Good News and Bad News
Jun. 14th, 2007 03:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladymirthAargh! I have so much to do today that I'm going to give up and watch TV instead. Procastination, thou art my sinful friend.
The Good News is: Sabiha is having her engagement party this Sunday and more or less my entire secondary school batch is turning up. I can't believe one of my classmates is actually getting married! At twenty. Add to the fact that this is Sabiha we're talking about and my mind refuses to process it. She is the wackiest individual of my acquaintance, and crazy as a chimpmunk, and about as adorable. Sabiha Sideeq - soon to be wife and mother?! Does not compute, I tells ya!
To tell the truth, I'm a little annoyed with this custom of Muslim girls getting married so young. I mean, I understand the rationale behind it (as was explained to me by my friend Marina) but it bugs me, nevertheless. I supose it's all down to culture. They're conditioned for it, I think. I mean, if I was going to have a baby at 22, I'd probably become terrified out of my existence and feel like a teen mother or something. But my friend Marina is taking it all in her stride. As it is, the very thought that once that little tyke is born, I'm going to be his or her "Aunty Hasini" makes me feel quite weirded out. I still have second cousins who are mere tots, and I'm still only "Akki" (big sister/ didi) to them. Now if Sabiha were to reproduce anytime soon, I'm going to take the next plane out of the country. *g*
Well, as long as she's happy, that's the main thing. Anyway, I am quite looking forward to seeing my classmates, and what they have done to themselves now that they have at last escaped the bondage of thirteen years of a private all-girls prep-school. I haven't seen most of them since our finals last year, and wonder whether I'd recognize them now. I'm trying to decide whether to wear my hair up, or down with my formal Kandyan saree.
The Bad News is: It's on Sunday, so the saloons are going to be closed - which means I'll have to do my own hair! And I've had a sudden outbreak of spots! It WOULD happen now, of course. The one instance when it is vital for me to glam the hell out of my former classmates and excorcise the image of the pigtailed dumpling of my past self from their minds forever, I am doomed to turn up looking like I had a bad bout of small pox. Where's a good concealer when you need one?!
The Good News is: After I had a nervous breakdown last week, and babbling about all the things that was wrong with him and how it was ruining my life, my Dad decided to stop all drinking and smoking and go and see a doctor as I advised. Not that he told me that at the time. I should have nervous breakdowns more often.
The Bad News is: The stupid psychiatrist concluded that Dad was neither stressed nor depressed and gave him a mild sedative to control his anger issues!! So now Dad is all smug. "Told ya I wasn't depressed. Ha!" So apparently, I became a basket case all by myself!
I wanted him to see a therapist, damn it, not some quack psychiatrist! I get to live with the man 24/7, instead of fifteen minutes in some over-priced shrink clinic. So when I say he's got issues, I know what I'm talking about!
At least those sedatives seem to be helping a little. He says he doesn't get angry so often. But then, it's only been a few days.
The Good News is: My sister has the class physics prize. So now Dad the Mathematician can't rag her about being a bio student. Not that Dad's really dead set on her doing Engineering, but he's got ragging down to a fine art and loves any excuse to tease us. So he has to shut up, now. Oh, and my nightmarish two months of disease and illness seems to have evoked a kind of karmic recompense. I've got on the Dean's List. *examines fingernails*
The Bad News is: I'm on the Dean's List - along with what is seemingly one-third of the entire campus. Never say I wasn't one for full disclosure. Well, I can't help it if a lot of people got straight As too. At least I probably earned rather more ardorously than they did. Also, Mom doesn't seem to understand what exactly a Dean's List is. They didn't have the American system operating at the University of Peradeniya in her day.
The Good News is: I love, love, love my World Culture class! We watched Mambo Italiano the other day. (Incidentally that film should be made mandatory viewing for every second-generation citizen of a diasphoric community) Loved it! It was too funny and too true! What does it say about me that I can totally relate to a gay Italian writer-wannabe struggling to find acceptance within his dysfunctional family?
Whale Rider next week!
The Bad News is: I would have enjoyed Mambo Italiano so much more without a classful of immature guys making retching noises everytime Luke Kirkby had a romantic gay scene. It's not that they're even homophobic, really, it's that they seem to feel that if they don't act all macho and prepubescent, their masculinity will be called into question. Grow up, guys!
And much as I loved the film, where oh where did they find that tacky flowered wallpaper?! No wonder Angelo was traumatized as a child; nobody could have lived in a house for thirty years with that tacky wall paper and matching upholstery and turn out normal! Huge brown spidery flowers against a buff yellow background. They must have hired Hell's own interior decorator. Those flowers were spawned by Satan, I tell you.
And Satan said unto them, 'Go forth and multiply. And may all who behold you say unto themselves: "Lo! My neurons haveth spontaneously combusted! Holye Shite! Geteth them away from me!!"
It's almost as bad as the salmon pink complex I developed after watching A Cinderella Story. The set of that movie looked like a world under domination by Barbie. Everything was tacky, noxiously bright and bubbly, and mostly salmon pink and plastic.
The Good News is: I finally installed Torrent, courtesy of my brand new ADSL connection. *kisses modem* The first thing I did was download Cave of The Golden Rose. Now I'm downloading Smallville Season Six!
The Bad News is: It takes at least a full 24 hours to download one movie. And it turned out the version of Cave of the Golden Rose I'd downloaded is IN ITALIAN! I can't understand a friggin word! And I can't find the English version. So now all I can do is stare wistfully at Kim Rossi Stuart. Also, I am downloading Smallville Season Six. SIX. Nuff said!
The Good News is: Apparently, I have a cabal of admirers in my campus I didn't even know about. I have admirers. Isn't that weird? I've never had them before.
The Bad News is: Their codename for me is "Cleopatra". WTF?!
At least it explains my encounter with Sir Weird last month. I walked out of my algera final, and encountered this guy who I'd swear I'd never seen or spoken to in my life before.
Guy: (As though I was his lifeong friend) "HI!"
Me: (Nonplussed, trying desperately to think how I was supposed to know him.) ....
Guy: "You have to say 'Hi' back."
Me: (flustered) "Hi."
Guy: "Can I call you 'Cleo'?"
(I swear, I am not making this up!)
Me: (blankly) "What?"
Guy: "Would you mind if I call you 'Cleo'?"
Me: (trying to interject some rationality into the conversation) "Why would you want to call me Cleo?"
Guy: "Just...you know." (grins)
Me: (thinking to myself) Dude, you can call me 'Mouser' if you want. It'll make no difference to me, because if you think I'm ever again going to get within earshot of a weirdo who thinks "Can I call you Cleo" is a great pick up line, you lead a very sad and creepy life.
Me: (Out loud) "Okay".
I dunno why, but it honestly never occurred to me it was short for "Cleopatra". It sounded like a domesticated feline to me.
This is "Cleo", signing off.
*hugs flist*
The Good News is: Sabiha is having her engagement party this Sunday and more or less my entire secondary school batch is turning up. I can't believe one of my classmates is actually getting married! At twenty. Add to the fact that this is Sabiha we're talking about and my mind refuses to process it. She is the wackiest individual of my acquaintance, and crazy as a chimpmunk, and about as adorable. Sabiha Sideeq - soon to be wife and mother?! Does not compute, I tells ya!
To tell the truth, I'm a little annoyed with this custom of Muslim girls getting married so young. I mean, I understand the rationale behind it (as was explained to me by my friend Marina) but it bugs me, nevertheless. I supose it's all down to culture. They're conditioned for it, I think. I mean, if I was going to have a baby at 22, I'd probably become terrified out of my existence and feel like a teen mother or something. But my friend Marina is taking it all in her stride. As it is, the very thought that once that little tyke is born, I'm going to be his or her "Aunty Hasini" makes me feel quite weirded out. I still have second cousins who are mere tots, and I'm still only "Akki" (big sister/ didi) to them. Now if Sabiha were to reproduce anytime soon, I'm going to take the next plane out of the country. *g*
Well, as long as she's happy, that's the main thing. Anyway, I am quite looking forward to seeing my classmates, and what they have done to themselves now that they have at last escaped the bondage of thirteen years of a private all-girls prep-school. I haven't seen most of them since our finals last year, and wonder whether I'd recognize them now. I'm trying to decide whether to wear my hair up, or down with my formal Kandyan saree.
The Bad News is: It's on Sunday, so the saloons are going to be closed - which means I'll have to do my own hair! And I've had a sudden outbreak of spots! It WOULD happen now, of course. The one instance when it is vital for me to glam the hell out of my former classmates and excorcise the image of the pigtailed dumpling of my past self from their minds forever, I am doomed to turn up looking like I had a bad bout of small pox. Where's a good concealer when you need one?!
The Good News is: After I had a nervous breakdown last week, and babbling about all the things that was wrong with him and how it was ruining my life, my Dad decided to stop all drinking and smoking and go and see a doctor as I advised. Not that he told me that at the time. I should have nervous breakdowns more often.
The Bad News is: The stupid psychiatrist concluded that Dad was neither stressed nor depressed and gave him a mild sedative to control his anger issues!! So now Dad is all smug. "Told ya I wasn't depressed. Ha!" So apparently, I became a basket case all by myself!
I wanted him to see a therapist, damn it, not some quack psychiatrist! I get to live with the man 24/7, instead of fifteen minutes in some over-priced shrink clinic. So when I say he's got issues, I know what I'm talking about!
At least those sedatives seem to be helping a little. He says he doesn't get angry so often. But then, it's only been a few days.
The Good News is: My sister has the class physics prize. So now Dad the Mathematician can't rag her about being a bio student. Not that Dad's really dead set on her doing Engineering, but he's got ragging down to a fine art and loves any excuse to tease us. So he has to shut up, now. Oh, and my nightmarish two months of disease and illness seems to have evoked a kind of karmic recompense. I've got on the Dean's List. *examines fingernails*
The Bad News is: I'm on the Dean's List - along with what is seemingly one-third of the entire campus. Never say I wasn't one for full disclosure. Well, I can't help it if a lot of people got straight As too. At least I probably earned rather more ardorously than they did. Also, Mom doesn't seem to understand what exactly a Dean's List is. They didn't have the American system operating at the University of Peradeniya in her day.
The Good News is: I love, love, love my World Culture class! We watched Mambo Italiano the other day. (Incidentally that film should be made mandatory viewing for every second-generation citizen of a diasphoric community) Loved it! It was too funny and too true! What does it say about me that I can totally relate to a gay Italian writer-wannabe struggling to find acceptance within his dysfunctional family?
Whale Rider next week!
The Bad News is: I would have enjoyed Mambo Italiano so much more without a classful of immature guys making retching noises everytime Luke Kirkby had a romantic gay scene. It's not that they're even homophobic, really, it's that they seem to feel that if they don't act all macho and prepubescent, their masculinity will be called into question. Grow up, guys!
And much as I loved the film, where oh where did they find that tacky flowered wallpaper?! No wonder Angelo was traumatized as a child; nobody could have lived in a house for thirty years with that tacky wall paper and matching upholstery and turn out normal! Huge brown spidery flowers against a buff yellow background. They must have hired Hell's own interior decorator. Those flowers were spawned by Satan, I tell you.
And Satan said unto them, 'Go forth and multiply. And may all who behold you say unto themselves: "Lo! My neurons haveth spontaneously combusted! Holye Shite! Geteth them away from me!!"
It's almost as bad as the salmon pink complex I developed after watching A Cinderella Story. The set of that movie looked like a world under domination by Barbie. Everything was tacky, noxiously bright and bubbly, and mostly salmon pink and plastic.
The Good News is: I finally installed Torrent, courtesy of my brand new ADSL connection. *kisses modem* The first thing I did was download Cave of The Golden Rose. Now I'm downloading Smallville Season Six!
The Bad News is: It takes at least a full 24 hours to download one movie. And it turned out the version of Cave of the Golden Rose I'd downloaded is IN ITALIAN! I can't understand a friggin word! And I can't find the English version. So now all I can do is stare wistfully at Kim Rossi Stuart. Also, I am downloading Smallville Season Six. SIX. Nuff said!
The Good News is: Apparently, I have a cabal of admirers in my campus I didn't even know about. I have admirers. Isn't that weird? I've never had them before.
The Bad News is: Their codename for me is "Cleopatra". WTF?!
At least it explains my encounter with Sir Weird last month. I walked out of my algera final, and encountered this guy who I'd swear I'd never seen or spoken to in my life before.
Guy: (As though I was his lifeong friend) "HI!"
Me: (Nonplussed, trying desperately to think how I was supposed to know him.) ....
Guy: "You have to say 'Hi' back."
Me: (flustered) "Hi."
Guy: "Can I call you 'Cleo'?"
(I swear, I am not making this up!)
Me: (blankly) "What?"
Guy: "Would you mind if I call you 'Cleo'?"
Me: (trying to interject some rationality into the conversation) "Why would you want to call me Cleo?"
Guy: "Just...you know." (grins)
Me: (thinking to myself) Dude, you can call me 'Mouser' if you want. It'll make no difference to me, because if you think I'm ever again going to get within earshot of a weirdo who thinks "Can I call you Cleo" is a great pick up line, you lead a very sad and creepy life.
Me: (Out loud) "Okay".
I dunno why, but it honestly never occurred to me it was short for "Cleopatra". It sounded like a domesticated feline to me.
This is "Cleo", signing off.
*hugs flist*
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Date: 2007-06-15 09:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-16 06:39 pm (UTC)