Can't make (this) up

Part1. Before makeup.

A few weeks ago, I walked into one of the big department stores in Melbourne (Myer) and lined up at the MAC Cosmetics counter for advice. I was looking for some light foundation. I had my double pram with me though only with Liv in it (Mia was having a Daddy-day).

Now Livvy has some sort of a mummy-store-sensor. She is a perfectly angelic baby (coos even) when I'm shopping groceries, or visiting the doctor or sitting in a café. But the moment I enter a shoe/ clothing/ jewellery store, my normally happy, placid baby becomes this infuriated, red-faced ball of screams. And right at the moment the MAC salesgirl approached me, Livvy began roaring.

Papa don’t breach

I had never faced such a dilemma before.Should I tell him? What if I hurt him? As I looked at the email again, I wondered anew if I should tell Papa...

Talking to my father wasn't the easiest things when growing up. There were topics you didn't broach with him: Bollywood, any other film industry, fashion, any idea that might directly or indirectly contradict what he'd just said, Punjabi boys, Tamil boys, Bengali boys, any other human being remotely described as boy, Boy George, Madonna's Like a virgin, waxing your eyebrows... Then there were things you broached via Ma: almost everything else.

Kung Food Panda 3

Just the other day I decided to be a Really Good Mother and make some extra healthy, ticking-all-nutrition-boxes food for Mia.

Cooking for Mia --and feeding her -- is hair-pullingly frustrating. She will only eat plain chocolate cake. Will not touch a "complicated" sandwich (ham, cheese ONLY please) and don't even think of adding mayonnaise or any other sauce to it.  Won't eat anything that doesn't match her idea of what it should look like. Noodles are always "white". If I add even a drop of soy and the "noo-noos" change colour, she won't eat. She loves broccoli but only if it's steamed, cut into 2 inch pieces and not an extra centimetre. She loves steamed green peas too but if you overcook them and if she can squish them with her index finger...

Monsters University

Had a great today. Started out with breakfast with close friends at local café -- stacked hash browns, avocado and sumptuous coffee -- followed by some shopping for a mum-to-be. Then driving around for some work with the kids. Then it was our first movie at a theatre as a family, as in all four of us.

 

We saw Monsters University, which is absolutely adorable. Mia was a little concerned there was no "Boo" this time but soon got over it. Livvy tried to stay up but was soon snoring through most of the movie.

 

Followed by dinner at local restaurant where I pigged out on prawn in chilli sauce and now consequently have a horrendous tummy ache. But hey, what's a tummy ache for a good day spent?

 

Monsters University is like a prequel to Monsters Inc and tells the story of how Mike Wazowski (Billy Crystal) and James P. Sullivan (John Goodman) met and became friends. It's a movie about under dogs or under-monsters as is the case and involves a whole lot of spoofing of everything from all-American college movies to a rather funny take-off on human horror movies. :D Some of the jokes had more adults laughing than kids but most kids enjoyed watching silly monsters doing sillier stuff. Highly recommend for a nice evening off with the kids.
 

Save the bunny

Why do you hate me Patrner? Just look at my stupid expression. It's saww cuute. I was bought for $6, not the best money spent but hey, just look at me. I've been around three years despite numerous murder attempts. Including being chucked at t...he wall by a then-18-month old. Toddlers! Shudder. And then She asked you to pack me in bubble wrap and put me in the Lounge Room box. Instead... She just found me in the recycle bin. Outside. She's hidden me now. Going to Jakarta, she said. She also said she trusts you. How could you??!!!

 

PS: For those who might not know, we are moving to Jakarta in the next few months. For a couple of years or more, don't know yet.
But major excitement. And little bit nervousness.

Also said bunny is a wooden Easter Bunny that has been inexplicably hated by Partner ever since I purchased it.

 

Very different people



L-R: Cuffs, J Gillard, Collingwood and KP2

Snort. There was a time when I'd sit in my fourth-floor apartment, smoking, hurting and wondering if I'd ever meet my soulmate. My idea then was this, in short someone who'd be my  mirror image and would like and enjoy all the things I did. In hindsight I think I was looking more for a real friend who I had great sex with.


Well now I have a baby. With the man I love. One of my Criterion For Soulmate was that the man should most definitely dance. I love dancing and I had these visions (very Mills & Boon!) of us breaking out into impromptu dance routines when our favourite salsa number played on the radio (yes, yes, very filmi) or doing a mean tango at some party. Yes. I know it's all very dramatic but then if you've been reading this blog you should have noticed that I do have a certain propensity for drama, no? I love drama, Partner hates it. And as far as his dancing is concerned... I've been expressedly told that 1. I should not write about our personal life here and 2. I definitely cannot write bad things about him. So I cannot write about his dancing.

How (a)typical

So it's just another regular evening at our house. We all -- Partner, his bff-since-school DocPal and me -- are in the lounge ('drawing') room except for Mia, who is asleep in her cot. We hope the baby would continue sleeping while the men watch footy and I read Tina Fey's biography Bossypants.

The men do the usual man-thing of discussing some stat (they are not so sure about) and abusing some umpire (they are very sure about). Sometimes though they look away from the TV screen long enough to stare at me. There are many points in the book that make me laugh out loud. I am stared at during those points. "You are a freak," they declare, Partner loudly and DocPal tacitly because he does not deny it either. Sometimes I read out bits from the book while laughing out loud, they stare at me harder.

At one point I have to stop reading. Tina has just written about some of her male colleagues pissing in various cups and keeping these cups randomly sitting about the office. Some of her other male colleagues -- another department, lower hierarchy perhaps since they didn't get their own cup -- have been communally pissing in a jar. Having worked in the media, I was quite struck by this. I tried to think of any time I might have seen any of my male editor's, various techie or other colleagues ever sitting around suspicious-looking styrofoam cups. The only cups I had noticed were the once that were supposed to be coffee but were actually rum-and-coke-during-night-shift.

Anyway. So I interrupt the boys and ask, "Have you ever pissed in a cup because you didn't want to go to the toilet?" Boys look at each other.

Partner says, "Geez, not in a cupppp, more like a Gatorade bottle."

I am disgusted and turn to DocPal -- who is a doctor afterall -- looking for some support, some signs that he too is similarly disgusted.

DocPal to Partner, "Did you fill the bottle?"

So why am I the freak?

PS: Bossypants, totally read it. I loved the bits about her childhood and starting out in television. The bits about her at Saturday Night Live were somewhat boring. And then I really fell for her when she spoke about motherhood etc. Sometimes it feels like she is really honest, at other times there's a bit of that's-bullshit-Tina but overall worth a read.

Daddy's cool, yay baby

I have to say that despite all the negative stuff that's written about the Internet -- vis-a-vis children and the dangers of unsupervised surfing -- this particular technology has brought about some welcome changes to the relationship with my parents.


I've always felt that in the Indian scenario at least, there's always a certain distance in the parent-child relationship.

Bizarreness of babies

Despite reading some of the best books on bringing up babies, you (read me) just cannot be prepared for some things.

1. Babies fart louder than adults. Mia beats Partner in the sound and smell department. Baap par gayi hai (scowl). The first time I was soooo shocked; t'was bloody hard correlating the angelic face with THAT sound and the stench.

2. Babies have perfect timing when it comes to spoiling a photograph. One moment perfect photo pose and the next the weirdest expression possible.

3. Babies love contemplating with a tit in their mouth. Mia can do it for 10 minutes at a stretch. Usually at 2 am.

Abe, normal

Still don't have the internet at home, which is probably a good thing in hindsight. If I had had (easy) access to Wikipedia last week, I probably would have gone into pre-term labour due to mouse-induced stress. So I went for my routine 28-week checkup, it coincided with my birthday (May 6). Along with all the great news the doc gave me -- vitamin and iron levels sweeping bottom etc -- she also told me she was sending me to a cancer specialist for another colposcopy.

I had my PAP smear (abnormal) followed by the first colposcopy (abnormal) in Jan/Feb 2010. Back then the doc told me that some cells in my cervix looked suspicious but that she would wait a couple of months before further action. Those couple of months passed pretty quickly and now she was sending me to a C-specialist. The appointment was in four days in which I was convinced I had only two more years to live (full blown cervical cancer) and that my doc was not telling me everything. Very routine check up that and a great 31st birthday. I refused to do anything and spent the evening wondering if my baby would be motherless and if eventually s/he would have a white or a dark-skinned step mom. Partner was very loving, which made it even worse.

kaise ho?

There's really no point in me apologising for vanishing acts since I know I could (and would) be doing it again. Lots has been happening.

For one, Bub is kicking around, not very hard and you still cannot feel it from the top (as in if you place your hand on tummy etc) but I sure can feel the flutters. Doesn't seem to like spicy food since it kicks more after curries. Hrmph. I am determined that Bub shall like curries -- and all Indian food -- as much as its mum does; though I shall compromise and feed it vegemite as well. Personally I can't stand the damn thing.

It's not me it's the baby

IF I see one more Bollywood movie with divinely pregnant women practicing lullabies the moment their bloody ovum is fertilised...
Or any more filmi sequences where hero-heroine burst into "the moon of our eye and the apple of your womb" type romantic number when they discover they/she are/is pregnant.
Or any references to how life is going to change (completely, drastically, horrendously) because tum maa banne waali ho*. (All Hindi translations given at the end of this post, and if some are missing, I can't be f*cked.)
I swear I WILL kill.

quoted

"The human race would have died out if it was left to men to have babies."
--- Colleague at work when discussing a picture of a woman in labour that appeared in the Sunday Age newspaper. She believes, and we all agreed, that men cannot tolerate pain as well as women do. They (men) just don't have any pain threshold level.
Pic courtesy: theage.com

Why I want to be a pussy

1. ... because I get to stay here in a suite where people are paid to cuddle me. ---->

2. I have no curfew hours and can go out whenever and wherever I want to.

3. Someone else prepares/bothers about my food.

4. Someone else also cleans my poo.

5. The fatter I get, the cuter I look.

6. I have no morals when destroying fresh garden beds or digging up newly planted saplings.

7. I can crawl on to strangers crotches and sleep there (umm).

8. I always choose good-looking strangers with (good-looking) crotches.

9. I will have videos on youtube dedicated to me. Like this one. Badly made, but it's not my fault, is it now? I'm a bloody pussy cat.

Dead children? Ha, ha

I really don't understand 'political correctness'. An immediate example is the whole Shashi Tharoor and the cattle-class non-issue. Now apparently the minister has apologised (for being witty?). Since much has already been said -- both the politically correct and incorrect -- I'll desist from adding more. However, I want to know: Who decides the correctness of things?

Who decided that 'slumdog' is appropriate description/definition of the slum dwellers in India? If there is a logic to that nomenclature, can we refer to the moneyed, jet-set as Billionaire Bitches?
Perhaps Mr Boyle's 'slumdog' reference was merely for the protagonist of his film and was not a description of the 61.8 million (2001 census figures) Indians who live in slums.

However, for all purposes, 'slumdogs' is now being used to describe all slum dwellers. Television Channel 7, for instance has been advertising this episode of it's series, The World's Strictest Parents with the words, "...when they see how the slumdogs live..." When did Channel 7 decide that people who live in slums are slumdogs? Are they being politically correct? Chic even?

One of my father's favourite Dad-always-says-this lines comes up whenever we are watching Sholay. It's the scene where dacoit Gabbar Singh kills the Thakur's family. If you see the movie (or remember it), while the directors show Gabbar killing all adults, he does not show the child being shot. The camera gives us a close-up of the gun, the boy's perplexed face and moves away. Each time that scene comes up, my Dad says, "See, that's sensitive. You NEVER show a child dying, it's in bad taste." At least my Dad seems to have his ideas clear, not so with everyone.

Recently a popular Aussie TV series, ABC's satirical programme, The Chasers War on Everything got into trouble for making jokes about terminally-ill children. In an episode that's a spoof on the Make-A-Wish-Foundation, one of the Chasers host visits a childrens' cancer ward and concludes the episode with, "Why go to any trouble, when they're only gonna die anyway".

I realise that Chasers is satirical, much like South Park is deliberately blasphemous about everything. But do we draw the line somewhere? As I wrote earlier, who decides what's politically (in)correct?

Often when discussing this issue, people roll their eyes and say, "Oh we get sensitive about everything. It's a joke, we should stop taking ourselves so seriously." To be honest, I do agree with them that at times we get unnecessarily sensitive about stupid things. Like Tharoor and the cattle class. (While slumdogs goes unchallenged) At other times though, I have serious doubts and do think that this particular sense of humour -- more thoughtless than insensitive -- is rather overrated.

Like last evening, when watching an episode of animated series American Dad -- described as "...satirical, usually directed at the United States Government, the media or current affairs" -- the alien character Roger says, "...we will make your Dad cry like an African woman who cries when all are her children are blown up with a scatter/cluster bomb." (not exact quote)

Was that funny or did I miss the point? And if it's funny, can someone please explain the joke and let me know who's it aimed at?

Photo credits: Stanford uni (Tharoor), Sydney Morning Herald (Chasers) & TV Shows on DVD (American Dad)

I am feeling it

Ever get the feeling something BIG is about to happen...but you have no bloody idea what? That sense of suspense is running so thick through my blood, it's coagulating now. What? When? Good, bad or brilliant? Bad but manageable? Argh.

Good things that could happen:
1. Land a job in my line of work
2. Land a book deal, with heaps of advance, maybe two because they love me so much
3. Get sponsorship to open a cafe/restaurant/take-away
4. Get a baby... like without doing anything, like gift wrapped (er)

Really good for chucking

Once upon a time in 2006, I needed the money -- and friends said they loved the food -- so I decided to cater for friends' parties. Except the first party I catered to, I ended up throwing this egg-sausage dish on the host's face....
Read the story / Try the easy recipe

Hot sex positions!

Sex. sex. SEX. sex. Sex. sex. SEX. sex.

Haan. That should do it. Ok, comments please.
Pic: Stefan.blog; xkcd

To f**k or not to...

"Everything sounds funnier with the word F**K in it."

That's the little badge my classmate gifted me a couple of days ago. Do you:

1. Agree, f**k yeah.
2. Disagree, what is happening to the purity of language.
3. WTF?!


Now some facts -- powered by Wikipedia of course:

1. F**k can be used as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, pronoun, or interjection and can logically be used as virtually any word in a sentence.
2. Study of the attitudes of the British public found that f**k was considered the third most severe profanity and its derivative motherf**ker second. C**nt was considered the most severe.
3. Some have argued that the prolific usage of the word f**k has de-vulgarized it.
4. F**k... may be common in informal and domestic situations. (!)
5. The Canadian Press now considers f**k to be commonplace and has added usage advice to the Canadian Press Caps and Spelling guide.

And you can get more such nuggets here.
Pic courtesy: WebHamster, Wikimedia

Ask, you idiot.

Oh well. So much for being smart and all that, some days just aren't meant for you.

(Phone ringing waiting for Partner to pick up)

Hello. (Partner sounding busy)

Hi, you've got a minute? Can I talk to you?

Yeah sure... (Partner's voice changing now, expecting Something Serious)

No, no, nothing serious. Just wanted to tell you to mark 12th September on your calendar. It's a Saturday and X friend's birthday. He's invited us...

Yeah sure. Where is it? (Partner sounding relieved and back to sounding busy now)

Oh it's some place called TBA. Y'know like Q'Bar? Do you know where it is?

(Partner v.e.r.y. silent)

Hello? You there? No worries if you don't know, I can always ask him later...

(Partner choking)

Hello? Are you all right? Are you choking? You don't have to worry about TBA right away you...

HA. HA. HA.HA.

(Me, shocked) (Partner still laughing)

Baby... TBA is not a place. It's To Be Announced.

OH. (Scowl)

HA. HA. HA.
(Me, hang up the phone)

So that's the story and no matter how many of you would have known instantly what TBA was, I declare a war on abbreviations. I've had it with them. If RSVP wasn't enough -- and I still can't remember the damn thing -- now we've got a whole plethora of them.

There are the email ones, from cc, bcc, fyi, tc etc. To food-related, BYO, F&B etc. To the various gradings in movies, PG, UG, M, R... To the various emoticons. :P And of course, the one that I really cannot stand but am being forced to use... "xx" at the end of letters/mails/sms-es. It's not even an abbreviation, it's an alphabeticon (sic). Initially, and I dare you to laugh, I thought it meant 'over-and-out'... Till I received an email with 'xxxxx' and there was a sudden ping! in my brain and I realised an 'x' meant a kiss. (So 'xxxxx' means the other is slobbering over you?)

Sigh. I've learned HTML to a degree, can understand CSS and even RSS (not Rashtriya Seva Sangh)... but I really cannot keep up with all this anymore. I can't. I am 30. Please no. :(

PS: While looking for an appropriate picture to depict 'idiot' (should've used my own), came across Fyodor Doestoevsky's The Idiot and this quote from the book,

"...nothing offends a man of our day and our race more than to tell him he is not original, that he is weak-willed, has no particular talents and is an ordinary person." (Part One, Chapter Ten)

And to think that was first published in 1868. It holds true today as well, or so I think. No?