My haircut.

My haircut was free of cost. That artist took me in as a model; well not the slim and trim (ha ha ha) model, the bakra you make sit for 30 minutes so that you can try new haircuts on him/her. So, anyway, she takes me to Khar, to some sidey salon, and she cuts my hair for two hours.
A prologue here: my hair was, before the disaster, 5 inches long at the pinnacle of its length. So a haircut meant, as I told the girl very clearly, that she reduce it to a minimum of 4 inches.
Apparently she hears everything in halves or doubles. So instead of the hair going to 4 inches in half an hour, it goes to 2 inches in an hour.
I kept asking her to not make it too short. But you know these girls, a Sony-Ericsson in their ears makes them 80% deaf. She kept nodding, and when she was done, I was fuming. I looked like the Scribe I remember 8 years back. Even then I wasn't that much of a pleasant sight.
Being the decent, patient person I am, I decided 15 kilometres wasn't all that a favourable place to throw a tantrum.
So, you suffer, dearest bloggie.

Here's todays schedule anyway.

7.45 am: Wakey
8.15 am: Running
9.30 am: Beautician comes over
11 am: She finishes, after 5 10 minute long phone calls.
3 pm: I leave for Khar
4.30 pm: I reach Khar, courtesy a random acquaintance of beautician who meets her at the station.
5.15 pm: I sit for the Cut
6.45 pm: she's finally done with it
8.30 pm: She packs up with Dostini and Saxxxy, equally bored yet calmer.
8.45 pm: I'm running the marathon so that I can collect my cellphone.
9.15 pm: After the cell still not being repaired, I walk off to meet Dostini and Saxxxy who're buying Perennial's cake.
9.30 pm: We leave Vile Parle for home
9.45 pm: We reach the building
10.15 PM: Perennial already knows about the surprise, so we make a few changes, only to revert to plan A

And if everything goes well, half an hour from now, Dabba, Saxxxy and Dostini will be here with the cake, ready to go to Perennial's place for the ritualistic 'surprise'.

As happy goes...

Alright I'm in that bad a mood that i actually copy pasted this bit of what i thought was 'Puurrrr'-fect for the occassion when you feel so lost out on yourself your creativity is limited to starting to appreciate what some fellow 'really-bugged-and-mentally-troubled' person has written in as much a crappy mood as you are to read the whole thing.
The result? I feel better thinking that i may not be the lamest creature about to be extinct. Crappy posts do 2 things to your self-regard:
1.They boost your self-esteem when you tell yourself,"what a mushy,candy-floss brained moron so-snd-so is to write such glib"
2.you realise that life's not fair to a whole lot of people.at least, another one person who's probably been through the same thing you have, but not as severe since he/she was absolutely capable of thinking beyond the hurt and expressing it. so, your feelings are deeper!you have what can save the world...Sensitivity!
See?I'm better already!though i still feel i should post this bit, hope some maha-bugged/hurt/angry/ripped fellow can read this and appease that murder-intent mind.


(Quoting from the orkut profile of a certain Prabhjot Virk..yes,roadies loveroos, that's the one)

"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love!!!!!"

Things that hurt

Felt like it, wrote it.


I wish you could see me wake up mom
While you made the breakfast today
And while you told me to take the dog down
I wish you'd heard what i'd to say

I wish you could see me grin at you
And ask for a morning hug
When you wiped through the furniture and cleaned the floor
And put on the brand new rug

I wish you'd watch me dress up mom,
just as i stepped outdoors
and tell me what sandal i should wear
while you were doing the chores.

you should've really seen me dust the table
and make the living room spotlessly clean
so that the seating's perfect and the beds are neat
and in the sunlight the glasstops gleam

you really made a good lunch today
A feast i'd never miss
and when i came to thank you for the meal
you were too busy for my kiss

so you'd missed the best years of your life
growing a clan of your own
and when you look back and reminisce
you'd see two great kids you've grown

I'm sorry that i hurt you the other day
when i refused to walk the dog
My leg was hurting and i couldn't tell
When you called me a lifeless log

I'm sorry for screaming at my younger brother
because he misbehaved
but i couldn't help stopping him rot
and it was your attention for which i craved

I'm sorry for the classes i had to bunk
because of the headache that day
and you said i was wasting your hard earned money
and that i was wasting away

I'm sorry for listening to everything
when i could've had a ball
for helping you about, and studying hard
And acting to your call

I'm sorry for the times i wasnt naughty
when you asked me to be a child
I really believed it'd cause you way less trouble
If i refrained and didn't act wild

I really thought i'd be a good girl
and never repent for that
I wanted to make life easier for you mum
while you spent all your time on that brat

I thought it'd be okay to wipe your eyes
after everytime your son made you cry
I never believed and still won't
when all i can think,is 'why did i?'

I'm sorry for the trouble mom
I thought i'd be a good girl and make you smile
Is it because you never could have your way mom,
that you never let me have mine?

why do i feel like a report card mom?
why do i feel like a weighing scale?
why do i feel that all i count for
is how much i weigh and i don't fail?

Thanks for the money you give me mom
Though daddy could've given it to me too
all i'm asking is for a little more attention mom
or for that, i wish i were your problem too.