BombayGirl's Meme

BombayGirl tagged me with the following meme:

First, the rules:
- Post the rules on your blog.
- Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
- Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
- Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

Let's do #1 and #2 and call it a day, 'k? ^__^

Six non-important things about me:

1. Right now, I'm doing my laundry.

2. Also right now, I'm selling off seven years' worth of textbooks on Facebook. So far I've made $20, which is fantastic. If I sell them all, I'll make about $200.

3. In a moment, I am going to go to the grocery store and purchase the following items:

• Garbage bags (store brand)
• Antibacterial hand soap (store brand)
• Conditioner (Garnier Length and Strength)
• Peanut butter (store brand)
• Strawberry preserves (store brand)
• Two loaves whole-wheat bread (store brand)
  
• Frozen broccoli (store brand)
• Frozen "whatever other vegetable looks good" (store brand)
• Potatoes

(Gaurav, those are truly the essentials. ^__^ Will make enough sabzi for two weeks, and eat pbj otherwise.)

4. Tonight, I get to watch my favorite two hours of television: The Simpsons, King of the Hill, American Dad, and Family Guy. (I'll cook the sabzi during American Dad, because it's usually pretty awful.)

5. I've seen every episode of The Simpsons, or at least I think I have. One of these days I'll have to go through and check them off to make sure I haven't missed any.

6. The dryer's buzzing. GTG!

Blue's Day

... 'cause they're all the same now. ^__^

8:30 a.m.: Alarm rings on cell phone. Hit snooze. Cat begins climbing on chest, arms, face. Cat begins kneading various parts of body. Mmmmm... free massage.

8:45 a.m.: Snooze goes off, cat leaps from bed. I follow, a little more slowly. Use toilet, feed and water cat, make cup of tea.

9:00 a.m.: Open up laptop and load up new episode of House, M.D. Unfurl yoga mat. Sip tea. Work teh yogas while listening to House make sexy, smartass comments. Intersperse positions with sips of tea.

9:45 a.m.: House episode ends, hit shower. Kitty likes to join me in the shower -- not in the actual shower itself, but nearby, breathing the steam. I let her do her thing.

10:00 a.m.: End shower, get dressed, makeup, etc.

10:10 a.m.: Dry hair.

10:20 a.m.: Microwave packet of instant oatmeal. While oatmeal is nuking, grab sabzi from freezer and whip together a PB&J.

10:22 a.m.: Eat instant oatmeal while checking email, Facebook, and Google Reader.

10:35 a.m.: Turn head upside down. Brush hair. Flip head backwards (my hair now smacks against the ceiling fan when I do this). Grab claw clip. Secure hair so it does not fall in face.

10:40 a.m.: Fill backpack, grab sabzi and sandwich, pour some Crystal Light "Immunity" (featuring vitamins A, C, B, and B12) into my reusable glass waterbottle, pet kitty, check three times to make sure my space heater is turned off, leave house.

10:45 a.m.: Seriously. Leave the house. I'm going to be late.

10:47 a.m.: Drive to campus in manner of Annette Bening's character from American Beauty, singing loudly to whatever 1930s/1940s American standards I've got in the CD player. On a good day I can hit all the words in Mandy Patinkin's rendition of "It Only Happens When I Dance With You" (it's at 4:08).

11:00 a.m.: Teach, followed by class, followed by rehearsal.

11:00 p.m.: Return home.

Shah Rukh Out, Hugh Laurie In!

Yep. My re-entry into American culture is 100% complete.

I've stopped dreaming about Bollywood actors.

SRK, you were lovely, really you were, but things with you were getting a little... repetitive. I mean, your smile's still great, the way you toss that lock of hair off of your forehead before you prepare to start a musical number about your love of whatever holiday your particular film centers around is still... I mean, it's charming as always. Sexy, even. I still enjoy being around you. We can still hang out.

I think it was the whole abs thing that turned me off, honestly. To tell you the truth, I'm concerned that you might have an eating disorder. Or maybe a steroid dependency. And I know that I should be there, supporting you as you go through whatever psychological problem caused all this ab-abbing, but... um, I'm just not that strong. Which is my thinly-veiled way of saying "I don't care all that much."

Because this new guy has started appearing in my dreams. I didn't mean for it to happen. I just wanted something to watch on Hulu while I did my yoga. We were just meeting for fun. He was someone I knew from when I was a kid. Someone I hadn't seen in years. I never thought... but he was so fresh and new, and let's face it, he's a lot smarter than you are.

And now he's the first thing I think of when I get out of bed in the morning. Probably because the first thing I do when I get out of bed in the morning (after feeding the cat) is yoga, but let's not talk about when and where we meet. That's none of your business.

Did Kal Penn tell you? Don't look at me like that, I know you all have a network.

No, you don't need to know his name. Or his television program. Just... stay out of our lives, okay?

Oh, but if you ever do another movie with K-Jo, call me.

Paging Daniel: Someone Translated My Blog Into German

To Daniel and all other German-speakers:

Someone's started copying my blog posts and translating them into German.

Here's their rendition of this post:

Sie dürften fragen, wenn Sie von einer zynischen Drehung des Gemüts sind, warum ich Bargeld auf Schönheitflüssigkeit und Haar goo fallen lasse, wenn ich deutlich für Geld und Gegenüberstehen von bevorstehenden medizinischen Rechnungen und eine potenzielle Verschiebung festgeschnallt bin.

Jene Frau sollte ihr Haar allein verlassen, dürften Sie denken. Sie sollte Mild benutzen. Oder Setzen Sie besser noch Gleich.

"Beauty fluid" becomes "schonheitflussigkeit," but "hair goo" is "haar goo." ^__^

Love Means Never Having To Specify Which "Katie" You Are

They've installed two large computerized billboards at our local downtown center, which I can only assume is some kind of effort to make the cross-streets of Main and Oak seem more like Times Square.

These billboards annoy me to no end, because I have to drive past them every day and they're like having two giant TV screens flashing at me from either side of my car. They aren't even placed near any traffic lights or stop signs; no, they're placed where the road curves.

Anyway. Driving home the other day I happened to glance at what was on one of the flashing screens.

A picture of a middle-aged man and woman, faces pressed cheek-to-cheek, with the text "Katie B., Will You Marry Me? Love, Carl."

I glanced again to make sure. Yep. Katie B. Even though her face was clearly on the billboard, Carl still felt like he had to define her by her last initial to distinguish her from all of the other Katies in his life. (It makes me wonder who Katie A. is, and why Carl was so concerned she not think the proposal was for her.)

If anyone ever proposes to me on a giant billboard and includes my last initial, I will not marry him. No friggin' way. Don't waste your billboard money.

Blue's "First Kiss" Story: "I Don't Think It Should Become An Everyday Affair"

In honor of Valentine's Week, I dug out one of my old diaries (I've got boxes of these things, dating back fifteen years) and found the entry where I wrote about my first kiss.

I'll recreate it verbatim, though the names are changed where appropriate.

March 29, 1997

And today Brian kissed me.

I'll backtrack...

We all went to [nearby town slightly larger than my hometown, large enough to have a mall], and Brian and I held hands in the mall, and then we went to Wal-Mart & got our picture taken in one of those little booths, and etc. etc., until Brian and I were suddenly left alone in Brian's car, the rest of the group electing to ride in Heather & Megan's cars.

So Brian said, "So you've never held a guy's hand before?"

And I said, "Once, but it was for a show, so it didn't count."

And then he said, "Have you ever kissed a guy before?"

And I said, "No."

So then Brian said, "Have you ever wanted to?"

And of course I said, "Yeah."

So Brian asked me if I wanted him to kiss me now, and I (even though I knew it was coming) just about went nuts.

"But I don't know how to kiss anyone," I semi-wailed.

So Brian was like, "It's really easy... just... kind of... like this."

And then Brian kissed me. (And I was so dumb. I didn't even kiss back, or whatever that means.)

My first reaction was kind of weird. I mean, to be brutally honest, I thoroughly enjoyed the kiss, but is it considered bad form [and the words "to wipe the spit off of your mouth when it's done" have been scribbled over in heavy ink].

And then Brian said "You know, you can relax a little."

"No, I can't," I said. "I am physically incapable of relaxing right now."

So then we were like, "What do we do now?" and I suddenly decided to see if my new lipstick was kiss-proof. So we kissed again.

But it wasn't. So Brian ended up with peach frost on his lips, but he wiped it off.

That was all we did in Brian's car. I really liked being kissed. But I don't think it should become an everyday affair. That way, it will be all the more special.

[end diary excerpt]

Oh, poor Little Blue. Just wait a few years until you meet some people who are better at kissing.

Thanks For the Questions! Advice Will Come Soon...

Thanks to all who've dropped questions in my Advice Column post (and there is still room for more questions, so think 'em up!).

Answers will come on Valentine's Day itself.

In the meanwhile, you may drool with anticipation.

Blue's Giving Free Advice. Get It While It's Hot.

Here's the deal, Team.

In honor of Valentine's Day, I'm playing Advice Columnist.

So: if there are any burning questions you want answered (including questions about things that shouldn't be burning), drop 'em in the comments.

Answers will appear on Valentine's Day.

While we can play PG:13 here (and I am not above answering the patently ridiculous), I reserve the right to delete any question that is left with malicious intent as well as any questions that are gratuitously obscene.

Feel free to comment anonymously.

If no one leaves me any questions, I will cry, and then be forced to answer a random sample of questions written to other advice columnists.

So... question away!

Pretty Blue Salwar: Valentine's Week Edition!

This week, in preparation for Valentine's Day, and for the even more important Post-Valentine's Day Discounted Chocolate Sale (I'm swooping up a couple boxes of those Queen Anne chocolate-covered cherries in the slightly disturbing white goo), the Army of One here at Pretty Blue Salwar is going to swing it Modern Love-style.

Mostly because I just learned that Modern Love is having a submission contest for college students... but they're only letting undergrads participate. And as a long-time reader/hater of Modern Love (it's like watching a car crash, except the car crash can afford much nicer shoes than you), I have long wanted to contribute to its oeuvre.

I'm also going to take a shot at playing Advice Columnist, 'cause I've always wanted to (and because it's an easy way to increase my page hits). Whether my advice column turns out more like Dear Abby or Dan Savage (or, lord help us, Dear Strong Bad) is up to you. More to come in a later post.

At any rate, keep reloading for lots of Valentine's-style fun!

Oh. My. Ceiling Cat.

When I was in undergrad, the coolest website going around was... well, okay, it was Homestar Runner, but the second coolest was the Brick Testament.


The Gospel according to Lego.

Now those zany Bible-interpreters have taken it a step further -- a revised Revised Standard Version, if you will.

May I present to you: The Bible, As Written By Lolcats.

1 Oh hai. In teh beginnin Ceiling Cat maded teh skiez An da Urfs, but he did not eated dem.

2 Da Urfs no had shapez An haded dark face, An Ceiling Cat rode invisible bike over teh waterz.

3 At start, no has lyte. An Ceiling Cat sayz, i can haz lite? An lite wuz.4 An Ceiling Cat sawed teh lite, to seez stuffs, An splitted teh lite from dark but taht wuz ok cuz kittehs can see in teh dark An not tripz over nethin.5 An Ceiling Cat sayed light Day An dark no Day. It were FURST!!!1

I'm working my way through this highly entertaining translation, which has the added benefit of reminding me of a few Bible stories I've long forgotten. Favorite quote thus far?

Dey wuz gonna naem him Zechariah,60 but Elizabeth wuz all "STFU we iz callin him John."

I can totally see Elizabeth doing that. She was one righteous d00d. Or d00dette. Or... um... cat.

The Lolcat Bible also has illustrations, so if you want to compare and contrast with the Lego annunciation scene pictured above...

I may have to start praying to Ceiling Cat from now on.

Pretty Blue's Diary: 2008 Edition

Tuesday 1 January

118 lbs (dear heavens), chocolate units 2 (emptied the Christmas Godiva box), calories 700 (approx. -- peas are one of those dangerous high caloric vegetables, I believe).

Food Consumed Today:

1 cup coffee
Three-egg omelette w/4 oz. frozen peas, ground chilis
One mint-filled chocolate
One coconut-filled chocolate

Two p.m. Snowed in: my flat. Ugh. The last thing on earth I feel physically, mentally, or emotionally equipped to do is to spend another day indoors with my cat. First day of New Year has been day of boredom. Already scoured countertops, using combination of cleaning agents found underneath the sink (do cleaning agents expire? must check...), this time actually scrubbing at stove burners, etc. instead of giving general once-over swipe for removal of crumbs and appearance of cleanliness.

Wish dratted snow would stop. Can see car from window, or rather outline of car as if car were car-shaped snowman. Snow has also downed telly reception, ensuring limit of channels to one fuzzy sports game of something-or-another.

What I wouldn't give to be at a turkey curry buffet right now.

Duties Include: Buying Edible Underwear

Now I really want to be a personal assistant.

You Wouldn't Believe It, Except It Is True

So while I was in India, bein' all culture-stealing an' all, my university was busy putting a rather large error on my tuition bill.

An error which I did not discover until I returned back to the states.

Essentially, they charged me for out-of-state tuition although I am a resident of my university's state and have been getting in-state tuition since the start of my grad program. This adds over $1500 to my bill.

So I went to get it taken care of.

It would seem like this process would be easy. Go to the billing office, explain that there has been an error, and watch someone push a few computer keys to make it right again.

It wasn't so easy. First of all, the university staff didn't seem to know where I needed to go. I began at the registrar's office, who sent me to Student Accounts, who sent me to the bursar, who sent me back to the registrar; by this time it was a different employee sitting behind the desk, who said "oh, of course, we can take care of that."

First, however, I had to prove that I did in fact live in my state. Which my university didn't seem to believe, despite the fact that they had been mailing things to my address for the past few years. But they have a rule, intended probably for undergraduate "dependents" but applied post-retroactively to graduate students as well, that unless certain documents can be provided it is assumed that all students (regardless of age) live under the jurisdiction of their parent/guardian and are residents of their parent/guardian's state.

Which is, in this case, out-of-state. Never mind that I've been receiving in-state tuition every semester previously, and have had my own apartment for four years. Suddenly, I'm back to being a ward of my family.

So the person at the registrar's office asks me to bring back some documentation, including my driver's license, my car title, copies of bills sent to my home address, copies of bank statements from a local bank, my current apartment lease, the previous year's tax statements, etc.

The next morning, I arrive with my sheaf of papers.

"Oh, no, we need photocopies," the woman tells me.

I ask her if there's a copy machine in the office I can use. She tells me I have to go to the student center and use the copy shop there. (My university is baffling in its lack of copy machines. There are a few ancient machines in the library, but for all other copying we are expected to haul a$$ down to the Kinko's-style copy shop in our student center.)

There isn't time for me to do this before I go to work (am temping again), so after work I set out for the copy shop. (Yes, I was tempted to just do the copying at work and get it over with. But we're talking about 30 pages of material here, and I'm a good employee who doesn't steal copies from her employer.)

The copy shop, as I have found from past experiences, only takes cash. And I rarely carry cash, as I have found out (again, from past experiences) that if I carry cash I am very likely to let it dribble away into vending machines and the like.

So I had to find an ATM.

Frugal-minded, I set off to use my bank's ATM and avoid nasty surcharges.

But -- oh, here's the part you won't believe -- when I drove up to the bank, I found that the building was in the process of being torn down. Funny the things that can happen in three months. It's a national chain, so I'll be able to go to another building, but I didn't feel like tooling around the city to find out where the next closest banking opportunity was. At some point, after all, burning gas outweighs the ATM surcharge.

I ended up using the ATM outside of the university copy shop. $2.50 for the privilege.

30-plus copies later (and an interesting exchange with a rather vacuous clerk who asked me, when I went up to the register, "how many copies did you make?" and really wanting to answer "um... one..."), I went back again to the registrar's office, thankful that it was open late. I showed her the photocopies and then she gave me a form to sign.

The form needed notarization.

But the notary leaves work at 3 p.m. and had gone home for the day.

*facepalm*

In less than two minutes, I was outside feeding a dollar into a vending machine.

We'll see if I can get this problem solved tomorrow.

Just In Time For Some Of The Holidays (and very early for next year's Diwali!)

In my quest for ways to make a little more money (until Daniel teaches me how to break into the world of Mystery Shopping ^__^) I'm considering selling Pretty Blue Salwar merch.

It'll be like selling Girl Scout Cookies; my family will buy some because they're related to me, and the rest of you might buy because you like me. Or because you hate to turn away a Girl Scout.

Before I sign up with CafePress, I thought I would test the waters.

Would anyone reading this actually consider purchasing a t-shirt/sweatshirt/baby doll tee/hoodie emblazoned with any of the following slogans?

1. "What's in your tiffin-carrier?" (Image: Tiffin carrier.)

2. "Life is a continuous travelogue." (Image: None, but a really pretty font.)

3. "Nothing's wrong with eating weevils! Paharganj 2007" (Image: Cereal bowl with cartoon weevils poking their heads out. Also a spoon.)

4. "I Survived The Punjab" (Image: State of Punjab with Amritsar starred. If we want to go all double-entendre and Punjabi pride, I could put this one on a thong.)

If any of this interests you (interest does not mean "commitment to buy"), let me know and I'll get the designs up this weekend.

If none of this interests you, then... I may be putting ads up on the blog pretty soon. ^__^

If Mike Judge Were Desi...

BEAVIS: Yaar! Check it out! That guy was totally about to do it, but now he's on fire!

BUTTHEAD: Yeah. Bollywood rules.

BEAVIS: Heh-heh, Superman got totally fat, yaar. He's, like, so fat, that he should have an item number just for his fat.

BUTTHEAD: And, um, John Abraham should have one for his... um... wind tunnel. His hair's, like, always blowing or something.

BEAVIS: His hair blows. Get it? Blows!

BUTTHEAD: If that chick lost her memory, does that make her a virgin again? And does that mean she'd let me do her?

BEAVIS: I don't know, yaar. You'd have to fly to, like, Delhi or something.

BUTTHEAD: Heh. Heh. They said Salaam-e-Ishq.

Cleanliness Is Next To Awesomeness

Thanks for all of the suggestions re: my ant problem. I think my favorite one was the magical Laxman chalk with which I was to draw a circle around my bed. It seems like it ought to come with its own incantation. ^__^

(Daniel, I’ll have you know I found the anthill and poured soapy water into it, as suggested. And no, I’m not worried about hurting their precious exoskeletons.)

What actually happened today was this: I told some of the other visiting fac about my antventure, and they were astonished to find out that no one had been cleaning my room properly. There is supposed to be a woman sent to every room in the mornings to clean the floors and toilet. Mine was cleaned very well on the first day, and much less well every day thereafter, until it became cursory at best. In fact, on the day when I was lying in bed with fever, the woman came in and – instead of cleaning anything – just held out the little notebook in which I was to sign (to indicate the job had been done).

“But you haven’t cleaned anything,” I mumbled, trying to raise up from the pillow. “It’s still dirty.”

She made the “sorry, don’t understand English” grin and took off.

Anyway, one of the visiting faculty commandeered a team, and after much shouting and waving of arms, got my room completely cleaned. Scrubbed down, walls and everything. They changed the sheets, gave me towels and toilet paper (which had never been in the room before – I was doing it lota-style), and in general made the whole thing as sparkling-fresh as a cement room could be.

They did not replace the holey blanket, unfortunately, but I’ll take what I can get for now.

The Ants Go Marching...

I think this story will be enough to put off anyone who is thinking about traveling to India. My apologies in advance to the Indian Tourism Board.

Imagine, for a moment, how much noise an ant makes when it is crawling across a surface.

Not much, eh?

Okay. Now imagine how many ants it would take to make an audible crawling sound.

Starting to get a mental picture?

Now imagine how many ants it would take to make a crawling sound loud enough to wake a sleeping human.

I woke up at about 4 a.m. last night to a funny scratching noise. As soon as I got my head together I realized it was coming from the metal "air conditioner" positioned above my bed. I knew, with a strange foreboding, that my air conditioner was full of insects. Hundreds and thousands of insects.

I thought for a moment. Leave it alone, or take action? After the "bug invades my jeans" episode, I went and purchased a variety of insect killers. I bug-bomb my room every evening (while I am away at dinner: see "Spider poison is people poison?"), air it out, then close all the windows for the night. But the air conditioning unit was clearly providing another method of access.

I thought, in my fuzzy 4-am sort of way, that both taking action and doing nothing would result in the same unwanted scenario. Better to face the scenario with weaponry.

So I grabbed my can of industrial-strength Indian Raid, stood out of the way as far as I could, and sprayed down the air conditioner.

Instantly thousands of ants began to pour out of the air conditioner; from the sides, around the cracks at the bottom, and through the vents. I sprayed and sprayed, watching as they began to slow down and die. My bedsheets began to fill with dead ants.

I went to open the window, to let out some of the toxic fumes. There I found something I hadn't prepared for. Hundreds of thousands of ants, having realized the danger of the air conditioning unit, were now seeping into the windowjamb. Opening the window would release them all.

But I had no choice; so the windows were forced open, the ants came pouring in, and I sprayed them down.

Then I went down to the veranda, in my pajamas, to clear my head.

When I came back, I cleaned up the corpses, but for some odd reason couldn't fall back to sleep. I wonder why. ^__^

BTW, the most disgusting part of the story came today, when I decided to turn the air conditioner on. It was hot, after all. I figured a few dead ants might get blown out, but then it would be over with. Little did I know that dead ants left overnight in an air conditioner apparently turn into black goo. How about I leave it at that.

Other Things I Wish People Had Told Me Before I Left

People catch small fevers in India all the time, locals and firengis included.

Going to the student health center in the morning and getting checked over is a good idea.

Spending the rest of the day panicking, envisioning the opening scene in the 1987 Hallmark Hall of Fame adaptation of The Secret Garden (starring Derek Jacobi) is ineffectual.

Particularly when one wakes up the next morning feeling fine.

Getting Groped (or, How To Increase Site Traffic With Two Simple Words)

On the bus ride home from a bazaar in Abids, I felt an erect penis begin to nudge itself into the small of my back.

It was accompanied by a huge, sweaty belly.

I started to laugh. Aloud. I know I should have been offended, but the whole thing seemed so ludicrous. Here we were, packed like sardines into this stinking bus, everyone dripping with sweat, and this guy next to me decides he's going to get turned on, just because he's standing near a woman.

I stepped away from him (the two inches that I could) but he stepped forward, continuing to press into me.

So I reached behind me and swatted his belly.

He stepped back and disappeared into the crowd of passengers.

Again, I know I should be offended, but my only reaction is "glad to know I've still got it."

If I Were a High School Language Arts Teacher...

Essay #2 (50 points):

Insomnia, or the inability to sleep, is a recurrent theme in Vikram Chandra's Sacred Games. In a series of well-developed paragraphs, compare and contrast the periods of insomnia experienced by A. Sartaj, B. Ganesh, C. Mary, and D. Prabjhot. A successful essay will include information on why each character experienced insomnia, how his or her life was affected during the sleepless period, and what actions or events allowed the character to return to normal sleep habits.

Extra Credit (5 points):

Do you think Vikram Chandra is a recurring insomniac? If so, why?