Musings on the Australian Cricket World Cup:

Who caught the cricket finale Saturday? Wasn’t it a rather dismal way for the Auzzies to finish a rather momentous winning streak.

What were the two umpires smoking? I have a certain fondness for Steve Bucknor. I love the way he shakes his head ‘No,’ when overzealous bowlers let out a cry for a wicket. But on Saturday he and his colleague dropped the ball big time (oh god my HR speak permeates everything I say these days…)

For those who didn’t see the match, picture this: It’s the last remaining overs; the game has been plagued by rain delays. As the match stands the Sri Lankans need a daunting nineteen runs per over the beat the Australians. It is also dark, verging on pitch black. The Umpires go up to the bats men and have a chat. Whatever it is, the Lankans accept, walking off the field. The Australians, fans, score boards and announcers naturally assume that common sense has prevailed, the game is done, and the Auzzies have won. They celebrate, they jump on each other, flash boards congratulate the Auzzies. The Barbadians begin to bring out the podium stands. The Rasta fella with the tight Jamaican Pumas begins to pick up the disks marking the field. The dancers get ready to do their thing. All until the umpires go around shaking their head going, saying: “Oh No the match isn’t over, “We gave the Sri Lankans a rain delay;” meaning that the teams would have to finish the game tomorrow.

The Sri Lankan Captain comes out, obviously concerned and makes the most sensible decision of the match, ‘let’s just get it over with.’ So to allow the game to run its natural conclusion, the two teams played the last few balls in utter darkness. And to add insanity to it all, one of the umpires even calls a wide.

The end of the match was another nail in the cricket organizations coffin. Frankly the whole tournament was marred by controversy and bad planning:
~Woolmers death – Still no idea who did it or why? BBC Update: he was poisoned, and strangled….but why?
~The format of the game was tedious, for instance why didn’t all teams play each other in the first round. The second round was a long bore.
~An obvious lack of competition for the Australians, who do we blame for this?
A lack of foresight for the possibility of losing their biggest fan base early on. The loss of India and Pakistan, the two countries with the largest base of viewer support for cricket was detrimental to these games. The result was a huge loss of advertising revenue and empty stadiums.
~You have to feel for the Caribbean countries who spent millions in hopes of the almighty tourist dollar. A mere glance at the stands during the second round, showed that the whole thing was a wash out.
~They got the countries to build new stadiums, how come they didn’t ask for flood lights?
~For such a long tournament, how come no braniac thought to put an extra day in for a possible rain delay in the finals?
~It’s a real shame to reduce the overs in a final. After all it’s a sold out match, and people want to see a real game.

What do you think they need to do to jump start a lickle cricket luv?

I finally got myself a poem!

This fella's good, he even got the Ommpa Loompa in there!

Mr. Bess Please take Ye Note!

BFs

On the last episode of Grey’s two best friends did the deed. The little affair is complicated by the fact that one of the BFs recently got married and had come to the friend to get ‘advice.’ Well the advice came with a bottle of tequila and some sensual compassion.

I am a big advocate for guy/girl friendships. I have many strictly plutonic friendships with men. On the flip side I also have a few ‘friends’ who are obviously attracted to me. You know the kind: as soon as they have one too many their hands start to wander. Or they never have their girlfriends and you around at the same time….fishy buggers.

I’ve had the hot best friend. He didn’t start out hot. Growing up in Dubai he was the token nerd of the group. He was known for his countless hours spent on the computer and at the time he was the slowest runner of the boys and I was the fastest of the girls. Many a time I out ran him. This was important when I was growing up…

Then we moved to Canada. And five years later he was hot. Muscular, gorgeous hair, guitar playing, painter like Van Gough hot, and best of all we had ever thing under the sun in common…. Hot. After a few brief encounters, we became ‘BFs’….the kind of friends that would talk at least five times a day, fall asleep on the phone together and spend all weekend listening to jazz, watching artsy films, talking about the people we were dating, only to end up exchanging sweet kisses late at night.

BF’s are hot. They know all about you. They are like your favorite old ratty shirt. You tend to have more in common with BFs than someone you lust for right of the bat. You have the same friends. And his mother always loves you…(she saw you grow up from a wee little girl.)

Yet there comes a time in BF history where you either make the leap or one of you finds someone else who sticks. And you still have the late night rendezvous…but eventually you both have to be the bigger person and let it go….

The point….If you have a hot BF…go ahead and enjoy them…. Or you might find yourself like in a situation like poor George and Izzie, married and making a huge mistake……

Are there any BFs you missed out on?

I am going to be on of those annoying bloggers who blogs about how they are too busy too blog….which begs the question, "Why blog?"

New job is really interesting. A lot of acronyms to learn, the funniest one so far is: WIIFM~ What’s In It For Me?

Got a bonus: What’s the point of a bonus in which half goes to taxes? It’s like theoretical money.

The weekend was great, consisted of illicit fun, a sleepy workout, and being sung to on Sunday. How was yours?

What do we think about Sam Mitchell being named coach of the year?

Shysters

Every Thursday the boyz and I go to eat at a Jamaican place called “Crystals” a little ways away from work. Crystals is like “Misery restaurant.’ It’s a nice place, the food is tasty, but the service is something else. Asking for a menu will get you a chupse from the waitress, cuz now she has to walk over all the way to the other side of the restaurant, What you thinking she here to work.? CHUPSE.

This Thursday we noticed a discernable difference in the portion size, and the prices had gone up by a dollar to boot. This didn’t sit too well the fellas:
“I used to be able to share ah piece of fish with everybody, but sorry folks today yuh only get to look”
“This goat full uh fat. Where de goat?
And so on.

Bill time comes and there’s a lot more hewing and hawing about the portion size. One good Samaritan took it upon himself to be the spokes person and go in the back and have a talk with the owner. The owner apparently started to explain to him the Law of Diminishing Returns, telling him that the portions they were serving before were too large to be cost effective. Our spokes person looks him in the eye and begins to explain to him the Law of Diminishing customers....

Anyhoo so the bills are laid out and I take a peek at mine and notice that I haven’t been charged for my two delicious strawberry daiquiris. Being the shyster I am, I quietly look around to see if anyone else is saying anything about a funny bill. Two of them start to complain out loud about being charged 50cents for gravy. The rest of them start to talk about boycotting the place for a while, two weeks, just to show them that we mean business. “Hear, hears” of agreement are flying all over the place. So we pay our bills and get on out.

Walking back to work, they are talking about the boycott, complaining bitterly about the gravy charges, and I tell one of them, well I’m ok with it, I got a break on my drinks. At which point I notice all of them looking a little sheepish with devilish grins on their face,
“Whaaat? You got yours free too? I thought I is the only one.”
“Damn, girl why didn’t you say anything, I thought I was getting a break”
“Why nobody say anything??”
“Why you think I run out there so fast fuh?”

Shysters the lot of them, I haven’t laughed so hard in months....

The Most Honest Advice Given Yet

Don't let him the wall...especially if he don't buy you $2.99 Shrimp

Public Displays of Affection:

As an immigrant, the North American practice I find most disturbing are all the Public Displays of Affection. Not just amongst lovers, but also amongst friends, co-workers and people you don’t even know too well.

When I started high school there would be hugs when you met in the morning, hugs when class was over and hugs at the end of the day; a hell lot of hugging. I also never got the couples on the subway, kissing like they were about to go under the guillotine, without any male evidence of attraction. As my friends mum said, “Nuh man be able to kiss me like that and nuh get excited....he nuh a real man....”

Growing up in Dubai and in the Indian culture in general, PDA’s are plain old unacceptable. The recent uproar in Mumbai, where Richard Gere, caught up in the moment, kissed Indian Actress Shilpa Shetty one too many times on the cheeks, is evidence. To North Americans all the burning of Richard Gere Effigies is just plain silly. To Indians it certainly is not. In the Indians defense, watching the video courtesy Mad Bull’s site, made me wonder if RG was high, he was certainly over the top.

You cannot appreciate how romantic and conservative Indian society is, until you unwittingly pack booty shorts and tank tops for three weeks, accidentally forgetting those pesky sleeves. Despite the heat, Indians always wear sleeves, and quite a bit of clothing. People generally kiss behind closed doors or at a wedding. No where else. Dubai is even worse. Growing up we were not allowed to be seen even talking to boys. Instead relationships and illicit deeds were reserved for terraces. Out of sight, out of mind.

Frankly I am still not used to all the kissing and hugging. Saturday night, at the Monchy y Alexandra concert, a Spaniard, who I didn’t know from Adam, was all kissy, huggy & feely. Here are the rules: If I am dating you, you get to get near me, if you’re my friend/acquaintance, someone I’ve just met (and I have no idea what the future holds,) a simple handshake should suffice. In more tragic moments a hug may be deemed necessary, but it is entirely discretionary.

Crying Wolf

Friday I went for a massage. I love massages, they are so relaxing. However sometimes I find massage therapists can short change you, and being the brilliant person I am I came up with a ‘strategy’ to get the most out of my hour.

Thus far the strategy has been highly effective....until Friday....when it backfired.

The ‘strategy’ is to complain about a different part of my body so that the therapist will pay a little extra attention for the session. On Friday wise ole me decided to go for lower back pain. I mean I didn’t have any lower back pain, but I thought it would be a good place for the therapist to focus on. Last time I complained about my legs, and it was awesome.

My regular therapist had absconded to another spa, thus I was recommended to Natalie, a giant recent immigrant from some Rogue Russian satellite state.

Nat: “Please relaxing and take deep breath, is there anything special you want me to work on today.”
CP: “Well My lower back is a bit stiff these days.
Nat: “Tension, is problem for office worker, I will work. You don’t worry, today your back will be first class back.”
CP: (Inward smile of pleasure at having my little strategy work)

Nat then begins to warm my back up and then starts to pull on my back. I have no idea what this woman did, but my god it hurt. It hurt like hell. I was actually screaming. And I recently survived a two year braces ordeal without so much as a peep.

Nat: “Oh you must be very stressed out, you have such a low threshold for pain.”
CP: (in my head) “Well it could be because you are maliciously ripping my body apart you sick brute....”
Nat: “Relax, Relax, this is for you, for you, you must enjoy, it help you, you feel first class, Please take deep breath”
Nat: “I said deep breath, not scream, you must not make so much noise, people will get worried.”
CP: “Stop, Stop, I was only lying about the back pain, I swear”
Nat: “Oh silly girl, it No hurt that bad, you are woman, woman must learn to bear pain, very important lesson for you.....”
CP: “Please I swear I was kidding, really”

Moral of the Story: Crying wolf during a massage will leave you crying for real....

Photo Clossage

To Go with the Post Bellow:

“It could all be so simple

But youd rather make it hard

Loving you is like a battle

And we both end up with scars”


Miss Hill couldn’t have put it better.

Life should be easy. You should be with the one you love, the one you crave, the one who gives you goose bumps by just standing beside you.



Grey’s episode last night was a recap of all the highlights over the last three seasons.

Got me thinking what my highlights of the last three years would be, here are a few:
~Running into the water in Panama dirty dancing style, into the arms of the hot Panamanian dancer at five in the morning
~Being carried onto the stage in my pink booty shorts in Montego Bay & having the Rasta MC steal a kiss when I wouldn’t take my top off,
~Sitting on Drac’s balcony watching the sun and all the oldies, in the old age home in the next building, rise....hypothesizing about their lives
~Running around ‘Hindi movie style’ in the rain on New Years Eve in Montreal, trying to hunt down a cab
~Eating BBQ chicken with the gang at four a.m. after a club on Eglington and Dufferin
~Celebrating Brazils loss with the samba band outside Caravaggio, on College Street
~Being naughty on a salsa boat cruise....boat washrooms really aren’t suitable for adventure....
~Crossing the street in Mumbai, making the sign of the cross four times, before actually getting across
~The big fight
~Walking down the road to the church with the funeral band moaning behind us at my Aunts funeral.
~Cheering for Trinidad's soccer team at Island Mix, well ok mostly the partying in the middle of the day part
~Dancing with drag queens after the office christmas party

Between the ages of twelve to eighteen I was phone obsessive. Your typical teenager, I would take the cordless to the shower, conducted clandestine conversations with potential love interests and performed in-depth analysis of situations with my trusted friends. As the years passed, I got off the phone trip. I think it had a lot to do with dating someone long distance for three years. Calling continents away is expensive so you teach yourself to say all the important things in five minutes or less.

Switch forward to today and I’d rather sit in front of a computer screen than tell you silly details about my life. Last night crooner calls and he wants to chat. His chat really cut into my American Idol watching, and obsessive flipping between MTV & CNN. Also I hate the getting to know someone phase. The “tell me about you” bit. You can learn about me, from being around me. Having to tell you about me is very boring. It is like a dramatic job interview. So I’ve set up a fact sheet for all:

Things to know about Cranky Putz:

~I don't like anyone talking to me first thing in the morning. I believe waking up is best done in silence. You do your thing, I do mine. Unless you’re going to give me some first thing, don’t talk to me.

~I make my own tea…… people always mess it up.

~I love old bluesy jazz music...the kind they used to make in those Smokey halls with people dancing around big pianos...like Ella Fitzgerald or Nina Simone....

~I sleep in the fetal position. And if I am home I must have a sheet wrapped around me. It’s a comfort thing.

~I get fed up of people, I love them around, but eventually I want them to go home.

~I like traveling, but I get lonely fast. Like when I was in Europe, I was homesick most of time and only really valued the experience when I was home.

~I like surprises.

~I like change...I get bored easily. That's why I've always thought I would be most happy in war zone. I know that's a very flippant thing to say, but it seems to me, that you only appreciate life in the most extreme circumstances....otherwise you take things for granted.

~I like to laugh. And I lean towards the sarcastic end of the spectrum.

~My favorite thing to do on a weekend, if it is cold: lie on my couch and watch all the pay per view movies possible, or if it is warm: be outside for as long as possible.

~I love Stones ginger wine.

~I am really into spa music for some reason. So much so that I am contemplating making a section of my house very Zen like....u know buying one of those fake waterfall contraptions. I bought a massage therapy book from Beauty Center in Mumbai and I am determined to learn the arts of healing. So far though I’ve only flipped through the pretty pictures.

~I used to be a Brownie, and I earned a badge for swimming, even though I could not swim at the time. I eventually learned to swim when my father threw me into the deep end and said, “Swim.” I spluttered around for a bit, but when I realized he wasn’t coming to save me, I began to float.

~I like gold, a lot of people out here like the platinum stuff, but really it looks like silver, so why not wear silver?

~I read two books a week, or at least I used to, but I currently owe the library $8, in over due fines, and am thus avoiding the library for as long as possible, only I am running out of books. I usually read books in the library and then buy them later, my plan is that I will re-read all the really good books when I am old and have nothing better to do. One of My favorite book is “Far From the Maddening Crowd” by Thomas hardy, because it all seems inevitable. It's a big book, and a classic, so it can be boring to read, but there is an excellent movie version, that is only semi boring to watch...

~Gone with the Wind is a great movie. "Fiddle Dee Dee." Blood in Blood Out is a Classic, if you don’t like either, chances are we won’t really get along.

~I like to say “Oey Vey,” which is a Jewish phrase that fits any situation from happiness to irritation to confusion…

~I love Carey Grant. I always thought men should be more like Carey. He seems dependable, strong and loyal. How come American men don’t talk like that anymore??

~Soup should be reserved for sickness. Chicken Corn Soup and Gumbo soups are the only soups that matter.

~I get sick often. For three years I had a cough that wouldn’t go away and then mysteriously disappeared. I think these little idiosyncrasies make me quirky in a good way.

~In another life I will be writer who writes pretty stories.

~The book I most recommend is the Poison Wood bible, by Barbara Kingsolver.

~My grandfather on my dad's side, died when he was 12. He used to play the violin. My grandmother remarried and we call the guy Uncle, our whole lives we have called him Uncle. I wonder if it bothers him.

~I have long toes. When I used to dance a lot I went to buy dance shoes, and this Chinese family crowded around me and pointing at my feet laughing.

~I wrote my will last year. I was bored at work, and it is one of the most fun things I ever did. I keep revising the dress I am to be buried in.

~I love the beach. When I am old I want to be as close to the beach as possible.

~I think being an 'auditor' is the most pointless job ever. They basically check, that someone else is doing their job....what's the point of a boss then?

~I like the rain, I love lying in bed on a rainy day, with the window open, hearing the rain outside my window, snuggled in bed. Then again who doesn’t??

~I am smidge bossy; a smidge. When I was eight I decided my friends needed to up their education and exercise level. I thus opened a library, began a mini newspaper and started them on an exercise routine courtesy of my Jane Fonda tapes. It was a rousing success for summer, fell off completely by winter.

~After watching the English Patient, I have determined that it very important to have a capable man. A man who is able to carry you to safety and not some pansy who tells you to wait in the cave, and forgets where it is. Every man is thus judged by the “In Times of War” clause.

I received a package via inter office mail today. From one of the administrative assistants I had helped make up packages for an upcoming meeting.

The freak sent me back all the paper clips we used.

Who does that??

Easter Bunnies:

This weekend was very productive:
~I got a new job-(same company but I’m moving away from the old people: Pensions~ back into the world of the living: HR)
~Blue Belt TKD
~Bagged myself a crooner

Saturday night S and I decided to celebrate the impending resurrection, or at least that was our excuse. We landed at Alley Catz, a great little club in Toronto that has a great line up of live music throughout the week. Their Monday Salsa Night is sizzling. So we are up there doing our thing, practicing for when we are in the Bahamas, shooting tequila, taking in the sights, when I notice the male lead singer of the band smiling at me. As the night progressed, Mr. Crooner was all out singing to me. The entire club eventually caught on and all the groupies began to get a little boisterous. At the end of the second set, Mr. Crooner comes up and introduces himself, and we get chatting….

Sunday and Mr. Crooner, like a good man calls and says what you doing tonight I am playing at so and so….

What are the pros and cons of dating a crooner?
Pros: It’s pretty hot when a man sings to you at a club…
Con: Groupies~& they sure can get a little crazy
Pros: It is sexy when a man plays the saxophone…
Con: Can’t really party on the weekend together, he works on the weekend
Pros: When you guys have a fight, he could sing a little song to make up
Cons: Your bound to be envious of his se la vie lifestyle, he gets to sleep in every single day….

At our TKD testing we had a guest appearance by some hot shot Toronto Martial Artist. His technique was impressive, but much more impressive was well…..take a look at the picture:


(Lickn my Lips....)


Happy Easter Monday Dhallins…..why isn’t it a holiday?

I am having a boring day.

(Today's picture of Toronto is courtesy of Daily Dose of Imagery)

The kind of day when its dull and grey outside, and you should be asleep or watching a movie, but instead you have to work.

Sitting at my desk, not even pretending to be productive…playing with my scissors, thinking back to those days when you were in school and you got do arts and crafts for an hour. I was always pretty bad at arts and crafts; the kind of kid who could never remember to bring her materials to class. Once we had a cross stitch project, mine was a horse print. I began eagerly enough, but after about twenty minutes I was bored to death. Eventually I outsourced it to my upstairs neighbor Alana, and went off to play with the boys.

I am wearing a rather uncomfortable leather jacket, which was a great idea this morning, but feels like a straight jacket right now.

I am also trying to fight my growing obsession with Tim Horton’s Chocolate Danishes. It’s my form of fat crack. And all their triple chocolate ads are not helping.

What are you guys doing today??

Random thoughts on the art of blogging:

~Are we the real writers? At least I can verify (courtesy of site meter) that 33 people took the time to read my blog today, whereas some people write mammoth books, which only their family/editors/reviewer read. I should be able to put Writer on my resume…the issue, I suppose, would be the proof.

~I refer trustworthy friends to my blog for updates on my daily life. First thing Monday morning, my emails to a select few are: “Hey, I had the most insane weekend, pls read blog.” They must get annoyed.

~How long will this blog exist? Is this something I am going to pass down in my will; like a long meandering auto biography? Will my kids (hopefully,) grandkids, future husband read it and wonder what a freak their mum/grand mum/wife was/is?

~Sometimes I imagine my blog gaining in such vast popularity that it is quoted in some wonderful print media (with my luck it will be the sun.) How am I going to explain to the few characters that have come to be featured here, why I feel compelled to anonymously advertise details of my life on the internet???

~I can just imagine the conversation with my parents:
Parents: So CP we read in the STAR (wishful thinking) that you have a bog. What is a bog? CP: Not Bog, Blog
Parents: Ok Bogl
CP: Never Mind, A Blog is like an online open diary
Parents: And what do you write in it…
CP: Thoughts, daily occurrences
Parents: What for? See, This is the reason we need to get you married…you are lonely..

~My blog started off as one of those I’m in love with someone who doesn’t love me….sad whinny bits…sort of like when I was a kid and did keep one of those pansy lock and key diaries. I always wrote the most depressing poems about how my life was so sad and hard. But when people start to actually read your blog and comment…well then the show man in you is released. You want to please, and frankly speaking, no one wants to read about you pinning over some man, who you know you should not be pinning for. They want to be entertained, they want dating stories….and like a good entertainer you succumb to the masses.

~I am getting a little concerned by the increasing number of hits from Toronto. It is one thing for people from the Netherlands, Hawaii, Tokyo, Jamaica, and Wacko Texas reading your blog…it is another, if your neighbour/friend/family member accidentally stumbles upon it…

Weekend Highlights:

Friday night, we accidentally ended up at what I can only describe as an “Upper class” Black event. You know the kind, they offer you free lollipops, free glamour pictures and the promoter goes around pretending he cares whether or not you have a great time; and the night starts off with a bunch of people, stiffly dressed, doing their best to make you aware that they are lawyers/doctors/Investment Managers by day, but as soon as the music starts to rum, they turn into the same sleazy peeps you would meet at a ghetto jam.

The highlight of the night, was this beautiful petite girl, let’s call her Thumbelina. Thumbelina had the tightest pair of pink pants, the painted on kind, and the girl was well developed in all the right places. Now I love people who can dance and Thumbelina had a wonderful rhythm about her. However you could tell she spent a bit of time in front of the mirror. Anyway back to the highlight. At one point Thumbelina, got down on her hind legs, started bouncing around, whilst simultaneously twirling her bum, whilst licking her fingers. She was like a little energizer bunny. Her entire pack joined her, as well as a few others in the club, which led me to believe that this particular dance is the new version of the dutty wine….what’s it called???

I tried demonstrating the dance to Fathead (my younger brother) but all I got, was him holding his sides in laughter. My mini demonstration made me realise just how old I am.

The rest of the weekend was dedicated to food. Butter Chicken with delicious Nan’s from Tanjore..(Everyone in TO needs to try this once,) and I made a Roast with Rosemary potatoes and Pilaf Rice, last night. Came out rather smashingly; I was dying to take a picture and post it, but I came to the realization that this would be just silly, considering some people cook on a daily basis….and not just once a month, when the feeling hits them.