Facebook.

There really never will be anything quite as awesome as the first "pssst! update undie color to spread breast cancer awareness and don't tell the boys" plan,so pathetic posers who've been spamming my inbox,Give Up!

Also,
damnit FF,you have me hooked.
Luff your blog 11/10.

Confessions.

I have decided to come clean and embrace all things hackneyed,old school and comforting.

#1. The love of pink.
Okay,so i was going for a darker shade, but come on! What's not to like? It's pretty and *drumroll* kind of cute. Plus,the ultimate proof of girliness. Besides,9 times out of 10,the people most against the color are posers afraid of being tagged a sissy and hence the dire need to prove that they are tough.

#2. Shopping.
It's fun. It's therapeutic. It's new clothes. And it does not mean you are the epitome of shallowness who has lost the sublime meaning of life,being caught up in the fad that promotes filling the deep dark void that is your life through mindless trips to the land of temporary escapism that is the mall. That's just some myth made up by fat people who feel shitty asking for a double XL in public. YOU shop away!

#3. Love songs.
Who doesn't have a song? You know you like them. So you wouldn't be caught dead listening to Celine Dion (oh,SO 90's) in public anymore. But know this much: If you have an overdose of sap in your i-pod,you are not alone.

#4. Barbies.
Name ONE little girl who didn't go all starry eyed at the sight of pink perfection every time she passed a toy store and wrote religiously to Santa,asking for one every Christmas,and i will plead guilty.

#5. Letters.
Not the ones typed out in ms-word. The real deals - Handwritten,stamped and posted. It's old school and personal. And way more effective than generalized emoticons. Like finding treasure in your mailbox!


It isn't easy admitting you are sappy,predictable and cliched. Because everyone wants to be this season's gladiator heels. But once you do,it's like slipping into an old pair of down at heel slippers: Oddly comfortable.

Shopping,anyone?

Relationships are like clothes.

So you're walking down the street,happily humming some song from that independent girl band,going all "I'm perfectly fine on my own..blah blah..i need NO man" when suddenly you see it.
That perfect dress. In that shade of gorgeous purple. And you KNOW it's for you. You KNOW no other chick can do justice to a dress like that! I mean,have you seen the embellishments? That sparkly aura that draws you (and only you) to it?
And before you know it,you've walked past the swinging doors,past the firm resolution that you need your bank a/c to recuperate after your last fated meet with that (oh! so awesome) perfect fit pants and voila! You're in!

And that beautiful piece of intricately cut fabric is a perfect fit!
And that satin against your skin! Sublime!
And everybody in the store tells you,you two look fabulous together. Yes! Perfection itself.
And you get that shiny,happy feeling at the pit of your stomach that this is it! You need nothing else,absolutely nothing else to make you happy.
And yes,the dress is yours.
And suddenly,the world is a better place.

Your first night out together,you turn heads. You know that patent leather boots that skinny chick is wearing is beckoning,but you don't care.
You love your dress!

But a month later,summer's over.
And the dress is no longer enough.
And that sparkly aura,you suddenly realize,has lost it's sparkle.
And it's bursting at the seams.
And it's slowly retracting to the back of your closet.
And you're cold.
And there's autumn-winter collection to look forward to.



And before you know it..that beautiful cashmere coat you've glanced at,is yours for the taking.
And you know it's not right. You know your bills are way over due.
But you can't help it.

For that coat will get you through winter.
And yes,you are no longer cold.

Cake.Yum.

My name is Post it and I'm a RomComaholic.
I admit.
I'm a sucker for happy endings.
For all things that give me butterflies,make me reach for my tissues,binge on low fat ice cream and in general add to the "One day,i'll meet the One too" feeling.

And yes,i believe in soulmates.

I firmly believe that all events in a person's life- right from "damnit! The toast always falls buttered side down" to the n-the heartbreak courtsey Mr. Right Now- all lead up to that one, absolutely magical, drumroll moment when,y'know, you meet your Harry.
Or Sally if you please.

But here's a thought-

What if I'm wrong?

What if this feel good factor that the entertainment industry taps in on to make cheesy movies and corny novels out of to cater to the masses is nothing but a smokescreen?
A scam to exploit our absolute happily-ever-after infested gullibility and help us kid ourselves till we're 40, single and suicidal.
And then visit the shrink.

What if all the sunshiny talks of true love is just that?
Talk.

Besides,what happens when i do find the One?
Hell! How do i know who he is?
Does an alarm go off in my head?
Will a sappy love song start playing out of nowhere as i bump into my knight in shining armour at the departmental store?
Is there really a "dum di DUM" moment that'll clue me in on my "right guy,right here" situation?

And then again,what guarantee do i have that i haven't let go of my soulmate already?
What if i did meet him,tagged him as yet another passing phase, and moved on?
Or worse.

What if my soulmate is a Siamese cat?
Or,Brad Pitt?

Plus,aren't cynics always telling us to suck it up cuz love is overrated?
How, it's the same feeling as biting into one's favorite cheesecake cuz the brain releases the exact same chemicals or some such similar BS?

There you go.
Problem solved.

Who needs a man anyway?
I can bake.

Art.

They say sex is a form of art.
That it gives expression to the soul.

Beautiful words really,if only i didn't have a totally disturbing image of a paint by numbers book i had as a kid.
Which got me thinking..

If sex is an art, who's to say what's genius and what's trash?

Then there's the tricky matter of understanding abstract art.
And cartoons.

And what about the people who were never born artists to begin with?
Do they take the help of paint-by-numbers or do they go with their gut?
Are they laughed at or are they ahead of their times?

Do we pull a Renoir? Or maybe a Dali?
Or do we go ahead and find a different genre altogether?

What happens when we mess up? Do we use more paint or do we start over?

How do we know the line between beautiful and boring?
Between original and pretentious?

And exactly what is the yardstick against which we've been pitted?
Who is keeping track?


Which makes me wonder-
Who are we kidding?

We're as clueless as the guy who has smudged his picture of a farmhouse as did a maestro with his self portrait.


So then,what IS art?
For want of a better word,
Undefined.

Comfortably imperfect

Playing Minesweeper on the computer and bonding with mum over mounds of chocolate may sound as pathetic as spending V-day with a cat, but I loved every moment.

Okay, so there wasn’t that euphoric, tingly all over, waiting for magic to happen feeling like the other times.
And maybe I’d anticipated something more.
The old “happy happy birthday” from K maybe, to make the whole of last month seem like nothing more than one of those sinking déjà vu moments.
And maybe I’d like the joy of waking up to presents wrapped in shiny paper, back.

But for now, an ‘experimental’ cake, mashed gulab jamuns and the world’s best Mum for company does the trick.

Note to self: Maybe the tingles aren’t important.
Maybe the people who give them to you,are! :]

Dear Ms. Ass-kissing Anal,

There is something called a brain
Which ain't something you have;
Get off of my face
You stinking piece of ass.

Wobbling around in XXL tees
Ingratiating smile doing the rounds,
Too bad they can't see you when
You steal credit,you pathetic hound.

No life beyond these green gates
Nothing to look forward to..
Maybe i see your point when you say you love ***
Baby, i pity you.

Spineless Jello,
Worthless dipshit
You humongous waste of a measly 5 ft.
Pea sized brain,Double digit IQ
Didja know you havta pay em to bang you?

Yeah,i should probably stop
Don't wanna scandalize your fragile morality
Your pure lil sacred heart
Your halo,your amaazing 'personality'.

Take a bow bitch,cuz you're done.
I'm in the house,puss.
For your sake- RUN!

Let his will be done.

A message in the Yearly Calendar handed out to students at a reputed Convent school:

"For in much wisdom is much grief,
And increase in knowledge is increase of sorrow"

Next to a photoshopped picture of our darling lord Jesus.



We rest our case.

Crappy New Year!

New Years suck.
It is nothing but an excuse. For all those card making companies to rake in money in the name of "holiday cheer" and for mushy-head over heels-in love couples to show to the not-so-head over heels-in love people how 'head over heels' they really are.

I mean,seriously! December is like this month with no place for single women. Along with your mittens,what comes out is your knack for PDA. Holding hands in Book fairs, snuggling in Park benches,gazing into each others eyes as the string lights shine on.

Do i really need to wake up on New Years,open my newspapers and see a huge front page layout of a madly-in-love-so-we-get-to-slobber-over-each-other picture of a couple?
No!
What i really need is a good strong cup of coffee to get over the saccharine sweetness around. And maybe a cat. And to forget about the extra pounds I've gained from last night's binge eating. But let's not get into that. :|

Anyway,this year,a couple of equally miserable friends of mine and i decided to boycott all things New Yearsy. And boy! did we have some fun. :D

We went on a hogging session. And ended with some good old bitching. Turns out,I'm not the only psycho old maid with a hatred for all things that come in pairs. If you're a single gal,you'd know how well that works. And if you're not - then you're missing out! :P

Anyway,i won't let my bitter denial of the utilities of the festive season bring you down (by 'you',i mean all my non existent readers). May you revel in the glory of confetti and cards. May you spend many such New Years with your 'the one'. May all the sweetness give you Diabetes.


Here's to another Crappy New Year!