The definition of Needy

Every year our company participates in a program called “Helping Hands.” The idea is that each department is assigned a family, whose characteristics and needs are shared with the group, and donations are made in their aid.


This year the families special requests were video games and gift cards for the girl who liked to shop.

Excuse me, how needy can these kids be, if they are asking for video games and shopping is their favorite activity???

The In Crowd

On the subway this morning I was privy or nosily listening to the following conversation:

Cool Girl 1: Omigod did you see what that person wrote on my facebook wall yesterday? What a bitch. Talk about mean, is it my fault that I’ve had a few boyfriends?

Cool Girl 2: Well someone left a msg on my wall saying there is no need to wear three different eye shadows at once, and clothing is not optional. The nerve, every cosmetician knows that three colors are a must and sue me, I love being naked..”

Not so Cool Girl 1 & 2: Eagerly listening to the conversation, as luck would have it the crowded subway has pushed them all together, careful conversation and a well timed line of agreement is going to get them into this conversation…..

Cool Girl 1: Well I love your make up and I love you

Token Gay Guy friend: They are all just jealous, I love you for being slutty and I love you for wearing too much eye make up…
Not So Cool Girl 1: (piping in) We all love you….

Not So Cool Girl 2: Nods Vigorously in agreement

Cool Girl 1: As if hearing a voice from heaven looks around, and then looks at Not So Cool Girl 1, and says, “Thanks, But I don’t even know your name, (To Cool Girl 2) Do you know her name?

Not So Cool Girl 1: That’s okay, my name is XXX, we actually have three classes together…but you may not recognize me, I’ve put on a lot of weight since like grade school….

Cool Girl 1: Oh God Girl, don’t you dare say your fat, your beautiful, you just need a bit more make up and wohooo…..

Cool Girl 2: I could teach you a thing or two….

Not So Cool Girl 1 & 2: Omigod would you????

Not So Cool Girl 2: (Rather earnestly) My grandmother tries to make me eat all the time, but I refuse…..

Suddenly we are at Bloor, and boom the two groups are separated….The cool girls retreat to prime seats, whilst the Not So Cool girls are relegated to the back of the train, wistfully looking on, wondering how long it will take for the Cool girls to forget their newly learnt names…

A wandering eye

All my boyfriends have cheated on me.

That’s a statement I would refrain from making on the first date. And the second and the third, because let’s face it, there’s the warning siren that should accompany that statement, which says, I come with baggage, large, badly wrapped baggage.

The thing is it seems like most men I encounter have a wandering eye. Not just men I’m dating, have dated, or could date….all men. Even the good and sweet ones that got married early to good, sexy women, who love them inspite of their questionable sense of dress, and music tastes. Not all cheat, but all do develop some sort of fantasy/obsession with women. I think it’s the, ‘I can’t touch thing,’ that makes them obsess about it. They look around and suddenly women they would never have been attracted to before are hot…super dooper hot. And they can’t have….so they want.

My male friends seem to think that women are the same.

If that’s true, and all over the world there exists two people in committed relationships crazily eyeing everything that passes them by, so then the question is: why do people get married?

Is it worth the risk? Honestly is any one faithful anymore? Is there someone out there, so fascinated and in love with someone that the thought of even looking lustfully (notice the difference from appreciating) abhors them to no end?? (Besides Marika ofcourse….)

Does persistence pay?

This weekend I had a group of friends over, and one of the couples began to tell their “How we met and got married story.” The guy knew this was the girl for him, the girl was very iffy, but in the end the guy’s persistence paid off.

Mr. Lube has been calling me. Not in a stalker annoying kind of way, but in a polite ‘Can would like to see you again kind of way.’ I’ve ignored about three calls and three texts. Last night he calls again, and again his message is nice, polite, can I make the time to call him back??…and I can’t find a good enough reason not to call him back. It’s rather bitchy of me not to. I mean he isn’t asking for anything crazy, he just wants to hang out. So I return his call and ofcourse he wants to do something, and I have no choice but to agree.

My heart isn’t in this one. I know your supposed to give everyone a chance, but I’m all about heart, and if your heart isn’t in it, why bother??

Also if a girl doesn’t return your calls, isn’t it a sign, perhaps impolite, but really a big sign. I feel like his persistence has roped me into doing something I don’t want to do. It’s always the wrong ones that have all the determination.

Last night being the hard working girl that I am, I went to earn some grocery money at a focus group.

The company had called me a couple of days earlier, asking me questions about my cooler consumption.

Q: How often do you drink a cooler in the summer?
CP: Well this summer I discovered Bacardi Breezers and boy oh boy I could down one every single day…they are delicious
Q: So once a day then…….And do you drink wine?
CP: Well ofcourse, I mean who doesn’t…?
Q: And do you party and when you party, do you ever drink shots?
CP: Well, yeah, (Starting to realize I sound like an alcoholic) but only if everyone else does….its not like I walk in and go, give me a bottle of tequila….
Q: Well you are perfect, would you like to be a member of the focus group….

So there we are, the star drinkers of Toronto, 4 nineteen year olds, 2 early twenties year olds, and me! The one who stood out was a skinny Jamaican girl, whose day care kept calling her mid sentence and she would let out a ‘Ras, wat these fools want now?” You could tell the moderator did not want to mess with her.

We got into it, and I start to notice a trend. The nineteen year olds are rattling off the alcoholic content of coolers verbatim. They know the ingredients, which are vodka, which are rum, which one have more juice in them….which one will give them the most bang for their buck so to speak.

And I sighed (like an old fart,) and fondly remembered those days, those hazy hazy days…

Remember those days, thieving an extra sip from daddy’s liquor cabinet. I had one devious friend whose pop lived out of the country. She would thief half the bottle and fill it with water. Or remember that older sibling someone had who would happily buy you the cheapest nastiest tequila/rum/vodka to be found, instead of suggesting more palliative alternatives?

And thank goodness those days are gone…..Here’s a cheers to Bacardi Breezers, Martini’s, a Good Glass of Red wine… and a wee bit of age…..

It’s snowing, the busses are few and far between and of course packed to capacity.

Some veterans have been lined up at the bus stop for the past half an hour. Many a bus has passed them by.

As you get into the shelter, they give you the once over, sizing you up to see the type of bus rider you are.

~Are you the pushy bus rider, the each man for himself bus rider, who’ll knock over the lil ole lady to get into the bus?

~Are you the accommodating bus rider, who’ll let you, get on before her, in deference to amount of time you’ve been freezing your ass of ahead of her.

~Are you the bitchy bus rider, who will complain out loud to anyone who will hear you about how terrible the system is, thereby infecting all with your malaise?

Then you see it, in the distance, like a fresh glass of lemonade on a hot day, twinkling lights and the familiar red and white box, heading towards you with remarkable speed, a promise that soon you will be inside, safe and warm, snug against the comfort of mass body warmth.

And the eager bus rider gets out the shelter, bravely facing the elements, now that the promise of warmth is at his tips….

And….swooshhhhh……

What does he get for his trouble? A bus that bursts past him showering him with slushy nasty snow on his pristine coat, and a sign that says, “Out of service.”

On Hosting a Party

The rules of party hosting have changed:

~Your guests are no longer grateful at being invited.

It’s your duty to invite them.

~They tell you that they are going to bring someone

Asking is for pussies.

~They are allowed to bring whomever they like, extended family who happen to be visiting, distant relatives, friends they haven’t seen in years, homeless of the street…and you as party host must look happy and delighted for the extra mouths to feed.

~Even though you give them three weeks notice, they reserve the right, to cancel a day before, or an hour before…. or better yet, they reserve the right to simply not show up.

Conclusion: The Big G is testing my extroverted personality….he’s sitting there mouthing at me……..see you really are a hermit….…..

This weekend I went over to the local Chinese mall, to get my DVD fix, and discovered lo and behold the price of DVD’s has fallen dramatically, the cutesy Chinese girl explained it to me, (Insert your own corny Chinese accent here):

“You see, Laast Yhere, DVD was 4 Dolllaaar. Thiisee Yhere, too much competition, everyone seellling DVD, my Uncle seelinng, DVD, your Uncle seeling DVD, so price only 2 dolllarr. Next Yhere, who knows, maybe DVD be free.”

It got Fathead and I thinking about the nature of an absolutely free markets. The pirate DVD market is interesting, there is relatively low risk associated with selling pirated DVD’s, unlike say drugs. Crackdowns occur every year, but almost the next day, the hardworking sellers are peddling their wares again. I haven’t heard of any DVD pirate being sentenced to twenty years in prison

In the UK, new ad campaigns are linking the sale of pirated DVD’s to terrorism.

ER?

Last time I check it was still Ming, and not Osama selling me my DVD’s.

Is Bush and Tony trying to pull a fast one on me again?Is this like the time Saddam was supposedly Osama’s main man??

On another note, I have this vision of the basement of Universal Studios (or any big movie making studio) where some fellow is poses as a cleaner, but is actually a brilliant nerdy tech guy, who breaks into the studios at night, copying all the new movies, and in a gesture of free media, sells them at crazy prices to some wholesaler in China who then distributes it all over the world. I wish retailers would study the distribution of pirated DVD’s.

I mean how come I can buy American Gangster already but it takes me three months to get my new oh so legal sofa??

My blog,

I haven’t felt like blogging lately.

Dracs sort of figured out that I have a website of some sort, and got all defensive. He said things like, “Well I hope you realize that your words and thoughtlessness, could have a detrimental impact on my life.”

It sort of knocked the wind out of me.

And then I saw this creepy ad on tv, about this creepy fellow, taunting a little girl, saying, I can’t wait till you post again.

Made me feel a little creepy…

I guess I am a bit of an innocent. So far all my experiences with the blogsphere have been amazingly positive. I’ve made friends with perfect strangers, who as it turns out, I have more in common with than some of the people I’ve grown up with. It hurt me to think that ‘he’ would even consider this blog as some sort of personal smear campaign on his personal reputation.

Then I realized that for him everything I did was sort of personal and against him. And after all this time, he still saw me on the other side of the fence, the one that he still doesn’t trust; which really is his issue, not mine.

I think I’ve done a decent job of being vague. And when it comes down to it, we have some brilliant people in this world of words and opinions. Writers who make me laugh, writers who’ve helped me most boring day at work fly by, writers who give me a little heart that there are good people out there.

So Screw him, I’m bloggin on, and officially retiring him a character on this blog, you can’t force a man to be anywhere he don’t wanna be…

Latin Dancing is to me what Tara was to Scarlet O Hara.

It’s my mojo, my pick me up, my “Tomorrow is Another Day” and I can survive anything so long as I can keep on dancing, incentive.

What’s your mojo?

The one thing you go back to, when your down in the dumps and things ain’t looking pretty, or when your just need a bit of excitement in your life?

Bio-DATA

Indian people are big on marriage. An Indian woman could win the Nobel peace prize, or cure cancer, and someone in India watching the ceremony on TV would say, “Poor thing never got married.”

So we Indian’s have devised a system of ensuring that as many of us as possible get married, (and there are a lot of us…Look out China!)

An arranged marriage, in North American societies is also known as the blind date, 60 second dating, online dating, or the referral system.

India is a familial society, so when someone’s lagging behind on the marriage calendar, the whole family gets mobilized to ensure that the person in question finds their better half. The most common means of finding that perfect partner is through marriage ads in the local examiner, or the creation of a bio data.

Important details are listed in the bio data. How dark/fair you are (big points if your fair,) what religion you are, what caste you belong to (Brahmins are the top of the food chain, CKP, are apparently some sort of long lost warrior caste,) what your parents do, what you do, what’s your education background…..etc.

“S’s” parents who are getting a little ansy about her happy go lucky life here, received a ‘Bio data” from a prospective suitor the other day, here are a few highlights,

“His dad is a Brahmin and mom a CKP.

He is more urbane than traditional and is pretty active when it comes to his social circle. That said, he has a good blend of western outlook and Indian values.

Had met with an accident in 98 which caused de-gloving to the sole of his foot. Plastic surgery has already been performed and he is back to being his merry self since seven years now with no limitations.”

After having a good laugh, like a roll on the floor, sides hurting, feeling the need to pee, laugh, I began to wonder what my Bio data would look like:

Profile of Cranky Putz

Date of Birth: December 28th, The day of Holy Innocence…(seriously look it up!)
Height: 5.4” on a good day
Complexion: Fair baby, Fair,
Blood Group: Seriously no idea….and why does this matter??

Educational Background
BA in Political Science, to be fair, no one warned me on how useless a degree it is…..

Professional Details
Cranky is presently working as a minion in a Change Management group, one day she will be successful and her brilliance will be recognized on a world stage, for now however, she is a simple minion….

Family Background
Cranky’s mum and dad are fabulous.
Mum is a descendant of land owners who somehow landed up living in a bazaar and Dad is a descendant of the Kolbi tribe, who are, if you ask when he’s downed a peg of two, will tell you in a long winded tale, a tribe of kings. Cranky is thus infused with Royal Blood, i.e. Sangreal.


Dad is the CEO of the Cranky Household and can fix just about anything.
Mum is the CFO of the Cranky Household, let’s face mum’s really hold the purse strings. She is also moonlights as a First line Chef.

Cranky’s maternal family has high level connections in Mumbai. They are not to be messed with.

More about Cranky Putz
Cranky is easy to get along with (Hopefully referrals from ex boyfriends are not required here.) She loves to make friends. Infact once she’s set her mind on you, well you have no choice to be her friend; she is simply charming.

Cranky is a salsa dancer. She loves Latin music, and loves to dance. All non dancers and/or wall huggers need not apply. Cranky has a penchant for traveling and I particularly fond of road trips, especially the kind that involve McGriddles first thing in the morning, weekend trips to Vegas are also A ok.

Cranky does not like hiking, mountain biking, or anything too out doorsy. Let’s face it, Cranky is an urban girl. She appreciates beautiful gardens, but has no idea how to grow them.

On a side note, Cranky was involved in an unfortunate accident that involved beer, glass and a fridge. She therefore has a visible scar on the ankle of her right foot. Plastic surgery was deemed unnecessary, since Cranky’s ‘personality and joyous nature’ makes up for all the scars, both internal and external. She has been her merry self for oh say five years now, with no limitations whatsoever.

Life Partner Expectations:
Cranky and her family expect a smart, witty, sexy/hot modern fella, with a positive approach to life. The fella should be an NRI (non Indian Resident) from a well to do family (hey if your asking, you may as well ask for Old money!) The fella should not be averse to dancing, eating, and generally enjoying ALL that life has to offer. Since Cranky is only a descendant from Kings, she would appreciate applicants from the Warrior Class, to add a little fire into her lineage…..little warrior kings so to speak (BAP BAP BAP)

P.s. anyone who didn’t get the “BAP, BAP, BAP” Need not apply.

The Pursuit of Happiness.....

It occurred to me that my posts are quite whimsical these days, no sustenance or substance.

So here’s a substance post.

A recommendation post.

A “Big Up” post to David Bach, Author of “Smart Women Finish Rich.” (He has other titles that cater to older couples, men, and generally anyone aspiring to do more with their money.)

I have gone from living in a society where people stitched clothes once a year for a feast day, and repaired their appliances till it looked nothing like the original model, to a society that upgrades faster than you can blink. We in North America (and slowly the world over) seem to make money to buy things. The wonders of a capitalist nation, if we are depressed we buy new shoes, if we are sad, we eat more Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, we live and thrive on instantaneous gratification.

Most of us have no idea why we want to make money. When asked, we come up with statements like, “I want to buy more stuff.” Most of us don’t realize that the stuff we buy enables in us certain feelings, euphoria, happiness, pleasure....

Happiness according to Aristotle is humanities highest goal.

Money is a medium through which one can achieve a measure of happiness. However in what form do we buy happiness…..? We busy humans never have time to sit down and define what actually brings us happiness.

Think about it, can you articulate what makes you happy?

What makes us happy is constantly changing, what makes me happy today sure would not have made me happy ten years ago.

What Bach does really well in his books, is connect the accumulation of money to your pursuit of happiness. He makes you sit down and think of what actually brings you happiness.

Each year, around this time I sit down and write out my goals for the year/s ahead. Most of my dreams usually revolve around traveling. One of my biggest dreams was to be somewhat independent, i.e. buy my own Condo.

It’s fascinating to review the year that’s passed and realize everything you were able to articulate actually materialized.

Thanks to Bach, I know that a big fancy house would not make me happy, it would make a lonely. I know that buying the Mercedes C-Class would fabulous for a week, but would depress me everytime I had to fix it, or driving a big SUV, would clash with my tame Green ideals. Knowing what your dreams are, is gaining insight into who you are. Knowing who I truly am, is my ultimate goal.

So Big Up to Bach, and Big Up to All of You who take the time out of life’s busy schedule to get to know yourself.

Most people go out with someone,

Once in a way people fall in love with someone

And it’s a big deal

Then things happen, messy things, normal course of life things, and things fall apart

And one person lets go, and the other person gets sad and the normal 'sad' person does a few of the following:

Get knackered, cry their eyes out, get over it

Get into some useless re-bound relationship, get over it

Have lots of promiscuous sex, and well you guessed it get over it.

What your not supposed to do is this, cry for months, miss him for months, and continue to miss him for months. Your not supposed to still feel a wealth of emotion for someone who doesn’t care about you. Your not supposed to get into some sort of self imposed celibacy pact with a memory.

Your supposed to bounce back, shinny and new. When they call your supposed to be able to pleasant and unhurt, say nice things, ask nice questions, your supposed to hang up with no regret, or at least hidden regret.

God, I think the time has come for me to have get over him sex. Why oh why can’t I???

Younger Men

Have never been my thing…..

There is something about their maga bodies, skinny arms, stooping shoulders that have not adjusted to their growth spurt, their either lacking sense of style, or over the top, try every kind of style there is, that sort of puts me off.

Yet every now and then, you’re hanging out with one, forcing him to watch “Gone with the Wind” (because heck, he’s younger and he knows whose boss) and he turns over and says, “you have the softest hair, I’ve ever touched, your beautiful, you know that right?”

And you think…heck ….


Maybe its time you drank at the fountain of youth…..

Yesterday I get onto the subway and miracle of all miracles I get a seat. Like a good subway goer, I settle in, after knocking the fellow beside me with my bag, and begin to look around. Then I notice buddy at my side, smells kind of nice, but is yawning his head off trying to read freakanomics. So I say, “Boring book huh.” And boom a conversation follows…the books he’s read, the books I’ve read, the places I’ve lived, the places he’s lived, and then this:

Me: “It’s funny how you take the subway to work every day and you never meet the same person. My mum takes the GO and she has tons of GO friends.”

Him (dead serious:) “Well I take the subway from Sheppard to Union, and the funny thing is I do see the same people, and then I see the same people get off, and then I see the same people walk around at lunch, and I’m starting to seriously wonder if I am in some low budget film and I got the shitty repeat extras.”

Me: Convulsing in Laughter

Him (thoughtfully): Your much prettier than the normal extra's

Me: That’s because I’m a leading lady….

What I ended up being for Halloween….

A murdered Gypsy….murdered by my ex-lover, Jose…

The Story:

Many years ago, in Barcelona, years before La Rambla became the Mecca for tourists and pick pocketers, gypsies roam freely amongst the locals, performing in the squares for alms. I, Rosiata, was a young gypsy, fair, beautiful, with think dark black curls, that framed my face in such a manner, that only one eye would peek out. As an innocent I became involved with a rich land owner who lived along the street. Many years passed by and our affair became famous for its tumultuous nature. There would be days of passion, followed by days of rage and screams….settled land owners always want to break the spirit of a free gypsy woman.

One day, unable to take the suffocating man anymore, I left Jose and went back to the life of a gypsy, wandering free. I soon regained my spot as the most beautiful gypsy dancer on La Rambla, instantly recognizable by my long pink skirt, and the jiggling bangles that announced my arrival from my miles away.

I also fell in love. Hernando was a fellow gypsy; a pauper and a free spirit. Months of bliss followed, and soon we the gypsies began to get ready to celebrate the eve of spirits today known as Halloween. Hernando and I prepared many feasts for those who had passed before us and were on our way to pay respects at the Holy groove, when the evil land owner sprung upon us. His jealousy and wrath had overcome his spirit and his face, once lovely and youthful, was now unrecognizable and disfigured. In his anger he had chewed the side of his lip, till there was nothing left but a large puss filled swelling.

I screamed as I watched Hernando fall to the floor. The Evil land owner had beheaded my beloved gypsy and his body was pouring forth blood. I ran as fast as I could up the Hill, but was caught. Unable to sway me with words, the land owner grabbed my neck and strangled me to death.

Now I roam here, tied to this earth by the evil land owner’s regret and my inability to find my beloved Hernando….

How I got to haunt the streets of Toronto…well that’s another story….for another time…

It is a tale as old as time…pictures to follow…