Monthly Archives: September 2012

Headless Obese Lecherous Policemen and Secrets Of The Girls Revealed.

Well, lets see…. Embarrassing secret…. I once had a rape fantasy pleasure session. It involved the faceless guy. He’s the guy in every session. His body varies – from Jayne from Firefly all the way to Eric from That 70’s Show. I’m a complicated woman. Anyway, I don’t know if I ever actually want any of the things faceless guy does. Scratch that, I definitely want some of them things, just not the rape one. I guess one time imagined rape was enough to satiate this woman. No joke. So if shit happens to me, this is not, I repeat, NOT a testimony to my actually wanting whatever forcible peanuckle I may have the misfortune of facing in the future. Though knowing me and my reputation, that battle is already lost. Asshole society.

So that’s the embarrassing secret. And for the record, this is not a sign to send me “invitations” to the “BDSM Sex Chat Forum” or something. The BDSM Literature Forum is good enough for me, thank you.

I have been busy. I made props through the weekend, had my best beef steak yet, went to Blossoms in Bangalore and bought Moab is My Washpot (Rs. 200) and Curtain (Rs. 100), got happy high, and felt like a pedophile though I’m not.

I didn’t sleep last night because I was busy drawing something for friends. What was it, you ask? (Not really. You don’t really ask) It was a fat headless lecherous policeman from Bihar. Its part of the tableau for a film we’re making. Its not very high budget, so at some point they plan to use the life size fat man I painted over last night and digitize it. I don’t understand the intricacies but they’re gonna CGI the crap out of that painting.

Or it could to be used as a photo front for people in the Awadh Magadh Fest, i.e. U.P., Bihar, Uttarakhand, Jharkhand, etc. fest in college. I’m being told anyone I allowed to join in the fest, i.e. pay money for it, dance for it, and serve people food at it, if your jiya is Bihar ka. That deal sounds funtashtic. Pay, dance, serve, and be from poor ass state mentally. ‘Ppreciate the Wasseypur though.

Said fest was good, probably because it was the last one. That sucks about fifth year. All the silly things that were just silly things that I didn’t give a shit about before become important cause ‘it’s the last time’. I’m not even being sarcastic. Going soft in my old age. Soft in the brain. But watching three of my best friends get their groove thang going, Bihari style, was fun. Especially because two of them had to get their groove thang going with each other and they were very uncomfortable. That’s what friendship is – when you laugh your ass off at people to their faces.

Anyway, in (dis)honor of my coming out last week as an ex Edward-liker, I will be talking about all the things about me that I consider girly, largely by traditional definitions of girly. In the process we can analyze gender perceptions. Really, we can. Cause I’m qualified to do that. My non-straight friends have assured me of this. And you know, they never lie cause they’re gay. *fail

First, something I did just a while ago, and may or may not be doing right now, I wrap sheets around my body, gown style, while I’m in my room alone. And while this is largely for convenience, because bed-sheeted woman is the show I want to give peeping toms and not naked woman, it’s also secretly because it feels nice. In a girl way. There, I said it. What? Girls are not naked in their rooms sometimes? Yours truly begs to differ. And my parents and sister can testify that I was at least born a girl. I could get more witnesses to my girl parts in recent times but they made me sign some dumb contracts. Literally, I have to be dumb about it. Political Correctness wins again.

When I run into make-up, and if I’m alone, I often try it out just to see what it looks like and if I can do the stuff properly. I can. The steady hands are useful. Also, I do it cause it feels good. Down in the south cause it’s a girl thang *human beat box*. Not really. I just went on rap song roll. It does not feel good in my vajayjay. It feels good in my brain. Cause of endorphins. That get released because it’s a girl thing.

I try on clothes once I get them home and spend at least 10 minutes looking at myself critically. Then I read some Germaine Greer and feel my inner tigress. No, I get off my ass like a strong woman and realize that I’m beautiful inside and out. No, I just cry for ages. No, really, I just get distracted cause I think of something more interesting. Like Life of Pi being made into a movie. That’s the stuff.

I once had shitty self clicked pics. Still have one or two of them in my facebook. I took down the really shitty ones. I don’t wish to comment on that period of my life. I had just discovered digital cameras and hi5 and the lyrics to backstreet boys songs on the interwebs. It was a dark time. Say no more about it.

I remove hair a lot. I don’t want it cause I likes me skin smooth. Maybe not all the time, maybe I just go wild sometimes, but eventually, I take it all off. I will probably never stop and I don’t care what you say, mega feminists I meet every now and then. I don’t care if you don’t remove your body hair, so can you not bother me when I do? I do what I want, cause I’m a strong, brown woman.

Sometimes, I just feel shitty when I think everyone around me looks like a million bucks and I feel frumpy. Then I actually end up looking frumpy cause I have a frumpy expression on my face. This endless dark cycle of bad looks- bad feels is often spoken about in what girl magazines I have perused. As an asocial person forced to socialize every now and then, I can tell you what works for me here – A raging mask of bitch face. I get so frumpy that I get angry and pissed. So I put on a bitchface, wear whatever I want and ignore the fuck out of everybody and everything. This works for about a few hours. Then I come back to my room, watch some TV, and go to sleep, and wake up feeling better. Sometimes, you just got to let out the bad ass bitch. Even if that bitch doesn’t really do anything bad ass, but in fact, just sits around and reads a book in public to avoid looking at said public…. Said beautiful, happy, smart public that I will never be a part of…. Oh Oscar Wilde, I hate how your snarky little comic commentaries on life are so true. But then I feel good, cause I finished a book I wanted to finish for a while. Girl Power. Woot.

When I watch sports, for the most part I’m thinking stuff like, “He’s hot”, “gross, what’s up with his hair?”, “he needs braces”, “the fuck is going on? I don’t understand why these people play this stupid game”, “OH MY, that body…..”, “*humming Call Me Maybe”, “Shit, this is one ugly ass group of men”, “Holy crap… take me….-”

I have researched extensively, every single part of things of a sexual nature that can happen to me. I know weight distribution, positions, balance issues, clothes issues, birth control issues, pee issues, crap issues, teeth issues, hair issues, dirty talk issues, BDSM issues…. Literally, I think I became well versed with pretty much everything, what with the internet and the graphic Kama Sutra my friends gifted me. I have not read anything for about a year that shocks me. Call me anal (no pun intended, but go ahead if you want) but I will never have to be shocked into not bonking when I want to bonk. I’ll know what I want. Come on, that has to be something girls do, right?

What else? Oh yeah, when I have a crush, I do that 12 year old girl thing of ignoring the crap out of them for about a week. The next week I spend finding out stuff about the guy. The week after that I’m back to crushing on Jon Stewart and Tina Fey cause I found something irritating in the guy.

Man, I’ll run out of a lot of embarrassing things for future infractions if I keep this up. No worries. I’m sure I’ll keep doing/ saying/ thinking embarrassing things.

When I see a nice dress that I like, I imagine me in it with the body of someone who exercises, walking into a room where everyone goes quite – cause I’m that stunning bitches. I felt some intense as shit connection with Michelle in American Pie 3: The Wedding because of this. Oh yeah, I connect with American Pie characters. Eat shit if you’re surprised.

I watch Romantic comedies a lot. Half of the time because the guys are hot. The other half cause the guys are sad little pussies when they fall for the girls. That’s how I want guys to fall for me. Then, because they’re sad little pussies, I’d reject them. No joke. My friends can testify to this rather fucked up side of me. This is as close to romantic as my fantasies have ever gotten. It’s the basis of me liking desperate guy songs like “Cecelia”, “The Reason” by Hoobastank, “500 Miles” by The Proclaimers, “Jealous Guy”… you name it.

ME: Enough! Neuroses are only funny in small doses. This is overkill. Seriously man, just. Stop.

me: I think it as going rather well. And I hoped you were gone forever.

ME: Not when you’re bugging me into activity with this crap. This is pitiful. You were going to write creatively, but you’re too lazy and scared of being politically incorrect so you left that half way done and now you’re writing this fluffy piece of rubbish.

me: Hey! Just…. That would have taken time and I didn’t want to put off this week’s post also. I’ll run out of acceptable embarrassing secrets to tell.

ME: Damn right. And I know exactly why you stopped having me around. You can keep your safe secrets. I have better and you know it. The secrets I keep are anything but acceptable. They could seriously damage some calm.

me: Hey! Jayne reference!!

ME: Stop trying to distract me! My point is, you’re not bold enough.

me: Oh, I’m plenty bold. I got bold all over. I just refuse to upset things more than necessary.

ME: Fine. Just. Write the other thing so you can put it up next week.

me: …..

Anyway, we’ll leave it there, shall we?



Posted by on September 27, 2012 in Bakchodi, Fluff, Public statement, Random


Punishment confession – I liked Twilight. Right up to age 18 when I realized most guys were more idiotic than I had previously imagined. This meant that if those guys ended up being immortal and controlling, I would have to nuke the planet in an attempt to rid the universe of this menace. Later of course, I realized vampires weren’t real, so that was another reason to not like the book. Later, I also realized that every character in that book would be highly irritating in real life. You’re 18 bitch. If all you want to do is fuck a hot guy and live forever, then…. Well then you’re like everyone else. Except you made a big deal out of it. Get over yourself. and vampires aren’t real. You cant just make things up and put them in books. As Hugh Laurie said about Jane Eyre – “It’s Rubbish’!” Vampires don’t exist and I will never ever be mounted by an ice cold penis and feel the need to suck blood. Just go away now, just go away, I have to cry, whore. You made me cry with the picture you painted of a stalker who (whom?) I end up marrying.

Guess what parts of the above was true?

Reasons for delay are multiple. Exams happened last week. When weekend came around, I had to finish some stuff. All of which is not done yet. I had to draw 2 cartoons. I had to write an essay or a story. I had to write a blog post. I had to finish Biosafety assignment’s last article that I have been putting off like so –



I was going to finish the art work some time last night and then start the writing thing. But then my pencil stabbed me. Quite deeply. Major blood gushing happened. All over one of the cartoons. Which left me rather devastated, with an injured foot to add to my despair. It stopped bleeding after a while. So now I doubt I’ll be able to write, because once something like this happens, I feel like I have the right to wallow in self pity. And when I feel justified in bumming out, I have no option but to go through with the bumming post haste.

Also – I’m going to Bangalore! Which means I’ll run into some acquaintances which may or may not be awkward depending on how much alcohol is ingested at the moment of meeting. It also means Koshy’s (hopefully), and Books! It also means I will be prop making/managing for our play which I was going to audition for, but I got drunk that day.

I just realized this blog is sounding more and more like a sequence of events in the life of Ke$ha. That sickens me to my very core.

Also Spam mails have come back. Ever since I mentioned them on that post I stopped receiving them. I thought I had succeeded in bitching out Operating Systems.But no. Now I have a lady saying she got directed to my blog by her brother. I refuse to believe any comment I receive unless its in the  normal comment section and not in spam mail. Also, the SEO/ you’re a useless blogger without *this* item for which you will have to pay 500 dollars plus sacrifice a virgin – mailed again. Fuck off.

I think that’s all. Toodles.

– Billy


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Posted by on September 16, 2012 in Bakchodi, Fluff


Drunk Post and Acquiring Madness

Ips informed me the other day that dependence on alcohol starts once you go two entire weeks with alcohol intake every day. I hope in fifth year I don’t accidentally make it there. This is the third night drinking in a row. First night was a treat by someone who is technically a childhood friend but is way cooler than what childhood friends generally turn out to be. I’m drawing him a portrait of his face. Second night was very minor amounts of alcohol and other intoxicants where I discovered that certain songs make me nauseous now, since they seem to apply so well to me. I hate it when that happens. Who wants to be that cliché?

Now it’s the third night and I am drunk but not smashed. I haven’t done anything stupid unless you count clipping off my cuticles earlier in the day out of boredom; and then climbing up a tree, walking across the bridge between that tree and another tree and then climbing down that other tree – while drunk. Well, climbing down is a genteel term for slipping, scratching, falling down the latter tree. And falling on my butt. Didn’t hurt. But I have scratches all over my arms. And I wonder what will happen to me if I don’t get tetanus shots. Will I be a vegetable? Will I die? Will I have a fever? Obviously these possible results are in descending order of direness. And if you call that awesome tree-climbing stuff “doing something stupid”, you must be a really, really boring person. I don’t want you here, so –

Anyway, I walked back to campus with the group of people I intended to walk back with, in the process foregoing a possibly OK story from a fellow adventurous tree climber drunk. I checked mail, bathed, washed underoos, washed dishes, filled water bottles, and brushed my teeth. The latter so that Thomas the tea guy in the hostel wouldn’t give me the disappointed looks he generally gives me when I turn up drunk. Then I watched a YouTube video and saw some Seinfeld while having Ginger Tea. Cause you know, it’s healthy and good for my throat, and I’m all about the health and the good for the throat. *Insert oral sex joke here*. Oh the jokes!!

But I am reaching a point here. And I will try as hard as I can to not make this a disconnected, unfathomable (without fathom) drunk post, though some cynics may say I have already failed in that endeavor. The point is that this is that perfect stage of high/drunk. I’m not saying anything stupid or doing anything censorious, but I am nevertheless awesome and quite happy. And it brings to mind The Death of Salvador Dali, which I watched yesterday. I liked it. I’m not enough of a… the right term is “pretentious art nerd” to tell you with complete certainty what the film meant and why it was awesome. But to steal from my own words in a letter I sent to a friend of mine recently, “reviews of works of art often say more about the reviewer than the work itself.” This is of course a summation of what John Green has often said. So here goes: I liked it because to me , it spoke of how we all want to be more than what we are – to be more mad, more intelligent, more erudite, more rich, more worshipped, or to the overachiever, simply more. And about how we try to deal with our failings in trying to be that much, whether it is through using others and their words and promises as crutches (the “others” being Gala and Manic Pixie Dream Girls in general); or through using our minds as either tools to try and break everything down into a semblance of order (imaginary Freud?) or to support the madness we hope to gain (Dali). Aren’t I deep?

As someone aspiring to write, I have always wanted to be more mad, more interesting than what I am. To that end, if I were making a movie about myself, I would want my character to experiment with every drug I find anywhere, and live in a haze of hedonism and sadness. But I have found time and again that despite being given some opportunities to go down that path, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be any more mad than right now, when I say unto you, “Behold! For she will finish this blog post, watch more Seinfeld and The Office, and then put herself to sleep in the fashion she most likes. *wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more.*”

This is fun enough for me. And in many ways I have people to thank for this self satisfaction I have recently discovered is so rare in people. My mom for saying things like, “You can be the next Arundhati Roy” in the fashion of all overconfident, loving mothers. And my friends for spiking my drinks one day and getting it out of me : “I only want to write. That’s the only thing I feel really comfortable and good doing.” My sister for telling me my stuff was fun, and my dad for never stopping me from doing anything, though he could so easily have done that.

In all honesty, I wasn’t mollycoddled. My family doesn’t tell me they love me and neither do my friends, and I don’t tell them. But really, how the fuck is that something to even consider? Either way, I am unscathed. I am responsible for what I think and do, and with their presence, I have become comfortable with that fact. Asking for anything more is asking for too much.

So now, I can be completely wasted and not feel judged. I can be pretentious and talk about Dali one second and Lehman Brothers the next and not feel like I want to choke myself out of irritation. I can climb trees, walk across rope bridges and climb down trees while drunk, and I will still consider that a valuable experience the next day. If it isn’t obvious, I am seriously kicked at the fact that I did that despite the scratches and the weirdness of straddling a large tree trunk at one point.

Judy Garland not giving any fucks.

Someone took a picture of me on that rope bridge that I wish to post when I acquire it. I will blur out my face if I don’t like it. I’m allowed to retain a certain girlish self-consciousness.


Anyway, that’s all. Here’s some fun stuff.

“Zazzy!” I don’t care if Penny’s boobs are awesome. If I watch Big Bang Theory, its for this guy.

Anthropomorphic God Figures Gone Wild!!!

– Billy


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Round One and already Out

I don’t know what kind of reference that title is. Is it baseball? Basketball? Boxing? Some show I haven’t watched and will probably never watch? I think I know it from Gilmore Girls (Lorelai) and now that I think about it, its very unlikely Lorelai Gilmore ever used sports language in her Mamet-esque daily parlance. Look at me. I may disappoint in not posting something but by god, I make up by using words like parlance.

So yes, I did not post. It slipped my mind what with the going on a Seinfeld bender, trying to find articles to use for Paper entitled “The Economics of BioDiversity Conservation”, getting a cold which makes me wanna sing badly in what I consider my sexy voice and getting FUCKING SHITFACED.

There’s the embarrassing fact – and I know everyone, absolutely everyone knows this – I got all fucked up shitfaced with insane amounts of alcohol last night. It was quite nice for me. I doubt it was any fun for H, whom in my defense, told me early on in the night that I was allowed to completely lose it since she didn’t plan on drinking much. What are ladies nights for?

Anyway, there are several things which are embarrassing about this incident. Firstly, it wounds my pride. I happen to be very good with alcohol. The fact that I got that shitfaced and that I had to vomit at all today, let alone the first half of today, makes me question my existence. Secondly, when I’m drunk, lets just say the darkest part of my personality comes out. The evil side. I don’t know if I said anything of the sort last night, but who knows. I do remember telling someone (don’t remember who) that “fuck relationships man. They suuuuck.” Now I had no locus to say that seeing as I’m single and have never been otherwise. Apparently, that was the worst I did. Again, as far as people will tell me.

But here’s the beautiful fact. I changed in the bathroom at the club. Out of my jeans and into the skirt. And not in a cubicle. In front of a girl whom I remember as laughing uncomfortably at my antics (antics being the mild word for DRUNKEN FUCKING BULLSHIT). I do remember thinking, if not saying, “Wow, you’re not bad looking at all” or something along those lines. Now I cannot be relied on here since as we know, alcohol makes a lot of people look good. But I am now a certified butch. Nah. I thought some girl was hot while I was forcibly subjecting her to watching me change (something my best friends don’t wanna see me do). Doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian. It means that for some reason I thought this chick was not bad looking and that changing into my skirt was just the thing to do. I cannot imagine why I thought the changing would do any good to my life. But I did it. I know people who have in the past, under the effects of alcohol thought of divesting of their clothing as a good idea. Thankfully, I didn’t divest. I merely changed. So there.

That’s the embarrassing detail. And it blends in perfectly for my reason for not posting something. What a fucking pain.

Bye bye.

Here’s something to distract from the lowsiness I felt all day –



The Spanish Inquisition is actually the topic for my History of Punishment paper. Guess how I got interested in the subject.



Also found this on tumblr –

I find it amusing. You go fuck yourself if you don’t.

That’s all.

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Posted by on September 1, 2012 in Bakchodi, Fluff, Random