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Category Archives: Fluff

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?

Bye-bye.

 
2 Comments

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

 

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 –

Yeah!

 

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

 

More Drawings

I know the scan quality isn’t what it was but beggars cant be choosers

Jon Stewart. I worship him. He calls presidents "dude", cuddles kittens and puppies, makes me laugh, and has blue eyes. Oh deity!

Tina Fey is as close as anyone will be to being my Oprah. I'm likely to do whatever she tells me to.

I know it doesn’t look too much like her but whatever 🙂

– Billy

 
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Posted by on February 17, 2012 in Fluff, Random

 

The Real World and the James’

One of the most irritating things about … fiction is its very fictitious nature. Take the movies I saw today – Hairspray and Becoming Jane. Hairspray so embraces the idea that once your mind is set, once you know what to do, once you want something enough and are willing to take risks, everything works out. Becoming Jane on the other hand talks a little bit about reality – things don’t often turn out the way you want them to, no matter what you do – life happens. In the end, you can make the best of it, and with determination you can manage to not be bitter about the failure of your plans and dreams.

Blah Blah Blah. Point being that even though the films and books, and Shiv Khera and the rest would have us believe that things are in your control, we all know they’re not. Control freaks, megalomaniacs, optimists, workaholics- everyone knows it. Its the dirty little secret that 90’s family sitcoms and Disney Films doesn’t prepare kids for.  In the majority of our childhood, current culture – be it songs, tv or movies – prepares us for fighting for our dreams and standing up for beliefs. They don’t at any point, seem to teach more important lessons- of how to deal when things go wrong- when you cant understand your dreams no matter how much you try, when your dreams are beyond your reach no matter how much you try, when standing up instead of Change, brings about a blip in the fabric of existence that does not even amount to the proverbial ripple, which at least has the potential of growth.

We are so untrained to face disappointment –  in love, in our careers, in our educations, even in self-awareness. Is it really that much of a surprise that most of us who aspire towards anything, or ever aspired toward anything, have more often than once thought of suicide? It’s hard to remember the importance of “now” and “no” and “yes” and whatever else the self help books are talking about, because we’re never taught that most of the time, it is too hard to concentrate on “now” and so on and so forth.

Becoming Jane is good. Not merely because it has James McAvoy looking too dishy to be true. It’s good because even while it becomes clear that love doesn’t conquer all, it does give us an appreciation for romance and “today” if not “now” (this may be cynic speaking but I think “now” is just pushing it). As Denny Crane once said, “Love, even when it’s fleeting, even when it’s for a day or two… is everything.” It seems to be true.

So maybe its time we started telling children about reality- at least they’ll know what’s coming. Also, while we’re at it, people need to stop baby talking to kids- no wonder they start talking with lisps and weird pronunciations and grammar. I bet a quarter of the reason I hate kids so much is because of all the baby talk that surrounds them.

I would also like to say that my ventriloquist hostel neighbor was definitely on to something when she said that the James’ of the world seem to be obscenely hot or obscenely perfect. James Spader, James McAvoy, Jim from The Office. Most importantly, James Kellern, the hero of the first Mills and Boon I ever read (innocently- I had no idea what an  MB back then). He was Irish- maybe that’s why I have a thing for rugged, dark haired, dark skinned, Irish and Scotsmen.

Anyway,

Cheerio Mates.

 

Make it

I don’t like it when people are dependent on me. It brings out a certain amount of distancing in my personality. As of now, only one person has been actually dependent on me. Thankfully that’s in the past now. Sometimes independence can be thrust upon people. But RPD warns me I might be having another dependent without realizing it. I don’t know if that’s true. As far as I know, I don’t “friend” well under pressure. I seem to be doing OK here, but I’m hardly the judge for that.

Oh well, back to Eco and Socio…

Sigh…

– Ambili

 
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Posted by on July 14, 2009 in Fluff, Random

 

Coming Around, Going Around

Quite a frenzy the entry of new faces creates in a campus full of 18-21 year olds. I must admit, allthough my interest was less obvious and more out of boredom than yall’s, I too was quite intrigued by the thought of them new faces. They seem an ok lot but I’ve just talked to a few of them. However I’m willing to give the benefit of the doubt, till something happens to piss me off, that is.For the record, I really don’t care if people rag or not as long as I can do what I want, and the kids don’t get disturbed too much. I mean mentally.

What is curious is the Psychology that goes behind ragging. It’s usually, “I got ragged, I survived. Why shouldn’t I rag now?”, I believe that ws said by a lot of people. That is strange logic, and often a substitute for something else. Generally that something else is “We’ve got to teach them to respect us” (Footnote – B). Which is also strange, because I swear, I respect my friends, and they’ve never talked to me with thir hands behind their backs, or always agreed with me. Another, more honest one is, “It’s just fun, and we’re not actually hurting them” (Footnote – The Encyclopedia and The Bone). With this, I have no problems, but it’s sort of sad the way you get a rush out of non-genuine respect and acting like a dick. Yet another explanation is “We get to know them like this, and they won’t flinch or hesitate to ask us for help later” (Footnote – The Bone, again and again and again….). I don’t know how it works among you guys, but if I need help from a senior, I generally go to the ones who didn’t rag. I definitely don’t go to the ones who did rag, not because they ragged, but it just turned out like that. Yet another man-woman anomaly.

Another interesting fact is that Ragging actually makes a persom a victim of Stockholm Syndrome in a certain way. For those who don’t know what that is, it’s a syndrome wherein due to excessive exposure to them and their ideologies, a kidnap or abduction victim becomes attached to the kidnapper or abducter. I’m not saying ragging is as serious or dangerous as kidnapping. All I mean to say is that by expecting respect and support from a junior we rag, we are essentialy expecting them to go through a pychological process which is not very healthy.

But all that aside, I don’t mind the Encyclo’s method of ragging- kid around and then kid around more, although it seems he saves the worst for the BH. Bhai on the other hand, seems to be the tissue carrying, tear-wiping, caring, slightly over-eager, motherly senior. Not the lengths I want to go to. Bone on the other hand is showing his propensity for megalomania in some/maybe most cases. N is quite happy being nice when she meet them. V likes talking to them. Happily, nobody seems to be abusive or demeaning. I don’t know what kind I am. I suspect I might be the kind who comes along for the ride, takes a bit of case, give a little support, then get bored halfway and ask to be dropped off.

Thats all.

*wiggle eyebrows

Bye-bye pretties.

– Billy

 
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Posted by on July 9, 2009 in Fluff, NALSAR