Someday Someplace...
June 18, 2006
Himesh Reshamiya - Part 2As much as I am addicted to reading blogs, I somehow resent writing about myself. I intend to many times, but like I've mentioned before (I dont know where), I tend to mentally make a draft about what I'm going to post, and by the time I sit to actually put it down, I dont feel the need anymore. Since I've already thought about the stuff going on around me/ within me , or have simply discussed it with someone.
Hence the lack of personal posts. I've been the kind of person who ppl address when they need to talk, or I somehow sense it and get them to talk stuff out. It makes me feel good , maybe I'm a good listener or I have a fetish to invite ppl to come to me and blurt things out to me. I must be sick. One the other hand, I for one am a difficuilt person to take things out of , as in,tell people whats going on within me.
In short, lots has been going on, a lot happened during the past month that I was away from work. I actually enjoyed being at home full time, since the only time I spend at home otherwise is when I am sleeping, I dint even realise how time went by. I happened to be blessed with a non boring but fun family - who I like hanging around with and sit and enjoy conversations.
What do we have here, I was supposed to copy paste a mocking article on Himesh Reshamiya and ended up writing all of this. I was pretty low cuz of some stuff going on but a message on msn kinda lightened me up, so I'm gonna stop right here and paste the damn email I recieved.
Here goes :
After spending many sleepless nights at the Central Prison for Music
freaks and making fellow prisoners go through uneasy times by making
them listen to the irritating Himesh sounds the other prisoners staged
a protest here today. Himesh Reshammiya was earlier arrested and
awarded a death sentence by a local court. All the prisoners have
demanded that Himesh Reshammiya be moved to a sound proof cell. In the
meanwhile Himesh refused to comment on the issue and claimed he had to
practice and since he was refused bail there was no other way. In the
mean while the President has rejected Himesh Reshammiya's mercy plea
today. Himesh's lawyer sent a mercy request to the President that
Himesh be left with a small penalty on the condition that he won't
sing too much.
Apparently the President was supposed to approve the mercy plea today.
But it appears that he tuned into his television set last night and
heard Himesh Reshammiya's name on the credits for composition for two
more new movies. The President got annoyed instantly and demanded that
Himesh's songs be banned since they posed a higher threat to the
nation than the current reservations issue.
The President however laid down certain alternatives to a death
sentence for Himesh Reshammiya considering the fact that Himesh was in
a depressed state and might voice some disgusting sad music in prison.
The President suggested the following alternatives;
++ Himesh could be sent to Andaman & Nicobar islands. The tribal
population can find Himesh as a good inspiration for crappy music.
They can also tie him up and eat him if they're not satisfied.
++ Himesh could be sent to the LOC with Pakistan. He could help scare
away possible intruders along the LOC!
++ Himesh and his so called 'followers and fans' could be sent on an
island on the Indian Ocean and they can enjoy each others company.
++ The CBI can use Himesh's music in the torture rooms. The victim can
be made to listen his songs until he vomits the truth! Also the FBI
can be provided with the same if they'd like some outsourcing!
++ Some of our people would be visiting the moon very soon. The
spaceship shall emit Himesh Reshammiya's music in order to scare away
any possible alien attack!
June 13, 2006
Why it takes women so long in a public restroom ?I just *had* to break my blogging fast for this email I recieved from a friend :
Why it takes women so long in a public restroom ?
My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.
That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature" years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.
You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck (mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance." Ahhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.
To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday -the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.
"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, knowing all to well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper and your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China. At that point, you give up.
You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely. One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you.
Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom. It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold your purse, keep the stall door closed, and hand you Kleenex under the door.
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