don't you hate how google chat forces you to think of people you try and go days and weeks without thinking of just because you're checking your gosh darn email?
you know what i mean... you're checking your email and to the left of the screen pops up the name of a former friend or lover that you have managed to remove from your life in almost every capacity? it's like google's inadvertent way of reminding you that you are a failure when it comes to human relationships.
there are many things that i write about in this blog that boarder on "too personal" for me... my woman troubles, for one. but there are many many things i won't even touch upon because they are so meaningful or evoke so much emotion that i feel if i were to somehow try and explain these feelings into words that they would be cheapened. i don't write about my last relationship, i don't write about my father.
i'll never be able to truly explain the way i feel about music, and i can't even really try much more than i just have. most people live their whole lives wondering if they will ever meet the person/the thing who moves them in the way music moves me... it's not a case of being struck... i think some people feel this way about the pope. it is a confirmation of my belief system and the way i live my life.
“when driving alone, what do you do? sing along to the radio? think about your day? something else?”
as a citizen of
usually i start the morning drive with a dance party. while most people would be embarrassed to get down the way i do, i figure that the people in the other cars appreciate it as much as i would if i saw some chick in her vehicle going. pathetic in a delicious way.
i talk to meself frequently. i work through bits, give meself pep talks and quote movies, lyrics and television. this is not something i can control, and have actually started talking to meself so absent-mindedly (i'm pretty sure that's a made up word) that i've surprised meself-- like i actually can't believe that i've done it. it's like when your muscles shake when you're dehydrated after a night of drinking, and you can't believe that your body is doing something so crazy without much notice or real explanation other than you need to stop drinking and smoking so much pot. that's actually a horrible analogy, but it is insight to me personality that warrants not being deleted and replaced with something self conscience.
p.s. i'm crazy.
the rest of the time i chat on the phone, wrestle me imaginary dog into sitting down, smoke cigarettes compulsively and think about times in me life i've fucked up by saying or doing the wrong thing. you wouldn't want to drive in front or back of me, basically. i guess that's what i've been trying to say this whole time.
occasionally, i like eating in fancy restaurants; the experience is a complete contradiction in comparison to eating at ‘ordinary’ places, which by itself is another amazing experience.
i like a lot of things in a fancy restaurant, the way the napkins are folded, the lighting, the way the table is set, the way the waiter of dubious chinese origin walks around the place (much like a shaolin monk), the couples having a ‘moment’ between a meal, (not that i stare, just assuming that they do, i am sure they do, we have had such ‘moments’), the humbling effect a waiter invokes in me by calling me ‘sir’, that’s by far the most uncomfortable feeling in the world.
actually, the most uncomfortable feeling in the world is asking for permission to use the loo, anyways, its right up there with all the top uncomfortable feelings.
i try and put on me best behavior, i tend to eat me meal like a time traveler who has just traveled from the victorian era.
last week, i went to magnolia, a fancy chinese place in koramangala, with two of me mates. a shaolin monk disguised as a waiter welcomed us with a smile; we acknowledged his gesture with an enthusiastic nod and entered the place, of course, i was leading the hungry pack, three steps into the posh interiors of magnolia, me mate whispers into me ear
“dude your pant......its torn from the backside”
“what? “
me hand involuntarily moves to check the level of damage,
“no, don’t check, trust me. you will attract attention, just walk in front of me”
i did as i was told. we got to our seats and for obvious reasons i took the seat next to the wall.
the next forty-five minutes i was the butt of all jokes, good fun nevertheless.
the food was typically ‘fancy’. it was only after dinner when i went to the restroom did i realize the magnitude of the situation, what was previously me back pocket was now a four-inch-by-four-inch window into me inside world. i literally crawled out of the bathroom like an exposed snail and convinced rajat to part with his pullover type thingy,
i tied the pullover type thingy around me waist like an 80’s rock star and spent the next half hour wondering if i spent half the day walking in and around mg road with me left butt hanging out for everyone to see.
me last thought before i put up this post:
underwear after free will is god’s greatest gift to mankind.
me: dude.
suds: hola! wassup?
me: don't laugh.
me: i'm off to kumbakonam.
and then i quoted this info from wiki to him, to soften the blow:
according to legend, kumbakonam is the location where the kumbha (pot) in which brahma placed the seed of creation during the great deluge came to rest. kumbakonam is thus said to be the location from which life in the current cycle of creation first came forth.
i bet you didn't know that.
that nugget about the seed of creation being placed in kumbakonam is just killer. the poor wriggling sods that make up my own seed of creation are all going to wither up and die in the mother ship in the place blessed with THE seed of creation. fucking circle of life, man. is it not written, "there is many a lip (and usually a maximum of one slip, ahahahah) between the mother ship and motherhood?". well, now it is.
why am i traveling to the most fucked up places in
and what does mani do when i expect some brotherly sympathy?
mani: dude.im from a small village nea
mani: ive been there n hazaar times
mani: my upanayanam happened there
ganja: fuck.
mani: updating blog now.
mani: berlin trip.
how does it feeeeel, as bob bylan asked, to be going to kumbakonam when your friend is humping euro-whores? not good.
ganja: having safe sex?
mani: er...safe jackoffs is more like it.
turns out the friend is not humping euro-whores but that doesn't make me feel any better about going to kumbakonam.
somebody buy me this please..... please. 
i have to say that when i saw this yesterday i laughed for about a minute and just stared at it.this is an email i received sometime last month that was just re-forwarded to me by its original author who follows my twitter feed:
“i can't believe i just spent 30 minutes reading your blogs.
can i just say for the record, that i am both completely conscious and unconscious of me utter lack of impulse control that often manifests itself as a blog entry? i know i'm doing it before, during and after doing it, but i don't know how to stop. living extremely candidly when i feel the urge has been what's best for me in a lot of ways. it's just a random personal blog that has some pretty passionate readers and stuff. let's keep it loose. i don't want to drag everyone through the mud with me when i'm not feeling happy or snarky, but i am a person. i've got all of the emotions and sometimes i have all of them at the same time.
yes, i have totally written things on this blog with tears streaming down me face so hard that i could barely make out the words i was typing (btw, what an attractive mental image. can you shoot me for including that? this is exactly what i mean. thank you for allowing me to prove me previous point. moving on...) yes, i've been writing some things here and elsewhere and been simultaneously thinking "hey, the consequences of putting this out there could be people thinking shitty things about you, those that you're writing about, and your mother for not raising you to just shut the fuck up and deal the way people did before blogs existed." i realize that there are quite a number of people i could have almost wrecklessly offended or hurt with some of the things i've said. part of me completely hates myself for it at times...
am i going to die alone because i'm like this? maybe.
i have learned that even though that's the last thing i want, it might be exactly what i get. it's cool because i guess it just fucking has to be. [Note to editors who will undoubtedly pick up this up for the think-piece you write about me: "it's cool because i guess it just fucking has to be." is the quote i would like to have next to the smiling picture of my face, blown up and in italics.
if i write about being hurt or upset or scared, it's not an open invitation for people to validate me. as much as i am an attention-whoring love-sponge, i am also a big fucking boi. i just happen to document a fair portion of me life in a ridiculously public manner. not every day is going to be sunshine and roses or iced coffee and bong hits. not every girl i care about is going to feel the same way back. not every work day, even at the best jobs, is going to be challenging in an interesting or fun way.
in an ideal world, i would wake up in a bed made of feathers at 1030 am, go swimming at the beach and spend the rest of the day watching movies and sipping beer and getting tanned and not putting on anymore weight. i'd have this really funny and awesome girlfriend who gets it and wants to spend the time with me whenever we aren't off somewhere being awesome individuals. but that's not me life or anyone's life.
if Kate Hudson is allowed to get dumped by a uniballed bike-jockey, then i am allowed to write about me feelings nearly inconsequentially all over the fucking internet. i'm sorry, that's just how logic works. if you don't get it, you must not have taken a logic class in school and therefore your issue is not with me, but your parents or whomever raised you for not making your high school education a sturdy one.
i hate to sweep something under the rug that started fairly earnestly with dumb jokes about testicular cancer. here: if your read this blog, which the author himself is admitting is a completely self-indulgent, typically mindless series of anecdotes, jokes and shit he found on the internet, i expect that you're probably a mix of the following: horrified, intrigued, concerned, empathetic, mildly otherwise-amused, and possibly fairly indifferent but you have a lot of time at work. in response to all emotions listed above and more, i say this to you: i feel the same way reading it, too. i'm learning a lot about myself and that feels really good because i'm enormously self-involved.
