anything to shut the pain up.So she is content to keep her peace for the moment.
The Lady needs her rest now.Good night everyone!!
It's not a nice feeling to be stuck for words when all you want to do is write,write and write.Maybe the muses have tired themselves with all the published/unpublished posts that were written last night.Ah yes,last night.The reason why I'm suffering from this outrageous headache and the feeling of nausea right now.Phenomenal indeed.
Grouchalot indeed has a lot to grouch about but doesn't posses the strength nor the creativity to do so right now.Feeling absolutely drained,partly due to the fact that she hasn't eaten the whole day,haven't slept a wink since the night before the last not to mention the emotional strain and the stress.Life's not so easy it seems when everybody's out to get you and you have to trod extra carefully as if you're walking on glass.Or on a mine field.You never know what and when something will blow up in your face and disfigure you for life.Even the most innocent of all steps,the most light and delicate of all steps would suffice for it all to blow up and change your whole life.Funny thing is,people who cause it are not even aware of what it could do,how it would affect another person's life.It's been a while since the war ended and yet,mine fields exist among our very selves.Sigh.....
So friggin' tired.A big,tight hug would do wonders for me right now.Physical strain I can endure but emotional strain is harder.Grouchy as she is,Lady Grouchalot is quite sensitive,perhaps ten times the average amount which enables her to see things and write in a more intimate level.The sensitivity has reached such a level that right now,that the Lady is stuck for words and cannot feel anything anymore.That is the numbness that overcomes you when sensitivity becomes unbearable that it hurts so very much and you would do anything to shut the pain up.So she is content to keep her peace for the moment.
The Lady needs her rest now.Good night everyone!!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Childhood fantasies still at play?
When I was small,I honestly didn't know what I wanted to become when I grew up.I would stare blankly when other kids my age would promptly come up with their desire to become doctors when they grew up and since that seemed to be the "in" thing at the time and me being clueless about what I wanted to be thought that it would be the right thing to become.I went home and asked Mother Dearest if it was ok not to become anything when I grew up.Needless to say,she was somewhat shocked.Seeing her horrified face I asked her if it was ok if I became a doctor.She was relieved.Her daughter wanted to become a doctor.What more can a mother ask for?
After a while when I was old enough to understand the makings of the medical profession, I decided that cutting up frogs in medical school and poking fingers up other people's asses was not all that glamorous and decided that I wanted to be a Goddess.This was the era when I was highly taken up with Greek and Roman mythology and had begun to read extensively upon that subject(a barely 10 year old me borrowing books about Greek and Roman civilizations,mythology and its bases astounded the librarian and made him believe that he indeed was looking at a child genius but was sourly disappointed later on in life when I got obsessed with Edgar Allen Poe,goosebumps and all that responded to the tag "horror").Not that the highly addictive TV series of Zeena,Hercules,etc (that I watched open mouthed,not daring even to chase away a fly that had landed on my nose lest I should miss anything) had anything to do with it.It was oh-s0-wonderful to parade around in togas and gold brocaded slippers,golden flowing hair,bearing shields,spears and swords(not that they ever used them.They preferred a more direct method of striking down the person that pissed them off with lightning) Plus they never age.And they never had to do any exams or do shitty jobs,wash plates or take out garbage.It was my dream job,being a Goddess.
But to my dismay I found out that I was born a mortal and could never become a Goddess while I was alive.Then I wanted to become a spy.The sexy black and slick-a-licious cat suit was only a part of the attraction.I wanted to kick people's butts,I wanted to chase criminals half way around the globe,seduce them to giving up state secrets,kiss hunky random strangers and disappear,leaving them wondering and definitely wanting more.I wanted to be able to pull out guns from every joint of my body,to be able to throw knives and actually be able to hit something with them,I wanted to protect the innocent and the helpless.I wanted to fight crime,to be a mistress of disguise,to be able to do all those fancy things you see on movies like jump from one building to another with cat-like grace,to hang from a helicopter with one foot,armed to the teeth,mean,green and menacing.I still do,I still want to be a spy,but for practical reasons this time.I'd rather be held at gun point than be held hostage by an utterly inhuman, crassly inconsiderate educational system run by cold blooded individuals who make us believe(at least for a moment) that they actually do care.Just sayin'
The point is,all fantasies aside (I know I will never be the coolass,crime-fighting,ass-kicking sort of spy that I've always wanted to be *sob sob* ) Seems like I'm back to square one.I'm back to starring blankly at other kids while they promptly come up with who they want to be when they grow up.I know what I want to be,I want to be a spy,I want to be a Goddess,and perhaps even a much sought after writer/a poet who makes oodles of money by way of monolithic sales of books all over the world(which I'm too lazy to write or don't have time to write,burdened with phenomenally turd-like assignments and the like).The only difference between now and then is that now,I shall have to be practical with what I want to be.Dreaming for us,is overrated it seems *sigh*.I know I shall eventually end up a diplomat,smile and nod diplomatically at diplomatic people at diplomatic black tie events,but will I ever be happy with nodding diplomatically as I shall be as being an absolutely undiplomatic spy? I highly doubt that.Being an adult sucks.Cz eventually you will have to grow up and face the realities of a forever changing world when you'd rather be feasting on ambrosia and striking down mortals who displeased you from the top of the heavenly mount Olympus,popping a grape or a two in your mouth in between the lightning bolts*sigh*
I'm off to have a Marie biscuit dunked in plain tea in while(cz I heard it helps to keep you awake) Hopefully it will allow me enough time to work on one of my MANY assignments atleast tonight *sigh* Good night everyone! (I sigh an awful lot these days,don't I?)
After a while when I was old enough to understand the makings of the medical profession, I decided that cutting up frogs in medical school and poking fingers up other people's asses was not all that glamorous and decided that I wanted to be a Goddess.This was the era when I was highly taken up with Greek and Roman mythology and had begun to read extensively upon that subject(a barely 10 year old me borrowing books about Greek and Roman civilizations,mythology and its bases astounded the librarian and made him believe that he indeed was looking at a child genius but was sourly disappointed later on in life when I got obsessed with Edgar Allen Poe,goosebumps and all that responded to the tag "horror").Not that the highly addictive TV series of Zeena,Hercules,etc (that I watched open mouthed,not daring even to chase away a fly that had landed on my nose lest I should miss anything) had anything to do with it.It was oh-s0-wonderful to parade around in togas and gold brocaded slippers,golden flowing hair,bearing shields,spears and swords(not that they ever used them.They preferred a more direct method of striking down the person that pissed them off with lightning) Plus they never age.And they never had to do any exams or do shitty jobs,wash plates or take out garbage.It was my dream job,being a Goddess.
But to my dismay I found out that I was born a mortal and could never become a Goddess while I was alive.Then I wanted to become a spy.The sexy black and slick-a-licious cat suit was only a part of the attraction.I wanted to kick people's butts,I wanted to chase criminals half way around the globe,seduce them to giving up state secrets,kiss hunky random strangers and disappear,leaving them wondering and definitely wanting more.I wanted to be able to pull out guns from every joint of my body,to be able to throw knives and actually be able to hit something with them,I wanted to protect the innocent and the helpless.I wanted to fight crime,to be a mistress of disguise,to be able to do all those fancy things you see on movies like jump from one building to another with cat-like grace,to hang from a helicopter with one foot,armed to the teeth,mean,green and menacing.I still do,I still want to be a spy,but for practical reasons this time.I'd rather be held at gun point than be held hostage by an utterly inhuman, crassly inconsiderate educational system run by cold blooded individuals who make us believe(at least for a moment) that they actually do care.Just sayin'
The point is,all fantasies aside (I know I will never be the coolass,crime-fighting,ass-kicking sort of spy that I've always wanted to be *sob sob* ) Seems like I'm back to square one.I'm back to starring blankly at other kids while they promptly come up with who they want to be when they grow up.I know what I want to be,I want to be a spy,I want to be a Goddess,and perhaps even a much sought after writer/a poet who makes oodles of money by way of monolithic sales of books all over the world(which I'm too lazy to write or don't have time to write,burdened with phenomenally turd-like assignments and the like).The only difference between now and then is that now,I shall have to be practical with what I want to be.Dreaming for us,is overrated it seems *sigh*.I know I shall eventually end up a diplomat,smile and nod diplomatically at diplomatic people at diplomatic black tie events,but will I ever be happy with nodding diplomatically as I shall be as being an absolutely undiplomatic spy? I highly doubt that.Being an adult sucks.Cz eventually you will have to grow up and face the realities of a forever changing world when you'd rather be feasting on ambrosia and striking down mortals who displeased you from the top of the heavenly mount Olympus,popping a grape or a two in your mouth in between the lightning bolts*sigh*
I'm off to have a Marie biscuit dunked in plain tea in while(cz I heard it helps to keep you awake) Hopefully it will allow me enough time to work on one of my MANY assignments atleast tonight *sigh* Good night everyone! (I sigh an awful lot these days,don't I?)
Mother Dearest prepares for a famine
Saturday morning.Usual rounds to the super market to buy the weekly household needs with Mother Dearest.This is where she got shocked by the prices of vegetables(and the sight of empty vegetable bins which are usually full and brimming,but only stared at you now with hungry,gaping mouths)and was struck with the impending doom of a possible famine.
On our way home,she made a deliberate stop at one of our neighborhood aunty's house(her being an ardent admirer of plants,trees and everything that sprouts leaves and threatens to forestize perfectly alright gardens) and obtained from her two plants; an aubergine plant and a chilly plant which Mother Dearest so lovingly placed in our backyard.
There were terrified talks of people dying of hunger all over the world,floods engulfing the planet,the sun burning up the world,tsunamis and whirlwinds sending humongous buildings topsy-turvey(2012 theme music playing in the background) all over town.At the home front,there were talks of stocking the pantry with several kilos of dhal too,just in case.I wonder how our pantry would survive when even the empire state building(or the NEB Tower,being the tallest building in sri Lanka) is uprooted and whirled half way across the globe or carried off to the depths of a deep blue sea in a formidable army of torrential waves.Oh well..........
It really is crazy what the country(or/and the world) have come to today.For a person who is not really bothered about the food prices or how the kitchen fares,even I was surprised to find how the original price of a product has doubled and sometimes tripled up.Some blame the government,some blame the Gods,some blame each other,some blame the Mayans for making that wretched calender of theirs which ends in 2012.Either way,things are not looking too good it seems.
But now,thanks to Mother Dearest,we shall never run out of brinjals and chilly(gives the finger to inflation).And since they are both in pots,even if the whole place gets flooded,we can still climb on to the top of the roof with our precious plants and stay.We also have a curry leaves tree which reaches up to the roof,the breadfruit tree next door(which drops its fruits on to our roof from time to time and threatens to crush the roof tiles,sheets,etc and manages to get on Daddy Dearest's nerves)Oh well........Even if the worst comes to worst,we shall still have brinjals,chilly,breadfruit and curry leaves to feed on.And dhal too,if our pantry survives.Oh I'm feeling quite comforted already (hugs herself and gives the finger to a possible famine and the apocalypse alike) :)
On our way home,she made a deliberate stop at one of our neighborhood aunty's house(her being an ardent admirer of plants,trees and everything that sprouts leaves and threatens to forestize perfectly alright gardens) and obtained from her two plants; an aubergine plant and a chilly plant which Mother Dearest so lovingly placed in our backyard.
There were terrified talks of people dying of hunger all over the world,floods engulfing the planet,the sun burning up the world,tsunamis and whirlwinds sending humongous buildings topsy-turvey(2012 theme music playing in the background) all over town.At the home front,there were talks of stocking the pantry with several kilos of dhal too,just in case.I wonder how our pantry would survive when even the empire state building(or the NEB Tower,being the tallest building in sri Lanka) is uprooted and whirled half way across the globe or carried off to the depths of a deep blue sea in a formidable army of torrential waves.Oh well..........
It really is crazy what the country(or/and the world) have come to today.For a person who is not really bothered about the food prices or how the kitchen fares,even I was surprised to find how the original price of a product has doubled and sometimes tripled up.Some blame the government,some blame the Gods,some blame each other,some blame the Mayans for making that wretched calender of theirs which ends in 2012.Either way,things are not looking too good it seems.
But now,thanks to Mother Dearest,we shall never run out of brinjals and chilly(gives the finger to inflation).And since they are both in pots,even if the whole place gets flooded,we can still climb on to the top of the roof with our precious plants and stay.We also have a curry leaves tree which reaches up to the roof,the breadfruit tree next door(which drops its fruits on to our roof from time to time and threatens to crush the roof tiles,sheets,etc and manages to get on Daddy Dearest's nerves)Oh well........Even if the worst comes to worst,we shall still have brinjals,chilly,breadfruit and curry leaves to feed on.And dhal too,if our pantry survives.Oh I'm feeling quite comforted already (hugs herself and gives the finger to a possible famine and the apocalypse alike) :)
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Your grouchy rumble daily
Woke up with this phenomenal shit-a-thon of a headache this morning and been wondering why all this time(coz I rarely get headaches) when I suddenly remembered(just a moment ago)that I had been feeling quite vomitish last night(again).I might be coming down with something.Ah fudgester......
Been toying with the idea of getting a tattoo for a very long time and finally,I'm quite resolved to get it done ASAP.What has been holding me back all this time is the absolutely horrendified,why-did-we-raise-this-child-to-turn-up-like-this *gasp* *gasp* look on my parent's face at the slightest mention of a tattoo but this time,I plan on covering their faces with paper bags with pwetty lil smileys painted on them,break the news (my usual way of getting things done-NEVER asking for their permission) run out of the house before they can catch me and get it done and over with.Whether they will take me in to the house with the tattoo or not is a different matter altogether,but I shall deal with that later.
I'm juggling several ideas for a tattoo in my head which I shall not reveal just yet because I want it to be a surprise.Either way,I want it to be something that means something to me and something that I shall not get tired of within a few years.
I'm not getting a tattoo to show off or to appear tough(like many do) and I'l probably get it done somewhere on the body that will not be revealed much.Why get a tattoo if you don't want people to see it,so many people asked.Well,like I said,I'm not getting it to show off.It's just the feeling that I want to get,to KNOW that I have a tattoo somewhere that no one can see but me and to know that it is real and that it exists.It'l be MY gift to MY body which I shall be quite proud of :)
Just discovered the wondrously stupendous effect of Center shock on a perpetually sleepy mind.Honestly,it works miracles when you are shamelessly nodding off and is already half way there to the la la land.Just pop one in the mouth and experience the change taking place in the sleepy depths of your hollow dormant minds.Whoever discovered Center shock deserves a medal from all of us too-sleepy-to-work folk out there.Should pop a couple in the purse when I'm headed for law classes next.Should see if it has the same effect on the Sri Lankan constitution :)
Should get off my bum and start writing that thesis proposal which is due tomorrow.Feeling quite downtrodden,downright rotten,abandoned,confused,hurt and therefore,sad to do anything right now.Sometimes I wonder if I expect too much,sometimes I wonder if I don't,sometimes I wonder why I don't care about myself as much as I care about others and as much as I should.Sigh......Life is always so full of shitty revelations,discoveries and breakthroughs that it's not even funny.It's sort of hard getting to know that nobody really gives a rat's ass,specially people who you thought did and respected them for that.I know for a fact that all these horrendous experiences,ultra sucky comparative studies,a monolithic dissertation that hangs over our heads like a rock that will fall and crush us all and leave us,guts spilled out like crushed cockroaches under slippered feet,exams,bad moods,assignments,fits and starters later,I shall end up embittered,angry,depressed,suicidal and ultra cynical,hating the whole world just for making its daily routines around the sun.
I'm done complaining,I'm done whining.Good night everyone.
Been toying with the idea of getting a tattoo for a very long time and finally,I'm quite resolved to get it done ASAP.What has been holding me back all this time is the absolutely horrendified,why-did-we-raise-this-child-to-turn-up-like-this *gasp* *gasp* look on my parent's face at the slightest mention of a tattoo but this time,I plan on covering their faces with paper bags with pwetty lil smileys painted on them,break the news (my usual way of getting things done-NEVER asking for their permission) run out of the house before they can catch me and get it done and over with.Whether they will take me in to the house with the tattoo or not is a different matter altogether,but I shall deal with that later.
I'm juggling several ideas for a tattoo in my head which I shall not reveal just yet because I want it to be a surprise.Either way,I want it to be something that means something to me and something that I shall not get tired of within a few years.
I'm not getting a tattoo to show off or to appear tough(like many do) and I'l probably get it done somewhere on the body that will not be revealed much.Why get a tattoo if you don't want people to see it,so many people asked.Well,like I said,I'm not getting it to show off.It's just the feeling that I want to get,to KNOW that I have a tattoo somewhere that no one can see but me and to know that it is real and that it exists.It'l be MY gift to MY body which I shall be quite proud of :)
Just discovered the wondrously stupendous effect of Center shock on a perpetually sleepy mind.Honestly,it works miracles when you are shamelessly nodding off and is already half way there to the la la land.Just pop one in the mouth and experience the change taking place in the sleepy depths of your hollow dormant minds.Whoever discovered Center shock deserves a medal from all of us too-sleepy-to-work folk out there.Should pop a couple in the purse when I'm headed for law classes next.Should see if it has the same effect on the Sri Lankan constitution :)
Should get off my bum and start writing that thesis proposal which is due tomorrow.Feeling quite downtrodden,downright rotten,abandoned,confused,hurt and therefore,sad to do anything right now.Sometimes I wonder if I expect too much,sometimes I wonder if I don't,sometimes I wonder why I don't care about myself as much as I care about others and as much as I should.Sigh......Life is always so full of shitty revelations,discoveries and breakthroughs that it's not even funny.It's sort of hard getting to know that nobody really gives a rat's ass,specially people who you thought did and respected them for that.I know for a fact that all these horrendous experiences,ultra sucky comparative studies,a monolithic dissertation that hangs over our heads like a rock that will fall and crush us all and leave us,guts spilled out like crushed cockroaches under slippered feet,exams,bad moods,assignments,fits and starters later,I shall end up embittered,angry,depressed,suicidal and ultra cynical,hating the whole world just for making its daily routines around the sun.
I'm done complaining,I'm done whining.Good night everyone.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Kids,Desperado and big,fat Flamenco dresses :)
Had to wake up at 7.30 AM yesterday,(something that I never do as I'm usually used to rising and shining around 9Am,cut all 8AM lectures and sleep in.Yeey!!) for the sole purpose of going to the library and renewing the books because if not,I shall be blessed with the privilege of getting an exceptionally delightful earful from our friendly librarian(who is a tiny little man of a gentle disposition who is not so bad really but falls victim to horrible mood swings and the like)Well,its been a while since I have discovered that men have PMS too.Oh well.......
Watched Desperado for the umpteenth time and is currently swooning,sighing and mooning all over the place.<3 <3 Antonio Banderas!!!! <3 <3 That slick little pony tail,that sexy lazy drawl of an accent,that guitar case loaded with guns,hell,I'd take the man if he got a rose bush sprouting off his nose,the guitar playing killing machine that he is! Sigh........I personally think that he looks good with long hair rather than short.That is one man that I shall never grow tired of.Sigh.....
Banderas made me think of Madonna's La Isla Bonita,a song that I had been mad over while I was growing up.Yeah,happy memories.I remember going bananas every time I heard that song on TV and start swirling what ever I was wearing at the time and start spinning round and round (I must have been about 3 years old and didn't know a hoot about dancing back then,so cut me some slack guys) which I think was one of the reasons my parents introduced me to Latin american dancing later on.I remember having hots for the beefy dude with long hair who plays the guitar in the video and wish that someone played guitar for me like that underneath my window(Yes,I was a hopeless romantic as a child too.Sigh...) Ooh,and I also wanted a BIG,fat,frilly-as-hell,blood red flamenco dress with a side slit like Madonna's which I also got to wear later on (much,much later on) in life when I started Flamenco dancing(which I never completed.Sigh....)
Should get back to my reading I suppose.With this monolithic amount of work to do,I 'm feeling quite lost really.Feel like doing something drastic to get off the book-worm-ish mode,but don't really know what.Oh well.....I shall figure that out,put it in to action and blog about it later.
Nitey night everyone! Sleep tight! :)
Watched Desperado for the umpteenth time and is currently swooning,sighing and mooning all over the place.<3 <3 Antonio Banderas!!!! <3 <3 That slick little pony tail,that sexy lazy drawl of an accent,that guitar case loaded with guns,hell,I'd take the man if he got a rose bush sprouting off his nose,the guitar playing killing machine that he is! Sigh........I personally think that he looks good with long hair rather than short.That is one man that I shall never grow tired of.Sigh.....
Banderas made me think of Madonna's La Isla Bonita,a song that I had been mad over while I was growing up.Yeah,happy memories.I remember going bananas every time I heard that song on TV and start swirling what ever I was wearing at the time and start spinning round and round (I must have been about 3 years old and didn't know a hoot about dancing back then,so cut me some slack guys) which I think was one of the reasons my parents introduced me to Latin american dancing later on.I remember having hots for the beefy dude with long hair who plays the guitar in the video and wish that someone played guitar for me like that underneath my window(Yes,I was a hopeless romantic as a child too.Sigh...) Ooh,and I also wanted a BIG,fat,frilly-as-hell,blood red flamenco dress with a side slit like Madonna's which I also got to wear later on (much,much later on) in life when I started Flamenco dancing(which I never completed.Sigh....)
Should get back to my reading I suppose.With this monolithic amount of work to do,I 'm feeling quite lost really.Feel like doing something drastic to get off the book-worm-ish mode,but don't really know what.Oh well.....I shall figure that out,put it in to action and blog about it later.
Nitey night everyone! Sleep tight! :)
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Random nonsense upon God-know-what
Its that time of the month again....Sigh
And no,I'm not talking about my menstrual cycle by any chance.
Its that time of the month where you feel a little off(checking the night sky for any sightings of the full moon) and go about the place saying weird things to random people,doing absurd stuff ( I just had the weirdest conversation with our Domestic person about the virtues of keeping your toe nails clean which included eating with your toes when both your hands are occupied) making absolutely no sense at all even to yourself.Its that time of the month when you are absolutely choked up with work that you sit around doing nothing,worrying if you'l ever be able to finish it all in time.Its that time of the year when at the moment you start doing something and you are immediately and at the speed of light,travelling towards the land of heavy,massive nods but when you actually hit the bed you cannot sleep because nightmares of assignments and a colossal dissertation assaulting you with knives,nun-chucks and other frightful deadly devices and instruments scares the shit,as well as the living day lights out of you,that you end up neither sleeping nor doing anything productive.
I want to get some bells for my ankles,you know the sort that Bharatha-natyam dancers wear....Those jiggly wiggly stuff that make this sort of glass-shattering,marble-falling sound when you move.Not the thin anklet type mind you,I want the thick,heavy ones with like a gazillion of tiny,tiny bells attached that you have to actually tie on to your ankles when you dance.I've always wanted one of those so that I could run about the house waking up the whole household when they are sleeping.Or I could just ching-a-ling them together when I'm bored and sitting,starring listlessly like this.I could even wear them when I go out,making this kashing-kishing sound when I walk.Nice noh? :)
I've heard that you could actually get high on chocolate.I have never actually tried it ( I suspect that super colossal amounts of chocolate might be involved,at the time of which I'm through,I shall end up neither high nor half way to the la-la land but fully sober,sick to the stomach and puking) But if that is possible,I believe that it could actually be the best way to get high (there's always the danger of dying with diabetes soon afterwards of course) But I prefer dying with diabetes rather than sans my kidneys and liver ( That is choosing chocolate over alcohol of course)Just think how disappointed the medical students will be( I am planning on donating my body and everything else donate-able after I die) when they cut open my body and not finding a liver nor kidneys there.I couldn't do that to them,oh no.I couldn't watch their hopeful young faces droop with disappointment,a scandal indeed that would be.Never mind the fact that I'm dead.I shall hover above them and watch them cut open my body,pull out the intestines and all.I shall finally get to see what my insides look like.Oh joy!
Another fascinating fact that I have come across just recently,women are said to be able to substitute chocolate for sex.Fascinating phenomenon that is.No wonder so many suffer from obesity these days.And I have also noticed that women grow more and more should I say,flourishing after marriage.If it is the lack of sex or the abundance of chocolate,I shall never know.
If that indeed IS the case,is it wise to present a girl (that you intend to get in to bed someday) with a box of chocolates for valentines day(or any other day for that matter)? Will it be taken as a solid promise of no-great-sex-for-life that you make at the very threshold of a relationship? Or the girl might simply walk away,choosing the chocolate over the dude for all you know.Food (or should I say chocolate) for thought,eh dudes? (sorry if I scared y'all.Tee hee :D )
Thank God I was never offered chocolates as a gift.Hi hi..... :P
Yes,I do realize that I have rambled away in an absurdly nonsensical manner for quite a while now.There is,however,no real method to my madness.SHOULD there be a method to madness? Would it be called madness if ever there WAS a method to it? I don't know (neither do I care)
It's cold again.Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!! I wonder if the higher educational system of this country take laziness sprung out of sudden climatic changes in the environment (or the impending apocalypse) as a valid excuse for not completing one's assignments and dissertations on time.I sure hope so because if this weather oh-so-inconsiderably decides to continue,I shall end up doing nothing for the rest of the year.
Time for me to wrap things up before I go on rambling again and concentrate on some work for a change.Feeling rather abandoned.Oh well.........Wishing that everybody else feels so God damned lazy as well so that we shall be able to lie(walk,sit,stand on head) around in mutual sloth (haha! yes,I am mean) Gwoooooooooooooood night everyone! Happy lazing around! :)
And no,I'm not talking about my menstrual cycle by any chance.
Its that time of the month where you feel a little off(checking the night sky for any sightings of the full moon) and go about the place saying weird things to random people,doing absurd stuff ( I just had the weirdest conversation with our Domestic person about the virtues of keeping your toe nails clean which included eating with your toes when both your hands are occupied) making absolutely no sense at all even to yourself.Its that time of the month when you are absolutely choked up with work that you sit around doing nothing,worrying if you'l ever be able to finish it all in time.Its that time of the year when at the moment you start doing something and you are immediately and at the speed of light,travelling towards the land of heavy,massive nods but when you actually hit the bed you cannot sleep because nightmares of assignments and a colossal dissertation assaulting you with knives,nun-chucks and other frightful deadly devices and instruments scares the shit,as well as the living day lights out of you,that you end up neither sleeping nor doing anything productive.
I want to get some bells for my ankles,you know the sort that Bharatha-natyam dancers wear....Those jiggly wiggly stuff that make this sort of glass-shattering,marble-falling sound when you move.Not the thin anklet type mind you,I want the thick,heavy ones with like a gazillion of tiny,tiny bells attached that you have to actually tie on to your ankles when you dance.I've always wanted one of those so that I could run about the house waking up the whole household when they are sleeping.Or I could just ching-a-ling them together when I'm bored and sitting,starring listlessly like this.I could even wear them when I go out,making this kashing-kishing sound when I walk.Nice noh? :)
I've heard that you could actually get high on chocolate.I have never actually tried it ( I suspect that super colossal amounts of chocolate might be involved,at the time of which I'm through,I shall end up neither high nor half way to the la-la land but fully sober,sick to the stomach and puking) But if that is possible,I believe that it could actually be the best way to get high (there's always the danger of dying with diabetes soon afterwards of course) But I prefer dying with diabetes rather than sans my kidneys and liver ( That is choosing chocolate over alcohol of course)Just think how disappointed the medical students will be( I am planning on donating my body and everything else donate-able after I die) when they cut open my body and not finding a liver nor kidneys there.I couldn't do that to them,oh no.I couldn't watch their hopeful young faces droop with disappointment,a scandal indeed that would be.Never mind the fact that I'm dead.I shall hover above them and watch them cut open my body,pull out the intestines and all.I shall finally get to see what my insides look like.Oh joy!
Another fascinating fact that I have come across just recently,women are said to be able to substitute chocolate for sex.Fascinating phenomenon that is.No wonder so many suffer from obesity these days.And I have also noticed that women grow more and more should I say,flourishing after marriage.If it is the lack of sex or the abundance of chocolate,I shall never know.
If that indeed IS the case,is it wise to present a girl (that you intend to get in to bed someday) with a box of chocolates for valentines day(or any other day for that matter)? Will it be taken as a solid promise of no-great-sex-for-life that you make at the very threshold of a relationship? Or the girl might simply walk away,choosing the chocolate over the dude for all you know.Food (or should I say chocolate) for thought,eh dudes? (sorry if I scared y'all.Tee hee :D )
Thank God I was never offered chocolates as a gift.Hi hi..... :P
Yes,I do realize that I have rambled away in an absurdly nonsensical manner for quite a while now.There is,however,no real method to my madness.SHOULD there be a method to madness? Would it be called madness if ever there WAS a method to it? I don't know (neither do I care)
It's cold again.Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!! I wonder if the higher educational system of this country take laziness sprung out of sudden climatic changes in the environment (or the impending apocalypse) as a valid excuse for not completing one's assignments and dissertations on time.I sure hope so because if this weather oh-so-inconsiderably decides to continue,I shall end up doing nothing for the rest of the year.
Time for me to wrap things up before I go on rambling again and concentrate on some work for a change.Feeling rather abandoned.Oh well.........Wishing that everybody else feels so God damned lazy as well so that we shall be able to lie(walk,sit,stand on head) around in mutual sloth (haha! yes,I am mean) Gwoooooooooooooood night everyone! Happy lazing around! :)
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The enchanting Fortress,sea baths during rain,sea,sand and the GLF
Yup,so I'm back from Galle,sun-burnt,scratched all over(by corals and sand) and positively starry-eyed.And I'm actually beginning to miss it.
It started off rather funny because it was only after getting on to the bus with the rest of the gang that I realized that I had left the GLF passes at home(and yes,I did feel like banging my head on a wall,only I couldn't locate one at that moment of absolute need).But as miles passed by(and after a considerable amount of drama on my part,screeching,sighs.I wanna go back home's,aiyoo's and anne's later) I settled in to the idea of receiving my passes on Friday which Father Dearest promised to be delivered to my hands in Galle.(Did I mention that I love him so very much?)Anyways,we crashed in at this really gorgeous typical southern bungalow which belonged to the ultra sweet grand mother of one of the gang who had gone in to so much of trouble in cooking the yummiest of food for us(the grand mother,mind you.NOT the nut case who took us there :P) and treating us like royalty,not to mention putting up with a screaming,hysterical band of banshees for a whole night.So we had our dinner and digested it over an extra juicy horror story session (during which some of our spooked out lot poked in their ear phones n tried to fall asleep but ended up falling asleep in their own respective beds,hugging each other and grabbing on to each other's hands).So after a good night's sleep(during which nobody had opened their eyes and looked around for the fear of seeing somebody starring at them out of the dark) and a hearty breakfast later(Chami's grand mother had made this LOVELY fish ambul thiyal southern style to go with string hoppers) we set off to Galle.
Have you ever felt the way that your heart just flutters with joy when you're travelling down south and you get a glimpse of the sea for the first time? Well,that's exactly how we felt when we caught a glipse of the vast and winking green blue sea sparkling in all its splendor as we travelled Galle-wards along the coastal belt.As mesmerized as we were,we couldn't help but notice all the outrageous election campaigns going on in the streets where vehicles were halted in the middle of the road and election posters were taped(nobody asked,nobody objected) on the passing vehicles.As we starred down at this long haired,bizarre looking dude's face pasted all over the place and pondered over the many intricacies of the system,the bus sped towards the Galle Fort carrying our thoughts with it.
The stay at the Galle Fort was nothing short of magical.I actually cannot think of a better word to describe the whole experience other than the word magical.We were constantly at sea,rolling in the sand,letting the waves wash over us to our heart's content,later on complaining of sandy hair and bruised skin due to the corals and the sand.The ambiance within the Fort is simply just breath taking with its Dutch architecture,it's haunting ambiance with so much of history saturated amongst the walls.It's the feeling you get walking down the streets of the Fort,feeling the sea breeze ruffling through your hair,smelling the salt,that aquamarine,sea-weedy smell of the sea.Better yet is walking down these streets cuddled up with your loved one(yes The Darling did make it to GLF.Yeey!!) Not to mention the sea baths(underwater hugs,under water cuddling and smooching STRONGLY recommended) Be ready to face the side effects of severe nostalgia,dazed eyes and a constantly grinning face once you get back though.
The Galle literary Festival was rather interesting this time around too.The BBC forums were quite entertaining specially and rather lively I must say.The sessions were good,well planned although the performances didn't amount to much(maybe because of the fact that some performances like the vannams which were supposed to be an outdoor performance was forced to be held indoors because of the rain).Also,people didn't turn up much for this event and as I later heard,other sessions were going on at the same time at different places which could have been the cause of this.I personally think that the foreign participants would have LOVED to witness something like this(because I too enjoyed it a lot and me being a Sri lankan,hadn't seen those vannams first hand before.) So why deprive the foreign participants a priceless sneak peak in to our rich and thriving Sri Lankan culture eh?
And I do believe that the festival needs more musical performances with a twist.
We did not attend any festival parties this time which was indeed a pity.Mostly due to the fact that they were placed too far off the Fort and us being somewhat strangers to the place,did not know(rather felt lazy) to get out of the comforting warmth of the Fort and look elsewhere(also due to some unpleasant experiences we were faced with which led us to believe that it was not a safe place for a bunch of girls to bounce about during the night) It would have been priceless if only the parties were held within the Fort walls.Well,that didn't stop us from having our own unique kind of fun though ;)
A word must be said about the oh-so-charming writers.The rudeness of the volunteers and (some) organizers were vanquished almost immediately under the heart warming smile of those beautiful,beautiful writers.Well,there must be a reason why they are writers,isn't there? It takes a sensitive soul to recognize human thoughts and speak to the hearts of many through their words.Whole truck loads of attitude won't do you know.
Speaking of which,we did notice quite humorous episodes between the volunteers/organizers and the participants.The condescending attitude which they practiced on the local participants was quite irksome where as,they welcome the white-skinned with their teeth on their palms and wide open arms.It was quite funny how the commanding presence of an organizer/volunteer would practically melt like butter at a mere nod of the head of a foreign individual.I noticed this rather funny episode where some local participants rushed in to a session slightly late and were told off quite rudely and told to sit at the back and not disturb the audience by a rather sour-faced organizer/announcer(who we noticed doing some announcements later on) while the same person bent over backwards in seeing some foreigners come in and ushered them to seats right at the front,not caring whether that would interrupt the session or not.Maybe the whiteness of their skin has bestowed un to the foreign individuals a sort of a transparency or an invisibility that would not result in the interruption of the sessions when they walk on to the front.Perhaps the amount of melanin in the local skin tone interferes with the concentration levels of the audience.I fail to understand the logic behind that(if there is any) Maybe its still the colonial mentalities at work where we respect the sudhdha's to bear the divine power that rules us all and think them to be a superior race of beings above the dark-skinned,sinhala speaking,betel-chewing(or not) natives.Well,get over it people.We have long since emancipated ourselves(according to the books and statutes).But it seems like certain individuals have chosen to remain slaves out of their own free will even to this day.
Isn't it enough that we get discriminated all over the world,in the very countries of those who we treat like royalty,branded as Asians because of our darker complexions? Do we have to be discriminated in our own country too? There should be at least one country in the world where we should be able to proudly walk about,flaunting our chocolaty complexions and expect to be accepted as human beings and not be classified according to the skin colour right? Well,it might as well be this country.
The volunteers are a bit better I think. Even though they walk about the place with self-importance dribbling down their chins(like toddlers with infant cereal dribbling down their chins really) and give you plentiful doses of their ever-charming attitudes(if you DARE approach them for help with something that is), at least they don't bite your head off. At least I haven't seen that yet.
All that aside,we managed to spend an absolutely magical time at the Galle Fort,surrounded by the blissfully intoxicating warmth of total and complete joy of that beautiful soul that I call as mine and the craziness of those nut cases who shall always remain the same.Came home,pigged out on red rice(who would have thought I would have missed red rice? I didn't use to be a huge fan of red rice before) after all those fried rices,naan and the other oily,unhealthy restaurant stuff.Also enjoying a hugeass mugs of milk tea in the morning,a privilege which I was deprived of during my stay in Galle. Missing The Darling though.Missing him so very much right now.
Galle Fort is a magical place with its age old buildings,an even older ambiance,the sea breeze lulling your senses and carrying your imagination far and wide on a sea gull feather,floating carelessly and oh-so-lightly in the wind.My conclusion for the day - Need to buy a house in the Galle Fort and I shall live in it with The Darling and my troop of darling doggy-poos that I shall rescue from the sreets :)
It started off rather funny because it was only after getting on to the bus with the rest of the gang that I realized that I had left the GLF passes at home(and yes,I did feel like banging my head on a wall,only I couldn't locate one at that moment of absolute need).But as miles passed by(and after a considerable amount of drama on my part,screeching,sighs.I wanna go back home's,aiyoo's and anne's later) I settled in to the idea of receiving my passes on Friday which Father Dearest promised to be delivered to my hands in Galle.(Did I mention that I love him so very much?)Anyways,we crashed in at this really gorgeous typical southern bungalow which belonged to the ultra sweet grand mother of one of the gang who had gone in to so much of trouble in cooking the yummiest of food for us(the grand mother,mind you.NOT the nut case who took us there :P) and treating us like royalty,not to mention putting up with a screaming,hysterical band of banshees for a whole night.So we had our dinner and digested it over an extra juicy horror story session (during which some of our spooked out lot poked in their ear phones n tried to fall asleep but ended up falling asleep in their own respective beds,hugging each other and grabbing on to each other's hands).So after a good night's sleep(during which nobody had opened their eyes and looked around for the fear of seeing somebody starring at them out of the dark) and a hearty breakfast later(Chami's grand mother had made this LOVELY fish ambul thiyal southern style to go with string hoppers) we set off to Galle.
Have you ever felt the way that your heart just flutters with joy when you're travelling down south and you get a glimpse of the sea for the first time? Well,that's exactly how we felt when we caught a glipse of the vast and winking green blue sea sparkling in all its splendor as we travelled Galle-wards along the coastal belt.As mesmerized as we were,we couldn't help but notice all the outrageous election campaigns going on in the streets where vehicles were halted in the middle of the road and election posters were taped(nobody asked,nobody objected) on the passing vehicles.As we starred down at this long haired,bizarre looking dude's face pasted all over the place and pondered over the many intricacies of the system,the bus sped towards the Galle Fort carrying our thoughts with it.
The stay at the Galle Fort was nothing short of magical.I actually cannot think of a better word to describe the whole experience other than the word magical.We were constantly at sea,rolling in the sand,letting the waves wash over us to our heart's content,later on complaining of sandy hair and bruised skin due to the corals and the sand.The ambiance within the Fort is simply just breath taking with its Dutch architecture,it's haunting ambiance with so much of history saturated amongst the walls.It's the feeling you get walking down the streets of the Fort,feeling the sea breeze ruffling through your hair,smelling the salt,that aquamarine,sea-weedy smell of the sea.Better yet is walking down these streets cuddled up with your loved one(yes The Darling did make it to GLF.Yeey!!) Not to mention the sea baths(underwater hugs,under water cuddling and smooching STRONGLY recommended) Be ready to face the side effects of severe nostalgia,dazed eyes and a constantly grinning face once you get back though.
The Galle literary Festival was rather interesting this time around too.The BBC forums were quite entertaining specially and rather lively I must say.The sessions were good,well planned although the performances didn't amount to much(maybe because of the fact that some performances like the vannams which were supposed to be an outdoor performance was forced to be held indoors because of the rain).Also,people didn't turn up much for this event and as I later heard,other sessions were going on at the same time at different places which could have been the cause of this.I personally think that the foreign participants would have LOVED to witness something like this(because I too enjoyed it a lot and me being a Sri lankan,hadn't seen those vannams first hand before.) So why deprive the foreign participants a priceless sneak peak in to our rich and thriving Sri Lankan culture eh?
And I do believe that the festival needs more musical performances with a twist.
We did not attend any festival parties this time which was indeed a pity.Mostly due to the fact that they were placed too far off the Fort and us being somewhat strangers to the place,did not know(rather felt lazy) to get out of the comforting warmth of the Fort and look elsewhere(also due to some unpleasant experiences we were faced with which led us to believe that it was not a safe place for a bunch of girls to bounce about during the night) It would have been priceless if only the parties were held within the Fort walls.Well,that didn't stop us from having our own unique kind of fun though ;)
A word must be said about the oh-so-charming writers.The rudeness of the volunteers and (some) organizers were vanquished almost immediately under the heart warming smile of those beautiful,beautiful writers.Well,there must be a reason why they are writers,isn't there? It takes a sensitive soul to recognize human thoughts and speak to the hearts of many through their words.Whole truck loads of attitude won't do you know.
Speaking of which,we did notice quite humorous episodes between the volunteers/organizers and the participants.The condescending attitude which they practiced on the local participants was quite irksome where as,they welcome the white-skinned with their teeth on their palms and wide open arms.It was quite funny how the commanding presence of an organizer/volunteer would practically melt like butter at a mere nod of the head of a foreign individual.I noticed this rather funny episode where some local participants rushed in to a session slightly late and were told off quite rudely and told to sit at the back and not disturb the audience by a rather sour-faced organizer/announcer(who we noticed doing some announcements later on) while the same person bent over backwards in seeing some foreigners come in and ushered them to seats right at the front,not caring whether that would interrupt the session or not.Maybe the whiteness of their skin has bestowed un to the foreign individuals a sort of a transparency or an invisibility that would not result in the interruption of the sessions when they walk on to the front.Perhaps the amount of melanin in the local skin tone interferes with the concentration levels of the audience.I fail to understand the logic behind that(if there is any) Maybe its still the colonial mentalities at work where we respect the sudhdha's to bear the divine power that rules us all and think them to be a superior race of beings above the dark-skinned,sinhala speaking,betel-chewing(or not) natives.Well,get over it people.We have long since emancipated ourselves(according to the books and statutes).But it seems like certain individuals have chosen to remain slaves out of their own free will even to this day.
Isn't it enough that we get discriminated all over the world,in the very countries of those who we treat like royalty,branded as Asians because of our darker complexions? Do we have to be discriminated in our own country too? There should be at least one country in the world where we should be able to proudly walk about,flaunting our chocolaty complexions and expect to be accepted as human beings and not be classified according to the skin colour right? Well,it might as well be this country.
The volunteers are a bit better I think. Even though they walk about the place with self-importance dribbling down their chins(like toddlers with infant cereal dribbling down their chins really) and give you plentiful doses of their ever-charming attitudes(if you DARE approach them for help with something that is), at least they don't bite your head off. At least I haven't seen that yet.
All that aside,we managed to spend an absolutely magical time at the Galle Fort,surrounded by the blissfully intoxicating warmth of total and complete joy of that beautiful soul that I call as mine and the craziness of those nut cases who shall always remain the same.Came home,pigged out on red rice(who would have thought I would have missed red rice? I didn't use to be a huge fan of red rice before) after all those fried rices,naan and the other oily,unhealthy restaurant stuff.Also enjoying a hugeass mugs of milk tea in the morning,a privilege which I was deprived of during my stay in Galle. Missing The Darling though.Missing him so very much right now.
Galle Fort is a magical place with its age old buildings,an even older ambiance,the sea breeze lulling your senses and carrying your imagination far and wide on a sea gull feather,floating carelessly and oh-so-lightly in the wind.My conclusion for the day - Need to buy a house in the Galle Fort and I shall live in it with The Darling and my troop of darling doggy-poos that I shall rescue from the sreets :)
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