Friend, woman, buttercup!

The love of my life -- or one of the many ( sorry, you! and you..=) -- has chosen to go public, and be no more a closet blogger. Yaaay! This I learnt at 3 am today when Schizosalad aka Mayonnaise Toss called. Didn't snap or nothing for being woken, mostly because one was up anyway. So, blah blah, I love this woman to teeny tiny pieces, obvious blog roll addition. This, what follows, should constitute a fitting ode to our janam-janam ka rishta. We don't want to get too weepy..

And so, besides love, fraanship, and other maudlin crap, I'm also a fan of her raa-thur dramatic persona. We're both September births. We love Indian-isms, and often exaggerate, and employ poor pronunciation with other filmi lingo-tactics to tickle ourselves. We've also both reached the conclusion that the other is the most slutty person she and I know -- that, based more on each of our 'tendencies' than what we actually.. do.

Like all good girls, we love good clothes. She has more of a thing for shoes, and I don't wear red half as much, but we're both Carrie Bradshaw on Facebook. She's hugely creative. Watch her -- oh but you can't -- click and smooth-pixel her way around photoshop; how often has this woman de-flawed my far-from-perfect skin, and made me look soft and delectable in shades of sepia, as also black and white! She gives me goose pimples, and we will get a room, yes. But, for her photo skills, I have nothing but deep respect. I want to someday buy her a fancy SLR, and have her shoot my portfolio, us both being vain suckers for yellow light.

She takes literature and music seriously (go skim through the bit about Plath and her damn Beetles poster ). She nurses a thing for obscure farty flms, and the little elf has caterpillar-butterflied into being quite the thinking man(?)'s hottie! Please to be shooing off to read poetic goddess rant and ponder on. Links everywhere.

(Flying kissies for you, my indispensable sweetness! Write more often; our fleeting lives, lets keep tabs -- till philandering brings us but nearer! )

Tag shag

Alrighty then hands anon

seven random things.. habits or traits? what fun!

ok..

1. Even though it deletes itself, I always delete spam.

2. I notice hands. I love mine. Even when I dress sorta butch, my fingers remind me of my innate femininity. I also love hand creams, and hand scrubs, and cuticle pushers, the works. My idea of a good birthday present is a good expensive, sturdy, well designed nail cutter. My mother got me one on Diwali last year. Clips be-aut-i-fu-lly!

sub point: I also notice hair. Mine rocks.

But back to hands, I don't paint my fingernails. I don't grow my either because that surface, when "varnished" with shades like cappuccino and plum, feels heavy. This, I imagine, affects my handwriting. And typing.

I also remember the way people laugh. Both my parents actually have great laughs, and great hair. I'll give them that.

3. I am not actually all that vain/ superficial. It's this self aware aura that I'm just going to have to live with. An image of myself that I hold on to: I strike a fair balance between criticising and appreciation. Small things go a long way in what I think/ feel/ and remember of a person.

On my first day at a (new..) school -- I had joined class 5 A, Convent of Jesus and Mary, Chelsea, Shimla -- we were told to stand in a double line for the morning assembly. All the girls already had "partners", save for little lost me. And then out of the blue, this light haired girl, Sonia Chauhan took my hand -- most naturally, like she'd known me forever -- and indicated that I should fold my hands to pray as the assembly had started. We never became great friends, having even less than what eleven year old girls have in common, but I was grateful.

It's always the little things..

More recently, and more adult: for the differences I had with my flatmate in Bombay, I thought it royally sweet of her to put fresh newspaper on the shelves of my to-be-cupboard, and sweep the floor, and still be at it, when I landed up at the flat door step, 4 suitcases and 2 friends ( to "see me off":) in tow.. I have to remind myself of that whenever I feel like abusing her in loving memory.

I understand that this can't be a me-specific thing, and I should get over myself, but my above-average memory -- when it comes to people and human interest -- gives me a slight edge in appreciating what deserves appreciation, and trashing other crap.

5. I have good taste. Aesthetically, otherwise, every wise.

6. I can't stand the sound of thermocol rubbing against anything! Heebie jeebies, and how! I don't know of anybody else who can't tolerate this. I've heard fork-on-plate, chalk-blackboard repulsion, even squeaky balloons making people yeowl. But this apparently is my thing.

6.5. I love chayvanprash!

6.8 I don't have a gang of friends, no one cohesive bunch, they're there: in pockets and unlikely combinations, precious just the same.

7. .... I also love fountain pens. Plus stationery in general.

And promises be damned, flossing is important.

trails off, spent