A Born-Again Singaporean!


Dear readers, I make it a point to share my ups and downs with you through this humble blog. And today my friends, is a monumental moment in my life. If any Christians are offended by the title of my entry, I am deeply sorry. My experiences on Vasantham speaking about blogging has taught me not to hurt anyone’s feelings so please cover your eyes and get the hell (oops) out of here.

To the rest of you, today I became a Singaporean again. As many of you might already know, I am probably the most careless person to exist on the face of this earth. In the last year, I have lost my wallet 5 times, my ez link card twice, my NUS card thrice, my ATM card four times and my mind a million times. The point is, I am careless. Its a wonder I make it home without leaving my clothes at school. Reminds me of a time when I was 8 and left my schoolbag on the school bus. I never stopped to think why my back felt so light with no trolley bag lodged against it. Yes, trolley bags were in fashion at that time. My school even had their own “St Margarets” bag. But my mother being the fashionista she is insists we buy a cheaper trolley bag sold outside. It was cheap and a tad cooler but the trolley handle, I swear felt like 15 kg. It was pure metal or at least felt like it to a 24kg boney thing. Ah sweet memories. Anyway I digress… (See how bad my intellectual capacity is. I have the attention span of a goldfish)

Back to my story. Remember how we all get our ICs when we are 15 (if you got yours at 12, you belong to my sister’s generation – she’s gonna kill me for this). That proud moment where you go get your fingers pricked (which they don’t do anymore so that’s the new generation) and proudly get a card that marks your freedom to erm..virtually do nothing. (I always thought the IC was a useless card till this week). Speaking of bloodtests, when I was young, my sisters always cheated me with stories. I think it made them feel better about themselves given how incredibly cute I was. (again, I’m asking to get killed). One of the stories involved how the names we were given at birth are temporary and that at the age of 7, my mother was going to change my name to my permanent name which was Kuppama. Another, was that during bloodtests, the nurses actually suck out a syringe of your blood, then they use a straw to taste it to decide which blood group you belong to. I lapped it all and believed it amidst many tears and fears.

Again, I digressed.

Point is, I got my IC when I was 15 and I think I lost it between the ages of 16 and 17. It was never a big issue since I lost my Secondary school ezlink card when I was in Sec 2 and I used coins everyday and that didn’t bother. I never needed to show identification because being a geeky, braces wearing, bad hair, scrawny girl, no one figured I’d be anything else. So I was free..free of the need to be identified. Free from being tagged like a goat (do goats get tagged?).

It never bothered me when I went to college that I didn’t have an IC. By then I had a student card. When I came to the University, I had a tertiary card. There were that periods in time when I lost my cards. I remember having to show my passport to gain entry into Hard Rock once, much to the disgust of my ex boyfriend. I have done the same in Jeanz, Celebritys and a few other places, having been identified by my friends as the girl from India who carries her passport around.

But all good things come to an end, and so did this. In June, just before I turned 21, my passport expired (which of course I didn’t realise and still carried around my passport for identification). I noticed this lapse recently when my mother and I were planning a trip to Chennai. It was then, that I realise I needed to go there…

ICA. It feels like its in a land of its own. Lavender doesn’t quite feel like Singapore. The only times apart from having to make my IC that I went there, was when I was learning tuition from a cool center in that area. Point is, I dreaded making that trip. That trip I managed to evade for 5 years. So last week, I dragged my feet into ICA and submitted my passport application. It only required me to fill up a form as further identification only needed to be provided at time of collection. At that same time, I lost my ATM card again (only to realise I didn’t lose it but I had left it unclaimed at some place which my friend conveniently forgot to. by then the card had been blocked for safety).

With an expired passport, my birth certificate (left my student pass in school) I approached the staff of POSB in Textile Centre (near ICA) about this. They ask me for my IC to which I show them my passport. At that point in time, I am certain they thought I was half stupid. The lady attending to me was new so she turned to the mother hen of the counter staff and asked her whether this was acceptable. She was way too sharp… She noticed the expiry date. She asked me for some other form of identification. To this, I shoved my birth certificate across the counter. She looked at me in half disgust, half incredulity and said, “You are above 21. Don’t you know you can’t use your BIRTH CERT anymore?”

I was shocked, dismayed, disappointed and appalled. Okay no, that’s a tad too extreme. I never realise my birth certificate was that obsolete. She told me to go to ICA and get them to validate my existence and my identity. I had just walked painstakingly from there to get my card so that I could pay for my passport. I begged and pleaded with her. Went down on my knees and shed a few tears. Okay no, I didn’t. I just told her that I had just come from ICA and I really needed my card to pay for any sort of identification and that it couldn’t be coincidental that I had so many forms of obsolete identification – that I AM AARTHI SANKAR S87*****E ( I blanked it out in case you guys try to report me to authorities for having been an illegal immigrant for 5 years).

She sighed and said okay and let me get my card with a stern warning that I should go do something about this. It was then that I realised…

I need that damn pink card.

So I walked down to ICA to collect my passport and to push my luck a little to see if they would insist on an identification card for documentation. They did stare at me when I showed them my birth certificate. They told me I could collect my passport, but I would first have to go make my ic and bring along that little slip as proof that I have arranged for my IC to be made. And so I did. Hundred dollars to validate my existence. Seventy dollars to travel the world. The joy of being reborn: Priceless.

And thereafter, I collected my passport and in a month’s time I will have my IC as well which I am certain I will lose within the year. But I have a plan. Have you guys seen a chastity belt? I intend to create the world’s first identity belt. My most intimate belongings, my identity cards, my debit cards, my MAC powder will be locked and would always stay close to me. Imagine how fun that would be. Everytime its my turn to settle the bill, I would get up to unlock my belt and one of you would have paid for me already. Ah I am loving the sound of this. Either that, or I am stitching my cards to my skin. I will have to leave one end of my ATM card hanging so that it can still be swiped though.

The point is, I am a Singaporean once again. Ah the smell of freedom (with its limits of course!). Its revirginisation of my citizenship and it feels great. I am Sing-char-poh-ren.

To end off, here are a few replies I got when I told my friends I was Singaporean again and said Jaihinth! Vande Mataram!

“You mean they actually gave it to you? They didn’t deport you to Andamans? Wow the government is quite slack”

“Don’t bluff ICA la. New passport la, new IC la. You didn’t have these stuff in the first place because you’re an illegal immigrant. Shoo shoo! ”

“Vanthathey muthiram. Welcome welcome”

My favorite: “Anu runs to Malaysian High Commission in Singapore and replants the Singapore flag at the top of the building to symbolise Aarthi’s patriotism”

“Haha I say that calls for a celebration. Wadya say” (don’t mind her, she’s going to Alcoholics’ Anonymous)

A police friend who has been threatening to arrest me for the last week sent me a section of the penal code through facebook – National Registration Act (Chapter 201). (same guy who claims he’s gonna arrest me and shows me the keys to his handcuffs but keeps the handcuffs at home)
Tsk. Now that I have renewed my citizenship, its time to find new friends.

Proof that cavemen still exist! (A.K.A: Dimwit #2)

You would imagine that at this day and age men and women would have learnt to treat each other as equals. At the very least expressing equal respect towards each other and accepting that each of us has freewill to do what we want to do. Time and time again I come across the good, the bad and the ugly and then the jackasses. I’ve met some true gems of men but there are times when I meet the ones that deserve to get my heel aimed straight at their eye.

Since everyone has been complaining about my hiatus and how I only seem to be writing boring stuff (must be excessive Oprah), I thought I’d share an experience that has left me disgusted, shocked and annoyed to say the very least. Ladies and gentlemen – here is proof that cavemen still exist!

Last week I was invited to a birthday party. Unfortunately I only knew one other person and that too would be my first time meeting that particular person. Better than nothing I figured. But this person turns out to be the WEIRDEST ever, most OBNOXIOUS ass I’ve met. To explain clearly how weird this person is I shall state the odd things he did. Remember everyone, this is my FIRST encounter with this caveman a.k.a psycho.

#1: You missed live action

While waiting for directions to the place the birthday dinner was being held, I stood at the entrance of the main building. While I was there, this older white man approached me to ask me where he could buy clothes. I tried to give him suggestions and then he rather cheesily tries to tell me that I could follow him. I tell him I can only give him a general direction and suggested he takes a cab and leave. Thereafter this hero zero walks in with two of his friends from the same boxing academy as himself I believe and introduces himself to me. I tell him quite candidly what happened and this by the way is the first 15 minutes of our conversation. I had to listen to him tell me over and over how I should have called him because I would have gotten to see live action and that him and his boxing mates could have pummelled this guy.

Okay I understand if you really pride yourself in being an ace boxer or you seek some sick joy out of beating people up. But listen up boys out there – if you think that talking about hitting a guy with pride in the first 15 minutes of your first conversation with someone is the best way to get an impression, I’ve three words fo you: IT IS NOT!

But granted, this is still not half as weird and I assume he is just cocky. Doesn’t matter since I don’t know him and I don’t have to know him right? WRONG.

#2: Touchy Touchy Mister

Thereafter he keeps constantly patting my back rather hardly – I would consider it whacking more so than tapping and when he talks to me he somehow rests his hands on my leg. Now, I really don’t think he was doing it to sexually harrass me and that much credit I would give him. Rather, it seemed to me that he was trying to give everyone the impression that he has known me for a 1000 years. Later, he also tells me how he told his friends he has known me for a rather long time. Why would anyone do that? What was he trying to prove?

Boys out there: If you’ve just met a girl, a friendly pat on her shoulder is fine. But refrain from whacking her back or resting any of your body parts anywhere on her. This is not just because it could be misconstrued as sexual harrassment but also because its a little disrespectful and demeaning to someone you have just met!

Apart from that imagine how inappropriate this is: he mentions to one of his boxing people that I am a dancer and this person also does not know me at all and goes, “yea you look like a dancer. your body seems very flexible.” I sure as hell hope this is a person with rather bad English and what he meant to say wasn’t what he actually said.

#3: Be my mack Daddy

Thereafter, I still choose to be polite and apart from telling him not to put his hands on me, I continue conversing with him and his friends. If this was me before, I swear my fork would have been gorging his eyeballs out already but I am peaceful now so he was spared such brutal violence.

While the birthday boy invited everyone at the table to get dinner, this idiot turns to me and goes, “Olunga Saapidu. Maanathey vaangathey” (loosely translated means: eat properly, don’t make me embarassed). At this moment I was completely PUZZLED. How does me eating properly have anything to do with his pride/dignity? He sounded like a total caveman at this juncture. I was really just perplexed. (at this point by the way I hadn’t even said anything about whether I was eating or not).

After dinner and me messaging my friends 90 percent of the time to ensure I didn’t need to talk to them, the waitress brought us slices of cake. I had met another friend for lunch and we had shared 2 really decadent cakes between us and I was not at all wanting another bite, so I politely tell the waitress its okay. He gets all weird and goes “No no, you have to eat cake” and blah blah blah. Thereafter, he goes “Don’t make me feed you ah!” and comes near me with a spoon. This is where I pretty much snap and tell him not to force me to do things and that he is just embarassing himself by pulling such stunts.

Am I the only one who finds such actions weird my dear readers?

#4: Be my Ballerina

After all that drama, I quickly excuse myself as I needed to meet a few friends at O Bar and I leave. When I’m leaving suddenly I hear these 3 guys making plans to go to O Bar. I practically fly there in a taxi and try to get in the club before they reach. When in the queue with my friends, this weirdo comes to me and asks us in the most OBNOXIOUS and POMPOUS tone, “how many of you are there?” – What is he? The manager of O Bar?

Goodness. If that isn’t bad enough, when I am inside and happily seated faraway from these people with my own friends, he sends one of his friends to come tell me he needs to talk to me about something. He sounded quite serious so I follow him to where the caveman and caveman’s friend are. There, the caveman says “Dance with my friend”. I was completely PISSED at this moment. I was having a good time with my friends and I was made to come here to be commanded by you to dance with your friend? I told him that I am tired and he says…

“Its okay, dance with my coach”

WHAT THE HELL??? I told him straight to his face that he has no right to command me to do things I didn’t want to and that from the minute I met him, he’s been the most obnoxious ass I have ever met and I walked away.

I’m sorry but do I look like a ballerina in a musical box that everytime you open my box I should start dancing???

SERIOUSLY, what is wrong with this guy? I really have no words to describe the anger I felt right after that. I was so pissed that guys like this actually exist and that too have gone through a good education and are in fairly decent jobs. I am so disturbed that he could actually think that he could get away with such behaviour. And most of all, the entire thing made me laugh – cos I finally found Dimwit #2.

No pictures this time cos he doesn’t have a Friendster nor a Facebook account. If you truly want to know what was running through his head, send me a message and I will give you direct contact to this guy.

A note to all men out there: This is the 21st century. People are actually allowed to make their own decisions and be free to exercise the right to decide who they want to dance with and what they want to eat. If you beg to differ, please be prepared to be clubbed on the head.

The Perfect Woman

I will never be the perfect woman. The one with the perfect hair that looks untouched no matter how many times she moves. I will never have the perfect amount of makeup that doesn’t show when the camera flash is on, or that doesn’t cover up my dark spots. I will never get it right, the shoes that match the bag, the accessories that match, the watch that fits the outfit. I will never look like I could be on display at Prada, Chanel or Guess.

I will never be able to wear white without getting it dirty. My powder marks will always be on my clothes. My jeans will always be a little crumpled. My shoes will always have a little grime. I will never eat silently. I will somehow end up talking when there’s food in my mouth. In fact, I doubt I’d ever stop talking. My room will always be in a mess. My bag will always be a dump. I will always use the wrong words and the wrong times.

I will never be the one to hold my peace at the right time. I will always say what I feel like I need to. Of course, I will always feel like smacking myself silly the next day for not holding my peace. I will always have ugly feet and terrible toenails. I will never stop falling down accidentally. I will never stop laughing out too loud. I do drop things and sometimes they break. I do take bad pictures with fat arms, big thighs and pasty faces.

My makeup does melt. My lipstick never stays. My fingernails always break. And my roots will always show. My knees will always be bruised. I will never be able to make the omelette into a perfect circle. I burn eggs and Maggi too.

I will always dance like there’s no tomorrow. I will always overwork myself. I will never stop saying Yes. i will always bark and fight at the slightest thing. My butt will always be too big and my legs will always be too short. I will never learn to stop getting hurt.

This is me, now and this is me always. I will never stop loving myself, now and forever. I may not be perfect, but I am definitely real.

A little lesson and some random thoughts

Hello world and its inhabitants! It must have been awhile since you last heard from me and if anyone still does occupy this space, I hope you read this. This is a little tutorial for all you earthly beings. Now, I know I am no expert on how the world works but I am sure I know a thing or two that might be of help to you, you and definitely you.


I am sure there have been times when you feel like someone’s messed up or someone is doing something the way they shouldn’t be doing it. Now lets analyse this. Why do you think they have messed up? Is it because you believe this person has messed it up and because s/he is not doing things the way YOU want them to do it?

If that’s the case then here’s a tip, get a life of your own to live. Start realising that not everyone has to follow your own rules and that we all have very very different ideals of what a “good” life is. “Good” is in fact so culturally relative. You might think that spending a night drinking different kinds of Tequila is your idea of a perfect life. I may not share that, but does that mean I get to decide that you’re a loser wasting your life away? You might be messing your liver up, but NO you are actually completely right in deciding what a good life is for yourself!

Now got that earthly beings? To the second point now. Suppose this person does think s/he is screwing up his/her life and you see what the problem is? What do you do? Do you A.Go around to all his/her friends and whine and complain B.Ignore that person because you think they aren’t worthy of your friendship or C.Talk to that person.

Now my dear friends, this might come as a shock to you but the answer is actually C. Amazing isn’t it? But its true, if you feel like someone has a problem, talking to them would actually help solve the problem or at least give you a bit of a better insight to this person’s actions. Trust me it actually works!

Now that I’ve attempted to contribute to the betterment of your lives my dear readers, let me get back to my usual self-loving self where all I want to talk about is myself and what concerns me. If you actually think I write for you, then this is where you press that little “X” on the right side of this window.


1.Why do people do all the rubbish in the world then the moment they are attached act like absolute SAINTS?

I’ve always been irked by this concept but I have a few friends who suffer from relationshipidentitis. See when they are single, they go about doing whatever they want to do, like dance and grind in clubs, smoke, drink and sleep around. Now notice, I am not saying this is the wrong way to live (please refer to TUTORIAL here). But the moment they get attached, they seem to make a complete turnaround, often acting like they’ve never seen a cigarette before and even frown upon others who choose to live the way they used to.

Let me relate this specific person who used to actually dance with me and my girl-friends in clubs. He was always around us like such a close friend and never ever made any judgements about us. Now the moment he got attached, one of my girl-friends actually caught wind of the fact that he was telling his gf that we girls are terrible in clubs! Now, now if only I had the power to turn back time and take a video or two of the things I’ve seen you do with chics in clubs and the stories I’ve heard. But its okay, I shall live and let live.

Its fine to do whatever you want, and change however you want, but please for gods sake, stop putting yourself on a pedestal assuming you have the right to judge the rest of the world. No one died and made you God (now that sounded wrong didn’t it?)

2.Why do foreign workers pray to ATMs?

Please don’t get me wrong. I am no xenophobic and as much as the foreign workers have irked me at times, I admit I have no rights to judge them since they contribute a lot more to society than I do. BUT I cannot for the life of me understand why they take so long at ATMs. I’ve been to Tekka a few times this week and the ATM at Tekka market has been removed so I have had to walk to Little India Arcade instead. And a queue with about 5-7 foreign workers takes about 30 minutes or so to pass! I am really not kidding. Today was not too bad but yesterday I had a terrible time waiting! What do they do in front of the machine? Pray that money will magically appear? Concentrate on amounts? Calculate and convert everything to home currency? Please remind me never to draw money at Tekka again.

3.Why do I attract psychos?

Do I give out some sort of hormones that just attract psychos? If Rainbow Rose man was not weird enough here are some other experiences I have had over the last few months.

Yesterday, a random woman sees me at Tekka and asks me for directions to Jalan Besar. I point out the general direction and she asks me if I am local. I say yes, and she tells me she is too but she hasn’t come to Tekka in a long time. Then she asks me if its very scary to drink coffee alone in Tekka. I tell her to go to Ananda Bhavan since its indoor and it shouldn’t be a problem. She says oh okay and asks me whether I want to join her for coffee and asks me 2-3 times to be sure I don’t want to join her. Okay maybe she’s being polite but I don’t think I randomly ask people to join me for coffee. Hell there are people I’ve been wanting to ask out for coffee for eons and still haven’t gotten to!

Then there’s this weirdo who messages this to me on Facebook. Apparently the time for Friendster-weirdos is over and its now Facebook.

“gf, ur beauty really mesmerize me. never in my life i ever came across a beautiful indian gal here in singapore…..in the movies of course la i ever saw b4…..but here in singapore not even once…..then i read ur profile n it says tat u r into men n women….n tat really pull my trigger to ask u if u care to add me up….well btw of ur looks, u r attractive. very attractive… but i noe where im standing. so lets go for a win-win solution…..only if u r attracted to me, or looking for companionship. (i call it pleasure frens) or u r set for a multiple orgasms…hahahaha j.j….then u can accept me k. wat do u thing…….is it a win-win solution?”

I really have no idea where to start on that one.

Now there are a lot of other weirdos I’ve met like the Starbucks waiter who insists I come again tomorrow and calls me by name and certain people who don’t seem to get the hint that I really do not enjoy seeing them. What would it take? Me hitting them smack on the head with something heavy and sharp?

ANYWAY, I am done ranting and before this becomes one of those pubescent blogs where I start going into painful details about exactly everything I did today and what exactly I bought and who I met and what I ate and okay you get the point, I shall STOP here and pray something significant happens for me to talk about or I can consider closing this blog!

The Rainbow Rose Man

Before I begin I would like to confirm that I am a girl. And no this post does not speak for any other girls and men please do not stop buying them flowers because of what you read here.

I think I am starting to have an aversion towards flowers. Okay maybe not flowers but bouquets. Over the span of the last 2 years, I have received quite a number (thanks to all the romantics in my life) and I have developed an aversion towards them.

Today, someone I met rather recently though I have known of for a few years scared surprised me with a bouquet. A very sweet gesture no? Not really when I have never actually gone out with this person and even today I was not supposed to meet this someone. This person calls me asking me what I have on today and I say I have dance class. I usually don’t think twice when someone asks me where my class is because its quite a normal question and tell him where it is nearby. He works nearby so he said he needs to pass me some forms for a dance competition and wanted me to ask a few friends to participate. Sounded pretty normal and I agreed hestitantly though I had no friends who would actually participate in one but it seemed like a polite thing to at least try.

So fine, I reach dance class 30 minutes late and I really thought he had forgotten he was supposed to meet me and there he is waiting at the MRT Station and suddenly he whips out a bouquet. With roses in 7 different colours. Yes a rainbow bouquet of roses. Now most girls would be ooh-ing and aah-ing here. But first it is very freaky unsettling to take so much for a person you barely know. Secondly, I do not particularly like roses though I have to say I’ve never seen a bouquet quite as beautiful ( I always thought rainbow bouquets would look weird). Thirdly, I am just not someone who enjoys carrying a bouquet around.

Now lets get to the last point. To me, the entire idea of walking around with flowers seems very ridiculous. Especially when I do not have any way of explaining the flowers. Its not my birthday, I didn’t get proposed to and I am not Britney Spears (though that’d be interesting).

So guess what I do? I turn cold,clammy and tinker on the edge of hyperventilating. I apologise and tell him I really cannot accept the bouquet and try to disappear as fast as I can. I was freaked out. It was quite a hilarious sight seeing one person with a bouquet trying to calm a near hyperventilating person who is freaked out by the idea.

Everytime I see a bouquet now, I just freak out. I don’t know why but it just freaks me out because I just don’t know what to do with flowers anymore. I hate carrying them around and after they dry out I don’t know what to do. Yes I admit at one point in time, I gushed and swooned over flowers but right now they just leave me feeling cold,clammy and unable to breathe. I realised that guys don’t think about the aftermath of sending a girl flowers. Like one INTELLIGENT person who sent it to a school I work at teaching dance part time and left me freaking out for a bit. The thoughts behind the gestures are really so sweet but they just point at the male inability to think of consequences such as How do I explain this since I am a newbie teacher? What do I do with it at dance class? Who is going to ask me who these are from? SHIT He’s not even my boyfriend, what do I say???

So guys, a reminder, if you’re not sure if your chic digs the big bouquets, just give her a stalk of her favorite flower or something. Its a lot easier to keep in obscurity and when she runs out of things to do with it, she can make it into a bookmark or use the stem to prod and clean little crevices in her room. And if you REALLLLLLY feel like you need to impress, buy her a REAL gift, one that involves thought and more than just a good florist. A book, a margarita, a beer, a flashy car or better yet a house with a nice big garden where she can grow her OWN flowers.


And I mean it, the gestures and thoughts behind the action are beautiful but make sure when you do give a girl flowers she is in a position to accept them and knows exactly what she can do with them and is proud to lug them all over. And if you’re wooing me, an ice cold Heineken will be good thank you. =)

Would it really kill you guys?

Note to self and to all : This very biased entry was written in blogger’s sudden bra burning fit aggravated by a terribly uncomfortable keyboard. This post might turn out angsty but in actuality I am really not that irritated. Gosh who am I kidding?

To all the men who actually do read this blog (I truly wonder if there are since I never actually write of anything worthy to men and the only other dipshits reading it would be men from the past or dimwits trying to get a hold of something against me). But anywaaaaay… IF THERE ARE SOME MEN OUT THERE, LIKE REAL MEN, PLEASE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD,  ENLIGHTEN ME

Would it really kill you to tell us we’re beautiful? I mean sure we may not all look like a member of the Pussycat Dolls or possess the fine booty of JLO. But really, does that mean that we just aren’t beautiful in your eyes. Yes okay I get it you don’t see the need to constantly remind us we’re pretty (since you’re already dating us) but would it really kill you? Firstly, we don’t have any inbuilt radars or systems that tell us exactly what goes through your head. Secondly I don’t think we are in ANY WAY asking for too much when we genuinely want you to give us that teeny weeny compliment. WOULD IT REALLY KILL YOU? Sure you say that we should already know since you are dating us and stuff BUT what if you were just dating us cos you couldn’t get anyone else? Or because you took pity on us?? How would we know right!

Then there are those of you who say you feel it in your hearts and that is enough. Or that you’re not really that great with words or that you never knew we didn’t know how you felt about us. Well sweethearts, it ISN’T ENOUGH. I mean would that 5 cents you spend on your sms kill you? Or would you get a locked jaw just by saying, “Hey honey, you’re looking good today”.  And for the last group of you – HELLO HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW HOW YOU FEEL IF YOU DON’T TELL US right?

But this doesn’t mean you go on a rampage and tell us every few minutes that we are God’s gift to you (PFFT) because firstly we know when you’re faking it and secondly we’d much rather the compliment come when you truly mean it or when there’s reason for one. We want you to tell us we’re special and beautiful in your eyes but that doesn’t mean you have to spout it every OTHER second.

AND for those of you who think I am just uber whiney, I am NOT being whiney (not now at least). I do think its very important to tell the ones you love how you feel about them. If your lady wouldn’t flinch when she tells you that you look great in that shirt or that your new cologne smells awesome, I don’t see why you should think it would KILL you to say her dress is nice (though it is advisable to say you look great in that dress).

AND for those incorrigible boys (trust me I’ve dated some) – who think a compliment is when you tell a girl that her skin would look nicer in that colour and that the dress she’s wearing makes her look pudgy – that does not count! Sure we’re all up for constructive criticism but trust me we don’t take to it as easily as we make it sound like we do. Yes we do want to know when we’re wearing some utterly crappy or when our hair looks like a relic from the 60s but unless you’re gay or very very brave – leave this advice to our girlfriends. We turn to you when we want to be pampered, we want to be loved. The last place we’d be looking for fashion advice would be in our boyfriends!

And to all the women who ask stupid questions to your boyfriends such as “Do I look fat in this?” Why oh why do you ask questions that evidently ONLY have one answer. If that’s your idea of fishing a compliment then please be reminded that men have very very VERY thick skulls and the only word they’d have registered would have been FAT. Plus you can’t really yell at them if they say you look like a fat cow. Save those questions for your lady friends because they can and will be honest and you wouldn’t feel like killing them. Don’t fish for compliments – Let them come to you straight. Kapish?

And yes I am done. By the way the excessive use of capitals was partly due to my half-working brain and the half-working keyboard that chooses only to be EXTRA sensitive when it comes to the capslock key which by the way is way too near the alphabet A.  

Barbie Moments 3

Apologies that I haven’t posted anything proper in a bit but I promise to get to it once I settle my exam mugging. Also this wretched keyboard of mine has gone bonkers so now apart from J,T K and M and a host of other alphabets are dead. Am using a portable keyboard made of rubber and it is such a pain to work with. Here’s a blooper to last you guys till then..

Marian: Siva can you not be so health conscious?

Aarthi: Ya la you only live once right. Just whack la.

Siva: I want to live very long unlike you all.

Aarthi: What’s the point cos the rest of us would be dead.

Siva: NEVER MIND! I WILL COME TO YOUR GRAPHS AND LAFE AT YOU ALL! (what he actually meant was – i will come to your graves and laugh at you all.)